"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞,
𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬"
-'fearless' by Taylor Swift

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HEMERA

After what seems like one of the most exhausting weeks I had to drag my body and sanity through, I couldn’t be more thankful to know that I eventually made it to Friday in one piece. A little sleep deprived and perhaps, with my dark circles almost at level with my mouth, but still breathing.

My body is so used to clawing at the sliver of relaxation I was granted during my free periods and the breaks that I can’t help but feel like I spent an entire week trapped in a loophole. With no way out but alongside an irritating voice telling me that I was late for another lecture to keep me company.

All the enervation trapped within the walls of my skull and every fiber of myself threatens to have my mind exploding; if it isn’t liquid enough to gush out of my ears, taking all the supposedly useful information the professors had pitifully attempted to weave into my veil of knowledge, in its dismiss.

Still, the pressure I feel squashing in my temples from the inside is enough to make me want to call it a day and do nothing but sleep the rest of my afternoon away. Or the entire weekend for that matter. Lie down on one of the couches in the common room and stare at the crackling fire until my body is completely numb and unmoving, overtaken by my need to regain my wasted energy.

The idea of my leisure will remain a faint, opulent imagination for a few more hours, a mental image I shall not give myself the pleasure of materializing just yet. I know better than to beset my mind with things as far out of my reach as my ability to complete my potions assignment on time without breaking a sweat.

I wouldn’t describe myself as the type to be driven by grades and praise to the extent of completely sacrificing my needs to get them, but I know better than to walk into Snape’s class on Monday empty-handed when I had an entire weekend to work on my project. Going easy on his students is something he’s proved himself severely incapable of doing. I might have two days left but I know that the best thing I can do is remove the weight of it from my shoulders.

Three hours of devotion to writing about stupid Polyjuice and wolfsbane potions. I can do that.

Perhaps it’s the fact that the corridors are empty and dead silent as I walk through them that makes me curse my heightened sense of selfishness and stubborn mannerism that held me back from asking Draco for help. Had I made the first move to talk to him after our argument, I’m damn sure I wouldn’t doubt every step I take that draws me closer to the library at the end of the hallway.

Knowing myself means being aware of my inefficiency to be the first to crack the ice after a fight. Draco and I don’t argue often— unless it’s about whether slices of pineapple on pizza are a crime against humanity or not— but when we do, I never expect them to last long. Usually, it’s only a matter of hours and nothing more. We fight. He leaves the room. I start counting to ten and wait for him to come back. He shoves his lighthouse-of-Alexandria-sized pride aside and apologizes first. I admit that he wasn’t the only one in the wrong and just like that, we pretend that nothing beyond the ordinary happened in the afternoon.

Now that we’ve spent the last four days treating each other’s presence like it holds the significance of a loose thread on the sleeve of our sweatshirts, I can’t help but wonder how far he’s willing to take it or if he sees it fit to discover how long it’ll take for me to reach out first. Although his ignorance bothers me enough to make me want to slap him in hopes of getting a reaction out of him, I refuse to let it show.

If he can effortlessly act like he’s run out of cares to give, there’s nothing telling me that I can’t do it better. I just wish my decision to rely on my independence didn’t cost me the utter blessing that his assistance has been in the past. If anything, going on a pointless information hunt on my own will never make it on my list of ways to spend my Friday night without wanting to yank my hair out of its roots.

Before I can completely clear my mind of thoughts that could possibly elicit any signs of remorse if developed more, I find myself staring at the closed door of the castle’s library, the doorknob at arm’s length. Pulling a long inhale into my lungs, I open the door, not knowing what I’m hoping to prepare myself for. If anything, the library is by far the most serene and quiet room in the entire castle.

The sight of a few students— mostly first and second years who freak out at the mere idea of showing up to their classes unprepared— is oddly familiar and somehow, comforting. Maybe I’m not the only one catching up on assignments late and that boosts my unyielding determination.

The scribbling of quills against parchment is the only sound echoing around, with the only exception being the sighs of restlessness and irritation that are being released every now and then. When heads involuntarily snap in my direction when I do so much as walk in, minding my every step to make sure that the heels of my shoes don’t slap hard against the floor feels necessary.

I readjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder and make my way to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves separating the library’s different sections. Massive and steady looking, they bear the weight of hundred upon hundred ink-stained pages as though they’re feathers light enough to be swept away by the gust of the mid-summer breeze.

Though the only things I see when I face the books are answers to every question, confirmations to every assumption, and silent armies of words that aim to fight against backwardness and illiteracy for as long as they remain unfaded.

I take a swift turn to the potions aisle, where everything I suppose I need hides in plain sight, and instantly start searching for a book that seems like it might mention the terms Polyjuice and Wolfsbane. I make sure to be gentle as my pointer finger brushes over the brown, worn-out spines, the shabby leather of the binding running coarsely under my skin. It seems like it’s been more than a while since they last replaced the books with new copies, but it’s the fact that time slows its pace in this room that makes it feel like a distant dimension you can willingly jump in.

My eyes flicker from one title to the next and I even have to squint to make out the faded golden letters, though my eyelashes don’t really help with my struggle.

Polyjuice, Polyjuice, Polyjuice.

“Here.” A female voice coming from behind startles me and before I can stop myself, my muscles tense uncontrollably and a brief flinch perfuses through my body. One that I instantly try to cover with a forced cough after turning around to face the middle-aged gray-haired woman I recognize as the librarian. Her wrinkled eyes appear bigger due to the thick lens of the round glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, the amber brown standing out against the pallid skin of her lids.

A stack of books in her arms and the tenderness of her smile complete her sophisticated complexion. The familiarity that seeps into the fissures of my mind and each pump of my heart could easily take me back to the first time she helped me get a book from a shelf I couldn’t reach when I was eleven. I’m not exactly surprised to see that her kindness hasn’t worn thin.

“This will probably help,” she says, holding out one of the books from the stack and gesturing for me to grab it with a nod. “The information on the Polyjuice potion is enough for Professor Snape to be satisfied.”

I try to push back against the heat rising to my cheeks and ears at the thought of thinking out loud while looking for the book a few seconds ago. At the thought of her hearing me carrying out the embarrassing act. The book feels heavy in my hands and I silently worry about having to skim through five hundred pages before landing on a remotely useful piece of information. At last, I manage to flash a small smile. “Thank you.”

The librarian readjusts the textbooks in her arms, gaining a stronger grip on them and her smile falters evidently, widening and stretching as it cranes her cheeks. “It’s my pleasure, dear.”

My feet are still glued to the same spot when I watch her turn around and walk away, my fingers fiddling with the worn-out edge of the book’s cover.

[-]

I find myself a free table to sit at no long after I gather all the things I suppose I’ll need— parchment and ink mostly. The corner is empty, the section secluded and deserted, away from the rest of the students who still haven’t fled the library. Quieter in every way. Only the buzz of faint noises makes it that far, incoherent, whispered words that I’d be damned if I paid enough attention in an attempt to understand what’s being said.

I drop my books on the table with a thud and slip into my seat, the chair squeaking lowly under my weight. Bits of dust rise from the flat wooden surface at the sudden impact and dance around the unstirred air, shimmering at the sun’s indistinct light that creeps through the windows. It might not be bright enough to read under but it gives me hope that I can make it to my bed by nighttime.

I rub my brows with my thumb and forefinger and squint my eyes, taking in as much oxygen as my lungs can endure in one long inhale. If there’s one thing I need to do, then convincing myself that I won’t leave this table without an essay or a half-finished one is it.

The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll shove the textbooks back on the shelves and sprint out of here.

After laying my quills and notebooks out, leaving them scattered across the furniture’s surface until they come to good use, I start by flipping open the book the librarian gave me. The skin of the binding is rough and the pages ruffle and snuffle as I turn them one by one. I only scan the titles of the chapters until I reach the one that reads Polyjuice potion and ingredients, and press my palms against the pages to make sure they won’t flip as soon as I retreat my hands, sinfully creasing the spine a little more.

It doesn’t take long for me to start taking notes and writing down useful information— I figured I’ll clear things up when I start the rough draft of my assignment. I transcribe all the ingredients, along with their required amount, carefully describe the process of the potion’s brewing, and spend a few minutes mentioning the side effects and dangers that might occur in case things go wrong and the cauldron basically explodes.

I don’t realize that my breathing is shallow until I set my quill down and stretch my limbs, feeling as though the blood has long forgotten the course to my feet.

“Staying up late to catch up on homework I see.”

I jerk back in my seat and almost knock the chair over as the sound of the voice plunges itself into my ears. I run my hands down my face and instantly recognize it. At that, I can’t help myself when I feel all the blood rushing back up from my legs and into my face, providing my skin with an almost unbreakable scorching sense.

“Better late than never.” My shoulders shrug and I tilt my head to look up at the brunet Ravenclaw already looking down at me. His pupils take over the brown rings in his eyes, looking extremely dilated in the library’s dim lighting.

He smiles a wide, toothy grin, and his chest heaves and caves with a chuckle that sounds anything but forced. With folded arms, he nods in the direction of the splayed-out papers and ink-stained pages with a curt motion of his chin. My eyes follow his line of vision, realizing that he’s not only noticing but also questioning my messy notes and nothing but unkempt handwriting— the result of lazily dragging the quill over the paper. At least I finally have everything figured out.

“Do you need help with that?”

My gaze flickers between the things on the table and him. “No,” I answer truthfully and for a moment, I could’ve sworn a hint of brief disappointment flashes in his eyes, ghosting over his features and making his brows furrow ever so slightly. The idea of ridding his beautiful face of that expression fuels my courage to ask. “But do you want me to pretend that I do?”

He doesn’t answer and I temporarily feel like slapping myself across the face as an excuse to look away. But then, as I see him grab an unoccupied chair from the table next to mine and lower himself on it, the tight knot my stomach has become loosens up and I feel like I can finally breathe again.

Lucas scoots closer to me, so close that his knee brushes against mine under the table. So lightly it barely counts as a touch but every cell in my body tenses like I’d just been electrocuted.

The hollows of his cheeks bring attention to his sharp jugal bones. No sense of mental restraint could ever stop my eyes from skimming over the smooth skin of his face, a perfect wrapper to the beauty surging from the structure of his features.“I think  the part of me that’s been begging for a reason to talk to you would like that.”

His hand disappears into the pocket of his robes and when it slips out, a black quill is locked in his grip. He starts twisting it on his fingers so quickly and skillfully that I fight the urge to gawk and wait for a mistake to be made and for it to fall.

The sight reminds me of the way Draco usually spins his wand in his fingers and the memory of the day he spent three hours unsuccessfully trying to teach me how to do it appears behind my eyes.

Deciding against any way to further embarrass myself, I settle on just looking at him— though the slight arch of my brows forming an expression of surprise at his tells is something close to an instinct. “Now, begging is a promising term to use.”

“It’s accurate enough for that little voice in my head.” He makes a round motion with his hand, loosely gesturing at his temple. “I even went out of my way to learn the class schedule of a fellow Slytherin to see if there were any chances of seeing you in lectures.

Turns out luck decided to slam its door to my face after flipping me off.”

My lungs lose the ability to contain a breath long enough for its presence to be noticeable, leaving the vital organs to embrace the slight burning of breathlessness. “You better be good at potions then.”

When he turns to me, he looks as though I just insulted him. His hand flies to his chest as he physically portrays faux hurt. “If I recall correctly, I turned a pigeon into a wine glass today. I think I can handle some bubbly liquid. Come on, let me see what you’re working on.” Lucas breathes out and leans forward. The way his scrutiny slides over my work causes my fingers to fumble with the corner of the parchment and my leg to bounce in silent anticipation.

I get a strong whiff of his scent and fight the urge to close my eyes and inhale again. He smells of bergamot and honey and promotes relaxation and warmth all at once. The longer he reads my work, the more my mind drifts away and my pulse quickens at the realization of the closeness between us.

My gaze cascades over the umber curtain bangs curling above his bushy brows and framing his face, the dip of his cheeks, and the curve of his full lips. Before I can help myself, the intensity of my eyes burning holes in the side of his face pulls his sights to mine and my attempts to look away and pretend like I wasn’t admiring every inch of him visible in plain sight are pitifully poor at best.

His shoulder rests against mine and I don’t realize it until he shifts in his chair. “You were right about saying that you don’t need any help. You only need to compile everything in the form of an essay on a new piece of parchment and you’re done.”

I prove myself unable to pay attention to his words, for my mind is too busy taking me back to the day at the lake, when the distance between us was no bigger than our current proximity. Mental images of sunsets and sparkling waters, and the feel of flattened stone beneath me consume me, pulling me away from the present like an unmoored boat traveling across a turbulent sea of memories. 

Snapping out of my hazy state of mind and freeing myself from my noose of thoughts requires the kind of effort that makes me rub my eyes with my knuckles. “It won’t take long. At least the hard part is over.”

Lucas nods in agreement. “Do you want me to wait for you? Maybe even serve some mental encouragement?”

Taken aback by his offer, I make sure my hands stay busy by reaching out for my notebook to make sure they’re not attacked by temporary paralysis, even though I’m nothing but unbelievably delighted to say yes. It’s like the response bubbles out of me before I can stop it, and I doubt that even biting my tongue would’ve done much to prevent it. “Got nothing better to do than watch me work?”

“If going back to the common room and waiting until I get somewhat tired is a way of productively spending my time then I suppose I do have a reason to leave.”

I chuckle and give up on fighting against the answering smile that rises to my lips at the idea of him wanting to stay here a little longer. Even if he claims to have nothing better to do, I doubt that he doesn’t have anyone waiting on him.

Doubting his intentions might not be in my future projects and I certainly don’t want to seem like I don’t appreciate his offer, but I can’t help myself when I say. “You’ll get bored.”

His smile is crooked and challenging and honest and upfront. And my skin is hot and heated and flushed and red at the sound of his reply. “Try me.”

I don’t know why I feel like burying my face in my hands just to feel how warm my skin is, but the way he looks at me, the softness burning along the edges of his gaze, and the calmness in his complexion all combine in a sight that I don’t want to drag my gaze away from.

Somehow, the following minutes feel like mere seconds and I find myself stupidly and helplessly laughing at the things he says as though it’s my fourteen-year-old self sitting next to him, finally receiving the attention she could only dream about.

[-]

I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to get used to the swing of Lucas’ step matching my lazy pace as we walk through the empty hallway. The tittering of my shoes against the floor might as well be the only thing reminding me that I haven’t skyrocketed to cloud nine yet— although as the realization of him insisting on walking me back to the common room sinks in, the single thread of sense keeping me glued to the surface of the earth comes closer to snapping.

With his hands in his pockets and his hair an unkept yet bewitching mess I can only wish to run my fingers through, Lucas doesn’t fail to become the embodiment of a daydream I’d shamelessly spend hours in. Not that it’s far from what reality has been like for me for the past three years.

With his face covered in a blanket of darkness and shadows, everything seems to work in his favor and compliment his face the right way. I think my eyes have developed a twitch from continuously stealing discreet glances at him.

“How’s Malfoy by the way? Is the injury serious?” His questions catch me off guard and imaginary gears creak and squeal upon their rotation as they put my brain to work.

“He’s fine.”

I was hoping that my flat tone would go under the radar but Merlin apparently decided to turn a deaf ear to my prayers. “You don’t sound very happy. Did something happen?”

Let’s hope that your date today helps to channel the tittle-tattle in your ideal direction. I’m sure you’d be jovial to hear that people can see the tension between you and Koch. It might even make it feel a tad more existent.

The shake of my head doesn’t knock the memory of Draco’s words off its feet but it creates some space for my answer to shape itself into some semblance of coherency.

I catch myself forcing the words through stiff lips, their dishonesty lingering bitterly like a sip of black coffee in my mouth. “No. Everything’s okay.”

Lucas produces a sound that makes his chest rumble and even though I deem him smart enough to detect my lie, he doesn’t let any of his doubts show through. But as of right now, his silence doesn’t help to distract me from falling into the treacherous rabbit hole of replaying my argument with Draco. If I accidentally plummet into it, there’s no guarantee that my mind won’t turn into a broken record not even sleep will help me escape.

“Have you heard about the party in the Room of Requirement?” I give in to the need to change the subject and I’m glad he doesn’t hesitate to follow the shifting course of the conversation.

“I don’t exactly live under a rock but I appreciate your intention to enlighten me.” The pale silver moonlight slipping through the windows lining the hallway revels in using the clarity of his eyes as a mirror. My kneecaps threaten me with their abandonment at the sight.

“Will you go?”

“Depends.” The broad planes of his shoulders move in a shrug, the seams of his robes straining against the movement. Sometimes I wish my imagination wasn’t vivid enough to trouble me with the temptation of seeing what his body looks like underneath all these layers of clothes. Whether I’d be able to handle it or not is an entirely different topic. “Will you be there?”

Perhaps it’s the fact that the lack of proper lighting hides the bonfire crackling beneath my cheeks that gives me the courage to keep myself composed and grants my voice some much-needed confidence. “Do you want me to?”

Lucas’ chuckle seeps into my ears and reaches my stomach like liquid bleeding through thirsty soil. “You like playing with words, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Very well,” his throat works as he swallows, and the way he lifts his chin bares a valley of smooth skin. A lopsided grin bends his lips to its will and his eyes glint with something playful I can’t quite distinguish. Something challenging that doesn’t make my attempts to smother the wildfire in my belly any easier. “My hope to see you there might drag me out of my dorm.”

I don’t know if I’m breathing, blinking, or have a beating heart somewhere in my body. Hell, I don’t even know if my eyes have managed to resist the inclination to turn into heart-shaped windows that do nothing to mask my thoughts.

The only thing that I'm certain of, is that I’m thankful that my voice doesn’t wobble like the faint line separating my life from a utopian parallel one. “I’ll consider myself lucky if it does.”

It only takes a heartbeat for Lucas to stop walking and another one for his hand to find mine. Calloused fingers that feel like molten flames burning every inch of my skin that touches his, thread through mine in a grip so tight that it’d take effort for me to break free. And yet its solidity is what makes it feel real. The anchor to my drifting ship.

He slowly pulls me closer until I’m standing right in front of him, the tips of my shoes almost brushing against his. The puffs of air slipping in and out of me are insubstantial but if I still possessed the ability to make my chest puff up with the entrance of an inhale, I doubt it wouldn’t touch his.

Warm breath tickling my lips, the sensation has the entirety of me losing the battle against the goosebumps spreading over every inch of my skin, clothed and not. “Yeah?”

“You can stop acting like I was good at hiding it.”

My heart leaps to my throat, jumping through my shirt and bearing the rhythm of palpable waves racing their way to the shore. Suddenly, his short-lived glances at my lips seem to be the center of my barely-existent attention. There’s something about the way he doesn’t shy away from my notice that makes me bold enough to bring my free hand to his chest. His own heart greets my palm and even through the thin cotton shirt hugging his torso, I can count them.

One. Two. Five. Ten.

“Are you nervous?” Lucas’ voice sounds distant, a faint echo hardly breaking through my clouded consciousness.

I don’t hear my reply. I don’t even know if he hears it or if the look on my face is all he needs to sort my train of thought out. Sort me out.

I might know what to expect from the way his lids lower and his hand touches my face but the way my body reacts to everything is completely foreign.

A strangled breath. A slow blink.

And the next thing I introduce myself to is the unexpected struggle of balancing on boneless limbs as his head dips low and his mouth falls on mine.

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thank you for reading <3