~Disclaimer: As much as I would like, I do not own any of these characters
(aside from my beloved Eilea) and the rights are all J. K. Rowling's. . .
please don't sue . . . I'm poor . . .~
Author's Note: This chapter is from Eilea's Point of View. I thin I might
switch PoVs a lot . . . it makes things soooo much more interesting . . .
Sorry if this turns out to be a bit clichéd!
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I think I may have actually found a reason to stay at Hogwarts. Something about him just makes me want to wipe that smirk off his face for good, and yet every second I go without seeing his face seems an eternity. My heart aches to hold him once more, to be in his arms as I was that night, when everything seemed to be right. Despite my tears, despite my memories and lack thereof, despite anything, at that moment, everything was perfect.
Every day that goes by, I seem to both love him and hate him more than I ever though possible. I don't understand my feelings for him, nor am I entirely sure I want to. All I know is this: in him I have finally found a friend. At least a friend, and possibly more. I want it to be more.
He's coming now. . . I have to stop thinking like this or I'm liable to get myself in trouble and tell him everything.
"Hi," he says, rather coldly, as he enters the common room. All I can do to cover up my newfound feelings for him is to give him the same icy glare I have for the past week or so. . . oh, shit, I must have overdone it. "You okay?" he asks, "You kinda look a little paler than usual. If that's possible," he adds with his oh-so-adorable smirk.
Looking into his beautiful eyes, I can feel warmth flowing into my cheeks. "Now. . ." he starts to say, tilting his head in confusion, and I can see his face turn the color of the blood that is coursing through it. Slowly, he brings his head back. "Ei. . . Eilea?" he stammers.
"Just . . . leave me be," I say as I turn my back to him and, somehow miraculously resisting the urge to turn around and kiss him and do God-only- knows whatever else to the poor boy, I make my way up to the girl's dormitory.
I make my way to my bed and lie there, restless, unable to fall into the safe haven that is sleep. I see maybe here or four other girls stir in their beds, perhaps even wake up and then fall back asleep, all of them oblivious to my pain and suffering, my heartache, all of them oblivious to me. I toss and turn, and I can taste something . . salty? I run my hand down the side of my cheek and feel wet pouring from my eyes - I was crying! Unable to believe this, I bury my face in my pillow, but that just made things worse, reminding me of the softness of his robes when he held me and of where I was not: with him.
I lay there for what seems forever until I manage the strength to get up, and my pillow has been soaked through with my tears - I didn't even know a human could produce that much . . .
Driven by my restless, aching heart ("I didn't even know you had one," I could perfectly envision him saying), I walk silently down to the common room. I consider walking up to the boy's dormitory when I see a pair of feet coming down the stairs, making no sound. Anybody else would have given themselves away by now, but not him. I turn around and am about to run to the girl's dormitory when a hand grabs my shoulder. His hand. I tense up as he turns around and looks into my eyes. I give in and realize what I've been trying to comprehend: he understands me. It seems such a foreign concept to me. Nonetheless, it is possible. Somehow, it is.
And then I do it.
I think I may have actually found a reason to stay at Hogwarts. Something about him just makes me want to wipe that smirk off his face for good, and yet every second I go without seeing his face seems an eternity. My heart aches to hold him once more, to be in his arms as I was that night, when everything seemed to be right. Despite my tears, despite my memories and lack thereof, despite anything, at that moment, everything was perfect.
Every day that goes by, I seem to both love him and hate him more than I ever though possible. I don't understand my feelings for him, nor am I entirely sure I want to. All I know is this: in him I have finally found a friend. At least a friend, and possibly more. I want it to be more.
He's coming now. . . I have to stop thinking like this or I'm liable to get myself in trouble and tell him everything.
"Hi," he says, rather coldly, as he enters the common room. All I can do to cover up my newfound feelings for him is to give him the same icy glare I have for the past week or so. . . oh, shit, I must have overdone it. "You okay?" he asks, "You kinda look a little paler than usual. If that's possible," he adds with his oh-so-adorable smirk.
Looking into his beautiful eyes, I can feel warmth flowing into my cheeks. "Now. . ." he starts to say, tilting his head in confusion, and I can see his face turn the color of the blood that is coursing through it. Slowly, he brings his head back. "Ei. . . Eilea?" he stammers.
"Just . . . leave me be," I say as I turn my back to him and, somehow miraculously resisting the urge to turn around and kiss him and do God-only- knows whatever else to the poor boy, I make my way up to the girl's dormitory.
I make my way to my bed and lie there, restless, unable to fall into the safe haven that is sleep. I see maybe here or four other girls stir in their beds, perhaps even wake up and then fall back asleep, all of them oblivious to my pain and suffering, my heartache, all of them oblivious to me. I toss and turn, and I can taste something . . salty? I run my hand down the side of my cheek and feel wet pouring from my eyes - I was crying! Unable to believe this, I bury my face in my pillow, but that just made things worse, reminding me of the softness of his robes when he held me and of where I was not: with him.
I lay there for what seems forever until I manage the strength to get up, and my pillow has been soaked through with my tears - I didn't even know a human could produce that much . . .
Driven by my restless, aching heart ("I didn't even know you had one," I could perfectly envision him saying), I walk silently down to the common room. I consider walking up to the boy's dormitory when I see a pair of feet coming down the stairs, making no sound. Anybody else would have given themselves away by now, but not him. I turn around and am about to run to the girl's dormitory when a hand grabs my shoulder. His hand. I tense up as he turns around and looks into my eyes. I give in and realize what I've been trying to comprehend: he understands me. It seems such a foreign concept to me. Nonetheless, it is possible. Somehow, it is.
And then I do it.