Heather

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

As I sit on the bench, I wonder if I'll ever get over it. And by it, I mean you. You, Harry Potter. 

As you check someone into a board, I wonder if I've ever seen anything more sexy than you on skates. It's really unfair, you know. 

My cheeks are rosy, and I have my hands shoved into my pockets to keep them warm. I stamp my feet, trying to bring the feeling back. It's an impossible game, trying to stay warm at a hockey rink. But someday I'll find the secret to eternal heat, I'm sure of it. 

I've spent more time at a hockey rink in my life than anywhere else, I am sure. We grew up next door to each other, and I every time I looked into my back yard, I saw you out on your little rink, shooting into a net. In the summer, you were out in the street on roller blades practicing. It was consistant, sure as the sun coming up. 

The day we met is perfectly etched into my memory. I was precisely 7 years old, and I was walking from the dance studio on the corner. My mother put me in dance at a young age, hoping to raise a professional dancer. She must of had a premonition, I believe. Because here I am, 10 years later, spending almost every day at the studio.

But back to the story. As I walked home, you shot a hockey puck right into my thigh. I fell over dramatically, and cried like a baby. You ran over, and sat me up.

"I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, the worry in your eyes. Your emerald eyes. I think I fell in love with you right then, as you picked me up and carried me to my house. You rang my doorbell, and my mother opened the door with shock. She grabbed me out of your arms and shut the door without a word. I had a bruise for two weeks.

After I healed from my traumatic injury, I went back outside. You came over, smiled, and struck up a conversation easlier than anyone else I had ever met. Soon, we were hanging out every day after school. I went to the Christan private school, and you went to the public. Every day I ran home, so excited to see you. 

I would sit on the curb while you roller skated around, and later we would eat popsicles in your back yard. My tongue purple, yours a brilliant blue. The more time that passed, the closer we got.

Those were the best days. 

But eventually you starting spending more time at the rink, and me at the studio. We still saw each other, waved, and said hi. But it wasn't the same. We still spent time together when we could, but soon you wanted to hang out with your friends. Whether they were from school, or from hockey, it didn't matter. The more I was home, the less you were. I missed you. I still do. 

But I still say you're my best friend. You are never mean, and you are always perfectly nice and polite. 

You still offer me rides everywhere, you come to my competitions, and bring me home a milkshake from McDonald's when you are there. 

It's your kindness that makes me love you. It's the way that you could never make me feel bad. 

As you come out of the locker room, hair wet from your shower, you see me freezing. 

"Hey Draco!" you say. 

"Good game Harry," I respond. "Your goal in the second period was amazing." 

He smiles easily, and says, "You look cold, do you want my sweatshirt?"

I blush faintly, but my cheeks are already red. He pulls it off, and his shirt underneath rides up. I can see his abs. He's so hot..

I take it and he leaves. 

After I go home, I lay in my room in his too big sweatshirt. I smile. 

You said it looked better on me than it did you

I sit on the patio on the back of our house, sipping tea. It's a rainy day, but still warm. An early day of spring. I'm still in my leotard and joggers, with Harry's sweatshirt on top. Harry walks over, his tall, lanky body moving effortlessly. 

I choke on my tea a bit. 

"Hey, Draco!" he says enthusiastically. 

"Hey Harry, good practice today?" I respond. 

"It's always a good practice," he laughs. I smile at him, and he smiles at me. "You know what Draco?"

"What?" I say. 

"You look better in that sweatshirt than me," he says, chuckling a bit. I blush, embarassed. I feel like a little girl in the eighth grade. I start to take it off, and he puts his hands out. 

"No, keep it!" 

I nod slowly, and then he askes me a question.

"Do you wanna go get a milkshake?"

Only if you knew how much I liked you

I sit in the front seat of his car, feet on the dashboard. Harry's driving us to get coffee after my morning practice. I don't think he'll ever know just how much I love days like these. 

As we pull in, he looks over at me. A little glance, that's all it is. But it means the world to me. 

I walk into the coffee shop, the smell inviting and a soft chater all around. I spot Ron Weasley. He's Harry's best friend, and co-captian of the hockey team. Harry seems to find him at the same time, and immediately goes over. I watch them smile easily, and then I notice her. 

It's Ginny Weasley, the most perfect girl you could lay your eyes on. From her perfectly straigtened hair to her soft freckles, there's nothing to trip your eyes up. Her body is that of a Greek Goddess, the face of an model. There's not a single flaw to her. 

I watch as Harry's eyes catch on her. They look her up and down, and I know I've lost. 

Now you're thinking, this isn't a big deal is it?

Yes, yes it is.

Harry has never dated a girl before. He's never even had interest in one. It was always hockey for Harry... hockey, hockey, hockey. 

I know right then, they will be together before I know it. 

Ginny stands up confidently, and runs her hand down Harry's arm. 

"Hey there Harry," she says, a sparkle in her eyes.

It would be so easy to hate her if she weren't nice. But the thing is, I've never met anyone nicer.

In ninth grade, I didn't know how to work a sewing machine. She sat down next to me, taught me gently, and made me the best damn sewer. All while having a nice, light-hearted conversation. 

I wish I could hate her, but I can't.

I just have to watch. 

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

I sit in the lunchroom, next to Luna. Luna does dance with me, her whimsical blonde hair flowing behind her as she does a second turn. She is my best friend, other than Harry. 

We chat on about meaningless things: Chemistry homework, a new recipe she tried, the combonation in Ballet, excerta. Luna is an excellent friend, unfortunately, and can tell that I'm very distracted.

I'm looking at them.

Harry has his arm slung around Ginny, and they look picture perfect. His dark, perfectly messy hair contrasts her ginger in such a way that would make a person sigh. They would be perfect for each other. Their house would be perfect. Their jobs would be perfect. Their kids would be perfect. They would be that. Perfect. 

She's got you mesmerized while I die

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

There is no more denial. They are together. I can't even seem to function. I go to school, dance, and then home. I sit in my room and cry. My mother comes in. I tell her I am fine, she leaves. I cry again. I wait for you to come home. You don't. I fall asleep. Repeat. 

You are never home anymore, I think. You come home late at night, smiling. You are with your friends, and their girlfriends, and Ginny. 

I asked you if you were dating the other day. You gave me a shrug and a smile. I don't know what to do with myself. 

I sit my bed, watching your window. The light is rarely on, and when it is you are barely even visible. 

I miss you. I miss you more than I ever thought I could. 

Luna askes to come over, I tell her no. I need space to think. 

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

I sit in the living room with Luna, finally. I'm French-braiding her soft hair. We watch "Keeping Up With the Kardasians" and laugh at all the right spots. It is perfect, and of couse it can't be perfect for long. 

I hear a car door slam, and I look out the window. There you are, opening the door for her. She steps out, hair blowing in the wind and a sparkle in her eyes. It is golden hour. Her skin shines like the sun. 

She is wearing your sweatshirt. 

I look away as soon as I can, and Luna says she has to go home a few minutes later. She leaves, and I am empty. 

I walk upstairs, hoping to sleep it off. 

His lights are on, his window open.

He is on top of her. 

His mouth is touching hers.

I don't even cry that night. I just feel empty. 

But you like her better
Wish I were Heather

We have stopped talking.

I haven't talked to you for 21 days, in fact. She comes to your house every day. Every day you go into your bed together. You always forget to close the blinds.

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

I go to your last hockey game of the season. I am sad, but not as sad as I have been recently. Luna came, and a few more friends from the studio. I sit there in my joggers, and watch.

I do like watching hockey. You make it interesting to watch. You love the sport as much as someone could love a game. Watching you put your heart into it has always been my favorite.

We cheer at the appropriate times, and boo at the correct ones. You score 4 goals. You are the leader for points on Varsity.

You come off the ice, and you cry. It is your last high school hockey game, even though you will play in college. You have a full-ride. 

Ginny runs over and jumps into your arms. You pick her up, and kiss her, all sweaty.

It is unfair, I think, how much I want to be her in that moment. 

There isn't anything I wouldn't do to be the one you love.

You are perfect. You are the sun, and I am stuck circling you forever. 

I will never get over you. You are the most perfect person I have ever laid my eyes on, and always will be. 

After you shower, you walk out holding her hand.

I think it is time to move on. 

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

I see you out on your porch, drinking a beer. You are only 18, but that does not matter to high school boys. I start to go out the door to talk to you. I miss you. I want to see you. I want to tell you everything you've missed, even though there is nothing.

And she gets out of her car. She sits on your lap, your arm slung around her. 

I walk back inside, my ideas forgotten.

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she

Walks by

Ginny comes over every day, still. Every. Single. Damn. Day.

I walk past your house one day, and you wave sadly.

I wonder if you feel bad about our forgotten friendship. That's a joke, I know you do. Ever kind and considerate Harry. 

I don't wave back. I walk forward, the tears stinging my eyes. 

What a sight for sore eyes

I sit on the floor of my room, half cold coffee in my hand. I stare at my calculas homework, wondering if it will ever present answers. It never does. 

I hear a soft knock at the door, and mother answers. I don't hear who it is, and frankly? I don't care.

My mother pushed open the door.

"Dragon, it's for you." I look up confused. 

"Really?" I say.

She gives me side eye, and leaves. 

I walk downstairs, in my pink plaid pajama pants and a "I Heart Competition" tee shirt on. My normally straight hair has frizzed up a bit, and looks vaguely curly. 

"Harry?" I question, and stare at the door. He's standing there, looking very awkward and rain drenched. 

"Um, yeah.." he responds, seemingly embarrassed. 

"Why are you here? I say, very confused. (I also allow a little annoyance to seep into my tone. He deserves it.)

"Um," he scratches his head. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to McDonald's with me?"

I stare at him like he just spoke in Japanese.

"Oh mon Dieu," I whisper in French. "Uh, I'll be right back."

I run upstairs, and change into a more tight fit shirt and some atheletic joggers. I brush my hair quickly, and swish some mouthwash.

I run back down. Harry is still dripping onto the mat. 

We go to his car, and get in. I look out the window, watching the droplets splatter.

"Listen, Draco-" Harry starts.

"Sh. I'm listening to the rain." I respond.

And it is all ok again. 

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerized while I die

Ginny comes over every day except Saturday. And every Saturday we do something together.

This Saturday, we are laying in your bed. I am reading a book, and you are beating a boss in your video game. My leg is touching yours, and I feel every centimeter of it pressed against me. It is the most at home I have felt since I was 12 years old and we shared a bed for the last time. 

You smash the buttons of your control, and smile when you win. All of the sudden, your phone beaps. And beaps again. And again.

You pick it up, and then frown.

"Draco, I have to go," you tell me. I am sad, but not surprised. 

"Ok then."

"Ok."

And I walk out, and back to my house. You get into your car, and drive away fast. I call Luna for an hour. 

Later that night, you stumble home. I can tell you are drunk. 

I wonder if I should go out, but I don't. You come here.

"Dra-co," you slur, and stumble in the front door. My mother is gone, going to visit my father.

You almost fall, and I catch you.

"What did you do, Harry?" I say, and we go upstairs towards my room. My arm is supporting yours. You are still taller, but barely. 

"I got fucked up," you explain, as if this makes perfect sense. As if you do this all the time. 

I lay you down on my bed, and grab a trash can. You roll over and heave into it. I grab a spare tee shirt and some pajama pants, and throw them at you.

"Let me know when you're done," I say, and walk out. I go downstairs, and make myself a cup of tea.

Harry Potter is in my bed. Drunk. 

When I go back up, you haven't gotten your shirt back on quite yet. Your abs on on display, and you have your hand over your eyes. I wonder where your glasses went. 

"Draco," he says. "C'mere."

"What?" I respond.

"C'mere." 

I crawl into bed next to him.

"No, closer."

"Harry."

"I'm serious."

I scoot closer to him, and he pulls me in. I am tucked into his side, and I can smell the alcohol from here.

"Did y'know you're the prettiest boy I've ever seen," he says, looking down at me.

I don't say anything back. I sit in the silence. I am almost asleep when he speaks again.

"You're my favorite, Draco. Don't tell anyone."

I look up, but his eyes are closed.

I sleep peacefully. 

Why would you ever kiss me?

A week after the incident, he is talking to me every day. Ginny has stopped coming over as much, but I know he's still with her. When I ask him, he says she's busy with sports. It seems like a plausible excuse, so I don't think much of our new time spent together. 

He is sitting at my counter, and I'm making cookies. He is working on his Physics homework, and I feel like a housewife. 

"Hey, Draco, do you know how to do this?" he askes me. I stop and come over.

"Yeah, you inserted the velocity instead of acceleration," I say. He smiles, and our eyes meet. 

That moment seems to last a life time. He leans into me, and I can smell the Dior Sauvage on him. I pull away when the oven beaps instistanly.

I am so confused.

I'm not even half as pretty

We don't talk about it. Ginny comes over more. It is back to normal, but not the new normal.

I throw myself into dance, as competition is just around the corner. I spend my weeknights and weekends at the studio, I go out to lunch with mother, and I go to get coffee with Luna. It is simple, and I love it. 

I miss Harry, but I don't. I have finally accepted that we are not meant to be, and I must move on. Thoughts of Post-Secondary plans overwhelm me, and I have no time to think about boys. 

One day as Luna and I sip on a sickeningly sweet iced coffee, she askes me a question.

"Do you still love him?" I stare at her.

"Of course I do. It's not the type of love I'll ever leave behind. I'll always be a little in love with him, I think."

She nods understandingly. "Why do you wait for him though? That's the part I just don't understand."

I smile, a little sadly. "I don't know."

"Well, I think it's time you had a bit of fun. My cousin is coming to town, and he looks a bit like Harry.." she says, a little smirk on her face.

I pause.

Maybe this would be good for me. It's time to move on. 

"I'll think about it."

Luna knows immediately that is a yes. 

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

Luna and I sit in her room, beauty lights on and a lip liner in my hand. As I line my lips with a soft pink, Luna mutters, "I can't believe you agreed to this."

"Honestly? Me neither," I respond. I am ready for the party tonight, and Luna and I have spent hours doing our makeup and picking out the perfect outfits. She is wearing a sparkly too revealing dress that makes the glitter in her hair sparkle. I am wearing a too tight pair of leather pants, and a sparkly thing that is more like a necklace than a shirt. I have always been fit, and my abs and pectoral muscles are on full display, since the top doesn't cover anything. I put my gloss on as Luna fuses with the waves in her hair, and we are ready to go. 

As we head to the party, in a car full of people I don't know, I am excited. I am excited to meet Luna's cousin, in honesty. Luna showed me a picture, his name is Grayson, and he's very attractive.

At the party, I get so drunk I can barely walk straight. I am sitting on a couch, some pink tropical drink in my hand. 

Grayson comes in then, and I spot him instantly. He sits on the couch next to me, his messy brown hair perfectly tousled and his blue eyes piercing me. He leans over, and we are making out. His is good, he knows to use his tounge. We go upstairs, and he is rubbing on me with his tounge in my mouth. I am gripping the sheets as he sucks on my abs, leaving a hickey behind. He leaves them all over, really. My pale skin is covered in red and purple marks. We make out for longer than it seems, and I'm horny. 

But he isn't Harry.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, and I tell Luna I need to go home.

As I stumble out of her car, I almost fall on my face going up the steps. I lay down on the front porch, exhausted. My parents are out for the week.

I hear a noise coming from the right, but I can't place is. I stare at the light over my head, wondering why it's such a ugly shape. My mother has much better taste than that disgraceful light. 

I feel a hand on my face, and I look up drowsily. 

The light is blocked by a dark head of hair.

"Draco?"

I giggle, and then hiccup.

"Draco, are you drunk?"

I gigle again, and then roll onto my side and cry. I cry and cry and cry. I am crying because this is never what I wanted.

"Come on, let's go insie. Where are your keys?" I start patting my pants, and eventually find them. My top has broken throughout the night, and it's falling off my shoulder. I didn't even notice. 

Harry picks me up, just like we're 8, and he sets me on the couch. He goes into my kitchen, and I space out. The lights aren't on, and the dark makes me tired. 

Harry comes back with a glass of water, and flips the lights on. I spill it all over when I try to grab it. He looks at me for the first time, and I look at what he's looking at. 

He is staring at my hickies.

'What did you do Draco?" he askes me.

"I hooked up with a guy," I slur. He looks at me for a bit, and then looks away. He then picks me up and carries me upstairs. 

I am set on the counter, and he wipes my smudged makeup off. 

I am awake now. I lean in, and I press my lips to his. My lips that touched Grayson all night. He doesn't react, and I pull away.

"There. Now you can go," I say, and I hope off the counter and go to my room.

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

I wish I were Heather

Wish I were Heather

I wake up the morning with a huge headache, and no remembrence of anything past me and a girl named Annika doing tequlia shots. I feel like death. My head, I am positive, will fall out of my skull any second now. 

As I meander downstairs, I see the lights aren't on. Why would I have turned the lights off? I always forget to turn the lights off.

I eat a piece of toast, unappetized. My glass of water seems too big, and I go upstairs to puke. I decide to take a shower after that digusting bodily function, and I look in the mirror.

I am covered in hickies.

I am confused, so I call Luna.

"Hey, Luna..." I start off. I explain that I don't remember anything, and she tells me exactly what I missed.

I am extremely embarrassed, as it comes back to me.

I shower and scrub myself as hard as possible.