A short something I wrote awhile ago. I decided to fix it up and post it instead of doing my homework. Don't worry! I'm working on "A Friend in Need".

I've always been interested in Draco/Luna. I want to write something longer one day.


Seven Seas

He forms his letter carefully and blithely wonders what it would be like to believe in anything and everything, including himself. Perhaps he would make it after all, if he could believe like she did. The good of his life was adding up now, but somehow it could never outweigh the bad.

He liked the way her hair fell, softly on her shoulders, curling around her neck. He could never figure out what it was about that particular shade, that particular texture. It was like straw, or something equally boring. And yet, every time he touched it, he found some new pleasure.

Her eyes amazed him, too. Why were they the way they were? How could they see the things they saw? Those things no one else in the world ever could.

But what amazed him the most was her innocence. How did someone remain so pure when so many terrible things were happening? She was a dreamer that was for sure. Some would even go as far as to say that she was delusional.

He laughed bitterly as the dark part of him couldn't help but agree with this accusation. She saw the good in him, after all.

And perhaps he hadn't been right to risk everything. Perhaps, he would never be right. But the way he felt with her next to him could never be wrong.

What does she feel now, he wonders. Never in his life had he ever felt so undeserving. To be sure, he had always felt he deserved everything he got. The money, the popularity, the respect, all these things came to him because of his birth, the worthiness of his blood.

He had felt this way until the war. The war with its pain and its anger and most of all, its loss. No one deserved loss. Not even the antagonist.

And now he felt that feeling of being undeserving again. He doesn't deserve this in an entirely different way. He doesn't deserve her. He knows this. Every moment he spent with her he knew that she could have so much more.

Yet, he still wanted her.

He had always been rather selfish.

Ironic, that it was he who was lacking. He had never been lacking in anything. Only the best for the best. And once again he wondered what she felt and if it was even close to what he felt. A small part of him knew the answer to this question already. He had never been much of a believer.

She was unreadable. As open and honest and pure as she was, he couldn't decipher her feelings. How could he when he himself didn't understand openness, purity, and honesty? He didn't understand her.

There was one thing he recognized in her. He had recognized it the first time he had ever seen her, as a clumsy second-year murmuring about flying nundus in the corridor as other students shut her odd looks. He had seen it as he watched her eat alone, morning after morning, night after night. The lonely could always see loneliness in others.

And against all odds he still hoped. She had risked so much to force her way in. Not that risk or the barricades he placed could ever faze her. Nothing could faze her. But nonetheless, she had worked to reach out to him, and in this he found hope.

He was starting to believe in the impossible. She had that effect on people.

In the beginning he had thought that perhaps she was using him for his knowledge. But that had been unwarranted. She simply didn't think like that. People weren't objects you could buy and sell and trade on love. It was an odd of way thinking. But then, she was fairly odd.

And it was precisely that about her that had pulled him in. Unable to misunderstand her, he wanted to know her. And now that he knew, he wondered if he would have perhaps been better off without the knowledge.

He knows the answer to this already. Safer, warmer, easier, but never better off. He had changed everything for her. She had unwittingly forced him to put himself in danger. He had risked more for her than anyone. Those who had once worshipped him now believed him to be the greatest traitor ever known. He had betrayed everyone. He had betrayed his life.

Ironically enough, those on the side he had switched to didn't even want him. Instead of rejoicing over a new ally, they now hated him more than ever. At least as their enemy, they had understood him. He had been bad, simple as that. There was no need for questioning. But now, he had complicated things. He was gray, he was in between, he was a question that no one knew the answer to. Each command was given to him with cold contempt and each success, mockingly congratulated.

And the funniest part, he thinks to himself bitterly, is that he doesn't even know if anything will come of it. She has bent him, broken him, reshaped him, changed him and for what? He has given all to her, thrown his carefully planned lie away, and she doesn't even know him. Not in the way he knows her.

But there is that chance that one day she will know him like he knows the strangeness of her eyes and the simple way her soul believes in all things. And then it will have all been okay.

She could make it that way.

This much he knows, even if she doesn't, she has given him something invaluable. Something he will carry with him for the rest of his life and perhaps even beyond. Something that he wishes, hopes, prays, needs to give back.

The war stopped yet he continued to fight. Now he waits for that day when he may see her again as himself. He waits for her to know him like he knows her. She has given him her disease, her curse, her strength.

Perhaps, he is lost.


I know it's angsty-er than usual, I wrote it awhile ago and thought I'd fix it up and post it!

I hope it wasn't too hard to follow. It'supposed to be a poetic.

Oh dear. I have a ten page paper due on Wednesday. I told myself no updating "A Friend in Need" until I finish writing it. But I didn't make any rules about other stories. I'm a sneaky one. REVIEW!