~every story needs a contrary opinion~

Chapter's soundtrack : And then you by Greg Laswell

Chapter 1: Expectations

Expectations are divided into two subcategories: The expectations you have of yourself, and the expectations others have of you. Both can kill you, and it seems to me now that they are the root of all evil. Gigantic trees of self-loathing with branches frosty and sharp, roots huge and feeding on life's possibilities. Possibilities are in fact drenched in expectations. Oh the way it all clicks together in my head reminds me so much of you, bordering on paranoia. I smile.

I am not you, though.

I am Harry Potter.

I feel the urge to sneer.

So much for the title of the untouchable hero. The Boy who Lived- twice. What a load of crap. Is there a special kind of earth to cover dead heroes? I wouldn't care anyway. I hope that in death, at least, no one will expect anything from me. Yeah, yeah, I'm whining again. Wouldn't you? No?

Okay.

I bought a new pack of cigarettes today. You should have seen Ginny's face. She went crazy. She kept yelling at me for what seemed like hours.

And I kept looking at the pack. Just…staring at it. I can't help it, I swear! It has me mesmerized.

It was a Tuesday when I quit it, and a rainy one at that. I was walking by our old apartment, on the paved, narrow streets, by the little pots of jasmine at the windows, by the corner behind that forgotten beetle-car where the Belle de Nuit used to grow back when we were together…You would smell it and say we should uproot it, it was causing you a headache, and I would say you were a disgrace to poets and lovers, and you would say you had no need for them – and then you'd kiss me up against that poor moonflower, and I would take pity in it and have you stop, but it would remain the same despite our late night exhibitions anyway.

Our neighborhood looks like a slum these days.

So yes, it's been a long time since I last smoked. Years. I just opened the dumpster in the corner of Amelia Street on that rainy day and threw my tobacco out. The Healers had said that in order to stop my disease from progressing, I had to quit smoking. They couldn't fight a muggle disease with potions, unless I gave up the habit they said. Or something like that. I was going to get married at last. I wouldn't have my wife suffer. A fresh start. Yes. I threw my pack out.

Hogwarts ended just like it had begun for me. Confusion, uncertainty and the burden of thousands of eyes and expectations resting upon my shoulders. Only this time, I was in love.

With you. The grey eyes and wicked smile, the way your white-blond hair would sway as you nodded goodbye to your dorm mates. I was watching you, yes. And then you turned, locking serious eyes with mine. I blushed. What else was there for me to do after all those late night rendezvous? I think blushing was a logical course of action. This was goodbye. So yeah, whatever. I should be allowed to feel like blushing. I lowered my eyes.

The first thing that I saw was your black, polished shoes in front of me. My heart expressed a sudden urge to escape my chest right then and there. I raised my gaze to face you. Your eyes sparkled, and you took a small bow before me. All the Slytherin's eyes were on you, and I felt a need to warn you about that. I suppressed it.

You extended your hand in front of me with a playful, yet kind of faltering, smile.

"I guess this is it" you said.

I did not take your hand. I would never accept a simple goodbye handshake from a man that had fucked me on every possible surface of the castle.

"Says who?" I answered. You frowned.

"Common sense?" your chuckles were always annoying.

"Couldn't care less"

You smiled. Looking back, I don't know where my courage was coming from in those moments.

"I will owl you" I said and you nodded, moving away already. You raised the back of your hand in agreement.

"I do owe you my life" you remarked in a carefree voice, and I watched your back as you walked away and mingled with the crowd, feeling as if the world was a bunch of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

Little did I know the image of your back moving away from me would become a quite common occurrence.

But the truth is that the day was sunny and the sun was warm. And I loved you.

No matter how many times I think about it, it makes no sense. You and me – no sense. Synonyms. Have you ever thought how it'd be if you could shut the world off and live in your happy little bubble? Not for a moment or two. For months. For years even. That was what I wanted. A reality where no one expected anything from me, not even myself.

I run and I run and I run away from myself, but it turns out I was always at the same spot treading upon my dignity. Because….because you never run out of expectations.

Suddenly, you weren't enough. Your smiles were too fake, too mean, too cocky. Your eyes were cold and not that beautiful. Your hair was more white than blonde. Your feelings were compromise and not love.

My mind was trying to disentangle myself from you while my heart was taking its sweet time weeping.

If I start smoking again, I will have signed my damnation.

"Potter!" he calls out and I freeze in my tracks. "Nice couch"

The bastard.

If I light this smoke I might regret it.

But the truth is that the day is shitty and the sun is nowhere to be seen. And I still love you.