Eyes

glitterbracelet

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 30/03/2004
Last Updated: 30/03/2004
Status: completed

Harry's eyes aren't as green as they used to be. Hermione thinks about why. (AN: These were originally two separate drabbles that I combined into one. The last paragraph was separate, and the line "Harry, what ever happened to your eyes?" ended the first one. I took it out to make them flow together, but if they don't exactly, that's why.)

Chapters

1. Eyes

1. Eyes

I always loved your eyes. They were always my favorite part of you. I could stare into their deep green expanses and lose myself forever and not even care that the rest of the world was revolving around me, because I was with you, and that's all that mattered.

I loved the way your eyelashes were always so soft against my cheek when you gave me butterfly kisses. It always sent a tingle up and down my spine and then you'd murmur that you loved me and you'd kiss me for real. I always kept my eyes open when we kissed so I could stare at yours, although yours were usually closed. But when they were open I could immerse myself in them and forget all the worries that plagued my mind, because all I had to worry about was you.

I loved the way your eyes were darker in the mornings. When I'd crawl on top of you and wake you up by blowing softly across your scar, and you'd groan and moan and squirm a little, but you'd eventually wake up, opening your eyes so very slowly, blinking the sleep out little by little. And I'd do my part to help you by kissing the sleep away, and you'd flip me over onto my back and make early-morning love to me with your mussy hair and morning breath, and it never bothered me because I knew I always looked worse than you. And you still loved me. And I still loved you.

Harry, I loved your eyes. They used to be so full of life. They always had this spark in them, like you stood too close to the fire when you were a baby and the fire flared up and got caught in your pupils. I loved that spark.

Recently the spark has faded. Your eyes aren't as bright as they used to be. They no longer are clear green pools that I can swim in - now they're so dark they're almost black, and they're so cold that I can barely look into them without shivering.

Ron told me once that eyes are the window to the soul. I used to sit on a porch swing outside your window and rest my head on my arms on the sill and view everything that went on in the house, and you'd beckon to me and welcome me inside and we'd have tea - green, of course. Everything was green and bright and alive - the walls and the furniture and everything else. But now the shutters are closed and the siding is peeling and the swing lies unused in a heap on the ground and I stand on the front stoop banging on the door and screaming, praying you'll hear me. “Harry, open the door, I'm so afraid and alone out here, Harry, why won't you open the door?” And when you peek through the side window to watch me scream, I catch a glimpse in my peripheral vision and I wonder when you redecorated and why you didn't invite me to help and why the walls and the all the furniture are black.