Progression
Notes: First of all, this story was inspired by the many lovely (and similar) works of Teh Kiwi (Mugglenet)/Tastes of Ink (LJ). I probably would not have been drawn to this pairing if Teh Kiwi/Tastes of Ink hadn't been so masterful in his or her writing, so I would like to thank him or her for the inspiration, and if you like this story, look that author up!
Secondly, this story was written with the Fanfiction 100 template, despite me not being a member of the group. Fanfiction 100 is basically a Livejournal group that has a list of 100 titles in a neat and organized table, and you are basically challenged to write 100 drabbles, one per title. To switch things up, though, instead of going in order and going from left to right, I am going from top to bottom (starting with 001 then 006 then 011, etc). For more information, see community./fanfic100/profile.
Finally, each chapter will be composed of 5 drabbles rather than just 1, as it kind of irritates me when I read drabble collections and I have to click "next chapter" like 50 times…
Summary: A fixation. A meeting. A friendship. A love. Time passes, and Theodore Nott records the moments that created, broke, and put back together his heart. Slash of the Theodore/Seamus variety.
Progression
Beginnings
I remember. It was the first day of my first year of Hogwarts. I was sitting in a compartment with some other first years which my father had forced me to sit with. They seemed nice to me, or maybe they just wanted to suck up. Whatever, I was eleven. I clearly remember you opening the compartment door, your sweet face blushing and your signature smile on your face, a beacon of a good year to come, so I thought.
"Hallo, all," you said nicely. Nobody responded but you continued anyway. "You all first years? I've been looking for some, everyone here's so big. The name's Seamus Finnegan. Mind if I sit here and we can get to know each other some?"
When I introduce myself to strangers, I'm always so shy, unable to conquer my fear of being judged immediately. But even when you were at the ripe young age of eleven, you were more charming than most adults I've met. Draco was the only one who spoke up, telling you to leave. Everyone else just stared coldly at you. Even me.
You shrugged, turned around, and walked out with as much of a smile as when you came in. I heard the train's engine start and, after sitting around and doing nothing for ten years, I began to move towards my destiny.
Hours
Everything at Hogwarts was measured in hours. Each class was an hour long. Each meal was an hour long. Draco adapted this schedule even more, scheduling an hour of homework and an hour of "socializing" every night for himself. We all followed suit. He probably intended us to. Soon his schedules expanded, and he learned a nifty charm to make the words larger so we could all see from our beds. One hour studying, one hour napping, one hour walking the corridors, one hour exploring the grounds. Each hour the same.
Except for sometimes in Potion and sometimes walking the corridors when I'd see you and something in me rose slowly through my chest and up to my head until you disappeared and it went out my ears then back to the hours. My solstice was that it might happen again. Maybe.
Red
You were always wearing red. After all, it was a Gryffindor color. I overheard you telling someone that you that gold was for sissies and that you'd only wear red. I went back to my dormitory and tore up every garment of mine that had the color gold on it. Zabini was in the dorm then, but didn't question my strange fit, didn't go "Theodore, what's wrong with you" or "Stop that nonsense." Slytherins know when to remain silent.
It was a strange moment, then. I didn't know, yet, of my feelings for you. I stared at all of the torn gold on the floor and cursed myself for letting a foolish saying get the best of me. Zabini turned a page in his book. I was about to ask him the spell for repairing broken things, but I heard myself instead asking the spell for fire. The gold turned to a deep orange, which was close enough to red to make my mind giddy. Soon, though, the strange black smoke numbed me, and red and black danced in front of my eyelids marvelously.
Purple
I woke up in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey asked a few skeptical questions, suspicious of substance abuse, but I just did a pouty face and claimed that I was a naïve first year who didn't quite understand the fire charm (my father told me to always play up my youth until I was thirteen).
On my right was Dean Thomas, who I only knew then as a friend of yours. I had trouble breathing, somehow, at the thought of you coming to visit him. You did.
You talked with him for a few moments about Quidditch, the Weasley twins, Harry Potter, Dungbombs, whatever else. All I remember from that was watching the two of you smile together and laugh and make jokes and thinking that I'll never know that kind of friendship.
Then you looked at me and I can't really put how I felt on paper because there aren't any words, I suppose.
"Madam Pomfrey, Theodore looks a little purple," he said plainly, as if I were some kind of object. I expected you to say it with disgust, for I was one of those who rejected you on the first day. But you were light, conversational. Madam Pomfrey came to look at me and I watched you go.
Friends
Malfoy wasn't nice, but he had that quality which made you want to follow him around everywhere and obey everything he said. And, other than receiving insults once in awhile, it was easy to be his friend. It was easy to laugh at all of his jokes and obey all of his hours and such.
Crabbe and Goyle weren't very smart, but didn't deserve all of the shit Malfoy gave them. But who was going to stand up for them anyway? They were kind of helpless. I never seemed to know how they felt, if they felt at all.
Zabini was tougher. He and I had actual conversations and I felt like he was more of a "friend" than anyone else. But with that came a price, the price that he knew me more than the others, that he observed me and wondered why my eyes would drift to you in Potions or in the Great Hall.
And then there was you, but that didn't count.
