Bladders and Cherrie Pies
Harry was always there for people who needed it, always thought he was the one who needed to save people from their personal battles. But one of his biggest troubles in life was going to the bathroom, where he always needed to pee. Hermine teased the shit out of him just because he peed 7 times a day.
“It’s human NEED.”
“Alright Mr. Bladder Rights Activist, you may go fight for your toilet freedom.” — the last thing he heard was Gina’s roar of laughter. Two fingers flew in their direction.
He was about to pee himself and the boys’ bathroom was nowhere near.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck that.” He ran into the girls’ bathroom, locking himself in one of the stalls.
“Why is it so fucking cold here?”
Finally, his bladder was free. When he was about to leave, the door flew open, and a girl stormed in.
“Fuck me and my fucking bladder.”
He nearly fell over as the girl screamed — with a rage so big, it felt like someone just destroyed her whole world.
If she was Jewish and that sicko of a dictator released a law that they weren’t allowed to breathe around Aryans, he would’ve understood her.
He heard a low whimper come from the sinks. He couldn’t stand it anymore; he needed to see her face. To give whatever comfort she needed. He slowly opened the stall door.
“Shit,” the girl said as she looked up and saw his face. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”
“I really needed to go.”
She scoffed at him, as he recognized the most beautiful face of Paula Parkstein. Her tear-stained, onyx eyes glared at him. Her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead.
“Sod off,” she barked.
“I… I wanted to ask if you were okay?” he asked shyly.
“It’s not any of your fucking business.”
Harry, at that moment, understood that the hottest thing a girl can do is swear the shit out of him.
“I want to help,” he stated firmly, walking towards her and placing himself on the sink next to her.
“Well if you are so fucking nosy, my fucking father just sent my two older brothers to the front and said they will not come back until Germany is ‘great again.’ And then he went and found a 50-year-old bastard general to marry me off to as soon as I graduate from this fuckass school.” — the last words she screamed, with the same fingers Harry threw up moments before, up.
He didn’t know what to do when the girl that was scarier than Hitler moments before started whimpering again. He had never felt so awkward, scared, and amazed in his life.
“Are you going to hug me or not, you handsome, fucking pisshead?” the prettiest girl in the building asked.
At least Harry’s instincts were fast enough to jump to the floor and almost run to her. He threw his hands over her as she put her head on his shoulders. Her hair smelled like the cherry pie his mom always makes on his birthday.
“You smell nice,” she said in a low voice as another sneeze came from her. Harry thought he was sleeping. He was ready to shove it in Hermine’s face and tell her that his “bladder problem” caused PAULA PARKSTEIN to say he smelled nice.
“Your hair smells like a cherry pie,” she half-laughed, half-sneezed again.
“It’s the shampoo I use,” she explained, as she pulled herself back and jumped down, shoving his bag into his hands.
“Can you walk me to my class?” — less of a question, more of a command.
Harry considered himself the luckiest person on this earth. He walked her to her class in total silence. He wasn’t complaining. As they reached her class, she turned around. Her heel reached for his ear, grabbed it and whispered;
“If you talk about the bathroom scene, you will miss a limb.” — she said and placed a kiss on his cheek.
Wide-eyed, he thought how fascinating she was. Handing her the bag, he bent down to her ear.
“If you promise to kiss my other cheek next time,” he whispered, with a smirk on his lips.
Was he tripping or… did she just blush? She rolled her eyes and entered the class, head up as always. Amazing. When she was out of sight, he ran to tell everything to Hermine — except the crying part, obviously.