This is it, she thinks. This is the moment.
The moment to prove, once and for all, why I was almost a Gryffindor.
And the words are there, on the tip of her tongue--ready and waiting to emphatically state all the reasons that he is wrong, all the reasons that he cannot and should not back out on them. Because she simply won't have it. She won't have him give up on her. Not now. Maybe nine months ago, when they barely knew each other, but not now.
Because she knows now. She knows what this is--what they are, what they have always been. Things have been said that she can never unhear, and yet here they are and he has the audacity to stand in front of her and try to unsay them.
(A nagging voice at the back of her head reminds her that she has done the exact same thing to him. All the time. For nine months straight. And he always fights her on it.)
Now it is her turn. Her turn to step up. Her turn to put her foot down and and say that she knows the truth and she point blank refuses to accept his attempt to take it back. But for some reason, she simply cannot bring herself to do it; not even as the seconds pass and those words--or any words for that matter--refuse to leave her lips.
She finds that she is absolutely terrified of what might happen. And she is infuriated by that, because she has always been led to believe that when you love someone, fear is irrelevant. And she wants nothing more than to laugh in the face of her own insecurity. She wants to grab his wrist, look him straight in the eyes, and ask why.
Why did you kiss me? Why did you even start this?
In the end, fear and insecurity win out (they always do), and she says nothing.
She realises that there is a reason she was only almost a Gryffindor.
As she turns to leave, she thinks that perhaps the fault is not in her lack of bravery, but rather in her lack of motivation to be brave. After all, feelings are nearly always fleeting--and if she has learned anything, it is that only fools play fast and loose with their hearts. Perhaps she is willing to surrender without a fight because she does not care enough to shoulder the struggle. Perhaps she is willing to walk away because she simply does not want it enough to gamble everything.
That is what she tells herself, at least.
But as she rounds the corner, barely managing to contain her strangled sobs, a part of her knows that is simply not the truth.
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