Message from the translator: This story was originally published by FrutillaConLecheCondensada in Spanish. Any errors are mine.
Mensaje del traductor: Esta historia fue originalmente publicado en español por FrutillaConLecheCondensada. Todos los errores son míos.
Smile
One-Shot
By FCLC
Translator - Illustrium
Have you ever felt like you couldn't get any air? Like it didn't matter how many desperate gulps of air you swallowed, they would never calm you down. Like it wouldn't even be enough to have ten lungs because when you see that person, the air doesn't exist.
Have you felt like you had a weight on your chest? Like it doesn't matter how much you try to relax, to distract yourself, that oppressive weight remains and doesn't go away. That troublesome weight that doesn't let you calm down and that can, in a moment, become a rhythmic throbbing that dances, that jumps suddenly, that stops for a moment, that speeds up too fast when a moment you've waited for arrives. With that special person.
Have you ever felt a knot in your throat? Never-ending nerves? Unexplainable anxiety?
That damn knot, it's there, drowning you in misery like it's there to remind of the sadness trapped inside that wants to cry, that wants to scream, that wants to, for once, feel listened to. Those nerves, they eat away at you, and when you feel them you feel like fleeing, running, jumping, laughing desperately. Those unexplainable anxieties that make you wait a moment, that make you stay and laugh and suddenly, suddenly...
Crying
Crying, crying, crying... Crying, and more crying! Damn it! Hoping that the tears take away your anguish, your pain, your aches, and even... your happiness. And when you feel like you no longer have the strength to cry, like you don't have anymore tears to spill.
They come back.
Making your life bitterer, harsher, unhappier.
More empty.
The corridors feel cold. People pass by me, some smile at me, some look at me, others... nothing.
I fix the knot of my tie, which makes me feel even more suffocated in situations like this. I tighten my grip on the books in my arms and keep walking. Step by step. Step by step, step by step, I get closer to the place. And once again, I smile. Completely idiotic. I look around, no one's here. And I think about it again and again and again.
The place where fairytales come true.
The door appears and I enter quickly, before someone comes down this corridor. And there he is, with the same anguished face as mine. I drop my schoolbooks to the floor, running, I hug him desperately and he kisses me.
He kisses me.
Again and again.
Slow kisses, with need, full of tenderness, of love.
Of desperation.
His expression is transparent and its meaning flows through me, and I know that he is just as desperate as me. I can't stop myself from crying again, his soft hands caressing my face.
Why do demons have to be... so perfect and unreachable?
"Please," he whispers against my lips. "Don't cry." He dries my tears. Always, always.
Always so worried about me, ready to open his arms to me when I want. His kind face, always looking at me with such love, watching over me each time I take a step, watching over even my shadow if it's necessary. Loving me, loving me in his own unimaginable way. Kissing each of my pores, his caresses relieving me of my aches.
Loving me, like he never would.
"I... I love y-." He quiets me with a kiss. His lips dance sadly with my own. We separate, a lack of air is the culprit.
"Don't say it," he warns me. I can't say it. I can't tell him the thing that for me is the most important thing in my life. That thing that would help me survive this misery. And I know, neither can he. Those three words, so simple, so fulfilling, that would make our lives so happy but that can't be heard. Because if we were to say what we feel, everything would go to hell. And we would be alone. He and I.
He and I.
He and I.
Like in my dreams.
But it would be unfair, egotistical, to think only about ourselves and not about them.
His green eyes, they stare at me sadly. Nobody, nobody. Nobody can know how much we suffer, how much we keep quiet, how much we cry for this love. This impossible love. A love that fills me with hope only to drop me into a grim reality full of needles, and later, to burst unexpectedly. And to realize he'll never be mine but hers.
But she doesn't love him like I do; she doesn't kiss or touch him like me. She doesn't make him smile like I do. She doesn't distract him like his problems or make him feel so, so loved like I do. No, no she doesn't. Because it doesn't matter how many kisses she gives him, I'll always give him one more. It doesn't matter how many times she hugs him, my hugs will reach his soul. It doesn't matter how many times she dreams of him because my life is a dream, and my dream is him.
It doesn't matter how much she loves him, because I'll always love him more.
"Has he treated you alright?" He asks as he embraces me, and I can't help but purr into his chest.
"He's almost perfect." I say. And it's true. He is almost perfect for me, a catch for any girl. He's attentive, kind, funny, he loves me a lot, he's a gentleman, he already knows how to listen to me, and more. But...
"He's almost perfect?" I smile and glance up at him.
"He is perfect, but I'm not perfect for him," I say.
"You are perfect." He kisses my forehead. It kills me that he does that, they're kisses full of tenderness and sincerity. "I've missed you so much," he whispers. And I him. The days, the waiting, the minutes that seem like hours, them, everything. Everything, everything that surrounds us, suffocates us. We don't have time to be together anymore, to see each other, hug each other, kiss each other, or even...
Look at each other.
I feel his arms around my waist, our long-awaited embrace. An innocent kiss starts to become more heated, more and more passionate. The need becomes stronger, and with a simple movement, he lowers me to the ground, positioning himself over me without letting his body fall on top of mine.
His kisses burn my neck and my body trembles under his touch, his breaths leaving me without air. And, oh, his bites. They pull soft moans from my body and into the world. Our world.
And suddenly, I can't take any more. I stop.
"I can't do this anymore," I confess, whispering softly. He hears me anyway. The kisses stop, and I'm pretty sure that his breath stops as well.
And I cry.
"Hermione," he whispers with tender softness...
"No, no more, Harry!" I sit up, face to face and touch his cheek. "I can't, Harry." I kiss him. "I can't."
"Yes, yes you can." He says with his kind, soft voice.
"But, I don't want to." I look at him.
I have had enough of being the other, the one that looks on as she holds his hands in front of everyone else, the one whose hugs mean nothing. She's the one who can take him and announce that she's in love with him.
I can't take it anymore...
Because I want the same thing.
I want to be able to scream that I like Harry, too.
We spent the entire afternoon in each other's arms, him looking at me, drying my stray tears, caressing my face. Me, breathing in his scent so I can remember it clearly once we're apart.
I understand perfectly now; it's not important how much I love him or how much he loves me. We both know that we're not destined to be together. The world expects that he'll be with Ginny and that I'll be with Ronald. If while alone, we forget that and we try to live our world out there... It might cause the third war of the magical world.
And I don't want that.
Nor does he.
We've already had enough problems in our lives up until now. We don't need more.
And that's the price that we have to pay.
Keeping quiet, loving each other in secret.
And in front of everyone else, smiling like nothing has happened.
I see the time on a small clock nearby; it's late.
I look at him and he knows.
I kiss him.
He kisses me.
I separate from him, much to my regret, and we both get to our feet. I see him, so close yet so forbidden.
So untouchable and impossible for me.
It's breaking me.
"You know how I feel," he tells me.
I nod.
Of course I know!
I kiss him for the last time thinking, perhaps, about a day when we'll be able to return to our place of solace without raising suspicions. I head for the door without looking back because I know that if I look back, I'll jump into his arms and never let him leave.
"Smile," I heard him whisper.
"You, too," I respond, closing the door behind me. I lean against the wall and sigh before heading towards the common room.
And there he is.
Right as he sees me, he takes me in his arms and kisses my forehead.
"I was looking for you, Herms," he says. "Bet you were in the library." I nod.
"I was looking for you, too," I say as sweetly as I can. I feel Harry's footsteps and hug Ron, hiding my face in his neck as he holds me. Harry keeps heading towards the entrance to the common room, and from behind Ron's back looks at me.
And smiles.
And I smile back.
He's my only reason to smile, as much as it pains me.
And from the bottom of my heart, I wish that Ron could be the reason behind my smiles, I do.
I wish it so, so much.
But I know that it's not like that.
He's not it.
I kiss him, and he responds.
As soon as we part, he smiles at me.
And I smile at him, but not for him.
I'm lost. I can't, try as I might, smile for Ron.
I just can't.
And for a few more moments.
I wish I could.
Truly, I wish I could.