Author's note: yes, it's not slash. Are you impressed? Lol. Anyway, this is angsty and odd and written when I'm exhausted and emotionally drained and in a fairly bad mood and generally vulnerable to plot bunnies and Tamara's advances. Hope you like it anyway!

Dreams that die hard

Kyra

She was too good for him. He knew that, yet he couldn't help hoping. And, for a while, it seemed his hope was justified. She would look at him, her big green eyes happy and trusting, full of friendliness and laughter. Friendliness for him, not Potter. She didn't look at Potter, for which he was profoundly grateful. He hated Potter. He always had, even before Potter and his gang decided to make him their prime target. The other boy's confident manner irked him in a way he couldn't even begin to describe. The way the other boy thought he owned the world; the way he and his little friends thought they could get away with bending the rules and, even more, the way they invariably did. They were masters at pinning their tricks on others, especially him.

Yet there she was, the prettiest of them all, looking at him, not at Potter. He could hardly believe his luck. She said nothing, only looked, her green eyes friendly and inviting. He wished he had the courage to go up to her, to speak to her, to ask her what she wanted with him, but he could not. He was too afraid. Afraid of what Potter would say, afraid that she wouldn't like him, afraid that fraternizing with a Gryffindor would hurt his already bad reputation in his own house. So he didn't go over to her, contenting himself with watching and longing.

Clearly, she grew tired of waiting for him. Soon, the invitation turned to demand, and then to anger, and then to pain. That was when he stopped looking at her. He couldn't stand to see the pain, couldn't stand to know that he'd caused it. And, as she stopped looking at him and started looking at Potter, he cursed his cowardice, cursed his emotions, cursed the world, even as he knew he would never do anything more. He couldn't. Not now. Perhaps he could have, before, when she still looked at him, but not now. Not when she looked at Potter, not at him.

Time passed, and she and Potter began to do more than look at each other. He stopped watching her, unable to bear the pain of seeing her with Potter, and she had long since forgotten him. Yet he couldn't help longing, couldn't help hating himself for what might have been, for what never could be. He'd lost his chance forever.

He hadn't meant to spy on her, he truly hadn't. He knew if he was caught, no one would believe him, but it was true. He knew he should leave, knew he couldn't let himself stay, but his body wouldn't move. He had to stay put, had to listen to what they were saying.

"Why not?" Potter demanded, his hated voice confused and hurt.

"I can't." That was her, pure and perfect, even now as she voiced her pain. "James, I just can't."

"Lil…" Potter didn't know what to say, obviously. Severus couldn't help feeling triumphant at that. She was cleverer than Potter would ever be – she was never at a loss for words.

"It's not that I don't love you. I do. You know I do. I just… can't."

Potter sighed, frustrated. "I know you love me. That's just the problem. I love you too, Lil, and I want to do this. I won't force you, but… can't you at least tell me why?"

"No," she whispered. "No. Please. Please don't make me."

Potter growled incoherently.

"Don't you understand?" Her voice rose almost to a shout, and Severus winced. She should never have to shout like that.

"No, I don't!" Potter was shouting too, his voice loud and harsh. "You don't tell me these things, Lil. How can you expect me to understand if you don't tell me?"

"I expect you to respect my privacy and not pry!"

Potter took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm down. When he spoke, his voice held a note of sorrow and rather more anger. "I can't. I'm sorry Lil, I just can't. It's who I am."

"Then go away," she snapped, her voice telling Severus that she was on the ragged edge of losing it completely. "If you can't understand that I need privacy, then just go away!"

"I will," Potter shot back, his temper up once again. "Watch me." Severus heard him stomp away, his ropes brushing against the floor. She stood stock still for a long moment, barely breathing, then, very suddenly, collapsed into tears. His breath caught. He couldn't just stand there as she cried, yet going to comfort her would mean revealing himself. In the end, he did the only thing he could do: he fled. Back in his own room, under the privacy of his bed covers, he wept silently himself, for the opportunities he'd missed which would never come again. No matter what she thought of Potter, he knew that she would never turn to him, and he would never reveal himself, and the cycle of pain would continue until their death. There was nothing he could do.