"𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭."
-'Foolish one' by Taylor Swift

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HEMERA

“And instead of saying something along the lines of ‘have a lovely weekend and get some rest’ before dismissing us, she gave us a five-page-long assignment on electric devices that can solemnly be spotted in muggle kitchens.” Lucas’ intonation shifts between the high-pitched imitation of Professor Charity’s voice and his own complaining tone, as he picturesquely narrates the incident that, according to him, made his sense of reason evade his skull earlier today.

“I joined this class to learn about computers and take over my uncle’s store and now I’m forced to write an entire essay on stupid blenders people use to make banana smoothies.” He props an elbow onto the wooden table and uses his forefinger and thumb to smooth out his eyebrows. The movement carries little casualty and an obvious amount of suppressed indignation, nearly matching the amount hidden in his sigh.

“Five pages in just two days is a felony, especially when the subject is unprecedented and writing about it requires hours of profound research to say the least,” I say into the rim of my butterbeer mug, gulping down the first sip of the cloying drink before licking my lips clean from the layer of thick butterscotch-flavored foam framing my mouth.

“Well, she’s run out of fucks to give, that’s for sure.”

I’m not exactly surprised to see that my attempted reassurance didn’t deliver the solace I was hoping it would, but I refuse to hold myself accountable for my cliche words of consolation when I put effort into coming up with something to say in the first place. When it comes to Blaise or Theo whining about homework, telling them to suck it up is easier because I don’t quite care about making my words sound pretty and thoughtful.

“Tell Zabini he’s a lucky man for breaking his arm on cue.” He mumbles, long fingers curling around his glass as he picks it up. His lips part around the brim and my focus helplessly drops to his mouth like the soft flesh pulled out a neon flag and started to wave it in my face. I always knew that my concentration wasn’t of steel and getting sidetracked easily has been the bane of my existence since birth but I find it hard to process how such an ordinary action can have such a cosmic effect on me— if readjusting myself in my seat and uncrossing my legs just to cross them again counts as a monumental reaction.

Lucas’ presence, the way his mouth moves around each syllable, and the low gravel embedded in his voice make it hard for me to focus on much else; even if ‘much else’ means his own words.

I manage to pull myself out of my thoughts just in time to answer without a suspicious delay. “I don’t know if Blaise is the lucky one here. Had he not been excluded from the project, not even my great-grandchildren would have lived to hear the end of it.”

Lucas laughs and it reminds me of how thankful I am to be sitting, for the reliability of the chair legs surpasses that of my limbs that go completely boneless as the warmth of the merry sound blasts through my ears. At this very moment, as I sit across from him and feel the corners of my lips being pulled into an embarrassingly wide smile that abides by no rules of suppression, I think to myself if this is how it ought to be.

Lucas and I, sharing a table and sipping on our drinks while talking about our classes and narrating all sorts of incidents that happened during the week, from the most exciting events to the mind-numbing occurrences.

If so, I know I could get used to this. I’d love to get used to this. Used to us, the normalcy of this, and the sweet taste of the reality I manifested for myself. I’m still trying to figure out how hard I have to pinch the back of my hand to wake up from this dream, this alternative universe that gives me everything I could ever wish for on a silver platter as if I don’t have to do anything to be deemed deserving of it.

Today lacks the dose of realism that lives to spread disappointment and makes me feel like falling from cloud nine and landing face-flat on concrete when things don’t go my way. If I was capable of considering the aftermath or anything future-related, I’d be worried that everything’s been too perfect because the universe wants to give me something to hold on to when it knocks me off my feet. In the worst way possible.

It’s not my fault that the countless times I’ve felt my cheeks flush crimson in the past hour have made me lose all sense of rationality.

From the moment Lucas suggested that we come to the Three Broomsticks to get a much-needed flagon of butterbeer each, my mind has been trying to process and even accept the idea that this feels like a real date and nothing less. I’ve been to the pub before, enough times to have memorized the different shades of brown of the furniture and the walls or the vanilla and butterscotch aroma, but the intimacy crackling in the air today is completely unfamiliar and new and it makes me frivolous with the desire to explore it further.

Half the people occupying the rest of the tables in the main area are students who, like myself, have decided to make the village their Saturday destination. They seem all too caught up in lighthearted conversations with their dates or friends to even notice the swinging glance I take at them from the quieter and more private booth Lucas led me to when we first walked in.

“Speaking of Zabini, he seems quite friendly.” The brunet says and he almost sounds cheerful, like he didn’t think that Blaise was capable of making a gracious impression. His fingers start to drum against the table at an irregular pace. “And to be honest, I’m glad he decided to join Burbage’s class. He’s impressively good at it and his knowledge of certain topics is admirable. I think we’d all benefit from conversing with someone as cultivated as him.”

I know that Blaise decided to start attending muggle studies again two weeks ago after a conversation the two of us had in the common room. I remember us sitting in front of the fireplace, his legs crisscrossed and mine hugged to my chest, both our faces lit by the gemlike flames. He’d asked me about Herbology and if I ever felt unsure about my decision to become a botanist, almost as if he wanted to comfort himself about his dreams and passions by hearing me talk about mine. I told him that it was the only thing I knew wouldn’t make me want to pitch myself off my roof on a daily basis and then proceeded to encourage him to pursue what I know will make him feel the same in the long run; photography.

That night he looked away, shame tearing apart his signature smile, and admitted that he’d been thinking about giving up on it. I knew that it was his imposter syndrome talking. Convincing him not to withdraw took me a while and I even had to threaten him with confiscating his MP3 player so that he’d be forced to sleep without the tune of his favorite songs until I decided to give it back. That got him to think reasonably and the next morning he reached out to Professor Burbage. Needless to say, I felt like I’d saved him from a lifetime of regret— and that made breathing a little easier. Because I knew that he would’ve done the same for me.

Hearing Lucas talking about one of my closest friends so enthusiastically ignites my dimmed hope for them to move on from the childish grudge someday in the future and treat each other with enough maturity to realize that occasionally hanging out won’t push a blade into their throats. And Lucas is not the one carrying the blame here; if anything, he seems more than willing to earn their acceptance. It’s Draco and Theo who dangle it above his head with no intention of ever letting him touch it.

Or so I fear.

“And what drove you to that conclusion?” I inquire, but it’s not like his impression of Blaise’s friendliness needs to be proved. Not to me at least. Knowing about the smiles Blaise offers left and right, and the mitigating spark in his eyes that makes everyone around him feel like they could share their burdens with him just to take some of the load off their shoulders, is enough reason for someone to wonder how he could ever be compatible with the sullen grump Draco has been since day one.

“He doesn’t look at me like giving me a concussion would be the first thing he’d add to his curriculum vitae.” Lucas jokes, but the idea he has of the other two jackasses is clear despite his unserious tone. I don’t know why I bothered to try to change his mind when he’s got them all figured out and will only pretend to believe me just to make me stop.

“Blaise has always been the group’s cinnamon roll. He doesn’t have a single nefarious bone in his body.” And hell we don’t give this man a day of peace because of it. Especially Pansy and Theo, who aside from squabbling like its vitality is the equivalent of breathing, happen to seek entertainment in targeting him. I’m no innocent myself, but I must admit, my harmless teasing has only ever managed to skim the surface of what the other two have in store for him. It’s like the devil himself decided that he could still be a threat even if he divided himself into two different people. Pansy bears the bigger load but it’s not like Theodore’s getting a halo anytime soon.

I turn to look out of the window, noting how the later it gets, the fewer people are spotted walking on the picturesque cobblestone alleyways. Moisture glistens on the sidewalks, enough to be mistaken for the corollary of a mild rainfall, and the sky is a mixed ratio of orange, yellow, and red as day slowly turns into night. A fading curve is what is left of the sun, shaping a golden halo around the peak of a distant mountain.

The howling of the frigid air has me already dreading my way back to the castle. And seeing as a passing pair walks by with their chins snuggled into their coats and their hands buried deep inside their fur-lined pockets, I know I’m not delusional for worrying about how long it’ll take for me to turn into a human-sized ice cube once I leave the pub.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Although I have to warn you, it might be a bit personal so it’s totally understandable if you choose to skip it.” The beginning of his sentence magnetizes my attention with humiliatingly little effort. My eyes yet again find their way back to his with such ease that it’s like there’s a map taking them there, a route I’ve blindly followed a thousand times.

“Go ahead.” I nod for him to keep going, my forefinger tracing inexact shapes on the outside of my glass.

“I promise it’s the last thing I’ll say about my relationship with your friends.” He holds his hands up in the universal ‘I’m innocent pose’ and pushes himself further back against his seat. “But what about your past boyfriends? Did Malfoy wish to drag them through hell by the sideburns or am I the only one to be graced with this exclusive treatment?”

Embarrassment slams into me with the force of a tsunami and the hammering of my heart turns into something dangerously ferocious. My face becomes the highway involuntarily hosting the heat marching across my skin, granting it a dark shade of red. For a moment, I contemplate slamming my palms on my cheeks, fearing that I look like I’m starting to pop freaking blood vessels.

I never thought that the fact that I have no previous relationship to talk about when asked would bring me such shame. Not when I always took pride in my decision not to settle for anything less than what I wanted. But now, at the prospect of exposing my inexperience to someone like Lucas, the temptation to back out of the conversation and take his offer to leave his question unanswered burns through me with immense intensity.

Our aligned gazes turn into a weight I decide not to bear by lowering my eyes to the polished wood of the table. Still, his attention tickles my skin, and my blush spreads like a sparking flame on a pile of hay. I mentally encourage myself to say the words. Surely, admitting something so insignificant and harmless can earn me nothing but a weirded-out look— that being the worst-case scenario.

“I’ve never been in a relationship.”

Lucas’ eyebrows jump high enough to kiss his hairline and his expression depicts pure astonishment. His brown eyes are challenging, playful. “You’re kidding, right? You have to be.”

The lack of judgment his mirthful face displays makes me feel a little more at ease. My smile takes form without even asking for permission to give my relieved state away so earnestly. “Why?”

He looks dumbfounded by my question and it’s not every day that someone as witty and intelligent as Lucas is seen as anything remotely close to speechless. I can almost hear the constant clanking of the gears in his head grinding and pressing against one another upon their leaden, slow rotation. “Because there’s no way on earth guys don’t do a double take when they see you.”

I swirl the drink around in my glass, watching as the honey-colored liquid whirls helplessly. “You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, but you can’t tell me that you’ve never had one-night stands.”

“I haven’t woken up in a stranger’s bed with severe blank spots in my memory if that’s what you mean.”

His forehead puckers as his eyes narrow slightly in confusion,  probably trying to test the validity of my confession. Lucas leans forward in his seat, his elbows coming to rest on the table as he runs his hands down the sides of his face. His defined jaw clenches in thought. “What have you done with a guy? Besides what we did.”

My tongue dries out, turning into an inelastic plane of stone as I choke on my silence. My lack of words feels like barren sand clogging my throat and suddenly, the idea of going to the bathroom turns into a conventionally easy escape. A temporary one but something that will give me enough time to conjure up an answer without the squealing voice in my head yelling ‘You’re taking too long’.

Before I can get up from my chair and excuse myself, Lucas’ brown eyes go round like he’s having his lightbulb moment. “Wait, you’re still a virgin?”

My skin prickles with ignominy and I begin to fumble with the loose cashmere of my sleeve. Going out today, it was far beyond my imagination that we’d end up talking about something like this. And to be honest, I don’t know what I could’ve done to prepare myself even if I knew that this conversation would occur. I don’t know how we went from appreciating Blaise’s easygoing demeanor to whatever this is, but I’m sure talking about plugs and their pins would make me feel less like a fish out of water. “Yeah.”

“No, sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just that it was so unexpected.” His hand stretches over the table and stops my fidgeting by sliding his fingers through mine. My breath gets caught in my throat, hatcheted and frayed. “How come you’ve never slept with anyone? Don’t you want to know what it feels like?”

I start to absentmindedly play with his fingers and he watches me as I do, a tiny smile on his lips. His touch is the kind of physical reassurance I need to feel comforted instead of exposed. “I’ve thought about it” I mutter admittedly, not quite caring if my statement is too low to be heard clearly. “But I never found a guy.”

Lucas scoffs, giving me two slow shakes of his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Because you're— hot. Like really hot. It’s physically impossible for you to never have found someone who’d love to show you what you’re missing.”

The air in my lungs misses me altogether and a bonfire begins to cackle beneath my cheeks. Before I creep closer to my ignition and make a public sight out of the effect his words have on me, I say “I never found one who was worth it.”

A chuckle slips out and it tickles my stomach, the sound nesting there. “Well, that I can believe.” He hesitates for a few seconds, taking a pause and letting the thumping of my heart become the dominating sound as it echoes in my temples. “Hypothetically speaking, how long do you think it’d take for you to just, you know, do it?”

“I think it depends on how the other person makes me feel.” I’m thankful for the words flowing easily instead of me having to force them out. “I can’t exactly put a time stamp and promise to take the next step when I’m like four months into a relationship or something. It just has to come naturally and that can only happen if I feel safe.”

“And what about me?” His voice gains the undertone of eagerness. Eyes boring into mine with such burning intensity, it’s like he’s trying to grant himself an insight into my mind. “How long would it take for you to feel safe with me?”

“Koch is known for dumping people after getting what he wants from them; make sure you don’t give him everything he expects from you.” Blaise’s words from two days ago scramble to the front of my mind, demanding acknowledgment.

His question I can’t find a way to answer but what I know with unshakeable certainty is that, for the first time this year, his scrutiny makes me uncomfortable. It feels like it’s too soon for me to even consider how long it’d take before I gave him this kind of access to my body; too soon for him to even ask.

“I’m sorry, I need to use the restroom,” my chair legs screech against the floor and my urgency makes me stumble back. “I’ll be right back.”

Flames lick my cheeks as I swiftly move through the occupied tables, his eyes a palpable entity following me. By the time I exit the restroom with what I suppose is a newly built composure, I notice that the place is remarkably emptier. I take a fair guess that Lucas took a hint of my discomfort while I was gone because when I return to our table, he doesn’t attempt to continue the conversation.

It doesn’t take long for us to decide that it’s time to ask for the tab. Lucas holds a hand up and the waitress hanging by the bar spots him within a second. She walks over to us with the metal tray pressed to her chest and a hospitable smile carved on her strawberry lips.

I’m in the process of digging through my pocket for my purse when I hear Lucas say “Ah shit, I forgot my wallet.”

I don’t think much of it and pay for both our orders. Instead of deeming him irresponsible for forgetting something, I let myself think that I’m breaking the generational stereotype that says men should pay, especially on the first date and especially when they asked you out.

If anything, not everyone is like Draco, who slaps my hand away from my pocket as soon as he notices I’m about to pull out even a penny. From cheap chewing gum to the pair of bellbottom jeans I once saw at the storefront of a small clothing shop a few blocks from here, he’s never let me pay for anything. I used to be annoyed and put up worthless fights until I realized that making a cactus dance to jazz music was more realistic than changing his mind.

“It’s not about me doubting that you can pay for your own stuff,” he once told me, handing me the paper bag with the expensive gardening gloves I tried to talk him out of buying. He wouldn’t budge, not after he’d heard me tell Pansy about my old pair slowly wearing thin. I honestly had no idea he’d been listening and paying attention. “But I see no point in you expecting to find ill intentions behind something I want to do for you.”

The next day, I showed up at his dorm with the new quidditch gloves I couldn’t wait to see him wear, just to even out the score. He made it his goal to never let me reach victory ever again.

Lucas and I exit the Three Broomsticks in a blur of thoughtless movements that my body carries out without my mind paying any attention. The cold afternoon breeze snakes up my body in the form of goosebumps and swipes my thoughts away. It only brings me back to the present, reminding me that the person walking beside me isn’t the blue-eyed blond that randomly sprung into my mind and stayed there until a few seconds ago.

My flat soles clank against the stones beneath me and for what feels like hours, it’s the only sound that accompanies us. Being around Lucas is one thing, something that I’m starting to get used to, but being silent around him is nowhere near comforting. It makes me nervous and sends my heartbeat into a trot; the need to say something, anything to break the ice isolating our thoughts, has my chest on the verge of combusting.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you too much earlier.” He says, warm breath clouding in the air. “I don’t want you to think that having you in my bed is all that I want from you.”

His consideration erases any lingering discomfort, proving just how helpless I am when it comes to him. “Don’t worry about it.” Is the only thing I say, although his words stick with me like postcards pinned to a bulletin board.

When the need to keep a conversation flowing doesn’t keep my mind busy, the rest of my surroundings tend to gain sudden interest. While walking towards the gates of the village, I catch myself noticing things I haven’t in all the times I’ve been to Hogsmeade, like the cupcake door handle attached to the door of Pansy’s favorite candy shop that I’d always thought of as a regular one, or that the majority of the stores have red bricks on their roofs, making them look like small houses from a distance.

I don’t blame my eyes for their urge to explore the familiarity of the place in such depth that it makes me wonder if I’ve ever been here before. What I do blame them for though, is sending me into a panicky state the moment they catch on a head of platinum locks inside of Honeydukes.

My feet freeze like I stood motionless in quicksand for an extended period of time and my eyes narrow despite my vision being crystal clear.

“What’s wrong?” Lucas’ voice sounds distant, but it might just be the currently low buzz in my ears that makes him sound like he’s standing on the other side of the alley.

I point a stiff finger at the store, still trying to catch a proper breath. “That’s Draco.” With Theo and Blaise.

“Let’s go inside and say hey then,” the brunet links his elbow with mine, meaning to tug me along but I protest like a lamb knowing it’s being ushered into an abattoir. Under different circumstances, I might’ve found it heartwarming that, besides everything, he’s still willing to make an effort to get into his good graces. But not today. Definitely not today.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t know I’m here.” If I owned anything that resembled a freaking brain, I’d already be running for the hills instead of standing directly in front of the facade with the transparent glass. If Draco turned around to look outside even for a split second, he’d spot me standing petrified like I’d just encountered Medusa. And that’s when I’d admit to myself that I’d rather come face to face with the woman with living snakes in place of hair than meet his eyes. “With you,” I add.

Seeing as his expression turns tight and grim, I know I could’ve lived without adding the last part. I don’t want Lucas to think that I’m ashamed to be caught with him, but the more I think back on my words, the more obvious it becomes that it was what I meant. At least to someone who doesn’t really know how I feel about them.

“I understand.” He says quietly, the disappointment in his voice punching a hole in my stomach.

“I’m just tired of arguing.” My attempt to fix this is as poor as they get, but I remind myself that it’s better than nothing. “He’s like this overprotective older brother and it’s taking me a while to figure out how to tell him that there’s no reason for him to be so worried. I just told him that I’d be out with Pansy but he didn’t say he’d come here.”

“Just be honest about it.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful of him looking after me.”

With my eyes still glued on Draco’s back, I rely on the rest of my senses to tell me that Lucas’ eyes roam the side of my face. “Setting your boundaries doesn’t make you ungrateful.”

I wish I could disagree with that.

It’s when Draco moves to the counter and hands his supplies to the cashier that I realize it’s time for us to go if I don’t want to be seen and confronted about lying out here in the open like a child running away from their mother. “Let’s go.”

But before my feet carry me away, I involuntarily catch a glimpse of one of the packages Draco just purchased. I’ll always recognize my favorite sour patches. And the sour patches Draco hates with a burning passion. Ever since he was eight when I made him try my favorite candy, he’s been consistent in making fun of me for enjoying this atrocity as he calls it. Always rolling his eyes when I grab a bag, always fake gagging when I open it and devour its delicious contents.

Even if he claims to hate them, I bet his taste buds would disagree. I believe that the main reason why he still resists them is because he wants to be indomitable when it comes to his amaranthine opinions. He once said that categorizing something that sour as candy is hypocritical and pretentious and that sweets must be sweet. I mean, he’s not necessarily wrong but a title doesn’t mean much when their taste makes me hum in satisfaction.

I make myself walk away, one step at a time like it’s my first time balancing on my feet, while I scream at my mind to ignore the possibility of Draco getting the candy for me. The guilt of lying to him about being out with Pansy would simply be unbearable and I don’t think I can lose more sleep pondering over my mistakes. Not when we only made up earlier today.

In eighteen years of being so close to him, I’d never, ever been dishonest. Not about grades or the occasional arguments in my family, not even about how I accidentally murdered my goldfish, Wasabi, when I attempted to carry his fishbowl to the sink by myself to change the water when I was six. The glass bowl ended up being too heavy for me to carry and it only took my big toe briefly catching on the carpet for me to trip over myself and drop it.

We both cried and laughed about it the day we dug a hole in his garden and buried the fish.

So of course doing it for the first time feels like diving into a shark tank with a paper cut. I can guess how it’ll end.

For the rest of the walk back to the castle, I stick to short answers every time Lucas expects me to add something to our insignificant small talk, which is so unlike me that I hardly recognize my voice as it delivers the words.

All I can think about is that I lied to the only person who can tell which smiles I’m faking and will do anything to turn them into something genuine. I lied to Draco.

Draco, who would’ve trapped me in a headlock if I ever did so much as reach for my purse in his presence. Draco, whose first thought when walking into a candy shop is to get me those sour patches he hates even when I don’t bring up how much I crave them. Draco, who would ask to hold my hand and would slide his coat over my shoulders before I even realized I was shivering.

I’m not sure the boy next to me would earn the same amount of pleasure merely from keeping me satisfied in the most innocent way possible. And I hate how easy it is for me to compare them, just as much as I hate to admit that Draco has always treated me better than the person I want to get with.

Even if he’s just my best friend.

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thank you for reading <3