Checkmate

"Of course, I didn't mean it that way."

That's the story of our lives. No matter what, I never mean it that way. Except when I do.

We're just friends. Close friends. Best friends. But just friends. No one's ever looked any deeper; no one wants to see anything else, so they don't. Not even him. He won't see it that way, no how many stupid, utterly, blatantly obvious hints I throw at him. Of course, I didn't mean it that way. It's not like that. Except when it is.

It all made sense at the beginning. He was the hero, always in the spotlight, always the untouchable. Everyone wanted him. Everyone wanted to be him. I was no different, I was just like everyone else. It would pass. It wasn't serious. It wasn't really me, it was just the crowd mentality.

After a while, though, I wised up. I realized the truth. It was me, it was as me as it could be. I would always be this way. And it was okay, okay for me, because I understood it, and finally understood myself. I understood what I wanted, and that it was different from everyone else. Well, maybe not everyone, but most people. Actually, for all I know, half my dorm could feel the same way. But of course, none of us will say anything. Because he wouldn't understand.

He would just laugh it off, or think we were joking. That's just the way Harry is. He's been in the limelight so long, it's addled his brains. He doesn't realize how much I love him. There, I've said it. I love him. I love him so much I want to run outside and scream it into the sky. Then, at least, I'd have said it, and had it done. Said it to someone, anyone, who would listen. But no one will. Especially not Harry.

I see him walking down the hall towards me, and a lump catches in my throat. He waves. I wave back. Why can't things be normal again, like they were at first? Like they were before I really knew him, before I knew how gallant and beautiful he was. I'm not supposed to have a Prince Charming. That's not how the fairytale goes. Yet, he fits the part so well. I wonder if he knows it.

I know he doesn't, because he always talks to me about girls. It drives me crazy, but I don't let him see that. First it was Cho Chang, that Ravenclaw girl, and then it was Susan Bones, and Sally-Anne Perks, and...god, that boy changes his mind like he changes his shirt. I don't think he knows what real love is, in all honesty. It's just a crush, here and there, or a pretty girl for him.

"Hi," he says, and flashes that incredible half-smile.

"Hey," I say. I'm done for. I'm helpless. I'm in the grip of that smile.

He's looking out the window at someone, now. That smile isn't mine anymore. But I can dream about it, I can picture it at night, when there's no one there to see me looking so stupid and lovestruck. If Malfoy could see me now, I wonder what he'd say. He'd think this was so funny, he would.

"So," I say, "You have any plans for today?" It comes out oddly, sort of choked. Damn, I'm losing it.

Harry gives me an odd look. "You know I don't," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Don't I always ask you to come with me?"

"Yeah, well." I try to shrug nonchalantly. "I thought you and Sally-Anne might-!"

"Nah," he says, cutting me off, waving a hand. It's a relief, I have to admit.

"Then, you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

He nods. He knows I don't mean it that way.

Except when I do.