Nothing Will Ever Change

Disclaimer:  I own nothing.  And I can’t find it within my Muse at the moment to come up with a creative disclaimer, so I hope this satisfies you.

A/N:  Many thanks to my fabulous beta-reader, Felina Black, and to my friends and my family, who read my stories even if they aren’t all obsessive Harry Potter fans like the rest of us.  I hope you enjoy this!

~~~***~~~

She runs into her dormitory with tears streaming down her cheeks.  They fight so much – so much – and sometimes she thinks she truly hates him. 

Then why does it hurt like this?

He doesn’t realize it.  She tries to convince herself that he can’t see what he does to her.  She blames it all on herself, for not being obvious enough.  How could he know?  How could she expect him to know something that she would give everything trying to hide?

They tell her that he feels the same way. How many nights have gone by where she has sat in the dormitory with Lavender and Parvati, listening to them gossip?  Her name always comes up, whether they know she is listening or not.  She hears them whisper her name, followed by his, mentions of chemistry and interest and possibly love that they see as so obvious on both sides.  And sometimes, she really thinks she sees it too.  She sees it when his eyes flicker with that fierce spark of protection – like he would die for her in a heartbeat.  This terrifies her, because she is brainy and book smart, but she is not brave or strong or clever or sweet and kind and generous quite like he is. 

She wipes her eyes and leaves the dormitory, heading to the Great Hall to attempt to choke down a meal. 

Her thoughts crash in her head as she walks alone down the hall.  She contemplates just telling him.  What would it hurt? 

Everything, she argues against herself.  Everything would be hurt.  She would say something stupid and ruin everything, because surely he did not feel the same.  And then he would feel terribly awkward and never look at her again – and she would know that the blame for the falling-out would sit squarely on her own shoulders.

Her emotions fill her, overwhelm her, and she feels ridiculous.  She is supposed to be the Know-It-All, not the whiny, moody teenager that she feels she has become.  She sits alone at the Gryffindor table, afraid to look at him.  She knows that he will only destroy her further, and though she thinks she deserves it, she can’t stand to see it.

He glances up at her from where he sits, alone as well, and the look on his face breaks her heart into hundreds of tiny pieces.  Confusion is written in his gaze, and she sees that he is angry and sad – perhaps even as sad as she is.  She lets out a sob, leaps to her feet, and runs from the Great Hall before she can do anything she regrets.

There is no point in staying anyway because he will never smile at her in that crooked, mischievous style of his, the one that he always saves for her, again, let alone will he be her friend – or fall in love with her.  How could he, after everything she’d said?

“You know what, Ronald?  You are selfish and rude and I never want to speak to you ever again!  I hate you!”

She wonders how she could have ever said anything so horribly cruel, but he had made her so angry.  Didn’t he understand?  She was afraid; she was afraid of the war and of what might happen to the ones she loved most. 

And that was why she didn’t want to play a game of chess.  When the whole thing blew over into a full-blown fight about everything about him that had annoyed her over the past month, she hadn’t been able to stop.  And neither had he.

It makes sense to her.  She had completely exploded over something extraordinarily trivial.  She is impatient and sharp with him – he deserves so much better.

When she reaches the Common Room, she collapses on a sofa and weeps.  She buries her face in her hands.  He’ll never care quite like she does – he will never love her – and she has no chance.

Nothing will ever change.

~~~***~~~

He blows out an exhausted breath as he watches her run from the Hall.

Bloody hell, this is all my fault, he thinks, and curses himself because he knows that he has ruined everything for good.

Sometimes he doesn’t even understand his own actions.  He would do anything for her in a heartbeat, whether it was leap off the astronomy tower or quit the Quidditch team. 

So why did he make her cry so much?

No one else makes her cry the way that he does, and he hates himself for this.  And yet, when she snaps at him about the trivial things that make her angry or mentions that horrible, brainless git of a Bulgarian Quidditch star, he can’t contain himself.  Insults fall from his lips as easily as rain falls from the enchanted ceiling on stormy nights.  But he loves her; he loves her with all his heart.

And he has to tell her.

This thought bursts into his mind so fast that he cannot stop it.  It sends his heart pounding and his mind reeling.  What would she do?  He can’t help but wonder – what would she say? 

She would probably bloody cry, he thinks sadly.  Either that or never speak to him again.

This is what scares him the most.  He is in love with his best friend – but she isn’t only his best friend, she is an amazing person who deserves so much better.

So much better.

He stands, deciding that he owes her an apology.  She’ll think he’s a better person for it, even though he’ll never be good enough.  Never.

He will apologize, and then he will leave before he can say anything stupid.  Because she’ll never care about him the way that he does about her, he has no chance.

Nothing will ever change.