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He makes me feel.

He makes me feel angry. So angry, in fact, that I occasionally get a sensation that if I grow any more furious, my head will combust in a massive exothermic reaction and my hair will set ablaze. The flames will follow behind me as I sprint towards him to strangle him to death. He is infuriating. His opinions often border so closely to stupid that I cannot stand to listen to him spewing his arguments, full of massive logical fallacies and lacking any sort of rhetoric whatsoever. He drives me mad.

He frustrates me more than anything else. He’s so stubborn, so so so stubborn, and I find him in these moods where he’s decided that he’s correct and no matter what I say, he doesn’t waver an inch from his position. He constantly leaves the toilet seat up and insists on keeping the heat on a night despite the fact that when we’re under the covers it’s as hot as the tropics. He’s constantly forgetting to leave notes when he’ll be gone on assignment for days, sometimes even weeks, at a time, leaving me to prode his coworkers to make sure he’s not dead. If he’d just leave a note telling me that he’ll be gone for a few days and can’t tell me where he’s going (although really, I ought to have a security clearance just as high as he), he’d save me from the crippling fear that engulfs me every time I sit in bed waiting for him to come home.

He’s able to make me so afraid, but more than that he makes me feel safe. When I see Her in my dreams, he’s always there to hold me when I wake up and assure me that She is no threat to me any longer. I wake up and think that She’s there, and he holds me, he’s always there holding me. We bought a house close to my parents so that I’d never have to be apart from them for long ever again. He was there for all the most terrifying moments of my life, and he continually make me feel safe, if only marginally so. He was with me when I broke into the Ministry of Magic and fought Death Eaters. My arms were wrapped tightly around him while I rode on the back of the dragon, and we hit the lake together when I dove off the animal. He stood beside me as I watched Hagrid drag out the body of my best friend. He held my hand in the waiting room of St. Mungos that horrible night that Hugo stopped breathing in his crib. All through the most terrifying moments, the ones where I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to bear, he was with me, holding me.

He makes me feel clever. No report is ever turned in to his superior without my reading through it. He reads my own reports and sits back and I can see his eye sort of gloss over and he smiles and says: I don’t understand any of this, but it’s brilliant. He gives me this look sometimes, a look that seems to look past all my flaws, and it really does seem like he sees my mind, and that look makes me feel more clever than any amount of praise from the intellectual community could.

He’s capable of breaking me. He’s broken my heart before, and he could do it again. He broke my heart in our first year when he made me feel as if I’d never have a friend. He destroyed me in little ways for many years after that, making me feel as if I shouldn’t be able to see who I like, and making my developing romantic feelings for him tortuous. He left me. He left me during the most difficult time in my life, and it broke my heart. I live knowing that he has made me feel sadness so deep I didn’t know if I could bear, and that he has the ability to make me feel at my worst.

He makes me feel happy. He makes me so incredibly happy, that I feel as if I’m going to explode in my inability to contain the amount of joy he brings me. I see our son and our daughter and know that no amount of love in the planet will ever equate to the love I feel for them, and nothing will ever bring me as much joy as he’s capable of.

He makes me feel loved.

He makes me feel whole.

He makes me feel envious.

He makes me feel wonderful.

He makes me feel confused.

He makes me feel cherished.

He makes me feel.

Ronald Weasley makes me feel.

He reminds me that I’m more than just a brain, and that there’s more to life than information and analysis. He teaches me that sometimes it’s okay to argue without perfected rhetoric, because emotions don’t always make sense. He lets me process and learn and feel. When I’m with him, I feel more alive than in any other situation.

He makes me feel alive.


AN: Hello! Thanks for reading! I wrote this during a particularly boring lecture, and decided that perhaps I liked it enough to post. It would mean a lot to me if you'd leave a review, whether you liked it or not!

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