After the game, when all the excitement's worn off, when the flocks of students have rushed out, in waves, then dribs, drabbles and we're the only pebbles left in the metaphoric stream, you me and filch. And like weary cats, we watch each other across the stadium. Cats, Siamese fighting fish, cowboys?
Cowboys?
I think the years of terror and all the questions have robbed me of my ability to be poetic. Unable to change words, to change people with words, I simply change the world around me. Embellish it a little.
You're still there, pretending to read your book, pretending not to care, pretending not to wait.
And this little dance of fear, of shy awkwardness and clumsy pride has gone on too long, sucked me dry. So I invite you to my office for drinks. Like I do after every game. And you pretend to come as a favour to me. Like you do after every game.
Rain creates cascades in the windows, as we begin our second dance, the metaphoric tango, the exchange of quips, puns, put downs, awkward comments. But we both know you wouldn't still be here if you didn't want something.
"So, the boy who lived prevails again" you snarl, you look out the window so I can't see your face. So I don't know the way your upper lip's curling.
"I suspected nothin' less from a boy that could fly better than yerself at the age of 11"
"Ironic isn't it?" begins your retort "that the pursuits of the man who killed the strongest of dark wizards is incredibly far from intellectual"
"Oh yes, even less than brewing love potions for young, beautiful teachers" I've made the first turn, the dance is getting faster now, more serious. Maybe it will eventuate in something more than looks over dinner
"You weren't beautiful. Just young, passionate, fierce. You were sexy"
You've broken the rules, we're dancing on unknown territory and I don't know the steps.
And when I see a twitch from the turned back, I think maybe you'll turn around. We couldn't put more love in the world, but we could add just a little less hate, you and I. "
"I was young and foolish. Hormonal too. I apologise."
"Apology accepted Severus"
And as the metaphoric lights go off, and we exit the metaphoric stage, I ask the question that we're both too afraid to think
"It won't work will it?"
"No Minerva never"
"Put the chair back when you leave"