Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Seriously.
A/N: A sequel to 'In The Dead of Night (With No One Watching)'.
A/N2: As it appears, I officially have a weakness for happy endings. So in an attempt to change the one-sided feelings of the prequel, I give you this.
A/N3: As always, comment. So that I know I'm not writing for my own enjoyment.
There is a shroud over my eyes and all the colours of the sky imprinted on the back of my closed eyelids, the sound of church bells ringing in the depth of my ears and the narrative of every fairy tale I have ever heard going on continuous playback in the marrow of my bones. At least that is how I like to justify myself (I am a born romantic). Marietta accuses me of being needlessly coquettish (with the boys, as far as she is concerned, she needs not know more). I respond that she is not as learned in the ways of love (even as I stifle a giggle at that). She fumes and stalks away in return, leaving me to lie down alone in the sun-kissed patch of grass just beside the lake.
It is still a little cold to be outside, but the sun peeks just enough through the clouds that even the notoriously unpredictable Scottish winds will not deter me from staying out for at least another five minutes. So I lie here, the wind rustling grass leaves against the exposed skin of the backs of my thighs, my outstretched arms and the left cheek I press against the ground as I look back at the castle with one eye. My fingers seem big enough from this perspective to grasp the castle. I let out a little chuckle.
A shadow covers my sun the moment I turn back to look at it. "Cho?" the shadow speaks. Somehow, the idea of speaking shadows is very appealing.
I stretch my arms upward and wiggle my fingers at the shadow. "Padma!" I squeal playfully (how strange the way my heart knots a little at the sight of her).
She takes one of my hands tentatively and sits down just behind me. I can feel the heat of her skin as her knees brush just the very top of my head. "Aren't you cold?" Padma asks, patting my hand absently.
"No," I respond with a small smile, closing my eyes and squeezing her hand. Not anymore. I see the vivid shade of chocolate brown behind my closed eyelids (Padma's colour) as the rustling of Padma's ever-present book lulls me to sleep.
The boy I spend tonight with is a little too eager.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, pushing him away from me, "this is just not going to work." That is usually enough to get them off of me. I may like to fool around with boys, but, contrary to the rumours, I draw the line at snogging. Even Cedric knew not to push.
"Come on, baby, you know you want this," he pants, reaching for me once more.
The bulge in his pants is noticeable and I almost gag as his hands land on me once more. "No!" I say sternly, pushing him back with more force. "I mean it."
He looks confused and then he brightens up slowly. "Oh, I see, you want to play the tease." He starts toward me once more.
For the first time in all my dealing with boys, I feel afraid. "No, I mean it. Stay away," I say once more, moving my hand toward my wand discreetly.
"You're pretty good at this," he replies, leering as he advances a little more, "you live up to your reputation."
"Impedimenta!" I cast. I watch him fall spectacularly before gathering what remains of my wits about me and leaving the Astronomy Tower promptly. My tears have made their way down my cheeks without my knowing.
"Padma," I whisper just outside of her four-poster bed, hoping against hope that she can hear me. Marietta's bed is just a few more feet away and she is my best friend, but the thought never even crosses my mind that it is socially more appropriate for me to bother Marietta. I am close with Padma, but am I not closer with Marietta? Two months ago I would have bothered Marietta, but two months ago I have not made it a tradition to end my nightly escapades in Padma's bed, two months ago I still sleep fine without Padma next to me.
There is no response and so, going against my common sense (which is perhaps gone already, considering where my foolishness has led me tonight), I push apart the curtains, kick my shoes off and climb into Padma's bed as I have done countless nights before tonight. This is just what girls of my age will do, is it not? They climb into a friend's bed at night when she is fast asleep because they have nearly been raped by their so-called boyfriend of the moment. Then upon seeing aforementioned friend's sleeping face for the very first time, their heart just skips a little, their tears just stop and the urge to kiss said friend threatens to take over once more.
"Padma," I whisper quietly, trying my hardest not to wake her up. I have never seen Padma asleep before because I have always fallen asleep before her and I have always woken up after her. "You look so beautiful like this," I continue before I can censor my words. When my brain finally catches up with my mouth, I can only say that I have never said anything more honest in my life. Telling a friend she is beautiful is normal, is it not? Marietta always tells me so. Though she has never done so while she is stroking my cheek and I am asleep. At least, I think not.
"Good night," I murmur as I lean down, pressing my lips against Padma's cheek (a strange urge to move my lips a little to left, where they will land on Padma's) as I have done so many times before. Then I wriggle my way underneath the covers and wrap my arm about Padma's waist, inhaling the scent of her hair as I fall asleep to the rhythm of her breathing.
If Padma were surprised to find me in her bed in the morning, she neither gives voice to it nor does she ask me about last night (and I am not ready to tell). She wakes me up once she is dressed and ready like she always does. She waits for me to be dressed and ready like she always does. It feels normal and yet it does not. I just cannot put my finger on what exactly has become different.
"Ready to go?" she asks, smiling a little as she picks up her books.
"Yes," I answer, taking her hand as it swings by mine. The action surprises both she and I. "Is this okay?" I ask hesitantly. I feel the need to be in contact with her for some unknown reason.
"Yes," she answers, squeezing my hand and leading me out of the room.
"What is wrong with you?" Marietta demands.
"What?" I respond, blinking in confusion. Sometimes I pretend to be obtuse just to annoy Marietta, but I can honestly say this is not one of those times.
"What were you thinking coming into the Great Hall with Padma like that?" Marietta explains impatiently.
"You are getting rather shrill, Marietta," I point out reasonably. We are attracting unwanted attention from the other students lounging around the Common Room. The girl in question, Padma, is studying in the library.
"Cho ..."
"No reason. Can't friends hold hands for no reason whatsoever?"
Marietta looks at me as if I had sprouted an additional head. I can probably make use of another brain. My current one seems to be permanently useless. "Cho, I know you're not the brightest, but I also happen to know that you're not an idiot. Holding hands at this age for no apparent reason is not normal, Cho. We're not kids anymore. We're sixteen."
I frown slightly. "Then I suppose ... I like her?"
Now Marietta looks at me as if I had also sprouted a tail in addition to that extra head. "You like her? As in you like like her?"
"Now who sounds like a kid?" I try to joke.
"Cho!" she growls exasperatedly.
"Well, maybe I do like her like that," I say soberly.
"Maybe?"
"Well, she doesn't make my heart beat," I begin. "I don't blush when I see her. I don't dream about her. She doesn't make my world explode in colours." Just turn my sky into the impossible shade of chocolate brown. "I just feel really comfortable around her." And I cannot seem to fall asleep without her next to me. "I like being around her."
"Well, you like being around your friends, but you don't go off holding hands randomly, do you?" Marietta says reasonably. "My dear Cho, you have finally grown up." She uses the end of her robes to wipe a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye.
"What do you mean?" I am so confused.
"It's so ironic how you're always going on about how you know what love is all about, but here it is staring at you in the eye and you're completely oblivious."
"I don't quite follow."
"Falling in love, young one, is not always about beating hearts or blushing or dreaming. There is no formula to it. When you fall in love, you just do. No one person falls in love in the same manner. Just because the way yours goes is not the way it goes in your fairy tales does not mean it's not love."
"Are you saying I'm in love with Padma?" I ask, completely bewildered.
"I take back what I said. You're definitely an idiot."
I just sit and stare at Marietta for a few moments.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Go and find her," she tells me, snapping her fingers in front of my dazed eyes.
Scrambling to my feet, I do as she says and I chuckle to hear Marietta telling the younger and older students alike to mind their own business as I leave the Common Room in search of Padma.
I can objectively say that I live by my heart. It is a little something I am proud of, a little something my father bemoans. The revelation of my feelings for Padma spurs me to take action (or at least Marietta spurs me to take action). What is the point of waiting around anyway?
Padma is sitting at her customary table in the very back of the library, a pile of books next to her and her quill scratching away. My footsteps sound eerily loud as I step forth, my heart pounds painfully and I feel like my chest is going to split apart. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I see red behind my closed eyelids. Then I open my eyes once more and take the last step. Clearing my throat slightly, I call out softly, aware that it is the library, "Padma."
There is a response this time (she is awake after all) and she looks up at me almost immediately, a tired smile on her lips as she puts her quill down to stretch. "Hey, is Madam Pince closing soon?" she asks.
"No," I reply shortly, twiddling my thumbs as I figure out what to say. "But it's quite late after all. Maybe you should take a break and continue tomorrow."
"You're right," Padma agrees, "give me a moment."
It takes about five minutes for her to get organised, but not enough time for me to get organised. My thoughts are all over the place, I see splashes of colour in all the wrong combinations behind my closed eyelids. To say I am nervous is a major understatement.
"Are you okay?" Padma asks in a concerned voice. "You look pale. Do you have a fever?" She comes suddenly close, pressing her forehead against mine.
The sudden proximity is impossible to handle. I expel a nervous breath and the warmth rebounds back. That is how close we are. "P-Padma," I squeak out.
"You don't have a fever," she declares, frowning. "But you're paler than before." She starts to move away.
My hands move before I realise, wrapping around her wrists and pulling her close once more. "I'm fine. I just -" I close my eyes quickly. Chocolate brown. The reassuring colour of Padma. Opening my eyes once more, I look at Padma, really look at her this time, "Just stay here for a moment." My heart steadies and my thoughts clear. My prince (or princess) does not make my heart beat. "We need to talk."
"We do?" Padma asks. "Well, go on then."
"I think I like you."
"Well, I like you too. We're friends, right?"
"No, no. I like like you. I-I want us to be more than friends. Is that okay?" I am quite aware I say nothing about love. Like is a good first step to take.
"Yes." The answer is sure, but it still comes a little too quickly.
I frown. "Are you just humouring me?"
Padma chuckles. "No, I'm not. Though it seems to be the one thing I'm exceptional at. I've been humouring you every single night since the first time. I've liked you since then. Well, maybe not since the first night. But it's a close enough approximation."
"Oh, oh!" I grimace slightly as I take her hands into mine. "I'm so thoughtless! I must have been a complete idiot for coming every single night to tell you about some boy I had snogged!"
"Well, you didn't know any better."
"But I do, you see. I've been completely blinded by what love should be like that I completely ignored the one person who truly cares for me," I say earnestly. "I completely ignored the one person I truly care for." For all the romance novels I have gone through, I sound distinctly uninspired in my declaration of affection. "I so wish I could say more because you make my heart so full with so many feelings that it just doesn't seem fair not to give voice to them."
Padma smiles and says gently, "All that I had wished for every single night since the first time is that you'll come back to me the following night. I didn't ask for anything more. But now that that something more is within my grasp, I really don't know what to do."
"How about we shut up and kiss?" I offer.
"The first intelligent thing you have said all night," she teases back.
So I lean in, my arms wrapping about Padma's waist, her arms wrapping about mine. Her eyes close as she gets even closer and my breath hitches as I feel her breath on my skin. When her lips press against mine, my eyes flutter shut and I sigh into the kiss. It is not my first kiss by any chance, but the chastity of the act and the intensity of my feelings make it feel like it is. The culmination of feelings I have never known existed within me bursts forth in a plethora of colours (fireworks behind my closed eyelids).
I have so much I need to tell Padma, but for now I feel safe in her arms, she feels right in mine and all I want to do is to savour the moment. She does not make my heart beat, she does not make my world explode in colours, but one kiss from her and I feel upended and I feel like the world has taken on a whole new hue. The shroud has fallen from my eyes, the church bells have quieted in my ears, the fairy tales have been stopped in my bones and the colours have settled behind my closed eyelids.
After the second kiss, all I see behind closed eyelids is Padma.