Master of Words

Don't you ever tire of wearing that unhinged grin?

I don't suppose you do. Because as far back as I can remember, it's always been there. Always crooked, always a little mischievous. Always a bit knowing, like you know something the rest of us don't. And I'm quite certain that you realize how infuriating that is for me.

Sometimes I just sit and stare at you, watch as that smile slides so smoothly over your lips. Sometimes it spreads so wide that it reaches your eyes, and they twinkle like shining diamonds reflected in sunlight. On those occasions, I know that something good has happened, and my mind temporarily soothes itself.

You always smile when you look at me. And sometimes I wonder what that means - my stomach flips at the possibilities, but at the same time my heart sinks into the deepest depths of my chest - these things are far too complicated to ponder. I'll keep telling myself that I'll think about it tomorrow, until tomorrow turns into forever.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, or so they say. And you told me once that mine needed shades. "There's an ocean of emotion in those eyes," you said. And I laughed, because 'ocean of emotion' rhymed. I made light out of darkness, like I always do, and you merely smiled, that same smile that continually graces your lips. And while you smiled, I cringed invisibly, burying your words in the back of my mind.

"You've always been good with words," you said to me all those months ago. "Except when it matters." You had chuckled then, as if you had just made a joke, and I joined in. But we both knew that there was something true in those words, something that neither of us would ever allow ourselves to say aloud.

I was the master of words, and you were the expert of interpreting those that never left my lips.

The orange glow of the fire is illuminating your face, bathing it in spilled gold. My eyes meet yours, and somehow I know that you understand, you know. And you smile, that crooked, mischievous, knowing smile that drives me wild. You turn to leave, letting me know that you're waiting patiently, just as you always have. I would never expect anything less of you.


The Art of Falling

Maybe this is what falling feels like. The wind whipping against your face, the twisting in your stomach, the fear and exhilaration of having no idea when you're going to come crashing down.

It's like slow motion, almost, watching this scene unfold. It should be faster, quicker, everything whizzing past me in frenzied blurs, but it's not. It's slow and daunting, and I feel like I should scream, but I can't. I can't because my throat is constricting, and my breathing has become scarce as my eyes linger on the battle raging in front of me.

And you're falling now, too, just like me, only your eyes are wide and surprised instead of cold and disbelieving. You're falling because it's over, it's all over, and you've finished your part. Because you're gone now, too, finished just like the battle we've won.

I almost don't believe it, seeing you lying there, so still and motionless. Your eyes are no longer dancing with mischief or burning with determination – instead they are glassy and hollow, that striking blue masked by a never-ending darkness. I can feel myself slipping away, unwilling to accept what's happened as reality. But as I stand there, dissolving into life's backdrop, I realize that this is just another side of reality, a side I never really wanted to believe existed.

And now, as you're lying there, I'm beginning to understand everything – all of those arguments, sidelong glances and our sour moods after the Yule Ball. Maybe it meant more than a strained friendship or playful bantering. Maybe it meant the one thing I could never bring myself to say aloud.

It's hitting me so hard that I don't have time to cry, not when I'm falling so quickly into nothingness. All I can do is stare at you as the world passes me by, somehow comprehending what's happening even though I won't believe it.

And maybe what hurts most of all is realizing that I'll never be able to do simple things with you again, like chastising you for not doing your homework, or spending summer holidays with you and Harry at Order Headquarters. I'll never be able to sneak under Harry's invisibility cloak with you again and head off on fabulous adventures, because now our days of adventure are over. Hogwarts and holidays and love we never admitted to feeling are gone now, already buried in the deepest corners of my mind.

And maybe this is falling, faster and faster, the biting wind still whipping against my face, only differently this time. This time I know exactly how I'll land, exactly when I'll come crashing back down to reality. Because I'm still falling, only now you're not there to catch me.