Harry Potter 1. Ultramarine

Once, they were upstairs at the Weasley's house.

Once, she happened across a Boggart, a strong one that hadn't been force-fed laughter. Water rushed out, like filling in invisible pool between the wardrobe and herself. Rising to her knees, she nearly buckled. Shaking, she drew the wand, fingers shaking against the runes etched into the base.

Classes answered with the translation.

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Be not afraid for fear hinders light. Those of greatness are not fearless but courageous enough in toil to suppress the overwhelming of darkness.

In mind, she saw a pool of glowing green mass, a solid but with weak molecule attraction. Would squish easily, she considered, but was not soft enough to enter her mouth without wanting to taste the sour apple surface, to force itself into her lungs and filling each pocket to force out air. The illusion of water rose nearly to her trembling wrist that hung limply by her leg. Sarah was panicking, unable to get away, wanting to force the murky fluid into something else, but her throat was full of earwigs and spiders.

She closed her eyes, the coolness of the water penetrating her skin.

The water shrank back; her skin was felt dry once again. The bugs shrank back; her throat was clear again. Lens caps fell popped off of her binocular eyes, taking in a glowing orb now centered in the room. _"Riddikulous!"_

The orb took on a shape of a pear, with a nub of latex for a stem. Now without defiance of gravity, it lingered in midair for a moment more before clashing with the moth-eaten carpet. As if in slow motion, clicking by frame-by-frame. The water inside remained in the shape of a dented pear as the latex snapped back away from it.

Then the water splashed, mocking a puddle before the shreds of latex and water retreated to the cabinet. The two laughed in a detached way, like they were making a tape of pre-recorded laughter for a sitcom Sarah watched with her Muggle uncle sometimes.

Looking up finally, her eyes met sodium and aluminum silicate, a brilliant shade of ultramarine, bioluminescent tendrils drifting toward his pupils, darker than the ocean.


	2. Pensieve

"Eat," Molly pushed some mashed potatoes on her, eyes fixed on her to count her ribs and the number of potatoes it would take to make that task impossible. Sarah accepted the plate, swallowing a spoonful to vanquish the spider silk that was spun intricately in her throat.

She felt the earwigs and arachnids under her skin become dormant at last and ate like she truly felt hungry.

The same eyes threatened to drown her from across the table, the same eyes that pulled her from the water barely an hour ago. He offered a smile in his hand with a pensieve of greens that reminded her of solidified steam.


	3. Affinity

He was gone with a loud crack, declining an invitation to stay later with a kind of nervousness.

Splinterbear followed five bobbing broomsticks to the clearing with her own. Two identical orange heads stood, claiming role of captains, not allowing a third orange boy to protest.

"Harry," one gestured with his thumb.

"Ginny," his mirror said, retorting edge to his voice.

"Sarah," the back of her neck prickled as she joined George and Harry.

"Ron."

They were going to use weird spherical vegetables in the place of bludgers. Muggles wouldn't likely appreciate being targeted by a cannonball with a mind of its own. Kicking at the ground, they rose, not bothering with demanding a clean game, knowing what Molly would do if someone, particularly Ginny, was hurt.

Splinterbear flew, fast and grasping the cinnamon colored ball, tossing it down to George she flew high enough to feel the gravity yanking at the dense food that Molly pushed on her. Not so far, there was a villiage of Muggles full of streetlights and oblivious children dancing over colored ropes. In the other direction, a rook sat, ready to battle in defense of its queen. A girl sat outside with hair whiter than the rook, staring alternatingly into the river and at the high, round moon. In this moment, an inscription she'd seen on a tomb last year proved true; _Never let go of your personal heaven, because when it is disappears, you will never find it again._

Red and black fish blurred below her feet and, in that moment, she felt a connection with that white haired girl. She felt partial to the fish below her, to watch them and to stay with them, but the full moon called to her in a different tune of longing.


	4. Emancipation

He was both the moon and a slave to the moon.

The fuller the moon, the less complete he was.

The fuller he was, the less complete the moon.

And no one could save him from himself.


	5. Lycanthropy

_Transfixed._

_Her eyes, reflecting the wood of the desk, displaying a disinterest. The uniform disinterest of a thirteen-year-old student, not wanting to stick out amongst her peers. Her irises were wooden like the table, but firey lines run through them._

_"_Werewolves_," the slender with grayish blue hair uttered. _

_Mesmerized._

_"—could kill a best friend if he happened across him."_

_Her velvet face attracted linty stares. Though they would not want to appear so, their gazes were fluff. They treated her words as meaningless lore; good for a bit of a fright but not when taken in perspective. Sarah's eyes remained as open as her mind, so dangerously agape that she felt concern that her brain might fall out._

_The gears behind her eyes turned quickly._

_Lycanthropy._

_Fascinating._


	6. Predicament

Transfixed.

Her eyes were reflecting his rust colored hair, reflecting a voracious curiousity. His eyes were brimming with a mirrored emotion, though his was outlined with concern. His irises were hiding like the Black Lake, but glowing with lightning bolts.

"Werewolf," the shabby wizard with rusted steel hair uttered.

Mesmerized.

"—don't want to hurt you."

His paper face attracted a sticker stare. She made no secret of her convex stare, her gaze penetrating. She disregarded his words as if it were a bad habit; annoying for a time but not when taken in perspective. She pressed her face against his, his eyes so protuberant in shock she felt concern that the glittering ornaments might fall out.

The smile hiding inside his mouth shattered through cheeks.

Lycanthropy.

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Predicament.


	7. Longing

He wore a garnet smile.

More than anything, he wanted to guide her from the darkness that plagued him by moonlight.

He longed for topaz eyes.

More than anything, he wanted sanity.


	8. Mooney

Sometimes I don't understand her.

When many people, as made clear by the year I taught at Hogwarts, see me, they see a poor, old man. Likely no more than a layabout. The Malfoy boy made his remarks like his father; be they blatantly cruel or underhanded compliments, he sure understood snarkiness.

I can afford no better robes than the ones on my back. They only do grow progressively worse from my transformations. I sorely long for a time I could afford eternity for her.

Her smile maddens me more than even my celestial foe.

I'd vowed not to get closely involved with humans.

I wanted to shelter anyone who could potentially care for me from my affliction.

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And then I let my guard down.


	9. Splinterbear

Sometimes, I do allow his smile to get the best of me.

To give in to him would be to let the ocean swallow me whole. But then, some people don't mind drowning. He calls himself too old. Too poor. _A werewolf._ The latter he never said, though the undercurrents just below the surface of his eyes said everything.

Between us, we could manage, maybe even do better than manage. We could thrive like the other schools of fish. We, too, could become just two more parts of the whole.

Only difference is that he'd still have his furry little problem.

I'd vowed not to allow it to bother me.

I wanted to shelter him from those around us who didn't understand his affliction.

And then he let his guard down.


	10. Heartbeat

His lips were stained by the obscenity of the word describing the reality of what he becomes, revealing his true nature to all who encounter him. He faced horrors not understood by those outside of his kind and seldom understood by those who the scars with shame. Despite Splinterbear's ability to ability to steal his words with her own lips, he worries each time these lips are within close proximity of his face. He worries he will taint them. He worries he will destroy them if he allows himself to feel their presence. Her determination allowed her to give him something that he hadn't had since leaving Hogwarts.

Since the night he lost three best friends to murder, framing, and cowardice.

She gave him humanity by giving up some of her own.

This is how Splinterbear was born.

Together, they felt the mark of his affliction by becoming a strange sight together, a hulking, contorted wolf beast curled on a floor, benign with the help of the Wolfsbane potion, beside a squirming hedgehog. Despite their differences in size, behind the blue-gray fur and beige and brown spines, both harbored hearts that concur with the hearts that their minds kept pace with as humans.

This is how they survived.


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance