AN: This is my first venture into this ship, so I'll see how I go…
***
She is perfect.
Everything about her screams perfection.
The way she seems to glide rather than walk.
The way she always knows the answers.
She is perfect.
I find myself watching her during class.
I watch her pushing her hair away from her face after every arithmacy problem.
I see the small grin of triumph on her face when she puts her hand up in class and gets the answer right again.
She always gets the answer right.
My heart leaps as she laughs with her friends.
I'm happy because she's happy.
But I'm sad because I'm not laughing with her.
Is this what love is?
I think that's the right word.
Love…
I love her.
It's such a foreign phrase.
Like a language I failed to learn.
A game nobody told me the rules of.
And I can never say it aloud.
So many times I have tried to whisper it into the dead blackness of my room at night only to have the words die upon my lips.
There is always someone listening.
And this isn't something I want anyone to know.
If I could I would give her everything.
Not everything I own, because I'm sure she wouldn't want that.
But everything I am.
She doesn't know I watch her.
She can't know.
She can't know because I can't say it.
And I can't say it because they wouldn't understand.
My father.
That fury that goes on unshackled.
If he knew.
He is the one who is always listening.
He wants for me what I don't want.
He wants an heir who is as perfect in his eyes as I am.
My father the elitist.
My father too wrapped up in his own world to see the truth.
I don't want to be part of that world.
The words die upon my lips again.
Standing nose to nose with her between classes.
I want to push the hair away from her eyes but she beats me to it.
Her eyes aloof with hatred.
So I console myself with the lowest insult that crosses my mind.
The cold hatred flickers for a moment and she is unguarded.
And she is hurt.
I hope I didn't make her cry.
I made her cry.
Her eyes are red now.
She sniffles a little as I watch her in potions.
I am to blame for her misery.
But she is to blame for mine.
Because she isn't perfect.
She has grace, charm, intelligence, beauty and wit.
But she doesn't have my parents blessing.
Because she isn't the daughter of two rich wizards.
She is the daughter of two nobodies.
Her name means nothing to my parents.
And so she must mean nothing to me.
Facing my Father across the dinner table that evening the words die upon my lips.