Sing For Absolution
By Second-Hand Heart
Lips are turning blue
A kiss that can't renew
I only dream of you
My beautiful
I quietly open the door to the seventh-year boy's dormitory. All is quiet inside except for the occasional grunt or rustle of sheets in movement as one of the occupants of the beds changes position as they sleep on.
It's past midnight. I should be curled securely in my bed own bed down in the sixth-year girls dorm. But this has become my ritual, my cleansing: kiss him goodnight and tell him I love him when he's asleep and unconscious of my presence at his bedside. I wish I could tell him when he can see me, when he can hear me and feel me and see how hard it is for me to admit it.
Coward. That's what I am. A coward.
Gods, I hate myself.
I close the door behind me and silently make my way over to where I know his bed is. The curtains are closed around him; they always are. And no one knows that it's because he cries himself to sleep at night. Except I know. But he doesn't know I know. And I know he doesn't know I know. I'm very discreet about my midnight visits at his bedside. If anyone found out I'd die.
I kneel beside his bed and take one of his hands into both my own. His hands are soft and strong, large and tender. Much like his heart.
He's an odd mix of a boy. And I love him. I can only admit that in my thoughts. I know it's true because it hurts so bad to see him with Hermione. I think I'm going to die every time I see him put his arm around her and watch as she kisses his cheek. God, it hurts so bad.
Unconsciously (I hope) his hand tightens around my own. I look down at them and study the long delicate fingers in fine detail, like I have every other time I've been here. I gently stroke his knuckles with the pad of my thumb, relishing the feel of his touch, however inadvertent.
He shifts slightly, distracting me from his beautiful hands. I look into his closed eyes. He has gorgeous eyelashes, enviable. But his eyelids keep twitching and I know he's having a nightmare... another one. I wish there was some way to stop them. The Dreamless Sleep Potion doesn't work anymore, they make everything worse, but he won't admit that.
His eye are jerking around behind their blinds like he's looking for something or someone and I decide it's time to go. If he wakes up to find me clutching to his hand there'll be questions asked. Questions I don't want to answer.
I lean up and brush his scraggly black fringe aside, revealing the lightning-bolt scar scratched white onto his forehead.
I hate that thing. It's caused him so much grief and pain. I can barely stand to look at it knowing the horrors that he's been through because of that damned mark. Everyone places so much responsibility on him because of some cruel twist of fate. I hate it. He deserves so much more than everyone gives him. So much more love than what Hermione shows him and holds for him, so much more respect than what Ron gives him (what type of best friend gets so jealous of a friend who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders every day of his life?) and he deserves so much more recognition than what I allow him to see.
I hate this so much.
I let my finger trace the marked skin, barely touching it. But I pull it away. I have no right to touch him when he doesn't know... I have no right to touch him at all. That sacred privilege is saved for Hermione and Ron – the Girlfriend and the Best Friend.
At that thought my jealousy and resentment flares into a burning rage.
Hermione. That ignorant, self-centered chit. She doesn't love him – not really. Her heart belongs to her books and my brother. Harry's only third to her, he always has been. She told me so three years ago. And she told me the other day...
"I try Ginny, really I do! But... I don't know. I guess I don't really love him, not really. I never know what he's thinking so I don't know what mood he's in-"
"And that's why you fool around with Ron!?!! Is it!? You don't know how to please one boy so you move onto the next!?!!"
"Ginny! It's not like that!"
"Oh, isn't it?!" I stormed out.
I'm not sorry. Not anymore. At first I was scared she'd tell Harry, or Ron, or both, about what I had said. But that would just incriminate her. Hermione's not so stupid that she'd back herself into a corner. So I'm not worried anymore.
As for Ron. My brother, best friend to the Boy-Who-Lived. Ha! Some best friend! Running off at all hours of the day to snog Hermione and then coming back to sit at Harry's elbow like he hadn't just been stabbing him in the back. I hate him so.
I can remember the first time I caught them together. I was wondering around on the sixth floor after-hours to stew around in my thoughts. I was walking along one of Peeves' favorite corridors to terrorize. They were behind one of the gargoyles, on each other like rabbits. They looked so debauched. It was sickening. Ron attempted to tell me off for being out past curfew. The overall affect would have been quite impressive had he not been flushed and panting. I told him so and continued on my way without sparing them a second glance. The urge to curse them both six ways from Sunday was overpowering, but I suppressed it, shoving it firmly into the back of my head and not even sparing the memory a second thought. I was so angry at them both. I even thought about telling Harry.
But Hermione came to me the next day and pleaded with me until I promised not to speak of the incident. Of course, by that time I had had sufficient enough time to think it over and decide against it, not from any actual like for either Hermione or Ron, but from my love for Harry. I didn't want to be the one to hurt him. I would leave that to his "friends".
But that wasn't the last time I would catch them in a compromising position together. I run into them all over the castle on my late-night walks around the corridors. I spare them no idle banter and walk straight past them as if they are not there.
And I've never told.
I lean my own forehead against Harry's and close my eyes for a few moments. I press my lips gently over his and pull back.
"I love you Harry." I whisper before rising to my feet and walking silently to the door. I glance once at his sleeping form before parting the curtains and walking to the door. I open it silently and walk out, closing it with a spell cast over my shoulder as I descend the stairs down to my own dormitory and the nightmares that await me.