by Kay
You hate her hair. You truly and seriously hate it.
It's long, flowing down her back in glossy waves, jet black. No, not even jet black does it justice because it doesn't sound pretty enough, exotic enough. It's so dark that it's more like the iridescent blue-black of a raven's feathers. Or a crow's, you think spitefully, but the thought doesn't give you any comfort.
The fact is, it doesn't matter what you think or how many insults you mentally pile on her. He's still in love with her instead of you.
Well, if you can call it love. You prefer to think of it as an infatuation, because how can he be in love with her when he hardly even knows her at all? Sure he's had a crush on her for the last four years. You should know; you've had to see him moon over her and hear him extoll each and every one of her seemingly endless virtues innumerable times. But at least you've never had to see them together.
There was a time when you thought it might be a threat. He actually asked her to the Yule Ball fourth year, and though common sense told you there was no chance it would happen, your heart gave a painful squeeze as you thought, but what if...
Luckily (for you, though not for him), she already had plans to go with Cedric. The odds of her still being free so close to the dance were pretty slim to begin with. Still, you couldn't help being so very relieved when he told you that she'd said no. You'd said all the right things and played the sympathetic friend to perfection, so he still has no idea how happy you were.
Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you stare ahead, straight at her hair. You know he maneuvered it so that he could sit behind her, and you roll your eyes, telling yourself it's disgust, not envy, prompting you to do so.
Just then, he leans over to whisper in your ear, and you shiver from the closeness. At least you have this over her. But then his words sink in and you don't feel so lucky anymore.
"Doesn't she have the most gorgeous hair?" he breathes, sounding awed.
You grit your teeth to keep the petulant "NO!" from escaping you lips. Instead, you nod mutely, narrowing your eyes and not worrying in the least that he might notice, because why on earth would he ever pay attention to you when she's in the same room?
You try to keep from aiming your bitterness at him. After all, why shouldn't he be attracted to her? She's everything that you're not, and she's got all that "gorgeous hair" to boot. You know that your own short, flaming red hair could never compare with hers.
But all the same, you examine it closely, searching for any flaw, large or small. You're not quite sure why it's so important to you to find some kind of imperfection there--After all, he doesn't just have a crush on her hair--but still, you search valiantly.
It's long, which he loves, so there's nothing to criticize there. It's wavy without being the least bit frizzy, and there's not a split end in sight. It falls down to the middle of her back like some smooth, dark waterfall, and you don't even have to touch it to know that it's as smooth as silk. There's not a chance of her hair or anything else about her being coarse.
You remember when Hermione was bemoaning her own frizzy, unmanageable brown hair. "Ugh. I'd give anything to have hair like hers," she'd said longingly.
With that memory, you suddenly have the urge to pull out all her hair by the roots. You imagine grabbing onto it while she sits there in front of you, completely unaware. You'd wrap it around your fists, and then you'd rip it out in handfuls, listening to her tortured screams and watching in satisfaction as all that hair falls on the floor into ugly little piles like so many dead animals.
When you open your eyes and focus on her hair again, you come back to yourself, absolutely horrified. You can hardly believe that those were your own thoughts. Very few things have ever provoked you to such vivid visualizations of violence before, and the fact is, she hasn't done anything to make you hate her. She's basically oblivious that your best friend is in love with her, and she hasn't done a thing to encourage his feelings. And yet you still harbour this ill-placed but deep-seated hatred for her.
The feeling is ugly, coarse, and twisted. It's baseless and indiscriminate. It's everything that is the opposite of the love you feel for your best friend, except in two ways: it's unshakable and it makes you feel so very ugly and unworthy.
They say that jealousy is the little green-eyed monster, but you disagree. For you, it's blue-black.
END.