I Don't own anything but the plot.
I hate life. No it's true; it really is. I hate life, but not as much as I hate Neville at the moment. I sat in Charms jiggling one leg while I had both my hands firmly clamped over my mouth. Laughter buzzed all around me like a bee you want to swat but can't because you know it would sting you.
The reason for my displeasure in life was that Mr. Neville Longbottom had hit me with a charm that had been meant for his parrot. This in itself is an amazing task since I sat behind him. But because I might just have the most awful luck in the entire world, the charm had hit me, and he had even done the blasted thing wrong. The charm was to make whoever it hit rhyme. Quite pointless, but relatively amusing, unless you are the one being laughed at. The charm, being done wrong, had a new side effect as well. I would now only spew out one sappy poem that was intended to be for the person I love. Now, apparently, if I did not say this poem to the person's face within twenty-four hours, there would be dire consequences. I would rhyme for the rest of my life. I could not have that, especially with the war coming. Nothing really rhymed with "stupify." On the other hand, telling the person I love that I love them, through a poem no less, wasn't too appealing either. Professor Flitwick had told me all this while giggling in-between sentences. I had, luckily, been able to shut my mouth fast enough so that none of the poem had escaped past my lips.
Ron sat beside me trying to stifle his laughter, but every time he glanced in my direction, all of his resolve crumbled and he would let out a howl of mirth. I could see tears streaming down his face and all I wanted to do at that moment was make those tears of pain and not happiness. I glared at him through my glasses and stared hopelessly at Hermione. She, too, was shaking with laughter, but when she caught sight of my angered state, she quieted down so that only a very large grin played across her face.
"I'm so sorry, but I can't help it. It is rather amusing." She patted my arm in what would have been a concerned way, but she had already dissolved back into giggles. I almost stuck my tongue out at her before I remembered that my hands were in the way. That was the moment that anything would be better than having to rhyme for the rest of my life.
I stood up abruptly and left the class without a backwards glance. As soon as I was out the door, I broke into a dead sprint. Now to you this might not seem like such a great feat, but next time you find a situation where you can sprint full speed, put both hands to you mouth. It is surprisingly harder than it looks. I reached my dorm in record time and deemed it safe to uncover my mouth. I frantically searched my trunk until my hands closed on a familiar bit of parchment. I opened the Marauders Map and was about to say the incantation when I realized that I wouldn't be able to. I hurled the map back into my trunk and stormed out of my dorm. I would have to look for him the old-fashion way.
I prowled through the halls, especially the dungeons. I was hoping that he might have a free period that way I could get this over with and not have to deal with the whole school finding out. I had been talked about before; whispers through the hall had followed me. It was inevitable, but I wanted to avoid this at all costs. About to give up and head back I turned the corner and connected with something very solid. The fates must have decided to give me a break, or make it worse, depending on how you look at it. I had just run into Draco Malfoy. That's right, The Draco Malfoy, otherwise known as Ferret Face, Son of a Death Eater, or whatever hateful name we had called him in the past.
"Watch it Scar Head!" he sneered as he went to push past me. Before he could move, though, I grabbed his elbow. I opened my mouth and:
Your Heart beats on war-making oil.
Your Heart is a hard silver-grey foil.
Your Heart is as cold as my last breath.
Your Heart might help to create all this death.
Your Heart has only caused pain.
Your Heart is cracked like an old window pane.
Your Heart has all the feeling of a glove.
Your Heart is the only one that I love.
We both stood there equally shocked. Only our breath could be heard in the empty corridor. Slowly my brain began to catch up with my mouth. I registered what I had just proclaimed. In a slow motion Matrix move, I turned on my heel and fled. I ran all the way to the Gryffindor common room. I sank into one of the worn chairs that faced the fire. Slowly my house mates trickled in. I must have looked like death because Ron, Ginny, and Hermione sat down around me exchanging worried glances.
"Hun, are you O.K." Ginny asked softly. She was as close to me as a sister but at the moment I couldn't tell any of them what I just did. Not yet at least. I shook my head minutely and got up to go up to my bed.
"I…I got to go and umm think." I left without another word, tromping up the carpeted stairs to the room I shared with the other guys. I cast a quick silencing charm, closed the drapes and snuggled into my bed with all my clothes, including my shoes, still on. I didn't go to sleep. My eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. All I could think was "what have I done?" Softly I heard a tapping, gently rapping, at the window. Curiosity got the better of me and I got up to see what was making all the noise. There stood a regal black hawk with hard orange eyes. I opened the latch and drew the window open to admit him. He circled the room once before dropping a letter at my feet. Then he was gone. I bent to pick it up and saw my name written on the front of the envelope. I undid the seal and withdrew the letter from its casing.
Dear Pothead,
Loved your poem, even if you are terrible at rhyming. I guess I shouldn't expect much from a Gryffindor. Astronomy Tower, midnight. Don't be late.
Yours
D.M.
Maybe I don't hate life so much after all.
Comments, questions, snide remarks? I would love to hear some suggestions on how to write better or just to know that you loved it! Muahs and Hugs!
Dartmoor'Swan