This is just a short little one-shot that I had in my head. Enjoy!
He knows too much about her.
He knows she likes to stay up late, but also rises with the sun. He sees her every morning perched by the lake reading a muggle novel, while he's out taking his daily jog.
He wants to have the courage to say hello, but he doesn't.
He knows she loves coffee almost as much as she loves tea, and mentally debates every morning as to which will accompany her breakfast.
He wants to tell her that she's delirious, that coffee is wretched, and steer her in the direction of a lovely earl grey. But he doesn't.
He knows her favorite subject is charms, and her least favorite is defense against the dark arts. He sees her celebrate small victories in that class, when she thinks no one else is watching.
He wants to aid her in any way he can, seeing as DADA is his best class. One day he almost approached Professor McDowell about tutoring opportunities, hoping he would steer him in the direction of her. But he doesn't.
He knows she abhors quidditch, though attends every match to cheer on her various cousins. She usually wears every houses' color, and tries to remain neutral, but she always sports a little more blue. Sometimes he thinks that it is for him, but then he remembers that she too is a Ravenclaw.
He wants to ask her to cheer for him in the match, but he doesn't.
He knows her favorite color is yellow, she always ties her hair back with a dainty yellow ribbon, and in the spring she wears petite yellow dresses that show off her lean legs.
He wants to tell her that she looks like the sun, but he doesn't.
He knows her cousin Louis is her best friend, and that she likes arguing with her cousin Albus almost as much as she loves to read. He thinks she looks beautiful when her eyes blaze up.
He wants to have detailed debates with her, but he doesn't.
He knows he doesn't know nearly enough about her, and he wishes that he knew more, that he knew her favorite food, her favorite book. He wants her opinions on plays, on music, and muggles.
He knows he can't do all of this from afar.
It is breakfast time, on the 14th of January in his seventh year. She's currently staring at the selections of teas, her brown eyes occasionally glancing toward the pot of coffee a few feet away. He has courageous feet as he steps into the great hall, he takes sure, steady steps toward her position at the table. She hears him coming, glancing up and widening her eyes at his sudden appearance, though a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
"Coffee is rubbish," he manages to cough out, returning her shy smile and sliding in to the seat across from her. The surprise falls gracefully from her face and she lets out a light laugh. He thinks it sounds more beautiful than music.
"I don't think you have ever had a good cup of coffee then," she retaliates, pursing her lips and raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
"I think you should try that earl grey," he returns, and she agrees, pouring herself a mug of steaming water and watching the tea steep.
He knows he doesn't know much about her, but he hopes that he will have time to figure that all out.