My Harry Potter headcanons are completely made up, and are not a part of JK Rowling's original works. None of these characters or environments belong to me.
(Terribly sorry for lack of updates. Here you go, guys. <3 )
He asked everything of her, while she only asked him to be there for her. It shouldn't have been too much to ask, but he wasn't there, and she fell.
She wasn't perfect, Merlin no, she was anything but. But she was expected - expected, expected - to be, however, so she was. Or at least, she tried to be. Hermione Granger-Weasley, brightest witch of her generation, was supposed to be a model citizen, a model wife, a model human being. But if had all gone too far, hadn't it? She was human, only human, not some perfect goddess on a pedestal. It was nice to admired at first, she remembered. Little notes and drawings from first-year girls who looked up to her. Slightly jealous glances from her former classmates, the ones who had once made fun of frizzy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all Hermione. The Order of Merlin, first-class, displayed proudly on the mantle next to Ron's.
She was married to Ron Weasley, an Auror, and the best friend of Harry Potter. No one else had that, so her life must have been perfect. She had a wonderful job in the Department of Magical Law, she had a wonderful husband, wonderful friends. It didn't feel like enough, even though it should have. It should have been enough, being 'perfect'. The guilt ate her up inside because she wanted something else, something more than perfection. Everything and everyone just made her feel ungrateful.
"You're so lucky, Hermione."
How was she lucky? When outside there were smiles and handshakes and inside there was nothing; she felt nothing. Everyone had told her. That was how it had started. Everyone had told her that the Magical Law job was a great idea. That she and Ron were perfect together. That she was brilliant and funny and pretty. And for once the media had played along, portraying Hermione as Wizarding Britain's sweetheart. But she didn't want that, did she? It was so hard to tell what she wanted.
It wore on her, those complements, the pressure to be who they had made her out to be. Ron was constantly doting on her, to the point of frustration. Hermione though she had preferred the arguing, when she had known where she stood and Ron had known where he stood. Now she stood on some pedestal high, high, above, wobbling, teetering, ready to fall, and Ron wasn't there to catch her. He wasn't there because he had placed her up there in the first place, along with everyone else she knew. She couldn't hang on, she just couldn't.
She wasn't what they thought she was.
But they didn't care. She was their perfect, darling Hermione who could do no wrong. Her coworkers never so much as offered their opinions on her work, even though she had asked again and again. Apparently everything she did needed no correction. It killed her. Her friends always wanted to know what she thought, what her idea was. When faced with a decision she could no longer trust them to be straight with her. She floundered because she didn't know where she was headed - because she didn't know what would happen if she fell.
Maybe she would be forgotten. That would be nice, to have people no longer care about what she did or how she did it. To not be Hermione Granger-Weasley: wife, citizen, and human. To be forgotten.
385 . When Norberta had her first child it was a boy. When an exhilarated Charlie presented the tiny flapping creature to a tearful Hagrid he was not expecting Hagrid to name the little black dragon 'Charcoal', in his honor.
383 . Halloween is Petunia Dursley's least favourite holiday, not only because it's the anniversary of her sister's death, but because children come knocking on the door dressed as witches and wizards.
Anyone [SeverusSnape X HermioneGranger][Romance]
'He didn't like her. Not really. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her generation, and he wasn't anyone she would like.'
Read on ...
He didn't like her. Not really. She was a brilliant woman, to be sure, her job spoke enough of that. Not to mention he had taught her personally - knew her personally. It just made her more unattainable, more out of his reach. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her generation, and he wasn't anyone she would like.
"Hello Severus," she smiled at him. They were only passing each other in the hallway, they way they did every morning. He was an Unspeakable, she was working in the Magical Law department. They couldn't have been further away from each other, what with the Unspeakable offices being on the lowest floor, and the Law offices near the top. But somehow on the way through those first doors they always met; somehow she always turned to smile at him. A genuine smile, one that made him feel like she cared.
He didn't talk to her. Not really. She was a people-person, to be sure, her personality was just like that. Not to mention he was socially inept - couldn't start a conversation to save his life. It just made her harder to be around, harder to talk to. She was Hermione Granger, head of the Magical Law Enforcement office, and he wasn't anyone she would talk to, anyways.
"Hello, Granger," was the reply, somehow he hadn't managed to work up himself up to a 'Hermione' in public yet. They both turned away, facing their opposite directions once more as she headed for the upper floor elevators and he the lower ones. It was exactly like that, they were acquaintances, he had been her teacher, and she his student. Anyone could see that they said hello and didn't see each other for the rest of the day. They might have fought a war together, but that didn't mean they had to like each other, did it? Of course not, he thought bitterly, it was impossible for anyone to believe Hermione Granger could like her former Potions professor.
He didn't want her. Not really. She was attractive, to be sure, her figure was perfect. Not to mention he had watched her mature - watched her 'grow up'. It just made her wrong for him, wrong to want her. She was Hermione Granger, a fully matured woman, and he wasn't anyone she would want.
Severus watched her leave out of the corner of his eyes, taking care to walk slowly towards the elevator - no one was brave enough to chasten him for it anyways - so he could watch that wavy brown hair disappear into the elevator. She had that harried look about her, the one that he had always seen on her face before exams, the circles under her eyes, her back hunched under books and files and Merlin knew what else.
Severus had also seen her without that look, seen her when she was carefree and happy, swirling around the dance floor, even if she was dancing with Viktor Krum and not him. He hadn't thought of her that way then, but he certainly did now, saw the youthful beauty in that young girl that had flourished into the gorgeous woman today.
She couldn't like him. Not really. He was intelligent, to be sure, his life spoke enough of that. Not to mention he had saved her life - saved it on numerous occasions, actually - and she had saved his. It just made their debt to each other deeper. He was Severus Snape, her former professor, and she wasn't anyone who would like him.
He was eating lunch - by himself, in his office, with the door locked to keep out the other idiots who worked in his department - when she knocked on the door. He knew it was her, just from the knock. The same tentative knock that had sounded on his dungeon room door whenever she came down to ask for 'recommended reading' or whatever else she wanted in order to nurture her academics.
Severus felt his breath hitch for just a moment before he let it out in a huff. He was being ridiculous. It was Granger, for pity's sake, he was not going to act like - like - Weasley! He was a grown man. A wave of his wand unlocked the door.
"Come in, Granger." He would see what she thought of that.
She didn't talk to him. Not really. He wasn't sociable, to be sure, his social skills sorely lacking. Not to mention he had a reputation, had to play mean and indifferent. It just made their conversations that much shorter. He was Severus Snape, an Unspeakable, and she wasn't anyone who would talk to him.
The door opened apologetically, if that was possible. She had barely gotten through the door when she had already started talking to him.
"I'm really sorry to just barge in like this, especially during your lunch hour, sir-"
Sir? Severus raised an eyebrow at that. He thought they had long put that behind them both. This was the first time she had come to his office, though. Perhaps him at a desk in his black robes gave cause for nervousness, perhaps it brought back memories of a cold classroom in the dungeons ...
But Hermione looked rather nervous for the head of a department. Hermione usually liked to act as if she had no limits.
"-yes, well, if this is a bad time I could always come back later, or maybe tomorrow, I don't know if I'll have time today-"
There was that harried look again, Severus sighed mentally. How could she have so much to do that she was making calls on her lunch break? But she was already backing halfway out the door again. Was he really that bad when he was working? He dropped his sandwich on the table - perhaps not a good idea in retrospect, his table was not very clean - and raised a hand.
"Wait. Now is fine."
She couldn't want him. Not really. He wasn't attractive, to be sure, he was a mess. Not to mention he was old enough to be her father, too old for her. It just made their relationship more secretive.
"No really," Hermione tried to insist, "it's all right. I was stupid to think that it was a good idea to come-"
"It's fine," he repeated calmly, "what is it you wanted to talk about, Hermione." It was easy enough to call her Hermione when they were alone together; it made him wonder why she didn't do the same. They'd been secretly having dinner all over Muggle London for around three months now, and her nervous state was making him nervous. He hadn't seen her like this since she had first worked up the courage to ask him to dinner.
"Well," his witch took a breath, "I just wanted to confirm dinner tonight - " Severus nodded agreement to that, " - and, well, ask if you - if you - you -" Hermione continued her stuttering into silence. Her wide brown eyes were still fixed on his.
"Hermione, will you just say what you came here to say? There's no reason to be nervous, Hermione." He was feeling rather queasy now that the worry had had to sink in. So much for the rest of his sandwich. He swiped it into the rubbish bin with a bit of a thud - Hermione jumped a bit at that - and loosened his clasped hands, standing up and walking over to her. He placed to careful hands on her shoulders.
"I wanted to tell you," she said slowly, "that I'm tired of this being a secret," Hermione's hand made a gesture in the air between them, "I want everyone to know about us. I was going to tell you over dinner tonight, and ask if that was okay, but it's been bothering me all day and I - I want everyone to know."
He just sat there, completely taken aback. This was the last thing he had ever expected of her. Hermione - Hermione wanted them to go public? It was laughable. The public would find it laughable; her friends would most definitely find it laughable if they didn't kill him first -
"Severus? Severus are you alright? I'm sorry I shouldn't have even suggested, I don't know what I was thinking it must be the stress from work -" She was backtracking quickly, a sign that she indeed had meant what she said, but was afraid of scaring him off. Scaring him off? Severus shook his head.
"Hermione," he managed, "Hermione, I love you."
She looked at him, as the realization of exactly what his words were implying - I love you, it doesn't matter as long as you love me too - sunk in, she smiled. Hermione's smile warmed him down to the core.
"I love you," she repeated. "I love you." The smile grew wider.
He was Severus Snape, Hermione Granger's love, and apparently he was someone she could love.
382 . Hermione sometimes gets a shiver down her spine when she spies a long mane of thick, black hair in the crowd, even though she knows Bellatrix Lestrange is long dead.
Poetry in the style of Ellen Hopkins telling the Prince’s Tale.
I had seen her before, around the
small neighbourhood. out. about.
short fleeting glimpses of her, short
fleeting glimpses of sunshine that
I
could not touch, even if I wanted to,
even if I could begin to fathom it.
she was the eighth wonder that I
didn't understand and truly longed to
know.
she was pretty. she was a queen,
her hair was red and her eyes green.
I wished I knew her, wished she liked
me. but that was wishful thinking, for
what
could I ever be to her? I knew I was
nothing to my useless mother, and
even less than that to my father,
who despised me. I could suppose
you
could care less, father dearest. but
Lily would be different, I vowed. I
would be someone better for her,
someone else. I believe that things
are
not always what they appear to be. I
told myself that things would change,
that I would be happier, that three words
could- would change things. but say that
you're
an affection-starved fool like myself,
an unloved, desperate child like me,
and suddenly things seem much much
more like the hopeless situation it is.
a
simple acceptance would make my day
a combination of someone else's birthday
and christmas all in one, not my birthday
or xmas, since my mother was too much
trials of darkness. the self-enforced
guilt he felt for his past mistakes, and
dying for his one true love was more
than enough to make him hero of this
tale.
he was used to not being special. he
had a mother of pure and a father of
filth, and neither of them could really
care less for him. this meaning little
of
his existence was full of light and love,
excepting this one girl. this one girl who
shone, this one girl who glowed, this one
girl who sparkled and glimmered with all of
the
stars luminosity and a thousand moons
brightness. this one girl who captured him
so fast it took his breath away. every time
he saw her she would steal his heart in
half
a heartbeat. she was perfect in every
sense to him, she was his ideal in all
of his wildest dreams. but she was less
than ideal to some, and it was in her
blood
where the blame lay. and despite her
caring loving warm kind personality,
one word would cost Severus Snape
his fairytale princess and charming
"On the count of three," Remus Lupin said nervously, having been chosen as the neutral party to release the Snitch. Half the school had turned out to see what could be the final Potter-Evans smackdown.
"Kiss for good luck Evans?" Of course he had decked himself out in full Quidditch gear, mounted on the best broomstick money could buy.
Lily herself was on Gwyneth Johnson's borrowed broomstick, with her long red hair tied back, was determined to put up a hell of a fight before she gave in. "You wish, Potter."
"One," called Remus, causing the crowd to tense visibly. There were many colourful banners in the crowd, the largest and loudest of which belonged to Sirius Black, supported on the other end by Peter Pettigrew. 'TAME THAT REDHEAD JAMES'. Yes, that was definitely something Black would write, although the writing looked suspiciously like Remus's. Perhaps they convinced Remus to do it somehow.
"Show Potter who's boss Lily!" cried Mary Macdonald, the only other Muggleborn girl in her dorm, her best friend. Lily smiled at her, then set her jaw, determined.
"Two," Remus said, fingers clasped over the struggling Snitch. He was no Quidditch player, he looked as if he was worried the thing would fly out before he finished counting.
"Prepare to kiss the ground at my feet, Potter," Lily smirked at her opponent.
"Any day, Evans," James gave her an insane grin and Lily became flustered, blushing slightly. Surely he wasn't serious.
"Three!" Remus yelled, as the Snitch flew out of his grasp. James kicked off hard after it.
"Bloody hell!" Lily had lost any head start she could have gotten. She kicked off the ground hard, speeding after James Potter.
xxx
"Bored yet?" His voice was teasing. They'd been flying for around twenty minutes already, but there was no sign of the fluttering golden ball. Lily was starting to feel frustrated and the crowd bored.
"No, are you?" She said between gritted teeth, trying to match his light tone with her own.
"Never with you," James smiled- it seemed genuine,- and before she could react he angled his broom towards her, jostling her as he made contact, speeding off in the direction they had come from.
"James Potter!" Lily cried out angrily, swinging her broom around to chase him. Even from this distance she could see the smirk, the raised eyebrow, the challenge.
Keeping no mind for her safety she went full speed towards the end of the pitch. Suddenly she blanched, as a golden blur caught her eye. Her thoughts tripped, her borrowed broom stuttered. She drove sharply to the left, then slowed to look over her shoulder at his shocked face. He became a blur then, racing towards her, much to the delight of the newly excited crowd.
His broom was faster, there was no doubt he would catch up. She was only a broom length away from the Snitch when he pulled up next to her.
"Ready for that date?" James said breathlessly, and Lily wondered how he could still talk after all the flying they'd done. But instead she stuck her arm out, but it was just out of her reach ... not that she was planning on grabbing it anyways.
His hand reached past hers, knocking hers aside, fingers closing on the goal, the prize.
She expected him to raise it up, to crow his victory before the crowd, to smile triumphantly. But James held out the fluttering Snitch, a serious look appearing on his usually joking face.
"You know, if you ... don't want to go on that date, you don't have to." His hand raked his hair nervously. "I don't mind. But I won't stop asking you out, I just want you to say 'yes' because you want to."
Lily stared at him. The background noise melted away as Lily stared and wondered if the world had gone mad.
"I'm serious," he insisted, holding the golden Snitch in his hand out in earnest, "If you don't want to just say so."
She had planned on his conquest of her, on him eagerly taking her out. She hadn't thought he could be such a gentleman. He was still waiting, looking as nervous as she had ever seen him. Really there was only one thing to say.
"How about that kiss first, Potter."
The smile that lit up his face made her grin too.
"Gladly, as long as you mean your lips and not the floor at your feet."
She laughed, flew her broom up next to his, flinging her arms around him and kissing him soundly.
She asked to be paired with him. It was the only way she could so much as look at him. She pretended to be upset and indifferent, but she wasn't really. She couldn't let him know she was interested, she knew what he would say.
"Seven years of indifference doesn't just melt away, Evans. Just admit it, you've always fancied me."
This statement accompanied by a ruffle of his already disastrous hair, one of the many annoying and endearing traits of James Potter. Cocky and arrogant, that's what he was, and she liked it. But she couldn't have the whole of Hogwarts know she fancied him, not after seven years of solid dislike.
It was impossible to spend time with him any other way, so she had corned McGonagall after class one Tuesday afternoon to plead her case. McGonagall, smirking, had instantly agreed.
"After all, Miss Evans, I couldn't bear to keep the poor boy away from you any longer than he must. It delights me that you've finally taken an interest in him. Despite his rather- outgoing ways, Mr. Potter has a good heart."
So now around once a week, they would be paired 'for sanity's sake, Miss Evans, I will not have anymore outbursts from Mr. Potter.' James Potter certainly didn't mind, to say the least.
"So Evans, how about Hogsmeade next week?"
"How about a special after-class session together, Evans?"
Outside she ignored him, but inside she was pleased at his interest, his perseverance. When his hand brushed hers she jerked away, but her skin tingled at his touch. There was a natural rhythm between them, her independence, his sureness. When they worked together, it was flawless and synchronized. She knew couldn't wait any longer, she had to take her chance before they graduated and left Hogwarts forever.
"A bet, Evans? You know for your favour I'd do anything," he said, giving her a sweeping bow.
"We'll fly for it," she decided, "that Snitch you're always showing off in front of everyone."
"Playing on my turf? Dangerous game you play, Evans. Name your stakes." His eyes glinted with a passionate furiosity, making her heart flutter.
"I win, I keep your Snitch and you stop asking me out every single moment you get," she said haltingly. If this was a real contest she might have been more worried, but she was going to lose, she would lose and pay his price. It was the only way her pride would allow it.
"And if I win." A smirk played around the corners of his lips, "I get that Hogsmeade date. Plus a kiss," he added as an afterthought.
"Fine," she replied, already imagining what it would be like to feel his lips on hers. When she lost the bet, of course. She had to put on a good show, that was all. "After dinner. Tonight."
"Can't wait," he winked, getting up and packing his quill and parchment as the class ended. "Didn't know getting a date with you would be so easy," he added as another afterthought.
Home wasn't what she had thought it was anymore. It had been charming, wonderful, even. But when she came home to him all she really wanted to do was leave.
Their living space (she refused to call it a home,) was not decorated, not even fully furnished. There was a bed, half of which was rarely slept in. Her husband spent the week in someone else's bed. It should have hurt more than it did, being alone, knowing your own partner didn't care to stay with you. But all she really wanted was a warm, cozy place to spend the rest of her days.
She had thought Draco could give her that. And he had, for a while. Had promised again and again that their empty apartment would be finished, completed, that there would be a rug and a roaring fireplace. That there would be the sounds of a gurgling child. She had called their apartment a home, once upon a time.
But it had been nice at the start, imaging her perfect life, her perfect husband, her perfect child. (No- it was still nice to do that. To pretend that her life was more meaningful, ten times so than it was in reality.) She had poured through the interior design magazines of colorful, charming rooms with happy families. She had imagined their blonde-haired, buck-toothed child running around, bringing her joy, being her life's joy.
How she loved him. How she cooked and cleaned for him. How she attended all of his social gatherings, and idiotically polite smile plastered on her face, practiced conversation falling too easily from her lips. Then came the day when he stopped coming home, stopped eating her meals, and the invitations stopped. He left his things scattered around their empty dwelling. When that day came it all stopped and so did his heart that had once beat with love for her.
But all of that was a dream now because most nights were spent pacing the floor, half-hoping he would come home to her. That he would wake up from whatever stupor he had been in, turn back into the smiling gentleman she had known for what did not seem like nearly enough time.
Now when he arrived, he never touched her, never kissed her, never so much as looked at her. He was gone and gone along with him was her home.
xx END.
Blown away, that was her state of mind as she saw him for the first time. She hadn't expected him to be- well,- attractive. But that was only a trivial matter. Rose Weasley liked to think of herself as better than that. After all, daddy knew best, meaning Scorpius Malfoy had to be bad news.
Gone with the wind, that's how her breath was when he smiled at her. She hadn't expected him to- well,- smile at her. But it was only a smile. Rose Weasley liked to think that just smiling back was alright. After all, daddy knew best, being friends with Scorpius Malfoy had to be bad news.
Speechless, that was her voice when she talked with him. She hadn't expected him to be- well,- smart. But there were plenty of intelligent fish in the sea. Rose Weasley liked to think that being friends wasn't a big deal. After all, daddy knew best, liking Scorpius Malfoy had to be bad news.
Surprised, that was his expression when she stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him for the first time. She hadn't expected him to be- well,- fall in love with him. But that was okay. Rose Weasley liked to know he loved her too. Daddy knew best, but hopefully he hadn't really been trying to keep them apart after all. Hopefully becoming Rose Malfoy didn't have to be bad news.
She was light, and he was darkness. He wanted every bit of light she was and part of her craved for the darkest part of him. But in the end, they both created something beautiful; love.
"Dora, you shouldn't be here," Remus Lupin's voice shook very slightly, only slightly, betraying none of the longing he truly felt for her gaze, her touch, her voice.
"You always say that, Remus," Nymphadora Tonks needed no invitation, not really. She gently pushed her way past him, into his small apartment. Even as she brushed past him he could feel the hairs on his arm stand up, alert, underneath his robes. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her.
Remus cleared his throat, following her into his own cramped living room. "No really, you shouldn't have come." Being here was no good, not when only in a week's time he would be leaving to join his own kind. The last thing he needed when he was surrounded by blood-thirsty werewolves was memory of her.
"I know why you're all upset," she draped an arm over his shoulder, despite his weak protests. "Do you think that pushing me away is going to do you any good. I mean, Remus, I need you just as much as you need me." Dora stumbled over the words, trying to reach him through his facade.
"I'm not pushing you away-" he said hastily, trying to shrug her arm off his shoulder. Honestly he had been avoiding her all summer, declining every single one of Molly's good-natured offers to come around for dinner, as well as making some excuse or another whenever Dora invited him out. But he knew that she was going to come, all summer he had known, perhaps he had almost been eagerly awaiting it, to see her one last time before he went.
Dora sighed, as if he was a young child protesting some unarguable point of fact. "Remus, please. You've been avoiding me all summer, I know and-" she choked then, and his heart wrenched badly at the sound, "-and you've missed me, haven't you? I know you have. I can see it in your eyes," her voice became slightly pleading, placating, "Don't push it away, Remus, don't. You feel it, just as I do. I want you, every part of you. Even the darkest part you won't even admit to yourself." Her hand slid down his shoulder and laid itself just above his heart, which began to pound loudly in his ears.
How did she know, know how part of him craved her, wanted to bite her, make her cry out, to turn her light into darkness-
"Remus," her firm voice anchored him back to reality. "I love you." From her expression it was clear she wanted the truthful answer, the one they both knew would fix the hurt that had been caused over the last two months, if only slightly.
"I ... Dora ..." His voice was a whisper, trembling and wavering, but she seemed to understand him nonetheless, the words he couldn't say. Her arms wrapped around him, warm and safe, and as he buried his face in her soft sweater his lips breathed, "I love you."
Her fingers trailed down his spine, sending shivers through his body. He could hear the darker part within purring delightedly at her touch. He loved every part of her, wholly. From the tips of her bubblegum pink hair to the soles of her clumsy feet.
His lifted his head off her shoulder, his left hand trailing slowly down the side of her face to cup her chin, lifting her head gently so his lips could reach hers. If their bodies fit together as perfectly as their lips did, Remus knew that his argument was already lost. As he pulled her closer towards him the darker part smiled in triumph- surely she must sense it, he thought- but she did not resist, merely pressed herself even closer, kissing him until they were both breathless.
"More." One of them had said it, or perhaps both (or was it the three, since he was split in two,) of them at the same time. As her klutzy fingers fumbled with her outer cloak, he brushed her hand aside and undid it himself, then tossed her traveling cloak lightly onto the love seat. Dora's gaze was filled with longing and Remus could not hold back, could not hold back either part of him.
As Remus' arms encased her, lifted her, and carried her to the door that led to his bedroom, he could not have heard the part of Nymphadora that sighed quietly in victory, already relishing in the hint of darkness she saw in his eyes.
She needed him. She always needed, and Lysander gave and he gave until he couldn't take it anymore. Lucy's cries for help, her scabby knees, her tearful face. He was sick of it.
"Do it yourself, for Merlin's sake! You're not a child!"
It wasn't that he was a bad person, no, but she was sixteen and she still cried whenever she tripped, still needed him to cut her food to pieces, still asked him to do every bloody thing for her. She was worse than a child.
And he did it because she would look at him with her large eyes, her pouting lower lip, and her rosy red cheeks. So he helped her, he did it even though he was sick of it and it was ruining his life.
He didn't go out often. Not when she wanted him, needed him to stay. What woman would want a man with a teenage girl attached to him? He knew the rumours, those people who said there was more than friendship between the younger Weasley and the older Scamander. It was all her fault and it seemed he couldn't blame her for it. Their parents thought it was sweet that he doted on her, when all he really wanted was for her to disappear.
One day when they were walking around her neighborhood, she asked him to tie her shoelaces and he had had enough. Lysander stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to look at her
"You do it," he said coldly, indifferent to her wide eyes.
"B-but ..." she waited, looked at him pleadingly.
"You've done it before, it's not like you can't do it yourself."
"I ... I want you to do it, Lysander. Please?"
He didn't look at her, couldn't look at her. He was mad and if he looked at her it would melt away and he would give in. Lucy bit her bottom lip, still waiting for him, trembling only slightly. They weren't even a couple, he reminded himself. She was just a silly girl-child who wouldn't let go.
"Lysander ..." He ignored her. "Lysander look at me, please?" Her voice sent bile into his throat, but he swallowed it down, closed his eyes.
"I'm sick of you," he whispered, "I'm sick of doing things for you. You only ask me, everyone else knows you can do it yourself. You've made a fool of me, I'm a joke. I gave up everything for you ..." I don't even love you. She was silent now, but her pathetic expression never reached him, couldn't reach past his closed lids. It wouldn't reach him anymore. "My pride, my dignity, my chance at a life here, and life. My happiness, Lucy, you took it all away."
"I'm sorry Lysander, I d-didn't mean to, I- I love you! Please-"
"Shut up!" The edge in his tone made her flinch, and inside he flinched too. She's just a girl with a crush. She'll get over it. "Don't. You're selfish, that's what you are. You don't care for anyone but yourself."
"I care about you, Lysander," her voice was weak and tear-sodden, and he almost wanted to comfort her.
"Whatever you thought was crap, wasn't it?" he laughed, he felt his mind start to fall apart. "Did you think I liked helping? Do you think I liked doing any of that for you? I felt sorry for you, just like everyone else feels sorry for me."
Tears were making their way down her thrice-damned rosy cheeks now, he knew, even with his eyes shut tight. And she would hiccup, and she would say ...
"Lysander, you helped me because you love me. Because I love you."
It made no sense. His left hand tugged at his hair. "We're not. You and I, we're the farthest thing from love. I'm always giving, and you're always- always!- taking. I don't love you," he pictured the heartbreak on her face even before the words left his lips, "I've had enough. I'm leaving, Lucy, for good."
Lysander Scamander opened his eyes and looked Lucy Weasley in the face.
"You can't leave!" her voice rose in panic, her tears drying as terror washed over her face. "Lysander you can't! I won't let you!" Lucy stumbled forwards, towards him, and even though he was at least a few feet ahead he backed away from her. He saw he trip on the loose white lace, saw her fall to the ground, saw the blood from her knees splatter the ground, saw her pink little girl dress flare out around her.
"Ow!" Lucy clutched her newly bloodied knees, fresh tears leaking from her eyes. "Y-you can't go now, Lysander, I can't walk see? M-my knees." Her lower lip twitched, trembled.
"You can walk just fine," he said stiffly, starting to walk backwards, away from Lucy, "You don't need me. You need to grow up."
"Lysander I don't know how to get home!" Lucy wailed.
You know that's a lie Lucy, we both know perfectly well that you can get home by yourself.
"Shame that is," he replied, "Maybe if you were paying attention you'd know we're only a 10-minute's walk away." He thought he saw the expression of guilt flicker over her face, just briefly.
"That's really far, Lysander," I don't know-"
"Stop. Stop saying you don't know. We both know you do know how, you just it to get what you want. You've always had your way, but not anymore."
"Lysander ..." For a second he wanted to stay, but he couldn't. He had to rid himself of the shackle that was Lucy Weasley. Lysander watched her for a lingering moment, taking in her perfect red-blonde hair, her light freckles, her frilly dress. It would be the last time, he promised himself.
So he turned his back on Lucy for the first time and strode away.
