A/N: I love drabbles 'cause they're easy. I'll be writing them for a while—probably 'till Christmas break.
In The Stars
She watches him, though she doesn't care to admit it. Stares across the Great Hall at him—Harry sees, but he says nothing. Not his business, anyway; it scares him, quite frankly. She's supposed to love him, not that thing.
When she looks into his eyes, she doesn't see Hell like she had always expected. Anger, perhaps—anger and prejudice and hate and love and malice and redemption, all at the same time. But not Hell—not pure evil, not pure darkness. But he isn't good. Certainly isn't good; anything but. And maybe that's just what she needs.
She wonders if he could ever love someone like her.
(the end)