Unsent Letters
Mood:  rushed
Now Playing: Chapter 1
Unsent Letters:

You know, what I first loved about you were your eyes. How green they were, how innocent they seemed. How you studied the platform your first year at Hogwarts. It was one of the main reason I fell for you, your eyes. How beautiful they were, how I wanted to stare into them forever.

They’re dull now. Sure, they look the same, but they are dull to me. You are dull to me. Call me bitter, call me biased. Maybe I am. But I loved you, perhaps I still do. You knew, of course. They all knew. But when all the guys - your classmates - when they all liked me... you didn’t stop to notice.

When they talked about how beautiful I was, you didn’t even let it register. When you heard them say they liked me, or asked me to be their girlfriend, your face looked unchanged. Everyone around you - who all thought I was just a little girl before - are now seeing me for something more. All of them but you.

They are all laughing with me, not at me now. They’re smiling because they’re happy to see me, they’re not acting any longer. They’re not hugging me because I initiate it, they’re hugging me because they want to hold me. You.. you probably don’t even see me as a girl. You probably don’t even know I exist. The thought never registered.

I always thought your glasses were cute. That your eyes wouldn’t have been the same without them. They were cute, and they were your trademark. But maybe if you didn’t have them you could see straight. Maybe if you didn’t need glasses you could see right in front of you. You could see me. See that I’m waiting. See that I love you.

At the beginning of this I was mad at you. That
didn’t last very long did it? I can’t stay mad at you even when you’ve torn my heart into a million pieces - and not just once. Why can’t you see me? Why must you look for her, when she’s so far away? When she’s not worth your love....


I guess I’m not worth it either.



I will no longer pester you with my feelings.




Goodbye, Harry Potter.




Ginny


PS: Maybe one day I’ll send this to you, along with the dozens of others that are sitting in my dresser sealed, but unsent.

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Marty

Lucky Seven
Mood:  spacey
Lucky Seven

A/N: Many of my new stories will be posted on here! I'll get out the two I have before I post to this one again (so it doesn't get confusing) Happy reading!

Summary: (Vaguely based on the movie: Lucky Seven) Lily Evans still mourns the loss of her mother and intends to follow her mother’s advice; all of it. She became a writer for the Daily Prophet under her mother’s wishes. Amos Diggory is waiting for her - the only problem is, he is number six, when her mother told her to marry number seven. She decides that a man - James Potter - will be a suitable six, so she can live happily with Amos. Or try to, at least.

(Sample Chapter) Lucky Seven


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Her hair cascaded to her shoulders as she pulled her cloak around her, trying to stay warm on a cold day in late November. She wrenched open the door to the Three Broomsticks before slamming it shut noiselessly.

“’Lo Lil! Get any good American chaps, eh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” another stranger called. “He’d only be number five.”

“Aye,” the first voice agreed. “And we can’t have that can we, Lily love?”

She decided to ignore them by walking up to the counter.

“Welcome back,” said the man politely. She looked up to meet hazel eyes.

“Thanks,” she said uncertainly. “I’ll take a butterbeer to--”

“To go? Yes. You order the same thing everyday, Lily. Then you run off to the Daily Prophet like always. You’ll never change, Evans.”

She looked up startled. “How d’you know my name?”

“Don’t you recognize me?” he grinned, taking her money and muttering his name.

In all reality she had known quite well and remembered quite clearly who he was. For he wasn’t ordinary. Every day he would take her order and every day he’d flirt with her. Because he was stuck in his old ways, like always. That brilliant looking bloke: James Potter.

He Likes You
Mood:  not sure
He Likes You

Summary: You know he likes you. That’s a given. Because he’s always wanting to kiss you. You can see the hunger in his eyes.

Disclaimer: Not JK

He Likes You


He likes you, you know. If he didn’t, why would he kiss you? Why would he hug you? Why would he hold your hand? Why would he pull you onto his lap and run his hands through your hair?
He likes you. If he didn’t he wouldn’t kiss you, or hold you or be as close to you as he is. Everyone know you like him. Everyone reads your long glances. Everyone sees through your mouthed words. They know you communicate physically. You know that you communicate through actions; kissing, hugging, hand-holding. You know he likes you. That’s a given. Because he’s always wanting to kiss you.
You can see the hunger in his eyes.
And you don’t mind kissing him back, or holding his hand. Or closing your eyes to feel him close to you. You don’t mind, and why would you? It’s what you’ve found yourself dreaming of. As you kiss the mystery man in your dreams you can’t tell who he is; his face never is clear enough. But when you wake up, you know it was him. It was his lips upon yours, because hat’s how it always is. You can't change that because you don’t want to. You want him to show you love; you want him to hold you and put his arms around you.
And you know that’s all he does.
You don’t talk anymore. You walk around with him every so often and you rarely talk. You know that as soon as he finds a suitable place he’ll make his move. You know he’ll wrap his arms around your waist; you expect it. Hell, you welcome it. You open your mouth a little wider and let him kiss you fuller. You kiss back. You allow him to pull you in for it. You let him hurt you.
He kissed you less than four days ago. Your mind is so cluttered you forgot what day. But you know he kissed you, you know it was real. Because it was so familiar; though it wasn’t breathtaking like you’d dream. You came to your friends; they were there, oblivious to the long kiss you had just shared. And he was there. But he doesn’t say anything to you about the kiss. He doesn’t ask you anything; doesn’t say a word. Instead, he talks about her.
How he misses her. How he could go on for hours and hours talking about her. About how every bloody love song was written for them. About how he’s going to win her over again. They’re going to get back together. You allow yourself to listen as he talks about her. Every other thing he says has to do with her and you listen. You don’t speak as your friends tell him good luck. They’re behind him one-hundred percent, and when she’s around they forget that you haven’t congratulated him. You’re fine with this.
Nobody bothers you anymore, “Isn’t it fantastic?! They’re getting together! Going to have another go!” You don’t have to plaster on a facade and you don’t have to pretend to agree. And when she’s not there it always seems like she is. He’d be talking to his mates and he’d bring her up. “That reminds me of the time,” or “You know who said that before?!” And it’d always be her. You were certain that you had said it. That you were the clever one; but no, it was her. It’s always her.
He likes you, you know. He wants to hold you and kiss you. He wants to hold you and kiss you. He wants you; that’s a given. He wouldn’t hold you if he didn’t like you. He wouldn’t ask to walk you to class; then stop in the corridor to kiss you. You know he likes you; he’s told you that he likes you. But he loves her.


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You = Ginny
He = Harry
She = Cho

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Marty

Starting Something
Mood:  incredulous
So I'm going to start posting fanfiction on here! If you're all interested leave a comment at the bottom. Instead of a review (which you get practically no feedback from, most of the time) you can comment and tell me what you think, and I can comment back and answer any questions or just talk back! So here's where I'm going to be posting.

Fanfiction.net name: MPPSexxySiriusJamesRemus

But you guys can call me Marty