I mean, it's to be expected that I would have a bit of a hero worship for him; nearly everyone does. But, somehow, as I grew up listening to Mum tell me the story at bed time of how Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord, I found myself thinking about how he was living his life now and trying to sympathize with the everyday hassles of being parentless, living with rotten Muggles,and being a wizarding world celebrity. I dreamt of meeting him and helping him get through all the troubles of his life. While other girls my age were dreaming of meeting their Princes Charming, mine already had a name, and it was Harry Potter.
Then came the day that I met him.
September 1, 1991: five minutes to eleven A.M., just outside the barrier leading into the Platform 9 ¾.
Obsessed? You don't know the half of it.
He was everything I had always envisioned: kind, modest, and polite, hesitantlyasking Mum how to get onto the platform. He was even good-looking to my ten-year-old eyes. I knew from the moment I heard his name that my ‘hero worship' had grown into something deeper. I spent the next year, while everyone was at Hogwarts, dreaming of us becoming friends and eventually growing to love each other.
I guess eventually is a whole lot longer than I had thought.
I met Harry almost four years ago. I'm now finishing up my third year at Hogwarts. There is no denying that a lot has happened in those four years. Harry became good friends with my brother Ron, and with Hermione Granger. He has successfully avoided getting killed a good number of times, like the time he saved me from a basilisk and the memory of Tom Riddle, all because I was a blundering idiot and put my soul and trust into something whenI didn't know where it kept its brain. I'll never forget my fear after I heard about last night when he came out onto this Quidditch Pitch, having seen Cedric Diggory killed and the once-defeated Dark Lord rise back to life.
Other things have happened too, mostly without me. I hate having to watch from the sidelines, sick with worry but having to wait till it gets around with school gossip to knowif he's all right. Harry doesn't know that I worry, of course. He doesn't know how many times I've cried myself to sleep over him not noticing me. He doesn't know how many times I've watched him from the other side of the common room. He doesn't know how many times I've guarded him from afar.
And I honestly don't think he cares.
Why would he? I'm just another member of his fan club. I'm just Ron's baby sister doomed to blush and stick my elbow in butter whenever he's around. He's never gotto know me. Why would he? If he ever tries to talk to me, it's allI can do to string two words together.
Harry likes classically pretty girls anyway. I look like a girly version of Fred and George.
Same red hair (only longer).
My eyes are different, though. And there are of course a few other noticeably different things, nothing really worth mentioning though. But when you get right down to it, I'm just another Weasley. Kissing me would be like kissing one of my brothers (and even I don't do that normally).
I can't go on like this much longer. I'm tired of watching from afar,not being able to be as close as I like. Even when I do get a remote chance of becoming closer to Harry, I blow it to bits. By the looks of it now, I will never be with him and have to live with an eternity of unrequited love.
It's horrible enough as it is. Cripes, it's like everywhere I look Harry's there! I can't even talk to my own blithering family without having to dance around the subject of Harry. And I'm tired of it.
I am plain sick and tired of it.
I am sick of sitting here wallowing in self-pity, going on about a boy who will never see me for what I am, when I could be doing something useful.
I am sick of waiting and I am sick of being constantly let down because Harry Potter is a blithering prat, who can barely see past his nose.
I WON'T STAND FOR THIS ANY LONGER.
Suddenly I feltthe familiar brush of feathers against my ear, as a tawny school owl sweeps by my cheekand hovers in front of my face, waiting for me to take the letter. I smile at her;she must have had to come and find me as I skipped breakfast.
"Well, what do you have for me?" I asked, taking the parchment off the owl's leg.
I uncurled it and read:
Look, I know I'm older. I know we're in different houses. And I know I haven't known you that long. But hear me out. You are so unlike any other girl I've met. You are so pretty, and so kind, and so funny. It's all I can do to ask you and hope that you'll say yes even though I know I'm not good enough for you.
Would you please do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?
With Hope and Love,
I gasp.Michael is good-looking and two years older than I am! What the dragon dung is he doing asking a girl like me out?
Maybe he sees what Harry doesn't.
The sun begins to come out from behind a cloud and I know that starting now, things are going to be different.
NO MORE STUTTERING!
NO MORE ELBOWS IN BUTTER!
NO MORE AVOIDING HIM WHEN HE COMES TO THE BURROW!
I'M GOING TO BE NORMAL AND FREE!!!!
Because, from now on, I'm not the girl who hopelessly loves the Boy-Who-Lived.