A/N: Happy New Year! I finally found enough time and motivation to get back into this collection, so here's a quick drabble for your enjoyment. As always, I don't own the Potterverse.
torpe - (adj.) the quality of, usually a young man, being too shy to pursue amorous desires to someone adored [filipino]
From afar, he watched her. The quirks, the oddities, the eccentricities, where others saw them and turned away, he forced himself to keep his eyes on her. Many would be surprised he could pay that much attention to anything, given how his marks usually turned out, but he had been Sorted into the house of the cunning for a reason. Marks were only important if one tied themselves, their very being, into them; he knew that once he completed school, no marks (or Marks) would tie him down to this backwards, backwater society. He had learned from his father's mistake, and at his mother's urging would pursue his own passions. And from the first day he saw her flowing blonde locks in the halls, she became one of his passions.
They didn't see much of each other, at first. She was Sorted Ravenclaw, and a year younger than he, so classes were no help in seeing her more. His size made it hard to sneak around the castle after her, and on the few occasions he could actually attempt it, he swore she knew he was following, even though she never seemed to acknowledge his looming presence. The messy 'Heir of Slytherin' nonsense also didn't help his searches, given that much of the school grew suspicious of any Slytherin walking the halls alone. Still, he watched when he could manage.
It wasn't until his fourth year that he finally got more than just the occasional mealtime viewing of her. His Charms marks were bad enough that Professor Flitwick had "suggested" that he might pay a visit to another class of his to see if more practice might help improve his comprehension. Luckily, the small man had chosen his third year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class as his remedial lessons. While he did make some more progress on his casting, he often took long looks her way, but it took months before she finally seemed to notice.
Approximately one week after the Yule Ball (and what an opportunity that had been, since someone had been brave enough to take her as their date, leaving him free to stare without concern; his own date, a totally disinterested girl from Durmstrang, had only asked him so as to not go alone and left his side as soon as they'd walked into the Great Hall), he was packing his things following Remedial Charms when he noticed a shadow suddenly fall across his desk. Glancing up, he saw her, backlight by a rare ray of Scottish winter sun. In her eyes, he saw curiosity; on her face, a quizzical expression. Closing up his bag, he turned to face her, staying seated so that he didn't tower over the waif of a girl. She studied him for a moment, and raised an eyebrow when he said nothing. She scribbled out a note on a piece of parchment, carefully folded it and placed it on the desk in front of him, and left the classroom. He picked up the note gingerly, glanced around to confirm that everyone else had left, and unfolded it.
"If you ever desire more than a glance, you need but ask. Until then, I wait here alone."