~˚✧。Interests: Volleyball, Books, Art, old cartoons, That '70s show, Boy meets World, Legos, The Marauders, Writing, Crocheting, Knitting, movies, organizing, sleeping, Formula 1, Stranger Things :)
~˚✧。extra: I write requests so ask away :)
~˚✧。Music Taste : Sabrina Carpenter, Lana del rey, The Weekend, SZA, SKZ, TXT, Enhypen.
Author's note: I couldn't study and decided to edit a draft that's been rotting for awhile now. I hope u like reading it :)
Word count: ~600
The Hogwarts library was freezing. Hermione pulled her Gryffindor scarf tighter around her neck, ignoring the ache in her fingers as she dipped her quill into the inkwell. It was past midnight. The restricted section was shrouded in shadows, and the only light came from the flickering candle at her elbow. She was searching for a translation of an ancient Arithmancy text, but her mind kept drifting to the war brewing outside the castle walls.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Hermione spun around, her hand instinctively flying to her pocketed wand. "Who's there?" she whispered into the dark.
A tall figure stepped into the candlelight. Draco Malfoy.
He looked awful. His usual pristine Slytherin robes were slightly disheveled, and his silver-grey eyes were hollow, framed by dark, bruised circles. The sharp angles of his face seemed more pronounced in the dim light. He stopped short when he saw her, his expression freezing into a familiar, defensive sneer.
"Granger," he spat, though his voice lacked its usual venom. It sounded hollow. Tired. "What are you doing lurking in the dark?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy," Hermione retorted, lowering her guard just an inch. "The library is closed. You’re out of bounds."
"Like you care about rules anymore," he muttered, crossing his arms. He didn't leave. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze falling onto the mountain of heavy books stacked on her table. "Still trying to save the world with parchment, I see."
Hermione sighed, the anger leaving her all at once. She was too exhausted to fight. "I’m just trying to study. What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco didn't answer right away. He looked at the empty chair across from her, hesitated, and then sat down. Hermione froze. Every instinct told her to grab her things and run back to the Gryffindor tower. They were enemies. They belonged to different worlds, destined to fight on opposite sides of a terrifying war. Yet, looking at him now, he didn't look like a threat. He looked like a boy drowning under a weight too heavy for his shoulders.
"It’s quiet here," Draco said softly, staring at the flickering candle flame. The mask of aristocratic arrogance had completely slipped away. "Everywhere else... it's too loud."
Hermione stared at him. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant howling of the winter wind against the castle windows. For the first time, she saw past the cruel insults and the blood-status prejudice. She saw the fear.
Slowly, deliberately, Hermione slid one of her reference books toward him. "If you're going to stay, you might as well look up the properties of powdered moonstone for me. Page three hundred."
Draco looked from the book up to her face. His silver eyes searched hers, looking for a trap, a joke, or pity. Finding none, his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He reached out, his pale fingers brushing against the worn leather cover.
"Three hundred?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Three hundred," she confirmed.
They spent the next hour in absolute silence, working side by side. There were no insults or no hexes. Just the steady scratch of a quill and the turning of pages.
Author's note: I couldn't study and decided to edit a draft that's been rotting for awhile now. I hope u like reading it :)
Word count: ~600
The Hogwarts library was freezing. Hermione pulled her Gryffindor scarf tighter around her neck, ignoring the ache in her fingers as she dipped her quill into the inkwell. It was past midnight. The restricted section was shrouded in shadows, and the only light came from the flickering candle at her elbow. She was searching for a translation of an ancient Arithmancy text, but her mind kept drifting to the war brewing outside the castle walls.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Hermione spun around, her hand instinctively flying to her pocketed wand. "Who's there?" she whispered into the dark.
A tall figure stepped into the candlelight. Draco Malfoy.
He looked awful. His usual pristine Slytherin robes were slightly disheveled, and his silver-grey eyes were hollow, framed by dark, bruised circles. The sharp angles of his face seemed more pronounced in the dim light. He stopped short when he saw her, his expression freezing into a familiar, defensive sneer.
"Granger," he spat, though his voice lacked its usual venom. It sounded hollow. Tired. "What are you doing lurking in the dark?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy," Hermione retorted, lowering her guard just an inch. "The library is closed. You’re out of bounds."
"Like you care about rules anymore," he muttered, crossing his arms. He didn't leave. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze falling onto the mountain of heavy books stacked on her table. "Still trying to save the world with parchment, I see."
Hermione sighed, the anger leaving her all at once. She was too exhausted to fight. "I’m just trying to study. What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco didn't answer right away. He looked at the empty chair across from her, hesitated, and then sat down. Hermione froze. Every instinct told her to grab her things and run back to the Gryffindor tower. They were enemies. They belonged to different worlds, destined to fight on opposite sides of a terrifying war. Yet, looking at him now, he didn't look like a threat. He looked like a boy drowning under a weight too heavy for his shoulders.
"It’s quiet here," Draco said softly, staring at the flickering candle flame. The mask of aristocratic arrogance had completely slipped away. "Everywhere else... it's too loud."
Hermione stared at him. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant howling of the winter wind against the castle windows. For the first time, she saw past the cruel insults and the blood-status prejudice. She saw the fear.
Slowly, deliberately, Hermione slid one of her reference books toward him. "If you're going to stay, you might as well look up the properties of powdered moonstone for me. Page three hundred."
Draco looked from the book up to her face. His silver eyes searched hers, looking for a trap, a joke, or pity. Finding none, his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He reached out, his pale fingers brushing against the worn leather cover.
"Three hundred?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Three hundred," she confirmed.
They spent the next hour in absolute silence, working side by side. There were no insults or no hexes. Just the steady scratch of a quill and the turning of pages.
Author's note: Reading the previous chapters would definitely be helpful for you guys so I've added the link to my Masterlist. Enjoy Reading! I also wanted to mention I haven't followed the movies or the books exactly so there may be some inconsistencies.
⚠️ WARNING: for anyone who didn't watch the movies or read the books, there are spoilers ahead!
Word count: ~2k
The air in the woods is too quiet, the kind of silence that feels like it's waiting for me to trip up. I’m leaning against a tree, trying to remember how to just be here without looking for a hidden camera or a tripod in the brush. Gale is standing a few feet away, and even without looking at him, I can feel his anger. He’s mad at the Capitol, mad at the Games, but mostly, I think he’s mad at me for surviving them with someone else’s hand in mine.
I want to say something, anything to make him the Gale I used to hunt with, but the words feel like lead. I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending, but even here, where it’s supposed to be real, I feel like I’m still on a stage.
Then he’s just… there. He moves in close, and for a second, I think he’s going to yell. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers rough and smelling of coal dust as they catch my jaw. He doesn't ask. He just leans in and presses his mouth to mine.
It isn’t like the kisses with Peeta. Those have started to feel like a slow burn, something that makes me want to reach back even when I know I shouldn’t. This kiss with Gale is different. It’s sharp. It’s a demand. It’s him saying Remember me? and You’re mine all at once.
My heart doesn't skip a beat. It just sits there, heavy and cold. I don’t pull away, I’m too shocked for that, but I don’t move. I can feel the pressure of his lips, the heat of his breath, and all I can think about is how much I want it to be over. It feels like he’s trying to dig for something inside me that died in the arena, and he’s frustrated that he can’t find it.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark, searching mine for a spark that isn't coming. I’m just staring at him, my own lips feeling numb and bruised.
"I had to do that," he says, his voice low. "At least once."
He doesn't wait for me to answer. He just turns and disappears into the trees, leaving me standing there with the taste of him still on my tongue, a taste that feels like a betrayal I didn't even choose. I touch my mouth, and it’s just skin. Cold, dry skin. He didn't bring me back to life; he just reminded me how much of me is actually gone.
"A lovely morning for a walk, Miss Everdeen," Snow said, his voice dry and cold. He didn't look at me; he looked at a small, handheld screen. "And for other... diversions."
He turned the screen toward me. It was a high-resolution image of the woods. The kiss. Gale’s hands on my face, my own stiff posture against the bare trees. My stomach dropped.
"He's quite a handsome young man," Snow continued, his eyes finally meeting mine. They were as flat and cold as a snake's. "Gale Hawthorne. A hunter. A provider. It would be such a shame if his 'unauthorized' activities in the woods led to a more permanent arrangement. The mines are so dangerous, after all. A gas leak here, a structural failure there..."
"Don't," I whispered, the word catching in my throat.
"Then you know what is at stake," Snow said, leaning forward. A drop of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, bright and smelling of iron. "The Victory Tour begins tomorrow. You will go out there and you will convince the districts that you are hopelessly and dangerously in love with Peeta Mellark. You will play the part of the grieving, star-crossed lover so well that even I am convinced."
"I'll do it," I said, my voice trembling with a rage I had to swallow.
"See that you do. Because if you fail, if there is one more 'cousinly' embrace in the woods, I will not only kill him. I will kill everyone he loves. I will turn this district into ash."
He left then, leaving the room smelling of blood and roses. I stood there, paralyzed by a guilt so heavy I couldn't move. I had to keep up the lie. I had to hold Peeta’s hand, kiss him for the cameras, and pretend my heart belonged to the baker’s son, not because I wanted to, but because it was the only way to keep Gale’s heart beating.
I was buying his life with my own betrayal, and the worst part was, Gale would never know. He would only watch me drift further away, believing I’d chosen the Capitol over him, never realizing that every lie I told was a shield I was holding over his head.
The coal dust from the mines never really leaves you. It’s in your lungs, under your nails, and, for me, it was settling into the very marrow of my bones as I stood in the middle of the town square. Usually, the square was a place of dread, the site of the Reaping, but today it was draped in the Capitol’s gaudy banners. We were all required to be here. Mandatory attendance to watch the "Star-Crossed Lovers" return home on the big screens.
I leaned against a cold brick wall, my arms crossed tightly. Around me, people from the Seam stood in a weary silence, but there was a new energy in the air, a restless, dangerous hum. They weren't just watching a Victory Tour; they were watching the girl who had defied the Capitol.
The screen flickered to life, showing the final stop of the tour in the Capitol. There she was. Katniss. She looked like she was made of moonlight and diamonds, wrapped in a dress that shimmered with every breath. She looked nothing like the girl who used to challenge me to races in the woods.
Beside her stood Peeta Mellark. He looked at her with a devotion that made my stomach turn, not because I hated him, it was hard to hate someone so genuinely kind, but because I knew he was getting the version of her I was losing.
Then it happened. Caesar Flickerman’s voice boomed over the speakers, his laughter like a serrated blade. Peeta dropped to one knee. The crowd in the Capitol erupted in a deafening roar that shook the speakers in our square.
"Katniss Everdeen," Peeta’s voice was clear, unwavering. "Will you stay with me? Forever?"
I watched Katniss’s face on the screen. For a split second, I saw it, the flash of pure, unadulterated terror in her gray eyes. It was the look she got when a predator was closing in. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a soft, practiced smile.
"Yes," she whispered. "Always."
The square in District 12 went deathly quiet. Beside me, I saw a few men tighten their fists. This wasn't just a romance to them; it was a surrender. To the Capitol, it was a wedding. To the districts, it was the Mockingjay being clipped and put back in a cage.
But for me, it felt like the final shovel of dirt on a grave. I remembered the kiss in the woods, the coldness of it, the way she’d stood there like a statue. I’d thought she was just confused, but as I watched her embrace Peeta on that stage, I realized how far she’d drifted. She was moving into a world of silk and cameras, a world where I didn't exist. She was choosing the baker. She was choosing the Capitol’s version of a life.
I couldn't stay to watch the rest of the interview. I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the pitying looks from some of the older women from the Seam. I headed toward the fence, toward the only place where I didn't have to be a spectator.
The woods were cold and indifferent, but at least they didn't lie to me. As I walked into the trees, I realized that the Katniss I knew was gone. The Capitol hadn't just taken her to an arena; they’d taken her heart and replaced it with a script. And the worst part was, I was starting to hate her for surviving.
Beautiful...just purely beautiful. Idk what else I can say. I'm awestruck, especially cause I was a regulus fan when I found out abt him in the harry potter series. I literally could not stop reading fanfics about him.
Beautiful...just purely beautiful. Idk what else I can say. I'm awestruck, especially cause I was a regulus fan when I found out abt him in the harry potter series. I literally could not stop reading fanfics about him.
eridian children in Grace’s class interested but slightly disappointed to learn that much earth life is bilaterally symmetrical with even numbers of limbs
Grace going “oh!! But!” and teaching them about starfish, to their absolute delight
new eridian schoolchild trend of starfishing aka flopping flat down with all legs out and moving by wiggling and squirming around, giggling. parents hooting at Grace in despair. why did you teach them this
