What happened next is somewhat of a blur. All I can clearly recall is Madam Pomfrey rushing about like a frazzled powder puff and muffled sounds and faint movements coming from the bed where my fairytale princess lay. It would be three days before she opened her alluring eyes again.

In the pale light of morning, I saw the figure lying on the bed stir. Her eyes moved beneath her eyelids struggling into wakefulness. In another moment, they blinked open and began to survey their surroundings. She just stared. She looked frightened.

"Hello," I blurted out awkwardly. Still, she just lay there staring confusedly at the faded burgundy drapes hanging from the window across the room. "I'm George. George Weasley. It's lucky I found you when I did or you'd have been done for. I guess setting flesh-eating slugs about the school at night paid off this time," I continued trying to get the girl to say something - anything.

"You found me?" I heard her ask.

"Yes. My brother Fred and I decided to split up so we could cover more ground. Well, I happened to run into Mrs. Norris in my travels, so I ducked into the first available door which happened to be the girl's lavatory." It was then that I realized that I had been holding her hand all this time. My face turned every shade of red imaginable as I tried to discreetly let go of it.

"Why couldn't you have just let me be? Maybe I didn't want to be found." The poor girl sounded on the verge of tears. I suddenly realized what I had interrupted three nights ago. Why hadn't I seen it before? This stunning, amazing girl, the one who filled my every thought since the moment I'd laid eyes on her, had tried to kill herself. What had happened to her that made her want to end her life so violently?

"You don't want to go and do that, love. You've got too much ahead of you. And besides, the world would be a much sadder place without a beautiful girl like you in it," I said while taking her hand in mine once more.

"It's what I left behind and not what's ahead of me that I'd like to forget."

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," I reasoned.

"Well, don't be so sure."

"Alright. I won't ask anymore questions if you answer just one more." There was something that I had been dying to know since the moment I'd first seen her.

"What is it?"

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Sylvia Metrea," she answered.

"Well, Sylvia, I think you're very pretty, and I can't imagine why you would want to go and kill yourself." (What was that? This girl had just gone through a very traumatic experience, and I'm sitting here hitting on her. What is wrong with me? Okay. I'm an idiot.)

"It's complicated," she replied.

"Okay," was all I said.

I stayed with her for the rest of the day. Neither of us spoke, but we seemed to have an understanding that was beyond words. Her eyes alone spoke volumes of melancholy verses. There was a definite sadness harbored inside of their intense, violet grace. (Yes. She really had violet eyes! Until then, I had never seen a single person with eyes like hers.)

When night came, Madam Pomfrey proceeded to chase me away. "The girl needs her rest. You can see her tomorrow in school," she said.

Before leaving, I plucked up the courage to kiss her – just on the forehead. I didn't quite have the nerve to do the real thing. Besides, I didn't want to overstep my boundaries. I'd just met her, after all. She did smile a little when I did it. It was great relief to see her countenance brighten, and for a moment, she didn't seem so sad.