| Nov. 11th, 2002 @ 03:19 pm Ron/Harry |
|---|
Now Feeling:  thoughtful
I felt like a little something different. This was inspired by Penelope's latest rant on the state of slash fanfic. This is slash but it is PG, or G even I guess. It's just a short thought piece, I may write more of it or I may not.
It was the worst thing that could possibly ever have happened, he felt.
You might find that hard to believe, it might not seem so terrible to you, but he felt that he could have dealt with it being anyone else far better.
Anyone but someone he already cared about, anyone but someone who was already more than a brother, his best friend, his only real friend unless you counted Hermione but she was a girl and that was different.
The weirdest thing was the way it made him angry. He was always so perfect, it was always him. He was jealous of his own crush because he thought, whether rightly or wrongly, that no-one else would ever be in this quandry over him. No-one would ever feel faint in his presence, ever dream about him at night, ever spend all day just staring at him because they couldn't get enough of the way his skin seemed to glow with magic like it was inside him trying to get out and change the world.
He listed the people it could have been, trying to find someone worse. He supposed it could have been Malfoy, but that wouldn't have been worse. He hardly saw Malfoy and besides he hated Malfoy, no relationship to destroy there, no chance of slipping up and actually trying anything and then spending the rest of his life trying to make it up or worse yet too ashamed to ever look him in the eye again.
It was hard enough to look him in the eyes now without getting lost and then that god awful blush would rise up and make him look like an over-ripe tomato about to burst and spill it's guts out all over his understated shoes.
His clothes were all new now and perfectly fitted, expensive, though he tried not to make that too obvious. He didn't like to stand out but he always did in that way that he never would. He stood out like a traffic cone, like a blot of ink on a bright white piece of parchment. The boy he was watching over the top of his homework stood out like a star against the night sky, like a Firebolt in a pile of Comets.
How could you not be jealous? How could you not want what he had when your shoes were just that bit too small and your trousers were bare at one knee and you kept growing out of your fucking robes like the top of your head had some ultimate goal high in the clouds that it was bound and determined to reach before you were eighteen?
He was so bloody compact, so self contained. A midget he called himself. The Slytherins jeered that he was still pre-pubescent and he thought that he heard those things and believed them cause he certainly didn't see what most people saw when they looked at him. The strong jaw, the piercing eyes, the grace that he moved with that was hard to see for sure as it was so constrained. He was not a flamboyant person. He didn't show off. He didn't need to.
How could you not want to have that, to touch that, when it was so obvious that you could never, ever be that? |
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
marysiak's journal
