Her Eyes
Year 1
She was average. Pretty, but not gorgeous. That hair was positively atrocious. Her teeth were abnormally large. Her face was of a decent shape, her features soft, appropriately youthful. But her eyes. They were so very pretty. The way they widened with awe as she stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, twinkling with stars. The way they lit up when she saw all of the people talking and laughing and having fun. The way they filled with hope as she looked around the castle, hoping she’d have herself a new home. He saw her excitement, her nervousness; he felt it all too. She glanced at him and smiled when they locked eyes. He returned the smile, almost missing the magic that swirled all around them; he was so caught up in her eyes. All he needed was the magic of her gaze.
Of course she was a mudblood. Vile and wretched and despicable. He should have noticed. He’d have known her long before if she was a pureblood, wouldn’t he? How dare he even think she was remotely decent? His father would be disappointed in him. Socializing with that kind of people. Shame. She sat next to that red-headed pig and Potter, barely looking up as he approached. She was too busy talking and trying to fit into a world that wasn’t hers. That was fine. He wouldn’t look at her either. She was just filth. But he didn’t miss the rage that sparked in her eyes when he put Potter in his place with a simple uncaring statement, even as the disgusting Weasel looked bored by her presence. A brief hint of pity crossed his mind. She should understand that the Boy Who Lived wasn’t all that. She didn’t need to hang out with people like him. Of course she wouldn’t understand though. Just a stupid mudblood.
Year 2
She was such a know-it-all. Did her hand ever stay by her side instead of always up in the air? Didn’t she know that no one cared? No one thought any better of her for knowing so much. It was annoying really. Disgusting, even. She probably spent her free time kissing up to all the teachers, too, begging for higher marks. That is, when she wasn’t in the library practically inhaling books. It was pathetic. He thought of the monster released in the school. Maybe it would come after her first, shut her up for once. Maybe she really did deserve it. Even as he thought it, he knew somewhere deep down, that if she was dead, that would mean very bad things. For whom, he didn’t know. But he had bigger things to worry about. He’d done it. Spat the word at her. Labelled her as the mudblood she was. His father would be proud. So why did he feel so guilty at the hurt flooding her eyes as she tried not to cry?
Year 3
Time just made her more and more unbearable. Honestly he wondered why Potter hung out with the likes of her. The Weasel, he could understand. The blood traitor and the mudblood. They were a perfect fit really, they deserved each other. Maybe Potter was just misguided though. The teachers on the other hand ought not to be. The girl had broken more school rules in the past year than his entire house had. In the teachers’ eyes, though, she could do no wrong. Every time he thought of her, his mind filled with rage. It was unfair. She was destroying the entire social order, simply because she always had to know everything. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he’d honestly gotten bored of taunting her. He needed to stop investing so much time in trying to be creative in his insults. She wasn’t worth it. That’s what he told himself. Why else would he not care to be mean to her? She didn’t deserve him talking to her, and that was that. Except she always got that little spark in her eye, the flash of anger when he hit a nerve. It made him smirk, the way he could make her react. The way her eyes betrayed her every emotion. Sometimes, though, it annoyed him again. Stupid mudblood and her stupid eyes. Why was he obsessed? They were ugly. The brown was exactly like the muddy blood running through her veins. So why did he keep looking?
Year 4
He did a double take as she walked in. She was with Krum, but every boy in the whole school wanted her to be his. He knew he wanted her; he’d wanted her for a while. She was a complete vision, an angel haunting his recent dreams. He took one look at her and knew he had quite a few more sleepless nights coming. Another few nigHer dress was gorgeous. Her hair was set stylishly. Her makeup was light and natural. She’d done something to accent those eyes of hers. She was beautiful, gorgeous, enchanting. But her eyes. Her eyes. They were perfect.
Year 5
He loved it. That defiance in her gaze. Bound as she was by that so called Inquisitorial Squad that toad of a teacher had concocted, that fire was unquenchable. He kept an eye on her, watching her struggle against the bonds. He could read her emotions well enough by now, so long had he spent, thinking of her, wondering how he’d get her to understand, willing her to see through his façade. He knew she had a plan. She looked up at him and smirked, her gaze narrowed. She didn’t realize yet. She thought he was one of them, that he still thought of her as dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Little did she know that he’d stopped feeling that a long time ago. What he felt now was… something else entirely. But he couldn’t have her thinking he hated her. He stared steadily back at her. He’d prove her wrong if that’s the last thing he did.
Year 6
He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to see the change in him. He wanted her to know that he hated this task, hated the man, the creature who was forcing him to do this. He saw her alone and approached her. She greeted him with a raised wand. He held up his hands in surrender, and saw the clouds of confusion and distrust swirling in her eyes. He told her he wanted, needed to talk to her, alone. He was even willing to let her bind him down, if it meant she’d listen to him. She did just that. She dragged him to an empty classroom, sat him in a chair, tied his hands behind his back, and even took his wand for good measure. He needed this. He was desperate. He let her do anything she needed to feel safe, to give him a chance. He told her everything. He spilled his guts, watching all her emotions spread through her eyes, even though her face remained impassive. The shock, the pity, the worry, the care. He just hoped she could see the sincerity in his, hard as that seemed with them filled with tears. He just couldn’t help it. All the frustration, the pain, the terror of the past year just bubbled out of him. He finished his story and closed his eyes. The shame washing over him. There he was, broken down and bound, in front of a girl he had tormented for years, confessing horrid crimes, and yet, he hadn’t been cursed into oblivion yet. Suddenly, he felt the most unexpected thing: arms around him. His eyes flew open. The sight of bushy curls greeted him. She was actually hugging him. He breathed in the faint scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms and something that was uniquely her. She pulled back and looked deep into his eyes. And she promised him that she wouldn’t let him fall. She’d help him save himself. She was his lifeline.
Year 7
He saw her. In the midst of the battle. She stood amongst flashes of green and red, amongst crumbling walls and clouds of dust, amongst the fighting and the fallen. She threw spell after spell, fighting foe after foe. No Death Eater stood a chance against her. Twisting and dodging, she stood for what she knew was right. She was in her element, a powerful witch, magic swirling around her, just like the justice in her eyes. Strong, focused, she gave him the reassurance he needed with one look. He was Light, like her. He fought straight and true, sought freedom. She kept her promise; she saved him. He would keep his promise to himself; he wouldn’t let the light fade from her eyes. Not now, not ever.
The End of the War
He searched for her. She was still alive, still well. He knew it. She had to be. She’d made him a promise, and he had made her one. He didn’t know what he’d do if she was gone. She called his name, and he spun around. She sprinted that last few steps to him. He gathered her in his arms and held her tightly, so relieved. They pit perfectly against each other. She relaxed into him, a silent bond of trust and friendship they had grown into over the past year or so. He knew she felt him shaking, and she pulled away with a slight frown, looking him over for major injuries as he did the same to her. She looked back at him, and he looked at her. Drawing strength from each other. He carefully watched every emotion those eyes of hers displayed. He had grown so used to it, knowing her, reading her, seeing the deepest parts of her through them. He shared her pride, felt the fatigue, saw a flicker of another emotion. If he hadn’t felt it himself, he wouldn’t have recognized it. Love. That’s all he needed. He leaned towards her, and their lips met in a mixture of longing, of comfort, of pure, innocent, sweet love.
A Few Years Later
He stood at the altar, more nervous than he’d ever let on. Soft music began playing, and everyone rose. He looked to the door and couldn’t hold back a slight gasp. Breathtaking. She was nothing short of perfection walking down that aisle to him in that flowing white dress. He had eyes only for her, nothing else was so important that it could distract him from the witch in front of him. He barely payed any attention to the ceremony itself, opting instead to gaze deep into her eyes. He’d memorized her by now, and the pure love she looked back at him with put him at ease like nothing else could. Her eyes were big, bright, happy, and slightly shiny with tears of joy. Her eyes were his heaven on earth, never failing to make him calmer and happier. He was the luckiest man in the world. She was his, utterly and truly and only his, and nothing could make him happier. They said their “I do”s and he kissed his bride, a kiss full of love and hope and thanks and happiness.
A Year After That
He rolled over on the bed to see the witch asleep beside him. His girl. He smiled to himself as she began to wake. Her eyes fluttered open, so peacefully. They were so, so beautiful. He had long since put aside any pureblood beliefs, and saw once again what he’d seen at age eleven. He looked into her eyes, and she stared back at him, neither moving, neither making a sound. Her eyes were the eighth wonder of the world. She had promised she wouldn’t let him drown in sixth year. She never knew that he did. He drowned in those pools of love and adoration that stared up at him now. He knew, then and there, that he could do this forever. He could spend an eternity lost in her eyes.
