I am not in love. When you're in love with a person, you start to… well, you start to feel really self-conscious and you're heart starts to beat faster whenever his hand brushes your leg. You blush whenever he walks into a room. I used to read Muggle romance stories. I know all about this kind of thing. So I'm not in love. Especially with redheaded boys with bad tempers who are really tall and cuss horribly.
I've always dreamed of a man who is handsome and sweet and always carries my books and isn't afraid to ask me to dance and is never shy and knows that I'm a girl and does his homework and doesn't yell at me for nagging or call me a know-it-all. His ears will not turn red when he's embarrassed, and I won't think it's cute if they do, even if it is.
There. I think I've made myself clear. I am not in love with Ron Weasley.
So then, why? Why am I not satisfied with handsome boys like Gilderoy Lockhart? Or famous ones like Viktor Krum and Harry Potter? Why is it that I always imagine a pattern of freckles that I've memorized and darling brown eyes that I just want to drown -
No! I'm not in love with Ron Weasley. I have homework to do, and I will not get sidetracked. In 1709, an army of rebellious goblins attacked the…
Oh. My. God. He's
in the room. I am not self-conscious. I am not blushing. Ok,
The goblin riot was led by Garumpf the Great, who was a long-time enemy of…
"Can I sit here?" His voice just cracked! Oh my goodness. Is he nervous? Is that a good thing? Oh, but why do I care?
"Sure." Oh, dear! Now my voice is acting all funny. It's high-pitched and eerie. He's sitting down. Why in heaven's name is my heart so loud? He could probably hear it from the other end of the school.Enemy of…. Pierre Lassieure… or was it Peter…?
Oh my god. His hand just brushed my leg. I am really in trouble.