Not even a sandpit
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,198
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,198
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Screaming
Screaming
I want to scream, I want shout and I want to get out and go far, far away and stop the anger and the need and the love.
I want to yell at him and every time I picture his face I want to curl up and cry.
It is a bad night tonight, so bad. I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop the thoughts running through my mind over and over again like a broken record…an irritating parrot.
Pirates have parrots, what if I was a pirate? I could sail far away and never tell him and he would worry. Would he cry? Would he pay countless spies to search for me?
Or would he carry on? Would he even notice I was gone?
Oh it is bad night tonight.
I’m so tired; I burnt the eggs and Grandmothers screaming that the house is going to burn down.
I want to scream back, I want to tell her to shove it! I want the world to sit my feet just so I can yell and scream,
Why am I so unimportant, why does nobody notice me? Cant they here me screaming!
I need to calm down, this is not life this so not who I am! But who I am is pitiful and week and I want my garden, yes my garden.
An owl is at the window and damn it grandmother saw it fly up to the house.
I slam the window open whilst my grandmother yells at me to tell her who it is from, it hops on the ledge.
Inside are instructions on how to get his house, he wants me to take the bus, any magical means can be traced he says and lets not forget you cant fly.
Oh really?
Well…I pick up my pen and right exactly what’s running through my mind.
Fuck you Blaise, fuck you.
I sit in my garden and pot another mandrake. Grandmother’s asleep and stopped complaining about the noise so I can think in peace.
But I don’t want to think…but I do and I think about removing my earmuffs and allowing their child like cry to knock me out.
Another owl has come, I ignore it.
There are five owls outside the window and four hooting at me down the chimney, all I want to is sit with my fire whiskey and my book and pretend to read.
But another owl is tapping at the window and they’re all following suit and I can’t take the noise.
I read another line of my book and try to block them out.
The Bahamas have the perfect weather conditions to support the bellflower and this is where they are most commonly grown and harvested.
“Neville? What is that noise? Neville, oh god we’re being burgled, you lazy boy get up, get up! Neville!”
The best time to harvest the bellflower is on harvest moon when they are at their most beautiful and the magic is at its most potent
Tap, tap, tap.
“Neville!”
Tap, tap, tap!
The best time to harvest-
“Neville!”
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Hoot, hoot”
The best time to-
“We’re being burgled Neville! Neville!”
“SHUT UP!”
My book tumbles to the ground as I march over to the window and wrench it open. The owls are waiting to come in and I fling my whiskey on them and hurl my glass at the road and I hear it tinkle as it hits the tarmac.
All the owls rise into the air in fright and my grandmother won’t stop screaming.
“Shut up I whisper to the night air.
“Please shut up.”
***
Oh my poor Neville! Please review so his angst wont be for nought!
I want to scream, I want shout and I want to get out and go far, far away and stop the anger and the need and the love.
I want to yell at him and every time I picture his face I want to curl up and cry.
It is a bad night tonight, so bad. I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop the thoughts running through my mind over and over again like a broken record…an irritating parrot.
Pirates have parrots, what if I was a pirate? I could sail far away and never tell him and he would worry. Would he cry? Would he pay countless spies to search for me?
Or would he carry on? Would he even notice I was gone?
Oh it is bad night tonight.
I’m so tired; I burnt the eggs and Grandmothers screaming that the house is going to burn down.
I want to scream back, I want to tell her to shove it! I want the world to sit my feet just so I can yell and scream,
Why am I so unimportant, why does nobody notice me? Cant they here me screaming!
I need to calm down, this is not life this so not who I am! But who I am is pitiful and week and I want my garden, yes my garden.
An owl is at the window and damn it grandmother saw it fly up to the house.
I slam the window open whilst my grandmother yells at me to tell her who it is from, it hops on the ledge.
Inside are instructions on how to get his house, he wants me to take the bus, any magical means can be traced he says and lets not forget you cant fly.
Oh really?
Well…I pick up my pen and right exactly what’s running through my mind.
Fuck you Blaise, fuck you.
I sit in my garden and pot another mandrake. Grandmother’s asleep and stopped complaining about the noise so I can think in peace.
But I don’t want to think…but I do and I think about removing my earmuffs and allowing their child like cry to knock me out.
Another owl has come, I ignore it.
There are five owls outside the window and four hooting at me down the chimney, all I want to is sit with my fire whiskey and my book and pretend to read.
But another owl is tapping at the window and they’re all following suit and I can’t take the noise.
I read another line of my book and try to block them out.
The Bahamas have the perfect weather conditions to support the bellflower and this is where they are most commonly grown and harvested.
“Neville? What is that noise? Neville, oh god we’re being burgled, you lazy boy get up, get up! Neville!”
The best time to harvest the bellflower is on harvest moon when they are at their most beautiful and the magic is at its most potent
Tap, tap, tap.
“Neville!”
Tap, tap, tap!
The best time to harvest-
“Neville!”
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Hoot, hoot”
The best time to-
“We’re being burgled Neville! Neville!”
“SHUT UP!”
My book tumbles to the ground as I march over to the window and wrench it open. The owls are waiting to come in and I fling my whiskey on them and hurl my glass at the road and I hear it tinkle as it hits the tarmac.
All the owls rise into the air in fright and my grandmother won’t stop screaming.
“Shut up I whisper to the night air.
“Please shut up.”
***
Oh my poor Neville! Please review so his angst wont be for nought!