LIVE LONG AND SUCK IT, ZACHARY QUINTO.

olivia dunham is gospel and it's time start a-prayin'

spadul — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 01:59:35 GMT

Title is only slightly relevant, considering this is a post in disguise. It's really an ode to my wife from another time zone, outpour.

LINDS. I tried posting this on tumblr on your actual birthday, but tumblr decided to cockblock my love for you (much like the thousands of miles of country between us). I tried posting it today, but every time I went to click post tumblr cockblocked me again. SO I AM STAGING A REVOLT AGAINST TUMBLR, AT LEAST FOR NOW.

Happy late birthday, my love. I wish I lived closer to you so we could have celebrated in style (aka: drunk as shit), but we'll just have to make due with our computers and feisty ask box messages. When we do get to hang out (again, in style), we will make up for all the shit we should have celebrated together. SO BASICALLY: WE'RE GOING ON A WEEK-LONG BINGE DRINKING FEST, WATCHING DEATHLY HALLOWS AND ALL OF SEASON 3 OF FRINGE, AND I WILL MAKE YOU WEAR A RED WIG SO YOU CAN BE THE GINGER BRIDE OF RON BILIUS WEASLEY. Polygamy will treat us well, wifey (because you know I'm going to make Marion come along for this ride). I LOVE YOU. YOU ARE ONE OF THE BEST THINGS TO HAPPEN TO THE INTERNET/MY LIFE (but let's face it, they're one in the same).

In other news, I'm coughing like my wand just backfired and I'm hacking up slugs. THIS SHIT IS NOT COOL, UNIVERSE.

i'm not even going to pretend to be original this year

spadul — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 21:51:36 GMT

Snagging this from calikalie and glassbomb because I love them and I'm a follower. I always love doing things around the holidays, but am usually pretty bad at follow-through, but somehow I have a ridiculous amount of free time (even with school and work, how does this happen?), so there's that.

I would offer something other than fanfiction, but my graphics skills are so lacking right now, I don't think anyone wants to see that. So, that being said:

ADVENT CALENDAR HOLIDAY FANFICTION REQUEST

I can only write for fandoms I'm familiar with, but lucky for everyone that's a shit ton of fandoms. A list for reference: Harry Potter, Fringe, Doctor Who, The Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, The Vampire Diaries, Community, Merlin, Misfits, Lost, Mad Men, Covert Affairs, Chuck, and The Hunger Games. If there are any I haven't listed and you're curious about don't hesitate to ask!

December 01 - somandalicious, Harry Potter (Draco/Hermione)
December 02 - hauntes, Doctor Who (Eleven/Amy)
December 03 - shore, Merlin (Gwen/Morgana)
December 04 - glassbomb, The Hunger Games (Peeta/Katniss, Slow Burn Treason)
December 05 - tilty, Merlin (Gwaine/Merlin)
December 06 - reserved for outpour
December 07 - radioreverie, Covert Affairs (Auggie)
December 08 - killmotion, Fringe (Peter/Olivia)
December 09 - geewhiz, Harry Potter (Draco/Hermione)
December 10 - demilune, The Hunger Games (Peeta/Katniss)
December 11 - certaingesture, Harry Potter (Draco/Hermione)
December 12 - welurklate, The Hunger Games (Peeta/Katniss, In Our Bedroom After the War)
December 13 - forthesky, How I Met Your Mother (Barney/Robin, doing all I can do just to be close to you, every time that we meet I skip a heartbeat)
December 14 - calikalie, Doctor Who (Eleven/Amy)
December 15 - operatingroom, Harry Potter (Draco/Hermione, everything you say has water under it)
December 16 -
December 17 - inautumn, The Hunger Games (Finnick/Annie)
December 18 - fade_out, Misfits (Nathan/Kelly)
December 19 - partaken, The Vampire Diaries (Caroline Forbes)
December 20 -
December 21 -
December 22 - mascaratube, Fringe (ensemble, family issues)
December 23 -
December 24 - operatingroom, The Hunger Games (Peeta/Katniss, sex sex sex)

So basically, I want everyone to leave me a comment with the day you'd like, a request with fandom, characters, pairing, and any prompts you'd like for the fic. You can specify rating, anything you'd like. I'm willing to be flexible with pairings because this is a gift to you all. SO PLEASE, DO IT.

mix: riding on the edge of a black hole

spadul — Thu, 20 May 2010 00:56:16 GMT

I legitimately had no intentions of posting this mix at all, but now I've kind of fallen in love with it, so here it is? No idea. Now I'm going to try to finish my Eleven/Amy fic (because it's not like I'm obsessed enough already).

Doctor Who, Eleven/Amy.
Links, full sized covers, and complete tracklist are under the cut.

I honestly don't know what to say about this mix. I started working on it so long ago, and there was just something...not right about it. I revisited it last night and changed some things, and now I think it has a completely different tone than what I originally intended, but I like it. It basically follows the relationship of the Doctor and Amy, or perhaps the fictional relationship I've created for them in my mind.

Basically, it starts with where their story actually starts. Amelia Pond, little Amelia Pond, meets this incredibly whimsical person, and her life is forever changed by him. But he leaves her with a promise that isn't met, until he comes back years later and her hopes are high, and he leaves again. There's a lot of turmoil there, and that's evident through essentially the first half of this mix.

But then the Doctor returns, and Amy leaves with him. At first it's everything she thought it would be - a fairy tale inside of a box that's bigger on the inside - until she has to face the reality that she's running away from something, and it's much bigger than she thought it was. And through that her relationship with the Doctor is evolved and formed into something a lot stronger than she originally imagined. There's definitely love there, whether it be platonic or not is up for interpretation, but it's definitely there. And this mix is basically about that. (I also don't know how to not use the same artists more than once in the same mix, so...sorry, haha.)

Chris Garneau - Black Hawk Waltz

Múm - Ladies of the New Century
Ladies of the new world, rest your weary eyes.

Great Lake Swimmers - Moving Pictures Silent Films
Oh wake me please, when this is over. Oh, when the ice is melted away and the hunger returns. I will be the same, but older, and maybe twice the bear that I thought I was. Where have you been, and what have you done?

Chris Garneau - Black & Blue
I want to catch my death of cold, because I'm scared I'm growing old. Don't return the love I gave, you're still my favorite. ... There's a man in this town, he's shooting us down. He thinks he's a big man but he doesn't know anything about us or anything at all.

Fink - This Is The Thing
I don't know if you notice anything different. It's getting dark and it's getting cold and the nights are getting long. And I don't know if you even notice at all, that I'm long gone. And the thing that keep us apart keep me alive. And the things that keep me alive keep me alone.

Noah and the Whale - Blue Skies
This is a song for anyone with a broken heart. This is a song for anyone who can't get out of bed. I'll do anything to be happy, oh, because blue skies are coming, but I know that it's hard.

Múm - Show Me
The murky lights leave home, they leave me in the dark. I'm waiting here for you, waiting here for you.

The National - Runaway
There's no saving anything, now we're swallowing the shine of the sun. There's no saving anything, how we swallow the sun. But I won't be no runaway, cause I won't run.

Laura Marling - What He Wrote
So I asked him how he became this man, how did he learn to hold fruit in his hands? And where is the lamb that gave your name? He had to leave, though I begged him to stay. Left me alone when I needed the light, fell to my knees, and I wept for my life. If he had of stayed, you might understand. If he had of stayed, you would never taken my hand.

Great Lake Swimmers - Your Rocky Spine
I was lost in the lakes and the shape that your body makes. And the mountains said I could find you here, they whisper the snow and the leaves in my ear. I traced my finger along your trails, your body was the map, I was lost in there. Floating over your rocky spine, the glaciers made you and now you're mine.

The xx - Stars
But if stars shouldn't shine, by the very first time, then dear it's fine, so fine by me. Cause we can give it time, so much time with me. If you want me, let me know, where do you wanna go? No need for talking, I already know. If you want me, why go?

Blur - To The End
Well you and I collapsed in love, and it looks like we might have made it, yes, it looks like we've made it to the end. What happened to us? Soon it will be gone forever, infatuated only with ourselves, and neither of us can think straight anymore.

DOWNLOAD THE .ZIP

Please, tell me your thoughts! I am open for discussion (especially about Doctor Who, it's basically all I've been discussing lately, haha). I hope everyone likes it!

if i could just leave my body for the night; picspam

spadul — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 01:40:49 GMT

very spoiler-oriented for season five of lost. more specifically episode 5x07.

[john locke is about to hang himself, but there's a knock at the door]
Ben: [through the door] John?
[ben breaks the door open]
Ben: John, what are you doing?
[locke moves closer to the edge of the table]
Ben: Wait please, John, stop!
Locke: How did you find me?
Ben: I have a man watching Sayid. I'm watching all of them; keeping them safe. When you turned up he called me.
Locke: Wh-wh, what are you doing here?
Ben: John, just calm down.
Locke: What do you want from me?
Ben: Please just let me--
Locke: --Answer the question!
Ben: I'm trying to protect you!
Locke: Protect me? ...You shot him. You killed Abaddon.

Ben: You can't do this; if anything happens to you, John, you have no idea how important you are. Let me help you.
John: There is no helping me. I'm, I'm a failure.
Ben: No John, you're not.
John: I am! I couldn't get any of them, I couldn't get a single one of them to come back with me. I can't lead anyone.
Ben: Jack booked a ticket.
John: What?
Ben: A plane ticket from Los Angeles to Sydney, tonight. Return trip first thing in the morning. Whatever you said to him, John, it worked. And if you got Jack, you can get the rest of them. John, you can't die. You've got too much work to do -- we've got to get you back to the island so you can do it.

Ben: Please, John. Come on. Come down.
[locke cries]
Ben: I know we can do this, John. You haven't even been to Sun yet. Let's start with her.
Locke: No, I-I promised Jin that I wouldn't bring her back.
Ben:: Jin? Is alive?
Locke: Yeah, yeah but he didn't want her to know, he wanted me to tell her that his body washed up on the beach. And, he gave me his wedding ring to prove it.
Ben: Alright, a promise is a promise.

watch the scene on youtube;

That look so much longer than I expected, haha. I hope everyone enjoys!

and maybe i'm too young to keep good love from going wrong

spadul — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 03:08:33 GMT

some symmetry is hard to find
because sometimes, maybe, there's a fine line between music and autobiography.

.zip

01. jeff buckley - lover, you should've come over
lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in / burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him / my body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

02. benoît pioulard - sous la plage
to have always been sold a vision so cold as the one born in between / oh the sieve and the skein / is it to say it's all distraction and none of it matters / once our pyres are gone and we're all scattered

03. rilo kiley - it just is
and this loss isn't good enough for sorrow or inspiration / it's such a loss for the good guys / afraid of this life / that it just is / 'cause everybody dies

04. johnny flynn - brown trout blues
time rolls the back wheels of my mind / you helped me put the brakes on 'cause you're kind / i wonder where you learned to be so good / i wonder if i'm doing the best i could

05. beirut - elephant gun
if i was young i'd flee this town / i'd bury my dreams underground / as did i, we drink to die / we drink tonight

06. the black keys - psychotic girl
just a psychotic girl and i won't get lost in your world / friday night party life / you were acting like everything was alright / later on with no one around / had me fighting for air laying on the ground

07. m.i.a. - 20 dollar
with your feet on the air and your head on the ground / try this trick and spin it, yeah / your head'll collapse when there's nothing in it / and you'll ask yourself, where is my mind

08. malcolm mclaren - about her
well no one told me about her / the way she lies / well no one told me about her / how many people cried

09. adam green - hard to be a girl
hard to be a girl / that's what the oracle told me / i don't care what she says / i assume it's best to be lonely

10. metric - between the bars
people you've been before / that you don't want around anymore / that push and shove and won't bend to your will / i'll keep them still

11. interpol - untitled
i will surprise you sometime / i'll come around / i will suprise you sometime / i'll come around when you're down

12. can - she brings the rain
yes i care if she brings me spring / but don't care about nothing / she brings the rain / oh yeah, she brings the rain / in the dawn of the silvery day / clouds seem to melt away

13. eugene mcguinness - not so academic
and lately i just daydream / a social outcast in my tower / if only all men had the courage / they too could be cowards / they could feel their souls swell through their brains / and spit tears out their eyes again and again when they hit the refrain

14. white lies - death
could it tremble stars from moon-light skies? / could it drag a tear from your cold eyes? / i live on the right side, i sleep on the left / that's why everything's gotta be love or death

15. the rolling stones - wild horses
i know i dreamed you a sin and a lie / i have my freedom but i don't have much time / faith has been broken, tears must be cried / let's do some living after we die

16. laura marling - alas i cannot swim (live)
there's a life across the river that was meant for me / instead i live my life in constant misery / there's a life across the river but i do not see / why i should please those who will never be pleased

comments are greatly appreciated, especially if you're downloading! and i wouldn't mind uploading individual songs via request. :)

no matter where we are, we're always touching by underground wires

spadul — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 20:17:55 GMT

this is dedicated to my other (and much more) favorite person, drained. ♥

i suppose i have a highly developed capacity for self-delusion, so it's no problem for me to believe i'm somebody else.



i prefer the abstract concept of incoherence in the face of great feeling to beautiful, full sentences that convey little emotion.



initially it was invigorating. people suddenly wanted to hear my views on all manner of social problems. i was up for it but it palled very soon afterwards. it was not like real conversation where you listen and learn. it's hard to learn anything when you are talking about it. you only learn doing it. and if you are not learning, what's the point?

back then men would get the fever. they would keep digging, always with the idea that next time they'll throw the dice and the money will fall out of the sky. it killed a lot of men, it broke others, still more were reduced to despair and poverty, but they still believed in the promise of the west.

i like to learn about things. it was just a great time trying to conceive of the impossibility of that thing. i didn't know anything about mining at the turn of the century in america. my boarding school in kent didn't exactly teach that.

i read a lot of correspondence dating from that period. decent middle-class lives with wives and children were abandoned to pursue this elusive possibility. they were bank clerks and shipping agents and teachers. they all fled west for a sniff of cheap money. and they made it up as they went along. no one knew how to drill for oil. initially, they scooped it out of the ground in saucepans. it was man at his most animalistic, sifting through filth to find bright, sparkly things.







it was always assumed that the classics were a good line of work for me because i had a decent voice and the right nose. but anybody who comes from an essentially cynical european society is going to be bewitched by the sheer enthusiasm of the new world. and in america, the articulate use of language is often regarded with suspicion. especially in the west. look at the president. he could talk like an educated new englander if he chose to. instead, he holds his hands like a man who swings an axe. george w. bush understands, very astutely, that many of the people who are going to vote for him would regard him less highly if he knew how to put words together. he would no longer be one of them. in europe, the tradition is one of oratory. but in america, a man's man is never spendthrift with words. this, of course, is much more appealing in the movies than it is in politics.



life comes first. what i see in the characters, i first try to see in life.

my love for american movies was like a secret that i carried around with me. i always knew i could straddle different worlds. i'd grown up in two different worlds and if you can grow up in two different worlds, you can occupy four. or six. why put a limit on it?



whenever we reach what we think are the boundaries of our endurance, you know ten minutes later you're thinking: i could have done that - like in any athletic pursuit - i could have gone further than that; i could have jumped higher.

touch your lips to me and i'll be your cigarette

spadul — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 22:33:32 GMT

a life misspent on fragile things.
because people break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.
inspired by the brilliant neil gaiman (oh, don't act all surprised).

.zip

1. beirut - postcards from italy
the times we had / oh, when the rain would blow with rain and snow / were not all bad/ we put our feet just where they had to go

2. mates of state - an experiment
i wonder if i could tie the ocean to your knees / because it's an experiment / experiment with me

3. ryan adams - please do not let me go
true love ain't that hard to find / not that you will ever know

4. stars - in our bedroom after the war
wake up / say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you / if there's no one there then there's no one there / but at least the war is over

5. emmy the great - city song
i dream until the point when i'm awake / i walk until there's nothing left to trek

6. the magnetic fields - is this what they used to call love?
your face surrounds me everywhere / like a kaleidoscope's nightmare / this outpouring of emotion is boring as an ocean / is this what they used to call love?

7. johnny flynn - brown trout blues
time rolls the back wheels of my mind / you helped me put the breaks on because you're kind

8. rilo kiley - ripchord
and even fancy things have finally lost their charm / wine and diamond rings / they never get you anymore / you're sleeping again alone / because nobody loves you

9. my morning jacket - knot comes loose
all my lovely life i've been waiting / hot heels anticipating / another love i found / not to let it down

10. eugene mcguinness - god in space
in a dream-tinted flicker of light / i threw my guitar into the sea / the world is as quiet as a library / and all the planet's creatures are asleep

11. laura marling - old stone
and if you swear that you're alright / i'm not gonna try and change your mind / cause the same night i dream that i lose you / i'll fall in love

12. zox - the squid
it's friday night and i'm tired of searching for this life / the week's been cruel to me / i just want to feel alright

please comment if taking, thank you!

i'll flee these troubled horses from this place inside my troubled soul

spadul — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 18:41:34 GMT

we're all just matter that will one day scatter
or for times when your heart is colder than the chilling autumn air.

.zip

1. of montreal - october is eternal
instrumental

2. pedro the lion - bad things to such good people
their big success is now their biggest failure / their golden child has been dethroned

3. feist - honey honey
even if he wanted to / do you think he'd come back / would he come back

4. noah and the whale - peaceful, the world lays me down
but it's a hollow love for a heart with no blood / in its veins

5. menomena - rotten hell
wading through this mess together / hand in hand / shoulder to shoulder / some may stumble / some may fall behind

6. nouvelle vague - the killing moon
too late to beg or cancel it / though i know it must be the killing time / unwillingly mine

7. sufjan stevens - in the devil's territory
we stayed a long, long time / but i'm not afraid to die

8. the mountain goats - peacocks
seizing opportunity right where it lies / the sky will fall / we will rise

9. voxtrot - long haul
when you know darkness you can love a day / oh it's a long, long haul

10. rilo kiley - small figures in a vast expanse
let's try a new change / then we'll go on back to the old one / like we've done so many times before

11. mumford and sons - hold on to what you believe
i could not take the burden of both me and you / it was too fast / casting love on me as if it were a spell i could not break / when it was a promise i could not make

12. emmy the great - canopies and grapes
when i get to sleep i'll dream again of canopies and grapes / and wake shaking from the knowledge that the mattress holds your shape

13. lykke li - window blues
but don't strain yourself for me / don't break yourself for me / don't lose your selfish ways for me

14. my morning jacket - one big holiday
and of better days / from this town we'd escape / if we holler loud and make our way / we'd all live one big holiday

please comment if taking, thank you!

hold on to me, grow along with me

spadul — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 23:19:10 GMT

i don't know where i'm going
but i'll end up in your arms
or: music to inspire the hidden optimist from deep, deep, deep within.

.zip

1. the cure - six different ways

2. kevin devine - go haunt someone else

3. cat power - naked if i want to [robert plant cover]

4. m83 - we own the sky

5. belle & sebastian - if she wants me

6. nada surf - happy kid

7. elliott smith - angeles

8. the format - dead end

9. kings of leon - the bucket

10. emily haines & the soft skeleton - our hell

11. johnny flynn - the wrote & the writ

12. vampire weekend - exit music (for a film) [radiohead cover]

13. editors - the weight of the world

14. the bird and the bee - because

15. grizzly bear - a good place

16. the good, the bad & the queen - history song

17. mystery jets - young love (featuring laura marling)

18. of montreal - an eluardian instance

please comment if taking! thank youuuu.

this mix is dedicated to forthesky, sorry it took me so long to post it bb!
picture is from ffffound.

when nothing goes right and the future's dark as night

spadul — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 02:25:40 GMT

what you need is a sunny, sunny day
or: music for when the grass always seems to be greener on the other side.

1. of montreal - touched something's hollow
2. lykke li - time flies
3. elliot smith - between the bars
4. the cure - to wish impossible things
5. laura marling - old stone
6. interpol - narc (paul banks remix)
7. cat power - hate
8. kevin devine - brooklyn boy
9. explosions in the sky - so long, lonesome
10. kings of leon - cold desert
11. soko - it's raining outside
12. mumford and sons - white blank page
13. the smiths - this night has opened my eyes
14. m83 - too late

.zip

(forthesky, this is a really sad mix ahaha so i'll be making a better one for you soon, i promise!)

a mix: just know that we'll be staring at the same sky

spadul — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 19:42:27 GMT

I miss a lot of things. I miss people who have left. I miss people who have died. I miss people I talk to everyday and sometimes I miss people who are sitting across from me. And come tomorrow I will miss my years as being a teenager (twenty, yikes). So that produced this:

just know that we'll be staring at the same sky
or music for when nostalgia kicks in; a mix for missing someone

.zip

1. rilo kiley - go ahead
if you want to find yourself by travelling out west, or if you want to find somebody else that's better, go ahead.

2. the smiths - please, please, please let me get what i want
good times for a change, see the luck i've had can make a good man turn bad. so please, please, please let me get what i want.

3. sondre lerche - airport taxi reception
i called you because we've grown apart, this may seems absurd but i'm in the dark and somewhere at the end of all the air out there.

4. laura marling - the captain and hourglass
the sky and i, we’ve had our fights and i’m coming down to rain, if the rain come round and it don’t come out, then i’ll never have to speak again.

5. voxtrot - mothers, sisters, daughters & wives
and if you see this world as ugly and thin then you'll be so cruel to the touch, you'll leap out the body you're in to a land of angry soil, that swallows boys and cops or men. i've seen you taste the salt of your tears, you always stop when you start, and listen, you would be smart to keep yourself in a world of mothers, sisters, daughters and wives.

6. kevin devine - just stay
and i'm grabbing at a feeling now that i can't ever name. some sign posted to remind me how i wanted things this way.

7. the last shadow puppets - meeting place
four weeks they had trolled around playing the fools, they knew the time would come and time would be cruel because it is cruel to everyone.

8. elliot smith - baby britain
you've got a look in your eye when you're saying goodbye like you want to say hi.

9. feist - secret heart
secret heart, come out and share it, this loneliness, few can bear it. could it have something to do with admitting that you just can't go through it alone?

10. death cab for cutie - title and registration
cause behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm and all i find are souvenirs from better times. before the gleam of your taillights fading east to find yourself a better life.

11. the shins - the past and pending
your name on my cast and my notes on your stay, offer me little but doting on a crime. we've turned every stone and for all our inventions, in matters of love loss, we've no recourse at all.

12. radiohead - exit music (for a film)
breathe, keep breathing. don't lose your nerve. breathe, keep breathing. i can't do this alone.

Please comment if downloading anything, thank you. ♥

a mix: falling around love

spadul — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 20:59:26 GMT

So it's the ever-so anticipated fourth of July, and here I am. Sitting at home, by myself, bored as anything and feeling slightly cynical. Because that's what narcissistic people like myself do, right? I don't know, you tell me. So what do I do to travel deeper into my cynicism?

banners ©gaffe

falling around love
or music for those who can't seem to fall in love properly

.zip

1. the last shadow puppets - the time has come again
he thought that he learned how to not get upset - from folded notes in envelopes, "meet me beneath the moon", don't go too soon. she went too soon.

2. rachael yamagata - even so
i love you with my whole heart until it bends, i love you like a lover until the very end.

3. of montreal - eros' entropic tundra
without love life has no great reward, leaving us damaged or feeling so bored. devoid of memories nothing to record, wishing the ones that we adore loved us more.

4. death cab for cutie - you can do better than me
there’s times i think of leaving, but it’s something i’ll never do. cause you can do better than me, but i can’t do better than you.

5. soko - i'll kill her
you would have said "i love you" in the cutest place on earth, where some little vines are dancing with the fairies.

6. the hush sound - that's okay
until someone loves you, i'll keep you safe. but like them, i will give you away.

7. pedro the lion - the longer i lay here
sweet jesus i need you, forgive me this sin. not hookers or heroin gambling or gin, it sounds so ridiculous but i just can't lick this.

8. rilo kiley - it just is
today's the day i realized that i could be loved.

9. cat power - empty shell
for to leave her is to love her, the same as you and i.

10. mojave 3 - she broke you softly
and you wait for a whirlwind to unwind your soul. and you cry like a baby; you feel so alone.

11. catherine feeny - mr. blue
and i can see it in your face, you've been waiting to break since you woke up this morning.

12. tilly and the wall - coughing colors
so when your bones are broke and you're all alone and the fog's so thick you can't see up close, just know that i will end up strangled too.

13. laura marling - new romantic
well i made you leave her for me and now i'm feeling pretty mean, but my mind has fucked me over more times than any man could ever know.

14. nada surf - inside of love
i'm on the outside of love, always under or above. must be a different view to be a me with a you.

15. m. ward - poison cup
cause a sip, a sip, or a spoonful won't do, won't do nothing for you - except mess you up.

16. she & him - you really gotta hold on me
i don't want you but i need you; don't want to kiss you but i need to.

17. feist - la même histoire
on vit au jour le jour, nos envies, nos amours.

18. zwan - autumn leaves
since you went away the days grow long and soon i'll hear old winter's song. but i miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall.

Feedback is lovely, and please comment if you download anything. ♥

so it's easier for her to drown you

spadul — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 21:19:25 GMT

Over the past month or so, I have been going through my friends list and removing people. Not many, no, but those people who I never spoke with or never made any sort of connection with. I use this journal for personal things along with fandom business, so I really like knowing who's reading what. So, if I've cut you recently, no hard feelings. ♥

Comments are screened and all of that jazz. Or whatever.
(i also fail at this whole screening comments shit, so i'm basically unscreening any un-srs ones ok? ok.)

what you share with the world is what it keeps of you

spadul — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 06:01:30 GMT

1. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
2. Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
3. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
4. Life of Pi by Yann Martel
5. The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom
6. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Low by Jonathan Safran Foer
7. White Oleander by Janet Fitch
8. I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe
9. The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman
10. The Sandman: The Doll's House by Neil Gaiman
11. Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier
12. Watchmen by Alan Moore
13. Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner
14. The Reasons I Won't Be Coming by Elliot Perlman
15. A Crack in the Edge of the World by Simon Winchester
16. The Sandman: Dream Country by Neil Gaiman
17. The Sandman: Season of Mists by Neil Gaiman
18. Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
19. Can't Find My Way Home by Martin Torgoff
20. American Gods by Neil Gaiman
21. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
22. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
23. Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson
24. The Counterlife by Philip Roth
25. The Sandman: A Game of You by Neil Gaiman
26. Barrel Fever by David Sedaris
27. The Sandman: Fables and Reflections by Neil Gaiman
28. The Sandman: Brief Lives by Neil Gaiman
29. The Sandman: World's End by Neil Gaiman
30. Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
31. Naked by David Sedaris
32. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
33. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
34. Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman
35. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
36. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling
37. Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer (loooool)
38. A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby
39. Adverbs by David Handler
40. Batman: Arkham Asylum by Grant Morrison
41. Batman: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore
42. IV by Chuck Klosterman
43. Watchmen by Alan Moore
44. Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman
45. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
46. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
47. The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman
48. The Sandman: The Doll's House by Neil Gaiman
49. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
50. Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
51. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
52. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami
53. Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman
54. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
55. About A Boy by Nick Hornby
56. 1984 by George Orwell
57. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
58. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button by F. Scott Fitzgerald
59. Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
60. Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris
61. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
62. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
63. When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
64. Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman
65. Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
66. Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami
67. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

pimping your mother's pants off

spadul — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 19:03:34 GMT

Pretty much the story of my life at the moment. Other than the fact that I have to teach myself how to fluently speak Italian in the span of, oh say, three hours. Wooo.

First, I wrote a SMALL TINY drabble the other night.

You Are What You Love [Harry Potter // Draco/Hermione] G; 111 words

He hates when she asks questions in letters.

And second,

JOIN | SIGN UP | RULES | AFFILIATES

HEY GIRL HEY.

spadul — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 04:44:02 GMT

79 Multi-Fandom Icons!

Harry Potter (mostly Ron Weasley)
Heroes
Supernatural

FIND THEM HERE at my graphics journal, albusly!

spadul — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 04:08:46 GMT

OMG OMGOMOGMOMGOMGOMGOGMOGMOMFAFDJ AFAJKAKKADJFKDAJSFKAJFKASJDFKJFKJAS;JFD

WE WEONG ONEFAOWJEFASDJFJFASD WE WON WJSDKAFJASDKJFAKASJDFAJSFKAJSDFJDSFKJADF DFJJJFFJFERIOTQUWEROTUIQFDASFASDJKFASDJKF I AM SOBBING I AM SOBBING THERE IS SO ,OVUM,UICJ ;LOPBERFKLDGJSDFKLJGSDFKLJGSDFJKLGDKJGKSDFJGJKDFSGJKSDFJKLGSDLK;GJKSDGJKLJKDGJS;LGJSDFJ;GS

;PDFGKLSDFGKJFSDKLGKSDFG FDGJSDFIJG LOVE.

WE WON WEW MOTHER FUCMING WONGKREDFKADSJFDASJKFJLKAD

IT'S GRUESOME THAT SOMEONE SO HANDSOME SHOULD CARE - D/HR

spadul — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 08:14:06 GMT

Wow, this has taken me YEARS to finish. I am so sorry, basicaquatics, for making you wait this long for it! I hope you love it! It's crazy.

Title: It’s Gruesome That Someone So Handsome Should Care
Author: Julia (spadul)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,688
Warnings: There’s an insane narrator for this story. Just letting you know. The crazy ran wild on this one, folks. And parenthesis inside parenthesis! And also, the f-word is used multiple times. Just incase anyone was wondering.
Author’s Notes: This was written as a prompt for my Wifey, attica (basicaquatics). It’s on crack. But you’ll all love it. I promise.

Summary: Hermione Granger was fucked.

Hermione Granger was fucked. In every sense of the word she truly was: royally screwed, hopeless, fruitless, doomed to failure, up shit’s creek without a paddle. However you wanted to put it, the fact remained the same. She was fucked. She didn’t need her extensive collection of textbooks or her exquisite Egyptian quills to come to that conclusion. However, she could do without having those aforementioned quills and books (or in a more casual tone, her life) sink to the depths of the lake as the result of a cruel joke. And because irony was as unflinchingly opposed to relenting as a scornful ex-lover, the rest of the contents within her favorite leather book bag just so happened to be going along for the journey.

And that is precisely how, if you happened to be taking an early evening stroll around the school’s grounds, you would find Hermione Granger. Standing waist-deep in the soggy employ of one of the murkier lakes of the whole countryside (though, surely, if you had asked Hermione’s opinion, she would have informed you that it was the murkiest in the whole world, but her opinions are strongly biased, and will be disregarded without hesitation).

However, it’s quite obvious to the innocent bystander that there is nothing more Hermione Granger would rather not be doing than standing in said lake. This could easily be deciphered by either her stance: arms folded across chest and her face set in a severe frown, the kind in which is usually reserved for petulant children not getting their way, or the rather colorful slew of curse words which she happened to be hissing under her breath with enough venom to challenge that of an anaconda’s. And if you had bothered to ask, she would have told you that her doing so was entirely not her fault (because Hermione is a lady, and if she knows only one thing, she knows it’s not polite for a lady to swear), and could have been avoided, had the wizarding world enforced a simple rule outlawing marrying within the family and the like.

But you’re not here to ask Hermione Granger questions. For this is not your story. This is, without a doubt, my story. And though that is a moot point, I am here to relay to you one message, and one message alone: that Hermione Granger was fucked. And as charming and amiable as this introduction surely has been, there is still a story that needs to be told. And tell it I shall.

Hermione Granger loved to follow the rules; a true lady of the law, you could call her. Though she had a particularly large blind spot concerning tender subjects (tender subjects being Ron Weasley and Harry Potter), she was still a firm believer that rules were invented with intent to be followed. She was all about abiding rules. She was a rules sandwich with extra-creamy rule sauce. Which, in Hermione Granger’s opinion, was the true recipe for fun.

So when the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry learned of the Giant Squid’s current state of severe illness, Hermione was appalled upon hearing that a handful students had planned to take a trip down to the lake, even after instructed to stay away to better allow the Squid a quick and full recovery. And she was even more so appalled upon being physically dragged out of the library, barely being able to gather her books in time, by her two tender subjects, both of whom eager to defy the concrete law set by their Headmistress. But being Head Girl, Hermione felt it pivotal to her duties to the school to put an end to this blasphemous treachery of the rules. Even when it, no, especially when it concerned her tender subjects.

At this point of near desperation, Hermione, who felt rather righteous and revolutionary (so much so that her aura of authority alone would be enough to inspire Rosa Parks to remain seated), did the only thing in her nature she knew to do, and grabbed handfuls of the tender subjects’ sweater vests. And gave a hefty tug. They nearly flew backwards, both eliciting startled grunts at the same time. Hermione stood before them then, hands on her hips, irritation rolling off of her in waves, clearly as frightening as a mouse to an elephant.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” she had asked them desperately, less in the sense of caring about their well-being, and more so in the tone of ‘you’re making me look bad’.

They halted immediately, both donning the look of innocent children, as if they previously planned to do so. But Hermione Granger knew better than to be hoodwinked by two teenaged ne’er-do-wells. Hermione Granger had game (although she’d never admit that to a soul, for it would appear pompous and self-absorbed).

What she then said was, “You were told to keep away from the lake, were you not?” but her tone and her vehement glare alone suggested what she meant to say was something not as kosher for the ears of innocent passerby-ers. Harry had cast a longing glance over his shoulder, watching as the entire student body managed to slip out of the castle as covertly as possible. Hermione’s attention had remained attached to the tender subjects before her, not seeing nor caring about the other students. For, as the old adage states, you are only as good as the company you keep. You reap what you sow. And Hermione Granger only sows golden deeds, and already her company could use vast improvement. She was in no position to downgrade.

Ron had then puffed up his chest, a gleam shone in his eye as he began, “She’s right, Harry. Lets just go –-.”

“Shut it, Ronald,” Hermione interceded with a glare. His mouth hung open with hurt while something else inspired a second attempt.

“But I was saying -- .” It had been motivation, the poor lad. But Hermione shut him down without a vaguest notion of caring.

“Shut. It.”

He stared downcast at the floor for the remainder of the argument, which wasn’t long, considering Harry had decided to take action; and by that, he quite literally hauled ass towards the Entrance Hall. And as right as rainwater, there was a livid, shrieking Hermione Granger (and a love struck Ronald Weasley) on his tail (which was precisely his plan (sans the Ronald), but Hermione had a blind spot not only for tender subject number one, but also for cunning and spontaneous attacks from the rear).

So without realizing, Hermione was putting herself in quite the precarious position: blatantly breaking the rules – and without realizing it as an added bonus. Which brings me to the main part of my argument. Although she didn’t know it at the time, Hermione Granger was fucked.

Like, stepped-on-a-nail, underwear-stuck-in-skirt, forgot-to-write-four-foot-long-potions-scroll, cheated-on-your-wife-on-anniversary, and performing-fellatio-in-your-parents-bed-and-getting-caught; fucked. But we need not get too far off target, for there is still plenty more story to be told.

Upon arriving at the lake’s edge (with a fairly angered stitch on one side, and a highly annoying Weasley at the other – offering his masseuse services, much to her dismay), Hermione was disgusted to see the swarm of students standing along excitedly. Hermione Granger liked things to be in order. Prim and proper, she said, and there was no other way around it. Order certainly did not involve a vast majority of the students to be loudly encouraging a small group of students (later identified at Slytherins – or right prats, Hermione would say) to do something, and in turn cheering them on.

She physically forced herself through a break in the gap and stared, quite stunned, really, at the spectacle unfolding before her eyes. Standing along the shoreline were two large brutes (Crabbe and Goyle, or perhaps Millicent had cut her hair?), who both appeared to be aiming what looked like to be hexes at the already ill-fated Giant Squid. Also in company were Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, although Hermione couldn’t decide which of the two was examining their fingernails more thoroughly.

Just as Hermione was about to voice her opinions on that matter (which was against her better judgement, really) she recognized a gut-wrenching drawl telling Goyle to aim more to the left. Hermione’s brain short-circuited. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, and she was absolutely positive that she couldn’t work the muscles needed to speak because they were currently occupied with allowing her jaw to drop to the floor (which was really quite the pity, considering she looks far less attractive as a gaping fool than as a studious social leaper).

Removing the cobwebs, Hermione stared at Draco Malfoy like he was the butt of a bad joke (or of a mule, whichever came first (or was more willing), really). She glared into his eyes for a short while, as if trying to transmit a message to him. Apparently there were no lights on inside that particular Malfoy Manor, so she decided to break the treaty she made with herself (only when dealing with dregs of humanity like the unfortunate soul, Draco Malfoy) and decided to be the first to initiate conversation.

“Malfoy!” Hermione said in a low, accusatory tone. It sounded more like a puppy’s growl than an angry female, but she couldn’t be bothered with it when her inner authoritarian (and outer, really, considering she had her Head Girl pin pressed and polished on her chest) was being repeatedly slapped in the face.

And in the shortest of seconds, a whirlwind of insanity forced itself upon the situation. Miraculously (though, not for the Squid) Crabbe was able to physically hit the Giant Squid with a hex, eliciting a groan from it. The crowd behind them actually erupted in cheers, while simultaneously Blaise Zabini asked Pansy if his complexion was oily and Draco Malfoy’s smirk deepened, as if the sheer sarcasm it emitted could pummel Hermione into the ground.

“Malfoy! You’re Head Boy; do something!” she exclaimed, agitation crackling through her being like wildfire.

He feigned a look of helplessness (or perhaps he was just mocking her) before saying, “But Granger, what ever could I do?”

She slid her bag off her shoulder and dropped it by her feet, and after doing so she put her hands on her hips and threw a look of irritation his way, before gesturing to his friends by the shore. “That’s what you could do, for a start. I don’t care what you do or how you do it, just do something. You’re the Head Boy, it’s your responsibility to the school to set an example to the younger, hey, Malfoy, what are you –,” Hermione trailed off as Malfoy approached her, and he looked a little too at ease.

What happened next, well, it took everyone in the vicinity by surprise, because really, it happened so fast, that it was a blur and then, bam!, back to reality they went. Hermione Granger’s reflexes were, for lack of a fancy adjective, absolutely terrible. Her wandwork was nothing short of precise, but where she excelled in that, she lacked in hand-eye-coordination and sharp reflexes. Which is why she didn’t start yelling protests until Draco Malfoy already held her bag over her head. Until he began swinging it quickly over both of their heads and until he released her bag, and it went sailing through the sky, in slow-motion no less, and until it broke the surface of the lake and started to sink, the only signs of it existing were little air-bubbles here and there.

All sound had been muted during the event and all actions had been halted. The entire world was at a standstill, which suited Hermione just fine. It gave her time to dwell on the tiny violin playing above her shoulder, which was completely necessary for the situation.

It was necessary because Hermione Granger was fucked.

She rounded on Draco Malfoy, stared him down for a few moments, silently trying to convey that that was not what she meant by ‘do something’. Her heart was thumping angrily in her chest with an overwhelming wave of emotions. The Slytherins had congregated, and were now all congratulating Malfoy on his job well done. Pansy Parkinson had taken notice of the look on Hermione’s face (which surely couldn’t have been too appealing) and began wailing madly with laughter.

Hermione was just focused on how badly she was fucked. Her books. Her quills. Her scrolls. Her homework. Her essays. Her ink. Absolutely everything. Sinking. Mere weeks before finals. She could not believe her luck. So what’s a girl to do?

She had first tried to grope in her back pocket for her wand, buttocks be damned, but came up empty. Her mind raced in a complete frenzy for a fraction of a second before she realized where her wand was: currently brushing up on its synchronized swimming skills in the sodding lake with merpeople and flocks of Grindylows. And all of this just a few short weeks before exams. Fan fucking tastic.

After she realized she was hopeless and without a wand (which was not something Hermione had a fair amount of experience dealing with), she maniacally rounded on the small group of Slytherins (or naturally inebriated fools, as Hermione had decided they were on that very moment) and mentally calculated the time and effort it would take for her feeble left-hook to completely silence the lot. Judging by the way Pansy Parkinson (right cow) was quite literally rolling about the ground shrieking in highly unattractive bouts of laughter, it wouldn’t take her very long. So she weighed her options. She could either pummel the non-suspecting wrongdoers, or she could take a swan dive into the lake (which would probably grant more laughter at her expense) and salvage the remains of her possessions.

Deciding against the former (mostly because she was desperate to save her schoolwork), she kissed the last ounce of dignity she could scrape together goodbye and removed her light sweater and braced herself for the murky water she knew was awaiting her presence. Just as she was about to waddle out into the lake (and doing so quite apprehensively), a heavy hand grabbed a handful of her uniform oxford, thus completely halting her actions.

She turned with suspicion, fully expecting to find the first victim of her brutal Tae-Kwan-Doe worthy smack down, but instead was presented with Ron Weasley (tender subject number two): awkwardly (and unsuccessfully) attempting to peel his shirt over his head. It looked as though his head and his arm were not adhering to this new plan of his, and fully wished his shirt to remain one with his body. Which, to Hermione, looked like he was performing an odd new-agey dance that hadn’t yet caught on in 99.997% of the globe (the other .003% owing mostly to the delightful young chaps, much like Ronald, trying in vain to enrapture the hearts of wisely ignorant lady friends).

“Ron?” Hermione asked in a bored (why must you embarrass me so?) voice, trying to gain his attention. Yet his arms still flailed over his head and he still seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that his ministrations had gained the attentions of more than just Hermione. The group of Slytherins, headed by Draco Malfoy (because what was a group of circus monkeys without their ring-leader?), had begun to slow down on their knee-slapping laugh-fest at his request, and had now started to unanimously pay apt attention to the gangly redhead making a right arse of himself.

So rather than staying and making herself a spectacle by association, she kicked off her loafers and took the first step into the black water of the lake. Despite the warm weather of mid-spring, the lake’s temperature left very little to be desired.

Which brings us to precisely where we left off. Hermione Granger the sitting duck, fucked, and stranded in freezing cold water, courtesy of the Murky Lake Extraordinaire. It the most casual of terms, she absolutely hated her life. She was completely and utterly ridiculous.

Her knees were knocking, and not from anything noble or brave like, oh say, the water being cold. No, Hermione Granger’s knees were knocking because she was crying. Sobbing would actually be a word to describe was she was doing more expressly. Wailing.

She couldn’t hear herself over the laughter and jeers from the other students. Her back was facing them; giving them a better view of her back as it was shaken with the force of her sobs. She was crying (wailing) so loudly, in fact, that she was completely (unfortunately) unable to recognize the startled gasps of her peers.

“Blimey, it’s McGonagall!”

“Run away, you daft cow!”

“Bloody hell, we should disapparate!” (Hermione’s ears would have bled upon hearing that, for having to remind the students once more that there were anti-apparation wards placed on the span of the school grounds would surely drive her straight up a wall)

“I don’t know, Pans. I still think my nose is a spot crooked.”

“Did Flitwick assign homework?”

“Don’t eat that chocolate frog!”

“Don’t you dare touch me there! Don’t even think about it, you randy git.”

“Ms. Granger!” And you had better bet your best chickens, your prized hens even, that Hermione Granger heard that one. “Never in my years of teaching have I seen such blatant disrespect; and from a star pupil at that!”

If Hermione wasn’t crying before, she certainly was now. She spotted Draco Malfoy standing to the left of their Headmistress’s shoulder. He was smirking something fierce. Hermione was about to throw the petulant child card and point at Malfoy, tattle on him and say it was all his fault, when of nature’s own will Headmistress McGonagall turned to him.

“And you, Mister Malfoy. You should know better than to allow such acts as these! Have you learned nothing? Have you no idea the influence you two have on these students?” She swiveled madly between the two now, Hermione would have found it amusing, the way her professor was moving about like a slippery eel, had it not been for the present situation at hand.

And as if the fates were prompting the words out of the professor’s mouth, for they would be the ones to know the one thing Hermione would hate to hear, Professor McGonagall gave them both detentions.

“Tonight! After dinner! No wands.”

And she left. She stormed away, and as if on second thought, whipped back around to yell, “AND GET OUT OF THAT LAKE, MISS GRANGER!”

So where on earth do we find Hermione Granger now? Hours and hours after the lake incident, still not properly dry (for even though her clothes were no longer saturated, she couldn’t help the tears that were draining from her eyes), and fucked.

She was lying atop her bed, constant flow of salty tears from her eyes, wandless, bookless (that was a lie, but when one of hundreds are missing from a collection like Hermione’s, it felt like more) and emotionally haggard. All the energy she had been exerting from crying herself into a soggy stupor resulted in her body heat raising several thousand degrees (or perhaps she was being slightly exaggerative), thus resulting in her having to borrow a strapped nighty, a lacy get-up that did little for the purpose of covering a body. She shuddered to think of what had happened when Ginny (the naughty piece of lace’s owner) wore this piece for Harry, or rather, how long the piece stayed on when worn before Harry.

She should have boiled the garment before accepting to wear it.

Hermione Granger was fucked.

She was fucked and she hated her life. And she decided to do something extremely stupid, because when people are emotional they tend not to think logically, because then they would be faced with the fact that they’re emotional, and they’d wallow even more. So Hermione’s brain was practically turned off, and she was acting crazy.

Fuzzy slippers on feet, burly plaid bathrobe on body, hair a frizzy, knotted mess, Hermione Granger stole out of her dormitory. She assumed she’d be lucky enough to scrape past the Common Room unharmed. How unlucky she truly was.

“Hermione?”

As if Hermione’s night could possibly get any worse. Well, ladies and gentlemen (or rather, gentleman, because surely little men read such lengths of female woe), any worse now has a name and it is Ronald Weasley.

“I’m going to use the Prefect’s Bathroom, Ron,” Hermione said dryly. She was sour all right; if it hadn’t been for him and her favorite (and only remaining) tender subject (Harry, was the name) wanting to break the rules so vehemently, she surely would not be in her current mess, and she would be doing her essays on her nice crisp scrolls and would have available use to her wand.

“I’ll go with you, then!” Ron offered excitedly. Hermione narrowed her eyes with annoyance.

“To the bathroom?”

“I could keep you company,” he suggested.

“In the bathroom, Ron?”

“Well, to the bathroom, perhaps.”

“Go to sleep, Ron.”

“But - ,”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m leaving. You best not follow. Bathroom business needs no company.”

Hermione left the Common Room with Common Ron standing there, the whole gangly height of him shrinking as he sunk into the loneliest loveseat in the whole castle.

The entire walk to the lake was absolutely the most terrifying moment of Hermione’s entire life. Facing dark wizards at the age of fifteen? Gone with the fucking wind. Sneaking out of the castle at eighteen? The most idiotic and frightening twenty minutes of her entire short but strict life.

Assuming from her earlier reaction, one could assume that the last thing Hermione would willingly do would be to go into the lake once more; and this time at night. She wasn’t quite sure how she expected to find her things at this hour, especially with no light source, but as mentioned earlier, she was emotional and she was crazy. Therefore she hadn’t given it much thought.

Removing her bathrobe and slippers she found yet another flaw in her plan. Ginny’s nightdress. Hadn’t Ginny specifically asked Hermione not to ruin it in any way? Hermione eyed the murky lake. Taking a late evening, post-detention dip would certainly constitute as ruining. Hermione’s heart began to pound madly in her chest.

She peered around the area, making damn well sure that nobody was around before she did the unthinkable. She removed the tiny lace nightdress. This was unthinkable for one reason, and one reason that could clearly be seen. Hermione chose not to wear undergarments to sleep, so now her body was on display for all looking. Which was mostly limited to Fang, Hagrid’s surly dog, but she didn’t want to even risk that.

She held her bosom tightly with her arms (not that there was much to hold, sadly, but so that she wouldn’t squander her last bit of modesty) as she waddled out into the water. She had reached mid-chest-level depths of water, and started paddling also with her arms. Here looked like the correct home of her books. Just as she was about to dive into the water, a figure broke surface right before her. Right before her and her extremely exposed bosom.

Hermione Granger was fucked. So fucked, in fact, that she had no time at all to react to what was happening. Her arms were in no way covering her chest as they had been before, and the figure before her had gained a good ten seconds to stare completely at her chest uninterrupted.

“Granger?!?” the nameless figure asked with shock and surprise. Not so nameless anymore, Hermione realized, upon recognizing the voice. She hollered a quick “OH MY GOD!” before frantically whipping her arms around herself.

“Malfoy?”

She simply could not believe her luck.

“Granger, are you naked?” She let out another yelp to the lord and Draco Malfoy swayed forward and began laughing ridiculously jubilantly.

As this all happened, something long and hard grazed her thigh. And Hermione, having sexual education classes forced upon her in her Muggle schoolings knew enough to know that what she felt was something she certainly did not want to be feeling at that precise moment. Especially when it was Draco Malfoy standing before her in the murky lake.

“Malfoy, was that…?” She looked to his face for conformation, and apparently he felt the grazing incident as well, because his eyes were as wide as saucers. Which was enough conformation for Hermione. Draco Malfoy was starkers. Hermione Granger was also starkers. They were starkers together.

Bloody hell, they were technically skinny-dipping.

And she had felt his penis. His erect penis, she had to remind herself. Hermione had to force herself to not think about how and why his penis had been the way it was.

“What are you doing here?!” Hermione asked in an accusatory tone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting my things, Malfoy. Incase you hadn’t remembered, they’re here because of you.”

“As delighted as I am to hear the recap, I was leaning more towards, why are you in here? Naked?”

“Why are you? Are you the only one allowed to be naked in this lake?”

“If so, Granger, then I say we must alert the merpeople.”

“You’re charming, really. Why?”

“Why? Well, I was raised right, you know, Granger. Mummy always told me -,”

“Not that,” Hermione spat. “Why are you in here? Why are you naked?”

“I couldn’t possibly soil silk boxers, now could I?”

“Malfoy. Tell me or I’m reporting you to McGonagall.”

“You’d have to explain to her why you were in the water, as well. And I’m sure she’d be curious to know why you were naked.”

“Malfoy!” Her angered yell echoed off the surface of the lake and rebounded into the trees of the Scottish terrain around them. Malfoy flinched.

“I was getting your bag, Granger. Are you pleased with yourself?”

“You, what?”

“I got your bloody bag, Granger.”

She glared at him.

“Why didn’t you just use your wand?”

“Summoning spells don’t work too charmingly when what you’re trying to summon is under water, Granger. Surely you should know that.”

“Not a great time to be cheeky now, Malfoy. Why did you get my bag for me?”

He didn’t respond; he just splashed water lamely with the tips of his fingers.

“Aren’t you afraid that your little friends will find you out? Tease you something dreadful?”

“I could care less, Granger.”

“I hardly believe that.”

“Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re off your rocker.”

“You felt guilty.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, you did. You felt terrible.”

“I feel terrible that I’m in a breeding pool of germs with you, Granger.”

“Blimey, Malfoy. You care.”

Before he could snap that he didn’t care, Hermione’s insane emotional self launched herself across the water, creating a small wave in her wake, and kissed him.

Hermione Granger had completely lost her mind. She was completely naked, completely insane, and completely snogging a completely naked Draco Malfoy. Who, if I have any say in the matter, was also completely insane. Her insane hands roamed across his naked back, his insane hands squeezed her very naked breasts.

And at this point, readers, it would appear that we've come full circle. Once again, we find Hermione Granger waist-deep in the soggy employ of the lake. And I shall declare, once more, (in literal and figurative terms this time) that Hermione Granger was fucked.

El fin.

50 MULTI-FANDOM ICONS

spadul — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 01:44:28 GMT

Multi-Fandom Icon Post

[1-27] Supernatural (Various Season 2)
[28-36] Hayden Panettiere
[37-39] Eclipse Quotes
[40-43] Jensen Ackles
[44-50] The Hush Sound

Find them HERE at my icon journal, albusly!

152 THE OFFICE [4.01 - FUN RUN] ICONS

spadul — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 01:03:17 GMT

[152 The Office (EPISODE 4.01 - FUN RUN) Icons]

Find them HERE at my icon journal, albusly!

When Draco Met Hermione

spadul — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 05:41:52 GMT

OKAY, EVERYONE, here's the story. I can't draw. I won't fool myself into thinking that I can draw. THIS WAS DONE ON A SHEER WHIM, and was created for FUNNY purposes. And because my bb somandalicious asked for dramione, and dramione she shall get. SO DON'T HATE, APPRECIATE.

Title: When Draco Met Hermione
Type: Art
Rating: PG-13-light!R, for adult themes and use of censor bars.
A/N: This is embarrassing. It is for my muse, however, and it's on purple paper. Which makes it amazing. Remember: I cannot draw.

EL FIN.

PLEASE, amuse me with your thoughts. I'm begging. It's the least you could do. :D

*looks around awkwardly*

30 GASPARD ULLIEL ICONS

spadul — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 03:26:33 GMT

[30 Gaspard Ulliel Icons]

Find the rest HERE at my graphics journal, albusly.

33 DEATHLY HALLOWS CENTERED TEXT ICONS

spadul — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 08:12:32 GMT

SPOILER ALERT

[33 Deathly Hallows Text Icons]

Find the rest here at my graphics journal, albusly.

Communication Breakdown: Part Three [D/Hr]

spadul — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 17:43:13 GMT

Title: Communication Breakdown
Author:spadul [Julia]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.
Status: 3/3 [Completed]
Word Count: 6,246
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Endless bickering and intellectual uses of insults.
Author's Notes: This is for somandalicious, for without whom I would be completely void of a muse or any passion for pleasing the masses with my words.

Summary: She no longer cares about making it out alive. All she can think, breath, drink, and consume is her need to finally figure him out. Because Draco Malfoy is an equation that needs to be solved. And Hermione Granger won’t rest until she’s received full marks.

Truth be told, I honestly think he’s angry with me. Angry, annoyed, whatever the adjective is, it’s what’s keeping him always three paces ahead of me, arms either sternly by his side or mechanically folded across his chest. And then there’s the sighing. The endless sighing; it’s driving me bloody starkers. It’s always through the nose. Always a deep inhale and an exaggeratedly long exhale. The kind of angry sigh reserved for disapproving fathers.

I haven’t a clue to what has got his shiny coattails in a twist. But not knowing is certainly not helping with the need to figure him out. It would be worlds easier if he spoke to me. And not in the nature he has been for the past few days; in the manner a normal person would go about speaking to someone else. Not in guarded retorts and pompous opinions.

I know that his pride is an issue, as it is with every other male on the planet. I have experience in handling bruised prides; my best friend is a Weasley, after all.

I honestly can’t grasp why he wouldn’t just forget about that now. It’s not as if I’ll be running off and telling my friends what he said. And even if I did have somebody to tell, I’m sure as my legs are tired that I would rather die before having to explain to my dunderhead best friends exactly why I spoke to Draco Malfoy regarding something other than his prison sentence.

And blimey, my legs truly are tired. I feel as if I’ve been walking for days. And Merlin knows, maybe I have. How big is this ruddy cave? I feel as if I’ve just walked all the way to Saudi Arabia in the dark. With the world’s most miserable companion. A few hours ago, however, he did hand me a stale chunk of bread and a bitter plum.

I couldn’t help but to wonder what I would have received if he didn’t loathe me more than average at the moment. With my luck, a giant turkey feast. Though the chances of him having that in his knapsack are generously slim (but if he somehow managed, would I really be surprised?).

So I just keep walking. Even though my knees are knocking and there’s a rather painful stitch in my side and the sodding cave floor is not exactly forgiving on the soles of my shoes.

So why am I still walking? What service do I owe to Malfoy that’s keeping my sore legs in painful motion? I should just stop. Stop and sit and revel in my despair.

But if I stop, the food is going to walk away. The food that is swinging past his stupid athletic body inside that bag. And do I really want the food to go away?

“Piss it,” I grumbled and stopped my next step short.

Then as quickly as a snitch flies, Draco Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around, the eerie bit of pale light showing an incredulous look on his face. I think he may have swallowed his tongue.

“Oh. I’m tired of walking.”

He shook his head.

“Oh, er, right. It looks like there might be an opening up past these ridges. We can sit there.”

He extended his hand and placed it on my shoulder to help me move along. He looked to my shoulder for a brief second and whipped his hand back, something unrecognizable flashing in his eyes.

And there’s his intake of breath. As I followed him begrudgingly I waited to hear the sigh that I knew was going to inevitably follow.

It never came.

Was he holding his breath?

Oh, perhaps my Muggleborn flesh scalded him. Perhaps he broke out in a rash, a result from my serpentine skin. Perhaps I should just steal the knapsack and push him off of a cliff. Perhaps that would work if I were a big, burly man. However, that is not the case, so I’ll follow him with a frown permanently set on my face.

He coughed to clear his throat. Oh, poor Draco. Maybe he’s so allergic to my Muggle flesh that his throat is closing up. What a pity that would be.

“Well, here seems good.”

“Fine,” I snapped. I even crossed my arms like a petulant child, just for good measure. He took out a canteen and drank from it for a few brief seconds. Then he extended it to me.

“Water?”

Without a word I snatched it out of his hands, water sloshing out of the top.

“Bloody perfect.” I rubbed desperately at the wet spot the water left, probably transferring dirt from my hands onto my pants. I could care less.

“I thought you were tired, Granger.” The mysterious glow settled in our opening of the cave; it allowed me to see that he was frowning. And that made me angry.

“I am tired.”

“Then why the blasted dramatics, Granger? You got what you wanted.”

Obviously, Malfoy, that statement is not true because you are still here.

I turned my angry glare on him. “My dramatics? Oh, so, is there a rule in this cave? There’s only room for one wanker?”

“What in the name of Merlin are you going on about?”

“How’s your hand, then, Malfoy? Need some burn ointment?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Granger.”

“Well you touched me, didn’t you? With your hand, just then? Ho ho, be quick, Malfoy! Before you have to amputate it.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but let it hang open for a moment. He snapped it shut and narrowed his eyes at me.

“You’re a real piece of work, Granger.” He was shaking his head. He had the nerve to shake his head. When he was finished being such a ponce, he lay down on his side and started in the ignore Hermione regime. Which didn’t look like such a bad idea.

I slid down onto the cold stone, the rise and fall of my chest severely erratic with my anger.

“Wanker,” I muttered softly. I guess it doesn’t really make a difference if he hears me or not; it’s not like I’ll be fed again before I die. Wow. Before I die. It’s actually been a while since I’ve really thought on the subject. When you’re in a war, it’s almost expected of you not to dwell on the fact that death is an ever-present force. But when you’re faced with it, under such a different context then you taught yourself to deal with, it eats away at your reasoning and your character and everything that holds you together and keeps you sane and makes you the person attached to the name.

So now I lay here, my pulse throbbing loudly in my ears. It’s almost ear splitting. I’m biting on my lower lip to ease the discomfort, although it’s really not helping in the slightest. And then something I truly hadn’t thought of hit me. My eyes widened in horror as I tried to scheme up a plan to make this work. I don’t know how I hadn’t realized this would be an issue before. I crouched into a sitting position and hoped against all hope that he had passed out. But, because luck is not on my side, the second I stood I heard his voice cut through the silence of the cave.

“Where are you going, Granger?”

“I need to go for a little walk.” I kept my eyes pressed tightly together, my breath held uncomfortably long as I waited for his response.

“Okay,” he said, gathering his things. “Lets go, then.”

“No!”

“You just said that you wanted to go.”

“No, it’s not that it’s just. You can’t come.”

“Are you still griping about before, Granger? You can’t be serious, it was your bloody shoulder –”

I sucked in the greatest amount of air my lungs would allow before saying what I was about to say.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

I’m sure I heard the blood rush to my face, or was it his?

“Oh! Oh. Well.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, try going where we already came from , then, Granger.”

Goodbye, dignity.

“And take this with you. So you don’t get lost.” He pulled a jar of bottled flames out of his bag. My eyes then lost ability to move, they tried to widen with horror and narrow with disgust at the same time.

“I didn’t think it was necessary to use it when we were just sitting.”

“Yeah, but. It’s light, Malfoy. It would be helpful!”

“Where do you think the light was coming from when we were walking? The moon?”

I glared at him and took the jar of flames before picking my bruised ego off the floor and dragging it off to do its embarrassing business.

I have never been more afraid to face someone ever again in my life. I really contemplated not going back to him at all. But he is the one with the food. And now the only source of light. And I figure if I’m going to die, I might as well not make it be alone.

I was surprised, however, when I returned to find him not waiting to mock me, but nonchalantly leaning against a wall, humming a familiar tune. It only took me a few seconds to identify the song, but it didn’t come as less of a shock when I did.

“Our sorting hat’s song? Really?” The humming stopped abruptly.

“How on earth do you know that?”

“Malfoy. What don’t I know?”

“Well, to name a few thousand things...”

I rolled my eyes. Bloody cad.

“Well then, what don’t I know about Hogwarts?”

“Assuming you’ve read Hogwarts: A History cover to cover, in different editions, I’m sure you know more about Hogwarts than it knows about itself.”

I couldn’t help but to laugh. I know it’s ridiculous and it should have never happened, but he really did have a point. Although he never knew about our beloved map. It wasn’t until he let a chuckle loose did I stop with disbelief-ridden eyes. His eyes were almost a perfect mirror-image of my own. I sniffed once and crossed my arms, looking away from his direction.

Stupid, useless, life-ruining cave.

It wasn’t until hours later that he started showing any signs of life. We both just sat so robotically waiting for the other to say something first. He didn’t need to say anything, however, to tell me what he wanted to say. The restless leg syndrome happening 20 paces to my left was all I needed to hear to know that he was ready to keep going.

And the bloody sighing.

I inhaled meekly and rubbed my palms on my legs. “Well then. Think it’s about time to start moving?”

“Sweet sister of Merlin, yes.”

And that was the beginning and end of that issue. We silently gathered our small amount of belongings; he packed away the flames, only enough so that there was a small sheen of blue light cascading around where we stood. And we continued on walking. Not knowing, or caring for that matter, if the direction was helpful at all, just the fact that our legs were moving and we hadn’t died yet gave us the energy to keep moving.

Moving in complete silence, but moving nonetheless.

Our steps in are sync with each other. My arms are swinging awkwardly by my side; he looks like the picture of athletic success. And even though he is the vilest of human beings, I feel the need to hear him speak. I’m sure it’s just the need to hear anyone talk, but all my mind can register is that it’s Malfoy. Everything’s bloody Malfoy.

I’m coming to terms with the fact that it’s nearly an impossible feat to truly know Malfoy; or any other person for that matter. You either trust their decisions or you don’t; and when you don’t is when you’re desperate for the reasons why they’re doing such untrustworthy things. I like to think it’s written in human nature to do this, and I’m not the exception. But whatever else human natures tells us and guides us to do, the only true fact I know right now is that if I don’t hear someone other than myself speak I will drive myself insane.

“Don’t forget you know, Malfoy. I told you something I would like to do before I die. It’s your turn now.”

His pace slowed and he eyed me suspiciously.

“You said it was depressing to talk about that, Granger.”

“You were the one that said both life and death were depressing, and it was impossible to avoid either.”

“You’re too bloody observant, Granger.”

“So?”

“So what, Granger. I said it and it was true.”

“Not that, you dolt. What did you want to do before you die?”

“You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Yes, now tell me.”

The corners of his mouth inched upward a half of a millimeter. My human nature told me to enjoy that.

“I wanted to own a quidditch team.”

“Own a quidditch team? Not play for one?”

“No, definitely not play for one.”

“Why not? I thought you loved quidditch. You played it for Slytherin.”

“You don’t fly, do you, Granger.”

It wasn’t a question. I just flicked my eyes towards his face for a split second to acknowledge his statement.

“To be a good flier, you have to have the love for it flowing through your body. The broom will know if you’re afraid, and it’ll hold back. I always loved flying, but when it came to playing? I never loved just to play, I played to win. And that’s what drove me. And the broom knew, and I could never be better than those who played for the love of it. Doesn’t matter what broom you’re riding, it’s about the attitude towards flying.”

“I may not know much about flying, Malfoy, but that sounded to me an awful lot like someone who loves not only flying but playing the game.”

“And that’s why you don’t fly, Granger.”

“Oh, that’s the reason then? Not the fact that all that’s preventing me from soaring through the air to my death is basically a magically enchanted tree branch?”

“Well obviously.”

“So is there anything else? Any other secret passion you never got to dip your toes into?”

“Can’t say there is, Granger. Sorry to disappoint.”

“How heartbreaking.”

“Well actually there is one thing. Though I could hardly call it a passion.”

“I’m shivering with anticipation.”

“Well naturally, Granger.”

“So get on with it, then.”

"I've never kissed a Muggle."

He honestly didn’t just say what I think he said.

"Kissed? Are you barmy?"

I could feel him smirking beside me. It caused a ripple in the calm of the room. "I said before I die, Granger. If that's the way I choose to go, then so be it."

"Death by snogging? Honestly, Malfoy. We don't sprout suction cups and fangs when touched by the lips of a pureblood."

“It’s that a fact? Have you ever kissed a pureblood?”

I thought on it, actually, for a few moments. There was Viktor Krum, though I never got around to asking him about his bloodline in detail (because that is, of course, the first thing to ask when courting a young man). And even if I had I’m sure it would have been impossible to decipher his answer through his thick accent. And also, I could hardly call anything I shared with him a kiss. It was more of an embarrassing misguided peck of a situation. And so I came to the shocking realization that I hadn’t. I mean, it wasn’t shocking, per say. It’s not as if I go around kissing every bloke in sight; it’s just that for a large sum of time I believed I had something with Ron. And that obviously never happened.

“Well, no, actually, but it’s just so ridiculous – ”

“Right. So you can’t prove it.”

My heart hammered in my chest as my eyes narrowed on their own accord.

“You can’t truly believe that.”

“I don’t know, Granger. There’s no hard evidence.”

Hard evidence my arse. I’ll show him hard evidence. The evidence being his mouth right as it’s connecting with my hard fist.

“You cannot be serious right now.” I had ceased all movement and my body was somehow facing his now, though I can’t for the life of me recall moving.

“Well, Granger. It’s not as if we go canoodling around with your lot.”

“My lot? Oh, so now we’re just acknowledged as being ‘that lot’?”

“Don’t get swotty, Granger.”

“I haven’t swotted!”

“You swotted.”

“Well I wouldn’t have bloody swotted if it wasn’t for you and your bloody theory.”

“It’s not a theory, Granger. It’s a fact until proven otherwise.”

And because my mind is completely clouded with anger, and because my hands are shaking by my side, and because I’m completely frazzled down to the very last bone in my very last toe, and because the only way I’m going to walk away from this conversation without his blood on my hands is to bloody prove him wrong.

So with my shaking hands and a shortened step forward, I close the already small distance between us, cutting through the tension like a warm knife through orange marmalade.

And my lips land, rather ungracefully, atop his mildly parted, surprised lips. And I kiss him. I kiss him with a force I’ve been alien to my entire life. I kiss him for all the girls in the world who have had to argue with a boy. I kiss him for all the people called ‘Mudblood’. And I kiss him because there is no way in the great span of the entire world I would grow fangs from touching someone like him. And I kiss him because human nature was staring me down with a challenge, and that challenge I took.

And when I pull back he’s already staring at me. He’s staring at me with force enough to burn a hole through this cave wall and levitate us back up to sea level. And I suddenly realized what I just did. It wasn’t for any girls, it wasn’t for tormented witches and wizards across the globe. And if I knew at all what it was for, I would bloody tell you, because right now the look he is giving me is bound to slay me.

“Granger!” he barked at me, his voice cracking just slightly, his eyes wider than sauce bowls. I just angled my gaze towards him, trying to channel some of his malice into my body.

And so what do I do? I rub my face. I rub my face avidly with both hands. And then I hold them out to him for a split second. And I let my voice rise, and I let myself holler. Because I owe it to myself to continue on with the crazy I’ve started.

“See, Malfoy? No fucking boils!”

“Granger!”

I stopped waving my hands madly. I must be going absolutely crazy, because I cannot remember waving them enough to have to stop.

“What. Was. That?”

It was then that I actually took the time to notice him and the state he is currently in. His breathing is deep and ragged, and he has this horrible look on his face. Blimey, I think he may murder me.

And out of all the things to completely push me over the edge during the past few days, this was it. I could feel the anger bubbling in my chest. I could feel it, and it was ready to erupt. I just needed one more push. One more bloody push, Malfoy. We all know you have it in you.

“How else were you going to learn, Malfoy? You kept saying that I swotted, and I do not bloody swot! And really what else was I going to do? I’m so sick and tired of having to try to prove myself to you, like I’m something less than human, and I have to work that much harder to measure up to something that I already am. Do you understand that? Can you at all be a human and feel human feelings for one moment long enough to understand what I’m saying to you?”

“No.”

“No? No? And why the bloody hell not, Malfoy?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, that’s why.”

“I’m telling you right now that it matters. It really does, Malfoy.”

“I know all that you were going on about matters, I’m not completely daft. It just doesn’t matter anymore, Granger, if I understand or not. Why does it matter so much? Why can’t you bloody just move on and let it be? Stop trying to figure me out. Stop trying to prove me wrong. Stop saying ‘piss it’ and ‘blimey’. Just stop. Stop everything and just live, why don’t you?”

“And you’re living?” Thanks for the push, Malfoy. “How in all carnation are you living anymore than the rest of us?”

He put his hands over his face. “Just let it rest, Granger.”

“Tell me how!” I shouted, so loudly I’m sure it echoed throughout the entire cave.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. And then there was no space between us any longer. He was suddenly there. I could feel his body against mine, and this time I was sure I hadn’t moved an inch. And his hands were on my face, his calloused hands holding my face in place.

And there it was. He was living. His mouth was on mine and I was frozen to the ground with complete and utter shock. I didn’t have time to analyze who this was for this time and what it was that was happening, because his mouth was moving against mine with a hunger that put starvation to shame. And his hands: his stupid, sodding, ruddy hands. They were in my hair, on my back, on my side, hovering almost shyly over my bottom.

I didn’t even have time to notice his hands holding onto my sides firmly and pushing me back against the cave wall. I couldn’t even notice one hand hook around the thin material of my cardigan. I couldn’t even notice the other hand that was now securely settled at the nape of my neck, angling my face towards his.

And I couldn’t even notice, that despite and my anger, despite my hate, I was kissing him back with as much gusto as I could muster.

And so I just let myself completely go. I lose myself in this kiss. I revel in the feel of his hand pressing onto the skin of my back. I revel in the drum of his heartbeat that I can feel in my own chest. And I lose myself so completely that I don’t even notice when his lips leave mine and his mouth travels down my jaw line and to the stretch of skin at the base of my neck. I lose myself so completely that I don’t possess enough will power to bite back the soft moan that escaped the confines of my throat.

I did notice, however, when his body seemed to harden and his ministrations stopped abruptly. And I did notice how incredibly awkward and naked I felt standing there in my dirty clothes with him pressed firmly to me. And I did notice the shaky breath he inhaled before he straightened up completely, his height making mine shrink in comparison. And I definitely noticed that he hadn’t moved away from me yet.

And I only slightly noticed that a very distant part of me hoped that he wouldn’t.

What we both noticed, however, with strained ears and fearful eyes, was the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the distance. If it was at all possible, he pressed himself closer to me and pressed a single finger against my lips; halting the thousands of questions I was ready to ask.

His chin rested on the tip of my head and I could tell he was holding his breath, waiting for a hint of recognition at all. I wanted to tell him it was almost impossible, but with his weight crushing into my torso and his finger on my mouth, I don’t think it would be in my best interest to try to do anything at all.

Then, like a gunshot in the dark, I heard something. I know he heard it too, and it wasn’t something the two of us were keen on hearing.

It was my name. Someone was in here, yelling my name.

It wasn’t a voice I’d ever heard, or could recall hearing. It also didn’t sound like a friendly, inviting voice.

But by the way Malfoy’s body instantly froze like a statue against mine, I’d be willing to bet he recognized the voice.

And that surely is not a good thing. Not in the slightest.

I almost screamed when I felt hands on either side of me, shaking me out of my frightened daze.

“Granger. Run. Run back to where we came from.”

“But, what? Why?”

“It’s a Death Eater, Granger. Something’s happened; they’re coming to get you. When we find you, play along. I haven’t been here. Play. Along.”

And with a haste kiss to the tip of my forehead he pushed me with long arms into the blackness. And I ran. I ran like I had never run before. My lungs were aching and my feet were screaming, but I ran.

And I stopped. I stopped when I felt as if my heart was going to beat its way out of my chest. And I slid down to the floor, broken and dejected and scared out of my mind. I was numbly aware of the moisture sliding down my face, vaguely aware of the sounds of footsteps and conversation heading in my direction.

Half relieved, half nauseated when one of the voices surely belonged to Malfoy.

“I haven’t been here more than fifteen minutes,” I heard Malfoy say.

“Did Marcus send you, too?”

“Yes, he told me that if anything were to happen to him where to find his files. Did he send you as well?”

“I crossed him on the battle field, just after he was hit. He told me to make sure I got Granger. And he told me where to go.”

“Did he say what to do with her?”

“Fuck me if I know, Draco. What is there left to do? We kill her.”

It pained me to think that he may have nodded in response. My mind was swimming with questions I needed to ask. Was this a ruse? Was this for real? Was he really hiding here? Or was I part of some wicked scheme?

I started to panic as the footsteps drew nearer. They would round the corner soon. The other man must have had his wand. They would see me. I was going to die. I was so close to freedom and now I’m going to die. My eyes squeezed shut as I felt my body fall into the path of illumination by the light from the tip of a wand.

“’Lo, pet!” I heard a menacing voice from above me. I opened a crooked eye to see Malfoy’s face set rigid, his companion, whom I now recognized as Blaise Zabini, sneering with malice. “Malfoy, grab her.”

I let a sob escape as I felt Malfoy scoop me up into his arms. One of his hands, which rested on my waist, began to rub smoothing circles against my skin, in a manner in which Zabini wouldn’t be able see.

“Remember, Draco. Twenty paces back, incase we were followed. No one can see her.”

“Right,” he spoke gruffly, his grip on my other side tightened as his frustration grew. I don’t think I had the luxury to complain.

“Flint really fucked this one up, eh Draco? Should’ve killed the bitch at first opportunity, I say.”

And that’s how the rest of the journey went. Blaise went on and on about the misgivings of Marcus Flint’s plan and how it backfired. How he couldn’t wait to watch me take my last breath. About how he had dreamt of this moment since his first sight of me. I wanted to ask him just how much he wanted to kill me, just because the numerous times he had told me hadn’t affectively sunk into my brain yet. But one look from Malfoy stopped the words before they made their way through my throat.

“No fucking way,” Blaise spat angrily. He whipped around to face us. Draco stopped rubbing my side. “Put her fucking down, Malfoy, fucking now.”

“Who is it?” he asked in a quiet, yet urgent tone.

“It’s bloody fucking Potter,” Blaise growled. He turned to me, a devious glint in his eyes. “Oh, this is far better than I had imagined, pet. Now I get to kill you, and Potter will see. And he’d have only been seconds too late.” He reached out and placed his hand on my face, rubbing over my cheek my lips.

And then everything seemed to have happened all at once. I noticed that I could see daylight. And someone out in the daylight had just broken out into a full run. And a quick as a flash, I felt Blaise’s wand press into the same curve of neck Draco’s lips had been only a half hour before. And my name was being yelled, and the wand pressed deeper, and I could see my parent’s faces in my mind. I was saying goodbye, I was finally saying goodbye. And now someone was screaming my name. And I could see Blaise open his mouth in slow motion, I could see his dark lips form the “ah”, cradle around the “va”, and I closed my eyes for the rest. I felt a hot jet of air flash past my face, and in that instant there was no longer a wand pressed into my throat.

I looked up to see Draco Malfoy, wand extended, face red with pure anger. I looked down to see Blaise Zabini crumpled on the floor, his eyes open and motionless. I looked back to Malfoy and was stunned when I saw Harry rushing past him and crashing into me.

All of Harry’s soothing words were formed into a whirlwind around me. My eyes were locked over his shoulder, staring only at Malfoy. He was staring down at the floor, looking a little queasy, to tell the truth. It wasn’t until I noticed the tears streaming down my face did I snap out of my reverie.

“Harry, let go of me.” As I spoke this I tried to detangle my arms from his grasp. The fact that he was just holding me here irritated me. I looked back up in time to see Malfoy turning to retreat into the daylight.

“Harry!” He pulled back then, a shocked look on his face, which soon turned to anger and disbelief as the second he let me free I broke into a mild sprint, going after Malfoy. I heard, hopefully for the last time today, someone calling my name in the distance as the wind whipped around my face and I ran on my abused feet. I caught up to him and placed a cautious hand on his arm. He turned to me, angled perfectly so Harry was not in my eyeshot.

“Malfoy,” I started, but found I couldn’t put words to the thousands of thoughts running through my mind. I peered back up at him and felt something tighten in my chest as I saw the sure look of anguish plastered across every feature he possessed.

“Zabini was a friend, Granger.”

My heart momentarily skipped three or four vital beats.

“But, you killed him.”

It killed me to hear my voice sound so small, but I was afraid if I talked any louder this would be real.

“Don’t do this, Granger.”

Then something clicked in my brain, and I was left standing there. Standing there with empty realizations and something new throbbing in my hollow body.

“Wait, Malfoy. You killed him.”

“Well spotted,” he said warily. “But what’s your point?”

“You had your wand? That entire bloody time, and you had your wand?”

“Relax, Granger. When I found out it was a secret-kept cave, it was completely useless. They were designed to prohibit the use of magic. Plus, if you had known, you would have attacked me for it.”

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Would not have.” He stared at me knowingly. He’s right, I know that much. But I wont afford him the luxury of hearing me say that. “What I don’t understand, Malfoy, is why bother? Why kill him at all?”

“You’re not serious.”

“You just said he was your friend. And what am I to you? Why not just let me die?”

He put his face in his hands and rubbed for a few moments.

“Granger,” was all he said. And in that one small word, a word I’d heard him speak countless times over the past however many days, I knew. Suddenly, with this one word, all the communication that had been passed between us had just been broken down into its true meaning by just one word. I suddenly knew why Draco Malfoy did the things he did, I suddenly knew everything. But I still had to ask.

“Why?”

“You know why, I’ve already told you.”

“Tell me again.”

He bent down and placed another kiss to my forehead, leaving his face there as he spoke.

“I just want you to be able to live.”

And that’s all Draco Malfoy wanted for himself. He just wanted to live.

I was perfectly contended, standing here with him. I completely forgot about everything. I forgot where we were, what had just happened, everything that was leaving a dirty black smear across the surface of the earth. And then with a rough tug in the other direction, I remembered that Harry was here. And here was the opening of the cave. And I remembered that Harry hates Draco Malfoy.

“Get your filthy hands off her!” Harry spat, pulling me with much too much force towards him. “How can you even talk to her after what you did?”

“Why yes, saving her life?” His normal biting tone was back; it had been a little while since I’d heard it filled with such venom.

“Oh yeah, how noble, when it’s your fault she was almost killed in the first place!”

And so it went. History was bound to repeat itself, and repeat itself it did. I caught fragments of insults containing “wanker” and “arse” and a slop of other colorful words.

“Harry,” I said loudly, waiting for him to acknowledge me standing here in the middle of this crossfire. “Harry!” I yelled for the second time today, gaining both of their silences.

“He’s not the reason why I almost died, Harry. He was locked in the cave with me.”

I don’t know who looked more surprised, Harry or Draco. Harry turned to Malfoy and narrowed his eyes while he adjusted his glasses. Malfoy just stood and stared at me, his mouth hanging slightly agape.

And now I was kicking myself in the rear, because honestly? What could I say now? Malfoy crawled in there to hide like a big baby?

“What did you say?” Harry asked.

“You’re mental,” Malfoy whispered.

I looked to Malfoy and then to Harry.

“He was captured with me.”

Malfoy looked taken aback. I praised myself for a short moment, thanking myself for being so quick on my toes.

“It was, well, I can’t remember what day it was, but I was heading to work and I met with him up in the alleyway, the one right by that tea shop? You know the one, Harry. And he was telling me Death Eater business, that they were planning on starting the battle, and then Marcus Flint showed up and caught us. And that’s all I can remember. We ended up in there.”

Both of them were staring at me with stunned looks on their faces, Malfoy’s only lasted half a second. Harry turned to Malfoy.

“Is that true?”

He nodded. I nodded. Harry blanched.

And so we started walking. My limbs protested and my heart hammered uncomfortably in my chest. But I was breathing fresh air. I was alive. Draco Malfoy was alive. Most likely going to prison, but alive nonetheless. Harry would rub my back encouragingly every couple of minutes. It helped, it really did. I was so glad to see him. See him alive, too. He said the battle had failed, a lot of Death Eaters were lost, some of the Order but not many. Voldemort had managed to slink away, as it seems he always does.

But I didn’t dwell on it. The sun was shinning somewhere behind the clouds, and that made it seem all right. And Draco was walking on my right side, his arms brushing my shoulder as we walked. Every now and again his hand would collide with mine and he’d let it linger there.

And everything truly was fine. Because we were living.

The End

-

Please, don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts!

Communication Breakdown: Part Two [D/Hr]

spadul — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 16:55:12 GMT

Title: Communication Breakdown
Author:spadul [Julia]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.
Status: 2/3
Word Count: 3,144
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Endless bickering and intellectual uses of insults.
Author's Notes: This is for somandalicious, for without whom I would be completely void of a muse or any passion for pleasing the masses with my words.

Summary: She no longer cares about making it out alive. All she can think, breath, drink, and consume is her need to finally figure him out. Because Draco Malfoy is an equation that needs to be solved. And Hermione Granger won’t rest until she’s received full marks.

I’m not the kind of girl who chooses to comfort herself by emptying bottles of fire whiskey and the like. I can’t remember a time when things were so bad that I was thirsty for that distinguishable burn in the throat. But right now? I’d give anything for a swig. I’d tilt my head back and gargle with the bitter liquid, I’m sure. Which is disgusting within itself, because drinking without care is harmful to the mind and the liver.

It’s as if now that I know his shameful reason for being here (and it really is quite shameful; if I were him I would probably die of self-loathing), he’s going out of his way to be rude to me. He’s always made a sport of it, but I’m guessing that it’s safe to assume that now it’s his life mission. And I really think this is a truth, considering his lifespan is going to end with me being the last person he’s ever spoken to. Which kind of makes me feel as if I’m going to vomit. So I suppose the fire whiskey isn’t necessary after all.

I don’t understand the way his mind works. I’m not saying that I would like to know the inner-workings of his thought processes, but I’d really be interested to find out why it is he does the things that he does. It’s not so much the Death Eater business anymore, but more things that are focused around these cave-related times. Other than him being Britain’s biggest ponce, what on earth are his reasons for hiding out here? There are many reasons that I could easily link to why an average human being would do such a thing, but all of those ideas couldn’t possibly apply to Malfoy, because he is nowhere near being average, let alone a human being.

I can’t even fathom why I need to know so badly. I wish I could just adapt back to the same attitude I’ve held towards him for the past however many years of my life. But right now all I can focus on is each breath he takes. Wondering when he’s going to strike. Because it’s the only thing in his nature I can understand. Attacking the weak. And even then I can’t begin to wonder why he does that. The theory goes; you attack those less fortunate than yourself to feel more powerful. But why would he need to do this? The last person on this planet who needs to feel (or be) more powerful is Draco Malfoy.

He’s been given anything anybody could ever dream of wanting: adoring parents, extreme wealth and overall good fortune, a beautiful home, the luxury of not ever having to lift a finger, and (strictly based upon his response from the female society as a whole) “charmingly handsome looks”. I just don’t think he realizes being a pompous git will not at all redeem himself for the mistakes he’s made. You can’t go bragging about robbing a bank, you wouldn’t tell your neighbor if you purposefully shot their cat and you don’t want to broadcast to the world that you’re willingly supporting and aiding in the rise of Lord Voldemort.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” I asked, alarmed. I can’t recall doing anything that he would take notice of.

“You were thinking about me, Granger. I can feel it.”

“I was not, you arrogant wad.”

“Stop trying to analyze me, Granger.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Stop it.”

So now I’m sitting here, trying as hard as humanly possible to not think of him. What else is there to think about right now? My childhood? My early childhood could work; it didn’t involve him in the slightest. I remember every year, the day after Easter holiday, my parents would take the day off work and would take me to the zoo. My favorite animals were the prairie dogs. I loved how they were so small and adorable. Just like… ferrets.

“Granger.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you!” I had to fight to stifle my laughter.

“Just stop.”

“What exactly am I allowed to think about then, Malfoy?”

“I don’t bloody know. Just think of all the things you wanted but won’t get to do before you die.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I’ve been doing it for the past hour or so, Granger.”

“Because that’s not depressing.”

“Granger. There’s life and then there’s death. And if I may say, there’s nothing not depressing about either one of those things.”

“But why willingly choose to think about unhappy things?”

“There’s not much choice in the matter, Granger. Death is inevitable. Thinking about it is inevitable.”

“But why think of all the things you haven’t done? You should think about the things you have done. The things that you’ve done that will make you happy.”

Silence.

“Right. Never mind.” I should probably stop talking.

“So, Granger.”

He bounces back quickly.

“What were your life aspirations?”

“To make a scarf with the finest ferret fur.”

“Charming. Anything else?”

“Why would you even want to know?”

“As much as I enjoy the banter, Granger, I’d like to have an actual conversation the moment before I die. Even if it is with someone of your social standing.”

“Nothing like an insult to help you spill your guts.”

“Come on, Granger. Nothing at all? Never had the desire to ride an elephant in India?”

“Can’t say so.” I sighed and clicked my tongue. “Well, I would have wanted to get married.” Why are you saying these things, Hermione? Why on earth would you say this to Draco Malfoy?

“To the Weasel?”

He could try to sound more disgusted, just for my utter amusement.

“Hah. No. Definitely not to Ron. Or Harry, for that matter.”

“What? Got a spare cousin laying around?”

“You’re one to talk, Pureblood.”

“Such a sharp insult, Mudblood.”

“Such quick wit for being inbred.”

“Interesting thought process for a Muggle.”

“Tosser.”

“Prudish minger.”

“One-inch wonder.”

“Muggle.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“You’re wrong, Granger. You deserve it all.”

“I wish I were allergic to tea leaves.”

“Did you hear me, Granger? Did my saying you deserved to be locked here make its way into your thick Muggle skull?”

“If only I had gone straight to St. Mungos.”

“Keep rambling on, Granger. Maybe soon you’ll start foaming at the mouth.”

“Shouldn’t have stopped.”

“What are you going on about, Granger? If you’re going to waste your breath by speaking, it may as well be in coherent sentences.”

I snapped back into focus.

“I have nothing to say to you, Malfoy.”

“You seemed pretty keen on telling me something just a moment ago.”

What was he even talking about? I wasn’t telling him anything. From now on, it’s only me in this cave. I am the sole entity in this breathing space. There is no such person as Draco Malfoy. And if there was a person who went by that name, I’m sure that I would never cross paths with them.

“Where are you going?”

So much for him not existing.

“I’m standing up, Granger. It’s what people do after they’ve been sitting in the same position for days.”

“So you’re going to leave?”

“I’ll go for a stroll, yes.”

“A stroll? In the dark?”

“It could be darker.”

“You’re a Death Eater. Everything is darker.”

“That stings.”

“So you’re going to leave me here by myself? In the dark?”

“No, Granger.” His footsteps paused. “I was going to wait for you to stand up so we could hold hands and skip during our exploration.”

Soon the footsteps disappeared all together, and I let myself assume he had walked straight off a ledge in his journeys, and that now I was truly going to die alone. And as the seconds turned into a minute, and that minute turned into ten, my legs began to itch and tingle with the want to move. My subconscious was pleading with my body to go after him; to find him. Because Draco Malfoy is an Arithmancy equation that needs to be solved. And I won’t rest until I’ve received full marks.

The more he says, the more he contradicts himself, the more he adds to his own initial equation. And the faster information is added; the sooner the levee that is Draco Malfoy will break and spill its contents into the soil. Then I’ll have my answers.

So now my legs are moving on their own accord, my body is being lifted off the ground. I feel weightless, I have to desperately clutch onto the granite wall to keep my balance.

With shaky legs and unfocused eyes, I awkwardly made my way in the direction I remembered his footsteps travel in. I can vaguely make out shapes of walls, which is a rough guide of where I should and should not venture. I automatically began to think of all the mythological creatures I read stories about as a girl, all the possible beasts that would dwell in a cave, existing just to terrorize innocent humans like myself. Then I thought to the pictures I’d watch at theatre on my summer holiday, where people would fall from the ledges of a cave and break their spinal cords.

Then I thought to the time when I was in my early twenties and was locked in a cave, the only thoughts I could produce being ones of sure self-destruction.

With a great inhale of cool air, I ventured onward with my arms flailing out by my sides, aiming to feel anything that would possibly obstruct my path. As I rounded a particularly sinister corner, my thoughts led to tales of caves and creatures that dwell within. I instantly thought to my father and his love for Tolkien’s trilogy. Which forced me to remember the viciousness of the goblins and trolls found in the depths of cave-esque dwellings.

Now fearing the absolute worst, I kept my eyes peeled (as if opening my eyes as wide as possible would allow me to hear more precisely) and continued on. There’s no history of heart attacks in my family, but I swear the moment my hand landed on the soft flesh of a living, breathing creature, my body went into a complete state of anaphylactic shock. I could only imagine the rows of jagged teeth waiting to tear my arm off and make a meal of me before I realized just exactly what was happening.

“Don’t get too excited, Granger.”

In a whirlwind of realization, I noticed that it was not a teething baby manticore looking for love in all the wrong places; it was the one Draco Malfoy. And I had my hand firmly pressed against his pectorals.

In a whoosh of surprising relief, I rubbed the sweat of my forehead and looked to where my hand was still resting on his chest. In a hasty movement I snatched my hand away, as if he were holding it there against my will.

“I thought you were a troll.”

The amusement drained out of the atmosphere.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Trolls live in caves.”

“That was the most insulting thing you have ever presented me with. Which is outstanding within itself, because even sharing breathing space with you is insulting.”

“Oh honestly. Not all trolls are horrible.”

“Should have figured as much, what with your love for that oaf.”

“Hagrid’s half giant. Not troll. Well, he was. He was.”

“Was he, now?”

“He was killed.”

“Oh, right. When?”

I smiled sadly in his memory.

“After the storm on Hogsmede.”

“I was there; I didn’t see him.”

“It was far after you’d left, I’m sure. I was injured, as you well know.” A small twinge of pain shot through my arm at the remembrance. “Hagrid came after, he was taking care of me. Goyle killed him from behind.”

I could hear him shaking his head, telling me that I was wrong.

“Goyle died that day.”

A nervous pounding tore through my insides.

“I know.”

And that was it. The conversation was left open, all that needed to be said was left hanging in the air, obvious enough to tell just by walking through it. I had seen Goyle raising his wand and with the ounce of strength I possessed in my body I tried throwing a shielding charm towards his direction. Little did I know at the same time, three others tried to intervene, the result being fatal. I try not to dwell on it, though. We’re in a war. These things are bound to happen; it’s the result of choosing a side.

These excuses barely skim the surface in terms of acceptance.

It shocked me that just then was the closest to a real conversation I will ever have with him. And how it ended so quickly, due to the nature of it. Which, after a few moments of pondering the subject, is actually quite ridiculous, considering the only way the man knows how to speak to me is in a derogatory manner. So it seems that Draco Malfoy can dish it, but he can’t take it.

I continued to walk in silence with a triumphant smile plastered goofily across my face. I could feel that he knew it was there, although I’m sure he thought it was for a completely different reason. He probably thought I took pride in killing his friend. But it’s not in my nature to tell him otherwise. He is the one who for years has hoped that my two best friends and myself included would collectively drop dead. So no, there’s not an over-abundance of sympathy here.

And that’s how I know that sometime during these few years, Hermione Granger has changed. She’s not this naïve little girl anymore; she actually knows things and knows when to not be forgiving. She knows when to have her guard up and also when it’s wise for it to be down.

I guess my only problem is keeping the guard intact.

I tend to have a small issue in that particular area. I have a massive blind spot when it comes to doing the things I know are in my best interest. It’s like when normal girls turn sixteen and they want to date an older boy who drives and drinks, but her parents won’t allow it, and she goes with him just to defy their wishes. Except in my case, my parents are out in their world, oblivious to my own trauma as they install crowns and bridges, and I’m defying myself into my own spitfire of headaches and emotional turmoil.

I know that I shouldn’t care about anything that remotely concerns Draco Malfoy. If that was the case, I’m sure my life would be eons easier. But when it comes down to the act of actually not caring, I can’t find it in me. There’s not enough of me to invest myself in something that complex. So I regard him as any other. Which is about as dangerous as prodding an irritated cougar with your index finger.

“So, Granger.”

“Here we go again.”

“Relax. Just trying to start a conversation here, Granger.”

“Oh? And how is that working out for you?”

“Why don’t you tell me how you got here?”

“Why don’t you play with fire?”

“There’s no reason to be proud, here, Granger. If you haven’t noticed, we’re in a tomb.”

The thing is, he’s right. I already know why he’s here, so technically, being the fair person I am, I should tell him. But that would be the closing step in admitting defeat, and to be honest, I’m really not ready for that. On the other hand, I can’t begin to imagine how Malfoy must feel right now. For his coward to be revealed so scandalously to someone whom he loathes; I would be in ruins. Perhaps one can’t be proud when death is afoot.

“I played into a trap.”

“How did that happen? Certainly not a sink-hole in the ground, that would be too hilarious.”

He sounded excited.

“No, no sink-holes. I was on my way to work, the hospital, and I decided to cut through the alleyway right before the cobblestone crossing; you know the one. The one that leads right to that quaint little coffee bar? Well I was walking on through, when I spotted a man in Muggle clothing stumble over a crack in the pavement, and his briefcase opened and everything spilled out everywhere.

“Well, I started to help him gather everything, and I grabbed for a wristwatch, and that’s when I felt the tugging at my navel. I don’t really know what happened after that; all I know is that when I came to, I found you.”

“That wasn’t really an obvious trap, Granger. They just used your weaknesses against you.”

“Yeah, but –”

“But nothing. Any other decent person would have done the same.”

“But I should have realized.”

“Realized what, Granger? The whole point of being in disguise is so you won’t be realized.”

“The watch was old and battered; the faceplate was even cracked. I saw that it didn’t looking fitting with the rest of his belongings. What kills me is that under any other circumstance, it would be so bloody easy to trace that portkey. But it could have been made ages ago for all I know. And there is nothing suspicious about going to a cave; even Muggles go to caves.”

He made a gruff sounding noise in the pit of his throat, before (I’m almost positive) I heard him mutter, “Given the comparison it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

It scares me to imagine that Draco Malfoy possesses human emotions. I was content with my assumption that all monsters (and yes, Draco Malfoy, the coward that he is, is still and will forever be a monster) do not feel shame any longer. They do not feel. If they can commit such heinous crimes, they should not have enough human left in them to feel happy or sad.

Unfortunately the display before me contradicts this assumption. I can cope with him feeling sorry for himself; that’s not a surprise at all. Draco Malfoy’s ego is an equally powerful separate entity from the actual man himself. It’s what fuels him, I suppose. It’s groundbreaking, however, that he said the things he did. Was that him trying to comfort me, or have I begun the ‘cabin-fever’-esque hallucinations? I’m currently leaning towards the latter, only because I refuse to bring up the former in his presence. Or ever again, actually, in my entire existence, however long or short it may be. Because I’m sure as my days are numbered that was the first and last shred of remote decency I’ll witness from one Draco Malfoy. And as greedy as it is, I’d hardly like to ruin the experience.

[PART THREE]

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