So this is basically how I deal with writer's block; I get another idea & work on that. I am really stuck with CB, so if you're reading that & have any ideas, message me or something I guess? I just feel bad because I was doing so well with it & now I'm lost. Anyway, my new bby, enjoy. REVIEW, otherwise i just might give up.

in search of sleep

She sat at the edge of the bed, holding the comforter up to her thin chest. Her newly cut auburn hair was limp and stuck to her forehead. The cigarette held in her thin fingers led a trail of grey smolder that circled her face. She stared off into the dingy, dark room, and she didn't know when he'd wake. He cracked an eye open just a bit just to stare at her. Sometimes he would forget how beautiful she could look in such a dingy place. She turns her face to look at him, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

"I know you're awake, assface." Her face remained impassive as she said this, followed by another drag.

He rubbed his emerald eyes, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The essence of daylight seeped from the sole window. His fingers reached for his glasses before placing them on his head. The details, every fine bit, came into focus to recreate the image he had been focused on for the past few minutes. She looked even better, even sexier, staring at him with that blank expression.

"What time is it?" he asked as he sat up. She shrugged and turned her head away.

Sometimes she would get like this, depressed and detached, or more detached than usual. He'd do anything just to get inside her head for a day, see what she saw, and listen to her thoughts. She was that remote when it came to her emotions; no one knew what she was feeling. That wasn't to say she was unsociable. She had a few friends, mostly people like her, artistic and outcast, but perfectly accepting of it.

She had changed considerably in the past year. She stopped hiding her art, stopping pretending to be a nice girl and a girl who gave two shits about what someone thought about her, her outfit, her beau. Just a month ago, after a serious argument with her mother, she had stormed into the kitchen on a rampage. She withdrew a knife and sliced off half of her hair, leaving it between her chin and shoulder. Instead of deeply regretting it, she came to love it and didn't bother with any of the hair-growth potions she had in the past.

The fact she didn't hold regrets made him go crazy. He wished to be like her in that way, to do something and not think twice. She had rumors flying about the school of how she was crazy and deranged, but she didn't do anything to stop it or try to prove herself.

"If people wanted to talk crazy, then let them speak," she laughed it off to him, her tone oozing of sarcasm. "Then we'll speak the same language."

They were best friends, but still more than that. They were friends with benefits, which meant no subject was too awkward to speak about. The only problem they faced was managing to work their way around everyone.

"We'd better get going," he whispered, staring at her profile.

She turned to face him, a half smile on her mouth. "You don't want to go again?"

He laughed, reaching out to her and pulling her down into his lean muscular chest. "We have to get back."

She buried her face in his torso, throwing the cigarette onto the floor and possibly landing on their clothes. They fell back against the mattress as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't feel like moving."

"What about that second round?" He smirked down at her, as she looked up and let out a small laugh.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Fine, you wanna be a good boy."

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but she quickly jumped onto his back pulling him backwards on top of her.

"I'm going to stare at you naked," she hissed in his ear. Her smoky breath and just the thought of her staring at him made him want to stay in bed.

"Then I'll stare at you naked," he retorted with a smile as he pried himself from her grasp and pushed himself into an upright position again.

She flipped her long side bangs out of her eyes again, and giggled. "As if you don't already."

He dug around for his boxers in the mess of their clothing, tossing her smoldering cigarette that she'd thrown earlier under the bed. She reached around him, withdrawing a pair of boyshorts and a bra.

"You should go commando," she joked, trying to push him over as he stuck a leg in his boxers.

He quickly caught his balance by grabbing onto the edge of the nightstand, and bluntly replied, "I will if you stop wearing yours."

She let out a loud laugh before replying, "I'd do better than you. I don't even need a bra. Have you seen my boy chest? Honestly, Harry, how many times have we fucked? Is it not obvious there are first years with bigger boobs? Hell, you have bigger boobs than I do!"

He couldn't contain his laughter as she clasped on her bra. She was right, in a sense; she was considerably petite, standing at only five foot three, and weighing a hundred and four, if that. Harry picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it over his messy ebony hair. There was a cigarette burn on the edge, thanks to her.

She pulled on her tight skinny jeans, which ironically fell loose on her bony legs. In a split second she pulled her short hair back into a ponytail with elastic. He watched from the corner of his eye as he buttoned up his own jeans.

"Hand me my shirt? Please?" she asked him as he threw it over to her. She quickly pulled the form-fitting black tee onto her torso and put on her shoes before leaving. "See you back there."

He waved as she shut the door; her footsteps repeated as she continued down the stairs of the inn in Hogsmeade. It had become a usual routine since the end of the last school year, one leaving before the other. Sometimes he wished she wasn't Ron's little sister. Sometimes he wished Ron wasn't his best friend. It might make things easier for them, or it could make things more gauche. He didn't know. But he constantly wished that she'd be his best friend for ever.

Sometimes it hurt a little; he was in love with her, meaning he couldn't control it. He'd fallen in that deep crater of love for the one girl he was never supposed to. She, on the other hand, loved him, like a brother. In sense, he was an equal to Ron, and even though when he thought about it he found it a bit awkward to admit. But he loved her, and he wouldn't dare expose himself to her. He knew he could ruin the most remarkable thing in his life, and he wouldn't risk it for the world.

Finally, he rose and left the grimy inn. His hands dug deep into his pockets as he wondered about her, wondered how she did it. She broke hearts without any effort, not even noticing. She managed to go from the all-around nice girl to her true self; which, ironically, wasn't that nice to everyone. She was an unprejudiced, imaginative, sarcastic bitch. He wouldn't change a thing about her.

-x-x-

Harry slouched down in one of the snug armchairs in front of the fireplace in the Common Room. Ron had his head bended over a piece of parchment as his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, looked over his shoulder. Every so often she would point out a factual error, or if she was really picky, a grammatical one. Secretly, or not so much, he was desperately envious of his best friends. They were truly in love with each other, and they'd been together since the start of their sixth year. It was fate really; Ron couldn't hide his admiration of her beauty, and she couldn't stop blushing whenever he'd say something. He wanted Ginny to fawn over him like that; he wanted it to be Ginny who was dreadfully in love with him, and then he could tell Ron it was Ginny who started the whole thing. What brother would deny his only sister love?

Sometimes his fantasies got him in over his head. He was a dreamer, to the definition. His mind wandered, and he fabricated stories and lies like no other. He had them all fooled, making up alibis and so on.

"Did you hear me, Harry?" Hermione said. Harry pushed himself up, mentally shaking himself awake. Ron and Hermione were both staring up at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, dragging his hand down across his face. "Didn't sleep well."

"I didn't even hear you come in," Ron said, curiosity hinted in his voice.

Harry shrugged a bit and rubbed his eyes. "I got in around three."

This, of course, was a blatant lie. He got in around seven-fifty-three, and just seconds later Hermione saw him passed out on the couch. But he didn't need any naïve questions from Ron about whom he slept with.

"Are you hungover?" Hermione asked, eying his suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking too much."

"Hermione, love, you came back around eleven-thirty," Ron reminded.

"So?" she retorted. "I was tired."

"I'm just saying," her beau replied, in his and Harry's defense. "The night had barely begun for Harry."

But Hermione was right, he was a bit hungover and it had only just started when she left. Ginny stolen a bottle of firewhiskey for them and shared it with him. She was quite a drinker by herself, but together they finished it in less than ten minutes. Before that, he couldn't recall how many shots or glasses of any alcohol he had.

Harry turned his head away from them, letting his head fall forward into his chest. He really wanted a cigarette, or a smoke of anything.

A voice came from behind him. "Hey."

He looked up from the corner of his eye, his heart picking up its pace. Ginny looked ruffled, and her eyes were bloodshot. He knew she would have a cigarette, or a blunt, or something. She was still in the same clothes from the night before, except that she'd carelessly thrown on a baggy sweatshirt. She threw herself down onto the couch next to Hermione, pulling her legs crossed underneath her.

"Late night?" Hermione chuckled with a smile. Ron narrowed his eyes at his younger sister. He never approved of her staying out late, drinking or hanging out boys. It seemed he could never grasp the concept of her growing older.

Ginny yawned and shrugged. "Just woke up is all. Still half-asleep."

"You shouldn't be staying out so late," her brother snapped. "You're sixteen, you shouldn't be –"

She cut him off with her laughter. "Fine, I'll stay in and study."

Harry snickered at this, and Ginny gave him her usual half-stoned half-smile. She had been a smart student last year, top of her class. But now she lagged behind by rarely handing in her work, and falling asleep during class.

"Don't you encourage her, Harry!" Ron hissed. "Mum'll kill her once she sees those grades."

"I'm not failing," Ginny replied angrily, which was true. She was lucky when it came to memorizing, she did have a gift for photographic memory.

"Well you should care more about your grades than going out every night," her older brother responded.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Ron, Hermione does all your fucking work, so I don't get why you care so fucking much. Fuck this," she pushed herself up and took as long strides as she could with her short legs to the Common Room portrait door. "Fuck you."

"Hey!" Ron yelled after her, but the portrait door slammed behind her in a fury. A few other Gryffindors looked over for a second before returned to their own business. "Merlin, Ginny is such a bitch these days. I don't get it."

"She's growing up, Ron," Hermione said softly, placing her thin hand on his shoulder. "I bet she feels like you're holding her back."

"Well, I am, because I don't want her to become some sort of slag or whore or something. Merlin, she's just sixteen!"

"So?" Harry spoke for the first time in a while. "We're seventeen. We were in her shoes last year. Didn't you want to be an adult then?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. "You're my best friend, Harry! Why are you backing her up?"

"Well," Hermione quickly rescued Harry. "Harry has done a quite bit more of growing up than we have. He's been in his fair share of battles; maybe he doesn't want to see her youth get taken away from her like he did?"

Harry nodded, surprised Hermione understood him considerably well. "Basically."

Ron grumbled before returning to his work. Harry had a step up over them; he'd narrowly defeated the Dark Lord just a few months earlier. Everyone saw him as more of a god than ever; they saw him as an idol, an adult, a role model. They'd read his biography, the headlines and those articles all about him. But they didn't know him.

It felt like the Final Battle had happened decades ago. Harry didn't care too much to reminisce over it, either. Their faces used to always surface in his mind; now he could only see their bodies, lying out upon Hogwarts' grounds while others dragged them away from the scene. It was obvious why he tried to focus on the present.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his jeans' pockets, although his best friends had barely even heard.

Harry strode out into the barren, cold hallways. Winter was just a month away, and Halloween Feast was the following week. He was terrified his final year at Hogwarts was going to slip away, along with Ginny. It was his greatest fear; he'd lose yet another thing he loved. He'd faced death so many times, and lost so many loved ones that he should've been okay with it. But she made him feel different and alive; she made his skin burn like fire whilst her body was ice cold. She was unlike anyone he knew, and he didn't know how he would handle it if he lost her.

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i'm just kidding, but seriously REVIEW.