Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns it all.
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Pieces of A Broken Mirror
Life is never quite as you perceive it. Nor the people in it.
You were staring at him. Again.
Sometimes it surprised me how blatantly conspicuous you were about it. What surprised me more was how nobody seemed to notice but me. Of course, few people were perceptive these days, preferring to live in the small cocoon of their set views, and any attempt to open their eyes to what was before them was futile.
He was sitting across the room, his head bent over his Transfiguration homework, but it was clear his mind wasn't on it. His eyes constantly flitted up to those of his friend, meeting them as a smile of mischief crossed his lips. I watched you study those lips, your gaze tracing over the soft skin in a not-quite gentle caress, trailing upward past his high cheekbones and the straight line of his nose, to the soft green eyes framed with dark lashes. I watched you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes, a passionate glint betraying your emotions.
You were so easy to read.
I knew you believed yourself a pro at hiding your true feelings. After all, you'd had six years of practice. But I wasn't as easily fooled as our classmates. I saw the way you looked at him, saw the way your hands would twitch in anticipation before you wrenched your gaze away, clenching your fists to fight off the urge to attack him.
Even as I watched, you closed your eyes briefly, biting your lip. When your eyes fluttered open again, your façade had slid back in place—as if you'd ever risk letting it slip in the first place—and you turned to the girl next you. She was poring over her Potions homework, for which you immediately offered your help, albeit reluctantly.
I shook my head. You wanted him. You wanted to leap across that table, scattering inkwells and textbooks to the floor, grab him and drag him off to a deserted broom closet in the abandoned North Tower. You wanted both your hands on him, on his skin, watching his eyes widen in surprise as they stared down out you. You wanted to feel his breath shorten, wanted to hear gasps and groans escaping his lips. You wanted to throw him to the ground and have him at your mercy… To put your lips next to his ear and whisper those words that you had been longing to say since your first year…
Avada Kedavra.
A bitter sigh escaped me. What kind of world was it when you wanted to kill your best friend, Hermione?
You sat on the couch in the common room, impatiently explaining to a befuddled Lavender why love potions were illegal. I watched you pretend not to watch him. I watched you sneak glances at him out of the corner of your eye. You weren't subtle. But they weren't bright.
You were staring at Harry. Again.
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A/N: Review please! I'll probably continue with some more obscure stories that are never quite as they seem. Know who the narrator of this story is? Take a guess…it'll be revealed next chapter.