What Spell Have You Got Me Under?
What Spell Have You Got Me Under?
And Cheltzie Moared Sat.
And Sat.
And Sat.
The same old pen in the same old hand, the same old diary on the same old desk. The same old blankness in the same old diary.
Everything was the same… old.
The same old moon out the same old window. The same old annoyance of not being able to put those same old feelings into words. Words. That was she was supposed to write in this stupid thing. She knew that much. Unfortunately that's all she knew.
Same old, same old.
“This is ridiculous.” Cheltzie thought. It was the first accurate thought she had had all night.
Her mother had once told her to keep a diary. That it would be a lovely thing to look at when she got older to see how she once thought and felt as a teenager.
But how could anyone expect her to write how she felt when she had no idea herself? She didn't know the right words. How could there be words for her? How could she put all of her confusing emotions on paper in an organized manner? It made absolutely no sense.
Words.
Soon enough, the same old alarm clock by her same old bunk bed went off to the same old buzzer at the same old time it had for what felt like her entire life.
This time it woke no one.
Cheltzie sighed and shut it off. Time for same old Hogwarts classes.
She started packing up her belongings. Her Potions book, her Transfigurations homework, etc. She was just about out the door when she turned to see if she had forgotten anything. The only thing remaining was the diary.
She glared at it for a moment before deciding to toss it in her tote bag. She may as well drag the thing along with her.
As if that would do any good.
Class was brainwashing. How could anybody think up these words in class?
Words.
Of course, now that she though about it, Cheltzie supposed class is the first place you would go if you wanted to find words. Well, besides a dictionary or a thesaurus, of course. But that's beside the point…
Class was not the place where she would find THOSE words. The words that would describe the very essence of her. And it wasn’t like she could look up Cheltzie in the dictionary and it would come up. Although, it'd be kind of interesting if she could. She thought about it. A dictionary of people.
Where you could look up the name, and find a nice little picture and a short little summary about that person. An explanation to the way they think, the things they believe, and the way they feel.
Words.
This idea captivated Cheltzie through her first two classes and well into her third. That is, until the product of her early morning coffee expedition had found its way to her bladder. Tucking the vacant diary into her hoodie pocket, she asked to be excused for a quick trip to the restroom and began to walk down the deserted hallway.
Click, tick, click, tick, went her shoes on the tile floor. She heard the faint sound of a picture frame swinging upwards in the distance.
She pulled the diary out of her pocket and took the cap off her pen with her mouth. Tapping the pen on the diary and toying with the cap between her teeth, she began to focus on writing again.
“This is ridiculous.” She thought, “I can't explain how happy or miserable or angry I am now because I don't know any other feeling. I don't know how happy I could be or how depressed I could be. I don't know how to describe emotion. I'm just... here.”
Words.
Like she's told herself over and over, there were none. It was impossible to-
“Hey, Cheltzie." Someone said awakening her from her musing.
She looked up abruptly.
And there he was. Smiling.
Her friend. Her world. Her desire. Her escape from the same old.
George Weasley.
Cheltzie smiled and breathed a quiet "Hello," as he rounded the corner. Just when he was out of earshot, she quickly scribbled, "Hey, Cheltzie." In the diary.
Words.
Words that captured every feeling in her heart at the moment.
Maybe that would make no sense to anyone else, but to Cheltzie... those two words could mean everything coming from him.
She sighed and leaned against the wall, looking in the direction George disappeared.
“George Weasley...” she whispered to herself, “what spell have you got me under?”
And Sat.
And Sat.
The same old pen in the same old hand, the same old diary on the same old desk. The same old blankness in the same old diary.
Everything was the same… old.
The same old moon out the same old window. The same old annoyance of not being able to put those same old feelings into words. Words. That was she was supposed to write in this stupid thing. She knew that much. Unfortunately that's all she knew.
Same old, same old.
“This is ridiculous.” Cheltzie thought. It was the first accurate thought she had had all night.
Her mother had once told her to keep a diary. That it would be a lovely thing to look at when she got older to see how she once thought and felt as a teenager.
But how could anyone expect her to write how she felt when she had no idea herself? She didn't know the right words. How could there be words for her? How could she put all of her confusing emotions on paper in an organized manner? It made absolutely no sense.
Words.
Soon enough, the same old alarm clock by her same old bunk bed went off to the same old buzzer at the same old time it had for what felt like her entire life.
This time it woke no one.
Cheltzie sighed and shut it off. Time for same old Hogwarts classes.
She started packing up her belongings. Her Potions book, her Transfigurations homework, etc. She was just about out the door when she turned to see if she had forgotten anything. The only thing remaining was the diary.
She glared at it for a moment before deciding to toss it in her tote bag. She may as well drag the thing along with her.
As if that would do any good.
Class was brainwashing. How could anybody think up these words in class?
Words.
Of course, now that she though about it, Cheltzie supposed class is the first place you would go if you wanted to find words. Well, besides a dictionary or a thesaurus, of course. But that's beside the point…
Class was not the place where she would find THOSE words. The words that would describe the very essence of her. And it wasn’t like she could look up Cheltzie in the dictionary and it would come up. Although, it'd be kind of interesting if she could. She thought about it. A dictionary of people.
Where you could look up the name, and find a nice little picture and a short little summary about that person. An explanation to the way they think, the things they believe, and the way they feel.
Words.
This idea captivated Cheltzie through her first two classes and well into her third. That is, until the product of her early morning coffee expedition had found its way to her bladder. Tucking the vacant diary into her hoodie pocket, she asked to be excused for a quick trip to the restroom and began to walk down the deserted hallway.
Click, tick, click, tick, went her shoes on the tile floor. She heard the faint sound of a picture frame swinging upwards in the distance.
She pulled the diary out of her pocket and took the cap off her pen with her mouth. Tapping the pen on the diary and toying with the cap between her teeth, she began to focus on writing again.
“This is ridiculous.” She thought, “I can't explain how happy or miserable or angry I am now because I don't know any other feeling. I don't know how happy I could be or how depressed I could be. I don't know how to describe emotion. I'm just... here.”
Words.
Like she's told herself over and over, there were none. It was impossible to-
“Hey, Cheltzie." Someone said awakening her from her musing.
She looked up abruptly.
And there he was. Smiling.
Her friend. Her world. Her desire. Her escape from the same old.
George Weasley.
Cheltzie smiled and breathed a quiet "Hello," as he rounded the corner. Just when he was out of earshot, she quickly scribbled, "Hey, Cheltzie." In the diary.
Words.
Words that captured every feeling in her heart at the moment.
Maybe that would make no sense to anyone else, but to Cheltzie... those two words could mean everything coming from him.
She sighed and leaned against the wall, looking in the direction George disappeared.
“George Weasley...” she whispered to herself, “what spell have you got me under?”