i doubt it. i have work to turn in. *shrug* it's not all that late, actually.

exactly. and some are more willing to admit to it than others .

Ah, well in that case, you'd better go (you've probably already gone by now, but whatever ) Well good for you! Most of my work ends up being... extremely late.

That's true too. People who aren't willing to admit their craziness are just... nincompoops. Sorry, I don't know where that word came from, but it seemed to fit

i have nice teachers who let me turn work in late !

i like that word. this girl who sits next to me in choir has a thing on her binder that's "words that sound dirty but aren't." they're amusing. let's see if i can remember them all:
masticate
poo-poo-platter
uranus
cocktail

i think there's at least one more, but i can't remember it.

Lucky you. I do too, but some of them are just like, "Nope. If you hand it in late, you get zero," which sucks.

Lol, I like those words! I remember 'poo-poo-platter' from that movie 'A Bug's Life' where one of the waitresses goes "Who ordered the poo-poo-platter?" and hands a very disgusting looking dish to a bunch of flies The other words are cool too. What does the first one actually mean?

i have a couple like that too, but most of them are really nice about late work.

i don't remember that part, but it's the kind of thing that would happen in that movie!

masticate: to reduce to a pulp by crushing or kneading, as rubber. (thank you dictionary.com!)

Yeah, it's the same with my teachers. Most of them are fine about it, but there are just a few mean ones like that.

Yup It's a pretty good movie, for a kids movie I loved the anthills.

Oh, okay I think I might've known what it meant, once. Dictionary.com is very handy. I use the thesaurus equivalent (thesaurus.resource.com) all the time.

i guess there will always be mean ones...

i don't remember much at all. i'm fairly certain i liked it, though .

i love it. it's the easiest dictionary to use! (though at least i CAN use a conventional one. my brother is apparently incapable of remembering the alphabet, so he can't use dictionaries. it's sad.

Yeah, like my grade four teachers... don't even REMIND me of her. When it came to picking favourites, she was the worst EVER. And, uh... let's just say I wasn't one of her favourites. For no particular reason, she hated me.

Yeah, I haven't seen it in like... five years But I remember it was pretty good. You probably would have liked it.

It is very easy to use. I can't be bothered using a conventional one (I mean, obviously, I can, but it involves going all the way upstairs to my dad's office, stealing his dictionary off the shelf, and returning it afterwards). Wow, your brother can't remember the alphabet? There are a lot of people like that here, but I thought it was just an Australian thing, and most of them just forget the order of some letters (though that's still rather pathetic). I learned the alphabet when I was like... four or something (then again, we had the stupid little posters on our wall, and for some time I thought "L-M-N-O-P" was all one word )

my last year's history teacher was like that too. *shudder* she liked the jocks and the student council people, and i am neither.

yeah. i'd probably like it more now, though. i've grown to appreciate stupid cartoons.

yeah, exactly. my brother has issues with the alphabet. i suspect he's been turned off it by my dad. i can deal with my dad's... less than gentle homework tactics (as in, he hasn't made me cry in forever) but my brother still has issues with it. lol, nice!

more fanfic, since i'm in that kind of mood...
---------


“Wait!”

The black haired boy paused to let the other catch up. His ice blond hair flew out behind him as he ran and, for once, he didn’t care. He had to talk with the Gryffindor, had to explain. He couldn’t bear the cold look in the other boy’s eyes, couldn’t stand the hatred that passed across his face as he glanced in the Slytherin’s direction.

“What is it?” the Gryffindor snarled, eyeing the panting Slytherin with loathing. “I have no more to say to you.”

“Please,” the Slytherin pleaded, hearing how close to begging he was and not caring. “I… I need to talk to you.”

“No you don’t. Your actions speak for you. It’s clear that you’ve chosen your path and now I’m choosing mine. You’re nothing to me anymore.”

The Slytherin stood there, his heart on his sleeve, his eyes perilously close to filling with tears. This couldn’t be happening! They’d promised! They’d promised, when they first realized what was happening, that they wouldn’t ever leave. And now… now the Gryffindor was turning his back and walking away, leaving the seventeen-year-old Slytherin to fend for himself.

“Please,” he said again. “Please listen to me!”

With an irritated sigh, the Gryffindor glanced around the corridors, checking for his friends, then hissed, “Fine. I’ll talk to you tonight. Meet me on the Astronomy Tower and talk.”

The Slytherin nodded, relief crossing his features. “Thank you,” he whispered.

The Gryffindor scowled and swept away, leaving the blond Slytherin standing alone in the corridor, his eyes still threatening to water and his face arranged in a slight smile. Everything would be all right now. The Gryffindor had accepted to listen to him, and now he would be able to fix the damage his unthinking remark had made. Everything would go back to the way it had been.
------------------
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t mean it when you said you were going to join them?” the Gryffindor asked, leaning against the wall and looking up at the stars. He carefully didn’t meet the Slytherin’s eyes, and the blond boy knew that he wasn’t forgiven. He doubted that the Gryffindor truly believed him, and the black haired boy’s skepticism cut deeply.

The Slytherin nodded.

“So why did you say it?” the Gryffindor demanded.

“I… I don’t know,” the Slytherin admitted. “It just slipped out.”

“Just slipped out?” the Gryffindor asked, his hazel eyes cynical, his midnight-colored eyebrows raised.

The Slytherin nodded again.

“Maybe you should be more careful what you let ‘slip out,’” the Gryffindor said in disgust. “Half the people in the school heard you, you know. How long do you think it’ll be until someone tries to attack you for words that just ‘slipped out’?”

Shamefaced, the Slytherin didn’t answer.

The Gryffindor waited a beat, then grimaced. “Why am I even trying? I know as well as you do that it won’t be long until you do join them.”

Outrage filled the Slytherin’s gray eyes. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “I’ll never join them! How can you even think that of me?!”

The Gryffindor regarded him steadily. “You think I haven’t seen the way you perk up whenever someone mentions them?” he asked. “You think I don’t know about the books you check out from the library? Stop trying to hide it from me. It’s not working.”

Helpless, the Slytherin stared at the Gryffindor. The accusations stung hi to the core, but the blank hatred in the other boy’s hazel eyes hurt more. He knew that the Gryffindor could never forget him. He’d ruined everything, and now no one could fix it. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be a lie, tried to find words to express his emotions. His brain failed him, and he saw the Gryffindor’s face harden. He knew even as the other boy’s tanned face closed and his hands clenched that he had ruined his last chance. If only he could have thought of something to say, anything to prove his innocence, then it might have been saved. But there was nothing more he could do. It was over.

“You disgust me,” the Gryffindor said icily. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you loved me enough to put aside all of this and do the right thing. I thought you were willing to defy your family for me and give up everything. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Did you ever even love me? Were you just playing with me to further your own ends?” His voice had risen as he spoke, and it broke as he added, “Do I mean anything to you?”

The Slytherin stood, rooted to the spot by the Gryffindor’s angry words. He could only stare helplessly as the hazel eyes filled with tears at his silence. With a violent motion, the Gryffindor swept past the Slytherin and stomped down the stairs, the tears spilling over and turning to angry, desperate sobs that he made no effort to quell. The Slytherin couldn’t move. Why hadn’t he denied it? Why hadn’t he insisted that he did love the Gryffindor? It would be the truth. He loved the Gryffindor more than anything, yet he hadn’t defended himself, hadn’t tried to stop the tears. Why?

He walked down the stairs in his turn, pretending not to notice the Gryffindor’s tracks on the slightly dusty floor. Gone were the days when he was welcome. Gone were the days when he could turn a frown to a smile with a single look. He was alone again, and it hurt more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
------------
“Will you swear allegiance to me and only to me?” The dark-haired man’s words ran through the former Slytherin’s ears. There was only one answer he could give, though the man in front of him was making it into a question.

The blond man – he had not been a boy in years, though he was the youngest of all the people in the room – nodded stiffly.

“Then open yourself to me and allow me to purge your heart.”

The blond man gulped at that, but nodded again. He had no choice. He closed his eyes as the dark-haired man cast a spell and slid into the blond’s heart. The blond kept his eyes firmly closed as the man who would soon be his master examined every corner of his being, searching for flaws.

The blond knew the exact moment when his master found the Gryffindor. A pain like none he had ever known seared through him, and he fell to his knees, clutching his palms to his chest in an effort to stop the agony. It continued.

“The impurity is seeping from you,” his master proclaimed, watching the blond man’s pain with satisfaction. “Do not hinder it.”

The blond man gasped something in response, still bent over and clutching his heart. A force stronger than he forced his hands away from his chest, and he watched in stunned horror as a tiny ball passed through his skin and floated away. The moment it left him, the pain vanished, leaving him weak-kneed and trembling. The tiny orb hovered in front of him, waiting.

“Take it,” his master ordered.

Hesitantly, the blond man reached out and captured the ball, examining it.

“Those are the impurities in your soul,” his master proclaimed. “Destroy them.”

The blond man stared up at his master, unsure of how to go about destroying parts of his own soul. His master looked down impassively, clearly unwilling to divulge in needed information. The blond man looked back down at the orb in his palm. Suddenly, he knew what had to be done, and he opened his mouth for the first time.

“You are nothing,” he whispered to the orb. It trembled slightly, and he knew he was on the right track. “I do not need any of you. I have a master who will replace you a hundredfold. You are unworthy of him and unworthy of me. Vanish.” As he spoke, the orb paled until only a miniscule scrap remained. The blond man knew what that scrap was: his love for the Gryffindor. The love that had hurt so much and that would still hurt him. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to obliterate it. It was too precious to kill. Glancing up at his master, he made a decision and pressed the fragment into his skin. It oozed back into him, making its way through his body and back into his heart. He felt a moment’s pain as it settled in, then only relief. It was right. It should be there, and he felt profoundly grateful that he had not killed it.

His master did not seem to have noticed. “Are you prepared to become one of mine?” he asked, looking at the blond man with approval.

The blond nodded.

“Then hold out your arm.”

The blond did as he was bid, and as the pain of branding swept through him, he could only think of one thing: the black-haired Gryffindor he was betraying.
-------------
(If anyone picked up on the clues I left, they should be able to tell that this is not about Harry and Draco. It is about their respective fathers. *shrug* I like most potter/malfoy pairing.)

I knew it was about James and Lucius as soon as I read the part about the hazel eyes (because I'm just a Harry Potter freak like that )

Man (woman ), you are such a great writer!! You're able to portray the emotions and thoughts and drama so well, that even when I'm not a full-on fan of the pairing (Lily and James are my thing) it still makes me sad at the end. Well done

yeah, die hard harry potter geeks would have picked up on that, but an amazing number of people didn't. *shrug*

thank you so much! i do my best with emotions, since that's what i care about reading. loving to read them and failing to write them would make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?

Hmm. Strange. I thought it would be pretty obvious to anybody who's actually read the books that Harry doesn't have hazel eyes... oh well, I guess I'm just talking from an obsessive fan's perspective.

Yes, it would But you don't fail to write them, so you ain't a hypocrite. (Not in this sense, at least ) I'm not particularly good with wriitng emotions. Well, sometimes I am, but at other times my writing is kind of bland that way. I'm working on it, though!

What does ----------- Mean in the story

kenshin: it means that i'm skipping in time. it's basically a page break.

sam: i woudl have thought so too, but a lot of people got it wrong. *shrug* then again, i'm an obsessive fan, so i shouldn't be talking.

yeah, and i HATE hypocrites with a passion, so i really shouldn't be one. that would be the ultimate hypocrisy . but yeah, i only write them well because i use writing to get my emotions out. i got so used to brain dumping when i was depressed that now i can do it without being depressed. but i wrote some REALLY disturbing things for a while there!

okay, to change things up a bit, this is sorta harry/ron. for those of you who have actually bothered to look at my profile, it's the story that sparked "The Ballad of Blaise and Ron." For the rest of you, all you need to know is that narrator is ron and one he's looking at is harry.
--------


He lies there, his eyes closed and his face peaceful. I watch him, knowing I shouldn’t be here and not caring. I don’t care for rules anyway, and this time I care even less. After all, when it’s a choice of following the rules or being with him, the choice doesn’t even exist. No rules can keep me from him, especially not at a time like this.

He stirs, and his face changes, the peace vanishing and pain replacing it. I freeze, watching as he tosses and turns, wondering what’s wrong. I know he’s having another nightmare. How many nights have I lain awake, watching as he tosses in his bed, aching to wake him but not being able to?

He cries out, thrashing under his covers, and one of his hands flies free. I want to touch it so badly, but I can’t bring myself to disturb him. He clearly has more than enough on his mind. He doesn’t need to worry about a boy who loves him. After all, it’s not like he knows how I feel. If I thought he returned the feelings, it might be something, but he’s been joined at the hip with Malfoy for years. Oh, they won’t admit it, but I know. Everyone knows.

His mouth opens, and he whimpers, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. He speaks, and I wince at the pain in his voice. “No!” he whispers. “No, please! Don’t!”

I want to comfort him so badly, but I can’t. I can’t make myself touch him, can’t make myself disturb his perfect flesh with my touch. And why would he want me? He has Malfoy, a thousand times better for him than I would be. I’ll never admit it, but I envy Malfoy. No, not for his money or his family’s power, those don’t matter to me. No, it’s his closeness to the boy I love that I envy. I want to be the one to comfort Harry, want to be the one to hold his hand and sooth away his tears. But I won’t be. I will never be.

He thrashes again, and the blanket comes all the way off. Against my will, I reach over and smooth it back over him. He sighs slightly and seems to calm down. My hand doesn’t move away like I want it to, and I touch his exposed hand. A small smile creeps across his face, and I smile back, even though I know he can’t see me.

The clock strikes midnight, and I start. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. With a sigh, I pull my hand back and look at him. He lies, not quite still, but not quite restless either. I have no choice but to leave, which I do reluctantly. As I close the door to the infirmary, I take one last look at him, at the boy I love. There is a smile on his lips and his breathing is steady. I close the door behind me, smiling. He will never know I came, and he will never know how I feel about him. I don’t need him to. It is enough that I can watch him like this, when he does not realize it. I will be content with this. I must be. It is all I will ever have.