Flyin

His eyes met hers.

Something in her stuttered.

"Hello," he said quietly.

"Hi," she replied, even quieter, taking back the notebook that she'd dropped.

Everyone in her House mocked Hufflepuffs, the ones that lacked real skill or nerve or ambition. They stayed safe. They were the purveyors of tradition, they were like dogs: loyal and somewhat bland. Ravenclaws were more like cats.

But she glanced into the eyes of this boy and immediately knew that he wasn't like that. His gray eyes were fiery and intense, and flitting. When he looked at her she felt certain that it would pass, and she was certain she didn't want it to.

He wasn't boring - she was so bored.

BANG!

She jumped. He steadied her with an outreached hand. "Are you alright?"

"What was that?"

They poked their heads round the bookshelf together and saw the Weasley twins dragged away by the ear.

"Madam Pince, it wasn't meant to do that - owch, woman!" George began.

Fred yelped. "We were only trying to find a book, it isn't our fault that the spell went so terribly. I thought I knew where it was - "

"But he didn't - "

"Get out!" Madam Pince interrupted their jabbering. "Get out get out get out of my library!"

Pince turned swiftly on her heel, exasperated by the twins, to find the whole of the library looking at her. "Work," Pince whispered harshly, then stalked into her office and closed the door with a quiet click.

They turned back to each other. "Why didn't they just write it down?" she said, shaking her head. She didn't like the Weasley twins. She didn't understand them.

"Madam Pince doesn't allow them ink in the library, not since first year, when they tried to take notes and ended up in the restricted section covered in the stuff. They probably thought they could remember where the book was," he replied, shrugging and smiling at her.

"But it isn't as if they have photographic memories," she said, unable to let it go. Her eyebrows knitted and she looked through his chest without seeing a thing. She bit her lip, lost in thought.

He knew she might be wrong but didn't think of arguing with her. "Well, you know what they say," he whispered, eager to continue the conversation. He had never met this girl before, had never looked into her fascinating, stormy black eyes. His heart stirred. He hadn't fallen in love, he could only feel that he would. He could only sense that someday she would be all to him.

"What?" she asked, eyes on him again, confused.

"Everyone has a photographic memory," he began; "but not everyone has film." She looked at him blankly. He wished he was better at being funny. He liked it when she smiled. "I don't know why I said that," he grimaced, chuckling. "My dad says that sometimes." A smile spread across her face and they laughed together.

They were quiet after a little bit, but neither of them quite wanted to walk away. They just looked at each other. It was a simple joy, but he was a simple person. Not stupid, but simple. So he didn't tear his eyes away, he looked. He stared. And she reciprocated. He let the warmth of it spread through his toes. He suppressed a shiver at the pleasure of it all, just her looking at him and him looking at her. He was sure he'd never felt more at ease.

She felt he was searching her eyes. She felt it was significant that she wanted to bear her soul for him, that she wanted to relax her guard and open up. He just wanted her eyes on him. He just wanted to drink her in with his eyes, the most beautiful girl he'd seen.

She would insist a year later, mulling over their first encounter, always desperate for the answers, Why couldn't you look away?

He would reply, Well, it made me happy to see you. It makes me happy to see you happy.

It can't be that simple.

But it is.

It can't be.

It is with us.

"What's your name?" she asked him suddenly.

"Cedric," he replied.

"I'm Cho."