I'm doomed to a life of misery. There's no hope, no apparent end in sight, no relief from this horror. I am doomed.
Rather melodramatic for a seventeen year old, I know, but being who I am, it's really not terribly surprising that my life should suck so. But, really, one would think that eventually the fates would just get plain bored of screwing with my life the way they do. Like I haven't earned a bit of happiness in the last seventeen years? Really, how much angst and misery can one person be expected to handle?
I'm not going to delve into the story of my life because I don't think you'll need the lengthy review. I'm not trying to egotistical, I'm just telling the truth. You see, everyone already knows virtually everything about my life; most people knew the facts about my life before I knew there were facts to know. See, I'm Harry Potter. You may better know me as the Boy-Who-Lived or, as of late, The Chosen One.
Now that we've got that nicely cleared away and you aren't in need of the facts of my life (by the way, if you don't know anything about my life and are in need of that review, marry me, please), let's move on and I'll tell you why I think my life is doomed to misery.
I'm not upset or worried about that whole Voldemort-kill-or-die thing, if that's what you're thinking. Nah, I'm so used to that by now, it's old news and the time to deal with that will come eventually. No, there's something else that is sinking me deeper and deeper into depression. Something far more terrifying, painful, and immediate. And there isn't a damn thing that I can do about it, oh great vanquisher of evil that I'm meant to be.
It's been going on for a month now; a month of sleepless nights, lost appetite, temper bursts, depressive episodes, loneliness, and many hours spent pondering over the various ways to kill someone using only a quill and a piece of parchment. Haven't come up with many for the parchment save for the long and painful death by papercut. The quill… now that has possibilities.
One month, thirty days, not thirty-one though it feels more like thirty years. It has been, without a doubt, the longest and most painful month of my life, and that's saying something. Though, the time I spent with Ginny is a very close second. I'm nearly convinced that that she was using some sort of love spell or potion or an enchant of some kind to make me feels that weren't there and, though I knew something was wrong, that I'd never felt those things for her before, I couldn't fight against it.
Anyway, I digress. You're probably wondering what I'm going on about. Or, maybe you've been watching me, seen the way I watch them, the way I sigh, the way I used to be so happy just because she was in the same room as me, the way my unreasonably heavy load was made so much lighter when she smiled. That doesn't happen anymore because she doesn't smile at me very often these days. Not very often at all. No, she saves her smiles for him and he doesn't even deserve them.
Horrible thing to say about my best mate, isn't it? But I've seen the way he treats her and he isn't my best mate anymore. Hasn't been for one month. It's not like he hits her or yells at her (when they aren't bickering, rare, I know) or belittles her or tries to control her. He doesn't do any of that, though, with his temper, I wouldn't put it past him to try. The guy is a bastard. He's a sleazy, backstabbing, two-faced, two-timing bastard. That's right: two-timing. And, what makes it worse, it's that he's two-timing her.
She's… she is the epitome of goodness. No one cares about her friends like she does; no one protects the ones they love with single-minded determination like she does; no one is as forgiving, as loving, as sweet, as tender, as all-around amazing as she is. She is the most wonderful person whom I have ever or will ever meet. She's the reason that I'm still alive, the reason that I somehow manage to survive through every summer, the reason that I'm not going to die at seventeen or eighteen or until I'm old and decrepit and still hating him for doing to her what he's doing. She is my everything and I will never tell her that, though I think she has a pretty good idea of it, and that hurts more than I can say.
She's never said anything, never let on that she has any idea how I feel for her. She's never treated me any differently, never been anything other than my best friend. And I really wish she'd stop it. She's been there by my side through everything without fail, supported me even when she was certain I was wrong or making a huge mistake, she stood up for me against anyone who dared attack me in anyway, so how could she not think that I'd fall in love with her.
Most of the time I choose to delude myself into believing that she has never said anything about my feelings or eluded that maybe there was something between us because she was waiting for the right time, waiting until things were more simple, waiting until the constant threat to my life was finally gone. But, with every day that goes by, I'm losing hope in that idea.
It's almost physically sickening to watch them together and it actually is physically painful, like someone is reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart. They do this a lot; it seems to be their favourite past time, second only to arguing. They're sitting together on the sofa, cuddled into each other, whispering into each other's ear, looking for all the world like they've nothing to worry about more than our charms exam next week. And I know that they'd be right to think that because they don't have anything to worry about. We all know that I'm the only one who really has anything to do in this war that's being waged all the time. I'm the one with the destiny; I'm the only one who absolutely must fight. We all know that, but that doesn't matter because I know that they'd never leave me to fight alone. Wait, let me rephrase that; she'd never leave me to fight alone and she'd never let him leave me to fight alone.
And that, in a nutshell, is what has happened to the famous and invincible trio. I haven't a choice in the matter - I never have a choice - she feels obligated to help me for whatever reason, he'd runaway to save himself if he thought he could get away. There isn't a trio anymore, it's me and it's them.
She's giggling at something he's whispered in her ear and I see him look at me with a smug smile on his face. This is another reason why he and I are no longer friends. He knows how I feel about her, he's known for months, almost as long as I've known, and he sees her as a prize, a trophy that he can hold over my head as proof that, in this at least, he is better than me. Only he isn't because I would never think of her that way and that sets us apart more than anything else.
I turn my eyes back to my potions essay that I've been pretending to work on for the last two hours, but my attention has been focused on her since she entered the room. I can't help it; it's useless to even try to focus on anything but her. And she… well, she never notices me, not anymore.
I hear the portrait door open and look up to see Lavender and Pavarti enter the common room, laughing and gossiping and dressed like streetwalkers. They pass in front of the couch where he sits with her snug against his side and I see him watch them walk by, his eyes moving over their bodies with a glint in his eyes and I know that he's going to be visiting one or both of them later tonight when she's tucked in bed in her Head Girl room, oblivious to what her boyfriend is doing. She doesn't see the way he looks at them because she has her head buried against his chest with her eyes closed. Even if she was watching him, I don't think he'd care. I'd like to hit him, hit him and strangle him until I've worked out all my anger, which, at the moment, seems like an impossible task, I'm so full of anger.
He does this all the time. Cheats on her with everything that walks and doesn't care who knows so long as it doesn't get back to her because she's his backup, she's who he goes to if he can't get attention from another girl. He never gets any action from her though, I know that for a fact, I've heard him complain and call her prudish and frigid and ice bitch enough times to know that she'll hardly let him touch her beyond kissing. I'm proud of her for that, it brings me a bit of comfort to know that she, at least, hasn't fallen victim to his charms. She's too smart and too good for that. And, should she ever give in, I'll kill the slimy bastard, I swear it.
She doesn't know what he does, his extra-curricular activities, so to speak. Though I think she may be a might suspicious because I've seen her look at him with doubt clouding her eyes a time or two when he's talking to another girl. She'll realize it some day; I've no doubt about that. She's brilliant and there's not much that can be kept from her for very long. She'll see the truth sooner or later and I, personally, cannot wait until everything comes falling down around him. That will be one fantastic day.
I've thought of telling her, but I know she'd never believe me, she'd think me jealous. I've thought of dropping hints, planting that seed of doubt, but that would hurt her and I could never stand to do that. It kills me to see her in pain. Absolutely kills me. So, I sit back and watch them, waiting for her to see what he's doing, wishing I could do something about it and fighting the desire to beat him to a bloody pulp. I sit back and pretend to diligently work on my studies while I actually watch her, waiting for the day when she'll realize how much I love her and that I would give anything and everything for just a sign that she could ever feel for me what I feel for her.
I watch her and try not to wince too much when that unseen hand reaches into my chest and squeezes and twists my heart. I watch her look at him like he's her every dream come true while he looks at other girls and plans how to get into their beds when she's gone to sleep. I watch her and I hope that one day she'll finally see me.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and I look up to see him pulling her up from the sofa and leading her to the portrait hole. I don't know where they're headed, they don't ask me to come, don't even see me sitting here, and I don't want to think about what he has planned, but I know she'll put him in his place if he steps out of line. They're stepping through the portrait hole and she looks at me over her shoulder, an odd look in her eyes, and smiles at me. She hasn't smiled at me in one month and dammit if it doesn't make me hope again.