No matter who you are, old or young, witch or
wizard, human or not, even if you only live on the fringe of the
wizarding world, you'll have heard of Harry Potter.
You'd probably know something about him too; that he has a scar on
his forehead from when You-Know-Who tried to kill him, that he goes
to Hogwarts, whatever else the gossip papers have to say. Harry
Potter is also my best friend.
You wouldn't have heard that.
You might have heard of my dad; he works for the Ministry of Magic.
Maybe my brother Charlie, or even my brother Bill, if you keep track
of the financial papers, but certainly not me.
I'm no one.
I never truly believed that until I one day I met Harry Potter and
saw how very much he meant to the world. And how very little I did.
I can admit it, sometimes I am jealous of him. He lives with people
who give Malfoy a good name...well, a decent name anyway. His
parents were murdered when he was just a baby, he's number one on
You-Know-Who's hit list and I'm jealous of him, how sick is that?
But I am, sometimes, so jealous I could spit green. It's not that I
want to -be- him...or maybe I do. There is something about him,
something that draws you in more than having a famous name or being
good at Quidditch. I'm not immune to it myself, otherwise why would
I be here?
I don't have to be traipsing around behind him like a good little
pet. Or at least I didn't until a bit of stupid curiosity had me sit
next to him on the train the first day we met.
Only it didn't end there. Curiosity became fascination and
fascination became...something. Friendship, I guess. I mean, if I
didn't like the git so much I think I would hate him.
But he has that something, a no-name thing that just pulls you in. I
can't compete with that. So instead I just stay near him, which is
something anyway, but after a while it starts to gnaw on you, like a
rat would chew on a bone, to be in his shadow like I am, day in and
day out. I'm ALWAYS in the shadows, tromping along behind carrying
someone else's baggage. Don't I ever get my day in the sun?
Sometimes I could hate him for that, I could -hurt- him for that and
it scares me. No, it bloody well terrifies me, and I think it would
kill me if he ever found that out.
Perhaps that's why it was such a shock when he told me he felt the
same way.
It had been just a good day, the kind we never seem to have enough
of, with the sun shining and hot. Out in the fields behind my house,
we were just soaking it up. We played Quidditch a bit but it was
really too hot, so we just sprawled out under a huge old tree, in
the shade where it was cooler.
We talked for hours, I think, about little things, what classes we
were going to be taking, which Quidditch teams would go to the
Nationals this year, about nothing and everything. We were lying on
our backs under the tree, looking up through the branches at the
sky, when Harry told me he was jealous of me.
He really does have a nice voice, you know? Soft and quiet and I
have to wonder if that's because of the Dursleys. I talk loudly and
I know it; you have to when you've got six siblings or you never get
heard.
We lay under that tree, and Harry watched the sky while he told me
he was jealous of me, of everything that I had and that if he had a
choice and the chance to be me, he'd take it in a heartbeat. Less
than a heartbeat.
What can you say to that?
I suppose I should have said how I felt the same and we could have
just had a Moment and moved on. I could have done that.
Might even have really done it if Harry hadn't sat up and announced
that if he couldn't -be- me then being close to me would have to be
good enough and he just leaned over and kissed me.
I can't really explain what happened then. He told me he just wanted
to be close to me and I wanted to be close to him, so we just
got...close. As close as two people can possibly get without
accidentally apparating into the same place.
It was weird and nice, and the sun was hot. The grass was rough and
sharp on my bare skin and Harry's skin was as soft as his voice. I
just let him do whatever he wanted, like I always do, and he did. I
have to wonder where he learned some of that...maybe I'm better not
knowing. It was probably one of the most wonderful things I'd felt
in my life, lying there naked and sweaty, with Harry Potter naked
and sweaty and touching me.
No, wonderful doesn't even begin to cover it.
Afterward, we didn't say anything, just got dressed and went back to
the house for dinner. We went to my room that night to go to sleep
and ended up doing it all over again, only harder and faster and
more...and I am way too tired and sore to be thinking about doing it
again, no matter that my body is trying to convince me otherwise.
Harry is asleep next to me on his cot. Not that I didn't want him to
sleep in my bed but having my mum come in and find us like that
probably wouldn't be the best way to let her know Harry and I are
more than friends now.
I have a goofy smile on my face, I know, and I'm sore in places I
don't even want to think about, and sticky in others.
I don't care.
Next month or next week or tomorrow someone is going to say or do
something to bring it all back to me, the jealousy, the pain that
I'm not sure I'm hiding very well anymore. But maybe next time I'll
be able to recall that Harry would rather be in my shadow, and that
if he could give it to me...well. Maybe if he shares some of his
sunshine with me, I can share some of my shade.
-finis-
Comments and questions to:
mailto:keelywolfe@gmail.com
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