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Viewfinder the Open Eyes remix
By Nyx Vasquez
Chapter One - Tired Eyes
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"Is the passion all gone? Or is it still newly wed? If all this heat's doing is making us stick to the bed, then there is no more life to revive. But if the hunger's still there, hidden somewhere inside, covered up by the boredom we've been trying to hide... then dig it up and devour."
-- Bright Eyes, Pull My Hair
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" - to Gryffindor and to another great year!"
A loud cheer goes up; glasses are clinked and then the room quiets as everybody polishes off their drinks. The comfy, warm Gryffindor common room swells with undaunted conversations: people reuniting with old friends, making new friends, making polite conversation so as not to feel left out. First years mingling with second so as to get acquainted with the school; third- and fourth-years feeling at least a bit comfortable in the middle - or at least, as comfortable as one can get, what with the war raging on outside these big stone walls.
The only people who are not celebrating are the ones who need a good time the most: Harry, Ron and Hermione are sitting next to the fire, Ron and 'Mione on the loveseat and Harry in an overstuffed chintz armchair. Harry's electrifying forest eyes are rubbed dark with lack of sleep and worrying, and Ron's cannot be perturbed. However, Hermione's violet eyes are lost in troublesome thought; her brain working at speeds previously thought impossible by both Muggles and wizards alike. She is beautiful in the light from the fire - her hair gives off a soft, warm honey glow and she gives off a gentle radiance that seems to sparkle against the deep maroon of the Gryffindor-coloured couch she is sitting on.
Staring at her, I think - she is the center of my world.
Or, she would have been, if she was mine.
Her hand inches ever closer to my dimwitted brother's, and when it finally touches his, it seems to ignite a confused spark on his face that eventually starts a beautifully collected smile, one that gives way to understanding. Like I said, beautifully collected. Hermione seems to think that all is well.
The smile, however, never reaches his eyes.
A pang of longing zigzags through my body, but I am interrupted by Seamus Finnigan, who taps my shoulder with a sad yet mischevious smile on his face.
"Want to dance?" he says, smirking.
"... yes," I say, letting him drag me away.
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The night is long and filled with sweat.
On these kinds of nights, the sheets no longer feel like cotton, but like flypaper.
On these kinds of nights, I can almost pretend that it's her.
Imbued with alcohol and pent-up passion and frustration, we roll over and over, legs entwined and hands stoking chests, faces, backs, running heated fingers through Irish hair. Fingernails scrape sweaty backs.
It's hard to keep up the illusion of Hermione, but as long as I can keep focused, he is not Seamus, Irish bloodhound, but Hermione, English bookworm.
He pretends not to hear when a quiet 'Hermione' escapes my lips; I do the same when he moans "Blaise..." into my hair.
It is wordless; faceless; loveless. Just another night full of released energy and longings, a spiraling coil of desire bubbling up in the bottom of my stomach. In and out - this would not be a night with Hermione.
He also pretends not to hear when, wrapped in a gold sheet, I stumble into the bathroom and turn the shower on, sit under the scalding spray and sob for the loss of my innocence, for what I just did, for all the reasons that I could never say to the light of day.I am unable to surface, or sober up, or know what just happened to us in there, but it sure as hell wasn't the real thing. That fact is unavoidable.
The shower shuts off - the hot water is gone.
So I wrap myself in a towel, climb back into that bed I now share with the one person who couldn't care less who he's shagging.
Maybe when the war is over, I'll have a chance.
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September passes in a haze of early classes and furtive glances. The breakfast table is eerily silent this morning, as if something has happened, but as to what I am unsure.
Confused, I sit down next to Harry at the table. His face is creased with worry, and his undereyes are so dark it looks as if he hasn't slept in weeks.
"Harry?" I ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"I-I'm sorry, Ginny, I can't talk right now..." His thought trails off, and as if in a spy movie, his Technicolor green eyes drift over to the Slytherin table, make a quick connection with somebody else's - Harry leaves the entrance hall just as Professor McGonagall stands to speak to the masses.
With all eyes on her, no one but I sees Draco Malfoy follow Harry out into the hallway.
"Students," says McGonagall, "we have - a bit of - news this morning."
This statement is followed by a rumbling of noise, much like a submarine surfacing. With a wave of her wand, she silences us all.
"Last evening, a man called Lucius Malfoy -" there were some murmurs " - escaped from Azkaban. He immediately made for - Apparated to - Hogsmeade."
A loud rush of noise; scared looks. Once again, the Hall is silenced with a wave of her wand.
"Currently, there are Aurors surrounding Hogsmeade, but by the time they had arrived there Mr. Malfoy had Summoned the Death Eaters by means of which we are not sure. There are currently well over one hundred Death Eaters inside the village of Hogsmeade - " gasps and sobs " - and so I must tell you. To any students whose parents wish them to go home/ would like to return home, the Hogwarts Express will be taking them home. The train does not go anywhere near the affected area, and is protected with wards and the like.
"The train leaves at 12 noon tomorrow. Any and all students who are staying, please help your fellow students who are leaving our company with packing and collecting their items. Hogwarts is open to any person who needs its protection and - hopefully - will once again be safe enough for its wonderful students. Thank you."
Everyone looks as if they have been Stunned; however, Hermione's eyes are merely filled with tears and my stupid brother is hanging his head. They must have already known.
I am shocked. "Why... didn't you tell me this?"
Ron looks up, his eyes showing something other than lust for the first time in his life. "We thought it would be best if McGonagall told you, we didn't want to upset you - "
"Oh." My voice is full of hate; I am surprised at the sound. "So you thought I would run away scared, just like always, huh? Ron? It's just like I've been telling you all of my bloody Hogwarts career - I am not a fucking little kid! I am in SIXTH YEAR! Who was it that fought with you at the Ministry? While you were messing around with some slimy brains, I was fighting my ass off! I can handle it, Ron!"
Hermione looks shell-shocked and opens her mouth to say something, her eyes full of cerulean tears, and it makes my heart break. "No, Hermione." I cut her off before the words escape her lips. "I'm not even good enough for you to tell me common knowledge! Am I that unimportant to you!"
My own eyes fill with tears; but I will not shed them. Her violet eyes are tortured, but she needs to understand, and so I say those final words.
"What happened to 'best friends'? Or was I just a joke to you?"
I walk out, my head held high, so nobody can see those crystalline tears sliding their way down my cheeks. Her eyes are burning me from behind, so I run.
Faster and faster, I take the secret shortcut behind the tapestry, the one where Harry and "my brother" found Dean and I snogging fifth year. Nobody will be there; everybody is in the Great Hall, and so nobody will mind if I just sit here for a while.
Except maybe the two people snogging in the dark tunnel.
Harry's hands are strung wildly through blond hair, as Draco's are through ebony. Tears stream down both of their sleepless faces, mingling on their cheeks. Neither notices me until I gasp as Malfoy begins to unbutton Harry's shirt.
They stop.
"Ginny - Ginny, wait - " Harry pleads, detaching himself from Draco, "I can explain - " - but it is too late; I shove past them and run on my way to Gryffindor Tower.
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It is night; everybody is at dinner.
I will not go down there, I tell my stomach, but it does not listen to me, and so I ignore it. I cannot look at Harry; I am not speaking to Ron or Hermione.
Harry - and Draco Malfoy?
Not that it bothers me that they are gay, because then I would be the biggest hypocrite ever, but together? As in having a relationship; anything other than enemies?
The unlikeliest pairing since Ron and Hermione.
But I suppose it was always coming, I mean, all those years of fighting - were they really just concealed passion? How long had they been doing this?
Hermione.
Those big, violet eyes... so full of - what? Unfathomable purple depths of sorrow, of understanding, of - what? What is it about her?
But I can never hope to figure that out.
My door creaks open and shut; I do not notice anything out of the ordinary from my place uner the covers until a disembodied hand grabs my wrist and yanks me out of my hiding place; begins to tug me along somewhere. I fight, and struggle, but the hand continues to yank until we reach the seventh floor corridor, and then it releases me and disappears.
At least, until a door appears in the wall and the hand turns the knob and pulls me in.
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Somebody throws off an Invisibility Cloak (Harry?) and steps into a small circle of the last fading light on the floor - Hermione.
I am furious; in my anger I bolt for the door but she catches my trailing hand and pulls me to her, holding me fast. I cannot hope to be let go, but maybe - I don't want to. Being this close is making my heart race, but no, we are fighting, and I must stay calm.
"Ginny." Her voice is like honey; I'm sure she doesn't mean for it to be, but it is - "I'm so, so, sorry. I should - I should have told you..." Tears drip down onto my neck from her beautiful eyes.
She releases me as I gently tug, and with one look at her I forget why I was upset.
"It's okay, Hermione, I'm sorry too... I never should have gone off on you like that..."
She's much too close to me; I can feel all my inhibitions slipping away, little bits of it gnawing at the back of my brain - She doesn't love you so this isn't right, you can't, don't kiss her...
Obviously I don't listen, because when our lips connect it shoots off fireworks in my brain and kills all the little voices who didn't agree.
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"Ginny..." she pants, shirt and skirt off, underneath me. "W-We... we can't... This isn't..."
But she forgets as my hand slips under the elastic...
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We are crying now, lying on the dusty floor, wrapped up in eachother. She is folded into my arms, and for a fleeting second the voices say I told you, she's unhappy now...
"Oh, Ginny..." she sobs, her face pressed into my chest, "I'm so sorry. I can't... do this..."
"Yes, you can," I say, crying as well, "you just did."
"B-But... Ginny..." She stops, evidently thinking. "You're not... him."
"I know," I say, pressing my face into the nape of her neck and just breathing in the scent of her - fresh parchment, oranges, and crayons - "but can't I at least try?"
"Ginny, you don't... you don't love me, do you?"
My heart hardens a bit against the arrow heading straight for it and I lie, smoothly, slowly -
"No."
She sighs. "Good..."
I'm a horrible liar. A horrible, terribly, no-good rotten filthy liar.
Damn.
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End Chapter One
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A/N: Okay. So originally, instead of the Bright Eyes stuff, I was thinking of "Spidersong" by Say Anything... "you've got those tired eyes all the time. yeah, you need someone to bring you to bed..."... but I didn't. Actually, I think the Bright Eyes thing pulled it off rather well... if I do say so myself. And I do.
Thank-Yous - Ashes of Starsanddairygirl, thank you for the very nice reviews. They made me very happy . However, I did get a nasty review from one person (named 'the time maker'), that said something along the lines of "That's disgusting! They're gay!" with numerous spelling mistakes. Once again - if you do not like/tolerate homosexuality, then please FUCK OFF. Thank you ahdn have a nice day.
Love,
--Nyx