I don't think anyone ever realized, but they always sat near each other. He liked the back, so that he and the rest of the Marauders could chat. She liked the lighting there because it didn't cast a shadow over her work. No matter who got there first, and when, she would sit in the third row, by the window, and he would sit behind her, with his friends around him. Her friends didn't like the window that was near her seat, as it created a 'draft' so she was usually alone. I, for most of our schooling, sat one row behind him, to his right. While listening to the teachers' lectures, I found myself staring idly at them. Over the years, I've noticed a shift in their behaviour, starting in year one, all the way to "The Change", as I like to call it.
In first year, they both studied. She flaunted it, but he did it secretly. His friends only saw the pages of doodles and games and prank ideas, but I saw the notes he would jot down at every lesson when he thought no one was looking. She would openly take notes, though I could tell that a few of the papers had designs and plans for the future, instead of comments on the past. His writing was quick, overlooked, while hers was slow but shallow. There were a few occasions when she would do all her homework after taking the notes that she needed, and times when he would leave the notes for later and write stories and pranks instead. In first year, they both cared.
By second year, only she studied. She cared, and saw the fruit of her labour. It pleased her, I could tell, because of the way she would organise her notes, and how rarely she doodled. She was a good drawer. He would talk and pass notes, sometimes distracting me enough to send him a note reprimanding him to do his work. He scoffed and ignored me, of course. She tried to, and that's when he noticed her. It was subtle at first, but slowly, he began to lean forward in his chair when he talked, and spoke loud enough for her to hear her. I noticed how hard he tried to get her to hear him. She bought earplugs. He would exclaim how easy the work was, and I would see her scowl. I knew about the late-nights and early mornings. It angered her, and I saw how hard she tried to make it easy. He boasted too much. In second year, only she tried.
When third year came, they fought. It was playful at first, and it almost sounded like she enjoyed it, but by late February, she only wore a scowl on her face. She hid her face from his, and inadvertently my, view with her hair. He pulled her ponytail. They both studied. He was always getting the notes he missed from a friend. She was giving her friends the notes they forgot to take. She scrawled, and scribbled, and he lazed, and relaxed. Her writing became messy, and she wasted a lot of paper. He wrote only what was necessary, and only seemed to miss the small things. She got everything, and he got just enough, yet come the exams, he did better. She was angry. The day after a major test, she was seen stomping down halls, and he was seen playing on his broomstick outside. They fought more after that. In third year, they were different.
Then came fourth year, and things exploded. The first time he asked her out was in History of Magic class, where I sit by them, and I heard her answer first hand. I saw the anticipation in his eyes, carefully masked by indifference, but indifference isn't strong enough, and after the word left her lips, I saw his disappointment. No one else did. She didn't. I saw her unease. She didn't know how to say no. I saw the confusion, and her sadness was even more masked than his. Her sadness, which only I caught. No one else did. He didn't. After that, he crushed the feeling from his eyes, and only happiness and aloofness was seen. He asked many times, and she never differed with her answer. Then, he began to show off to her, even more than before, and any fight I had seen previously paled in consideration of the fights they began to have. In fourth year, they made new boundaries.
Come fifth year, we all thought things would change, namely him. It was O.W.L.s., which could only mean that even hard core pranksters like him would calm down, right? Nope. The only time anyone ever saw him studying was when it was needed for a prank or secret plan between him and the rest of his friends. One day during History of Magic, he got a detention for dozing in class. The person who alerted Prof. Binns was, of course, her. She had heard the snore (she lost her earplugs earlier that week) and upon turning around, saw him with a book in his lap, and his mouth drooping tiredly. She missed the bags under his eyes. I didn't. A few days later, he asked her how she was able to hear what the professor said with earplugs in, and he and I learned that they were specially charmed so that only his voice was blocked. In retaliation, he brought a miniature set of symbols, and a new spell to the next class. The spell made any sound you create audible to only one person, who you could choose. He chose her. Thankfully, I got some work done that day, despite the large distraction she made when she started screaming at him for disturbing her with what appeared, to everyone else, to be silence. She didn't speak to him (angrily or otherwise) for a month after that. Only he and I noticed.
Once we got to sixth year, they realized things. He realized that maybe she didn't like being humiliated. She realized that he really did study, even though he didn't advertise it like she did. I learned that even worst enemies can become friends if they actually listen to each other. He stopped distracting her, she stopped pestering him. They became close. Most people thought they had formed a solid relationship. I knew better. I saw how thin the ice was, and I noticed the cracks and holes that formed over time. Exams are hard. They weren't ready. Then, it happened. He got the note during History of Magic class, and I was able to read it over his shoulder, though I wish I hadn't in hindsight. After a flurry of questions, I managed to sneak into the hospital wing, where I new he'd be. He hadn't even known we sat beside each other for nearly six years. Now he does. I talked to him, told him about my parents, and how it happened for me. I knew I could comfort him. Later, after I had left, I saw her leave the dinner table and tell her friends she wasn't feeling well. She was going to the hospital wing. After that day, they were closer. I was a study partner to him now, but nothing more. She was more.
In September of seventh year, they grew. I grew too. He grew up. He became the man that he was meant to be. She grew out. Grew out of her old life, leaving it for a new one. She goofed off more, had fun more. Doodled more. She's a good drawer. He helped her in Transfiguration; she let him copy off her notes when he was injured from Quidditch. I grew away. Or he did. Either way, I became a distant memory. I don't mind though, because I know they were meant for each other. I moved on. I survived.
Why didn't they?