A little bit of silly fluff to celebrate our favourite wizard’s 35th birthday <3 Also happy 50th birthday to the magnificent JK Rowling! 

Harry’s birthday plans get cancelled last minute, good job Draco is there to step in. 

2.7K words, no smut, just silly feels.  


  “Well,” said Harry, flicking slime off his hands.  “That went well.”

  Draco laughed as they strode through the Ministry, ignoring the stares they were getting as they headed back down to their office in the Auror’s Department. As the most successful pairing in the division they were used to heads turning when they went by, even when they weren’t covered head to toe in Dragon mucus.

  “How was I supposed to know she had a cold?” he chuckled, attempting in vain to pull thick globules out of his fine blond hair.  “Charlie Weasley owes me a beer.”

  “I think he owes us a crate,” Harry said as they reached the elevators and he pressed the button for their floor, trying not to smear too much phlegm everywhere.

  Draco blew out a lungful of air and checked his watch as the cage began to rattle downwards.  “At least we’re done for the day,” he said.  “And it’s a Friday, it doesn’t get much better than that.”

  Harry agreed, though he hoped this day would get slightly better once it involved less gunk.

  Having been in the field all day, it was the first chance he and Draco had had to go back to the office they shared as partners.  Draco reached the door first, but he held it open for Harry.  “After you,” he said, a suspicious glint in his eye.

  Harry only had a second to ponder what that could mean before he stepped forward and realised with a mild amount of horror exactly what it meant.  “Oh you bastard,” he breathed, half amused, half exasperated to death.  “I thought it had been awfully quiet this year.”

  Despite his best efforts to keep it private, Harry’s birthday was a very well known date in the magical community.  Even all these years after the war, he was still inundated with all manner of cards, presents, chocolates, wine, even – he shuddered – underwear.  It was almost as bad as Valentine’s day, when his and Draco’s desks would equally fall under attack from admirers.  

  But this year there hadn’t been much of a peep for Harry’s birthday, and he’d been stupid enough to relax.  “You’ve been hording it,” he challenged Draco, who could barely contain his mirth as several brightly coloured envelopes started flying around his head to a chorus of “Happy birthday to you!”  

  “I thought you’d enjoy it all at once,” Draco grinned, clearly very pleased with the mountain of gifts he’d been able to cultivate.  “That way you won’t miss the good ones!”

  “You mean weed out the insane ones,” Harry drawled, stepping carefully inside as more excitable presents attacked him, begging to be opened.  

  “Now, now,” Draco admonished, picking up a lumpy pink mess of paper, spell-o-tape and bows.  “I’m sure your adoring fans would be very sad to hear that.”

  Harry grumbled and rubbed his temples.  “I’m dousing you in dragon snot all over again for this.”  He turned in a circle and tried to take in the massive pile that spilled well off his desk, all over the floor and even encroached onto Draco’s side of the room.  “I might have actual presents hidden in there, from actual friends!”

  Draco flicked his wand with a quick Tergeo spell that sucked off all the gloop from them both, and disposed of it safely in a Ministry approved refuse bag.  “Ahh,” he said, flashing Harry a smile.  “That’s better.”

  “Yeah oaky,” sighed Harry, and he was right, it was more comfortable, but he was also still maddened by Draco’s prank.  “I’m less sticky, but you’re not off the hook.”

  Draco pouted and blinked his eyes dramatically, but just as he was going to speak their fireplace roared to life, and the familiar sight of Hermione Granger’s bushy hair filled the grate instead.  “Harry!” she cried, stressed but clearly trying to hide it.  “Happy birthday!  How’s your day been?”

  He looked over at Draco, who smirked triumphantly back at him.  “Slippery,” he said, which just made his partner crack up further.  “How are you, is everything okay?”

  “Oh,” he said, and he could practically see her wringing her hands on the other end. “Er, well, not great actually.” She let out a gasp that was almost a sob.  “Oh Harry I’m so sorry! Rosie’s come down with spattergroit and Hugo’s teething and Ron has to work late and I don’t think we can have you round for your birthday!”

  “Hey, hey,” Harry assured her, waving his hands as she looked like she might cry. “Hermione, it’s fine, I’m having drinks with everyone tomorrow anyway, we’ll just cancel tonight, okay?”  He shrugged.  “I mean, I’m thirty five, not five, I can postpone my birthday by a day.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked anxiously.  “I feel terrible.”

  Harry shook his head.  “Don’t give it a second thought,” he told her.  “Go look after the kids, I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow instead yeah?”

  She sagged in relief.  “Yes, yes definitely, oh thank you Harry, we’ll make it up to you I promise.”

  After several more assurances that he was alright, Hermione’s head finally disappeared and the flames went back down to normal again.  Harry sighed.  The truth was he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed; he always spent his actual birthday with his best friends, then had a get together with everyone else on another night.  He supposed he shouldn’t be selfish, he never had birthdays at all as a child.

  “What are you going to do instead?” Draco asked, making him jump.  He’d actually forgotten his partner was there.  

  “Erm,” said Harry and scratched the back of his head.  Draco’s spell had worked perfectly well, but he still sort of felt like he needed a shower.  “Not sure really.”  He shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll probably just head home.”

  Draco looked incredulous.  “It’s a Friday, we finally just got de-gunked, and it’s your birthday.  You can’t just go home and mope.”

  “I wasn’t planning on moping,” Harry said with a roll of the eye.  It was sort of true.  

  Draco seemed to know this.  “Really?” he said with an arch of an eyebrow.  

  Harry flapped his hands about.  “Well, I’m not really sure what else to do, unless you want to-?”

  Oh no. He’d started asking Draco if he wanted to go out for a drink.  Just the two of them.  That was in strict violation of the you-can’t-socialise-with-your-partner-because-you-fancy-the-pants-off-him rule.  Harry froze.

  Draco however didn’t miss a beat.  “Well of course I’d like to hang out,” he said scornfully.  “We can’t have you all alone on your birthday, can we?”

  “Oh,” Harry breathed, his heart thumping in his chest.  Be cool! he scolded himself. “Brilliant, well, cheers mate.” He smiled, genuinely relieved.  If he could get through this and keep his hands to himself, then he wouldn’t have to suffer through a lonely birthday.  “Shall we head down the Harpy?” he asked, referring to the pub down the road that Ministry employees like to haunt.  

  Draco laughed.  “And risk running into more of your adoring fans?”  He picked up a parcel that Harry was pretty certain was smoking.  

  “Oh yeah, maybe not,” he agreed.  There was a reason he always hid around Ron and Hermione’s on July 31st.  

  “Why don’t you come back to mine?” Draco asked, and Harry’s insides ran cold.  “We can do dinner, I’ll let you have some of my indecently expensive wine, put the radio on and moan about our inept colleagues. Sound fun?”

  It sounded like a proper dinner date, and Harry forgot how to talk for a moment. But he was a Gryffindor at heart, and a Gryffindor’s greatest trait was their bravery.

  “Sounds excellent,” he said with a beaming smile.  “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  Draco grinned as they picked up their belongings to go home for the weekend. Harry decided he would just come back and deal with his daunting pile of presents on Monday.  “My pleasure,” said Draco with a wicked grin as he locked the door behind them.  “It’ll also give me the added bonus of bragging rights for getting to entertain The Boy Who Lived on his birthday,” he said with a wink, and Harry’s stomach flipped again.  Was that…was he actually flirting with him?  He and Draco ribbed each other all the time at work, but on the way to visiting Draco’s home for the first time, it suddenly seemed a lot more intimate.  

  They Flooed from the main atrium to Draco’s London flat, and Harry stood in awe for a second, taking in the enormous duplex.  “Alright, get it over with,” Draco chided, taking Harry’s jacket from him. “Tell me how ridiculous it is.”

  It wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.  Unlike the generations-old Malfoy Manor, Draco’s open plan flat was all glass and chrome, with an entire wall of windows that looked down from the umpteenth floor over the Thames.  “Wow,” was all he could say, and Draco sniggered.  

  “Come on birthday boy,” he said, kicking his shoes off and dropping their coats on the sofa. “What can I get you – beer? Wine?”  He wiggled his eyebrows.  “Sex on the Beach?”

  He was definitely flirting!  Harry swallowed and shook his head with a grin.  “Later darling,” he bantered back.  “I’ll take a glass of wine thanks.”

  “How about prosecco?” Draco suggested, sauntering into his highly polished kitchen and fetching a bottle from the magically chilled larder.  “It is a special occasion after all.”

  Harry took a seat on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar and drummed his hands. “Yes it is,” he announced, feeling more confident.  “I’ve managed to make it to thirty five whole years without dying – I think that’s pretty impressive.”

  Draco snorted as he popped the cork on the bubbly.  “You’re telling me,” he said, filling two flutes.  “I’m the one that has to pull your arse out of the fire on a weekly basis.  I’d have less trouble partnering a troll.”

  “I’m prettier than a troll though,” Harry said, taking the drink Draco offered.  

  He arched a blond eyebrow.  “Debatable,” he teased, clinking his glass with Harry’s.  “Happy birthday,” he said sincerely.  “May you have many more.”

  Harry just smiled a little shyly and took a sip.  “So,” he said, before he could embarrass himself.  “Have you ever actually once cooked in this kitchen?”

  Draco guffawed.  “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

  Harry laughed too and took another sip.  He hadn’t had lunch he realised, and the bubbles were going straight to his head. “So this,” he said, waggling his glass. “Is dinner then?”

  Draco came and sat on the seat next to him.  “Well, if you’re going to be such a princess about it,” he sighed.  “There’s an exquisite Thai place that does delivery.”

  “I love Thai,” Harry enthused, which got a strange look from Draco.

  “I know you do,” he said, and knocked his knee affectionately into Harry’s.

  Harry blinked.  “Well, fantastic, can we order now, I’m starving.”  Draco shook his head good humouredly and summoned a menu.  “Oh bugger, I don’t know if I’ve got cash,” Harry said suddenly, patting his pockets.

  This earned him a smack round the head with the menu from Draco.  “I’m buying, you pillock,” he berated.  “It’s your birthday.”

  “Oh,” said Harry, a little goofy.  “Right, okay, thanks.”

  They ordered far too much food, but Draco insisted and everything looked so good Harry just wanted to try as much as possible.  They sent the order off with Draco’s eagle owl, and then topped up their glasses with more prosecco.  “Let me show you the view,” Draco said, and hopped off his stool to walk over to the balcony beyond the floor length windows.  

  The sun was only just starting to set over the London skyline, and a warm breeze touched Harry’s skin as he stepped out into the open.  “Wow,” he said again, his vocabulary shrinking the more bubbly he sipped down.  “It’s beautiful.”

  They stood against the railing for a while in comfortable silence, watching tourist boats trundle down the river and listening to the soft hum of traffic wafting up from the streets.  “I feel bad,” Draco said abruptly, causing Harry to turn his head in confusion.

  “You feel bad buying me dinner?” he asked.

  He meant it as a joke, but Draco fiddled with the stem of his glass, almost nervously. “No you half-wit,” he said, more in character again.  “I feel bad you didn’t actually get any presents today.”

  He was right, Harry realised.  “Oh that’s alright,” he said with a shrug, and he meant it.  “Most of that lot will be a load of rubbish anyway, besides, I got an armful of dragon goo, what more could I want?”

  Draco laughed, but the nerves were back again, and Harry did his best not to frown. “I, uh,” said Draco.  “Actually have a present for you, if you want?”

  There was no fighting it now, Harry was nervous too.  “Who says no to a present!” he cried, hoping the squeak in his voice didn’t betray him.  

  Draco nodded, then took another gulp of his prosecco.  “Okay…” he said firmly.  “You, um, you need to close your eyes.”

  Harry broke out into a sweat.  “Okay,” he said evenly.

  “Trust me,” Draco said, placing his glass on the small table next to them, before taking Harry’s and doing the same.  “Close your eyes.”

  Harry exhaled softly.  What was the worst that could happen?  There was a time he would have been seriously worried about Draco throwing him over the railings, but Draco was his partner, Draco was his friend.

  Draco was everything.

  Hands awkwardly by his sides, Harry let his eyes fall shut, nerves tingling with anticipation.  He felt Draco move back in front of him, then cautiously take his hands in his own, presumably to put something in them.  There was a pause, and then…

  Draco gently brushed his lips against Harry’s.

  The shock was like a cold bucket of water over the head.  Draco was kissing him.  Draco was kissing him!  But even through the haze, Harry was able to realise that if he didn’t do something soon, Draco was going to misinterpret and think it was unwelcome.

  Slowly, he leaned closer in, moving his mouth just a fraction, holding Draco’s hands tighter in his own.  A moan escaped his throat, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

  He dropped one of Draco’s hands to seize the back of his neck, his fingers carding through his beautifully soft hair as his tongue pressed forward in search of Draco’s to bring them even closer together.  Draco used his now free hand to slip in around Harry’s waist, pulling them flush as the kiss deepened.  In the end, it was only the need to breath that broke them apart.

  “Merlin,” Harry panted, his eyes searching Draco’s grey ones.  “Where did that come from?”

  Draco brushed some of Harry’s wayward hair back.  “That,” he said with a shy smile that just about melted Harry’s heart. “Came from a decade or two’s worth of cowardly pining.  That should have happened a very long time ago.”

  “Damn right it should have,” Harry grinned, both arms around Draco’s back.  “Do you think…maybe it could happen again?”

  Draco’s answer was another slow and tender kiss, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of Harry’s face.  “It can happen as often as you like,” he said, lacing kisses down his neck.  “You are the birthday boy after all.”  

  “And after my birthday?” Harry asked playfully.

  Draco rocked them back and forth.  “Whenever you want me,” he said softly.

  “So,” said Harry biting his lip as he grinned.  “All the time?  How does all the time sound?”

  Draco laughed, relief and happiness shining in his eyes as he dipped his head back down for another kiss.  “Good present then?” he asked.

  “The best,” Harry promised.

  “Good,” said Draco.  “Because I was going to crack a joke about getting you some of this dragon’s goo-”

  “Eww!”” Harry cried out, smacking his arm.

  “But I decided,” Draco carried on through his laughter.  “To be boring and romantic instead.”

  Harry cupped his face and rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone.  “There’s nothing boring about this present,” he insisted, and leaned in to claim some more of it.  



beekeepercain loves Sam+coffee so I tried my hand at a Drabble

Big hands easily encircled the ceramic cup, lifting it to pink lips. Stubble from a man tired from more than just waking up early surrounded those pink lips that parted to greedily slip at bitter black liquid. Normally Sam would be out running, but this morning it felt more like a lazy day, if Winchesters could ever have a lazy day. Dean still slumbered away as Sam padded into the library. The warm steam of freshly brewed coffee filled Sam’s nose and he sighed deeply. He flopped down into a seat and flipped open the laptop to research the latest case. With each tap of his fingers and shift in the seat, the coffee moved in ripples.

Soon Sam picked the cup up, only to see a minuscule amount of coffee left in the bottom. In his focus of researching he hadn’t realized he’d drank up all of the coffee. Standing, bones popping as he stretched, he quickly strode back to the kitchen, long legs engulfing the distance easily. He reached for the still warm coffee and took his time pouring it into his cup, hearing the thudding of Dean’s feet into the kitchen. Dean was often less quiet when he just gets up. Sam turned and watched as he sat down and rubbed the heels of his palm into his eyes.

“Coffee?” Sam queried, gently swirling his coffee around in his cup.

Dean made a grunt, and Sam took that as a yes, turning to grab another cup. The cups were in a high self, but due to his massive size Sam easily grabbed one. For the third time that morning he grabbed the coffee to pour it into a cup. He turned and took the two steps to reach the table and place the cup down in front of his brother. Dean swooped it up and took a sip, sighing as the warmth and caffeine filled his sleep burdened body. Sam returned to the counter to lean the small of his back against it, holding his warm beverage close to his chest with half lidded eyes. He enjoyed peaceful mornings like these.

Keep Calm And Solve Murders | Chapter 3 | Investigation End

“A-Are you sure they’re ready? T-They’ve been fighting… s-so much…”

“Of course they are. Well… if they aren’t, then that’s their own fault.”

Clearing his throat, he turned to face the gaggle of people on the beach.

“Alas, it is that time, my friends. Bring your bottle, or whatever’s left of it, and meet me at the ice cream parlor. Understood?”

With that he strode off, the girl in tow.

anonymous asked:

He strode across the room. He leaned over and whispered "hi my name is Aris". And then "I think you're cute". Heya, three sentence fanfic for you :)

Omg this is awesome !! Thanks anon ! Now I’ll fangirl in a corner

Ginny and Harry’s shared sense of humor


“Ah, there’s Penelope!” said Percy, smoothing his hair and going pink again. Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn’t miss his shiny badge.


“Well, hello there!” he [Lockhart] said. “I expect you’d like my autograph, would you?”

“Hasn’t changed much, has he?” Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.


“Daddy sold it to them,” said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler. “He got a very good price for it, too, so we’re going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer to see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, “That sounds lovely.” Ginny caught Harry’s eye and looked away quickly, grinning.


“E is always so thoughtful,” purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill’s nose. Ginny mimed vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry choked over his cornflakes, and Ron thumped him on the back.


On the landing he bumped into Ginny, who was returning to her room carrying a pile of freshly laundered clothes.

“I wouldn’t go in the kitchen just now,” she warned him. “There’s a lot of Phlegm around.”

“I’ll be careful not to slip in it.” Harry smiled.


This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.


“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —”

“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —”

Harry forced himself not to laugh.


Harry heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, “Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry.”

Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly.


Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle sped toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, kept them all highly amused. Harry, laughing with the others, was glad to have an innocent reason to look at Ginny […]


“Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.”

Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning. “And what did you tell her Ron’s got?”

“A Pygmy Puff, but I didn’t say where.”

Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.

[Notice how Harry set her up for that joke]


“She’s [Fleur’s] not that bad,” said Harry. “Ugly, though,” he added hastily, as Ginny raised her eyebrows, and she let out a reluctant giggle.


Harry turned away, smiling to himself. He had a funny notion that he would find a chapter on compliments when he found time to peruse his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches; he caught Ginny’s eye and grinned at her before remembering his promise to Ron and hurriedly striking up a conversation with Monsieur Delacour.


“Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again.

submitted by not-sis-strider

    Dave grimaced as he examined himself in the bathroom mirror, leaning onto the sink to get a closer look at the splotchy bruise already forming on his jaw, that shallow, ragged cut that had missed his eye by an inch. His glasses lay forgotten on the edge of the sink, one of the lenses shattered completely and the other cracked beyond repair. This certainly wasn’t the first fight he’d gotten himself into (antagonizing stupid people is just so tempting sometimes), but it had been the worst one in a while, and he’s just lucky the bastard he’d gotten into it with had no idea how to throw a punch. Dave suspects the idiot broke something in his hand.

    Grumbling to himself, the blonde tugs off his ruined shirt, about half of the blood staining it belonging to him and the other half to his opponent. This really wouldn’t be that big of a deal- none of the cuts from the pansy-ass pocket knife were deep enough to require stitches, and he hadn’t broken or even displaced anything as far as he could tell. He was bruised all to hell, but there’s nothing to be done about those anyway. No, the problem is that today is Wednesday, and Bro gets off work early on Wednesdays, which means he could be home any minute-

     The bloodied boy curses out loud when he hears the familiar sound of the apartment door cracking open, Bro letting his keys clatter into the junk bowl in the kitchen, the twin snaps as he removes his beloved fingerless gloves. The bathroom door is locked, but that never stops Bro, especially not in his own damn apartment. There’s footsteps in the hall that stop outside the bathroom door, heavier because Dave’s guardian hasn’t removed his shoes yet, and then Bro’s familiarly deep voice:

    “Dave? Ya in there, kid? You din’ drown, did ya?”

    The youngest Strider curses again, under his breath this time, and leans against the door as if that would do anything to stop Bro if he really wanted to get in. “Yes, Bro, I’m in here, no I didn’t drown, can you go away now?”

    “I’m hurt, Davey, truly hurt. Don’t you want to give your big bro a welcome home kiss? You’re not dying in there, are you?”

    “Fuck, no, just-” The words cut out with a small noise of pain from the smaller blonde, when he shifts just the wrong way and a rib that is probably bruised gives an angry throb of pain, demanding to be paid attention to.

    And then the bathroom door is banging open and Dave has to stumble forward to avoid getting hit by it, Bro standing in the doorway while he assesses the situation. His eyes flick to the crumpled shirt on the ground, the forming bruises all over Dave’s bare torso, the occasional shallow cut. There’s indents from gravel on the boy’s cheek, and dirt in his white-blonde hair.

    Dave watches as his brother’s expression shifts minutely, twists, can see the righteous anger in his eyes even as he steps closer to examine Dave himself. He sucks in a sharp breath when roaming, calloused fingers prod at tender bruises, grunting softly when the older of the pair uses a little too much force in checking to make sure no bones were broken. Bro is practically shaking now, and he looks like he’s ready to murder someone.

    “Bro, come on, it’s not that-”

    “Who the hell did this to you? Goddamnit, Dave, you can’t keep starting shit with people! You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.” Bro reprimands, eyes hard. Dave swallows thickly, because no matter what happens between them, Bro always has the ability to make him feel small again, make him feel ashamed.

    “Seriously, Bro, you’ve done worse to me in the past! I’ll be fine, okay? Chill.”

    Bro ignores him in favor of making him sit on the edge of the bathtub, shuffling things around under the sink until he finds the first-aid kit. When he finds it, he turns around again in the tiny space available and squats down in front of his injured brother. Before he can start to take out any of the supplies he’ll need, Dave reaches out and pulls him close, connects their lips gently. The kiss is brief, and a few second later, Dave pulls away an inch or so, looking into Bro’s orange eyes. 

    “Bro. Calm down, okay? You’re gonna patch me up and I’ll be fine, I promise. No need to panic.”

    Finally, the spiky-haired Strider nods and withdraws from his brother’s grasp to return to his job of making sure Dave doesn’t die from infection, pulling out antiseptic and bandages. He wets a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol, goes after the cut that almost got Dave’s red eye. The younger blonde grabs the offending hand before it can reach though, and Bro raises an eyebrow.

    “What the hell, dude, you gotta kiss it better first. Otherwise the magic won’t work and my fair maiden heart surely will cease to beat. Or some shit.”

    Bro gives him a look that clearly says ‘are you fucking serious right now’, but Dave just smirks at him and raises an eyebrow when his brother doesn’t move.

    “Chop chop, bro, one smooch for each boo-boo.”

    Finally, the older man leans forward and presses his lips against the jagged cut, and it stings a little, but it’s definitely worth it. Then he does swab it with the alcohol and holy shit, he doesn’t care how many times he has to clean a cut, alcohol always hurts like a bitch. Bro does the same for all of Dave’s wounds, dressing each in a self-adhesive bandage, and even deigns to bestow a kiss on some of the forming bruises. When he’s all done and everything is put away, the ruined shirt tossed in the trash, and his torn up knuckles kissed and treated as well, Bro scoops his brother up in his arms with a squawk of protest from said brother and carries him like a fucking princess all the way to his bed, where he lays Dave down gingerly and then crawls in next to him, still dressed. Dave sighs contentedly, curling into his brother’s broad chest and comfortable warmth, letting his eyes slip shut. They lay like that for a few minutes, neither speaking or doing much of anything but enjoying being in contact with the other.

    Until Bro broke it: “So, are you going to tell me how you got into this massive fight?”

“Dude, have you heard about the Slytherin and Hufflepuff guys who were caught together under the pitch?”

“Man, everyone’s talking about them, of course I have. Do you know who they are?”

“Not really, but I think I heard Aaron say that the Slytherin’s name was Castiel.”

“Holy shit, like Lucifer’s little brother? I heard he nearly put a fifth year in the infirmary during his first year because they were bullying another first year.”

“Yeah, I heard the first year was a puff, too. He also started a non-bullying campaign.”

“So maybe this kid’s actually the Hufflepuff, not the Slytherin?”

“No man, I totally heard Aaron say Castiel, and I don’t think there are a ton of people with that name here.”

“Well I mean- Oh shit, that’s him!”

The two third years turned away as Castiel strode through the hallway. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t hear the whispers that followed him, it was that he simply didn’t care. He’d learned to not worry about them half way through his second year. There always seemed to be something about him to talk about, whether about him standing up for himself and others, his brothers being, well, his brothers, or just that he was a Slytherin. He walked past them without sparing them a glance.

“Dude. Dude. He was wearing a yellow scarf.”

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