Grey Eyes

By Moste Piratical Ursh

So, here I am again.

Talking to you. Pretending that your gaze doesn't make me shiver, that your hands don't set me alight.

And perhaps most surprising of all, you're talking to me too.

You talk to me and I find my self watching. Watching and imagining- imagining you pulling me into that strong embrace, the cool touch of your hands on my skin, the kisses I so want you to plant on the nape of my neck, on the top of my head.

Imagining that you might secretly want me, love me, even.

In my minds eye, I see you pulling me close, and you whisper into my ear. You whisper that you love me, you always have done. And I smile quietly and whisper sweet nothings back.

I imagine that I can see some thing more than cold disdain and black pride in your ice blue-grey eyes. That there is some deep meaning behind your talk.

I reach out for your hand lying on the table. You brush me roughly away, my gesture still half formed.

I tell myself that, behind it all-behind the façade you present for the world- I tell myself that, behind it all, you love me and you care.

Still, I sit and I stare.

How did I come to want you so much, I think idly. When we could not be less alike, you and I. I know I am pathetic for wanting you, and that every time I tell you so I lower my self once more in your eyes. Perhaps I know deep down that you don't want me. But I can't bring myself to let go.

I watch your eyes sweep lazily across the room, all our old class mates assembled. I watch them stop and linger when they reach her. Her. Your hard grey-blue eyes flicker with desire, and I feel like jumping into them and drowning my self.

Her- the one with the long, shiny brown hair and the pretty hazel eyes. I watch you, and I watch the way your eyes travel up and down her body.

I hate her. I hate the way you want her. I hate the way you are when you're around her- the way you act.

Most of all, I hate her for her kindness and the way she would never speak behind my back.

So I block it all out, and in my mind, she hates me. But that doesn't matter, not while I have you.

So, I sit and make believe.

The cold draught of this horrible room catches me and I shiver. For once I am certain it was not your presence.

You get up and my breath catches in my throat. Without you, I feel exposed. The room is chill and I quietly pine for you warm presence to grace me again.

But I don't move. I sit here and watch you walk into the crowds.

You did not say one word of parting. That, I scream at the voice of reality, is because none is needed. Our bond is so deep that words have no meaning.

I shiver again, and I wrap my arms closer to myself, more in protection than anything else.

I avert my eyes from you, and your lurid advances towards her. I cannot understand why she scorns you, how she can turn you away.

I envy her more and more, and still I feel hate.

I hear foot steps behind me, and some one sits down beside me. I do not bother to see who. No one matters but you.

So I am unprepared when I hear a whisper in my ear and a soft touch on my shoulder.

Still I do not look, but pull sullenly away. I would not want you to think that I did not love you- not that you know anyway. You barely seem to notice me.

But that warm touch persists, and I give in. I pretend again, and I pretend that it is you.

"Why?" A soft voice asks me. "Why do you let him use you.?"

Then, quietly-"that isn't my Hermione".

In the few seconds that this simple phrase takes to penetrate my head, my illusion has been smashed and broken, and I am thrown back into the present with a sickening thud.

The seconds steal past, and even as I sit and piece my dream together for one last time, I cannot deny that deep and gentle voice that is speaking into my ear.

" What?" I am screaming for the second time this evening, but this time for real. "Why WHAT?"

I am oblivious to the faces turned towards me; the gaping mouths and the shocked expressions. I do not notice that the music has stopped, nor that your gaze is, for once, resting firmly upon me. The irony is lost to the heat of the moment.

Yet the voice,- belonging to those bright green eyes, the ones I know so well, and have studied a hundred times or more- it carries on, just as quietly as before.

"What do you see in him?" It asks me. The compassion is infuriating. I almost give in to the temptation to run. But how could I desert you? I know I never could.

As I sit, tensed and angry, there is no avoiding the question.

I wrap my hope and my dreams and my infatuation around me as tightly as a cloak, in the vain hope of shutting it out. But I know I cannot, just as surely as I know I love you. Maybe you cared once upon a time, too.

"Because I love him," I utter, shame faced and head hung low. "Because I love him."

I look away from the ground for a split second, for less than that. This is not who I used to be.

I remember the defiance and the pride I used to carry in my gait and my assurance in my knowledge. It is all gone now. I try to feel as I used to.

I look up boldly into those deep green, almond shaped eyes.

"Because I LOVE HIM!" I shout for the whole world to hear. For you to hear.

I look up, and I see you striding confidently out from the crowd. I love your confidence.

You carry on walking until you're close enough to reach out and touch, and I wait for that gratifying instant in which your eyes will lock on mine and you will tell me you love me- for the whole room to hear. And then, I will rush forward and you will hold me tightly to your chest.

I break out of my daydream in time to witness you departure from the room. You walk coolly past me- your stance all ice and pride- and you sneer, as you leave through the door that is behind directly behind me.

I do not turn around to watch you, as I have so many times before. Instead, I wait to feel your arms around my waist, the soft touch of your hands running through my hair and your soft, warm breath in my ear.

I wait and wait for what must be an eternity and everything is so still and silent, I wonder If I am dreaming this.

He will come to me, I sob inside, he would never leave. But even as I wait and pray and hope, I know that you are not coming back.

The tears are rolling silently down my cheeks and past my lips to dribble down my chin- no doubt they are ruining the make up that I so lovingly applied in the hope that I would see you.

The door snaps shut behind me, and the silence is profound. The sea of faces that surround me on all sides begin to waver and blur as if they really are a choppy sea full of crashing waves, people just beneath the surface- palely white and shocked and dead. I can taste it one my lips- the salt, that is.

And once again I feel a gentle touch around my neck and my shoulders. I don't bother putting up any token resistance. Instead, I slide into the warm and welcome embrace of the boy I have known since childhood.

I don't even care to pretend that it's you.

Around me, the sounds of the music begin again, but I don't care. I am past caring.

The hum of voices is deafening, but I do not care for that either.

I cling desperately to the boy in front of me; the one I estranged in favour of you.

And he clings onto me just as tightly, not seeming to care that my nails are ripping into flesh.

I bury my head in his shoulder, in a futile attempt to shut out the world. The warm familiar musky smell of him fills my nostrils and makes my heart waver even more. Even after I deserted him… deserted him for you, my daydream, he is still here for me. I hate my self because you do not love me or even want me anymore, because I have deserted everyone who does care and because I have been a stupid, silly little school girl infatuated with a man who will never notice me.

After an interminable time, I feel a gentle pressure on my upper arm.

Instantly, my heart lifts and I can almost hear your voice ringing out through the room. I look wildly around for your face and the customary smirk, the room becoming a sickening blur as I spin. When I fail to see you, I look back down at the floor.

The pressure increases and forces me to look up.

There she is. Just standing there and looking at me. And for all the world, I can't pretend she hates me any more- so I scowl at her and look defiantly away- at any thing but that perfect pretty face, those hazel eyes and the long, shiny hair that reaches past her waist.

But she stays there. I can see the bottom of her midnight blue robes just brushing my peripheral vision. I glance back at her, and she catches my chin in her hands and forces me to stare at her.

I try to glare- I really do, but it's useless and the tears keep on rolling down towards the robes that were clean on this very evening.

I give up and stare back at her, wondering why she doesn't follow you. Doesn't she realise that she can have you? I wonder if she's mad, delusional even.

To my surprise, she takes the pressure off my arm. I grip desperately to the hand of the green eyed boy next to me, almost as if I'm a child again.

She keeps staring and I feel my cheeks grow hot, underneath the trail that my weeping has left. I open my mouth to scream at her to leave me alone. To shout at her. But my mouth hangs open in a perfect "O" as I strain to say something- anything, but hard as I try, nothing comes out.

To my surprise she lifts her hand towards my face. I almost jerk away from it- I expect her to scream at me, to hit me. I want her to. Anything to help me forget what I am feeling now.

Slowly she wipes the tears away from under my eyes, and I let her. My one loose hand hanging limply by my side.

She gives me a smile, weak and watery. I slowly realise that she has been crying, too. Again, I wonder why.

"He was always a bastard," she whispers to me conspiratorially . The thin smile is still stretched across her dry lips.

Again I struggle to speak. When nothing comes out, I wonder what I would have said anyway.

I grip the tousle-haired boy's hand, just a little harder. Then I smile at her.

All at once I feel tears again.

I turn slightly to one side, unconsciously, to screen my self from her.

I feel my heart beat faster as I am taken into strong arms, with hands that slowly rub the small of my back. He strokes my hair and runs his hands through its long and slightly tangled length, before putting his soft lips close to my cheek. I feel his warm breath in my ear and my heart beats faster still.

"I love you Hermione," He tells me gently. "I always have."

My heart leaps as I never thought it could, and I am away.

You are no more than the cold memory of a nightmare in the night.