A/N: Okay, Harry Potter this time. Beware of your teeth, this short innocent-appearing story might just rot them. Anyways, drop me a line if you have time. :)

Almonds

Imagine this.

You are a normal 13-year-old, minding your own business, more specifically worrying over your Slytherin crush because it's never good for a Gryffindor to have a crush on a Slythering. Then, out of the blue, a random guy jumps up on the table and proclaims his undying love for you. And you don't want this messy Gryffindor with black hair and glasses, at the moment you only have eyes for platinum hair and cold, grey eyes.

Years pass, your superficial crush is long forgotten, but that black hair just won't leave you alone. And with every flirty wink, date invitation and "I love you" your annoyance and hate grows exponentially until it has reached its limit and you are literally one step away from insanity.

Good. Now you know how I feel.

I'll let you in on a secret. It's not really him that makes me so angry. James Potter. The guy with the black mop on his head. True, to an outside observer it would seem that I hate him.

Hell, I know he thinks I hate him.

He tries to play brave and often says that I love him without knowing it, but, those rare times between the moment I catch him staring at me and the moment he decides winking at me is a good idea, I can see his pain. If we're alone, the wink never comes.

Now we're stuck in this limbo of him trying to get to me using all the wrong means and me yelling at him for it because I'm afraid I'll never be able to love him back. I actually care for him enough to know that he deserves so much more than me, still I selfishly don't want him to get over me because his unconditional love makes me feel beautiful and enough.

-x-x-

It's late and I sit watching the fire, thinking and not thinking, my head full of thoughts and at the same time full of ear numbing nothing. My fetal position under the blanket feels warm and sort of safe. Still, it feels like a lifetime ago when I last felt truly safe. I remember my mother's hands when I was five and woke up from a nightmare, the tips of her fingers were cold but when she pressed her palm against my tear-tracked face it felt warm.

I felt warm and safe. Now I only have the warmth and the memory of her comfort.

I feel my chest constrict painfully and don't realize I'm crying before feeling the tears. I curl tighter around myself and cry in quiet, helpless sobs.

After an immeasurable period of time (seconds? minutes? hours?) I feel the couch sink next to me. I know it's James. We sit in silence until my sobs lose some of their power and I'm just shivering, the most vulnerable I've ever been. I'm not sure if I want him there.

"Why were you crying?" he finally asks.

"I don't know." My whisper sounds the same I feel, broken, used. Older than my years.

I open my eyes and see him, how his glasses are a little lopsided and the other side of his shirt's collar is pointing at the ceiling. He looks worn and sad. Just as lost as I am. I rather feel than see his eyes boring into mine, asking permission, as his hand lifts and starts its journey towards me. I don't stop him.

A thousand touches have passed between us, he has tried kissing me and I've slapped him for it. He even held me when I heard that my parents had passed away. Still, not once have I felt anything more than comfort at best.

But when his shaking fingers now make contact with my skin I feel a change. It starts of small, a spark or a drop of water, but then the spark becomes a raging fire, the drop a tidal wave. Something that has been wrong inside of me for so long that I can't remember it being right brakes and then reforms.

The stars on my sky realign.

Suddenly I am on his arms and all I can see, feel, smell is chocolate eyes and messy hair and strong arms and glasses and almonds and everything that has no words and I now know I can't live without.

Tears are falling again and even though it's difficult to tell his from mine I kiss his away and he kisses mine. When he kisses my lips it's as if we've never been kissed before, I can see the almost child-like wonder in his eyes, too, and I have to close my eyes before I stay there forever, swimming in the liquid chocolate.

I smell almonds and I'm home.