Beautiful

I watch her from across the hall and long to touch her, but I know I won't be able to until later when we're alone. We meet by night; the days are left for hidden desires. It has to be hidden, because if people knew they'd look at us in that way where they pretend they don't care, but inside it disgusts them. These people, who know nothing about love, think it's wrong, but to me it feels so right when I run my hands through her wild hair or whisper her name like some divine word of seduction. I love that name; it sounds beautiful when it's whispered ... or moaned, for that matter. Her name is wonderful and mine is short and ugly, and I'm curious as to why her eyes light up when she says it. It's not special; it's nowhere near as precious as hers.

Sometimes when we're alone together we don't even do anything. We'll fall asleep in each others arms or lay side by side, hands entwined, heads so close our hair tangles together; ebony on chestnut. Other times we just talk and I let her soft voice wash over me like a caress. I like to watch her speak. Her face becomes animated, and she's always so passionate about what ever she's talking about. She gets excited when the passion rubs off on me, and it always does.

I step quietly into the room she told me to meet her in. Elegant candles of all shapes and varieties dimly light it. I smile when I see her.

"Hermione." I whisper her name, letting it roll sweetly off my tongue.

Her hands reach for me, drawing me closer. The closeness is intoxicating, and I know she doesn't feel like talking tonight. She pulls me to the floor and kisses me, her lips soft against mine. My hands are pulling off her clothes and my fingers dance across the bare skin. Her tongue moves along my neck and my clothes are quickly strewn on the floor with hers.

Soon, our whispers and moans die away and there's nothing left but her clinging to me. I breathe in her scent, and I love how it's mingled with sweat. She looks at me, eyes sparkling. Sometimes it seems she can see into my soul with those eyes, those warm brown eyes. I used to think I'd be scared if someone could see me, really see me, but I'm not scared anymore. I've given her my heart, and I realize now that she had it all along, even before I was aware of it. Hermione will be careful with it, she's careful with everything. I just hope I mean as much to her as she does to me. In my moments of low self-esteem I wonder if I really do, but other times she looks at me with those eyes like she's doing now, and there's no doubt in my mind that she loves me.

"You're beautiful, Cho," she says.

I sigh and pull her closer. I don't think I'm beautiful, but I think she is ... and this. This is beautiful.