Orokid: So… I know that I already have a billion Harry and Hermione fanfics, but it's something that I can't drop. Blame my Oppositional Defiance Disorder (O.D.D.) if you want to blame something. At the end, I know that Harry will finally look at Hermione and figure out… Hey, she's my best friend, but she's also the only person to understand me, to truly love me.

Yes, I know that the final book has been published- but I choose to ignore it on my own free will. To anyone that vocally disagrees with my shipping, I'm sorry. But… you can bite me because I'm entitled to my own opinion. ^u^

Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with Harry Potter. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling and the Warner Brothers company. Not me. Hell, I don't even think I can own this idea, due to the fact that I was merely trying to figure out a new writing style.

And though I may have lost respect for J.K. Rowling, I still enjoy the books she wrote. Well… up until the fifth one at least. After that, I swear a gnome that only wants to terrorize me and hundred (maybe even thousands) of Harmony shippers out there started writing. Especially the epilogue of the seventh book.

… Damn gnome…

Anyway, I'm sure that you want to actually read the story by now… I'll cut off my ranting here then. Hope you enjoy it!

Studying

She watches him.

Not because she's forced to. Not because she wants to. It's neither of those really. She just can't help herself sometimes.

She sits there in her favorite chair, a large book propped up against her lap, her eyes just above the pages that usually entices her so. Her fingertips play with the old parchment, dragging the calluses from past reading ventures she had enjoyed against the edges, flicking the pages to each other. The noise quiets her thoughts for the moment, but she doubts that they'll end.

She knows that because she can't stop thinking about him.

Him. He's the boy that is sitting across from her, silent and breathing soft into the crackling atmosphere from the fireplace. He doesn't know things, such as how she regularly is thinking about him- and how she figures that he will never get the chance to know. She believes that he doesn't need to see this part of her, and she's happier knowing that he'll live his life without the information.

He merely believes that he sees her as everything she shows him, and is happier thinking that about her.

And she's happier with him living her lies.

Often, she looks at him without knowing of it, much like she is doing now, although she keeps pretending that she doesn't. It feels better for her to hide behind things he knows her to do, and she never wants anyone else to see her watching her secret obsession.

To her knowledge, no one has seen her- although she constantly worries that someone has noticed her behavior.

Yet in times like this, she can't help feeling like she doesn't care. The clock chimes twice, alerting her toward the time of the night, and she smiles warmly at the knowledge. She's the only one awake in the tower, and few have come down in the nights before to disregard her theory.

Putting her book down, she tries to calm her throbbing heart, pushing the lump down her throat as much as she's able to. Her body is fearful, and the shaking in her hands as she pulls away from her book tells her that she is much more nervous than she knows that she should be.

She hopes desperately that he doesn't choice now to wake.

She conjures up a blanket for him as she stands finally, and it takes her only a moment to steady her legs enough to walk it over to him. And, as she stands beside her chair, she can't help herself from doing what she does best.

She studies him.

Him. He's the boy she had grown up with for the past several years, and the one who has saved her life so many times it is hard to remember how much she owes him. He's often chided her for being so hash, although that look in his eyes would tell her that he understands why she does so. He's given her many a chance that he hadn't given others, and she's been more than grateful for them.

But... he's more than that. And only she knows just how much more.

He's the boy she secretly fell in love with since that moment they had met on the train, and the one she has told herself not to care for since she's learned of the hidden pieces of her heart.

Yet, no matter how much chiding she gives herself, she has never been able to force herself not to feel for him. The only thing she's learned to control is the ability to keep her mouth quiet while her heart does nothing but yearn loudly for what she does not say.

Pulling a blanket upon him, she watches as he mumbles in his sleep incoherent thoughts that only make sense to those who listen. She knows his dreams are kind to him tonight, a soft sigh of relief on her breath as she smiles down at him. It's been a long time since the last, she knows, and she finds herself content with the knowledge that's been granted to her.

And, because he's happy, she feels happy.

It's then that she notices that she's close to him, closer than she'd ever allow whenever he was awake. Oftentimes at night, she's found herself in this predicament though she's never told a soul about it. She knows how others, if not him, might see her differently… worse… if the knowledge comes to light.

And a thought crosses her mind. At first, she denies to have even thought it… but her denial never lasts too long. She knows what she wants to do, and she knows the consequences of her actions. She knows that's why she cannot cross the borders between their status… even if she wants to.

And, without thinking, she slowly moves closer to him.

She then notices a crease in his forehead.

She realizes that he's close to waking at the slightest noise, and so she silently steps back so that he might not awake in an awkward position with her hovering above. She doubts that she can come up with any more lies to satisfy his curiosity, to blind him from the truth. She knows how she dances on the edges of their friendship, but she knows better than to fall.

He mumbles again, and she finds herself glad to know that he's back to his wonderful and inconstant rem, though she finds herself knowing that she cannot attempt to do what she wishes once again. It's a painful thought, but she knows.

But she knows just how much she's wanted it.

Inhaling deeply, she takes to returning to her chair, gazing down at pages and thinking to herself about things that she refused to bring to light. It's easier to watch him without watching, memorizing his features and actions through memories with an ease unknown.

With an elbow to her knee, the words begin to form his name. Over and over.

She closes the book softly, careful not to cause him any disruptions, gazing at him with soft yet knowledgeable eyes. The memories begin to flood again, coursing through her mind much like blood does through her veins and magic through her fingertips. In a moment, she's back to the day before, watching him.

No, studying him.

He's talking about plans now, romance and hopeful weddings, though he gives no name to whom he plans to have either with. She knows, even if he doesn't. It's been far obvious whom his heart desires.

As obvious as she tends to be whenever no one is around.

But there is something in his eyes that she doesn't recognize… A twinkle that she hasn't seen before that glitters in his jeweled orbs. And she's realized that it's only there whenever they're talking. His language becomes softer, kinder, and she teases herself thinking that they might means something more than what they are.

But it eats through her, and it runs endlessly through her mind as she tries her hardest to figure out just what it means, knowing that it isn't what she wants.

And, in the end, she finds that her studies of him are incomplete, unknown to her in the slightest degree- something she knows won't last, having found herself enticed year after year to learn things that are not of her knowledge as of yet. But…

Until she knows, she's content to learn. To study him.

Him. The object of her studies. The one that she loves.

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Orokid: So… I know that it's not that good. I've never been that good at first person point of view, and so I'm sure that my first person attempt at a third person point of view (would it be called second person point of view or not?) is horrible. Nonetheless, I tried- and that's what counts, right?

Please don't hold back on your comments. Don't be kind. I'm a strong person, and I can take it. Trust me.