A/N: This is an old fic that I wrote about five years ago, but had forgotten about. I found it a few weeks ago, decided to edit it a little bit, and published it. I hope its not too bad :P
His Eyes Are Watching
"Love sought is good, but given unsought is better."
- William Shakespeare (Twelfth Night)
It had been five years since she had felt those eyes on her. They made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She turned around slowly. There they were. Her breath caught. They hadn't changed at all in five years. They were still a dark, grey fortress, intriguing as ever. And they still seemed to have the power to awaken the strong feelings she had long ago learned to bury deep within her soul. She wanted to look away, but it was hard. She couldn't break the eye contact he had initiated.
He stood across the room from her, conversing politely with an elderly man she didn't recognize. But his eyes were still watching her, appraising her.
She felt self-conscious. Needing to get away, she wrenched her eyes from his and left the room as quickly as she could, without drawing attention to herself. Outside the door, she took the hallway to her left, hoping this was where she had seen the ladies room earlier.
It was. She entered, hoping for a little privacy, but she was disappointed. The ladies room was full, as it always was at public events like this one. Turning on her heel, she exited the room and continued down the hallway in search of a temporary sanctuary. Her eyes alighted on a pair of double doors at the far end of the hallway.
The doors were heavy. She struggled to create an opening large enough for her to slip through. The doors led to a large balcony made of the same ancient grey stone as the rest of the mansion. The slight breeze held a chill that cleansed the suffocation in her lungs. Taking deep breaths, she walked to the wide stone railing. She felt exhilarated to be outside, to be alive. She had felt suffocated for so long, dying a little with every passing day. Too many days, weeks, months had been spent cooped up in a small cluttered office in a forgotten corner of the world.
Now she was free of it though. But this homecoming was not what she had expected. And she had certainly never expected to find those strange haunting eyes focused on her again. Leaning on the railing with her elbows, she contemplated them. They were beautiful, just as he was. But why was hestaring at her?
It made no sense. He and she were a world apart. They hadn't seen each other in five years. And- Perhaps, that was why he had been staring! Five years was a long time. Her old life seemed millennia ago. Many people had forgotten that this quiet bookworm still lived on the same planet they inhabited. Maybe he had forgotten her too. Maybe he was wondering who she was. Why did she look familiar? Or maybe, she fancied, he wondered why she had come back. Why now, when there was nothing for her to come back to? But that was absurd. He couldn't remember her.
She shook her head to clear it of morose thoughts. Thinking was useless, she had learned. Thinking kept old wounds fresh. And she wanted to heal. It was why she had come back. Hiding away hadn't helped at all, so she came back to the source of her pain, hoping she could find a cure in that forsaken place. But her first week back, she realized she had no idea where to even start looking. She was still wandering aimlessly, hoping that her search ended before she grew too weary of life to continue.
Checking her watch, she realized she had been standing on the balcony for awhile now and it was getting cold. The breeze had picked up, running through the loose tendrils of hair around her face, calling forth goosebumps on her bare arms, and swirling around her long dress to nip at her ankles.
Shivering, she decided it was time to grab her cloak and slip out before anyone noticed. As she turned to go, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She turned around fully and gasped. It was him.
He was leaning on the railing, in unwitting mimicry. He had his back to her, on the other side of the wrap-around balcony. She wondered how long he had been there. Had he followed her? But why would he do that? And why did she even care? For all she knew, he had come out for a breath of fresh air. Or maybe he had a secret tryst with someone. If it was the former, she wasn't needed and if it was the latter, she would get in the way. The latter intrigued her though, just as so much about him intrigued her. But it wasn't any of her business. She turned to go.
"Wait."
Her heart gave a jolt at the unexpected sound, at the voice she hadn't heard in five long years. She hadn't ever expected to hear that voice again. She turned around. He still had his back to her.
She refused to move towards him. He was being rude. As she waited thirty seconds for him to turn around and acknowledge her further, she reflected upon her reaction to his voice. She thought she had forgotten his voice, until she heard it again. But she had never forgotten it, only repressed the memory of it. Just as she had repressed so many other memories that were threatening to come rushing back at the sound of his voice. She shied away from remembrance. She realized he wasn't going to move.
He stirred just as she turned. They were standing nearly ten feet apart, but as his eyes locked with hers, the distance seemed to disappear. As she gazed at him, she realized why he had stared. He did remember her, better than anyone else, and he was curious. Curious, perhaps, about her return. Curious about what could possibly have compelled her to return, when there was no family, no friends, and no home to return to. But how did he remember? She wanted to ask, but didn't know how to.
She shifted her eyes away, looking at the darkening sky. The distance between them was back. She forced herself to not look when he took two steps closer. He stopped, as if waiting for something. Possibly, for her to take two steps as well. She did. Unwillingly. It felt as if someone else was in her body, moving her feet. She watched from the sidelines as the two figures bridged the gap between them. When less than two feet remained, her senses returned, and she realized with a shock that she was close enough to reach out and touch him.
The same thought seemed to have occurred to him. His hand moved up, his fingers inching towards her cheek. She watched his hand's slow ascent, unwilling or unable to move, she didn't know which. She flinched when his surprisingly warm fingers touched her cold skin. He pulled away instantly. She flushed. The overreaction made her feel like a moron. She wished he would say something. He didn't.
He continued to watch her. It made her feel self-conscious again. She wanted to leave, but she had made the mistake of looking directly at him again. Her eyes locked with his and she couldn't find her feet or the willpower to move them. He looked away first this time. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
He spoke at last. "You're back."
His gaze returned to her. She could see the curiosity plainly in his eyes now. It saddened her as nothing else had this evening. Not when people she had once known came up to her, wondering if she was new in the area. Not when old friends hadn't flickered in recognition at her name. Not even when her best friend's brother, whom she had considered just as dear a friend, had failed to recognize her. No, his simple curiosity was more heart-wrenching because he did remember.
How he remembered was in itself a mystery. She had made sure she would be forgotten by all who'd been a part of her life. It had been a vain attempt to distance herself from the events and the people that were a part of her past. But he remembered more than her face or her name. He remembered what she had lost, what no longer existed. He remembered, and wondered.
His curiosity threatened to awaken all of her repressed memories. A solitary tear ran down her cheek, accompanied milliseconds later by its twin on her other cheek. The pieces of her shattered heart began to stir in her chest.
He had been watching her and he saw her face change as she remembered. His heart constricted at the realization that he had caused this. He was well-acquainted with such exquisite pain and at that moment he loathed himself for triggering it in her. Unable to watch helplessly, he acted on impulse, putting his arms around her to comfort her. It was an alien gesture, as comforting was something he wasn't familiar with. His arms encircled her loosely and he was holding her awkwardly.
But that didn't seem to concern her for she clung to him as the shattered bits began to poke her chest with a pain and intensity she hadn't felt in five years. The tears came slowly, soundlessly. As he grew accustomed to the wetness spreading on his shoulder, he relaxed inwardly and tightened his grip around her.
He held her for what felt like an eternity until first the tears, then the quiet sobbing stopped. She was still shaking though. Instinctively, he held her tighter against him.
At long last the shaking stopped and she felt like a limp rag doll in his embrace. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. His heart stilled at the pain and loneliness he found there. He wanted to make it go away, but he didn't know how to. As he agonized over what to do, he saw concern growing in her expression. Concern for him.
It didn't belong there, but he didn't know how to reassure her. He couldn't find the words or think of the actions that would make everything alright, that could bring a contented smile to her face.
There was only one thing he could think of to do. The unthinkable. But he didn't know how to start or what to say. And he knew that a contented smile was the last thing his words would elicit. But still, they would remove the concern, the pain, the loneliness that was etched in her face. All her emotions would be replaced by one he could understand: anger. But he didn't want her to be angry. Not at him. It wasn't something he wanted to, or even could, deal with.
But it was now or never. He brought his face near to her. His lips inched closer. He stopped. He took a deep breath to hold the panic in his lungs at bay. Steeling himself, he closed the distance between them.
He whispered quietly into her ear, "I've been waiting for you."
His breath tickled her ear and it took her a second to comprehend his words. He stood frozen in anticipation. Slowly she turned her head to look at him.
"Wh-what do you mean?" Her voice quavered.
He fidgeted nervously before answering. "I've waited for you to return, wondering if you ever would. I wasn't even sure whether you were still alive. Sometimes I prayed that you would, just to end my agony. Other times, I- I prayed you wouldn't ever return, because confessing to you would be much more painful than what I was going through already." He looked away.
She felt confused. What was he talking about? Then her mind caught up with her ears. He wanted to confess something to her. But what could he possibly have to say to her that could cause him so much distress. She asked him.
He turned his back to her and walked slowly to the railing to look out over the balcony. He contemplated the few stars that had come out, while he searched for a way to put his thoughts into coherent sentences.
"I have to confess something from a while back. From before you left. I…" He trailed off, unsure of how to admit the truth to her.
This was nothing like what he had imagined. And he had imagined this confession played out a hundred different ways. His imagination had always given it a happy ending. But now, when he was on the brink of telling her, he was beginning to doubt himself. He was beginning to doubt his words, her reaction to his words. She wouldn't be happy; she would be angry. She wouldn't believe him, wouldn't believe the feeling behind his words. And he couldn't blame her. Sincerity was not something he had much practice at.
Suddenly he laughed, slightly hysterical. He was putting way too much thought into this. And in the end, his thoughts wouldn't matter. Thinking could not change or dictate how she would react, what she would think. The only certainty was his feelings and he didn't need any more time to think about those. He was only delaying the inevitable. He turned around to face her. He had started this and he would have to finish it, as quickly as possible.
Ignoring her startled expression, he looked her in the eye. "Years ago, I fell in love with a young girl. She was full of life, carefree and optimistic. Now, when I look in your eyes, I can't find that girl anymore." His voice was sad. "I used to envy that girl, wishing my life could be even a little bit like hers. But now, seeing you after all these years, I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so haunted and broken. And I must be possessed to even think it-because I don't think I'm capable of it-but I want desperately to fix you." His continued anxiously, "I want to take away your pain, your loneliness. I can't see you like this." He stopped talking, suddenly afraid of revealing too much. He was baring his innermost self to her, while expecting rejection at the same time. Was he a fool?
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he saying- Yes, yes that was exactly what he was saying. But it didn't make any sense. None of it did. The party, the balcony, his words, it all felt surreal. Yes, it was a dream. A cruel trick of her subconscious. She had finally snapped. She had always known she would. The pain and heartbreak of loss was too much for one person to bear.
She felt like laughing, wildly and uncontrollably. So she did. Heck, she was crazy already. Might as well revel in it.
He stared at her, feeling lost, hurt, and insulted. How could she laugh? This wasn't funny. He had expected rejection and anger, but laughter was too much to bear. Couldn't she see how painful this was for him? Couldn't she see how vulnerable he felt? She continued to laugh.
Suddenly, he realized she had tears streaming down hers cheeks and she was completely ignoring him. With startling clarity, he saw what was happening. She wasn't laughing at him. She was on the threshold of insanity. That blurry line would be so easy, so painless to cross. He had to stop her somehow. He had to help her, if only for the girl he had once loved, that he had thought he still loved.
He rushed to her, grabbed both of her shoulders, and tried to shake her out of it. She continued to ignore him and laugh. He tried shouting at her.
"Snap out of it, dammit! What the hell is wrong with you?" It didn't work. He shook harder.
As a last resort, he slapped her, hard. It took a lot out of him. He couldn't believe he had thought such a thing, much less done it. But it didn't work either. His shoulders lowered in defeat.
But he couldn't give up. He couldn't let go of her so easily. Without planning it, without thinking about it, he kissed her. This was truly his last resort. If this didn't work, he didn't know what he would do. Except perhaps join her in her insanity.
The kiss lasted an eternity. Slowly, very slowly, she calmed down and stopped trying to pull away from him. He kissed her with a gentle passion, his hands cupping her cheeks. The kiss was stirring something inside him, something that had been subdued for the past few years when he hadn't even believed her to be alive. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and kissing her more fervently. She had stopped laughing. She began responding to him, softly at first, then more eagerly.
Suddenly, without warning, her lips stopped moving against his. He opened his eyes, his heart sinking to his feet as his hands dropped to his sides. She had realized what she was doing. And now she would be angry. His eyes dropped as he steeled himself for the pain her censure would cause. He was, however, unprepared for the ragged sobs that wracked her body.
Trembling, she dropped to her knees, her legs unable to support her. Astonished, he stood frozen for a moment before joining her on the ground and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Craving further comfort, she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Steadying himself with a foot, he opted for a less compromising position, sitting cross-legged on the cold ground. Then he pulled her into his lap.
She continued to sob into his shoulder. Absentmindedly, he wondered if the colors in his dark shirt had begun to run yet. He hoped not. Pulling her closer, he waited for her to calm down. He began wondering what he would say to her. How would he explain the feelings he had had for her all those years ago? How was he going to justify his fear of rejection, his self-doubt? How was he-
Just then, she pulled back to look at his face. His heart filled with dread as she opened her mouth to speak.
"Are five years a long time?"
Her question threw him off. He wasn't sure what kind of answer she was looking for. He wanted to say that yes, five years was a long time. Five years of agony, of self-doubt, of uncertainty. Yes, five years was a long time. It was a long time to wonder if someone loved you back. It was a long time to wonder if she was still alive. It was a very long time to see her disappear in the minds and hearts of the people who had once admired and respected her.
"Yes," he answered softly. She put her head against his shoulder again. He longed to kiss her again, but was afraid of breaking the spell of contentment she seemed to be in. Instead, he held her close, hardly daring to hope that something might come of his confession, so many years late.
At one point in the evening, she had wanted to ask him how he remembered when no one else did, when she had ensured no one would. But now, it seemed unimportant as only one thought ran through her mind: she had found her cure. She had returned home for it, five years late, but she'd found something else as well, something she'd once craved, but never expected: Draco's love.