Chapter Two
Dreaming of Tomorrow
She's alive. His heart sings, but why? He doesn't care for her does he? He does, he has for a long time, too afraid to let her know. Too afraid to let her she's the one. He rubs her hand, though for her welfare or his pleasure he can't say. She looks so angelic lying there in his lap, he thinks. He laments on his cruelty and malice, swearing he will change if she will but stay amongst the living. She's so cold. Why? Why did she go knowingly into the storm?
He looks into her chocolate eyes willing her to live. He touches her hair gently, wishing he could do more, knowing he can't. It isn't meant to be, he tells himself. She loves Weasly and Weasly loves her. He can hardly bear that she's so close, yet out of reach. She moves. Her icy hand closes around his. For a brief moment it is pure bliss, before he realizes that she will never be his. She says his name again, like an angel sighing. He pulls her into his arms, she looks into his eyes. She touches his blonde hair that falls around his face like a halo. He holds his breath. She's warming up, surely she'll get up and leave him. Leave him alone, all alone.
She touches his face, he shivers. She whispers his name, he touches her lips with a soft finger. She kisses it and he knows, he knows. He touches his lips to hers briefly, they're cold so cold. He aches to warm them up, not caring if it's wrong. Not caring she belongs to Weasly. He loves and wants her to know, want her to love him back. He kisses her again, allows his lips to linger longer than before. He pulls back, she whimpers. The storm is slowing, stopping. He looks out the window. The trees no longer dance to the pounding rhythm of the window but sway gently in the gentle breeze that accompanies the soft pitter patter that is the rain.
He strokes her face, and kisses her one last time, praying it won't be last. She touches his cheek in a final caress, knowing she must go. The rain has stopped, and the breeze has quieted. He stands, pulling her with him. A kiss on the cheek and he is gone, gone like a bolt of lightning. She stands there touching the place he kissed, dreaming of tomorrow.
Dreaming of Tomorrow
She's alive. His heart sings, but why? He doesn't care for her does he? He does, he has for a long time, too afraid to let her know. Too afraid to let her she's the one. He rubs her hand, though for her welfare or his pleasure he can't say. She looks so angelic lying there in his lap, he thinks. He laments on his cruelty and malice, swearing he will change if she will but stay amongst the living. She's so cold. Why? Why did she go knowingly into the storm?
He looks into her chocolate eyes willing her to live. He touches her hair gently, wishing he could do more, knowing he can't. It isn't meant to be, he tells himself. She loves Weasly and Weasly loves her. He can hardly bear that she's so close, yet out of reach. She moves. Her icy hand closes around his. For a brief moment it is pure bliss, before he realizes that she will never be his. She says his name again, like an angel sighing. He pulls her into his arms, she looks into his eyes. She touches his blonde hair that falls around his face like a halo. He holds his breath. She's warming up, surely she'll get up and leave him. Leave him alone, all alone.
She touches his face, he shivers. She whispers his name, he touches her lips with a soft finger. She kisses it and he knows, he knows. He touches his lips to hers briefly, they're cold so cold. He aches to warm them up, not caring if it's wrong. Not caring she belongs to Weasly. He loves and wants her to know, want her to love him back. He kisses her again, allows his lips to linger longer than before. He pulls back, she whimpers. The storm is slowing, stopping. He looks out the window. The trees no longer dance to the pounding rhythm of the window but sway gently in the gentle breeze that accompanies the soft pitter patter that is the rain.
He strokes her face, and kisses her one last time, praying it won't be last. She touches his cheek in a final caress, knowing she must go. The rain has stopped, and the breeze has quieted. He stands, pulling her with him. A kiss on the cheek and he is gone, gone like a bolt of lightning. She stands there touching the place he kissed, dreaming of tomorrow.
