Disclaimer: Darlings, if I were J.K.Rowling, I wouldn't have to amuse myself writing weird fan fiction all day… plus, I'd have a lot more money.
A/N: the style is strange, and you have the amazing Silvia Kundera to thank for that. She's a great author. Go read her! And The Anti-Angst Movement, chapter 14, inspires the bit about the ceiling by Di-chan. Read her, too!
Chance is a funny thing, is it not?
Chance plays a strong part in your life. It makes funny red-haired boys have nowhere else to sit, and so come knocking at your compartment door. It makes equally funny scars on your pale forehead be so important. It makes you famous, which is funniest of them all.
You laugh, quietly and in your head to save your sanity crumbling away, at the strangeness of it all. You, famous? Wonders never cease!
But was it chance that lead you to that strange, strange boy with the pale hair and eyes, and an even more so pale way of talk? You ponder this. And come to the conclusion of who gives a flying pancake?
Yet this boy is strange, and you can't forget him. The first wizard you ever met, of your own age. And when you are on the train with the first of the funny red-haired boys, there is again. But he isn't nice, and you aren't nice back.
It all becomes a game.
But then he smiles at you, in a strange pale way. You blink. The smile is infectious, and you feel your own lips twitch. But, argues the somewhat saner part of your funnily famous brain, so are measles, and you sure don't wanna be smilin' at them buddy.
You swear at him instead, and he tosses back his pale head and laughs.
It was chance that made his fingers close on yours, when you reached out and seized that little speck of gold that seems to be the only important thing in your life, save funny red-haired boys (and a girl now, too) and bossy know-it-alls with bushy brown and loud laughs. His fingers feel warm, despite how cold he looks.
And then the funniest thing of all…
'Sorry', he says, lifting his warm fingers away. You blink, disappointed. Part of you wants those fingers back, but better (and saner) judgement warns you against it. He smiles at you, as warm as his fingers and as pale as his messy hair. The smile is infectious and you feel your own lips twitch. You smile back, and he smiles too.
Chance likes to play games in your life.
It makes sure you bump into him whenever you're feeling bored, or lonely, or just feel like laughing outside of your head for once. He sees the joke too, and laughs louder. You smile at him, and giggle like a drunken schoolgirl. He pretends not to notice. The funny red-haired boy sighs and rolls his eyes, bored of the pale boys company. The know-it-all smirks at you and him, 'I Know Something You May Or May Not Know' say her muddy brown eyes.
You and him wonder what, as you sit together by the lake.
The funny red-haired boy yells at you later. 'It's not that I don't mind' he says, coldly. 'But you could've told me. I have an open mind about this kind of thing!'
You blink, and stare at the ceiling, wondering what he means. The ceiling doesn't know either. You shall have to ask the pale boy tomorrow.
'I think,' he says, slowly, running his pale hands through his messy hair. 'I understand…'
You slowly nod, obviously not getting what he's at. The pale boy smirks at you, I Know Something You Obviously Don't Get says his pale eyes, with a little bit of Something that you know is absurd. Yet it still makes your stomach churn with a not unpleasant feeling. You blush. He smirks, and leans forward. A bird twitters near by, but has no impact on the plot. You and the strange pale boy are too busy to notice.
His fingers were warm, but his lips are a lot warmer.