Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine. He belongs to someone else. Namely J.K. Rowling and coughHermionecough Still want that $25?
Author's Note: Sequel to The Glass Princess. 'Nuff said.
To those who reviewed The Glass Princess – "she" referred to Hermione. Am very sorry that I didn't clarify that.
And this, once again, goes out to Kalie. Although she doesn't believe me most of the time about things, she'll always be a great person. (Yes, I will continue to foolishly believe that. :P )
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People saw him as freaky.
He looked the part. Gawky, wide-eyed stare that captured all the wonderfulness he knew was there in this world. They were all freaks, just like him. A whole world of freaks was waiting right here just for him. He knew he was freaky. His bug-like (so he thought) eyes looking over everything, not escaping one detail. Oh yes, he definitely was freaky.
Strange though. He didn't feel freaky. And he knew he wasn't freaky. That was just what people thought of him as. He wasn't a person who belonged anywhere; he wasn't normal. He wasn't like everyone else. Although he hated being singled out, he was thankful for it. Somewhat. Being a loner and a "freak" entitled to him being left alone, which he desired. The thing he desired most next to being loved – truly loved.
So he was seen as freaky. Big deal, he thought. The only thing he wanted was to be treated as if he was human – which he was. Sadly, most of the world's population wouldn't know that. Nor would they bother to know it. He didn't care. Why would he care about something so trivial as that? He wondered. He really could care less of what people thought of him – a freaky anti hero who had to save the world. That was what – or who – they thought of him as.
Only one person saw him for who he truly was – a human boy with the same insecurities and doubts that everyone else in the world had – the one difference was that he didn't hide them. He didn't hide under a façade, unless he absolutely had to.
And that person was considered a "freak," too. Just because she was a lot more studious than others and had her own way of thinking and doing and feeling about things, she stood out from the crowd . . and that was bad, he figured. If a person was unique and stood out from people, they were considered to be a "freak."
Not that he minded being a "freak." He just minded being labeled as one. That alone bothered him, that he could easily be put under one label. Just like that. It was as if he wasn't even human. He could just be automatically labeled, have no name except for the stereotypical one of "freak."
He wondered if his other best friend considered him as human. Not freaky . . just inhuman. A person who was although alive . . wasn't. A cross between a zombie and a ghost, he thought wryly. Then he scoffed at himself for thinking that in the first place. So what if his best friend thought that? It changed everything between them, but it honestly didn't matter whether his best friend thought of him as a freak or not, he decided. Let alone whether he was thought of as inhuman. It just plain didn't matter.
And it didn't matter if other people thought of him as freaky, too, he knew. His best friends included. The one who had made him let his guard down; to take off his mask understood and felt what he felt had made him feel this way. He wasn't sure whether to blame her or not, even though it wasn't her fault. It wasn't as if she would run off screaming when – or if – he told her what he felt.
She didn't think of him as freaky, and he strongly doubted that she would think that when she came to know of his feelings for her. He sighed deeply. All this was very complicated, too complicated for him to figure out. But he knew it was worth it.
So people saw him as freaky. He smirked. Right now, after all the things that had happened, he couldn't be any happier at being freaky. He liked it, and couldn't imagine it any other way. So they were freaks, the lot of them. Her and him. It was better to live and be freaky than it was to live "normally." He knew he would never achieve that – but with her by his side, that might be a different story. It would be a different story.
So let the freakiness begin, he thought as his eyes met hers, a wry yet shy smile on his face.