A/N: Jello. I present to you something written entirely on a whim, when I was supposed to be writing something else for school (which coincidentally, also has to do with Harry Potter. Go figure.) I am rather proud of this short little oneshot, though. And I am hoping that you will be, too. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter rights got to the goddess that is J. K. Rowling.

Wanted

She had grown up always getting exactly what she wanted. Whether it was a new toy or an extra spoonful of sugar during tea, it was hers. It was with this attitude that she began to study, learn about the world around her. If she craved a bit of knowledge, she would simply reach out, stretch a bit further, and take it. Soon her mind had grown plump with knowing, all of the tidbits that had been handed to her when she'd asked for them.

This mindset only grew stronger when she became a part of a new and curious world. A small jigsaw piece in a large and intricate puzzle. Witchcraft. Magic. Here there was brand new knowledge that she had somehow overlooked, knowledge that was displayed right before her eyes, waiting for her to wrap her hands around it and absorb it like a sponge.

Eventually, she did that as well.

It was a few years into her wizarding studies, when her training brassieres got too small and her legs seemed to grow before her very eyes, when she started to want something else. Something entirely different from magic and knowledge. It was a boy, her best friend, to be exact.

She wanted Harry Potter.

Everything about him, she wanted. She wanted his jade eyes to gaze at her longingly instead of at some stupid racing broom. She wanted his infectious smile aimed towards her instead of at a chessboard whenever he made a right move. She wanted to be held, gently, tenderly by him, instead of an old invisibility cloak.

Sometimes she wanted to just grab his clammy hand in the corridor, tug him to her dormitory and lock him into her school trunk, for hers alone to keep. Mine, mine, mine.

But Harry Potter didn't want her back.

The years went by like quicksand, and every now and then, he would look at her, those gorgeous eyes shining with affection and hope. But it was always friendly affection. Never anything more.

He'd fancy other girls, and she would support him, as a good friend should. But secretly she would loathe these lucky girls. She'd give them dirty looks when they passed her in the corridors, and refuse to give them answers if they shared a class with her.

In her eyes, they didn't deserve to want Harry Potter.

It took her a while to realize that she was wanted too. But just not by Harry, by his best friend, Ron Weasley. And she liked him, of course. She loved him. But just not like that. She'd never want him like she wanted Harry.

She realized that she'd have to think fast, for Harry started to want someone else. Someone who was different from the other girls. Her best girl friend, nonetheless. Seeing him and Ginny together, she soon realized that they were perfect for each other. She knew that he would marry her. She knew that they would have beautiful children, and they'd live happily ever after. She just knew it.

So, for the first time in her life, she settled. She didn't get what she wanted, what she had been wanting for years. She chose Ron, the best friend whom she knew she'd never want in that way. And for a while, she was miserably content.

She didn't regret her choice, though. From her marriage to Ron came two beautiful children. Even more beautiful than she had imagined Harry and Ginny's to be. Two beautiful gifts who she cherished more than anything.

But there was still Harry.

There would be nights when Ron wouldn't be home, when the children would be asleep, and Harry would arrive upset. It would always be Ginny. It would always be some huge row they'd gotten into. She would take him in, every time. Offer him whiskey, tea, coffee, leftovers from dinner, anything to relieve him. She'd comfort him, and support him, just like in school. It was Hogwarts all over again.

I still love her, a semi-drunken Harry would say. Merlin, I still do. But Ginny, she's…

He'd never finish that sentence. But she would listen. She would always listen.

Eventually he would fall asleep in the guest room, still dressed and his breath smelling of coffee and liquor. And she would watch him. Admiring. Hoping. Yearning.

Wanting him to gaze at her longingly instead of at Ginny Weasely. Wanting his infectious smile aimed towards her instead of at Ginny Weasely. Wanting him to hold her tenderly, gently, instead of Ginny Weasely.

She still wanted Harry Potter. But she couldn't have him.