"I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images
and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned,"
Postal Service - such great heights
I Cannot be Your Boy
You said my shoulder is comfortable.
You remember. It was the summer before your second year. I always thought they were rather boney, as all the quidditch players in your family would often say. Even Harry said so.
So I said, "You must be lying," although I meant joking. I regretted this immediately afterward, as I could see tears in your eyes already. After, the incident, you had made the promise to always be open, and never lie about anything.
Though I seem to remember a clever redhead lying without blinking during her fourth year. Strange..
And I remember when I called "Accio!" trying to pack while still lying on the bed, and you came up behind me and wrapped your arms around my stomach. I dropped my chest then, and again when you nuzzled my neck. I'll never get to study around you, and I'll never get those dents out of my trunk with any spells.
There was something between us, then, and we brought it to school as a close friendship in a dented trunk.
With your chin balanced on my index and middle fingers, I looked into light brown eyes, eyes I had thought were showing hurt innocence, but were just a ploy to bring my lips so close to yours. I tipped your chin, or rather, you lifted it while holding my shaking right hand that couldn't have possibly- your lips parted and-
I couldn't.
"I'm not- no, Gin, I cannot be your boy," an eloquent wimp, really.
There in the dormitory, some exact date, I'm sure, you whispered, "Mione, I'm not asking you to be my boy,"
A tear streaked down from one of your eyes. To you, the truth was always weighted with resolutions, tangled with questions; the truth was so heavy to bear, that almost every word you spoke came with a sign of exhaustion.
I kissed the tear from your cheek, my tongue lapping for only an instant. Then I dropped my head, and I breathed you in. You smelled so sweet, but your tears were so bitter.
"I've got to go," I murmured over your clavicle.
"Why?" You sighed, as though another burden had been lifted.
"I have Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid, and I can't be late,"
You pulled me into a one-armed hug, and as I stood from kneeling, I almost dragged you off the bed.
Gods, I wanted to stay, but I had to go to class. Kissing your fringe, I left the dorm, and then out the portrait hole, smiling.
You had asked me why. You had made me feel like your boy, like you needed me too.
But I'm not your boy. I suppose I am your girl. Hm. I giggled at the thought and ran down the corridor, one fist in the air.
* * *
Epilogue:
Whilst nearing Buckbeak, Hermione realized, with a start, that she could have used her timeturner.
"Bloody hell."
Postal Service - such great heights
I Cannot be Your Boy
You said my shoulder is comfortable.
You remember. It was the summer before your second year. I always thought they were rather boney, as all the quidditch players in your family would often say. Even Harry said so.
So I said, "You must be lying," although I meant joking. I regretted this immediately afterward, as I could see tears in your eyes already. After, the incident, you had made the promise to always be open, and never lie about anything.
Though I seem to remember a clever redhead lying without blinking during her fourth year. Strange..
And I remember when I called "Accio!" trying to pack while still lying on the bed, and you came up behind me and wrapped your arms around my stomach. I dropped my chest then, and again when you nuzzled my neck. I'll never get to study around you, and I'll never get those dents out of my trunk with any spells.
There was something between us, then, and we brought it to school as a close friendship in a dented trunk.
With your chin balanced on my index and middle fingers, I looked into light brown eyes, eyes I had thought were showing hurt innocence, but were just a ploy to bring my lips so close to yours. I tipped your chin, or rather, you lifted it while holding my shaking right hand that couldn't have possibly- your lips parted and-
I couldn't.
"I'm not- no, Gin, I cannot be your boy," an eloquent wimp, really.
There in the dormitory, some exact date, I'm sure, you whispered, "Mione, I'm not asking you to be my boy,"
A tear streaked down from one of your eyes. To you, the truth was always weighted with resolutions, tangled with questions; the truth was so heavy to bear, that almost every word you spoke came with a sign of exhaustion.
I kissed the tear from your cheek, my tongue lapping for only an instant. Then I dropped my head, and I breathed you in. You smelled so sweet, but your tears were so bitter.
"I've got to go," I murmured over your clavicle.
"Why?" You sighed, as though another burden had been lifted.
"I have Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid, and I can't be late,"
You pulled me into a one-armed hug, and as I stood from kneeling, I almost dragged you off the bed.
Gods, I wanted to stay, but I had to go to class. Kissing your fringe, I left the dorm, and then out the portrait hole, smiling.
You had asked me why. You had made me feel like your boy, like you needed me too.
But I'm not your boy. I suppose I am your girl. Hm. I giggled at the thought and ran down the corridor, one fist in the air.
* * *
Epilogue:
Whilst nearing Buckbeak, Hermione realized, with a start, that she could have used her timeturner.
"Bloody hell."