For anyone I know. . .
Extension Papers. . .
His eyes filled with unwanted tears. Somewhere deep down, past the pain, he glared at himself. Not emotion! Stupid, Stupid, STUPID! Hot tears splashed down his face.
NO!!! Christ. . . he covered his face with his hands, glad that no-one was there to see him. Why was it so? He should be delighted. . . or stressed out, but not. . .guilty? Not guilty for something that asked for praise? Maybe he should ask to be excused from taking the damn extension papers on his OWLS. . .
This was all wrong. He couldn't stop the tears; they came faster than he could stop them. Giving up, surrendering to confusion and self pity, and curled up on his bed, sobs wracking his body, his head feeling as though someone was attacking him with a sledgehammer.
Did no-one understand? Why weren't his parents happy? Did it mean nothing? They always wanted to do well, and now, when he had finally achieved something truly outstanding, they shrugged it off as though it was nothing! One person had been happy for him. . . one. Thanks, Blaise, he thought, numbly.
But then, Pansy. . .the one person he had expected to be happy for him was. . . bitter? Maybe he was just overreacting, misreading the signs. . .but it hurt. . . he felt guilty for beating her. . .so maybe she wasn't a genius, but she did as well as he did in most classes. . .it was just a couple of extension papers, damn-it! WHY?! Just because Snape wanted to try him out for some dumb extension paper in Potions, and MacGonagoll for one in Transfiguration. . .it didn't Mean anything. . .bitterly, he turned it over and over in his mind. . .
He felt empty and guilty, so painfully guilty for getting this.
His tears had stopped without him noticing. Slowly, unwillingly, he stretched himself out, and rolled off the bed to stand on the floor. Gradually, step by step, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his face in the freezing water that gushed from the tap.
Turning it off, he stood in front of the mirror, looking into the eyes of the dripping imagery of himself. He would have stayed longer, staring, wondering, but knew the bathroom mirror too well; sarcastic git that it was.
He reached for a towel and wiped his face dry. Dropping the towel to the floor, he left the bathroom, and wandered, absent of sensible conversation, back into his silent dorm. He stood still, swaying slightly on his feet, swallowed by the suffocating silence.
One person. . .
Extension Papers. . .
His eyes filled with unwanted tears. Somewhere deep down, past the pain, he glared at himself. Not emotion! Stupid, Stupid, STUPID! Hot tears splashed down his face.
NO!!! Christ. . . he covered his face with his hands, glad that no-one was there to see him. Why was it so? He should be delighted. . . or stressed out, but not. . .guilty? Not guilty for something that asked for praise? Maybe he should ask to be excused from taking the damn extension papers on his OWLS. . .
This was all wrong. He couldn't stop the tears; they came faster than he could stop them. Giving up, surrendering to confusion and self pity, and curled up on his bed, sobs wracking his body, his head feeling as though someone was attacking him with a sledgehammer.
Did no-one understand? Why weren't his parents happy? Did it mean nothing? They always wanted to do well, and now, when he had finally achieved something truly outstanding, they shrugged it off as though it was nothing! One person had been happy for him. . . one. Thanks, Blaise, he thought, numbly.
But then, Pansy. . .the one person he had expected to be happy for him was. . . bitter? Maybe he was just overreacting, misreading the signs. . .but it hurt. . . he felt guilty for beating her. . .so maybe she wasn't a genius, but she did as well as he did in most classes. . .it was just a couple of extension papers, damn-it! WHY?! Just because Snape wanted to try him out for some dumb extension paper in Potions, and MacGonagoll for one in Transfiguration. . .it didn't Mean anything. . .bitterly, he turned it over and over in his mind. . .
He felt empty and guilty, so painfully guilty for getting this.
His tears had stopped without him noticing. Slowly, unwillingly, he stretched himself out, and rolled off the bed to stand on the floor. Gradually, step by step, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his face in the freezing water that gushed from the tap.
Turning it off, he stood in front of the mirror, looking into the eyes of the dripping imagery of himself. He would have stayed longer, staring, wondering, but knew the bathroom mirror too well; sarcastic git that it was.
He reached for a towel and wiped his face dry. Dropping the towel to the floor, he left the bathroom, and wandered, absent of sensible conversation, back into his silent dorm. He stood still, swaying slightly on his feet, swallowed by the suffocating silence.
One person. . .