Disclaimer: Don't own, never will.
Author's Notes: See bottom of page. Thank you.
They're sitting on the train together, the only two occupying the Prefect's compartment. All the others are with their friends.
She sits with him because they've gotten into another fight again, her, Harry, and Ron. She thinks that perhaps the pressure is too much and for the first time doubts the ability of the golden trio to maintain its friendship. Normally she would go apologize, smooth over ruffled feathers till everything was okay but she's tired. Tired of them not realizing.
She knows she keeps too many secrets, thinks perhaps one day they will drown her; but she has forgotten how not to keep them. At first it was because she didn't know them well enough, then it was that they had so many of their own problems, and now its 'they have enough to worry about.' She doesn't justify her silence anymore though, she has come to accept it as part of the norm, besides they never question.
He studies her, thinking she really is pretty with her pink ribbon lips, twisty long brown hair, and black eyes. She reminds him of a fairytale creature, too ethereal to be real. The sadness that clings to her however is very human and he thinks she is all the more beautiful because of it. There is just something so appealing about tragedy that we can't help but be drawn by it.
Curiosity makes him wonder about her. There always was something not quite right about but their houses made it impossible for him to ever really get to know her. Lions don't trust snakes. Though maybe it is worth a shot, after all they had survived being fifth year perfects together.
She stares out the window. His eyes are heavy on her but she doesn't move to meet them. He was intriguing, the silent Slytherin. Also on the attractive side with his aristocratic facial features, ebony hair and startling blue eyes. She knows he's incredibly intelligent from potions class and ancient runes but beyond that nothing. She thinks he's perhaps a good person; there was something about him that seemed safe. She hadn't felt that way in a long time.
Startled suddenly she turns to him, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
He smiles, it speaks of kind amusement. "I asked if you were okay. You seem distressed?"
Noting his accent she answers with the catch all of "fine." Silently she wonders if she ever admits to being anything less than that but she already knows. She questions what her friends would do if she ever answered that she wasn't. She doubts he cares if she is or isn't and that the inquiry was probably just prompted by courtesy. He struck her as being a very courteous and mannerly person. He reeked of social grace even in his laid back, nonchalant position on the seats in front of her.
"You're lying," his voice quiet and low.
Her head snaps over to him, her eyes studying him with an intensity that had been strangely absent for awhile now. She can't recall the last time a person confronted her about the truth. She doubts anyone cares enough to. Shaking off the introspection she asks "does it matter?"
His eyes unnerve her. "Yes."
Such a simple word. She laughs, the sound bitter, she feels like crying. It has been so long since she has. It doesn't fix anything and wastes time plus it's a weakness; she cannot afford to have any more weaknesses. "Why does it matter?"
"Why doesn't?" he responds back.
"It never mattered to them and they should have been able to tell."
He knows the 'them' are her friends and the truth being 'that she was less than fine.' Quietly he regards her wondering exactly how long she has been lying. His scrutiny bothers her, he can tell as she adjusts in her seat. "It matters to you."
"Sometimes," she agrees, "but most of the time I forget it should."
What an odd thing to forget he thinks. "So what is wrong?"
She looks at him, its measuring, and he can tell she's trying to decide if he's worthy of a truth or a lie. "I don't like the summer."
A truth. He's tempted to make a witty remark about the weather or ask if she just misses her friends but her body language and tone reek that it is something much more than that. He knows the comments would not be appreciated and that he may lose whatever tenuous thread of goodwill connects them right now if he is not careful. "Why?"
Her shoulders shrug. "What of you?" she turns the question around and the topic away from her.
He knows not to push and is glad that at least she saw fit to choose not to answer as opposed to a lie. He regards it as progress. "I have a little sister waiting at home with our grandparents," his eyes focused on things beyond her. "She's going to be sorted next year but I have missed her terribly this past term. Our parents passed away when she was little. " He smiles at her, his eyes full of warmth, "do you have any siblings?"
She shakes her head, wishing she had someone she missed at home.
"What of your parents though," he questions, "surely they will be anxious to see you?"
The prickly sensation behind her eyes lets her know of the urge she has to cry again. Ruthlessly she shoved it back. She opened her mouth to utter the lie that had become automatic to speak but instead she shuts her mouth with a decisive snap. 'No' she thought, 'he would know it was a lie.' It was a strange sort of comfort to know that there was at least one person capable of discerning the truth from her, even if she did not want it known. It let her know that she had not become the serene little doll she had begun to think of herself as, that maybe there was still hope even if she did not let herself believe in it.
"I could regurgitate the same untruth I spit up for everyone else." She looked at him, "but somehow I don't think you would accept it with the same blithe ease as them. Suffice to say I am anything but happy about going home and am very uncomfortable talking of it."
He nods his head, his expression serious. Deciding to change the topic, they discuss lighter matters, the next school year, the homework assigned over break, and other trivial things. He finds that he enjoys conversing with her, the banter pleasant, and her comments startling insightful. The trip is over much too soon. The pallor of his companion has become ashen. Silently he helps grab her trunk down.
"I would like for us to be friends if you think it's possible."
She looks at him and for a brief moment smiles and the weight upon her seems to have been lifted. "I would like that too," she responds softly.
He grasps both their trunks, taking them out of the compartment, out of the train, and onto the platform of 9 ¾. She whispers a quiet goodbye to him, clutching her trunk and preparing to walk off. She takes three or four steps, he is watching her before he goes off to find his family, and turns partially around.
Looking him in the eye she speaks; "Don't forget me," a hushed desperation in her words. Then she's gone, disappearing into the teeming mass of bodies before he can even formulate a response.
Author's Notes: Well that's it for now. What did you think? I don't have a beta, so it someone notices any mistakes or parts that do not flow right, it would be much appreciated if you let me know.
Anyway this is kind of an experiment for me, so if I don't get any feedback I'll probably delete it. You as the reader need to let me know if you are at all interested in the story, otherwise I'll spend my time elsewhere, like maybe doing my homework!
Thanks for Reading!
Toddles