A/N: Story set in Sixth Year of Hogwarts, except nothing happens with Voldemort, Draco, Death Eaters etc. Life is relatively normal at Hogwarts. Please review!
I hold myself in high regard, without conceit. It is merely observation. My years at Hogwarts, thus far, have been... well, saying 'eventful' would even be lying to myself. They've been catastrophic, horrible, worrying, unsettling and scarring. I've watched my best friend being slowly torn apart by an enemy that holds over him years of experience, unmatchable talent and unrelenting evil. He's faced death and had experiences no adult could bear to imagine, yet he is barely halfway through his teenage years. Despite everything, he comes out ever stronger and ready to fight back every time. I've been inches away from a werewolf, fought a murderous chess set and watched a man die with my own eyes. I have been thrown into a world much bigger than me. My two best friends are my life; a life I know could be torn apart in seconds if everything the past 5 years has been building up to fails. The world rests on Harry Potter's shoulders, and I have to help him through.
I hold myself in high regard because of this. I am analytically minded. Callous, some might say, yet I recognise myself to have held it together surprisingly well considering what I've been through. My grades are perfect and as far as I can tell, I am still right in the mind. I have provided unrelenting support for my reckless best friends no matter what they have chosen to do.
It therefore confuses me how my entire universe can be turned upside down by the utterance of two syllables by one silly, dim-witted child of a girl.
It sends my brain into a frenzy of expletives and murderous thoughts. My vision is blurred by a mixture of rage and heartache and I just want to go and jump off the astronomy tower. No book can help me out of this. Her silly little squeaks and the squelching, sickly noises coming from them day in day out penetrate my consciousness like a hot knife does a jacket potato.
People look at me with knowing, piteous glances as soon as they walk in the common room and I bury my nose ever deeper into my book, newspaper or knees, reading the same line over and over or counting the loose stitches on my worn out pyjama bottomed knees. Harry sends a grimace my way before turning and grinning at his best friend. It's not his fault. It's an unwinnable battle when the war is invisible. He could never pick the right side even if he tried.
Sometimes it gets too much and I stand up, slam my book shut and stamp my way up to the dormitory to a chorus of sarcastic "oohs" coming out of the grinning mouths of my so-called friends. I just lay there and cry, wondering what the hell I did to deserve this. After everything I've done, all the times I've selflessly risked my life. All my hard work at school and vain attempts to stay out of trouble get rewarded with this. People think I'm being selfish and stuck up. Well, maybe it's my time. Maybe I deserve to be. I live my life for others... why can't one thing go my way?
Sometimes I sneak into their dormitory at night and sit at the end of his bed. Harry keeps his trunk unlocked. His cloak is so easy to find. The silky, almost water-like texture is a stark contrast to the rest of the contents. I watch him sleep. He possesses no grace, no elegance. Really, he's a bumbling oaf, clumsy and unable to stay out in the sun for more than 10 minutes. But he's mine. Or he used to be. Maybe I just assumed it would always go my way. We'd be united after the war was won in a festival of tears, champagne, happiness and rainbows. Our kids would have gorgeous brown eyes and beautiful deep red hair, a combination of his coppery red and my warm brown. They'd be smart, beautiful... their lives would be limitless. But it seems that my dream will be gifted upon somebody else now. I can see it drifting away, like one of my old inflatable dinghies caught on the tide at the beach. Life was far simpler back then, you know.
If there's one singular blissful thing about a muggle life, it's the simplicity. Yet I suppose even then I'd have the same problem. This year... I feel it'll be the most challenging yet. Forget the horror stories of the near death encounters, I'm dealing with Ron Weasley. That is always a horrendous challenge.