Words Get in the Way

//I realize you're seeing someone new

I don't believe she knows you like I do

Your temperamental moody side, the one you always try to hide from me//

I watch him closely, knowing that he doesn't see me. He never has. Well, perhaps that's untrue. He's known me, but for my arrogant and bitter side. He doesn't know that I watch him in his sleep with the mirror spells I've cast. In fact, he doesn't even know that I know how to get to his dormitory. He's sweet in his sleep- when he can sleep, that is. He's calm, with no stress lines dampening his handsome features. His hair fanned out on his pillow, silky black strands designing the pillow with some indefinable design.

I know him so well. I know he won't tell his friends what truly happens behind closed doors at those muggle relatives of his. I know many things. I know that he keeps an ever-growing collection of assorted non-perishable foods in his trunk, and that he's done that ever since his uncle locked him in his room without food, water, or a loo for 2 weeks. I know the fit he threw when Sirius Black went through the veil. I know of the anger that he conjured when Ginny Weasley broke up with him in an owl. I know all of his little secrets.

Yet, he will never know I watch him.

-------------------------------

//But I know when you have some thing on your mind

You've been trying to tell me for the longest time

And before you break my heart in two,

There's something I've been trying to say to you//

I watch him again. This time, he's eating in the great hall, boldly and noticeably avoiding the glances of the freckle-faced, red haired girl sitting next to Granger. She looks at him with smiles, and tries to make him talk to her by discussing Quidditch, inter-house relations, and the disgusting amount of homework that the eloquent Potions Master throws our way.

I can see the way he flinches from her. His heart yearns for her after two years of caring for her, and I can see the way he's becoming angrier, just by the tenseness in his shoulders. He's lowered his head and I can't see his face. But I know he's angry. I can read him so well. And his so-called friends continue to eat, oblivious to his anger; to the swelling of disgust he holds for everything and everyone at that moment. I see it.

He gets up from the table hastily, leaving a trail of curious glances from behind. I know where he's headed. He seeks the light, the glow from the sun, the rippling lake, and the energetic breeze that the Fall supplies. I can almost feel his pleasure of being out there.

I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I walk to him, snatching the ring he holds in his hands and transferring it to my palm.

"So Potter, becoming a loner, are we? Or are you looking for new friends other than the raggedy ones you think you have now?" I sneer at him.

He looks up at me, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. I can see the redness in his cheeks from the wind, and it makes me sneer even more.

And as I look down on him, I can see the exhaustion. I can see what I already know from his nightmares. I've watched him wake up in a sweat, and watched him assume that no one cared, that no one should be woken up, that no one should be told. I've seen it for months. But it shows now, and I still can't figure out why no one else has noticed. Surely this was their celebrity; their Hero; the one who could protect and save them all? And yet, they failed to notice the lack of strength, the way his movements are strained, the way he weakens.

Even now, at this moment, he cannot respond to me. He says nothing, just holds his hand out, asking silently for the ring that his mother had had, the one that her sister had finally decided to give without her husbands knowledge. He simply pleaded. Why I felt something for this damned teenager, I don't know. But here he was, begging me for the one thing that linked him to his mother.

Spinning on my heel, I tossed it back to him over my shoulder. I could hear him scramble for it behind me, and turned slightly to watch him out of the corner of my eye. He had it, and he was never going to let it go.

I knew he hated me.

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//But the words get in the way

There's so much I want to say

But it's locked deep inside and if you look in my eyes,

We might fall in love again.

I won't even start to cry, and before we say goodbye

I tried to say "I love you"

But the words got in the way//

We once came to a truce, Harry and I. We fought alongside each other to defeat Voldemort. In the end, though, it didn't last. And he'd known. He'd known that we could never be friends, that even without the Dark Lord's power, we couldn't be friends. With Voldemort gone, there was still hate, and that hate tore to shreds any civility that we had for each other.

Still, he doesn't know I watch him at night. I watch him sleep in his French Villa, struggling against the fewer nightmares that he had. With the muggle relatives of his out of the way, the city of Waysbridge was his new home, and he loved it. I watched him everyday, watched him date, grocery shop, and even collect donations with Isabelle- his next door neighbor's daughter. I've donated several times to him, but he never knew it to be me. I was just another face in the crowd. But I watched him.

I didn't need to work, what with the great fortune I had, and I found my time well spent. He never disappointed me in doing something, whether it was gardening with his shirt off, or demonstrating his flying skills in the clearings of the deepest forests. No, I was never disappointed. Even his dating never ceased to amuse me. He never went to someone's home with them after a wonderful evening, and they never went to his. I'm still amazed at how he could stand it- the lack of sexual pleasure.

But today, it's going to be different. I'm going to tell him something that no one has ever heard uttered from my lips. Today, he will hear me as I feel, and without the bitterness that usually takes over within his presence. Today, he will hear the truth.

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//Your heart has always been an open door

But baby I don't even know you any more

And despite the fact it's hurting me,

I know the time has come to set you free//

I'm at his door today, waiting patiently for the opportune moment to knock. I know what he's doing at this very moment; that he's just finished dressing after his shower, and that he's sitting down to watch the Tele. I can see him; sense him. The Idiot box turns on, and I know that it's time.

I reach out slowly, and knock, unsure if I still want to do this. But yet, I've still knocked, and I know he will answer. He always does. He still hasn't learned not to trust- not to leave yourself open to surprise; to destruction.

The door opens, and he's there, watching me, waiting for me to speak. But I can't. He nods to me, opening the door wider to let me in. He knows me. He knows I can't speak; that I'm struggling in the sea of my mind. But he still doesn't know why I've come, and for that reason alone, he's weary of me.

He gestures for me to sit down, which my legs readily agree to. He's taller now, and handsomer. Six years from Hogwarts can do that to you. He is stronger now, and can easily match me, should I choose to brawl with him. But I won't.

He sits across from me, quietly thinking up the millions of reasons that I could be here for. He'll never think of the one I'm here for. Too long has it been; too long have I watched him in the shadows- knowing him more each day, and yet not making myself known. He won't know about that.

He thought I'd forgotten about him. I can see it in his surprise and relief when he opened the door. He'd thought I'd forgotten about all the dangers we'd gone through, all the personal and secretive stories we'd told each other. He'd thought I'd forgotten that. How could he?

I watch him watching me, and I admire him all the more. He doesn't press the issue of my presence, nor does he speak small talk. He simply watches.

I can feel my heart beating faster; my confidence waning, and my bitterness creeping back up. I can't help it. His patience; calmness; presence corrupts me, bringing me to a nasty boiling point where all I can speak is savagery. I can't let it happen yet.

"Po- err... Harry. May I ask you a question?"

I can read the surprise in his eyes almost as easily as seeing the sun. He wasn't expecting a question, but a demand; an insult to his intelligence, his clothing; his house. An insult to everything he had, owned, or treasured. He nods.

And at that moment, I can't stand it. I can't stand his cruelty of silence. It makes me ache with pain of things that should have been said long ago; things that represented so much more than just the basic meaning.

I lean forward, grasping his face between my palms and drawing him near. I can feel his pulse beating rhythmically beneath my fingers, and it somehow taps into me. I can feel him; his mind racing; and it's all I can do not to push him away. I'm afraid.

But I've gone too far now, and it's only a few inches more. I shift closer, closing the gap, and pressed my lips to his.

He opened his mouth in a silent gasp, and I took advantage of it. I threw everything behind that kiss, everything I felt, everything I longed for, and he took it, returning it to me in a thrust of deep set passion. And somehow I knew. I knew he watched me too.

//But the words get in the way

There's so much I want to say

But it's locked deep inside and if you look in my eyes,

We might fall in love again

I won't even start to cry, and before we say goodbye

I tried to say "I love you", but the words got in the way

I'm trying to say "I love you"

But the words get in the way//