And I won't take long to burn
All eyes on meThrough the nothing that you've learned
All eyes on me
And the things you choose to be
All eyes on me
-Lyrics to 'All Eyes on Me'-Goo Goo Dolls
Authors Notice: A strange fic, my dears. Very much Ron/Hermione and yet there's a lot about the trio woven in there. Is it angst-y? Eh, I wouldn't say angst-y I'd just say it's pretty...dark. Melancholy if I did it correctly.
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And they've been there for so many years.
Nothing is ever the same.
Nothing ever comes back to life.
And they've been there for so many years.
And it's Hogwarts and it's magical and she loves him with what's left and he loves her like he loves nothing and no one else. It's love, only because it's not, and it's magic, only because it is.
Oh she's always been much of a cynic. Things can't happen unless they're backed up with logic and things can't happen unless. People make fate and fate shouldn't make people and you can't get a good grade unless you study and there's no such thing as luck. Especially not bad luck.
And there he is and he's in the sunlight and he's laughing with his best friend and stuffing his face with sour licorice wands. And he's very much so alive, much more alive than her. He seems so strong and she figures he must be just a bit. Just a bit courageous. Just a bit tired, too.
She stands aside watching and wondering if the heart he has is the heart he shall keep all throughout life. And they've been here for a very long time and nothing ever changes. And nothing ever gets better and almost everything gets worse. And tragedy and triumph, and butterbeer and balloons. And magic and reality and it's a mix of everything that's ever gone wrong and everything that's ever gone right.
The clouds mirror her eyes and shade the sunlight. The people cheer in the background and the black-haired boy stands aside and wonders what will become of his friends. And he wonders if they'll ever grow up, and thinks the girl already is all grown up. All grown up. And never going back.
He wonders if this is okay and figures that morals have nothing to do with the scheme of life. And he says that Voldemort is bad and says that it's all okay anyway. And says that maybe it isn't all okay but that...but that there you have it. And there's nothing that can't be made better by old friends, dirty jokes, apple pie and cigarettes.
And through all the years what keeps coming back to you is the keenest idea of memories and the leaving of them. And the days you spent back at Hogwarts and how magical it all was then and how magic doesn't leave just people leave. And how you can go back to the same house and feel so unwanted, so foreign.
Black-haired boy wonders vaguely if becoming friends with two others was a good idea and says it keeps him sane and keeps them relatively happy and that he always has to defend them. Isn't it tiring? Isn't it rather old? Aren't you exhausted by now?
They're just fifteen.
They might as well be old, so old, older than the dust and the books in the library. Older than unbaked chocolate cake and older than the spirits that rise from the ashes.
And it might as well be yesterday.
So it's late '90's, maybe. And their parents grew up early '70's, maybe. And it's all vague and it's all foggy but some of it's really really clear.
And you can tell the redhead loves Granger and you can tell Granger's too scared and too stubborn to fall for it. And you can tell she falls for it anyway. And you can tell they're very much so in love but not real love like his parents had. But that was a once in history event. And didn't you hear about the affair?
And it was good, it was real good.
They leave, here. Not from the world, but from the world they know. Which is really one in the same. Seventeen. Bloody Seventeen. On Sunday. Bloody Sunday.
They look out on the sunset and he swears he sees the man in the moon and she swears it's just the way the light is hitting it. She sits on the hill and pulls up her knee socks and the boys take off their ties. The ties are too tight, they say. But the ties haven't really changed.
Nice strangers who sit on hills and talk about the olden days. Way back when. Way back then. It's very lonely, y'know, and it's not really supposed to be. Awkward silence as the redhead twists the tie about his finger and remembers the prefect's badge still sticking to his robes. The black-haired boy picks up a flower, and as an old joke, sticks it in his mouth in a would-be coy gesture. And no one really laughs. The girl flips through a book and bites on a sugar quill.
And she would be a Princess...but doesn't have the clothes for it or the attitude or even the men for it.
In an instant gesture. Flower falls out of mouth. Tie drops to grass. Book drops with a thud.
She cocks her head down the long slope and says. 'C'mon, let's go.' And she grabs each one's hand and they fall down the hill together. Quickly. Grass stains get on her knee socks and the ties are forgotten. It seems so familiar, rolling down this hill far past curfew. Or in the early hours. Taking off ties, pulling down knee socks.
And the keenest of keen comes back to them. Memories.
And they're rolling so fast that no one can stop them and no one's around and they keep going...and they can't very well stop.
And their eyes, for a few seconds are flitting and glittering like new. Just like new. And she has a smile on her face, more like a smirk, and the redhead's hair is getting wavy with the wind. And the black-haired boy forgets about is scar.
And there they were.
She stands up quickly as though embarrassed by the childish gesture and the others get to their feet. Awkward as well. Pulling on their ties and the girl pulls up her knee socks.
Standing before the man in the moon.
*
End