I wish I had known you when we were children. Not just eleven, when we had already ingrained so much of what was expected of us into our minds, but at a carefree seven, at the time of mindless pleasure only toddlers can quite grasp, that the rest of us stay yearning for, hands desperately outstretched, tantalus reincarnate.
I wish I had been there to see you speak your first words. Wish I had known the importance they held. Wish I knew what those words were – what you had deemed so important as a child, so dear, that it was the first thing you called out for in your life. Was it ma, like it was for most kids? Sometimes I imagine it was one of your siblings instead - I can't imagine a time where you ever thought your needs could outweigh their own. Where you loved anyone over them all.
I wish I had been there when you learnt you loved those same words, loved the myriad ways you could express the same thing, the twists and turns of phrase. Wondered what it was that sparked that curiosity within you – or whether maybe that was just you, the way you were born, the way you always would be. I wonder which you would prefer – having chosen the way of the word, or not knowing any other way to live.
You always liked making your own decisions.
I wish I could've swung on tyre swings with you, built and snuck into tree houses with you, played hide & seek with you, eventually crawling out of hidden spots with muffled giggles because you would always know the best places to hide. I've never been, but I imagine the burrow would be just the place for that sort of thing.
I wish I could've played quidditch with you when you were younger – before the twins jinxed your broom and you disavowed flying. I wish I could've seen you with the wind in your curly hair, your cheeks flushed, racing circles over me because of course this would be yet another thing for you to excel at. You would've made such a beautiful sight. I don't think I could have looked away. Perhaps it is for the best then that that is a sight I'll never see. I don't think my poor heart could handle it.
I wish I could've made wishes with you on shooting stars, wishing for everything and nothing because we were too young to know how valuable everything was, how fast it could all fade away into nothing. A picnic blanket and a starry sky. Home cooked food from a loving hand. I think you would've made a great picnic partner.
There are so many parts of you I still don't know. but I long to know them so desperately.
I want to know your favourite song, which tune you hum when you get bored.
I want to know how you sleep – is it curled up on your side, or flat on your stomach? Or maybe it is on your back, facing forward (because that is the only direction you can keep going, never turning around, never looking back– because who knows what you’d find if you did).
I want to know if you have a favourite meal. If it is one cooked by your mother's hands or the one served on your first night of hogwarts.
I would like to know you inside and out, every part of you – the ones you treasure, and the ones you left behind.
I want to be the one you whisper secrets to in the dead of night, the warm hug at the end of a long day, the shared dreams and shared loves. I want to be yours, unconditionally.
But I am a fool, and a coward.
I waited too long, and what I never thought could happen did – I saw the life fade away from your eyes.
I saw Percy Weasley's fiery eyes finally devoid of any passion. They seemed so dull. So unlike you. You were never dull a day in your life. Even when others found you boring.
And I was wrong- I wish that was one part of you I never ever had to see. I don't think I will ever forget how you looked.
But you know what the worst part is?
Not that no matter how much I wish and I wish and I wish– on every shooting star I see– I can never get these things I desire.
But that I never even got the chance to tell you I'm yours before I went and lost you.
I wanted to know every single part of you, show you how loved you were every day of your life.
But I never even managed a single I love you.
So much for being a gryffindor.