Reckless

It's early in the morning, so early that no one is awake, at least not in the tower, when I slip silently close to his bed. This night he's been uncommonly quiet in his sleep, which is usually disturbed by flashes of glowing red eyes and milk-white scaled skin. He's sprawled on his back with his mouth open and his eyelashes smudging his cheeks. Without his glasses, he looks oddly handsome. It's why I wake early to see him.

How do I know about his dreams? He's been ordered to write them down. I've been sneaking into his trunk all year to get glimpses of his tortured soul. My heart cries out to comfort him. Oh, beautiful boy. I would fight those dreams away if I could. I would do anything to take this away from him.

But he rarely notices me. I accept that he has so many other worries, things that are much bigger and more important than me. I suppose that I'm rather a solitary person anyway. I prefer watching him from afar- the invisible love, the secret admirer. He would be upset it he knew. It's better this way.

I reach out and smooth his messy hair. He's always been a heavy sleeper, so my shy touches never disturb him. It took my months to get the courage the first time. My fingertips just hovered over his skin ever night. I was relieved when he didn't wake. After a while I became bolder; playing with his hair, touching his lips. I may be setting myself up for a fall. What horror if he woke up... what excuse would I have? And even if I could come up with something, would he believe it? Would he want to? If he did want to, wouldn't it still colour the way he looks at me? I would be able to stand his disgust. I would be able to survive his discomfort. I'd die of shame.

He can keep secrets, I know, but not often for very long. Soon it would be everyone's favorite gossip. "Did you hear? Isn't it just awful?" they would giggle maliciously. They would whisper about him in the halls just like they have so many times. I could withstand them, I guess, but him? No. I need to start being more careful. I need to return to my early caution, even if it means I can never touch him again.

But... just this one last time... tomorrow I'll start it.

Sleep, my haunted one, my beauty, my love. Sleep on and never know. My fingers trace his mouth, his face, as if committing it to memory like I'm blind. I play connect the dots with the few tiny freckles on his nose. I touch the infamous scar. Finally, as a last goodbye to this recklessness, I lean down and kiss his bottom lip, very lightly.

He doesn't stir. His breathing never changes. I sigh in relief, in torment, in sadness. I'll miss these stolen moments. But it's better that it stops here. It's better. It's better.

Merlin, I can't even convince myself.

When I finally leave him, when I'm back in my bed and under my blanket, I can't stop the tears burning my eyes from falling. I bite my knuckles to keep from making a noise. My heart aches.

"Neville? Nev, are you okay?"

Ron's voice. I swallow my tears and peek out from the blanket.

The lanky redhead frowns worriedly at me. "Hey," he whispers. "Are you all right? What's the matter?"

I hastily wipe at my face, ashamed. Boys don't cry. "Yeah- I think I had a bad dream. Sorry I woke you up." I look past him to Harry's bed. Still asleep.

"You didn't. I was going to go out for Quidditch practice anyway."

"Oh."

He glances back at Harry, too, and my ears burn. "I know," he says simply and my heart stops. He looks at me. "Whenever I have a nightmare or something, I feel stupid. What are my dreams compared to what he probably sees? I mean, he's dreaming about the Death Eaters, and V- Voldemort, and I'm whinging about spiders that want to make me tap dance. How stupid is that?"

Thank Merlin. My heart starts beating normally again. "Yeah. That's just what I was thinking."

Ron studies me for a long moment. "Hey... d'you want to go down to the Hall and grab some food? I hate eating alone."

I manage a smile. And Hermione says he's a teaspoon. "Yeah, sure. That sounds great."