It all starts when she first sees him alone. No friends. No enemies. Just him, a sketchbook, and two birds in a nest. Its the loneliness that strikes her, not like lightning, but a match. She doesn’t swoon, or fawn, or even crack a grin. Its a tiny flame of interest permeating in her thoughts. When she sees him shove a first year in the halls, or snicker idly with bad influences, her thoughts will flash to the simple boy on the edge of the forest, humming Chopin and drawing the trees. Her friends all know she’s taken a liking to him. Specifically, Luna. Her ‘inner eye’ can sense the romance brewing. Or, perhaps, she simply spoke with Theo. Its no lie that Theodore fancies Lovegood. If you look closely, you’ll see them wade in the lake just past midnight. Its a Friday night when Blaise and Draco finally manage to decode their notes. They trudge into the dormitory, moods covered in molasses. He has a faint smile of relief, knowing the weekend will be no trouble at all, until something odd catches his eye. It isn’t a mess. There isn’t anything. His desk is empty. A bubbling feeling of lava boils inside his gut, threatening to regurgitate his morning tea all over the new sheets. He spins around, platinum eyes trained onto Theo’s sleeping back. ‘YOU RAT!’ With the strength of a magnet, he hurls Theodore out of his sleep, tossing him onto the messy, boy’s dormitory carpet. ‘Draco, what-’ ‘MY LETTERS, NOTT!’ Blaise looks over, unamused. ‘Look, I-I don’t, I, we-your, Macbeth, he-’ Cool. Calm. Collected. That’s all he has to be right now. He crouched down, back straight, expression solid. There’s nothing more terrifying than peace before the storm. ‘Theodore-’ He lifts a hand, brushing away the fallen tendril of charcoal. ‘What did you do?’ ‘I was just sitting, doing my work, and then your bird, Macbeth, the Malfoy owl, the one that you trained, that’s been serving your family since your father came to Hogwarts, Macbeth, he just flew in, and then, since I had a rat’s tail, from Potions, the class we’ve been in together since year one, I gave it to him and he really liked it, so then I pet his head, and he was delivering a package, that I might have eaten a bit of, and then I told Macbeth about your letters, and how you’d never get the courage to send them, and then he just flew off.’ Silence. Draco lowered his gaze, collecting his rage, meeting his gaze, leaning in until their noses brushed. ‘That was a bad decision, Nott.’ A gulp added to the tension. ‘By tomorrow morning, Loony won’t even be able to look at you.’ Theo was finally a dead man. When she hears a rapping at her window, she knows someone is terribly wrong. Its like an omen at the beginning of a horror film, or the waves pulling back before the tsunami. Hesitantly, she flicks her wand towards the knobs, letting an unknown owl enter the room. It spins its head towards her, giant golden eyes peering into hers’, as if judging whether or not she deserved its message. Apparently she did, since Macbeth left without a hoot or stack of letters. Y/n swallowed an uneasy lump in her throat, her mind arguing with her judgement. Judgement lost. Her nimble fingers flicked to a letter with the earliest date. The wind blew into her lungs, as she opened the first of a series of stories.
It seems as though my days are monotonous. Every hour, every minute, and every second I’m swallowed into a world of grey and black. I feel trapped in an earth with no colour or love or meaning. I felt that way, at least. That was until I first saw you. I was out by my thinking tree, completely barren of idea or wonder, when I noticed a young girl weeping. Suddenly, the grey turned into pastel blue, and the black, a willowing taupe. It was muted, but it was colour. I picked up my charcoal and began sketching. My hands were moving all on their own, since I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Your hair was wild and your robes were wrinkled. Every bit of you screamed out to me, and I wanted nothing more than to pull you into my arms and sing you to sleep. But fate is not kind. Your tears diminished and your sobs stopped reaching my ears. You left the field and left my sketchbook, a half drawn girl still crying in my pages.
Draco L. Malfoy
She couldn’t know what to think. Draco Malfoy. The boy in her potions class. He’s mean, and arrogant, and an artist. He’s a gory film you want to look away from yet won’t find the strength, because your gut is disgusted but your eyes are astonished, and you can’t seem to pull away. She opens the next letter.
I won the quidditch game today! Slytherin verses Gryffindor, and I caught the snitch! I couldn’t help but look into the stands to see if you were there, and guess what? I found you! You don’t know how much it meant, seeing you cheer for me. I felt like puking up glitter and sinking into a pool of chocolate syrup. I wanted to fly loop-de-loops and scream until my lungs ached. Instead, I smiled at you, and hoped you’d notice. I want to take you flying one day. I’d be a bastard, too, and make sure to take deep dives and sharp turns, just to feel your hands clench around me. God, what I would give to feel you hold me. I’d cut off my hand if it meant getting to hold yours for eternity. If I lost my voice, I’d want to tell you I love you just one time before becoming mute for the rest of my days. Yet, the only words I’ve ever said to you were ‘thank you,’ after you passed me a lacewing fly. I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to speak to you a full sentence, or ever be brave enough to love you, but years from now, when we’re both divorced, I hope to run into you at Diagon Alley, and maybe say three words instead of two.
Truly and Unconditionally Yours,
Draco L. Malfoy
Lowering the letter, her lungs began to contract. Love- a word more powerful than any spell. She could hear her heart beating out of her ears as she began tearing the envelopes apart.
Words began popping out of the pages, letters of longing and praying and lusting and wanting surrounding her conscious like flies to a meal. As she dissected a half written letter dated on February 14th, an alarming knock shook her out of thought. ‘Y/n? There’s someone here to see you. Says he’s got a wrong to make right.’ She didn’t have to guess who it was. The second she opened the door, her eyes met an anxious boy, lips red with bight marks and brows furrowed in fear. ‘Y/n.’ ‘Draco.’ He can’t help but feel honored that she knows his name. At the same time, its met with paralleled trepidation. ‘Have you-er-gottten, or um, received-’ ‘I’ve read your letters.’ It’s a breath of release and a choked gag of horror. She knows. Is it a horrible fate that she realizes his affections, or a blessing in disguise? ‘You have.’ She lifts her gaze to him, digesting his disheveled appearance. He looks like he walked through a hurricane to make it to her door. His hair is a nest from pulling too hard on his locks, and his tie hangs limp after having tightened and loosened far too many times. For a moment, he doesn’t look like Malfoy: the bully, the bad guy, the hopeless, but instead, looks like the boy she watched sketch in the evening, with the gentle soul and kind smile. ‘Go to your tree next Friday at five, after class. I’ll have something waiting for you.’ With a soft click, her door closes, and he’s met with every horrible and remarkable emotion, flooding his ribcage all at once. He can’t know what to feel. All day, his right leg has been racing, jumping up and down in anticipation for what’s to come. When Trelawney bids the class a happy weekend, he flies out the door, legs tumbling down the castle and towards the forest. He’s surprised to find she isn’t there. No Y/n. No sign of her presence. Instead, as he makes his way to the towering oak, he finds sixty two letters, nailed to the bark. He rips them off, finding each page with different messages. His heart stops as he unfolds the first.
I read your first letter today. I could feel my lungs decompress every ounce of air once I realized your deepest desires. I can’t help but feel the same. You’re a magical human being, and the world would be dull without you. It would simply be..monotonous. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go through your sketchbook sometime. Say, right now? If you want to draw a girl smiling and kissing a handsome artist, go to the Room of Requirement. Just wish for me.
We’re all too aware of how insane magazine deadlines can be, which is why we’re amazed how editors can muster up the energy to blog in their spare time. And yet, somehow they do. This week, Nykia Spradley and Ayren Jackson-Cannady, the expert duo behind Gloss Daily, the Ladies’ Home Journal beauty blog, are on board for five days of expert tips, product recommendations, and more. First up: how to de-clutter your vanity.
There comes a point in every beauty junkie’s life when things start spiraling out of control. Your arsenal of products has the makings of an episode of “Hoarders” and the desire for more slowly outweighs any organizational judgment. It’s time for an intervention.
A few months ago we found ourselves at rock bottom. Products were spilling over everywhere. It was time to get clean. We headed to the Container Store for some assistance. Because our space is so limited, we needed something small enough to sit on a table top, but functional enough to fit everything. Here’s how it turned out.