Trying to Forget Him

I watch him. I know it's creepy, and I feel ashamed every time I catch myself doing it, but somehow my gaze always finds its way back to him. He's never noticed...I don't think that he even knows I exist for any reason other than to annoy him, and he pays me little mind. That's just fine with me. If he knew how fascinated I am with him, he'd probably never come within sight of me again, and that would be unbearable. As it is, I will have to leave him far too soon.... But I have prepared myself for that, and I can handle it; I think I can handle it.

I don't know why he interests me so much. I know it's not his 'good looks'. He's rather ugly, I suppose. A long, hooked nose, stringy, greasy hair.... His skin is so pale he's nearly translucent, and I once actually caught myself wondering if he would glow in the dark if he didn't cover himself with so many layers of black robes and cloaks. I felt horribly guilty after that particular thought...and guiltier that I'd thought it out loud...but Harry and Ron seemed to find it amusing, and I tried not to dwell on my treachery for long. After all, I'm sure he's said worse about the know-it-all, Mudblood Gryffindor in his day.

His looks repulse me, so I know that's not the reason I'm attracted to him. Yes, attracted to him. I know, I know, it sounds disgusting. I hate myself for feeling that way. If anyone found out, they'd either have me committed or beat me around the head until I came to my senses. I'd submit to it willingly; I'd give almost anything to be free of this obsession. But I suppose it's true that you can't pick whom you fall in love with, and my heart will always belong to him, even if he will never accept it.

I think, perhaps, it was curiosity that first attracted me to him. He seems so cold and distant, so disinterested in life... but on a few occasions I have been blessed with a glimpse at the person behind that hard façade. The brief flash of hurt or guilt or sadness in his eyes; the uncertainty or fear evident on his face; but for only the blink of an eye.... I'd never have seen it if I hadn't been watching, but as I said, I watch him every opportunity I get.

There are so many things that I want to ask him, to learn from him and about him. Why he became a Death Eater is the easy question, one every person who's ever known him wonders. The second question is always, 'What made you switch sides and turn spy for the Order?' While I would like to know the answers to those questions, they hardly seem important. After all, that was only twenty years ago....

I once looked back in the old Hogwarts records and found a photograph of the Slytherin house in his first year of school. He wore that cold, hard mask of non-expression even then, at eleven years old. What could happen to make one so young so distrustful, so closed off to the world? That is my first question. Who is he, and what made him that way? Really, this answer may very well explain any other question I might have.

He is amazing. He stood face to face with the Dark Lord on more occasions than I care to think about, and yet he still lives. He was tempted with power and wealth, influence and glory. If Voldemort had won the war...and surely he would have, if his trusted servant had actually been spying for him and not against him...then all of his loyal followers would be kings among men, so to speak.

Yet he looked that temptation in the face daily and chose to walk away from it. How hard must it have been, turning his back on his friends to help the Light, the very people who made fun of him, hated him and feared him?

He protected my friends and me, always risking his life for our safety. He hates us, wishes to kill us himself at times, I'm sure... and yet, on more than a few occasions, he's put everything on the line to keep us alive and well, with nothing to gain on his part. For that, he has my undying gratitude and respect.

Sometimes I want nothing more than to be like him. My biggest flaw has always been that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, to let my emotions rule everything I do and say. My feelings cloud my judgment and put everyone at risk. He simply pulls down his mask of control and wisdom, and he is in full control of his actions and thoughts. He always keeps a level head under pressure and in the face of grave danger....

Yet as much as I admire the face he shows the world, I hate how much it controls him. I'm fascinated by the idea of what lies hidden beneath the mask. Sometimes I think he is angry and full of hate, and just barely manages to keep it in check. Other times I wonder if he is sad and hurting, but too proud to let anyone see the real man behind the sarcasm and icy glares. Most often, though, I think of him as a lost little child, terrified and intimidated by the crazy world around him, but putting on a brave face so that no one knows he wants nothing more than to run away and hide. I picture him more easily in that way than in any other.

As my last year at Hogwarts came to an end, I managed to distract myself from the fact that this was it...I was leaving and would never see him again. It wasn't hard to keep my mind off of my impending departure; Voldemort's fall took place just three days before the end of term, and there was more to do and more to deal with in the aftermath than there was before it occurred.

It didn't matter that our list of casualties was short; we had still lost friends, and everyone was sombre and subdued, though few could keep from smiling at the very realisation that for the first time in twenty years, we were free from the terror of a madman.

The night after the battle, I finally allowed my mind to wander back to him unhindered, and I realised that I'd missed my forbidden thoughts. What was he thinking at that moment? Was he happy now that he was finally free? It seemed to me that he, above anyone else, deserved to be. After all, he gave his whole life to the 'Cause', and now, finally, he had something to show for it.

He is renowned as a hero, and though many will barely acknowledge his part in the war, to me he is the true victor. Harry may have been the one to cast the Killing Curse, but Voldemort was distracted at the time, and it was hardly a show of great power or cunning on Harry's part.

Voldemort watched as his trusted servant tore off his Death Eater mask and drew his wand, felling the cloaked men and women left and right, casting the Killing Curse on those that he had supposedly sworn his undying allegiance to. As he passed behind me, I managed to catch a glance of the Dark Lord's red, venomous eyes. He didn't look angry. He looked surprised, outraged....

He looked as if his own son had slapped him in the face. I guess, looking at it from his point of view, that was what had happened. I nearly smiled at the thought of someone...anyone...daring to slap the most evil wizard of our time across the face. It seemed ridiculous, and yet the man whom everyone called a coward had done just that. He had shown strength and courage beyond that of anyone else fighting for the Light, and it was because of him that we won.

The narrow, glowing eyes flicked to me, catching me staring at him unabashedly, and I knew in that instant that I would die. But before either of us could raise our wands, a green light encircled the Dark Lord and he fell, ending the war and freeing us all.

As the following days rushed by and my childhood drew to a close, my friends and I made our way around to all of the staff, saying our goodbyes. Hagrid cried; Professor McGonagall had a rare but welcome hug for each of us. Nearly all of them told us that we were three students they wouldn't soon forget, and I didn't doubt their sincerity. This war had taken its toll on everyone, and I don't think anyone will ever forget anything that happened to them or any of the people they knew during that time. We all shared a connection through our suffering and fear.

As we reached his door, my heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Harry asked to go in first, on his own. He wanted to apologise for his behaviour over the years and thank the man who had helped us so much. We waited outside, giving him the privacy he needed. He emerged a few moments later, looking at me expectantly. I shook my head briefly. I wasn't ready; how can one ever be ready to say goodbye to their world? I couldn't do it....

I started down the hall, hearing Ron open the classroom door and shout, 'See you around, Professor!' before they followed me to the Great Hall for our last dinner under the enchanted ceiling of stars and purple clouds.

I decided that I had to talk to him, had to say something. I didn't know what, or how, but I knew that I couldn't leave without saying goodbye. I borrowed Harry's map and Invisibility Cloak, thanking the gods that he knew me well enough to read the expression on my face, to know not to ask what I was using them for.

Wandering the dungeon corridors, the map led me to a door I'd never paid attention to before. He was just on the other side... this had to be his private chambers. I stood there for hours. I must have lifted my hand to knock a thousand times, but each time I would stop myself, terrified. What would I say to him? Thank him like I had the other professors? No, he deserved better; not to mention, I could easily have done that during the day, in his classroom.

So... what? Could I tell him that he amazes me? That I want to sit and talk to him forever, to learn all of his secrets? Could I tell him that I want to be the one who gets him to open up? That I want to see who he is inside, and find some way, any way, to make him happy? Could I tell him that I love him?

No. No, I couldn't tell him any of those things. He would have laughed at me, told me I was stupid, and sent me back to my rooms. He hated me. He had since my first year, when I was an overzealous, obnoxious little eleven-year-old, and I held no illusion that he would change his mind.

Having to leave him was hard enough, but at least I still had my hopes and daydreams. I could still pretend, in the far recesses of my mind, that I was with him forever and that he loved me as much as I did him. If he rejected me, if I had to see the disgust and disdain on his face and know that those looks were directed at me, I would die. I would have nothing left to live for, to keep me going....

Daylight was creeping over the horizon as I ascended the dungeon steps and tiptoed back up to Gryffindor tower. I skipped breakfast and finished packing my things, tears running unnoticed down my face. This was it. This was goodbye.

He wasn't there to see us off, and for that I was glad. I didn't know what to say to him. If he had been there, I don't think I could have resisted running into his arms and holding on for dear life. Harry and Ron climbed into the carriage, waving goodbye to the professors as they did, and I got ready to step in behind them. Giving my teachers one final wave, I caught a glimpse of a face in the window nearest the door. It was him.

My heart stopped. Was he watching me? No, he would be watching his Slytherins, seeing them off in his own way. And if he was watching this particular carriage, it would only be to assure himself that the Gryffindors who had made his life hell for seven years were finally leaving.

Catching his eye, I searched fervently for something, anything... any sign that there was something there beside hate and loathing. But his face didn't change...the cold façade was firmly in place, and I knew that I would never be the one to take the mask from his face and shatter it, though I wanted nothing more.

Not trusting myself to do anything else, I nodded slowly at him. He just glared back at me, and I ducked my head into the carriage, closing the door before he could see the tears that were now once again streaming down my face.

Harry and Ron were concerned, of course, but I brushed them off, telling them that I was just upset at the idea of leaving school. They nodded and rolled their eyes when they thought I wasn't looking, probably thinking that this was just their typical little bookworm, heartbroken at the idea of leaving behind Hogwarts' impressive library.

For a moment I hated them for being so stupid, so unobservant. I hated them for being my best friends and not really knowing me at all. And I hated myself for not showing them the real me, for preoccupying myself so much with someone who had no interest in me whatsoever that I had managed to alienate my true self from those closest to me.

Vowing that I was going to change, that I was never going to allow my heart and mind to dwell on my sick obsession for another minute, I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I thought ahead to whatever lay in my future, pushing thoughts of him to the back of my mind.

Well, I tried, at least. But his face was always there every time I closed my eyes, and it became apparent to me before we'd even reached the train that I would have a new mission in my life: I would spend the rest of my life trying to forget.