more HP reread things: the shit you all knew was coming
the very first instance of Harry looking over at the Slytherin table to have a shufty of Draco Malfoy happens after the sorting, i.e. their VERY FIRST night of school. I cannot BELIEVE this. Harry looks over at the Bloody Baron and is like, “he’s sitting next to Malfoy! and Malfoy’s not happy about it! hahaha!!!” that’s the beginning of a puberty-long rabid obsession right there and I’m getting exceedingly misty.
it may also interest some of you to know that Harry then goes upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, goes to bed AND PROMPTLY STARTS DREAMING ABOUT MALFOY. they’ve only officially known each other for like four hours and Harry’s already having uncomfortable dreams about getting his head stuck in something and Malfoy laughing at him. this is day fucking one.
the first words out of Harry’s mouth when it’s announced that Gryffindor and Slytherin have flying lessons together are “typical. just what I always wanted. to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.” WHY is that your FIRST THOUGHT when you find out you’re gonna be FLYING A BROOMSTICK? I’ll give you one clue.
“Harry hadn’t had a single letter since Hagrid’s note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course.” of course? of course??? it’s normal that this 11-year-old boy has nothing better to do at breakfast than stare across the great hall at someone he hates??? “Draco, can you pass the marmalade?” “silence, Goyle, Potter is cracking his boiled egg!”
Harry goes to meet Draco for a midnight wizard’s duel wearing his pyjamas and a dressing gown. Draco grasses Harry up rather than actually going, but can we all please take a moment to picture his face if he’d been there to witness Harry Potter turning up to this epic death match in tartan terrycloth? thanks for your time.
Dean had always thought that a good quality comforter was the most luxurious thing to wake up under. But ever since he started waking up like this, his thoughts had changed entirely.
As sunlight gently peeked through the curtains, shining a cautious soft beam of light over the queen sized bed, Dean felt Castiel’s large, black wing loosely drooped over his body. The feathers were softer and warmer than anything a comforter could ever get him, large enough to cover his upper body and part of his legs. He smiled lazily. The feathers brushed against his bare skin as he stretched and moved around to shift closer to its owner.
Castiel lay on his back, his other wing stretched out over the edge of the bed down to the floor, his naked body exposed, blankets kicked aside in his sleep. Dean looked at him from under the wing, his fingers automatically gliding over soft raven feathers and smooth lines, known little bumps and the thicker parts.
Castiel looked peaceful. His lips were slightly parted as he slowly breathed in his steady rhythm of sleep. Dean lay there for a while, observing Cas as he let the warmth and softness of the feathers embrace him. He caressed he feathers still. Dean had been mesmerized by them ever since Castiel first exposed them. They were huge, majestic, and radiated a power Dean couldn’t compare with anything else.
And yet, they looked gentle and fragile when Cas injured them and Dean picked out the ruffled feathers. Castiel had taught Dean how to groom them and use the preen oil, an activity Dean found himself to enjoy, often compared with soft chatting. Sometimes a movie would be playing in the background as they sat on the floor and Dean plucked feathers, pressing kisses in the crook of Castiel’s neck.
Sometimes, Dean would take it a step further with his massages, out to get the little whimpers and groans from Castiel. He’d ended up with a panting, desperate Castiel several times, Dean’s hands full of feathers and his own body filled with arousal.
He loved it all. The quiet moments, the loud ones, the moments when Castiel held Dean with his wing or when they lay on the couch, curled up together with Castiel’s wings wrapped around them. Dean couldn’t get enough of them.
Castiel muttered softly and stirred, his eyes opening slowly.
The wing draped over Dean fluttered and shifted in Dean’s fingers. Cas turned to look at Dean, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The angel smiled.
“Morning sunshine,” Dean whispered and his own lips curved as well. Castiel made a soft noise and shifted closer. He stretched his wings for a moment, then covered Dean with his right one again and pulled him closer with the wrist of his wing.
“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel muttered, his primary feathers rustling. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah,” he answered and pressed a sloppy kiss to Castiel’s unshaven jaw. “How couldn’t I, hm?” He slipped his fingers into the pack of feathers carefully, and Cas smiled again.
“You seem to enjoy my wings a lot.” They moved again.
“I think they’re beautiful, you know that.”
Castiel shifted and pulled his wing in, gesturing his head. Dean understood and he got up so Cas could slide his wing under Dean. As soon as Dean sank down into the feathers, Castiel pulled him closer.
Dean’s naked body pressed softly against Cas, covered by the angel’s wing and casting a shadow over their faces.
Dean kissed Castiel’s jaw again, pressed a few more kisses down his neck and shoulder.
The wings replied to the touch, shifting and shuddering when Dean softly nibbled on the skin.
“It’s rare for an angel to show his wings this… casually.” Castiel spoke, his voice still thick with sleep. His eyes were closed again, enjoying Dean’s kisses. “It’s only for… special occasions. And special people.”
Dean looked up and feathers softly brushed over the back of his head and Cas looked back. He softly rested his hand on Dean’s waist. “You’re special, Dean.”
Dean didn’t know how to reply, shy suddenly. He smiled a coy grin and pecked Castiel’s lips.
“Think I’m glad about that.” He muttered, shifting back into the feathers. This was how Sunday’s had to feel, he thought. Calm and peaceful and warm and right.
He found Castiel’s hand and tangled their fingers together.
“Maybe we should get up for some coffee soon. I’m sure Sam’s already awake.” Dean whispered, his eyes closed.
“Probably,” Cas answered. “Just- not yet.”
Dean hummed in agreement and gently slid his free hand through the silky feathers. He didn’t want to think about the case they were working on or the monsters they had to fight. Not yet. Just a few more minutes.
It’s no small feat. It took a leader hiding pain and exhaustion under a careless laugh, an artist brimming with inspiration despite his tears, a friend with a big heart and warm hands to take away the difficult times; a dreamer with ambition and hope to inspire confidence, and an intelligent soul with the wisdom to make the tough decisions in a midst of awe and confusion, to paint this canvas. Here is to five incredible men who work so hard to fill the voids in our hearts with holes in their own. Here is to five brave men who stand to fight the odds again. Here is to Highlight.