Writer's Block 41.1 - Voting!
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Challenge: I Help You Hate Me
Points: 2pts for voting. 1st/2nd/3rd/Participation Only: 50/40/30/10 points & 20/15/10/5 knuts, respectively, for winners.
Deadline: Voting until Wednesday, May 30 @ 11pm UTC.
Details: Vote for your top 2 favourite drabbles. Do not vote for yourself or have other people vote for you.
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A.
Title: So You Say
“Sev, I need to ask you something important.”
I startled at how soft Lily’s voice was as I turned to look at her. This was serious and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. “What is it?”
Her features could have been carved from stone, they were so frozen with seriousness and sorrow. “Those things you say-”
“Which things?” The words stumbled out of my mouth, desperate to fix whatever was wrong.
Her eyes held mine mercilessly. “That word. Mudblood. That crap about how they’re less magical than wizards and witches born from magical parents. I know you don’t believe it.” She took a slow breath. “Do you?”
My head was shaking violently back and forth. “Of course not! You know I just say it when I’m with those other guys in my house. It’s just to fit in.”
Her jaw tightened at my unstated cowardice, but she pressed on. “Then why do you say it even when you’re not around them?”
I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning. “You never know who’s listening, Lily.”
“I’m listening. And it hurts.”
I snatched at her hands, warming them in mine. “Merlin, Lily, you know I would never ever hurt you. Those things aren’t about you!”
“Aren’t they?”
“No!”
“And why not? Don’t I fit the Mudblood description? Aren’t I a Mudblood?”
My hands shook badly against hers. “Never call yourself that! Never. You’re magical beyond magical, more magical than all the rest of the wizards and witches in this school put together. You are not...that word.”
“But when you say those things, that’s what you make me believe.”
“Lily, please...I…” My head sagged down as her hands tried to slip from mine. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find some other way to fit in with the boys from your house. Or better yet, find someone else to fit in with.”
“Lily, I live with them. I can’t just oppose them and hope for the best. This isn’t Gryffindor. I’m no Gryffindor.”
She sighed as she touched her hand to my cheek. “Maybe some day you will be, Sev.”
B.
Title: You had it coming.
You didn’t save her.
Every night is the same darkness. Every nightmare is the same memory.
Years pass, and you watch yourself get older, get worse.
The echo of a forbidden speech you once repeated, leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.
You always thought childhood was a hell you couldn’t wait to escape from. The screams. The bruises. Your body was the map of a child his father could never love. But you would take it back, all of it, if only you could have the rest.
Her smile. Her eyes. A summer breeze. A memory you watch until it is ingrained in your mind, a moment you can observe and repeat, but never live again.
You take shelter in your memory and you place yourself right behind the kid you once were. Lily smiles at you.
Some things can never last.
The cracks of a building, the rain on the ground. Everything feels like embracing an empty body.
Some things will never fade away.
You are dead, and somehow still existing. Dead in a way that allows you to breathe simply because this is the hell you have earned yourself. This is your judgement. You might as well live it.
You are dead, but still useful. You notice the strings around your arms. You follow the path and perform your role in this the play, knowing too well how it will end for you. But you didn’t save her, so why would you deserve to be saved? (You don’t)
And then a new school year starts, and you put your Professor costume, and you face a chimera, a kid you dehumanize because he is the spitting image of James Potter. With Lily’s eyes.
A new Act starts. You play your part. Some traits of your character come natural to you (you have always been so easy to dislike), some are the result of careful rehearses.
And then you receive a familiar look of disdain from emerald eyes.
James Potter’s son hates you. Lily’s son hates you.
Good.
There is a part of Lily still alive. An unburied fragment, a breathing legacy.
You act the way you are supposed to act. You act the way you want to behave, fueled by the senseless rebellion of a teenager (but you are so old) who never got over a heartbreak; you act expecting certain results. And you get them.
Because Lily is here. And she hates the way you act and she hates the way you are. She hates you.
Good.
You deserve it.