Olivia
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D.S. Brandt, Author Goblin
@VaudevilleVerne
Three goblins in a trench coat determined to provide weird wonderful fiction.
Author of In the Giant's Shadow, contributor to OT Magazine.
Long live the pulps!
Joined March 2022
26 Following
5 Followers
19 Posts
I reviewed the first novel in Mrs. Snow's WATCHER of the DAMNED series, Transmutation Texas, last month. Suffice it to say that my praise was glowing, and for damn good reason. If you've not yet read anything by @WatcherDamned and have been curious whether its for you, give my review a read. It might just convince you how worth your time it is.
https://t.co/GpsMqMc314
WATCHER of the DAMNED: DATING💖
❤️🔥Find a Random Girl in the Woods
❤️🔥Help her improve combat skills
❤️🔥Gun down Monsters together
❤️🔥Scavenge Swag together
❤️🔥Battle her Psychotic Ex and some Armies
❤️🔥Bring Down Oppressive World Government
❤️🔥WIN
ILLUSTRATION: WATCHER of the DAMNED
Making good progress on the album. Had the chance to do a full vocal day yesterday and got 3 entire songs done. Got 3 more remixes done this morning. There are several I probably won’t even need to re-approach vocally.
Pulling weeds. The garden is looking great 😎
Good morning, X.
Those of you who follow me on Substack know what's going on here, but for those who don't, welcome to the daily docket. This is a simple little endeavor wherein I share my daily writing and reading activities across Substack and beyond, an easy way of keeping myself on track and highlighting some work I've been enjoying lately alongside a small art showcase. Figure it could work just as well here as it does there, so, here's today's docket.
Reading:
Chapter 17 of @MaKennaGrace84 and @b_mo28812’s serialized supernatural romance, The Space Between.
Chapter 8 of Beneath the Wolfmoon's serialized grimdark novella, Godfang.
Continued reading of Bondsmith's novel, In Sunlight and Frost for this month’s Twelve From the Stack review.
Writing:
Work is underway on a second edition edit of my book, In the Giant’s Shadow, slated for completion at the end of this month.
I've also released a review for the inaugural issue of Roman Riva's OT Magazine, a new independent men's magazine featuring a number of short stories and essays from talented writers like Frank Kidd, Vera Vos, Nick August, and more. Read it here: https://t.co/Bzbbte6b9y
As for this week's art feature, I'll be sharing work from the late pulp pinup artist Earle K Bergey.
I could just explain it, or...
Give me another day. I feel a follow-up coming 😉
Harry, I miss you so much. Even if you don't reply to me, I'll write to you every day so you'll know that you are loved! I know it's hard for you in your foster family, but remember: I am your family, and you will never be alone again!
Lying on her belly in bed, Dracaena Malfoy read her own words back to herself, the long edges of the paper clutched tight between thumbs and forefingers. Good enough wasn't good enough. Harry hadn't responded to any of her letters yet, and hearing what she had about his miserable muggle family, she assumed that nasty aunt and uncle of his must've kept the pens and pencils from him, too.
At the very least she could be sure they were reaching him. She was a Malfoy, after all. She wasn't about to rely on the slow and inefficient mail services of the muggle world. Heaven forbid the very idea! No, the use of a carrier bird and a reliable mouse or two would be more than enough to see the job done.
But first, she had to get the letter right. She read what she'd written again, thumbs slowly rubbing back and forth against the paper's edge, wearing it, softening its floral borders. It was fine, she had plenty of stationary. If this wasn't good enough, she'd toss it in the bin and start again.
Word choice. She was satisfied with how it conveyed her feelings, but were there better ways to phrase it? Harry spent a lot of time with that Grainger girl, and much as she hated to admit it that little mudblood was sharp, both of the mind and of the tongue. That's why she'd spent so much time perfecting this one. It wasn't enough for Harry to understand how she felt, he needed to feel it in her words!
Unable to think of anything better, she moved onto her penmanship. Was it legible enough? Pretty enough? Too pretty? Potter had lived a peasant's life for a long time. Maybe those little flourishes she liked were too much for him?
No. No, that was silly. Potter had wonderful penmanship himself. Penmanship she'd love to see again, to trace with her eyes as she held his own letter in her hands. Curse his nasty relatives for not allowing him to write her back!
Leaning her cheek against her hand, Dracaena huffed and set the page down. All that left was to finish, then. Write the final words, wrap it in the envelope, seal it with wax, then send it away.
She stared at the second page, still blank. Should she tell him? Her heart raced at the thought.
The rest of her letters hinted at her feelings, but didn't truly express them. She'd never written about how seeing him made her feel light and dizzy. How he made her heart race and the skin in her cheeks feel hot. How she liked the green of his eyes, or how cute those silly round specs looked on him, or how his courage and loyalty reminded her of fairytale heroes. She wanted to capture all of that, but how?
Grumbling to herself, she kicked her feet and stared in expressionless thought. Across the room from her bed, an old grandfather clock ticked away, polished brass pendulum swaying back and forth. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
And then they came to her, the ideal words to let Harry know exactly what she felt! Grabbing the blank page, she took a breath to steady the excited shake in her hand. Then she dipped her quill.
I'm counting the minutes until we meet at Hogwarts, and I'm always waiting for your letters!
I love you,
Dracaena Malfoy
She beamed, almost giving into the urge to hug the letter to her chest. Thank goodness she hadn't, that would've crumpled the paper and ruined all her hard work! Satisfied at last, she carefully folded the floral print stationary, set it inside an envelope of cream gold, and sealed it with red wax. Then she handed it off to the servants to have it delivered.
Dracaena trembled on her bed, giddy with nerves and excitement. She'd done it. She'd written the words, and sent them, too! Oh, how she wished she could see his face when he read the letter, but she'd have to satisfy herself with waiting. Within a couple days, the one she held most dear would hold her heart's confession in his hands.
Yet there was another who stood even closer to young Dracaena. A man, one whom she loved, admired, and feared.
Lucius had put up with his daughter's childish infatuation at first. It was tiresome, but harmless, or so he once believed. He disliked the idea of his progeny involving herself with those of lesser stock, and the thought of who had taken her attention only irked him further, but he trusted in his teachings and her discernment. Trusted in the iron rod of his discipline, and that trust was rewarded for a time.
But as all such things do, Dracaena's infatuation grew. Her letters were longer, more heartfelt, rich with young passion. Beautiful, if not for the creeping poison they represented.
He considered putting a stop to it, but that would anger her, turn her against him. He needed her on-side. He stood to gain the favor of the mightiest wizard this world had yet seen. Only two obstacles stood in his path. All others he could step over, but these two yet barred him—a doddering old headmaster, and the Boy Who Lived. If he were to succeed, these obstacles must be removed, and Dracaena was his key.
The letter was soft to the touch, as if worn. She must have worked the paper between her fingers as she considered the words she wished to write. A shame. They had been beautiful in their sentiment, but he could not allow them to leave the manor. He would not suffer his own daughter's infatuation to ruin his carefully laid ambitions.
Better to be rid of them, but how best to do so? The answer came over the letter's edge, hot and bright in the fireplace at his study's far end. Burn them away, leave naught but ash of her words.
Dracaena had already tasked the servants mailing the letters in secret, but dutiful creatures that they were, they brought them to him for inspection first. His solution was simple. They'd continue doing as they had, retrieving Dracaena's letters, bringing them to him in secret to be destroyed. The servants wouldn't know, nor would they speak of it if they learned. They understood well enough the consequences that awaited them should they betray his trust.
Potter would never see the letters, and Dracaena would never know they went unsent. All Lucius need do was wait. The holiday would pass with the letters unanswered, and come the next term she'd discover Potter never read them. Ideally she'd pin the blame on a perceived callousness from the Boy Who Lived from the start. If she didn't, then her loving father would be ready with the right words to plant that seed of doubt.
He'd worked too long to position himself for what was to come. Too long to let a schoolgirl's crush undermine all he'd set in motion. He did not relish the idea of hurting his progeny so, but some things were simply more important than mere sentiment.
"You will never be alone again," he murmured as the flames consumed the words upon the stationary. "Pitiable boy. You'll be more alone than you can know."
#Malfoid #HarryPotter #LuciusMalfoy #fanfiction
#fanart
#Malfoid writes a letter to #HarryPotter
Harry, I miss you so much. Even if you don't reply to me, I'll write to you every day so you'll know that you are loved! I know it's hard for you in your foster family, but remember: I am your family, and you will never be alone again!...
I directly blame @MaskedBatter and @facer360 for this. This is a continuation of my latest flash-fic earlier today inspired by @propermint's artwork. You can read the inciting thing here: https://t.co/nFyjJni4iN
A Trip to Hogsmeade - Part 1 -
"You know, I never learned who it was that gave you the permission slip for this. With the way the rumors circulated, I figured those horrid muggles you live with would've never done you the favor of it."
"Malfoy, could we please not speak of this?"
Draceana Malfoy made her way with long and graceful steps through the snow-frosted cobble of the Hogwarts Courtyard, Harry Potter in tow. She spoke with a certain lilt to her voice, her hand wrapped around Potter's arm and her words half muffled by the scarf that somewhat covered the front of her mouth.
"I'm just wondering! Perhaps 'The Boy Who Lived' wasn't the only one of his family who 'Lived'."
Harry's face soured, an already annoyed look across his features turning morose. The girl noted this, clearing at her throat and shifting her gaze elsewhere.
"...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just curious, is all. You never took my offer last year, the one for my mother or father to write you a slip." Her voice grew just a bit more quiet, frayed at the edges.
"It wouldn't have worked." Harry answered, with a certain gruffness he didn't really like himself. "Only a parent or guardian can do it. They're neither. Neither are the Weasleys, before you make another insipid comment about them." He was irritable, to say the least, and Malfoy elected to keep her quiet.
They walked together through the courtyard, the blistering whites of snowfall all around and over them, with very few souls left anywhere around. It wasn't an uncommon sight to Harry, and indeed this would be a rather calm stroll out to Hogsmeade were it not for present circumstance. Still, the two of them huddled up to themselves for warmth in their thick coats, a foot or two apart from each other even though they walked at exactly the same pace.
They walked past the courtyard and through the bridge and out towards the Scottish Highlands with nary a word spoken between them, though by then Draceana had begun to anxiously press against her hand and toy with her scarf and a few strands of her hair. Harry was no different, the boy keeping his hands deep within his pockets and fiddling with the lint of them and his gloves therein.
Finally, Malfoy opened her mouth to speak. "Potter... I..."
Harry interrupted her. "Why are you doing this, Malfoy? I've had enough to deal with this year without all of this, haven't I?"
The girl found herself taken aback by the question. "What do you mean?"
"All of this! Ever since last year, ever since..." He bit his tongue, preventing himself from mentioning the injury of her arm. An injury that now had never existed to anyone but three. "...ever since I pulled you away from Buckbeak."
"...I've been exactly the same, thank you very much." Came the girl's response, which her eyes told Harry she didn't even believe herself.
Because she truly hadn't. Not for a year now. She'd stopped being nearly as cruel, started teasing him in new ways which slipped past his usual defenses. He could deal with cruel and unruly Malfoy-- he'd been doing so for years at that point. But this? This was completely different. This was intimate. Personal. And it made him all the more wary of when the inevitable shoe drop would come.
"You haven't been. You know you haven't been. Don't lie to yourself, Malfoy. What do you want from me? Truly, what?!" He'd stopped, maybe a fifth of the way through the pathway which would take them near the Quidditch Pitch and out towards the outer gate to the Scottish Highlands.
"...." Malfoy's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Harry spread his arms wide, motioning to something and nothing all at once. "Well?!"
"I just..."
"You just what?!"
"I don't know, Potter!" She'd blurted it out harshly, her voice shrill and high and breaking through the silence that snow had naturally enveloped them with. Somewhere down the path, an errant soul or two stopped to check on them, but neither of them paid any mind to it. Harry's emerald eyes were instead fixated upon Malfoy's, whose silver quivered as she stared at him with a face red with what he could only assume was rage.
"I could ask you the same exact bloody thing! Why did you help me, then? Why did you pull me away?!" She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest, and for some reason it only served to incense him further.
"Because it was the right thing to do!"
"Oh, don't give me that! You'd sooner watch me trip and laugh alongside that m-- that dirty Granger and that Weasley girl! Those two that are always hanging from your bloody arm like the colors you're oh-so proud of!" Draceana stomped at her feet, teeth grit and hair flung away from her scarf to drape across her arms and her back.
"Because I didn't want you to get hurt!" Came another confession from him, one which left him suddenly cowed. His hands pressed to his sides and he looked away, to a particularly interesting patch of snow a few dozen steps away. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, that arm on a sling. Remembered the way she seemed so happy when he'd come visit, and so remorseful when she'd heard the news. He'd never seen that side of her, the tears barely contained, her silver eyes devoid of the life that always filled them.
"...I didn't want you to live with knowing that he'd get hurt over it, either."
Draceana's lips opened, and for a moment Harry thought she'd scoff, sneer at the thought. But she didn't. Instead, those lips pursed tight, sucking into her face in a fashion he'd find most humorous were it not for his confusion.
"...I thought you hated me."
He sighed, suddenly exhausted. "I've never hated you, Malfoy. You... I find you the single most frustrating person in the whole bloody world, but I could never hate you."
"Why...? After everything I've done to you, everything..."
Harry stepped forward, grabbing onto her scarf in a manner most similar to how she'd begun to do so to his tie in the last few months.
"Come on. Lets get to Hogsmeade. We can forget everything there, go back to bothering each other senseless tomorrow. But... I'd..." He paused, adjusting and tightening the scarf, making sure that it wasn't choking her or slipping. "...I'd like for us to act like we did at the Ball, just for today. Is that too much to ask, Dracy?"
Her face had been red for so long, one might wonder if she was catching a fever.
"...alright, Harry. Just for today."
#Malfoid #Draceana #Malfoy #HarryPotter #fanfic
@literate_gamer I know you love it 😉
If you enjoyed this and would like to read more of my work, take a look at my Substack. I've got heaps of short and longform fantasy and adventure fiction for your reading pleasure.
https://t.co/yKM0m1GmNE
The #Malfoid thing's been fascinating, a lovely example of rampant creativity gone wild. I have to admit, I didn't expect the bug to bite me, too. I never much cared for Harry Potter, but @ArchieS84955476 inspired me.
"Staying behind for the rest of the Holidays, Potter?"
Her voice startled him, coming from the window as it had.
Harry had just said goodbye to his friends for the Holidays, electing as usual to stay in the Castle for them. It wasn't exactly uncommon for him to do so, for any time spent away from the Dursleys was a blessing he'd eagerly take. It was a bit lonely of course, most students usually elected to go and see their kin after all, but he was used to being lonely.
And he'd much rather be lonely in Hogwarts than anywhere else, especially given his circumstances.
So imagine his surprise when he came back with a sullen expression on his face to the Gryffindor Common Rooms, only to find himself face to face with none other than his bitter rival. A bitter rival who he'd taken out to the Yule Ball a few days prior. A bitter rival who he'd kissed at the end of that night, and whose presence he'd been avoiding since.
"Well, don't look too sour there, Scarhead. I figured you'd be all huff and puff without those leeches stuck to your hip. Surprised to see me?"
Harry clicked at his tongue, rolling his eyes towards her. "You shouldn't be here." He answered, curt and harsh, and to that Draceana Malfoy scoffed.
"Please. It wasn't hard to get the password this year, either. Balderdash? Fittingly ridiculous for Gryffindor to use."
She scoffed, pulling the green and white-striped scarf tighter against her neck and turning her gaze towards the white of the rest of Hogwarts.
"I've always had such a distaste for this place. To think the lot of you so arrogant to hold yourself atop one of the highest towers of the castle, especially when few of you deserve it. Really, its..."
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry spoke up, interrupting the oncoming ramble with a light glower in his voice. Draceana turned towards him, a smile on her face which was utterly unlike any expression he'd ever seen on her.
No. That was a lie.
It was just like the smile she'd shown him at the Yule Ball. That smile which had utterly disarmed him in a second, which had pushed him to hold her tighter to him, hand on hand and on waist.
"I heard you'd be one of very few who stayed behind, this year. At least from Gryffindor. So, I thought I'd throw you a bone."
He shifted in place, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, really? And to what do I owe the attention of the queen serpent?"
She pushed herself away from the windowsill, walking towards him with short, confident steps. His instincts told him to run away, but he stood his ground, leaning forward in defiant fashion.
"Call it a return of favor for the Ball last week."
"That was a bet. I thought the favor had already been paid."
"Well, then consider it a reward for not stepping on my feet."
"I thought the reward was not hexing me."
"Potter!" The girl suddenly snapped, grabbing onto him by the lapel of the cloak, her expression soured.
"I'm doing you a favor, get it? Now... show me around."
Harry's brows raised. "What?"
"Yes. Show me around. I'm doing you a favor, remember? So quit your whining and get to it!"
Harry sighed. It really was all back to normal, wasn't it? The last night they'd spent together nothing but a dream, a mirage.
"...whatever. Fine."
"Good. Now! Shall we?"
"We shall."
#Malfoid #Draceana #Dracona #HarryPotter
Romance is Love that transcends the Body to embrace the Soul. So let us carry the Song of Love within us; the Bard will sing, and the Dancer dance - whether or not anyone else ever hears the music, we already have Love in our Hearts...
and the World's Greatest Power is Love.
The girl kicked her feet idly, quill in her hand and paper pressed upon a book upon her bed. There, she wrote letters, letters that ought to be forwarded to a certain address she'd managed to snatch from a certain red-headed girl of messy long hair and shy, freckled looks.
It had been quite a pain to get, all things considered, but Lyra Malfoy was nothing if not cunning when it came to getting what she wanted. Thus did she write to the boy who from the start of the year had utterly stolen her attentions, and who throughout the entire year had furthered his place in her mind.
They'd had a near storybook introduction: Him coming along to the tailor while she was being fitted, dazzling her with emerald eyes that matched the House that she'd been chosen to lead since before she was even born. There they'd spoken briefly, and she'd caught herself thinking of the innocence in his gaze and the uncertain but callous bravery in each of his steps.
Their next interaction hadn't been quite as pleasant. They hadn't met in the train again, even though she was quite looking forward to it, but they had seen each other as they arrived to the torch-lit steps of Hogwarts. There she'd rushed to him in excitement, having learned in the train that he was just as impressive as her remarkable intuition had led her to believe. He was Harry Potter-- The Boy Who Lived!
But she'd angered him, having looked down upon the girl beside him in an attempt to appeal towards his better nature. And how could anyone blame her?! One as famous and as important as he was would surely aim to seek a place in the greatest House of all! And yet, those jewels for eyes that he held had soured then, and her heart had sank as he refused to take upon her hand, as anger crossed his sweet features and he brushed her aside in stalwart rejection.
It was a terrible start, it truly was! But things grew better.
Yes, she was appalled at his initial rejection. In fact, she was furious! Lyra Malfoy had always gotten everything she wanted, so to think that she couldn't have those green eyes follow her anywhere she walked in the same way Crabbe and Goyle did?! Oh, it enraged her! It did so so badly that she'd spent a majority of her first week plotting against him. After all, how dare he do that to her, much less in front of everyone as he did? And how dare he not be in the same House as her, when he was clearly perfect for a Slytherin? How dare he hang around that mudblood Granger and that cowardly Weasley? And more than anything, how dare he make her smile when she was supposed to be angry?! Anytime she thought of a new tease, a new prank, a new comment about him, he distracted her so much! It was unforgivable-- unforgivable!
But things changed. Somewhere along the way, they began to speak more. Maybe it was after the Quidditch Match, where she visited him in secret to congratulate him for his win, face flushed and brows furrowed with shame and confusion as to why she even did so to begin with. Maybe it was after that, during one of their many encounters in the halls, where they'd matched wits and he'd said something that had shut her up so thoroughly Crabbe and Goyle fussed about her for a day and a night.
Maybe it was after Christmas, when she'd learned that he had received a pittance of gifts totally undeserving for one of his caliber.
Maybe it was during their trek to the Forbidden Forest, where he'd been so gentle and sweet to her in spite of their rivalry, where he'd shielded her from the sights and the terror without teasing or making fun of the fact she clung so tightly to his arm.
Maybe it was after that, when she'd heard about all the dangerous things he'd done to save his friends, and had felt her chest ache and her face flush at the idea that she hadn't been there to do it with him.
So, she wrote to him, because she found it so very sad the things she'd heard about his home, the things he'd managed to wrestle out of that Weasley girl or that little twerp Longbottom. She wrote and she wrote, and in the years following she wrote some more.
At first the letters were innocent, veiled in their sweetness.
"I hope you are not too miserable in that muggle den of yours, Potter. You are clearly worth far more than such pursuits."
"I heard what you did last year, I was very impressed. Perhaps you ought to search for better friends, then?"
Veiled, never marked, never signed. Bit by bit, they began to change in tone, informed by their meetings and their adventures:
"Potter. I know you have never responded to any of my letters; I assume that you are shackled within that hideous home of yours. But I write to you nevertheless, and will continue to write to you, so that you know that in spite of the company you keep and the frustrations that you bring, you are nevertheless someone I'd begrudgingly miss.."
"Potter. I hope you do not feel too lonely this Christmas. I've sent you a gift-- I hope to see you wear it when next we meet."
"Harry. Thank you for all you've done for me this year. I cherish you. I'll count the minutes until we next meet at Hogwarts. Please write back soon."
The letters grew, both in number and in the infatuation beneath them. They grew and they grew, and yet no response was ever given. And so, Lyra felt a lance through her heart at that-- she'd been rejected once more. But she kept a small semblance of hope, hope which was dashed like the waves do against the crags of Hogwarts when she saw him that next term, only to find out he hadn't even known of them at all.
Had he burnt them, knowing they were from her? Had all they'd been through together amounted for naught?
Fine then. If a rival he wished for, a rival he'd get.
But little did Lyra know of a certain someone who sat late at night in her family home, his sharp features filled with an anger and a frustration that forced a scowl so deep it made a certain house-servant flinch just from looking at it. A man of long platinum hair who oft dressed in naught but black, who stared upon the burning cinders of flowery letter and beautiful prose with a disgust utterly unbefitting of the charmed words within.
A man who cursed beneath his breath, his heart sinking down to the deepest pits of his stomach as realizations set in, plans made to quell this abomination of a story at once.
Little did Lyra know of the boy stuck to a dingy and forgotten room in the attic, a room so much bigger than the closet he'd lived in for eleven long years. A boy who felt so alone, so lost, so isolated from everyone else. A boy who'd yearn for even a single word of hers or any of his most cherished friends, of the family he'd found in that magical castle.
A boy who huddled up to himself late at night, staring out the window and to the night sky and counting down the minutes until he next saw them all.
Cinders burned away, dissipating like stars beneath clouds, up there in the night sky.
#Malfoid
You all know I never use this site, but when one of my very dearest friends steps into the ring to earn some well deserved praise, there's no question what must be done. The word must spread.
Harry's chest felt as if though it'd burst right out of his chest any second as he leant into the girl before him. He hadn't been able to believe his eyes since he got that letter, one that had been written in florid and beautiful writing and that had summoned him towards one of the less commonly utilized classrooms of the castle. One that had been abandoned, as was wont to be done from time to time, by the changing hands of a new professor and the unrelenting grasp of time.
One that had become a rather popular spot for couples to meet, at that, and one which the Boy Who Lived was well aware of as a spot with a reputation for romance.
Thus did he arrive to meet her, with sweat on his palms and a certain dry excitement in his throat. Excitement that culminating in elated shock when she pulled him in close, when she spoke in a low tone that he'd never heard before and which made his heart skip beats unbidden within his chest.
In the next moment their lips had joined, and every fantasy and every thought and every regret he'd had since the Yule Ball came rushing into him all at once. He was paralyzed by the motion, though it took only a few moments of feeling the sweet contact of her lips against his before the boy pressed forth, giving back to this wonderful girl draped in blue as best he could.
It was a sweet kiss, soft and pressing and full in all the right ways; Her hands pressed onto his chest and his roamed around her waist, and it felt right in ways that he'd only dreamed of. He had half a mind to check if this was an illusion of some sort, some kind of trick that his or another's mind played upon him. But that drive was shattered in an instant, swept aside for him to enjoy this singular moment instead.
They kissed for a long few moments, moments that he wished would last for an eternity. As they parted he was reminded of a sudden need for breath, and as he took it did he take the opportunity to stare upon the face of the girl he so fancied. Only there was something new about Cho's demeanor, something odd and strange that grew an immediate pit in his stomach.
She was grinning.
It was completely different from any expression that he'd ever seen Cho make. Gone was the subtle hints of kindness in her gaze which had made him fall for her in the first place, yes, but more than that... there was no grief in her expression. No more was the specter that had haunted her since the end of the Triwizard Tournament the year prior-- that had haunted both of , really.
No, this expression was deeply familiar to Harry Potter. It was an expression that caused the pit in his gut to swell with recognition, which boiled the inside of his veins with furious indignation even before Cho's face began to shift and change.
Her hair went first, the shiny raven locks which were so emphatically in line with her House lightening at the bangs into a gorgeous and silky blonde. A blonde which then consumed the rest of it as if infectious, followed immediately by the sharpening of her features, her eyes, her nose. The freckles of her nose were wiped away, the hue of her skin ever so slightly more rosy and the dark of her eyes too shining in a new hue. Silver.
Her height shifted, too, the girl growing from being a head or so shorter than him to standing damned near eye to eye with him, and it was then that Harry couldn't withhold himself from gritting his teeth.
Lyra Malfoy stared at him with that odious little grin of hers and the lightest of flush to her cheeks, bearing a smug expression which had followed him for years now. From the Ravenclaw robes that Harry now realized had been too big for Cho's mimicked frame now did her pale hand lift, green fingernail clicking against the top of a potion. A polyjuice potion, which only added more insult to the injury, seeing how the thief that Severus Snape had again accused him of being was now revealed.
Haughty and irritably high giggles escaped her lips, and as she clicked her nails against the potion again did she begin to gloat:
"Hah! Such a good little kisser, aren't you, Potter? And so odiously quick to fall for such an obvious setup. I must admit, I did not believe you to have the guts to follow through with any of it!"
The girl's smile shifted towards a sneer, her eyes narrowing with disgust. "But why, I must ask, would you ever want to kiss this Chang girl in the first place? Or did you really think that--"
Lyra's eyes widened, the next string of mocking words silenced by a motion of the boy that had been as quick as the shape of the scar upon his head. One that had shut her up by way of physicality and had made her flinch at first, though she found herself utterly unable to pull back owing to a hand which had closed around her nape.
Her whole body froze, her mind halted dead in its tracks.
Harry Potter was kissing her.
Harry Potter was really kissing her.
His lips were so soft. She hadn't really been able to tell, with her own feeling so different as she impersonated that tart who he'd asked before her the year prior. He was warm against her face, though she noted he'd stopped breathing, just as she had.
Her hand had gone up to catch his, fingers caught on his sleeve. Her other hovered, unsure where to be.
Three seconds passed like this. On the third, Lyra's eyes shut, and she threw herself forward. How long had she been dreaming of this? How long had her thoughts and her nights and her days been utterly possessed by his stupid hair and his stupid eyes and his stupid lips and the stupid idea of what it might be to feel them?
Her arms wrapped around him, her eyes welled with tears, her mouth opened at the same time as his and their teeth clacked and she didn't care that the kiss was awkward because it was finally hers.
All hers.
@literate_gamer Ah, my brother. Farming the attention you deserve, I see. Well done.
https://t.co/sCbYFNkhzk
@JamesLDulin I hope you're prepared to deal witH yet more demands like this being foisted on you now that you've shown a willingness to bend. This sort of "friendly FYI" never stops at the first perceived infraction. If you slip up again in their eyes, they'll be back angrier than before.
@J0hnADouglas I come bearing tribute in the form of tales. Tales of adventure and danger, of victory and defeat, of Calamity and Triumph.
https://t.co/yKM0m1GmNE
@Catsukun_ Princess Ranni ^^
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