Keyword: Mine	Home - Previous- Next
Ah, the great and wonderful Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, the great hope. I’m sick of it quite frankly. Beyond sick, quite disgusted as a matter of fact. I’m famous because my mother loved me so much her love turned into some sort of shield that protected me from big, bad Voldemort. I’m famous because afore mentioned bad guy decided to target me and my desire to survive happened to outweigh his desire to do me in. Everyone loves me, everyone wants what’s best for me, everyone is a fan. I don’t want a fan club. I don’t want their false love and their false good wishes and their false admiration which inside is probably nothing more than a denied bitterness that it’s not them that’s great, not them that’s adored and loved and worshipped. I have all that I want. I have a small circle of friends that I can lean on when I’m not strong enough to stand on my own, and who won’t judge me or be disappointed that my strength has failed. I have people who would give their life for me, and who I would give my life for, and it’s not because I’m Harry Potter. It’s because I’m Harry. Simple, unadorned Harry. I have a mismatched family made up of jokesters and convicts and dark beasts and know it alls and they all fit me comfortably. And I have Ron. My Ron. My Wheezy. My love. Keyword: Mine. My beautiful Ron, whose face flushes in contrast with his fire hair when he’s mad or embarrassed or panting from desire, whose freckles really do cover just about every inch of his silky skin, freckles that make him look tan when he’s had too much sun. My loyal Ron, whose favorite Quidditch team hasn’t won a game in years, who stands by me even though he’s always in my shadow. My brave Ron, who sees what needs to be done and does it because it’s right, who dares to love me despite those out there who belong to another “fan club”. My passionate, reckless, funny Ron. He understands me better than I understand myself sometimes. He understands that I can never be all light, all the time, that I have this darkness in my soul that is just as much a part of me as it is every single person. Not only does he understand it, but he revels in it because it proves I’m not perfect Harry Potter. He embraces it, envelops it in his love and allows it to exist, he takes it within himself so that its weight is shared, and its secrets bind. He understands that sometimes a little pain is a good thing, and that sometimes love isn’t enough and it’s all I’ll ever need, and he even understands the contradiction that is me. It goes beyond want, though him and want go hand in hand. It’s need. I need him. I need him to breathe, to live, to be. And I think he needs me back, needs this imperfect creature that is Harry Potter. And I’m glad. Because he’s mine.
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