A Literal Scrapbook

by Claire Whitmore

A scrapbook is messy, it's full of everything, an essence of what was. It has the smiles, the sadness and the moments when you laugh for no good reason and just want to be with someone loved. This is the Marauder's scrapbook, literally. It's a big bundle of warm fuzzy blankets, cheap wine and the comic section of the paper on a rainy day, just in the form of drabbles. R/S and J/L

64. Dear Book IV

Dear Book,

No time for light hearted things today, I have to get down to business.

I've realised what love is, sort of.

You know about the cliché when you see a stranger in a crowd and you lock eyes and everything falls into place?

It's an awful cliché, but it's true to an extent.

I see my life like a crowded room, and through my eyes it's like a slightly out of focus camera.

There's a lot of muffled talking, it's a cheerful scene, but for some reason you feel waterlogged and half asleep.

But when you find that someone, (and I don't know who your someone is, but you have one, everyone does. Someone they are living for.) the camera that is your vision suddenly focuses violently onto them and only them, the rest of the crowd becomes even more disconnected and blurred while your love's face is crystal clear, like you're looking at them through a still pond. They quickly become your everything and they literally flood your mind until you adjust and accept the fact that you love them dearly.

But, the strange thing is, your own vision is biased as your sure nothing so wonderful and beautiful could exist.

Then you get angry and furious that no one else sees it too, but you're smug because you have a little secret that no one else knows about and one they would be better off with.

But you saw them first, they're yours.

This is so freaking cheap.

Crap, that's so corny.

-Sirius

Yes Sirius, that is so corny. Now go sit in the corner and think about what you've done.

You bring shame to me, Padfoot.