A/N: Well. Here. Yet another random ficlet. Heh. That's about it. You'll figure the pairing out in no time, especially if you're a fast reader.
Disclaimer: I haven't done one of these in ages. Um. I don't own Harry Potter. Yeah. Technically this could be about anything, I just use one name, but anyway…. Yeah. I don't own Harry Potter.
Tell yourself she's nothing special. Even though you've been doing so for the past four years. But why else would you visit every summer?
Go ahead, tell yourself that you're not in denial. Of course you're not. That's why you only think about her, five, ten, twenty times a day.
Go ahead. Listen to that other voice in your head, the one that tells you to do whatever the other two tell you to do, the one that tells you what will and won't get you crucified by Ron. Listen to the voice that tells you not to care.
Go ahead. Think about other things, like how to conquer the newest adventure and how to sneak around with your friends. It's good for you. It's a distraction.
Distraction. Like red hair. It's not even like her hair is that outstanding. It's red, but burnished red, that crayon you used to color in autumn leaves with, just like her brother's. Long, smooth, sometimes plaited, but rarely. She's not an extraordinary girl.
That's a good enough reason to forget her, right? She looks plain, isn't talkative, an above-average student but not genius, completely adequate.
Let me ask you something. Why, then, am I stating this case to you? If she's so ordinary, why do you care? You don't? Then why are you even questioning yourself? If you think she's not worth your time, why does she occupy so much of it?
You're 17 and she's 16 and you talk sometimes. She doesn't have much to say--she really is a "take me as I am" type girl, isn't she? She's as plain as she looks.
And yet, with the other Gryffindors, sometimes you'd beg for silence, for someone to listen. She'd be there in a second, ready to comfort you.
Even though the courage is there--you've seen it, oh yes you have--it's in rare reserves. Her eyes light like flame through stained glass, her very aura exudes the heat of courage. You like it. Admit that you like it. You like seeing her riled, seeing that light in her eyes. You like feeling that heat from her soul.
She might refuse you. Ideals aren't all that they're cracked up to be. She might just tell you no, cry, freak out. She might pout--even though she's 16, that pout is still as usable as ever--and you might not be able to handle it.
Then again, she might say yes.
But go ahead. Refuse yourself the chance and let her heart get broken. Let the unworthy men break this plain porcelain goddess before you have the chance and have to glue the pieces back together.
You're no hero, but you could easily get the girl... couldn't you, Hermione?