One of my first first person POV stories (that doesn't sound weird). Another Harmony one-shot, any adding is acceptable. MAJOR Ginny bashing
“Relationships never last.” I conclude as I stare across the room at them. More like glaring, really. They’re going at it… again. How many times do they have to have a horrendous public breakup? I mean, one time when they actually mean it and don’t see the people is one thing, but seventeen times? There has got to be something wrong with that.
Yet again, he caught her cheating, and yet again, she denies it. Once again, he is going to believe her, and once again she is going to cackle madly like the evil bitch that she is. Well, actually, that last part is in my head, but she may as well do it. It’s not like anyone’s falling for her act. Well… except for Harry Bloody Potter, and he is the only one who matters, but he’s blind as a bat when it comes to her impurity, so we can overlook that.
OK, let me lay the scenario out for you: Harry Potter is walking down the hall. Suddenly, loud moans escaping from a nearby broom closet draw his attention. He recognizes the moans (don’t ask me how, I don’t want to contemplate those mental images) and opens the closet door to find his half-dressed girlfriend Ginny Weasley snogging an equally dressed Michael Corner who she dumped in her 5th year. That was a year ago.
Anyway, Harry freaks out, and Ginny pushes Michael away from her like she wasn’t about to shag the life out of him. Not that that is some big privilege or anything. She’s the village bicycle; everyone gets to have a ride.
OK, maybe that was an exaggeration. Still, I don’t see how Harry can possibly think that Ginny was forced into such a liplock with Michael Corner when she was the one moaning so lecherously. Yes, perfect little Ginny Weasley was being lecherous. It’s not that I don’t like the girl. OK, maybe it is. But still, I’m mainly worried about Harry’s wellbeing. That… thing is only dating him because she is an attention-seeking little… person who can’t stand to not be the center of attention.
And it’s not only the cheating that’s bugging me. I mean, Harry is an amazing guy, and I don’t see why she keeps cheating on him and everything, but the fact that she only dates him for his fame is what burns me. She doesn’t even know what his favorite color is, I’ll wager. And the best part? He thinks that she knows everything about him. That is only because I told her all this stuff right before their first date so that she wouldn’t muck it up. Back then, I thought that she actually respected and could possibly him, but it was just an act to get into the pants of the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m praying to God that plan didn’t work.
If I didn’t love Harry so bloody much, this wouldn’t be happening. No, I didn’t just say that. Ignore that woman behind the curtain. Pay attention to me, the Great Oz made of smoke and mirrors.
So what if I did say it? Is there some law that says that the bookish best friends can’t have the heroes every once in a while? Wow… I’m pretty sure that that has never happened in any occurrence of this kind ever. I. Am. Royally. Screwed.
Great, not only am I doomed to a life of misery with either Ronald Weasley or 12 cats who are all going to be named after Shakespearean characters, but I don’t even get to find some solace in the fact that maybe, just maybe, I could get the guy. I officially have no hope. Like I said before, I am royally screwed.
Great, now she’s apologizing. What does it bloody take for a guy to figure out that a girl obviously doesn’t like him for him? I mean, Harry can’t be that thick when it comes to girls, can he? Oh, God, of course he can! He’s Harry Bloody Potter! I can’t stand this anymore, I have to get out of here!
Next thing I know, I’m running out the door.
God, how thick does she think I am? Harry thinks as he glowers at her. She has this faux look of apology on her face as she explains to him that Michael kidnapped her and forced her into the closet after subduing her with duct tape. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Ginny Weasley, a witch, was subdued by a few strips of duct tape that could not be found anywhere near the site of her treachery. Hmmm… Is there something wrong with that?
He looks up. Hermione is glaring at them, but he can see that her mind is elsewhere. He decides to just concentrate on her and ignore this whore in front of him.
Ha, ‘Mione looks so cute when she’s thinking about something. Biting her lip and staring off into space and all that. Why can’t Ginny be like Hermione? Now that’s a question. Probably because she’s not nearly as responsible, funny, driven, intelligent, quirky, loyal, beautiful, attractive, humble, demure, innocent, fiery, or full of life as my Hermione. He thinks. Then he freezes.
Wait… Beautiful? Attractive? My Hermione? Where the did all that come from? He stares at her as she suddenly comes back to the world. Uh oh. He can’t help thinking. I’ve fallen for my best friend.
Next thing he knows, she’s running out the door - and he’s following.
I run. I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know how far, long, or why, but I’m still running. I burst out through the main entrance. I sprint for the lake. It’s pouring. Still, I’m running. My feet pound an erratic rhythm on the ground.
I reach our tree. Yes our tree. The one that’s been there when we’ve shown strength, weakness, tears, and joy.
I can’t stand it anymore. I kick the tree.
I kick the trunk. I beat it with my fists. The rain has soaked me clean through my clothes, and I don’t care. I need this. I need to just let it all out. I start to cry without even realizing it. The salt of my tears mixes with the rain on my face and drips off the point of my chin.
Who am I kidding? I’m never going to be his everything; his oxygen; his confidante; his lover; his wife; his soul mate; his rock that holds him to this world; his sanity; his fire; his life. I’m never going to be anything but the bookish best friend who simply lives in the background of his life. It was once said that everyone should be the star of his or her own life. Well, that doesn’t work for me, because he is my life. He’s never going to need me like I need him. He’s never going to love me like I love him. He’s not going to come trudging through the pouring rain to stand over me as I cry. He’s never going to kneel down in the puddle with me and grab my hand like it’s the only thing keeping him to this world. He’s never going to whisper to me and ask me what’s wrong.
I think that just happened.
I shake my head to make sure. He’s still there. I touch his face. He’s real. He’s giving me a weird look, but I don’t care. I have to make sure that he is really here. Too often have I been fooled by dreams and whispers; light and shadow.
I can’t restrain myself. I hug him. Hell, I glomp him. I hold onto him so tightly that I’m afraid I’m going to squeeze the life out of him, but I keep holding on.
I’m crying again, and I still don’t try to hide it. He probably won’t even notice that I’m crying anyway.
“Why are you crying?” He murmurs, chin resting on top of my head. Damn. How did he notice?
“N-no reason,” I stammer into is shoulder. “It’s silly.”
“Doesn’t look silly,” is his reply. No more questions, no third-degree, nothing. He just waits. He knows that sooner or later I’m going to spill my guts. He can read me too damn well.
I can’t help staring at him. He’s that beautiful. The water running down his face and through his hair. The rain speckling his glasses. The concerned look in his eyes. He’s actually right there, paying attention to me.
I completely disregard all the rules. Whoever “wrote” them can just stick them up his or her ass and go to hell.
I place a hand behind his neck, my fingers subconsciously tangling in his hair. I lean up, and I kiss him. It was the best moment of my life…
Because he kissed me back.