You Are Perfect.

One.

Your eyes didn't land on my face, not exactly. There was a bit of dirt between us. I kept scrubbing it off in the compartment after you left, but though I could no longer see it, it never really disappeared.

I called you names and rolled my eyes. You knew everything. You knew that you did.

We saved you from the troll. I always smiled when I thought I had done something brave. After that, you owed us something, or maybe you just realized that we didn't hate you, that I didn't. If Harry and I had not been friends, if we had walked through the portrait hole that night one by one, I have no doubt that you would have chosen him.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. A mystery. Something to understand. A puzzle to solve.

Ron Weasley with dirt on his face. Too many siblings. Ginger hair and freckles all over. Too tall for his age and much too skinny... Afraid of spiders. You didn't know that yet that first Halloween, but no one would need to add another thing to that list. There was no contest. I wouldn't have blamed you for picking Harry. Well, sure I would have, but only because it hurt too much to realize the truth.

Was I really so brave down the trapdoor on the chess board? Then why was it Harry's bedside that I saw you sitting by when I woke up? Because he is the one that matters. He's the important one. You said so yourself. So did I, come to that. I knew it was true even then. So what if Ron Weasley, sixth son in a mocked wizarding family, died in a dungeon? I was never the one who lived, the boy who everyone stood in awe of because of something he could not even fully remember. But I've never blamed Harry for that. It mattered all the time to me that I was merely the hero's best friend. But that often made no difference where everyone else was concerned. I didn't mind so much when others at school would stop him in the halls or stare at his scar... at least not all the time. Sometimes I was even glad it wasn't me they were staring at. Sometimes I felt sorry for Harry, for what he had to endure because of an event so many years ago in his past.

Then there was you. When you saw Harry, sometimes you missed me altogether. And that mattered. It mattered a lot.

I suppose I often thought of all of our strengths individually, of what we had to offer, because I knew that none of us were exactly alike. We all had things we were good at, didn't we? Benefits that we brought to whatever we did.

Harry was the hero and the lucky one, the one who somehow scraped by everything no matter how dire it seemed. And he had determination, a reason to fight that none of us could understand. It was like signing a death warrant, honestly, the night You-Know-Who killed Harry's parents. It was obvious that Harry would want revenge, that he'd need it and seek it, and that was where Harry was strong.

Then you, Hermione Granger, brilliant and clever. You could do anything you put your mind to. And if someone were to tell you couldn't do something, it would make you that much more determined to do it to prove them wrong. More O.W.L.S. than most students knew existed once you completed your fifth year. Totally mental. Smart and... perfect.

Then there was me, Ron Weasley. Ginger hair. Good at chess. Afraid of spiders.

I guess it's a start.