My Hero
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: I own not these rad children, but I do own whatever situations they're forced to be pawn to. Yay.
Note: Slash and another brief swear word... Also, this chapter might be a bit confusing, points-of-view change frequently and I've used some more, well, poetical writing techniques that don't really make sense to anyone other than me. But be patient. All of this will be explained in due time. Let the writer be crazy. : )
A.He handed me the grape one. How kind of him to notice I liked grape best.
F.The tree-house is exactly as I last saw it. Draco says he sealed it against his father and against his old life.
I wonder if he was trying to protect the tree-house or if he wanted to forget.
G.The juice box has a huge grape as its label. The grape is smiling and jumping rope.
A.We're suddenly laughing. The laughing turns to crying and Draco slams his fist against the wall. Wood chips are flying and I pull my legs to my chest. Draco collapses and sobs.
C.
D.
E.
F. on't know how this happened and I don't know why I'm here.
G. I d
H. on't know.
I.
Draco's arms are pulling around my waist and he's crying into my chest. Purely undignified tears are pouring onto my green tee-shirt and I look up just quickly enough to stroke the back of his neck.
I want to go home now.
He hated coloring the people most. Because they hand you white paper and you don't always want to draw sickly white people. But shading them was like putting on a mask; it was like they couldn't breathe beneath it.
Dean was not an exceptional artist. But he had to do his subjects justice.
So Dean goes out and finds a brown paper bag and rips it apart until it resembles paper and asks Padma to pose for him. The brown paper works well enough.
Neville has beautiful eyes. The fact that it's Neville matters little to me, but I like knowing he has beautiful something.
I can't decide if they're blue or green. Isn't that just typical? Maybe I should call it hazel. But even then it's not right.
I need to stop thinking about this. Even though hazel looks absolutely. Breathtaking. With brown hair. Ha. Neville. Breathtaking. I must really be going nuts.
I could always talk to Hermione.
Why was that, anyway? Maybe I am a faggot. I can only talk to girls.
But it doesn't matter. She pulls back my hair and whispers that it will be alright. And although I feel alone and empty, she holds my hand and smiles.
I've always been so ordinary. Why does this have to be my one dividing point?
If I could have picked anything, anything to separate me from the rest of the world and make me glow or burn with pride or infamy- well, it wouldn't be because I liked boys. I mean, seriously.
"Neville has the hots for Harry," George or Fred or- fuck, Gred- coos after me in the hallways outside charms the other day. Please, not that again. I go to my dorm only to find my trunk ransacked and lube smeared over my bed sheets and toothbrush and things missing. You'd think I'd have more sympathy in a school for magical, wand-weilding wizards. The irony of it all is singeing.