The Profound Difference Between Eleven and Seventeen
A pair of brooding brown eyes were fixated on the pair of children sitting close together on the steps outside an ancient castle. The pair of eyes did not turn aside for the hand that stroked her hair out of her face in an attempt to draw attention away. The pair of children did not glance toward the trees in which the young woman who owned the eyes stood, hidden from view, watching them.
The two children were unaware, intentionally unaware, of all the stares directed toward them. Although they revealed themselves every so often. The girl flipped her long red curls over her back and sent a general haughty look of nonchalance at the general population, to let those who stared know she did not care. Then she would again pretend that she did not see them. The greasy boy with beetle-black eyes that were just as shifty occasionally glanced at a certain group of his peers from time to time, then shifted inward, as if that would hide him or the emerald and silver scarf he wore.
The young woman watching them from the bushes did not avert her gaze, more stubborn than all the rest of the incredulous eyes that turned on the other pair, as her own emerald and silver scarf was tenderly unwound from her neck and thrown atop the scarlet and gold scarf that already rested at the young man's feet. While her attention was directed at the small couple who drew all eyes, he was fixated on tempting her away into the activities they usually engaged in when they were shielded from those piercing eyes.
As he began to kiss her neck, she spoke at last. "They make it look so easy," she murmured, unable to rip her eyes away from the first year Gryffindor and Slytherin laughing on the steps out in public. Even his clever lips could not force her to relinquish the sight that mocked her professed beliefs, her upbringing, her understanding of the world and Hogwarts…and her secret. Her secret most of all.
"Evans and Snape?" the boy asked, lifting his lips from her neck just long enough to speak before resuming his previous occupation.
"What other Gryffindor and Slytherin first years do you see sitting together?" she demanded. "What other Gryffindors and Slytherins do you see together?" She let him kiss her neck for a long time before she spoke again, but she did not look away from the two children on the stairs. "What right do they have to make it look so simple?" she demanded almost angrily.
The boy sighed and broke off, moving back and lifting his head so that he had to spit pieces of her hair out before speaking. "They're not dating," he offered.
"They're eleven," she shot back, tilting her head slightly as if she were about to turn to face him but not actually looking away from the pair of first years they were discussing. "If they hold hands once or twice or he carries her books to one of their classes then they're more of a couple than we are."
There was a pause before the young man spoke again, "Yes, I'd say they would be more of a couple that we are."
Even though she was the one who had so often insisted on the distinction, it still hurt to hear him say it. The young woman looked away from the boy and girl at a distance and turned to the young man beside her. "I'm sorry, Ted," she whispered, slipping her arms around him and tucking her head against his neck. "I'm sorry."
"I know what it would mean for you, 'Meda," he told her a long moment later.
"Meda? Is that what you're calling me now?" she asked, flirtatiously for the first time during their stolen moment.
"You won't let me call you Andy," he replied, pulling her closer, sliding his hands lightly up and down her back tantalizingly. "And your full name is such a mouthful."
"I'll give you a mouthful," she replied, pulling back enough to kiss him.
After a moment, she broke away. "Do you ever wish we could sit on the steps in full view?" she asked.
"You know I do, 'Dromeda," he replied seriously, holding her gaze as if nervous it would flick again to the children sitting happily in full view and away from their shielded interlude. "But it's nice to know that you do as well." She smiled very slightly, more sadly than any of the emotions that traditionally inspire smiles. After a moment, the young man offered kindly, "He's not a pureblood."
"He's ambitious," the girl returned, stepping away from their embrace and going back to the small hole in the brambles and shrubbery that hid her and the young man from similar scrutiny. "Darkly ambitious. He has more to suffer from a Muggleborn girlfriend, in ways, than I do."
"Oh?" the young man said, moving to stand beside her again, looking at the sight of the redheaded girl laughing and putting her arm lightly on the sleeve of the boy's Slytherin robes.
"My position is established," the young woman replied clinically. "If Bellatrix weren't my older sister…with her little spies still here. How in the world do you think they met? How did they become friends?"
"Perhaps he saved her from certain death on the back of a rampaging Hippogriff?" the young man suggested with an impudent grin, sliding his arms around her from behind, squeezing her stomach through her robes gently.
"Certain death? I sincerely doubt Kettleburn would have permitted me actually to die," she replied, though she smiled widely and genuinely now, leaning back against the young man.
"That one-legged pirate wouldn't have been able to stop the damn thing in time to save you, even if he could subdue it," the young man laughed, freely and carelessly loudly.
"You shouldn't speak of him like that," the young woman admonished.
"What are you going to do? Stop meeting me in dark corners? You could have stopped a few months ago, perhaps, 'Meda, but you'd miss me too much now," he told her seriously. "You let me under your skin." As if to demonstrate, he ran his hand lightly up and down her arm, sending tingles through her whole body.
"You make yourself sound like a parasite," she told him, shaking her head.
She stopped, the smile slowly sliding off of her face. "What right do they have to make it look so easy?" she asked a moment later. She broke away and took a few angry steps, treading on the pair of scarves as she went. "What right do they have to make it look as if…as if it's all in my head. I hate what they've put in my head!"
"Evans and Snape?" the young man asked.
"My family!" the young woman snapped. "All of them! I can't even tell you what I'm really thinking because of them – because I'm afraid one day one of the thoughts they planted in me will jump out and frighten you away. And I – I don't want to lose you, Ted. But they'll take you away, one way or another."
The young man did the only sensible thing he could under the circumstances. He walked over to her and kissed the young woman soundly, folding her into his arms.
At length, when they broke off, the young man still stood holding her face with one hand. "I've always known who you are, Andromeda. Do you think I would have a secret affair with any other girl? Not just my feelings for you, but knowing so well what you need." He lowered his hand and found hers. "Anytime you want to make it look easy, like those two runts you admire so much, let me know. Until then, I have what Evans suffers daily in our common room to remind me what it would cost you. They are young enough to pretend they don't notice, that is all."
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then started to leave. As he was about to draw the bushes aside, the young woman stopped him, "They don't make it look easy in the sense that it's not trouble, Ted. They make it look worth it. They make it look like it's an easy choice."
"They're eleven," he told her without turning to look at her.