DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.

Only Cowards

See, it's not that he doesn't love Victoire.

It's just that...

Is it supposed to be this hard, to love someone?

He might be a sap but-

Aren't your face and your heart supposed to light up the moment they come into the room?

So why does he have to work to summon a smile to his face when she walks in?

Is it supposed to be an effort?

:Because how could it be an effort to love someone as beautiful as her but maybe he's just realized that love isn't all about beauty and 'you two look good together' it's about side-splitting laughter and stupid jokes and rolling about in the mud and loving each other anyway-and it scares him, because that only brings to mind one person and SHE'S TOO YOUNG:

--

And why does his heart speed up-

And his head spin around-

And the corners of his mouth pull up-

And his eyes go to her like magnets-

When Lily walks in?

(Oh, you know why)

And why, oh why, does all this seem as natural as breathing-

Why does she have to be the fish to his chips, the Wizard to his Oz-

Because it's so wrong

That she had to be the one made for him.

:Because her hair is too red and her skin is too pale and her eyes are too green and she is an beautiful, bright contrast, a symphony in imperfection and she bounces through the door like Christmas come early and also, oh yes, she's too YOUNG and if he doesn't watch out he might just fall into that reassuring, frightening, beckoning abyss:

--

If he was not a coward-

If he was brave and proud and a Gryffindor-

He could stand up on a table and tell everyone what he feels.

But he's not.

He's a wuss.

And so he spends his night gazing at the moon (like her, beautiful despite imperfections-or all the more beautiful for them) from his landlady's roof-

Instead of sleeping.

:He's too afraid what his imagination might come up with in that subconscious state and doesn't anyone see that he has to guard himself closely-otherwise he might just admit that he likes tattoos and scars and chipped, dirty fingernails more than perfectly moisturized skin and manicures?:

--

And maybe the fear

That fear that eats away at him

Rises a bit from her beauty-

For despite the chipped fingernails and the stupid jokes

She drags boys down like Helen of Troy

And Merlin, her face could launch all the ships in the world when she smiles.

So where does he figure

In the world of this girl

Who lives at a hundred miles an hour-

And leaves rainbows of beautiful destruction behind?

(Call it self-preservation, but he doesn't want to become an insignificant part of that rainbow)

But all the same

He wants to-

He wants to save her

And find the princess in the pirate queen

(Or maybe the pirate queen in the princess)

That she's become

Because she didn't use to be this way

And he wonders if she lives so fast in the hope that she'll eventually crash someday.

:He wonders if it's a mission of self-destruction, and does she even realize the collateral damage done to hearts like his?:

--

And maybe the fear-

It rises from the trusting, lamblike expression on Victoire's face

And fuck, he hates that expression

Because doesn't the lamb know it's in for the slaughter-

Doesn't her heart know it's about to be broken

Because sometimes he feels

Doesn't anyone with a pair of functioning eyes and ears

See the longing in his eyes when he looks at Lily, eleven years too young, and never to be his-

Hear the beating of his heart when she touches him-looks at him-talks to him?

When it ends with Victoire-

He knows it won't be easy-

It'll not be resigned nods of the head-

It won't be reassuring, empty words.

It'll be jagged tears

A screaming match

Breaking dishes

A lamb to the slaughter

Endless guilt

(Furtive relief)

:He loves her but it was never enough and it will never be; when he knows love can be so much more, when he knows that it can glitter and change colours and drag him down only to lift him up again-when he knows it can occupy every waking moment and even those rare sleeping ones :

--

And looking at a tangle of scarlet curls

And a wide smile

And laughing green eyes

And fluttering eyelashes

And also those too-short short-shorts

(In a moment of lost self-control, skinskinskin, tanned golden skin, and he wonders how his pale, pale hands will look against it)

He's too close to the edge-

And he's scared-

There is nothing to do but run.

Escape.

:It's cowardly, but he is a coward, and he cannot take the world collapsing on him if he tells the truth and he cannot take her turning her face away:

--

End

A/N:

So I promised to return to T/L when I was better, but I really couldn't resist this. I don't even know what this is-poetry? A story? Whatever. Okay, so my next mission is a piece of fluff. No, really. Possibly Scorose, maybe James II and one of those many next-gen female characters that seem to be hanging around. Hmm. Who knows? God, no, actually my first priority should be getting ready for that stupid Psychology test. God, why did I take Psychology? Oh, right. The only other option was Political Science. Scary.

We-ell...I love reviews, as you all know.