Innocent Distraction

In Sleep/ Innocent Distraction

I'm watching as he trudges in to the Common Room, mumbles hello to those who greet him, and throws a weak smile my way. He slides his bag off his shoulder and next to the couch as he flops down onto it. Hermione and I are staring at him, me wishing he could be happy, Hermione wishing he would work or study as we are. She questions him to do so and he blinks. His eyes stayed closed and he slowly responds, like it is a battle just to get words out of his mouth. Slowly responds that he'll get to it, sooner or later, preferably later.

Hermione returns to her essay but I cannot tear my eyes away from the fragile figure in front of me. He slouches into the folds of the couch, keeping his eyes closed, but when he gets situation he slowly opens them, his eyelids seemingly heavy. He stares into me, filling my whole being, as our gazes lock. Then his mesmerizing emerald eyes flutted shut once more.

A half an hour later Hermione announces the completion of her essay. She glances at my parchment, scolding me that I should be practically finished, yet I'm still working on the beginning. She runs up to bed after telling me to get a move on, and make sure to got to bed as soon as I'm finished, I need my rest.

I find this essay amazingly difficult to complete, considering I am so easily distracted. He is still on the couch, deep in a fitful slumber. Most people would saya peaceful slumber, or a pleasant slumber, but that is exactly the opposite of him. He wills himself to sleep at night, but sleep never comes. He always looks so exausted, so defeated, if only sleep would come. I remember that feeling. It's about one of the only things that I can remember about my first year at Hogwarts. The odd thing is that I can remember that feeling clearly, as though it was upon me yesterday. You wish sleep would come to take you away from your thoughts, because there is so much, too much, to think about.

His positions change often. You would never be able to tell the kind of person he is by the way he sleeps. During the day he can sit so still, sit and just think. Just ponder things for hours on end. No doubt that he has a lot on his mind. He has an amazingly long attention span, as I drift off to sleep within the first 15 minutes of charms. But in sleep- in sleep he moves from one place to the next, sitting up to laying down, hunched in a ball to sprawled out, taking up the space of the whole sofa.

Maybe I should rephrase that. By the way he sleeps you would never be able to tell his presonality, but you could definitely tell the kind of person he is. He's worried. He's over-exhausted. He's afraid, but he's trying not to be. He's trying to be brave. He's trying to be the hero.

His messy hair is sticking up at all angles, the front portion of it plastered to his forehead by a cold sweat. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his right hand is hanging off of the side of the couch and clenched into a fist. He's determined. Determined to make the world that he is convinced that he ruined back to a pleasant state. Determined to keep those that he loves safe. Determined to defeat Voldemort. Determined not to get too close to anyone.

After last year he has stayed so far away. After our amazing relationship, he merely gives me smiles and small everyday conversations that you could ask anyone walking down the corridors. I can see in his eyes that he still cares for me. He still loves me. I catch him staring sometimes just I look up to do the same. When I catch his eye I can see that sadness and longing, maybe even a hint of regret. But he will always shake it off, because if he gets too close, he puts that person in danger. As he put it last year when he broke it off, "Think of how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you."

What a relation ship ours was. One of a kind. I loved him so much and he loved me. Doesn't he see that if people love him they will do anything for him, just as he does for them? Doesn't he see that those who love him don't care about the danger, they care about supporting him? Doesn't he see that Voldemort isn't going to make me stop loving him? He should know that Voldemort can't make up my mind for me, that him being in that danger makes me want to stay by his side. Why can't he see that?

I watch him as he turns to lie flat on his back, with one leg off of the couch. Suddenly I realize the innocence of this boy. A mere boy, just sleeping, as sleep is his only partially effective escape from all of the things that await him. I have always known that he has done nothing to deserve the kind of life that he has, but now, now I see him in sleep. My heart breaks when I come to this realization of the weak being that lies before me. And I love him. More than I have ever loved him.

His breathing is harsh and shallow as place my books on the chair next to me and walk over to him. I slide his leg back onto the couch and slip off his shoes. I lift his head and place a pillow beneath it. His breathing begins to even out. I pull a blanket off a chair and place it over him. Upon placing his dangling arm along side him, he slowly releases his fist. I run my fingers through his hair and push it away from his sweaty forehead, and uncover the scar. His scar. The famous scar. I love that scar, and not because it is on the head of a famous person. Because it's on his head. The head of the boy I love. I lightly trace over it with my finger, then lean down and place a kiss upon it.

"I love you Harry Potter," I whisper, before following Hermione's instructions and heading upstairs, my essay still incomplete.