Title: Lunch-Time Lust
Characters: Implied Snarry, Colin Creevey, Luna Lovegood
Word Count: 500
Summary: People are watching during a meal in the Great Hall.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Colin likes to watch . . . people. Eyes reveal everything about a person, don't they?
He notices immediately how the professor stares at Luna. All that glowing skin, he thinks. Who wouldn't wonder what it'd be like to touch?
Colin knows that no one ever wonders that about him.
But Luna seems curious, too, as her eyes follow Snape's progression toward the High Table. It is a nice ass, I admit.
The witch isn't the only one watching it. Harry always watches it, the poor sod. Snape's not gay—he couldn't possibly be gay the way he's caressing Luna with those dark, mysterious . . . .
The man's eyes are marvelous—so deep, so wide—even when they narrow in annoyance, as they do now as Ginny blocks Luna's body from his gaze. I wonder what he sees in her?
Colin always sits in the back of Potions; he doesn't want Snape to see him. If he ever saw my eyes, he'd know . . . what I see in his.
And that would be a disaster because Snape isn't gay. And even if he was . . . . he'd watch someone like . . . Harry.
Ginny moves, and Colin can see that Luna seems relieved. But she won't look at Snape, not now. He'd see.
He always looks like he's running, even when he walks.
He always looks like he's alone, even when he's surrounded by people.
He always looks, even when his eyes are closed.
He always looks angry, even when he smirks.
He always looks at Harry in derision, even when his eyes hold . . . heat.
He always looks frightened, even when his face is shuttered against himself.
He always looks like a hero to me, even though he plays the villain.
He always looks through me when I look at him looking at Harry, even though I know he knows I see him.
I see him staring at her all the time. I don't know why. She looks back, but she doesn't mean anything by it.
She must think . . . no. She's just . . . she wouldn't . . . she didn't see me with him—she couldn't have!
Oh, gods! What if she did?
But we were alone, and Severus always locks the door. No, Luna must just be wondering. It's my fault. She sees me looking at him, too.
She must see a lot, staring the way she does. She sees everything and nothing. She's just Luna.
And even if she thinks she sees something . . . .
I know the Creevey boy has transferred his affections from Potter to myself, but this is ridiculous! Perhaps a detention would dissuade the chit from darkening my door? There's no danger of Creevey ever acting upon his crush, but the girl . . . she has a heedless air about her. I expect she would make a go of it. Perhaps she'd make me a hat? Model it for me, nude? No. If I take that one, I'd have to keep her. And Potter is foolish enough to fancy himself in love with me—he'd never forgive me for . . . indulging myself with anyone else.