Unrequited

His stomach felt as if it had dropped to the very bottom of his being as he watched, envying the happy couple. His dark hair shone as if an inkwell had spilled down his shoulders. His eyes - oh his eyes - how they drew him into their wonderment, the chocolate pools seeming to go on forever. Then he showed up, wrapping his tentacle he called an arm around his perfect shoulders. His mussed up hair touched his face and he laughed, a beautifully crystalline sound, like silver bells. How that piece of slime off the giant squid's ass had corrupted him.

*He should be with me!* he thought vehemently, digging crescent shaped imprints into his soft palms. *He's no good for him, can't he see that? His ego must take up all the space next to him when they sit. His perfectly placed hair, his laughable attempt at looking smart by wearing glasses, and that bloody snitch! I'm shocked that his head hasn't blown away like a balloon, the way it's inflated. Daft bugger. He doesn't know what's good for him. He doesn't treat him right. If only he knew how I felt. How he's the only warmth or sun I see in weeks when the winter's too cold and bitter.*

He turned away, not wanting to catch the attention of his "oh-so-noble" boyfriend. Hurrying to the prefect's bathroom, praying for it to be empty, he walked down the hallway like a man possessed. Finally reaching the hidden doorway, he whispered the password, not even thinking as he had done this so many times before. Scanning the room and deciding it was sufficiently empty, he sat on the edge of the pool-like bath and carefully stripped his boots and socks off, resting his feet in the warmth provided before him. Searching madly through his books and parchment, he found a clean piece and his ink.

Addressing his love, he wrote what was in his heart, what he knew was right. Leaving it unsigned, he stuffed it back in his bag and, after drying his feet and properly adorning them, he scurried off to the owlery. Using a school owl, he sent it to his love, all the way in the Gryffindor Tower, hoping he was alone, praying he wouldn't know his handwriting. As he turned to walk out, there stood the bloody werewolf, eyeing him suspiciously as they all did.

"Hello Severus. Excuse me, I need to get through . . ." he trailed off, looking towards the floor, not wanting a confrontation. Severus looked him in the eyes; his hard gaze penetrating to the timid boy's soul and nodded curtly before sweeping past him. Walking down to the Slytherin Dungeons, he fingered the soft piece of parchment that contained his feelings, an extra copy to keep, just in case. Striding into the barren common room, he approached the fire and, with his best judgment, tossed the paper into the flames, the ink reminding him of the soft hair, seeming to flow endlessly.

"Better to be safe than sorry," he murmured softly to himself as he watched the last of the words burn up:

"I know I can love you much better than this."*

* Sarah McLachlan, "Full of Grace"