Guardian

The little boy stood at the door. I was busy but I let him in. After all, he lived next door. I brought some orange juice out and we both sat down at the kitchen table. I pushed the glass over to him.

“Thank you, Schuyler,” he mumbled into his cup. He took a long drink of the citrusy juice, nearly draining half the glass.

I inclined my head toward him, before speaking up. “Is there anything I can do, Elijah?”

He looked up at me with vividly blue eyes. I watched as they filled with tears. He whispered, “Bring them back...”

I stood up and moved around the table, placing myself behind his chair. I bent down and wrapped my arms around his small frame, my chin resting upon the crown of his head.

“Oh, Elijah. I can’t do that. You know I would if I could, but that’s something I can’t do. Your mom and dad... I can’t. I am so sorry,” I let a few tears of my own fall into his curly brown hair. Hearing the heartbreak in his heart very well shattered my own.

He turned round and pressed his small body into mine. I enveloped him in a hug. I felt his shoulders heaving, his soft sobs, the moist trail of tears falling off his cheek onto my shoulder. I brushed his hair back.

“Oh, Elijah...”

Who To Choose
H/HR Fanfiction

By: Sarah Waechter
Copyright 2008

Chapter Two

Ron arrived in the Great Hall around twenty minutes after Harry and Hermione initially appeared there. Harry was the first to spot him. After taking a sip of the pumpkin juice, poured and set before him courteously by Hermione, Harry looked up to see a dishevelled looking Ron enter through the doors, and saunter over to their place at the Gryffindor table.

“Morning, mate,” Harry said.

“Nyughh,” Ron grunted. It obviously clear that Ron was not a morning person.

“Morning, Ronald!” Chirped Hermione.

“Nyughh,” Ron grunted again.

“Oh, wake up, will you? You’re so lazy,” Hermione snapped, glaring at her freckled best friend.

In response, Ron dropped his head onto the table, emitting a very loud and somewhat hollow sounding thunk. Hermione shook her head, her wildly frizzy hair going crazy with the motion. She grinned at Harry, who returned the smirk.

“Alright, well, this morning we have got,” Hermione began to say, looking at her timetable, “Transfiguration, Charms, Double Potions, and then Herbology.”

Ron moaned. “Double Potions? You have got to be kidding me.”

“I kid you not. Here, take a look for yourself,” Hermione said, pushing it across the table towards Ron’s slumped figure.

Mirroring the earlier groan, Ron slid the timetable back towards his bushy-haired friend.

“Are you feeling alright, Ron? You seem to me... moaning and groaning a lot. You sound like your very own personal version of the shrieking shack,” Hermione exclaimed, studying Ron’s face.

Harry laughed at Hermione’s quirky comment, earning a grin from her, though Ron just glanced up.

“I don’t feel that well now that you mention it...” Ron said, putting his hands on his stomach for dramatization.

After the words left his mouth, Harry whipped his head towards his best friend, taking a close look, a good look at him. He didn’t look sick. He looked bloody well fine. What was he playing at?

“Well, maybe you should go up to the Common Room, Ronald,” Hermione said. “We’ll tell the teachers that you fell ill, and we’ll get your homework. Do you want me to accompany you up? To make sure you get there okay?”

Ron nodded dully. Harry tilted his head, narrowing his bright green eyes, suspicion growing constantly in his mind.

He looks absolutely fine. He isn’t sick. The bloody git is putting on a show. Then Harry came to a drastic realization. Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach. He is getting her alone. To. Ask. Her. Out. Harry felt the fury grow over him. He clenched his hands into fists, gripping so hard his nails left half moon marks indented in his palm.

“Harry,” Hermione looked at him, interrupting his thoughts. He tried to look as calm as possible. “Can you tell the professors that I’ll be just a tad late for class? I’m going to walk Ronald up to the Common Room.”

“I, uh, I can take him, Hermione, if you want to get to class?” Harry looked at her, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“I’ll be alright with Hermione, mate,” Ron said, looking at Harry sheepishly.

“I’m sure you bloody well will,” Harry said. “Then you can tell the teachers why you were faking sick.” Harry slammed his fists down on the table, and jumped up, grabbing his bag, and storming out of the Great Hall.

Ron and Hermione looked after him, confusion etched on Ron’s, and worry covering Hermione’s. Hermione sighed after Harry, putting her books slowly in her bag. “Let’s go then, Ron.”

-----

On the way to the Common Room, Hermione stole a brief glance at Ron.

Funny, she thought. He doesn’t look ill. He looks fine. Ron met her glance, and then looked around. He grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the empty charms classroom they were passing.

“Ron, wha-” Hermione started.

“Hermione, listen. Hear me out. You are one of my best mates. And I really like you. I think...I think I could be in love with you,” Ron swallowed audibly, then continued, “I was wondering if...if you might consider being my gi-”

Before Ron could finish his sentence, the door burst open with a loud bang.

“Weasley! Granger! What are you...hic...what are you doing...hic...here?” Asked Professor Trelawny, who seemed to be more than a bit on the sloshed side.

“N-n-nothing, Professor,” Ron stammered, his ears as red as his cheeks. He was slightly abashed and upset that she had chosen that particular moment to barge in on them.

“Well, hic, off to class you go then! Hic! Next time, get to class right...hic...away. No dilly-dallying in empty...hic...classrooms. Now, where did I put my...hic...other sherry bottle?” Trelawny said, spinning around and grabbing the door for support. She giggled before she left the room.

Hermione stared after her, shocked that a teacher would so blatantly consume alcohol during school hours. Appearing as if she were still staring after the odd divination teacher, Hermione was deep in thought.

What was that all about? What was Ronald trying to ask me? Oh I hope he wasn’t going to ask me to be his girlfriend...that wouldn’t go over well. How do I tell him? Is there any nice way to say, ‘Oh well, I’m sorry, but I kind of fancy your best friend.’ Maybe I should give him a chance. It’s not like the famous Harry Potter would ever love a girl like me. Hermione let a soft sigh escape her lips.

Life sure can suck sometimes.

Who To Choose
H/HR Fanfiction

By: Sarah Waechter
Copyright 2008

Chapter One

Harry awoke early Saturday morning to find his dorm blazing with sunlight. He sat up, grabbing his glasses off his nightstand beside his four-poster bed. He pulled them on his nose, and glanced around, listening to the familiar snores, grunts, and groans of his mates who hadn't awoke yet. Harry looked toward the bed beside him. Ron was lying there, blankets askew and everywhere, mouth hanging open, a roaring snore ripping through the room.

Harry let his mind drift to the night before,, when Ron confessed his love for Hermione, saying that he was going toa sk her to be his girlfriend, and shocking Harry through to his core. Harry also remembered his goal, his last though before finally drifting into an unpeaceful slumber.

Shaking off the scary thought of Ron getting Hermione, Harry pushed his sheets down, and slid out of bed. He dressed quickly, throwing on his robes, grabbed his wand off his nightstand, and his book bag, and proceeded to leave the dorm. Harry appeared in the common room, following the stairs that led from the boys' dorms. He looked around, seeing no persons present. The only living thing crawling and sulking around was Crookshanks, Hermione's furball of a cat.

Harry sat in his usual place by the fire. Crookshanks waddled over, wound himself around Harry's legs, and started purring, as if signaling that he wanted to be stroked. Harry bent down and pulled Crookshanks onto his lap.

"You're not all the bad, are you, Crookshanks?" Harry said to the cat . "No, you're not. I remember when Ron suspected that you killed Scabbers. Funny time that was, but sad, because my two best mates weren't getting along with each other. Glad it all worked out though."

Harry let out a soft sigh, slightly feeling like an idiot for talking to a cat. He continued anyway, feeling good for getting what he was thinking off his chest. "You're very lucky, you are, Crookshanks. To have an owner like Hermione. She's smart, caring, beautiful. She's wonderful. Now I go and find out that my best mate has undying feelings for her. What if she likes him, and not me? What if when I get to her first, she says no? That she likes Ron? Then what???"

Harry stopped talking for a minute, thinking to himself.

"Harry, who were you talking to?" Harry jumped when he heard a person's voice behind him. Harry startled Crookshanks when he jumped, causing Crookshanks to pounce off Harry's lap and hiss fiercely at him.  Harry turned around, to see who snuck up on him.

"Oh, Hermuone! I-it was, it was no one. Just talking to myself."

"Do you want to talk to me, instead of Crookshanks, or yourself? Then you'll have some company. Come, tell me everything you said," Hermione told him.

Uh oh, Harry thought. I can't tell Hermione everything. I mean, I want to get to her first, but not like this. In a more romantic and subtle way...I can't let her know...not now!  "Just thinking of...stuff...nothing important," Harry said quickly.

"Were you thinking of him again, Harry? You know... V-V-Voldemort?" Hermione questioned.
 
"Um, yeah, I was," Harry lied.
   
"Oh, well, if there is anything I can do..." Hermione said, starting to rise from her chair.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "There isn't...isn't anyone that you fancy at the moment, is there?"

Feeling like an idiot right after he asked, Harry felt the heat rise to his face, positive that he was blushing. 
  
"Um, no, not at the moment, Harry. Why do you ask?" Hermione questioned, curiosity spreading across her face.

"J-just...just wondering, you know?" Harry stuttered.

"Ok, well, then. I'm going to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Do you want to come, Harry?"

"S-sure, I'll come," he replied.

"Is there something wrong, Harry? You seem nervous, or something," Hermione stated.

"No, nothing is wrong...j-just a bit hungry, is all."

"Ok, well, then I will not deprive you of food any longer," Hermione smiled at him. God, he loved that smile. "Let's go to the Great Hall, shall we?"

By: Sarah Waechter
Copyright 2008

Prologue

The common room was quiet.  Harry and Ron were sitting in their favorite armchairs by the fire, steadily working on the homework they had been assigned by their various teachers. Hermione was sitting opposite them, reading Hogwarts, A History for about the thousandth time. Every so often, Harry would look up at Hermione, taking in her beautiful image. He smiled to himself, then got back to his homework.

Ten minutes had passed, and Harry was finishing up his work. He lay his quill down on the table, yawning. He raised his arms above his head, extending them backwards in a stretch. Ron glanced over at Harry's paper, attempting to view his answers.

"Don't try it, Ron," Harry said, startling his red-haired best friend. "Do your own work for once."

"Bu--but you're my best mate! And I'll never finish if you don't help me!" Ron complained.

Hermione looked up from her book, glancing at her freckled friend, sitting crosswise from her. She raised one eyebrow. "Harry is right, Ron. You need to try and complete it on your own. How else will you ever understand it?"

Ron scowled at her. "Fine, whatever then."

Minutes later, as Ron was still scribbling furiously, Hermione closed the book she was so intensely reading, and stood up, tucking it under her arm.

"Well," She said to the boys. "I'm heading to bed. Good luck with your homework, Ronald. Goodnight, Harry, Ron. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Harry replied, staring into the fire, now dimming down after a long night of blazing brightly. Ron just nodded, his face scrunched up in concentration.

She left to go up to the girls' dorms. Harry looked towards where she was walking. As soon as he saw her turn the corner, he pulled out his parchment with his finished work on it, and slid it across the table to Ron.

"There you are, mate," Harry grinned. " I would've given it to you earlier, but with Hermione around, she wouldn't have approved. So, here, copy the rest, then we can get to bed."

Ron gave a little laugh. "Thanks, Harry. It's no wonder you're my best mate. You're right about Hermione, though. You'd think she'd be happy we're at least getting it done.  Who cares if it's copied or not."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Though she does have a point. You wont really learn if you don't do it yourself."

Ron nodded his agreement, mirroring the rest of Harry's answers. When he finally set down his quill, Ron let out a soft sigh.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" He sighed again. "Talented, beautiful, smart. She's perfect."

"Who?" Harry asked, looking at him.

"Hermione... I mean, don't you think?" Ron pondered.

"Yeah," Harry said, shocked at the fact that Ron had spoken the words he was just thinking.

"I think I'm going to ask her to be my girlfriend," Ron said sheepishly, turning a soft shade of red.

"You're going to-" Harry began.

"Yeah, I mean, if she feels the same why not," Ron stated.

"How do you know she feels the same way?" Harry asked. He was refraining from showing Ron how shocked he was.

"I don't," Ron admitted, turning a deeper shade of red. "But I never will if I don't ask her, right? Might as well do it while I can."

Harry muttered something unintelligable.

"Sorry?" Ron looked at him. Harry shook his head, as if he said nothing. "Well, if that's that, I'm going to go to bed. Night, Harry."

Harry looked into the fire, and nodded softly. Ron shoved his parchment into his bag, and flung it over his shoulder. He walked to the boys' stairs, looking back at Harry, who was still gazing intently into the smoldering embers. "Coming?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He picked up his bag, and held it limply in his hand. He was stunned. Ron was going to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend?  Well crap,  Harry thought. He had loved Hermione since their second year, only realizing it when she got petrified. Scared he was going to lose her, he realized how much she actually meant to him. How much he couldn`t live without her. And now Ron was going to ask her to be his girlfriend? Harry scowled. Crap, he thought again.

He didn't lose Hermione in their second year, and he wouldn't lose her now. Even if it was to Ron. No, Hermione would be his.

Walking over to Ron, and continuing up the boys' staircase with him, Harry only had one thing on his mind.

To get to Hermione first.

Dark Moon

Prologue

By: Sarah Waechter

Copyright 2008

     The wind whistled through the multicolored canopy of the autumn leaves. There was a crisp breeze, almost chilling. It sent shivers up my spine, and pierced my face where the tears had left their moist, salty trail.

     My long black hair swirled gently around my face; few strands occasionally catching in the damp streams coursing down my cheeks.

     I brushed the trapped hairs away from my face with my free hand. The fingers of my other hand were laced with his.

     To me, it felt perfect.

     But not to him.

     To him, it was far from perfect. To him, it was just a game.

     It was a game he was exceptional at; a game he had mastered. Stringing along ignorant, insignificant, naive girls like myself; giving us the world and then throwing it back in our faces.

     He looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. He showered me, and many helpless girls before me, with affection and adoration.

     He made me feel as if I came first to him, before anything else; as if there was nothing else in his world; like it was just him, myself, and our wonderful relationship.

     Shows how smart I was, huh?

     There was no world of his own, no real relationship in which just he and I existed.

     No, not at all. In his little world, it was him, me, and...her.

     Her name was Serenity, and she was easily the prettiest girl in the twelfth grade. In the whole school, for that matter.

     And she hated me. Oh boy, did she have it out for me. I’m not completely sure why, but I have a feeling it’s because I recently beat her out for the lead role in the Wuthering Heights play our school was putting on.

     I didn’t really think it was that big of a deal, to be honest. I mean, portraying a manipulative person like Catherine Earnshaw isn’t the easiest thing to do. And I’m sure that the majority of the school would agree with me that Serenity, in fact, has the best bitchy attitude for the job, despite her striking appearance.

     But honestly, I don’t know how I beat her out. I mean, I’m an okay actor, but when it comes to looks, she’s a freakin’ goddess compared to my plain self.

     Sure, I may have an okay body; not too thin, but the essential curves added, and a butt and chest to boot, but that’s all! Nothing too spectacular.

     In my opinion, I’m not what you’d call pretty. I have straight black hair that hangs down the middle of my back, with a bluish tint that I am fond of. I have a heart-shaped face and what I might consider ‘kissable’ lips. And my eyes? Well, if I had to pick a favourite feature, that would be it.

     My eyes are lined with a ring of dark blue, that fades to green, and right before the pupil, they are yellowish-gold. I think it’s sweet. Oh! And when I am angry or sad, they turn silvery-grey. Wicked, huh?!

     But like I said, just your average teenager.

     Serenity, on the other hand, with her silky blonde ringlets, her flawless visage, her perfectly straight, bleached teeth. You haven’t seen ‘beautiful’ until you’ve seen her. Oh, did I mention her eyes? Just when I was thinking that mine were interesting.

     Apparently, it’s because of her eyes that all the guys love her.

     Her eyes are like a web, she is the spider. Luring the male population in closer with each look, each glance. Then she would move in for the kill.

     I mean, I’d be enticed to if those eyes bore into me, seemingly able to penetrate your soul and uncover all you’ve ever hidden. The faint violet color penetrating your entire being.

     Sigh.

     And that is what has brought me here today, holding hands for the final time with my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

     I thought that he was deceived by her angelic image; that he was enticed by her, as she spun her evil, deceitful web. The web that was ever so slowly pulling him away from me.

     But I was wrong. I was fooled.

     She never had to draw him away from me. Oh no. She had him the whole freakin’ time.

     And I fell for it.

     I was manipulated by what seemed to be innocence. I had been strung along for seven months, twenty-nine days, eighteen hours, and fifty-four minutes to be exact. Not that I was counting.

     And I was lied to this whole damn time. How could I have been so oblivious...?

     “Skylar, I’m sorry,” Darien said. He was mumbling in that cute way he does when he gets nervous. “But there is someone else.”

     Of course, at this point, I didn’t know what was coming, and quite frankly, I was shocked. Not just shocked, but shocked. I knew something was up, but this was definitely far from what I expected.

     I mentally vowed to myself that I would be strong, that I wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t break down.

     Though it was like my eyes had a mind of their own, the traitors.

     As I thought about no crying, that is exactly what they did .

     “Skylar, please...” Darien begged. He didn’t seem to know how to handle the emotional expressions of the opposite sex too well.

     “Who is the ‘someone else’?” I asked. My lower lip stuck out in an automatic pout. I cursed it roughly in my mind. To make matters worse, it began to tremble.

     “Skylar...”

     “Answer the question, Darien,” I cut him off. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “How long has it been going on?”

     “Serenity,” Darien spluttered out. It was merely a whisper. “And it never ended. I’ve been with Serenity for two and a half years.”

     Wow. Talk about a low blow. I could barely get the next words out of my mouth.

     “She was okay with you cheating on her?!”

     “She doesn’t care! She’s with other guys all the time. It’s...it’s just something that we do,” Darien replied.

     I gaped at him.

     “Sounds like a healthy relationship,” I spat.

     Darien muttered something unintelligible. Though from words I caught, it sounded like “you’ll find out someday.”

     Whatever that meant.

     I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t look Darien in the eye. I pulled my hand out of his grasp.

     “Skylar, please!” Darien began again.

     Yet again, I cut him off. I looked into his eyes, forcing myself. It took all my will not to look away. This time, I let the tears fall freely.

    I was ashamed, I was disgraced. I was...

     “Stupid,” I mumbled.

     “Skylar...” Again, Darien started to speak. It seemed as if my name was the only word he knew.

     He reached out to me, but I turned my back and stepped further away.

     My heart felt like it shattered into a thousand little pieces. Each piece was sharper than the last, cutting deeper and piercing harder with every word replayed in my mind.

     “Don’t,” was all I could say. I took a few more steps backward. Darien looked at me, sadness encased behind his chocolaty brown eyes.

     But behind the sadness, there was a hint of something else. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like laughter.

     I was hurt. I was fooled.

     They had won.

     I turned around and took more steps, following the trail we had been walking. I then stopped, looking over my shoulder at the boy who had hurt me so much. I wiped my tears away.

     The one person I had thought I could trust had just shattered everything.

     I looked into his eyes, for what would be the last of a thousand times.

     My lips parted, and I took a deep breath. I whispered one last word.

     “Goodbye.”