INTERMISSION (slytherin boys imagines)

From the dining table~ LB (pt2)

this is a part 2 to little freak! i also realized that in some of my chapters i didn't link any songs but every chapter is named after a song that gave me inspo for said chapter! enjoy from the dining table by harry styles!

I heard she went to Hogsmeade with someone else.

I wasn't trying to find out, I don't ask about her. Not out loud at least. But word gets around, even the ones you don't want to hear. Especially those.

Apparently he's a Hufflepuff too. Tall, quiet, Good at charms.

Of course he's fucking good at charms.

I sat alone at breakfast that morning, staring at my toast like it would tell me how to overcome these meaningless feelings. Blaise then appeared out of nowhere where and sat beside me, rambling about nonsense. The noise of the Great Hall was background static to the only thing I could feel.

—

She moved on.

I didn't even notice when, but i'm certain there were signs.

"Woke up alone in this hotel room, played with myself where were you?"

It's pathetic, the way I still think about her. I hear laughter down the hall, and for a second I swear I see her. I see a flash of her scarf in the crowd, and my heart trips over itself like it still thinks I have a chance.

But I don't.

I killed that chance a long time ago.

I stopped showing up and she stopped waiting. That's fair isn't it? She waited long enough, and I made her feel like she imagined everything. Like she was the only one who felt it.

But she wasn't. Not even close.

I still feel her everywhere. In the silence that i've been living in since she's been gone, in the library, in the ache behind my ribs at 2 am when the fires gone out and my bed feels empty.

I miss her voice, her kindness, that stupid warm thing that terrified me. Because she was too good; too real. And I didn't know how to be loved like that.

So I let her go.

"Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too..."

I wait for that sometimes. A letter. A look. A sign that maybe she stills thinks about me the way I still think about her.

It never comes; I don't blame her. I wouldn't forgive me either.

She was in the courtyard, sitting under that tree near the fountain, the one we use to frequent in the middle of the night, with her ankles crossed and a book in her lap. She laughed at something the boy next to her said, and I felt my heart physically crack in half.

Not because he was him. Because she was still her. Still soft, gentle, the sunlight in this castle of darkness.

And I stay hidden in the shadows like the coward I am, watching something that used to be mine, something I never claimed.

"Even my phone misses your call... by the way."

I picked it up once; my quill.I started writing a letter to her.

Y/n,

I'm sorry I didn't stay.
I'm sorry I never kissed you.
I was going to.
Every time.
But you looked at me like I was something more than I am, and I didn't know how to be that.
I wanted to, for you.
I still want to.

I never finished it. Crumbled it up and burned it like all the other things I feel.

Because what's the point?

She's laughing again. Living life like she should be. And i'm stuck somewhere between almost and never.

Still sitting at this table, pretending I'm not still hungry for the version of myself she brought out when she looked at me like I mattered. Like I was worthy of her.

But maybe that's all it ever was.

A look, a moment.

A ghost of something I ruined... and can never get back.