Since everyone is doing this thing, I decided to make one myself. You know, to say thank you to all the lovely people who made my 2014 memorable and lovely, and for making my dash interesting and exciting. You guys are the best and the coolest people ever. I love every single one of you and I hope we could all talk more.
AND A MASSIVE THANK YOU FOR THOSE WHO WERE FOLLOWING ME WHEN I WAS JUST A SIDEBLOG. I can’t believe you guys are still sticking out with me until now, you people rock! :D
“Did you spend all night polishing that thing?” Kol asks through a mouthful of eggs stolen from Marcel’s plate. “It’s blinding me, Nik.”
Klaus, in between sorting through his morning mail and glancing at the Daily Prophet every so often—his face smirks at him, and he smirks back—manages a roll of his eyes. But he does, however, resist the urge to adjust the Head Boy badge pinned to his chest, the one that had offended Kol so. “Is that why you’re at the wrong table, brother?”
“I do enjoy your company.”
“Last time you sat here, you tried to spike my pumpkin juice with your experimental Veritesarum.” Klaus flicks his wand lazily and Kol’s tie tightens on its own accord: his brother gives a small choke. “So tell me, brother dear—why are you really here?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about that. I needed a test subject, you were convenient,” Kol says loftily with a slight scowl as he loosens his tie again, but his easy grin slides back onto his face soon enough. “If you must know, your table offers the best view.”
Klaus raises an eyebrow, quiet unimpressed. “For?”
The doors of the great hall creak open then, heads turn, silverware screech, whispers erupt, and Klaus catches a glimpse of powder blue. The crowd parts to allow the Beauxbatons access, and then Klaus sees—
“Her,” Kol breathes.
The her in question is curtsying along with the rest of the Beauxbaton girls Professor Saltzman addresses them, and when she straightens up her eyes flick right to where they are, like she knows they’re talking about her. Their eyes meet, and for a lost moment Klaus feels something jolt down his spine – something like electricity, something like competition.
He sends a smile that reeks acid; she scoffs and turns away to one of the long tables.
“Shit, they’re at the Ravenclaw table today!” Kol’s eyes glint mischievously: he slaps Klaus on the back once, hard, adds a hurried, “Oh, Bekah says she most definitely does not accept your apology, and you hopes you die in the First Task,” before swinging his legs over the bench and scampering back to his own seat.
Klaus narrows his eyes as the rest of the Beauxbatons pass—Caroline never once looks back at him again, and for some inane reason he feels the strangest urge to slide between Bonnie and Kol to make her.