Disclaimer: nothing in Harry Potter belongs to me.
She has loved him for so long, and as she looks at him, she realizes that she will never love anyone so much as she loves him. She knows that now. And he sits beside her on the couch, his green eyes resting on her, friendly, unattainable, sweet, soft. He belongs to no one. Not to her, not to anyone. She knows that she will never have him, yet she can't live without him. How could she hope to change his mind? She has cried silent tears into her pillow every night, knowing that he can not, will not ever love her. She has loved him since she met him, and her love has now turned from the sweet, pure flame it once was, into a dull aching forest fire that consumes her.
She stands up and leaves Harry on the couch. She can't stand to be with him, she can't stand to be without him.
She gets out her paints and goes to the basement, a picture in her mind flows onto the paper. She sketches the outline, fills in the spaces. She stares at it, and it doesn't look right. She puts her head into her paint stained hands, and cries, making the colors left on her hands run through her fingers.
The dull moon shines through the shades, casting lines on her painting, and lines on her face. You look at him, and your life can change, you leave him, you are never the same.
She hears steps on the stairs, and wipes her face quickly, trying to hide evidence of her tears. It is him, standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching her at her stool, crying in the dark. He comes to her side and touches her hair. He lets her cry and cry and then his arms are around her. And she is crying and not stopping. She can't stop. He holds his fingers under her eyes, catching her tears, like treasures he will keep forever. She feels a spreading warmness, tingling through her limbs. Her brain begins to buzz, and her eyes continue to rain diamonds, with their own plans it seems. And he stands and takes her hand in his for a moment before letting go. And he leaves her. She stands from the stool and looks out the window, hung like a picture frame. And she lets herself cry to the moon, remote, cold, and distant in the sky. She would love him always.
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