Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thanks for showing some interest in my story, and I hope you enjoy it!
This was written for the Six Billion Secrets Challenge by whispered touches.
I've actually edited it, because as the creator of the aforementioned challenge kindly pointed out in a review, I switched tenses, and you know what? She was right! So hopefully I've fixed that up! I also made some minor detail changes because I'm thinking about some sort of a follow on.
Anyhow, to the story! Enjoy!

Vulnerable Me

The Hogwarts corridors were always crowded – it was inescapable; it was almost a certainty that some tall freak who simply doesn't care whether you drop your books as longs as he gets to class on time, will shove passed you.

Actually, sometimes I think the tall freak wants to care. He just can't bring himself to crouch down and pick up a few fallen books to assist the girl he loved ... once.

I wonder whether he actually knocks me down on purpose sometimes, just to feel my body heat against his. I know that the shoving isn't always completely his fault, it can be a two way street occasionally. It's the only physical contact I have with him these days, and even then, it's not enough.

In my vulnerable, hunched over position I scuttled down the corridor, but it was almost inevitable and subconsciously, I'd come to expect his tough, strong arms colliding against my weaker frame. That same tall – handsome – freak knocked me again. Not to the ground, I remained standing, but my books flew everywhere, sliding along the floor, under the bustling feet of students, nearly tripping a second year. I couldn't even bring myself to care if the young lad hurt himself. In silence and without any acknowledgement whatsoever of the blonde, I dropped to the ground and gathered the hardbacks up one by one – Transfiguration For The NEWT Student; The Art Of Dark Arts; A History Of Magic.

I thought he'd walked away (as was the norm for this situation) but when his polished black shoes reappeared beside me, my heart gave a flutter – the very same flutter it had given the first time he had bumped into me. My hopes had flown far too high at that moment all those months ago; I had to keep them in control now.

Slowly my eyes found his. I made a point not to do that because I could see a hate in his searing, pale blue orbs that I couldn't bear look at, not even for a second. I was breaking one of my unwritten rules.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said coldly, his hand outstretched. He was holding my copy of Pride and Prejudice. I found muggle romances comforting, I wasn't going to lie.

Although my only thought was thank you I couldn't manage to form the words.

"Do you know how bad it hurts," I whispered suddenly. So I couldn't say a simple thank you, but I could form a sentence? "When I walk past you in the hallways and you act like I'm nothing?" I could hear the hate, the venom in my own words – it was something I didn't know I could do. My jaw was so tightly clenched, and my eyes were slightly narrowed. I was not in a position of power in this moment, he was towering over my cowering figure on the stone ground, it was intimidating, but I spoke nonetheless. "I told you how I felt and you just blew it off. It hurts so badly. No one understands why it does, but I do. And I know you do too. Was it so hard for you just to say, 'I don't love you'?"

At least not anymore.

We shared a long, intense glare, both of us trying to read each other's deep thoughts, until he finally pulled away and marched down the corridor, my romance novel dropping to the ground beside me – he had just let it fall in his haste to escape my presence.

I took a deep breath; I'd forgotten to breathe for a second there.

My first words to him in a long, long time and I couldn't even remember what I said. I wasn't sure if it made sense. I wasn't sure if he understood what I meant. All I know is that they were hurtful and full of hate, and despite all of that, from the heart. People usually connect loving, romantic, sweet, and kind things as coming from the heart, well I have news for those fools: even the darkest ... the most spiteful and malicious of words can come from the heart. And you can mean them just as much.

I collapsed onto my bed in the Seventh Year Girl's Dormitory.

Yes, I was a Gryffindor, just like every other Weasley to pass through this historic school. Sometimes I wish I were in Ravenclaw, just so that my conversations could be just a little more intellectual. It turns out no one likes to debate for fun in this house ... not even I do anymore. I don't refute the Hat's decision, after all what I showed in the hallway earlier required courage – something Gryffindor's possessed a lot of. I just wish I hadn't begged to be in Gryffindor like the rest of my family, five years ago – privacy is sacred, but not yours when you share your living space with relatives on a daily basis. I was a sheep back then, always following the crowd and the rules. Not anymore: independence is mine and mine alone.

I sort of want something really bad to happen to me ... like a car accident or something ... but I don't want to acquire any injuries, or really feel any pain, I just want to know who'd care enough to come and visit me in St Mungo's hospital.

See, since ... since Scorpius and I broke up, I've become a detached version of myself. My business is my business and I go about it in my own way. Just like everyone else is free to be who he or she wants to be. My friends are still my friends we just don't have girlie nights like we used to, my cousins are still my cousins (I couldn't change that even if I tried), we just don't use our sarcastic, joking tone of voice that we always used to exercise on each other. A giggly, sarcastic, fun girl, who dressed in pink when she had the chance, used to be a girl I saw in the mirror every morning and every night. It was easier to refer to her in the third person because she's another human being in my eyes. One with a boyfriend who didn't break her heart and emotionally scar her for life.

Orange and purple shone through the open window in my dormitory, signalling the day's end with a dazzling sundown, but all I wanted to do was close my eyes and be that girl. The girl who would have loved to gaze in awe at the magnificent sunset before her. Being that girl was as simple as looking at the sky but instead I closed my eyes and chose to be a dream version because it was easier.

I love sleep. Because life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake.

Almost every morning I look in the mirror and think: Why would anyone EVER want you?

It's not a very positive start to the morning, I know that. But most of the time, I just can't help my wandering mind. It tells me these things. And I'm just the idiot who believes them.

Someone wanted me once ...

His name was Scorpius Malfoy. I thought I loved him. Carefully read that sentence and note the use of the word thought. I now know that love is a foreign concept to me, and neither of us felt love's powers in its strongest form. What we shared was mere teenage infatuation and nothing more. Yet, I continued with my gloomy outlook on life all because of him. It must have been very strong non-love I felt that case ...

Today, I realised that the people who smile and laugh the most, are the ones who are suffering the most. Because laughter isn't only the best medicine, it's also the best disguise. I should know, of all people.

I came to this conclusion after I saw Scorpius and his friends under a tree in the grounds this morning laughing at some (probably highly immature and most likely sexual) joke. His face was the first to fall as the funniness of the whole thing vanished. His breathtaking, slightly lopsided smile is all but a disguise for him these days because he hurts just as much as I do.

People don't realise he's aching inside though, because he's a much better actor than I am. He also has more of a reputation to uphold. The joking, intelligent, casually cool jock that always has a smirk on his face – the dictionary definition of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.

I promise I don't usually watch him from afar like a love-stricken girl – because, quite frankly, to stoop to that level makes me feel ill – I just happened to be able to see him over the top of Pride and Prejudice. And I'm not love-stricken, I'm heartbroken. There is a distinct difference.

His cocky Slytherin group strutted back into the castle, only he was lagging behind.

"You could make it a little less obvious that you're looking our way," his voice was so harsh. He didn't even look at me, he simply stared at the distance, passed the lake and into the mountains, like he was envisioning himself hiking up the mountainside. His brow was furrowed as though in deep concentration.

I didn't say anything, and he didn't leave.

So just like he refused to look at me, I refused to look at him, and as I spoke my words, I glared at the printed words upon the pages of my novel: "You broke my heart," I stated frigidly. "I want to hate you. But just hearing your voice ..." I trailed off, swallowing hard. It felt like sand and stone were forcing their way down my throat. I closed my eyes, trying to keep the tears inside.

His jaw was rigid: it almost killed him to hear this from me.

He still loves me.

I just know it.

I stood up, but we still didn't face each other. I looked forward, and he looked right passed the end of my nose as though I didn't even exist, as though I was invisible and he was just admiring the picturesque scenery that surrounded him.

He turned sharply and walked away, leaving me alone in the breezy summer air of the Hogwarts grounds, my book by my side. I couldn't possibly go back to reading it out here.

I trudged up to my dormitory and looked at the pictures I had on my walls of my cousins, my brother and I playing together. Some of them had fallen down, almost as if they were mocking my sad life. In the photos, we were dancing around, giggling, and screaming as kids do. I was no older than three years old. Back then, my face was almost freckle-less, my thoughts were pure, my heart knew nothing of love, and it certainly knew nothing of heartbreak.

I wish little kids didn't have to grow up. I see my youngest cousins laughing and playing and I can't imagine them being stressed, miserable adults. I can't see them drinking firewhiskey to get away from the pain. It kills me to know that one day they'll figure out how horrible the world can be.

I wish innocence lasted forever.

Wow, that was darker – a lot darker than I thought it was going to be! But, if you liked it, go ahead a review. Actually, I wouldn't mind knowing what you thought simply because it is quite a change from my usual stuff.
CGIL xx