//I'm so tired//

Even though he hated homework, he knew he was smarter than his grades reflected. This was the most important year, but he just didn't care. Graduation was around the corner and he was thankful. He wanted out of this school, never to see it again.

He had spent so many years pretending. Pretending he was a regular guy, and that was such a joke. He knew he wasn't a regular guy and he just wanted to be himself. He'd seen pictures in magazines of Muggle kids in big cities who wore what they wanted, but he was in a situation where it seemed unacceptable.

<He pressed the brush against the dark pink color and looked back in the mirror. He wiped the color against his eyelid.>

He was ready to give it all up. Give up his family, his life in the wizarding world, everything, just so he could be comfortable and live how he wanted. He knew he wasn't giving anyone a chance to decide if they wanted to accept him, but he didn't think anyone would. Not even his mother.

He didn't want to be alone in life, but he just couldn't live like this anymore. He'd make friends, he always did, and the only person he would really miss was *him* anyway. *He* would be too busy with *his* own life to worry about insignificant people. Busy with the important things of that life.

<He continued to look in the mirror and pressed the other brush into a lighter shade of pink. He swept it upward, keeping just below his brow.>

He was amazed at how long he'd been able to do this in secret, and never get caught. Over the years he'd been more and more daring, as if wishing to be caught. Then it would be out in the open and everyone would have to deal with him and his little fetishes.

He was frustrated that he could no longer reasonably fit into his sister's panties. He had stopped stealing them. He just kept a few around for the feel of silk on his fingers. He wished he could go out and buy some that would fit, but he just couldn't.

<He patted the fine ivory powder over his face. It didn't quite cover his freckles, but toned them down.>

His temper would fly off the handle to the dismay of Harry, but especially of Hermione. If she had been a little less overbearing, he might have considered sharing his secret with her. She was a girl, and might be less judgmental, but he had been petrified of her shooting off her mouth or trying to give him advice.

There had been times he wanted to go to Harry, but over the years, it got easier to pretend than to be honest. He was sad he had done that to his friendship with Harry. Friendships were supposed to be about trust and honesty. He knew he had been less than a good friend. He knew Harry thought he was brave and strong, like a good Gryffindor should be, but he knew inside he was a coward and a sneak like a disgusting Slytherin.

<He had long stopped enjoying the popping noise of the mascara and its tube, so he just raised the brush to his eyelashes, first one set, then the other. He brushed upwards until his eyelashes were dark, covering the normally reddish color.>

He had really started hating himself. For being like he was, for being dishonest, and most of the time, for just being. When he was younger, it was easier to put it out of his mind. He just thought how good it felt, instead of thinking about what he was actually doing. But now, he was older and he had spent too many years miserable. And angry.

<He looked up at the mirror and brushed pink blush over his cheeks. He swirled it in circles on his already pink cheek.>

He had hoped someday maybe he would have just grown out of it. But he never did. It was part of him. It was part of what made him comfortable with himself. He never felt comfortable in his own skin, unless he had his makeup and his pretty things. And he wanted more, even though he hated himself for it. He hated that he made him feel good.

<He looked at himself in the mirror as he twisted the lipstick holder until the plum color moved up. He put it on his bottom lip and began moving it across.>

When he stopped hating for a second and just looked at himself, as maybe *he* might, he thought he might be considered pretty. His hair was long now. It was longer than his brother's. He had fought for control of his hair more than a year ago. Now his mother stayed away from it.

He put his hair in a plain band to hold it back when he went to classes. He guessed because of his brother, nobody thought anything of his hair. His brother was cool and dated girls, so the fact that his own hair was long, just wasn't an issue. But when he hid away with his makeup, he had ribbons to tie it back. Just more items he'd pilfered.

<He glanced at himself in the mirror, before he washed his face and hid the makeup.>

That's what his life had become. Stealing, hiding, secrets, anger. He looked into his own eyes, staring, knowing he would never stop.

//He's beautiful//

The voyeur knew *he* was so sad. He yearned to go to *him*. He craved to hold *him* and say it was okay. He wanted *him* to know he'd accept everything no matter what. He was afraid when they graduated, he'd never see *him* again.

The voyeur had been watching for so long. He was tired of watching. He really did want to do something.

The voyeur knew, though, watching *him* would be over much too soon. He knew everyone thought he was brave and strong like a good Gryffindor should be, but he knew inside, he was a coward and a sneak like a disgusting Slytherin.

So he did nothing. He watched *him* for the last time and thought...

//He's beautiful//