Written for the Pairing a Day Challenge (Day 15 - RogerRosmerta)

Written for the Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge (2/6 drabbles)

Written for the Acrostic-y Challenge of Chapter Titles II - Hogsmede)

Hair Like Gold

He caught just a wisp of her blonde hair as it disappeared to the back of the Three Broomsticks, but it was enough to get his heart pounding furiously against his chest. His visits to the popular pub consisted of longing stares across the room and debating with himself over whether or not he should go and talk to her.

Did she even notice him? Did she know his name?

His heart clenched as she returned from the back and passed a Butterbeer to a stupid Slytherin third year. She had the widest grin on her face, as if it pleased her to do such a thing.

He's not even an attractive one, Roger thought sourly.

"Butterbeer?"

Roger nearly jumped out of his seat. There she was… right there! Her hand was holding the glass he was about to drink from. She was smiling at him. She was standing right over him. She was beautiful.

He stood up.

"It's yours, yes?"

Roger wanted to answer her, but that would mean she would leave and go to another. The longer he stood there, the longer he didn't speak, the longer she would be there waiting for him.

"Hm, perhaps I have the wrong table." She frowned.

"No!" Roger had never reached for anything as quickly as he grabbed her arm. Some of the Butterbeer slopped from the glass, but that was irrelevant.

Her eyes turned back onto him, but this time she wasn't smiling. "So, it is yours?" She sounded confused.

"Mhm." Roger nodded, swallowing hard. He was still holding on to her, and she hadn't backed away. Her eyes were looking directly into his, and the hair… the golden curls that he had fallen in love with, were across her face. He stepped closer to her. "You're so beautiful." There, he had said it!

Her face turned a bright red, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she placed the glass on the table, continuing to watch him.

"Please," he begged, "I love you, Ros… Rosmerta."

"I…."

"I'm seventeen," Roger informed her. "I'm of age. I think about you every night. I go to bed dreaming about you – your eyes, your curls, your face." Their lips were less than an inch apart.

"I…."

"I need this," Roger pleaded.

He visibly saw her swallow that invisible lump in her throat. Her eyes glanced around the room to ensure nobody was watching, and then in a voice that was barely above a whisper, she said, "I'll meet you in the library at eleven tonight."

And that was it. She turned around as if nothing had happened, and returned to her bar duties, greeting each customer with a smile on her face.

Roger left the pub with a pounding heart and a mind full of pictures of beautiful eyes and hair that looked like gold.

And soft lips against his.

I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review if you read it! Would be much appreciated!