Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble-- A Next-Generation-Harry-Potter Tale.
PART I: Faded
Chapter 10: Quelle Bones, Diary Entry 1
Quelle Bones
Diary Entry 1
Dear Quelle of the Future,
Well, I'm at Hogwarts again. Third year. Everything feels... strange. For just about the first time in my life, I'm starting to struggle with schoolwork. And for just about the first time I don't feel like studying.
And of the first time in my life, I'm an artist.
Or I guess I might have always been an artist, but never noticed it before. It took him to get it out of me. Oh gosh, you need to help me, future Quelle. I can't get him out of my mind. This morning Lucy asked me who Ben was, and I panicked. I asked why, and she said I'd been muttering his name in my sleep.
They've got to know sometime, but for now he's not to be shared, he's just mine. He's what's bringing out this non-studying thing in my head, I think. I used to look at History of Magic and think of all the history it held, how important it was. Now I look at it and I think, who cares?
Instead of reading about Emeric the Evil, I just want to picture his face in my head. His hair, chocolate and shiny in the sunlight. His eyes, deep blue and sensitive and filled with emotion, when he laughed they lit up. The way the slight smattering of freckles across his nose caught the light. The tan, creamy color of his skin. The skin of someone who got up at first dawn to paint. The skin of someone who got me up at first dawn to paint.
Oh, future Quelle. Help. All I want is to be back there with him, to look into those eyes. To paint with him at first dawn. Take Emeric the Evil and shove it up History of Magic's-
Well, I guess the point of what I'm trying to say is I think I don't even know who I am any more, so be careful. I might do something very un-Quelle-like soon. Not that I'm planning to, but I'm just not the mousy, studious girl I was last year. Now I'm some kind of artist, and I can't stop thinking about Ben. I want to paint him, but I feel like I have to see his face. Why don't I care about Emeric the Evil? I should care. I should be studying, not writing about Ben.
And I should be thinking about Lucy, at least. She's a wreck. Her father wrote her a letter. Her mum's in Saint Mungo's, and he had to go and mention she "might not make it", the prat. She hasn't talked in days.
Help me, Future Quelle.
-A Snapshot of Your Past Self