Protector
By: Straight Criminal
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is recognizable as someone else's.
"She didn't need to understand the meaning of life; it was enough to find someone who did, and then fall asleep in his arms and sleep as a child sleeps, knowing that someone stronger than you is protecting you from all evil and all danger" – Paulo Coelho, Brida
As the warm colored leaves of mahogany reds, custard yellows, and marmalade oranges danced around them in the typical chilly breeze of Surrey, England they stared at the boy with the intensely burning grey eyes spiraled with hints of violet. His hair was dark obsidian, seeming to gleam with a blue glint in the autumn sunlight filtering through the dancing trees.
His hand was wound tightly around a thick wrist, the hand formed into a fist that was aimed somewhere to the dark haired boy's left. The thick arm led back to a boy that was more fat than anything else. His beady watery blue eyes held the obstinate look of someone not used to being told no, and his sneer was greasy and easy to break.
The other boy was taller, lithe in appearance, and pretty much a better sight than the other that tried to call himself a member of the human species.
"This doesn't have anything to do with you Rosier!" The boy/pig-hybrid tried to snarl but it came out more like a weak growl.
"It is when you try to hit a girl," Rosier, the other who held the other's wrist in a tight grip stated with a glare that caused the other boy to flinch. Rosier brought the attention to the person the fist was aimed at and if you were anyone that was new to the area you'd probably stare at the girl in a sudden fit of wanting to go, "Awe!" in a long drawn out way.
She had chocolate cherry colored hair that contrasted charmingly with acidic green eyes that were nearly too intense to be logically natural. However she was very thin and fragile looking, her wrist didn't look bigger than six centimeters wide and she couldn't have weighed even seventy pounds soaking wet. Her clothes were ripped and torn, hanging from her frame like a child playing dress up in her mother's clothes. Marlene Lillian Potter was a tiny child that looked like a breeze could lift her up and carry her away.
At the moment she was staring at Rosier, or Tristan as he was more commonly known as, with wide eyes as the fist was grasped tightly barely three inches from her sharp angular face.
"That freak deserves- Ack!" he overweight child began only to end off in a high pitched squeal as his knees hit the ground. Tristan had tightened his grip on the boy's wrist causing pain, his face emotionless except for the snarl on his lips and his eyes, eyes that could peel the flesh from bone.
"Never call anyone a freak when you can't claim not being a freak yourself, Dursley." Tristan hissed at him and Dudley Dursley stared at Marlene's protector in fear, his large frame shaking either from fright or the impact to his knees still jiggling the rolls that adorned his form no one really knew. But when Tristan let the boy go, they all saw him leave crying about wanting his mummy and that freaks were everywhere.
Tristan ignored that and turned to the small girl and reached out tucking a strand of her dark red hair behind her ear, causing the top of her cheeks to redden cutely.
"Are you alright?" Tristan started to ask when the girl lunged into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He held her close and ignored the wetness that dampened his shirt as he glared at anyone who would as much as look at them.
Marlene for the first time, in her classmate's arms felt safe as if nothing could harm her. That he'd deal with everything that would come their way. She wouldn't know until later on that she'd been right so long ago about the boy who held her close as she cried in the playground of Little Whinging primary school.