This is written from Hermione's viewpoint, who she's obsessed with I'll just leave to the shippers out there. I'm going to randomly decide it's Neville but feel free to call me crazy. This happened because someone challenged me to, without characters or plot, write something about longing.
Longing is a completely irrational feeling, and yet it is one I am intimately acquainted with. I am known for my strictly logical approach to life and yet I have allowed this illogical and irrational compulsion to dominate me. I cannot help myself, I long, no I ache for the touch of my secret beloved.
I can smell his scent in the air as he approaches me in the halls. I know the sound of his steps, and the way his breath hitches as he stops in shock. I love the look of surprise that flits across his face when he sees me smile reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. I brush past, every inch of my skin burning with a desire to touch his. My heart leaps for joy as I see a light come into his eyes. It is enough, for now, that I have brightened his day, but I long for the day I can possess and be possessed by those eyes.
I want to rub against him, covering him in my scent, and getting a part of his in return. I want to feel his cool skin beneath my fingertips, and hot breath against my neck. I want to kiss his lips and look into his very soul, becoming lost adrift in the ocean of his presence. I want to stoke the fires of passion, burn away the chains of our past life, die, and be reborn forged in perfection.
Longing is a completely irrational feeling, and yet it is one I am intimately acquainted with.