When the Curtain Falls
The rehearsal had ended, but Neville Longbottom still lingered, hidden behind one of the thick and dusty red velvet curtains. The play's happy ending, complete with the boy winning the girl, had brought out a cloud of depression. Neville couldn't seem to win his girl, and there was nothing more he wanted.
Every time he tried to say something to her, Neville's throat seemed to close and he couldn't think, couldn't even utter a coherent syllable. It was painful when she would smile shyly at him; his heart felt like it was going to burst. And touching, well, Neville couldn't even consider touching her. He was sure that if he managed to steel himself up to just brushing his fingers across her arm, every one of his secrets would write itself on her skin, and then she would know.
Ginny Weasley would know that Neville Longbottom was horrendously in love with her.
She was the lead in Hogwart's original play; Neville was a stage hand. And every time he watched her from backstage Neville's heart ached and throbbed with love, unrequited love. She was the forbidden fruit, but only forbidden in the way that a shy, ugly boy such as himself would never manage to capture a pretty girl like Ginny.
Sometimes he wanted to scream to the whole of Hogwart's that he loved Virginia Weasley, sometimes even to the whole world, but he couldn't. She wouldn't laugh of course; she was much too sweet of a girl to do that. She would, though, look at him with pity in her gorgeous brown eyes and avoid him and her friends would just sneer. He wasn't good enough, and never could be good enough.
Neville ran a hand through his hair.
"Oh, Neville, here you are." Neville looked up at the sound of that lovely voice.
"Yeah..." Ginny continued looking at him. "Did, you, uh, um, forget something here? Maybe... maybe I could help you find it."
"No," Ginny smiled, brushing her long red hair out of her eyes. "I was looking for you." Neville started, glancing around at the dark, dirty backstage. He looked at her sadly, his slightly chubby cheeks red.
"Why? Do you need something?"
"I want to talk Neville." She sat down next to him. She stared at him with open eyes, and Neville tried to match her stare but had to look away. He turned his head towards the dense draperies. A silence took hold of the two, and nothing was said out loud, only in stares and avoidance.
"Why don't you ever say what's in that head of yours?" Ginny asked. "I know you like me." At this Neville looked hard at his lap and flushed splotches spread across his face. "Neville," she whispered, "I like you too."
"What?"
"I like you." They looked at each other; pale, watery blue eyes meting self-assured lovely brown ones.
She kissed him.
And if Neville had ever thought his heart was close to bursting when Ginny would smile at him, it was nothing to the acute pressure he felt as she kissed him with pale, soft, innocent lips.
"I like you, too."
So maybe the play was true. Sometimes, the boy does win the girl.