A/N: I wanted the "Dear Diary" to have a strikethrough across it, but apparently FanFiction doesn't like that formatting. So, just use your imagination.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP
Ha, no that sounds stupid. I think I'm just going to start straight in. Sorry. It's just the last time I wrote in a diary, it happened to contain a piece of Voldemort's soul that possessed me and almost killed me. I think you can appreciate how off-putting that is. Anyway, that's not what this is about. No, this is about him.
There was a time when simply hearing his name would send shivers down my spine and cause my face to redden. I'm cringing as I write this, just thinking about how silly my younger self was. If you had told me then that by the end of my fifth year at Hogwarts Harry and I would have become friends, dated, and broken up, I probably would have told you to get your inner eye checked.
But that is, as it turns out, what happened. And the first two parts made me happier than I could remember being. Now, however, I slouch around my house in a depressed stupor; I can't eat or sleep. I know, cliché right? Well, unfortunately it's true. And it's awful. Which is what brought me here, to this journal, and the hope that what they say is true, that writing about it will help ease the pain.
I first saw Harry when I accompanied my brothers to Kings Cross on Ron's first day at Hogwarts. I had always hated saying goodbye, but this year was especially hard because I would be the only one at home for an entire year. I was devastated that I wouldn't be with Percy, Ron, Fred and George at Hogwarts . . . Okay, not so much Percy. Anyway, I was so distracted by my misery that it didn't even cross my mind that Harry Potter might be on the platform. I remember being so jealous of Ron when we'd discovered that Harry would be in his year at Hogwarts. Like all wizarding children, I had grown up knowing Harry's name, but unlike many of them, I had developed an obsessive infatuation for the Boy Who Lived.
The first time I saw Harry, I didn't even know it was him. The twins and Percy had already disappeared onto Platform 9 ¾ when this scrawny boy with glasses and messy black hair approached Mum and nervously asked her how to get onto the platform. It wasn't until the train was about to pull out of the station, and my brothers were saying their final goodbyes, that Fred told us excitedly that Harry Potter was on the train. I begged Mum to let me on the train to see him—I REALLY hope Harry didn't hear me, because I'm sure I sounded like an idiot. I've never been able to ask him if he did, so perhaps I'll never know.
I didn't see him again for an entire year. Of course, learning that Ron and Harry had become fast friends only increased my obsession; I naively hoped that, through Ron, I too could be friends with the famous Harry Potter. But when Harry arrived at the Burrow (I almost started hyperventilating when I realized that HARRY POTTER was in MY HOUSE!), it was clear that I was just the "stupid little sister." Harry, Ron and Hermione already had an established friendship, strengthened through their heroic actions the year before; I had no place in their group.
Not to be discouraged, I tried in vain to get Harry to notice me. Of course, it was a bit of a lost cause from the beginning, as I mysteriously forgot how to speak whenever he was around. So when Lockhart announced on Valentine's Day my first year that he had arranged for dwarfs dressed as cupid to anonymously deliver singing valentines, I decided that this could be the solution to my dilemma. Right. That went well. I somehow managed to witness my valentine's delivery, and escaped into my classroom as soon as possible, absolutely mortified.
However, that turned out to be the least of my worries that year. I can still recall vividly the horror I felt when I realized that it was me who was writing those threatening messages on the wall in blood and releasing the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. I can also clearly remember the fear I felt when I was forced into the Chamber itself. As I slowly grew weaker and eventually sank into unconsciousness, my mind held on to one terrifying thought: I was going to be responsible for the return of Voldemort.
The first thing I saw when I regained consciousness was Harry's face, the face of my knight in shining armor—he really did fit the part, with the sword of Gryffindor in his hand and Riddle's ruined diary at his feet. Though I spoke more words to him that day than I had during the rest of the year put together, I ultimately came through the ordeal feeling less worthy of him than ever. The thought of what I'd done, and what I'd almost helped happen . . . I know—it's not my fault; I was young; and it was Voldemort,after all—but I couldn't help thinking that if I hadn't been so obsessed with Harry, I never would have written in that diary and none of it would have happened.
So I tried to get over him, move on. But I couldn't. As the next best thing, I became even more invisible; I'd dodge into empty classrooms when I saw him coming and go out of my way to avoid running into him at mealtimes or in the common room. And it worked, to a point. But every time I couldn't avoid him, such as at the Burrow, the old feelings would come back and I'd have to start all over.
And then there was the fateful Yule Ball incident. I still wonder what would have happened if Neville hadn't asked me, or if I'd turned him down, and Harry and I had gone together instead.
But there's really no use in reflecting on missed opportunities.
During the summer before my fourth year, Hermione suggested that I try and loosen up a bit around Harry instead of trying to avoid him all the time. She said that maybe if I dated someone else Harry might take more notice of me. Well, of course, I clung to that hope like a drowning person clings to a lifeline. To my great surprise, it wasn't that hard to find someone who wanted to date me. Michael and Dean were decent boyfriends, but I have to be honest: while I was dating both of them, I wasn't concentrating on our relationship; I was merely waiting for Harry to "notice me," as Hermione had put it. I don't really know what I expected—that he'd suddenly make a confession of undying love? Anyway, those relationships ended fairly quickly, which was understandable (if either of you are reading this for some unforeseen reason, I'm sorry).
Looking back on it, however, it seemed that Hermione was right (big surprise there). Something changed about Harry's and my relationship that year. I discovered that I could talk to him as easily as I would any of my friends. If he noticed my sudden lack of shyness, he didn't show it. I think it came at an opportune time in Harry's life as well; with everyone suddenly turned against him by the Ministry, he was probably desperate for friendship. And between the DA and standing up to Umbridge, that's exactly what we became: friends. I discovered that he wasn't the hero I'd always imagined, but simply human like the rest of us. He could actually be a bit of an idiot at times, too. I know he still saw me simply as Ron's little sister at times; besides, I had Michael and he (sort of) had Cho, so nothing further transpired between us that year. The following year began in much the same way, with us as friends, and throughout the year we grew even closer. However, I never would have dreamed that it would end the way it did.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. If I had to pin down the moment when the switch occurred for Harry, I would have to say it was the time he and Ron caught Dean and I kissing. Even though I was busy yelling at Ron and Harry was busy trying to keep us from killing each other, there was a moment when our eyes met and I saw a mixture of anger and jealousy in his gaze. But the look was gone a second later, which left me wondering if I had imagined it.
Over the next few weeks, it seemed like Harry became more cautious around me, and there were times when I would catch him staring at me across the common room. Of course, I refused to let myself hope, convinced that it was probably just wistful thinking.
But then IT happened. We kissed. Though I had dreamed about it for years, it felt weird at first. I felt like I was standing across the room, watching myself kiss Harry. The sensation quickly vanished, however, to be replaced by a sense of complete and utter rightness. It was like my entire life had been leading me to this moment. And when we started dating, I was surprised at how natural it felt.
Four blissful weeks. That's all we had. And now . . . well, I know I'll wait for him forever—haven't I been doing that all along?—but that's just the thing: it might be forever. I know he won't stop until Voldemort is defeated, and there's no way to predict how long that will take.
Well, one thing is certain: I am absolutely and irreversibly in love with Harry Potter. I love his courage and his kindness. I love that he always has to do what's right, no matter what the cost. I love how he has no idea what an amazing person he is. I love the feel of his hand in mine. And even though it doesn't make any sense at all, not even to me, I love him for breaking up with me. Because even though I feel like part of me has died, the reasons he gave are such a perfect reflection of the man I love that I would have expected nothing less.
A/N: As always, thanks for reading! Any reviews are most welcome, but don't feel obligated.