jayjustin (jayjustin) wrote in eighth_rpg, @ 2011-01-16 10:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | justin finch-fletchley |
Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley
What: The contemplation of one's front door.
Where: Outside of Justin's flat.
When: Night, Saturday.
Rating: Low.
When Justin had first saw it, he didn’t immediately do anything rash. He just stopped, and thought about the time his father had once let him reverse their car, out of their driveway. Of course he had been on his father’s lap; his legs too short to reach the pedals, but in a way his father had made it seem like it was all him. Just seven year old Justin, that had manage to reverse their car, out of their driveway. It was like there was a brick wall separating him from reality.
Then it was glass.
He acknowledged it was there. Right there in front of him. But, still his thoughts were with his father and the time he showed him how to fly fish. It was all in his wrists and apparently he’d had great wrists. Perfect wrists for fly fishing. His father, would tell him his wrists were made just for that. No one knew how to deliver a compliment to Justin, better than his father. He always knew what to say, to make any uncertainties disappear from Justin’s mind. Justin selfishly would do things, just to receive a compliment from him. In a way, Justin kind of used him. But, he’s convinced himself; even if it took three or four years, because he loved him, it was okay.
Then someone opened the door downstairs; traces of the cool air brushed pass Justin, enough for the shock to melt away from his brain, and reality to come crashing back down onto his shoulders.
And the glass fell away and smashed apart around his feet, as his eyes locked onto the word, now charmed into his door. Mudblood.
He stood there for a moment, almost testing himself, before he opened his door back up and walked inside. He found a bucket, filled it with water and detergent, grabbed a sponge and walked back outside. He brought the water up to the word and scrubbed hard against it, as hard as he could, his frustration grew as the word only got brighter against the pale wood of his door and he found himself yelling out in frustration, as he chucked the sponge back into the bucket with a dramatic amount of energy.
He grabbed out his wand and started throwing spells at it. Anything that happened to come to mind. But, it didn’t work. Nothing worked. It was there, just as it was there when he came home.
And then he kicked the bucket over, dirty water spilling down the stairs and he wanted to admit he felt better, but he didn’t.
The thing that had actually crossed his mind was: What would Sally think? So much for their maybe this would be it for them, she would see it and remind herself exactly why she didn’t accept his invitation the other day, exactly why she was right and he was wrong.
But, there was nothing he could do.
Someone; he was pretty sure it was one of his neighbor’s children upstairs; who had somehow found out he was a muggleborn from their father last week and who had been muttering the foul word, every time he walked pass them in the halls, had hexed it into his door with the notion that he wasn’t going to be removing it.
Justin, leaned over, picked up the bucket and used his wand to charm the water back inside of it.
He knew the word was there, but refused to look at it again as he opened the door and walked back inside. He paused for a moment, taking a breath, before his hand found the door and he closed it with bang.