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Summary
There is this childish urge in me: I want to laugh and call Potter names, getting under his skin, making him look, and notice me and respond. Making him pay attention. Making him furious, fierce and passionate.
Do I actually miss those school days? Oh, whom am I kidding? I want Potter's attention and his eyes on me. I want to feel his presence, focused on me alone, making my heart speed up, making me feel alive and alert. But now, I don't want his ire or spite; I don’t want to be mean in return. I want banter without meanness; I want his laughter and bright eyes, shooting glances at me; I want him to want to make me laugh. I want this easiness that he has with Weasley. I want him to like me. I want to discover how his fondness would feel, if even his hatred always made my heart race. And now, when we are not stupid children anymore, maybe I stand a second chance?