Watching
I
He watched her from afar, knowing he shouldn't. She was two years younger than him, his brothers' friend rather than his.
He remembered her Sorting, how she had squared her shoulders and marched forward with her head held high, taller by half a head than most of the first years, boys and girls alike. The Hat had wasted no time with her, and she was soon joined at the Gryffindor table by his twin brothers, who had obviously made her acquaintance on the train. They sat one each side of her talking fit to burst and laughing a lot.
Beside him, Oliver was sizing her up.
"She looks strong. Do you think she plays?"
Charlie, on the other side of the table, nodded his approval, both of the girl and of Oliver. It was no secret who would succeed him as Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
He watched her as she took part in the Quidditch trials in her second year, his fourth. He was ostensibly there to support Oliver, who was standing beside Charlie, the responsibility of "Vice-Captain" making him look more serious than usual and much younger. He clapped her trial politely, restraining himself from whooping with delight at the way she controlled the broom and handled the Quaffle. He didn't even like Quidditch.
In her third year, he was caught up in his own new duties and privileges, a Prefect badge shining brightly on his robes, and the responsibility of yet another younger brother to look after without Charlie as back-up. (Charlie had never been more than back-up when it came to keeping an eye on the twins – he might have been a Prefect, but he seemed to think that his brothers could be trusted to look after themselves.) He didn't see much of her that year, as his homework mounted up and prefect responsibilities took up most of his spare time. Besides, there was a Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope, with curly hair and a nice smile with whom he was getting more and more friendly. Still, when he watched the Gryffindor matches, she was the one he watched, thrilling at her speed and skill, and he had a hard time not yelling at Penelope when she crowed over him after Ravenclaw flattened Gryffindor in the last match of the school year.
The following year he did not notice her at all. He was going out with Penelope, and trying to look after Ginny, who was behaving very oddly. And once the attacks began, how could any Prefect possibly have time for more than his own work and doing what he could to support the teachers? He had more time once Penelope was petrified of course, but no time to look at other girls. That would have been the height of impropriety on so many levels.
The next year was his last; he was Head Boy and snowed under with work for his NEWTs. His responsibilities were great, especially with Dementors around the school and the threat from the criminal Sirius Black. Penelope was probably right – he did neglect her. After she split up with him – not publically and humiliatingly at Madame Puddifoot's as she might have done, and as he deserved, but quietly in the library after a particularly tricky Charms lesson in which he had cut her dead more than once – he found himself watching again, watching the girl in the twins' year who flew so well, laughed so much (especially when Fred was around) and held herself so proudly as she walked. There was no denying that she was beautiful. More than once, he dreamt about her. But she was not for him. She was too young, too athletic, and – he had to admit it – far too popular.
He left Hogwarts, and things moved on. He moved on. Although he came back to the school for the Triwizard Tournament, she was just a face in the crowd. She was not for him. And then – separation and estrangement from his family, his Ministry responsibilities, the war, and a girl called Audrey with long black hair and a peaches and cream complexion. He had no time even to think of the other girl who had fascinated him for so long.
It had been nothing, and now it was not even that.
II
She was there at the funeral, part of the group that surrounded George. He could not deny that she still held some of the old attraction for him. His eyes were drawn to her more than once during that long hard day.
At the end of it, it was she who sought him out, taking his arm in a firm grip and steering him into a corner. It was the first time they had touched.
"Tell me what happened," she demanded, half fiercely, and without preamble. "Tell me what happened, I need to know."
He shook his head, blinking, disoriented by her closeness.
"There's nothing to tell," he protested. "You know what happened. The wall came down on us."
"No," she insisted. "There's more. Tell me all of it."
So he told her. The noise, the confusion, the fear – she knew all that of course, she had been there. Being separated from George and Lee and backing down the corridor duelling Death Eaters. Fred's final joke as the Minister fell. And then, devastation in the midst of what they thought was safety, and Fred's smile frozen forever in his memory, his eyes open and his mouth wide with delight.
"Thank you," she said, when he had finished. "Thank you for telling me."
She kissed him then, briefly and chastely on the cheek, and turned away to join her friends. He raised his hand to the place, watching her go.
The next time she kissed him was on her wedding day.