a slight shine ran over mundungus’ eyes as he flipped through an excessively annotated version of advanced potion making. his scrawling handwriting filled the margins, shoddily sketched diagrams placed carefully around the passages. he’d been working to get his hands on ashwinder egg for months, finally buying one off a visiting “salesman” in knockturn. it cost him an arm and a leg, but he could sell the FELIX FELICIS for triple that, if he could get it right. the ravenclaw placed the frozen egg on a cutting board, giving the prepped cauldron a bit of a stir and opening a bit of horseradish. he was about to place the egg in the cauldron when the door behind him creaked open, causing him to jump and turn momentarily.
“i, uh, sorry — ” he began his apology, stopping only
when he caught something bright orange pluming in
his periphery. “oh, for FUCK’S sake!” he exclaimed,
jerking around to see the ashwinder egg aflame before
him. he produced his wand, shooting a quick augamenti
at the fire. once it was successfully smothered, he pressed
his hands against the table in front of him and hung his
head. “what d’you need?” mundungus asked, letting his
head tilt back up to face the ceiling.
“that’s exactly what i feel like, mun!” she startled
at his phrasing, narrowing her eyes slightly, “ok…
that wasn’t ever on the table… but… yeah? it is?
mun, you’re funny and smart and creative and pretty
much AMAZING! and i’ve felt like freaking bambi
being around you, sliding around on the ice. and
you don’t laugh or judge and you just help me back
up and… people don’t do that. not for nothing.
but… you… you… just…”
i can’t be enough. just me on my own… i’m not worth all this kindness.
“i just feel like the other shoe’s going to dr-”
eleanor blinked, interrupted as he bopped her on the nose with the light, and she couldn’t help but come back to herself. blushing lightly in the orb light, she tucked her hair behind her ear and ducked her head.
“yeah… sorry… got caught up for a second there.”
despite her initial reservations, she leaned down and kissed his forehead before smiling and wiping off the small amount of lipstick that had transferred to his face with her thumb.
“i needed that. thanks for… lightening the mood.”
she rubbed the dittany in a little firmer, wiggling her eyebrows
briefly at him before chuckling softly behind him.
“get it?”
mundungus smiled amusedly. if anything, she should’ve been making him nervous;; not the other way around. but still he grinned as she rambled on about being BAMBI and sliding around on the ice, as if he himself was some sort of treachery. he’d never really thought about the fact that their friendship made her so insecure;; that she was the once questioning whether he actually liked her. he’d kind of thought she’d just been along for the weed, but when she started asking about alexandra and crying over his face it became clear that there was more to it. why HAD he kept letting her practically rob him blind, though? he never made her pay for weed or anything, and he truly did enjoy talking to her.
“'course,” he said, dismissive, and then
she kissed his forehead and every muscle
in his body froze for just a minute. “you really
haven’t got to worry about it, elle. you’re just
as fucking fantastic. you know how many times
fab asked if you’re doing charity work and hanging
out with me? too many.”
her lips were soft against his skin, a contrast so stark he could feel it in his bones. he swallowed thickly and tried to ignore how aggressively his heart had started beating. and then she was pressing soft fingers hard against his skin, and he cringed.
“oi,” he chastised. “you’re just as bad
at healing as you are with puns.”
elle hid because she was afraid of the P O W E R that people had over her if they knew. her parents knew her true self a long time, and they’d used it to exploit her. to keep her under their thumb, afraid of their disapproval. a friend had it once… and he’d let her down, made her feel stupid and worthless. what would the rest do if they knew who she was? she hated fighting. she hated being confronted and insulted and put down. she was never quick enough at insults or sniping, so she just lived to avoid them. she lived to be the version of herself that was best suited to the person she was talking to. sometimes the changes were minute, just a swallowed opinion or a hidden emotion here and there. other times, like with regulus for example, she had to completely transform into a person she didn’t necessarily like. but with mun… she’d always gotten the feeling that… the version best suited to talking to him… was just HERSELF. that he’d like… her BEST. she’d never met anyone like that before.
“you get nothing out of this, y’know.” she said softly,
pulling away slightly to go back to rubbing the dittany
where it belonged, especially because she’d wiped
off too much from the hug. “you don’t get money or…
perks… or… mun, no one even really knows we’re
friends. i… i don’t do anything for you, and i feel terrible
because… you give so much to me… and i don’t know.
you could be like this to everyone you sell to… and i
could be reading into it… and… and i’m babbling.
…literally, mun, shut me up any time.”
she wanted to kiss his cheek or his forehead after what he’d said, but she was used to friends with major physical boundaries, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment. still, how long had it been since she’d had a friend she could be casually physically affectionate with?
it was easy to mistake mundungus for someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, but that would be quite incorrect. though he was quite capable of showing and accessing his emotions, he kept a good bit of them hidden somewhere no one could hurt them. he’d learned this early as a child;; men are supposed to be emotionless. he’d taken to it quickly, knowing that if he shared even the smallest inkling of feeling he’d be ridiculed by his peers. this was, in a sense, similar to eleanor’s approach, though hers seemed quite a bit more like a costume or a chameleon tactic that anything else. he let out a bit of a laugh at her statement.
“what in blue blazes — ” he furrowed his eyebrows.
“chrissake, eleanor, you’re not a bloody parasite.
if you were, i promise, i’d fuckin’ tell you. and if
you’re trying to imply something here, m’not gonna
let you whore yourself out for weed. i just like havin’
you around, greengrass. that such a stretch?”
and he meant it. mundungus could still feel, though, a certain amount of tension in the air, and focused on one of the light orbs, bringing it down and bopping her softly on the nose, letting it float beside her to give her a bit more light.
The blow to Mundungus’s face was the only one Amycus had intended on throwing. He still wasn’t planning on another unless the ravenclaw decided to stupidly run his mouth, because that would change his mind in a second. Reaching out, he grabbed the collar of Mundungus’s shirt, pulling him up so they were face to face. If he really wanted to, he would’ve pulled the other boy up more so they were at the same height, but instead he left him a few inches lower. Amycus lowered his voice, ice taking over the blue in his irises as he glared at him. “If you ever even consider dealing anything else to Evan Rosier, I swear on my life that I will do a lot worse than bruise your face,” he hissed before pushing him away. “The shit you gave him last time nearly made him claw himself out of his own skin. So you best stay clear of him, or I will find you.”
mundungus swallowed thickly, now face to face with possibly one of the most intimidating humans to attend hogwarts ( other than minerva mcgonagall ), being blamed for he didn’t know what. the look of confusion on his face was all too prominent, bruised and bloodied features contorted to express his disbelief. he tried not to let amycus know that every time he breathed a taste of his own blood spilled into his mouth or that being this close to him was physically terrifying and he now had no doubt the boy could kill him just by thinking about it.
“wha — evan rosier?” mundungus shook
his head, eyebrows scrunched up. “christ,
is this about the potion? wasn’t even gonna
sell the shit to him, but he threatened to, in
his words, skewer me like a human kabob
if i didn’t, so i was kind of stuck between a
rock and a hard place, so to speak.” he
smoothed out his shirt, looking at amycus
with as much of a warning glance as he
could muster. “ended up just takin’ it from
me and putting down a couple galleons.”
eleanor considered him briefly, her eyes unsure and worried… but eventually they softened, and she brushed one curl off his forehead.
“alright, mun… I TRUST YOU.”
just the words she needed, though she hated herself for them. he was… the only person that she hadn’t lied to. the only one she’d never manipulated. but to trust that he wouldn’t do the same to her. that he wouldn’t take her honesty and her truest self and fuck her over… that was a lot to ask of someone. especially when she had no clue whether he held the same regard for her.
“… i probably just seem like this…
clingy buyer to you… if this is more
than you signed up for, you really
just have to let me know.” she mused
softly, embarrassed.
they were marvelous. defined and larger than she’d expected from the way he slumped against the world… perhaps the workout came from the way he always had the world on his shoulders. maybe his back was broad and strong and powerful because of the way he had to carry too much weight for any one student. maybe the weed released him from that burden, even if only for a moment. she didn’t dare ask… but her hands didn’t stop their light paths.
“GOOD.” her voice firm and assertive. “don’t.”
and her thumb swiped his shoulder where
patches of his embarrassment had turned his
neck pink. “just, don’t go, mun. i… i like this
friendship.”
( I TRUST YOU. )
her words felt like an added weight upon the world he already held on his shoulders, shoulders that she traced her fingers upon, building continents and dividing nations;; shoulders that almost didn’t mind the burden. she brought empires that spanned the width of his back to their knees, soft fingertips like iron blades. he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her body as his lungs filled and deflated, trying to regulate his heartbeat. he wasn’t sure what to make of eleanor greengrass. there were days when she seemed fake and painted onto the world, like one of those cartoons al loved so much, but then there were some — LIKE THIS ONE — where she seemed so genuine that it almost pained him. she hid beneath layers of masks and facepaint and shadowy veils, but there was someone so REAL underneath it all. he wondered why she hid that part of herself.
“what?” he asked in disbelief. in no
world was she just some CLINGY
BUYER to him;; in no world was she
not someone who had walked into his
life on a whim and taken up a strange
and wonderful residence there. “elle,
fuck, of course not.”
he took a brief moment to wonder exactly what it was that made her think he wouldn’t want her around. she’d said it herself, he bordered on being TOO NICE to her, so he supposed it wasn’t the way he acted, but possibly something ingrained in purebloods. perhaps she was made to feel like a burden. he wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her that she wasn’t, but instead he just let her keep holding him, as if holding someone together would solve her problems.
friendship. “yeah, uh, me too. can’t
get rid of me that easy.”
OF COURSE, she cared. how could she not care? he cared about her, didn’t he? this was a mutual thing. and his hands on her face were as gentle and tender as she could have dreamed, to a point where her tears had slowed, and she blinked watery eyes open at him. all she could manage was a soft smile to thank him, and a soft caress of his good cheek to let him know she wouldn’t leave. for an infinite moment, he looked at her and it felt like anything was possible. it felt like a guy with a good heart and a kind soul could look at her and see something B E A U T I F U L that had nothing to do with her face. but the moment passed as his hand fell, and so did hers.
“… you NEVER lie to me, mun. don’t start now.”
amycus would never hurt her. she had so much faith in that. he had saved her from falling from a tree, protected her from a lot of inadvertent pain… he’d never cause her pain in turn. not physical, especially. but that wasn’t what she was worried about. she’d managed for about five minutes to focus on the bruise and spreading the dittany there… but then with his tension, his back muscles stood out starkly against his back. unwittingly, her hands began to move to trace them, moving down each striation on his shoulders to his mid-back.
“do you want water?” she asked gently when she
noticed him lick his lips, her hands still tracing lightly.
a soft huff, and she hugged him from behind pressing
her forehead to the back of his head and ruining the
front of her shirt with dittany. “stay safe. worry about
yourself. don’t make stupid decisions. P L E A S E.” her
voice broke once more on the last word, her breath
brushing the back of his neck as she begged him
quietly the best she knew how.
the worst part about it, though, was that she was RIGHT. mundungus’ entire profession depended on lying, and on being damn good at it too, but he couldn’t remember uttering ONE FALSE WORD to her since the night they’d met. and he really wasn’t lying in this moment, but trying to help her, even if she never saw that it was for the best — even if she never saw that there was something to be afraid of. it was worth it. the thought terrified him;; the thought of living for someone else. he tried not to focus on the overwhelming absence he felt when she took her hand away, swallowing thickly as her fingers continued to press dittany against his skin.
“m’not lying. cross my heart.”
and then it was a sharp inhale, because she was tracing the outlines of his back like they were something marvelous, and his pulse quickened and a blush crept up his neck, staining his collarbones with a flush of pink. he shook his head quietly in response to the water, afraid of letting out anymore telling noises if he opened his mouth. but in all of a second her arms were wrapped around his torso and her body was pressed against his spine, and he was considering going to the health center because this had to be a fever dream, right? or maybe he’d gotten hit a little harder than he thought? and he didn’t even have the energy not to let himself almost melt against her;; he was too comfortable right there.
she heard the book clatter to the floor, but she didn’t CARE. all she cared about was his pain and his turmoil and someone had done this to him. of course she cared. he was her friend. and her friend was wiping her tears away with a gentleness that she was hard-pressed to remember if she’d ever felt before. for a moment, she let herself close her eyes and lean into his hand and trust that he’d catch the tears with his thumb. silly, vulnerable elle with her heart in her palms for the world to break. but her own touch was gentle, tentative, as if she were afraid that the next bit of damage would be at her own hands.
“i don’t know how not to worry about you.”
she said honestly, her voice hoarse from
the tears.
and he was precious (so terribly precious) for his honesty and his kindness and his acceptance and his compassion. he was precious to H E R. she didn’t care if the rest of the world deemed his value otherwise. to her, he was past porcelain. he was platinum.
“amycus or alecto? and why? merlin, why?”
when he groaned as he shifted in the chair she realized that his face didn’t hold all the damage, and she shifted behind him. she hadn’t noticed through her tears initially, that he was shirtless. and it wasn’t the first time that she’d seen him that way. but for some reason, this time, something felt different. even with that, eleanor couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath when the large bruise came into sight.
“you’ve missed half of this with the dittany.”
she chastised, going for the pot on the table
next to him. standing behind him, her fingers
smoothed the remedy onto his skin, paying
the utmost care to each blotch of discoloration.
“you’re still trying to make me feel better.”
she shook her head in disbelief.
“you’ve been beaten, and you’re still trying to take care of me.”
it was almost too easy for mundungus to realize that she was one of two people on this earth who had ever that to him. no one, except for his sister, had truly cared enough to worry so harshly about him, and it almost made him want to join her in that chorus of tears. he almost shuddered as her face pressed a bit closer to his palm, as if she really wanted to be there with him;; as if it wasn’t PROPOSTEROUS for this good-for-nothing boy to be touching her face with so much care he thought he might be made of feathers, but instead he just let his thumb run soft across the skin, a soft, half hearted smile forcing itself against his lips even though his tongue tasted like blood. he felt a strange compulsion to pull her a bit closer, to see if anyone else’s teeth were stained with a metallic red, but instead he let his hand drop, running it through his hair.
“what? uh, not important, really.”
he didn’t wanted elle getting mixed up in all of his bullshit;; it was dangerous enough as it was, but with her in the mix, he wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep right knowing she could get hurt. he’d gotten in more than a few fights ( INCLUDING THIS ONE ) over his wares, and he couldn’t let anyone lay a goddamn finger on her for his mistakes. he was ready to make a thousand and four excuses when there were soft, cold fingers against his back, and he felt the muscles tense, suddenly all too aware of the way they moved beneath his skin as he brought them up to lean his chin against them. her hands moved carefully over his bruises, pressing dittany against his skin, causing a feeling he couldn’t quite place to manifest in the pit of his stomach.
“thanks,” he said, softly, licking dry,
bloodied lips. and then he was smiling,
because of course he was. “what else
am i s’posed to do?”
did you hear about mundungus fletcher? apparently someone bashed his face in. heard it was carrow! he or she? i think the he, but i wouldn’t put it past the she.
elle didn’t even feel her own feet move as she sprinted to the greenhouses. her heart racing like a broomstick during a quidditch match, looping painful circles in her chest. she’d left her books there in the library, and her satchel, and, fuck, she wouldn’t be back before the whole place closed so she’d have to be there early the next morning, but it didn’t even matter. because someone had bashed mun’s face in.
she burst into the greenhouses, and heard the lazy words curl from his mouth like smoke… and all at once she felt to her fucking core how fucked up her own response to narcissa had been. because this should have been her first reaction. this drop in her stomach, this bile in her throat, this anger in her veins… the fire in her belly was inhumane and it was so far past what eleanor had ever been capable of her whole life. (cissa had deserved this response from her. fuck elle had so much to make up for)
the damn place was still too warm, and even as she crossed the greenhouse, she shrugged off her outer robes and cloak. as she got closer, the orbs of light illuminating her face, she was sure he could see how stricken she looked, how horrified… and worst of all, he could see the tears racing down her face.
her name fell from his mouth, so softly, so breathlessly, she couldn’t even be sure it happened, but she was already cupping his face, hiccuping softly as she tried to hold it as gently as possible. moving the ice pack slightly, her free hand reaching up to grab one of those orbs of light he loved making, she brought it closer to his face and received the full effect of his bleeding nose and black eye hit her, and she flinched backwards, her hand covering her mouth as she stepped forward again to lightly trace the wounds.
“who did this to you?” she demanded. “wh-who hurt
you?”
her voice cracked from sheer emotion, and she was sober and sobbing and her tears were falling on his face as if she could heal him as a phoenix would. elle greengrass was standing in a greenhouse, crying, holding an orb of light in her hand like she was some sort of moon goddess. but all that mattered was the red coming from his nose and caked around his upper lip and the way his eye was turning into her favorite shade of purple and that very idea made her want to throw up. fuck how eleanor greengrass cared. she cared so fucking much that he was sitting in front of her shattered and bleeding. all she wanted to do was hug him, and she couldn’t, because he was so hurt.
“mundungus.” the first time she had used his whole
name since giving him his nickname. breathless and
heartbroken in its own way too.
maybe it was the urgency he could hear even in her breath that broke his focus, letting the book drop to his feet and allowing his face to soften. there was something raw and cracked that he could feel across the room;; something he hadn’t felt in much too long. it was almost as if she CARED about him — though mundungus couldn’t find the distinct scent of alcohol or cannibis anywhere. was it possible this was just eleanor? sober, maskless, tears ( FUCK, WHEN HAD SHE STARTED CRYING!? ) running down soft, tan cheeks. was she soft like that? did she care so much it pained her? he reached up and pressed his thumb to a droplet against her skin, pushing it away carefully. but then her fingers were tracing lightly against the injuries on his face, and her touch felt all too much like stars against his skin.
“oi, greengrass, don’t worry about me,”
he said, and it came out almost like a
whisper.
and then her hands were holding his cheeks like he was made of porcelain;; like he was PRECIOUS, but his mouth tasted too much like his own blood for that to be true. mundungus also figured she already knew who it was ( why else would she even come down here, if not to get weed. and that certainly wasn’t the case — she was already crying ) and chose carefully not to answer her question. she probably knew carrow, probably well enough to understand that there must have been a reason behind the violence, and he wasn’t quite up for explaining that, not when she was standing here before him, crying, shadows pressed beneath her eyelashes like there it was painted to be on her skin. he shivered at the notion of this, his back cracking painfully. he let out a groan of pain and pressed his forehead against the chair;; mostly out of discomfort, but partially because he couldn’t think about the way HIS NAME sounded against HER LIPS.
“i’m alright, love. promise. just a
bruise or two.” and he was so
focused on making sure she was
alright, he’d barely registered the
fact that he’d let the cigarette drop
from his fingers, stomping it out
against the ground.
back home, mundungus had been involved in some pretty rough fights. over everything, really. girls, drugs, cigarettes, something said offhandedly about someone’s mother. he’d been punched and kicked and had tasted metallic blood against his tongue, but the guys were no match for the pure, unadulterated FURY that was amycus carrow. his knuckles had collided hard and fast with mundungus’ right eye, giving him a black eye and a bloody nose, as well as a defining bruise down his spine from where he’d plastered himself back against the wall. he’d made his way, painfully, down to the greenhouses, knowing it wouldn’t be particularly wise to go to the health center about one of the carrow twins. or any slytherin related violence, for that matter.
soft orbs of light glanced across a hollow expanse of land, covered in the shadowy night, lit up the mountains his back created as he hunched over the back of a chair, sitting backwards so as not to disturb his injuries. he held an icepack to his face, a bit of dittany ( as much as he could apply to his own spine ) air drying on his back, catcher in the rye levitating before him, and his free hand holding a cigarette to his lips. he was pretty much waiting the injuries out until he could get a hold of rosemary or someone who was a talented enough healer that didn’t ask too many questions, when he heard the distinct creaking of the door and soft footsteps.
“greenhouses are closed,” he said,
though his voice was lacking, and smoke
poured from his lips. it was then that he
turned his head slightly to see her standing
there. “elle,” he said, and he couldn’t figure
out why it sounded so breathless.
Of course Mundungus was just standing there casually against the wall. Acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and probably because he didn’t. He dealt whatever he had without any care of its effects on those he sold it too. Maybe they were stupid for buying, but he was even dumber for selling. ‘CAN I HELP YOU?’ Amycus didn’t bother with a verbal reply, as soon as he was close enough to Mundungus who had moved away from the wall, his arm was drawn backward and in seconds his fist connected with the Ravenclaw boy’s cheek. The blow was hard and was sure to send him stumbling back, meanwhile Amycus felt nothing but a numb tingling where his knuckles were already starting to bruise. It was a punch that surely would’ve made Narcissa proud.
mundungus was caught off guard by the sturdy blow to his eye, catching himself as he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall again. he could feel each vertebrae against the cold surface, sure to leave him sore the next day. the ravenclaw sucked in a breath through his teeth, only to catch a bit of blood, which seemed to be dripping down from his nose.
“you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding,” he whispered.
his hand came up to press at the blood, head tilting back to try and keep away from anymore damage. mundungus put his free hand up in a gesture of surrender.
the knight bus TILTS aggressively, sending an unsleeping mundungus’ cot careening towards the opposite wall, hitting it with a loud thud. the crystal chandeliers chime above his head, rocking uncertainly and sending splotches of shaped light across the walls.
( ERNIE, PAPER BOY AT 12 O’CLOCK! )
mundungus lets out a sigh, as he obviously isn’t going to get any sleep with shrunken head yelling at ernie ( that’s the reason he tells himself, at least. he’s barely gotten any sleep since her arms haven’t curled around his chest, or he’s known he won’t wake up to soft hair in his face. since she’s been around ), and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. he sits like this for a moment, staring at the curtains of another cot before digging the note out of his pocket.
. . . okay, now the the scolding is
done, are you okay?
a joyless smile presses itself into his lips, and he wants to scream ( NO, I’M NOT! I HAVEN’T BEEN OKAY SINCE YOU’VE BEEN GONE! I HAVEN’T BEEN OKAY IN EIGHTEEN YEARS! ) but instead he just grips shaky fingers a little softer around the fragile, creased parchment, and tries not to let himself feel like she’s there. he can’t stand losing that feeling, not again. he can’t stand her being there one second and gone the next. mundungus briefly considers that he may not want to continue reading this note, but reads on despite himself.
because i know you wouldn’t want to
just start smoking again.
and she’s RIGHT, because when he was with her the ash felt like a burden in his bloodstream;; taking up too much precious space that could be used for loving her. he realized, though, after she left, that the love had, if anything, been a burden on the ash. he could inhale the same amount of nicotine after she was gone and still love her more than all the worlds combined. he supposed, though, that when she was around, she was his nicotine.
you got really excited about getting
healthier so you could be around longer
for a longer future together.
( he can feel her dying, you know. he can feel the
deafening softness of her heartbeat against the palm
of his hand. she’s pulled against him like holding her
CLOSE enough will keep her alive. he places the blood
red box into the palm of her hand, wrapping his own
around it, and kissing her knuckles softly. his tears stain
her skin, and her blood stains his, and they’re both dying
in their own quiet ways right there on the sidewalk,
because he’s watching the only GOD he’s ever known
bleed out right in front of him, and there’s nothing he can
do. )
he can feel the sobs catching his lungs like it’s the only way he’s ever known how to breathe;; but that’s not true, really, because being with HER was a sort of breath he’d never be able to feel again, but, he thinks, as his fingers wrap around the velvet box in his pocket, this is as close as i get. because the fabric is still stained with her blood and his tears, and he takes it from his coat and runs his thumb over it, holding it against the swooping lines of her neat script, letting a smile of remembrance take over his lips.
so if you’re smoking now, you’re sad or
angry or stressed . . . and i hope i’m not
the cause of it. i pray to god i’m not the
cause of it. all i ever wanted to do was
BRING YOU LIGHT and joy the way you
always bring me.
( lips like the blasphemous pomegranate press against tan
skin, crystalline eyes peering up to see hers fluttering closed
in the mirror, peering over her shoulder to witness pure majesty
in his presence. his arms wrap like ribbon seatbelts around her
torso, securing her to himself, as if she would fly with wings of
wax;; as if she could leave and burn up in the sun. with the
thought of this, he pulls her a bit closer. )
there’s a distinct feeling building in the middle of his chest;; this idea she was always talking about, that he BROUGHT HER LIGHT — when HE was the one saved by her divinity, he was the one PRAYING TO GOD, he was the one on his knees at the altar on his judgement day, begging ANYONE who would listen not to take her. he was the one with communion crackers between his teeth and the blood of christ against the back of his throat, the one begging for her forgiveness. he felt sick.
i love you, mundungus fletcher,
and i don’t want you killing yourself
with these death sticks over me. or
anything. they’re not worth your time
or your life. come HOME to me and let
me kiss you, and i promise it’ll taste
better than the NICOTINE . . .
( he can taste the sunlight on her lips. it’s sleepy and lazy,
but he can feel the I LOVE YOU when their teeth hit each
other but neither of them acknowledge it. he can feel in
the bend of her waist when he rests his hand there, or when
hers comes up to hold the side of his face. it’s the murmured
good morning against smiling teeth and her legs intertwined
with his. her mouth tastes like love and her skin tastes like
love and the whole world isn’t made out of ash and when he
laughs his lungs are bright and pink and she’s there, she’s
keeping him there. she’s keeping him from reaching for a
morning cigarette, because she’s become his NICOTINE. )
he knew before that he would give anything to hear her say something like that again;; COME HOME TO ME AND LIKE ME KISS YOU, because it’s those words that wrap their arms around his waist and press little kisses all over her cheeks and nose and forehead and anywhere she can reach. mundungus can still remember what it felt like to kiss her, as if her lips are still right there, pressed against his, murmuring softly like these moments are the same as conversation. he tries not to think about how close he’s getting to the end of the letter.
or don’t and stay out here in the cold.
but i promise only one of those things
is really all that fun.
( when he kisses her it feels like worlds collapse;; like
kingdoms fall at their feet, surrender themselves to a
power they could NEVER match. it feels like his lower
lip between ivory teeth and palms pressed against her
back as if he could pull her any closer, fingers tugging
softly at the hair at the nape of his neck. it’s the whispered
I LOVE YOU’s that stain the skin of their necks, pressed
there in the from of soft purple bruises. it’s the open
mouthed kiss she places at the bend of his shoulder,
as if every part of him is precious, and the teeth that dig
into the same spot shortly after. )
and then the bus jolts to a screeching halt, sending his bed flying back in the other direction. the shruken head yells something almost unintelligible about his stop, bickering with ernie as mundungus shoves the ring and note into his pocket, sniffles a bit, wipes his eyes, and walks over to the door. ernie sends him a knowing goodbye, to which mundungus salutes him softly, stepping onto the curb. the winter is cold and unforgiving, and mundungus gets another chill as he walks towards the cemetery.
so he lights another cigarette
and takes another drag.
It was strange these days, the dichotomy of Eleanor Greengrass around Mundungus. Before she’d never really gone out of her way to treat him one way or another, but now, when she was sober, she tried to maintain her facades harder than ever, smiling when she felt like screaming… That only combatted how she couldn’t help but be honest with him when she was high. How her life story filted out with the puffs of smoke… How she always felt so fucking whiny compared to him who soldiered on despite having a far worse life.
That was the thing, though. Everything changed when Elle was high… except Mundungus. Her perception of things, events, people became more honest, harsher… But there was still Mun, being the same guy he always was, the same person she’d always seen. How did such an honest guy end up friends with a chronic liar?
“You’re too nice to me.”
The honesty in that statement floored her. She didn’t give him anything. She didn’t even pay him for the weed. He wasn’t getting anything out of this, and still he chose to come back, to even call her his friend on occasion. What had she even done to deserve that?
Eleanor watched him shift before her eyes, into something more hurt, darker. Even high, her intense perceptiveness and her ability to read people did not waver. Something she’d done had upset him… and all he’d ever done was comfort her and treat her well. You don’t deserve a friendship like this. She thought to herself even as she grasped his palm again, her thumb running worriedly over the back of his hand, her brows furrowing.
“What just happened?”
YOU’RE TOO NICE TO ME.
mundungus had been called many things in his seventeen years on this planet ( JUNKIE, ADDICT, FAILURE, CARELESS, FAG, LAZY, IDIOT, IRRESPONSIBLE ), but too nice was not one of them. he let the thought sit for a minute, somewhere between the way her eyelashes cast their glancing shadows when she blinked and the resounding hatred for his father that burned bright in his chest. was he too nice? was it even possible to be too nice? he sucked on a cigarette as he thought back to new years, about how they’d first met and he’d given her some free weed. he thought about making sure she got to sleep in a bed, how he kept offering her free shit and peeling back whatever mask she was wearing on any given day. he took another drag of his cigarette.
“never heard that one before.”
and the words felt sarcastic against his tongue, but they were honest. he wasn’t often getting praised, as there wasn’t much about him to praise, but this felt quite close. and then her hand was on his and her thumb was running against the skin over his knuckles, and he never thought anything would touch them that GENTLY. he relaxed a bit against her touch.
Anger had been boiling inside of Amycus after the night of finding Evan high off his ass. Of course his friend had no idea what it was that he had taken, but one thing he could remember was who gave it to him. Mundungus hadn’t been the first thing on his mind, but when he saw the piece of shit, he certainly moved up on the list. His fingers clenched into a fist as he stalked over to the boy, in the middle of the hallway. “Dung!” He called out, his lip curled in a snarl.
@mundungcs
mundungus was leaned against a wall, reading over a potions textbook when he heard a sharp voice and turned to see who it was. amycus carrow was approaching, fists clenched, eyes dark. he closed the book, looking around briefly before pushing himself off the wall. perhaps he just wanted to buy something or...kill someone. gently, he hoped. if he had to be killed my amycus carrow, he hoped it would be gently.
“can i help you?” mundungus asked,
feeling quite like a broken record.
“i was selling in diagon alley and she come
up to me and asks if i’ve got a license for
trading in magical artifacts. bleedin’ snoop.
she was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy
to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and
let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”
( WHO WAS THIS WOMAN? )
“i dunno, some ministry hag. little woman.
bow on top of ’er head. looked like a toad.”
calloused hands hover defenseless in the air, as if he can’t take out the three SEVENTH YEARS standing before him. but he knows better. harry — the one holding a bleeding wand to his nose — is james’ kid, the one that “ defeated ” voldemort all those years ago. ron’s beside him, fab’s little nephew, and he looks so much like his mum mundungus can’t bring himself to say a nasty word. and hermione, the witch with reflexes like a knife, holding his wand in her other hand, reminds him much too of himself when he was younger, bright and quick with his magic. he doesn’t attempt to make a move. but besides his common sense, there’s something grounding him there, something that feels like LIP COLORED RIBBONS .&& smoke rings. he swallows, and with it feels every ending or beginning he’s dropped to every word for the last EIGHTEEN YEARS;; haves became ‘avs, goings became goin’s. they taste like her lipstick and he suddenly feels incredibly sick to his stomach.
he manages to make it out of TWELVE GRIMMAULD PLACE with only a scorched eyebrow and a head full of wet hair, a rather calm sort of change from his usual exit from the house. he ambles up to the street corner and pats around for his cigarette case in the dull light. having misplaced his usual container, mundungus opted for an older alternative — one he can only remember using when he attended hogwarts. he’d happened upon it by accident, two or three old and undoubtedly stale cigarettes still tucked into the holder, and kept them there as a memento. the man is taking a seat on the curb and placing a cigarette between his teeth, waiting for the knight bus, when he sees a folded up bit of parchment spill from the small metal container, and before he can ever REACH FOR IT he feels her in the air around him;; she is HEAVY and l i g h t all at once and he feels like he’s going to cry until there’s the distinct SENSE of her fingers in his hair, the smell of vanilla and expensive perfume wrapping around him like a SAFETY BLANKET. he unwraps it like his heart is held inside the paper, and it is, because it’s the swooping lines of her handwriting running over the creases;; it’s her careful mistakes and broken script — it’s the breaks between certain letters that tell him he was there.
MY DEAREST MUN
my love;;
( he wakes up to the curve of her gentle smile against
his lips, to her hand pressed softly against his chest.
she is dressed in the morning like the sun was made to
wrap around each of her limbs;; to press SUN SPOTS
against soft skin. his eyes open softly to see god in the
clouded light before him, smiling sleepily, like she loves
him even when she’s dreaming. )
YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT !
and he can hear her VOICE and there are tears at the back of his eyes;; there are tears as he thinks about every cigarette he’s smoked since she’s been gone — there are tears for how long he tried to stay away from them even after she left. there are tears for how strong he needed to be, and how strong he wasn’t. he places a hand against his face, presses the droplets from his eyes, and continues.
you should never EVER
ever read this note,
because you said you
wouldn’t. i mean, i didn’t
make you PROMISE, but i
believed you. and don’t
think potions or spells
are going to help you
mister;; i can ALWAYS taste
it when i kiss you or feel
the extra HEAT on my body
when you kiss me;;
( and he can’t remember ever minding the smoke until she
did — but he can feel her skin between his lips, free from
the barrier of ASH that once separated them;; and he’s
so sure that this is his JUDGEMENT DAY ! that she is
g o d and he would build a thousand arks and wear a
thousand thorny crowns if it meant getting to touch her one
last time, to feel GOD between his teeth like a savior in their
sheets. )
he doesn’t notice the tears until they hit a corner of the parchment, and he feels like he’s just DESTROYED a holy document. the text before him is RELIGIOUS;; his last memory of her swooping lines, the way the G in mundungus always loops with the E in eleanor, the remainder of her VOICE calling out to him through tangled sheets, a laugh braided into her words as if she finds the world endlessly amusing. he doesn’t notice the tears until she demands they be noticed.
so hopefully, in just a few
hours, i’m going to KNOW
what you did. shame on you!
( and it’s in this moment — this moment of godly skin blessing
BLASPHEMOUS lips;; it’s in this moment that he can hear that
voice in the back of his head, that voice that screams LOSING
HER IS GOING TO BE LIKE DYING EVERY TIME YOU WAKE UP.
NOT BEING ABLE TO SEE HER EVERY DAY IS GOING TO BE
LIKE HELL ON EARTH. and, foolishly, he doesn’t listen. he pushes
back a piece of dark hair from her sleeping face, coated in
sunlight and a bit of glistening perspiration. he’s never looked upon
such divinity until then;; never really felt religion until he knows
that it would feel like falling from heaven if he lost her. )
he doesn’t realize how hard he’s crying until a sob shakes the ribbons and laurels woven through his ribcage, pushes BILE up his throat and makes him cough on her memory. it tastes like cigarette smoke and her voice against his lips in the afternoon and god doused in morning light;; all skin and bones and freckles and imperfections he loves more than he’s ever loved anything. what he wouldn’t GIVE to be able to see her in JUST A FEW HOURS;; what he wouldn’t sacrifice just to hear her say his name, tell him I LOVE YOU. he doesn’t even care how she says it. pressed against his neck, his lips, his shoulder as she fell asleep; on the couch with their legs intertwined, in a secret meeting, in a wordless look that speaks volumes of stories he could read for years upon years. what he wouldn’t give for one more MOMENT with her.
the little flashes of smoke caressed her cheeks like kisses that the boy next to her could never give, but his words comforted him more than the high did. the concern in his eyes, genuine concern for the most honest version of her… for a moment that caked pain around her heart that whispered, ”you can’t be loved. you can’t be loved.” with every beat of her heart peeled away.
“he hasn’t seen me high, so i suppose it he couldn’t have known…”
slightly tentative, she reached over and pressed her palm to the back of his hand in thanks before withdrawing again to an appropriate distance in an inappropriate situation. no one could ever know about this. no one could ever know that she went to mundungus for more than drugs. that she went to him for honesty and care and acceptance. where else could she find such things for FREE?
her skin tingled when the pen was passed to her, and she blinked slowly, trying to chalk it up to the strange magic of the writing tool in her hand. with the utmost care and her best penmanship, she wrote in flowing script, Mundungus Theodore Fletcher moving down lower, she took out a quill and her inkpot and wrote in the same script, Eleanor Delphine Greengrass. the “g” in mundungus looped into the first “e” of eleanor. she turned the notepad around shyly, leaving the pen on top of the paper and taking another puff of the blunt to hide her blush.
“i think i prefer a QUILL.”
( HE HASN’T SEEN ME HIGH )
it was these words that gave it away;; just how STRANGE the nature of their relationship was. HE was the only one had had ever seen her high, and, evidently, not acting weird as hell. he felt some strange sensation when she touched his hand — something like COMFORT, and his breath hitched for a moment. if one could take their lungs out of their body and look at them, he was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT sure that his would be a ghastly black with all the smoke he was inhaling just then, desperately trying to rid himself of that fucking tingly feeling.
“then he’s missing out on two occasions.”
and he was being HONEST;; elle was quite an interesting person when she was high — when the facade dropped and it was just her and some smoke and the eyes that honestly made him kind of nervous they were so intense. and then she was TOUCHING HIS HAND AGAIN and he felt like he might just keel over, especially when she used the pen to write his name in a swirling script that hooked into her own. he could feel he blood boil when he saw the name written there, though, just between his first and last.
THEODORE
THEODORE
THEODORE
his fingers clenched around the arm of his chair, his jaw tightening and another heavy gust of smoke filling his lungs with a familiar burning. his father’s name set him on EDGE, even just a MENTION could trigger a reaction — the memory pressed so viciously into his mind of the license plate as the car rattled off down the street, of his sister crying two days later when their father still hadn’t come back. he swallowed.
Her smile was grateful and relieved, her eyes softening. “Thanks, Mun.” She said, tilting her head with genuine gratitude and appreciation in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to genuinely talk to someone. Elle managed to stop the tears as she told him about how she’d raced to find Rabastan, about the things she’d done for him, about how he’d been her best friend and the most important person in her life… and how he’d left her feeling stupid and useless in the middle of a hallway. “I wasn’t good enough in the end. I’m never good enough.” She said brokenly, her voice cracking. She furrowed her brow at his description of pens, and she furrowed her brow trying to picture it. “Those sound absolutely hideous. D’you have one on hand?”
how did he get here? with this girl before him — this BEAUTIFUL girl, pouring her heart out even though some days it seemed as if she were made of stone. even if it seemed that just five minutes ago she’d been made of stone. but the words kept coming, like silk ribbons the same color as her lips, pushing past every word she’d swallowed and winding themselves around mundungus’ wrists, wrapping around his ribcage. he suddenly felt significantly closer to her, a feeling he was not particularly sure he felt good about. in THIS world — there was no chance of them being seen together. he was, essentially, a muggleborn;; and she, a greengrass. had anyone even seen them this late at night in the greenhouse, separated from endless stars and rolling hills only by a pane of glass, orbs of light he’d conjured pressing soft shadows into her face — he didn’t know what might happen. and then there was a sudden, flashing, pained thought that felt something like FEAR for her wellbeing.
“shit,” he said — and it was after a moment
of tragic silence. “what an asshole. it’s his loss
greengrass, honestly. you’re kind of fun when
you’re high.” mundungus’ words felt like molasses
in his mouth, even as smoke poured past his
lips. “course i’ve gotta pen. try to avoid qulls when
i can.” he bent over and reached into his bag,
retrieving a ballpoint pen and a notepad, beginning
to draw a few looping scribbles, then handing it
over to her, hands brushing slightly. “they’re not
HIDEOUS,” he said, but it was with an understanding
laugh.
