Hey guys. Just a little something I came up with after my new obsession with a particular song—Postcard From Paris byThe Band Perry. I hope you enjoy.
A Tribute To My Own State Of Ruin
I've known him for years. I've seen him at his best, at his worst. I've seen him put his life on the line. I've seen him loved and admired by all; then, scorned at and said to be completely nutters.
I've seen him take it in stride. I've seen him blow up at those closest to him. I've seen him blow up at me.
In all those ways I've seen him…this…is ridiculous. Watching him sit on the couch in the Common Room, with her feet in his lap and a neon pink bottle of toenail polish in one hand and the brush his the other, meticulously painting her damn toenails as she giggles from the other end of the couch—it physically sickens me. He threatens her with a body binding curse if she doesn't stop moving. She raises her eyebrows at his threat, as if daring him to try.
I hunch closer over my book and try to block the scene out. I need to read. I tell myself this is important. I have a test tomorrow. My eyes have trouble focusing, however. The words go blurry as I feel my face heat up. My knuckles are white from the death grip I have on my Charms book.
"Ahahaha, Harry! Stop, stop, stop!" My face involuntarily jerks up and I see that he has his legs wrapped around hers, locking them in place as his fingers tickle the bottoms of her feet mercilessly. Her torso flails in the air as her face grows red. Harry laughs and despite her pleas, continues his ministrations. They ignore the onlookers as if engrossed in their own little world. Do they know everyone is here, staring? Sometimes, I don't think they do.
I snap my book shut and throw it in my bag before standing up and huffing out of the Common Room towards the Library. I think about the badge pinned to the front of my robes and have half a mind to go back and give them a good telling off for interrupting those trying to get some studying done.
But I don't. I don't think I could ever stand up to him. When I'm angry and want to shout at him, my words get all twisted and I just can't. He'd look at me with his big, bottle green eyes, wide with innocence, and my argument just falters.
I slam my books down harder than I mean to, which earns me a death glare from the Librarian, Madam Pince. I mumble an apology so she won't chuck me out from my temporary safe haven while internally cursing the wretched vulture-like woman for interrupting the stewing of my thoughts.
I get back to work, thankful for the silence the Library ensures.
Despite my new sanctuary, away from the annoyingly happy couple, I still manage to get almost no work done. Instead, I doodle miscellaneous drawings on the corners of my essay as my mind replays the scene from the Common Room. Would I have found it so annoying if I had been on the couch and if he had been painting my toenails? If he had been tickling my feet?
My feet aren't ticklish. But I damn sure would have faked it if it had evoked that look from him, that damn I'll-follow-you-to-the-edge-of-the-Earth-then-jump-off-into-nothingness-with-you r-hand-in-mine look that he had in his eyes.
That he always has in his eyes.
When they got together in Sixth Year, it was difficult for me. Yes, I have been in love with him for longer than I'd care to admit. I followed him last year to the Ministry of Magic, despite the danger it posed for myself—and everyone else. We all left with our scars, some deeper than others.
I thought, once we came back and he was stricken with grief from Sirius's death, that perhaps, out of all this dark, light—possibly in the form of our love—would surface. I followed him to almost certain death, even when I knew it wasn't a good idea. But I had to go; I had to go to keep him safe—as safe as I could anyway. I had to know he was doing what he could to keep himself safe. The thought of being left behind, not knowing…it was horrifying.
He had gone through a lot. I tried to just be a good friend. I tried to be there for him when he needed someone. Maybe he would see me as more than a friend. Maybe he would see me as someone special, someone he realized he needed in his life more than at a friend's distance—the way I needed him.
But instead, they found each other. It had happened in slow motion—in my mind anyway. He had come into the Common Room from serving a detention and missing the Quidditch game that won Gryffindor the cup. I had tried to catch his eye as I pushed myself forward. I knew he didn't think the team would win. I could see it in his eyes when he talked about it. I knew how guilty he felt about not having the proper faith without him being there. But the team pulled through and I knew how ecstatic he would be. I wanted to see the pure joy light up in face at the win. I had been anxious. I felt as if this was a pivotal event—the euphoria after the slim win just might set off the perfect chain of events.
I continued to push against the crowded room, as he did the same, but in a different direction. She was also shoving the crowd out of her way to reach him. She threw her arms around him in a hug, but he took a step further and drew her face to his in a deep kiss.
I had stopped in my tracks, jaw slacked. I hadn't been aware that I was now right in front of them. The catcalls and wolf whistles around me grew muted as I watched, horrified, as he pulled away and spun her around. His head was tossed back in open laughter.
They both caught Ron's expression, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Harry's green eyes met my brown ones. I quickly changed my expression to one that was beaming. Even when they made their way to the Portrait Hole and left, I still laughed and smiled and joked. If I stopped grinning, I would fall apart.
That was the first night in a long time that I cried. I literally bawled. Salty tears stained my lavender pillow case, but I didn't care. I cried and cried and cried until finally, a restless bout of sleep claimed me.
Then, in my dreams, I had cried some more.
That was last year. They've been inseparable ever since. I've been a brooding, bitter woman ever since. I think most days, it doesn't show. I've put my distance with him.
Sometimes, it's harder than others. For example, in the summer, when we're all together—what escape can be found at the Burrow? At least at Hogwarts, distractions are around every corner.
I shut my book, bored. Even in the solitude of the Library, they follow me. I should be used to it by now. But I'm not. I should date other blokes—plenty have asked. I've accepted some.
It's never worked out. But I can't blame the boys. They're nice. They're sweet. In some ways, they're my perfect course.
However, when I've see the beautiful Eiffel Tower in Paris, how could I settle looking at a simple picture? After tasting the decadence of crème brulee, how can I enjoy a stale, hard store-bought chocolate biscuit? When I've felt the jubilant magic a wand can perform, how could I go back to living without it?
He's ruined me. I've seen a man, perfect in every sense of the word. He's allowed me to be an important part of his life. Firsthand, I've witnessed his kindness, his confidence. He's handsome—more beautiful than I ever hope to be. He's witty and too funny. I can't help but feel at ease and laugh in his presence, even when it hurts. He has that sort of personality that just causes people to gravitate towards him.
I've memorized his features. Sometimes, he falls asleep in the Common Room, and I get to gaze at him for hours over my homework. His skin is pale, but not sickly—more of a smooth porcelain. His dark, ebony hair sticks up in every direction, and I ache to run my fingers through it the way I've seen her do. I bet his hair is heartbreakingly soft. His nose is straight, his lips always curved up in a smile, despite the hardship he's faced. Those eyes…so deep I could get lost in them. Their shade changes daily—dark bottle green, deep emerald, and bright jade. Once, I've seen them almost an impossible darker harlequin. They're my favorite feature of his. Once, while experimenting with Glamour Charms in class, Harry had bright blue eyes for a week. I never told him why I was so angry with him all those days and refused to talk to him.
Most importantly, I've seen the way he is with her, the way he gives her his everything—honestly, after seeing his devotion, how could I settle for anything less? When fairytales were written, Prince Charming had to have been molded from him in a former life. Even in heated arguments, all manners out the window, they manage to have this almost erotic charge between the two of them that's perfect. I guess she's braver than I am, to be able to glare stubbornly into those emerald depths and hold fast to her argument. Sometimes, I'm in awe. More often than others, I want to hex her into oblivion for upsetting him.
It's frustrating. Watching them physically hurts me. I compare every other bloke to him. I measure myself against her even.
I'm always short. She's smart. She's beautiful. She's kind. She has more curves than my skinny body, but it works in her favor. Her hair isn't as long as mine, but it's fuller—more luscious.
I want to hate her, but how can I? She makes him insanely happy. I've known her for years—any bloke would be lucky to have her. I want to say he's too good for her, but I can't honestly say that.
I want to say he's too good for me, but I can't say that either.
I feel like I could make him just as happy as she does, if not more. If I were given the chance. But when I look at the two of them…part of me knows I'll never get the opportunity. It's a difficult position: to see love and want it to win because honestly, if they can't make it, then who can? And pit that argument against my own natural instincts to want it to falter so I can have my turn.
I sigh and slowly put my books back in my bag. Lethargic, I all but crawl back to the Common Room. In the hour of my absence, not much has changed. I notice she's gone though, but Harry is still monopolizing the couch. He's playing a game of chess against Ron. I can't help the grin that takes over my features as I stare at him. I quickly cross the Common Room and drop into the seat at his side.
He looks up at me and grins. "Hey." He greets me. I can feel the blood slowly make its way to my face, just as it usually does when I'm around him. I try to nonchalantly glance his way, but as always, I find myself gazing deep into the depths of his beautiful green eyes—today, they're bright jade. My own greeting catches in my throat and I manage an odd gargling noise. His dark eyebrows rise quizzically at my behavior. I cover it with a cough and say almost too cheerfully a hello of my own.
"Where have you been?" He asks conversationally as his knight wrestles Ron's castle. He hold up his hand in a gesture for me to give him a small victory high five over getting his third chess piece compared to the six of his that Ron has managed to capture.
I slap my hand against his. "Studying in the Library." I respond, trying to ignore the tingling in my fingers his warm hand ignites.
He snorts. "Who would think to look for you in a Library?" I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, so I just smile broadly and pull my knees up to my chin and turn so I'm facing his direction, a justifiable reason to be staring at him.
He looks up to meet my stare, and I hastily turn my attention to the board. Now I feel his gaze on me, and my face burns all over again.
Sometimes, I think he knows. He's never said anything, but there are times when he gets this sad look in his eyes, like he feels bad, but really, there's nothing he can do. I think it makes him uncomfortable. He's even tried setting me up with various blokes. A small tribute to my own state of ruin that he feels responsible for.
Sometimes, I think he knows I know he knows. Muted conversations pass between our eyes.
I want you.
I know. Sigh. And I want her.
Right now is one of those times. I know what his eyes will say when I meet them, so I don't look up. Not today. Not now.
Right now, I'm the most interested Wizard's chess spectator in the world.
He sits back against the couch, and the action involuntarily draws my eye. He sees my eyes follow his movements and gives me a playful grin. "Your brother is kicking my ass."
Hi, so what did you think? I was inspired by my other story, I Meant Every Word He Said. It's written in a similar style. Anyway, please review and let me know what you think. Honestly, takes like 2 seconds. And in return, I will post something super soon—maybe a chapter of Potter Vs Granger Rivalry? Possibly that last, final Harry/Hermione ending of Outlet everyone wants so badly? I know you are all just aching for it! Or hell, it could be something entirely new!
So please, review!