Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money.
Shadows
A/N: Still reading Neruda 0:)
She sat in the shadow of the common room and just watched them sleep, long after the rest of her dorm mates had gone to bed.
The fire had dimmed in the fireplace in front of them but there was still enough to cascade light on the two sleeping students. Their two bodies intertwined.
They had been that way since everyone had returned from their last class of the day. Though their troubled thoughts were physically manifested in the dried tears upon their faces, the occasional sniffles that were sounded, and the way they physically clung to the other – no one thought to wake them up. They had been through so much in the past two weeks, that no one could bring themselves to steal them from the one thing that hadn't escaped them, yet.
Several students had discarded their homework just to watch them sleep that evening: some out of awe, some out of jealously, some out of pain, some out of sadness. In those stolen moments, there was something sadly peaceful in watching the two of them sleep.
And she hated that.
She hated that she found the process of watching them curled up in and around each other to be cathartic when she was so jealous. She hated watching those two people, two souls, cling to the other in need and desperation. For them to cling to a perfect stranger that had meant so little to the other for so long, tore at her already bleeding heart.
It hurt to watch them from her hiding spot.
Every so often, she watched as his fingers shifted to explore, before pulling her tight against his body. His head would always shift when he did, as if to make sure she was properly tucked up underneath him. His body shielded hers; protecting it from an unseen and unforgotten foe. Once his unconscious mind was sure she was safe, tucked within his arms, he would kiss her forehead.
She watched as her body would react from his movements. Arching first before settling into shelter his body was providing her. In those moments, she watched as her hand would relax and softly caress him unknowingly, before gripping his shirt tightly again as she buried her face into his neck. And once his lips had placed a kiss on her forehead, she would softly moan in appreciation before her body would relax in his arms.
It was so intimate to watch them act, react, and respond to the other – always naturally – always innately. As if their bodies and minds were somehow connected. That even in their deepest sleep, their bodies responded knowingly to the slightest direction from the other. That their minds, though in suspended reality, understood what wasn't being spoken.
They slept as if they had spent a lifetime with the other: nights of loving moments; months of holding hands; afternoons of innocent embraces; weeks of stolen kisses; mornings of lingering desires; days of glances; evenings of warming touches; and moments inspiring jealously in others.
Every touch and caress, every action and reaction, she watched jealously. Her eyes never left the image of what she had dreamed to be hers one day.
That she would be the young woman wrapped in his arms. That it would be her body, he would instinctively know. That it would be his love that shielded her from the monsters that go bump in the night.
All her plans and all her dreams were crumbling away right in front of her.
Everyone had always said that he was her better half.
He was the one that wasn't scared of her temper. He wasn't intimidated by her intelligence. He was strong enough to challenge her. He fought with her with a passion that couldn't be denied.
And she had thought herself to be his better half.
The one who always believed in him. The one who wanted him to be the best he could be. The one who challenged and pushed him. The one who simply loved him for who he was.
Sitting in the shadows of the common room, watching them sleep, she came to the painful realization that simply her loving him would never be enough.
That her love would be the one thing he would never need. Or worse, ever want.