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She should hate him. That’s what any normal girl in her situation would do. She doesn’t owe him anything; he’s the one who left her, after all. She thinks she could hate him if she concentrated enough. He’s irritating, frustrating, brooding, and probably any other ‘-ing’ she can come up with. It also doesn’t help matters that his hair sticks on end at every angle. Quite distracting. Another ‘-ing’ to add to the list.
He’s aggravating, too. She realizes that aggravating is quite like frustrating and irritating, but she doesn’t care. Aggravating perfectly describes him. She mentally adds the word to the list as she continues to reason with herself as to why she should hate him. Any ‘-ing’ words will do.
Annoying. Yes, annoying. She still considers it annoying that he used to forget that she was around. How he’d huff and puff about being possessed and forget that she honestly knew how he felt. She had felt it too, once. She also remembers how annoying she found it when he talked back to Snape, receiving yet another detention. And, she reminds herself; detention time always took away from…
No, she admonishes. Don’t think of that. You’re to hate him, remember?
She recalls that he was always so good at convincing her to do something. Convincing. He convinced her that he cared. He convinced her that broom cupboards were the best place for kissing. No wait, she stops herself, she was the one that convinced him into that one. A hot blush infuses her cheeks as she remembers several fond moments spent alone in cupboards. Cupboards that were warm and dark and small…
Oh bloody stop it! You’re supposed to be making a list of why you hate him, not why you…
She stops mid-thought. Where was she? Oh yes, convincing. He convinced her that it was safer if they no longer dated. He convinced her that it was better if they stayed apart. He convinced her to stay behind.
A tight knot painfully forms in her throat and her eyes, for some unknown reason, begin to burn. It hurts her to breathe, her chest constricting in order to stop her heart from beating…for him.
The list, she reminds herself as she swipes at the tears in her eyes. Concentrate on the list.
He’s daring in a have-to-save-the-world-hero-complex-must-be-right sort of way. She convinces herself that she finds it annoying that he has to always save the day. That the whole ‘hero’ thing really is rather maddening. He can’t assure her that he’ll come home. He can’t promise her that he’ll be alive in five months, let alone five years. There is no hope of a future with him until he comes home triumphant. No plans, no hopes, no dreams. There is only right now, only the moment. Nothing more, nothing less. A normal boyfriend would be so much simpler. One who didn’t know that she’d fallen for the kind words of a pubescent Dark Lord. One that hadn’t seen her cry after he’d saved her from the Chamber. Who wants a boyfriend that has saved their life, after all?
She thinks he’s so confusing; she never can make him out. He ignored her for what seemed like ages only to kiss her in front of the whole common room. Quite confusing indeed. It honestly had come as quite of a shock to her that he even thought of her that way. And the way he thinks she’ll be safe once he’s out of her life, confusing and crazy.
Crazy…crazing. He certainly is crazing, driving her barmy from time to time. The way he tickled her, refusing to stop until she could no longer breathe due to laughing so hard. The way he’d stare at her for hours, only to look away each time she looked up. The way he’d hide his heart from everyone, bare his soul to no one. The way he’d expect for her to know what was going on in his head without telling her.
He’s unreliable-ing. She nods resolutely, realizing that unreliable-ing isn’t exactly a word, but she doesn’t care. This is an ‘-ing’ list; so, unreliable-ing it is. It was so unreliable-ing when he didn’t tell her he was leaving the castle, she notes. It was even more unreliable-ing when he got his sorry arse yet another detention and missed the last Quidditch match of the season.
We did win the Cup anyway, a small voice in the back of her head whispers.
She knows that it’ll be hard to get over him. She also realizes that he probably will always hold that small part of herself that she’ll never let anyone else see. That scares her. It scares her that she could be so attached to him at such a young age. That she can’t get over him as quickly as she had Michael and Dean. That their relationship was actually a relationship, not a fling, a small stab a normalcy in their not-so-normal world. She hates that he has that control over her. Hates that she has to make a stupid list just to rationalize why she should get over him.
She hates his hair, his eyes, his…lips. The way he plays Quidditch, the way he laughs, the way his brow pinches when he’s confused. She hates his smile, his goodness, his heart. But most of all, she hates he can’t be with her. Oh yes, she hates him.
She hates him, she hates him, she hates him!
But oh, when he kisses her, her skin burns. She feels him even when they aren’t touching. And when he smiles at her, it reaches his eyes and she feels it in her knees. They were happier together, she believes. He was happier when he was with her, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?
She tempers her lip for a moment before deciding that this ‘-ing’ list might need a positive part as well. It really wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t look at both sides of the situation.