He kept getting lost in the boy's eyes.
He knew he shouldn't.
For one thing, he was straight as anything. Always had been, except for that one time⦠well, he didn't like to talk about it. Neither did Albus.
And secondly, he was the boy's teacher. This sort of thing was unheard of, and probably illegal.
He kept looking, though. Because he knew it wasn't the boy's eyes he was looking at.
They were hers.
They were the eyes that he loved. The eyes he cried over, the eyes he tried to save.
The eyes he killed.
The eyes that carried all of his guilt.
And every time he saw them, he started thinking about what would've happened if there had been no James Potter the Amazing to sweep her away.
The boy would've been his. She would've been his.
And alive.
And so he stared. Because those eyes were the last remnant of the only future he ever wanted.
DISCLAIMER: I am not J. K. Rowling. Yup.
