A/N: Today, I was looking through the Recycling Bin on my computer – and I found all these old fics I'd written, hated, and promptly deleted throughout the year I've been writing for LJ.
Today also happens to be the one-year anniversary of the day I posted the first chapter of my very first story on here – so it's only fitting that I put up a really old fic that I brushed up a little to celebrate, isn't it?
So here it is, one of the better rants I'd written back in July of 2007; enjoy, & please review, even if you hate it!
For a while now, I've got all these people I've known forever and have assumed were intelligent telling me that I've managed to somehow stumble across a wonderful, magical little fairytale, right here in my somewhat-boring life at Hogwarts.
Me, and a fairytale!
I thought they were joking at first, but apparently, they were quite serious – which is frightening.
Why?
Because I think differently – I don't think that this is a fairytale at all.
Allow me to explain:
So I know this boy. James Potter is his name.
He's not a particularly good-looking guy – not to me, anyway.
He's good at throwing gigantic red Quaffles into fifty-foot hoops, sure, but what use is that in the real world?
He's pretty smart, but he wastes his intelligence by blowing off his homework, playing pranks, and hanging around with ignoramuses whose brains are filled with empty air and an occasional bit of fluff (a.k.a. Sirius Black).
He's got this ego that just irks me beyond belief – it challenges the stars themselves in size, and it's always on display through every single thing he says or does.
He's also the biggest flirt in the school; he's gone out with nearly everyone in our year – the only one he hasn't dated yet is me, and I'm quite proud of it.
He is the most popular people in the school, and is the target for all the younger, day-dreaming girls who want an older boyfriend.
For the life of me, I don't know why. He's the most overrated guy since Prince Charming himself.
Those aforementioned people (usually my friends), they like to say that James is different from what he appears to be when I go on one of these types of rants for them.
Me? I think it's bullshit.
James isn't different at all, and you know what I hate the most about that? It's that he doesn't care; he doesn't care about anything beyond the range of Quidditch and girls.
He has true gifts – natural intelligence, charisma, determination, and drive – but he doesn't use any of them the right way. He blows them off, and like I said, he doesn't care. He's shallow and indifferent to everything with depth; which I think, is pretty horrible.
Now, the whole fairytale thing – it comes to play because lately, he's been after my life as conquest number, I don't know, fifty eight or something, and he's made it his life's mission to make me understand how very much he apparently loves me.
The flaw in his plan?
I don't want to have my life brush by his in that sense!
I'm not going to let myself become another name to mention when he's bragging about how many girls he's dated or shagged! I don't want to be another notch for his bedpost! I don't want to be another number, in a list that could stretch to a thousand if there were enough women in the school!
It's not right – it's actually perverse, and sick.
He claims to be in love with me at the moment, and I think, what the hell?
Who is he trying to kid here? I know fully well that he's not in love with me – he's in love with the idea of making a fool out of me, because it's something that I try to avoid, like all normal people do.
But, unlike the normal people, I do a good job of it, which makes me a target for small-minded, foolhardy boys to come and try to make a move on me.
As if I would let them. Idiots.
So, to further disprove this neurotic fairytale theory, let's take a look at our fairytale plot, shall we?
It goes a little something like this: a sad, weepy princess dreams of love, an ordinary boy comes to her and decides to fall in love with her, he helps her 'find herself' and get through her tough, depressing life, they get married, and they live happily ever after.
Clean-cut, nothing complicated, superficial in its own right – that's a classic fairytale.
My story, however, goes something like this: an independent girl who focuses on what's real in life, goes through her days like anyone else would, brushes away the imprudent men who try to take advantage of her, finds one who seems to be a cut above the rest, gets to know him in a light, friendly way, hates him when she finds out he's a low-down prick, and does the whole process countless times over.
Do you see any similarities between the two stories? I have the worst luck on earth when it comes to boys, and it's been proven time and time again that I simply don't get happy endings like the fairytales I listened to growing up.
That's just how it works – I've learned to accept it.
And here's another little food for thought, in case you still don't see things my way – in all those stories, Beauty and the Beast, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella and all the rest of them, the main squeeze is…well…perfect.
The princess recognizes it in him the first time she sees him, and he never turns out to be a jerk. He's sweet, brave, gracious, well-mannered, and has a lovely smile.
Real life doesn't work like that – I, of all people, would know. James isn't my fairytale prince like he pretends to be; he's just another disaster waiting to happen, like the collection of people I've accumulated through my years.
I know his type. I've seen the way he operates. There's nothing genuine about him – it's all just a façade, a game, a disappointment waiting to happen. I'm not going to let it work that way though – he can't make a fool out of me.
I won't let him; I think I'm worth more than that.
Still, I suppose I can sort of see what my friends mean when they tell me that I have a fairytale unfolding. James does pay me the little attentions that girls crave – a flower waiting for me on my favorite chair in the common room, a wink while passing in the corridor, a brush on the wrist when I hand him something, a smile when I did something well.
It would have been cute if it had been someone who had more profundity than he did, but as it was, I didn't quite appreciate it. James Potter is a first-class flirt, and only heaven can guess how many girls he's done those tiny things for.
Really, the moral of my story here is that I guess I'm just kind of stuck; I'm in the middle of a crazy idea, a crazy whim, a crazy something-or-the-other, and I don't know what anything means or what I should do.
It's an essential thing in a fairytale for things to be simple and straightforward – this thing with James is anything but, obviously.
Some "fairytale" this is; like I said before, I have the worst luck in the world. Somehow, James makes me feel weird whenever he looks at me or talks to me; it's like I'm softening, but then tightening up at the same time.
I don't understand it, but I'm determined not to – he doesn't mean anything to me. If the happy ending of my life ever does work out, it won't be with him. I can just feel it.
So, for now, I'm in the middle of some kind of fairytale.
Shit.