He watched her jog out from her front door to deposit two aluminum cans into her recycle bin. She gazed around her, her look finally settling down on him. He watched her, giving no indications that he was aware of her gaze, which was irrational, considering he was staring right back at her. A shadow crossed her face, and she seemed to sigh as she looked away from his intense gaze. He was struck by a sudden, powerful, irrational urge to cross over to her and comfort her – but he kept still.
She began the short walk back up to her house, and he continued to watch her, staring at her countenance. Her dark – almost black – brown hair gleamed momentarily in the afternoon sunlight as she moved, exposing momentary reddish highlights – beautifully natural. Her eyes seemed to shift in color, changing from a light hazel to a dark chocolate brown, as though she was thinking deeper, darker thoughts. Her skin, a pale, smooth color, was dotted with freckles – but only just beneath her eyes and on the bridge of her nose. Her full, pale peach lips drew his eyes, but only for a moment. As he watched, she began to bite her bottom lip, forcing him to pull his eyes away. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed as she gazed fixedly at the ground, showing her to be deep in thought. He knew this face as well as he knew the back of his own hands. It was the face of his Snow White – literally.
She stepped onto the porch of her humble abode, opened the door, and flashed a quick glance at his face. Her eyes darkening even further, she stepped through the door, shutting it softly.
He sighed as soon as she was out of his view. He knew it wasn't right to be watching her like this – she was probably quite frightened, seeing her neighbor practically stalk her as she went outside. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face as he remembered a moment from earlier that day, during one of the late summer storms, as he had sat out on the porch and watched her dance across her lawn, lifting her face to the rain, seemingly relishing the feel of the wetness on her skin. She had turned, and caught his gaze. Chagrined at seeing her neighbor out, her face had blushed a light red, and she had immediately dropped her eyes, running swiftly back to her door. She had run so gracefully, it didn't even look like she was touching the ground, merely floating across the dewy grass beneath her small feet. A light glassy necklace lay on her finely arched throat. He never saw her without it. He had chuckled when he saw she was barefoot, and in nothing but a light blue camisole and denim shorts that showed her curved, slender, small body. He laughed at himself for thinking she was small. He was 6'3", and he estimated her to be about 5'9" or so. He was taller than most people.
Getting up from his chair, Harry Potter walked into his own home. Shutting the door, he realized one important fact – he didn't even know her name. Pausing, he shook his head. He didn't need to know her name. The only reason he watched was to enjoy her happiness. He needed something to cheer him up, and her light air of cheerfulness was exactly that. His problems didn't have any effect on her. She was a muggle after all.
Rhiannon Morgan shut her door softly, pondering the looks her neighbor had sent at her the entire day. His staring had unnerved her, especially during this morning's little…moment. Her face blushed red as she recalled the moments in which she had unwittingly given him an opportunity to laugh at her. But…he hadn't. Or if he had, he had done it quietly, not letting her notice he was there. When she had met his gaze, she had found herself almost drowning in his emerald green eyes, so full of expression, of emotion, even at a distance. She had found that while his face remained impassive, his thoughts could be read in his eyes, bright when he was happy, darkening slightly when his thoughts turned dark.
Just as he had stared at her the entire day, she had stared right back at him, though more discreetly. She had taken to looking through her bedroom window, large and open, as he sat there on the porch. She had examined his appearance, and as she recalled it, her eyes unfocused as she became lost in thought.
He was tall and good-looking, with brilliant green, almond-shaped eyes surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes and coal black hair that stuck up in every direction. It seemed to be untamable, as she saw him attempt to brush it down every morning (this she saw also through her bedroom window; his was directly across from hers). His skin was lightly bronzed, and his eyebrows were the same color as his hair, and very expressive. His lips were lush and full, and he had a dimple in his cheek when he smiled, which wasn't very often. She had seen it twice, once while he was looking at a photo album, and once while he read a letter.
This boy also had toned, finely shaped muscles, which showed evidence to a lot of working out, however, she never saw him do it.
Rhiannon sighed. The dark-haired stranger walked around with a perpetual shadow on his face, and although his staring made her shy, his eyes always lightened when he looked at her, and she couldn't begrudge him the simple pleasure of being happy. She knew his intentions were anything but bad (don't ask how, she just knew).
The sixteen-year-old lived alone, and she knew this boy next door lived just as she did. She would love to be friends with him…but it was impossible. Just as he would never understand her world, she would never understand his. He was a muggle after all.