Not That You Asked

He loved her.

She had kissed him.

Her eyes had betrayed that much.

He had said anything to either of them.

He had been so proud when he worked up the courage to write her over the summer.

He had been ecstatic when she replied.

She spent all of august at his house.

She never considered going to Bulgaria.

It simply never occurred to him that he might have feelings on the matter.

She had never mentioned the kiss.

He had never mentioned falling in love with her.

Neither of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

He was busy and distant to be true.

They assumed it was quidditch and being a prefect and everything else.

They assumed he was still getting over last year.

They assumed he would open up when he was ready.

It never occurred to him what he was going through.

It never occurred to him what he was feeling.

He was so happy someone wanted to be with him. Not with him.

He was quite content to know he had something his friend didn't have.

Not that he didn't deserve some happiness.

God knows after last year, if anyone did it was him.

But he had something to call his own.

Not a hand-me-down, not something someone had made use of before him.

His girlfriend.

Noone else's.

He was hers; she was his.

When she kissed him, he felt as if he was going to melt.

When he looked at her, he felt so happy.

It was like nothing else in the world.

He hadn't thought he'd be able to join them for Christmas, so he hadn't really bothered to ask.

His mother had asked after him, but noone else seemed to notice.

He'd had his family close.

He'd had her close.

All to himself.

She came to watch him play Quidditch; she hugged him in congratulation after every match.

He hadn't said anything.

Not once.

He had had his chance.

He wasn't going to give her up.

Not now, not ever.

Things were perfect.

He had the girl, he had Quidditch, and even his grades were improving thanks to her.

It wasn't possible he could love her.

He had everything he could ask for.

He was a prefect, captain of the Quidditch team, popular and famous.

He could have anyone he wanted.

Why did he want to take away the one thing in the world he held dear?

Why had he snuck into her dormitory?

Why did he sit by the fire crying for hours on end?

Why had he called out her name in such desperation?

Why did he suddenly feel so guilty for the pain he felt when he heard his voice?

He couldn't possibly love her.

He was mistaken.

It was something else.

Whatever had happened, it was a misunderstanding.

Someone opened the door to the dorm.

She walked across the room, she had been crying.

She tried to look up but didn't.

She handed him a piece of paper.

A letter.

He opened it and began to read.