Unrequited

Disclaimer: Don\'t own anything except the plot
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That next morning brought a flurry of realization to me.

I watched as Mudblood and We hel held hands through the corridors of school. The worst was in double Potions. In between making our brew I saw that she kept sneaking little glances at Weasel all through the class. He looked at her like a thirsty man looks at a glass of water. It pissed me off.

She had the habit of scratching the back of her calf with her shoe when concentrating on something. Right above the sock that ended just below her knee. Her black mary jane moved up and down insistently and I suddenly wished to just pull that sock down and scratch her leg myself. Bloody hell. Where did that come from? Her small mannerisms had me transfixed and I was glad for the end of today\'s lesson.

I tore from the dungeons and up to the first floor. Once out of doors, I headed to the lake. Precious few people were there and giant squid was stirring, stretching out its tentacles onto the shore. I saw her come out of the doorway, the light wind teasing at the wavy tendrils that had escaped her loosely wound topknot. Inexplicably, they both vexed me and enchanted me. I wanted to take a pair of shears and trim them off and coversely preserve their shining amber length.

Damn her, I thought not for the first time. Then I saw Weasel come out not five minutes after. She pulled him into a nearby hedgerow and I could hear tnsipnsipid giggling coming from the greenery. She\'d better be careful. Weasleys are a fertile bunch. She could end up with a rock-headed, ginger-haired brat. And why should I care? I don\'t know why, but I do. It would be a waste of intelligence, being stuck raising that Quidditch minded mental midget\'s spawn. Even though I do dislike her, I must iterate that I admire that splendid brain of hers. If only she hadn\'t been born a Mudblood, who knows what heights she could have accomplished.

Not even 15 minutes passed when a self-satisfied and very well put together Granger came sauntering out of the bushes. Weasley, the idiot, came bumbling out after her still tucking his shirt in, making general corrections to his appearancetifutiful. But then, what else would one expect of a Weasley? Nothing more than that. They were soon hand-in-hand once again. Gods. It was like they were joined at the hip. Pathetic. I had a sudden urge to yank her hand from his and shove his destitute arse in the muck. Then again, she wasn\'t much better, was she?

She allowed it and oddly enough, it felt like a betrayal. Although she never spoke more than two words to me unless it was out of anger. And even then the speeches were clipped. I resolved to put her out of my mind and fixate on something else.

But even in that, I failed.

I continued to watch her all through the end of the year.