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The Glass Theory by loopyluna

Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 2,310

Rating: 15+
Warnings: Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature, Contains Spoilers

Genres: Fluff, Romance, Angst
Characters: Victoire, OC, OtherCanon
Pairings: Other Pairing

First Published: 04/24/2010
Last Chapter: 05/12/2010
Last Updated: 05/12/2010


I stand behind a sheet of glass, a window. I am simply a bystander. If you don't get out quick enough, the glass consumes you.

This is the Glass theory.
I am it's victim.

Beautiful banner by nantes @ tda // Louis/Oc

Chapter 1: This is What it Means to be Broken
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Chapter Image by LolitaShorta @ tda
Louis Weasley

It had reached the point when I didn’t even try to make an effort anymore. I would simply send a smile her way and return to another activity, the case at this morning’s breakfast, transfiguration revision. I picked up a letter from my sister and stuffed the thin envelope in to the textbook. It had stayed there until the last class of the day before I opened it once more.

I would use things as a diversion, anything that I could grasp. Without them I would smash. Breaking wasn’t an option. At this moment, I am standing behind a window, a sheet of glass, watching the relationship from a bystanders view. Every time he steps closer to me a little more of the glass cracks, because every time he approaches me, she is on his arm.

Her shrill giggles and phony smile is only the tip of the slowly-melting ice burg when it comes to Olivia Vane. She is the girl with the swish in her step, the one with the flicky hair and the smutty voice that can hide her troubles and cover up any scandals with simple words spoken in a genteel tone. She is the girl with the wealthy family, the looks, and the brains. She is the girl that has Louis Weasley wrapped around her little finger.

She has the power that I wish I could obtain.

Louis and I met at the age of eleven, his sister had asked him to leave the train carriage and he had retaliated with elegance and standards. By elegance and standards I of course mean by running off with her favorite shade of scarlet nail varnish; a bottle of scarlet that he ended up wearing.

You always know there is a new one in town when you see Victoire Weasley running with a vengeful glint in her eye. Her little brother is the only one who obtains the ability to make her care. It’s sweet.

He joined me in the carriage I sat at with my sister and I helped him clean up. He stayed by my side that day, a factor for which I was glad. He held my hand when it shook at the Sorting ceremony and he’s held it ever since. He took my heart at the age of fifteen; he’s unknowingly punctured it with every breath he takes.

For when he and Olivia kiss, the crack in the glass breaks. When she smiles at him, and he returns it, the glass in the window begins to fall away. The first time that he said ‘I love you’, I became the glass.

The sheet grows bigger and thicker as they grow stronger. Soon, I was sucked in with it, as fragile and as delicate as the window itself. If it wasn’t handled with enough care, I too would smash. The first crack in the window began with me, in my heart. It’s decorated with little holes and slits, in stead of beating it shakes. Instead of pumping blood around my body, it pumps air. Cold air.

They have been together for nineteen months. Nineteen moths, three weeks and four days. I’m not sure even Louis knows that. That’s nineteen months, three weeks and fours days of my ability to breath, shot.

For all that time, a cloud has covered me, blocked me from the sun and built bricks up against my lungs. If I look at this relationship through the window much longer, observing and blocked from view, I will break.

I disallowed the comparison between Olivia and myself to enter my thoughts and replaced it with a bubble of pride. The former tea cup in front of me sat on the desk infront of me in the form of a duckling. I admired the days that I did it right.

“You just made a duck,” Louis observed, prodding its small, yellow wing.

I smacked his finger away. “Don’t poke it.”

“Sorry, Di.” He apologized, running a finger over the ducks back. “I just can’t believe that you did it.”

I shrugged and scooped the duckling up in to my hands. “I can’t believe it either.”

I pressed my nose to the ducks beak and Louis laughed. I pouted, but didn’t move. It was back in first year when I had managed to successfully transfigure a piece of string in to a feather, then a matchstick in to a quill and back again. I hadn’t been able to stop, it was my release. I would transfigure anything. I would turn scarves in to hats; jelly in to water and visa versa.

“I remember when you first tried to turn your earring in to a hairclip,” Louis reminded me. I felt my cheeks turn a little pink as I gave him a small, disbelieving smile. Only he could remind me of my embarrassing first attempt at transfiguration and get a smile in return.

“I think that it worked incredibly well,” I rounded fondly as the duck’s little orange legs moved in mid air. 

He scoffed. “Oh yes, that earring with legs would make a fine hair accessory.” 

I thought back to our first summer together at his house, Victoire had managed to persuade me in to turning her old socks in to mascara’s. By the end of the week, she had draws full of cosmetic appliances. I could imagine that she was still able to use half of it, if she wished. 

Louis poked my side and made me fidget. “So Dianna, what are you doing this Saturday?” 

“It’s Hogsmeade,” I said. “I’ll just hang out with my roommates,” I lied. “What about you and Olivia?” 

He shrugged. “She’s wants to go to Madame Puddifoots, insert high-pitched giggle here. But forget about that. Aren’t you going to hit the town?” I cocked a brow. “You love Hogsmeade.” 

My cheeks flushed. “I do love that little village,” I agreed. I didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t the town that I loved, it was being with him. He used to be my Hogsmeade date, my buddy, my accomplice. We would raid every shop going until we could raid no more. 

“No one’s asked you?” 

I nuzzled the duck lovingly as Louis stroked its back, ruffling its patchy feathers. I felt patronized by his tone. I bit back a frown. “Nobody.” 

“Not even Wood?” he asked, still concentrating on the duck. 

“Wood doesn’t count,” I complained. “He sent me a talking pillow, I can’t sleep at night.” 

Louis chuckled deeply. “What does the pillow say?” 

“It sings love songs.” 

I glowered at his laugh, scowling. “Oh come one, Di.” He whinnied. “Don’t be like that. It’s funny.” 

“For you,” I snapped. “You don’t get put to sleep by ‘The best of Christina Warbeck’.”
He took a sharp intake of breath at my admittance, making a hissing noise as it past through his teeth. “Sorry, love. I hadn’t considered that.” His eyes brightened as he eyed the dog suspiciously. “On the other hand, if you two dated, we could double. Me, you, the stalker and the squealer.” 

My hands shot to cover the ducks ears. “Don’t even joke – not infront of the baby.” He muttered an apology to the duck and went back to twirling his wand between his fingers. “Lou, you talk about Olivia in such harsh ways.” 

He looked up. “And?” 

“Do you even really like her?” 

He stroked the suck once more and shrugged his shoulders feebly. “She may be a little pink obsessed, but she’s got a good heart.” 

I nodded and looked in to the ducks eyes; I knew this was all I was going to get.
I turned back to the duck. 

“Oh my gosh!” cooed an upcoming voice. The shrill tones of Olivia Vane echoed in my mid and she wrenched the duckling away from me. “You made a little ducky! Well done, baby.” She kissed Louis’s forehead and he smiled. My pride bubble was shot.

“Well, actually,” he rectified. “Dianna did.”

I moved my hands from their position after my small duckling was wrenched from them and let my hands fall in to my lap. I gave her a small nod.

She raised a brow and wrapped her fingers around the ducks tiny rib cage. “Isn’t that quaint?” she deadpanned.

I took a breath and counted to ten in my head, anything to stop me from shoving her behind her own pain of glass and shipping it to Azkaban. She would fit in well with the dementors, she, alike them, can such out your soul. She likes to kiss anyway. It’s how she passes most of her time.

“Very,” I agreed, taking my duck back.

Louis put his hands between us both. “Ladies, please be careful with Rob.”

“Rob?” I asked, pulling the duck close to my chest.

Lou nodded. “Yes, I have named him Rob. He looks like one. Just like you look like a Diana.”

And your girlfriend looks like a raging bitch.

“Louie-baby, that it so sweet.” He nodded and accepted her kiss of congratulations. He pulled away and gestured for Rob. I handed it over. They both cooed over the duckling affectionately, acting like parents over a new born.

Another crack formed.

There was a time when I used to love transfiguration lessons; it would be Louis and I, sitting in the back. We would finish the task exceptionally quickly and then observe the others; it’s what I was good at, observing. It’s apparently how I would spend my life.

I looked up to Louis and he smiled at me. “I’m proud of our baby, Di.” He said, much to Olivia’s dismay. Rob quacked quietly and I wanted to hug him. I wanted to take him back. She pulled her hand away instantly, as if the duck was a disease. “Oh grow up, Liv.”

She frowned and stepped forward again. “Sorry.”

Louis ran his fingers within Rob’s feathers and smiled. He gave me back the duck and I accepted him gratefully. He poked my nose lightly once and then did the same to the duck. “Perfect match.”

I playfully gasped, an uneasy feeling nestled between my lungs. “Cheeky.”

He grinned but I refused to look. He wasn’t mine to lust after. He wasn’t mine at all. I looked back to the duck. Its eyes were big, round and black. They were unreservedly caring. The duck didn’t know of my feelings, the duck didn’t know of this world. He was really only a tea cup. He held peoples beverages.

Olivia rolled her eyes and tapped her foot against the ground. “Louis,” she whined. “The duck is staring at me.”

“Bad duck.” He one-toned sardonically.

Even though she was slightly offended, Olivia kept her composure. “Yes, bad duck.”

“Can we stop picking on Rob?” I pleaded.

Louis chuckled again. “Oh, so you accept the name now.”

One nod.

“Good, we all accept the name.” She snapped through gritted teeth; Lou’s attention wasn’t fitted on her. “Can you pretty please come and help me? We are so stuck.”

She gestured to our blonde roommate and her empty seat. “It’s really Dianna that you want thou-“

“But we want you.”

She pouted and he nodded obediently. “Well, I can’t refuse that.”

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Closing my eyes so that I couldn’t see my surroundings, I counted to ten.

I would like to think that it was because of my sister that I fell in love. She found her husband at the age of eleven; they met on the Hogwarts express. They were best friends for many years before falling in to completely requite love that the young age of fifteen. She read books, she read them all; the horror, the crime, the mysteries. But nothing made her as truly happy as she was, as the romance. She loves as much as the characters in the books do.

I grew up listening to her read, learning from the best, the fiction. My fondest memories of my sister are of when she read to me; she was the bookworm and I was the rebel, the one with the worse off marks and the dull red hair. She was the golden child, but in her eyes, I was the only one who needed attention, so I got all of hers.

She taught me how to love, how to open my heart. What she didn’t teach me, however, was how to close it.

Because she didn’t, because I didn’t know…I was there first hand, when the first shard of glass punctured through it and came out the other side. It’s till there, waiting for the moment to break. I will forever continue to work as a puppet, as a doll, to the window pain that I look through, until the moment that it chooses to smash, the moment that I can take no more.

The duck quacked quietly and nipped at my fingers with its beak. I retracted my hand and let it run a round the desk with glee. Fastening my gaze was my next objective. It found Louis in an instant. It found him, and her, together.

Another crack.

Another puncture.

Another pain. 

AN; I always say how much Louis Weasley means to me; how I think that he is brilliant. But I have never written a story about him to prove it. This little plot bunny popped in to my head, and I thought that I would run with it. It only became a one-shot but I’m pretty proud of it. 

We have all these theories about love at school, I decided to make this one about the glass theory. there are many though. This one focuses on the pessimistic outlook.

Thank you for reading; I hope that you enjoyed it. Don’t forget to leave a review :)