A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, for if I did, I would not be sitting at home writing fanfiction and being poor, story and plotline, however, are mine. And also the last line is from a song called Beautiful by Mandalay.
He watched her twirl around in a white dress that made her look like an angel. He watched her eyes twinkle with laughter and happiness. He watched her smile.
But never at him…she would never smile at him. He knew why. She hated his guts, yet she was always cordial to him, out of formality, not out of choice.
One would say, how does someone else get into this position? The answer is simple. You alienate a person based on an animistic belief system that is eventually, brutally ripped out from underneath you, thus forcing you to come to terms with your idiocy and see the person for who they truly are. That is how you get into this position.
As she danced the brilliant red-orange-pink sunset illuminated her facer. Bringing a sunshiny glow to her face, making his breath catch in his throat.
She caught his eye. He gave a polite nod. She returned it. He looked away quickly realizing this was all their relationship would ever be. Returned acknowledgments from her, longing looks and unrequited feelings from him.
A shiver of pain ran down his spine, further reminding him what loneliness felt like. Not that he needed reminding. That's what his life was now, a big, black mass of loneliness and solitude. He had never dreamed his life would have turned out like this. Then again, no one does, do they?
He found that jealous quickly made itself known in him nowadays. Like boiling water, the jealously arose in him, as he watched that no-good Weasley embrace her, a glittering diamond on her left hand. He would never have that. Never. That thought made him bitter. Bitter enough to wipe that smile off that dirty Weasley's face. Permanently.
He decided to walk away, before he made a complete fool out of himself. He strolled through the gardens, which were remarkably beautiful. With the magicked lights hanging in the trees, and the ambrosial scent off the butterfly flowers, the soft sound of rushing water in a fountain. None of it even compared to his sweet Hermione though.
He sat down on a cold, stone bench. He put the hood of his black sweatshirt over his platinum blonde hair and laid his head in his hands while sighing, letting one lone tear run down her face. She would never see him again.
Do you know you're beautiful? You are, yes you are.
A/N: I know it was short but, thank you for reading, I would love reviews as this is my first story. :)
-ASMF