ᴜɴᴅᴏɴᴇ | ᴅ.ᴍ

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

There wasn't a picture since it can be recreated to a new form.

New form?

I would usually like to look around the environment I'd surround myself with to give myself ideas. It always worked. My eyes landed upon a girl, she had long blonde hair, it was beautiful with the thickness of the hair wrapped into a high ponytail.

Short strands of hair pulled out to frame her face as her eyes would jump between the book she was reading and Granger. She would look at her differently than you were at a stranger.

She was interested in her. That was obvious. It was even more obvious considering she was holding the book upside down pretending to read it. It made me smile as I looked back down at the dark artifacts and my smile was wiped away.

It was sad how quickly I was reminded of reality and how the notations of romance were probably not written in my books. I felt like a confused person, I didn't believe in love — at all. I found it dysfunctional and unreal, but at the same time, I was a complete and utter hopeless romantic.

I'd give myself a certificate for having a broad imagination but sometimes it was truly concerning how it would manipulate certain things. Did I like this person, or do I like the idea of them I have created in my head?

That was the big question having over my head like a pendulum, back and forth and no matter how much force I applied — it wouldn't stop swinging. I would blame myself for being a hopeless romantic because of books as well.

I would do anything to have the love interest the main character has. The way they would risk for them, sacrifice for them, the way they would get to know every inch of their body and mind. It's like they would inhale them like they were a fresh breath of air for them.

I wanted it as much as I was in denial of it.

I mostly thought I wasn't worthy of it, or maybe not that — I mostly thought how I'd never received it so I chose to not believe in it. It was easier that way. It was simpler. Bittersweet.

Love was bittersweet. The reality was bittersweet.

"Do you think if I were to ask a Professor about this? They could have an answer?" Granger asked as she slightly bit down on her bottom lip. She usually did that when she was stressed, which means she did it often.

"I don't think any of the Professors would willingly answer that question, Granger." She looked disappointed. "As well as the fact we're asking questions about the dark wizard, wouldn't that raise quite suspicions on why a bunch of students are suddenly interested?"

"Couldn't it be like a bunch of students picking up a murder case and wanting to solve it, right? It could be that simple if we made it."

"Honestly I can't tell if you're trying to convince me or yourself." I looked at her with curiosity as my eyes drifted to the blonde behind us. Her eyes would still lurk at Granger from time to time, tracing the edges of her book. Her Slytherin tie was loosely tied around her neck as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt.

I couldn't help but look at her. Look at the way she looks at Granger. The urge to make her realize.

"I'm becoming desperate would be the right word." She indeed did look desperate. She has been. After our fourth year, everyone has been on a little edge. Since the death of Cedric Diggory, Granger has worked continuously.

The need to prove to everyone that Harry Potter is not a liar, that he speaks the truth. She needed answers and she was willing to do anything for them. It was quite clear.

Not in the matter that she cared about what people had to say. Well, maybe a little bit on what others had to say, but more towards trying to find more people. Trying to make alliances to defeat whatever might be coming our way.