Disclaimer: Don't anything. It all belongs to JK Rowling.
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The music pulsed. I sit here, watching as you dance with what seemed like every girl in the place. And a couple of the guys. You've danced with practiaclly everyone who would dance with you. Except me.
I never denied I was bi. Everyone knew and accepted it. You were fine that I liked my sex as well as yours. You didn't whisper about me. You told the Weasel to shut up when he ranted on about how sick it was. You understood. You were bi too.
I dated what seemed like all the girls and the gay and bi guys in the place. But they were different. I felt the brief spark of attraction, easily satisfied with sex in their beds. You were different.
I didn't like you because of your looks, or that the fact that you remained single, even though you weren't a virgin, even though those were good too.
I liked you because you were you.
You came back for your sixth year. And the death of your godfather had changed you. Your feelings were hidden, eyes veiled. You spoke to the Weasel-no Weasley, you don't like me calling him that- and the Mudb-no muggleborn, you don't like them being called that - politely, distantly. Your grades shot up, even Potions. I was so glad you got into N.E.W.T. Potions. I could see you more.
I heard you wanted to be an Auror. But you seemed to have changed your mind. You had grown up, shedding the veil between realism and ignorance. You became slightly bitter. You were jaded. Sometimes I would find bits of paper with your writing. You wrote bits I recognized as muggle poetry from a book I read one time. Others were obviously written by you because words had obviously been changed and crossed out. I was amazed. You were good at it.
But one thing worried me. All the poems copied or written were depressing and dark.
I worried about you. You scared me. Not just because of the poems, but how your looks had changed. For a start, you grew a few inches, making you nearly my height which was average. The freckles scattered over your nose faded, leaving flawless pale complexion. Your hair became silky and longer, tied back and it was no longer wild. I longed to touch that hair, run my fingers through it without being looked like I was a freak by you. One day, when I was late to Potions, I was paired with you. I watched while you prepared ingredients. Your fingers were long and slender, your hands seemingly flawless until our hands brushed accidentally. I felt the calluses.
Lastly, your eyes. They were still the same Advera Kedavara green. But the spark, the life was gone. They betrayed no emotion, cold and empty. I longed to see the life, the joy in them again.
I saw hurt in them when Weasley got mad when you told him you were bi. He was mad you didn't tell him when you realized. I wanted to punch him in the nose. Screw magic. Granger questioned. Are you sure? It could be a phase. Or maybe you're overreacting. I wanted to put her under the Cruciatus and never take it off.
Weasley stormed off, Granger following. You avoided them, vice-versa. Most boys watched you, afraid you would start hitting on them. You became an outcast, a vent for everyone's fear and anger. Except the Slytherins. We watched, slightly amazed. I risked becoming an outcast when I sat down next to you. It was in Transfiguration. I was late. McGonagall took points and told me to sit down. Draco had saved a seat for me. I ignored him, walking over to where you sitting at the back, in the shadows.
You didn't look at me, just moved your backpack to the floor and moving over. We ignored each other for the rest of the lesson.
I began to sit next to you in lessons. You never seemed to notice. We didn't speak. When we did, you were short and polite. But slowly it changed. We would discuss petty stuff while waiting for teachers. Looking back, I remember how it changed.
This time, you were late for Potions. Professor Snape took off points and told you to sit down. Granger and Weasel beckoned for you to sit to them. Apparently you were forgiven. I was certain that you would sit next to them, accept their useless apologies and go back to insulting all Slytherins. I underestimated you. You gave them an icy look before sitting next to me.
From then on, you sat with the Slytherins. One night, all the Year Six Slytherins gathered in the boy's dorm and we discussed our opinions of you. Pansy and Millie thought you were pretty cool, Draco said you were at least able to hold an intelligent question, Crabbe and Goyle said in their slow, unintelligent speech, you were nice, Theo said you were all right. I said I liked you. They congratulated me.
You started spending more time with the Slytherins. All the Year Six Slytherins and you became a close team. Most people shunned you because of that. You didn't care.
I remember the breakfast where Dumbledore announced that there was going to be a school dance. I was so happy too said you were going, even though you didn't ask me to be your date. We all went as a group.
And so, that is how I ended up here. Sitting at a table, watching you dance and wishing every time that it was me dancing with you.
"Wanna dance?" Pansy said, taking pity on me.
"No thanks," I reply, not taking my eyes off you.
"Ask him for a dance, for fucks sake!" Draco suddenly exclaimed.
"Who?"
"Harry."
I take my eyes off you to look at him.
"What if he says no?" I ask.
"Then you'll know she doesn't like you and you can go jump off the Astronomy Tower," Draco replies, smirking. I snort and turn back to look at you.
The song ends. I watch you decline an offer from a boy and start to make your way over here. My heart sinks slightly. You were going to ask Draco for a dance. I knew it.
But you stopped in front of me. Startled, I look up, my brown eyes meeting your green ones. The teasing smirk drops, your eyes softening slightly. You say three words. Three words that I had longed to hear.
"Dance with me?"