A/N: Yes, I know I haven't updated in ages! Sorry, life's super busy right now with a whole lot of exams. Don't know yet if I'm going to switch back to freeverse.
You are Lysander Scamander. You are the boy that no one wants.
Your father wishes you were braver. Stronger. Smarter.
Your mother wants you to be wilder. Crazier. Zanier.
You're not wild. Not smart. You're just safe, boring Lysander. Ordinary Lysander.
(who would want an ordinary boy?)
You drift off in daydreams, trying to be your mother's son. You study hard, trying to be your father's.
(you're neither, and that hurts)
You know your parents will never let you be yourself. You have the proof of that in your pocket. You hear the paper crumpling as you roughly swipe your sleeve against your eyes, getting ready to go back to your dorm.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and you look up only to see her golden hair swinging over her shoulder as she turns away, and even though you'd never tell anyone why you're crying, you might have told her, but she would never care enough to ask.
You push down the disappointment, knowing you should never have expected her to care for you, because that's what Dom does, she pushes people away.
(everyone calls her Dominique but you)
Your hand reaches involuntarily into your pocket, and your fingertips touch warm, waxy paper. Hating your weakness, your need to be loved, you look up again and meet her cloudy grey eyes, staring at you with uncertainty.
It's a shock, because you'd expected her to leave, and you can see the indecision in her face. She runs back, seeming not to realise what she's doing, and awkwardly sits beside you.
You watch her struggle with words as tears gather in her eyes and before you can think, you lean over and wrap your arms around her. Surprised at yourself, you freeze for a moment, but she simply leans forward and rests her head on your shoulder. You bury your face in her shoulder, gently stroking her hair, breathing in her crisp-French-perfume scent.
You feel your shirt getting wet and reluctantly lift your head. She looks up, surprised, tears dripping unnoticed down her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" you ask her, because this is what Dom does to you, she makes you forget about yourself, because she is more important.
She stares uncomprehendingly and you repeat yourself, gently, because you know that Dom is breakable, and if she can break, then there is no hope for you.
(she is exceptional, and you are ordinary, and you love her)
You gently reach over and smooth a thumb carefully across her cheek, brushing away the tears. She looks shocked, and the floodgates open, and you don't say anything but simply hold her tighter and tighter until the tears dry up and she lifts her head, trying not to meet your eyes.
(Merlin, she's beautiful)
"What's wrong?" you ask, because you're pretty sure you'll need to go punch someone after this.
You're wrong. It all spills out, and you have much more in common with her than you'd thought. She buries her face in your robes, and you lift her chin, needing to look at her.
She pushes you away, quickly, and the stab of resigned pain in your chest is familiar by now. Because that's what Dom does, she pushes people away.
Dom stands, speaks. You have no idea what she said because you're too busy listening to the cold, harsh tone of her voice and wondering what you did wrong.
(she leaves, and you are left)
Your mother and I were very disappointed to receive your report from this term. Excellent work in Ancient Runes, as always, but honestly, son, an A in Transfiguration and Charms is not good enough, and your Care of Magical Creatures mark was nothing short of terrible.
Lysander, I think we've taught you better than this. You've grown up surrounded by magical creatures, so I cannot comprehend why you are not doing better in this subject. I expect an improvement next term. Your brother is doing far better than you in virtually every subject, so there is no excuse.
Your loving parents.
(you are always left)