fancifulfreelancer

"I'm not sure about this, Hermione," Harry said. He tugged at the collar of his royal purple dress robes. Hermione slapped his hand away. "Stop tugging, will you? You look great. Don't mess it up." Rubbing his stinging hand, Harry shrugged. "I'm just nervous, I guess." He scrutinized himself in the full length mirror in front of him and futilely attempted to flatten his hair with his hands. Hermione smiled gently. "Don't worry so much, Harry." She patted his arm. "Ginny will love it." She grinned. "I can't believe you're finally getting married." Harry smiled, spirits lifting. "Yeah, I know."

Luna's hand brushes against Hermione's as Luna pulls the book across the table, and warmth settles in Hermione's chest. She leans over her parchment while she scribbles her notes in the hopes that Luna will not notice the blush tingeing her cheeks. She hears Luna shift in her chair. "You fancy me," Luna says serenely. Hermione tenses. "Don't be silly." "It's okay." Luna places her hand over Hermione's, and Hermione swears her heart will pound out of her chest. "I fancy you too." It takes a moment for that information to process, and Luna brushes her thumb over the back of Hermione's hand while she waits. "Really?" "Oh yes." Hermione ju

The angel sits on the floor, black hood hiding its face, scythe resting on its lap, and watches the boy stalk back and forth. There is blood on his face and dirt under his fingernails. Sunken eyes stare ahead, lifeless and dead. He moves ceaselessly as if it is momentum which keeps him alive. He gasps for breathe, collapsing against a wall and fingers twitching to keep the motion going. Eyes flutter close, and open again. The boy fights for one more breathe. Pointless, the angel thinks, for his time is up. It sits still and has no concept of motion or breath.

She's beautiful. You stare at her picture and imagine running your finger tips down her cheek; tucking her hair behind her ear; tracing her lips. You close your eyes and wish you could feel the pleasant weight and heat of her body curled against yours, her head on your shoulder, her soft breath on your neck. In your pocket, your phone vibrates against your hip. You pull it out: a text from her. Smiling, you open it; try to keep in mind that this is not forever. You will see her soon, in a couple of months, for the first time. You will finally be allowed to love her without the baffled disapproval, without the insistence that you cannot love