Hey guys! This is my first fanfic, so please tell me if I made a mistake or formatted something wrong. Also, I DO NOT OWN GLEE OR HARRY POTTER. I don't have the genius in me to creative either phenomenon. I am simply a loyal fan. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story! Please review, I'd love to see what you make of my craziness.
The dormitory door cracked behind me like a whip.
The slam of the door left the owls shrieking, the bed frames trembling, and my hands twisting into my hair. Whatever I had just seen had seized my heart and thrown it into the frozen lake that spread for miles in the boundaries of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was like breaking a mirror, breaking my heart was bad luck.
Usually the heartbreakers suffer in a matter of ways, including death threats, random jinxes, and a handful of insults casually thrown their way every single day. I, Santana Lopez, am the baddest bitch that Hogwarts has ever seen. I don't let people off easily. But who would have ever guessed that she would have broken my heart?
Pouncing onto my bed, I swallowed back my tears. I'll be damned if Pansy, Sergia, or anyone in my dormitory walked in to see tears dribbling down this hard face. I scrambled off the side of the swaying bed and seized my memory, my own nickname for a scrapbook that I store any photo or memorabilia of some degree of importance within. Its not like I've shared this nickname with anyone, or this scrapbook for that matter.
Past the worn yellow cover, flipping past the photographs of the small girl in black smiling as if she was happy. She wasn't.
Past the photographs of family reunions, wands sprouting glittering sparks of any color imaginable and colors humans don't have the creativity to discover yet.
The picture of herself at age 11, standing in front of the ruby red train with its golden trimming and the title "The Hogwarts Express" adorned on the head stopped me. She was very close to what I was looking for.
Next page. Front and center. The picture was very simple, and didn't contain me who had absentmindedly taken the photo. The photo was very blurry, muddles of drab colors and shapes mixed here and there. However, it was clear enough for distinguish the figure featured.
She had pale blond hair that was very straight and gave the impression that is was a horse's mane. It looked like silk, and fell down her shoulders in precise sections. The girl wasn't looking into the camera's lenses, and looked instead at the exotic package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans that she clutched eagerly in her hand. Her face was very serene and peaceful, calmly looking at her candy even though you could tell in the way she sat at the tip of the train seat that she was overflowing with excitement. Her nose was very straight, her eyes were facing downwards, and she was very pretty in an unheard of or unseen sort of way. She looked almost like a lioness, strong, fierce, and pretty in a way that wasn't Barbie.
The hands that slid the picture out of the album were faintly shaking. I closed my eyes so tight that I saw random bursts of light. Light was better than the tears that were threatening to cascade down my cheeks.
Why was I crying?
Opening my eyes, I stared intensely at the photograph. I tried to unfocus my eyes, to calm my pounding heart, but it simply didn't work. Memory after memory slipped into my head, and I began to remember all of the times I had spent with her. Everything we had gone through that led up to this. The photograph represented the first time I had met her, the first time I had been with her.
With her.
With Brittany.