Summary: Just a lowly little oneshot. Consists of two characters: 'He' and 'She.' He sees her by the Black Lake every night. Who is she? Does he want to know?
Ripples
From the Mind of RadicalReason
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hogwarts, the grounds, the Black Lake, or the creatures who reside there. This fanfic was written for my own amusement and for the enjoyment of anyone who enjoys it.
This is just a lonely little oneshot, just so you aren't expecting more.
She always appears at night. This is the one thought he thrives on during the day.
Her back arches towards the sliver in the sky like a prominent blade of grass reaching up towards something she can't reach. He can barely see the sheen of water across her body, the droplets that cling to her form. He watches as she lowers herself down and plops into the shining water, sending ripples back to kiss the land. Her hair is a white ribbon just skimming the surface. He longs to go over there and grasp the end of that tail, guiding her back towards him.
She does the same thing every night. Does she ever get tired of it? He knows that he never tires of watching her. He hopes she never stops.
The first time he saw her was the night when Gryffindor won the House Cup. Everyone in his dorm was cheery, thrusting bottles of firewhiskey into his hands. He just needed to get away from the raucousness, the painfully upbeat tune of the Weird Sisters pounding through his head. (Some bloke had thought it would be funny to play the same song over and over and over.)
He had decided to leave – to go for a stroll across the grounds. McGonagall was probably too busy celebrating quietly in her office to come out and reprimand her.
That's when he saw her – a glittering flash. Then she was gone. He crept as close as he could without disturbing her. She was gliding smoothly just under the water. He had wished that he could have felt the cold spray of water mist his face when she had leaped into the water, and told himself that tomorrow he would come back and wait.
She's always there, dancing across the water, tantalizing in an eerie way. Does he want to know who she is?
He's never seen her face. He imagines that it is beautiful, like the graceful way she floats in the water.
He wants to see her face.
He really wants to see her face.
XXX
He crouches by the side of the lake, trying to ignore the rustling of the leaves that he crunches on if he shifts his weight ever so slightly. He tries not to go mad. Did she hear it? Does she know he's there, waiting for her to show herself?
That night she didn't come.
XXX
It's hopeless. Some things just aren't explained. If they are, it might just create even more confusion anyway, so why bother?
Weeks pass.
Nights are harder to cope with. He grows restless. It takes hours to go to sleep. Once he's asleep, he wakes up a few minutes later, wondering if it's morning yet. His schedule seems not quite right.
One night, he's too tired to fight. He crawls out of bed.
She's by the lake, her head still, watching over the lake.
His arms are limp, eyes drooping. He collapses in the grass. The dewy blades cushion him.
She turns sharply towards the thud. Her face is ethereal in its beauty. A second later she hides beneath the water, head bobbing just above the surface, face turned towards him as his eyes drift closed.
XXX
In the morning he sits where she sat, by the edge of the lake. He stares out across the water, enjoying the way ripples of water tickle his feet. But it's not the same as night. There's no still calmness in the way the water laps up to the land. Instead, playfulness consumes everything.
Suddenly the ripples by his feet grow larger. In the distance he can see a head peeking just above the surface.
The Giant Squid turns its wise, sad eyes toward him and for a shining moment he can see her glowing hair fanning out from around her head.