He shifted a bit and looked at her; without his glasses, she looked a bit hazy around her edges, blurred, like a thumb had wiped down a chalk line, making it soft and curved, gentle to the touch. His hand met the blurry lines of Ginny and blended in and he stared at that mix of him and her as he breathed.
"I hate how - it feels like The Chosen One - or what is the Prophet calling me now, The Saviour? Whichever. That The Great Harry Potter has descended and is speaking to the masses," he said in a slightly strained voice. "I feel like I'm - tipping the scales in a way when I speak anymore. But I really want to comment sometimes, you know?" he said, finally meeting her eyes. Just like I'm anybody.
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