poison ivy; tom riddle

ii | sunflower

I watch each petal bloom from the bud, pink flushing the colourless skin. Slowly drifting like snow through the first days of winter.

I wonder if I pluck each of them, one after the other, it would give me an answer.

Love me.

Love me not.

Love me.

Love me not.

Love me, please love me.

But it would be a waste of beauty. It would wilt a perfect flower and-

That felicity is only reserved for my fractured heart.

Herbology has always been my favourite.

I like taking care of things.

Like this flower: once a seed it is now a thing of allure.

So delicate, one wrong touch and the petal will rot and perspire.

My flower is the most beautiful, of course.

The leaves align together like two hands of soulmates, curved so that they reach, aching to touch.

The biggest flower to have grown is from a Hufflepuff mudblood I have come quite fond of. Of course, I will never tell you this, Tom, I know your aim and I will respect it.

Luis is just my Herbology partner.

Nothing more, I promise.

I see his gaze flicking across the table.

His green eyes are like softened moss found on Greek gods.

A pretty flower nurtured by the prettiest flower in the room.

My cheeks blush like the first blossom in spring.

I feel my lips push into a smile you would call too sweet.

Luis is sweet, too. Most Hufflepuffs are. I wonder if I didn't beg the sorting hat for Slytherin it would have placed me amongst Luis and the rest of my Herbology class.

I remember it speaking in my ear, loyalty like no other and so very hardworking. You are unlike any other Rosier I have come across.

Perhaps if I had sat quietly I would be even sweeter.

Would you have preferred that?

You are too kind, Luis.

Ah, do not mistake my adoration for you, kindness towards your flower. Mine is bigger and therefore better.

Your colours don't blend the way mine do. And your leaves look like crisps.

Crisps are my favourite snack.

Oh really? I fail to see the relationship between crisps and leaves from a cothurnus flower.

I also fail to repress another 'too sweet' smile.

He mimics my smile, You are clearly more closed-minded than I thought, Ivy Rosier.

I raise an eyebrow, the smile stays, I'm deeply offended, Luis Hale.

I release a breath I don't know that I'm holding in.

Why can't you love me the way he does?

Luis would hold my broken heart with a pure love that only comes from the most stunningly delicate flora in the universe.

You, however, use it as a bullet for the gun you aim at my head every night.

And I still love you.

A too pink petal falls from Luis' flower.

Love me not, Luis.