Unwritten Sorrow:
Chapter Numero Uno
DISCLAIMER: Does anybody really read this? It's all the same anyway... *raises right hand in Girl Scout pledge* I solemnly swear that all characters in this story, written by me, are all owned by J.K. Rowling, © 1997, or something like that. Anyway, this is the first story EVER on this account, written by the Michiko half, not the Ichidori (there are two of us), so be amazed. Be very amazed. But don't think we're noobs, or anything. 'Cause we're not. Tis iz meh 47th fann ficshun!!!!1, which means, for those who do not speak noobish, I write A LOT during school. Neewayz, hops yeh eenjoyz!!!!!1
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It always appeared to everyone that I despised him with all of my being. At first, maybe I did. Maybe... It was more of a love-hate relationship. At times, I really did hate him. But other times, his bravery made him almost god-like. His chivalry shone through the darkest of times; his hotheadedness in the lightest. When there were injustices committed against those he loved, it was only a matter of time before his temper flared up.
That had to be what I loved most about him. Aside from his looks, of course. I had always been vain about appearances. With my stunning platinum hair (which always seemed to be manageable, without a hair misplaced, much to the chagrin of my classmates) and piercing cold, silver eyes, I was definitely not lacking in the looks department. But he surpassed even my standards of beauty. When I first saw him, the first thing I noticed were his striking, intelligent viridescent eyes. They were set in an innocent confusion, not unlike that of a child's, as if everything around him he believed to be a dream. Back then, I never would have guessed his background, never questioned that look of wonder pasted onto his face, but instead preferred to admire from afar.
His mouth, fixed in a brazen, young picture, still appeals to me to this day, though hardened with age and times gone by. His jet black unruly hair was never as pure as mine was, but it always had a sort of baby-like softness to it. Rather than just protecting the top of his head from the rays of the harsh sun, it seemed to cradle and caress his scalp. It often grew too long, as if he were too distracted by the world to cut it, but without that messy hair, nothing would hide the one part of him that he wished to forget: the lightning-bolt shaped scar adorning his forehead.
"Hey Potter! An Oompa-Loompa just called. He wants his complexion back!" I call as I pass by him in the corridor. My response is met with a half-hearted, "Shut up, Malfoy." Today, his performance is less than stellar. Something must be up. "Someone's got a bit of PMS today, I see?" I shout over my shoulder. He ignores me.
Sometimes, I regret all the nasty things I've said to him over the years. Sometimes, after I've yelled something particularly crude, I long to take his head into my arms and cradle it, comforting him, telling him how sorry I am, and what an ass I can be. Other times, on some of his more spunky days, I just want to give him a good kick in the family jewels.
Potions class (which Slytherin seems to endlessly have with Gryffindor. I think someone up there hates us) is uneventful today. Sevvy, as many of my fellow Slytherins have dubbed Snape, takes away numerous points from Gryffindor for doing mundane things (the horrors of using an unsharpened quill, an occasional yawn, and the ever-popular stretching of snoozing appendages).
The usual.
Suddenly, a large farting noise erupts to my left. Out of all the annoying Gryffindors, Hermione Granger included, Neville Longbottom is the one I wish to give a subtle punch in the face the most. And it is Neville Longbottom who is now rapidly turning a peculiar shade of yellow and getting even fatter due to a malfunction in his, bluntly put, crappy potion-making.
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, for again showing us how a fat lummox can bungle a perfectly simple wolvesbane potion. Snape drawled sarcastically. "Now, Mr. Longbottom, honestly how stupid do you think I am? Evidently, you added the extract of mewly seed, then stirred three clockwise turns, when you should have done only two. Your failed potion, Longbottom, has caused you to bloat up with natural gases, which you will soon release. Congratulations. You have once again made an ass of yourself in my class."
At Snape's words, everyone sitting in Neville's vicinity scooted as far away from him as possible. Through the flaxen color of his face, Neville's complexion turned considerably pink.
A loud sound of a chair being scraped back was heard throughout the room. I shifted in my sear in reaction to the noise, only to find none other than Harry Potter standing up defiantly. He had that look in his eyes that I loved so, of fire and a fierce compulsion to protect.
Snape looked increasingly bored, as if this had happened many times before.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter. How many points do you want taken away from Gryffindor this time?" he sneered.
Harry ignored his request. "How dare you speak to Neville like that? Apologize to him!"
A mix of surprise and hatred festered on Snape's bland, pasty features, and again, he told Harry to sit down. Again, Harry refused.
Just as teacher and student were about to kill each other, a minor A bomb explosion filled the place that Neville's bloated body had just vacated. A horrible smell, not unlike that of rotten eggs, permeated the air, and I could feel my eyes watering and stinging at the acrid odor. I clamped my hand around my nose and mouth, attempting to prevent the smell from further destroying my sinuses, when the smoke around Neville cleared and a noticeably thinner, much more fulvous boy remained.
Snape's air of disgust also remained when he announced, "Malfoy, take Longbottom down to the hospital wing. The rest of you, except for Potter, are dismissed."
There was a scuffle as many students tried to avoid Snape's anger and escaped through the dungeon door. I strode over to Neville, and, as loudly as I could, exclaimed, "Honestly, Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something." Neville ducked his head in shame as I led him through the door, trying not to touch his filthy robes with my own. As I looked over my should one last time, I noticed Harry still standing there, glaring at Snape.
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DISCLAIMER: Aaaaaaaaand, first chappie's over! Reviews are accepted anytime. Please be honest, don't go saying, "uR fAhNfEeCsHuN sUcKeD jUiCeBoXeS!!1" Feel free to admit how awesome it is. :))