Percy doesn't understand why I never took Muggle Studies, or Muggle History, but I never told him, so it's okay. He never lived through the events in those books. Those useless, dry words never explained events that he lived, no, survived through. Those dreary statistics don't hide the names of his friends, they don't mask the deaths of his family. He's never had to see the streets of a city painted in the blood of its children. Ireland's green hills will never be black with blood for him. He never understood why I took advanced potions, when I hated Snape, he doesn't understand why you never ask me for help with the dates, when I excelled at Wizard History. He wouldn't understand what those dates mean to me. But it's okay.
Harry doesn't understand my aversion to flying, but I never told him, so it's okay. He's never watched the lazy decent of a bottle containing destruction. He's never seen crimson rain, never encountered a disembodied limb, thrown back to the earth by the heavens. He's never understood why I duck behind you whenever a paper airplane whizzes by, or why you get so mad when the twins jokingly try to engage me in a spitball war. He wouldn't understand how hard it is to overcome instinct, how hard it is -not to run screaming every time something startles you from the corner of your eye. But it's okay.
Hermione doesn't understand why I talk so much, but I never told her, so it's okay. Their accents don't remind her of how far from home she is, scary and hellish as that home may have been. Her voice doesn't remind her that she's still alive, alive because she was lucky enough to escape. Her voice doesn't remind her of her brothers and sisters, doesn't bring back the few happy memories she might have. She doesn't understand how good a single word can sound, she doesn't understand why you let me prattle on and on for hours on end about nothing at all. But it's okay.
Ron doesn't understand why you let me follow you around, but I never told him, so it's okay. He's never been alone long enough to truly appreciate another's company. He's never been so lost he didn't know what country he was in, he's never been terrified by the thought of being in the wrong place. He's never seen death in a stranger's eyes, or heard safety in a stranger's voice. He doesn't understand why I'll randomly tackle you, or my constant need to know where you are. But it's okay.
You understand the images that keep me up, but I never told you. You understand why I stay up all night singing to myself, but I never told you the reasons. I never told you about the nightmares, but you were always holding me when I woke from them. I never told you, but it's okay.
Because you knew.