#livinamity

[livinamity]

Honeydukes and Sweets

Summary: Competition is a double-edged sword — it can carry you to great heights, but also result in a fiery fall. Like the wings of Icarus, Draco Malfoy fell, but not in the way he expected. Words: 4.4k Pairing: Draco x Non-Slytherin!Reader A/N: this was meant to go on for much longer, but i might put my other ideas into a separate fic. will proofread tomorrow (maybe) thanks for reading!

The philosopher Aristotle wrote about the importance of art and beauty in human life. He said that beauty has the power to change human behaviour — that it isn’t just something to be admired, but by surrounding ourselves with beautiful things, we can become better people.

Draco Malfoy never thought much about beauty. It was not a concept that concerned him. He had his gold and jewels, the power and the prestige, and the attention and validation that came with them. Beauty in even the smallest things like the sun setting over the horizon never faltered his idea of it being nothing more than just a mirage.

It was merely a fleeting moment of pleasure that faded as quick as it came. He’d never been moved by beauty in the same way that others were. The things he had were valued above all else, and his desire to place value on the things he possessed overshadowed the importance of all things else.

His arrogance rose tension like thorns between the pair of you. You were merely a half-blood to him—a filthy one at that, and one with barely any wealth—and he convinced himself that his thoughts would never sway. Never mind the beauty you held that enthralled people to your feet, he would never bow even if you asked politely; you were beneath him.

"You're nothing special, really. In fact, I fail to see why anyone would give you a second thought." He told you.

You liked to think it was only a way to conceal his insecurities, so you never put too much thought into it. Draco was hardly special under the roof of the castle even with his status. He barely had anyone, but he never really valued the beauty in friendship regardless, and still, his lack of companionship only fuelled his frustration. How could a half-blood be more liked than him?

Then, he saw you had surpassed his grade in potions, and your battle of ego and wits grew into an academic rivalry. The two of you were like magnets pulled together by an invisible force, both drawn to the challenge of besting each other.

“An ‘E’?” Draco yelled, his voice a discordant tune. His fingers gripped tightly around his parchment paper, knuckles red with anger.

The paper within your grasp was as smooth as a silk chiton. The bold and elegant "O" adorned on its front, like a crown to your victory, brought a smirk to your lips. You had him beat and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Upset, Malfoy?” You disputed, a note in your voice like a lyre. Your smile remained soft and yet, he thought of cursing you with his bitter tongue.

“Upset?” His mouth formed a thin, cruel line. "Hardly." he scoffed. His tone dripped with derision. To be beaten by a witch, raised as a Muggle was unfathomable, and his ego was wounded by a cut that ran deeper than the River Styx.

“A slip of paper does not define my intelligence, or my abilities as a wizard. I am above something as trivial as a ‘paper’.” His words sought to mask his envy, but his jealousy was palpable as it hung in the air like a noxious cloud.

“Sure, Malfoy.”

After that, Draco dreaded the moment you would mention this defeat again, but you never did—seeing him seethe in his seat was enough and that infuriated him. He had always been better than you academically, but this time he fell short, and he concluded your silence was to ridicule him.

He sought you out one day, finding you before you made a turn to the library. With his lips raised in their familiar scowl, he approached you with long strides. “Think you’re better than me, eh?” Draco tucked his hands into the pockets of his robe, his gaze grey and uninviting.

A look of confusion drew onto your face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You know what I’m talking about.” He huffed. He pulled his hands from his pockets. “You get an ‘outstanding’ and you don’t taunt me about it like I do you.”

Your brows weaved together like a basket of wool on a spindle. “I suppose you wouldn’t want me to...?” He took a second too long to reply. “Did you want me to?”

The question hung in the air like a golden apple poised to be picked and he turned to the wall beside you, as if he expected to find his answer there. “Of course not, that’s ridiculous.” He scoffed, his words sharp like the blades of a scythe.

“You think everything is ridiculous.” You retorted. “Besides, I don’t understand. You’re confronting me because I’m not mocking you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked away again, his mind knotty with labyrinthine thoughts. His mouth moved to speak but your words slipped before his could. “I have to get to the library.”

Behind him, more students began to file into the room, their steps light but hurried like the gentle whisper of the wind. You clasped your books tighter to your chest. “Would you like to join?”

He heard you shift your feet and thought you were reconsidering your question when he turned to you again. You still held that gentle glow in your eyes and he hated that he nearly lost himself in them—an absurd moment of weakness. You thought you saw a warmth in his own, like a hint of willingness, or maybe a spark of wonder, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“No.” He rounded you, his lips raised in disgust.

Studying with a half-blood would be a mind-numbing exercise, like another torturous case like the Cruciatus Curse. He hated that you had even considered it. He would never waste his time with someone below him, even the thought sparked an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Your sick proposal jabbed into his brain whenever he saw you, and he thought that was bad enough, until you joined a Quidditch team.

There’s never been a more pathetic sight than when you walked on the field, your gaze to the cloudless sky. He wanted to laugh—you, playing Quidditch? You were clumsy enough on the ground.

He dropped his feet to the ground, his broom still between his legs. “Joining the team, eh?” His lips raised into his characteristic sneer. “I don’t see how you could possibly beat me.”

You turned your head with his words, your eyebrows raised in merriment. “I don’t need to beat you; this is just for fun.” You can’t recall a time when Draco didn’t want to challenge you.

His mouth curled into an entertained frown. “Is that a Nimbus 2000?” He gestured to the broomstick in your hand.

“It is.” You twirled it. “Pretty, isn’t it? I might consider painting it as well. Maybe a green?” You smiled with a joking sweetness. “For when Slytherin loses, don’t want to hurt their ego too much, do we?”

He was a little taken aback by your remark, but he couldn’t deny that he found your challenge humorous. “Slytherin, losing?” He laughed with a tilt of his head.

“How about a race then? You and I, for the Golden Snitch.” His grey eyes were firm, and his lips upturned into a daring smirk. “The one who catches it first wins. What do you say?”

“What’s in it for me?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “We’ll see if you win.”

“And what about for you, what would you want?”

“For you to admit that I’m superior.”

Students gathered to the field, all adorn in their respective uniform and magical badges on their hearts. Draco’s name sparkled more often on their chests than yours, and he smirked with a haughty tilt of his chin. He was confident it would prick your nerves, so the Slytherin flew over, his hair flowing with the wind like the silver feathers of a Pegasus.

“See, I am superior to you.” He sniggered.

Your head shook. “I doubt it, they don’t know what I’m capable of just yet.” Your tone dripped sweetly with poison, like the honeyed words of the serpent Python. No one hated you; they were just a little less expectant of your skills in Quidditch, you were sure of it.

Draco pulled his lips together in an amused frown. “Right, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The Snitch was raised by Marcus Flint, the golden sphere in his fingers like a prize for superiority. The wings unravelled from their place to flail in the air, and it shone intimidatingly between yourself and your rival.

Marcus, on the edge of his broom, flashed his vile teeth. “Close your eyes,” he commanded. The both of you did, letting the Golden Snitch tour its way around the huge field. “Now, open! Start!” He flew away from the scene just as you and Draco opened your eyes.

Your heads twisted and turned in search for the golden bug, eyes narrowed between the crowd, below your feet, and above your heads. Until there it was, flying freely near the Gryffindors. You sped first, your head tilted to fight the air resistance. Draco was on your tail a second after, his hands tight around his broom as he fought to speed passed you.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand.” He laughed, his voice loud against the strong wind. He flew by quickly, his platinum hair flowing freely behind him.

The two of you raced, neck and neck, towards the Snitch. Draco kept his lips between his teeth as he glided, his broom making sharp turns and sudden spirals towards the bug, as it flew erratically like a crazed Phoenix.

The competition was intense, the rush from the chase filling your lungs with an excitement that gave a natural high. The crowd cheered as you dashed through the air, surprised at your pace against an experienced seeker. They jumped and joyously screamed as the two of you flew to the golden ball.

The Snitch seemed to flicker in the sun, tempting you and Draco to close the gap and claim the win. The platinum blond was focused, his gaze narrowed like lasers and movements precise as he grew closer.

You neared each other, arms out and the tension high. The crowd held their collective breath, waiting to catch the win. With every turn and twist of your broom, Draco matched your speed. Despite his closing pale body, your determined eyes remained on the ball.

With a burst of speed, you brushed against him and shoved his body aside. You soared through the air, fingers out to the ball. Only a little closer…

Your fingers barely grazed it, until finally, you clenched it in your grasp. You held the Snitch and its golden glow shimmered in the sun. The entire crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers as they threw their Draco badges to the floor. You had won.

A sigh of disbelief left your throat as you turned to your opponent. Draco had no words to express his lost, nor could he find his speech when you playful winked at him. His cheeks flushed with a faint pink.

He felt silly blushing at something he’d already seen. You’d winked at him before, but this time, it made him feel vulnerable. And as you turned to the crowd, your eyes gentle and smile wide, the feeling began to consume him. It was almost compelling, the sight of you proud without any irritation on your features. He wanted to hate it— ‘that’s a bloody half-blood you’re looking at’ he wanted to say.

But the wind ruffled your hair, the warm sun kissed against your skin, and you had won. He was meant scoff and roll his eyes, but instead, he felt a strange sort of admiration.

And now, as he watched the light dance in your eyes, he felt a stirring in his chest that he couldn’t explain. He wanted to look away—to find a reason to, but he couldn’t. There was something addictive with the way your hair billowed in the wind, and he was sure that even if he was to swim in the banks of the river Lethe, your smile wouldn’t erase from his memory.

Then, following that—and he wished he never would have to admit—he began to notice things that he hadn’t before. He memorised the way your lips would part, and you would facepalm whenever you’d say the wrong answer in class. He noticed how you would fiddle with your fingers—though he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or just a bored habit.

He admired your different hairstyles from a distance. You’d change it every day, but he found it the prettiest whenever you would braid it. He loved the way the strands would interweave like wool on a spindle, and the way it would reflect the light whenever the sun grazed you.

His words began to trip at the sight of you. So even when you had surpassed his grade in Charms, he kept his lips sealed. It was embarrassing enough to admit to himself that he found you somewhat pretty and it would be even more so if he was to stutter in your face. So slowly, his banter towards you died.

“Malfoy?”

You approached him one day, on a weekend when everyone would be heading off to Hogsmeade. He was sitting on a bench by the fountain outside, his legs relaxed and eyes focused on nothing in particular.

“You coming to Hogsmeade as well?” Your voice was gentle as ever, although it was never really harsh even when you threw playful insults at him.

He raised his gaze. There was something unfamiliar with the way he looked at you now, but you supposed it was the way the sun hit his grey irises.

“Yes.” It’s all he says, like the time you had asked if he wanted to join you in the library.

“I heard Blaise is there already, why aren’t you with him now?”

He blinked. He wanted to hate the way your voice played gracefully like a lyre. “He’s with a girl.”

His responses were short—something you wished you could understand. Nothing was the same after the race, and you weren’t sure it was because you had won.

“Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?”

There it was again, that gentleness in your voice that would make him weak in the knees these days. He was grateful he was sitting then because otherwise his legs would buckle beneath him.

“No.”

You looked aside briefly, trying to find the words that might comfort him. There were butterflies where you gazed, and they fluttered their wings around gracefully like a dance against the wind. You remembered when Professor Lupin had said they were a symbol of new beginnings, and that memory brought an idea to your mind.

“I’m asking you to join me to Hogsmeade.” You told him. “Please come with me.” You wanted it to sound like a kind command, to which he had no choice but to accept.

He raised a brow at your proposal, hesitant. “Draco?”

You’d never said his name so gently before. It was always filled with a hint of tease, or a slight annoyance, but as you stood in front of him in the daring sun, your voice played like a plead.

He considered it. The two of you had never exchanged a proper conversation before; maybe you would embarrass yourself and his weird feelings would wash away. You were pretty, that’s all, and maybe after this, he would think otherwise. His dumb feelings would disappear and everything would be back to normal.

The corners of his mouth raised slightly. “Okay.”

The two of you walked together, soundlessly awkward smiles on your lips and minds whirled with sweet joy. You both tried to hide your enjoyments, looking away from each other as you made your way into The Three Broomsticks.

“Is it good?” You sat across from him, at a wooden booth inside of the store.

His forehead creased with slight disappointment as he licked foam from his lips. “I should’ve asked for less cider.” He tightened his fingers around his Butterbeer.

“Try mine, I asked for less sugar.” You pushed your drink forwards, offering a gentle smile.

He had never shared a food or drink with anyone—it wasn’t something he was accustomed to. His mother had always told him the proper etiquette to decline, but as you offered him your drink, he couldn’t deny.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. It was better than his, less sweet like he prefers most things. He gave a nod.

“This one’s better. Mine tastes like Honeydukes melted as one and put into a cup.” He pulled his lips up into his familiar scowl, but there was a playful charm in it now.

You grabbed his cup and pushed yours closer to him. “Take mine, I’ll drink yours.” He didn’t reply to your offering before you pulled his cup to your lips.

He chuckled lightly when you pulled it away and a white foam formed around your mouth like a moustache. “You remind me of that Muggle.” He said, his teeth peering from behind his lips.

 Your eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

“That Muggle. The one with the white moustache and beard?”

“There are a lot of those — are you referring to Santa Claus?” There’s a chuckle of disbelief that followed your words. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know his name?”

He parted his lips about to defend himself, when a figure crossed behind you, and a scowl fell onto Draco’s features. His grey eyes rose and fell with disdain.

“Potter.” He spat with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.” He stood from the wooden seat, his eyes still following Harry behind you with irritation.

You wiped your lips with the back of your sleeve. “But we haven’t finished our Butterbeer.”

Draco gripped your arm as he slipped by you, pulling you with him as he exited the bar. You followed him with hurried steps as you tried to match his longer strides.

“You know, it’s not every day that I can have a butterbeer, Malfoy. I had to save those galleons to earn such a prize.” You spoke.

He continued to walk until he could barely see The Three Broomsticks behind him. “I’ll buy you a Butterbeer next time. I’ll even buy you two if it means I never have to see Potter again.” He released his grip from your arm.

“What do hate about him so much?”

“He’s irritating.”

You decided not to argue with him. “Fair.”

Not long after, the pair of you set foot into Honeydukes, the coolness of the air brushing against your cheeks as you entered. It smelt of vanilla and chocolate with a hint of baking pastries.

Draco followed closely behind as you ventured the store, his eyes scanning the shelves along with you. He didn’t enjoy sweets as much, but he couldn’t deny that he found your company nice. So, he only watched as you admired the colours and wacky flavours displayed.

He picked up a string of liquorice. “You enjoy this stuff?” He asked with a slight distaste in his tone.  “This is all just sugar.”

He dropped the lolly as you shrugged. “I haven’t tried any of these. Well, besides that disgusting liquorice that Blaise offered me.” Your fingers curled around the pentagonal box of a Chocolate Frog packet.

“Blaise talks to you?”

You turned your head slightly with a furrow of your eyebrows. “Of course Blaise talks to me. Why shouldn’t he?”

His grey eyes sank into yours. “It’s not like we’re rivals.” You continued, dropping the packet back onto the shelf as you turned your body towards him.

“I’m not implying that you and I are,” you added for clarification. “I’m just asking, is it that difficult to understand that I can be friends with your friends as well?”

Draco’s lips raised with a slight amusement. “Your choice of words insinuates that we’re rivals.” He plays with the end of his sleeve. “Besides, Blaise never talked about you, so I assumed you two never got along. Don’t get offended when I barely offered a reply.”

Your mouth dropped a little with embarrassment. “I’m not offended.” Your toned raised. “I’m just clarifying, that’s all.”

“Then don’t.”

You pursed your lips. “Okay then.”

He looked down at you with a glint in his eyes, a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face. Your hair fell against your cheeks when you lowered your gaze, and his lips curled upwards slightly. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to speak, but he only looked away with a faint blush.

You turned away as well, finding your focus on the colours of the sweets again. He watched from a distance, trying to keep his gaze calculated so he didn’t look at you for too long. But whenever you lingered over a treat for a beat too long, he found it impossible not to catch a glimpse of you. His lips would always tug into a small smile, almost as if you were a secret between the two of you.

His grey eyes caught you again when you spoke. “They have lollipops?” You scooped into the colourful mix of lollies. “I haven’t had a lollipop in years!”

Draco considered a thought. “Do you want one?” He moved closer and grazed his fingers against the glass bowl of sweets.

“Yes I’d love one, but maybe next time.” You smiled at him, your eyes shining delicately below the lanterns of the store. “I spent too much already on that Butterbeer—that I didn’t get to finish by the way.” Your smile widened with your words, a joking tone playing on your tongue.

Draco bit his lip to stop a grin, but there was an obvious rise in his cheeks. He doesn't understand how he brought himself to be so rude to you, you were so endearing. You moved around him to reach a case of chocolates, when he picked the glass bowl of lollipops from its stand.

“Draco, what are you doing?” He ignored you as he pulled the crystal casing closer to his chest, a sense of determination on his face.

He dropped the bowl onto the front counter. “These.” The cashier looked at him with a face of distress before she began to count the lollipops.

“You’re going to eat all of that?” You asked once you stood beside him. You were in disbelief as he continued to snatch chocolates and other sweets from below the counter and the shelves behind him.

“No, you will.” He said nonchalantly. He picked a chocolate from another shelf. “Did you want these as well?” He barely let you reply before he stacked the packets and dropped it onto the counter.

Your mouth parted. “You’re absurd, put it back. I can’t eat all of that.” You reached over, in an attempt to move the lollies away, when he stopped you.

His fingers wrapped around your forearm. “You can. It’s my treat for the butterbeer you didn’t finish.”

“This is worth way more than just a Butterbeer, Draco.”

A smile slipped onto his cheeks when you said his name. “It’s my treat then.” He pulled his hand away. “For being such an ass to you.”

You dragged your lip beneath your teeth to contain a grin as Draco scanned the woman behind the counter. “My father will pay for this, I’m sure you know who that is.” She nodded in return, pushing the lollies into a bag before handing it to him.

Draco grabbed the plastic and turned to the door with a smirk. He looked at you from his side. “Let’s try the lollipops you wanted so bad.” He took a few steps in front as you stalled.

“I didn’t want them ‘so bad’!”

“Yeah, whatever.” You laughed as you ran towards him, mouth wide with joy, and eyes shaped like crescent moons.

“You still owe me something for winning the race, though. This doesn’t count!”

“Yeah, alright.” He turned to you with a soft gaze, his face adorned by a delicate smile. You couldn’t recall a time when he'd smiled so gently.

“Want to race to the castle?” You asked, pulling your lip beneath your teeth. The sight made his heart stutter, and the playful tone of your voice made him weaker still. He nodded, and without warning, you took off—your hair flowing freely behind you.

He followed right after, the bag still in his hands as he approached from behind. The sun cast a soft, golden glow around you like an eclipse, highlighting your form in a warm, comforting light. The sun setting over the horizon was breathtaking, but your silhouette in front of it made it all the more captivating, and Draco knew then that beauty was much more than just his jewels.

He had always thought of beauty in abstract terms. It was something for the muggles to fawn over, not something that a pure-blood like him needed to concern himself with. He was accustomed to things being a certain way, and he knew it was foolish, to suddenly find the appeal in something so absurd; to fall for someone who was deemed lower than him. But he couldn’t help it, he was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

"Beauty is symmetry," Aristotle had said.  But for Draco, beauty was more. It was a feeling, a sensation that he couldn't quite explain. It was the way the sun caught your hair at just the right angle, the way you laughed.

Suddenly, beauty was the sound of parchment, the smell of butterbeer and Honeydukes, and the scene of the sun setting over the horizon. You were like a breath of fresh air, like the sunlight after a storm. Suddenly, he understood why everyone fell to your feet.

For the first time in his life, Draco realised that beauty wasn't only a fleeting moment of time, nor was it something that could be defined, it was something that existed beyond words. It was a feeling, a sensation, that he couldn't really understand. But he knew it when he saw it, when he felt it.

And he knew that he was falling in love with you.

[indog]

In bloom • #spring #flowers #green #spring2021 #may #springishere #instaspring #flowerpower #spingcolors #springtime #feminism #equalrights #mentalhealthawareness #illustration #drawing #colors #colorsoflife #skopje #livinam #amclub #inbloom #meditation #covidtimes #celebratelife #staypositive #flowerpower #living #vibes (at Skopje) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPQf-yYrD9q/?utm_medium=tumblr

[livinamity]

Keep Me Warm

Song here

“Draco, come.”

Draco stands motionless, his breath coming quickly as his father's cruel, raspy voice echoes through the air. For one second, Draco feels his heart drop into his stomach like a stone.

“Step forward,” the Dark Lord commands, his voice is as cold as ice.

Draco takes a hesitant step, his breath shaky beneath him. He doesn’t want to move from the crowd of his peers, but his heart races with fear and uncertainty. He forces himself to keep going.

He moves until he’s almost by Voldemort’s side, his feet shuffling like a soulless vessel, controlled by the will of the Dark Lord. He wants to stop — for anyone to tell him to stop; but he thinks it’s impossible. After everything he had done, he wasn’t sure if anyone would.

And then his ears pick up a voice — one softer and gentler. “Draco,” you call his name. His chest aches and his feet halt.

"Draco, stop." Your words aren’t a command, but a desperate plea. A shake follows your voice, and the grief in your heart threatens to consume you. The Dark Lord had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t bear to see him take Draco too.

"Please, step back," you plead. You try to hold back your sob, but Draco’s throat chokes, and a single tear slips from his eye. He wants nothing more but to run into your arms, but his father watches him warily.

“Draco, come,” his father commands again. His voice is a cruel reminder of the power he holds over his son. Draco hesitates, torn between his father and the one who has always supported him through every hardship.

“Draco, please, no,” you step forward, desperate to keep your voice strong in the face of the Dark Lord. Draco turns to you. He has a sad smile playing at his lips.

“Please?” You beg him, and despite your attempt at a strong facade, your voice breaks. He looks so exhausted.

The Dark Lord had taken everything from him – his innocence, his happiness, and his ability to simply be a child. He looks so tired, like he had fought the whole world on his own, his eyes are shrouded with a deep darkness.

He had developed frown lines, and his forehead is creased, a symbol of all the stress that he had endured for the dark wizard. A pang of sadness overwhelms you. This boy has been your best friend – a boy who has only ever wanted to be loved and protected, but now he’s facing his worst hardship — choosing between power and love.

His lips part as he watches you, and it's as if time had stopped, with the two of you alone amidst the harsh winds. His eyebrows are elevated in sorrow, and he sniffs. Everything feels silent around you besides the tremble of his voice. “I want to, love, truly.”

“Then come, please.”

As the world engulfs in darkness, Draco only sees you; you are his beam of light in midst of a sea of shadows. Despite all of the magic he had witnessed, you are the most magical. You are the light in every room he enters, and at that moment, you brought the light back to him. Amidst all the darkness, you are all he could see — the lighthouse in the storm, guiding him to the path of warmth. You are the fire in his cold heart, a reminder to keep strong. You are a beacon of hope in his callous heart.

And yet, he turns away. His feet take him until he is fully engulfed by the Dark Lord’s embrace, before he makes his way to his parents with his head low. He knows it might be a mistake to leave, but he also knows that he would find his way back to you after the war — he promises to.

And as his eyes watch you from afar, broken and battered, he whispers a solemn vow. “I love you.”

[livinamity]

Only a Lifetime

Song here

You were sitting in the library late one evening, studying for your final exams, when there's a knock on your study door. You open it to find Draco Malfoy, the smug boy from Slytherin, standing there looking like an angry storm cloud.

"What do you want?" you ask, your heart rate increasing as you take in his intense gaze.

Draco looks at you with his characteristic sneer, his blond hair falling across his forehead.

"Don't feel too special," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "I only asked to be in here because all the other rooms were taken. It wasn't like I had a choice."

His words are harsh in your face, but you step aside anyway, opening the door for him to enter the room.

He raises an eyebrow as he walks in. The light from the candles cast a golden glow on his pale skin. "But I'll admit, you are... somewhat tolerable. But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. This is just a matter of convenience."

You raise a brow at this and sit down at your spot; at a table littered with endless books about magical creatures. He glares at you, a look of confidence and arrogance is etched on his face, before he closes the door behind him and sits across from you.

A dark, emerald-coloured book is in his hands, along with his quill and parchment paper. With a seriousness on his face, he begins to read, and a silence falls onto the room. The stillness is broken only by the sound of his quill scratching against his parchment.

You don’t even spare a glance at your own paper and instead, watch his. His gaze remains fixed on the pages in front of him, his expression stoic. He seems almost in a trance as he jots down notes.

“What are you reading?” Your voice is soft and blends with the sizzle of the fireplace.

Draco ignores you at first, but eventually turns his head toward you. His gaze is cold, calculated, and intense. His eyes seem to pierce right through you, as if he can see your every insecurity and weakness.

Still, your mouth moves before you can think. “Is that the Dark Arts?”

Draco’s expression darkens further, his stare growing even more intense. You feel like he’s looking right through you, as if he knows every secret you’ve ever kept. It’s a chilling feeling, but you’re captivated by the intensity of the moment.

He says nothing, but the silence between you is fraught with tension. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he speaks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

The word hangs in the air, a silent and mysterious promise. But then, Draco's eyes turn to fix on his book and the quill in his hand writes furiously across the page. The silence feels heavy, like it could be sliced through with a sword.

Draco shifts in his seat. His book is clutched tightly in his hand. He seems more focused than ever, as if he’s trying to block out everything else in the world in favour of the words written on the page.

“Draco,” your voice is softer than before, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate to lift his eyes from his book.

“How are you?” You ask, hopeful. He looks more composed than he was moments ago, like the weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders at the sound of your voice.

In your eyes, he sees a softness that he has only ever seen in the gentlest of creatures. He can't remember the last time someone asked him how he was, and the fact that you did fills him with a sense of happiness and relief.

“A bit tired,” he admits. "I was up most of the night working on an essay for DADA class. But I think I've figured it out. It’s not much, but I think I've got it.”

You smile, and for the first time since you’ve known Draco, he seems to offer an attempt of his own. When his lips lift, the darkness beneath his eyes crinkle. The tension in his shoulders relaxes, and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel like he hasn’t really hated you all this time.

“Maybe I can help you,” you propose.

Draco lifts his head, eyes locking harder on yours. His look is serious yet tender—almost like he's asking you if you're really sure you want to do this. You're not sure how to articulate it, but something deep inside you urges you to say yes.

“I mean,” you pause. Your eyes scan his face for a reaction, “Professor Snape gave me some private lessons, I can tell you what he told me.”

He nods thankfully and releases the tight grip he had on his book. He lets the leather fall onto the wooden table as he guides you to the page where he left off. You both sit in silence for a moment, the only sound: the ruffling of papers as he flips through the book.

You take a deep breath and begin summarising the information your professor had taught you, keeping an eye on his reactions as you go. He listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking a question to clarify a point.

After a few minutes, he leans back in his chair and smiles, “thank you."

The words were simple yet carried the weight of gratitude and sincerity. It was a rare thing for Draco to express his gratitude - he was usually the one receiving the thanks. Nevertheless, he meant it. He meant every word.

With a sincere smile, he meets your gaze and nods once more. "Really, I mean it," he reiterates. "And if there's anything I can do in return, just let me know."

Your voice is gentle when you speak, “you don’t have to do anything, it’s fine really.” Draco’s heart warms. “I’m glad to help out a friend.”

As he looks at you, he begins to realise that he’s never truly looked at you before. Your facial features are soft and your eyes sparkle with a sense of kindness. The delicate curves of your nose, the way your eyelashes dance against your cheeks and the warmth in your eyes; he had never payed it much mind before. For a moment, he’s lost in your beauty.

He feels a twinge of guilt rise in his heart. It feels as if he’s seeing you for the first time and he can’t help but feel a mix of adoration and awe. How he could’ve treated you so heartlessly in the past is beyond him. Perhaps he had judged you too harshly — perhaps you were worth getting to know after all.

[livinamity]

Mirror Mirror

Song here Based off of this post by @dracosathenaeum (she’s great, here’s her masterlist)

The room is musty, almost stale — a mix of mildew and cobwebs that is difficult to place. It’s unpleasant, and as you follow Draco further into the Room of Requirement, the air feels like it clings to your skin.

He walks towards the back of the room, his eyes searching the cluttered space for something that might be hiding in plain sight. After a brief moment, he stops before a decrepit old cupboard and trails his fingers through the timeworn varnish.

His shoulders hunch in a clear display of stress and his grip on the edges of the cupboard becomes tight, as if he's afraid of it slipping from his grasp. You can't tell how long he's been this way, but it's clear that something is causing him a great deal of worry.

With trembling hands, he gestures with his wand, the glow of its energy creating a fleeting light in the dim space. His expression is tense, and you can't make sense of what he's trying to accomplish.

He pulls his robe off with a sudden, abrupt motion, tossing it aside as if it means nothing. Then, with a new sense of purpose, he grips his wand tighter and speaks the words of a charm that you're not quite familiar with. Still, the result is the same – the door creaks open slowly, revealing nothing but barren darkness beyond.

In a moment of frustration, Draco lets out a yell of anguish. He bumps his head against the cabinet, and the pain etched on his features is noticeable even in the dark. His fingers wrap tightly around the edges, almost as if he's afraid the cabinet will disappear if he lets go. But the only thing that vanishes is the light in his eyes, replaced with the look of a lost and confused boy.

With a slow approach, you reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Draco,” you say his name softly, hoping to help him find ease in this moment. But he only tenses at the sound of your voice.

His breath hitches in his throat as if your touch is a surprise to him. You've always been there for each other, offering solace in times of great sorrow, but it feels different now. It's as if you're nothing more than a mere object to him, just like the robe he had cast aside to collect dust in the corners of this room. Draco has been hiding his true intentions from you, and you're not sure if it's because he's afraid of your reaction or if he simply feels ashamed.

And then, your eyes catch the mark on his wrist; a strange skull with a serpent crawling from its mouth. You've seen it before, in your studies of the First Wizarding War. The Dark Mark. You stop him before he can slip his wand away and turn his wrist over.

Neither of you speak for a moment, but your silence is broken by a heavy exhalation from Draco. He must have realized that the secret he's been holding onto is now out in the open. You can't help but feel a sense of shock and disappointment, but you also see the underlying fear and regret in his eyes. As you stare at the mark, you begin to connect the dots, and the reason for Draco’s secrecy is now explicable.

You don’t need to ask for him to explain himself. He tells you anyway, aware of the questions that cloud your mind. “A simple charm,” he says, his eyes low and droopy with fatigue.

The gentle warmth of your fingers glides across his skin, a contrast to the cold, ink-stain symbol of the Dark Mark. He averts his gaze when you speak. “Why did you do it?” You don’t have to look at him to know that regret etches on his face.

"I had to," he answers curtly, and you wish it had more to it. You fixate on his lips and the way he licks them nervously; the silent tear gliding down his cheek shatters your heart into a thousand pieces.

He watches as you touch the golden ring slung on your necklace. It was once a simple gift, a symbol of his endearment for you. You had often fiddled with it when you were nervous or upset, but you never thought you would be in this position because of him―he’d never thought you would’ve been.

The tears gather in your eyes and the look of pain in your face makes his gut clench. He wants to tell you that everything will be alright, that the mark means nothing, but that would be a lie. And he couldn't lie to you like that.

Instead, as you bite your lip to hold back a sob, he pulls his forehead to yours, and closes his eyes. He presses a comforting kiss to your skin, and you feel a cool touch on your temple. "You mean everything to me," he whispers. “I love you.” And then with a shakiness to it, the words echo the air.

“Obliviate.”

You leave the Room of Requirement with a sense of confusion and emptiness, and Draco only tells you that you were lost before leading you out. For weeks on after, the feeling of void stays, engulfing you to the point of physical exhaustion.

There’s a blank space in your memory that feels like an important piece of you―but you don’t know what it is. You begin to hang out with your friends, trying to discover the void left behind from that moment in the Room of Requirement, but to your displeasure, you discern nothing.

You begin to tuck yourself into bed with a sense of difference; with an ache to go somewhere, to sneak out and have someone to see. But your mind remains blank, it seems you are forgetting so much these days.

“Draco, isn’t that your ring?”

You’re studying with your friends, head deep in textbooks and various pieces of parchment when someone speaks, their voice whipping against the silent air of the library. Draco watches as you flip through the pages of the book you read.

Blaise speaks again, “isn’t it?”

Draco shifts in his seat. “I’m sure it just looks similar.” His grey eyes watch you attentively, and his voice comes monotone when he speaks. There’s a sense of desolation to it.

“We both know that’s the Malfoy family crest.” Blaise tells him, his eyes slightly wary of his friend’s lie. “I wondered why you stopped wearing it.”

After a few moments of silence, Draco stands, the inside of his cheeks between his teeth. He takes slow, prideful steps towards you. Your eyes are still on your paper, indulged in your reading when his voice chimes out. “That’s my ring,” he says. You look up.

Draco hovers over your slouched figure, his eyes attempting a hard gaze. There’s a glimpse of regret in his hues of grey and it doesn’t come unnoticed. But he doesn’t glare at you – and he couldn’t, even if he really attempted to. His eyes just couldn’t seem to lose their shine around you.

You flicker your gaze from him to the golden ring hanging from your neck. It feels warm under your fingertips and slippery from your sweat. It had probably been caressed from your stress as you studied. A heat travels through your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve picked it up by accident.” Your drop your quill to untangle the lock of your necklace, but your friends stop you before you can.

“Wait, how do we know if it’s yours, Malfoy?”

He knows that your friends hate him, but he still feels that familiar pain strike his chest. He acts the part that they know so well. “My vaults could buy this castle, why would I be stealing gold from a mere student?”

He’s usually more harsh, but he can’t bring himself to insult you either. Instead, he watches as you struggle to unclasp it until you have six girls pulling at the expensive chain around your neck.

He inhales deeply, reaching to undo it himself. “Move you lot, you’re going to damage it.” His fingers brush against your cold skin, and his warmth gives you a sense of comfort you don’t understand. He unclasps the chain easily, and when it leaves your skin, Draco slips the ring off before giving you back the golden line.

“Thank you.” You tell him, but there’s an ache to say something more.

He leaves the table without another word, and you watch as his retreating figure leaves the library. Your fingers crawl to your neck, your other hand holding the golden chain. It feels weird to lose the charm. It wasn’t yours in the first place, but it felt like it should’ve been―it’s a selfish thought. You don’t even remember how it came to your possession.

It seems you are forgetting more these days.

[livinamity]

As the World Caves In

Song here

Draco Malfoy knew he had a duty to his family, to continue their pure bloodline and legacy. He was bound by tradition to marry a pureblood, but his heart longed for something different.

When he met you, he was willing to drop his name to be with you. A Muggle―the filthy blood his family despised―he had suddenly forgotten all about it. He wanted to cherish every moment with you, even if it meant going against everything he knew to be true.

As his blonde hair falls against his forehead, and his eyes soften, he looks at you and speaks the simplest of words from the deepest parts of his heart: "I just want to be with you for a moment."

Those words make the world seem to pause and in the silence, you could hear your heart’s melody. The world outside, with all its chaos and noise, fades into the background. All that matters was this moment, this fleeting instant of time.

The pair of you in your own little world, with nothing that could tear you apart.

[livinamity]

Heartache of the Wind

Song here

The fall of the Dark Lord should call for a grand and special celebration—a sumptuous dinner table, adorned with immaculate cutlery and extravagant menus.

When the doors open to the Great Hall, anticipation should fill the air; the scent of hope and new beginnings wafting through the room, calling for smiles to be shared and laughter to fill the space.

But as the doors to the hall creak open, the mood is anything but celebratory. The hall is filled with a palpable melancholy, a somber atmosphere of grief and tears. The atmosphere is unsettling.

You let yourself watch the scene with low eyes. The rain that had washed over your back in the war blends with the flow of your tears, and you have to leave the room with heartache on your lips.

The walk to the black lake is silent. It’s still raining but it falls softer now, as if the clouds were letting go of their own grief. The tears of the dark sky wash away all the pain.

When you near, there's a ghostly figure standing by the shore. The figure stands, hunched over with his back to you, his black suit a contrast against the muddy shore. His shoulders are slumped forward as silent tears fall from his eyes and into the black water below.

You approach him quietly, your footsteps nearly lost in the mud and the rain. You can hear his breathing, ragged and uneven, as if he's holding back a wave of emotions that threatens to overwhelm him.

As you approach, he turns his head to you and the platinum-blond hair gives him away. It's Draco, still in his black suit, still mourning the loss of those he loved―his heart full of anger and resentment.

"Love?" he says softly, extending his hand towards you. You can feel the tension in his voice, the strain of the pain that he has endured. You take his hand, letting his warmth envelop you as he pulls you into a embrace.

You can still feel the coldness of the rain, but the warmth of his blazer against your skin brings you a sense of comfort. A shaky breath leaves your throat.

"We'll be alright," he tells you. You can see the doubt in his eyes, the struggle to believe in the words he's saying. It's an attempt at reassurance, and as the song of birds grows louder, you let yourself believe.

The fight is over and now it is time to heal, to mend everything that has been broken. Only the sweet smell of dew and the sound of bird song can offer a respite from the pain.

[livinamity]

hi everyone!!

just letting you know that I have decided to private my series "somewhere in between".

this is because i feel like i'm running off with my writing and have lost the idea of the whole plot (i def lost my story notes document).

until i have edited, fixed my mistakes, and finished the series, it will be staying private.

i've also edited a bunch of my other stories, so if you'd like to reread them, it would be greatlyyy appreciated!! thank you all for your support!!

— livinamity

[livinamity]

Good Mourning

Song here

Unspoken words are the loudest ones that he hears. He remembers those words left unsaid—that regretful look you gave him when you followed Thomas into the maze. He knew what you wanted to say, and you knew then too.

But Gally was sure you would’ve made it out safely. If between the both of you, he was sure you would’ve made it out of anything. He was so sure of it.

But as he stands beyond Thomas and his mates, doubts cloud his mind. He wasn’t so sure then. Because as his eyes scan the room, he notices the looks.

The looks at each other for comfort; the kind of looks of sorrow and grief. Those were unspoken words Gally was sure he could hear loud and clear.

He wished it wasn’t true—that maybe, you were out there somewhere, hiding away in the safety of a tent. But when his eyes find Minho and the boy shakes his head low, he knows. Of all things painful, he didn’t want to admit it.

That night, Gally hangs his legs over a rooftop, and the sky looks extra bright that evening. He talks to the stars about the past and what could’ve been.

He tells them about your giggle and the smile that came along with it; your light and the way you shined even in the darkest of days. That night, Gally misses you.

And when the sun says, ‘good morning,’ he wasn’t sure it was and maybe it will never be again.

[livinamity]

Lover In the Sky

Song here

When the sky turns dark, Newt stays awake to watch the moon-lit stars. Above him, the blue dances with scatters of gold and white. The boys beside him sleep, but he watches the moon with a sad smile.

The floor is cold and the dust from the sand blows against his cheeks with the wind. The breeze whistles in a melancholic tune. The clouds roam the sky in peace, and he believes you dance among them too.

He frowns. He wants to talk to you—to ask how you’ve been. He wants to ask about the clouds, the stars, and the moon. Are they as soft as they look, or as hot as they seem, does the moon sing you to sleep? –- Are you sleeping peacefully?

The thought makes him want to cry. He wants to curse at the sky for your life back—to turn around and see you beside him again; but he won’t. He hates himself for calling you over the other day, just to remember… He wants to forget the mistake he made.

When he’d seen a photo of two kids smiling at the camera, it made his heart so warm and stomach bubbly, that he had to show you. So, he shouted your name and twisted to find you, only to catch sad glimpses.

The boys were all mourning, but they knew Newt would take it the hardest. It had already been months since you’d left them, but he’d always forget—or more so, didn’t want to accept. Newt knew he had to, someday. He had to accept he could never truly show you anything again.

He wished he didn’t have to, but he had to accept you were now just his lover in the sky.

[livinamity]

Somewhere Only We Know

Song here

If you ask Minho what he thought about her, he would write a love song. He would sing about her golden skin and how it shone like a star under the bright sun, and how her smile resembled a crescent moon. Moonlight: he’d call her that.

He’d hum the tune she’d sing to him at the pond by the deadheads. He’d talk about the nights they’d sit against the tree stumps and look at the idle night sky. When he wanted to spill his heart out and rant, she’d let him. That’s what he loved the most.

The loving look in her eye that held no judgement. The subtle tilt of her head to show she was listening. She always calmed his mind. So, then, in silence or chaos, he’d find her first. He would wait until his hands met hers to relax.

He would tell you how, now, although only left with memories of her, he would smile. He’d tell you how he’d memorised the melody of her laugh; and how he would revise it every night before bed just to relive it again.

To have someone understand your mind is a different kind of intimacy, and it's what he had with her. He had someone who knew his mind—in the dark times of the Maze, he found a light: his home.

[livinamity]

Immortal

Song here

In those moments when time slows down, Thomas could only think of you. Sometimes, he takes himself back to the scorch; to that moment of silence you shared in the mirror, with your cheek resting on his shoulder and a smile so gentle.

He thinks about you when the rain falls, and he wonders what it would be like to dance with you again. Maybe, you’d slip in a puddle like you did before and he would hear the sweet sound of your laughter.

And when the sun rises, he’s reminded of you again, and he wonders what it would be like to watch it together. He imagines you sitting beside him on a sand bank with a gentle smile as you watch the sky turn bright and yellow.

He’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and kiss your forehead so tenderly you’d melt. You’d turn to watch the horizon and look back to catch him staring at you amorously; and you’d smile a smile so fond, he’d melt.

But when the sweet smell of morning dew washes the image away, he frowns at nothing; only the memory of you—and as long as that part of you lives in him, Thomas would never stop running.