"𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞."
- 'sparks fly' by Taylor Swift

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HEMERA

The Great Hall finally buzzes with life after three months of no one stepping a foot inside. More and more students walk through the heavy double doors, filling the room and flooding the free seats on the benches of all four house tables. Murmurs and laughter echo around the huge, high-ceiling dining room despite the fact that the first day of classes has officially arrived. No one seems particularly bothered by the upcoming lectures, and amongst the unfamiliar faces of some first years, I even notice a few smiles of blazing excitement.

The delicious smell of freshly baked croissants and honey-coated pancakes attacks my senses with every inhale I dare to draw in, causing my mouth to salivate at the mere idea of suppressing the low grumble of my stomach with them.

My attention is drawn to Theo sitting opposite me on the other side of the Slytherin table when he speaks. "Honestly, I think it'll take me a while to get back on track with waking up early." He helplessly runs his hand down his face, tiredly pulling his bottom lip down just a little before it bounces back to the straight line of his mouth.

I take the evident exhaustion lining his features as a chance to ask, "How'd you sleep last night?"

Given that the glare I receive is sharp enough to stab right through me, I guess that sharing a bed with Blaise remains as hard of an assignment as it's always been. Blaise has always had the tendency to kick in his sleep and not just simple shoves that would go unnoticed-— I'm talking about his limbs going on full propel mode like a toddler being dragged out of the playground against their will.

And then, there's Theo's trepidation that would interfere if he ever thought of piling a few pillows on the floor and sleeping there. When Theo was eleven, and during our first night at Hogwarts, he was pranked by some sixth-years who told him that Sir Nicholas, the ghost that wanders around the castle nearly headless, was searching for prey to recreate the scene of his death. In the fear of ending up decapitated, Draco, Theo, and Blaise ended up sleeping in the same bed and refused to peek from the heavy duvet until Pansy and I had to pull the cover off of them ourselves the next morning.

I don't know if a small part of Theo never managed to recover from the trauma, but there hasn't been a single first night back that he's actually slept in his bed alone, in the past five years. Last night only counts as the sixth.

On his right, Pansy snickers, her yawn cutting her off. She already looks drained, and I don't find it in myself to tease her about it. One glare from her can easily have me sleeping in full-body armor in the hopes of waking up with all my limbs intact, knowing that every slicing look counts as a promised threat.

"I don't want to go to class." Draco's long-lasting whine from beside me makes me glance at him. I'm met with the sight of him pressing his forehead against the surface of the table, face-down, his platinum hair contrasting the dark wood. For a split second, I even wonder if he's even breathing right, but as soon as a sigh flies past his lips, I know the answer.

I notice how the food on his plate remains untouched, and the glass I previously filled with apple juice has been pushed a few inches away.

"Don't be a big seventeen-year-old baby," I tell him, stroking his shoulder in what I hope is a comforting gesture. He doesn't lift his head, but I hear him sigh again, this time louder than before. "Come on, you'll feel better once you eat something."

"Indeed," Blaise confirms, mouthful, and drowns down a big gulp of water to help him swallow whatever it is that he's chewing on. "Everything is so ridiculously delicious, I could eat for hours." Almost too cheerfully, he stabs what's left of his eggs with his fork, stuffing his mouth with a bite nearly impossible to fit. Perhaps he's the only person I know who'd rather go on with his day instead of slumping back on the bed and sleeping the rest of his day away.

Pansy glares in his direction, her red-rimmed eyes flickering between him and the second plate he's emptied in the span of almost fifteen minutes of us being here. "We can tell." She mumbles under her breath, her cranky demeanor shining through.

"Rude."

"The boy's still going Parkinson," Theo's chuckle echoes and he shakes his head, chest heaving under the white uniform shirt he's wearing. "Let him eat at peace."

Pansy only sticks her tongue out, eyes squinting with the gesture. Theodore, wisely so, brushes it off with another peel of shallow laughter. Their usually snarky encounters make my entire body vibrate with withheld chuckles, yet as Draco's mentality seems to be walking the thin line between sanity and lunacy, I can't fight the need to nudge his shoulder, hoping to get him to eat something. My attempts die in vain.

I blow out a breath full of defeat and decide to take action, as I take his fork and knife in my hands. After cutting a small piece of the pancake he was planning to eat, I stab it with the silver cutlery and run it around the plate, coating it in some extra honey that I hope won't dribble on my skirt before making it to his mouth.

"Ready or not, here it comes." I practically sing and watch as Draco finally lifts his head from the table, seemingly putting an unnecessary amount of effort into doing so. Though he looks like it'd only take him a blink to surrender to his need for rest, the grin that plasters itself on his mouth at the sight of me swaying the fork around playfully seems irresistible. I remember how this used to be his favorite food game when he was younger and Nacrissa had named it 'train tunnel.' It always got him to the point where he was eager to finish even his worst meal; oysters.

"I'm not five, Mera." He laughs and while his mouth is agape, I slip in the perfect bite I made. He glares at me, for he wasn't prepared, but I shrug it off as it doesn't take long for him to start chewing. The sweetness that explodes in his mouth elicits a barely audible hum, and I roll my shoulders back in satisfaction, as though a mission I'd deemed impossible was accomplished. After all, it's universally known that a tired Draco means an unbearably stubborn Draco.

"You should've thought about that before deciding to act like it." Grabbing a napkin from the table, I use it to wipe the excess honey from the corner of his mouth, leaning closer and laying my palm on his chest to stop him from any further movement of retaliation. With my fingers splayed out over his left pectoral, the hammering of his heart echoes faintly into my palm; the intense speed of its beat makes me retreat my hand almost hastily. As though it was my touch that caused the quickening of his pulse.

Draco's eyelids flutter in rapid blinks, as he tries to discreetly clear the fog of whatever thoughts just came to cloud his mind. The dilated irises drowning in the blue rings in his eyes turn their focus on me, his gaze almost hazed as it leaves the spot of the previous placement of my hand. Like he can still see it there, the ghost of it barely hovering over his chest.

"Aw," Pansy voices, pouting as she leans her chin into the hand she's propped up on the table, her back hutching, "Now if this isn't our parents falling in love all over again."

I could say I'm almost glad for the distraction.

I clear my throat, turning my attention to the girl sitting across from me, though I can still feel Draco's eyes warming the side of my face. I try to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. With a roll of my eyes, I chuckle, "Please stop ruining moments."

"Cliche." Blaise speaks around yet again another bite, "That was cliche."

My eyebrows arch as I eye him, "maybe you should consider a thing called swallowing."

Blaise's rebellious idiosyncrasy makes an appearance as he starts to flashily chew on whatever it is that he's stuffed his mouth with, the smacking and popping of his lips loud and provoking. He doesn't even bother to cover his mouth with his hand as he teasingly grumbles something so incoherent that I'm practically left guessing the words.

"How about no?"

Without verbally replying and therefore giving him a reason to use his mouth before it's in a proper state to speak, I grab a napkin and toss it in his direction. "Please do wipe this atrocious behavior off. It doesn't suit you."

My tells earn a trail of chuckles from everyone in the group. Deep down, I know that Blaise is just trying to piss me off by making my entire stomach rise to my throat at the sight of his open-mouthed chewing, but I don't hold myself accountable for losing the 'keep a blank expression and don't let him see how much it bothers you' battle.

I force my mind to wipe itself clean of the mental image.

When I finally get to take the first bite of my breakfast this morning, it's sweet, dreamy even, in a way that makes me want to devour the whole thing all at once. My eyelids seal and a satisfactory hum slips out before I can help myself.

I swallow and get ready for my second bite when my eyes find themselves suddenly attached to a honey gaze.

From across the room, all the way over to the Ravenclaw table, my line of vision is set straight ahead, captivated in a way that makes me unable to look away first. I recognize the eyes that match the color of his tie, the sharp features, the dark, and perfectly combed hair. Lucas.

Looking at him makes me want to put my fork down and do nothing but lean my chin dreamily on my palms. Something in the way he seems to completely ignore the two guys bickering on either side of him tells me that his urge doesn't differ much from mine, and the thought of that makes my stomach flip all the way upside down. It's as though, even from a distance, his undivided attention is on me. Or the wall behind me, which I hope is not the case. My pulse quickens the longer he holds my gaze, just like he did yesterday, and I can't help the tickling heat spreading over my skin.

Relax, you don't look that flustered. He can't even see it.

However, when his lips stretch into a tight smile, the reassurance my own thoughts try to engulf me into seems to slip out of my head, fall down my throat, break through the pit of my stomach, and eventually land on my feet, where it gets helplessly crushed. I attempt to flash a smile of my own, but I'm not exactly sure how ridiculous I look. On a scale of one to ten, the answer is probably past eleven.

"Hemera."

"Hemera."

"Merlin's saggy tit, Hemera." Pansy's fingers snapping in alarming proximity to my face cause my body to jolt with a flinch, pulling me out of my daze. I quickly shake my head, pretending like I didn't just jump into the conversation from a whole other dimension, and lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"It's time we head to class, " says Theo, slipping out of his seat and throwing his bag over his shoulder.

The fact that herbology is the first lecture of the year makes me swallow down my curses, along with my last sip of pumpkin juice, and follow his lead like the rest.

Subconsciously, my eyes fall on the Ravenclaw table as we make our way out of the Great Hall, only to find his eyes already on me, as though they never left.

I pull an imaginary quill out of an imaginary pencil case and make a mental note to spend the night talking to Pansy about things like how many times Lucas blinked while looking at me. You know, the important stuff.

[-]

"Good morning everyone" Professor Sprout beams as she contently strolls into the greenhouse where half of the Slytherin students waiting for her have slumped their faces on the tables, pure boredom and ennui lingering in every breath. Her beige cloak sways behind her in a rush and she attempts to brush out the silver cloud of messy curls with her fingers.

She assesses us, eyes darting around and jumping from one face to the next. When her gaze crosses with mine, she nods and sends an approving, welcoming smile. I usually wouldn't like any distinctions revolving around me. Still, I can't help but feel a spark of inner satisfaction when the professor teaching my favorite subject doesn't ignore my obvious aptitude for it.

Last year, I even heard her call me a Herbology prodigy to Snape, which might've helped me get the grade I did in his class- along with my admirable ability to cheat during the final exams at the end of the year. Hadn't it been for Spout putting in a good word for me and explaining that I'm just not 'potions smart', I'm not sure I would've passed.

To return the favor, I made sure to be at her beck and call when she needed help with literally anything in the greenhouse. I can't even count the number of afternoons I was called in to help with moving plants around and experimenting with pesticides. Eventually, my assistance led to me being handed the spare set of keys to the greenhouses in case I wanted to spend some time there since I'd proved myself trustworthy enough- her words, not mine.

Seemingly, my achievements are still held dearly in the Professor's heart, and I can't recall a single time when there wasn't pure admiration shining behind her eyes as she observed my work. Whether I buried a few seeds in the soil or trimmed a fully grown bush, she always made sure to congratulate me. Part of me is glad to know I'm good at something I love; gardening.

Ever since my mother introduced me to the world of blooms and stems, there hasn't been a single day when I didn't want to run straight to our garden and give it life. Make it colorful with vibrant petals and exquisite flowers. The sight of their beauty gives me peace. It's always been this way.

The woman halts in her spot in front of the long tables. "I wanted to share my personal greetings with you all, so welcome back. I know most of you will be delighted to find out that this year's herbology class is one of the easiest you'll ever come across, for it doesn't focus on an essential set book. Therefore, you won't be examined at the end of the school year." I swear a sigh of pure relief slips out of Draco at that. "Plus, you're free to work with whoever you please-I'm not a huge fan of assigned seats."

There's a short pause in her speech, only long enough for me to glance at my best friend standing next to me. He turns his head in my direction, meeting my gaze immediately as if he could somehow feel my eyes on him the moment they landed on his face.

He nods at my silent invitation to share a desk for the sixth year in a row. A simple and barely noticeable nod that despite its small nature, carries enough reassurance to make me ease out a breath. Not that I ever expected him to refuse.

From the day we stepped foot into this school, there hasn't been a single year that we haven't sat together- it's an instinct at this point; to expect that much from each other. A thought planted in our subconscious. I avert my gaze from Draco and look straight to the professor, but even absentmindedly, I reach out and try to close his hand in mine. With the size of his palm though, I'm doomed to fail.

Draco gets the hint and doesn't hesitate to interlock our fingers and he gives my hand a light squeeze. One of his slow smiles cranes the corner of his lips faintly as the sun rains upon him from the transparent roof of the greenhouse, no barriers in sight to stop the golden tint from spreading all over the room. Like a blanket of pure warmth, of light and illuminance.

"Please, take your seats."

As much as I'd like to complain about ending up sandwiched between Theo's broad shoulders and Draco's side, I don't.

A few minutes later, Sprout announces the first assignment of the year, part of which is the planting of a muggle herb before we'd have to summarize its use and present it to the class. I don't have to think twice before deciding to go with Marjoram- I read about it in a personal research I carried out last year and still remember precisely where the tome containing all the information I'll need is shelved in the library.

"I can't think of a more pointless class." It's Draco who I hear while I scribble down some notes. His pure complaint emits an almost muffled chuckle from me, as I fight tooth and nail to swallow it down.

I don't think I'll ever understand why the thought of attending this class has him bleating and whining, as though being around herbs and plants will physically rip him to shreds- but if I had to bet on it, I'd probably blame it on the fact that he once was stupid enough to tease a young Mandrake during its first potting in our second year.

I remember laughing myself hoarse when the weeping plant's mouth had closed around his finger, biting down on it hard enough to leave the tiniest of bruises on his skin. He'd given me the kind of glare that pins one to the spot, and that was sufficient indication of how he was one chuckle away from throwing the Mandrake directly at me over the table. Perhaps, knowing that unlike him, I could handle keeping my hands safe from a harmless herb is what had prevented him from acting out his impulsive thoughts.

Pots appear in front of every student as a response to his complaint, every single one of them filled with soil to welcome any seeds we might want to put in it. I summon the pair of gloves from my bag, slanting them on.

"Don't tell me you didn't bring your gloves," I mumble to Draco, as his body seems to have been robbed of any potential for movement. He just stares at his pot, an expression of disgust rippling under his cool facade.

"I'm not touching that." He points to the dark soil. His upper lip curls into a snarl. "It's revolting."

"And so will your grade be if you keep refusing to work." I sigh and with a roll of my eyes, I tear the gloves from my hands, tossing them to him. He doesn't catch the pair before it hits his chest, but he's at least quick enough to prevent it from falling to the floor. Flashily, I sink a now bare finger into my own pot. "And it's not revolting, or scary. See? It won't swallow you whole."

Draco shakes his head at my teasing and pushes his shoulder against mine, knocking me slightly off balance. He puts the gloves on nonetheless, even though they don't fit him right. Out of the corner of my eye, I see how he steals a few glances at how I seem to enjoy the process of getting my hands dirty.

[-]

I completely hate how everyone's attention shifts from their pots to me when I raise my hand. As though an invisible tennis ball is tossed to me during an intense match I have no intention of participating in, the realization of countless pairs of eyes landing on me slams some sort of weight on my shoulders. A weight I discreetly try to shrug off but can't, like it has clawed itself on my robes.

Sprout turns to me from where she's helping Tracey Davis plant her seed since she claims she's allergic to soil. A smile forms on her mouth. "Yes, Hemera?"

I fight the urge to clear my throat in the hopes of getting some words out, "May I use the restroom?" I intentionally master the softest tone my vocal cords can produce and it tastes weird, unfamiliar on my tongue.

"Of course."

My desperation doesn't allow me to waste a single second before I fly out of my seat. Perhaps, I should've taken it slow on the pumpkin juice at breakfast.

I walk out of the greenhouse in no time, without caring about making it look like I've been trying to flee for long.

The fresh air that welcomes me, scraping past my skin is coolly refreshing, and light shudders tear through me at the sensation. The heat drains from my cheeks and tiny shivers coil and tickle along the length of my spine. But the urgent pressure growing tighter low in my abdomen doesn't give me enough time to savor the feeling, efficiently reminding me of why I asked to use the restroom in the first place.

I enter the main building and round the first corner, my breathing growing a bit heavier as my pace increases. The oxygen rushes in and out of me in small amounts- I barely have enough time to fill it in my lungs before I exhale again. And again. And again.

Attempting to turn to another corridor, I find myself completely unprepared for when I run straight into someone with all the force my body has gained from almost running. I stumble backward and my arms reach out to grab anything that can possibly stop me from shamefully facing my downfall in front of a person whose eyes I still haven't met. Locks of hair swaying messily in the air and across my face, as my breath gets knocked out of me the moment my backside collides with the unforgiving floor, surely is a hideous sight.

If I wasn't the one whose embarrassment coils in my stomach, I'd probably consider laughing at myself.

"Are you okay?" I hear the person in front of me ask. The fact that his voice seems to be coming from somewhere above my head indicates that I'm the only one on the floor. Great, as if every drop of my blood hasn't alarmingly rushed to my face already.

I lift a hand and brush my hair away from my face, tucking a few strands untidily behind my ears and clearing my vision. However, after I get to take a look through my eyelashes at the person towering over me, I regret ever thinking that it was okay for me to stroll through the corridors like I had. And walking out of the classroom. And drinking that ridiculously sweet pumpkin juice.

The skin of my face feels tighter than it should when I attempt to smile and the heat doesn't stop spreading until it's reached even the points of my ears. I force a small smile nonetheless, one that I hope appears even a little warm and welcoming- despite my ass freezing from the marble, my skirt and robes failing to seal the coldness away from my skin.

I'm almost surprised when my smile is returned with a toothy one of his. My eyes widen slightly when Lucas holds his hand out for me to take, offering to help me up. There's a weird hesitation that stops me from grabbing it immediately, but I push back against it, not wanting to embarrass myself any further; not when I don't trust my own feet to get me up without tripping over one another.

My hand closes around his, yet his grip is way more secure than mine could ever be. Tighter, firmer. That alone lets me know that there's no way my fingers can slip right through it. I'm stunned to see how little effort it takes for him to pull me up.

"Thank you," I breathe out and as soon as he retreats his hand from mine, I dust off the back of my skirt as prudently as I can.

Instead of replying with 'you're welcome' or 'no problem' like I expected him to, the look on his face grows more serious. Troubled, in some way. The indents between his thick eyebrows deepen as his expression morphs into a frown. Brown eyes inspecting me close enough to make my palms sweat, he asks,

"Are you hurt?"

I'm not going to mention the slight ache in my lower back from the turbulence. "No—I'm fine. No broken bones." I smile sheepishly, completely aware of his eyes burning holes through mine.

"Thank Merlin." The breath that slips out of his mouth sounds like it's been held in for long enough. His gaze softens as relief washes over his face, making him appear calmer. Collected. His brows melt back to normal, and his forehead is no longer wrinkly beneath the layers of dark brown curls. "Now tell me, is running into me some uncanny fetish of yours? Should I be concerned?"

I force out a chuckle that's anything but funny. "I think you're safe as long as you stay ten feet away."

Lucas glances at the empty corridor around us and hums as if realizing now that this is the last place we should be. "May I ask why you're not in class?"

There's no way on earth I'd ever tell him that my bladder is seconds away from exploding, "Professor Sprout asked me to, uh, tell Professor Dumbledore to come and check the-" For a split second, my mind goes blank. "The window hinges. Yes, the window hinges; they're way too rusted and they creak all the damn time."

Lucas' expression doesn't give away any sign that my lie convinces him, but before he has enough time to notice that this corridor doesn't lead to the headmaster's office, I fire his initial question back to him.

"And why are you not in class yourself?"

His reply is instant, "Had to get a word in with the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. I'm thinking of joining this year, just for the sake of saying that I got to try it out."

"That's honestly great, you definitely should." I nod, not knowing why I'm trying to give him a sense of encouragement he probably doesn't even need. The urge to slap myself pebbles under my skin. "And who knows, you might grow to actually like it more than you expect."

"Maybe" he shrugs, and after a moment of silence and lingering awkwardness, he arches a brow. "Is this the part where I ask to buy you a cup of hot chocolate?"

I don't think my bladder would like that. "I'll pass—consider this a sign that it's your lucky day."

Lucas's handsome face has the audacity to look genuinely disappointed, his lips sullen as a playful pout takes over his mouth. "Why? You're not the only one who has to stay consistent."

"I'll take your offer into great consideration when I don't have somewhere else to be." Being fully aware that if I don't leave now my bubble will burst, I flash a last smile at him "I really really have to go but it was nice seeing you, Lucas." And I mean it.

My legs carry me away before I have enough time to notice any change in his expression, but as I turn to the last corridor and get out of sight, I hear his voice behind me, my name appearing at the end of his sentence.

"I'll see you around, Hemera."

It almost sounds like a promise he intends to keep.

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i don't know what to say so i hope you enjoyed the chapter

thank you for reading <3

-M.L