I notice the little things you do.

I notice how when you glance at yourself in a mirror, the reflection of your plate, the reflection of a friend's eyes that you become somber and a yearning expression settles upon your face. It's almost is if you're okay with what you are, but you want to be so much more. And that it hurts.

I know.

Because that's the same way I feel sometimes.

I noticed that the entire day before your date with Longbottom you were nervous. Jittery hands, tapping feet, queasy faces. At the same time you were about to die of happiness, the clenching fist that held onto your heart was finally letting go.

It makes me sick to my stomach.

I was the one that was supposed to be your knight in shining armor. I was the one who put all the effort into writing you the most perfect love notes with the most fitting poems. I was the one who waited all these years to get up the courage to finally make my move. I was the one.

I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end.

All that matters is that you're happy. If you're happy with him, then I'm happy for you. I'll gladly bow out. Just as long as you're the most happy and most content that you could possibly be, I will let you be. It will kill me, I won't lie. But I'll leave you alone.

I notice how you act around Longbottom now. How when you two are sitting together, you'll lean in towards him, as if intoxicated by his very presence. How you'll cup your hand around your mouth and whisper things into his ear with quirked lips. How he'll turn around quickly to peck your lips, taking you completely off guard.

I've heard the little Hufflepuffs talking about you two so many times that every time it occurs it makes me want to wring their necks. "They're so sweet together." "They'll last forever." "He's so lucky to have him, and vice versa."

"A match made in heaven."

Daphne keeps telling me that I need to tell you that I'm the one you should be leaning into. I should be the one kissing you.

But I won't.

Because as long as you're happy, the world is good.

Blaise Zabini sunk down into the green and silver chair, which was settled in the corner of his dormitory, far away from any prying eye that might stumble upon him at two in the morning. Pieces of parchment were littered about him, words glaring up at the miserable boy.

It seems as if no one understands me…

Ron and Hermione are too wrapped up in themselves to notice anything beyond their reach. I mean, I'm not complaining but…

He crumpled up one letter and threw it down on the ground with the others.

I wish we could meet. Writing letters is nice and all, but there's just something so much better about actually talking with a person…

He reread another letter for the millionth time. Chuckling darkly, he tore it down the middle and let it fall to the floor, another leaf on the forest's floor, and buried his head in his arms, sobbing.

Love, Harry

Not the end, don't worry. I look at this chapter as the midpoint, in all actuality. I think I'd like at least three reviews before the next chapter. I was a bit disappointed with the reaction to last chapter, or lack there of. Thanks WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo for your input, however. Much appreciated.