And So It Is

And so it is. Every day, every minute of every hour that I'm near her. . . I watch her always, so very closely. She's so beautiful. It's hard to help it. But it's not worth it. These times are too dangerous. I hate these times. I push my glasses higher on my nose, to keep them from slipping all the way down. My friends laugh and talk. Their laughter stops, however, when the daily post comes, and they scour the Daily Prophet for news about Voldemort's rise to power. I've learned to ignore the news. It's never good news, not anymore. Just death, just sadness. It hurts too much. Too many people have been lost. Too many families have been destroyed.

And then, I feel guilty. I feel bad whenever a Hogwarts student is pulled aside by Dumbledore, into his office, and comes out, crying or with red eyes, about an hour later. I don't want my family destroyed further. I don't want my children to not have a father, or my wife to not have a husband.

That's why I'm afraid for her. That if, just maybe, we ever left Hogwarts and got married and had children, that she would be in danger. I can't imagine putting her in danger, not ever. I care about her too much. She's already a target. If anything ever happened to her, it would be impossible to forgive myself. And her family. They wouldn't get over losing her. Not after what she's gone through already. I couldn't face them, ever. They would never blame me, I know. But I would blame me.

I turn my attention back to her. Like I said, she's beautiful. I watch her talk for a minute to her friend, wave to Hagrid, and return to her writing. She's trying to finish homework, I guess. Her red hair spills down her back, and gleams where the sun from the enchanted ceiling hits it. My friends get up to leave, clapping me on the back before they go.

"Hurry," they say. "You don't want to be late for Charms. Professor Flitwick might murder you," they joke. I half smile, but it's a fake smile. They leave together.

Soon, the Gryffindor table has only a few people. Scattered around the Great Hall are people like her, scribbling off the last bit to an assignment. She signs and pulls her hair away from her neck before continuing. She finishes, and rolls up the parchment. While walking away, she gives me a small smile. It's only a smile, but it lifts my spirits a bit.

Eventually, the entire Great Hall is empty. I am still there, alone, sitting at the table. McGonagall walks in, checking for stragglers. I am one, as I have been for the past few days, the past few weeks. She sighs and walks over to me. She puts a hand on my shoulder. It's very un-McGonagall of her. I remember the days when she was just a strict teacher. But now, I respect her. She is part of the Order. She knows what is happening, why I'm so distraught.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. You'll be late for class. I daresay Professor Flitwick might take points," she says. She's stern, but in a maternal way. I nod and silently collect my things.

I begin the long trek to the Charms classroom. I'm alone. It's how I'm destined to be, always. My being with anyone else endangers them. So, here I am. Alone. And so it is.