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ᗩ/ᑎ ᑭ.O.ᐯ
Gold is the color of Hogwarts castle in the sultry haze of summer, perched above the calm of water and lushness of forest.
Blue is the color of the Head Student badge on your chest, glossy with lacquer and weighty with authority.
White is the color of blissful ignorance, and you're doing a great job of pretending nothing's happened.
You go through considerable lengths to avoid him; taking the long way around corridors, sitting with your back to the Slytherin table, keeping your head down in shared classes-long story short, you stop acknowledging him altogether.
Which means the constant glares and snarky comments have stopped as well. You admit it feels weird to walk into Slughorn's class and not sear a hole through his head or poke fun at him on days you finish brewing first. Not that you miss it or anything, no way. That would be absurd.
You hate him.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Out of sight, out of mind, so why does he come across it at any given moment? Why does the memory of him from that day stand out to you, bold and clear; imprinted firmly into your head?
If your mind was a door, Tom Riddle had unmistakably, single-handedly broken it down and left no hinge untouched.
You hate him.
You're mistaking the silence for...well, you don't know what you're mistaking it for. All you know is that you want things to go back to normal. You can't have it any other way-sure as the day follows night, sure as the earth rotates around the sun, sure as your love for spring-he is your enemy. You tell yourself that, you do, and yet-
You do hate him, don't you?
-the other, more frustrating side of you can't help but wonder if he's thinking of you too.
┊ .⋆ ✧。 ┊ ⋆ 。 ┊ .⋆ ✧。 ┊ ⋆ 。┊
⊹ ˚. ┊⢀・ ✰ ๑ ˚. ・ ⊹ ˚. ┊⢀・ ✰ .
You're doing your daily crossword at breakfast one morning, Calliope seated by your side engrossed in one of her muggle romance novels. Across from you, Seb touches up his Transfiguration essay in between bites of scrambled egg, cursing under his breath. You listen absentmindedly as the familiar buzz starts up from around you.
"My friend is in the hospital wing," someone says sourly. "The git who landed him there has yet to be caught." Seb gives you a pointed look, and you almost groan out loud. "I'll find them myself if no one does soon."
