I Can't Look Away

I Can't Look Away

Disclaimer: “Harry Potter” belongs to J. K. Rowling. Only Cammy was created by me. :)

A/N: The other day, the delightful mskathy accidentally suggested an interesting plot bunny on Twitter: two kids making out in the back corner of the library. I'm not quite sure if this is what it's supposed to be. I think I got carried away with the emotional aspects of the story that I kind of forgot to put more action into it. My bad. So, yes, I'm sorry mskathy if this is more of a fluffy nature and not the passionate and/or funny makeout session your idea should have inspired. But thanks for the inspiration all the same. ;)

A shout out to my incredible betas from PTB, NomNomTomato, Klooqy, and mod Twimarti. They are my lifesavers. Those amazing people from PTB have been with me for almost all of my fics now. If they aren't your beta of choice yet, you should check them out now! (projectteambeta(.)com)

This fic is from Albus Potter's point of view. Scorp is Scorpius Malfoy, Rosie is Rose Weasley, and Cammy is my OC. This takes place in their fifth year, so they are around fifteen years old. This is a sort of futuretake for my other Harry Potter fic “Next In Line”, so now you see the direction NIL is going. :)

And as per my MO, this story is once more accompanied by my imaginary background music. It's “Reaching” by Jason Reeves.

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I know I should be concentrating on the book in front of me. Our Care of Magical Creatures test is only a few days away, and I really should be worrying about the possibility that I might fail it. But my thoughts, as well as my eyes, are fixed on the girl sitting right next to me.

We are in the library, so we refrain from talking to each other, lest we wish to invoke the wrath of Madam Pince. I watch her silently as she writes an essay for her Muggle Studies class. I notice the little things—the crease between her brows, the frustrated sigh that escapes her lips at a particularly challenging question, the drumming of her fingers on her lap as she tries to think, which pleasantly surprises me (she does it in an unconsciously conscientious manner so as not to create noise), and the furtive glances she is throwing my way when she thinks I'm not looking. She doesn't know it, but I am always looking.

She seems as tense as I am, and I don't blame her. It was my fault to begin with. I shouldn't have dropped it on her when she was least expecting it.

But I can't take it back now. It is officially out in the open. And what pains me is that she still hasn't said a word about it.

From our secluded corner at the back of the library, I notice Madame Pince standing up from her throne at the front. She gives us students a look of warning, as if to say, “Try anything funny and you'll be at the receiving end of my wand.” She then raises her chin and walks out, presumably to have tea with Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris.

I take this as my opportunity. “Cammy?” I whisper, although I might as well be talking normally now that the terrifying librarian is gone. The terror is still there, though, even if the person is not, so I resume in a low voice. “Are you alright?”

“Shhh!” Cammy frowns at me.

“But, Madam Pince is gone. We don't have to keep up this silence,” I assure her.

“I know. I'm trying to concentrate here, Al.” Her amber eyes find mine, then quickly look away.

I can't take this anymore. I am usually a very patient young man, but I've been waiting for four years. Surely I have some right to ask? “Cammy, about what I said last Monday—”

“Not now, Al. Please,” she says softly, pleading with those magical eyes. She is not playing fair.

“So when, Cammy? When do you plan on doing something about it? Because I've given you enough time. I've reached out to you as much as I can, but I can't do it alone. You have to let me know where you stand. I can only do so much.”

She runs her fingers through her long brown hair, disturbing the tiny flower pinned to the side. “I'm sorry Al, I'm just so confused...”

I fume silently as different emotions flash on her face. Fear, pain, guilt, and hesitation replace one after the other as various thoughts shift through her mind. I know one of them is about him. I know I shouldn't, because he hasn't done anything wrong, but at this moment I hate him for it. Even though it is her I should be mad at, I know I could never, ever do it.

“It's Scorp again, isn't it?” I mutter darkly.

She sighs heavily at the mention of the name of one of our best friends.

“He shouldn't be an issue anymore, Cammy, and you know it. You know he cannot be yours,” I continue, silently daring her to contradict me.

“Because he's in love with Rosie, as much as she is with him,” she finishes for me. Rosie, my cousin and another member of our quartet, may never say it out loud, but the four of us have known this fact for some time now. “No, Al, that's not what's bothering me. I don't have feelings for him anymore, aside from being a friend and a brother.”

“Then why?” What's holding you back? I basically bared my heart to you, and I know you feel something for me too. Why aren’t we already riding a Hippogriff off into the sunset?

I rein in my romantic tendencies and instead focus on her next words.

“Because!” She wails. “Something like this is too good to last. It's not normal. It's not sane.”

“Love never is,” I agree with her, my voice softening.

“See? You agree with me. I'm right about this. I mean, here you are, chased by girls from all four houses and all seven years. Even that girl with the Veela blood has already set her hypnotic eyes on you.” Is that a trace of jealousy there? my hope-filled heart asks. Cammy shakes her head at me. “You could easily have your pick from any of them. Why haven't you done so already?”

My poor, lovely, infuriatingly blind girl. Just because Scorp doesn't see her doesn't mean no one else does. “Because,” I pause for emphasis, “they are not you.”

“What's so special about me?” she asks confusedly, and therein lies the problem.

That question has baffled a good number of Hufflepuffs I've known, not just my dear Cammy. For all their easygoing nature, they can be real insecure underneath. It doesn't help that some Ravenclaws say they are slow-witted, or that most Slytherins declare that they lack ambition, or even that a few Gryffindors think they are not brave enough. The Sorting Hat said as much when in the past it sang of that house's founder being kind enough to accept those rejected by the other three. This, in my humble opinion, is the downside of that brilliant sorting system our founders devised years ago.

While I admit the four houses of Hogwarts are extremely helpful in maintaining order among students of spectacular numbers, it has also caused division among them. We've always been taught to engage only in friendly competition, but that rarely happens in a school with so many different personalities. This is one of those puzzles I wish I could find an answer to but simply can't.

Why can't those Hufflepuffs just stop for a moment and think about what admirable qualities they've got? Or, more importantly, why can't Cammy just look beyond the taunts and insults and see what I see? Hmm. Maybe I should make her see.

“Cammy,” I tell her in my most serious tone so she will not think it a ruse, “I look at you and I see a girl who is kind, selfless, loyal to friends, witty to a fault, smart, talented, and downright beautiful.”

She blinks uncontrollably. I wait for a few moments, but she keeps on blinking. When I contemplate taking her to Madam Pomfrey (seriously, all that blinking might mean some problem in the brain), she stops and sighs delightfully. “You really think so?”

I smile at her sincerely. “I really do, Camelia. Although that was a rather rudimentary assessment of you because you're so much more than that. There's so many things about you to like. Which is why I love you.”

She blushes prettily, staring at the side of my face. Perhaps at the dimple she might see there? Then after a beat, she frowns. I love that she always keeps me guessing what she's going to say next. “You do? But it could just be brotherly affection. You must be mistaken.”

“There is no mistake.” I shake my head. “I love you as a foolish boy loves a beautiful girl. I love you so much you are all I want to look at. I want to hold you in my arms, to kiss you, to show you how much this isn't a mistake.” Whoa, where did that come from? I didn't really plan on giving that somewhat corny speech, but it summarises my feelings nicely.

I can usually read her. Four years of careful observation does that. But right now, her eyes are hooded. I am a bit frustrated, but there's nothing I can do about that. Except to hold my hand out to her, to show her that I'm reaching for her again, that I always am.

She meets me halfway, but not in the way I expect. She closes the distance between us and touches her lips to mine. I am caught unaware but vaguely notice that this is definitely better than any dream I’ve ever had about this particular moment. She is so soft, so warm, so sweet. I cup her face in my hand, pulling her closer to me as I deepen the kiss. Her hand slides up into my already messy hair, and it feels like she's messing it up beyond repair. I never want this to end.

“Ahem! Mr. Potter! Miss Lore! What do you think you are doing?” Madam Pince's rather loud question breaks us apart in an instant.

My heart is pounding and I am sweating even in the cool air. I steal a glance at Cammy and she is blushing a bright red, her eyes downcast. I ignore the hoots of laughter around us and say, “I'm very sorry, Madam Pince. It's all my fault.”

“This library is not a place for socialising. You will do best to remember that,” Madam Pince admonishes us.

I nod and quickly gather my things while Cammy does the same. We hurry out the door, away from prying eyes. “Sorry about that,” I say as we walk towards the dormitories.

She shakes her head. “No, I was the one who started it. And,” she murmurs, staring at me in earnest, “I'm not sorry.”

I take this in, and then I have the biggest grin on my face. I hold her hand. It is small and fragile-looking like the rest of her, but she interlaces our fingers and squeezes with surprising strength. I look at her beloved face, not bothering to hide any more whatever I’ve been feeling since I met her. She gazes back at me, a happy smile on her lips. I wonder if she notices how I can't look away?

For clarity's sake though, I have to ask, “So, does this mean that your answer is—”

“Yes.”

And as she leans in for another kiss, I am sure there is no happier boy in the wizarding world.