I’ve loved the same girl since I was eleven.
I’m sure you’re thinking that’s crazy—what does an eleven-year-old know about love?
Quite a bit, actually.
Being around her almost every day for seven years, spending our breaks together, holidays, classes.
Besides being the worst torture imaginable...it’s been bloody fabulous.
Everything about her makes me like her more. The way she smells, the way her hair frizzes at the slightest opportunity, the way she’s always carrying a million more books than she’ll EVER read in that damned bag of hers...
But she doesn’t know I like her. I’m too much of a bloody chicken to tell her, and besides...
There’s another bloke.
She’s never noticed me in anything more than a friendly, brotherly way. And I was never brave enough to hint that there might be more beneath that first glance.
I don’t mean I don’t like him. He’s a nice enough bloke. He treats her good, probably because he knows my best mate, my brothers, and I would pound him into a bloody pulp if he ever did her wrong.
And she seems happy enough with him.
But maybe that’s what bothers me the most. Not that she’s with him, not that they’ve been together for almost a year now.
But the fact that it feels to me like she’s settling, and she knows it.
That she thinks she’s got the man who isn’t her perfect match, her soul mate, but close enough to live with.
And I’d love to tell her otherwise, to show her otherwise, but...I can’t.
I can’t break them up. Not after this long, not after seeing how happy they make each other.
I have too much respect for them, as a couple, than anybody gives me credit for.
Nobody ever thinks there’s more to me than there is on the surface. I care about more than having my stomach fed three times a day, and being comfortable.
I care about my friends, and my family, even the stupid gits that I’m forced to admit I’m related to.
And I care about the happiness of those around me.
Maybe I’m not the smartest, or the quickest, but I can still tell when the people around me need cheering up, or need someone to talk to.
Just because I don’t have the words to explain it, it doesn’t mean I don’t understand.
I catch on to more than you think.
I just wish there was more bravery mixed in there with all the other qualities.
And then sometimes...
Sometimes she gives me this look....and it’s like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, exactly where my mind is when I’m around her, but she never says...hasn’t ever even hinted at the reason for the look.
It drives me mad.
So many times I’ve been tempted to pull her into a broom closet and snog the life out of her, see if my actions can say what my lips just can’t.
Forget words—sometimes things call for action.
And sometimes I feel like action is what it’ll take to make her realize...
But if she does know...
...then why doesn’t she ever say anything?
Because she’s happy to settle for what she’s got, instead of reaching out for what she could have?
Because she knows I’m too much of a gentleman to get in the way of what she already has?
Because she’s not entirely sure that what she thinks I’m thinking is actually what I’m thinking?
Bloody females...
She’s the smartest one I’ve ever met in my life, the smartest one I’ll probably ever meet, but sometimes I have to wonder if she pays as much attention to reality as she does her books.
Just more of what makes her so adorable, I suppose.
I would do anything for her...
I’m ready to do anything for her...
If she could only see...
Maybe I’ll paint her a picture.
Or write her a letter.
Sing her a bloody song, have it written in the sky, anything to get her to look at me the way she looks at him.
And then I’m not so certain that if she knew, it wouldn’t ruin the friendship we’ve worked so hard on for almost eight years.
We’ve had our problems, certainly. I still haven’t forgotten a certain flock of birds she set on a few years back, bloody canaries that pecked until I bled. I never did properly repay her for that one...not that I’d’ve done much to get her back.
I’m not that mean.
And the shouting match we had after that stupid ball when we were fourteen...I was so sure she was going to beat me to death with her shoe. And now, looking back, I couldn’t blame her if she had.
Maybe I should give her a shoe and let her have a go. It might do us both some good.
Or maybe...
Just maybe...
I’ll show her this journal.
And then I’ll sit back and watch what happens. . .
Of Journals by Darkness Enshrouds
Chapter Notes: We all have secrets.
Chapter Endnotes: In my mind this is Ron writing about Hermione, but it doesn't necessarily have to be. I leave it up to your imagination.