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Emptiness

You're alone. It's not a good thing, not pleasing to you or the few who were once close to you. You've changed over the years, changed with age, with time, with misfortune. You were once so amazing and so wonderful and few people see the fire shining through your eyes, that passion you've never learned how to hide.

It's sad really, your story, that is. You loved them, your parents, you loved them more then anything and the day they died, it's as if you died, too. You dream about them a lot. About the women with hair as vibrant red as yours, the only person who can make pizza just right, who knows the exact way to braid your long, wavy hair. You dream about him, about the only man with eyes as emerald as your own, the only person in this universe who understands your Lord of the Rings fetish, who knows of your secret passion for cars. They're your parents and you love them, not because you were obliged to or you thought you must, but because, they were the only people who got you, who truly knew who you were.

You sit in the common room a lot. You go there after supper when everyone goes out by the lake or to the library or, or wherever it is they go after dinner. You walk slowly down the stony, cold hallway after you ate hardly enough for dinner. You get to the portrait hole and barely audibly you say the password and walk inside. You sit by the fire, as close as you can get trying to savor the warmth of the flames. You close your eyes and loosen your tie as you sit there dreaming about life before their deaths. You don't like being closed off to everybody, how you turned away from your few true friends. You miss them, miss the jokes between you four, miss the hogsmeade visits and lounging out by the lake. You sometimes go by the window and watch the three of them sitting there laughing and smiling so happy to play in the snow or to sit in the autumn leaves, and without you. They've moved on, left you in the past.

You didn't expect them to hang around you long though. What could you expect? You turned so cold towards them, were so mean when they were just trying to be your friend and what else could you have expected. They never deserved you yelling at them, screaming at the top of your lungs about how they couldn't understand, how they mean nothing. They didn't deserve your false words about hatred and how there's nothing for you here at Hogwarts, how you wish you were dead. They gave up, you think. They gave up on you when you needed them most, gave up on you in your time of need. You don't blame them. You would have done the same thing.

You always turn away from the window to wipe a tear out of your eye. Thinking about Sarah, Mackenzie, and Hannah always brings you to tears. After your parents were gone, they were who you needed most, the only people you thought to seek comfort from. But you pushed them away, out of your life. You're alone now; at least, you think that you are.

But then you think about him, and involuntarily you smile slightly and a pink tint appears on your cheeks. He's surprised over the past year. He's been there for you like you never thought he could be. He was there when you need to cry, to vent all your sorrows and frustrations. He's there when you need to yell and scream and he just stands there patiently as you berate about his immaturity all because the night before you had no sleep from the tears leaking out of your eyes. He was there to make you laugh, to play a prank just so your eyes would spark and a smile would fill your face.

You love him. It's not some slow realization or something you've felt for months and months but never really knew that he was the one making life bearable for you, making you happy above all else. You were never blind to your feelings for him, always understood why he sends shivers down your spine, why when he hugs you, kisses your cheek, you can never think of anything else. You've always known that you loved him, even when he was a humongous prat, you still loved him. And he loves you, too.

You like sitting on the velvet arm chairs as the sunsets to read by the firelight. He loves you, that thought is forever in your head and you never stop asking if there's actual truth in that. You know he's in the common room with you. You know he comes in as you sit by the fire with his friends to make sure you don't cry, to watch over you, to protect you. He hates how you are. He hates how closed off you've become, how different you've become. He hates the proud, self contained, cold girl you are now. He misses you. Every time he's around you, you see in his eyes that he misses you, the real you.

You don't know who that is anymore. Who was that girl with the wild hair and wrinkled cloths? Who was that girl who fought with him for no reason at all? Who loved chocolate above all else? You can't imagine being her again. You can't imagine being so content with yourself, with life. You were once such a free spirit, so beautiful, so popular. You brought light into Gryffindor as you skipped into the common room and laughed with your friends and the Marauders. Who was she?

It's pitiful really. There's no reason for your seclusion, your isolation. You need companionship. You need those four girls who you had slumber parties with and snow ball fights all through winter. You need those three boys who are the most annoying, most funny, most amazing boys you ever met. Mostly though, you need him. You need to touch his black shaggy hair. You need to be held in his strong, muscular arms. You need to be loved by him. He'll save you, you know. Save you from your pain, from yourself. At the end of the night, after you read by the fire, after the life of the common room begins to die down, you walk to the stairs and stand still on the first step. You look behind you and your eyes lock with his, emerald staring into the most beautiful hazel you've ever seen. He can save you; you just have to let him.

End

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