Freakishly perfect
“Freak,” A Gryffindor student says, “Look at him, he’s fugly,” He and his friends laugh.
They’re poking fun at Silas. They’re mocking him for his heterochromia. They’re picking on him for not being generic.
“Fuck off,” I say from behind them.
“What was that?” The group turns to face me and I step forward until I’m inches from the one calling Silas a ‘freak.’
“Did I stutter? I said fuck off.”
“What are you going to do if we don’t, huh? You’re just some sickly clean freak. No chance you have a girlfriend. You probably don’t even have a father. Fatherless freak.”
“Wow, so original. I’m so hurt,” I say sarcastically, “I’m so wounded that an arrogant bastard with parents so negligent he doesn’t even know basic manners thinks I’m a ‘sickly clean freak.’ How ever will I live on?”
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business, hm? He probably likes it anyway. The dude’s a total perv.”
My hands twitch at my sides. Perhaps it’d be worth dirtying my hands just to throw one punch at him. Just one.
“You think he likes this? You think he likes verbal abuse? You’re just a lowlife with nothing better to do than pick on someone you see as ‘less than’ because he’s something you’re not: unique.”
Maybe it’d be worth baring my fangs and exposing my secret just to scare the ever loving shit out of them.
“Oh, look, someone’s angry. What, there some sort of rule? ‘Freaks with ugly eyes stick together’ or some shit?”
“You truly are pathetic. Aren’t we above petty insults on physical appearances by now? Can you not think of anything more original?”
These bastards are spineless assholes and they’re really testing my patience. Is their sole purpose in life to be a pathetic parasitic pest? Luckily, the last Defense Against the Dark Arts class just got out. Therefore, Professor Gaunt is wandering about. She sees the altercation, and I can’t help but smirk as she looms behind the Gryffindors.
“Is there a problem here?” She asks, composed as always.
The Gryffindors spin around to face her, “No, not at all. Isn’t that right, Graves?”
Silas just nods in confirmation. He takes their shit without a single complaint. Where’s the badass delinquent I know? He cowers in their presence. It aggravates me, but he doesn’t want any trouble, so I look towards Professor Gaunt.
“Everything is fine, professor. Me and Silas were just about to head back to our dorm,” I say.
“Then I best not keep you,” She says, dismissing us. The Gryffindors try to walk away, but she stops them, “You three, in my office. I’d like to have a little chat.”
If there’s one thing that’s for sure, it’s that Gaunt can be quite intimidating. Her scars and steely gaze as well as her dark robes help make her appear a bit frightening. Much like her husband, almost everyone is scared when they’re in trouble with her. She’s helpful and provides excellent guidance most of the time, but when she’s mad it means you best get on your knees and beg for forgiveness before she resorts to siding with Filch on the methods of punishment. Even still, she’s never actually hurt one of the students to my knowledge.
I gesture for Silas to follow me. We return to our dorm and he plops down on his bed. He looks upset. I hate when he looks upset. He’s better than any of those fucked up pricks. He can play the muggle electric guitar better than most muggles can. He can name more bands than I can count. He was the one who convinced me to try muggle rock music, which lead me to explore the world of muggle music.
He got an emotionless vampire to love a muggle thing. I bet if he tried he could even get me into dildos or anal sex, and that’s saying more than a lot. I stand in front of him as he sits on his bed, just as he did to me the hour following me hissing like an uncouth maniac at his sister because she got a papercut.
“Silas,” I say.
“Yeah?” He replies.
“Silas, look at me.”
“Why should I? I’m just a-”
I cut him off by grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at me. I stare directly into his eyes. His dull blue eyes. His right eye, though, is partially blue and part hazel. I so strongly want to retract my hand and wash it off a hundred times over, but I’m trying to make a point. My face is inches from his.
“Don’t even dare finish that sentence. You have no right to call yourself that. Especially in my presence. Do you understand me?”
He nods. I hate seeing him vulnerable.
“You are not what they say. They are nothing. You, however, are everything. Your eyes are perfect. You are perfect. They envy you, just as any sane person would,” I continue, “I will mount their heads on spikes if that’s what it takes to make you believe me.”
“We both know you wouldn’t do that,” He smirks, “You’re a pussy when it comes to anything that requires physical contact, and, Circe forbid, blood.”
I let go of his jaw, “What happened to ‘it’s the thought that counts?’”
He chuckles, “I just worry sometimes. About my looks. About my muggle fascination, my sexuality, my non-uniform wardrobe…” He trails off.
“Compared to my wardrobe of tailcoats and pocketwatches your wardrobe couldn’t be more normal.”
“You’re not wrong. Anthough, you look quite hot in your facy attire,” He teases.
I roll my eyes, “Be a doll and never call me ‘hot’ again,” I say but with no conviction.
“Oh, you have no issue with ‘pussy’ but you dislike’hot?’ Perhaps someone’s a masochist of sorts?”
I scoff, “Not even close.”