#i wrote another essay at ungodly hours of the night

[on-wednesdays-we-eat-the-rich]

All right, I'm about to say it. Frodo Baggins is autistic.

During what I just realised is literal years I've spent researching autism, I have noticed quite a lot of autistic traits not only in myself, but also in Frodo. And I'm going to talk about them because I've been thinking about this for a long time and I just really want to talk about it. (Also this gives me a chance to practise analysing stuff for some English exams which are happening soon.)

Just to be clear: I am not a psychologist nor do I claim to be; this is based on extensive research, my own experiences and the experiences of other autistic people that I've seen/heard/read about.

I'll focus on the book first.

So, literally one of the first things anyone says about Frodo and his family is that they're "queer", in this case meaning "strange". Someone also says Frodo is very similar to Bilbo, and if Bilbo is not autistic I will eat my fucking hat. It also makes sense that some people in Frodo's family would be autistic because autism is genetic.

In the first chapter of "Fellowship", Frodo spends the day after Bilbo's party dealing with various annoying hobbits, and we get these lines: "In the middle of the commotion the Sackville-Bagginses arrived. Frodo had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck to keep an eye on things. When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo, Merry bowed politely. 'He is indisposed,' he said. 'He is resting.'" and "Frodo was sitting at a table with a lot of papers in front of him. He looked indisposed – to see Sackville-Bagginses at any rate; and he stood up, fidgeting with something in his pocket. But he spoke quite politely". Both imply quite strongly that he ends up getting burnt-out from having to interact with all those people. Also, "fidgeting with something in his pocket" sounds a lot like stimming, and it happens again in the Prancing Pony when he stands on a table and tries to divert the attention away from Pippin. Another example of stimming is the random singing/waxing poetic that happens frequently in the book. However ridiculous it might be to read, it's actually something I do quite a lot, especially at school.

There are some implications of sensory issues throughout the book. In chapter six Frodo is "reluctant to have his garments touched". When he is in Lothlórien he seems to experience some kind of sensory euphoria, suggested by the lines: "The others cast themselves down upon the fragrant grass, but Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder" and "He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful", which describe quite accurately how sensory euphoria feels for me. In chapter one of book four when he hears one of the Ringwraiths he "loosed his hold (on the rope) and put his hands over his head and ears"; this quote is fairly self-explanatory.

Frodo doesn't speak for a great deal of the book (highlighted in various quotes, including, "He said nothing, indeed he hardly spoke at all") and there are multiple occasions when someone, usually of high status, is talking to him and he doesn't say anything back because he can't find the words. When I read this I thought, bloody hell this is literally me.

He also has a very strong moral compass and sense of justice, which is shown frequently in the book (and the films, of course, but the book seems to make it more obvious). He makes a point of avoiding having to kill people, two good examples of these people being Gollum and Saruman. Several moments in the book, for example, the part where the elves don't want to let Gimli into Lothlórien and Frodo defends him, and the part where Faramir says Gollum should be blindfolded when they leave Henneth Annûn to which Frodo says this: "Blindfold us all three, and cover up my eyes first, and then perhaps he will see that no harm is meant" show how much he values fairness, and his determination to keep things fair in difficult situations.

To end the section about the book, here are two quotes:

"'I had a funny dream an hour or two before we stopped, Mr. Frodo,' he said. 'Or maybe it wasn’t a dream. Funny it was anyway.' 'Well, what was it?' said Frodo, knowing that Sam would not settle down until he had told his tale, whatever it was. 'I haven’t seen or thought of anything to make me smile since we left Lothlórien.' 'It wasn’t funny that way, Mr. Frodo. It was queer. All wrong, if it wasn’t a dream.'"

and: "Faramir smiled grimly. 'Then you would grieve to learn that Boromir is dead?' 'I would grieve indeed,' said Frodo. Then catching the look in Faramir’s eyes, he faltered. 'Dead?' he said. 'Do you mean that he is dead, and that you knew it? You have been trying to trap me in words, playing with me? Or are you now trying to snare me with a falsehood?'"

In the first quote Sam says his dream was "funny", meaning, "It was queer. All wrong, if it wasn’t a dream", but Frodo takes him literally and thinks he means "funny" as in "anything to make me smile". Autistic people are often more likely to take things literally when meanings aren't entirely clear. And something similar happens when Frodo talks to Faramir, as shown in the second quote. When Faramir says, "Then you would grieve to learn that Boromir is dead?" Frodo doesn't understand him straight away and assumes he is talking hypothetically.

Okay now I'll focus on the films. I'll probably be doing more subtext-reading for this, because the films can't really show what's going on in Frodo's head as well as the book can. So I can't promise that everything I say here will be totally accurate but I'm thinking, if it's not explicitly stated, you technically can't tell if it's wrong or right so I'm going to go with what I think is the most accurate interpretation of the evidence given, and hope for the best.

The way Frodo expresses himself in the films is interesting. He is likely to be more expressive when he's with people he's close to, like Gandalf, than when he's with people he is less friendly with, like the elves in Lothlórien. If we compare his facial expressions in these shots:

to these:

we can see that they change a fair bit more when he's talking to Gandalf than when he is in Lothlórien with the rest of the Fellowship and the elves. In the first three pictures his face doesn't really change drastically but it conveys various different emotions, whereas in the last two pictures his face is very neutral and it's harder to tell what he's feeling. It's also important to take note of the scene in between these two sections, which I'll just refer to as Gandalf's Death Scene. Frodo's reaction to Gandalf's death presents itself as a relatively short but very intense outburst which quickly turns into a much quieter, and what looks like a more internal, reaction. He goes from screaming at the initial shock to just crying silently within about two minutes. The impression I'm getting from this is that he feels quite intense emotions but possibly struggles to express them, especially around people he doesn't know. And the scenes I've mentioned are just a couple of examples. Here are some more:

(talking to Faramir)

(talking to Sam)

See the difference?

Going along similar lines, Frodo is clearly shown to have a lot of empathy. The stereotype is that autistic people don't have much empathy, and while this is the case for some people, for others the opposite is true. Frodo is very empathetic and also very compassionate. He obviously cares a lot about other people and he at least tries to be kind to everyone, even when no-one else sees the point. (Is it obvious I'm referring to Gollum? Because let's be real, we all knew this was going to come up eventually. I've talked in great detail about this before so I won't elaborate too much about it now or else I'll just be repeating myself. If you want to read my analysis about Frodo's relationship with Gollum, it's on my blog somewhere, it's fairly recent and it shouldn't be hard to find.)

I think one of the most noticeable differences between the book and the films, at least in the context of what I'm writing about, is the fact that the body language in the films seems to have more significance (for want of a better word). Not that there isn't any in the book, because of course there is, but as far as I can tell, the films, being very visual things, allow body language to be shown more clearly and with more subtle details than the book. This is what has led me to focus more on things like facial expressions when I'm talking about the films, in contrast to what I've said about the book, which is mostly about dialogue (or lack thereof) and description. So, following on from that, I'd like to point out something that is apparently quite obvious and has caused a lot of people to take the piss out of Frodo: his clumsiness. Apparently Frodo falls over thirty-nine times (or thereabouts) in the film trilogy, and spends a fair amount of time walking like he's got two left feet. Struggling with balance and coordination is a slightly less well-known autistic trait but it's an autistic trait nonetheless, and it's also a symptom of other disabilities like dyspraxia. So I would advise against making fun of it, because being made fun of for showing signs of a disability doesn't feel great.

In conclusion, Frodo is autistic-coded and I see this as an absolute win, whether it was intentional or no. He is a brilliant character and the fact that he is autistic-coded just makes me like him even more. There are a lot of fictional characters that I like and can relate to, but I have yet to find someone I can identify with as much as Frodo.

#lord of the rings #frodo baggins #i wrote another essay at ungodly hours of the night #at this point I'm not even surprised #this has become a normal occurrence #i would have used more pictures but i'm only allowed to use ten so i hope this still gets the point across #autistic characters #lotr analysis

[ssecretsecrets]

random fanfic i wrote in my notes app a while ago.

pairing :: han jisung x lee minho

genre :: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort??

warnings :: sensitive topics, triggering stuff ? idk i wrote this at 4 am on my laptop because i was sad, it’s just. wow okay-

note :: THE ABSOLUTE PROJECTION IN THIS- might as well slap my name on their instead of Jisung’s. 🧎🧎🧎i’m just waiting for my felix and minho to come one day. </3 this isn’t edited or organized how i wanted to be like i said i just wrote this on a random night during the ungodly hours in the morning idfk what’s going on in here.

also there’s so much i want to add to this to say how i feel but like it says in the fic, i don’t know how to put it in words or what i feel. 😍

Jisung never knew what he felt. Pain? Numbness? Confusion? Love? Sadness? Happiness? A mix of a few? None? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. His natural response to the phrase always thrown around in every conversation was, “I’m doing okay!” “I’m doing alright.” “I’m doing fine!”

Why would he need to say the truth to strangers? People who didn’t know about his life, and don’t expect a detailed response back. It was the perfect filler. No need to think about how he felt, no need to think about a response to give, no indication that he was doing well, and no indication that he was having a hard time either.

Even if he wanted to tell the truth, what could he say? Jisung didn’t even know his own thoughts, he couldn’t possibly explain them to someone else. But he wanted to, he desperately wanted to. He just can’t find the words yet.

The uneasiness in his chest was always there, no matter the situation, good or bad. Even when he wasn’t thinking about it, it was still there. Sometimes he minded it, sometimes he didn’t. Everything was so confusing.

Everything about his life seemed to be confusing. The only consistent thing about himself was his inconsistence.

Sometimes he felt like he looked really good. He’d wear a nice outfit, his hair would look nice, and his makeup would be touched up. He’d slowly feel like he just looked average. Then it would crash. Another look in the mirror only minutes after, and he wants to cry, his features that were perfect only a minute a ago turning into flaws that he desperately wanted to fix. He sat in front of mirrors for hours, pointing things out that he thought was ugly and thinking of solutions to fix them. Then he’d go right back to loving himself.

Sometimes he loved wearing pretty and bright things! Pastel pinks and pretty shades of blue, accessories adorning his hair and neck. Then he’d want to dress with stylish suits and slicked hair. Then he’d want comfy sweaters and messy hair. Then simply a t-shirt and pants, and the cycle continued.

He was smart, sometimes. He’d get all of his work done, earn praise from his teachers, write outstanding essays that gifted kids could only dream of writing. The next week, his teachers are on him about his late assignments, failed quizzes, his inability to focus. Then, he’d become average, scoring Bs and gaining no attention from his teachers or peers at all.

He was talented, without a doubt. He could do everything! He’d bake with Felix and they ate their delicious treats together, he kicked everyone’s butts at video games his first time playing, his voice range was unmatchable, his lyrics unbeatable, his dance moves so skillfully executed. He could write stories that left people in awe, knitted beautiful warm hats for his friends. He was an ace. But then he’d mess up, or he’d lose interest. He’d move on to something else, and the cycle continued.

He was tired. He often couldn’t sleep, everytime he closed his eyes, paranoia grabbing a hold of him. He didn’t even know what he was scared of, but seconds later, his eyes would shoot open, instantly sitting up, taking deep breaths. Even if he was feeling safer, he didn’t want to sleep. Possibly for the fear that he’d have another nightmare. Couldn’t he have a normal dream for once? He hated waking up in cold sweats. He’d never sleep near anyone even if he was scared, even more afraid of what they could do to him in his sleep, his vulnerable state making him weaker.

There were people he loved sometimes, and he hated them the rest of the time. Hurting his sensitive heart unintentionally, and then him wanting to run into their arms minutes after. Sometimes he knocked himself back into sense. His friends didn’t do anything, they didn’t hurt him. He was just sensitive.

He couldn’t help the negative thoughts, even if he tried to look on the bright side. A response to his text coming in too late, a change in their texting style, a change in their tone of voice, avoiding a single hug, not laughing at a single joke, not finding one of his stories very amusing, it all hurt. Why did it hurt?

They’re so good to him. He shouldn’t feel hurt. They talk to him! They still laugh with him, and tell jokes and plays along. But the uneasiness comes back, the panicked feeling rushing right back in everytime it started to go well, like a punch to the gut.

“You’re so cute, Jisung!” Liar.

“We love you, Jisung.” Liar.

As much as he wanted their praise and affection, once he got it, he felt terrible. He didn’t know how to respond to the compliments. He didn’t know how to respond to the physical affection, growing up without any. When they showed him any form of love, he was quick to push it away, scared that they were lying. That they’d hurt him.

He’d either be too quiet or too loud. Too quiet because he’s shy. Too quiet because he doesn’t want to annoy everyone and over share and be too loud. Too quiet because he feels like he doesn’t fit in. Too quiet because he knows that once he says something, he’d be dismissed or ignored. It was safe.

Too loud because he has things he wants to say! Too loud because he’s having fun. Too loud because he wants to be included in the conversation. Too loud because he doesn’t want to look boring and dampen everyone’s moods. Then he’d put in a few words here and there, disappearing and reappearing in conversation. It was inevitable.

His sleepless nights would include cuddling his stuffed animals or pillows, pretending it was someone’s arms around him. Caressing his hair, his cheek, whispering sweet nothings to silence the voice in his head, kissing his forehead with love.

Sometimes he distanced himself if he felt like that. Cut off everyone he held dear because he didn’t want to be hurt anymore, he doesn’t want to hurt them either. It was selfish, but it was safe, and it was better than having friends. He’d prefer the emptiness of being alone rather than the pain of his insecurities when with friends. But every time that happened, he missed them. He loved them, and he wanted their love in return. He’d run right back, then away again.

His family. If he could even call them that. They’d have fun, be a picture perfect family. Good outfits, good manners, lots of money. Then they’d yell and fight. His parents always flirting with eachother, claiming that they’d never part and then having a yelling match about the smallest things. His parents, who claimed that they loved him so much and called him sweet names before they turned around and yelled him for the smallest things, invaded his privacy, hit him for the smallest things, compared him to everyone else, putting him below. At least after they made him cry himself to sleep, they gave him some money and watched a movie with him the next day, right?

His poor siblings. As much as he hated them, he was worried. Would they hurt them like they did him? Hell at him like they did him? It depended. Sometimes, his two siblings would be his parents’ pride and joy. So much talent, intelligence and beauty. He’d be a shameful eldest siblings, not setting the perfect example and being weak to them. Why’d they go so easy on them?

And then they’d yell at them too. Why they couldn’t be more like Jisung. He didn’t care how much he disliked his siblings. He didn’t want them to go through the same things he did. Never. Nobody deserved that. Maybe that’s why the three children were connected in their own way. Even though they didn’t have to say anything, there was the unspoken feelings they shared. They all felt the same about their parents, even if it was in their own ways.

He was terrified that one day he would turn out like one of his parents, fear and guilt seizing him whenever he reacted to a situation how his parents would when he was around his friends. A shade of red taking over his face, a cold sweat breaking out, and excusing himself to go to the restroom.

There was too much expectation to be perfect. That’s why be didn’t have time to be confused. He decided how he felt as if he were writing a character in a book. He chose their name, their looks, their personality, their likes and talents, their mood. He changed when his parents told him to, obeying them. He still scowled and let a few tears shed when he was in his room, tugging off the outfit he liked.

He listened and stayed quiet when he was told to, the things he wanted to say and laugh about ready to burst out of his mouth if he was silent a second longer. He smiled, studied what his parents wanted him to study, was on the path to become what they wanted him to be. He wasn’t allowed to be in a mood other than happy and cheerful in his house.

Everytime he was feeling down and sobbed until the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, he felt pathetic. Maybe his parents really brainwashed him into thinking he had no reasons to feel down. That he was faking all of it, just wanted attention. But how could that be true, if the only one who knew of his heartache and tears were his walls? No, to others, he was a perfectly normal person.

Jisung couldn’t afford to think about who he really was.

And then he met Minho.

“I promise he’s not as bad as he looks! You don’t even have to become friends with him, all you have to do is sit there for an hour and play on your phone or something everyday.” Felix pouted, grabbing onto Jisung’s shoulders and practically hanging onto him, knees barely touching the ground.

“He looks sketchy!” Jisung complained back, and Felix put on his puppy eyes. “But isn’t he hot? He likes to dance! You dance too, talk about something. He’s nice, I swear.” “Fine. You’re lucky I love you, Lix. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.” He sighed, and the blonde squealed, thanking him and running off.

Felix and Jisung were the bestest of friends. Though nobody understood Jisung, Felix wasn’t completely blind to it. He was okay with giving him some time to calm down or trying to ease him into conversations. Jisung felt incredibly guilty for it, he never wanted anyone to take care of him, afraid of being a burden. So although he didn’t let Felix do much, the sunshine was happy with the fact that he at least kept him in his life, usually pulling him in quicker than he pushed him away, unlike their other friends.

The two of them met up everyday after school to “study” in their secret spot. Like everything else, it was an unspoken rule. As much as Jisung loved talking, he hated talking about things that weren’t entertaining. Talks about situations, feelings, and everything else that would make you slightly unsettled. The two met in that spot three years ago, surprising eachother. They were in the same four classes as their school, and though they didn’t talk much at first there, they went back to that spot as soon as they finished their own after-school activities.

Sometimes one of them would wait for a few hours, the other having extended practice or a situation that delayed them, but the other never minded. They decorated the small area with pillows, blankets, a hoodie pile, stuffed animals, fairy lights, and cooler, and snack box. They’d relieve their stress by laying there together, laughing and talking. Sometimes, if one of them are too exhausted, they’d lay in comfortable silence, cuddles for all. The two both loved cuddles.

It did make Jisung feel bad when he had his moods where he was suddenly repulsed bu any sort of contact, shying away from his hugs with a sad look on his face. Felix was a naturally touchy person. And though Jisung was too, he only was with Felix. But Felix never seemed to mind, settling for hugging a pillow and handing Jisung one as well, setting it next to him if he declined, which he always picked up after, never failing to put a smile on Felix’s face.

Bang Chan, one of the other people in their friend group, and Felix’s boyfriend, had another friend who needed a place to stay. Everyone’s houses were chaotic and had things going on, so they couldn’t keep him at their place. Everyone knew Jisung would reject, so Felix, being the sweetheart he was, offered their spot.

Jisung wasn’t mad at all when he found out, only laughing and pinching his cheek. “What a sweetheart.” It turned out that Minho was an exchange student and had gone to a different country for school, and returned to Korea recently. He had already gotten a job, but needed to work for a few months before he could buy a place.

“I know things will be awkward, but call me if you need anything, or Chan. I don’t think he’s busy today. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be nice to him!” Felix reassured, squeezing Jisung in his arms tightly before grabbing his bookbag and running off back to the school.

Now, he was in front of the door, alone. Behind it, he knew he’d instantly feel okay in his safe spot, but he wasn’t so sure about that when there was a stranger inside invading it.

Hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, slowly pushing it open. He was met with a pair of cat-like eyes, definitely pretty ones. He didn’t care if he was attractive however, he was in his safe spot. If anything, gorgeous people made him even more nervous.

Closing the door behind him, he stood awkwardly for a moment. “You’re Jisung, right? Felix already told me everything.” “Yeah… What did he tell you?” He asked, furrowing his brows at the mention of ‘everything.’

“Just that you’re his best friend, you come here everyday, blah blah blah. I know he didn’t talk with you before inviting me here. Sorry if i’m taking over your place or anything. I’ll be gone before you know it.” His voice was light and airy, and Jisung was thankfully he didn’t have a sharp or annoyed tone while talking. His face was expressionless, his gaze going back to the phone he was scrolling on when he didn’t get a response.

“Oh… Yeah, no, it’s fine. I know all the places around here are expensive. Stay as long as you need.” It was not fine. He didn’t say that though, and shuffled to a corner, sitting down. He must have fallen asleep, because he was shaken awake by Felix. “Hm? Oh, hey. Minho went to go work about two hours after I got here… What time is it? When did you come back?” “I’ve been back for about an hour. Sorry I didn’t wake you up earlier, but God knows you need some sleep.” He smiled, sitting down.

That went on for another week. While the silence usually bothered Jisung, letting his thoughts overwhelm him, he found the silence that filled the air with him and Minho comforting. He’d hear music playing out of Minho’s earbuds, hear him shuffling around, opening snacks, eating them, watching a movie, doing work on his laptop.

He hated loud noise, and hated complete silence. Minho made things perfect. And he was more than happy to welcome this new routine. Perhaps that’s why he liked Minho so much. He was always the same. He was never excited more than usual, never annoyed or down more than usual. His facial expressions the same, his tone of voice the same. He repeated the same activities, listened to the same playlist, watched the same shows, wore the same jewelry. If they talked for a bit, the topic of conversation was usually something about cats. He never changed, and he felt safe with that.

On Fridays, Minho had the day off. Minho eased his way into their friendship without meaning to, and by the end the first month was over, the three of them had something nice going on. Minho started laughing and smiling a bit more, something that Jisung enjoyed a little too much, a little flutter in his heart setting off every time.

He also caught on incredibly fast to Jisung. It was as if he could see right through him and into his mind. It was scary, but he’s never mentioned anything about it, so he let it be for the time being. A few days into his second month of being there, was his first time seeing Jisung break down. As soon as the door closed, he looked up to see the younger trembling, with tears in his eyes. He threw his bookbag to the corner of the room, falling onto his knees. His arms reached out, and Minho came forward to hold him in seconds flat, the two sitting there as Jisung sobbed.

Not a single word was exchanged that day, and it was never spoken about again. That happened two more times on some pretty tough days, Jisung sound asleep by the end of his meltdown, Minho humming and petting his head as if he were one of his cats. Then, he’d gently lay his head down on a pillow before heading to his work building.

“What? I can’t believe I lost. I’m not talking to you for a week. How can I cheat and still lose?” Jisung cried out. “That’s your punishment for cheating, and you wouldn’t dare spend a week without me.” Minho commented, the rest of the group laughing. The entire friend group had gotten together to hang out for a night at Chan’s house, and decided on game night. “A week? Try seven months.” Hyunjin mumbled, and the room went silent.

Minho looked confused, but Felix clapped his hands and quickly changed the subject, and though the room was filled with laughter again, the dark mood lingered the rest of the night. The rest of the group felt bad for Jisung. Though they were a bit mad at him for leaving for months at a time multiple times during their friendship, they all cried together in eachothers arms when he came back.

Minho hadn’t experienced it yet. He didn’t know. And maybe he never would, because Jisung didn’t want to let Minho go. He was exactly the person he needed in his life.

Felix wanted cuddles, but Jisung wasn’t feeling very fond for them some nights. When he reached out to hug him, Jisung flinched away. There was no awkward pause anymore, Minho simply cuddled him instead, and handed Jisung a pillow or stuffed animal. He smiled knowingly when he saw Jisung grab the fluffy item a few minutes later, cuddling it. The night continued. Minho knew what he needed.

Their friend group had grown stronger with Minho being there for Jisung. Everyone else knew, but the boys himself was oblivious. Minho noticed every single small thing about him during the months they stayed together. Minho finally got enough money to rent out the apartment next to Felix’s, and they all saw eachother often, even after moving out of the cramped space.

When they all hung out together, and an exciting conversation was happening, Jisung would tremble a bit. Minho would place a hand on his or even his leg to get him to calm down and stay still, even taking him to another room. (A/N: I tremble every single time I get excited please help.)

Jisung didn’t magically get better, and he still skipped out on some hangouts or stayed clear of them for a few days. When things in his head got too loud, Minho was there to quiet them down to whispers instead of yelling. When Jisung was at home and sobbing at four in the morning, Minho called him and talked him to sleep.

“Good job on graduating, Sungie.” Minho smiled, holding his arms open wide. Instead of actually doing things, he made sure he never actually touched him and let him come to him if he wanted to, and gave him the chance to shy away unless he couldn’t think properly. If he wanted a hug, he held his arms open. If he wanted to hold is hand, he reached out for his, hand open. He’d tease him by puckering his lips, which Jisung always laughed at.

Jisung stepped into his arms, holding him tightly. “I don’t want to leave you.” He whispered, tears falling down his eyes. The two of them went back to the special spot alone. Jisung knew he wouldn’t be able to see Minho for a long time after the summer ended.

He did do what his parents wanted him to. Applied for every ivy league school he could, accepted into all of his top choices. He wouldn’t give up his nights studying for that. He spent so much time, energy, and tears in his schoolwork. More than he should have. And though he would be free once he was 18, he insisted to Minho that he would let his hard work pay off and be successful without his family, but they would see just how much he’s done.

“I’ll be here waiting for you. Don’t you dare think that you can leave me, Han Jisung.” Minho laughed, his own tears coming out. They went silent for a second, sniffling and looking into eachothers eyes. Jisung inched forward, placing his lips against his. There was no hesitation in Minho, immediately kissing him back. “Ew.” Jisung said when they parted with a breathy laugh, then laid his head down on the other’s shoulder.

Jisung has always wanted love. To be loved, to love someone else. It was his dream to be so deep with someone where he wouldn’t have to worry about not being enough. That he was reassured they wouldn’t leave, and that they cared as much for him as he did for them. Minho felt like the right person. He was sure of it, and he’d fine out when he comes back.

*Time skip to five years later.*

“Oh my God, Minho, I can’t believe I’m getting married. And Jisung is going to miss it too, holy- my best friend!” “Calm down, Felix. I’m sure he’s upset about not being able to come, but we both know he’s busy.” Minho and Jisung had barely talked in the five years he was gone, but the feelings surprisingly never faded. Jisung was incredibly busy working his butt of to earn not one, but two bachelors degrees.

They facetimed every month, missed texts here and there throughout the day if he had time. Nobody thought they’d make it, but they were determined to make it work. “I sure as hell would be upset if I missed the love of my life’s wedding. Felix, I can’t believe you’re leaving me for an old man!” At the familiar voice, the two whipped around.

“JISUNG!” Felix practically screeched, Jisung having to momentarily cover his ears, attacked by a bear hug. Hyunjin let out a dramatic scream at the sudden noise. “Jisung! My future husband!” He yelled too, when he saw him.

“Okay okay, my turn.” Minho said a few minutes into the hug. Felix was reluctant to let go, and Jisung jumped into Minho’s arms as quick as possible.

“Hey.” The younger whispered, a big smile on his face. “Hi.” Minho laughed, placing a big kiss on his lips. “Jisung, you’re cheating on me?!” Seungmin yelled. “What? I thought we had something special!” Jeongin cried out next. They all broke out into laughter, and came to give him hugs. “Chan is freaking out about everything, especially his hair, somebody should go check on him- not you, Lix! Oh my- Jisung?!”

“Can everyone give me some time with my Sungie?” Minho grumbled, but Changbin refused. After the wedding, Felix may have sobbed uncontrollably on the altar, Chan following soon after. Minho had taken Jisung out to a balcony for some privacy.

“So…you got a boyfriend?” The two of them asked at the same time. Their eyes widened in shock before laughing. “I said I would wait for you, idiot. I kept my promise.” He responded. “Are you… just here for the wedding?” Minho asked, uncertainty in his voice. “You’ve changed a lot, Lee Minho.” Jisung said. The other’s face faltered at the lack of response to his question. He felt like he could cry right there if Jisung was leaving again. “Yet you’re still the same.” He sighed, continuing.

“Same stupid pretty eyes. Same cute nose, same pretty lips. Same smooth voice, same lovely heart. Definitely different clothes, sexy hair, and a different body though. And I don’t remember you talking or laughing so much. I thought i’d run away from you. But I don’t think I could ever leave again.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me forever.” Minho declared, pecking his lips. Then again, then again, and Jisung might have gotten carried away and-

“Hey lovebirds! This is my wedding and I demand someone to cut me another slice of cake because I just dropped mine on the floor.” Felix frowned.

i really don’t want to have to proofread this because i have a feeling it’s cringe. but hope you enjoyed lol.

#angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #felix #han jisung #changbin #hyunjin #jeongin #lee know #seungmin #bang chan #minsung #skz angst #skz #skz minho #skz jisung #projecting #lol oops #what’s wrong with me #someone give me a hug

[fumingspice]

i still talk to you when i’m screaming at the sky

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Prompt: “I just wanted a happy ending.” “I’m drunk in love with you.” “If you quote a Taylor Swift or Fleetwood Mac song one more time I’ll slap you.”

Warnings: slightly drunk delia, angsty, mentions of ill mental health. happy ending

A/N: I don’t even know. I think I’m just projecting at this rate. I wrote this instead of doing another of my five history essays due for Friday so if my teacher kills me in my sleep you know why <3

and when you can’t sleep at night; you hear my stolen lullaby.

Madison Montgomery grunted in frustration. Then again when she was ignored the first time.

You kept your head in your book, knowing she was desperate for attention.

“Lord almighty,” Madison groaned dramatically, sitting against the arm of the couch and then throwing herself back over your lap. Visibly irritated by the fact that you still handed looked up from your book she almost shouted; “Oh, how I wish someone would acknowledge my presence.”

You met at her eyes for a split second and returned them promptly to the book.

“That’s it,” she muttered. Madison gripped the book from your hand and threw it across the room. You clenched your hands into fists, doing your best to maintain your calm composure. That’s who you were in the coven. The calm one. “Look at me when I’m goddamn talking to you!”

Your eyes darted up to meet Madison’s steel glare. “What the fuck is the matter with you, Y/N?” she exclaimed.

You genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

“Don’t yell at me, Montgomery,” you replied, biting your tongue hard.

Madison had no patience for playing games when she found something serious. Which although wasn’t often, it was almost always about something as superficial as a wrong glance at dinner. “You’ve been giving Cordy the cold shoulder for the past three months. I want to know what’s going on.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Madison threw her hands up at you. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m kidding I don’t actually care.”

“Typical,” you muttered. You gave a wave of your hand and your book came flying from the other side of the room. Madison turned around in one swift movement and punched the book square, sending in hurtling to the ground.

“I’m being sarcastic, you dumb fucking bitch!” She yelled. If you weren’t so pissed right now you would probably have been impressed with her reflexes.

“What do you fucking want, Madison? You’ve getting on my tits every fucking day for the entire week,” you started yelling unintentionally. “So, what is it? What exactly do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to fucking tell you- yet again- that Cordelia has a fucking boyfriend? You want me to reiterate it to you that I can’t fucking look at her in any other way?”

Madison smirked, knowing she was getting you exactly where she wanted you. “It’s not my fault that you couldn’t keep your shit together after you broke up with her. The least you could do is grow a pair of balls and be happy for her.”

You felt your face go red with anger. “Are you fucking insane?! Do you actually hear yourself right now? Madison, I told you fucking everything! I told you it was a mutal decision. I told you that it was the last fucking decision that I fucking wanted to make!” You screamed. The anger had been building up for weeks, and sweet jesus did the release feel good.

It was late at night and you knew that if any girls weren’t asleep they would be hearing exactly what you had to say. Cordelia wasn’t in the building after all. You could say anything you liked.

“I fucking love her, Madison. Every time I see her smile at that knock-off Lindsey Buckingham I want to rip his fucking face off! I know you can’t see that because the boy you brought back from the dead chose your best friend over you and then strangled you to death!”

That’s where your words got Madison.

Within a second, you found your hand striking your face hard.

Composure was the last thing on your mind now as your fist went straight for Madison’s nose. A crack and screamed followed as the blonde launched herself at you.

A scrap insued, knocking each other into furniture, punching, kicking. You fell to the ground as Madison’s boot was launched into your stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. You pushed yourself off the floor and kneed her in the crotch, sending her down to the ground with you on top of her. Your fists had found a mind of their own as they gave blows to her face, chest and stomach.

Your body was thrown from Madison’s, pinned to the wall by some invisible force. Madison crawled from the floor and punched you hard in the stomach. Then the face. You could feel blood dripping from your nose and mouth when the force dropped you on the ground. Madison sulked off, seemingly satisfied as you curled yourself into a ball.

Tears fell slowly from your eyes for the first time in months. You’d finally released every pent up piece of energy that you had held in and there was nothing left in your walls to keep you together. Madison had taken a physcial and verbal fist to everything keeping you together.

It was true; the decision to break up was mutal. Although, it seemed slightly more mutual for Cordelia. You whined too much, you thought, for her to be happy as your friend. Now, months since, you found yourself in a false mask of calmness and serenity about the situation.

The tears were almost temporary as you lay facing the ceiling. Blood dried on your cheeks making your skin feel tight but you didn’t care to move. You almost fell asleep until the front door unlocked at some ungodly hour in the morning. You didn’t care who it was nor did you care to move at this rate.

You saw your reflection in the mirror. The lines of blood on your face struck nasty images from long ago of blood on your limbs. You had recovered now. You were strong and you knew in your heart of hearts that you would never allow yourself to ever feel worthless again. You weren’t disposable. You are not disposable. You were a beautiful soul in a soaring tide, although struggling to see that.

Familiar footsteps clacked down the hall into the parlour. 

"Jesus Christ, Y/N?" Cordelia's voice sent a pang of dread coursing through your body.

"Leave me alone, Delia," you groaned, your body still ached for Madison's assault.

Cordelia fell to her knees beside you. "Oh, sweetheart what happened?" There was a pleading in her voice as she lifted the top half of your body onto her lap. She dabbed your blood with her sleeve.

You could smell the alcohol off her.

"Can you stand up for me?" She asked, helping you to your feet. She brought you to the kitchen and began tending to the mess that was your face. "Please, Y/N. Tell me what happened."

You brushed her off and tried to leave to go to your bedroom. With a flick of her wrist, Cordelia brought furniture to block the entrance.

"You're not leaving here until you tell me exactly what happened, young lady."

You chuckled meanly. "You're fucking kidding me." You turned to face her. "Madison beat the shit out of me."

Cordelia's face dropped in disbelief. "Why?"

"I'm still trying to fucking figure that out!" You shouted. Cordelia's face flinched. 

There was a silence that you hadn't felt with her in a long time, shortly interupted by Zoe walking into the kitchen.

"Cordelia, go to bed," she said. She was going to bring the calm, apparently. "I'll take care of Y/N. I think I know what happened."

"Well, then could you please explain that to me?" Delia asked defensively. Zoe motioned for her to leave.

Zoe approached you slowly and took one look at your face. "Your nose is broken," she muttered. "I know a spell, it'll hurt like a bitch but it'll save the process."

You shrugged and let her do her thing, regretting it almost immeditely as your shrieked in pain.

"Cordelia still loves you, Y/N. I don't know how you haven't seen that yet," she told you, pressing a wet towel to your nose.

"She sure as hell has a weird way of showing it," you replied. All the talk about Cordelia for the first time in months was hitting you like a truck. You dealt with things by ignoring it and although it probably wasn't efficient. It still worked.

Zoe glared at you. "She broke up with Sylvester. I can sense it," she told you. "She misses you more than anything in the world."

Tears threatened to make themselves known once more. "I can't keep doing this, Zoe. I can't keep thinking there's another chance when there's just not."

Zoe tugged you into a warm hug. "Please talk to her, Y/N. Maybe it'll do more good than not."

You nodded in agreement and heaved yourself up the stairs. Cordelia's bedroom door faced you as you mustered up the courage to knock. You could almost hear the echos of memories you shared in her room.

"Police Officer knock," the girls often joked that you had. The door opened itself and you walked in.

"Cordelia?" You spoke, glancing around her room. You could see her outline laying across the bed, a glass of scotch in hand.

Cordelia poked her head up as you walked to the bed. She had clearly been crying.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Delia," you said softly. Her reached under yours and the pain hit you hard.

"It's okay, Y/N. But can you please just be honest with me? What on Earth happened down there?" 

Tears ran down both of your faces as you explained everything. Every word of your altercation with Madison, everything that happened, everything that you had felt over the past few months. Cordelia pressed her forehead against yours and you cried harder. How could her lips be so close yet so far away?

"Why have you been drinking lately? You barely touched it before?" You asked innocently. Cordelia pursed her lips.

"I missed that warmth," she choked. "I missed that warmth that I only ever felt when I was with you."

Her words shot daggers of guilt through you.

"No matter what I tried, no drink could ever match the feeling of being drunk in love with you," she sighed. "Time was taking its sweet time erasing you, so I thought I could do it myself. The drinks. The power. The men. Nothing got close to you."

You placed your hand over hers and squeezed it. "This is so, so stupid, Delia."

The Supreme nodded. "I know. All I ever wanted was a happy ending. I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted to marry you and adopt a child. I don't even know why I'm saying that I did want that. I do want that."

You dropped your head back. "Cordelia, I would give anything to call myself yours again but I cannot go through the heartbreak of losing you again."

Cordelia paused, you saw the reflection of your hurt in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I knew you didn't want it. I didn't want it. I just thought I was doing the best for you."

"This entire time I've felt like an open wound, Delia."

There was another silence.

"Y/N, what would I need to prove to you for another chance? One more shot to make this work. I want that chance to grow old with you," she said. The Supreme was begging for you at this point.

"Cordelia, I want you to understand that if it doesn't work out this time then I'm done."

Cordelia nodded solemly, her whiskey brown eyes darted to your lips. "Can I?"

You pressed your lips to hers before she could finish speaking, your soul ravaging for that piece of Cordelia that you had hungered for.

You found it in her lips. Finding yourselves giggling. Tears of relief, joy, happiness fell onto each other's skin like drops of nectar from the Gods. All was right when you were with her.

Warm lips, warm skin. Your hands weren't cold when you were with her. 

Your lips danced together in rings of bliss as she enloped into you, it was like a battle of nature.

Cordelia broke away, her body shifting slightly under yours as her eyes sobered.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you ask. Even placing your cheek on her hand gave you relief.

"I don't want to wait anymore," she whispered. She breathed in sharply as she motioned for you to get off her. You complied and sat on the bed, watch as she walked over to the dresser and pull something out of a box at the bottom of a pile of paperwork.

You grinned, tears flowing down as she presented you with what she'd dug out.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice hopeful. You clasped your hand to your mouth and nodded hard.

The next morning at breakfast, you couldn't bring yourself to talk to Madison. 

Not after what she did.

At least, not until you noticed her smirking in victory at the sight of the engagment ring on your finger.

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry​ @thesapphictimelady​

#ahs #ahs imagines #cordelia goode #cordelia foxx #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia foxx x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #lana winters #lana winters x reader #sarah paulson #ahs murder house #ahs asylum #ahs coven #ahs apocolaypse #ryan murphy pls im desperate for a job #manifesting that im writing for the damn show #i hope my history teacher just kills me at this rate

[companionjones]

Alex Needs You

Fandom: Hamilton

Pairings: Platonic!Maria Reynolds x Reader, Platonic!Hamilsquad x Reader, Alexander Hamilton x Reader, Past!Alexander Hamilton x John Laurens, Maria Reynolds x Lafayette.

Summary: Your college roommate, Maria Reynolds, wakes you up in the middle of the night to tell you that a boy you’re very close to is having a mental breakdown due to a schoolwork overload.

Warnings: College, panic attack due to schoolwork, cursing

Author’s Notes: -This is a college AU. -Don’t ask me why Maria and Lafayette are together. I don’t know. -I changed Lafayette name around for this because I learned that his first name is not Marquis, it is his title. Lafayette’s full name in this is Gilbert Marie-Joseph Lafayette. -I technically wrote Reader as a female in this, but I think the only proof of that is that Y/n and Maria share a female dorm room, and I think Lafayette refers to Reader as ‘M’dame.’ -The real founding fathers were horrible people (except for John Laurens and John Adams) who profited off slavery. This is not a fanfiction about them.

Please take some time to sign some BLM petitions! Remember not to give any money to change.org because the money would go to the website, not the cause.

*******

    King’s College was the most prestigious university in the state. You were lucky enough to be awarded the scholarship money you needed to afford an education at the college on top of being accepted.

    Speaking of your luckiness, you made several friends on your first day that you had managed to keep. Your fist friend at the university was your dormmate, Maria Reynolds. She introduced you to her boyfriend, Gilbert Marie-Joseph Lafayette, and Lafayette got you to meet his friends: John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Alexander Hamilton. Laurens and Mulligan shared a dorm room, and Alex roomed with Lafayette. You’d been to both dorms plenty of times, but you practically lived in the latter.

    The reason was Alexander.

    He was good friends with everyone, but he barely hung out with anyone. The workaholic virtually never left his and Lafayette’s dorm room except to go to classes. Alex was completely dedicated to his education. On top of that, he was going for a duel-major in Law and Economics. You took pity on the bags under his eyes as soon as you saw them.

    You brought him food when he forgot to eat (which was almost everyday), you forced him to go to bed (which was definitely every night), and you even helped him through his break-up with his high school sweetheart: John Laurens. Needless to say, you and Alexander were the closest out of your new friends group.

    That was why Maria woke you up one night.

    “What is it?” you muttered groggily.

    She was clearly in distress when she told you, “Y/n, we gotta go to Laf’s and Alexander’s place right now.”

    “What?” you sat up a little in bed.

    Maria was putting on her shoes. “Laf just called me. John and Herc are already there. Alex is having some sort of a breakdown. He needs you.”

    Suddenly, you were out of bed. You got up so fast that your eyes did that thing where you went blind for a second. You asked thousands of questions about Alexander’s well-being, but Maria didn’t know much. All she could tell you was that Alex locked himself in his and Lafayette’s room. You and Maria set off to the boys’ dorm building at 2 in the morning.

    “C’est tout, I’m kicking the door in.” John and Hercules were backing out of the way of the Lafayette by the time you arrived on the scene.

    “Whoa! No, no. Stop that right now,” you ordered. “I’m not having you guys wreck school property, and something big like that will only stress out Alex more. Just...tell me what’s going on.”

    Lafayette explained, “I came back from being out with the boys, and I realized the door was locked. I called out to Alexander, but he said he’d be done in a moment and his work was almost done. He sounded like he was crying very hard. I tried to talk to him more, but he hasn’t said anything since. That was an hour ago.”

    “Okay,” you took a deep breath, and approached the door. “Alex? Hey, it’s Y/n. I, uh, I just need to know if you-if you hurt yourself.”

    Alex stuttered, “Yeah-Ye-Yes. Yes. I’m-I’m fine. I just need a little more time, okay? I-I just need to finish this essay for Washington.”

    Hercules was the first to voice his relief. “Oh, thank god. Y/n, I don’t know how you managed to do that. We haven’t been able to get Alex to talk since we got here.”

    “Maybe there’s too many people,” Maria deduced, “We’re probably overwhelming him. He always responds best to Y/n anyway. How about we just leave them alone for a bit?”

    The rest of the group agreed. When they started to leave, John stayed back for a moment.

    He began, “I just want to thank you, Y/n. I know Alex and I broke up before school started, but I still care about him a lot, you know? You being there for him means a lot to me.”

    “I know, John.” You affirmed, “I’ll take care of this.”

    John nodded, and went to follow the others.

    You walked back up to the door. “Alexander? The others are gone. Can I come in?”

    At first, there was silence on the other side of the door. Then, you heard his chair roll back from his desk. Footsteps approached the door. It opened to a tear-stained Alexander.

    Alex looked a mess. His dorm room wasn’t much different. There were crumpled papers everywhere It looked like he freaked out. That resulted in his blankets and pillows being whipped off his bed. His phone and laptop had been thrown to the floor and their screens had been shattered. Alex was currently working off of Lafayette’s laptop.

    He noticed that you were looking around the room as you entered. “I’m sorry. Half of my fucking essay got deleted, and...and I...lost it, I guess? I locked the door because I didn’t want Laf to see what I did...I was going to let him in once I got a chance to clean up a little, but I-I have to finish this essay.” It was like he just reminded himself, and Alex sat down to get back to work.

    “Alex.” You put your hands over his and intertwined his and your fingers. “Take a break,” you urged him.

    His eyes hadn’t left the screen of the laptop.

    “I’ll email Professor Washington, and ask for an extension for you. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

    Alex was still unresponsive. He’d moved his gaze to your connected hands. They were in his lap, and you were kneeling in front of him.

    “Alexander, please,” you begged for his attention.

    Finally, Alex met your eyes. He nodded.

    “Good.” You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of his eyes again. “Now, I’ll help you clean up in here. We can get you a new laptop, and the phone’s fixable. Then, maybe you can talk to the guys and Maria. Show them you’re alright, maybe?”

    He looked back down at your hands again. “I don’t want them to see me like this. It’s bad enough having you all come out in the middle of the night just to check on me.”

    “We came here because we care about you, Alexander. It scares us when you work yourself to the bone like this. Well, I know it scares me--”

    Alex’s eyes snapped up to yours. “I scare you?”

    “Well, you worry me, yeah,” you confirmed. “Why do you think I’m here everyday, checking in on you. It’s because I care--”

    No warning taking place beforehand, Alexander kissed you. The sudden impact made you realize the two of you had been building up to it for a long time. You stood up to better kiss him. Alexander followed you. You could’ve sworn you hadn’t been making out for that long, but when you broke the kiss, both you and Hamilton were breathless. He had his hands on your waist while yours were softly cupping his neck.

    “You’re in a really emotional place tonight, Alex,” you voiced the first reason that came to mind that Alexander possibly hadn’t meant what he had just done.

    Alexander immediately disagreed, “No. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. I’ve loved you for a long time.”

    Not knowing if Maria had actually woken you up that night in the first place or if you were instead dreaming then, you shakily nodded, “Okay. This Friday, at 8, let’s go out to dinner. But let’s not discuss this anymore tonight. You need sleep.”

    Fifteen minutes later, the dorm room was clean as it was going to get at 3am, and the shattered electronics were tucked under Alexander’s bed. Professor Washington was for some reason awake at that ungodly hour, and he had already responded to your email, agreeing to give Alexander a three-week extension.

    “Thank you, Y/n. Really.” Alex leaned on his doorframe while you were on your way out. He was holding your hand. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

    Softly smiling, you leaned in to give Alex another kiss. “You can call me, anytime, anywhere, and I’ll come right to you,” you whispered.

    “Oooo,” a harmony of teasing voices sounded from down the hallway. It was the rest of the gang.

    Laurens called, “I knew it! I knew you two were going to get together!”

    Hercules seemed serious when he informed, “I want to be the flower guy at y’all’s wedding. You hear me?”

    “Oh my god!” squealed Maria, “Now you, me, Alex, and Laf can go on double dates!”

    You helped everyone else away from Alexander and Lafayette’s door. “Okay, yes, me and Alex are...together now. But this is all stuff we can talk about tomorrow. Alex needs to sleep. We all need sleep. You hear that, Laf? That means no pestering Alex about him and me. Understand?”

    He gave a mock-salute. “Oui, M’dame.”

    “That goes for you, too.” You turned to Maria. “I’m going to bed as soon as we get back.”

    Maria raised her eyebrows at you. “Not a chance. I’m getting every detail out of you!” she proclaimed as she dragged you back to your dorm.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! If you would like to read more, I have more fics on Hamilton over on my page. You should go check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#hamilton #hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton #alexander hamilton x reader #maria reynolds #maria reynolds x lafayette #lafayette #jasmine cephas jones #daveed diggs #broadway #lin-manuel miranda #lin manuel miranda #alex needs you #companion jones #boy did i miss hamilton college aus

[senlinyu]

University students AU Dramione

Possibly worth noting: I went to a weird college and this ficlet is based on a thing that happened there. So if you’re reading this thinking, wtf kind of university experience is this? I hard agree. 🤣

“Granger, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

A cold, unwelcome voice interrupted Hermione while she was in the middle of typing in a citation link that was three lines long. She pointedly refused to turn until she finished typing in the string of numbers and hit enter.

A paywall filled the screen.

She sighed and with an inward curse of exasperation, shifted in her chair to deal with the unwelcome distraction on her hands.

Draco Malfoy was standing behind her, scowling.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

He raised his right hand to show a thick stack of papers gripped in his hand. “The study guide you wrote. The answer to twenty is wrong.”

Hermione’s shoulders stiffened, but she kept her expression impassive as she tried to remember what question twenty even was.

Professor Snape had emailed the class a study guide with well-over three hundred broadly-phrased questions that “might” appear on the final exam. Hermione had spent a night filling out the study guide questions with exhaustively detailed answers, quotes, and references. She’d emailed a copy to the private study group she participated in, hoping to encourage the other members to share theirs as well so everyone could compare notes and develop even more comprehensive answers.

Instead, no one else in the study group bothered to write any answers for the study guide at all; and, to add insult to injury, someone whom Hermione intended to murder once she discovered their identity, had forwarded it to the entire class. Everywhere she went, she’d hear her fellow freshman classmates quizzing each other and reciting her answers verbatim.

She stared up at Draco Malfoy, who was notably not a member of said study group, standing with her painstakingly compiled study-guide gripped in his unworthy hands.

“What’s wrong with the answer?” she asked.

Malfoy glanced derisively down at the papers in his hand and turned his wrist to show her an extensively annotated and highlighted copy of her answer. There was a large section that had been slashed through with a red pen. “This whole section here, it completely leaves out Bourne’s commentary. Are you trying to sabotage the entire class by sending everyone shit answers?”

Hermione’s chest tightened and heat rose on her cheeks.

Malfoy stepped closer, and he leaned over her, smirking.

“Is that your plan then?” He quirked a pale eyebrow. “Think you’ll be the one to get Snape’s coveted A+ on your essay if you get the rest of the class to fail the final?”

Hermione’s hand itched to slap him across the face or possibly deck him right there in the library.

Snape’s required freshman class was renown at their school for its tendency to destroy GPA. Everything hung on the final exam and paper. There were more than a few stories of students losing their merit scholarships and having to leave the school because of it. Snape never gave more than one perfect grade on final papers per year, and rumor had that it had been more than four years since anyone had achieved it.

Malfoy had announced during orientation week that he was going to be the one to earn it and it seemed that everyone believed he would.

Draco Malfoy was one of those people that everyone seemed to know about. It was impossible to go anywhere without hearing stories about him. According to the aggressive rumor-mill at the school, he’d gotten a perfect SAT score and been inundated with acceptance letters and full-ride scholarships from prestigious universities across the country, but had decided to attend a “less known” school because his mother was close friends with the president and agreed with school’s academic philosophy.

He’d been dubbed, practically from arrival, as the class “genius” and had an entire flock of freshman and non-freshman girls angling to get their Mrs degree in Malfoy.

Hermione thought he was a pretentious asshole.

She was most definitely going to kill whomever it was who had allowed him to get his hands on her study-guide.

She gave a cold smile. “Gosh. You caught me, Malfoy. I put wrong answers on the study-guide and hoped nobody in our entire class would notice.” She folded her arms. “The reason I didn’t include anything from Bourne is because Snape said he’s wrong and the only reason his textbook was required reading was to highlight what an idiot some people are. If you want to add Bourne’s commentary to your answer, be my guest. In fact,” she leaned forward, extending her hand, “I have a better idea, why don’t you give me my study-guide back, and write your own answers.”

He smirked and straightened, sliding her study guide back into his satchel. “Everyone knows I’m going to be the one whose paper gets a perfect grade from Snape. I have to say though, it’s fun to see you trying.”

Hermione refused to rise to his baiting. “Anything else? By all means, feel free to spread a rumor that my study-guide’s rigged. Maybe then people will do their own homework.”

He cocked his head. “So you admit you’re angling for the A+.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back. “I’m a pretty sure everyone is trying to get it. This isn’t exactly a school with a class culture of only aspiring for passing grades.”

Malfoy moved slightly closer, edging into her personal space and looming over her in a way that made her want to kick him in the shins or, ideally, a bit higher.

“But you actually think you can do it, don’t you?” He flashed another smirk. “Care to bet on that?”

“Care to leave me alone and bother someone else?” Hermione said in a deadpan tone.

His smirk widened into a grin and he glanced across the library where a group of his friends were all watching them. “Well, I should clarify, there are already bets that I’ll get it, but I’ll make a personal wager with you. Think you can beat me? Tell me what you want. I’m open to anything.”

His eyes slid down, away from her face.

Hermione folded her arms again and glared at him. “I don’t want anything from you, Malfoy, and you’re not getting a thing from me. Fuck off, I’m working on a paper.”

She turned back to her computer and watched his silhouette linger in the reflection of her laptop screen for several seconds.

Finally he laughed. “Thanks for the notes, Granger. I look forward to beating you.”

He turned and sauntered off.

———————

Snape’s approach to finals was unconventional even for the school. The week before the final exam, each student had a private, twenty-minute meeting with him in which they had to defend their paper. At the end of the meeting, he would tell the student what grade they’d receive on the paper, and then, before the final exam, he’d announce to the class if any students had earned an A+.

To Hermione’s irritation, Malfoy’s scheduled meeting with Snape was forty minutes before hers. The hallway outside his office door was lined with students sitting silently and reviewing their papers and notes.

The office door swung open and Malfoy emerged, his face aglow with smug triumph.

The hallway broke out in whispers.

“You got it?” Nott asked right out.

Malfoy grinned. “Perfect grade. First one in five years he said.”

Hermione stiffened where she was sitting as whispers of admiration and congratulations swept down the hallway.

Padma Patil was sitting next to Hermione and rested a hand briefly on her shoulder.

Malfoy’s attention zeroed in and he walked over, stopping in front of Hermione.

“Tough luck, Granger. Maybe in another life. I’m sure you’ll at least get an A.” He started to turn and then paused as though he were just remembering something. “A lot of us are going to be celebrating tonight, you should come, unless you want people to think you’re a sore loser.”

Hermione stared up at him with a flat expression until he finally turned with a shrug and walked away.

When she emerged from her meeting, she didn’t say a word to the other students waiting in the hallway. She went to her dorm and started studying for the rest of her finals.

—————

The final exam for Snape’s class started at an ungodly hour in the morning and the room was blessedly silent as students trickled in and took their seats. Hermione sat reviewing her notes in a corner where no one was likely to jostle her.

The silence was broken when Malfoy entered the room noisily with his friends at his heels and they settled into seats towards the front of the room.

Five minutes before the exam was scheduled to begin, Snape strode into the room and up to the whiteboard. He snatched up a marker and started writing grading percentage brackets. When he finished he added a colon beside each bracket and began adding numbers: number of papers that had failed, the number that had barely passed, moving up towards the 100% that sat at the top of the board.

His hand hovered next to it, and then he suddenly turned and stared at the room, his expression unreadable.

“This semester has a notable distinction,” he said after a moment’s silence. “For the first time in the years I’ve been teaching at this college, I have had two students who merited a perfect grade on the semester’s final paper.”

Hushed gasps swept across the room and students turned to look at Malfoy, whose smirking grin had frozen on his face.

“Next semester, anyone who hasn’t failed my class will be assigned to read Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger’s papers, and perhaps then the rest of you will begin to understand what I mean when I say I expect and will accept nothing less than excellence in this class.”

Malfoy’s platinum head slowly swiveled to so he could stare across the room where Hermione was sitting, an impassive expression on her face.

She didn’t look in his direction.

He kept staring at her until someone shoved a copy of the exam at him.

Two hours later, after turning in her copy of the final exam, Hermione packed her bag, bobbing her head at a few whispered congratulations, and hurried out of the classroom, heading for the library.

“Granger!”

She froze and turned, rolling her eyes.

Malfoy was jogging after her, notably without his usual posse around him.

She stood waiting until he caught up with her.

He stopped a foot away from her and looked her up and down from head to toe as though he were reconsidering something. “Well, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Hermione folded her arms. “Not really.”

He looked up and met her eyes, flashing a grin. He cocked his head slightly to the side. “I guess this means we should study together.”

Hermione gave a thin, false smile. “I already have a study group, we’re not accepting new members.”

His grin turned roguish and his voice dropped suggestively as he shifted closer. “It could just be the two of us. You’re heading to the library now, aren’t you?”

Her expression turned cold and she stepped quickly back. ”I’m going to study alone.”

She turned on her heel and started walking away.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Granger!”

“You’ll be surprised,” she said, glaring over her shoulder at him.

He was still standing where she’d left him, staring after her, that irritating, over-confident grin still on his face.

He raised an eyebrow. “Care to bet on that?”

#prompts #dramione #dramione fanfic #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #asks #senlinyuwrites #draco malfoy #hermione granger #dhr #anthology collection

[datoneidiot]

Of Paintings and Actors

This was supposed to be a quick 3k fic for @coconut-cluster‘s Sander Sides Hogwarts Au but it turned into a 9k mess. I ended up putting a lot of focus on the Roman Vents To Paintings into it but it’s based off of an anon’s submission: What if Roman asked Virgil to the Yule Ball but thinking that Roman wouldn’t ask him anyways and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he know going aloNe, Virgil gets asked by someone else and we get to witness Roman’s heartbreak.

Very Roman centric, lots of one specific painting, Prinxiety and background Logicality, very long. Im not terribly happy with it but I hope you enjoy!

“I was the only one who didn’t pass the Arithmancy test. It’s like, everytime i go into a room they all turn away and-- I can hear them laughing! They’re not even trying to pretend they’re not-- they won’t help me! I study as much as them, i study more than them but i'm still not smart enough, I’ll never be--”

The painting above the distraught Ravenclaw wished she could do more than just listen but there isn’t anything else to do when you’re stuck behind portraits.

“Now don’t say that. The Sorting Hat decided what house it believed was best for you.”

“What does creativity have anything to have to do with intelligence, Circe?”, Roman wiped at his wet face with the red blanket Virgil had so generously made for his birthday in their second year. No one in his house had even gifted him with a quick Happy Birthday, choosing to ignore the birthday sash he wore all day-- the one he spent a week on making. Roman didn’t know if he cried that night because of how warm his friend’s smiles were or because of how lonely he felt the second the tower door shut behind him.

He looked down at his ice cream tub, desperate for some food comfort, only to realize that his eyes were too watery to even see the spoon. How pathetic.

Roman scoffed, scooping yet another spoonful into his mouth and watching yet another tear fall onto the Magical, Wonderful School of Wizardry’s cold and simple wooden floor.

“I would make a great, uh what are they? They sing and dance and uh shake-- um spear? Spear...the guy who wrote those plays in theater? The muggles doing them? They...pretend to be someone they aren’t?”  

Circe felt her painted heart break with each of the cracks and sobs Roman just managed to keep leveled. The only reason she would’ve even caught them was how often he visited her at midnight in her hidden room.

“I believe you mean an actor, dear?”

And the sad truth was he really would be a great actor.

In his first year Roman was actually excited for the new adventure that awaited him in Hogwarts School of Magic. He used to be so eager to learn magic and make friends and to actually be apart of something. Instead he learned how to walk in a full room and act like he can’t hear the snickers and whispers, how to use water resistant makeup to hide the embarrassing bags under his eyes from studying all night, how to blink away the stinging pain behind his eyes when he got a grade unworthy of his house name, how to break down without making a sound in bathroom stalls and at three in the morning but he still couldn’t get used to the horrible aching feeling of just wanting to be accepted. Of just wanting a hug.

“Yes! I can't even remember what I basically am! I don't..know..who i am..”

Circe had meet his friends before. Logan was leaving from what was probably the kitchen guessing by the bag of treats he was carrying. The Slytherin was quick and precise in his walk, a comfortable pink resting over the smile on his face. He gave a polite nod and apologized for disrupting her by roaming around so late. She wished him a safe trip back to his house. Patton was sweeter than a bag of sugar. He and Roman had passed by before and it only took five minutes for her to understand why Roman had called him Padre so often. She hadn’t met the one Roman had talked about the most. The Gryffindor seemed to be the most interesting of the bunch, especially when Roman said one his thousands of nicknames so fondly. But even Patton didn’t know how desperate Roman was to be away from his house.

Circe looks to her right, tracing over the detailed spaghetti bowl in it’s own, smaller portrait. Each noodle was defined, every mark on the bowl was carefully planned, there were even smaller containers of side options for the pasta and the longer she looked the more life she found.

The color scheme even match hers.

“You're the few who value other people’s feelings and thoughts at the same level as your work.” Though you value their thoughts on your work too much. “I've seen their ways, desperate enough to stab each other in the back just to get top grades on essays. You are intelligent, in your own way. You belong there.”

Another set of tears trailed down his face and Roman rubbed them away quickly, soft laughs barely making a sound in the secret room hidden by the Great Hall at ungodly hours.

He clutched the red blanket to his chest. “Thanks Circe. You’re always there to save my day.”

“If i could i’d turn the whole lot of them into pigs. Imagine how surprised all their dates would be when they found out they were going to dance with a boar during the Yule Ball.”

Roman’s boisterous laugh echoed in the hall, nearly knocking over his forgotten ice cream tub. And it’s bittersweet because only in the dead of night in an abandoned hallway he can laugh like this but in the common rooms during the day he’s too annoying. He’s alone either way. He wasn’t entirely alone though, he could be himself with his friends. If he ignores the growing voice in his head telling him he’s too annoying for them too.

“I was actually thinking of um, asking Virgil if he’d like to...go with me--” Roman looked down at the blanket he was hugging, tracing over the castle emblem Virgil added in a corner. It was red and gold, Roman’s two favorite colors. He marveled at how different they were from blue and white. It felt like it was made from warmth and love, like Virgil was actually there hugging him and telling him that he’s important and ok. Like he wasn’t talking to a dead witch painted by magic, taught to behave like the person they actually aren’t. He just wanted to be someone worth being proud of.

The sinking realization made him nauseous.

Circe wasn’t even a real person. Or at least, wasn’t anymore. Everything she would ever say to comfort him was the personality she was taught. She’s a painting. All of them were.

There wasn’t anyone joking about turning dates into pigs.

There wasn’t anyone supporting him.

There wasn’t anyone believing he’s good enough.

There wasn’t anyone saving him from himself.

There wasn’t anyone who loved him.

There wasn’t anyone listening when he cries about his stupid problems at three am in an abandoned hall.

No one was actually proud of him.

He’s alone.

It’s just him, projecting his stupid feelings into a blanket, abandoned in a hall. The love wasn’t coming from anyone but himself. He didn’t even feel love for himself.

“--but as friends! It was Emile’s idea of course, i would’ve never thought of it. I just...i don’t want to scare him. He’s...he needs to be protected and i don’t want to be the one hurting him. He needs a friend.” He sighed and put the blanket down.

Circe let her hands rest on the side of the frame. Fingers carefully tracing the wooden carving from the sides inching to the top, reaching for the side facing Roman. Ten precise dancers were unable to grace the top, an invisible barrier kept her trapped in the painting. Her fingers fell back to their spot, hands useless and arms empty. Circe growled. Neither of them could move past the truth the wooden rectangle held.

“You need a friend.”

A barely noticeable flinch shakes Roman’s world like an earthquake. The crack of thunder emits from an ice cream tub falling over, echoing through the school.

“You need to tell them everything.”

And this sounds worse than knowing he has nothing. Because he has something and he’s been so ungrateful of them. Logan, Patton and Virgil…

Passionate debates over which forms of magic are the best and lazy over-lunch conversations over which poetic elements are the worst, baked sweets during study sessions and random hugs after classes, snarky comments over Disney and emo bands and playful teasing during quidditch games, hidden smiles memorized and the imprint of purple and gray clouds and safety.

He has them, he has enough, he should have enough and he’d risky it all by saying they weren’t? That Patton’s broken heart over being called a filthy mudblood, Logan’s inability to move past his human imperfections and Virgil’s anxiety waiting to drag him down were so much worse yet he couldn’t even survive this alone?

That he lied to them for years everytime he said he was fine?

And he couldn’t forget Emile, Sabrina and Damien...

“No. I can’t bother them with stupid things, they have bigger problems than me to deal with and i can’t add on to it, they shouldn't have to suffer because me--”

“You help them with their problems...don’t you think they’d like to help you?”

Roman’s face screwed into uncertainty, “I don’t know…”

“They deserve to know Roman. They’re your friends, not the Ravenclaws.” Circe watched him fiddle with a faded corner on his robe. It was long faded from earlier in the year. Each year the one specific corner gets faded quicker than the last.

“You belong with them. You can talk to them, they accept you. Virgil wouldn’t hate you if you asked him, i'm sure you two will have a great time at the Ball.”

Roman’s eyes shined with unshed tears and a mix of doubt and hope, “You really think so?”

And for a second he silenced that stupid voice in his head telling him they won’t, he can’t--

“I will. Well, i mean, i’ll ask Virgil but i’d, i’d like to wait a little before telling them my uh, problems...”

Despite the fear of the future he was excited. Circe said he could, he could, he’s going to ask Virgil to the Yule Ball. They’re friends with him for a reason. They accepted him and everything that came along with him. They loved him. He can do this. It’s only a question, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Thank you Circe. I-I can’t ever thank you enough.” Roman jumped up from the floor, arms opening up on instinct, a buzzing feeling of emptiness in them. He let them fall back to his sides and smiled widely at her instead.

Circe watched Roman start to leave, gathering the ice cream tub and carefully wrapping the red blanket around him.

“Roman.”

The troubled Ravenclaw wrapped in red faced her, curiosity and confusion evident. He’s very expressive, she noted, though she wondered why he was able to bring the room to life and why it was more than just the feeling of it.

“You can do this.”

Roman smiled and smiled so wide he burst into a happy shriek of laughter and quickly turned down the hall.

He could practically feel air beneath his feet as he ran. His spirits were high and he felt high, literally and figuratively. Roman looked down at his feet as he turned down the left of a hall full of empty classes and he couldn’t tell if he imagined it or not but there was a little sparkle of gold from beneath each step he took. He didn’t know why or whatever it was-- maybe he was tired from studying and staying up all night or maybe he wasn’t actually seeing things and he was doing magic without even realizing it or whatever but he focused on this feeling, this wonderful amazing feeling. The feeling of being free and empty, of being full and warmth. Of air and water and fire and stars-- everything clashing together and falling into one and being able to see something beautiful. Of being ok and excited, of colorful futures and possible endings he’s loved in, of laughing with Patton and joking around with Logan and Ravenclaws welcoming him with open arms and smiles, of dancing with Virgil and the hunger for more of it. The feeling of flying and eagerness-- the feeling of previously unknown happiness.

He can do it, he can do it, he can do it

He will be ok

And it ran through his head from his heels hitting the floor to his heart beating in his chest as he ran through blurred halls. It was too much and not enough but he had to let it out before he burst. It started with little giggles and squeals to happy laughs to happy tears.

By the time he made it to the Ravenclaw tower his face was wet and his stomach hurt. He was sure he had woken up someone with how loud he was laughing.

“Are you alright Roman?” The knocker nearly scared the pants off of Roman and he dissolved back into howls and wheezes.

“No, no I’m fine I just-- oh gosh, I'm sorry for being so loud.” He barely managed to say the sentence without bursting into giggles.

“I see” chirped the eagle knocker, “Are you going into the tower?”

Roman was still smiling when he reached for the golden handle, “Yes.” He knocked once and it sounded like a cannon blast. He must’ve woken everyone up, they’re going to be upset--

“You’re in a dark room but how do you get out?” The little voice recited the riddle melodically.

Who cares if they’re upset at him? He’s ok. He’s welcomed. He can do it.

“You have to stop imagining it being dark.”

Roman thanked the knob before it closed behind him.

The pain of grades, the fear of laughs, the ache of loneliness, the numbness of routine. It was gone. Even if for only this night he could live without the stinging discomfort of being red and gold instead of blue and white, he could be happy. And tomorrow would be even better! And he’ll dance his worries away and spin Virgil until he can’t stand anymore then sweep him off his feet. And every day will be happy.

Roman skipped to the stairs and pretended to offer a hand to the Gryffindor up the stairs. He twirled and spun onto his single room-- none of the Ravenclaws wanted to share a room with him-- and whirled right back on to his bed, laughing all over again.

Tomorrow was going to be perfect, he’ll make sure of it. Virgil deserves to be treated like a prince and he had to make sure he wouldn’t trigger his anxieties, so not grand but personal, something that's special to him.

A million ideas spin in his head as he did before. It’s loud and quiet, mixed with the colors of the brightest roses and the coolest lavenders, softly drizzling like rain hitting a window. Sometimes it’s too much for Roman, alone in his room with his thoughts. It’s too big and it’s too small and he just doesn’t fit but now-- thoughts of gray and little smiles flood in, similar to warm blankets and faded robe corners and old an old stitched sweater left at home ground him.

With a gasp, Roman shot up out of his bed. He knows exactly how to ask him.

He would have to use a lot of magic to make it work and a lot of time. His eyes scanned across the room and landed on a stack of books. Studying would have to wait, this was more important. He was more important.

Roman focused on what he wanted to make-- creative conjuring and transfiguration was a higher form of magic he hadn’t learned or tried yet. Despite having no experience, time or sleep, he wove his fingers delicately in the lonely room for hours. He absolutely could not wait for tomorrow. All he had to do was wait till their shared dinner. He could wait eight classes right?

Oh gosh he couldn’t but he’ll have to make do if he wanted to woo the edgy tempest.

He can be happy. He held onto the soft fabric beneath his fingers and laid the sweet flower on top of it before going to bed at yet another ungodly hour. They accept him.

He can do this.

…

Virgil pulled his robes tight around him. Roman usually meet them in the mornings and walked with them, why wasn’t he here? Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“Hey i'm sure he just overslept or something. You know how he is.”

Patton knew him too well. Of course, all he was known to worry about stupid little things like this. Yeah it wasn’t the first time Roman overslept, and it wouldn’t be the last time he would lose track of time but he couldn’t stop the worry bubble in his stomach. Without Roman, without consistency, it felt like everything was watching him. Watching him walk down the hall, alone, without an annoying, loud-mouthed--

“Hi Virgil, Patton, I gotta go, see you later!”

Roman ran past the duo before Virgil even had a chance to speak. Today was going to be horrible.

“Come on let’s meet up with Logan.” Patton urged Virgil, grabbing his arm and bringing him from the opposite way Roman had just abandoned them-- it was a distraction for him, Virgil knew, but he looked back to see where Roman had ran off anyways.

Roman was-- Roman...how does he even start? He’s obnoxious, loud, annoying, prideful and petty...but he was thoughtful and considerate, he was sweet, if not corny, and he distracted Virgil, focused him, on anything but the other wizards and witches in the hall, let him ruin the corner of his robe, and was always first to make sure he was ok even during stupid fights. He grounded him, and Virgil was forever grateful for it because he couldn’t even imagine going a day without Roman looking out for him and protecting himself from himself. It was a big change from keeping defenses up to letting someone else worry for him and look at him like that with those big stupid smiles, and now the Gryffindor couldn't see himself without Patton, Logan or Roman.

And it was so stupid, so so stupid. Everything was stupid-- besides Patton.

“Hey V, four, seven, eight, you can do it. In and out. Like that, good-- where’s Roman?”

And Logan.

Patton eyed Virgil and gave a weary smile to the other speckled fourth year, speaking in a softer voice, “He wasn’t able to walk us today, Virgil got a bit anxious.”

“I didn’t-- i dont want, i didn’t mean to--”

Logan placed his hands on his shoulders. “We know, it’s not something you can control, just breathe. Uh, how does Roman typically-- the Ravenclaw besides the Charms class...adores flying...with, um.. her turtle companion? Named…”, Virgil noticed how Logan’s eyes caughts Patton’s and the smile he gave him, “--Pat! Rick, uh Patrick. Patrick the...Turtle.”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh when Logan turned an embarrassing pink. Patton giggled, “Just like Roman! I’ll see you second Lo!” and headed off for his first class.

Logan watched Patton leave, sluggishly waving a hand bye. Virgil snickered as they started walking again, “Oh my god L, that was so bad.”

“You will not tell Roman about this.” Logan said half pleading, half threatening. Virgil rolled his eyes but their smiles were still there, “Mm-hmm”

They walked in silence to their shared Potions class for a bit. Virgil pulled at the corner of his robe. “Thanks L”

Logan glanced at the shorter Gryffindor, “Of course, i'm glad to be of assistance. I’m positive you’ll see Roman in your third period.”

Virgil smiled. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

....

It was horrible. Virgil had nearly forgotten about the Yule Ball because of his panic this morning. How could he forget it? Everyone’s been raving about it for the past two weeks.

Potions with Logan was replaced by ballroom dancing with McGonagall. Logan and Virgil were separated by their houses and taken into different rooms. He felt bad for Logan, having to be with Damien alone for a whole period but he had bigger problems now.

The Gryffindors were a mess. None of them knew how to dance and Virgil couldn’t tell if he felt better because everyone was doing terribly or if he felt even worse because to him it seemed like he was the worst of the bunch. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how Logan and Patton were doing. Logan’s had experience already and Patton could pick up anything easily. They were going to have fun at dancing with each other. Virgil didn’t even have to think about how Roman was doing. He was great at any of the arts, singing, painting, dancing. Roman wouldn’t want to go to the ball with a Gryffindor with two left feet.

The thought alone of Roman dancing with him made him trip over his feet. What was he thinking? Roman wouldn’t-- he was dreaming if he thought Roman, of all people, would ask him to go to the ball with him. Virgil figured they both knew he couldn’t ask him, and Roman was the more bolder of the two, maybe he imagined Roman smiling at him like that, maybe he was just really touchy and gentle with everyone, Roman would never think of him like that but Virgil still placed it somewhere in the back of his mind that if he was going to the ball with anyone, it’d be him.

It didn’t help when he went to his third class, expecting to see his current fixation of the day waiting at the door, his eyes lighting up and the typical big grin the Ravenclaw gave him when greeted him. Roman wasn’t even at the door. Virgil walked in the class cautiously, arms tight around his books like something was going to jump out at him. He felt too open, too exposed. Roman didn’t say hi to him or explain why he was in a rush this morning. He scribbled stuff in his book and to Virgil it felt like he was intentionally avoiding looking at him.

Roman’s voice ran through his head when he answered the teacher’s question. It was taunting him. His brain short circuited right back to the basics. Roman’s avoiding him. What did he do wrong? He’s just overthinking this, Roman doesn’t hate him. He already has to worry about going to the ball and what he’s going to do and how he could possibly ask a certain Gryffindor to with him, at least as a friend. He has to stop jumping to conclusions.

The whole period was a blur of words, a clash of Roman’s voice, the lack of it, and the voice inside his head. It was a monstrous cacophony that made the whole room spin.

“Wait, Roman--”

He didn’t even turn around when Virgil called for him. He had practically scrambled to get out before everyone. Before him. When he got out of the room, kids had flooded the hall and Virgil was left to walk by himself to his next class without having a panic attack.

It didn’t get any better after that.

Virgil spent his classes distracted, worried that Roman was mad at him for something, that everyone was watching him and judging him. Why was he a Gryffindor again?

He only survived to sixth period with Roman and Damien because of Patton and Logan, but now he was alone with those two and Virgil already had enough trouble with them together.

He never really talked with Damien, he just...rubbed him wrong. He looked very similar to Patton, too similar to Patton to have such a polar personality to the literal ball of sunshine. And he wasn’t afraid to cheat or lie and he flirted with Roman every chance he got. And Roman flirted back! It drove Virgil insane, how could Roman just-- like it wasn’t anything-- and wasn’t wasting time or distracting other people.

But what was worse was the lack of stupid annoying flirting. Virgil dragged his feet, prepared to be unprepared only to see Roman and Damien talking quietly. Roman was loud and dramatic and Damien shared that trait with him-- though it was much less tolerable than Roman’s version. They weren’t being obnoxious and laughing at each other pick up lines or excessively touching each others hair and arms or complimenting each other--

Virgil popped out of his stupor, not having realize he was staring-- more like glaring-- at them. He caught Roman’s eyes. They were their normal brown but they looked different, big and worried didn’t suit him well. To Virgil, it just wasn’t Roman. And as fast as he caught them they were gone, Roman had turned away fast and Damien glanced at him. He felt his eyes burn into his brain and Virgil quickly opened his book.

Suddenly Virgil understood exactly how Logan feels about Damien.

Fuming, he tried to focus on his notes, he tried to focus so hard but all he could hear was their hushed whispers. Virgil can’t help but take another glimpse at them. He can see Damien nodding and very clearly trying to block his view of Roman. If he listens hard enough he can hear his sarcastic remarks and half-flirts and it enrages Virgil. Why would Roman-- and then he sees Roman.

He’s jittery, very jittery. He looks like a mess, he’s making sad attempts at extravagant gestures, there’s clearly bags under his eyes, he’s running his hand through his hair and jumping his leg up and down. He looks stressed, and when he sees Roman’s eyes he recognizes something. Roman’s anxious. He’s anxious about something? Damien puts a hand on his arm and speaks leveled, much more calmer than Roman. Why would Roman go to Damien of all people? But here and there after Damien says something and he can see Roman’s eyes he looks...excited. Nervous and excited and anxious. It loops in his head and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. He has to speak to Roman.

It’s agonizingly long but finally, the professor is done with his lesson and allows everyone to pack up before they have to go to their next class. Virgil closes his long forgotten, half scribbled notes and scrambles out of his seat.

He makes his way over to Roman and stops dead in his tracks when Damien glances at him again. It’s a look Virgil can’t stand, it’s one that makes him want to demand to speak and one that makes him want to run. Regardless, it’s a look of warning. A glare that screams back off. Like he was a villain. And it makes Virgil stumble back, his lower back hitting the table behind him. The chair underneath hits his lower leg and makes a loud ugly screech. He backs up. Then he runs.

Somewhere, lost in his thoughts he can faintly hear the bell ring.

Why did he ever think he could go to the Yule Ball with Roman? He’s probably going with Damien, everyone loves Roman, he’s charming, he’s funny, he’s sweet, he has this stupid, stupid smile. He’s probably gotten asked by half of the HufflePuffs and the other Gryffindors or Ravenclaws and Slytherins--

Kids flood the halls.

He’s going to be the only person he knows who’s going alone. Should he even bother going? There’s going to be so many people and dancing and-- he only imagined having fun with Roman, he was comfortable with Roman, Roman was-- he’d hate to see Roman dancing with someone else, smiling and laughing and making them feel special and important and--

Oh my god, he can’t handle this right now, there’s too many people, there’s too many people--

“Hi, Virgil?”

His head snapped up.

“I’m Ethan, we share potions and had ballroom dancing with McGonagall?”

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed and his stomach dropped. It wasn’t Roman, he wasn’t coming for him. Roman wasn’t going to help him.

“Well i was wondering if you’d go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Virgil didn’t even know he responded. All he heard was that same voice. Roman would never ask him, who was he kidding? He was so stupid, so stupid, what was he thinking? Why would Roman want to go with Virgil, he’s so stupid--

“The guy i wanted to go with broke his foot and i don’t want to be one of those losers who stay in their room the whole night, y’know?”

Virgil could barely see what was happening. “I--”, he nearly choked on his own breath. He couldn’t think straight enough to give an answer, “I don’t--”

“Are you already going with someone or not?”

“No--”

“Figured, you don’t seem to hang around with a lot of people. Well?”

Roman wasn’t going to ask him out anyway and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he knows going alone.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then, i got to meet up with my friends” and without a blink Ethan’s gone, leaving Virgil alone in the now empty hall.

Virgil doesn’t even know how he managed to say yes. He felt his chest tighten and he stumbled to the wall. Logan and Patton weren’t nearby and Roman--

He heaves trying to stop himself from crying. Four seven eight, four seven eight, four seven eight

At least he wasn’t going to the Ball alone.

...

Roman was convinced Lady Luck was on his side.

His mothers sent in his robes this morning and they looked absolutely wonderful. He was buzzing with energy when he woke up and the smile on his face felt real.

Roman even made sure to stash his gifts for Virgil with Circe so he can get them later. He felt bad for running past Virgil and leaving their classes fast but if he didn’t he would’ve explode and asked him right on the spot and Virgil would be pressured into saying yes and he’d be uncomfortable with everyone around and that was the last thing Roman wanted. He wanted to go so badly with Virgil but he wanted him to be happy and if waiting meant his happiness than he’d wait forever!

It was around Potions when a sudden thought struck him. Virgil could say no. Well, he knew Virgil could say whatever he wanted and he was hoping for a yes but he never considered if Virgil said no. What would he do then?

“Damien i don’t know what to do, what if he says no?”

“Then he says no. I thought not thinking about our problems with each other was our deal?”

“Damiennnn” Roman dramatically flopped on the desk.

Damien rolled his eyes, “You know i’m not good at comforting. Should’ve gone to Patton if you wanted a hug.” Roman half ran his hand through his hair and half pulled.

“Look, anyone would want to go with you. I sure wouldn’t mind.” He nudged Roman.

“Not now please.” Roman put his head down on the desk.

“Fine. You know i just like bothering racoon over there.”

“And not everyone wants to go with me, the Ravenclaws certainly don’t and Virgil might not want to either.”

“Not to vouch for him, but Patton would get mad at me if i didn’t, Virgil will say yes.”

Roman peeked up, “Really?”

Damien gave him a small smile and placed a comforting hand on his arm, “I’m sure, he gets so upset when we mess around. Besides he’d be lying to himself if think he doesn’t.”

Roman sat up again, “Thanks Damien.”

“Sure. Let’s stick to our usual way though, being nice ruins my mean face and i don’t want to be buddy buddy with racoon. I can respect your dramatic but i will not respect him, even if he’s your possible future boyfriend.”

“There’s the Damien i know. I just...i can’t help but worry over it still. What if i do something wrong?”

The class flew by and before Roman knew it he missed all the notes he was supposed to take, the screech of a moved chair brought him back to reality and he headed for his next class. He could do this.

…

Round found himself terrified when he walks with Virgil towards the Great Hall before dinner. He had so foolishly shoved his transfigured purple aster up his robe’s sleeves and he hoped he was hiding his gift well.

Logan and Patton had gotten enthralled in a discussion about some Magical Creature of the Week and he recognises this as the perfect proposal time. It was now or never.

“So”, Roman started not so smoothly, hyper aware of every crack in his voice. What was he doing?

Virgil expected something horrible. Why was Roman avoiding him? Did he do something wrong? Why was he so nervous? “Have you gotten your dress robes yet?” Roman wasn’t even going to mention why he hadn’t seen him all day? Was he supposed to bring it up? “Yeah i got some, it wasn’t the fun-est experience.” Even though Roman wants to ask what they look like, he holds it in. He’d rather see it at the ball and it feels too much like bad luck to see them beforehand-- it was a muggle superstition his mom mentioned before about weddings. Instead he clutches the flower tightly, watching as a petal falls from the corner of his eye “I'm sure they’re magnificent, Virge.” Virgil falters a step but it’s smooth enough where Roman misses it. Virgil was sure something was going to happen. Everything would fall apart in an instant. Roman quickly rushes to continue the conversation. “Was McGonagall the one teaching the Gryffindors dancing?” And then an even worse thought struck him. Roman didn’t want to be his friend anymore. He was avoiding him because was stressed about telling him-- of course he would be, he’s Roman, why would he want to be his friend anymore? Four seven eight, four seven eight. “Yeah, it was a mess.” Virgil blinked and kept his voice as steady as he could, “We were all really bad, it was kind of funny, in a way?” And when Virgil offers him the best smile he can Roman’s heart stutters to a stop for a few seconds. He can’t do this, he can’t ask Virgil, he can’t-- Roman looks ahead and he can see Patton and Logan walking nearly twenty feet ahead of them and he thinks of Circe. They’re his friends. It was just a question. He can do it. He lets the happy, nervous feeling course through his veins, from his heels to his heart and his head.

“I was wondering, Virgil.”

Virgil froze when Roman suddenly came to a halt. This was it, he was being cast off for good. Roman was sick of him and it only took a day.

“If um, if there was any, would you like, um Virgil...would you consider doing the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”

Roman seemed to magically spring a purple flower in his hand and shly offered it out. Virgil was speechless.

What kind of cruel joke was this? No, Roman wouldn’t, Roman wouldn’t hurt him like this. “Oh”, Virgil wrapped his arms around himself like a shield, he had to protect himself from whatever was happening, “I was asked earlier by one of the Gryffindors and i said yes...”

Roman felt the ground beneath his feet fall. He was too late.

Virgil’s face had turned to stone and Roman couldn’t help but feel to be the receiving end of it. He didn’t even look anxious or uncomfortable he looked...angry. He was getting defensive again. The aster tilted to its side in his hand, unaccepted.

He hated Roman.

“Oh”, Roman cleared his throat trying to level how shakey his voice came out, “I see, i meant, we could go as, together as friends, not--”

The Grand Hall feels too tight, too big, too small. Just like his room. He feels so alone. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was hyper aware of the gift just barely slipping out his fingers.

“Yeah it was just, it was stupid, it was a stupid idea, I’m sorry I-- I’m so stupid--”

“Wait, Roman--”

He can’t read the face Virgil's giving him but it’s enough to push on his spiral. Everything starts to get fuzzy.

Of course another Gryffindor would ask him. Roman wasn’t a Gryffindor, he was a Ravenclaw and he didn’t even belong in that house. Roman never had a chance, how could he have ever thought--

He built up his hopes up and it only took one day for them to break down.

“I’m sure you, you and you’re date you’ll, it’ll be a great time, you’ll have fun i’m sure--”

“What, what is that?”

Roman’s eyes snapped down at his hand. He saw it--

Roman stumbled backwards and he bumped into someone. It was a Ravenclaw. The disgusted face made him sick and their snicker echoed like thunder in the hallway.

“Ro--”

“I have to go, I’ve gotta, i need to, sorry i’ll, see you--”

Roman took another few steps backwards before turning and rushing forward. He didn’t know where he was going.

“Roman?”

He turned towards Patton and Logan, Virgil trying to push pass the crowd to them. Patton and Logan’s usual smiles were gone, replaced with furrowed eyebrows of confusion and worry.

They were upset and annoyed-- he interrupted their conversation. There’s too many people here. Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors and Ravenclaw alike. They were all looking at him like that like-- Roman doesn’t belong in this hallway. He needs to get out now.

Roman turned and ran as fast as he could.

His footsteps felt slow and heavy, like he was fighting against chains holding him down. The feeling of closing walls, locked jail cells and an empty bedroom. Of being squeezed and squeezed until the life was drained out from him, of gray and black and white, dull and painful, of stinging eyes and muffled sobs. Of losing friends and everyone and the feeling of freeing happiness.

How foolish of him to think he could enjoy hope and kept it without losing it as fast as he got it.

And yet as fast and loud as his thoughts clash and his feet run, he thinks he heard someone calling his name and a different set of feet trying to follow his. And it doesn’t help the aching loneliness when he can't hear it behind him anymore.

...

Circe remembers when she first met the ostracized Ravenclaw. A frustrated first year wandered the halls holding tightly onto himself. She asked where he was going. He gave her a smile that was too big.

“Oh, um the Ravenclaws didn’t tell me the password to the tower. But it’s alright! I'm sure it was an accident. They probably just didn’t hear me...when i was right behind them..” his arms tightened their hold.

“It’s usually a riddle. I believe this time it’s ‘Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?’.”

The boy’s big smile fell. “That sounds awfully complicated…there’s too many answers that could be right and even more that could be wrong”, he looked at the floor before looking up at her. There was a smaller but more real smile. “Smart stuff like that makes my head spin, but thanks. Uh what, may i ask, is my heroine's fair name?”

She smiled. “Circe witch-nymph, daughter of Helios, feared by man and boar alike. And what would my fair Ravenclaw’s name be?”

He laughed. “Roman. Roman Walsh. But that's not nearly as interesting as your name. How’d you earn such an extravagant title?”

“I was a nymph alone on a lost island in Greece. Aeaea was said to be a cursed land. There was no life but a single Acacia tree, a handful of boars and a single plant of wheat. I spent centuries growing and flourishing my island but the Acacia tree, boars and wheat crop remained scared to my island, a gift from the Gods. I had everything i needed, but there was something missing. When the first humans landed on my island i wanted to share the beautiful land i made. I let them stay at my home and told them of all i done, how important the single Acacia tree and boars were. I gave them food and shelter and i was happy. I used to hear stories of how humans cared but no one but themselves, how they hurt others to save themselves but i let them stay. We laughed and talked, they offered to bring me back to their land, full of people and friends waiting. They promised the safety of the island. I woke up the next morning to the sound of the Acacia tree hitting the ground. They slaughtered every boar and loaded them on their ship, staining the sands with red. They lied to me. I took a branch from my fallen tree and shouted the first thing that came to mind. They turned into swines. Squealing and running little swines...I destroyed their boat and kept the wand. I spent a year trying to regrow my tree but i couldn’t save it. Wheat had covered nearly every open space. When the next set of humans came and i pulled out my wand...”

Circe laughed, “Ah i'm talking your ear off.”

“What happened after you pulled out your wand?”

“Huh?” Roman had stars in his eyes, nearly falling over from how far he was leaning forward. He was looking up to her, crissed-crossed on the floor with such wonder.

He leaned as far as his elbows on his legs would let him and repeated himself, “What’d you do when the new humans came?”

Roman gasped, “Oh my stars was the first set of humans Odysseus and his crew? Were you that Circe? Was the Odyssey wrong?”

Circe blinked, “I--”

“Did they...oh they’re always doing this aren’t they? They made another powerful women evil? History is always written by the winner isn’t it.”

Circe wasn’t expecting to see Roman so interested and passionate about her story. Especially since it was typically retold wrong in a longer epic. It was...nice.

“You...yes, Odysseus was the one who offered to take me back to the mainland. It was so lonely on that island...i turned half of them back in to humans and banished them off of my island and they wrote me as the evil witch. I thought every human would be out to kill me so when the next set came i pulled out my wand again but...they spoke soft and treated my island the same as i did and they listened to me with the same wonder…” I see in you, “I hadn’t seen in a while. They set up a small camp by my home and asked to use some wheat to make food and i let them. I could see smoke coming from their tent and i went to make sure they weren’t burning but they were fine. Cooking food they said, and offered me some yellow noodles they called spaghetti. It was amazing. They told me stories and praised the land, my land. They said it was beautiful. And they thanked me for letting them stay before they left. I told them they could come back whenever they wanted and they smiled. It’s been so long since i saw them…It’s silly for a witch to miss spaghetti but...I’d love to have another bowl of spaghetti with them. A painting can’t really do that can they though?”

Roman yawned, having moved to lean against the wall sometime in the story. “You’ll get your spaghetti, one day...”

Circe smiled down at the sleepy Ravenclaw. She was happy to see the smile, the big smile on his face as his eyes struggled to stay open.

It was silent for a few moments, the whole castle sleeping in their beds except for a painting and a Ravenclaw. She wondered if breaking the peace was worth it. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she spoke too loud so she waited a little longer until she couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

“What do you think the answer to the riddle is? What came first the Phoenix or the flame?”

Roman lolled his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing for a split second.

“I think that...a circle has no beginning.”

Circe barely heard his answer. Light snores already starting to fill the new silence and she hummed to herself thoughtfully. She hadn’t heard that one before.

“What a creative answer.”

….

“Gracious morning, Circe!”

Circe blinked. Roman had practically twirled in the hidden room, moving quick enough that she nearly missed the weary miss footings. It had been two weeks since she had meet Roman in the middle of the night...which it was now.

“Oh, i mean, Gracious night!” Roman smiled sheepishly, if not tired, “I haven’t been paying terrible attention to the sky’s faces recently.” He carefully put something against a back wall and turned back to Circe quickly, his robes blocking what looked like a picture frame.

“The sky’s faces?”

“Yeah!” One particular side of his robe had been worn out from anxious fiddling. She wondered if it was from Roman or someone else.

“Oh, sorry; that was loud for this drowsy night.” He ran his hand through his messy bedhead and bounced on his his toes. More like anticipatingly excited than anxious it seemed.

“I like to think of the sky-- like when--” Roman struggled to find the words. He looked up at the ceiling on instinct and Circe guessed he had been doing this often with the blue and gold eagle clad tower’s full window view.

“You know when the sun rises? And it’s just waking up? The stars fade into a light pink, the cold black comforter reveals a wooly blanket dipped in a nearly forgotten blue. And on the light blues and pinks, a soft orange dances on careful toes until the sun shines through to watch, to see the animals wake up and the early morning grace leave from the sky into homes, laying on wooden floors and colorful carpets for cats to nap on, making everything new and different. Or the middlemost face. Rich blues and pastel blues light up the sky in a sundress. Clouds of different shapes, whites and personalities sprinkling the dress, each with its own story of adventures all over the globe. And the sun’s looking over them like a loving mother, shining down on the dirt and exploring every inch of our earth, through water and fire, soon to be covered by clouds as she listens to everything, every bird and story. Or--”

An abrupt silence brought a pink dusting over Roman’s cheeks. “Sorry, i didn’t mean to ramble about stupid whims like that.”

“That was...anything but stupid. How’d you…” she laughed a little to herself, “Sounds just like Aeaea.”

Roman grinned. He messed with his hair again before taking another, slower spin. “I think Logan would like the face of stars…”

“Logan?”

“Oh! Logan’s one of my friends! Well, i think? Hope...We argue quite a bit, and Pat and V don’t like when he fight, but he’s very skilled in poetry. I’d love to write with him sometime, he’s very good. Actually...he’s very good at everything, i think. And he loves to learn, he’s so determined and he’s more curious about the Earth’s water’s than the stars above. He said we barely know six percent of our ocean? That's like-- That’s insane! Outrageous! He can go on and on for ages about how the other planets are great and the stars are amazing but we don’t even bother exploring our own ocean! I agree with him, i think it’s just so interesting and how does he even know that much about everything--” Roman paused again, “..he’d love the Ravenclaw tower. He’s so smart...he should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

“Who’s Pat and V?”

Roman’s face had lightened up significantly from where it was two seconds ago. The room seemed to come to life again.

“Patton and Virgil! Patton’s very sweet. He’s the best little puffball we’ve got-- he’s a HufflePuff obviously, Padre’s brother is in Slytherin with Logan and my dark and stormy knight cloud is in Gryffindor. Virge hasn’t said much about it but i hope it’s going well. Oh i would’ve loved to be in Gryffindor with him! We’d have so much fun and the emo nightmare wouldn’t have to worry so much. That’d be even better actually. He gets so...anxious all the time. All panic! at the everywhere. I didn’t even know one person could be so edgy and sensitive at the same time, he loves those muggle bands and eyeshadows a lot. I'd stay in Ravenclaw for the rest of my life if my chemically imbalanced romance wasn’t so stressed. He was kind of defensive last week, and it was a bit of a rocky start for us especially compared to when we first came here but he’s J. D-leightful! I think he’d make a good writer too, his work is very inspiring. I still feel awful from when i called him a bad raisin oatmeal cookie and Jerky McJerkface so cruelly the last time we fought. We kind of made up and he said it was fine but i don’t know. I think i pushed it after Incredible Sulk and Robert Downer Jr--”

“Are you two dating?”

Roman stopped abruptly in a dance meant for two, seeing as he was dancing as though there was someone holding his hands instead of empty air, and promptly hit the ground. He hadn’t even realized he was dancing since he started talking about Pocket Protector and Padre, he must’ve started his weird tango-ballroom dancing mesh when he started on Virgil. Impossibly`` messier hair popped back in Circe’s view. His face turned red from embarrassment, Circe guessed it was more the reaction to her suggestion than the suggestion itself.

He blinked, wide eyed. “What?” he said rather dumbly.

“You said my chemically imbalanced romance earlier? And you have uh, what are they called, pet names? For him?”

A beat passed before Roman started cackling. “Me and-- and Stormcloud?”

“Oh my, Circe--”, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he had to clutch his stomach, “Oh it’s been a while since i laughed that hard, my stomach hurts. You got quite a humor, that was great but no, Virge and I aren’t together like that. Just friends. Oh gosh, i hope i didn’t wake anyone up.”

He smiled up at her. “I should start visiting you more often. I’d love to hear more about Aeaea.”

“I wouldn’t mind telling you more, if you don’t mind telling me more about your friends. It gets pretty quiet in this room.” She eyed the frame by his feet.

Roman’s legs blocked it again. He thought for a moment, now turning to eye it himself. “Actually, don’t get me wrong, i really do enjoy Virgil’s company. I didn’t mean it like i was laughing at him, i would never, or at least not intentionally. His wit is impeccable and his humors just a tad darker but i haven’t thought of him like...that. I mean--”

“That’s alright Roman. You’re still young, your adventures just beginning.” Roman’s hopeful smile was short lasting before he fixed his hair again, picking up the frame behind him. It was half his height.

“Um, i can’t stay much longer, im supposed to be studying right now but,” he fiddled with the worn out corner of his robe before the smallest little smile broke out. Circe could’ve sworn she heard something along the lines ‘Picking up sunshine’s habit huh’ before releasing the corner.

He picked up the frame and in a much louder voice compared to how he said sunshine he said “For made you-- I made, for-- I made--” Roman exhaled, “I made this...for you.”

He held up the frame, it was a portrait. A painting, rather, of--

“Spaghetti?”

“I know it’s silly but i thought-- i figured that maybe you’d feel better, well you didn’t look like distraught or anything but i don’t know-- i just...i wanted to make spaghetti for you but your a painting so--”

“You painted...Spaghetti? For me?”

“You don't, you don’t have to like it or anything but i tried to make it magic and it kind of worked? I mean, I don’t know what i did, i don't-- but it got this haze and it like, it-- Virgil yelled at me when i woke up, apparently making or attenoting? Yeah, trying to make magical paintings is a more advanced magic and-- i woke up ten hours later, you know the Ravenclaws didn’t even look for me, Virgil he was so-- well i wouldn’t say terrified but he looked like he was really worried, i felt so bad for stressing him out but i really hope you like it-- I mean, you don’t have to really, it’s not, i'm not trying to, but i just--”

“Roman…” The Ravenclaw stopped mid-ramble. His hair was all over the place when he paused and he noticed the suddenly lack of noise coming from his feet. He had a habit of tapping his feet and pacing-- or dancing.

“I'm sorry--”

“I love it.”

“You…” For the second time, Circe was dumbfounded at the disbelief and awe Roman expressed, “You really like it? Like it...really?”

Circe smiled when Roman completely lit up, bringing life into the deserted room and continued rambling. It turned almost melodic in a way and she wondered if he sang when he was excited, blending words together and lightly sweeping them into each other.

“Could i put it up? Maybe you’ll be able to actually eat it!”

Roman was bouncing on his toes with the biggest smile, one he was failing to contain. How could anyone say no?

“Of course.”

It took a bit of struggling seeing how short Roman was but he remembered he had magic and carefully lifted the painting besides Circe.

“I hope it’s ok, i have to go study, i’ll see you later!”

“Goodnight Roman.” She watched him spin out of the room with more energy than when he came in with. Before she could even look at the bowl he came back in.

“Circe?”

Circe tried to turn so she could see Roman from the hidden exit but she couldn’t, instead she just responded hoping he thought she was looking at him.

“Thank you.” The sound of feet running off back to the Ravenclaw tower was the only way she knew he left. She looked back at the bowl. Carefully she slide an arm to the side of the frame. She hit the invisible barrier rather than feeling a wooden bowl.

He was a young wizard and bringing paintings to life was a very advanced magic, still she was beyond grateful for the gift. She waved the tips of her fingers on the barrier. He painted spaghetti for her and used so much magic to try to make it real. Roman truly was something else but it takes years to learn how to--

She gasped, feeling the curve of wooden and the smell of warmth fill her portrait. The front of her arm was gone. She grabbed on the object and carefully pulled back. How did he--

If Roman could do something this advanced...what other kinds of magic can he do? She held the bowl of spaghetti in her hands.

He really is something else huh. Something special…

….

Each step Roman took was an earthquake shaking the ground below him. Thunder and floods drowned and deafened every sense he had and the world’s spinning on a tilt. He doesn’t stop running when he starts heaving or when he starts sobbing, loud and pained, a cry a painting has never heard before, especially before eleven pm.

Circe searches from her portrait, scanning the hidden room for the source. A Ravenclaw runs straight into her room and when he stops, frantic and scared and he meets her eyes Circe immediately reaches out.

He throws something straight to the ground and before it even slides to the wall, he’s gone, running before Circe had a chance to speak.

A single crushed aster and a stitched sweater are left abandoned on the floor. And all Circe can do is stare at it.

Paintings can’t hug behind portraits. And actors want to sing about the faces of the sky, and know that at least one person sees them too.

#sander sides #hogwarts au #ahskj not happy with how I wrote the ending or the middle scenes #and I didn't play for it to be super long #but here it is #hope its illegible #I love your au coconut! #couldn't do it justice :v

[horcruxces]

Ballet

here’s a 10k fic i wrote with draco as a ballet dancer and also draco with flowers on his dark mark // credit to certain parts at the end

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Straightening his posture, he relaxed his muscles as much as he could at the same time as staying tall and upright. “Thank god for the Room of Requirement,” he thought, glad he had somewhere to be alone.

His left hand gripped the bar loosely while his other arm was curved out in front of him, fingers perfectly placed and barely curved inwards. Long, lean legs were pressed together, his feet pointed out in a wide angle. An impeccable first position.

Wandlessly and silently, he cast a charm on a magical record player (it played any music you needed) to start new music, and the sound of a piano filled the room. Adagio Sostenuto, Sergey Rachmaninov. Draco let the music flow through his body, taking his limbs with it. He danced around the room, drifting gracefully on his feet.

He knew he needed new ballet shoes. They were getting worn down with all the dancing Draco had been doing to get away from his problems. His mother always told him he couldn’t dance away from issues, but it seemed like it was working at the moment. He had always responded with, “I can try.”

The blond haired boy continued flying around the room, a series of pirouettes, tours en l’air, balançoires, and cabrioles. He danced until the song ended, never opening his eyes. Draco found it worked better like that, he could fully immerse himself in ballet without any distractions. As the room became quiet, Draco assumed a finishing pose and slowly opened his eyes.

He was facing the entryway, and as his eyes focused on the arched doorway in front of him, he heard a soft click, like a closing door. He ignored it, guessing it was just a random old castle noise.

The tall boy padded over to the one chair in the room, catching himself walking toe to heel before he sat down. He frowned. It had been happening frequently, probably because of the increased amount of dance he was pushing into his schedule. At this point, it was well past midnight, and Draco had been dancing for hours. The only reason he was upset about these new habits (both the late nights and the new way of walking) was that it might give hints about his secret. The thing was, no one knew Draco danced, let alone loved doing so, not even Blaise nor Pansy. He doubted his father, who had died in the war, had even known, seeing as he had never paid any attention to Draco’s pastimes while he was alive.

Draco sat down and took off his ballet shoes, setting them in his bag. He pulled a pair of pants and a dark grey jumper over his t-shirt and tights, and slipped on his everyday shoes. Walking out of the Room of Requirement, he quickly checked the hallways to see if anyone was coming. As soon as he deemed them clear, Draco slipped out and hurried back to the eighth year dorms, his legs burning slightly from the brisk pace. It had been the second time that day in which he had snuck out to the Room, and now it was Friday and he had been to the Room a total of twelve times that week.

Draco finally got to the dorms, which were (inconveniently, for him) placed at the other end of the castle. He slipped in just as another figure was, one with black hair. Harry Potter. Although Draco had abandoned his past animosity for the Gryffindor, he avoided him and the two weren’t exactly on friendly terms. Draco held back from entering the common room for a second, letting Harry go in first. The other boy didn’t notice Draco as he walked in.

As Draco quietly entered the common room, he heard the seemingly ever-present yelling and cheering escalate as the Golden Boy walked in, although it seemed louder tonight than usual. The other eighth years must have thrown a party, and with it being so late, Merlin knew how many people were drunk in this room. Not counting the ones upstairs doing ungodly things with each other.

He began to make his way upstairs to bed, legs already tired and practically screaming at the thought of having to climb up the winding staircase. Draco had gotten halfway across the room until a drunken figure approached him and basically fell onto him. “Most likely Blaise or Pansy,” he thought, prying the arms from around his waist and neck. “God, how many…” he groaned. There were more than two arms around him, so it was probably both of his friends who had come to drag him onto the makeshift dance floor. Once he got all the arms off, he started making his way back to the stairs.

“Draco! How about you come back here and have a drink, love?” Pansy exclaimed, grabbing his arm.

Draco looked back. Her lipstick had been rubbed off (he thought he could see a hint of dark crimson smudged on Hermione Granger’s cheek, who was on the outskirts of the mass dancing), and her shirt had been loosened from it’s tucked state it had previously been in.

“Sorry Pans, I’m really not up for it tonight,” Draco said, trying to pull away.

“Come on, Malfoy, loosen up,” he heard Blaise say, who was coming around behind Pansy. Draco thought momentarily about warning her that the dark skinned boy was behind her, but then decided against it, because it would ultimately turn out in his favour if he refrained from notifying her of that information.

Blaise came up behind Pansy and slipped one arm around her waist, resting the other dangerously close to the underside of her breast. The italian began to grind against her and moved the hand up to cup her chest, but was quickly met with Pansy whirling around and slapping him, saying, “Don’t touch me, you fucker!”

Draco chuckled and shook his head. “Something is wrong with them, I swear,” he thought to himself. He knew for a fact that Pansy would wake up in Blaise’s bed tomorrow morning (but no matter what Blaise claimed and how much he would protest, he would never be able to convince Pansy that they did things the night before in that very bed when they most certainly didn’t. “I like my coffee how I like my men, Blaise, and I abhor coffee. I prefer tea,” Pansy would say. Blaise would probably respond by telling her something along the lines about how tea is the opposite of coffee; to that, Pansy would reply with “My point exactly, you arse.”).

He headed up to his room, dragging his exhausted legs up step after step. When he finally reached his room, he collapsed on the bed, only bothering to take his shoes off. He fell asleep practically as soon as his head hit the pillow, and didn’t have to worry about his sleep being interrupted by a roommate due to the odd number of boys who returned for an additional year. So, Draco slept, his head filled with the music of a record player.

As Draco packed up his ballet things after another session of dancing, and started to pull on a sweater, someone in the room sneezed. Draco froze with the sweater halfway on, his arms in the air and the sweater covering his face. Coming back to his senses, he hastily pulled on the sweater and picked up his wand. “Hello?” he called out. A rustle came from by the door, but no one showed. Draco huffed. “I know you’re there,” he said.

Something moved, and then, much to Draco’s surprise, Harry Potter emerged from the shadows. He looked guilty, not enjoying getting caught. “Potter? What are you doing here? How long have you been there?” Draco said, getting worried. The other boy must have seen him dancing.

“I didn’t know you could dance. Well, I knew you could dance, like waltzing and stuff, but I didn’t know you could dance like…” Harry trailed off.

“Like what?” Draco asked sharply.

“Like that,” Harry said simply.

“Yes, well, it’s not like I go around announcing that I do ballet, now do I?” Draco pointed out, getting frustrated.

“Please don’t be mad, I only wanted to see where you were going, and then you got on those weird shoes and I wondered what they were for, so I stayed. I never knew you were going to dance and I’m sorry I invaded you space, but I just couldn’t leave. You looked so calm and graceful and honestly beautiful, Draco, and-”

“Potter, you’re rambling,” Draco said, smirking at the faint blush that dusted the raven haired boy’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Uhm, can you…” he paused.

“Can I what?” Draco prompted.

“Can you call me Harry? I don’t think our last names are fitting anymore, let alone necessary. It just might be easier, but it’s okay if you don’t want to do that. I can-”

“Harry, you’re rambling again.” Draco let a small smile slip past the corners of his lips before he could help it; Harry was amusing, and frankly, a little cute when he got flustered and started talking too much.

“Oh. I didn’t realize,” Harry said, and the blush that hadn’t gone away got deeper.

“It’s fine. And catching me doing… ballet… that’s okay too. But it’s late now, and I haven’t eaten all day,” Draco said, pulling on his shoes. The sky was dark outside of the tall windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how the windows got there and how he could see outside though, he was pretty sure the room wasn’t on an edge of the castle. “I love magic,” he thought to himself.

“Can I come with you? I haven’t eaten at all today either,” Harry said, looking a bit sheepish.

“All day? Does that mean… you followed me here at six in the morning and have been here with me all bloody day?! It’s almost ten at night!” Draco exclaimed.

“That would be correct,” Harry stated. “Can we go now? I’m really hungry.”

“Fine. Kitchens?” Draco asked, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry said, following him. They made their way out and towards the kitchen, stomachs rumbling.

Draco sat in the back of the library, finishing up a potions essay. He always saved his favorite (and easiest) for last. As he finished up the last paragraph, someone sat down across from him, waiting for Draco to acknowledge their presence. Draco glanced up, seeing wire framed emerald eyes. “Yes?” he asked, turning back to his parchment.

“When is the next time you are going to dance?” Harry asked.

“Shh! Me dancing is not your secret to tell, Potter. And why? I danced this morning,” Draco said, frowning.

“I want to watch you again,” Harry stated bluntly.

“And why would you want to do that, Potter?” Draco said slowly, not lifting his eyes to meet the other boy’s.

“Because I liked watching you last time. And what did I say about last names?” Harry huffed.

“I’m not that entertaining, Harry.”

“You are to me. I liked watching you do ballet, Draco. You seem happy when you dance; calm,” the younger boy said.

“That’s because I am. I’m alone and enjoying what I’m doing,” Draco retorted. Essay finished, he rolled it up and put it in his bag.

“I know you like being alone. But I just want to watch again,” Harry pushed, and Draco knew the other boy wasn’t going to give in.

“I’ll dance tonight. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late, or I’ll lock you out,” Draco muttered quietly, getting up and starting to walk out of the library.

“Draco?” Harry called after him.

“What, Potter?” Draco replied, exasperated. He looked back. Harry didn’t correct him.

“Thanks,” Harry said, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah, thank me later,” Draco called back as he walked out of the library fighting a smile.

Draco paced the floor of the Room of Requirement, clock ticking closer to nine every second. Part of him hoped Harry would be late and he’d lock the door and wouldn’t have to dance for him, but another part wanted so badly to dance for Harry, because he knew it would make the other boy happy.

Two minutes to nine, Harry rushed through the door. “Sorry, Hermione wanted me to finish that bloody potions essay and I don’t understand anything that goes on in potions.”

“You could’ve asked me about potions, you know. At least you’re not late,” Draco replied from his new spot on the floor, stretching.

“You’d help me with potions?” Harry asked, surprised and excited.

“Sure, whatever,” Draco said. He got up and put on a new pair of pointe shoes. He knew boys usually didn’t do pointe, but he had tried it years ago and had fallen in love with it. The tall boy carried his wand over to the middle of the floor and spelled the music to start. This time it was Swan Lake, by Tchaikovsky. Draco found he liked muggle composers the most, so most days he ended up dancing to music most wizards had never heard.

He assumed his position in the middle of the room, arms up and on the tips of his shoes. Draco loved dancing to Swan Lake, and he had danced to it so many times he had memorised the music. Since the notes were ingrained in his head, he could usually dance to it without choreography he had already set up. He let the music take control, and the tall boy was off, twirling and leaping around the room. He heard Harry's breath catch when he started to fall gracefully, catching himself just a second before he hit the ground. All part of the dance. The lean boy kept going until the music came to a stop, ending with his hands down and one foot behind the other. Draco slowly opened his eyes when he heard the other boy in the room clapping softly. He gave a small smile to Harry, and then promptly fell to the floor to relieve his aching feet. Harry jumped up and quickly rushed over to Draco. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. “What? Oh, yeah. My feet are tired. All this dancing takes it’s toll,” Draco responded, sprawling out on the floor. “Do you need me to carry you back to the dorms?” Harry teased, leaning over him. “That would be bloody fantastic,” Draco sighed, putting an arm over his eyes. A second after, he felt an arm under his knees and another under his own arm and around his back, then he was being lifted into the air. His eyes flew open. “What the fuck?” he started. “You said you wanted to be carried,” Harry said simply. He tilted his head to Draco's ballet bag and it started floating behind them. “I meant it at a joke, Potter. I never thought you would actually do it!” Draco protested. He made no move to get out of Harry’s arms, though. “Well, do you want me to put you down?” Harry said, walking out of the Room. “No.” Draco rested his head on Harry's chest and closed his eyes, already getting drowsy. Harry laughed, rubbing his thumb in circles on his shoulder as he carried Draco to the dorms. Draco wondered how Harry could carry him at the same time as rubbing his back. Bloody quidditch workouts. The black haired boy was as strong and as solid as a wall. Draco managed to drift off on the walk across the school, and woke up as he was being set down on something comfortable. A bed, maybe. His eyes opened briefly and saw the ceiling of his dorm room just as Harry was about to walk away. Draco caught his hand. “Mmm… thanks,” he murmured drowsily. “Yeah. No problem. Thanks for letting me watch you dance. I meant what I said, you know,” the green eyed boy answered. “‘Bout what?” His speech was still laden with sleep. “You being beautiful when you dance,” Harry stated softly. “Oh.” Draco blushed. He didn't know what else to say. He looked down, fiddling with the blanket Harry had tucked him into. He was still holding a tan hand. Harry gave him a small, happy smile. “Get some sleep, Draco.” “Harry,” Draco started. 

“Yeah?”

He paused, looking down at their joined hands. “Never mind,” he said, dropping the smaller boy's hand. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. Maybe he just wanted to hear the other boy’s name coming from his mouth.

Harry gave him one last smile and brushed his thumb over Draco’s palm before walking out of the room.

Draco came out of the Room of Requirement a few days after Harry had first asked to watch him dance, pulling his long hair up into a loose, messy bun with a hair tie he kept in his bag. He knew his hair was getting too long and he needed to get it cut, but he hadn’t gotten the chance too. Maybe he would go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, since it was going to be Saturday.

Harry had been coming with Draco to watch him dance every day since the first, but he hadn’t been able to make it today. Something about talking to Granger, but he hadn’t really understood Harry’s mumbling. A part of Draco was disappointed Harry couldn’t come, because he knew deep down he liked dancing for the other boy, but Draco pushed it away.

As he walked down the hall, he say Harry coming the other way. “Hey, Draco…” he trailed off, staring at Draco’s face.

“Hi Harry. Care to tell me why you’re staring at me?” Draco answered.

Harry turned and started walking the way Draco was going, the same way he had come. “Um, it’s just… your hair. I like it up like that. A lot.” Harry blushed.

“What, in a bun? I need to cut it,” Draco said, glancing at the other boy.

“Yes, in a bun, but why would you cut it? It looks good,” Harry said, reaching up and twisting a loose strand around his finger.

“Maybe to you. You need a haircut too, to tame that mess you call hair. And I don’t want to cut it all off, just the ends. To keep it healthy,” Draco said, liking the way it felt when Harry touched his hair.

“Oh. Well anyways, I was wondering… Do you want to go to Hogsmeade on tomorrow? With me?” Harry said, dropping his hand and shoving it in his pocket, looking at the stone floor.

“Saturday? I was going to go to Diagon Alley, actually, to get my hair cut. If you want, you can come too. After all, you need a haircut as well,” Draco said, tucking the strand of hair Harry had been messing with behind his ear.

“Oh. Diagon may sound better than Hogsmeade. Maybe I will come,” the shorter boy said, smiling up at him.

“Sounds good. We’ll leave around nine. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall?” Draco replied.

“Brilliant.” They had reached the common room, and the two boys went their separate ways; Harry to Weasley and Granger by the fire, and Draco to Blaise’s room where Pansy probably also was.

Walking into the dorm room (Pansy was there too, of course), Draco dropped his bag by the door and went over to sit on Blaise’s bed with Pansy, frowning slightly.

“Hi love. What are you sour about?” Pansy asked, glancing up from her book.

“Nothing. Where’s Theo?” Draco said, trying to change the subject. He didn’t really feel like talking about Harry at the moment and Theo was an easy subject change since Theo and Blaise were dorm mates.

“Probably snogging some girl,” Blaise said from his desk. He was drawing something, a hobby he had picked up after the war. It calmed him down and offered a distraction like Draco’s ballet, but Blaise’s talent wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew of it.

“Yes, yes. Now, are you going to spill about whatever has gotten you so worked up?” Pansy said, wringing her hands exasperatedly.

“I’m not worked up. It’s just Harry,” Draco replied, frowning even more when he realised his mistake of calling the other boy by his first name in front of his friends.

“Harry? Now he’s Harry. This means development in what, a friendship? More?” Pansy quirked an eyebrow, turning to face Draco. She had closed her book and set it on the table next to the bed, which meant she was genuinely interested and would ultimately pull some information out of Draco he hadn’t planned on disclosing.

Draco leaned back into the pile of pillows, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know. He invited me to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, but I was already going to go to Diagon Alley for a haircut. So then, my stupid arse thought it would be a good idea to bloody invite him to come with me!” he said, small waves of anxiety rushing through him already.

“Oh love, what have you gotten yourself into?” Pansy said, rubbing circles on Draco’s back. It reminded him of how Harry did that only a few days ago.

“I don’t know, Pans! Help!” Draco exclaimed, falling dramatically onto his friend and laying his head in her lap.

“Nice hair, Draco,” Blaise commented from behind Pansy. Draco could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Fuck off, prick,” Draco said miserably.

“Well, maybe this little trip will be beneficial,” Pansy announced, getting back to the real issue at hand.

“How?!” Draco asked.

“Potter is in dire need of a haircut,” Pansy said, humor in her words.

“Pansy!” Draco whined. He knew that Pansy knew that he wanted to hear something specific, but Draco himself didn’t even know what he wanted to hear.

“Okay, sorry. Back to business. Do you have any feelings whatsoever for Boy Wonder?”

“Yes. Feelings of awkwardness and possible friendship,” Draco said stubbornly.

“Do you want help or not, you prat?” Pansy said, looking pointedly at Draco.

“Yes. And I don’t know. He’s bloody fit and all, and has a fucking hero complex and he’s overly nice. I mean, he bloody carried me across the castle in his arms because I was tired, and I liked it!. Fuck! Bloody hell, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Draco cried. “I bloody DO have feelings for the bloody Boy Who Lived!”

“Stop fucking cursing!” Pansy yelled over him.

“I can’t! And don’t be a hypocrite, Pans! How would you feel feel if you discovered you had feelings for…” Draco spluttered. “Granger!”

“I’d be bloody fine! She’s hot. We’ve already shagged.” Pansy said calmly.

Draco shot up from his position on her lap. “What?! I thought she was with Weasley! Is she even gay?!”

“Mate, even I knew about that,” Blaise said.

“Shut up, arsehole,” Draco snapped.

“About a week ago, and she’s pansexual, but that’s besides the point. Now that we’ve determined that you have romantic feelings for the Golden Boy, I want to know how these feelings developed.” Pansy sat back to wait for Draco to answer.

Draco froze. “Should I tell them about ballet?” he thought. Not yet, he decided. If Pansy pushed, though, he knew he’d end up telling his friends the secret he had kept for his whole life. “We’ve been… spending more time together,” he told her.

“What do you mean? What were you doing, Draco? Come on, love. You know I need more than that,” Pansy said.

This was it. He couldn’t lie to them, they could tell when he wasn’t telling the truth, or even telling a half truth. “I need to tell you guys something,” he began.

“Have you two already shagged and the trip to Diagon is just a cover to break the news?” Pansy said, eyes wide. “Oh my god, Draco.”

“No, no. I’ve just been… hiding something from everyone for…” Draco frowned in thought. “Fifteen years.” He waited.

“And?” Blaise said.

“What is it?” Pansy prompted.

Draco took a deep breath. “I’ve done ballet since I was a child, and I have never stopped doing it. That’s what I’ve been doing lately and why I’ve been gone. I go to the Room of Requirement to dance.”

“I knew it! There’s no way you could’ve stayed so thin and muscular all these years without it!” Pansy exclaimed.

“That’s gay. It fits you,” Blaise said mockingly.

“Hush, you prick. Just because dear Draco is gay does not mean it defines him,” Pansy retorted, slapping Blaise’s arm.

“Wow, thanks Pans. That seemed like it came from the heart. It was poetic,” Draco said sarcastically.

“I was defending myself there, too.” Pansy turned her nose up. “Besides, Zabini, you’re in no place to mock us of our lovely gay state. You’re only half gay.”

Blaise laughed. “Whatever, love.”

“You all are weird fuckers. I’m going to my room,” Draco said, shaking his head. “Goodnight.” He walked to the door after kissing Pansy’s cheek.

“You’re no less weird than we are, love.” Pansy replied. “I’m off too, Blaisie.” She kissed Blaise’s cheek and stood up, heading after Draco.

The two headed out of Blaise’s dorm, and Pansy walked to Draco’s room, stopping at the door. “You’ll be fine on your date with Potter. Tomorrow will be fun, love. Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“Thanks, Pans,” Draco kissed her cheek once more before pulling back and straightening.

“Of course. Now get some sleep,” she said, ushering him into his room.

As Pansy walked out to the girl’s dormitories, Draco closed the door and headed to his bathroom, turning the shower water on and stripping off his clothes. Staring in the mirror, he pulled his hair tie out and his hair fell down in a curtain around his face. The white blond haired boy shook his head, wondering what he was was getting into.

Draco stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over his skin. He didn’t know what he was getting into, that much was clear, but he had a feeling at least part of it would turn out for the best.

“PANSY!” Draco shrieked from inside his closet, desperately throwing clothes out and onto his floor. “GET YOUR ARSE IN HERE AND HELP ME!”

He knew his friend was in the common room, and soon he heard feet stomping up the stairs. Draco also knew that Pansy would not be happy with how he called her  to his room.

“What the hell do you want?” Pansy said in greeting when she entered the dorm.

“I don’t know what to wear!” Draco exclaimed, continuing to rummage through his dresser.

“For your date with Potter? Black skinny jeans, light blue dress shirt, grey jumper, and… dragonhide boots. Anything else?” replied exasperatedly.

“Yes. Do you know where any of those are?” Draco asked, sitting on his bed.

Pansy pulled out her wand and summoned each of the clothing items. “Here you go. Don’t worry, love, everything will be fine.” She kissed his cheek and walked out.

“Pansy’s right. There’s nothing to be worried about, it’s just a haircut,” Draco thought. He pulled on his clothes and started walking to the Great Hall.

Harry was already sitting down when Draco got there, with Weasley and Granger. Noticing Draco, he told his friends something and then walked to the blond haired boy.

“Hi,” Harry said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me grab something to eat,” Draco replied, walking up to the closest table and picking up a muffin and a grapefruit.

“Ugh, you like grapefruit?” Harry asked him, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“Yes, Potter. None of that treacle tart you like,” Draco said, stuffing half of the small muffin in his mouth.

“That was quite refined,” Harry quipped, gesturing at his muffin-filled mouth.

Draco flipped him off. Swallowing his bite, he said, “Sorry. I made appointments and I cannot afford to miss them. You can’t either, with the state of your hair.”

“You made a haircut appointment for me too? You didn’t need to do that, you know. What place did you pick, the most expensive? I just go to a muggle place,” Harry replied, tugging on a lock of his hair.

“Yes, it’s expensive, but you’re the Chosen One. You deserve the best,” Draco said, smiling teasingly.

“Shut up. You of all people should know I hate all those names and attention, what with you stalking me half of the time in our first seven years.”

“Right, it was I was the stalker one. Now hurry up, or I’m leaving you here,” Draco retorted, holding out his arm for apparition. Harry took it, and the two of them disappeared in a swirl of colors.

“I told you your hair would look better,” Draco said triumphantly as the two boys walked out of the salon.

“It’s so short!” Harry complained.

“But you like it.” Harry sighed. “Yes, I do. Thanks.”

“Hmm. So, lunch? Where to?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could take you to a muggle place I know of,” Harry said, looking up at Draco uncertainly.

“Is it good?”

“I’d like to think so. A little fancy, but it’s not like we aren’t dressed nicely,” Harry said.

“Okay. Lead the way,” Draco announced.

Harry looked up at the blond boy, smiled, and disapparated.

Harry and Draco arrived back at Hogwarts late afternoon, an hour before dinner. “Thank you, Draco. Honestly. I had a really good time today,” Harry said, stopping in front of the portrait to the eighth year dorms.

“So did I. Maybe we could do this again?” Draco blushed, uncharacteristically nervous.

“I’d like that.” Harry gave him a small smile.

“Okay,” Draco said softly.

Harry gave him one last smile before climbing through the portrait hole. Once he was alone, Draco’s hands flew up to his face and ran through his hair, a huge smile on his face. He couldn’t go into the common room yet, he wouldn’t be able to stay still. So, he resorted to the only other option- dancing.

Draco laid down on the floor of the Room of Requirement, breathing hard. He had no idea what time it was; time tended to slip away when he was dancing. Casting a tempus spell, he groaned and knocked his head against the floor. 12:57. Draco felt dead, like he couldn’t move any of his limbs. He had been dancing for what, almost eight hours? It felt like it had been forever, even though he knew it wasn’t even close to his personal record. Sighing, he dragged himself up and slowly walked to the door. Checking once more to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything, he turned and walked back to the dorms.

When Draco got back to the common room, there was only one light on in the corner, illuminating a sleeping figure. Upon walking further into the room, he saw that the person was Harry, slumped in an armchair with a book draped across his chest. Draco felt heat rising to his cheeks when he noticed the black haired boy’s clothing state. Grey muggle joggers, pulled down to show the elastic band of his… Calvin Klein underwear. “Trust Harry to wear all muggle outfits,” Draco thought. The part that made him blush, though, was the fact that the sleeping boy wasn’t wearing a shirt. His tanned skin was on display for anyone to see, and even though he was slightly hunched over, Draco could see outlines of strong abdominal muscles. Fuck, but Harry was ripped.

Pushing those thoughts out, Draco laid a hand on Harry’s arm and gently squeezed to wake him up. Draco, once again distracted, stared at the contrast between Harry’s skin tone and his own.

“Hmm… what’re you doin’,” Harry sleepily murmured.

“Come on, it’s almost half one. Get up, Harry.” Draco tugged on the boy’s arm, snapping out of his trance.

“Ugh, nooo… Carry me, Draco,” Harry said, his eyes still closed.

“What? No, I can’t.”

“Tryyy,” Harry whined. “I’m too sleepy.”

Draco sighed and bent down, hooking an arm under Harry’s knees and the other under his arms, below his shoulder. Adjusting his grip, he lifted Harry up. Draco took one step before turning back to the chair and dropping the half-asleep boy. “You’re too heavy, Harry. I’m not strong enough to hold you up for even ten seconds,” he said.

“Nooo, Dracooo… then go work out and get some muscles,” Harry protested.

“Okay, I’ll work on that.” Draco chuckled. “Just… come on, Harry. Time for bed. I’ll help you to your room,” The tall boy said softly, holding his hand out.

“Fine,” Harry grumbled, pulling Draco’s arm to get up. Once he was standing, he leaned on Draco heavily, using the other boy to support a good portion of his weight.

The two of them slowly made their way to Harry’s room, Draco practically dragging a very sleepy Harry most of the way there.

Once the door was shut behind them, Draco led Harry over to his bed and had him lay down. “Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well,” Draco said quietly.

“Wait… stay, please? I… I have nightmares, and…” Harry trailed off.

Draco hesitated, only because he wanted to so badly. Wanted to hold Harry and protect him from anything bad, wanted to make him feel happy and protected and needed.

He finally pushed away his doubts and whispered, “Sure, Harry.” Draco went back to the emerald eyed boy’s bedside and sat on the edge of the mattress. Harry blindly grabbed his arm and pulled Draco down next to him. Draco gasped, but gave Harry a small smile and settled down. Harry snuggled into Draco’s chest, resting his head in the crook of Draco’s neck, his hands fisted under his chin and holding onto Draco’s shirt. Draco sighed softly and wrapped his arm around Harry’s body, pulling him close before drifting off to sleep.

Draco woke up to a buzzing sound on the bedside table. His wand, waking him up at six just like every morning. It was then when he noticed the body wrapped around him. “Right,” he remembered. “I’m in Harry’s bed.”

Draco gingerly untangled himself from the sleeping boy, careful not to wake him. Once he was out of the bed, he conjured some parchment and picked up a stray quill lying on the table.

Harry,

I hope you slept well and didn’t have any nightmares. I’m going to the Room of Requirement, but I need some alone time to figure some things out.

Draco

That was okay, right? He didn’t want to make the fact that he didn’t really want to be around Harry at the moment too harsh, seeing as he was the root of his confusion.

Oh well. There was no way to tell for sure, so Draco set the note under Harry’s wand on the bedside table and went to his room to get ready to dance.

Draco spent the next two hours dancing, pondering (mostly) his feelings for a certain black haired Gryffindor. He liked the boy, probably more than he should. Other than his feelings, he thought about how good and warm it had felt to hold said boy in his arms the previous night.

“Gods, he’s taking over my thoughts,” Draco said to himself. It was true; he had caught himself thinking about the other boy increasingly over the last few weeks. It was like his previous school years all over again, but this time, he was mildly obsessing over Harry for entirely different reasons.

He was brought out of his daze by his stomach giving a sharp jolt of pain, which happened when he was hungry due to not eating. Sighing, he wandlessly stopped the music and went over to get his things together.

Draco walked into the Great Hall about ten minutes into breakfast. Sitting down in his usual seat between Blaise and Pansy, he told them good morning before grabbing a grapefruit and muffin. He smiled at his choice of meal, thinking of Harry. Speaking of Harry…

When Draco looked up to glance at the green eyed boy sitting with Granger and Weasley at the Gryffindor table, he was met with Harry looking back at him worriedly. Draco frowned, wondering what was wrong, and Harry’s face dropped. Granger said something to him, gave the boy a tight hug, and then Draco watched Harry get up and practically run out of the Great Hall.

Draco had no idea what had happened, but when he glanced back at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was frowning back at him with an expression identical to what Harry’s had been seconds ago.

“Go,” mouthed Hermione, staring straight at Draco. “Go help him.”

Draco nodded and got up. “I need to go do something,” he told his friends.

“Might this ‘something’ have to do with your boyfriend running out of here a minute ago?” Pansy asked, an eyebrow raised.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Draco muttered, picking up his bag.

“Sure, love. Go take care of him,” Pansy said with a smirk.

“Yes, go love and protect your precious Potter,” Blaise teased.

“Fuck off, Zabini. Go snog Theo or Millie, or do whatever you do when you’re not in class,” Draco shot back with a small smile.

“I’m not gay! I would never shag Theo!” Blaise said incredulously.

“No, you’re not gay. You’re bi and everyone knows. And even if it’s not Theo, it’s some other boy,” Pansy said, patting Blaise’s arm.

“It is not!” Blaise protested, throwing his arms out.

“Whatever. I need to go,” Draco said, chuckling a little.

“Good luck, love,” Pansy called after him as he hurried out of the Great Hall.

Draco jogged to the eighth year dorms, throwing open the portrait and taking a quick glance around the common room before going over to the boy’s dorms. Stopping at Harry’s door, he knocked quietly. “Harry? Are you in there?” he asked.

The door opened slowly to reveal a frazzled Harry Potter, worrying his lower lip. “Why… why are you here? Aren’t you mad at me?” he asked.

Draco frowned. “I was- I’m not mad at you. Why would I be?”

“Your note… You said that you didn’t want to see me,” Harry said, also frowning.

“Damn. I was worried this would happen.” Draco cursed. “I think I worded it wrong. I just needed some time to think away from everyone. Not just you.”

“Oh. So we’re okay?” Harry asked, looking up at him.

“Of course,” Draco said with a smile.

Harry sighed in what seemed like relief. “Good, because I need some serious help with this potions essay,” he said, grabbing Draco’s wrist and pulling the taller boy into his room.

Draco ran as fast as he could to history of magic. He was late, so bloody late! He had missed breakfast because he had forgotten to set an alarm when he danced so he could know when to go to breakfast. Now, he was slipping into a classroom full of practically asleep students because he was so late! He never made mistakes like this, so what was so different about this morning?

He saw Harry waving him over to his desk, motioning for Draco to join him. He smiled gratefully and slipped onto the bench with Harry.

“Where were you? You missed breakfast,” Harry whispered.

“I forgot to set an alarm when I was dancing,” Draco replied, chuckling and shaking his head.

“Ah. Here,” Harry said, rummaging in his bag and coming up with a grapefruit and a muffin.

Draco smiled. “Mmm, thanks. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, bet you were,” Harry said, laughing. Then, he went back to… drawing, all over his left arm. The inside of his forearm was covered in little doodles, ranging from lily flowers to stag antlers to little snitches.

“You draw?” Draco asked, finishing the last of his grapefruit.

Harry’s head snapped towards him. “Erm, a bit. Just little things, not anything like what Zabini does. I want to get some things tattooed when I go into Diagon sometime,” he said, blushing a little bit.

“Wow, Harry. Those are… amazing. Small and simple, but they’re beautiful,” Draco said, smiling.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, smiling in return.

Draco went back to messing with his quill until he felt something cool and ticklish on the back of his left hand. Looking over, he saw that it was Harry, and Harry was drawing. On his skin. Draco’s eyes went wide, and he whispered harshly, “What are you doing?!”

Harry grinned up at him. “Wait a minute, I’m almost done,” he said.

“Ah… fine.” Draco replied, grimacing.

After a few minutes, Harry said, “Done,” and pulled his color thing away. Draco looked at his hand and was startled to see a silver dragon spread across his skin. Broad, elegant wings covered most of his hand, and the body had tiny scales covering it. The eyes, though, were a pop of bright emerald green, standing out against the silver and the white of his skin.

“Merlin, Harry… that…” Draco breathed out.

“Like?” Harry said, biting his lower lip.

Draco looked at Harry. Stared at him, for a second. “The green of the dragon’s eyes is almost identical to the color of Harry’s,” he thought to himself. “Love. I love it, Harry. Thank you.”

Harry’s blush deepened. “You’re welcome. I like drawing on you. I mean, I like it more than drawing on myself, because you skin is so pale, and everything shows up so well, and it’s so soft, and… well, y’know. I just like it,” he said, rambling.

“Thank you,” Draco said again. He looked down at the dragon again, running a finger along the spiked tail. “What are these?”

“The markers? They’re called sharpies,” Harry answered.

“I like them,” Draco stated. “Do you know how long it’ll stay on?”

“Oh, it’ll probably come off if you take a shower or wash your hands a few times. A day, at most,” Harry told him.

Draco frowned. “Damn,” he said.

“Too long? You could probably spell it off,” Harry said.

“What? No! I want it on for longer,” the blond boy said. “I meant it when I said I love it, Harry.”

“Oh. There’s actually a spell or whatever… I made it. It makes the drawing last a week,” Harry said, blushing once again.

“Do it.” Draco held his hand out, and felt a searing pain wash over the dorsal side of his hand. It was over quickly, but he still hissed and rubbed it after. “You didn’t tell me it would hurt!” he whispered harshly to Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to expect it because expecting it kind of makes it worse.”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” Draco murmured, running a delicate finger over the dragon again.

“Yeah, no problem,” Harry said.

Draco spent the rest of the lesson studying his dragon.

The next week, life went normally. Nothing big happened, and Draco was thankful for the quiet week. Two days after his dragon wore off, Thursday, Draco sat next to Harry in history of magic with a goal to achieve. Ten minutes into class, when the professor was droning on and the vast majority of the class was asleep, Draco nudged Harry and asked, “Did you bring your… sharpies?”

Harry’s face immediately brightened. “Yeah,” he said, and ducked down to dig in his bag.

Draco took a deep breath. It was going to be fine, Harry wouldn’t mind. After all, if he did, he probably wouldn’t be friends with Draco.

“Want your dragon again?” Harry said, bringing Draco out of his thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. But, in a different place, I think. And… I want something else, too,” Draco answered nervously.

“Okay. I’ll do the dragon first. Same colors?”

“Yeah, inside of my right forearm at the top.” Draco rolled up his sleeve.

“Under your elbow? Cool,” Harry said, getting the correct colors out of his pack of markers.

Draco set his arm up on the table, and brought out his book to read while Harry was working. He didn’t really pay attention to the words, though. He was focused on the feeling of the cool tip of the sharpie against his skin.

It wasn’t long until Harry was done, and Draco felt the spell sear through his skin. He hissed, but when he looked over, the dragon, being even better than the previous one, was worth every single bit of pain.

“It looks even better this time,” Draco commented.

“Yeah, I agree. So, you wanted another?” Harry said, looking up at him.

“Two more, actually. Second… pointe shoes on the outside of my wrist,” Draco said, holding up his right arm again. “But no color. Just the outline.”

Harry bit his lip, then grabbed a quill and did a quick sketch on a stray piece of parchment. “Like this, Draco?” he asked, turning the parchment towards the blond.

“Exactly,” Draco said, smiling.

“Okay,” Harry said, getting a skinny black sharpie out. He sat to work on the small design, not taking long. He was done after a few minutes, saying, “Done,” and releasing Draco’s wrist.

“Perfect. This is exactly what I was envisioning, Harry,” Draco praised.

“Thank you again,” Harry said, blushing. “Now, the third one?” he prompted.

Draco bit his lip and looked down at his lap. “Good thing we’re in the back of the classroom, I have a quick escape if this goes badly,” he thought.

Looking up, he gathered up some courage and took a deep breath. “I want you to draw flowers over my Dark Mark.”

Draco waited for Harry’s response, biting his lip again. “What if he doesn’t take it well? What if he absolutely hates me for asking to do this, and then never talks to me again? What if-” his thoughts were cut off by Harry’s voice.

“Really?” he heard.

Draco’s head snapped up to look at him. “Um, yeah. I mean, you don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to-” he stopped as soon as he felt Harry’s arms around him.

“Of course I’ll do it,” Harry said, voice muffled in Draco’s neck.

“You will?” Draco breathed in a quiet voice.

“I’d love to.” Harry pulled back, his eyes bright.

“Oh Merlin, I thought you’d say no,” Draco said.

“Of course not,” Harry said. “Now, the important part. What kind of flowers do you want?”

Draco had thought about this. He wanted flowers that meant something. So, he pulled out the list he had made the night before.

Narcissus and pink carnation - for Mum

White chrysanthemum - loyal love, for friends

Gardenia and blue roses - secret love and desire for the unattainable

Statice - remembrance and success, for Harry

Yellow roses - friendship

Green roses - wishes for a prosperous new life, for starting over. For anyone in the war

One black rose - death and farewell, mourning for the war

“Wow, you really did research on this,” Harry said.

“Yeah. I charmed it so if you tap the name of the flower with a revealing spell, it’ll show a picture of the flower,” Draco said. He wanted to get this perfect.

“Okay. Do you want it covering your Mark completely, or around it and between the lines?” Harry asked.

“I can’t have it covered completely… I need a reminder that I’ll see every day of my bad choices, so I won’t do anything like that ever again,” Draco said softly.

Harry gave him a small smile. “I’m proud of you, Draco. You know that, right? You’ve become an amazing person; you’ve grown so much,” Harry said quietly.

“Thank you, Harry. You don’t know how much that means to me.” Draco looked up at him with a smile.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco once more, squeezing him tight. Draco help back, basking in the moment.

Draco pulled away, taking a deep breath. “Okay, Harry. Do it.” he said.

Draco was softly shaken awake from his light sleep he had fallen into while Harry was drawing. “Draco, I’m done. Want to see it?” he heard Harry ask.

“Yes…” he said, blinking awake. He was nervous to look, for some reason. But, when he did look, he felt a tear sliding down his face. Wiping it away, he looked up at Harry. “Thank you so much, Harry. I love it more than I can say.” Draco pulled Harry to his chest, never wanting to let go.

Harry.

Harry, who, even after fighting a personal war for seven years until everyone knew what it was like, didn’t bat an eye at the very mark of his old enemy.

Harry, who was nicer and more compassionate and loving than anybody Draco knew.

Harry, who went as far a befriending Draco, when Draco himself knew that he had done nothing worthy of Harry’s time and devotion.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” Draco heard Harry whisper. “I’m proud of you Draco. I mean it.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco murmured back. “Thank you so much.”

Draco stood outside a shop in Diagon Alley, trying to bring himself to walk in and tell the people what he wanted. He stood for many more minutes, even though he knew this is what he wanted most.

When he finally walked in, everything went smoothly. He told an employee what he wanted, and hours later, he was done.

Draco Malfoy walked out of that shop in Diagon Alley with three new tattoos.

When Draco got back to Hogwarts, it was already dinner. He skipped dinner, though, opting for what he needed. Dance.

He danced for hours, well into the night. He danced harder than he ever had before, throwing himself completely into the pirouettes and arabesques. Draco couldn’t think of a time he had put so much emotion into dance. It wasn’t like all those feelings had suddenly appeared.

No, they hadn’t just appeared. They had been growing inside him for a while. All this love, pride, adoration. Guilt. He knew how he had gotten through his days with all these emotions manifesting inside him, too. Harry. It had always been Harry, and now wasn’t any different.

Draco finally fell to the floor, exhausted. He laid there for a while, before dissolving into laughter. Not just small chuckles, but bouts of laughter that Draco had always thought of as addictive. Everyone joined in once someone started laughing like that.

He was howling with laughter after a few minutes, and it felt good. No, good wasn’t the right word… it felt amazing. Letting go of everything… “I should do this more often,” Draco thought.

He finally pulled himself together, unable to keep a wide grin off his face. Draco summoned his dance bag and wand, and walked out of the Room of Requirement. How was it that something so simple made everything so much better?

Draco got back to his dorm at nearly half three in the morning. He flopped into bed carelessly, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Exactly a week after Draco went to Diagon Alley, he was standing in front of Harry’s door about to knock when Harry himself opened the door and almost ran into Draco.

“Draco, hi! I was just going to come and find you!” Harry said, grinning widely.

“Oh, yeah. Um, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Diagon with me. I’m going to the quidditch shop,” Draco said. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he rubbed his fingers nervously.

“Funny. I was going to ask if you wanted to go to George’s shop. So in that case, yes, I’ll come with you. I want a new practice snitch anyway,” Harry said brightly.

“Good. Um, leave now?” Draco asked, some of his nerves going away.

“Sure,” Harry replied. The two of them started walking to the courtyard, where a good portion of the student body was getting ready to leave, whether it was to Diagon Alley or to Hogsmeade. Harry and Draco wove through the mass of people, finally getting out of the crowd. “Ready?” Harry asked, holding his arm out for apparition.

“Yep,” Draco replied. He grasped Harry’s arm, and they disappeared with a zip.

They landed in Diagon a second later, and Draco had to catch Harry before he toppled over. This didn’t work, because Harry ended up pulling Draco down with him. They started laughing, Draco draped across Harry. Draco pulled himself off of the other boy, smiling in adoration when they calmed town. Harry looked over at him, and their eyes met.

Harry broke the eye contact, smiling and biting his lip shyly, looking down at his lap. Draco’s smile widened at the blush, and he stood up, offering a hand to help Harry. Harry took it and grinned, not letting go. “Let’s go!” he said happily, pulling Draco into the store.

Draco allowed himself to be dragged into the store, watching Harry let go of his hand and be immediately drawn to the rack of newly released brooms.

Draco went over to the section of jerseys, looking through them before picking a few out. He walked over to pay, but was pulled away from the register when Harry shrieked, “Draco!”

He hurried over to Harry, worried that something was wrong. “What? Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, look! What have they done?” Harry said, his voice high.

Draco looked at what harry was pointing to. “A Harry Potter figurine playing quidditch,” he said, laughing. “Oh yes, what have they done?”

“Who would want that?” Harry asked him. “It doesn’t even look like me!”

“I have no idea,” Draco said, picking up one of the figurines. “Why anyone wouldn’t want one of these,” he finished. He shot a grin to Harry over his shoulder as he walked to the register.

“You’re getting one?!” Harry shrieked. “Draco!”

Draco chuckled as he put mini Harry on the table and paid for everything, including Harry’s forgotten practice snitch. “Let’s go, Harry,” he called over to the boy who was, once again, looking at the brooms. Draco walked out, Harry trailing behind him.

“Whyyyy,” Harry whined, hooking an arm around Draco’s bent elbow. “You’re gonna tease me about that forever now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry dear. I just picked up some jerseys, that’s all,” Draco said, feigning ignorance and innocence. He looked over at Harry and smiled down at him. Harry groaned let his head fall against Draco’s shoulder and they walked. Draco laughed and slipped his arm out of Harry’s grasp so he could intertwine their fingers. Harry blushed and squeezed the grey eyed boy’s hand.

They walked around Diagon Alley for the rest of the day, talking and laughing together. They basked in each other’s presence for hours, just being happy together.

When it started getting dark, they found a muggle park with a lake to watch the sun set. Draco sat under a tree, leaning against the trunk, while Harry laid down on the grass and curled up with his head on Draco’s thigh. Draco slowly threaded his fingers through Harry’s hair, enjoying the moment. He set an alarm to alert them when they needed to be back at Hogwarts, and drifted off, one hand holding Harry’s and the other in his hair.

A few days after Harry and Draco’s second trip to Diagon, they sat in the library together, studying. The two boys had been spending almost all of their time together, and neither of them had a problem with that.

Draco was finishing an essay when Harry said, “Have you been dancing?”

Draco startled. Harry’s question had come out of nowhere, but Draco could understand why he had asked. “A little. Not as much as I’d like to be. Why?” he replied.

“I wanna watch you again,” Harry stated bluntly.

“We could go now, if you want. I’m done with my essay,” Draco suggested, putting the essay into his bag.

“Really? Let’s go, then,” Harry said, grinning widely. He stuffed his parchments into his own bag and stood up.

Draco chuckled. “Okay. We have to go by the dorms, though, for my stuff,” he said.

“Alright,” Harry responded. He started walking out, looking back to make sure Draco was coming with him.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming too. No need to check,” Draco said, laughing.

Harry blushed. “I know,” he said when Draco caught up with him. The two walked out of the library and stopped at the eighth year dorms before going to the Room of Requirement.

As Draco was putting his ballet shoes on, Harry asked, “How do you even do all your dance things? Like, how do you learn all of the moves and remember them?”

Draco looked up, surprised at his question. “I started young, and I took a ton of lessons before Hogwarts. Then, when I got to Hogwarts, I went home as often as I could to take more lessons. I also never stopped practicing,” he said. Then, he got an idea. “Want me to teach you some stuff?”

Harry burst out laughing. “Really? I’m the clumsiest person ever.”

“Well, even if you totally stink, it’d be loads of fun. Come on, I’ll show you the positions first,” Draco said persuasively.

“Really?” Harry asked, standing up.

Draco grinned. “Yeah,” he said, holding his hand out.

They spent the next few hours laughing and falling and dancing. Harry was clumsy and wouldn’t ever want to take an actual lesson, but it was time well spent anyway. The thing Draco loved most about spending time with Harry was that they fit so well together. More than anyone would think, considering their history.

When Harry finally got too tired to go on, the two boys walked back to the dorms, making fun of Harry’s dancing the whole way. They got into the common room and immediately toppled onto the couch, Draco sprawled in a corner and Harry laying halfway on top of the taller boy.

It was in the library when the next big thing happened. Draco was reading, and Harry was drawing. It had been a week and a half after Draco had gotten the tattoos, so when he turned to doodle on Draco’s arm, he expected the dragon to be gone.

“Draco, did you put another charm on the drawings? To make them stay longer?” Harry asked, confused.

Draco turned and heat immediately flooded his face. “No, I didn’t. Why don’t you try and take the drawings off, Harry?” he said softly, looking into Harry’s green eyes.

“Erm, okay,” Harry said. He tried a cleaning charm first, and when that didn’t work, he tried others. Almost panicking, he looked up to Draco. “I- I can’t! They won’t come off, Draco. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry-”

Draco cut him off. “I didn’t want them off, Harry, so I went to Diagon…” he trailed off. Draco pulled up his left sleeve. “I wanted them to stay on forever.”

Harry took a sharp breath. “Draco… Did you…”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I tattooed your drawings.” Draco looked at Harry, trying to figure out what he was feeling, but was unable to.

Harry slowly looked up at him before something flashed in his eyes. Before Draco could say anything, Harry’s lips were on his.

Draco kissed him back. When he pulled away, he looked Harry straight in his eyes and whispered, “I love you, Harry. That’s why I did it.”

Harry gasped. “Oh my god, Draco,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to say-” Draco started.

“No, Draco. I do have to say it. I… I’ve loved you for a while,” Harry said, smiling. “I love you too, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smiled back and kissed Harry again before he said, “Thank you for everything, Harry. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me.”

Harry kissed him back, thinking about how happy he was that he had watched Draco dance that first day.

fin

ballet part is inspired by @incorrect-drarry-quotes

flower/dark mark part is inspired by @dorthyanndrarry and @upthehillart ‘s draco portrait and @ppaddfoot

#drarry #my writing #draco malfoy #harry potter #one shot #magicaldrarry writes

[the-martyr-of-love]

Jeff The Killer: Come Over

“Excerpt from local news paper, ominous unknown killer still at large. The spree of gruesome murders continues as authorities…”  

Piper scrolled past the Facebook article after reading the first few sentences and continued aimlessly scrolling her feed to find something to peak her curiosity. She often did this, sat alone in her basement bed room, procrastinating doing meaningless tasks she deemed more important then the ones at hand, such as work or school.

Her bedroom was a regular sized room with a double bed pressed against the wall in the middle, with her computer desk to one side and her make-up desk to the other. The walls and ceiling of the room were painted in a distasteful bright red which gave the room a heavy unnerving feeling when basking in it for too long. There was only 1 window in the room, above the make-up desk covered with an old dirty curtain which hasn’t seen the washing machine in years. You can only see the ground level of the driveway from the window where occasionally one of the dozen people who live in the house would walk by. The window was old and cracking, common for windows for basements in the foundation of a home.

Her clothes were sprawled out all over the room, which mainly consisted of underwear and leggings. The room held the scent of a cheap no name brand Febreze like product and the stench of body odor occasionally mixed into the smell.  

She opened a new tab and went to Tumblr to see if there was anything worth surfing there. After a few seconds of being on her newsfeed, a notification sound sliced the silence in the room and her eyes filled with light as she finally had something else to do, rather than mindlessly surfing. She received a Facebook message from her ex boyfriend Peter. He asked if he can come over again tonight with a winky face.

Peter had repeatedly lied and deceived her countless times, but this did not bother her. As much as she enjoyed putting others through pain, she enjoyed being in pain just as much. They still slept together plenty after “breaking up” but Piper dare not tell a soul. She was being abused and she knew it. On one occasion he came over and made her do an entire college level essay of over 8000 words and as a reward he throat fucked her and dumped all his semen down her throat into her stomach. Afterwards she was crying in her bed and asked him to stay the night, he simply walked out with his newly finished essay and empty balls and said “Nah I want to wake up in my own bed” and walked upstairs without even a thank you.

Piper pondered before answering the message. Piper told her friends that she was going to start living life for herself after the break up and didn’t want a man to be the main focus in her world. This was just one of the many lies she told the people around her to make herself seem like a dependant strong willed person. She often showed the world this strong side of herself only to indulge in the exact opposite of what she told her close friends and loved ones, to keep life interesting and fun. To Piper people’s feelings were nothing more than a poorly made sauce that clouded the flavor of what she can truly get out of a person. Manipulation was like breathing for her and she did it with such grace and finesse even the most strong-willed person would succumb to it eventually.

She messaged him back saying “Yeah in a bit, I’m going to clean my room and do my dishes and shower first.”

A classic message she sent to everyone before they come over. As she sent the message another notification popped up and her eyes focused on the new person who graced her with attention.

“Hey! we are still hanging out later right?”

Piper let out a deep sigh and closed the chat box without alerting that she read the message.

Blake was told by Piper, that he was Piper’s best friend and did anything for her. It was extremely evident that Blake had feelings for Piper, but she would never admit it. Blake after all was the man she was seeing while still with Peter and she used him as a scapegoat to break off the relationship. To achieve this sense of freedom in which she never felt before. Blake and Piper shared many intimate and deep experiences and told each other their deep and dark secrets. Blake never understood why she would hangout more often with a person who abused her than with someone who was eternally on her side. Piper hated those deep conversations when hanging out with Blake. She had to fake empathy and understanding when in reality she could not have cared less about how he felt.

She enjoyed surrounding herself with people who struggled with addictions and mental illnesses as a sick fetish. It was attractive to her. It was easy to groom these people into a false sense of security and have access to their heads as if strings were attached to her fingers and she made them dance.

Piper had many guys like Blake in her life, and it never dawned on her the severe impact messing with people’s feelings have on a victim. As a woman she lived and played the roll of the victim easily countless times to justify her cruel and manipulative habits.

She opened the chat box once again and wrote “Sorry I have plans tonight :/” Promises to her had less value than the penny and she did not mind creating and severing them at will. Blake responded instantly with a sad face and said,

“Oh I really needed to see you tonight, you promised….”

Piper rolled her eyes to his response and said, “Well I changed my mind.” And that was the end of that, promises can be severed as long as you say you changed your mind.

Piper was about to get up and start organizing her room for Peters arrival when a loud bang was heard outside her window. Instantly she jumped and swung her head around to look at the window. She could see nothing outside at the ungodly hour of 3 am and instantly felt a tinge of fear. She quickly dove towards the window and pulled her curtain shut, as she often did when she got scared. She shook the feeling of fear off and proceeded to pick up her underwear from the floor.

20 minutes went by and she found herself back on her computer and her room still was a pigsty. She was scrolling through her Tumblr feed for the millionth time when the noise came again, but this time louder and with more impact.

Her heart instantly sunk to her chest as the realization that the noise was not the wind started to creep in. It was 3:20 am, there was no reason for anyone to be near her window, let alone in her driveway. She spun in her chair to face the dark creaky window and stared at it for a few seconds. She thought about running upstairs to tell her father but didn’t want to wake him from his deep slumber. She ruminated over the possibilities of what made the noise and just as she was about to push the fear out of her mind the window shattered inwards into hundreds of pieces and a cold winter wind gushed into the room, sucking all the heat out in a heartbeat.

Piper’s brain didn’t register what happened until all the shattered pieces lay still and quiet on the floor. Her heart rate increased and her eyes dilated so large that it seemed she was on some sort of drug. She dug her hands into the armrests on her chair, about to leap up and run out of this now nightmare of a room but before she had time to lift herself from her seat she heard a voice.

“Don’t move a muscle!”

The voice was low and raspy but with enough power to tell that whoever was behind it meant what they said. In that instant a figure flew into the room legs first almost impressively swift and landed in front of the make-up desk.

Piper gazed up at the person, or what she thought was a person now standing in her cold glass filled red room. It was wearing black dress pants and dress shoes and a white hooded sweatshirt with deep dark brown stains which she realized was dried blood. The outfit of this thing was the least of her worries as soon as she caught a glimpse of its face.

Its skin was impossibly white with a wrinkled leather like texture and its eyes were so yellowed that they appeared to be rotting inside its skull. The most terrifying part of this thing’s appearance was its mouth. It had a large permanent smiled etched into its face which spread impossibly from ear to ear as it focused its’ eyes upon her.  

She knew that word-craft wouldn't work here. Just as people's feelings meant next to nothing to her, she knew her words would have no effect on the beast that stood before her. Her lips twitched as if to try to manipulate her way out of the situation, like she had done countless times through out her life but stopped herself. She knew it was futile, even though lies and manipulation flowed so smoothly through her mouth, they were meaningless in the eyes of true evil

After what felt like an eternity of staring at this creature, Piper found that now would be a good time to scream as loud as she could. Just as her mouth was about to open to let out a blood curdling and desperate scream, the thing moved at blinding speed and covered her mouth with its long white fingers.

“Shhhhhhhhh, don’t want to wake up daddy now do we?”  

Its hand was grasped unnaturally tight around her mouth and she could now feel that the skin had the exact same texture as cheap leather. It kept its hand over her mouth staring into her eyes with an inhumane animalistic stare. If the putrid eyes 3 inches from her face wasn’t enough for her to pass out, the stench that emanated from its hands could do the trick. The smell of metallic blood and rotted flesh made her start to cry as the creature slowly released its grip from her face.  

Piper stayed sitting, shivering from the intense fear she just endured and the cold merciless winter air that kept pouring into the room. It started moving its hands towards the pockets of its dress pants and slowly pulled out a large blood-soaked kitchen knife.

The sight of the knife allowed Piper to find her voice again and was about to scream only to be silenced by the other hand crushing her throat in one squeeze. She lay in her chair twitching as this thing climbed on top of her holding the knife high into the air.

“Its late, you should be in bed”

Piper just laid their twitching and closed her eyes, for she couldn’t accept that this was reality and tried to escape into the comfort of her mind.

“Here let me help you, now, Go To Sleep!”

With its hand still crushing her windpipe, Jeff slowly traced the knife on the side of her face until it found its mark in the middle of her forehead. He started twisting the knife back and forth playfully to savor every moment in pure ecstasy. Once he realized he couldn’t help himself anymore, he slowly started to press the knife in between her eyelids and then with one powerful swift thrust, he drove the knife straight into her skull. All that was heard was a satisfying crack as the blade disappeared into the cranium of the cadaver once know as Piper. With her throat crushed she wasn’t even granted to opportunity of a last breath before she died.    

Jeff ripped his trusty knife from out of the dead girls’ skull and licked the knife pridefully with purpose. He glanced around the room with a look of disgust on his face until his eyes fell upon the computer screen. A chat box was flashing, and the message came from a Peter.

“So, can I come or what?”

Jeff rolled the chair with Pipers body to the side and leaned over to the computer screen.

“Come over” Piper replied

As Peter saw this message, he glanced at his clock that read 3:30 am and didn’t bother to answer. He leaped up to drive over to her house in the icy winds of the night.

#Creepypasta #Venting #Jeff #Jeffthekiller #Truestory #True #Story