Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing in second person, so I'd like to know what you think. Also, thanks to NoBodyOfInterest, you know why! Welcome to Fanfiction Wintergirl13! I hope you write soon!
This is a companion piece to Toerag, Scumbag, Arrogant Prat.
Terribly
You don't know why you didn't like the way he ruffled his hair.
A private smirk playing on his lips, his hazel eyes fixed on the sky, but glazed over as if he doesn't register anything he sees. His right hand rises to his face. He pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his first finger; slowly, casually. Then his fingers slip under his messy, black fringe and push it up, backwards onto the crown of his head. He runs his fingers through the dark strands once more, and then again and again. He is lost to the world, wrapped up in his own thoughts. An absent grin lights up his face.
You stare at him, transfixed. But as he snaps back to reality; his gaze falls on you. His eyes meet yours and break the spell. You look away angrily, but out of the corner of your eye you see him smirk, but the hurt in his eyes is clear.
You don't know why you didn't like the way he ruffled his hair, but you do know this- you miss it, terribly.
…
You don't know why you didn't like the way he laughed.
Head thrown back, hazel eyes, filled with glee; revealed because the dark fringe is tossed away. A deep warm and pleasing sound fills the room and caresses your ears. He looks happy and at ease and seems oblivious to the rest of the world. His laughter stops, slowly, and the uninhibited mirth in his eyes gives way to a pleasant seriousness. There is an air of confidence, humour and calm around him.
You stare at him mesmerised by the peaceful smile on his face. But as his eyes find yours, you look away, aware (disgustedly) that you had a smile on your face. You sense that he is smirking but the pain in his eyes is evident.
You don't know why you didn't like the way he laughed, but you do know this- you miss it, terribly.
…
You don't know why you didn't like the way he played with the Snitch.
He seems nervous. His hand slips instinctively, reflexively, into his right pocket; and he brings out a tiny, but beautiful golden ball. He lays it carefully on the palm of his left hand. The ball makes a whirring sound as two delicate silver wings appear on either side. He watches as the ball, the Snitch, takes flight. He lets it fly a few feet away from him, then, with all the skill shown on the Quidditch pitch he reaches out deftly and captures the Snitch. This cycle of release and capture continues until all the signs of nervousness have disappeared from his face. He seems contented.
You watch enchanted by his skill and the assuredness with which he plays with the Snitch. But all too soon you notice that his eyes are on you and you look away furious. You know that he is smirking but the distress in his eyes is obvious.
You don't know why you didn't like the way he played with the Snitch, but you do know this- you miss it, terribly.
…
You don't know why you didn't like the way he asked you out.
He sits there talking and laughing with his friends. He keeps glancing over at you, but not meeting your eyes.
Suddenly you hear his friends encouraging him, wishing him luck and he looks heartened. He gets up from his seat and saunters over to you, looking everywhere but your eyes. Out comes the Snitch, he lets it lose and captures it with his left hand while his right hand straightens his glasses and moves upwards to ruffle his already messy raven hair. He comes to a stop in front of you as you pretend to be intent on your book.
He whispers your name, you nod to show that he has your attention, but your eyes are still on the book. He whispers your name again and then sighs.
And then he asks you to accompany him to Hogsmeade, to do him the honour of visiting the Three Broomsticks.
You are on the verge of saying yes.
You finally drag your eyes away from your book, but as he looks you straight in the eye, you realise that this is he.
You march away angrily, but not before you glance at his face on last time. There is no smirk. This time there is only the anguish that floods his hazel eyes.
You don't know why you didn't like the way he asked you out, but you do know this- you miss it, terribly.
…
You don't know why you didn't like the way he ruffled his hair. You don't know why you didn't like the way he laughed. You don't know why you didn't like the way he played with the Snitch. You don't know why you didn't like the way he asked you out.
But you do know this- you miss it, all of it terribly.
…
You don't know why you didn't like him, but you do know this- you miss him, terribly…
~littlegirlgonemad~