I would be lying if I said I couldn’t see myself with him. And everyone knows I’m a terrible liar, so why do I even bother?
He’s kind, mature, and actually more than a little bit smart. Not the fittest catch, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?
Oh, and how he makes me laugh! When I’m around him I can’t help but smile, giggles slipping through my parted lips. Most of the time he’s just being ridiculous, but when you’ve lived the life he has, ridiculousness is sometimes just what you need. Even with all that he’s been through, he’s so lighthearted--jokes dancing off his tongue and filling me with joy.
This is exactly why I feel so comfortable around him. I could act a right fool in front of him and all he’d do is laugh right along with me. He never judges me for being me. He never makes me feel nervous or idiotic. I just feel like...me.
I really believe I could tell him almost anything. Even if he is not capable of understanding, he tries. He honestly puts his very best into comprehending my complicated mind. He listens to me. Perhaps out of curiosity, or perhaps because he really does care that much, he would gladly spend hours sitting with me on the cold corridor floor and listening as angry words cascaded from my mouth and pounded against his abused ears.
More often than not, those words involved Ron. And when they did and comforting words were completely beyond his reach, he would wrap an arm around my shoulders, offering a place for my tears to fall and telling me to buck up all in one effortless gesture.
But even more than that, even better than enduring my furious rants, he indulges me in my musings. He sees beyond what is visible. He looks to the future, to what is to come. There’s a maturity in him that nearly all eighteen-year-old boys are completely void of. A maturity, perhaps, from having to grow up too fast. He’s blessed with wisdom beyond his years.
I’m sure he must wonder sometimes, like everyone else, why I stay with Ron. Occasionally I find myself wondering the same thing. We fight more often than not, usually about stupid, childish things. Neither of us really knows how to communicate with the other and when I do find the words to say, he nearly always forgets the things I tell him. He’s easily distracted--much more interested in finishing a game of Wizard’s Chess than enjoying a few moments with me before I drift off to bed by myself.
Yes, I can certainly see myself with Harry. He would take care of me. He would listen. He would make me laugh. And sometimes I even wonder if life would be better with him. But I won’t be with him. I don’t want to be.
Because I am not in love with him. Because, despite all of our issues and his overwhelming desire to avoid growing up, I am deeply and irrevocably in love with Ron Weasley.
And really, it is just as simple as that.
[Author's Note: I wrote this story in response to CherryBear's First Sentence Challenge (she's pretty awesome, you know), but I decided to take up the challenge the day before it was closing, so I know it isn't my best piece of work. But thank you guys for reading it anyway and, as always, reviews are much appreciated! ]