Disclaimer: In no way did I make up the cast and plot of Harry Potter; it
belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Title: The Finer Etiquettes of Boy-Watching
Summary: On a clear night, a night not unlike the others, a silent observer
broods.
Category: Angst, Romance
Characters: HP/GW
He was flying. She knew he was flying even thought she could not see him. The whoosh of robes flapping and broomstick cutting through the silent air was unmistakable. She liked to walk on days like this, where the sky was clear and bore no obstacles to the stars. It was just an added plus, contrasting to the freezing air. Yes, she was here for him. Every night he would come and practice, and every night she would set her catlike observations.
It was the same all along and today was another ritual unto itself. Silently, she sat herself next to the trees where she would get a good view of the quidditch pitch, while giving not too much of herself away. She'd sit here and dream on, watching him fly. He loved his hobby of flying and she loved her hobby of boy-watching. Never gathering enough courage to talk to him, she relied on her imaginative daydreams to keep close to him. She likes to see his passion, the way his body adjusted to the way he moves when he does the tricks.
One day she would finally be close to him. He would bring her to the pitch and show off his tricks. Not only will she see in a new perspective but the flips were done in love, all to impress her. She would no longer be subjected to watch from afar...
But alas, it was only a dream. Getting up from the cold bench, she traveled her way back, the long path worn...
He was flying. She knew he was flying even thought she could not see him. The whoosh of robes flapping and broomstick cutting through the silent air was unmistakable. She liked to walk on days like this, where the sky was clear and bore no obstacles to the stars. It was just an added plus, contrasting to the freezing air. Yes, she was here for him. Every night he would come and practice, and every night she would set her catlike observations.
It was the same all along and today was another ritual unto itself. Silently, she sat herself next to the trees where she would get a good view of the quidditch pitch, while giving not too much of herself away. She'd sit here and dream on, watching him fly. He loved his hobby of flying and she loved her hobby of boy-watching. Never gathering enough courage to talk to him, she relied on her imaginative daydreams to keep close to him. She likes to see his passion, the way his body adjusted to the way he moves when he does the tricks.
One day she would finally be close to him. He would bring her to the pitch and show off his tricks. Not only will she see in a new perspective but the flips were done in love, all to impress her. She would no longer be subjected to watch from afar...
But alas, it was only a dream. Getting up from the cold bench, she traveled her way back, the long path worn...