dead weight. sirius black.

four.

nightfall drapes our silhouettes darkness.

11:43 pm.
angel tiptoed her way into the
slimy dungeons of the slytherin common room to converse with lucius.
lately,
i've found myself
passing in conversation
with yara livingston.
she tells me
she has to go home for christmas.
you have to?
i have to.
and the conversation ended.

i sit in the kitchens
after i apologize more times to the elves than deemed necessary.
barging in late asking for a brownie and milk,
i sip it quietly as possible while i wait for angel to return safely.
my old quidditch jersey hangs off my shoulders.
the bright yellow hue contrasted to my black mug and plaid pajama shorts.

angel told me not to wait up for her
but i don't trust
who she calls
baby,
she's sitting throwing her love at him
and he's standing disregarding it to the side.
i love angel,
but i know she'll come back crying.

earlier,
in potions,
remus leaned over and said
"i heard malfoy, earlier. talking to his friends about angel."
i had a sneaking feeling what about.
"...about?"
he pulls a face. "it was horrible, mari, horrible."

i didn't want to know more. but he kept going.

by the end of his speech,
his face is red hot with anger.
i wouldn't be surprised when steam pours out of it.
i was sure we were matching,
in that sense.

now i sit in the kitchens.
still steaming,
still angry,
patience boiling over my emotional caldron and sugar,
the elf that placed my food in front of my drifts back into the darkness.
she can sense the hatred rolling off of me.
if peter were here,
he would be waving his arms around wildly and picking at air claiming my aura was blinded by red.

than, im angry at my parents.
angry for being forced into this.
angry,
because when im im gripping onto the snares of time and begging for more—pleading for something to dig my heels in and freeze the sun from going down and moon from rising up.
angry, because im too much of a coward to ever run from my fate.

i can change it.
then do it.

can i change it?
do. it.

you know
something is off.
you sit across from me.
you've got that thinking face on.
the one where your eyebrows turn in and your lips pull into a frown,
you tuck your head and let your hair fall into your face.
despite flaunting it around everyone else
you seem to hide it around me.

( maybe i make you feel like shit, a passing thought. you always seem to be frowning around me. remus says you're worried, after babbling that he shouldn't have said that—i think it over, and it's impossible. you don't care enough to be worried about me. )

your hands tap against the hot mug your holding.
i refuse to look over at you.
the silence drowns us under the heavy covers of darkness.
i suspected you'd stay with your mouth shut.
ask me.

ask me if im okay.
ask me,
i'll tell you.
save me.

"hey," the stillness shatters at your whisper.

my eyes are focused on a crack in the surrounding walls. i can hear you, yet i cant find my voice in my chest.

"hey, goldie, hello?" you wave a hand in front of my face, willing me back to present moment. i think you're a bit fed up with me.

i almost glare at you for that. almost.

"Do you need me?"
when we were first years on the station, worried about what houses we were to be sorted in,
i remembered your intense dislike for slytherins.
and how you hoped more than anything we were both put into any house but theirs.
when i was sorted into slytherin,
i asked,
do you need me?
because you said so many times you wouldn't ever associate with one willingly.
you said,
yes.
you were struggling to accept the fact that your family outcasted you,
everyone turned against you so fast.
then you got new friends,
friends who started to be closer to you than i ever was,
or will ever be.
do you need me?
was are you okay?
can i do anything?
i asked you.
years later,
you ask me.

million dollar question.
i have so many things to say,
so many stories to share,
so many pleads for my life,
but all i muster out is

"Yeah."

thirty nine seconds to drown,
one to decide its worth it.