Disclaimer: All characters are property of JK Rowling.
A/N: Crack. Italics are the flashback. [Edited for typos 18/08/2011]
I see him everyday. I make effort to.
I waited behind the corner as he walked out of class. As he turned the corner he looked at me; puzzled, humoured. He made a comment to his friends. The tall red haired boy and the frizzy haired girl who's apparently really smart. They all laughed. At me. I shrunk back until they were down the hallway and out of sight before I timidly crept back after them.
I have photos. I've taken many. Stealth is my game. It didn't used to be that way. There was a time when I could walk right up to him; talk to him. But then…something changed. He grew annoyed with me; pushed me away. I suppose it was partly my fault. Perhaps I'd been too eager; crossed the line.
As I walked down the hallway, polishing the lens of my camera with the end of my tie, I saw him again in the distance. Only this time he was alone. Finally I might have my chance! I could talk to him, while he's without his audience. I could tell him how I feel about him. About the agonizing days and nights I spend wishing I could be by his side or in his arms.
I swallowed, trembling slightly as I made a step towards him, my obsession, but was crushed at the sight of a bouncy, red-head who jumped into his arms. I slipped behind one of the statues lining the wall as I watched them embrace and proceed to kiss. My heart fell to the floor, shattering. I couldn't stand to look, but I found myself staring; wishing I was her. His hands moved freely over her body. Her fingers ran through his thick, dark hair. Their tongues met gracefully in each other's mouths.
I lifted my camera that was hanging around my neck and raised it to my eye, staring through the lens at the couple. My finger slowly pressed down on the button.
In an instant, the lovers stopped and turned to me. I saw the anger rush into my beloved's face, the anger I had caused. Without another moment's thought, I turned and ran away.
I could not go back.
My fingers run across the leather cover of the thick photo album I've kept since my first year. It's stuffed full of photos. Mostly of him. Some people tell me I'm mad, but they don't understand. I've gone too deep now. It's all I have. Even if he doesn't return the feelings, I doubt my feelings shall ever change. He's my hero; I will live for him.