Categories > Books > Harry Potter
A whisper quiet and well thought out. A well-laid plan awaiting to be plotted. Escape is just a nod and a small smile, a smile not reaching the eyes. A look of carnal illusions and misinterpretations, a mistake. And now he wants to grab her by the hair. As he whispers his quiet, well thought out whispers. They are minor and unimportant, but they have feeling and harbor a feeling that neither he nor she can explain.
He watches.
She waits.
It's gray and gloomy out and the only sign of happiness is the fluttering of the wind. Which is strange, the force of a single breeze no one is able to discern and yet she can feel it and taste it and touch it. It's light and yet heavy, it's his aura, his zephyr. He waits for her to face him, but she is unable to bring herself to do it. She listens to his breathing, his movement, his heartbeat. What is his significance? He walks past her, obviously giving up on waiting. It was always she who waited for him, never the other way around.
He pretends.
She wonders.
It's been awhile, her friends haven't been paying attention to her as they used to in their earlier years. His thoughts are well-rounded, his eyes searches for explanations as to why. She's staring off into space which just so happens to be in his direction, she seems dazed. The Great Hall's sounds buffets his thoughts around in his head. He is unable to think clearly from the sound--or is it her gaze? She is looking right through him and yet...
He's astonished.
She is reminiscing.
They are beginning to notice her disappearances, it takes them a while to realize it. She sits in the library, reading and he is watching, which she is aware of. His thoughts are troubled, she couldn't be worth it. They had not even had a conversation that lacked malice and fury. He stands and walks to her table, their hearts speed up. He clears his throat, but she hesitates to look up, she would see something she didn't want to. Her eyes reaches his of their own accord.
He is relieved
She's curious.
They watch from a distance, wondering. They had no clue what he was up to, they regretted not paying closer attention. He sits down next to her and opens a large tome. She makes room for him by sliding some of her books onto a chair. They had never witnessed her mistreat books in such a manner. She smiles at him and hands him a quill. He speaks to her quietly, she listens intently and nods after a while. They stand and prepare to leave...together?
He's palliated.
She's tense.
They are confused.
They follow the two to the alcove that skirts the entrance to the courtyard. The large pendulum blocks them from view for a few seconds at a time. It's nice outside, though the sun has not shown itself palpably for days. They speak for a moment, he grabs her arm, though lightly. Their spies look on in anger. She waits expectantly, her eyes wide, her lips smiling. He consumes all of this, he has been starved of that look. He tells her what she wants to hear, a confession of love and of obsession that he had divulged albeit reluctantly. He hadn't really planned on confessing his 'undying love' for her. She hugs him and the onlookers are horrified.
He rests.
She smiles.
They're furious.
The end of the term is near, They are going after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he is angry. She may wound up hurt and he a useless, hopeless case. Abandoned at the Manor, expectations are high. He must tell her this secret, she knows he wants to tell her something. She was leaving with her friends to face a horrible journey, afraid and alone. He refuses to speak to her. He basks in his depression, unable to imagine a more productive solution. He is unable to speak to her, her silent beauty.
He's hollow.
She's resonating.
He finally speaks to her, whispering to her the plots that have been made out. She will die, she was a mudblood. A filthy, no count mudblood who he had come to love. She holds his hand, he only feels worse. He betrayed his destiny, his maddened father, his doomed mother, for want of a mudblood girl whom he hated for years, he felt no remorse for doing so. Though his mother was constantly on his mind. "What will you do?" She asked him. He envisioned his own death, something that he had always wanted to prevent...who wouldn't? Self-preservation was his only goal in an era of bloodshed.
He was cowardly.
She's conscious.
It is out in the open and he refuses to back down. The others look at them in spite, they ignore those stares. They agree with the others, they are misconstrued and angry, but she is their friend and they ward of the insults of the others. And then they are free from school, the pressures of schoolwork are off of their minds. They have learned everything that there is to be learned at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The castle is like a haven they no longer have access to. The battle is an inevitablity that they must all face. They are frightened.
She has left him, he must return to perdition. She must help everyone escape. Thoughts of her...
He's alone.
She's determined.
He watches.
She waits.
It's gray and gloomy out and the only sign of happiness is the fluttering of the wind. Which is strange, the force of a single breeze no one is able to discern and yet she can feel it and taste it and touch it. It's light and yet heavy, it's his aura, his zephyr. He waits for her to face him, but she is unable to bring herself to do it. She listens to his breathing, his movement, his heartbeat. What is his significance? He walks past her, obviously giving up on waiting. It was always she who waited for him, never the other way around.
He pretends.
She wonders.
It's been awhile, her friends haven't been paying attention to her as they used to in their earlier years. His thoughts are well-rounded, his eyes searches for explanations as to why. She's staring off into space which just so happens to be in his direction, she seems dazed. The Great Hall's sounds buffets his thoughts around in his head. He is unable to think clearly from the sound--or is it her gaze? She is looking right through him and yet...
He's astonished.
She is reminiscing.
They are beginning to notice her disappearances, it takes them a while to realize it. She sits in the library, reading and he is watching, which she is aware of. His thoughts are troubled, she couldn't be worth it. They had not even had a conversation that lacked malice and fury. He stands and walks to her table, their hearts speed up. He clears his throat, but she hesitates to look up, she would see something she didn't want to. Her eyes reaches his of their own accord.
He is relieved
She's curious.
They watch from a distance, wondering. They had no clue what he was up to, they regretted not paying closer attention. He sits down next to her and opens a large tome. She makes room for him by sliding some of her books onto a chair. They had never witnessed her mistreat books in such a manner. She smiles at him and hands him a quill. He speaks to her quietly, she listens intently and nods after a while. They stand and prepare to leave...together?
He's palliated.
She's tense.
They are confused.
They follow the two to the alcove that skirts the entrance to the courtyard. The large pendulum blocks them from view for a few seconds at a time. It's nice outside, though the sun has not shown itself palpably for days. They speak for a moment, he grabs her arm, though lightly. Their spies look on in anger. She waits expectantly, her eyes wide, her lips smiling. He consumes all of this, he has been starved of that look. He tells her what she wants to hear, a confession of love and of obsession that he had divulged albeit reluctantly. He hadn't really planned on confessing his 'undying love' for her. She hugs him and the onlookers are horrified.
He rests.
She smiles.
They're furious.
The end of the term is near, They are going after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he is angry. She may wound up hurt and he a useless, hopeless case. Abandoned at the Manor, expectations are high. He must tell her this secret, she knows he wants to tell her something. She was leaving with her friends to face a horrible journey, afraid and alone. He refuses to speak to her. He basks in his depression, unable to imagine a more productive solution. He is unable to speak to her, her silent beauty.
He's hollow.
She's resonating.
He finally speaks to her, whispering to her the plots that have been made out. She will die, she was a mudblood. A filthy, no count mudblood who he had come to love. She holds his hand, he only feels worse. He betrayed his destiny, his maddened father, his doomed mother, for want of a mudblood girl whom he hated for years, he felt no remorse for doing so. Though his mother was constantly on his mind. "What will you do?" She asked him. He envisioned his own death, something that he had always wanted to prevent...who wouldn't? Self-preservation was his only goal in an era of bloodshed.
He was cowardly.
She's conscious.
It is out in the open and he refuses to back down. The others look at them in spite, they ignore those stares. They agree with the others, they are misconstrued and angry, but she is their friend and they ward of the insults of the others. And then they are free from school, the pressures of schoolwork are off of their minds. They have learned everything that there is to be learned at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The castle is like a haven they no longer have access to. The battle is an inevitablity that they must all face. They are frightened.
She has left him, he must return to perdition. She must help everyone escape. Thoughts of her...
He's alone.
She's determined.
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