Her eyes dart around the room. Pavarti's hair straightener. Lavender's letter opener. Her own supply or potions and muggle pills her parents made her bring years ago for emergencies. (Could any of them help to ease the pain in her heart?)
She gets out of bed and moves soundlessly toward the window, careful not wake her sleeping roommates. She stares out at the grounds before her, the forest in the distance, the mountains even further. Then she looks down. There is dirt beneath her window, a bush that is just beginning to bud with spring. (Maybe she could jump.)
She turns around and slides down against the wall to sit down. Cradling her knees to her chest, she stares at her feet. There is a hole in her sock.
The next night, when she wakes, she immediately gets out of bed and plods down the stairs to the common room. She sits on one of the big scarlet couches, enjoying the way her body sinks into its cushions. She watches the dying embers of the fire until they go out.
Every night she has the same dream. Every night she wakes in a cold sweat. At first, she would study. Then she began reading muggle novels. Sometimes she takes a shower and changes her clothes. Sometimes she does not. Eventually she stopped reading and began writing. She would write about the dream, trying to change it. She would write about her parents, trying to bring them back. She would write about him, trying to muster the courage to hurt him even a fraction of the way he hurt her.
In the daylight, she never does. (She never deserved to be a Gryffindor.)
But then writing got tedious and she ran out of ink and nothing ever changed. So instead she sits and tries to forget about the dream, to forget about her pain.
One night, she puts on her slippers and leaves the common room. The Fat Lady is snoring loudly and she hates to think about the fuss she'll cause when she wakes her up to get back in.
And then she walks. She walks all over the castle in paths she had never taken before. She lets her feet choose the which way to go. They get her utterly lost.
The sun comes up before she finds her way back.
After that night, she always walks, She doesn't think about what way she is going, only about the sounds of the castle and her slippers as they hit the floor. Her feet guide her.
It is always late enough that everyone else is asleep. For weeks, she never sees a soul, not even a stray house elf cleaning some dusty portrait. Until one night when she does.
She first notices the noise of someone else's slippers hitting the cold stone floor. Then she notices the racing beat of her heart. Then he turns the corner.
She stops walking. So does he. He looks as if he is fighting the urge to flee. And the urge to stay. He stares at her, as if debating which one would be best. Or worst. She stares back. She wonders if she wants him to stay or go.
They stare at each other. (It feels like eternity.)
Finally he steps toward her. It is a small step, as if to break the indecision of the two. As if to tell her to make the first move. She takes one step toward him. Then two, then three, until she is standing close enough to feel his body heat, to hear him breathing, to count the freckles on his nose.
She slaps him across the face as hard as she can. The noise echoes in the empty hall. Her hand stings and she knows his cheek must too. It is starting to turn pink.
"I'm sure I deserved that," he says quietly. The pink on his face is beginning to take the shape of her hand. He does not move. Neither does she.
She says nothing in reply and they stare at each other some more.
"If it means anything, I'm sorry," he says eventually. Still, neither of them move. She does not say anything. They stare.
She can see in his eyes he means it. She can see he wants to explain everything to her. She can see he wishes she could forgive him. She can see he wishes he could forgive himself. (She wishes she could forgive him too.)
After a long moment, she reaches up to touch his cheek. It is still warm. She whispers a healing charm, then turns around and walks back the way she came.
She begins to always walk to that corridor. When she realizes this some weeks later, she berates herself. (Its not like he's coming back.)
Soon, she starts to sit and wait in that corridor. She wakes to the sun flooding through the window and the complaints of her body from sleeping the night against a stone wall.
Her school work suffers. She no longer pays attention in class, but rather stares at the back of his head and thinks about everything that he's done that has affected her life. Sometimes, she falls asleep. Ron and Harry begin to comment.
Every night she dreams. And every night she waits for him in that corridor until the sun comes up.
The three weeks before NEWTs she sleeps the night in her bed and pays attention to revisions in her classes. But after exams are over, she gets up again and waits for him.
She is leaving tomorrow morning. Leaving Hogwarts for good. (It is exciting and sad and terrifying.)
She finishes packing her things when she wakes, before going to the corridor she has spent her nights in for the past four months.
Someone is there, sitting a few feet down from her usual spot. His legs are crossed with his elbows leaning against his knees and his head held up in his hands. He stares out the window at the stars.
It is the boy-nay, the man- that she has been waiting for, and yet, when she sees him, she turns around as if to leave. But she does not. She mentally kicks herself for all the silly things she has done, and for trying to leave when perhaps it matters most to stay. (Waiting for him has comforted her in the last months. She doesn't know why she does it, but it relaxes her and allows her to think more than just the negative thoughts that have been cycling through her head since the death of her parents.)
She turns back around and finds the courage to sit right next to him. She follows his gaze out the window. He turns his head to look at her and she can feel his stare on the side of her head. Then he turns back to the window too.
"You see that one, there?" he says, pointing at a constellation. She nods. "That one's Ophiuchus. It's always been my favorite."
"Not Draco?" she says with a grin he does not see. He laughs. (She's never heard him laugh sincerely before. It is deep and rich and beautiful.)
She shivers. And then they are once again engulfed in silence. She doesn't know what to say, can't think of anything meaningful enough to break the silence. She starts to count the seconds.
After 32 seconds, he turns to her, and then she to him. Their knees touch. He studies her, frowning.
"I never noticed you have freckles," he says after 21 more seconds.
"I never noticed your eyes are green," she replies.
Seventeen seconds later he says her name softly and after another 4 he asks her if he can write to her after they graduate.
She is hesitant in her reply. (This is the man who led the Death Eaters into her parents' house to be slaughtered. This is the man who called her a Mudblood for quite a few of her teenage years. This is the man who sought redemption and joined the Order over Christmas Break. This is the man who apologized.)
"Yes," she finally says.
A/N: Ophiuchus, also known as the serpent-bearer, is a constellation that is best seen during the summer in the northern hemisphere.