Green Monster

Green Monster

There she sits, looking radiant as ever. Sometimes I swear that she sits in places where the light enahances her features perfectly, just to spite me. Like somehow she knows I'm watching her intently, drinking in the beauty that is her. But then that bitterness creeps in, and I think she just wants to be in good light for him, so he thinks she's pretty. She shouldn't have to. She always looks perfect.

Now I'm grinding my teeth because she is smiling and laughing, her smile wide and real. And it hurts. Because he is the one making her smile.

Her hair is golden and sparkly, catching my eyes everytime her head turns. Why is she so gorgeous? More importantly, why did she pick him?

He whispers in her ear, and a pleasant pink flush floods her cheeks, and she gently places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer, and by now I'm sure the steam is coming out my ears for all to see my anger.

It was months ago that I told her how I felt. In fact I rattled on for about fifteen minutes, while she just listened patiently with a calm face, the way she handles everything. By the time I was done, I was out of breath and flushed a terrible rouge. She frown and smoothed my hair back, and tried to explain that while she loved me dearly, the feeling was definitely platonic.

All I remember is breaking down entirely, sobbing on her shoulder for a half hour. She was quiet and rubbed my back, until I was silent and sniffly. After that, we didn't speak for a week. We never spoke of it, and after that week we went on with our friendship as though nothing had ever happened. There was a silent agreement that we would spare me the embarassment and leave the subject as taboo.

I never told him. I guess this is partly my fault, because if he knew the reason behind all the akwardness between her and I, he would never have asked her out.

I remember when they told me. It was Early April, and we were sitting outside enjoying the rare sunlight. Students were milling about, laughing loudly and simply being carefree. He was full of smiles, looking at least ten pounds lighter. She, on the other hand, was nervous. Her hands kept kneading her skirt of their own accord, and she bit her lip lightly the way she does when she is complexed.

He took my shattered look for shock and shook my hand grinning. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

Now, as I watch them, he leans over and captures her lips with his, and she wraps her arms around his neck hungrily. They are passionate about each other, and I know they are happy. But it doesn't stop my sight from turning red.

Thoughts are running though my head, some that normally I would consider completely crazy. But right now they make the most sense of anything. I could just kill him. Then she would want me, wouldn't she?

Now enfuriated, and red with jealousy, I walk towards them, just as they break apart. She spots me first and her eyes go wide. I must look insane. He turns to see what has captured his girlfriends attention. She looks scared, giving me a sad smile. She knows.

He smiles. "Hey Ron, what's the matter?"

His face is so trusting and concerned, that my resolve crumbles there, and the hand tightly clenching my wand in the pocket of my robes goes slack.

I remember when we first saw him on the platform. He was so vulnerable and innocent, unaware of the horrors his life would bring. I remember facing countless dangers together, side by side, brothers to the end. I remember waking up in the hospital wing after the final battle. He was slumped in a chair beside my bed, fast asleep. His face was slick with tears, and his hand was holding mine gently on the bed. I had never felt so safe and loved.

Then I realize, as though I lightbulb has flipped on upstairs. Just like in the muggle cartoons.

"Nothing, Harry. I'm fine. You up for a game of chess?"

I wasn't in love with Hermione. I was jealous of Hermione.

I was in love with Harry.