She doesn't say very much, she just sits there, across from me, unaware of how her light breathing sends chills through me. She studies her books instead of me; she writes on essays instead of love letters, she spends her hours learning of magic then of my body. It was so easy for Siruis, James, and even that git Snape to get a girl, but me; I cannot even garner her attention for half a second.
Ever since Lilly and Elle got a hold of her, she has been irresistible. They curled her frustrating waving hair, lined her eyes to sharp perfection, wetted and pinked her lips; they made her an untouchable goddess.
Maybe if I wrote a book, maybe if I discovered a new spell, or even taught a class one day she might just want me to be hers. Maybe if I spelled it out in letters on the pages of her books, writing an epic tale of unrequited love that would send tears spilling over those perfect ocean eyes. To storm them for just five minutes would be worth a lifetime to me.
But I can't, I can't do any of that, all I can do is sit here across from her and feed her books. Feed her those damn things that keep her away. Why do I do it, why do I push her from me? Why do I seat myself second when I could be first? Why every time when she reaches her hand out do I fill it with worthless paper then with my hand? Why do I not just slam her book down, lean across the table and bring those lips to mine?
I know why, because she is normal and I am not. She is human, and I am something else. I am a freak, a pain, and a burden she does not need to bear. It hurts her enough as it is for me to be gone on those long full nights, where the light is so bright it changes me. As her friend I hurt her with the unknown, as her lover I would slay her with the truth.
Her hand is held in front of me, for a fraction I falter, wanting nothing more then to take it in mine, but I don't. I hold strong to my choice and remind myself it's for her. I place another book in her hand. Then I go back to mine.