Disclaimer:
JK Rowling is the creator of this universe.
I am not JK Rowling.
Therefore, by the transitive property, I am not the creator of this universe.
QED
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So there’s this boy.
I spend class staring at him, willing him to catch my eye. When he does, my stomach flips.
Night. I lay awake, thinking up ways we can fall in love.
I am so aware of him; I know his face, his swagger. I know his favourite food is steak, his favourite sweater is the ratty looking red one and that he is the reason Professor Bundy retired.
I can’t say I love him. I know him, but we aren’t friends. It’s… obsession. I do love the way his black hair covers his eyes while writing. I love the crooked smile he gets when he plans. I love his bark-like laugh.
I study for exams. He doesn’t. I will do well. He will do better.
I know the classes he’s taking next year. I signed up too. Perhaps when there are only six people in the dungeons, he’ll be impressed by my wit and skill.
I sit in the common room, scanning my notes. He sits near the fire. I have a clear view of his handsome profile. The air between us is electric; he must feel it.
Or not.
Then again, the whole world is shut out when he’s with his mates.
Maybe one day, he will find me. I’ll run into him at a wedding or someplace and he’ll gaze into my eyes and see we belong together.
I finish my Defence OWL early. I use this time to stare at the back of his head. He looks at his friend four rows up. I can tell from his heads tilt he’s grinning.
His smile.
He has a dimple on one side. I wish I could touch it.
After the exam, I follow him. I sit near the lake. I ignore the pointless chatter around me and focus on him. He doesn’t glance my way as much as the other boys he’s with. When a fight begins, I get up and leave. I don’t want to see him like that. I hear laughter behind me. I don’t look back. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, I feel I may become a pillar of salt.
Night. The stormy sky matches the grey of his eyes. Tomorrow we leave this place where everything reminds me of him, and near him I forget everything. As I drift off, I picture him, wishing he would smile for me forever.
The train is no different than when I rode it to school. I sit quietly, looking out of a window. The trolley comes. I’m not hungry. I can’t sit still. I pace the corridor.
A door opens. At first, all I see is trainers. Then robes. Then, shaggy black hair. I meet his eyes. I cannot speak. Perhaps my eyes convey my silent message: Be mine. Forever.
He steps forward. He knows! His eyes flicker to the side. He shifts uncomfortably.
Oh. He wants to go to the loo.
I step aside, my eyes return to his trainers.
There’s always next year.
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