Chapter 3

I won't tolerate another setback. Curse the Sorting Hat and its uninformed decision to put her in Ravenclaw and not Slytherin where she belongs. Curse her friends for always being around her. Curse Missy and her long legs and her constant need for attention.

Never in my life has there been a boundary that I couldn't cross. I have waited too long for this to happen. I've waited for almost two years to get such an opportunity. There have always been these boundaries but now, there's nothing in the way. There's no way it won't happen. I'll do anything to make sure of it. She will be there, I will sit next to her, and she will be instilled with the same passion for me that I feel for her.

What a clever plan I have. I will watch her sit on the circular bench from my spot behind the tree. I will bring my copy of Advanced Potion Making and after a few minutes pass, I will approach her and ask her if I can sit down. Slughorn's NEWT class can be very daunting and I need to study up. She will smile and say that of course I can sit down. When she isn't looking, I will turn down the volume on her record player and ask a question about Polyjuice potion. That will get us talking. That will start it.

I stood behind the tree again and she came out of the castle. Her long black hair whipped around her face but she gave no reaction to the colder temperature and just sat down in her usual seat. She tucked her hair behind her ears to reveal her eyes which were again done cat-like and elegant. Almost out of sheer pattern, she pulled out her record player and started adjusting the volume on it. She had changed the color of it to this swirling pattern of purple, black, and silver that changed constantly. She seems to like things that keep you interested.

She pulled out Closed which she was already halfway through, leaned against the cold back of the seating, and crossed her ankles.

After five minutes the bench remained empty. Now's my chance.

I walked towards the bench with a calm, nonchalant demeanor. Before I was next to the bench she looked up from her book and watched me. I wondered how she was able to see me coming with her nose in a book and her ears full of heavy music.

"Excuse me. May I sit here?" I asked.

She held up her finger as if to say 'one second' and then she twirled her finger in the same direction that the record was spinning.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I was wondering if I could sit here. I really need to read up for potions next period." I said.

"Sure, you can." she said, moving her bookbag onto the ground.

I sat down close to her and opened my textbook. I pretended to read until her gaze was back on her book.

She smelled like she had just finished bathing. The wind picked up and blew strands of her hair in my face, overpowering me with the clean scent. She didn't notice. She just retucked her hair behind her ears and continued to read.

I watched her hands turn the page. They looked delicate but powerful. I wanted so much to take hold of them and take her somewhere else. Somewhere away from here. I continued to examine the rest of her form. The most minor details filled me with that peculiar sensation from two days ago. I wanted to kill her for not paying attention to me but I wanted to have her, all of her.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to say something. Now I would ask the question. I looked over at the record player. The record didn't have a label. I spun my finger around in the same direction the record was spinning.

"Hello?" I said.

She didn't notice that I was talking. She had charmed it so only her finger could adjust the volume. How brilliant of her.

I was about to lift up the needle when I heard a noise come from her mouth. A cry. I looked at her pretty face. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and was trying very hard to stifle more that threatened to fall.

The wind picked up again and the pages of our books blew wildly. One of her tears fell off her face and got caught in the wind only to land on my hand. It felt warm and comforting against my cold hands.

She gathered her things and muttered, "Sorry," to me and she ran out into the fields.

The last time I saw someone cry was back in the orphanage and I had caused it. Bobby shouldn't have called me those names. He should have known something bad would happen to him if he did. But when he had cried, I felt good. I felt accomplished. I remember laughing.

This time was different. I didn't feel much of anything besides pensive. What had caused her to cry? Was it the book she was reading? The song she was listening to? Surely, there is no way she would be so weak as to have her emotions swayed by something that can't hurt you.

Was she weak?

There is no way. If she were so weak then I wouldn't have fallen for her. I didn't fall. I just have great affection for her. I'm not trapped or held down. I just enjoy her. I have an interest in her. I like her more than others. That's all it is.