Author's Note: It has been awhile since I've read Prisoner of Azkaban (I know, shame on me) so any minor details that do not match up to the book are entirely my fault. Something I can tell you straight off the bat: I have no idea if Harry is called the Chosen One in PoA. And in the last chapter, I know Ginny should have had no idea about Dobby and his sock. Feel free to alert me to any mistakes in your review; just remember, I am a person and I have feelings. Don't be an asshole and I won't be a bitch.
www. youtube. com (slash) watch?v=y57sYHIDP_Y
Remove all spaces and insert a / instead of (slash). This is a link to a YouTube video by Jon Cozart. It's Harry Potter in 99 Seconds and I am completely addicted to it. His vocals and the arrangement are amazing, and he went to my friends' high school.
Second Year
The Great Hall is lit up like Ron's face on Christmas Day. I sit down at the Gryffindor table, eagerly anticipating the welcoming feast. Don't judge me; I'm a Weasley and my stomach is actually a baby dragon in disguise. At least Mum taught me to chew with my mouth closed and talk with it empty – a lesson that Ron still hasn't seemed to learn yet.
In file the First Years. Did I look that young and nervous to you last year? Wide eyes and pale faces turn towards Professor McGonagall in a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. The Sorting Hat is placed on their trembling heads, and soon a small flood of new Gryffindors join our table.
You're on my left and being so sweet to all of them. You greet them with a big smile and answer any questions they have. When Fred and George try to have a laugh at the First Years' expense, you shake your head patronisingly and do a spot-on impression of Percy, the newly named Head Boy, to alleviate the tension. The First Years have no idea who my pompous elder brother is, but they like that you stood up for them. And you're Harry Potter so you already have their utmost respect. However, you are officially my favourite person in the entire world when Chessa Knight, one of the new First Year's, tries to sit between us and you firmly but politely refuse to create a space for her.
I already knew you were perfect, Superman. But this valiant act to keep me next to you proves just how perfect you are.
.
.
Lately, you have taken up the couch by the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room as your space. Typically, territorial claims made by a Third Year would go ignored but like I said, you are Harry Potter and nobody dares to go against the Chosen One.
I find it all a load of hippogriff shit. Sure, you've defeated You-Know-Who more times than anyone thought was possible (and everybody else who has tried is currently six feet under). But you're still Harry. You are my brother's best friend and you still haven't gone through your growth spurts yet and my mum knits you ugly sweaters for Christmas. Your round, wire-framed glasses are so out-of-date, and for your next birthday I'm going to get you nerd glasses like Clark Kent's or hipster glasses because who doesn't want to be a hipster?
Just kidding. I'm not a fashion whore like the Patil twins and I could care less about trends – especially eyewear trends. And hipsters are so mainstream.
Anyways, I think I have gotten off on a tangent. Whatever. All this thinking about you has made me crave your company. I go down from the Girls' Dormitories and somehow know that you'll be sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace doing your homework as per usual.
You look up and watch me as I come down the stairs. "Hey, Gin."
"Hi," I say back shyly. "Erm, mind if I join you?"
"Of course not." You scooch over and pat the empty cushion beside you as an invitation to join you. I sit down and you smile over at me. "How are you?"
I say: "Just fine. You?"
You let out a gusty sigh that sounds much too burdening for a boy of only thirteen years. "Alright, I guess. This whole Sirius Black thing is making everybody on edge for my safety."
I nudge your shoulder in reassurance. "They'll find him one of these days."
Green eyes flicker with the light of the fire in the hearth. "Is that...a good thing?" you ask hesitantly.
"It's a Sirius matter," I say solemnly and with the pretentious attitude of the Minister of Magic.
Rolling your eyes at me, you snort: "Did the twins teach you the art of sarcasm and to mock the Minister?"
Unapologetically I shrug. "When you live with an ass-kisser like Percy, it's kind of inevitable."
"Oh, Ginny," you laugh and I laugh along with you although I don't quite know why we are laughing. I didn't say anything funny, did I?
No one else comes through the portrait hole tonight, and we remain undisturbed as we ramble on about nothing and everything. It's almost just like how things were last year when you would come visit me in the Hogwarts infirmary after the whole Chamber of Secrets ordeal.
.
.
The Great Hall is horribly beautiful with its ghastly skeletal decorations (I have yet to decide whether they are real or not) and the ever-present Hogwarts ghosts zooming all over the place as they prepare themselves for their favourite holiday of the year. Candles create dancing shadows along the stone walls, and pumpkins with their faces twisted into grotesque smiles line the floor and magically float in the air.
I, for one, have never really liked Halloween. Or even April Fool's Day, for the matter. Over a decade of living with jokesters like Fred and George have made me dread any day that celebrates any sort of pranking.
But you are all smiles today as you chatter happily during breakfast. I smile back and bask in your sunny disposition. Then Professor McGonagall makes the announcement about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip and your face falls just a bit. I look to Hermione for explanation and she subtly shakes her head.
Before I know it, you are standing up with this awful look on your face. I want to make the storm clouds in your eyes disappear but you're scowling so hard that I fear the Dementors will soon come flying in to feed off your despair.
"I'll see you guys later," you growl and then you're angrily taking the stairs back up towards Gryffindor Tower.
"Bye, Superman," I say but you don't hear me. Neither do Ron and Hermione because they are already lined up at the door in eager anticipation for their first Hogsmeade trip.
I wonder if their hearts hurt for you as much as mine does.
.
.
I find you staring into the fire that lights the hearth in the Gryffindor Common Room. There's a blank sort of emptiness lighting your eyes.
"Harry?" I ask hesitantly.
You shake your head tiredly. "Not now, Ginny."
I bet if I were Hermione or Ron you wouldn't tell them 'not now'. Why do you treat me differently from them? I pay more attention to you than my oblivious brother does. And Hermione doesn't love you the way that I do. Is that it? Do you not notice me the way I want you to notice me because I always forget to tell you I love you, that I'll love you forever? Then again, I doubt you want to hear that. Hermione told me that boys have an emotional range of a teaspoon. I think she was hinting at you and Ron.
"You should smile more often," is all I say before I leave the Common Room. You do not say anything in response. You probably did not even hear me.
.
.
The Quidditch stands are pretty full. It's Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff since Malfoy's run-in with Buckbeack the hippogriff has made Slytherin cancel their position in today's match. I am standing in a sea of scarlet-and-gold but I have never felt this alone before. Ron and Hermione are with the other Third Year's and I haven't really bothered to make a lot of friends in my year. You're warming up on the Quidditch pitch, and Merlin, I wish I was down there too. I cannot wait until the year I get to try out for the Quidditch team. I'll be the best Chaser this school has ever seen.
The air is cold and everybody's faces are pinked more in excitement than from the frigid weather. Some people, mainly the Hufflepuffs, are nervous because of the school's close proximity to the Dementors, but everyone waves away their concern. After all, Hogwarts is the safest place you could be in the magical world. And surely the Dementors will not attack with all of us under Dumbledore's protection.
Rain starts to fall, slowly in its typical drizzly way, but soon it's pouring buckets. The spectators huddle closer in a futile attempt to stay dry. I can only imagine how horrible the weather conditions feel out on the pitch.
I watch you, Superman, fly away on your Nimbus Two-Thousand. You've got a busy day today. I know Oliver Wood is pushing for Gryffindor to finally win the Quidditch Cup. Your eyes are squinted in determination as you prepare to go save the world – well, more like Gryffindor House pride.
Everybody is so caught up in the game that we fail to notice how the rain has blurred you out of our sight until suddenly you are falling into the clutches of the Dementors. Thankfully Dumbledore saves you by performing some complicated spell which emanates a bright, white light.
I observe the rest of the match with dull eyes. Your broomstick flies into the Whomping Willow without you on it. Hufflepuff wins the match.
There is only one thought echoing in my mind the whole game: I hope you are alright.
.
.
Something's up. You have only been out of the Infirmary for a couple weeks at most, but the mischievous gleam in your eyes is already back. Ron let slip something about a map but I don't understand what the big deal is.
Hermione's been quite frazzled lately. I think I'll go talk to her. She seems to be over-extending herself. I wonder how she manages to make time for all of her classes and everything.
Just know that if you ever need someone to talk to or you want to ramble and rant, I'll be around.
.
.
I watch you fly away on your new Firebolt. You don't notice me standing in the Quidditch stands. You are too caught up on trying to catch the affections of that Ravenclaw Seeker girl. Cho Chang is her name. Come back to me, Harry, I'll be with you one day. I have a feeling she won't – she looks like the superficial type to only like you because of your name. I'll be waiting right here on the ground when you come back down. She will be off flirting with that Cedric Diggory guy, completely ignorant of how hung up on her you are.
Oh, Merlin, is this what jealousy feels like? I don't like it one bit.
Never mind, Harry. If all you want is a girl to mindlessly flip her hair about, she can have you. I did not know your kryptonite is a pretty girl with air for brains.
.
.
Sirius Black is your godfather? Wow, didn't expect that coming. And my talk with Hermione about having a healthier workload must have worked since she is dropping Muggle Studies to have a normal class schedule again. Ron's off yapping about the Quidditch World Cup to you. Something about Dad getting tickets. Whatever. I know I won't be invited.
Hermione is giving me funny looks. I think she knows my attitude towards you is changing. I'm starting to grow out of my silly little school-girl crush. You'll still always be Superman to me, but I finally realised that I'm not your Lois Lane.
The train ride home is different from last year. I think it's different in a good way. You and Ron are completely unaware of the changes I am going through. I trust Hermione not to breathe a word of it to you two. I think it is necessary for you guys to wake up one day and realise that I won't always be that little girl who wants to tag along and hang on to every word you say.
During Third Year I think I might branch out a little bit and find some people in my own year to hang out with. Don't worry; I will still talk to all three of you. I just need to start learning to be my own self, that's all. I can't live my whole life in others' shadows.
The Hogwarts Express pulls into King's Cross. You leave the train compartment in a cloud of laughter as you nudge Hermione's and Ron's shoulders. I'm left totally forgotten and without a goodbye – same as last year.
Maybe I'll see you when you stop by The Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup. But judging from your actions towards me lately, I probably will not.