Chapter 1 : Day 1
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7 Days by Beth Weasley
“Calm down all of you,” Professor McGonagall shouted over the noise of the dining students. “Tonight we will be beginning the inter-house pen pal system. You will all form lines according to your year and house, and will receive a number. Your pen pal will have the same number, and over the next seven days you will need to write to each other as much as you can. Next Sunday evening you will meet your pen pal. We hope this system will encourage inter-house friendships. Form you lines now.”
Ron and Harry had of course not been listening.
“I can’t believe they let him back in!” Ron muttered, glaring across the hall at Malfoy.
“I guess that because he was on our side in the war, they decided to be nice,” Harry said quietly. He wasn’t happy about McGonagall’s decision, but he could understand her reasoning. They joined their line with Hermione.
“This is so exciting!” she whispered as she pulled her number from the hat.
“Whatever Mione. Only you could find this exciting!” Ron dismissed her excitement.
Harry stepped forward and pulled a number from the hat. Seven. He couldn’t help but wonder who his pen pal was. He looked at all the other seventh years in the hall, but he couldn’t work out who it was. Oh well, he thought. I’ll find out on Sunday anyway.
When he got back to the common room he decided to go up to his room and write his first letter. McGonagall had specifically told them not to mention their houses, and to use false names.
To my pen pal
Since McGonagall says we can’t use our real name, you can just call me Simpson. I’m one of those people that put up a front against the world. A lot of people think they know me, but they don’t. I’m a huge fan of muggle music, and my favourite bands are Dashboard Confessional, The Calling and Nickleback. I enjoy flying, Quidditch and swimming, as well as driving my old bashed-up mini that I keep outside of school. If we hit it off we can go for a drive next Hogsmead weekend, as that’s where I keep it.
Harry gave the letter to Hegwig, who flew off into the dark. It was getting late, and as he’d been writing the others boys had come upstairs and gone to bed. But the idea of sleeping made Harry want to heave. He blew out hid candle and lay back on his bed, his hands behind his head.
“Why do you have to be so different?” he asked himself as he stared at the canopy hanging over his bed. Because you ugly and wrong the voice in his head told him. Because you’re a disgusting person, because you live a lie, because you’re WRONG! “But I’m not wrong. I’m right, this is who I am! Isn’t it?” You’re a sick, twisted, disgusting person, and what you feel is wrong.
Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He climbed out of bed and grabbed his invisibility cloak from his bedside table. He stepped out of the portrait hole and ran to the main doors of the school. He pushed one of them open, and it creaked slightly. He froze, not wanting to draw attention to himself. When he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped out of the building.
He ran across the grass, his cloak flapping around his ankles. He sat down on the other side of the lake and picked up a small flat stone. He held it between two fingers and flicked his wrist, then watched the stone skim it’s way across the lake. He stayed there like that for a long time, looking out over the lake, occasionally skimming a stone out across it. He watched the ripples the stones made, the way one thing set off all those consequences. He reached to pick up another stone, and he had just thrown it out when he heard a yelp.
“Watch it Potter!” Blaise Zabini said as he stepped out from under an invisibility cloak. “You could get someone’s eye out with them stones!”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting anyone else to be out here was I!” Harry hadn’t expected anyone else to be out by the lake, he thought he was the only that ever went out there to just think.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Blaise said, looking straight into Harry’s eyes. Harry was surprised – he wasn’t used to Slytherins treating him like an actual person.
“Well, I guess I’d better go,” Harry mumbled. He stood up and walked away.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! he thought. He looked so gorgeous like that – moonlight makes him even more gorgeous that the lights in the hall! “WRONG!” the voice in his head shouted. Harry looked down at the ground as he walked back to his dormitory, the voice in his head shouting at him about how sick and twisted he was.
When he arrived back in the dormitory he found a letter resting on his bed. He opened the envelope and began to read.
Simpson… that’s an unusual name to choose! Not that I’m complaining, I like unusual! I guess you could describe me as weird. I’m the only person I know that’s quite like me, I suppose is how you could describe it. I think muggles would call me a… emo, simply because of the music I like and the way I dress when I can choose my clothes. But I don’t think of myself like that, I just think of myself as me. But enough of my moaning, I have a feeling you may be getting a bit bored of it.
Z… yes, I think that’ll do
Harry feel into a deep sleep, the letter from his pen pal clutched in his fist.
A/N: Your opinions please! This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in quite a while, so I hope you like it! xXx
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