#disgust distain or discomfort

[the-coffee-talks]

Scopophobia

Eyes are never the issue. "Mirrors into the soul," they whisper through the screens of films and media. Eyes spread with stunning colors. Each unique in color and function. Eyes have never been the issue. It's the person behind the eyes and the person being perceived that are.

I never mention it. Never speak up about the growing flurry that being stared at causes. Not once do I beg people to look away. Because it's such an odd thing to ask. I want to be perceived, but don't want to eyes to be on me. It's linked to so many parts that I can't find the first roots. Only some of the parts can be discussed. And I'll share them. Perhaps someone will hear my message and find solace knowing that someone else understands their unease. The pain of being perceived with harsh eyes. Maybe this is go unseen and untouched. I never know and doubt I will know. Consider this a journal and poetry. Art as the simpler definition for this. A real struggle changed to sound differently.

This was never an issue of being neurodivergent. I have never been diagnosed and fingers have always been pointed at a plethora of diagnoses and excuses. Eyes don't bother me the same way they may for an individual who is autistic. That I want to make clear. Does that mean someone who is autistic or any flavor of neurodivergent can't find comfort in me expressing this discomfort? No. They can find comfort in my struggle. I just ask that no one simple blame my fears and discomforts on something I don't even know if I have.

My body is no temple to me. It is an old rock, minerals and typing lost in the varying colors and types. When I broke, I added new pieces. New pieces were added and removed. My days are spent placing new rock onto my form to replace what I'm missing. A stone mask over the harsh cracks and broken pieces. Adding and removing parts I was born with to survive. Permanent change to fit is still impossible now, so the day-to-day changes are all I have. Stepping into the gallery, I take my place on the stand. Posing in the ways asked, I watch the people and mimic other statues. People stare at my form and every part of me fight not to cover my form. To hide away forever behind a closed exhibit curtain.

They see not my name, but the parts I still cannot remove. Speaking of me and to me as if I am only these parts. "She" they say without regard. "Ma'am" they call. "Young lady" they ask. Always the wrong titles and working. The tears that threaten to spill just at one of these mentions never seem to fall. They bury themselves deep within my eyes. Their eyes perceive only a woman. Only the curse brought upon me by the world around me. I stare at my form with distain and disgust. What do they see that tells them to call me by my curse? Did I not try hard enough? Is my suffocation and pain not enough to hide my curse until better changes can be possible? What do they see?

Mirrors are sworn enemies. Brief moments of euphoria come when alone and only my eyes perceive my form. When I perceive my true self being build. The rest is avoidance. The mirrors reflect a past me, a stranger other days but always the wrong form. Too large is the chest that the mother creator gave me. Too be-speckled with red marks that the father creator gave me. All these curses bring a hate and despair so deep it is rooted in my very existence. The need to destroy these parts overwhelms the desire to smile or show myself. The need to destroy myself outweighs my own happiness. How cruel a world to do this to me. To make me desire death over accepting my own form as it is now.

Eyes. Oh, the eyes. They stare me up and down. Studying me with disappointment and failure. How they feed the monsters within me that tell me my body is disgusting. That I have failed and deserve nothing. Their eyes show their frowns and annoyance. Do they know that those looks will forever stain my stone? Wasting it away until nothing is left? How could they know, when I speak not a word of it. Not a whisper on the wind of my agony caused by the eyes of people. By the disappointment they perceive from me. I fear their eyes and hide in my layers. Hiding behind masks of confidence and joy. Fearing they see how deep the cracks they made are.

I fear their eyes and live in a state of scopophobia.

[maybe-i-wanna-die]

I am in two minds. I am to be admitted to a new facility in two days. I want to advocate for myself. Try something different.. apparently ECT has come a long way since it was offered to me in the past. Since I was in hospital with someone who was just never the same. Since I was in hospital with someone who became almost non verbal since the treatment. I am terrified that I will be one of the unlucky fucks that end up with permanent amnesia. My recall is my greatest asset and has helped me jerry rig my way through life. My somewhat uncanny ability to envisage a scene in my minds eye to great detail has helped me because I constantly struggle to have the energy to get shit done. But being able to revisit a room or a conversation without physically doing so has been something that has saved me. I notice *everything* and remember everything to great detail, for better or for worse. It makes me, me. I have noone around me to remind me of things, I have noone to help me if I forget something. I have noone to assure me things are okay if I do have a lapse in memory and find myself upset or confused. My greatest fear is losing my autonomy. And while I am not quite in control of my mind or body at the moment, I still have free will. I still have autonomy. Will I be willing to sacrifice that for a couple of years of not being sad? I dont know. I am terrified of weightgain. I guarantee that my eating disorder will return in full force if I do. I remember being placed on a medication that made me balloon out in a matter of a week and a half. It drove me to attempt suicide. My recovery in trying to accept my body and embracing eating 'normally' has been a long one, but it is a ridiculously delicate membrane holding it all together. The hatred I have for my body has been unmistakeable since the assault. But I am trying to give myself the grace of time. I am trying so hard to not resort to futile coping mechanisms of old. I am sitting with the godawful discomfort of being. I know if a treatment were to cause weight gain, no amount of CBT or meditation will be able to contain the shockwave of disgust and distain I harbor for my body. There will be a tide will wash in that will destroy the castles that I have worked on for years. I dont know if I have the will or the fortitude to fight it again. I am scared of treatments not working. To which, I say to myself, it only is over when it's over. But I am running on empty. I move through life pulling Gs and breathing molasses. I'm not getting any younger. I am alone. I have nothing keeping me here. And I dont know if I can handle another and another. I'm too tired to fail yet again. It is no longer a matter of reframing my thoughts. I am simply too exhausted to keep trying. I try not to think about these anxieties- for they have not happened and I do not have the energy to spare, worrying about things that are not in my control. But I had to document them somewhere. Because my brave face does not negate the fact that these fears and concerns exist.

[deanwasalwaysbi]

@escapingpurgatorypodcast (with credit to @thepixelagora) asks: we only really got one episode from Cas's pov. If you were to have another, what would you want to have Cas encounter, who would write the episode, and who would direct it?

Misha Answers: I would love to do an episode from Cas's - well, I guess, I would have loved to have done an episode from Cas's perspective where we really get to explore more of his uh, idk I guess existential loneliness? Cas is such an interesting character because he's caught between worlds. He's been rejected by heaven but then you know never really felt like he was embraced by humanity.

So he was in this liminal space between Heaven and Earth and ironically cared about both so much. You know?

He really felt like he wanted to save the world and to save heaven. He felt allegiance to heaven and he felt duty and love for Humanity. Um and yet he never really knew if he was accepted anywhere.

So that that like in between space I think would be really lovely to explore.

I would love Ben Edlund to write it because Ben was just my favorite he was so he was such a brilliant writer on the show. It's... He's insane. ... possibly criminally insane. And it comes out in the most beautiful way is on the page.

Ben wrote not episode that was from Cas's perspective. He also wrote The French Mistake and some of the other episodes on the show that were just the best.

And I would love uuuuummmmm (looks around and thinks) who would I like to direct it? I don't know. That's up for debate.

(Audience: Jensen!) Jensen?...No

(Audience: Richard!) Richard?! Sure. Yeah.

[dendrite-blues]

Fluff, and Why it Triggers Me

Odd start, isn’t it? I bet most people reading this are like “whaaat?”

Which....fair. I know it’s weird. I didn’t have an explanation either, for the longest time. Like 15 years. Seriously.

I just knew that fluff fics made me irrationally sad, angry, and lonely.

I avoided these stories so hard that I left whole discord servers just to get away from them. I developed aggression and frustration with the people who posted about it. I starting getting annoyed just by looking at the prompts channel because it was most often used by the fluff mongers. It’s super unhealthy.

But that begs a really obvious and hard to answer question:

How the fuck could fluff—a genre explicitly about heaping the reader in good feelings—be triggering?

Well that really gets to the heart of trauma and the ways it warps cognition, particularly childhood trauma. If you’d like to see me unpack that trauma, keep reading. Otherwise, have a nice day. :)

We learn to process the world through our parent’s eyes, so when our parents are not good blueprints we end up with some whack ass mental hallways and trapdoors to the haunted basement that healthy people just don’t have. 

For instance:

Fluff-->feelings of comfort, love, support, acceptance Angst-->feelings of hurt, sadness, fear, loneliness, depression

But when I read fluff the story doesn’t have that intended effect on me. I actually feel most of the words listed after angst when I read fluff. And vice versa, reading angst makes me feel seen, validated, comforted, and like I’m not alone.

Having given the matter lots and LOTS of thought, I can finally articulate why.

Because when I look back at my life and particularly my childhood I cannot remember a single specific incident in which I was given comfort or support when I needed it. (God and I’m tearing up just typing that out, fuck’s sake.)

My parents were not outright abusive. They were wealthy, they gave me the best clothes, food, toys, and education money can buy, but they were utterly oblivious to the emotional needs of a child. If I cried I was given a toy or food or told to stop complaining when I had it so good. 

Any negative emotions were treated as an aberration, and when someone broke down in our house it was seen as a display of that person’s weakness, or laziness, or lack of gratitude for the riches we had been blessed with.

To my parents happiness was the natural state of a person, and being unhappy meant you must have done something wrong, or you must be broken in some way. 

Receiving comfort or support required you to first prove that you were entirely the victim, because otherwise your pain and hurt would be answered with a lecture about how you deserve whatever happened because of X, Y, and Z.

The worst part is that my parents are exceptionally logical, orderly people and so most of the time they had very coherent, rational reasons behind their painting of you as a bad person who caused your own problem. It’s a very insidious kind of message that leads you to punishing yourself in their stead, since you leave totally convinced of your own culpability and badness.

My family has two children, me and my sister. I think it’s pretty telling how we turned out because we really are the two most natural responses to growing up in this kind of environment.

I am a hyper competent perfectionist who cannot handle even the slightest insinuation of critique. She is a pathological victim who seems allergic to success and accountability.

When negative emotions are a punishment for wrong doing there are only two ways you can respond. 

Either you eliminate failure and unhappiness from your life so that you do not need support—me.

Or you focus all of your energy on deflecting blame to others so that you can present yourself to your parent as a helpless victim and receive the emotional support that you need—my sister.

But this post is about fluff so let’s get back to that.

Why does fluff trigger me?

Because it confronts me with how healthy people respond to a loved one in pain, and in the course of witnessing that freely given love, I am subconsciously told/reminded of how my ‘loved ones’ failed to do that.

It’s not a conscious thing, as I said at the beginning I went 15 years without ever making this connection. I just knew that flew filled me to the brim with resentment, disgust, discomfort, and anger.

And all of these feelings happen because on some level, my soul is hurting. It’s hurting so bad because I know that I deserved that. 

I know that I deserved to be the protagonist of a fluff fic when I came out. I know I deserved that when my busted wrist killed my illustration career. I know I deserved that when I failed to finish my Masters degree. I know I deserved that when my film work dried up and I lost everything. I know I deserve that now, for no reason other than because I’m sad and doing nothing in particular with my life.

And I wasn’t.

Not because my parents didn’t offer me comfort, but because I learned to never offer myself comfort. I learned to regard my own pain as a weakness, and my desire for support as a character flaw. I learn to hate and resent that weakness inside me, and to project that hate bitterly onto other people who were capable of being comforted and were capable of enjoying soft, fluffy stories. 

Because we humans never want to think that we are the broken ones. It’s too scary. Too much cognitive dissonance. It’s easier to think that everyone else is just stupid or weak or shamefully self indulgent in their reading habits.

But that’s not true, and thinking in that way certainly isn’t healthy for me. In fact it works against my recovery to regard stories about healthy coping/relationships with distain and resentment.

So I’m making the effort from now on to retrain myself, and to unpack all of those emotions I denied myself. To—as some psychologists say—re-parent my inner child.

I might never be a fluff fanatic, and I certainly am not going to stop enjoying angst. I will always love hurt/comfort (or ‘earned comfort’ as I’ve started calling it, to remind myself of why I conveniently allowed myself to enjoy this genre even though it is basically the same as fluff). But from now on I’m not going to let myself look down my nose as fluff and fluff readers. 

I’m going to take those negative feelings and ask myself, “Why do I hate this?”

Is it because fluff is stupid, shallow, annoying, and pointless? Or is because I’ve been conditioned to see love and comfort as things I’m not allowed to want, and that I am weak for wanting?

I’m not sure if anyone else has this reaction to fluff. I know that it’s without a doubt the most popular genre in every single ship tag ever. I know that I have felt freakish and deformed for disliking it because it was so overwhelmingly popular and so universally regarded as harmless and pure and good.

I don’t know if I’m the only one, but if I’m not then I hope this helps the one other person with this problem. I hope it helps you in your recovery, and that it makes you feel seen.

Pull out your inner child, and give them a hug from me. Because we’ve both been deprived of things every single human being needs, and that’s a wound that nobody deserves to carry into adulthood.

[varian-the-unstable-alchemist]

Arrival Redo

OKAY SO

VARIANS INITAL ARRIVAL WAS STUPID

SO

THAT DIDNT HAPPEN

THIS HAPPENED INSTEAD

ANY QUESTIONS?NO?GOOD-

HERE

Im not tagging anyone okay-

just-

here

Yes I took inspiration from several fanfictions that I liked

please don't hate me

***

Varian looked down at the ground as he walked. Papers gathered in his arms, lost in thought. Rapunzel had tasked him with making the Dungeon more hospitable for prisoners, after he told her how terrible it was down there.

Being the Royal Engineer, he didn’t have the right to refuse, but he hated working on the project. He only needed to be down there for reference point, he wasn’t the one who would be carrying out the designs (thank god), but every second he was down there was like a weight pressing down on his chest. He constantly felt like he was stuck, like he wouldn’t be able to leave, and this place would be the last he would see. Not to mention the prisoners themselves. One in particular had been making the task nearly unbearable. He tried to ignore him, but the man knew exactly how to get under his skin...

He hadn’t told Rapunzel about his discomfort. It wasn’t up to him to decide which jobs he did and didn’t take on. And she’d been busy lately anyway, even though it’d been months since Zhan Tiri’s attack, they were still rebuilding. The pressure had only increased when her parents announced that they would be retiring soon, and Rapunzel would become queen.

Varian let out a breath, it’s okay, he could do this. He’d survived prison, attempted murder, all kinds of crazy magic, kidnapping, and a demon attack. He could survive this project. Besides, it wa-

Voices cut into his thoughts. Varian paused, looking to his left at a door that was slightly ajar. He weighed his options for a moment, before curiosity got the better of him. He moved to stand next to the door, leaning in to hear what the people inside were saying.

“-ust don’t know what to do, Nigel!” Varian recognized that voice as Rapunzel’s. She sounded frustrated.

“Your majesty, you already know my opinion on the matter.” Nigel’s nasally voice sounded from inside.

“I am not firing him! He’s the best person for the job and you know it! I-I just... he seems so stressed lately, and I don’t know how to help...”

“well, I’m not quite sure how to help with that, but, there is the matter of the letters.”

“We’ve already talked about the letters.”

“Princess, with all due respect, we can’t just ignore them.”

“Yes, we can! Just because a few citizens are upset that, doesn’t mean I’m going to change something that doesn’t need changing! And I want you to make sure that Varian doesn’t hear a single word about them!”

“Your highness, I-“

Varian had heard enough. He stepped into the room. “That I don’t hear a single word about what?”

Rapunzel looked up at her, eyes wide. She was unable to find words.

“The matters of the Princess are none of your concern.” Nigel said with undisguised dislike for the teen in front of him.

“They are if they involve me.” Varian said, crossing his arms.

“Varian I...” Rapunzel started “I-I can’t tell you, but trust me when I say that you’re better off not knowing.”

“Great, so now you’re keeping things from me. Rapunzel, what is this about? What are the letters?”

“I...” she looked away, biting her lip. “...Varian, please...”

“You’re still not going to tell me?! They’re about me, aren’t they?”

Rapunzel looked away, and Varian felt his face heat in anger. He clenched his fists. “Fine! Fine, you’re not going to tell me, that’s fine.”

He turned, moving to storm towards the door.

“Varian-“ Rapunzel tried

“I’ll be in my lab.” He snapped, before slamming the door behind him.

***

Varian sat at a table at his workbench, leaned back and staring at the ceiling, letting the anger wash over him. Yes, he was being unreasonable, but he was sick and tired of being treated like a child, having things be kept from him simply because whomever was in question felt like he couldn’t handle it. Having one of the only people in the world he genuinely trusted do it...

The raccoon curled up on his chest chittered next to him, pressing his furry head into Varian’s cheek in an attempt to comfort him. The fuming boy took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, raising a gloved hand to scratch the ring-tailed bandit behind the ears. Ruddiger made a sound akin to purring in reply.

His lab was nice, to his tastes at least. It was messy, but it helped add to the personality. It’d been gifted to him along with the position of Royal Engineer.

Varian looked up at the sound of the door opening. He’d been expecting Rapunzel, and was surprised when he was met with Nigel instead. Ruddiger moved to curl around Varian’s shoulder’s protectively, narrowing his eyes at the man. The man looked around the cluttered room, distain and disgust easily visible on his face. There was a stack of paper clutched in his hand.

“What do you want?” Varian asked less than politely. He really wasn’t in the mood to bother with protocol.

Nigel moved his eyes to the teen in the chair with distaste. “You wanted to know what was in the letters, so here they are.”

He tossed the stack of papers the the ground next to Varian’s chair. Varian looked from the papers to him, puzzled.

“Wha-“

“If I’m being honest, I agree with every word they say. And, frankly I think a mutt you should follow their advice.” He turned, moving back towards the door. He paused at the doorway, looking back with his eyes narrowed and lips pulled back in a sneer. “By the way, you aren’t fooling anyone with your little drag show, young lady.”

He closed the door before Varian could spit a scathing comment. Ruddiger hissed at the closed door, tail swishing. Varian closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. This wasn’t the first time someone had purposely misgendered him. It shouldn’t effect him this much.

After a moment, he mulled over the first insult he’d used... “mutt” It left a foul taste in his mouth... dehumanizing. He guess it came from the fact that his parents had both been refugees, he wasn’t even Coronian... or, at least not in most people’s eyes. But he’d been born and raised here. To say that he was belonging to any other kingdom would feel wrong. It didn’t matter anyway. He took a deep breath and stood, walking over to the pile of paper.

Ruddiger’s ears flattened against his head, letting out an anxious trill. He pawed at Varian’s face, but Varian ignored him, looking down at the paper at the top of the stack.

“Princess Rapunzel,

As a Citizen, I have stood by all your decisions as Princess and temporary queen except for one. Your decision to pardon two of the kingdom’s most dangerous criminals is something I cannot possibly fathom. At least Cassandra has left the kingdom, but to keep the traitor Varian on staff? It’s honestly horrifying to me and several others. A dangerous criminal like him should be locked in prison or dead, kept away from yourself and your people, not gifted with a position so high in rank. I sincerely hope you take my words into account.

Wishing for the best,

A troubled citizen.”

Varian knew he should stop. He knew that nothing good could come from reading more, but he pressed on, flipping the page and reading the next.

“Varian,”

That was odd. It was addressed to him, why hadn’t he received it? Was the Princess Reading his mail?

“I don’t know what you’ve done to the royal family. Whether you’ve bewitched them or used some kind of mind game, I want you to know that you don’t have everyone fooled. If I were you, I’d turn yourself in or jump off Corona bridge before people discover your true intentions. Lord knows you deserve it after what you’ve done. We’re watching you.“

Varian pressed on. Some were signed, some weren’t (although very few had names attached), some addressed to himself, some to the Princess, a handful were even addressed to the king or queen. Some (he ones that Varian assumed were from old Corona), addressed him by his old name and called him a witch. But, despite the differing methods of explaining it, they all had the same idea; Varian was  a dangerous criminal and shouldn’t be working at the castle.

When he’d finally finished reading, he sat there, numb. He closed his eyes, swallowing. He understood now why the Princess hadn’t wanted to show him. Despite acknowledging the Princess’s reasoning behind her actions, he didn’t regret reading them. Now he knew how people perceived him, now he knew that he had to be more careful.

Shakily, the ravenette stood, raising Ruddiger from where he’d been curled around Varian’s shoulders and placing him on his work chair. The small mammal trilled in worry for his human, tail swishing behind him. Varian gave his friend a small smile. (it was fake, of course, but Varian had become very skilled at making them look convincing as of late)

“It’s okay, buddy, I’m alright. I just need a minute alone... I’m going to take a walk...”

The raccoon reluctantly curled into a ball, still looking up at his human with concern as he turned, grabbed the backpack he kept with himself at all times when going out, and walked towards the door

The castle was relatively quiet, most people who usually resides here were out enjoying the beautiful day. Light filtered through the stained glass windows built into the wall. Varian had never re-adjusted to the light level of the capital. It was nicknamed the kingdom of the sun for a reason, but after the crushing darkness of the dungeon beneath his feet, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to take the brightness for granted again.

As he stepped out into the courtyard, several guards waved at him. He nervously waved back, anxiety bubbling in his chest at the sight of the uniform they wore. Eugene had given it a name... what was it? Fear of authority? That sounded right... strangely enough, Eugene was the only person in uniform that he wasn’t scared of.

He made his way through the capital, people around him going about their business. Their reactions to him were diverse, some smiled and waved, some sent glares his way, some ignored him completely. Varian kept his eyes fixed on the ground, trying to make himself small.

Eventually, he made it outside the main city. He walked across the bridge, keeping one hand on the railing. He paused in the center, eyes lingering on where he’d stood only a few months ago, looking down at the water as his form shook, trying to force himself to move forward.

He shook himself out of the memory, he was in a better place now. Sure, he still had the occasional depressive episode or panic attack, but he had been doing great considering all that had happened to him.

He stepped off the bridge, pausing a moment to decide whether he should keep going along the path or walk through the forest. He decided that the latter would be more interesting and started walking slightly to the left.

Because of Varian’s tendency to spend hours or even days locked in his room and his fascination with technology, one could guess that he wasn’t a nature person. But, in reality, the opposite was true. Varian was quite fond of the outdoors and of nature itself. He’d always been better with animals than he was with people, and a walk through the forest had always been his second favorite way to calm himself down (the first being alchemy, but even the idea itself was tiring to him at the moment). He sighed, closing his eyes and letting the sounds and feelings of the forest wash over him.

He wasn’t upset. The people who wrote the letters were justified on their feelings. He’d attacked the kingdom, tried to kill its leaders, been sent to prison, escaped with a Saporian terrorist, and taken over the kingdom. Then, in what must have seemed like the blink of an eye to them, Rapunzel had returned, completely pardoned him for everything he’d done, and been rewarded with a position of high honor. No wonder they were suspicious of him.

No, he wasn’t upset that multiple of them had told him to kill himself, or that he should be back in the prison he now hated with every fiber of his being.

He definitely wasn’t.

As for Rapunzel, he wasn’t angry at her. He knew her. She could be scarily protective when she needed to be, and she saw it as her duty to keep Varian safe. Emotionally and physically. He had no right to be angry that she’d read his mail, kept something as big as this from him, and still hadn’t fired that good-for-nothing advisor.

Since his recovery, he’d learned to keep all negative emotions under lock and key. Especially anger, now that he knew how quickly it could spiral out of control. So he knew that that definitely wasn’t what he was feeling as he walked deeper and deeper into the thickening trees.

It was precisely thirteen seconds after the teen decided that he was under no circumstances angry at Corona, its people, or its Princess, that he found himself falling.

[wzrdn]

Oligochaeta

In which Regis attempts to reconnect with vampires after his regeneration.

No warnings apply, mention of anxiety.

Word count: 1156

It’s been almost 10 years since I’ve written a fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I hope this is received well, and I am open to critique or suggestions :) 

Written for @witcher-regis and inspired by their headcanon. Enjoy!

----------

Early spring in southern Toussaint, 1272.

-----------

It had been well over a century since he last celebrated a traditional vampire holiday with his tribe, and Regis had been equally nervous as he was excited.

When Detlaff approached the topic with him it was as the two were collecting herbs by the waxing moonlight. A laugh had erupted from Detlaff’s chest when Regis lit up with excitement. He left the following morning to procure suitable wardrobe for Regis. Detlaff returned later with a finely embroidered carnelian doublet and black breeches, and helped tailor the garments to fit properly to Regis’ form. He wore them for the next three days straight, much to Detlaff’s amusement.

On the day of the full moon, Regis’ excitement began to ebb and was soon replaced by a growing anxiety.

Nervous energy manifested itself through Regis picking at his sleeves absentmindedly, as the two made their way along the path south of Mère-Lachaiselongue. He missed his satchel and wished he had remembered to wear it, if for no other reason than to have something to fidget with.

The celebrations of the Worm Moon were for deepening of familial and pack bonding, and Regis wondered if he would be accepted by his brethren after his extended absence. There was also the matter of his controversial view of treating humans as equals, something which a majority of vampires viewed with disgust. Should any violent conflicts arise, he doubted his ability to defend himself against an onslaught of angry higher vampires. Regis was still in regenerative stages. He was able to walk about; shift into mist, and even into some bestial forms, but nowhere near his former power.

Moreover, it was tradition to take place on a hunt and spill blood by the light of this moon, and the temptation this presented to him made him arguably more nervous than the acceptance of his peers. As of late his cravings had been more persistent, perhaps in response to drinking from Detlaff to supplement his regeneration. Regis was sure that if he participated in a hunt now, he would lose control and spiral into old habits.

Detlaff was acutely aware of Regis’ anxiety as they walked in the waning light, wordlessly laying a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Regis was his guest and his brother in blood; they were family now. If anyone had anything to say about it, they would answer to him first. The gesture elicited a small smile from the older vampire, though it was not enough to quell the thoughts plaguing him as they continued on.

As the pair approached the clearing, the dark had fully set in and the moon’s light had not yet reached its pinnacle for the night. Already, there was a significant gathering of vampires laughing, joking and embracing in their reunion. Detlaff was recognized immediately by several bruxae who greeted him enthusiastically, only noticing his company as an afterthought.

The jubilant atmosphere was halted as the members of the tribe recognized Regis in attendance, ushering whispers and hushed words amongst themselves as they eyed up the two. At this Detlaff stood tall with shoulders back, cold blue gaze challenging the others to dare to speak out against him. He could still feel the anxious energy emanating off his companion, but this did not deter him. Tension in the air was thick, and Regis felt as though his heart may leap out of his chest. Desperately wishing to avoid a conflict, Regis moved to speak his intention to support his pack and blood brother. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to explain himself, but found the words would not come. The tension was finally cut, when a voice rang out

“Regis, old friend, about time you joined us for a lunar celebration!” Orianna, a cautious smile on her face, approached the two and pulled him into an embrace. Regis felt himself breathe a heavy sigh of relief and reciprocated the gesture. Detlaff also seemed to relax, if less so, and with that the conversational din gradually returned.

Over the course of the next hour or so the trio kept to the fringe of the group, and with the exception of a few individuals who asked for Detlaff’s attention, the three of them kept the conversation to themselves. Orianna was interested in what Regis had been up to over these years, and he was more than happy to recant the time he spent with the Hansa, the incident at Castle Stygga, how Detlaff had found him and aided him in regeneration. The conversation was friendly, and to his relief the atmosphere in the group seemed non-hostile. In spite of this however, Regis could still feel the gaze of the other pack mates on him occasionally. It was made clear to him that very few of his kin were prepared to consider him part of their family. Discomfort twisted in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to smile and push it aside.

As the moon began to climb to the peak of its arc, vampires began to disperse into the surrounding wood as they prepared for their hunt. Orianna and Detlaff looked to Regis, as if issuing a nonverbal invitation to join them on their hunt. As Regis considered he felt his mouth go dry, he cast his eyes to the ground and began to fidget again with the hem of his doublet. Regis met their questioning gazes and spoke.

“I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome as is. The two of you enjoy yourselves, and I will enjoy vicariously through you.”

Orianna protested, but Detlaff simply nodded in understanding. With that, Regis left by the light of the full moon, doing his best to ignore the looks of distain and the offended whispers of the other vampires for refusing to participate in their ancient traditions.

Regis made his way home, heart heavy with regret. True, he was thankful that his presence had not caused violence, and thankful Detlaff had shown desire to share the tradition with him. However he lamented that he could not engage in activities with his kin, wondered if his sacrifice was worth all the trouble it’s caused him.

When he returned to Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery, he drowned his sorrow in mandrake and sat on a tombstone, watching the worms make their way to the surface of the moist soil, jealous of their simple and uncomplicated lives. When his head was sufficiently foggy, he made his way inside the crypt, pausing a moment to pour a small amount of the moonshine on the earth in offering to the worms. He shrugged off the doublet and lay down on his cot. As sleep began to take him, he reached for his journal and began to write an entree:

"I strive to live like a person, and it means that I have ceased to feel good among people as well as among my own. Maybe I made a big mistake."

[narcissusneverknewme]

Protection Detail P2C1

Part Two: The Growth of a Friendship

Chapter Three: Happy Holidays

The first time Draco walked into the Gryffindor common room the other twelve people currently occupying it stopped and stared openly. Draco took everything in with a sneer, cold eyes roaming over the warm house colors that decorated every inch of the room.

“This place disgusting,” Draco said, “Does anyone ever get sick? Do you suffer from sensory deprivation after a few hours of seeing nothing but this awful shade of red splashed on every-”

“Malfoy, shut up.” Harry said, with no real venom in his voice. Harry appreciated how intimidating this must be for the other boy and therefore thought he could let a few slights against his house colors slide for now.

“What is he doing here?” Lavender Brown asked from her place at a table near the entrance.

“Same thing you are, I suppose.” Harry said evenly.

“This is the Gryffindor common room. He really doesn’t--”

“You have Hannah Abbot in here for your study groups all the time.” Said Ron. “She’s a Hufflepuff.” Though far from being Draco’s biggest fans, Ron and Hermione had jumped on the protect-Draco-Malfoy bandwagon to help Harry.

“Yes. She’s a Hufflepuff. And a nice one.” Replied Hannah.

The four ignored her and took up seats next to the fire. No further protests were verbalized, but curious glances and pointed glares came from every side. Ginny, also ignoring the looks, came to sit next to beside them.

“Welcome to Gryffindor, Malfoy.” She said by way of greeting. The comment clearly irked him, but Draco did not respond beyond a slight inclination of the head, likely remembering a well-placed bat-bogey hex a few years before, “I’m a bit surprised you’re here, actually,” she continued conversationally, “but I suppose Harry wanted to keep an eye on you. Don’t trust the other Slytherin’s with him, Harry?” she asked.

Harry just looked at her, unsure how to answer. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like the way that had sounded.

“I mean, I might be wrong but I thought it was mainly Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that were attacking you between classes?”

Draco looked as though he were about to say something exceptionally nasty, a reaction Harry was starting to associate with Draco’s discomfort as much as distain or actual dislike.

“Harry here doesn’t like to take any chances with his ickle Dwaco’s safety,” an obnoxious voice cut in, mimicking the high pitch and misformed words of a small child. Zacharias Smith had entered the common room, unnoticed by the five seated by the fire, with Colin and Dennis Creevey trailing behind him.

“Shut it.” Colin said sharply before a stunned Harry or livid Draco could respond, “Sorry, sorry. Charms partner. No choice.” Smith looked offended at this.

“Oi, Lavender!” Ron said, far too quietly for her to hear, “Where’s the the Gryffindor-Only Common Room Protection Squad when you need them?”

Draco looked as though he longed to say something and was putting a lot of effort into keeping his mouth closed. Harry must have looked extremely red-faced and flustered because Colin, pushing Zacharias towards the other side of the common room mouthed, “Sorry Harry,” once more.

After the first few times, people got used to having Draco in the common room. He was not particularly quiet or polite, in fact he was notably neither, but they all got used to him as break progressed. It helped that Harry, Ron, Hermione (who actually heard some of the first years referring to them as “The Golden Trio”), and Ginny were all rather popular, especially with their younger classmates.

It also helped that Draco was a good storyteller, and could be very entertaining when he wasn’t busy being deeply unpleasant.

This really shouldn’t have been a surprise, Harry had seen large groups of Slytherins listening intently as Draco had regaled them with humiliating anecdotes about Harry for years. To be fair, seething with anger and embarrassment from across the Great Hall was not a prime seat for observing the finer points of Draco’s narration technique.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, listening to him relate something that didn’t involve Harry fainting or having his nose broken, was a strange experience for Harry. He had expected Draco’s mordant humor to be annoying, what he had not expected to find his sarcasm and clever turns of phrase to be amusing.

When Draco told a story he used his whole body. His fingers combed through the air as he described situations and people; he used ironic understatement and ludicrous hyperbole in rapid succession. Draco had a gift for theatrics. He did dramatic impressions, mirrored facial expressions and used wide, sweeping gestures. Draco was absolutely ridiculous, and Harry found himself enthralled, soaking in every motion, every word. Just like those Slytherins he, Ron, and Hermione used to mock for exactly this kind of pathetic rapture.

Harry was also surprised by how quickly his friends got used to Draco. Light-hearted bickering and harmless insults soon put everyone at ease. It was strange, since it was Harry who most hated Draco, that it was Harry for whom they all learned to tolerate him.

The two Harry had most anticipated finding it difficult to be courteous to one another surprised Harry by finding it the easiest. Hermione and Draco were so deeply amiable to one another that it almost made Harry uncomfortable. Hermione’s delicacy and ability to find a seemingly endless number of neutral topics of conversation, combined with Draco’s impressive ability to fake geniality, took the first steps in establishing peace.

As the first days of near-constant contact passed, Hermione and Draco’s conversations slowly became less and less neutral, but it no longer seemed to matter. They had become sort of friends, allied in their determination to squash the awkward atmosphere first conjured by Draco’s presence. He and Hermione argued about even the most sensitive subjects, often swapping petty insults along the way. After commenting on everything from one another’s test scores to fashion choices, they always ended their arguments slightly red in the face but, quite inexplicably to Harry’s mind, no less friends.

Ron and Ginny both opted to stay as far from the two of them as possible as soon as a debate sprung up. Hermione had a habit of appealing to them (mostly Ron) to back her up, so they tended to turn tail and run at the slightest indication that the discussion was going to get heavy.

Harry rarely said anything during these conversations. He didn’t have to worry about either Hermione or Draco dragging him in because whenever they tried he’d just give them a thoughtful look and say, “Er, I dunno... It’s a good question, though,” and so they both gave up asking. He found their debates oddly fascinating, he couldn’t explain why but he enjoyed listening to them.

The five of them studied, ate, played board games, and relaxed together. At night the entire group walked Draco to his common room. The conversation at the entrance to the dungeons would always go the same way.

“Thanks. I mean,” Draco would drawl, “I probably could have found my own common room on my own…”

“But why chance it, eh, Malfoy?” Ron would say.

“Watch your back in there and cast-” Harry would start.

“Yes, mother, I’ll do that.” Draco would interrupt.

“Right then.” Harry would say.

“Sleep well, Draco” Hermione would say.

“Yeah, g’night.” Ginny would add.

###

On Thursday night, six days after the start of Christmas break, Ginny came into the Great Hall for lunch. Because it there were so few students, only one table was set for meals, so Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione were seated together. Ginny sat down next to Hermione and leaned across the table, facing Harry.

“Hi, did you hear about the dance?” She asked without ceremony.

“Hello to you too, Weasley.” Draco said, not looking up from his book. Harry rolled his eyes.

“The dance?” Hermione asked as the others stared blankly.

“Yeah. I guess even though they’re back to workshopping the whole Triwizard Tournament thing for now, the Yule Ball tradition is back on. I guess it was Grubbly-Plank’s idea. It’s the first Christmas since the war; there’s been so much mourning and people have been kind of sombre. Everyone loved the ball so much last time-- they’ve deciding they want to hold it annually.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks at the “everyone loved it” comment but said nothing.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Said Draco, “Not nearly enough people stay over the Christmas holidays. Why are they having a dance?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron, “Pretty much everyone stayed for Christmas in our fourth year, and we still had more than enough room for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs. We won’t have a quarter as many people. Seems a bit daft to have a ball.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, “You’re right. There are less than 300 students at school right now.”

“That’s what Flitwick thought but Slughorn said there was an old ballroom on the ground floor for exactly this sort of thing.”

“Wait, how do you know all of this?” Harry asked her.

“Hagrid.”

On Friday evening Professor McGonagall, as acting headmistress, announced the ball was for all ages and was to be held on Christmas day, starting at eight o’clock. That was in four days.

In the meantime, there was a Hogsmeade trip planned for Saturday. Professor McGonagall reminded the seventh and “eighth” year students that they were legally adults and could apparate. She explained that they were, therefore, permitted during Hogsmeade weekends to go to Diagon Alley, if they wished.

This was good because it seemed that almost no one had dress robes. Of their group, Ron and Hermione had brought them, Ginny asked Mrs. Weasley to owl hers, but Harry and (surprisingly) Draco were without.

So the next day the five of them walked towards the village along with most of the other students. Once outside of Hogwarts grounds, however, they disapparated, leaving behind everyone sixth year and below.

Diagon Alley was fantastic. Everything was decorated for Yuletide. Soft snow was falling, people were singing, and everywhere were the colors of the season: silver, gold, red, and green. The whole street smelled like mulled wine and hot gingerbread. Golden bells hung from wizards’ robes and dangled off rooftops. Harry watched as his breath froze in the air and rose upwards in a merry, dancing cloud.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Hermione said, sounding businesslike, “Harry and Draco, you can go to Madam Malkin’s, I need to stop at Flourish and Blotts, these two” she gestured to Ron, and Ginny, “need go to the apothecary for Molly. Why don’t we all meet up at the Magical Menagerie. Then we can go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, get something to eat, and check out some of the vendors together.”

Since no one seemed inclined to argue, they all set off.

Standing in the shop as Madam Malkin took their measurements felt very strange, but Harry didn’t know why. He’d been in this shop plenty of times and it had never made him feel quite so odd. As Madam Malkin walked off to ring up their purchases, Draco turned to look at Harry, a look of faint amusement on his face.

“Play quidditch at all?” he asked.

Harry stared.

“I do.” Draco continued.

They looked at each other in silence, then suddenly both laughed.

“You were such a git.” Harry choked.

“I’ve never been a ‘git’ in my life. You, on the other hand...” Draco answered, face and voice full of humor.

“Malfoy, you were a right prat and you know it.”

They were still flushed with laughter as they turned to shrug on their winter layers. Since they had entered from Muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron, they were both wearing Muggle clothes.

They had shed their bulky layers for the fitting, Harry revealing jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, and Draco black trousers and a short-sleeve button up. Harry decided that Draco’s muggle studies must be paying off as he looked entirely normal, an impressive feat for any wizard. Harry had never seen him in short sleeves, he realized absently.

As Draco lifted his coat, the underside of his left forearm was momentarily visible.

Harry, moved lightening-fast, grabbed at Draco’s arm without pausing to think. He had drug it up to eye level before Draco realized what was happening. A moment too late, Draco wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp, staring at him wide-eyed.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I never saw-- ”

Draco turning on his heel and stormed off without speaking, clutching his arm to his chest as though it hurt.

Harry was left to hurriedly pay for both of their robes. He had to practically run to catch up with Draco, who was striding down the pavement at top speed.

As he neared him Harry almost shouted, “Malfoy, I didn’t mean-- I had no right… ”

“Exactly,” He bit back, “You have no right.”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s right arm, trying to slow him down.

“Fine. It’s forgotten.” Draco said, tone clearly indicating that it was not.

“Can we please... Can we just… Let’s go to the Menagerie, yeah?”

“Fine.”

They sped down the street, not speaking or looking at one another, moving at a pace that easily outstriped every other passerby.

Harry sighed with relief when he saw Ron and Ginny waving out of the Magical Menagerie window. Upon entering the shop, he and Draco separated, Draco going to stand next to Ginny and immediately striking up a rather forced discussion on pygmy puff care and Harry turning to Ron.

Ron gave him a big eyed “what the heck” look. Harry just shook his head in response.

The four of them only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione joined them and they entered the shop together, Draco and Ginny still deep in conversation.

They spread out through the shop, looking around at all of the interesting creatures for sale. While Harry was looking at a group of purple ferrets, he bumped into Hermione. He turned to apologize but before he could she spoke.

“Harry, is something wrong?”

“What?”

“Draco and you... Well, you both seem a bit on edge.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

She looked at him calculatingly, and then seemed to decide to let it go, “Well,alright,” she said, “Anyway, I was thinking you should get a pet, Harry.”

“I don’t want a pet,” he said, surprised at the sudden change in topic.

“Yes, well, you should get one. What about an owl? Or a cat?” Harry began to shake his head when Ron called from across the shop.

“Harry! Come here!”

He and Hermione walked over to see what the other three were looking at. A group of slender black snakes were lazily stirring in a large tank. A large, handsome one was coiled in the center of the tank.

“Why so many loud ones?” The handsome serpent asked, sounding irritated. “The large orange one is noisy.” Said another, probably. annoyed that Ron had shouted.

Harry chuckled, “He’s always like that.” he said.

He turned to look at his friends, who were all staring at him. He felt a bit annoyed at this, they’ve all seen me speak parseltongue before, he thought, even Draco.

“What are they they saying?” Ron asked.

“Talking about you actually,” Harry said, “They think you’re too loud.”

Ron’s only reaction was interest, “Really? What exactly--”

“That one there,” Harry said, gesturing, “said ‘the large orange one is noisy.’” Harry chucked at the look of delight on everyone’s faces.

“You’re having a go!” Accused Ron, amused.

“No, I’m not. He actually said that.” Harry laughed.

“Well, anyway, Harry, look in the hollow log,” Ginny said. She and Draco moved aside so Harry could peer through the glass and into the space she’s indicated. Inside the false log was a snake. It was slightly smaller than the others and a startling shade of white, with glittering black eyes and fine, smooth scales. As it moved Harry saw that there was a large black patch on it’s back and on the tip of it’s tail. The black of it’s spots and eyes only made the sheer whiteness of it more startling.

Harry stared at it, it stared back.

“Hello.” Said Harry.

“Hello.” Said the snake.

“What’s your name?” asked Harry.

“No,” Said the snake, “nameless.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are strange.” Said the snake, “Speaking. Too many eyes.”

Harry laughed and turned to his companions, who were gawking. “What?” He asked impatiently.

“You said your name,” Said Draco, “In a pack of spitting and hissing sounds, you said your name.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did he say?” Hermione asked, gesturing towards the snake.

“She thinks I’m strange. My glasses confuse her,” Harry said.

They looked between Harry and the snake in wonder.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Ginny asked after a moment.

“She sounds like one,” Harry answered.

The others got owl treats and things and payed for them. Then Harry made a decision. Catching the eye of the saleswoman on duty, Harry asked if he could have a look at the snake.

“I just want to look at her,” Harry muttered to a triumphant-looking Hermione, “I’m not buying her.”

A few hours later and the whole troop had returned to Gryffindor tower. They were sitting by the fire, talking and taking turns holding Manasa, Harry’s beautiful new pet.

She was oddly friendly for a reptile and seemed to enjoy both the attention and the warmth that came from being handled.

She was also a bit snarky, and sometimes said things that made Harry laugh. Whenever this happened the others would exchange looks like they were a bit lost. Manasa mistrusted Ron, “Too big,” she said, “Makes big noises.”

Harry laughed, “He says you’re pretty.”

“Still too big.” She said, but she sounded pleased.

###

Harry did not have the chance to talk to Draco for a long time. He finally got an opportunity when the others had gone to see Hagrid. Harry remained behind, Draco had protested, saying he would mind his manners, but Harry insisted that he had potions homework to do anyway.

So there they were, Harry and Draco, sitting opposite one another on the floor of the otherwise empty common room, with the fire beside them and books spread out between them.

They both attempted to study for a while, but were repeatedly distracted by one another until they both gave up and lay their books aside.

“But why don’t you just cut it?”

“You really aren’t one to talk, Malfoy, I’ve never seen your hair this long.”

“My hair is longer, yes, but it isn’t long and it isn’t messy, both of which are words that could be used to describe that kneezle nest on your head.”

Harry grinned and Draco returned the expression. A moment passed. Harry’s smile faded, and Draco’s vanished in response.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that, Potter. What?”

“I just… Can I see it?”

“See wha-- oh. No.”

Another moment of silence.

“Please?”

Draco snorted, “As if pleading would get anywhere with me. If this is how you get Hermione and Weasley to do things for you, I must say I’m disappointed in both of them. And that’s saying something, especially where Weasley’s concerned.”

Harry ignored this, “Draco it’s not… you’re not the first to wear it.”

“I know that,” he said sharply, “that’s the point.”

“No I mean, good men have born that mark. People make choices. Sometimes they’re wrong--”

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, whatever this is” Draco gestured widely at Harry and the surrounding area, “stop.”

Another silence.

“I have scars.” Harry said, “not just here,” he pushed his hair back, “here, too,” he showed Draco the back of his hand.

Draco glanced at it, still angry, but froze as he took in the words etched into Harry’s hand. I must not tell lies. He reached out slowly and Harry let him run his fingers across it, feeling the uneven scar tissue.

“What is that?”

“Umbridge.”

“What?” Draco looked up at Harry’s face, shocked.

Harry’s fingers wrapped around Draco’s left wrist, “I showed you mine.” He said softly.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at Harry’s choice of words, and then let out a heavy breath. He flipped his arm over and pulled back his sleeve.

Then it was Harry’s turn to stare. Shining, white against pale white, was the twisting, grotesque shape of the Dark Mark. With Voldemort’s defeat the mark had faded from a black tattoo-like print on the skin, to something that looked like a scar.

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry ran his fingertips over the old mark. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Did it hurt?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was whispering.

“Yes.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. He thought about his scars, about the marks Ron got at the ministry in their fifth year, and the ones given to Hermione by Bellatrix Lestrange. He thought about Bill’s face and George’s missing ear.

In the dim light of the fire he could see, protruding slightly from Draco’s collar, the thin lines of scars Harry himself had left with a curse he didn’t understand. He thought about the mark on Draco’s arm and the child who had accepted it, not really understanding what it meant beyond his family’s safety and prowess. He thought about others who had taken that mark and wondered how many of them had not understood what it would mean. Finally he spoke.

“Do you know who Regulus Black was?”

Draco blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes. He was a relative of mine. Brother of Sirius Black.”

Harry smiled a little. Draco said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue. And so Harry did.

He told Draco everything he knew about Regulus. He told him about his family life and background, about his lifelong desire to serve the Dark Lord and the pureblood line. He told him that Regulus had been only sixteen when he received the mark. He talked about horcruxes and R.A.B. and the role he played in the war. He talked about Kreacher. All the while he traced the lines of the mark on Draco’s arm, running his fingers lightly over it.

When he was done he still didn’t release Draco’s arm, and Draco didn’t reclaim it. Harry talked about Sirius and Draco talked about his parents and aunt. They talked about the war and all the fear and anger they’d felt at the things they’d both been asked to do. They talked for hours. About everything.

It was incredibly strange whenever Harry remembered that he was sitting in his own common room, sharing secrets and scars with Draco Malfoy, his oldest enemy. But then their eyes would meet or their knees would knock together lightly and it wouldn’t seem strange at all, and that would be more frightening still.

When, without any warning at all, the whole Gryffindor gang burst through the door into the common room, Harry dropped Draco’s arm and shot back, hitting his head against an armchair.

“Hey, Harry. You alright?” Ron asked as Draco crowed with laughter.

Harry shot him a look of annoyance before turning to Ron, “Yes, I’m fine, no thanks to you. Manasa’s right.” he said sounding bitter as he massaged the back of his head, “You make big noises.”

Ron laughed and chucked a wrapped parcel at Harry’s head, “Here’s your present from Hagrid. You’re welcome.”

Notes:

I disagree with J.K. Rowling’s conjecture that Harry would likely lose the ability to speak parseltongue after his and Voldemort’s deaths. I prefer to imagine that it was not, as supposed, a trait given to Harry via old Voldy’s soul. I prefer to believe that it was a gift of Harry’s own, partly because I love the similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry. Tom was a half-blood raised by muggles who discovered he could speak to snakes and immediately used this ability to do harm. Harry was a half-blood raised by muggles who discovered he could speak to snakes and immediately used this ability to hold polite small talk with a Brazilian boa constrictor. I love the idea of Harry eventually owning a snake.

The snake in this story gets her name from a Hindu snake deity (aka a "Naga"/"Nagini"), called Manasa or Mansa Devi.

[artificialqueens]

Playing with Fire Chapter 4 {biadore} - imafuckinglibra

Hi, hello, how are you? So I’ve been mia af lately (puberty, work, drag & engagement sorry) but I have been sitting on this boy for a while and he ready to be birthed to the world yay (gross I’ll see myself out). No smut this time sorry k bye

“Danny, no!”

Roy’s words rang in his ears a nanosecond too late just as Jason’s fist collided with Danny’s cheek and he hit the pavement with a loud thud.

What felt like the exact instant after Danny’s boney fist hit his jaw Jason had swung back at him. Probably a natural reaction but definitely not what he had expected.

When he hit the ground he looked up in disbelief at Jason, he’d heard of a jaw of steel but this was insane. It was like his flesh was literally steel. Cold and hard.

Hard enough to break his knuckle that the bone stuck out through the reddened damaged skin.

“He can change the structure of his skin you idiot!” Roy yelled at him before turning his attention back to Jason who already had his hands up, claiming it was self defense. “But he still has a squishy inside. Like the cockroach he is.”

Roy held his hand up and Danny could tell Jason was growing even more petrified than he had been a minute ago.

He looked unsure between Roy and Jason unsure of what Roy could possibly do that would scare him so much.

Until he began closing his fist.

The tighter Roy’s fist closed the redder Jason’s face grew, pure panic and fear spread across his face as the veins in his neck bulged out from his shirt’s collar.

“Get away from him you freak!” The man that was with Jason finally acknowledged what was happening as he began running towards Roy.

“Bug.” Roy snarled disgusted up at him and pushed away with a mere flick of his fingers like he was an ant on his plate.

“Stop. Please.” Jason begged out of breath with bloodshot eyes.

‘But he did almost kill Jason. Basically boiled his pretty little blonde brain to shit.’ Aaron’s warning from weeks before rang in the back of Danny’s mind as he watched with wide eyes at what was happening to Jason.

Of course. Roy controlled elements. Wind and earth…fire and water.

He was literally boiling all the liquid in Jason’s body, boiling him alive from the inside out. And Danny could feel it.

He could feel Jason’s terror and anguish as if it was affecting him too but even more he could feel Roy’s potential and energy burning so excruciatingly warm it was even hurting him.

It was hurting Roy to keep doing this, just because he punched Danny. This was his fault. Roy was in pain because of him and his stupidity.

“Roy. It’s okay, stop.” Danny pleaded walking up behind him to hug him. Trying to take some of that heat he was exuding off his shoulders and absorb it into him.

Just like Roy had taught him how to control fire, he couldn’t make any yet but he could pull it off his lighter or cigarette like Roy had done the first night they met.

Maybe, just maybe he could do the same with Roy. Remove some of his pain and fire off him.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that.” Roy relaxed his fist and turned around to hold onto Danny. “You okay?”

“My hand hurts a little, and my cheek.” Danny winced when Roy took his hand in his.

He examined the damaged skin for a minute while Jason and his bug made an escape, smart choice Danny thought.

“Here.” Roy began focusing intently as he placed his other hand’s palm over the broken knuckle.

“It’s cold?” Danny asked in disbelief.

He was so use to Roy always being warm and toasty he never expected to feel his skin this cold, it felt like ice. Like he had completely frozen his hand.

“What?” Roy smiled. “You think I can make things hot but not cold? C’mon queen have a little faith.”

“Are you okay?” Danny didn’t take his bait at trying to lighten the mood. He was too concerned with what he had just watched Roy do, too concerned with the fear he had in his eyes.

“Yeah, just needed to blow off some steam I guess. Who better than your ex right?” Roy kept Danny’s hand in his palm as he threw the other around his shoulders, pulling him in for a much needed embrace.

“Was that the same guy he…”

“No.” Roy sighed. “New one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah you better be.” Roy scolded. “You fucking idiot you don’t just go punching anyone you feel like just because you can.”

“I know.” Danny admitted softly dropping his head. Before he could ask or say any more Roy’s arms around him grew weak, limp. “Roy?”

“I’m good.” He protested trying to shake off any discomfort he was feeling. “I’m good I promise.”

“You look like all hell?” He asked growing more concerned when he saw Roy turn unnaturally pale.

“Hm-mh, fine. You’re good right?” Roy asked brushing his shakey fingers over Danny’s cheek.

His skin was warm, abnormally warm, burning almost. Danny even swore he could see the sweat on his furrowed brow evaporate as new drops poured out and disappeared.

“Stop looking so worried.” Roy shook his head before the rest of his body grew limp as well and he collapsed to the ground, his hands breaking his fall just in time as his body convulsed.

Every single thing he ate, drank and even some blood hitting the pavement in a horrific black splatter before he lost any stability he had left and he caved over.

“Roy!” Danny screamed falling to his knees besides him.

Unsure of what to do with his mind a complete bundled blank mess Danny reacted on pure instinct and called the one person he thought would know what to do best.

-

“I’m sorry I didn’t…” Danny’s snapped when the door to Roy’s apartment flung open but Shane threw his arms around him, gently shushing him before his rant could even begin.

“It’s okay, you did the right thing. A hospital would’ve turned you away, you did good, baby.” Shane continued reassuring him he made the right choice while he ran his hand along Danny’s spine to calm him down.

“He’ll kill you if he sees you smoking in here.” Willam who had followed Shane into the apartment along with Justin commented from behind them.

“No he, he let’s me smoke anywhere in the house except the work room.” Danny explained as he shakily brought the 3rd consecutive cigarette of the last 15 minutes up to his lips for another drag.

“I called Jerick, they’ll be here soon so don’t worry we’ll get this sorted.” Shane cupped his small face to examine the damage to his cheekbone. “Are you okay though? You hurt?”

“Why do you always call them? I can do it too you know!” Justin angrily grumbled before Danny could answer, taking a cigarette out his pocket and walking past all of them towards the balcony.

“Because you’d probably turn him into a frog or some creepy voodoo thing.” Willam defended Shane’s decision in his usual joking way as he followed Justin out.

“He does the same dark magic as Aaron but does dabble in light magic as well. Always tries to one up Jerick so, yeah.” Shane explained when he saw Danny’s confusion. “He’s just being a moody baby.”

“Didn’t know you guys were so close.” Danny commented before he realized this would probably be one of those times when Roy would tell him he’s overstepping.

“It’s complicated.” Shane admitted tilting his head to get a better view of the other two men embracing one another.

“Oh…” the lightbulb in Danny’s head went off. “When you said you’re seeing 2 different guys I thought you meant like…not this.”

“It’s an open relationship type thing, we realized we’re a great team together and decided to give this a try. See what happens, no strings attached.”

“Someone end up connecting those strings?” Danny asked seeing the twinkle in Shane’s eye when he looked at his loves.

He knew Justin more as Alaska, his drag persona, but that was just because they had done one or two shows together and Shane had talked about him here and there but he’d never have imagined they were together.

Especially not in this way.

“Everyone connected those strings.” Shane laughed, he didn’t say it in a way that made Danny get the impression he was unhappy with the situation. Quite the opposite actually.

“Jerick’s here.”

“What? How’d you know?” Shane turned his attention back to Danny just as the doorbell rang.

“I can feel it.” He shrugged.

“Impressive, Noriega, impressive.” Shane nodded before he showed the ginger in.

As if the everything wasn’t already tense enough the minute the Seattle native walked into the small LA home the atmosphere grew thick with distain. Clearly there was some bad blood between Justin and them but Danny couldn’t figure out what.

He had never heard Jerick speak a bad word about anyone and they obviously didn’t feel any particular way about him seeing as they asked Justin to come help.

However instead of helping like the dark haired beanpole made it evident he had intended to he just rolled his eyes at him and turned his back towards them.

“Babe.” Shane pleaded looking towards Willam to give him a ‘help me out’ look. “It’s for Roy, not for Jinkx.”

“Fine.” Justin caved, cleared unhappy about his decision but when he walked back in past them Shane pulled him in close for a thank you kiss.

Their lips lingering longer than Danny had expected making him feel uncomfortably out of place, enough so that he had to awkwardly turn away.

Jerick did however pop out from behind the bedroom door for a second just to ask Danny if he wanted to help or wait outside.

Fueling is downwards nervous wreck spiraling again so clearly he chose the latter. Making a quick beeline for the outdoor sitting area where he could light another cigarette.

He knew there was nothing he could do to help besides be there for Roy but he didn’t know how. The ride over was already nerve wracking enough.

He had slumped Roy into the back seat after he couldn’t get him to wake up for more than a few seconds at a time and every time he did Roy’s skin would flare up and he’d scream in unbearable pain and pass out again.

A blood curdling scream that rang too loudly once more in his ears right after the door closed behind Justin and Jerick. This time not just for a second but for what felt like an eternity.

His agony radiating through Danny’s body so violently he had to throw his palms over his ears to drown him out and without knowing it scream along.

“I know I give him a hard time but he knows his shits so hey, it’ll be okay” Willam came up from behind him holding his palms over Danny’s for a minute or two longer so he wouldn’t have to hear what was happening. “It’s over, you can stop screaming like a bottom bitch now.”

“I didn’t re…I didn’t know I was…um. Does that make you jealous?” Danny asked taking another cigarette out from the carton next to him when he realized he’d dropped his probably at the same time as his screaming.

He knew the question was intrusive but he had to distract himself and try not to not think of what was happening in the room next to them, a room he was merely separated by a sheet of glass from him.

The same window he sat by and looked out of the first night he spent at Roy’s. The same window that let the bright yellow rays of sun through the curtains every morning wake up their huddled together bodies.

“Nope.” Willam pouted his lips to one side holding his hand out behind him for Shane walking up to them so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders and pull him in for a kiss with the other. “Because I can do this.”

“You taste like his cigarettes.” Shane moaned smiling into his lips.

“You too.” Willam pulled away from their kissing to plop himself down on the neatly decorated outdoor loveseat.

“Sorry.” Shane apologized when he noticed Danny awkwardly turn away from them again. It being the 2nd time in the last 5 minutes telling him loud and clear that he didn’t approve. “We should probably explain.”

“It’s not that.” Danny corrected him. “I just, I…yeah.”

“You want to be kissing grandpa instead of watching us.” Willam jumped in. “I’d be the same.”

“How do you not get jealous? Like someone just looks at Roy and I want to fucking stab them.” He spoke as brutally honest as he wanted fueled by exhaustion and residual anger from seeing Jason.

“Sometimes we do.” Shane admitted taking Willam’s hand. “But it’s not like any of us were together first so nobody feels like this person owns that person or that person owns this person.”

“I’m sorry.” Danny dropped his head feeling embarrassed for snapping at his friends when they seemed so genuinely happy even if it wasn’t exactly conventional.

“I know you meant it out of curiosity not maliciousness.” Shane reached a hand out to pull on his fingers and show him it was okay to ask. “Will, Justin and I just work really well together. Professionally and romantically.”

“Speaking of, why does Justin hate Jerick?” Danny asked, again avoiding a topic he knew would only bring him down.

“Jerick asked if they can join our game. The drag one.” Shane began. “Justin and Detox thought it would be funny to embarrass them if they got a low tally at the end of the year so they said yes.”

“Turns out Jinkxy, who they thought was just some weirdo from Seattle, had a shit ton more in her than they expected and she won that year.” Willam continued as Danny felt himself beginning to unusually quickly calm down from his frenzy.

In all honesty he also began feeling stupid for not picking up on their connection earlier, for not clicking just how easily they seemed to flow and work even when they had a missing third.

“Yeah. And Justin had already been part of our little game for all 5 years it had been going on, Detox for 3, so when someone won who joined 4 months late to the game Justin threw a massive tantrum.” Shane added the last bit almost hesitantly as if he felt like he was betraying his love. “He’s a lot more sensitive than he leads on and sometimes it gets the better of him but he’s a good kid, just doesn’t know how to let go of a grudge.”

“Kid?” Willam snorted.

“You know what I mean.”

“How many years has Roy entered?” Danny broke up their playful bickering.

“The year he won was his first.” Shane did some math in his head before turning to Willam to double check. “We had all been friends with him already but he thought it was stupid till Sharon coaxed him to join.”

“Won and then called it quits. Said he didn’t want to bother to keep track.” As Willam was talking his fingers were dancing in spirals all around Shane’s naked thigh draped over his lap. The shorts he was wearing rising up high enough that Danny could see some fresh bruising on his ass making him blush.

“Honestly think he just stopped caring, he stopped caring about a lot of things around that time.”

“Not caring is the worst there is.” Willam melancholically added ceasing his fingers’ twirling to hold Shane’s hand, clearly a topic that hit too close to home.

“Claimed life’s too full of bullshit already.”

“That’s why he’s that bitter.” Willam said in a tone almost as if he was scolding Shane for letting him get that way.

“He’s always been that way.” Shane defended himself while Danny remained silent, unsure of when to jump in. “Even in high school he said people were too busy with being fake and saying ‘oh I love you, I love you’ that he’d rather say ‘I love you, but you look fucking retarted.’” Shane began laughing.

“You changed him though I think.” Justin added catching him off guard when they didn’t realize he’d been standing in the doorway with Jerick. Both looking absolutely spent.

“I did?” Danny asked surprised.

“You’re the only person who embraces his doucheness.” Shane laughed while Justin came to stand beside where they were sitting, his hand on Shane’s shoulder completing the line up. “And the only one who claps back.”

“Think he likes that, having someone to spar with, someone to take care off.” Jerick smiled making Danny feel more at ease too.

Something about their energy just seemed to bring peace to him, at first he thought it was just because they were always understanding and nice to him but when he recognized a gnawing at the base of his skull he realized it was his powers.

Would make sense, if dark magic could make you feel fear why wouldn’t light magic make you feel at ease with the same simple mind trick?

He never realized just how little he knew about magic till he met Roy’s friends, they somehow managed to always keep him on his toes and teach him something new even when they hadn’t intended to.

“Plus apparently you give great head, girl.” Justin couldn’t resist throwing into the conversation earning him a playful ‘no’ slap from Shane. “And all that ass.”

“He has always liked that big bootied young type.” Willam laughed with Justin in his pig grunting fashion.

“Who doesn’t.” Jerick cheered along.

In all honesty Danny had been so caught up on watching the dynamic between the strange threeway he’d forgotten Jerick was there too.

“Before you ask he’s okay.” The ginger read his mind. “He was just overworked basically, put too much into everything all at once and it was just a lot for his body. He dropped and raised his body temperature too much in succession that he nearly fried his brains too.”

“He’s okay.” Danny wiped his eyes sighing a deep sigh of relief for the first time all night before Jerick walked over to him to give him a well deserved hug.

“Please take care of yourself, never do that.” They held onto the back of Danny’s head showing just how truly scared they’d been behind the confident facade.

“I won’t.” Danny pulled his arms in tighter to hold onto Jerick for far too much needed comfort. “Thank you.”

“Justin helped a lot too so thank him as well.” Jerick smiled swaying Danny side to side before they pulled back to look into his eyes, making a silent pack with him.

“Thanks Lasky.” Danny released him so he can pull Justin up to hug him tightly as well, clocking the proud smiles from his partners next to them.

“I should get going I have a…thing.” Jerick tried explaining as delicately yet awkwardly as possible.

The knowing grin Willam gave them giving away that everyone knew exactly what they were talking about so the ginger made a quick escape before the teasing could begin.

The 3 other men also tried to see themselves out for the night but Danny managed to convince them to stay just in case he needed them later if something happened.

In reality he didn’t want to be alone, and even though Roy was with him in the apartment without getting to hear his voice he felt lonely. Empty almost. Like something in his life was just missing.

He helped Willam get their bed for the night ready in the living room by dragging 3 of the ottomans together next to the corner couch to form one big couch while Justin and Shane were still outside.

Danny’s heart growing full at the sight of Shane so happily cuddled up to Justin while he smoked and especially when the bright smile spread across his sleepy face when Willam joined them.

Pulling their chins up with his fingertips to give each a kiss, a cue for Danny that it was time to leave them and return to his own love.

He closed the door behind him as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing the peacefully sleeping Roy, his fingertips holding onto the door a bit longer as he listened to the loving goodnights echoing from the living room.

A small act of affection he missed now that Roy was already alseep.

According to Jerick his temperature was back to normal again but as he stopped to run his finger softly over his forehead he felt how eerily cold his skin had gotten.

Danny took the minute or two longer than usual while he was getting undressed to watch Roy’s slow breathing.

He always looked so calm, so at peace when he was sleeping that Danny loved to watching him drift off, he could sit and simply watch Roy sleep for hours. Especially right before his eyes shut, right when those tightly furrowed brows would uncurl from the day’s stresses leaving him.

Climbing in under the covers next to him he focused his energy on warming his body temperature just a degree or two like Roy always would for him.

Taking the bundled up man into his arms so he’d instinctively curl into his embrace as he had done many a night before.

“Thanks for being my asshole.” Danny kissed his forehead, nuzzling his head into the unconscious man’s shoulder blade so they’d be as connected as possible, allowing his body to heat up before he drifted off as well. “I love you.”

“Love you too…”

-

The next morning the permanently set alarm at 5am went off signaling the start of Roy’s day. Despite his struggles from the previous night the stubborn set in his ways queen decided to shrug it off and go about his day as usual.

Danny however he left in bed seeing as even deep in slumber he looked like shit, his eyes red and puffed up like he’d been crying for far too long.

‘Probably over me.’ Roy deducted wiping a strand of hair from his forehead so he could admire his soft features in the dawn light.

“Explains the shitty hangover.” Roy grumbled leaning against the wall when he spotted Willam and Justin spooning on the make shift bed while Shane made coffee.

“Don’t be a bitch he did a good job.” Willam defended his love pulling Justin in closer.

“He sure as hell didn’t do it alone. Who do I need to, thanks, send a gift basket to?” Roy took the cup of coffee Shane handed him examining the freshly scarred bits of flesh on his palms.

“Jerick.” Willam yawned while Shane tried kicking him more awake so him and Justin would take their cups too. “Take some of the yellow pills in my baggy for Danny. It’s by the counter.”

“Y’all do the old switcharoo?” Roy nodded at Justin taking a deep sip of his coffee to prepare himself for waking Danny up.

“We tried but he kept rejecting us.”

“I don’t even think he knew he was rejecting you, he’s got some weird shit going on.” Willam shuddered.

“What do you mean?” Roy stood a little more perked frowning deeply.

To reject someone willingly was easy, if you knew who it was crawling around, knew they’re pattern and of course if you were powerful enough you could simply flick them away.

Rejecting someone unknowingly though. You’d have to go in blind, like you were lost in a pitch black mine field with lead shoes. One wrong flick and you’d end up blowing yourself up too.

“I don’t think he.” Shane stopped to take another sip from his tea and think his words through. “He seems to be able to see and feel things we can’t. Yesterday he knew Jerrick was outside before you could even hear their footsteps.”

“He does that.” Roy nodded thinking on how it related back to what he told him about feeling energy.

“And he was screaming last night. But it wasn’t like he was the one screaming.” Willam seemed more confused than any of them even though he seemingly knew the most. “I think he was unknowingly rejecting you guys because he had taken over your energy. Think you were the one screaming through him while he rejected Jerrick and Justin so they’re energy would be focused on you.”

“He moved energy.” Justin’s lightbulb went off and instantly like startled meerkats they all looked at each other.

“That could be dangerous.”

“And painful.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Roy held his hands up as a silent of way telling Willam to shut the fuck up. “But listen, I appreciate it fag, really. You did a good job I barely feel anything.”

A lie but he was willing to make an exception to his general rules.

He continued proudly praising Justin’s handiwork as he ran his hands through his hair to think things through. He knew Jerick was always careful, using his abilities just enough that he could repair what was needed without leaving a trace of interference.

Justin however was still getting the hang of using light magic rather than dark and often left behind some residual damage, hence the hungover aching in his skull and bones.

“Our little one’s growing stronger isn’t he?” Shane proudly nodded in the direction of the closed bedroom door now that the initial shock had sunk it. “It takes a lot of determination to take on your feelings and push back two other’s abilities.”

“It does, I’m worried that if I wake him he’ll be feeling a fuck ton of leftovers.”

“I’ll try and dampen what I can.” Justin offered up, probably feeling guilty.

Apart from restoring Roy’s abilities back to normal where his body could process and regulate them as needed they also had to go back in and fix up his body.

All while the back of Jerick’s mind worked on keeping Danny’s emotions under wraps and Justin then controlling how much of that he’d feel so he wouldn’t catch on to what they were doing.

A neat trick that could often be used when 2 or more light or dark magicians got together and worked well in unison. Picking up when and where to work so the individual would remain oblivious.

“Roy…” Danny interrupted them emerging seemingly from nowhere behind Roy to walk into his arms seeking some comfort. “My head.”

His voice cracked revealing the pain they were all worried about and instantly Justin sat up straighter to get to work trying to ease him out of it while Roy wrapped his arms around him tightly.

Cradling him like a baby with his free hand keeping his head as still as possible against his neck.

“Shh, just breath baby.” Ry coached him as best he could while the hands against his chest clung onto his shirt. “You want to go back to bed?”

Instead of an answer Danny just nodded slowly, Shane taking the initiative to take his cup from him freeing up his hands so he could pick Danny up and throw his legs around his waist.

Carrying him back to the bed while Shane followed with their coffees.

“We’ll make breakfast don’t stress.” Shane winked at Roy while he caressed Danny’s head. “It’ll be over soon.”

“It hurts.” Danny whined nuzzling his head into Roy’s neck further when he set them down against the headboard.

Danny’s arms wrapping around Roy’s chest, his hands sliding over every new scarred bump on his skin from where he’d burned himself.

“Justin’s gonna try and put you to sleep a little okay, just enough to take the pain away but let him in. Don’t think.” He held his lips tightly pressed against his forehead as if he was protecting him from any further harm when he felt a tear sink into his shirt when fingers found their way over one of the deeper scars. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“I thought you were gonna die.” Danny admitted sniffling softly making Roy pull him in even closer, comforting himself more than he was his love.

“I want you to move in.”

“Why?” Danny asked grabbing a chunk of fabric tighter in his fist to check it was real, feeling Roy’s heartbeat increase.

“So I can look after you.” His voice was solemn, thick with concern. “And so you can look after me.”

“Okay.” He whispered looking up for the first time to see just how weathered and tired Roy’s face was looking, sending another pang of concern through his chest and string of tears down his cheeks. “You said you love me.”

“You said it first I had to.” He faked his usual bullshit disinterested knowing all too well Danny could see right through him.

“You love me.” He retorted sitting up now that his head was starting to feel like his own again.

“I do.” Roy admitted pulling his jaw carefully in for kiss. “I love you.”

“I don’t.” Danny smiled cheekily clearly in a much better mood.

“Don’t make me cook you too whore.” Roy threatened before Danny lunged back at his chest to hug him.

They stayed in the same position for another good 30 minutes while Danny focused on listening to Roy’s breathing to avoid thinking of how badly his head was hurting.

Eventually through the rhythmic drops of his chest and Justin’s aid he grew so peaceful he nearly fell asleep, Roy letting himself enjoy it too before he had to return to the harsh reality of a full day’s work ahead of him.

The only thing knocking him back down from his personal heaven being his 2nd alarm going off to remind himself he had to get going.

“You good?” Roy asked tapping Danny’s forehead.

“Mh-hm.” He nodded scared if he moved too much his head would shake loose again.

“You wanna go grab breakfast?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Not gonna happen you lazy fuck.” Roy slapped his shoulder and slid out from under him leaving Danny behind on the bed pouting.

“You’re a dick.”

“I have to go shower and get ready, go have breakfast with the nutjobs and I’ll join you in a minute.” He turned his back to Danny as he began picking out his outfit for the day.

A simple black long sleeve shirt, light brown chino pants that he knew Danny loved because it showed off his ass and some classic Roy style black sneakers.

“It’s alive!” Shane shouted throwing his hands up in the air when Danny came strutting out the bedroom scratching his butt.

“And it’s so classy.” Roy scolded slapping his hands out of his black boxers that he stole from Roy weeks ago. “Get your hand out of your ass you slut.”

“Why? Your head need the space?” Danny snapped back licking the side of his mouth making Roy shake his head at his cheek.

“Meowr.”

-

“We need a change.” Danny suggested as he popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

Like he had done every day at noon like clockwork Danny had showed up at the costume studio where Roy was hard at work to bring him lunch.

“Like what?” Roy slapped his boyfriend’s hand away from his salad.

“I don’t know.” He pulled his shoulders up lazily running his finger over details on Roy’s watch. “By the way, how you feeling?”

“Cold. Still.” He shuddered pulling down his rolled up sleeves. “Think Jerick broke me.”

“They fixed you, that’s what a normal person feels like.” Danny rolled his eyes taking Roy’s hand.

“Yeah whatever.” He smirked turning his hand to hold Danny’s better. Checking the damage that remained from his display of rage that the others couldn’t fully fix. “You overworked yourself, you’re overworking yourself now you need a break.” Danny tried pleading as his hand ran up from Roy’s towards his cheek.

“I can’t.” Roy sighed leaning into his palm. “I have shit to do, you know that.”

“Fine. You have a week to do it then we’re going on a vacation together.” Danny stated very matter of factly, his grin unbearably big.

“The show isn’t for 2 weeks.”

“You have two weeks then.”

“Smartass.” Roy laughed kissing the back of his hand so he can resume eating. “But sure, I’ll bite, where would we go?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere, everywhere.” Danny scrunched his nose up to think of a destination. “New york?”

“Too many queens.”

“Hm…Seattle?”

“Too cold and wet.”

“Vegas?”

“Too loud.”

“New Orleans?”

“Too home.”

“Uh…Florida?”

“I’m not old enough yet.” Roy cynically laughed before Danny tried thinking of more places.

“Pennsylvania?”

“Too sharon.”

“So fucking picky.” Danny laughed as Roy smugly smirked taking another bite if his food. “Texas?”

“Too…actually.” Roy nodded pulling out his phone. “Not a bad idea.”

“Really?” Danny perked up.

He’d been to Texas a few times to visit a friend of his and knew the state better than most of the others he mentioned even if they weren’t as glamorous.

“A friend’s there.” Roy smiled digging through his phone to find the page of the friend in question before he sat back rubbing his chin. “God wonder how he is haven’t spoken to Kam in forever.”

“Kam?” Danny’s jealously began bubbling.

“Dane, Kameron’s his drag name. We lived together for a bit when I did a gig there.”

“You?” Danny snorted, his jealousy being temporarily thrown out as he imagined Roy riding a cow in full cowboy gear. “In texas?”

“Shut up.” He threw a piece of bread his way. “I taught classes there on wigs and Dean’s a hairdresser so we just hit it off.”

“We go.” Danny slammed his open palm on the table causing their meal on the already dodgy table to shake around.

“Just eat your food.” Roy scolded tilting his head to observe the goofy full cheeked smile Danny had plastered across his face enjoying his victory. “What?”

“Nothing.” Danny chimed sticking his tongue out. “You love me.”

[wordsonly]

His vile contempt had snapped out.

Immediately, on seeing the hurt and the flicker of hate behind her eyes I had paused and I tried to tactfully rewind;

I didn’t actually mean the design. I had just assumed that these must be branded glassware. I just, as a rule, oppose any glasses gifted to us as a means to advertise to our customers. I had realised now, this was not that.

The glass was pretty. It had an aesthetic reminiscent of vintage 50s glassware. Much like her, it looked small, fragile yet fun and cheerful. A small fine bulb painted all over with shapes red and yellow, delineated by fine brown lines.

At first glance it looked like an illustrated sunset. Closer inspection revealed it to be perhaps more intended to represent a Japanese blossom or some such delicate colourful thing. I don’t suppose it mattered, either way it was pleasing.

So fuck him.

The hungry and irritable child, wearing an uncomfortable uniform, that’s chocking at the neck. It’s synthetic fabric construction inculcating sweaty discomfort as course labels scratch at every possible location of tender skin. Fuck him. I can’t get a god damned word in. Whip fast, he is always cutting me off. Lashing out. Screeching his disgust, spewing his thoughtless angry distain in just about all and every direction.

Though I ply him with sticky liquorice and soft drinks and ice cream, that distraction only provides momentary relief. 35 years of his bullshit. I fucking hate that kid.

[narcissusneverknewme]

Protection Detail Part Two: The Growth of  a Friendship

Chapter Three: Happy Holidays

The first time Draco walked into the Gryffindor common room the other twelve people currently occupying it stopped and stared openly. Draco took everything in with a sneer, cold eyes roaming over the warm house colors that decorated every inch of the room.

“This place disgusting,” Draco said, “Does anyone ever get sick? Do you suffer from sensory deprivation after a few hours of seeing nothing but this awful shade of red splashed on every-”

“Malfoy, shut up.” Harry said, with no real venom in his voice. Harry appreciated how intimidating this must be for the other boy and therefore thought he could let a few slights against his house colors slide for now.

“What is he doing here?” Lavender Brown asked from her place at a table near the entrance.

“Same thing you are, I suppose.” Harry said evenly.

“This is the Gryffindor common room. He really doesn’t--”

“You have Hannah Abbot in here for your study groups all the time.” Said Ron. “She’s a Hufflepuff.” Though far from being Draco’s biggest fans, Ron and Hermione had jumped on the protect-Draco-Malfoy bandwagon to help Harry.

“Yes. She’s a Hufflepuff. And a nice one.” Replied Hannah.

The four ignored her and took up seats next to the fire. No further protests were verbalized, but curious glances and pointed glares came from every side. Ginny, also ignoring the looks, came to sit next to beside them.

“Welcome to Gryffindor, Malfoy.” She said by way of greeting. The comment clearly irked him, but Draco did not respond beyond a slight inclination of the head, likely remembering a well-placed bat-bogey hex a few years before, “I’m a bit surprised you’re here, actually,” she continued conversationally, “but I suppose Harry wanted to keep an eye on you. Don’t trust the other Slytherin’s with him, Harry?” she asked.

Harry just looked at her, unsure how to answer. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like the way that had sounded.

“I mean, I might be wrong but I thought it was mainly Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that were attacking you between classes?”

Draco looked as though he were about to say something exceptionally nasty, a reaction Harry was starting to associate with Draco’s discomfort as much as distain or actual dislike.

“Harry here doesn’t like to take any chances with his ickle Dwaco’s safety,” an obnoxious voice cut in, mimicking the high pitch and misformed words of a small child. Zacharias Smith had entered the common room, unnoticed by the five seated by the fire, with Colin and Dennis Creevey trailing behind him.

“Shut it.” Colin said sharply before a stunned Harry or livid Draco could respond, “Sorry, sorry. Charms partner. No choice.” Smith looked offended at this.

“Oi, Lavender!” Ron said, far too quietly for her to hear, “Where’s the the Gryffindor-Only Common Room Protection Squad when you need them?”

Draco looked as though he longed to say something and was putting a lot of effort into keeping his mouth closed. Harry must have looked extremely red-faced and flustered because Colin, pushing Zacharias towards the other side of the common room mouthed, “Sorry Harry,” once more.

After the first few times, people got used to having Draco in the common room. He was not particularly quiet or polite, in fact he was notably neither, but they all got used to him as break progressed. It helped that Harry, Ron, Hermione (who actually heard some of the first years referring to them as “The Golden Trio”), and Ginny were all rather popular, especially with their younger classmates.

It also helped that Draco was a good storyteller, and could be very entertaining when he wasn’t busy being deeply unpleasant.

This really shouldn’t have been a surprise, Harry had seen large groups of Slytherins listening intently as Draco had regaled them with humiliating anecdotes about Harry for years. To be fair, seething with anger and embarrassment from across the Great Hall was not a prime seat for observing the finer points of Draco’s narration technique.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, listening to him relate something that didn’t involve Harry fainting or having his nose broken, was a strange experience for Harry. He had expected Draco’s mordant humor to be annoying, what he had not expected to find his sarcasm and clever turns of phrase to be amusing.

When Draco told a story he used his whole body. His fingers combed through the air as he described situations and people; he used ironic understatement and ludicrous hyperbole in rapid succession. Draco had a gift for theatrics. He did dramatic impressions, mirrored facial expressions and used wide, sweeping gestures. Draco was absolutely ridiculous, and Harry found himself enthralled, soaking in every motion, every word. Just like those Slytherins he, Ron, and Hermione used to mock for exactly this kind of pathetic rapture.

Harry was also surprised by how quickly his friends got used to Draco. Light-hearted bickering and harmless insults soon put everyone at ease. It was strange, since it was Harry who most hated Draco, that it was Harry for whom they all learned to tolerate him.

The two Harry had most anticipated finding it difficult to be courteous to one another surprised Harry by finding it the easiest. Hermione and Draco were so deeply amiable to one another that it almost made Harry uncomfortable. Hermione’s delicacy and ability to find a seemingly endless number of neutral topics of conversation, combined with Draco’s impressive ability to fake geniality, took the first steps in establishing peace.

As the first days of near-constant contact passed, Hermione and Draco’s conversations slowly became less and less neutral, but it no longer seemed to matter. They had become sort of friends, allied in their determination to squash the awkward atmosphere first conjured by Draco’s presence. He and Hermione argued about even the most sensitive subjects, often swapping petty insults along the way. After commenting on everything from one another’s test scores to fashion choices, they always ended their arguments slightly red in the face but, quite inexplicably to Harry’s mind, no less friends.

Ron and Ginny both opted to stay as far from the two of them as possible as soon as a debate sprung up. Hermione had a habit of appealing to them (mostly Ron) to back her up, so they tended to turn tail and run at the slightest indication that the discussion was going to get heavy.

Harry rarely said anything during these conversations. He didn’t have to worry about either Hermione or Draco dragging him in because whenever they tried he’d just give them a thoughtful look and say, “Er, I dunno... It’s a good question, though,” and so they both gave up asking. He found their debates oddly fascinating, he couldn’t explain why but he enjoyed listening to them.

The five of them studied, ate, played board games, and relaxed together. At night the entire group walked Draco to his common room. The conversation at the entrance to the dungeons would always go the same way.

“Thanks. I mean,” Draco would drawl, “I probably could have found my own common room on my own…”

“But why chance it, eh, Malfoy?” Ron would say.

“Watch your back in there and cast-” Harry would start.

“Yes, mother, I’ll do that.” Draco would interrupt.

“Right then.” Harry would say.

“Sleep well, Draco” Hermione would say.

“Yeah, g’night.” Ginny would add.

###

On Thursday night, six days after the start of Christmas break, Ginny came into the Great Hall for lunch. Because it there were so few students, only one table was set for meals, so Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione were seated together. Ginny sat down next to Hermione and leaned across the table, facing Harry.

“Hi, did you hear about the dance?” She asked without ceremony.

“Hello to you too, Weasley.” Draco said, not looking up from his book. Harry rolled his eyes.

“The dance?” Hermione asked as the others stared blankly.

“Yeah. I guess even though they’re back to workshopping the whole Triwizard Tournament thing for now, the Yule Ball tradition is back on. I guess it was Grubbly-Plank’s idea. It’s the first Christmas since the war; there’s been so much mourning and people have been kind of sombre. Everyone loved the ball so much last time-- they’ve deciding they want to hold it annually.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks at the “everyone loved it” comment but said nothing.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Said Draco, “Not nearly enough people stay over the Christmas holidays. Why are they having a dance?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron, “Pretty much everyone stayed for Christmas in our fourth year, and we still had more than enough room for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs. We won’t have a quarter as many people. Seems a bit daft to have a ball.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, “You’re right. There are less than 300 students at school right now.”

“That’s what Flitwick thought but Slughorn said there was an old ballroom on the ground floor for exactly this sort of thing.”

“Wait, how do you know all of this?” Harry asked her.

“Hagrid.”

On Friday evening Professor McGonagall, as acting headmistress, announced the ball was for all ages and was to be held on Christmas day, starting at eight o’clock. That was in four days.

In the meantime, there was a Hogsmeade trip planned for Saturday. Professor McGonagall reminded the seventh and “eighth” year students that they were legally adults and could apparate. She explained that they were, therefore, permitted during Hogsmeade weekends to go to Diagon Alley, if they wished.

This was good because it seemed that almost no one had dress robes. Of their group, Ron and Hermione had brought them, Ginny asked Mrs. Weasley to owl hers, but Harry and (surprisingly) Draco were without.

So the next day the five of them walked towards the village along with most of the other students. Once outside of Hogwarts grounds, however, they disapparated, leaving behind everyone sixth year and below.

Diagon Alley was fantastic. Everything was decorated for Yuletide. Soft snow was falling, people were singing, and everywhere were the colors of the season: silver, gold, red, and green. The whole street smelled like mulled wine and hot gingerbread. Golden bells hung from wizards’ robes and dangled off rooftops. Harry watched as his breath froze in the air and rose upwards in a merry, dancing cloud.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Hermione said, sounding businesslike, “Harry and Draco, you can go to Madam Malkin’s, I need to stop at Flourish and Blotts, these two” she gestured to Ron, and Ginny, “need go to the apothecary for Molly. Why don’t we all meet up at the Magical Menagerie. Then we can go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, get something to eat, and check out some of the vendors together.”

Since no one seemed inclined to argue, they all set off.

Standing in the shop as Madam Malkin took their measurements felt very strange, but Harry didn’t know why. He’d been in this shop plenty of times and it had never made him feel quite so odd. As Madam Malkin walked off to ring up their purchases, Draco turned to look at Harry, a look of faint amusement on his face.

“Play quidditch at all?” he asked.

Harry stared.

“I do.” Draco continued.

They looked at each other in silence, then suddenly both laughed.

“You were such a git.” Harry choked.

“I’ve never been a ‘git’ in my life. You, on the other hand...” Draco answered, face and voice full of humor.

“Malfoy, you were a right prat and you know it.”

They were still flushed with laughter as they turned to shrug on their winter layers. Since they had entered from Muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron, they were both wearing Muggle clothes.

They had shed their bulky layers for the fitting, Harry revealing jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, and Draco black trousers and a short-sleeve button up. Harry decided that Draco’s muggle studies must be paying off as he looked entirely normal, an impressive feat for any wizard. Harry had never seen him in short sleeves, he realized absently.

As Draco lifted his coat, the underside of his left forearm was momentarily visible.

Harry, moved lightening-fast, grabbed at Draco’s arm without pausing to think. He had drug it up to eye level before Draco realized what was happening. A moment too late, Draco wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp, staring at him wide-eyed.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I never saw-- ”

Draco turning on his heel and stormed off without speaking, clutching his arm to his chest as though it hurt.

Harry was left to hurriedly pay for both of their robes. He had to practically run to catch up with Draco, who was striding down the pavement at top speed.

As he neared him Harry almost shouted, “Malfoy, I didn’t mean-- I had no right… ”

“Exactly,” He bit back, “You have no right.”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s right arm, trying to slow him down.

“Fine. It’s forgotten.” Draco said, tone clearly indicating that it was not.

“Can we please... Can we just… Let’s go to the Menagerie, yeah?”

“Fine.”

They sped down the street, not speaking or looking at one another, moving at a pace that easily outstriped every other passerby.

Harry sighed with relief when he saw Ron and Ginny waving out of the Magical Menagerie window. Upon entering the shop, he and Draco separated, Draco going to stand next to Ginny and immediately striking up a rather forced discussion on pygmy puff care and Harry turning to Ron.

Ron gave him a big eyed “what the heck” look. Harry just shook his head in response.

The four of them only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione joined them and they entered the shop together, Draco and Ginny still deep in conversation.

They spread out through the shop, looking around at all of the interesting creatures for sale. While Harry was looking at a group of purple ferrets, he bumped into Hermione. He turned to apologize but before he could she spoke.

“Harry, is something wrong?”

“What?”

“Draco and you... Well, you both seem a bit on edge.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

She looked at him calculatingly, and then seemed to decide to let it go, “Well,alright,” she said, “Anyway, I was thinking you should get a pet, Harry.”

“I don’t want a pet,” he said, surprised at the sudden change in topic.

“Yes, well, you should get one. What about an owl? Or a cat?” Harry began to shake his head when Ron called from across the shop.

“Harry! Come here!”

He and Hermione walked over to see what the other three were looking at. A group of slender black snakes were lazily stirring in a large tank. A large, handsome one was coiled in the center of the tank.

“Why so many loud ones?” The handsome serpent asked, sounding irritated. “The large orange one is noisy.” Said another, probably. annoyed that Ron had shouted.

Harry chuckled, “He’s always like that.” he said.

He turned to look at his friends, who were all staring at him. He felt a bit annoyed at this, they’ve all seen me speak parseltongue before, he thought, even Draco.

“What are they they saying?” Ron asked.

“Talking about you actually,” Harry said, “They think you’re too loud.”

Ron’s only reaction was interest, “Really? What exactly--”

“That one there,” Harry said, gesturing, “said ‘the large orange one is noisy.’” Harry chucked at the look of delight on everyone’s faces.

“You’re having a go!” Accused Ron, amused.

“No, I’m not. He actually said that.” Harry laughed.

“Well, anyway, Harry, look in the hollow log,” Ginny said. She and Draco moved aside so Harry could peer through the glass and into the space she’s indicated. Inside the false log was a snake. It was slightly smaller than the others and a startling shade of white, with glittering black eyes and fine, smooth scales. As it moved Harry saw that there was a large black patch on it’s back and on the tip of it’s tail. The black of it’s spots and eyes only made the sheer whiteness of it more startling.

Harry stared at it, it stared back.

“Hello.” Said Harry.

“Hello.” Said the snake.

“What’s your name?” asked Harry.

“No,” Said the snake, “nameless.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are strange.” Said the snake, “Speaking. Too many eyes.”

Harry laughed and turned to his companions, who were gawking. “What?” He asked impatiently.

“You said your name,” Said Draco, “In a pack of spitting and hissing sounds, you said your name.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did he say?” Hermione asked, gesturing towards the snake.

“She thinks I’m strange. My glasses confuse her,” Harry said.

They looked between Harry and the snake in wonder.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Ginny asked after a moment.

“She sounds like one,” Harry answered.

The others got owl treats and things and payed for them. Then Harry made a decision. Catching the eye of the saleswoman on duty, Harry asked if he could have a look at the snake.

“I just want to look at her,” Harry muttered to a triumphant-looking Hermione, “I’m not buying her.”

A few hours later and the whole troop had returned to Gryffindor tower. They were sitting by the fire, talking and taking turns holding Manasa, Harry’s beautiful new pet.

She was oddly friendly for a reptile and seemed to enjoy both the attention and the warmth that came from being handled.

She was also a bit snarky, and sometimes said things that made Harry laugh. Whenever this happened the others would exchange looks like they were a bit lost. Manasa mistrusted Ron, “Too big,” she said, “Makes big noises.”

Harry laughed, “He says you’re pretty.”

“Still too big.” She said, but she sounded pleased.

###

Harry did not have the chance to talk to Draco for a long time. He finally got an opportunity when the others had gone to see Hagrid. Harry remained behind, Draco had protested, saying he would mind his manners, but Harry insisted that he had potions homework to do anyway.

So there they were, Harry and Draco, sitting opposite one another on the floor of the otherwise empty common room, with the fire beside them and books spread out between them.

They both attempted to study for a while, but were repeatedly distracted by one another until they both gave up and lay their books aside.

“But why don’t you just cut it?”

“You really aren’t one to talk, Malfoy, I’ve never seen your hair this long.”

“My hair is longer, yes, but it isn’t long and it isn’t messy, both of which are words that could be used to describe that kneezle nest on your head.”

Harry grinned and Draco returned the expression. A moment passed. Harry’s smile faded, and Draco’s vanished in response.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that, Potter. What?”

“I just… Can I see it?”

“See wha-- oh. No.”

Another moment of silence.

“Please?”

Draco snorted, “As if pleading would get anywhere with me. If this is how you get Hermione and Weasley to do things for you, I must say I’m disappointed in both of them. And that’s saying something, especially where Weasley’s concerned.”

Harry ignored this, “Draco it’s not… you’re not the first to wear it.”

“I know that,” he said sharply, “that’s the point.”

“No I mean, good men have born that mark. People make choices. Sometimes they’re wrong--”

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, whatever this is” Draco gestured widely at Harry and the surrounding area, “stop.”

Another silence.

“I have scars.” Harry said, “not just here,” he pushed his hair back, “here, too,” he showed Draco the back of his hand.

Draco glanced at it, still angry, but froze as he took in the words etched into Harry’s hand. I must not tell lies. He reached out slowly and Harry let him run his fingers across it, feeling the uneven scar tissue.

“What is that?”

“Umbridge.”

“What?” Draco looked up at Harry’s face, shocked.

Harry’s fingers wrapped around Draco’s left wrist, “I showed you mine.” He said softly.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at Harry’s choice of words, and then let out a heavy breath. He flipped his arm over and pulled back his sleeve.

Then it was Harry’s turn to stare. Shining, white against pale white, was the twisting, grotesque shape of the Dark Mark. With Voldemort’s defeat the mark had faded from a black tattoo-like print on the skin, to something that looked like a scar.

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry ran his fingertips over the old mark. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Did it hurt?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was whispering.

“Yes.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. He thought about his scars, about the marks Ron got at the ministry in their fifth year, and the ones given to Hermione by Bellatrix Lestrange. He thought about Bill’s face and George’s missing ear.

In the dim light of the fire he could see, protruding slightly from Draco’s collar, the thin lines of scars Harry himself had left with a curse he didn’t understand. He thought about the mark on Draco’s arm and the child who had accepted it, not really understanding what it meant beyond his family’s safety and prowess. He thought about others who had taken that mark and wondered how many of them had not understood what it would mean. Finally he spoke.

“Do you know who Regulus Black was?”

Draco blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes. He was a relative of mine. Brother of Sirius Black.”

Harry smiled a little. Draco said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue. And so Harry did.

He told Draco everything he knew about Regulus. He told him about his family life and background, about his lifelong desire to serve the Dark Lord and the pureblood line. He told him that Regulus had been only sixteen when he received the mark. He talked about horcruxes and R.A.B. and the role he played in the war. He talked about Kreacher. All the while he traced the lines of the mark on Draco’s arm, running his fingers lightly over it.

When he was done he still didn’t release Draco’s arm, and Draco didn’t reclaim it. Harry talked about Sirius and Draco talked about his parents and aunt. They talked about the war and all the fear and anger they’d felt at the things they’d both been asked to do. They talked for hours. About everything.

It was incredibly strange whenever Harry remembered that he was sitting in his own common room, sharing secrets and scars with Draco Malfoy, his oldest enemy. But then their eyes would meet or their knees would knock together lightly and it wouldn’t seem strange at all, and that would be more frightening still.

When, without any warning at all, the whole Gryffindor gang burst through the door into the common room, Harry dropped Draco’s arm and shot back, hitting his head against an armchair.

“Hey, Harry. You alright?” Ron asked as Draco crowed with laughter.

Harry shot him a look of annoyance before turning to Ron, “Yes, I’m fine, no thanks to you. Manasa’s right.” he said sounding bitter as he massaged the back of his head, “You make big noises.”

Ron laughed and chucked a wrapped parcel at Harry’s head, “Here’s your present from Hagrid. You’re welcome.”