Dedicated to Lizzie, who turned me into a HP fan. She also beta'd this, by the way :0)


Counterfeiting Shakespeare Presents

a bloody One-shot

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The Fork in the Road

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Ignore the whispers, the eyes that watched your every movement, the lips that exchanged information, claiming they knew the when, the why, the where. But most importantly, claiming they knew the who.

But you know that they don't, not really, and so continue on with your journey, your heavy books a comfortable weight in your hands, your minds filled with runes and potions and spells…and a certain boy.

You took the turn to the right, and found yourself in the library and your young heart did not swell in joy at the sight of all those wonderful tomes. It was not familiarity. You've always taken the right turn and every time you arrive at your destination, it had always been magical for you.

Rather you know that while you took the right, he forever took the left, where there were bludgers and quaffles and brooms flying in the air. You admitted in your heart that it was an exciting world. You've been there on some occasions and have even seen him in triumph in that world he loved so much.

And you know, as you took another book from where it was housed, your feet on a stool because the shelves were so high and you were so small, that there were others who took that left turn. Other girls who would see what you saw. Others girls who would bypass the emerald and value the sapphire.

There was a time you never worried about such things. Until glory took note of him and suddenly, others girls, prettier than you, finally saw what you've been seeing for some time now. And you hear the whispers that were about him, saw the eyes that watched his every movement, claiming they knew the when, the why, the where. But most importantly, claiming they knew the who.

And your heart breaks, because this time the whispers were right.

Perhaps if you'd but turn your head instead of burying it in a book so that no one could see your tears, you'd realize there was someone standing on the doorway. He was tall, and gangly, and there were freckles on his face. He has red hair and blue, blue eyes.

Perhaps, if you'd just look back before turning right, you'd realize you were being followed. That every time you took the right turn, he was right behind you. And when you've sat down, a book in one hand, your quill and parchment in the other, and he saw you were safe, then and only then would he retrace his steps until he'd find himself in that fork in the road and take the left turn.

He does not have the right words you see.

And your world was all about words.

But should you dare to try and not take the right turn, or the left, but plod ahead, creating a whole new path, look back.

…you'd see that he'd be there behind you with his blue, blue eyes.


A/N: Hope you liked it!