They were too young.
They'd sit in the sun by the lake most days in the afternoon, and she did her homework and he played wizards' chess by himself, because he knew she didn't like it very much. She'd try not to watch but then peek through her fingers at the game. Occasionally when she finished an essay and was feeling rather forgiving she would give in and play white, because he looked so forlorn sitting there moving all the pieces by himself. Until the sun went down, and then it would grow dark and gloomy and she would complain that they should be back in their dormitories. He would laugh it off and move another few pieces until she clutched his freckled arm and looked at him with her ordinary brown eyes that did such things to his mind and heart.
"Ron," she would plead, "it's getting dark."
He would still laugh it off. It was a way to forget and he needed to forget.
"Ron," she would say seriously, "It's not a game any more."
And he would give in, because at that moment he'd remember someone he had to forget. Because he was too young, and she was too young.
And that someone was much, much too young.
Life was not a game for children any more.
Sometimes she would hear muffled sniffs coming from the boys' dormitories. So she would sneak in, quietly, and try not to look at the empty bed. He'd get out of his bed that was next to the empty one and he'd try to empty his heart because of that bed and tell her it was nothing. But it wasn't.
They always ended up in the common room close to each other on the couch, well after midnight, because they had to stay together. One had already been lost.
But they were still too young.
They were only sixteen.
Sixteen was too young to walk away, leaving your childhood in a insignificant pile of still-burning ashes that had once been your best friend.
Sixteen was too young to be condemned to that kind of life.
Sixteen was too young to be condemned to that kind of death.
Sixteen was too young to ruin your life like that.
Or have your life ruined for you.
It was impossible to forget.
But they had to.
They'd sit in the sun by the lake most days in the afternoon, and she did her homework and he played wizards' chess by himself, because he knew she didn't like it very much. She'd try not to watch but then peek through her fingers at the game. Occasionally when she finished an essay and was feeling rather forgiving she would give in and play white, because he looked so forlorn sitting there moving all the pieces by himself. Until the sun went down, and then it would grow dark and gloomy and she would complain that they should be back in their dormitories. He would laugh it off and move another few pieces until she clutched his freckled arm and looked at him with her ordinary brown eyes that did such things to his mind and heart.
"Ron," she would plead, "it's getting dark."
He would still laugh it off. It was a way to forget and he needed to forget.
"Ron," she would say seriously, "It's not a game any more."
And he would give in, because at that moment he'd remember someone he had to forget. Because he was too young, and she was too young.
And that someone was much, much too young.
Life was not a game for children any more.
Sometimes she would hear muffled sniffs coming from the boys' dormitories. So she would sneak in, quietly, and try not to look at the empty bed. He'd get out of his bed that was next to the empty one and he'd try to empty his heart because of that bed and tell her it was nothing. But it wasn't.
They always ended up in the common room close to each other on the couch, well after midnight, because they had to stay together. One had already been lost.
But they were still too young.
They were only sixteen.
Sixteen was too young to walk away, leaving your childhood in a insignificant pile of still-burning ashes that had once been your best friend.
Sixteen was too young to be condemned to that kind of life.
Sixteen was too young to be condemned to that kind of death.
Sixteen was too young to ruin your life like that.
Or have your life ruined for you.
It was impossible to forget.
But they had to.