Until I Saw His Eyes
by ninfa-maniac (on fanfiction.net) / -ninfa (on livejournal.com)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: An abstract vignette about loving, understanding, and romance from the eyes of another.
Categories: Romance
Notes: Takes place in the trio's last year, 1997. There are no names in this for a reason, but by the end you'll know who everyone is. (You cheated if you found this through a character search, but I still love you!)
My Thanks: To DivineIntervention (on FictionAlley.org), also known as On-a- Rainy-Day (on FanFiction.net) for the quick and wonderful beta. Thanks to CrackHead and Fission25 for reading over this when I was worried. You guys rock!
Warnings: Be prepared for anything so you won't be squicked. Nothing too graphic or explicit, I promise.
-----
Ever since I first laid eyes on him almost seven years ago, I knew he'd change my life.
He had that raven-black hair that always seemed to be messy and those emerald eyes that were more pure than any stone.
Mum always had her magazines piled around the Burrow. Sometimes they had beautiful witches on the cover, and on the inside they featured articles about makeup charms and spelling away messes. Their advertisements sold the secret to the charm you never got right, the dressing gown that complimented any figure, and owl-away gifts for a low, low price of twenty- nine Sickles. Mum never owled away for anything, nor did she stress about makeup charms, but the magazines kept coming, month after month and year after year. When I was really bored and no one wanted to play with me, I would sneak these into my room and read the articles, dreaming of a day when I would be able to do those cleaning charms Mum was so great at; dreaming that I could do magic one day. I remember that I read an article next to an advert for self-cleaning washrags one late summer day, all about eyes. They had all the best spells for your mascara and liner, but I wasn't interested. I mean, why would I ever wear makeup? A few paragraphs down, however, the article said that eyes were the windows to a person's soul. I lay there for hours on my bed, trying to figure how my brown eyes told my innermost secrets. I never understood.
I never understood that paragraph until I saw his eyes.
One of my favourite sights is when our hair comes together. The dark red of my hair contrasts almost beautifully against his. While we've lain on his bed, I've often felt the temptation to braid it together just to see it, the hairs almost intimate together, but I never have. Sometimes our hair, tangled together, reminds me of coal and flames. He lights me on fire; my flesh becomes hot when he touches me like he is now. I smile and he grins his most lop-sided grin right back at me, and then he goes back to my freckled skin.
I know he was happy for me when I began to play Quidditch the year the Order reformed. I would look into the stands, searching for his face, for his reassurance that I would do well. I was always just okay, never fantastic, but better than I would be without him.
I've always been just okay, never extraordinary. It's impossible to be extraordinary with so many other siblings who are always succeeding. He could've had his pick of the entire Wizarding world, but now he's lying next to me, naked, and I'm looking into his eyes. He's saved us all more times than I have fingers to count on, and he loves me.
And I love him more than he'll ever know.
It's not right that I love him or that he loves me, they say. We're not meant to be together. He's The Boy Who Lived, and I'm just me. They want him to marry someone worthy, someone rich, but he's told the Daily Prophet that I'm as worthy as anyone. He loves me, he told them so, and I couldn't be happier.
I know one day he'll have to face the one who killed his parents. And he'll have to defeat him. I won't let it happen any other way. I'll be by his side, helping him as much as I can, but I've got to let him do this himself. It's destined, you know. He must kill the Dark Lord or he'll never truly live. More than anything, I want him to live and be happy. I just hope he's still happy with me in the years where we get older. I know I'll never stop loving him.
Mum used to tell him that he was another son to her, but I don't want that. I guess I'm just selfish, but I don't want him to be another sibling. I want him to be mine. As he kisses my neck and shoulders, I moan and grasp his raven hair in my fingers. He lifts his head up and asks if I like it; I can't do anything but nod because my voice has failed me. He smiles and I smile back, pulling his face and lips to connect with mine. He hasn't shaved in a day or so because I can feel the stubble of his chin on mine.
He has had so much trouble in his life and I can barely stand it. Pain has come to him more naturally than flying since he was a child. His parents died, their friendships betrayed, and he went to live with those horrible Muggles. They treated him like a dirty mop for years, like he was nothing special or worth celebrating. He may have lived through it, but the pain keeps coming for him. People in our world have made it their life's mission to kill him, to cause him immense pain. Pain that he doesn't deserve and pain that cannot be justified to anyone but the Dark Lord's minions.
I felt pain, too. While we were in the Department of Mysteries, I came close to death. The reaper almost became my best friend when I thought the one I loved was going to die while facing his enemy. Neither of us died that night, but a part of him, the part that held hope that he would one day live with his godfather, shattered.
He's sleeping beside me now, tired from today. He snores only softly and uses my arm as a pillow. It's going numb, so I pull it from behind his head, as gently as I can, hoping I won't wake him. He stirs and opens his eyes. After these years together, it still amazes me what I can see in them. He obviously sees me, but I know I look blurry to him without his glasses on. He yawns, then laces his fingers through mine, and looks me in the eye. "I love you," he says, his voice hoarse from sleep. I know he's not lying, but I see the truth and intensity of his words in his eyes.
He quickly drifts off to sleep, but I cannot do so tonight. I stare up at the curtains surrounding the bed we are sharing. They are red, and he says they remind him of my hair.
Scenes from our past together run through my mind. Our first meeting outside platform nine and three-quarters. Our first kiss. The first time we said we loved each other. The first time we made love.
The memory I love the most is one I can't even remember; I had to hear it all from him. During the Triwizard Tournament, he saved me from the bottom of the lake. He saved me like he's saved so many others before. He would miss me the most, and that's why I was tied to that rock.
If it were he at the bottom of the lake, I'd fight off all the merpeople and even the Giant Squid for him. He did the same for me in our fourth year. Hell, for him, I'd fight all the Dementors, Death Eaters, and You- Know-Who twice.
I lean over, kiss his forehead, just left of his famous scar, and I am able to sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to graduate from Hogwarts together, and I'm going to love him even more.
-end-
by ninfa-maniac (on fanfiction.net) / -ninfa (on livejournal.com)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: An abstract vignette about loving, understanding, and romance from the eyes of another.
Categories: Romance
Notes: Takes place in the trio's last year, 1997. There are no names in this for a reason, but by the end you'll know who everyone is. (You cheated if you found this through a character search, but I still love you!)
My Thanks: To DivineIntervention (on FictionAlley.org), also known as On-a- Rainy-Day (on FanFiction.net) for the quick and wonderful beta. Thanks to CrackHead and Fission25 for reading over this when I was worried. You guys rock!
Warnings: Be prepared for anything so you won't be squicked. Nothing too graphic or explicit, I promise.
-----
Ever since I first laid eyes on him almost seven years ago, I knew he'd change my life.
He had that raven-black hair that always seemed to be messy and those emerald eyes that were more pure than any stone.
Mum always had her magazines piled around the Burrow. Sometimes they had beautiful witches on the cover, and on the inside they featured articles about makeup charms and spelling away messes. Their advertisements sold the secret to the charm you never got right, the dressing gown that complimented any figure, and owl-away gifts for a low, low price of twenty- nine Sickles. Mum never owled away for anything, nor did she stress about makeup charms, but the magazines kept coming, month after month and year after year. When I was really bored and no one wanted to play with me, I would sneak these into my room and read the articles, dreaming of a day when I would be able to do those cleaning charms Mum was so great at; dreaming that I could do magic one day. I remember that I read an article next to an advert for self-cleaning washrags one late summer day, all about eyes. They had all the best spells for your mascara and liner, but I wasn't interested. I mean, why would I ever wear makeup? A few paragraphs down, however, the article said that eyes were the windows to a person's soul. I lay there for hours on my bed, trying to figure how my brown eyes told my innermost secrets. I never understood.
I never understood that paragraph until I saw his eyes.
One of my favourite sights is when our hair comes together. The dark red of my hair contrasts almost beautifully against his. While we've lain on his bed, I've often felt the temptation to braid it together just to see it, the hairs almost intimate together, but I never have. Sometimes our hair, tangled together, reminds me of coal and flames. He lights me on fire; my flesh becomes hot when he touches me like he is now. I smile and he grins his most lop-sided grin right back at me, and then he goes back to my freckled skin.
I know he was happy for me when I began to play Quidditch the year the Order reformed. I would look into the stands, searching for his face, for his reassurance that I would do well. I was always just okay, never fantastic, but better than I would be without him.
I've always been just okay, never extraordinary. It's impossible to be extraordinary with so many other siblings who are always succeeding. He could've had his pick of the entire Wizarding world, but now he's lying next to me, naked, and I'm looking into his eyes. He's saved us all more times than I have fingers to count on, and he loves me.
And I love him more than he'll ever know.
It's not right that I love him or that he loves me, they say. We're not meant to be together. He's The Boy Who Lived, and I'm just me. They want him to marry someone worthy, someone rich, but he's told the Daily Prophet that I'm as worthy as anyone. He loves me, he told them so, and I couldn't be happier.
I know one day he'll have to face the one who killed his parents. And he'll have to defeat him. I won't let it happen any other way. I'll be by his side, helping him as much as I can, but I've got to let him do this himself. It's destined, you know. He must kill the Dark Lord or he'll never truly live. More than anything, I want him to live and be happy. I just hope he's still happy with me in the years where we get older. I know I'll never stop loving him.
Mum used to tell him that he was another son to her, but I don't want that. I guess I'm just selfish, but I don't want him to be another sibling. I want him to be mine. As he kisses my neck and shoulders, I moan and grasp his raven hair in my fingers. He lifts his head up and asks if I like it; I can't do anything but nod because my voice has failed me. He smiles and I smile back, pulling his face and lips to connect with mine. He hasn't shaved in a day or so because I can feel the stubble of his chin on mine.
He has had so much trouble in his life and I can barely stand it. Pain has come to him more naturally than flying since he was a child. His parents died, their friendships betrayed, and he went to live with those horrible Muggles. They treated him like a dirty mop for years, like he was nothing special or worth celebrating. He may have lived through it, but the pain keeps coming for him. People in our world have made it their life's mission to kill him, to cause him immense pain. Pain that he doesn't deserve and pain that cannot be justified to anyone but the Dark Lord's minions.
I felt pain, too. While we were in the Department of Mysteries, I came close to death. The reaper almost became my best friend when I thought the one I loved was going to die while facing his enemy. Neither of us died that night, but a part of him, the part that held hope that he would one day live with his godfather, shattered.
He's sleeping beside me now, tired from today. He snores only softly and uses my arm as a pillow. It's going numb, so I pull it from behind his head, as gently as I can, hoping I won't wake him. He stirs and opens his eyes. After these years together, it still amazes me what I can see in them. He obviously sees me, but I know I look blurry to him without his glasses on. He yawns, then laces his fingers through mine, and looks me in the eye. "I love you," he says, his voice hoarse from sleep. I know he's not lying, but I see the truth and intensity of his words in his eyes.
He quickly drifts off to sleep, but I cannot do so tonight. I stare up at the curtains surrounding the bed we are sharing. They are red, and he says they remind him of my hair.
Scenes from our past together run through my mind. Our first meeting outside platform nine and three-quarters. Our first kiss. The first time we said we loved each other. The first time we made love.
The memory I love the most is one I can't even remember; I had to hear it all from him. During the Triwizard Tournament, he saved me from the bottom of the lake. He saved me like he's saved so many others before. He would miss me the most, and that's why I was tied to that rock.
If it were he at the bottom of the lake, I'd fight off all the merpeople and even the Giant Squid for him. He did the same for me in our fourth year. Hell, for him, I'd fight all the Dementors, Death Eaters, and You- Know-Who twice.
I lean over, kiss his forehead, just left of his famous scar, and I am able to sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to graduate from Hogwarts together, and I'm going to love him even more.
-end-