It's Funny, Isn't It?

It's funny, isn't it?

How long it can take you to realize something that was right in front of you the whole time.

That sunny Saturday morning in the library changed my image of you forever. We were researching, for a Charms essay, you, Harry, and I. I remember how utterly and completely bored I was. I had gone through what seemed like millions and millions of thick, musty, heavy, leather bound volumes, and I still hadn't found anything. Harry had gotten up to look for more books; he was having slightly better luck than me in finding information, but not much more luck.

You, on the other hand, seemed to find enough research to write a whole library instead of one Charms essay. As usual. I watched you for a while, to see if maybe there was something more to finding adequate information. Perhaps you always read the page three times over to make sure nothing had been missed, I don't know.

I meant to look away; I didn't mean to stare for so long. It's just that, for some reason, your eyes seemed to mesmerize me. They were so large, and clear, a pretty wood brown with delicate tints of gold, like flashes of sunbeams in them. Your eyes were long lashed, a chestnut sheen that matched your hair perfectly. I was very surprised; you had changed over the summer, and I hadn't noticed until the middle of the year.

It's funny, isn't it, the way you never notice the seemingly little things that make this world so beautiful?

You had some how managed to transform the bushy, boring, dull brown mop on your head into a masterpiece, with glossy chestnut curls that fell waist length. Your face had matured, taking on different angles, and your skin was a soft cream color, with no blemishes; it was perfect. You were perfect. I never noticed that look you get in your eyes when you're excited, a sparkle that seems to put the brightest stars to shame.

It's very funny, actually, how you think you know someone, but then discover that there's an entire part of them that you never knew?

Those rose-tinted lips of yours were slightly parted, and I could just barely see the tips of your pearly white teeth, that were now straight, thanks to that idiot Malfoy, in our fourth year. A lone stray curl escaped from behind your ears, and hung in front of your oval face, while you were engrossed in reading A History of Charms: The Myth Behind the Creation, by Morwena Fotheris. I wanted so very badly to brush that single curl away, so I could go on studying you, the you that I had never noticed before.

You know how some people say that love hits you like a ton of bricks? Well, it's true, at least for me. I realized, that day, in the library, that I loved you. I loved Hermione Jane Granger. It had taken me about six years to see that, six long years to realize something so very simple.

It is funny, isn't it?