Silver Eyes
By: FreakyHotGeek
Note: I'm starting to get dreadful writer's block with this story, and of course knowing my luck it's the popular one; I have no trouble coming up with ideas for Harry Ron Er! Then again, readers seem to be dropping like flies when it comes to the hits counter doohickey. COME BACK TO ME I LURVE YOU! -sob-
–bangs head against table- Anyhoo, here is the 8th chapter, as best I could create it…
Disclaimer: No evil monkeys from Mars have come to Earth angrily bearing my brain, which has gone on holiday there, so sadly I'm afraid I don't own Harry Potter…
Chapter 8
Notes: Is this Typical?
I wake the next morning with a headache. I didn't sleep very well due to odd nightmares of power hungry dictators, of birds pecking her eyes out, and of strange girls in ridiculously frilly pink dresses.
"Oooooooooh," I moan as I roll out of bed, my temple throbbing.
It's difficult, I realize, to get dressed when your head is pounding with such a great extent that you can barely see. Somehow, I manage to pull my robes on and find my school bag. I'm not sure if I trust myself to walk down stairs or not, but seeing as I don't have a choice, I navigate them very, very slowly. With every step it seems a cloud is falling over my vision, probably due to the headache. I trip on the second to last stair and fall over, landing on something that is clearly not the floor.
"Oy! Watch where you're going, mate!"
The thing I've landed on is Ron Weasley.
"S-sorry," I say apologetically, trying to get off of him. In my hazy sight, I can see him standing up, and offering me his hand.
"Thanks," I hear myself say weakly.
"Er… are you all right?" he asks, looking as if he really hopes I'll say yes because he doesn't know what to say if I don't.
"Possibly," I say. "Headache. Killer headache." I mumble, shuffling aside and letting him go back over to where Harry Potter is sitting, his head in his hands. I stop dead in my tracks, realizing something that must be insane.
My head hurts. Harry's head hurts. I looked into his eyes for a long time yesterday. Maybe there's some side-effect Trelawney has forgotten to mention, or something more you have to do to prevent from sort of staying inside their head. That would, of course, be just my luck. I rub my head discreetly and hurry off towards the Great Hall. I may have a headache like none before, but I'm also very hungry.
The Hall seems even more empty than usual, but one thing I do notice is that Draco Malfoy is sitting very complacently in his seat, looking a bit weirded out. Chances are, he can't figure out why he no longer hates me. I'm not sure how the whole thing works, so it could be he remembers what happened, but can't say or do anything about it because I've forbidden him to do so. It's an odd feeling, knowing that someone like me could have impacted the life of someone like him. A girl in the shadows making a puppet of a guy who thrives on attention. I shudder and sit down, the weight of what I have done falling upon me like a boulder, seeming to try and crush me beneath it.
I'm suddenly not feeling so hungry any more. I try to nibble at something, anything, but I can't seem to wrap my mind around the idea of food.
Perfect, I think. Now not only am I confused and have a headache, but I'm apparently getting sick as well.
As the Hall starts to fill up, I sigh and push my food away, standing up and starting to walk away from the table.
I'm half hoping that someone, anyone, will stop me, tell me to come and sit with them, and just the company will make it easier to digest, but sadly that does not happen. I walk slowly, but I still get all the way out of the Great Hall without a word said to me. Of course I should have expected that. No one cares. That's not going to change.
I take my time this morning. I don't have class for a while, and I'm not sure I can handle reading with my head throbbing a mile a minute.
Back in the common room, I sulk. What else can you do when you can barely see and think straight. I'm afraid to ask Trelawney about this; she'll know I've used my powers, and I'm not sure she'd take that well.
A few people come in and out, but they don't seem to notice me, seem to care that I'm sitting there with my head in my hands, inches from tears. It's amazing that anything could feel this horrible, that anyone could possibly survive with this type of pain. I realize I've lived a pretty sheltered life as far as physical pain goes. Emotional, however… that's another story.
I have never wanted for class to start more. When it finally comes time for me to go to Herbology, I could kiss my schedule.
It takes a pretty long time to get to the greenhouses, but I'm getting a bit used to the throbbing by now, so I don't have to walk as slowly to avoid running into things.
If this is Harry's headache I've somehow joined in, I don't know how he can stand it. I feel a bit more admiration for the "Boy Who Lived".
Professor Sprout explains our lesson today, something to do with a very large and formidable looking plant, the puss from which can cure nearly any ailment known to man.
We are separated into groups to work on watering, trimming, and eventually repotting the plant, the name escaping me no matter how many times she says it. I get paired with a few nameless Hufflepuffs, none of whom say a word to me except the occasional order or request regarding our assignment. It hurts, but not any more than I'm used to, to see them chatter away, and never once try to include me.
Finally, blissfully, the class ends, and I can round up my bags and attempt to get away without any more bruising to my hopes and dreams to finally be accepted.
Potions is not much better. But then, that's to be expected. Potions is NEVER a good thing. Not even in the slightest.
I spend most of the time staring mournfully into my cauldron. Our class has an odd number, so I got the thrill of being the lone one. Luckily, I'm all right at potions, so I don't really need a partner. It would just be nice, not being in the back row by myself, watching everyone else brew their stupid potions, and laugh and smile.
"Hey, think fast, Shi," the unmistakable voice of Blaise Zabini says from somewhere in front of me. A folded up piece of paper whacks me between the eyes—I've never been very coordinated.
"Not what I'd call fast," he says, smiling, then jerking back up to look forward, as Snape is coming towards us. I've never gotten a note before. I'm not sure, at first, what to do. And then, of course, the solution comes to me. Hide it, read it when Snape's prying eyes are elsewhere.
When he finally slithers away, I peek at the note under my desk.
Hey Shi (I'm going to call you that, all right?),
Sorry about Draco. It looks like you handled it—beats me as to how. Anyway, let's have breakfast again sometime, okay? We've still got loads to learn about each other, you know? And it's refreshing not spending all my time with someone like Draco. He's all about terrorizing Gryffindors. Don't write back, Snape has eyes like a hawk, and you're not Slytherin, so you'll get busted for sure.
Blaise
I'm not an expert in the matter, so I'm really not sure if this is typical note etiquette or not. I'm just sort of hoping, for whatever reason, it's just… classic Blaise. Because I want to get to know someone, really get to know them. And he seems like a pretty good candidate.
End note: Oh bugger, it's short again… well… enjoy? Lol Hope you like it! REVIEW, please. It may motivate me to add more, you know. –wink, hint, nudge-