Out of character; four.
thelostwriter started following you. Thank you very much for following! (: You publish great Harry Potter linked posts! Thumbs up! :-D
Out of character; three.
@omfhope It’s my pleasure, I really loved your recent post, as I’m such a romantic, so I thought that I’d stick around to see what else you’d have to say. (; I hope that you’re doing great!
Thanks for the follow! :D @butterbeerkisses
Posted May 3, 2010 at 4:50pm in Out of character
Out of character; two.
Hey Danika! I’m happy to follow you! :-D
You seem to be a Harry Potter fan and that ticks a giant box, plus you look interesting anyway! I hope that you’re doing great!
…and I rarely look at my follower count. I’m too much of a nobody to really care about it. D;
HAHA. But thanks to the few people that DO follow me. :)
HELLO, butterbeerkisses! Thanks for following. I’m Danika.
Posted May 2, 2010 at 11:40pm
Out of character; one.
Thank you very much! I’m glad that you love it! Aww well don’t I feel special now? I’m happy to oblige. ;-) I hope all is well! I love your blog - I’m sure that I will be stopping by regularly! How are you, by the way? I hope that you’re doing great!
I love your user! Also you’re my tenth follower! And I love you forever for bringing my follower count up to an even number.
Posted May 2, 2010 at 11:29pm
I met Ron Weasley, when I was 13 years old, and on that very day, as it drew to a close, I knew that I liked him. A bud-like crush; early in its preparations to bloom into something more overwhelming. Each petal more piercing and hypnotic than the last.
Harry “drove” me home on his broomstick. He hovered outside my bedroom window patiently, as I yanked it open by its handle. I looked back at him and I shot him a wicked grin, before I leapt over the terrifying gap between the floor and my window sill. I wasn’t frightened though. Harry was magic. Especially on his broomstick. The speed at which I knew he would have caught me, had I fallen, would have been impossible to fully focus on with the naked eye.
I landed on my bed with a thump, only to catch a last glimpse of a bespectacled thirteen year old waving at me. Oh how he’d changed. He was actually quite dishy, in a handsomely nerdy way, but within the light of that thought I could only think about a certain redhead. I gestured, with my hands, a heartfelt goodbye, whilst wondering about the next time that we’d see each other again. I watched him follow a starlit pathway in the sky, until he was swallowed by the darkness. A breeze, crept through the ajar window, and danced menacingly on my arm, chilling me to the core. It left a bitter taste in my mouth of a foreboding nature. He was always in danger. I thought that I’d accustomed myself to his fate, but the goosebumps dotted all over my arms betrayed me. It was hard to differentiate between the icy winds and the bite of my fear.
I shut the window and my eyes. Tightly. I enclosed myself within a safe space that would ward away the threats outside. The threats that dared to disrupt the silent inkiness of the night. Drawing the curtains across to veil away the monsters, I moved to sit on the chair sitting loyally, by my computer, on the top of an oak wooden desk. I pushed in the “on” button and the machine roared to life. I couldn’t distract myself from the image of Ron’s face. The smirks. The resolute stubbornness. The wide, toothy grins. The laughter. I ran through the sequence of each memorable moment that day and I collected them like trophies. Poring over each one, feeling more and more light-headed. It was if the butterflies in my stomach were flying me around magnifying sheets of glass that heightened and enlarged his different characteristics. Like flies attracted to a light, but far more beautiful.
I opened MS Paint. I had to draw him. So I did. This pixellated painting does his beauty no justice, but it was born on the day that I met him, so it means a lot to me. Locked in each pixel is a heart-beat, a breath and a drop of my adrenaline. The emotion that kept my hand fixed to the mouse.
A stronger force than Cupid himself.
This is going to sound cliché, but a long time ago, I met a guy and I still can’t stop thinking about him. So I didn’t fall for him hook, line and sinker the minute our eyes met. (Doesn’t that sound painful anyway?) It was a little more gradual than that. (Not much more, but who’s being picky?)
But how did I happen to come into contact with this fascinating, genetically deciphered, XY chromosome being? (Too many words).
Hogsmeade.
Just so that you’re not under any false illusions, I am not a witch. I am not a squib. Yes, you guessed it. The “m” word.
Surprised? You probably think that I’m lying. I’m not though. Even if you think that I’m insane, humour me, how do you think that a “muggle” like myself can see Hogsmeade, let alone venture its sweet-smelling streets?
Do you give up? Ok, I’ll unzip my lips.
When I was nine years old, I met Harry Potter.
Oh come on, be serious, there is only one famous Harry Potter. How could I mean anyone else?
As soon as I took in his skinny frame, his unruly jet black hair and his innocent bespectacled face, I knew that he was different. It was if I was a psychic and I could see his aura, as plain as day, making his otherwise normal figure glow. Shimmer. His green eyes reflected sadness so real, that I could hold it. Squirming worms of neglect crawled repulsively within my palms. (I have nothing against worms!)
He had his back against a wall. A wall so tyrannically high that it was almost blocking the drab, ugly and unwelcoming building behind it. I asked him whether he was alright. He looked almost shocked to be addressed. He said he was alright, as if to wave away my attention, but I was too curious to stop. I questioned as to why he was waiting where he was. He told me that the daunting building was his school and that he was waiting for his family to escort him to a meeting there with his headteacher. A meeting about him.
“I’m sure your Mum and Dad won’t think it was your fault.” I offered kindly.
He didn’t answer. His face became unpenetrable and distant. I wished that he would smile.
I began to cross paths with him often, in the same place. Sometimes we would leave those walls alone and go for an aimless wander with each other. We would talk about anything and everything. It was weird. Whenever I spent time with him, miracles would happen. Flowers would dance. Trees would creak at us, as if they were trying to speak. Whenever Harry wanted ice cream, an ice cream van would speed down the road. I had always known that he was different. But he seemed somehow magical.
One day, he showed me his letter from Hogwarts and he told me that it was “Goodbye for now”.
I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t even sad. I just grinned at him. It was as if I’d known the truth all along. It didn’t hit me, until I saw his bobbing boyish head disappear. I was going to miss him.
He sent me letters to me, via his owl Hedwig. I used to watch the skies, with dead mice in my hand, eagerly anticipating the latest installment. I knew that he was in danger. Everyday became a forehead crease and, more often than not, his letters reached me after a painful interval. Few and far between scrolls, but I never forgot about him. How could I? Could you?
We didn’t meet often in person, but when we did it wasn’t ever a disappointment. I will always treasure the moment that he showed me his wand. I was spellbound. (Pun, maybe intended).
I believed more in magic than the reality staring me in the face each day. It was like that for so so long, until that day he picked me up on his broomstick. Out of the blue. I didn’t even know how he’d found me. We soared through the sky and I swear that the wind was singing to me, before he touched down in a village that felt unreal. I felt like I was in a fairytale. The hustle and bustle of the streets resounded in a different rhythm to others that I’d traversed before. Harry told me that there weren’t any non magical folk like me here. It was then that I was introduced to Harry’s best friend. He had fiery red hair and sky-blue eyes. I noticed that he was very good-looking, but only in that casual acknowledgement way.
We spent the day together, as a three, talking about Harry’s life and Hogwarts, along with occasional jibes from his friend, about my being a muggle, that made me laugh out loud. Harry’s best friend was called Ron Weasley. To most, he would seem simple. Harry’s faithful sheep. But I saw more to him than clumsy awkwardness. He made Harry laugh too and seeing Harry’s face with such colour and ease - such a contrast to the pale, drawn face that I once knew - made all the difference. I liked him, I really did. This wasn’t my final encounter with him (thank god!) and eventually whenever I’d been around him, I’d joke to myself about what Ron would be like as a boyfriend. I was so naive. There was so much that I didn’t take into account then. Including Harry and Ron’s best friend. Hermione Granger.
J.K. Rowling didn’t mention anything about me in her books, did she? But I was as much of a part of Harry’s life as Ron and Hermione. I just saw him less, due to the distance between us. In more ways than one.
J.K. Rowling is the only other person born without the gift of magic, I know, to have been in their world. To have met Harry Potter and to have seen Hogwarts. The books that she wrote are based on true life happenings. She had first intended to write a biography about Harry Potter, the boy wizard, but she quickly realised that other non magical folk like her would deem her insane. She instead published 7 books introduced to “muggles” as fictional works. You might ask why she felt it necessary to write about Harry. But if you’ve read the books, I would assume that you understand. There are other reasons as to why she penned those books, which I may reveal to you in time.
For now, I will leave you with the following facts;
Hogwarts is real. Harry Potter is a real person. And so is Ron Weasley.
Posted April 12, 2010 at 11:34am in Harry Potter Hermione Granger Hogwarts JK Rowling Ron Weasley Love Cupid
