There's such a sad love
Deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel
Open and close within your eyes
I'll place the sky within your eyes
There's such a fooled heart
Beating so fast in search of new dreams
A love that will last within your heart
I'll place the moon within your heart
"As the World Falls Down" – David Bowie
(from Labyrinth soundtrack)
She watched him, as she always did. Curled up on a couch, a thick book resting lazily on her lap, the same page untouched for the last half an hour.
She watched him. He was playing chess with his sister, Harry given up two games earlier, both losses. He was wearing a look of high concentration since Ginny represented quite a bigger challenge than The Boy Who Lived. She watched as his eyes lit up, his lips curved up and with a quick move of his wand, he took his sister's queen down, earning a mild swear on her part.
She shook her head and laughed under her breath, catching the raven-haired boy's eye, who was grinning as well.
The red-headed boy turned to look at them, smiling; and then his deep blue eyes traveled to her, his smile vanished a little, and his gaze lingered on her for a second –just a second—before returning his attention to the game.
Then Harry came up to sit next to her, knowing very well that she wasn't studying anymore, and offered her his best you should tell him looks. She shook her head, her thick curls flying all around.
Of course, she should tell him. But she wouldn't. She lacked the courage. She lacked the conviction.
She just smiled back at her friend, the one she loved as a brother, and turned sadly back to her book. She missed the half-annoyed and half-sympathetic look Harry Potter gave her, then shooting the same look at his best friend, sitting across from the red-headed girl, and wondered why neither could say anything.
About half an hour later, the redheaded boy had won again, and his sister was marching angrily out of the Common Room. Harry shot them a smile, gave her a look and followed Ginny out.
He-Who-Made-Her-Heart-Jump smiled smugly and asked her if she fancied a game of chess. She shook her head no, and tried to disguise the goose bumps that traveled down her spine when he looked at her like that, and when he said the word fancy, because it immediately reminded her of him.
He shrugged and picked up his pieces, who were cheering animatedly after another victorious battle, and Ginny's pieces, who were weeping silently. He left his chessboard open, though, lying on the table, when his attention focused on her.
Then he popped down next to her, put his hand on her knee, and looked at her.
'What are you doing?' he asked, even if the answer was obvious. She gave him a look and pointed to her book. 'Studying.' He rolled his eyes and said it was boring. 'Why are you studying anyway?' he asked. 'Exams are not near yet.' She asked him, with a smug tone of voice, if he really wanted her to answer that, and he just laughed. 'Guess not.'
They sat in silence for a moment and his hand never left her knee. She tried to breathe calmly and focus on the dancing letters in her book. But all she could think about was him, and him touching her knee.
And she was concentrating so hard trying not to think about him, that she didn't notice that the cause of her distress was looking at her so intently he could make a hole through a wall. And maybe, if she had just looked up then, she might've seen the longing that his blue eyes, so dark and so sad, held at that moment. Longing that she was responsible for.
But she didn't look up. And he tried not to sigh and tried to think of something to say to break the silence that was driving him mad. It was driving her mad as well. But they didn't realize that.
So he went and announced he was hungry. Starving, actually. 'So what do you want me to do?' she said, only half-listening, because his hand was still on her knee, and he was squeezing it lightly now. He took a breath and then suggested that maybe they should go down to the kitchens for food. 'Since I'm starving, you know. You wouldn't want me to die.' Those were his arguments.
She smiled at him a little and nodded. He grinned widely and, to her, that grin made everything worthwhile. Because he was smiling and he seemed truly happy. 'Great,' he said.
Great, she thought sarcastically. Just what she needed, more awkward time alone with him.
But it was time alone with him nevertheless, so she took his hand when he offered to help her stand, and kept holding it when leading her out. He didn't let go of her hand, though, once out of the Common Room. And he still held it while leading the way to the kitchens, even if she knew the way by heart. She felt butterflies all the way down while he lead her, and she still felt them when they arrived, and they stood just looking at the paint in front of them, her hand still firmly held by him.
She noticed his palm started to sweat a little, but she didn't mind. The feelings that that faint touch were causing her were overwhelming. And then, she couldn't help sighing.
He reacted at the sound of her sigh, and he started panicking when he realized he was still holding her hand, so he let go quickly. Too quickly.
She felt the quick change in mood and her stomach felt as if it had been kicked. She tried not to look down nor bite her lip. And she nodded and smiled mildly when he said the password and held the portrait open for her to go in first. She smiled despite the pain she felt inside.
He ran a hand through his hair, and watched as she walked in front of him. He did it because he was nervous and frustrated. Because he had noticed the look in her eyes when he had let go, and he cursed himself for being such a coward.
They stood awkwardly in the middle of the big empty room, surrounded by food that he didn't have any intention of eating. He hadn't been hungry in the first place. He had just wanted to be alone with her.
She took a deep breath and shook her head. She was having an internal debate. One she had had many times already. He watched her do this, as he was having a similar fight with himself. But he never seemed to win.
Finally, she looked up at him and muttered his name. He looked at her as well, eagerly. 'Yes?' he whispered, too.
She sighed deeply, ran a hand through her wild hair and licked her lips in nervousness. He wondered if she knew how much this action affected him.
She repeated his name and took a step closer to him, which wasn't much considering the great distance that separated them.
She saw him inhale and his ears turn a faint shade of red. She saw him take a step closer to her. She saw the determination growing slowly in his eyes. And she couldn't help biting her lip.
But the moment she did that –biting her lip—it was as if the spell had been broken. He stopped and she heard him whisper under his breath something that sounded like 'God, you gotta stop doing that…. mad.'
She looked at him, a little hurt. But the look she received in return was one of complete lust. And love.
She took a deep breath while he took a hesitating step closer to her again. Yet he stopped a few steps before her. He wasn't close enough yet.
He whispered her name as if it was a very difficult charm, the kind that needed high concentration. Yet he said it as if it was something precious, something that shouldn't be said often, otherwise it would lose its value. He said it as if it meant something great. As if he was measuring the weight of that simple word. As if it was everything.
And to him, it was everything. He just had to let her know.
But just then the noise started, and the screaming and some loud childish crying someplace in the back, and it was all gone.
The bubble was broken.
And then he wondered more than anything why she always tried to help those pathetic little creatures that he despised more than anything right at this moment. And by the look on her face, so did she.
And he was annoyed when they started offering food and talking about Harry and telling tales he didn't want to hear.
He saw her looking down sadly, for she knew as well as he did that the opportunity was gone. He saw her putting her curls behind her ear as she always did, and walking out of the kitchen. He saw her glance at him once, but just once, as she made her way out.
And he heard his heart break.
He tried to follow her, but the little elf, Harry's favorite, was holding his arm and wouldn't let him go. So he just watched as his life walked out.
Once out of the kitchen, she let one single tear roll down. But just one. It was all she would allow herself to cry. She felt the solitary tear roll down her cheek, down to her chin and then fall. Breaking like crystal. Precious and fragile. And now it was gone. Just like him.
She was tired. She was tired because every time something like this happened, every time her hopes were raised and she thought this would be it, every time her lips tingled in anticipation and then nothing happened, every time was like a knife was digging into her heart. Every time, she felt someone turning the knife and causing her more pain.
As if she wasn't hurting enough already.
And she had seen the look in his eyes, the blue of that eternal sea that she was so eager to discover. He wanted it, too. If only for a brief moment, she had seen the desire, the longing in his eyes. Something she had never seen before.
A sigh caught in her throat, in her stomach – in her heart. She wouldn't let it go. She smiled a smile no one would believe, but a smile that said 'don't talk to me, I'm hurting.' She took a deep breath, closed her fists a couple of times and proceeded to make her way back to the tower.
When she returned to the Common Room, she found her book lying open where she had left it, on the couch where she always sat. She found his chessboard on the table, open for he had not picked it up, his pieces still dancing, Ginny's sitting quietly, looking bored. She found that Harry and Ginny were still gone.
She found no answer to her dilemma.
She picked up her book and tried to read, but she kept seeing his blue eyes in her mind. She kept seeing him, walking to her. She kept seeing his lips. And she kept feeling that tingling in her stomach, and that pain in her heart. It was too much. He was buried too deeply in her heart.
She decided no more homework would be done for the rest of the evening. How could she, with all that had just happened? She would go to bed instead.
She took her book, but stopped midway. She would leave it there, next to his chessboard. He would see it there, he would think of her, he would have to pick it up and give it to her, and they would have an excuse to talk in the morning. Which was silly, really, because they were supposed to be friends they didn't need excuses to talk.
But she wanted him to think of her, and she wanted him to know she was thinking about him. She wanted to leave the window open for some hope. So she picked up all her stuff, except for her book. That thick, old book of hers, the one she always carried. She left it, sitting quietly next to his loud chessboard. Just like them: one silent and observant, the other loud and distracted; one so calm on the outside, yet full of feelings and secrets inside, the other so impulsive and emotional.
And when he returned ten minutes later, hoping against hope she would be there, he found nothing – but her book. He saw it, just as she knew he would, lying silently next to his chess pieces. He didn't think of them as the book and the chessboard, though. He just saw the book and thought of her. Just her. So beautiful, so fragile – so out of reach. So impossible to read.
He wondered if she had left it there on purpose. He wondered if she was trying to tell him something, because this was so like her. To leave small signs that no one would understand, and yet would mean something to him, even if he didn't know exactly what.
There was no guarantee, though. Maybe she had just forgotten it there. So how could he say something about it without looking stupid? He would just pick it up and give it to her, and he would just hope that he could brush his hand with hers when he did. But he wouldn't say anything.
And they would go dancing around each other for a long time, breaking their hearts, smiling and crying, because even though they knew, they weren't sure. And the heart is such a precious thing to risk.
But tonight, she would just cry with his eyes in her head. And he wouldn't sleep, thinking about her. And on the morrow, they would look awful, but neither would notice. And he would give her book back, and brush her hand the way he wished. And she would hope he understood her message. And they would smile mildly. And that would be all.
They would keep on dancing.
A/N- Please review. I had this idea revolving in my head for a while, and even though it's short it took me a lot of time to write it. So please review. Oh, and I'm working on the new chapter of Haunting Past, it's just harder than I thought. Hope it's up soon, but I'm making no promises. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this. Again – please review.