Heart
She watched him this summer.
He came to The Burrow with permission from Dumbledore, who had said he was only allowing him to come because now there were all sorts of wards and protection spells on the house, and because he needed to be around people who understood him and what happened. People who cared for him. People who were not the Dursleys.
He showed up and at the sight of him she wanted to break down and cry.
He wasn't angry-looking; he did not fume or yell or lash out at anyone. He certainly wasn't happy—even though he had gotten away from those horrid Dursleys. He wasn't chronically depressed or something like that either.
He was just emotionless. His face was blank, rid of any expressions whatsoever. His brilliant emerald eyes were no longer vibrant, but they were cold and distant. And sometimes, he would smile or even laugh, but she knew that it was forced and very fake, even if everyone else couldn't see it.
And one night she had woken up thirsty and had gone downstairs to fix herself a glass of milk, only to stop at the bottom of the stairs and freeze, for standing before her on her living room couch was he, and he was crying.
Not sobbing uncontrollably or bawling or sniffling or even making the slightest of loud noises. He was just sitting there peacefully, his hands in his lap, crying quietly to himself. His breathing was slightly labored and his glasses were off.
And it made her heart hurt.
And she was in such awe that she sat down on the last step to watch him some more, causing the wood to creak loudly. She stood up quickly and swore inwardly.
He turned around fast and stared at her—his eyes suddenly softening, although they were still hard. He stood from the couch and walked slowly to the staircase. She tried to flee but her legs wouldn't move. He paused right in front of her and leaned in close, very close, and green met brown as his eyes locked with hers.
He wordlessly took her hand and laced his fingers between hers and she felt her knees go weak. Unexpectedly he ducked his head down to her neck and trailed kisses down to her collarbone. She gasped from his sudden touch and closed her eyes tightly.
And suddenly she wondered if he knew how she felt about him. If he knew that he turned her legs into jelly with just a glance in her general direction. If he knew that every single time would so much as make eye contact with her that her heart would leap into her throat. If he knew that every time she saw his empty expression she wanted to cry forever and ever because she just wanted to see him happy and she felt so damn useless. If he knew that she was so desperately in love with him that she would do anything at any lengths whatsoever just to see him smile—truly, genuinely smile, because she hadn't seen that adorable smile for months now and she really, really missed it…
Her hand automatically went to the back of his neck as he continued to kiss her, leaving a trail of fire as his lips touched her neck, her jaw line, her cheek, her temple…
He stopped and she opened her eyes. He pulled away and she let go of his neck as he released her hand. There was a question in his eyes but he shook his head and leaned up and kissed her gently on the forehead. His lips lingered there and she sighed in ecstasy, breathing warm air onto his skin.
He pulled back again but leaned in again, touching his forehead to hers. He grabbed her hand again and brought his free hand to her face and caressed her cheek—the most unidentifiable expression upon his face. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, inhaling his scent deeply. And when she opened her eyes her heart nearly popped out of her chest and she could have just exploded right on the spot because he was—
Because he was smiling.
He was smiling—finally smiling—and it was real and she knew it because she knew he knew he didn't need to be act with her when they were alone and it was real because if it wasn't she knew she would be able to see right through it and it was real, she knew, because she would be able to recognize that smile—that genuinely real smile—anywhere, anytime, under any circumstances, no matter what.
And she could've been bouncing off the walls in happiness because she made him smile.
He let go of her hand removed her hand from her cheek, stepping back—and she could've died from the loss of contact.
He smiled at her again, subtly and closemouthed, before trekking up the stairs to the bedroom at the top, closing the door behind him without a word or a second glance.
And somehow she knew that they wouldn't speak of this again—that this was between them. That it was, she assured herself, most-definitely a one-time thing.
And she went to bed, falling asleep as the bewitching hour came, her heart hurting more than if ever had before.
Fin.