Chapter 1 : The Chair
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 12|
Background: Font color:
And he was constantly reminded of that fact.
He didn’t value charm or the ability to play Quidditch. Really, all he wanted to do was read. In books he was accepted, after all; the protagonist was always different from the other characters. Always special in some way.
He tried to convince himself that he was special too.
Sure, he was smart - he knew this better than anyone else. And he relished in the fact that he could grasp things quicker than others, that his mind was capable of bigger and better feats than others.
But they just picked on him more for that.
The last one he knew was a lie; he was in no way stupid. Just to others he seemed that way.
So he surrendered, and he ignored the comments. And when he had time, he’d go to his place and read. But even at school, his brothers were everywhere, constantly telling him their opinions of what he was like.
Shouldn't he know better than others what he’s like? After all, he is himself.
But the school was a big place, and before long, he found himself his own little nook. It was an armchair in the corner; it was huge, but beaten up, and if you listened carefully you could almost hear the pages of books that people had read before him, being turned.
Best of all, whenever he sat in it, his brothers hadn’t been able to find him. No one had been able to; it was like he was invisible.
And that was the way he liked it.
He had just finished his last class of the day, and he had selected the perfect book to read. It had something to with dreams. He could barely remember the title now, but back then, it had been his favorite.
But then, when he got to his chair, he realized that something wasn’t entirely right.
There was someone else. In his chair. Sitting in his chair, with their head on one arm and their legs draped over the other.
He didn’t even recognize this person. She was no one he’d even noticed before, and really, he didn’t bother noticing her now.
“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat, and when that failed to spark her interest, he coughed. She may have heard him, or she may have not, but in any case, she continued to read.
“Excuse me,” he said again, and this time the irritation was more pronounced. “That’s my spot.”
“Has it got your name on it?” The speaker’s voice sounded smooth, almost dream-like, but not spacey. The statement got right to the point.
She was not going to leave his chair.
“No, but I’ve been sitting there every day for the past five years - excluding summers, of course,” the boy retorted.
The girl sighed and sounded irritable when she spoke again. “Fine.” She maneuvered herself around so she could sit upright. “I’ll get out.”
“Thank you,” said the boy, glad that this whole irritating business was over. Now that he was over his initial panic attack regarding his chair, he was able to observe the girl.
Or, as he called her in his mind, The Thief That Tried to Take His Chair.
And he noticed something.
He noticed that she was holding the exact same book he was.
They enjoyed arguing.
They were never really mad at each other when they argued; they were just mad at the other person’s points.
They never let each other win.
Their friendship was one based on mutual respect, and their relationship was based on their friendship. They were not equals in many things (he was smarter, she was funnier), but their strengths and weaknesses balanced each other out.
Some called them prudes, but they didn’t care about others anymore. Because when you have someone who likes you for who you are, you stop hearing everyone else’s noise.
Because that’s all it really is.
He enjoyed playing with her hair. She enjoyed his fingers going through it.
They weren’t the best-looking people; others weren’t lining up at their front doors to take pictures. But they found each other to be beautiful, because they could see the other’s personality shining through to their faces.
To each other, they were the most beautiful people on Earth. They ignored nothing and loved everything about each other.
They still had arguments, but they always made up afterwards.
He tells her he loves her.
She responds immediately after.
“I love you, too.”
They lie on the grass in a park and look up at stars, trying to figure out if that red light is really Venus or just an airplane.
It was Venus.
He was Percy Weasley.
She was Audrey Pond.
And this was a love story.
Other Similar Stories