He Watches

He watches her as she enters the Common Room; he is always watching her now, it seems. And she is almost always with him. He tries not to let the pain show because he knows that she will just think he is weak. But he still can't help thinking about her: the way she laughed every time he said something funny, the way she kissed him- her lips so soft yet demanding against his-and the way she always had an opinion, no matter what they were talking about.

As he watches her, she flips her glossy red hair carelessly over one shoulder, laughing at something Harry has just said. He remembers times when his fingers were tangled in her hair; he remembers its softness and its overpowering scent as he kissed her.

She stands, taking Harry's hand as they exit the Common Room. He wants to follow, he wants to run after her, he wants to tell her how much he loves her. He wants to make her understand that Harry couldn't possibly love her as much as he loves her. But he can't do that; he already tried to do that. She has never loved him, he realizes. She has never cared for him at all. The only reason she was ever with him was because she couldn't have the one she wanted. And now, he can't have her, Ginny, the girl he loves.

He stands, slouching to the portrait hole and leaves the Common Room behind. He walks mindlessly, aimlessly, barely aware of where he is going. All that he knows is that he wants to escape the wrenching feelings of hopelessness, of heartbreak, and of sadness that fill his soul. He stops abruptly, hearing laughter ahead. Her laughter. Ginny.

He would know the sound of her voice anywhere, for it has ingrained itself into his soul. He doubts that he can ever erase it completely. He walks down the staircase, unable to resist seeing her again. And there she is, with him.

They are embracing, kissing passionately, in the Entrance Hall, and he can feel his heart breaking again as he watches, horified and saddened, until tears blur his vision and he collapses to the ground, his chest heaving.

He gets to his feet, reaching out to steady himself on the banister of the marble staircase. Quietly, he turns and leaves the happy couple in the moonlit hall, oblivious to the pain they have caused.

"I love you, Ginny Weasley," two different boys whisper into the darkness of their dormitory hours later. One lays back happily in his bed, while the other casts a silencing charm and cries for her.

And when they wake, they still have the same girl on their minds. One joins her at the breakfast table, while the other watches with jealousy and pain in his heart.