She had been aware of his presence ever since he stepped into the library, as if her body was still attuned to his ( even after all this time ). Fragments of time spent together, secrets shared and honest truths, lingering in her mind as her head snaps up at his words. Sapphire hues instantly locking with his for a brief ( FRAGILE ) moment before she looks down again. Wrinkle upon otherwise smooth forehead showing her confusion at his words and slender hands move to twirl a stray blonde curl around her finger –– as they longed to touch him. To soothe and whisk away the worries in his mind. BUT she was not allowed to do that. Not anymore.
“ I don’t hate you, ” she replies. Looking up from where she is sitting, up at him as he is so close now. Closer than in months. “ I could never hate you, Amos. ” & even if being here, at this hour, with all the ensuing chaos around them, all Greta sees is him. The boy who had been her first in many ways, but most of all, had been her FRIEND, and perhaps he still was, a friend. “ Why would you think that? ”
Time might have given them a false memory and bitter taste on their tongues just by saying each others names, but one thing stayed the same: the feeling he had when seeing her, when he could truly admire her beauty, her lips, her eyes -- they were fascinating Sapphires and much more consistent than his mutant eyes, which possessed two different colors. Muggles even had a term for it. Heterochromia -- a very special condition of the eyes, in his case two different colored eyes, which were now staring at his love, his first.
“The way you avoid and look at me tells a whole other story, Greta,” he said, but looked hurt than angry. The way the broke up might have been his fault, considering he never really tackled the issues but avoided them. Too invested in a life filled with Quidditch and his career even Greta seemed to drag him down according to his father. He never blamed her, not at all -- considering their current status he might have made a horrible mistake. He never stopped looking at her and, in fact, stared at her intensely. Those eyes of his’ were demanding, controlling, even. He just couldn’t comprehend the idea of not having her at his side.
“I’m not blind, but perhaps I should be -- for my own good. What do you even expect of me, Greta? I can’t just live with the idea of us circling one another, always waiting for a move. I hate to wait and I hate to be kept guessing,” his eyes spoke another, much more dramatic language he couldn’t control, at least not like he controlled others. He gently grabbed her arm and dragged her closer towards him. “We were foolish enough to believe in us, do you agree?”
