He would sit at the Slytherin table, resplendent in his silver-and-green
tie gone askew and his sarcastic cloak. There would always be a dark-haired
damsel by his side, fawning while he pretended to be oblivious.
Eyes gazed upon him from another table, where a scarlet-haired girl in her prim Hogwarts uniform dreamt of castles in her own faerytale sky, where politics meant nothing and all that mattered was happiness.
They knew of each other, of course. She was that Gryffindor brat who was Potter's personal groupie; he was the sarcastic jerk who jeered at her poverty and flaming red hair. Of course, they never saw each other as people.
But the fact remains that they did know of each other, and one day, as the girl with locks of flame was walking within the snow, he was there. They traded insults, and they kissed; everything was the picture of rebellious love, really.
Only the girl was Steinbeck's Adam, and he was her Cathy; she saw only what she wished to see. And he told her that he didn't love her; that all she was to him was a good shag. As he said this, she made it so that he was proclaiming his tender love, and his mocking was the whispering of sweet caressing nothings that made up her world.
And. she loved the Slytherin boy with the silver hair and dragon eyes she made for herself. Somehow, the memory of the cruelties he inflicted upon her faded; he was her Lucifer, her fallen resplendent angel. Throughout this, he remained cold - he was incapable of love, and compassion meant nothing.
He broke her heart, as he had meant to do. As the girl wilted and clung to her castles, he walked away and laughed all the while. And he lamented the loss of a good shag as she cried, and he thought that was why his heart felt empty and cold.
She went on to marry her golden Potter. They had seven children and lived in a mansion. She had convinced herself to be happy, and it almost worked. But at night, when an arm curled around her from behind, there would always be one fleeting moment where she leaned back and the arm was that of the dragon-eyed lover of her youth. Then she turned around to meet emerald eyes shining with love, and her eyes shone in response and were empty.
The dark-haired girl who fawned went on to marry her wealthy prince, and she lived the solitary life of the social butterfly. She hosted tea parties and fawned over him and her jewels and didn't give one whit about love. He would keep up appearances, and at night retreated into his study with a decanter of brandy and stared into the flames. He would absently wonder what the flames reminded him of, and laughing brown eyes danced their burning paths across his soul. His soul would cry out in response and be pained, and the man without would say nothing - his mind was remembering a young prim Gryffindor and the way her hair slipped through his fingers.
End.
Eyes gazed upon him from another table, where a scarlet-haired girl in her prim Hogwarts uniform dreamt of castles in her own faerytale sky, where politics meant nothing and all that mattered was happiness.
They knew of each other, of course. She was that Gryffindor brat who was Potter's personal groupie; he was the sarcastic jerk who jeered at her poverty and flaming red hair. Of course, they never saw each other as people.
But the fact remains that they did know of each other, and one day, as the girl with locks of flame was walking within the snow, he was there. They traded insults, and they kissed; everything was the picture of rebellious love, really.
Only the girl was Steinbeck's Adam, and he was her Cathy; she saw only what she wished to see. And he told her that he didn't love her; that all she was to him was a good shag. As he said this, she made it so that he was proclaiming his tender love, and his mocking was the whispering of sweet caressing nothings that made up her world.
And. she loved the Slytherin boy with the silver hair and dragon eyes she made for herself. Somehow, the memory of the cruelties he inflicted upon her faded; he was her Lucifer, her fallen resplendent angel. Throughout this, he remained cold - he was incapable of love, and compassion meant nothing.
He broke her heart, as he had meant to do. As the girl wilted and clung to her castles, he walked away and laughed all the while. And he lamented the loss of a good shag as she cried, and he thought that was why his heart felt empty and cold.
She went on to marry her golden Potter. They had seven children and lived in a mansion. She had convinced herself to be happy, and it almost worked. But at night, when an arm curled around her from behind, there would always be one fleeting moment where she leaned back and the arm was that of the dragon-eyed lover of her youth. Then she turned around to meet emerald eyes shining with love, and her eyes shone in response and were empty.
The dark-haired girl who fawned went on to marry her wealthy prince, and she lived the solitary life of the social butterfly. She hosted tea parties and fawned over him and her jewels and didn't give one whit about love. He would keep up appearances, and at night retreated into his study with a decanter of brandy and stared into the flames. He would absently wonder what the flames reminded him of, and laughing brown eyes danced their burning paths across his soul. His soul would cry out in response and be pained, and the man without would say nothing - his mind was remembering a young prim Gryffindor and the way her hair slipped through his fingers.
End.