A/N: Hullo there! Look. This fic is slash, so please turn away if you do
not dig it. All recognizable characters are Rowling's, the genius! Please
leave a review at the end of reading okay?
The Boy Who Lived
I watch you take your steps onto the quidditch field, with pride written all over your face that brings out the ugly green monster out of me.
Adjusting your glasses and gripping tightly onto your broom that never fails to outshine mine. My grip on my own broom tightens. The longing to win, to bring you down is increasing.
The shrill blow of Mdm Hooch's whistle pierces the air and we're off. The wind blows and your black hair wisps around your face. I search eagerly for the snitch, eyes shifting here and there. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of gold but it disappears as fast as it appears. You too notice it but aren't able to catch it. Then our eyes meet for a split second, then you turn your back on me before I can even give you my best scowl.
Then I feel a pang of mixed emotions, angrily bumping into each other, coursing through my veins. I feel anger, jealousy, hate, at times I feel slightly murderous. But then, inevitably, the last feeling I get is always hurt.
Why is it? Why is it that I must hurt over you? You hate me, you loathe me, I know. I see it in your eyes, you hope that their venomous green depth will poison me, leaving me to an ill-fated death.
Suddenly, the heavens start to weep and a string of curses flow smoothly out from my lips. Thunder claps and lightning lights up the sky and heavy, fat droplets of rain pound my head. Lightning illuminates your face. Yes, beautiful, but tense and serious. I mentally smack myself for admiring. Your black hair is plastered all over your face but to your advantage you have your mudblood pal to cast a quick spell onto your cello-taped glasses. Your cheeks flush but your lips are turning a slight blue hue. I want so badly to go over to you, to make your lips warm again. Yet, there's still no way in hell I could do that. My hearts almost stops beating as I see the snitch fluttering behind you. See? You're too much of a distraction. You know that? Or maybe you do! Maybe that's why you continue to torture me. By just being you. Sweat and rain runs down your exposed neck, and I resist the urge to place my mark right across it.
The few seconds that passed seemed to slow down, stretching itself. For me. The snitch was unwavering, and the heavy rain did not make friends with you as you don't seem to notice the snitch's presence. Why it didn't move, I do not know. Maybe even a snitch has feelings, maybe it felt for me. Quickly, I took a sharp plunge a few feet down, pretending to see the snitch. Ha! You've taken my bait. Then, quickly, I take a sharp turn back and fly upwards, to your horror, faster than you could have ever imagined. As your mouth opens in horror, my hands close.
The snitch is mine.
You try to hide it but I clearly see angry and disappointed tears run down from your emerald orbs. You slowly descend, head hung low in shame. Is that the first time? You feel ashamed?
I see the pain fill your eyes. I descend and a blur of people rush to my side. However I couldn't give a damn about them, because they were such fakers. They hugged me solely because of my victory. So fake. Even if anger is all you chose to show me, at least I know that you're REAL, not some bloody faker.
Your mates run to your side to comfort you. I wish to be one of them sometimes. See? Even in my victory, you have made me feel bad or guilty.
But, the point is, you feel. To feel is to live. If you have never felt anything at all, then you haven't lived at all. I want to make you feel. I have already succeeded in making you feel anger and hate. But what I want is to make you cry, moan, laugh and love. I want you to cry out my name like a bloody prayer, as I give you pleasure of never ending heights.
I want you to cry for me. I want you to long and feel for me. Selfish? Am I? Well maybe I am, forgive me. But hey, to live is to feel, to feel is to live. So why not? Smile at me, smile for me. Cry out my name in ecstasy I promise to give for a life time. Why?
Because you are the boy who lived.
-fin-
A/N: You like? Review please! Thanks for reading.
The Boy Who Lived
I watch you take your steps onto the quidditch field, with pride written all over your face that brings out the ugly green monster out of me.
Adjusting your glasses and gripping tightly onto your broom that never fails to outshine mine. My grip on my own broom tightens. The longing to win, to bring you down is increasing.
The shrill blow of Mdm Hooch's whistle pierces the air and we're off. The wind blows and your black hair wisps around your face. I search eagerly for the snitch, eyes shifting here and there. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of gold but it disappears as fast as it appears. You too notice it but aren't able to catch it. Then our eyes meet for a split second, then you turn your back on me before I can even give you my best scowl.
Then I feel a pang of mixed emotions, angrily bumping into each other, coursing through my veins. I feel anger, jealousy, hate, at times I feel slightly murderous. But then, inevitably, the last feeling I get is always hurt.
Why is it? Why is it that I must hurt over you? You hate me, you loathe me, I know. I see it in your eyes, you hope that their venomous green depth will poison me, leaving me to an ill-fated death.
Suddenly, the heavens start to weep and a string of curses flow smoothly out from my lips. Thunder claps and lightning lights up the sky and heavy, fat droplets of rain pound my head. Lightning illuminates your face. Yes, beautiful, but tense and serious. I mentally smack myself for admiring. Your black hair is plastered all over your face but to your advantage you have your mudblood pal to cast a quick spell onto your cello-taped glasses. Your cheeks flush but your lips are turning a slight blue hue. I want so badly to go over to you, to make your lips warm again. Yet, there's still no way in hell I could do that. My hearts almost stops beating as I see the snitch fluttering behind you. See? You're too much of a distraction. You know that? Or maybe you do! Maybe that's why you continue to torture me. By just being you. Sweat and rain runs down your exposed neck, and I resist the urge to place my mark right across it.
The few seconds that passed seemed to slow down, stretching itself. For me. The snitch was unwavering, and the heavy rain did not make friends with you as you don't seem to notice the snitch's presence. Why it didn't move, I do not know. Maybe even a snitch has feelings, maybe it felt for me. Quickly, I took a sharp plunge a few feet down, pretending to see the snitch. Ha! You've taken my bait. Then, quickly, I take a sharp turn back and fly upwards, to your horror, faster than you could have ever imagined. As your mouth opens in horror, my hands close.
The snitch is mine.
You try to hide it but I clearly see angry and disappointed tears run down from your emerald orbs. You slowly descend, head hung low in shame. Is that the first time? You feel ashamed?
I see the pain fill your eyes. I descend and a blur of people rush to my side. However I couldn't give a damn about them, because they were such fakers. They hugged me solely because of my victory. So fake. Even if anger is all you chose to show me, at least I know that you're REAL, not some bloody faker.
Your mates run to your side to comfort you. I wish to be one of them sometimes. See? Even in my victory, you have made me feel bad or guilty.
But, the point is, you feel. To feel is to live. If you have never felt anything at all, then you haven't lived at all. I want to make you feel. I have already succeeded in making you feel anger and hate. But what I want is to make you cry, moan, laugh and love. I want you to cry out my name like a bloody prayer, as I give you pleasure of never ending heights.
I want you to cry for me. I want you to long and feel for me. Selfish? Am I? Well maybe I am, forgive me. But hey, to live is to feel, to feel is to live. So why not? Smile at me, smile for me. Cry out my name in ecstasy I promise to give for a life time. Why?
Because you are the boy who lived.
-fin-
A/N: You like? Review please! Thanks for reading.