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Patchwork by fairytaled
Chapter 11 : Pivotal
 
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Chapter Eleven

There's a single moment in every relationship, where everything can change. This is the make it or break it moment. Maybe someone will say 'je t'aime' after along painful wait or maybe it's a world-ending, earth-shattering, leg-popping kiss. And perhaps for the first time and the last time in any relationship, maybe it’s the words somebody scrawled in a little black book.

~*~

The sad truth is I stopped being angry before I even made it to the Fat lady's portrait. Which just goes to show how much Louis affects my attention span, which contributes to my (in)sanity, thus (how I've missed my conjunctives!) proving that Louis is bad for my mental health.

I don't even know what I'm doing. Why on earth am I trying to delude myself I don't want to be in a relationship in a Louis? I think I've been confounded for so long that my brain has a natural habit of trying to hide, conceal, break, destroy, exterminate (whoa, these verbs grow stronger by the, well, verb) my feelings for my best friend.

By time I'm in my dormitory, I have not only forgiven Louis but I am somehow, someway, somewhat anxiously excited about what he's done with my book, my black book.

This is exciting.

I clamber onto my bed, yank my book from under my pillow and begin to read.

So, you're reading this probably waiting for some massive declaration of boundless love from Louis, he does have an uncanny knack for expressing his emotion through extreme exaggeration. But this isn't one of those love notes, however it wouldn't surprise me if you received one in the near future.

I guess, I should stop beating round the bush (I've never particularly liked that muggle idiom, do you?) And just get down to the crux (horcrux?) of the matter.

Your question: Why have you been such an uptight frigid bitch lately?

My answer: Well, it's a lot of things, Sophie, but you have a right to know. Don't worry about Lorcan; he only knows one the issues on the winding list of things-that-are-making-Arisa's-life-resemble-hell:

1) Dad. You know he's always been slightly off, a bit too childish, a bit too fun. Well, turns out he's mildly autistic, but for some reason it's more obvious, maybe I'm more perceptive. And it's driving mum round the bend, all they do is argue and she wants to leave, but she can't because she knows he can't function without her. You can tell she wants to be somewhere else with someone else, you can feel the static tension in the air at home. My family is deteriorating.

2) This ones pathetic, it really is. I've been hung up on this for so long that it's devoured my soul. I sound as melodramatic as you. But you know and I know, I should be fucking over him and it's tragic. He's engaged and three years older than me, which is quite the hefty age gap, you know when you consider the fact he's graduated, got a job and I'm still an ickle girl who would make him feel like a cradle robber. And it's insane that I thought he would wait for me.

3) This links with two, I guess as I watched your relationship with Louis progress, I couldn't help but feel like a jealous wanker for being hung up on you-know-who. I mean, why couldn't I have a lovely romance like yours with someone. Someone my age, someone who wasn't frickin' engaged.

So now that I've told you, here's the thing, we're not going to talk about any of this shit, I know you'll want to help, but these are just things I have to let happen, as much to my dismay (this excludes your relationship with Louis, I will be glad to take the post as girly female best friend as you can tell me all about your romantic liaisons).


I smile and frown at the same time, which tugs my lips into a strange pout, sad that Arisa is having a suck-ish time and it's one of those things that you know you just don't talk about, happy that I finally know why. Most muggle shrinks make this horrendous deal out of the importance of talking, but you don’t always need to talk, you can take action. I hide the book after placing a charm on it to make it look like a potions textbook and giggle lightly at my own personal joke.

After chucking the book under the my bed, I start to run down to the common room, to find Arisa and fortunately enough, she’s sitting in front of the fire with her nose in a book. Without any thought (not that I think much before I do anything, anyway) I engulf her in a big friendly I’m-here-for-you-right-now-and-don’t-forget-that epic full of love hug and she hugs me back. And I bet we’re radiating this sickly best friend love glow into the common room, right in front of the nervous little first years.

I let go after a couple of moments, and we sort of just smile at each other as if to say I’ve missed you or in my case I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, over and over again.

Not to throw in a bad pun or anything at a lovely best friend moment, but our friendship is magical, I might as well make this as tacky as possible, and our friendship is siriusly magical. We’ve been friends since first year and despite having a trunkful of differences and cauldron full of arguments, our strange friendship works in its weird way. And I don’t have to worry about not being friends with her even after we graduate, because we just get each other.

We start chatting about (bitching about) Hannah Macmillan, because we’re girls and you know it’s some of the horrible things we do and if you’re a girl, I bet you do it too, so don’t look down on me with your fake self-righteousness.

“I don’t understand her,” Arisa says.

“I do, well Glass explained to me, he must have had an aneurysm to go out with her,” I reply.

“She’s mean for the sake of being mean, I think she’s a case that even Sigmund Freud, the whacky drug using muggle guy who is like a leg-end in human psychology,” she says.

“He took drugs?” I laugh as I flex my fingers and wriggle them. I’m so fidgety.

“Strange, right? He wasn’t even that sane, some of his theories are a bit weird.”

“Then, I shall not be reading them.”

Eventually, we give up on our weird conversation as we start mumbling incoherent and strange answers and go to sleep.

The next morning hits me on the head as I wake up and the sun blinds me, making me fall out of bed with the grace of a hippogriff. I clutch my wand and make my bed. Can you imagine actually making your bed, like a muggle? Oh, wouldn’t that be awful. Lightly, I chuckle to myself and Izzy shoots me a weird glance as she sees me sat on the floor, I don’t bother responding and stand up to get ready.

Feeling a weird sense of immature maturity, I get ready, brush my teeth, shower, you know the works. I hum to myself quietly, trying to remember that thing that I need to do. I scan through a mental list and come up with nothing, I don’t actually have any homework to do, which is an impressive feat for a seventh year on the weekend, I do need to practice some charms that we were taught in a lesson, I have had a heart-to-heart to Arisa, I even wrote to my mother, what do I possibly need to do?

I scan the list again, and the once more and one more time, you know, just to be safe and suddenly, I feel the pain of a mental slap and the sound of a siren go off in my brain; I needed to thank Louis for somehow convincing Arisa to admit what was wrong with her, and possibly saving my fizzling out friendship.

I don’t possibly understand how he’s all of a sudden so aware, so girl-smart, it’s like he’s that guy from that absolutely ancient muggle film who suddenly hears what all women are thinking, because he fell in the shower with a hair dryer and turns from jerk to sweetheart.

It was like he was Hugo Weasley.

Now, I have to go find Louis. Merlin, why wasn’t I in Hufflepuff? Maybe then I wouldn’t waste all my time having to locate my friend to talk to them, because I’m shit at locating things.

Fortunately, because this day is being awesome I found Louis extremely easily at the quidditch pitch, which is an unbelievably long walk.

Almost everyone in the world has a special place they like to go when they want to be alone, mine is my bedroom back home, in Hogwarts it’s the girls toilets on the second floor and you can deduce why. Louis’s special hiding/thinking spot is sitting on the stalls of the quidditch pitch, which is usually deserted besides matches and team practices. Because tech-ni-cal-ly (words were made to be broken up phonetically), it’s against school rules to be on the pitch without school permission. I think when Filch finally gets the hallways under control (which is never); he’ll somehow stop people from getting onto the quidditch pitch without permission.

I climb up the uncanny amount of stairs and the wood creaks with each step and once I get to the top, I immediately lock eyes with Louis.

“How angry are you on a scale of one to ten?” he asks, straight to the point as usual.

“Honestly, maybe a three, I’m pretty peeved, you could have executed that oh-so-wonderful plan without theft, but thankyouverymuch it made me really happy,” I trail off at the end as I blush.

“Yourverywelcome,” he says in an equally fast tone, in a strange way I feel nervous to be around Louis, for the first time. Usually, I’m quite happy to frolic around in my most embarrassing revealing pyjamas around him and now I can barely speak a sentence.

I’ve always through falling in love was like a slide, you know you sit, take a deep breath and you glide down easily into happiness. It never occurred to me, that there would be so much friction along the way.

“What do we do now?” I ask.

Here’s the thing, every time you read a romance novel or watch a film, the characters always have this intrinsic (beautiful, beautiful word) natural instincts and always know what do next, when to shut someone up by kissing them, when to tell someone that you might quasi-love-like them, when to ask someone to be your boyfriend/girlfriend/mating partner and maybe some people do have this magical power. I don’t. I have no idea what Louis and I are, or what we’re going to do about whatever we might possibly-might-not-sort-of be.

I’m confused as hell, can you tell?

“What we always do,” he replies, and I sit down because my standing to his sitting made the whole experience more uncomfortable then it already is.

“What do we always do,” he says.

“And what’s that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He grabs my hand, stands up, dragging me along with and as he pulls me down the stairs, he says, “something stupid, we’re going on an adventure, together.”

And suddenly, I know my hand is where it's supposed to be, in his.

~*~

You expect a love story to end in a kiss, possibly a wedding, someone bouncing children on their lap, feeling ever so sentimental. But the truth is when you catch tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray, you've caught a disease, so it should end with the cure. The cure being certainty, the main part of the disease being doubt, confusion and denial. Because all in all, falling for your best friend isn't just kissing and intimacy tacked onto friendship, it's more than that. It's the slow circling dance around each other, it's all the lies, the truth, the trust, the awkward moments, the fights. Just like in a multiple choice quiz, it's all of the above. You know you have found the cure, when all these pieces come together imperfectly like a piece of patchwork.






A/N: (Read this!) I'M DONE! I'M DONE! WHOOO. This is the last chapter. No epilogue. changed ma mind. (my following garble sounds awfully chavvy and street, because I’m unbelievably tired right now)

I’m well chuffed that I’ve actually finished this in six months, which is not bad, seeing that I’ve never finished any piece of fanfiction, I haven’t even finished a one-shot. Also, I have proof that I’m a prude, my characters only kissed once in this entire endeavour.

Didn’t understand something? Felt it was too vague? Annoyed? There is a sequel. Mwahaha *coughs* from Arisa’s point of view (an excuse to be unnaturally sarcastic and do justice to her character).

Translation: Je t’aime means I love you (in french) +-tomber amoureaux avec estbay iendfray means 'to fall in love with', which is french and then 'estbay iendfray' is best friend in pig latin.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Be cool and review the last chapter, because it’s the last one and it would be well cool, you know if you told me what you thought about this story, what you disliked, what you would like to see in the sequel?


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