To Jade, who thinks this will end with Draco's pet or Hedwig being boiled. I don't think they will, or do I?
***
The boat ride is finally over and it was awful.
I held tightly to the edge of the boat as Harry rowed with his strong arms. Two students eaten, one drowned and three wet.
Looking back I can't help but wonder if the boat trip is really worth it, I sure didn't want to sit down more after a long train journey. And, had the exercise not given Harry a sheen like a new polished table, I would also point out that surely magic could power then. But, as I watch Harry recover his breath, I am happy to leave it.
I suck a large amount of oxygen into my lungs as I sharply intake my breath.
My love approaches me and my other love. His scowl remains, surely I did not unintentionally insult him so badly? Unfortunately, the look on his face intensifies so I assume I must have done, and sadly mope in silence, glad to be near him.
I know he wouldn't pay me such attention if he didn't love me. I know his excuse, to talk to Harry, must be an excuse to be near me too.
His long hair, gelled back behind his ears makes me think of a mouse. I feel like Lenny and have the irresistible urge to shrink him down, put him in my pocket, and stroke him forever. Luckily, I resist the urge and am content to watch him talk to Harry, savouring how his figure looks in the mucus green of Slytherin. That colour really suits him.
I catch his name, "Draco Malfoy" and my heart feels like butterflies I must follow to wherever they lead me. But life is never "follow the butterflies" for someone as hideously freakish and not-quite-right-looking as me. I can't help but feel I must follow the path of the spiders until it leads me to my death. I imagine my funeral, with Draco and Harry sobbing at my corpse. They will bury me in the white dress I so adored while I lived, with Scabbers clutched in my arms. He is basically dead anyway, it would be euthanasia. That's how they will justify my last wish.
Draco reaches his hand for Harry's, probably to shake it. He wants to touch, to caress, to hold and shake the hand of my true love.
My fantasy dissolves like salt in tea (rather than sugar). Harry and Draco console each other in their grief and my cold, hard and partially chewed corpse is soon forgotten.
When Harry withdraws his hand it takes all my restraint not to kiss him with my bare lips or strangle him with my bare hands. I adore him for choosing me but he is responsible for that look of hurt crossing Draco's sweet, angelic face, and what I suspect to be a tear hiding in the corner of his eye, for that he should pay.
Luckily, the scene is interrupted by a thin and scraggly looking woman wearing a green hat. I like hats, they make me happy. I follow the crowd where Draco is sorted Slytherin, of course he is, an evil that attractive only belongs surrounded in a field of green. I can imagine the gentle purr he is making as I walk him strut towards his table, to join the others. I notice none of them are ginger.
I know I will be sorted into Gryffindor, I am not smart or rebellious enough to pick a different house from my brothers. Everyone claps when it calls what I know but I know the sound of sympathy clapping when I hear it. It hurts that everyone, even one of my soul mates, hates me but I take comfort that my disgusting red locks touched where his head was only moments ago.
I run my fingers through my hair and smell them, disappointed they do not smell of daisies as I hoped, rather of sweat and grease with a sprinkle of white dust. I taste it with my tongue – I don't think it is sugar. I taste it again to be sure, and am excited to know I was right.
I lean to tell my brothers of my discovery, but my voice is drowned in a wave of applause. Harry has again chosen me and he sits triumphant by my side, as I dream of us doing at the wedding reception. I sadly remind myself that my clothes are black, not white, and reach for the rice to make up for this fact.
My fingers touch Harry by accident and we both withdraw them quickly towards us.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
"Don't worry," I roar shyly, and slowly shiver all over like an alarm clock.
I am terrified. Terrified I will hurt Draco, terrified I could hurt Harry, terrified I might get hurt but, most of all, terrified at the truth – that I am falling madly, undying and irrefutable in love with both of them.
I am terrified to love.
