Authors Note: Just a little angst-y challenge from letylyf.
;)
Tom's POV...his seventh year
The character 'Dee' (or Mindy) is mine and she's in my ficcie 'Dee' (check it out!)
Here we are.
~*~
The world is cruel and vile. It is unforgiving and unjust. The thing is, there is no such thing as 'perfect justice.' People with power control everyone else and servile they all must be. They close their mouths and do their work and they question absolutely nothing. The world does not care if you are poor or disheartened. It does not care if you've had a bad day. You will never win. You will die a horrible death...probably alone. There shall be no 'Heaven' there will only be emptiness in the dark ground.
Dee never believed this.
I told her many a time, told her about the world. She just shook her head and curly blond corkscrew curls bounced about.
"No Tom," she'd say firmly.
Sometimes I found her to be in denial, sometimes simply psychotic. And sometimes, she even had a point.
Dee believed in the goodness of the world and I hated that. It was just such a stupid thing to believe in.
I always wanted to believe in Heaven though; I wanted to believe that there was somewhere better than this awful place for Dee. She certainly deserved something better.
She was the last great person, I always said. The last person to be put on earth that actually worked hard and filled her little lot in life. The last person who did good things for other people and accompanied the lonely in their struggle.
Dee was never pretty but always stunning. Her hair was always messy and stuck out in odd places, it was the color of dirty hay. Her robes were soft velvet; they were her Grandmum's she said. "They're magical, you know," she told me once. I told her that the world we lived in was magical and she said:
"That's not magic, Tom," she said in a hushed voice. "That's the existence of magic...and nothing more."
Dee never made sense.
She insisted on wearing her pointy ebony hat, even inside the classrooms. Everyone laughed, even me. For it was funny. And Dee laughed to, even as they teased her.
They did tease her too. For long and relentless periods of time. Oh I didn't feel bad for her, not really. Often I'd walk away from the situation, but later she'd cry on my shoulder. And then I couldn't run away. So I put an arm around her and said quietly (so as no one else could hear) "Hush now...they're nothing, Dee."
But she still cried.
You were rarely alone with Dee. She had a presence that was bigger than the sun right before your window and the moon shimmering in the sky.
One October Eve she told me with a pout on her pale face, "you're my favorite, Tom."
"You can't have favorites, Dee," I said. "Everyone out there wants you...they're waiting for you..."
"You don't want me," she smiled, "you aren't waiting for me. And that's why you're my favorite."
I didn't say anything I just nodded and adjusted my silver tie.
"We're best buddies, right Tom? Always? Like custard and toast..."
"If I hurt you, Dee...we can't be best buddies."
"Best buddies can hurt each other," she shrugged, "and it's okay."
So I sighed.
Once she winked at me and said, "You'll be big someday, Tom. Someday."
I never quite got that.
I would never amount to anything, I'd be happy to just stop existing altogether. But Dee would cry loud tears; she'd probably wake up all of Hogwarts. And then they'd blame me and jump on my grave. Smiling all the same. But...at least they wouldn't blame Dee.
Part of me lived for her, a very small part of course. For she was someone whom followed you about, and you could never quite get away from her. Even when you wanted to (and often I did.) At times I'd tell her off and push her out of my way. She was just so annoying. But part of me appreciated it, even if it was awful.
"Tom," she said, "you'll get lost."
Which was complete rot, of course.
Except for the time in which I did. I was on my way to Charms and came across a strange corridor and odd sounds filled in the halls, Dee smiled in a superior way.
"Lost, Tom?" She taunted.
"No, Dee," I said, "been here loads of times. Scared, little girl?"
"No way," she said, "just amused s'all."
It took us ages to find our way out of the maze, when we got out Dee smiled and said: "I knew how to get out, Tom."
Instantly I became mad and raked a sweaty hand through my matted hair. "You brat!"
Dee laughed. I never complained about her following me around again.
I was always loads smarter, book smart. Dee failed every single Potions test. But every night, without fail, she'd study.
Such was the good, bad and the ugly of Dee's personality.
She just had innate faith. Part of me thought she must know that she'd fail once more, but the other thought that maybe just maybe she'd pass it this time.
She never did.
I tried helping her but she was Dee and Dee was just a person who was unable to be taught. So instead of me teaching her about Potions we talked of the stars, of the color of peppermint toads (candy red or scarlet?), and debated about ancient philosophers. When she showed me her Potions grade I winced and she laughed.
"Tom," she laughed wryly, "can't you see? My life...it isn't about Potions and if yours is then I pity you immensely."
I winked, "you're so stupid, Dee."
"I know," she said, "but at least I'm not antisocial."
I feigned offense and ended up just laughing as my toffee-flavored gum fell out my gaping mouth. Dee stepped on it and looked at the bottom of her black shoes: "It's magical now, you know." I just smiled "so it is, Dee, so it is."
She was just this odd specimen. You could never reason with her. For she simply wasn't reasonable. She refused to believe in evil and yet was always scared by 'trolls.' And sometimes I'd have to just roll my eyes at her.
Secretly, she was everything I hated and wanted to be. She was Dee and she was alive and happy, living. She cried and she laughed she was scared and content. She failed Potions and put catsup on her bacon. She couldn't wink with her right eye, only with her left and she never understood anything worth understanding.
But she did understand that people need love, and that sometimes people need to be kicked, hard. In the shins. As I am well aware of.
April Nineteenth was her birthday. Her 'Mummy and Daddy' (as she called them) sent her loads of expensive presents. Blouses shipped in from Paris, fancy perfume, a gold charm bracelet, mounds of chocolate and other things. She opened them and instantly said:
"Oh Tom, I'm so sorry--I forgot..."
She knew I hated my parents. And she knew that this "family gesture" was sure to make me scowl.
"It's okay, Dee, it's okay."
But she pushed the many presents away and said in a fake tone, "family is overrated anyway."
But the smile on her face showed that indeed, family is never overrated.
We went through tough times at Hogwarts. Times when friendship was sacrificed for good grades and cheap wine. Times when the lines of loyalty were divided and chopped up. Times when even tears faltered.
And there were points in both of our lives when we were very much so "together alone." We would sit down on the velvet green couch and not talk. Dee would put her hand on my shoulder and say, "we're fine Tom. We're fine."
"We aren't fine," I'd say. "I see you Dee...and you're dying inside..."
"No!" She shouted. "I am fine and so are you. And we will grow old and die together...and we will be happy."
"Will we have children?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "John and Julie."
I smiled grimly.
Dee died a few days ago.
It was not a pleasant or calming death (as she always insisted that she wanted to go out 'in style' even though that seemed to disturb me.)
I was with her at the end. Her parents were killed at their Manor...and Dee was there as well for Christmas Holiday, and they killed Dee too. The Deatheaters.
I was right there with her, and they spared me because they were gone by that time.
She was on the ground and shaking miserably. I draped my cloak around her and she smiled grimly as I took a look at her slashed cheek.
"I'm okay, Tom," she said through gasping breaths. "And don't you dare die here with me. Never ever! Not for me and most certainly not for you...you've never known quite what you wanted. And believe me, this is not what you want. Listen-"
"Dee!" I cried out as she grabbed fiercely on to my hand. Her small pale hand met my larger one and I squeezed it.
"Don't you think on it," she said. "Not for one second. You'll be big someday, Tom. And don't you ever sacrifice that talent for me. Never."
"Will you come back as a ghost?" I choked out.
"No way," she shook her head. "Death...it's not so bad, Tom."
I sighed and crystal tears ran down my ruddy cheeks.
"Not much longer now," she said as her hair fell into her hazel eyes.
"No pain, right Dee?" I asked, concerned.
I touched her cheek with a long pale finger, and her blood remained on my finger. She grabbed my hand tighter in a way that very much suggested she was in pain.
"No pain, Tom," she said toughly.
Her breath became shorter and I grabbed her hand even tighter.
"You're magical, you know," she said in a soft voice.
And then her eyes fluttered closed and her breath stopped. Her hand gently slipped from mine and a blissful expression was seen on her face.
I wonder if she's up in Heaven, sometimes. But I try not to. Even if it is halfway happy. I wonder if she's skipping on the transparent clouds, and making the thunder wake me up at night. I wonder if she's taking small bites of the clouds and insisting they taste of pink frosting and if she really truly knows how much she meant to me.
I wonder if she knows that she's always been my favorite.
She's magical, you know.
;)
Tom's POV...his seventh year
The character 'Dee' (or Mindy) is mine and she's in my ficcie 'Dee' (check it out!)
Here we are.
~*~
The world is cruel and vile. It is unforgiving and unjust. The thing is, there is no such thing as 'perfect justice.' People with power control everyone else and servile they all must be. They close their mouths and do their work and they question absolutely nothing. The world does not care if you are poor or disheartened. It does not care if you've had a bad day. You will never win. You will die a horrible death...probably alone. There shall be no 'Heaven' there will only be emptiness in the dark ground.
Dee never believed this.
I told her many a time, told her about the world. She just shook her head and curly blond corkscrew curls bounced about.
"No Tom," she'd say firmly.
Sometimes I found her to be in denial, sometimes simply psychotic. And sometimes, she even had a point.
Dee believed in the goodness of the world and I hated that. It was just such a stupid thing to believe in.
I always wanted to believe in Heaven though; I wanted to believe that there was somewhere better than this awful place for Dee. She certainly deserved something better.
She was the last great person, I always said. The last person to be put on earth that actually worked hard and filled her little lot in life. The last person who did good things for other people and accompanied the lonely in their struggle.
Dee was never pretty but always stunning. Her hair was always messy and stuck out in odd places, it was the color of dirty hay. Her robes were soft velvet; they were her Grandmum's she said. "They're magical, you know," she told me once. I told her that the world we lived in was magical and she said:
"That's not magic, Tom," she said in a hushed voice. "That's the existence of magic...and nothing more."
Dee never made sense.
She insisted on wearing her pointy ebony hat, even inside the classrooms. Everyone laughed, even me. For it was funny. And Dee laughed to, even as they teased her.
They did tease her too. For long and relentless periods of time. Oh I didn't feel bad for her, not really. Often I'd walk away from the situation, but later she'd cry on my shoulder. And then I couldn't run away. So I put an arm around her and said quietly (so as no one else could hear) "Hush now...they're nothing, Dee."
But she still cried.
You were rarely alone with Dee. She had a presence that was bigger than the sun right before your window and the moon shimmering in the sky.
One October Eve she told me with a pout on her pale face, "you're my favorite, Tom."
"You can't have favorites, Dee," I said. "Everyone out there wants you...they're waiting for you..."
"You don't want me," she smiled, "you aren't waiting for me. And that's why you're my favorite."
I didn't say anything I just nodded and adjusted my silver tie.
"We're best buddies, right Tom? Always? Like custard and toast..."
"If I hurt you, Dee...we can't be best buddies."
"Best buddies can hurt each other," she shrugged, "and it's okay."
So I sighed.
Once she winked at me and said, "You'll be big someday, Tom. Someday."
I never quite got that.
I would never amount to anything, I'd be happy to just stop existing altogether. But Dee would cry loud tears; she'd probably wake up all of Hogwarts. And then they'd blame me and jump on my grave. Smiling all the same. But...at least they wouldn't blame Dee.
Part of me lived for her, a very small part of course. For she was someone whom followed you about, and you could never quite get away from her. Even when you wanted to (and often I did.) At times I'd tell her off and push her out of my way. She was just so annoying. But part of me appreciated it, even if it was awful.
"Tom," she said, "you'll get lost."
Which was complete rot, of course.
Except for the time in which I did. I was on my way to Charms and came across a strange corridor and odd sounds filled in the halls, Dee smiled in a superior way.
"Lost, Tom?" She taunted.
"No, Dee," I said, "been here loads of times. Scared, little girl?"
"No way," she said, "just amused s'all."
It took us ages to find our way out of the maze, when we got out Dee smiled and said: "I knew how to get out, Tom."
Instantly I became mad and raked a sweaty hand through my matted hair. "You brat!"
Dee laughed. I never complained about her following me around again.
I was always loads smarter, book smart. Dee failed every single Potions test. But every night, without fail, she'd study.
Such was the good, bad and the ugly of Dee's personality.
She just had innate faith. Part of me thought she must know that she'd fail once more, but the other thought that maybe just maybe she'd pass it this time.
She never did.
I tried helping her but she was Dee and Dee was just a person who was unable to be taught. So instead of me teaching her about Potions we talked of the stars, of the color of peppermint toads (candy red or scarlet?), and debated about ancient philosophers. When she showed me her Potions grade I winced and she laughed.
"Tom," she laughed wryly, "can't you see? My life...it isn't about Potions and if yours is then I pity you immensely."
I winked, "you're so stupid, Dee."
"I know," she said, "but at least I'm not antisocial."
I feigned offense and ended up just laughing as my toffee-flavored gum fell out my gaping mouth. Dee stepped on it and looked at the bottom of her black shoes: "It's magical now, you know." I just smiled "so it is, Dee, so it is."
She was just this odd specimen. You could never reason with her. For she simply wasn't reasonable. She refused to believe in evil and yet was always scared by 'trolls.' And sometimes I'd have to just roll my eyes at her.
Secretly, she was everything I hated and wanted to be. She was Dee and she was alive and happy, living. She cried and she laughed she was scared and content. She failed Potions and put catsup on her bacon. She couldn't wink with her right eye, only with her left and she never understood anything worth understanding.
But she did understand that people need love, and that sometimes people need to be kicked, hard. In the shins. As I am well aware of.
April Nineteenth was her birthday. Her 'Mummy and Daddy' (as she called them) sent her loads of expensive presents. Blouses shipped in from Paris, fancy perfume, a gold charm bracelet, mounds of chocolate and other things. She opened them and instantly said:
"Oh Tom, I'm so sorry--I forgot..."
She knew I hated my parents. And she knew that this "family gesture" was sure to make me scowl.
"It's okay, Dee, it's okay."
But she pushed the many presents away and said in a fake tone, "family is overrated anyway."
But the smile on her face showed that indeed, family is never overrated.
We went through tough times at Hogwarts. Times when friendship was sacrificed for good grades and cheap wine. Times when the lines of loyalty were divided and chopped up. Times when even tears faltered.
And there were points in both of our lives when we were very much so "together alone." We would sit down on the velvet green couch and not talk. Dee would put her hand on my shoulder and say, "we're fine Tom. We're fine."
"We aren't fine," I'd say. "I see you Dee...and you're dying inside..."
"No!" She shouted. "I am fine and so are you. And we will grow old and die together...and we will be happy."
"Will we have children?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "John and Julie."
I smiled grimly.
Dee died a few days ago.
It was not a pleasant or calming death (as she always insisted that she wanted to go out 'in style' even though that seemed to disturb me.)
I was with her at the end. Her parents were killed at their Manor...and Dee was there as well for Christmas Holiday, and they killed Dee too. The Deatheaters.
I was right there with her, and they spared me because they were gone by that time.
She was on the ground and shaking miserably. I draped my cloak around her and she smiled grimly as I took a look at her slashed cheek.
"I'm okay, Tom," she said through gasping breaths. "And don't you dare die here with me. Never ever! Not for me and most certainly not for you...you've never known quite what you wanted. And believe me, this is not what you want. Listen-"
"Dee!" I cried out as she grabbed fiercely on to my hand. Her small pale hand met my larger one and I squeezed it.
"Don't you think on it," she said. "Not for one second. You'll be big someday, Tom. And don't you ever sacrifice that talent for me. Never."
"Will you come back as a ghost?" I choked out.
"No way," she shook her head. "Death...it's not so bad, Tom."
I sighed and crystal tears ran down my ruddy cheeks.
"Not much longer now," she said as her hair fell into her hazel eyes.
"No pain, right Dee?" I asked, concerned.
I touched her cheek with a long pale finger, and her blood remained on my finger. She grabbed my hand tighter in a way that very much suggested she was in pain.
"No pain, Tom," she said toughly.
Her breath became shorter and I grabbed her hand even tighter.
"You're magical, you know," she said in a soft voice.
And then her eyes fluttered closed and her breath stopped. Her hand gently slipped from mine and a blissful expression was seen on her face.
I wonder if she's up in Heaven, sometimes. But I try not to. Even if it is halfway happy. I wonder if she's skipping on the transparent clouds, and making the thunder wake me up at night. I wonder if she's taking small bites of the clouds and insisting they taste of pink frosting and if she really truly knows how much she meant to me.
I wonder if she knows that she's always been my favorite.
She's magical, you know.