Dream diary!!
DISCLAIMER: this is incoherent, has unstable tenses (this is funny to me), please don't read.
I had a dream today. It played in my head like a movie. Anyway:
It begins with Tamara and me, running away from some guys in uniforms who obviously belong to the government. So it appears that we have stolen some secret files or confidential information. Strangely enough, our respective fathers were also there. Don't ask me how I dreamed about Tamara's father when I've never seen any of her family before. Anyway, they were fuzzy figures, just identified as our fathers, and they were the, uh, rebels fighting for freedom of something and then stole some documents. State secrets. Something.
Anyway we were running away, because the government would kill, maim, torture, any combination of the three, etc. Us. They would do that to us. S we knew that we had to get out of the country. I think we used horses? Motorbikes? Something. The dads were together, and I was together with Tamara, and somehow we were separated.
The scene shows the dads, and some random third person who is supposedly a guide? They are at the border to the other country, and they stop because the huge gothic gate is closed. It's covered with huge spiked barbed wire or something. I don't know, just some vicious implement. They try to climb it halfheartedly, but realise it's impossible. So they decide that Tamara and I must have gone on ahead and some stuff happened so the gate was closed. Since, uh, we went before them. So they were okay with it because we were safe and the documents were with us.
Then things start shaking. A scene of the building we escaped from exploding. Scene of stuffs disintegrating. The ground under the dads' feet start shaking and the barbed wire thing starts falling and impales them somehow and kills them. Oops.
And then after that there's this scene where it's shown that there's this huge fucking crater in the ground, circular, etc. Think something like the F.L.E.I.A. or F.L.E.J.A from Code Geass.
Also there is a big shot government (military?) official and soldiers standing around the crater's edge. Near to the gate. They're in uniform, and apparently they are Japanese, so we're in Japan.
This is actually the point where I realise that the dream's set in Japan. That's why I said it played like a movie.
Anyway, so as it turns out, Tamara and I were not actually ahead of them. We were behind, and we didn't get caught in the bomb thing.
The soldiers and etc were guarding the gate, I think in an attempt to catch Tamara and me, so we hid in the masses of the villagers of the nearest town. Which, for some reason, was right beside the gate. And then the leader dude started interrogating the crowd of villagers, whose village was just half destroyed by the bomb. Literally, the edge of the crater starts in the middle of someone's garden.
Anyway the villagers were scared shitless and swore to turn us over to the government if they found us. Tamara was shocked by her dad's death, I was preoccupied with how to survive, and we were hiding in the masses, and then the government dude decides that he didn't like our faces, so he pulled us forward to interrogate us even more.
And then so I started spouting lies and saluting to him and saying all sorts of sucking-up words. Eventually he let us go, and the village took us in as some leftover humans from some other village which was destroyed by the bomb.
So Tamara and I were put in some apartment block thing with some other people. Then night arrived and we were worrying about how escape to another country. The lights in our room were still on
pretty late at night, so some guard came in to tell us to switch it off, and Tamara and I almost had a heart attack because we thought that someone had found us out. And then the lights were off and people went to sleep. Tamara and I started packing and attempting to escape.
And then this other woman leapt out of her sleeping bag and started trying to strangle a man. She tried to keep it quiet, but the man was kind of strong and almost escaped her grasp. He tripped and fell onto the floor and was about to shout for help when I stepped on his throat to cut him off. Apparently dream!me figured that if a woman was trying to kill someone then she wouldn't be tattletaling on us. Also we really didn't want the guard to come in and find Tamara and me attempting to escape. We also didn't want him to wake the other occupants of the room up, because then we'd have to kill more people.
As it turns out the woman was trying to escape too, so we followed her ...
Blah blah blah I can't remember any more.
Pretty epic dream, eh?
14 August 2012
1500+ words of ranting
*I became very angry halfway through this post and went off track. This post isn't really about what it says it's about in the beginning.
My mother is a phenomenally annoying woman. She loves talking about things that she just doesn't understand. A pointless example is English. She talks about the wrong things in a weird accent and refuses to actually learn the language. It annoys the fuck out of me because my brother picks it up and it's just horrible to listen to. A not-so-pointless example would be my schoolwork.
She thinks she knows all about what happens at school. The status of my studies, social interaction, blah blah. Actually, she doesn't, but that's never stopped her from going on and on about it before.
Classes at school are from A to M, and while there isn't really a fixed ranking, it's generally acknowledged that the A class is better and the M class isn't as good. Which is bullshit. The A class just gets higher grades overall, while the M class students are awesome at certain subjects but frankly shitty at others.
So there's class E, which is also generally acknowledged as pretty good, since most people end up having a full exemption from the year end exams. Or at least a partial.
And then there's me, who is currently right at the bottom of the class, with a GPA of right below three. I'm fine with it, really. In most classes I wouldn't be at the bottom of the class. And my school is a pretty good school.
But that's just me justifying things. That's a bad GPA. Last year, and the year before, it hovered around 3.3 and 3.2. This year it's not even 3.0, which is bad, and bad, and just bad.
It IS bad, but it's not horrible. I can pull it up with the year end exams, which are 40% of the entire year's grades. In fact, the only reason I'm not seeing a GPA of 3 is because of Maths, which is counted twice, and which I currently have a C6 in. Actually I'm not sure if it's counted twice for me, since I have German, which isn't factored into my results. But Maths is definitely the subject that's pulling my grades down.
There's just no way around Maths. You can't cheat and sweet talk your way into marks, like with English or even Physics. It's straight up practice and equations. And I do neither of those. I don't listen in class and I don't study at home. I also have no predisposition towards Mathematics, even though my father is insanely good at it. Recently I watched Code Geass throughout the entire class.
Wow, getting off-track here.
The point is, my grades can completely be salvaged.
Sometimes, when my mother gets into one of her moods, she starts going completely anal over the smallest things. She starts talking to me with a strange tone - by 'strange', I mean condescending. With some suppressed anger and an odd feeling that it's my fault. I mean that it feels to me that she feels that everyfuckingthing is my fault, which fucking makes me irritated because I'm neither passive enough to tolerate it, nor is it my fault.
And then she starts going on and on and over and over and again and again about my studies. Why aren't you studying? Why are you still playing with your iPad? The structure of the sentences imply that I'm a lazy ass shit and should get studying fucking immediately. And then she stands there and glowers at me. She just doesn't go away. The fuck does she expect me to do?
To be fair, she doesn't do that every day, but once she starts... It's like she's a dog who's bitten the pair of pants called "irritate Helen until she does what you want her to do" and is refusing to fucking let go.
I hate people intruding into my personal space. I hate other people touching my things, looking over my shoulder, etc etc. Especially when they have no right to do that. I don't mind curiosity. I do mind "stare at everything she does so that the moment she gets sidetracked you can nag at her until she goes back to doing legit work".
It literally feels like an angry hornet buzzing around in the back of my head. Literally.
Part of it is because of above mentioned reasons, but it's also because of her inability to think in logical lines. She accuses me of things that blatantly aren't true and throws negativity everywhere.
Like accessing me of playing and not doing work. When I'm typing a document on the iPad. Just because it's the iPad. The fuck?
The only reason I even have this piece of shit Appletech is because my school recommends that I buy it for educational purposes. So I can also play games on it, but does a black and white document filled with words look like games???
And she throws around other accusations like "the school's going to throw you out by the end of the year!!" ZOMGGGGG. Bitch, I am not in danger of being thrown out. I'm not even near the "conditional promotion" area. I am perfectly fine. My grades are perfectly fine. Lower than expected, lower than ideal, BUT BITCH THEY ARE OKAY.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WOMAN.
I have a friend with a GPA of 1.9 and SHE'S GOING TO BE FINE. Therefore I'll be fine, obviously.
I understand that all mothers go anal about stupid things sometimes, but I can't stand how all logic fucking flies out the window when she's in one of her moods. And anyone who tries to defend that kind of behaviour is just being idiotic, because WAIT UNTIL YOU ENCOUNTER THAT.
It's like trying to move a wall by talking to it. And moving it is an urgent matter. After a while you might start shouting at it, but it's just there. The same. And if you shove it too hard it might collapse on you.
What would the world be without logic? Fuck morality, logic is more important. Dogs know logic, they understand that happy owners go for walks and walks are good so pleasing their owner is good. You mean you've never encountered an animal that's tried to manipulate you into doing things it likes by being adorable?
Face it, without logic, we'd still be bombing people. The refusal to listen and consider is barbaric and retarded. What you should do is to listen to their reasons and refute them one by one until you win. Unless you're wrong. In which case everything is right again and ultimately everyone wins. See?
Even politics is logic. My opponent is likely to do this, but he'll do this in the event that this happens, which is beneficial to me, so this should happen, and so on.
Now, my mother doesn't do logic on some days. "I should nag at Helen until she studies. This has never worked before but I'm going to do this anyway. I'm going to ignore the fact that just two days ago she studied Chinese without any prompting from me."
What? What the fuck? That doesn't even make sense. My mother is the master of not making any fucking sense sometimes.
This annoys me because I can't do anything about it. You know when a bird flies onto you and just stays there? You can't reason with it. You can't persuade it into flying away because its presence is affecting your ability to function. Perhaps it pooped on you. Or scratched your expensive suit. Anyway it's there and it's not going away.
And what do you do? You force it away. Either by making loud ness to scare it off, or by shaking it off yourself. There. Problem solved.
With my mother, I'm forced to endure that bloody heavy bird on my shoulder, just because it'll peck me and stay there for another few days just to annoy me.
But she can't be that bad!
Are you not listening? Because she is exactly as irritating as that. I don't even talk back to her. My only vice is not studying. Or rather, not getting high enough grades. I don't have to endure all these insults. She's my bloody mother, shouldn't she be encouraging me? Or at least not actively hindering my efforts to pull my grades up.
Being angry is not being productive. You'd think that after living with me for more than ten years, she'd understand that. Apparently not.
You know what I hate the absolute most? People who won't listen. It's okay if you're not convinced of something, as long as you listen and consider what you've heard.
In fact, that's what I do. I listen to
others' arguments and then analyze it and pick out where they went wrong (aka where they deviated from my line of thinking). End result? I either convert them and reaffirm my abilities, or admit that I'm wrong.
God damn it, why won't people use their brains? The head is important because of eyes mouth ears brain. The head is an important thing BECAUSE OF MANY REASONS.
Is it honestly that difficult to analyze the information? Hello, logic? Drawing reasonable conclusions instead of dismissing everything JUST BECAUSE??
(Maybe I just don't want to hear about my failures? Maybe. This is 1500 plus word rant. It made me a lot less angry than I was before this.)
My mother is a phenomenally annoying woman. She loves talking about things that she just doesn't understand. A pointless example is English. She talks about the wrong things in a weird accent and refuses to actually learn the language. It annoys the fuck out of me because my brother picks it up and it's just horrible to listen to. A not-so-pointless example would be my schoolwork.
She thinks she knows all about what happens at school. The status of my studies, social interaction, blah blah. Actually, she doesn't, but that's never stopped her from going on and on about it before.
Classes at school are from A to M, and while there isn't really a fixed ranking, it's generally acknowledged that the A class is better and the M class isn't as good. Which is bullshit. The A class just gets higher grades overall, while the M class students are awesome at certain subjects but frankly shitty at others.
So there's class E, which is also generally acknowledged as pretty good, since most people end up having a full exemption from the year end exams. Or at least a partial.
And then there's me, who is currently right at the bottom of the class, with a GPA of right below three. I'm fine with it, really. In most classes I wouldn't be at the bottom of the class. And my school is a pretty good school.
But that's just me justifying things. That's a bad GPA. Last year, and the year before, it hovered around 3.3 and 3.2. This year it's not even 3.0, which is bad, and bad, and just bad.
It IS bad, but it's not horrible. I can pull it up with the year end exams, which are 40% of the entire year's grades. In fact, the only reason I'm not seeing a GPA of 3 is because of Maths, which is counted twice, and which I currently have a C6 in. Actually I'm not sure if it's counted twice for me, since I have German, which isn't factored into my results. But Maths is definitely the subject that's pulling my grades down.
There's just no way around Maths. You can't cheat and sweet talk your way into marks, like with English or even Physics. It's straight up practice and equations. And I do neither of those. I don't listen in class and I don't study at home. I also have no predisposition towards Mathematics, even though my father is insanely good at it. Recently I watched Code Geass throughout the entire class.
Wow, getting off-track here.
The point is, my grades can completely be salvaged.
Sometimes, when my mother gets into one of her moods, she starts going completely anal over the smallest things. She starts talking to me with a strange tone - by 'strange', I mean condescending. With some suppressed anger and an odd feeling that it's my fault. I mean that it feels to me that she feels that everyfuckingthing is my fault, which fucking makes me irritated because I'm neither passive enough to tolerate it, nor is it my fault.
And then she starts going on and on and over and over and again and again about my studies. Why aren't you studying? Why are you still playing with your iPad? The structure of the sentences imply that I'm a lazy ass shit and should get studying fucking immediately. And then she stands there and glowers at me. She just doesn't go away. The fuck does she expect me to do?
To be fair, she doesn't do that every day, but once she starts... It's like she's a dog who's bitten the pair of pants called "irritate Helen until she does what you want her to do" and is refusing to fucking let go.
I hate people intruding into my personal space. I hate other people touching my things, looking over my shoulder, etc etc. Especially when they have no right to do that. I don't mind curiosity. I do mind "stare at everything she does so that the moment she gets sidetracked you can nag at her until she goes back to doing legit work".
It literally feels like an angry hornet buzzing around in the back of my head. Literally.
Part of it is because of above mentioned reasons, but it's also because of her inability to think in logical lines. She accuses me of things that blatantly aren't true and throws negativity everywhere.
Like accessing me of playing and not doing work. When I'm typing a document on the iPad. Just because it's the iPad. The fuck?
The only reason I even have this piece of shit Appletech is because my school recommends that I buy it for educational purposes. So I can also play games on it, but does a black and white document filled with words look like games???
And she throws around other accusations like "the school's going to throw you out by the end of the year!!" ZOMGGGGG. Bitch, I am not in danger of being thrown out. I'm not even near the "conditional promotion" area. I am perfectly fine. My grades are perfectly fine. Lower than expected, lower than ideal, BUT BITCH THEY ARE OKAY.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WOMAN.
I have a friend with a GPA of 1.9 and SHE'S GOING TO BE FINE. Therefore I'll be fine, obviously.
I understand that all mothers go anal about stupid things sometimes, but I can't stand how all logic fucking flies out the window when she's in one of her moods. And anyone who tries to defend that kind of behaviour is just being idiotic, because WAIT UNTIL YOU ENCOUNTER THAT.
It's like trying to move a wall by talking to it. And moving it is an urgent matter. After a while you might start shouting at it, but it's just there. The same. And if you shove it too hard it might collapse on you.
What would the world be without logic? Fuck morality, logic is more important. Dogs know logic, they understand that happy owners go for walks and walks are good so pleasing their owner is good. You mean you've never encountered an animal that's tried to manipulate you into doing things it likes by being adorable?
Face it, without logic, we'd still be bombing people. The refusal to listen and consider is barbaric and retarded. What you should do is to listen to their reasons and refute them one by one until you win. Unless you're wrong. In which case everything is right again and ultimately everyone wins. See?
Even politics is logic. My opponent is likely to do this, but he'll do this in the event that this happens, which is beneficial to me, so this should happen, and so on.
Now, my mother doesn't do logic on some days. "I should nag at Helen until she studies. This has never worked before but I'm going to do this anyway. I'm going to ignore the fact that just two days ago she studied Chinese without any prompting from me."
What? What the fuck? That doesn't even make sense. My mother is the master of not making any fucking sense sometimes.
This annoys me because I can't do anything about it. You know when a bird flies onto you and just stays there? You can't reason with it. You can't persuade it into flying away because its presence is affecting your ability to function. Perhaps it pooped on you. Or scratched your expensive suit. Anyway it's there and it's not going away.
And what do you do? You force it away. Either by making loud ness to scare it off, or by shaking it off yourself. There. Problem solved.
With my mother, I'm forced to endure that bloody heavy bird on my shoulder, just because it'll peck me and stay there for another few days just to annoy me.
But she can't be that bad!
Are you not listening? Because she is exactly as irritating as that. I don't even talk back to her. My only vice is not studying. Or rather, not getting high enough grades. I don't have to endure all these insults. She's my bloody mother, shouldn't she be encouraging me? Or at least not actively hindering my efforts to pull my grades up.
Being angry is not being productive. You'd think that after living with me for more than ten years, she'd understand that. Apparently not.
You know what I hate the absolute most? People who won't listen. It's okay if you're not convinced of something, as long as you listen and consider what you've heard.
In fact, that's what I do. I listen to
others' arguments and then analyze it and pick out where they went wrong (aka where they deviated from my line of thinking). End result? I either convert them and reaffirm my abilities, or admit that I'm wrong.
God damn it, why won't people use their brains? The head is important because of eyes mouth ears brain. The head is an important thing BECAUSE OF MANY REASONS.
Is it honestly that difficult to analyze the information? Hello, logic? Drawing reasonable conclusions instead of dismissing everything JUST BECAUSE??
(Maybe I just don't want to hear about my failures? Maybe. This is 1500 plus word rant. It made me a lot less angry than I was before this.)
11 August 2012
Regarding Cereal in My House
*Actually this has no point. I just wanted to talk about food.
Actually, I don't have a house. I live in a flat. An apartment. With my family. Because I'm too young to move out (I bet my mother wants me out. I bet she's sick of me stealing all the food). It's a 'house' because all homes over here are apartments, unless you're talking about condominiums (glorified flats) or semi-detached or bungalows (a.k.a. normal housing in the west, also too expensive for me).
Uh.
Right.
About the state of cereal in my house.
I generally eat cereal all the time. It's a great snack. You don't need to cook it, you don't need to, uh, cut it. Just pour. Pour. Eat. It's so convenient.
It's so much better than noodles, which can become so much soggy mess if you leave it alone for too long. Besides, I need to wait for the noodles to cook. That's not fun. At all. Wifi doesn't reach that particular corner of the kitchen.
So, I don't like cooking, therefore CEREAL. Honey stars, froot loops, actual nutritious things, etc etc. I don't buy them; my brother does. Or at least he chooses them and my mother pays for them. I don't do that because I don't go outside.
So they come back with their cereal and my brother waves tasty things in front of my face for a few seconds before I chase him off. Two hours later I'm hungry and I remember that bag of cereal he gloated about.
Open, pour, add milk, eat.
Another hour after that and my brother - he's six - stomps into my room and yells about me eating his cereal. I roll my eyes. He eats a bowl of cereal. I continue watching whatever dubious things I watch.
Now, here's where I need to clarify a few things in general. Those bags of cereal? They're huge. Giant packs. Not your average A4 box. And we don't eat cereal for breakfast. We eat cereal like, I don't know, like water? A simplified meal for the lazy?
Okay, back to the situation: I've eaten a bowl, my brother's eaten a bowl, the rest of the cereal's back in the box. And guess what? I eat all the rest of it.
A few days later and my brother drags another box of cereal back.
Actually, I don't have a house. I live in a flat. An apartment. With my family. Because I'm too young to move out (I bet my mother wants me out. I bet she's sick of me stealing all the food). It's a 'house' because all homes over here are apartments, unless you're talking about condominiums (glorified flats) or semi-detached or bungalows (a.k.a. normal housing in the west, also too expensive for me).
Uh.
Right.
About the state of cereal in my house.
I generally eat cereal all the time. It's a great snack. You don't need to cook it, you don't need to, uh, cut it. Just pour. Pour. Eat. It's so convenient.
It's so much better than noodles, which can become so much soggy mess if you leave it alone for too long. Besides, I need to wait for the noodles to cook. That's not fun. At all. Wifi doesn't reach that particular corner of the kitchen.
So, I don't like cooking, therefore CEREAL. Honey stars, froot loops, actual nutritious things, etc etc. I don't buy them; my brother does. Or at least he chooses them and my mother pays for them. I don't do that because I don't go outside.
So they come back with their cereal and my brother waves tasty things in front of my face for a few seconds before I chase him off. Two hours later I'm hungry and I remember that bag of cereal he gloated about.
Open, pour, add milk, eat.
Another hour after that and my brother - he's six - stomps into my room and yells about me eating his cereal. I roll my eyes. He eats a bowl of cereal. I continue watching whatever dubious things I watch.
Now, here's where I need to clarify a few things in general. Those bags of cereal? They're huge. Giant packs. Not your average A4 box. And we don't eat cereal for breakfast. We eat cereal like, I don't know, like water? A simplified meal for the lazy?
Okay, back to the situation: I've eaten a bowl, my brother's eaten a bowl, the rest of the cereal's back in the box. And guess what? I eat all the rest of it.
A few days later and my brother drags another box of cereal back.
2 August 2012
I am an angry repressed person
You know what I hate? I hate angry repressed people. I hate angry repressed people who have no fucking idea how fucking angrily repressed they are. If you're going to be a hypocrite then don't be an annoying one. If you're going to blame someone then make sure that there isn't someone else who should shoulder more blame. Why the fuck is there a need to blame someone anyway. What good does "blame" do? Why the fuck does it even exist? Who cares about your petty little issues? What, you can't even pick a good person to whine to. Hint: I DON'T LIKE YOU. DO NOT WHINE TO ME. Wow. Does it not occur to you that people have things to do? That they might not necessarily want to do that ONE FUCKING THING?? Are you capable of shutting your mouth? Can you stop hovering behind me for one fucking moment? Why the fuck do I even leave the school?
25 July 2012
Because I was bored, so here's a fic
He wakes up to the scent of sweat, burning the insides of his nose with its salty odour. The man beside him is unmoving except for the steady rise-fall of his chest. He doesn't know if he wants to stay. He doesn't know if he wants to pretend to be asleep when the other inevitably opens his eyes, or if he wants to pick up his clothes and disappear.
His fingers fumble for a cigarette in the pre-dawn light. He finds one, hidden between the folds of the bed sheet, and lights it with a match found in the same place. He doesn't know what else is scattered on the off-white sheets. He doesn't want to know.
He trembles slightly as he lifts the cigarette to his lips. His left hand is beside him, supporting his weight unsteadily. His right hand is falling back onto the bed, the nail of his thumb scratching at the skin of his second digit - a habit that he has picked up over the years.
He trembles.
Suddenly the familiar cigarette smoke isn't as soothing any more.
--
He's barely fourteen when they find him.
"Mister Potter."
He almost mistakes it for a client's voice, authoritative and stern. It's the kind of voice he associates with soft leather bindings and the gentle feel of whips sliding over his skin.
"Potter."
This is a voice that he connects to the heat of fingers squeezing at his throat.
"Yes," he replies. "Though I haven't been addressed as such for quite a number of years. Who are you? You aren't clients, are you?" He knows that they are not, but he adjusts his collar just in case. He's met rather a lot of odd clients over the years.
"No, we are not," the first voice says. It belongs to an old man with a long beard, dressed in eccentric robes. "We're here to bring you back to the Wizarding World. My name is Professor Dumbledore." He attempts a smile, but it is unseen in the dim lighting of the club.
"And you?" He tosses the question at the old man's companion. "You're a professor too. Aren't you?" He knows professors. He knows all about those who work as educators. He's just the right age to be a student. Just the right size to pass for another student. He has just the right shape to fulfill certain requirements.
"I am Professor Snape," the man glowers.
He thinks that perhaps he wouldn't mind taking the dark-haired man into his bed.
"Mister Potter," the older man continues, "We're here to invite you to attend the Hogwarts School or Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have sent you a letter -"
"The parchment," he interrupts.
"Yes. However, we have not received a reply."
"I thought that maybe you would give up if I ignored you for long enough. Apparently not." He stands up slowly, running a hand over his neck. "What if I'm unable to pay the tuition fees?"
"You need not worry. A trust fund was set up for you by your parents before they passed away."
"I was supposed to go to Hogwarts at eleven, wasn't I? How does this work out, then? It's been three years, I didn't expect you to be this persistent." The cigarette dangling on his lips is promptly discarded.
"You still remember the letter clearly, Mister Potter. I think that this will work out fine. There is half a year before the new term begins; we have arranged for extra tuition for you to make up for the lost time."
He nods, absentmindedly crushing the cigarette under his shoe. "One more thing, Professor Dumbledore," he murmurs. "My name isn't Potter. It's Harrison Black now."
--
"It's not that bad," Daphne tries to convince him. "Hogwarts is a pretty good school."
Harrison raises an eyebrow, closing the Dark Arts book on his lap. "It's not," he says so softly that Daphne can hardly hear it. "It's boring. It's stagnant. I can feel it dying. Can't you? The castle stinks of death."
"Still, Harrison - "
"I will not. Stop trying to convince me. It's a waste of time," he sighs, "Hogwarts holds nothing for me."
--
Professor Snape leads him down the stairs, pausing every minute or so to send a glare behind at the boy. "This is where you will livefor the duration of your stay," he says sourly when they reach a small corridor in the dungeons. "It will not do for the other students to see you; they will become unduly excited and disrupt classes."
He makes an ambiguous noise and shrugs in reply. "Will I see you often?" he asks, sending a sly look up at the professor from the corner of his eye. "I'm afraid that I might not be used to such a sudden change in the environment."
"Stop lying, Black," the man tells him vehemently. "We both know that you feel no such insecurity about changing residence. I am unwilling to listen to your meaningless excuses for conversation; I have no wish to make conversation with you."
There is silence in the narrow corridor for a few moments. Then Harrison strikes, sliding his slim fingers up his soon-to-be professor's chest.
"I'm not making conversation, Professor," he purrs, pressing himself closer to the man. "Not at all. Why talk when there are so many other interesting things to do?" A wicked grin makes its way onto his lips, slowly turning the youthful face seductive.
Professor Snape stops walking, and turns to look at Harrison. "If I had known, back then, that you would be this kind of person," he says deliberately, looking down his long, hooked nose at the boy, "then I would never have agreed to bring you into the school." He brushes Harrison's hand off his robes dismissively. "People like you do not belong in schools."
--
End
Also school is bloody depressing.
His fingers fumble for a cigarette in the pre-dawn light. He finds one, hidden between the folds of the bed sheet, and lights it with a match found in the same place. He doesn't know what else is scattered on the off-white sheets. He doesn't want to know.
He trembles slightly as he lifts the cigarette to his lips. His left hand is beside him, supporting his weight unsteadily. His right hand is falling back onto the bed, the nail of his thumb scratching at the skin of his second digit - a habit that he has picked up over the years.
He trembles.
Suddenly the familiar cigarette smoke isn't as soothing any more.
--
He's barely fourteen when they find him.
"Mister Potter."
He almost mistakes it for a client's voice, authoritative and stern. It's the kind of voice he associates with soft leather bindings and the gentle feel of whips sliding over his skin.
"Potter."
This is a voice that he connects to the heat of fingers squeezing at his throat.
"Yes," he replies. "Though I haven't been addressed as such for quite a number of years. Who are you? You aren't clients, are you?" He knows that they are not, but he adjusts his collar just in case. He's met rather a lot of odd clients over the years.
"No, we are not," the first voice says. It belongs to an old man with a long beard, dressed in eccentric robes. "We're here to bring you back to the Wizarding World. My name is Professor Dumbledore." He attempts a smile, but it is unseen in the dim lighting of the club.
"And you?" He tosses the question at the old man's companion. "You're a professor too. Aren't you?" He knows professors. He knows all about those who work as educators. He's just the right age to be a student. Just the right size to pass for another student. He has just the right shape to fulfill certain requirements.
"I am Professor Snape," the man glowers.
He thinks that perhaps he wouldn't mind taking the dark-haired man into his bed.
"Mister Potter," the older man continues, "We're here to invite you to attend the Hogwarts School or Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have sent you a letter -"
"The parchment," he interrupts.
"Yes. However, we have not received a reply."
"I thought that maybe you would give up if I ignored you for long enough. Apparently not." He stands up slowly, running a hand over his neck. "What if I'm unable to pay the tuition fees?"
"You need not worry. A trust fund was set up for you by your parents before they passed away."
"I was supposed to go to Hogwarts at eleven, wasn't I? How does this work out, then? It's been three years, I didn't expect you to be this persistent." The cigarette dangling on his lips is promptly discarded.
"You still remember the letter clearly, Mister Potter. I think that this will work out fine. There is half a year before the new term begins; we have arranged for extra tuition for you to make up for the lost time."
He nods, absentmindedly crushing the cigarette under his shoe. "One more thing, Professor Dumbledore," he murmurs. "My name isn't Potter. It's Harrison Black now."
--
"It's not that bad," Daphne tries to convince him. "Hogwarts is a pretty good school."
Harrison raises an eyebrow, closing the Dark Arts book on his lap. "It's not," he says so softly that Daphne can hardly hear it. "It's boring. It's stagnant. I can feel it dying. Can't you? The castle stinks of death."
"Still, Harrison - "
"I will not. Stop trying to convince me. It's a waste of time," he sighs, "Hogwarts holds nothing for me."
--
Professor Snape leads him down the stairs, pausing every minute or so to send a glare behind at the boy. "This is where you will livefor the duration of your stay," he says sourly when they reach a small corridor in the dungeons. "It will not do for the other students to see you; they will become unduly excited and disrupt classes."
He makes an ambiguous noise and shrugs in reply. "Will I see you often?" he asks, sending a sly look up at the professor from the corner of his eye. "I'm afraid that I might not be used to such a sudden change in the environment."
"Stop lying, Black," the man tells him vehemently. "We both know that you feel no such insecurity about changing residence. I am unwilling to listen to your meaningless excuses for conversation; I have no wish to make conversation with you."
There is silence in the narrow corridor for a few moments. Then Harrison strikes, sliding his slim fingers up his soon-to-be professor's chest.
"I'm not making conversation, Professor," he purrs, pressing himself closer to the man. "Not at all. Why talk when there are so many other interesting things to do?" A wicked grin makes its way onto his lips, slowly turning the youthful face seductive.
Professor Snape stops walking, and turns to look at Harrison. "If I had known, back then, that you would be this kind of person," he says deliberately, looking down his long, hooked nose at the boy, "then I would never have agreed to bring you into the school." He brushes Harrison's hand off his robes dismissively. "People like you do not belong in schools."
--
End
Also school is bloody depressing.
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