She was sitting alone, swinging her legs, minding her own business.  A lock of hair stuck in her mouth and her hands picking at a thread on her jeans.  As he stepped closer, he could hear her humming some made-up tune.

            He wanted to stay there, secretly watching her forever.  He settled for watching her for a few minutes.

            She spat out her hair, eyeing her fingernails closely.  She picked at her cuticles a bit, before sighing and turning her attention back to the thread.  She wasn't trying to pull it from her pants, she was just playing with it.

            He smiled.  The girl was used to being unnoticed, he knew.  And that's why he loved watching her.  Noticing her.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

            He watched her slouch before her breakfast at the Gryffindor table.  He thought he saw her lips moving, as though she were talking to herself.  He smiled, turning to his own breakfast, but watching her from lowered lashes.

            She rubbed her eyes roughly, not fully awake.  She lifted a spoon, dipping into her porridge, which she'd thoroughly doused with honey.  When she lifted the full spoon to her lips, she found it too hot.

            He nearly snorted into his goblet of juice.  The face she made was hilarious.  He looked around.  Nobody noticed his outburst, and nobody ever noticed her.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

            Walking back from the greenhouses, he saw a distant figure by the lake.  He knew it to be her.  He approached her slowly, making sure not to step on the dry leaves.

            Her back to him, she sat.  He was distracted by her the wind whipping through her hair.  He couldn't see what she was doing.  Her head was low, her small frame shaking.  He couldn't see what she was going, but he could guess.  She was alone.  She was crying.

            He told himself to turn around and leave, but a part of him couldn't.  He couldn't leave her here alone.  Crying.  Thinking nobody in the world noticed her.

            For several minutes, he stood there debating with himself, watching her sob. 

            When her weeping slowed, he backed away, slowly.  He turned and walked away.  It was hard for him to do, but he figured that she may want attention, but wouldn't welcome his.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

            She spent nearly five minutes trying to get a small piece of her quill out of her mouth.  The feather was old and falling apart.  He wasn't surprised that when she sucked on the end for a moment, she got a mouthful of feather.

            She tried resuming her reading, and he tried resuming his own assignment.  He glanced up occasionally to see her slipping a finger in her mouth, to try and capture the elusive piece that was causing her to cough loudly.

            Despite the loud coughs, she attracted little attention.  And with the little attention she received, she seemed uncomfortable.

When two students at another table turned to look in her direction, her face blushed, a deep scarlet, looking embarrassed.  He snorted.  She wanted to be noticed, without being noticed.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

It didn't take him very long to notice that she was beautiful.  Truly.  He couldn't keep his eyes off of her anymore.  When he walked through the halls, he searched for her.  At mealtimes, his eyes naturally wandered in her direction.  And while in class, he'd close his eyes and only see her face.

But every moment he could, he sought her out.  He needed to know what she was doing. 

Did she already write in her diary today?  She always made the sweetest expressions when recording her life in that tattered book of hers. 

And did she spend the entire breakfast staring at Potter? 

Or what was she stealing from the lunch table today?  Usually it was an apple.

Would she notice that it was dinnertime?  Sometimes she got too absorbed in her studies in the library to realize it.

Questions like these plagued him all day if he didn't notice her.  He knew it was rather strange to be watching someone without them knowing it. 

He was sure that she felt lonely and wanted some sort of companionship.  But anytime someone talked to her, she avoided their eyes.  And at opportune times for her to speak up and be involved in a conversation, she occupied herself by looking at her scuffed-up shoes.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*

He needed to know her every move.  Every moment he wanted to know.  It was the closest thing for him to actually knowing her.