A/N: OK, this is my first fic of this particular pairing and it's quite
short, but I might write a second chapter if I get enough reviews (hint
hint)!
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Apart from the plot. And the words. That I'VE written. Obviously. Ahem, anyway, enough rambling for now (I always seem to ramble in my a/ns), and off to the story we go!
Broken Angel
Chapter 1
I'm hiding in the bushes under Harry's cloak. I'm on Hogwarts grounds after curfew. I don't care. I've done this millions of times. Each and every time to follow . . . Him.
Every day I stare at Him. Every single day.
And he doesn't spare me a glance.
Or a thought, probably. Or even an insult.
Harry always waves his hand in front of my face for about five minutes before he gives up and starts talking to Hermione.
Not even my best friend can distract me from staring at Him.
He's an angel. I know. I've seen Him without his mask on.
I've snuck out at night many times. With Harry's cloak on, of course. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he ever found out that I was 'borrowing' it.
Every night I follow Him, watch him. He always goes to his spot just outside the Forbidden Forest. That is the only place where He lets his true feelings show.
I think that I may be the only person to have ever seen Him cry. That fact brings me great pleasure - that I, someone who should know NOTHING about him, know more about him than someone else - maybe even his friends. If they can be called that. Bodyguards can hardly qualify as 'friends'. But every time He cries, I want to do nothing more than hold him, comfort him, kiss away his tears . . . promise him that everything will OK.
But I can never do that.
That is more what Harry and Hermione would do. People who are going out together. People who love each other.
Not sworn enemies. That could never work.
It most certainly would never work if the love was one-sided.
Yes, I admit it. I'm gay. And I'm in love with Him.
I've known I was gay for a while, now. Ever since fourth year, actually. If I had actually paid attention to other people apart from Hermione and Krum at the Yule Ball, I bet I would've been eyeing up the boys without realising it. I'm guessing the reason I was jealous of Hermione and Krum was because I had a crush on her date. Stupid, really.
But that was before I got to know the Him. The real Him.
It didn't happen overnight. Certainly not. In fifth year I began watching him. He'd been . . . quieter. More solitary. In sixth year I caught the person hiding under the charade.
I remember that night so well. He was crying. I was there. He let me comfort him.
I don't know about him, but I have never forgotten that. And I don't think I will for many years to come.
He doesn't know, but I have been following him ever since that night. He probably thinks I don't care, but I do, I do. That is why I always come to the place just outside the Forbidden Forest. I watch him. Watch him cry, watch his platinum blonde hair shining in the moonlight, watch his . . .
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh SHIT.
He's gone. He's not under that tree anymore. How could I have let myself get so absorbed in my thoughts and memories that I didn't notice him leave?
I'm so stupid. Stupid stupid STUPID.
Where has he gone? What if I accidentally run into him and the cloak gets pulled off? What if I get caught by Harry coming back to the Gryffindor boy dormitories at four in the morning? What if . . .
There's movement. Movement in the bushes in front of me. I back away slowly, and in the nervous state I am, I back into a tree and one of the branches pull the cloak off.
Oh crap. I am in deep shit.
The bushes rustle some more. I move towards them.
Closer, closer and closer . . .
Suddenly I find myself staring into two mysterious grey eyes.
It's Him.
I feel my breathing quicken as he speaks.
"Hello Weasley."
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Apart from the plot. And the words. That I'VE written. Obviously. Ahem, anyway, enough rambling for now (I always seem to ramble in my a/ns), and off to the story we go!
Broken Angel
Chapter 1
I'm hiding in the bushes under Harry's cloak. I'm on Hogwarts grounds after curfew. I don't care. I've done this millions of times. Each and every time to follow . . . Him.
Every day I stare at Him. Every single day.
And he doesn't spare me a glance.
Or a thought, probably. Or even an insult.
Harry always waves his hand in front of my face for about five minutes before he gives up and starts talking to Hermione.
Not even my best friend can distract me from staring at Him.
He's an angel. I know. I've seen Him without his mask on.
I've snuck out at night many times. With Harry's cloak on, of course. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he ever found out that I was 'borrowing' it.
Every night I follow Him, watch him. He always goes to his spot just outside the Forbidden Forest. That is the only place where He lets his true feelings show.
I think that I may be the only person to have ever seen Him cry. That fact brings me great pleasure - that I, someone who should know NOTHING about him, know more about him than someone else - maybe even his friends. If they can be called that. Bodyguards can hardly qualify as 'friends'. But every time He cries, I want to do nothing more than hold him, comfort him, kiss away his tears . . . promise him that everything will OK.
But I can never do that.
That is more what Harry and Hermione would do. People who are going out together. People who love each other.
Not sworn enemies. That could never work.
It most certainly would never work if the love was one-sided.
Yes, I admit it. I'm gay. And I'm in love with Him.
I've known I was gay for a while, now. Ever since fourth year, actually. If I had actually paid attention to other people apart from Hermione and Krum at the Yule Ball, I bet I would've been eyeing up the boys without realising it. I'm guessing the reason I was jealous of Hermione and Krum was because I had a crush on her date. Stupid, really.
But that was before I got to know the Him. The real Him.
It didn't happen overnight. Certainly not. In fifth year I began watching him. He'd been . . . quieter. More solitary. In sixth year I caught the person hiding under the charade.
I remember that night so well. He was crying. I was there. He let me comfort him.
I don't know about him, but I have never forgotten that. And I don't think I will for many years to come.
He doesn't know, but I have been following him ever since that night. He probably thinks I don't care, but I do, I do. That is why I always come to the place just outside the Forbidden Forest. I watch him. Watch him cry, watch his platinum blonde hair shining in the moonlight, watch his . . .
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh SHIT.
He's gone. He's not under that tree anymore. How could I have let myself get so absorbed in my thoughts and memories that I didn't notice him leave?
I'm so stupid. Stupid stupid STUPID.
Where has he gone? What if I accidentally run into him and the cloak gets pulled off? What if I get caught by Harry coming back to the Gryffindor boy dormitories at four in the morning? What if . . .
There's movement. Movement in the bushes in front of me. I back away slowly, and in the nervous state I am, I back into a tree and one of the branches pull the cloak off.
Oh crap. I am in deep shit.
The bushes rustle some more. I move towards them.
Closer, closer and closer . . .
Suddenly I find myself staring into two mysterious grey eyes.
It's Him.
I feel my breathing quicken as he speaks.
"Hello Weasley."