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A Harry Potter Story

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Ronald Weasley smells like freshly mown grass and new parchment. Draco Malfoy smells like green apples, whatever they may smell like. Remus Lupin smells like chocolate, and Sirius Black, like pumpkin seeds and Firewhisky- if the fandoms are right. They probably are. But I wonder what Harry Potter smells like.

Harry Potter must smell like something different. It can’t be ordinary, like grass or parchment or food. Maybe he smells like the rain- fresh and sweet and pure. Or maybe he smells like magic. That seems like the right word for it. Magic.

Love for the Harry Potter series was what brought us close, I think. When you told me you identified with Harry Potter, the character, I was confused for a moment. Except for the fact that you are kind of average at academics, and also occasionally clueless, - how else do you resemble Harry Potter? It just didn’t seem right. Yet now, nothing else does. Magic at work there.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Rather an odd couple, don’t you think? No? Well, maybe not odd; more like sudden. Unexpected. I always liked Luna so much better. And Dean Thomas was- well, he was not so good but fiiiine, okay-types, just not that great, if you know what I mean. Yeah, I know you do.

But then I never liked myself much, either. Ginny I first interpreted as a weak, submissive and emotionally unstable girl. Easy to judge others, without noticing that they reflect your own flaws. Later in the series there is a drastic personality change; little Ginny grows up to be independent and sarcastic. I liked this version a lot better, but there was still something missing. And everyone agrees that Dean Thomas was kinda pathetic.

I change my personality a lot, too. And as I saw Ginny evolving through the years, from shy Ginny peeping at Harry through half-closed doors, to Ginny who openly stands up for what is right, I realized that she wasn’t really changing- she was showing a side of her that had always existed, but had remained hidden.

Ginny taught me that it’s okay to be a little emotional sometimes, and shy, and scared. It’s okay to not want to talk straight, and to mess up in nervousness. It’s only human. Even witches have problems with it- and I am hardly any magic.

So it doesn’t matter if you’re oblivious and I’m obsessed. Doesn’t matter that I’m always staring at you and you’re always looking elsewhere. And definitely doesn’t matter if I still can’t muster the courage to get close enough to know what you smell like.

Because you’re Harry Potter and I’m Ginny Weasley. And, after all, we belong together.

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