Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit.


It's sixth year and you're at war, so they're making you into soldiers instead of students. You remember giggling with Lavender this time last year, but that was a lifetime ago when Mum and Dad were alive and even the DA seemed like a funny little hobby to pass the time. Paramesh told you to be a good little sister at King's Cross, but you're not. Padma was with you when the Aurors called you in to identify the bodies and you made her look, because you're a coward and a stupid little girl and you thought everything would go away if you closed your eyes.

You watch Harry carefully as the two of you circle. Professor Andrews makes everyone practice for hours every day and he switches partners all the time, so you can't predict what your opponent is going to do. But you're getting good now. His first hex misses by a mile, because you've already dropped and rolled with your wand held in one hand.

Padma throws herself into books and Lavender takes refuge in prophecies, and maybe that's their way of going blind. This is yours. As you try to wear down Harry's defenses and dodge his spells, you wonder if this is his, too. It's a nice trick. Call yourself disillusioned, wear it like a banner, and no one stops to make sure you've opened your eyes.

It's best to go for unpredictable with these first spars, so you forgo spells and turn your sidestep into a spin. You slam into Harry, but he catches you out of reflex and you both wind up on the ground, staring at each other and wondering why you had that stupid idea. Maybe you should tell him you wanted to be a dancer when you were a little girl. You would, if you could forget Mum playing songs for you to dance to.

But for now there's just you and Harry, and he's watching you as if he's not quite sure you're really there. It makes you wonder how blind he's decided to be, since you're all but kneeling on his chest. Your hair came loose at some point and falls around both of you in sweat-drenched tangles, like a curtain hiding both of you from the world. It's something out of a play, and so you're not surprised when he catches his fingers in what's left of your braid, or when his lips mash awkwardly against yours. You just close your eyes and kiss him back, because there are worse ways to hide.