“Life is like one big Quidditch match, I think. We’re like seekers trying to reach our goals, like chasers with our minor victories, and all the while, we’re trying not to get thrown off by the Bludgers of our problems and setbacks.� – Ronald Weasley



I guess that I first realized this during my second year at Hogwarts, when my best friend, Harry Potter, had to play seeker against his worst enemy, Draco Malfoy. I watched in fascination and horror as Harry had a Bludger chase him down while battling Malfoy to the snitch. I then realize that he was up against not one, but many more Bludgers. With the Bludger of never knowing a real family, of always having people stare at you for something you can hardly even remember. Of having the most evil wizard in the Wizarding world after you for absolutely no apparently reason. I suddenly felt sympathy for my famous best friend.



Quidditch is only one of my obsessions, but it is the second biggest. I absolutely am in love with the sport. Ever since I was six and got to go to a community Quidditch match, I have not been able to ignore the wonderful sport. My favorite team is the Chudley Cannons, partly because their orange robes make me feel slightly better about my own wretched hair and partly because their spirit to try their hardest at every game, even when the outcome is grim for them, makes me want to strive to be better too. Plus, they just have some amazing moves.



My biggest obsession would have to be my best friend, Hermione Granger. Ever since she so rudely barged her way into Harry and my carriage in first year, I have been absolutely obsessed with her. First, with her rudeness and snob like behavior, and then with her strange study habits and passion for learning. Finally, in my fourth year, after her stupid cat tried to eat my evil rat, reminding me of how often she helps me even when I don’t want or particularly think I need it, I fell for her. For the entire package: her mind, her (sometimes stupid) headstrong opinions, and her looks. (Hey, I’m a guy. What do you expect from me?)



Of course, I had to go and screw up both of our lives. My hero, Viktor Krum, asked her to the Yule Ball, only days before I had the courage to ask her out. (While insulting her, but I tried.) I went to the ball with Harry’s date’s twin sister. I didn’t even dance but rather stared at Hermione and the grouchy git who stole her from me. I even went as far as breaking the little figurine of him that I got at the Quidditch World Cup, bending the tiny arm back as far I could to heard its high pitched shrieks.



The entire situation turned even worse at the end of that year when, not only He Who Must Not Be Named returned, but also Viktor Krum asked Hermione to come visit him in Bulgaria that summer. Just friends, my arse! Thankfully, Hermione had just enough respect for me not to go. Instead, she spent the summer at Sirius’ old house, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with me and my family.



My sixth year, I screwed up royally. (Get it, Weasley is our King, royally?) I got mad that Hermione and Harry were in a club for our new Potions professor’s club for his favorite students and not me. I especially got mad when only the members of this club got invited to a special Christmas party. I was expressing my displeasure the only way I knew how (by yelling and insulting her) when she told me that she wanted to go with me. I was absolutely stunned. She wanted to go with me, Ron Weasley, who nearly drives her to kill on a daily basis?



I went, but not with her. I went with Lavender Brown, a 6th year Gryffindor girl and another Slug Club member. We ended up kissing at the party and left to find an empty classroom to snog in. We went for the first we saw, which unfortunately Harry and Hermione were in (what was he doing in there with her, anyway?)



Lavender, being the stupid bimbo that she is, giggled and stumbled out. Like the stupid bloke that I am, I try to act like nothing has happened. Hermione got mad and stomped out, but not before setting the stupid birds that she had created straight on me. I still have scars from all those bloody birds.



Then, by the end that year, Harry had gone out with Ginny. (And broke her heart. Thanks a lot, mate.) And that traitor, Snape, had killed Dumbledore. Harry was devastated at both and decided that he would have to kill Voldemort because of a stupid prophecy. Judging where the prophecy had came from, I would have just ignored it, but Harry was determined.



Harry and Hermione came to Bill and Fleur’s wedding right before Harry was going to start his hunt for Voldemort. He kept ranting about not going back to school again. (Like mum would ever let that happen.) I thought that I would finally get the courage to ask Hermione out for real, but I didn’t. We did have a fun time dancing together though.



Why would she even want to go out with me anyway? I’m not the coolest. That would go to Bill. I’m not the strongest. That would be Charlie. I’m not the funniest. That would of course be Fred and George. I mean, I’m not even the biggest prat. That honor belongs to Percy. Even Ginny is the queen of the Gryffindor house. I’m not anything special.



Sometimes, I wish that instead of Harry, I were the famous one. I know how much he hates it, but I think that it would be kinda cool. I would finally have some respect from my brothers and sister. I would be famous and people would stop me on the street to ask for my autograph. And, I would have Hermione.