I Guess I'm Dreaming Again

Sitting on an old, cracked stone ledge on the front steps of a little shop in Hogsmeade, Quinn Bronze observed scenes unfold in front of her like a variety of TV channels she could flip back and forth between. Sketchbook in hand, she let the breeze flip her dark brown bangs out of sight and settled her focus on two people she vaguely recognize as fifth years. The girl’s blue blazer was pressed so firmly to the boy’s grey hoodie that the color practically melted into a light periwinkle. His hands held her tightly around the waist with the exception of one finger that lightly brushed back and forth against the bare skin exposed between blazer and khakis. The girl’s lips feverishly pressed into his, her leg popping up in the air like a woman in a classic film. People scowled at the display as they pass, but Quinn studied the inappropriate act like an old piece of artwork. Intense passion was one thing. Love was another altogether.

Quinn’s attention now shifted to the left, a little further down the cobblestone path that circled the town, onto a very different couple. Different in age, because these two were in Quinn’s own year, sixth, and different in personality as well. Rather than ravaging each other like no tomorrow, these two shared a bench comfortably. Smiling. Talking. Laughing from time to time. If it were not for the fact that their fingers were laced between them, one wouldn’t have realized that they were a couple at all. Her bright, happy pink cardigan illuminated her rosy cheeks as she smiled at the couple’s private joke. His eyes, brown and doe-like, stayed firmly locked on hers with an expression that said there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Quinn looked back down to her untouched sketchbook and thought about what she’d just observed, It was a personal preference, really. Like, if you prefer spicy food to sweet. Horror movies to romantic comedies. A snowy winter to a hot summer. No choice can be considered wrong if it is what you prefer. Some people need to have the intensity to push them forward. They need the flavor and the excitement or else... What is there to enjoy? Comfort is fleeting, but the passion never escapes.

And others need to feel safe. They need the calm, cool feeling of connection. Those who appreciate the simple little things, those who can make the smallest good gesture seem grand, those who seek lifelong affection prefer a little predictability to any sense of danger.

And then there are those few out there like Quinn- who instead of preferring burning heat to casual warmth to a cool breeze to an icy wind- want to feel it all but can never find it in one other person. Who plead for safety when face-to-face with fear, but fly to adventure whenever the opportunity arises again. Those alone on the stone steps, not close to the safe ground nor the shooting stars. Those with blank sketchbooks and empty hearts.

Just as she was finally about the put pen to paper, a presence near her forced Quinn to look away. George Weasley, dashing in his winter springtime robes, was waiting with a crooked smile.

“You look lonely,” he noted. “Mind if I keep you company?”

“Not at all,” Quinn responded shyly, making some room for her red-headed crush on the steps. She got lost in his company, thinking about how the closing thing she felt to that love and comfort and passion she wanted was the feeling she got whenever George was around. He was exciting and fun, but also sweet and easy-going. Funny and bright, while also relaxed and a no-pressure friend. He was... well... everything Quinn wanted.

“Quinn? Are you in there?” his voice interrupted her musings.

“Yeah, sorry,” Quinn snapped back to reality. “I guess I’m dreaming again.”