Disclaimer: I wish I was Jewels5, let alone JKR. No way in hell do I own anything that awesome.
Okay, so I started this as a simple one-shot, just to find my way out of writer's block. I ended up liking the result so much I didn't want to stop writing so I wrote a second part, and then I knew I couldn't end with that. So I've got a multi-chaptered fic ready to share, mostly because I had a lot of fun with this story. It's possible none of this will make sense to anyone but me and I could seriously do with a critique, but all in all, satisfaction abounds.
He and She
May 27th, 1977
She's lost in thought and her hands moves of its own accord.
Have you ever fallen in love?
She writes this at the top of the parchment. She doesn't mean to; the question has been ruminating on her mind for days now and she can't think about homework. Once she realizes what she's written down, she lifts her hand and scratches out the line forcefully. The ink dries on the page.
The words aren't drowned like she hoped them to be. The last word is staring at her accusingly and she can't look away from it.
Has she?
Has she ever been in love?
Has she ever felt her heart beat faster at the sight of someone? Has she ever needed to see that person just to reassure herself that yes, he is still there, still as wonderful and infuriating as she remembers? Has she ever done something idiotic and embarrassing just to make him look her way?
Has she?
She sighs and throws down the quill. The question won't go away and she doesn't know why.
"I've been good this year, haven't I, Evans?"
"Marginally better than last year. That's not saying much."
"I haven't done anything bad in two months. No fights, no pranks, nothing to get me detentions."
"This is true."
"So have I gotten any better?"
"I said marginally."
"Come on, Evans, level with me."
"I have, Potter. Or haven't you been listening?"
"That's not what I mean."
He cracks his knuckles and avoids looking at her. He's all sorts of things - angry and afraid, and embarrassed even. He's ashamed of himself, he's hopeful.
He's waiting.
He didn't mean to say it to her. It came out of him like air. He can only hold his breath for so long; he could only hold the words in for so long. He just wishes they came out better. If she feels the same way as him, then good, that's good, but he yelled at her and told her things she wasn't - isn't - ready to hear.
And now he's ruined his chances with her forever.
He's waited for years. Summer's almost here and he won't see her for two months. For him, it's like fire and agony to know he can't see her and know he can't talk to her, even though when he talks to her all he hears are shouts and it's a weight to bear.
He hopes she'll say something to him before they finish exams. He hopes she'll say something before they get on the train. He hopes she'll give him a small chance before they go their separate ways for the months of July and August.
He's always been a blind optimist.
"Tell me what you mean, then. I'm not a Legilimens."
"One date?"
"No."
"Just one before the summer hits?"
"I said no."
"Please?"
"Potter, when a girl says no, try to be gracious about it. I know you don't have much practice but the next girl you obsess over shouldn't deal with what you've put me through."
"What I've put you through?"
"You've been awful to me, or don't you remember?"
"I remember fancying you for about four years now, at the very least."
She knows he's there, only five feet away in the Common Room. She can feel him staring - or rather, not staring.
For years she's begged him to leave her be. Now he's leaving her be and she misses him.
It's stupid.
She has no reason to miss him. She wants him out of her life. She's supposed to be counting the days until summer and they go their separate ways for the months of July and August, because she's a blind optimist and prays somehow that he'll not be back for seventh year.
But she wants him to come up to her and beg for her attention in every impossible way.
Now she understands that she thrives on his attention, the way he thrives on the attentions of others, and she realizes how selfish and self-centered she is. She toys with his heart because it feels good to her.
She's a bad person.
She feels guilty.
"You don't fancy me."
"The hell I don't!"
"No. You just like playing games with me. You like asking me out because I won't say yes."
"Evans, you've no idea what you're talking about."
"I've a fair understanding, yeah."
"No, shut up. Have you ever been in love?"
"Sorry?"
He feels his face heat up at the memories of what he said.
He could sit around blaming her if he wanted to, but he doesn't. It's easier to pin everything on her but it's not always right.
Sometimes it is her fault.
When she talks, she makes him feel things he'd rather just put in a box and ignore for the rest of his life. He's only seventeen; he's not ready to feel that much. He'd rather they'd never met - it would make his life so much easier.
But if he thinks about life without her it's the most difficult thing in the world.
He rolls up the essay on Herbology he's been scratching out. He can't write about applications and properties when his mind is cluttered with emotion.
It's due tomorrow, but he'll just have to finish up at breakfast.
"Have you?
Have you ever been in love?
Have you ever felt your heart beat faster at the sight of someone?
Have you ever needed to see that person just to reassure yourself that yes, she is still there, still as beautiful and frustrating as you remember?
Have you ever done something idiotic and embarrassing just to make her look your way?
Have you ever died inside when that person - when you - said you weren't enough?
That you weren't worthy?"
She stares at the word again. Love. The "l" loops, the "o" is scrunched and hurried, the "v" resembles a knife, and the "e" is unnecessarily long. But it reads without confusion.
Love, love, love, love, love.
It's all you need. It lifts you up where you belong. It's a temporary madness. It's a single soul inhabiting two bodies. It's the beginning of everything.
For all her silly daydreams and all her fascinations with romance (her tall, dark, and handsome stranger, coming to whisk her away like Prince Charming) she can't claim any firsthand knowledge. She's woefully unschooled and painfully unaware.
She doesn't know if she's ever been in love. She's never been confronted with it before.
She's imagined herself in love. Her first boyfriend, when he kissed her, made her feel blissfully happy and she imagined it was love. When Severus found her and befriended her for seven years, she felt loved and imagined herself in love in turn.
But he describes it so powerfully. It's not the words he uses, it's the way he speaks them. It's not the simple description; it's the light in his eyes.
If love is like that, she's only ever imagined.
She's overwhelmed.
"I…"
"Well? Have you?"
"I…"
"Because I have. Still am. Probably always will be."
"Potter -"
"What? Don't tell me you're sorry."
"I wasn't going to!"
"Oh, so it's my fault now is it? You blame me for having feelings? I can't do anything right, can I?"
"I didn't say that! Would you stop putting words in my mouth?"
He twirls his quill in his hand.
The feathers are light and soft against his skin, just like he imagines her skin would feel if he could ever touch it.
Sirius says he imagines a mystery girl, large breasts and smooth skin and… perfect, perfect, perfect. That anonymous image. He's got a few muggle posters of that girl, all in bikinis and all glassy-eyed. Sirius even put one in his old house, which annoyed his parents.
But he's not Sirius.
He always imagines her.
He thinks about her hair, how it never stays straight or wavy or curly, how it has a personality separate from her. He thinks about her face, pale and freckle-specked, her mouth a little too big and her teeth slightly crooked. She's not perfect, but she's beautiful.
Sometimes he wishes he could imagine a mystery girl.
He wishes that a lot lately. He wants to escape from this obsessive attachment because it hurts. He wants to think about other things.
He doesn't.
"Why? You put words in mine all the time."
"That doesn't make it right for you to do it!"
"Cheap shot, that. Grading on a curve, are we?"
"I'm not!"
"If I didn't fancy you so much I'd hate you right now."
"I wish you would."
"Funny. I've learned over the years - from you, mostly - that you can't always get what you wish for."
"Why are you being so hostile?"
"Because I'm tired of doing this over and over again."
She can't concentrate. He hasn't spoken to her in days, so the last words she's heard in his voice have stuck around.
It might be easier if what he said changes everything she's ever thought or felt about him. If suddenly, madly, she falls in love with him and wants everything to be different. If everything he's ever done wrong dissolves away and she's left only with the good parts of him.
But all she feels is… strange.
She's stuck between one emotion and another. She can't hate someone who loves her, but she can't love someone she's hated.
She's confused and irritated, and she wants to stop thinking about it. She wants to forget that she has the power to hurt someone she didn't think could be hurt. If she knew before, perhaps she wouldn't have said some of the things she did.
Going back and redoing is impossible.
She's still not entirely sure she was in the wrong to say some of the things she did. But she hadn't expected that look in his eyes.
Her head is about to explode.
"You're tired? You're tired? Think about me, Potter!"
"I do. That's the problem."
"I…"
"No. Don't say anything. I'm not going to beg anymore. I'm not. Just… think about it, alright?"
"Don't walk away!"
"Why not?"
"Because you never walk away…"
"Consider it the first of many changes."
He stands and leaves the Common Room. He can't prevent himself from watching her.
She looks miserable. He feels bad about it because it's probably his fault. He has a habit of upsetting her and he hates that about himself. He used to do it as a first and second year because he fancied her more than any boy of eleven or twelve should, and that was all he knew how to do.
Then he did it in third year because he thought her reactions were funny. She would get red in the face, as red as her hair and brighter, and she'd yell and yell and threaten him and he would run away from her laughing.
And in fourth and fifth year he wanted her to be impressed by him. He didn't set out to annoy her, it just happened that way. He wanted her to want him - he still does.
But this year?
All this year, all he did was try to make amends. He tried everything. He sent her flowers, he stopped fighting with Snape (quite so much), he stopped picking on younger years.
He's got nothing to show for it. All he's done is nothing.
He doesn't like seeing her upset. But when he's himself around her, that's all she is.
It's a bit shorter than what I usually write. My apologies. Then again, the kind of chapters I usually write in longer fics range between 3,000+ words and 25,000+ words, so… shaking it up. Next chapter tomorrow. Please review ^_^