#her pink wand somehow looks even more like a lollipop

[window-view-orion]

The way the rare “shimmer” version of the dress is just objectively worse… it’s gonna be a no from me

[ourcboros]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃:   present day but not. 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒:   the patronus charm drabble task.   𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑:   death. 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:   @dolors ( astoria greengrass ), several now dead npc’s & grandpa erberk   !

they’re eight, almost nine, and they chose a quiet birthday lunch over the offered party because they knew nobody would come. it’s meant to be a happy day, and it is, kind of - they got all of the books they wanted & the promise of a trip to the birmingham zoo when the rain clears up, and both are enough to spark joy, but when they think about the girl at school who got a lollipop from their teacher & a rousing chorus of the happy birthday song right before break time, last week, they feel almost winded.

their hair is the same shade of brown that tints the edges of a rotting flower bouquet, and they sit in the middle of a kitchen that could do with a fresh lick of the ancient yellow paint, rereading the same page of madame bovary over and over and over and over while a mother washes up the plates they’d used & the other bustles over something in the corner. they can sense the downward spiral, even if nazli does not. even if nazli will not admit to it, because admitting to it is being ungrateful for what they’ve already got, and that isn’t who they are. 

mum will turn on her heel, suddenly, and gesture for attention. mother will abandon the dishes to soapy water and paste huge smile onto her face to join the out of tune rendition of the happy birthday song that they begin, and nazli will give well rehearsed smile, to begin with, that turns into something much more real when they see the jarringly PINK birthday cake with its imperfect dip in the middle - charity had never been talented baker. there’s nine candles aflame on top, one for every year of life. they’ll act all embarrassed by this display of attention but a streak of pink the same color as the icing will shoot through their hair and when they muster up their energy for a blow that will take down half of those licks of flame in one go, they feel less sad, somehow. 

they’ve going to be fourteen soon, one of the eldest students in their year, and they’ve been alone in the hospital wing all weekend. the first time their body had gone to war against them while at school, madam pomfrey had been utterly beside herself. she wouldn’t leave them alone their entire stay, fussing over them in a way they’d forgotten people used to when their bodies random changes were a SURPRISE to be awfully frightened of. it’s been a few years, now, and she’s gotten pretty used to it. she tells them that she’s seen them in worse shape the day they’re brought up & they smile wryly and agree, but it’s best to be on the safe side, so here they lie - trying to find their own entertainment as poppy ( it’s first name basis only, now ) works her way through paperwork.

they have a potions essay due first thing monday morning that they haven’t been able to get finished. they can’t expect special treatment just because of where they are, so they’ve been trying, but the words won’t come to them and the parchment and ink have both been abandoned. good thing, too : if they’d still been holding their quill pointlessly when the doors burst open, there’d have been an awful mark right across the few words they had from the surprise. 

they recognize the first year who has joined their house from the sorting ceremony, because they remember cheering VERY loudly for them, but they don’t know much else. they can’t imagine why they’re here, too, since they don’t look very ill on the outside - though that’s hardly something to go off of given the battle waged on their insides, daily. madam pomfrey fusses in a familiar sort of way for the rest of the evening, making sure they’re comfortable on a bed two down from nazli, only leaving them alone for short spans of time until it’s time for her to clock out and leave the night nurse on the watch, a woman who prefers to sit inside the office & read her magazines. nazli steals glances towards the other every so often, their curiosity burning, but they just look forlorn. it’s a little sad, really. 

they choose a few of the books that sit atop their bedside cabinet - classics like the picture of dorian gray & the bell jar, a beaten up copy of twilight, a book they’d never recommend to anyone, a book they aren’t yet finished - and they pick their way across the shadowed hospital wing, barefoot. the other starts when they drop the small collection on the bottom of their bed, and they give a friendly smile, launching into an unprepared speech. “i’m nazli. madam pomfrey is brilliant, you know, but i spend a lot of time here and it only really gets bearable when you have some books to read - you can have these ones, if you’d like. i’ve got more if they aren’t your cup of tea, though - my cabinet is a sort of miniature library.”

astoria sits up and offers them a far more wary smile than they’ve defaulted to. that’s okay, though, because it’s good enough for nazli. they hop up onto the end of their bed. “my twilight is annotated but i did that during my i love edward cullen phase, and i’ve been meaning to go back and redo it because now i know i like girls and i have a bigger crush on rosalie than i ever had on him, and that sort of changes my worldview, a little, and makes me feel a lot more critical of his character the entire way through, you know?”

they’re seventeen and their dede can’t hide the SURPRISE that flits across his face when he emerges from the farmhouse in time to watch them trudging up the garden path, every inch of them covered in some kind of muck. it’s early morning, and they’re already tired all over again, but they’ve been laying about moping for days and days because they haven’t got an owl from either mum in a while, and they know they left england for their own safety and that charity had a duty that they did not, but they really wish the two had come, too.

the distant cousins they’re staying with don’t know nazli knows more turkish than they’ve been letting on & didn’t think that they’d heard them telling erberk that they need to start pulling their weight. they had, though, hence this : there’s things to do on a farm first thing in the morning, and nazli’s been hard at work so they find no FAULT that might be big enough to send either of them on their way. erberk hasn’t said, but they know he’s worried all the same.

he makes a comment about the smell and nazli BRISTLES, intends to walk right past until he reaches aged hand out to grab their upper arm & bring them to a stop. they expect to see the laugh lines creasing at corner of his eyes as he repeats himself, perhaps, but instead his voice drops low. “iyi iş çıkardın. sen çok temiz kalplisin, alanur.” 

they’re eighteen years old & the friends they’ve taken london by storm with are taking cover under a bus stop, but nazli is standing in the midst of the downpour, head turned to the sky. 

they’re twenty one and they’re learning to find happiness in smaller places than they’re accustomed to - the smell of new books, the taste of a morning coffee, the sound of bird song in the early morning. 

they’re twenty four and they have so many years of happy memories to draw on and they know that it shouldn’t be so hard to make them count, but even when their wand is the only thing agianst them & the dementor, they cannot help but remember that someday they’ll be the only one left, and they’re already halfway there. they know all of the words and the theory, but the patronus never comes. they’re starting to think it never will. 

[owls-and-potions]

A Trip to St. Mungo’s

Ship: Draco x reader  (not even going to apologize at this point...sorry)

Warnings: Some mild cursing

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       You didn’t mean for it to happen. It was technically not your fault, you knew that. It was your sister, Lucy’s fault.

        If she had watched where she was flying her broom, then she wouldn’t have plowed into you, your head wouldn’t be throbbing and her foot wouldn’t have been hurting. You were, to say the least, pissed. She was complaining of a “broken toe” (it wasn’t broken, it was quite obvious), whilst your forehead had a bruise the size of Great Britain on it?

      Anyways, you were now sitting in the waiting room. You had never been to a hospital, apart from the Hospital Wing once after a nasty fall during a Quidditch match (stupid Draco Malfoy and his stupid ego had distracted you. You still held a grudge against him), resulting in a very painful night.

     You looked around the room, sighing softly. One man groaned in the corner of the room, large green and purple warts sprouting on every inch of his face. Another person, a very calm old woman seemed to have managed to turn her leg all the way around. You suspected it had something to do with her grandson, who was sitting next to her guiltily, holding his wand in his shaking hand. He couldn’t have been past the age of fifteen. An underage person using magic outside of Hogwarts? You frown a little, feeling a bit bad as you thought of the repercussions he would face.

       A few doctor’s notes were whizzing around the ceiling, which was charmed to look like the sky outside. You presumed it was to help ease patients. It only reminded you of when you fell, forced to stare up at the gray, dismal clouds. You hear your sister huff impatiently.

“When are we going to get treated?” she moaned, “My toe is throbbing and it’s all because of you.” She proceeded to rub her foot a little, whimpering.

“Oh, Lucy, if it were actually broken you would be doing a lot more than complaining and whimpering.” you say. She huffs. “There are actual dying people in this hospital. A broken toe is nothing compared to what some people are going through right now.” you say, crossing your arms and leaning back in the rather uncomfortable waiting room chair. She rolls her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek, cocking her eyebrow a little. She always made that sour face when she knew she was losing an argument but was too proud to declare she was in the wrong. You made that face sometimes, too.

     You frown as you notice the shoulder of your sweater turning red. You sigh. You loved this sweater, and now it was ruined thanks to your insufferable sister. You distract yourself from the small drops of blood running down your face by thinking about what doctor you will get.

     You pray it's a nice doctor. The kind that gives small children lollipops and stickers when they behave nice (and even when they don’t), or the kind that smiles at you, and understands that you’re in pain. You really hope that it’s not one of those mean doctors who tells you that you were being stupid when you got your injury and makes babies cry. You also hope that the rumors aren't true. That Draco Malfoy became a Healer. If Malfoy happened to be the Healer you got, you would much prefer to jump out of the hospital window instead. Maybe then you’d get a nice doctor.

     “Err...Y/N Y/L/N?” says a nurse. You stand up and walk over, your steps a bit tipsy. “ The doctor will see you now.” she said. “Follow me.”

    You follow the nurse through the pristine hallways of the hospital. There are no stains or messes anywhere. Everything is clean, bright and white. Somehow, it makes you feel like you're walking to your doom. You hope you get a nice doctor. Please, let it be a nice doctor.

      The nurse leads you into a room. There is a small examining bench and a counter, along with a few cabinets holding medicine and other tools. The nurse takes your temperature and runs a few other tests, but nothing major. “He’ll be in shortly.” she says before walking towards the door. You frown. He’ll? You sigh softly and nod, smiling politely as she leaves. You look around your current prison. There is a small window. It has started raining. Wizarding London seems to be a black-and-white photograph at the moment. Heavy clouds hang in the sky, and every once in a while, a broomstick will fly by. You watch as the minimal trees sway in the wind. You tear your gaze away from the window, swinging your legs a little as you look around the room. There is a painting hanging on the wall. A small family is picnicking. They smile and wave, but then frown at your cut. The mother covers the little boys eyes and the girl grimaces.

“Oh please,” you mutter, “you’re in a hospital for merlin’s sake.” They glare at you, a bit offended. You look down at your muddy pants and shoes. Stupid Lucy. You hoped her toe was broken. Serves her right. All you wanted to do was spend some time outside, enjoy the cloudy weather. And she came and rammed into you. The door opens and you look up. Your stomach drops to the floor and you groan a little. He chuckles bitterly and walks to the center of the room.

“I’m Dr. Malfoy, but you know that already, don't you?” he said. You narrow your eyes.

“Unfortunately.” you mumble under your breath.

“So what seems to be the problem?” he asks, just a bit teasingly. You give him a look, motioning towards your forehead. He puts down his clipboard and walks over, putting on a pair of blue gloves. He puts his fingers under your chin and gently pushes your head to the right so he can get a good look at your cut. You turn a bit pink at the contact. “You may need a few stiches, but other than that, you’re fine.” he says. You sigh. He narrows his eyes a little, looking at you quizzically. “You haven’t changed a bit.” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit to form the ghost of a smile.

“Hmm.” is all you say.

“Yup.” he says, going back over to his clipboard and picking up his quill, dipping it in ink before scribbling something down. “You’re still stubborn, I can tell. You’re still a bit grumpy, because you frown and sigh quite a bit. And you’re still remarkably slow in the head for getting into a situation like this. May I ask what happened?” he says. You glare at him.

“A broomstick accident.” you grumble. He chuckles.

“You should really stay away from broomsticks, you know. What is this, the third time?”

“It’s only the second time. And I wasn’t on the broomstick, my idiot sister was.” you say defensively. He smiles a little.

“Still. Maybe you should just avoid the outdoors all together, Broomstick Magee. That way, people won’t have to deal with your grumbling and groaning.” he says.

“How professional. A doctor insulting his patient.” you say, offended.

“Oh, well you could pass for an old friend. It’s alright if you’re a friend.” he says, leaning against the counter.

“Friend? You’re hardly a friend, Malfoy.” you say, crossing your arms. He laughs a little.

“Oh really? I beg to differ. I remember the way you were looking at me during that Quidditch game, what was it, sixth year?” he says teasingly. You turn red.

“I was annoyed. And you distracted me! I broke my arm!” you say, glaring.

“Okay, whatever you say.” he says doubtfully, smiling softly as he looks down at his clipboard. You huff angrily. He hands you a small note and you stuff it in your pocket, not bothering to read it. He sighs. “Alright, now where were we....”

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       You walk out of St. Mungo’s, Lucy trailing behind you, holding an ice-pack to her toe. You stuff your hands in your pockets, huffing. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” she asked. You glare at her.

“I had Draco Malfoy as my doctor.” you grumble. She nodded, then wiggled her eyebrows, winking. You turn red and your glare turns even more lethal. If only looks could kill.

“Draco Malfoy...if I remember correctly, you spoke of him quite often in your letters home. What did you say again? Oh yes, Dear Lucy, today I could barely focus in Herbology because all I could think about were Malfoy’s gray, stormy eyes. Now that’s a man I’d like to take to my-”

“Shut up!” you say quickly, turning crimson. She laughs. “I never said that.” you hiss.

“If you say so...” she said. “Anyways, I had the nicest doctor. She was so kind, and even gave me a lollipop, even though I’m like, twenty-two.” said Lucy, showing you a color-changing lollipop. You frown, annoyed. She opens it and pops it into her mouth. “What did Draco give you?” she asks. She then winks obnoxiously. You huff. You then feel the piece of paper in your pocket and remember the note. You take it out and open it. She leans in closer to read it over your shoulder. Your eyes pop out of your head and your mouth falls open. Lucy squeals.

“His number?! He gave you his number?!” she says, laughing a little. “Damn, that sure beats a lollipop!” You turn red. Why would he do that? Yet you can’t help but smile. Lucy frowns. “I wish my doctor would give me her number. She was awfully cute. All she did was feel up my foot.” she says a bit sadly. You sigh.

“Oh, Lucy.” you say.

“What do you say, are you up for a Quidditch match?” she says. You give her a look of disbelief and she laughs. “Hey, at least this time there are no ‘gray, stormy eyes’ to distract you.” she teases. You turn red and playfully shove her, getting into your car.

     Yet, as you look out your window, all you can feel are his hands on your cheek and the piece of paper in your pocket. You smile softly. Maybe you’ll have to take another trip to St. Mungo’s sometime soon.

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