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Patchwork by fairytaled
Chapter 7 : Sentimental
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 21

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Chapter Seven

We are all bound to our basic survival instincts, which are finding shelter, hunting and gathering and debatably the most important instinct, seeking out the perfect mate. As a Gryffindor, two out of three these things can be found in the Gryffindor common room, all one must do is search.


I got lost. Absolutely, completely, unbearably lost in the castle, it was too hard handle. I almost broke down in tears, I was friendless and alone. I might as well have been moaning Myrtle, but at least she was sure that Arisa likes her.

I found the common room by pure luck and after asking various portraits for directions, I arrived.

That's what you missed in the chronicles of a half Irish, crazy girl with elfin ears. I'm not even joking; I have elf-like pointed ears. I'm probably one sixty-fourth Cornish pixie.

I throw myself onto the sofa in the common room, not caring that I smell like a donkey's behind. Come to think of it, what does a donkey's behind smell like?

"Who would've known?" Aaron says as he sits next to me.

That makes no sense whatsoever. Give it some context.

"Really, I never imagined Lorcan to swap with Lysander, I can't believe he's that desperate to be on the team," he says.

I don't want to talk about that. I don't want to be a bitch.

"Yeah, I guess."

"How did you figure it out, Soph?"

Wait it's time to write a letter:

Dear Sophie's Life,

Might I, as your owner, ask you to tone it down on the unnecessary melodrama? If you didn't notice, for the sake of our future, we have NEWTs (forgot about those didn't you, well so did I, but alas we must not digress) to study for, because I want sunshine in Egypt and we want to be the first Witch to successfully enter the ruins of the Mayans in Peru.

Sophie V. Finnegan.

"It's so cool that you figured it out though, very Ravenclaw of you."

WHOA, I think this is the first time anybody besides my arithmancy professor has ever complimented my own intelligence. Not even my dad. But he's the one who got drunk and impregnated ma mere. So, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, the brightest colour in the crayon box, etc., etc...

Aaron continues, "you think laterally, while everyone thinks literally, you're always a little out there, but you come up with things that others couldn't dream of."

"Why on earth did we break up?"

What did I just say? What just came out of mouth? That's horrendous. I need to stop speaking for the rest of my life.

I will take a vow of silence for the rest of eternity; it will save me on the awkwardness.


Aha. He speaks.

"Because you and Louis are practically in a relationship," he says.

"We are not," I say.

"Okay," he smiles and I melt a little. He's too cute, "let me prove it to you then."

A challenge.

"You always hold hands, which couples do."

"So do friends,” I counter, shuffling into the sofa.

"You have nicknames and pet names for each other, which is another thing couples do," he says, smirking.

"So what? Loads of friends have nicknames for each other."

"Okay, the clincher, answer this one honestly, have you guys snogged?"

I wouldn't call it a snog, per say. And it wasn't, err, let me get back to you on that one.

Time to take another vow of silence. This one will be more useful.

"I take your silence as a yes," he says.

Oh, Circe.

"I'll take the fourth amendment," I say quickly.

"You mean fifth."

"Yeah, that," I say half-heartedly.

Why is he being so nice?

"Why are you being so nice?"

Yes, I did just repeat my thoughts aloud, yes; you probably do it way more than you think you do. Let's move on shall we.

"Because we're friends," he says.

"True dat," I say.

Aaron chuckles but it's forced. So I decide it's time to take my leave to my dormitory. I'm a conversationalist, if the conversation is awkward, dying or dry, I get out and I get out quick.

I wave goodbye and walk away, in attempt to keep calm, cool and calculated. Mature like cheese.

When I get into the room, the only person there is, wait for it, hold for drama, and revel in the suspense… Arisa. Dun dun dun.


"Sophie, we need to talk," she says, smiling.

Okay, here we go. She's going to break up with me; we're no longer going to be friends.


"Alright-y then, let's talk," I say.

Awkward moment of silence.

More crickets.

My third temporary vow of silence shall be taken right

"I'm sorry," she says.

She is? This isn't what I was expecting.

I change the topic.

"Did you know?" I ask, oh I forgot the rest of the question. "Umm, did you know about Lysander and Lorcan swapping for quidditch?"

She continues the silence for a bit.

"Did you?" I repeat.

"I'd been suspicious, but I ignored the idea, it seemed far too silly," she says, thinking.

Of course she'd known something.

"He's ticked off at me for pointing it out, Lysander is in the hospital wing and I think Louis and Lorcan are there."

"You did the right thing," she says, "he'll be pissed that you pointed it out, but it's the morally right thing to do, we've been cheating, we don't deserve our last wins in quidditch, we should at least play honestly this year."

"I agree," I say, smiling.

"Friends," she says.

"Friends," I agree and our fingers link together for a moment, like we always used to.

Arisa suggests for us to go to the hospital wing.

Nervous awkwardness. I know it; I can feel it right down to my bones, which I believe is pretty deep. It shall be clunky, chunky and funky.

We walk, linking fingers to make up for lost friendship. We don't hug because I don't like hugging, as I'm weird. Le sigh.

When we arrive at the hospital wing, Lorcan is standing by Lysander who is sitting on a bed. He looks fine. Arisa talks to Lorcan, because they're closer and Lorcan glares at me.

Lysander however, is willing to speak to me, “it's good that you figured it out.”

“Why?” I ask.

“You obviously know him well enough to tell us apart and you confronted him about it, I always thought you were a bimbo and a bad friend, but you’ve proved me wrong,” he says, smiling.

The odd thing is, Lorcan can probably hear him but it doesn't faze him, he'll keep talking. Strange things Ravenclaws are.

Lysander returns to his quiet trance and therefore I end up loitering in the hospital wing, completely unwanted. I tap my feet in a steady rhythm, thinking about the absolute epic poem I can write about this weird experience when it’s all over.

Stone, cold and alone,
as the girl tried
to conquer the world on her own

It's a work in progress.


Louis says my name and it catches me off guard, I wobble as I swerve in his direction. He smiles at me. Do not fall for charm; stay relatively angry, he was horrible to you earlier. Resist, don't look into his charming Medusa veela eyes it will-

Too late, he's already grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me out of the hospital wing.

“Damn, I have to be the unluckiest person ever,” I say.

Merde, I just said that out loud.

“No, you’re not,” he says.

And for arguments sake, I counter, “of course I am.”

“You're quite lucky,” he says.

RAR= Resist, argue, retort.

“How?” I ask sceptically.

“You've got me.”

I'm a sucker for a good piece of romcom dialogue. I wish I wasn't such a girl.

Apology accepted.

Hell, if he kept pulling me into moments like this, maybe I would fall in love with him, maybe he could win? Maybe I want to lose?

Hell, if he keeps pulling me like this, maybe I will fall in love with him, maybe he will win? Maybe I want to lose?


(Louis’ P.O.V)

There are two things that need to be said. One, she's up to something. Second, it makes her bloody intoxicating. As in she's like firewhiskey, she makes you drunk. All that lightheaded crap, churning stomach and you become absolutely speechless sort of rubbish. Patch was absolutely right when she said when you fall in love, you feel crazy and all your friends think you've gone insane, because you actually go insane.

Right now, she's quietly reading a book, her expression completely blank as her eyes trail across the page.

I'm such a bloody sap.

I'm watching her read.

And it's so unbelievably interesting, that quite frankly, I could go on at this, watching her that is, for another hour or so, before feeling any inclination to move at all.

"This is pure genius," she says to herself, flicking through the pages. "It's official, I love Blake."


Who the fuck is Blake?

Where is he so I can beat him up? And then kill him, I'm not even joking right now. I won't even Avada Kedavra him, I'll Sweeney Todd his ass.

Okay, maybe not, but it's worth the thought.

I am so whipped.

And she's not even my girlfriend.

Man, this merde sucks.

She glances up at me and breaks out into a giggle.

"Lou, come read this. It's insane. I'm in love," she says.

Yeah, and she's not in love with me.

Why? This is so unfair, I mean she's so cute and sexily cute and adorably cute and deliciously cute. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty cute, smokin' cute that is.

I could trick her into marrying me. She wouldn't particularly mind, but Arisa would actually kill me. That girl is scary.

I sat down next to her on the floor of the common room, as my knee knocks into hers and she shuffled away.

The places the book on my lap, pointing at the title, 'London'. I skim and catch sight of a couple words, like 'every' and 'chartered'.

"So, whaddya think?" She asks, excited.

"It's interesting."

"Don't you just think that the structure is mind blowing, the use of the first person persona as the day becomes dark, it's amazing?” She trills.

"Err, yeah, it's great," I reply and it would be great, if I understood.

"You don't get it, do you?" She asks, pulling the poem closer to her, so it was on both our laps.

I nod.

She giggles.

I love it when she giggles.

I love her.

Swiftly moving on, I say, "well, it's not like I've ever read poetry before, I didn't take muggle studies and you," I jab a finger at her, "never let me read what you write in that little black book of yours."

"Yeah, well it was private. Anyway, stupide, it's about the poverty and desperation of the population of London during the industrial revolution, the last verse is about prostitutes and then there are mentions of little children being used as chimney sweepers which led to diseases like bronchtitis," she explains as she drags her finger in a heart shape around the words 'William Blake'.

Oh, so the bastard wrote this poem. Is he alive, he damn well better be one of those dead ancient poems like Olive and Hammer, that she goes on about.

Maybe to make her love me, I need to use poetry. That is an interesting idea.

"Weasley, are you awake?"

"Wait, you lost me at prostitute. Is this poem kinky?" I ask with a wink. I ooze sexy.

"It's about sexually transmitted diseases, you toerag," she deadpans.

Merde, I sound perverted.

And then a voice argues in my head, 'you're only perverted for her'.

This voice is correct.

This voice is sufficient proof that I am insane.

I need a witty, yet insanely attractive comeback.

"Well, it doesn't say that," I say.

"Because, poems use metaphor, simile and other techniques, it's not a potions textbook," she says.

Then, she pushes me lightly, making me look as off-kilter as I feel around her.

This is not fair.

She's made me a sap.

And she's up to something.

And I love her.

She's making my thoughts go around in circles, making me feel dizzy.

"Where's your little black book, you usually carry it around with you?" I notice.

"I might have sold it," she says coyly.

Sold it? Sold it? The thing that she protects like a new-born baby, the little amazing book which led to her straddling me has been sold. This is sacrilege.

"You what?"

"I sold it to some publishing company, they said I had some interesting poems that would do well in their literary magazine, they paid me three hundred pounds, not bad eh?"

Not bad? This is awful. I still didn't get to read it and she was hiding it from me.

I need to read what was in there or I'll die otherwise.

I've been trying to read what she's been writing in there since fourth year. For three years, three painstaking years and now, I'll never know what she was hiding from me in her little book of literary wonder and magic as she called it.

I need to find out who she sold it to and buy it back.

It will be the single most romantic gesture since Romeo and Juliet, dying for each other and crap. Or was that Bonnie and Clyde?

Disclaimer: I still don't own harry potter or anything else pop culture that's referenced in this chapter. Or Romeo and Juliet, but that's public domain anyway or Bonnie and Clyde, the crazy stealing duo. Also, the poem referenced in this chapter is London by William Blake, read it! It's an amazing poem. Or Sweeney Todd.

ma mere= my mother
stupide= stupid (shock, horror!)

1. Hides. I haven't updated this in a long time. :( I've been swamped at school, exams, homework, coursework. You name it.
2. There will be more poetry and more Louis.
3. Thank you all for the lovely reviews!

Thank you < 3 Sooo, do you like Louis' P.O.V? (it's a helluva lot easier to write than Patch)

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