arе you afraid of what you know;;
“What is wrong with you?!”
Poppy regretted the words even as they slipped from her vocals, hand coming up as if to catch them out of thin air. That wasn’t— she didn’t— It was utterly the wrong thing to say. Blue eyes steeled, a simmering hatred akin to a cornered animal flickered behind that familiar expression. Already she knew he was gone but the frustration, determination, forced her to press on. “Kris—”
“You’re just like the rest of them.” A boiling rage burnt her skin as his words floated through the dark hall. “A filthy half-blood.”
Hazel hues widened and Poppy pulled up abruptly. “Pardon?” The girl blinked quickly, attempting to keep tears at bay as the shock of that slap sunk in. What a wretchedly pitiful excuse for a defense! It was so far out of left field she wasn’t even sure what to do with it. (Since when had her blood status mattered? Since when had Kristoffer started to think of her that way?)
“I am nothing like the rest,” she insisted, taking a step closer. “You know that!” He could deny it all he liked, but they were not strangers anymore. She knew he cared, in some miniscule, buried deep part of himself. Even if it was a fleeting fancy. Poppy reached out a hand alight with trepidation and let it linger in the gap between them. Her voice softened, as if approaching a kicked creature. “Kris, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stay the fuck away from me Dashwood,” her wounded creature snarled.
Poppy didn’t pause in her approach. Instead, her brow furrowed delicately and she made a concerted effort to press her small hand to the blonde’s chest. If he struck her, then so be it.
“Stop it, Kristoffer, just listen to me!”
As expected the other swatted her away and Poppy flinched, holding firm. Small hands curled into his lapel even as her head turned away, brown curls bouncing softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I shouldn’t have said that,” she continued. He was tense in her hold but made no movement to pull away again, likely expecting an apology. Poppy peeked back at him, face stoic and hard and impossibly closed off. How she hated that look.
Sucking in a deep breath, the brunette leaned her small weight against the former Slytherin. This was it: this was her only chance to communicate before he walked away for good. “I’m terrified,” she heard herself whisper. “I am sick to my stomach at the idea of losing you, Kris. Please don’t walk away like this. I don’t… I don’t expect anything from you. I just…”
Words failed there and Poppy swallowed anything that might come next. Saying any more would only bring them back to the beginning of this whole debacle. “You mean more to me than either of us wants to admit.”
A truth she wasn’t sure was clever to admit aloud.
Poppy didn’t expect it to change anything. She had no delusions Kristoffer would marry her, especially after that nasty slur that exposed more of him than she’d ever wanted to consider. Reputation aside though, there was more to the blonde than that. Poppy knew it, she’d fallen hopelessly in love with his more. Now, all she wanted was to salvage the wreckage of daring to bicker. She knew Kristoffer well enough to tread carefully. They’d never broached this topic before tonight and - evidently - he wasn’t keen on discussing it.
“I can’t give you anything you want,” the blonde finally said, breaking the tense silence. Poppy felt her heart skip a painful beat.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she dared to respond. Hazel hues found blue, the obvious lie behind them practically tangible. I don’t, Poppy insisted to herself. I just don’t want you flirting with other girls, marrying anyone else, starting a life that doesn’t involve me. Hah. A small hand came up to shakily brush a mussed blonde fringe from the Slytherin’s face. “I just want us to remain… friends.”
Despite this hopeless adoration. Despite the world-shattering realization that I love you.
A little used, a little blush
A little frayed at the edge
Cut through, hit the rush—
“What is wrong with you?!” Poppy regretted the words even as they slipped from her vocals, hand coming up as if to catch them out of thin air. That wasn’t— she didn’t— It was utterly the wrong thing to say. Blue eyes steeled, a simmering hatred akin to a cornered animal flickered behind that familiar expression. Already she knew he was gone but the frustration, determination, forced her to press on. “Kris—”
“You’re just like the rest of them.” A boiling rage burnt her skin as his words floated through the dark hall. “A filthy half-blood.”
Hazel hues widened and Poppy pulled up abruptly. “Pardon?” The girl blinked quickly, attempting to keep tears at bay as the shock of that slap sunk in. What a wretchedly pitiful excuse for a defense! It was so far out of left field she wasn’t even sure what to do with it. (Since when had her blood status mattered? Since when had Kristoffer started to think of her that way?)
“I am nothing like the rest,” she insisted, taking a step closer. “You know that!” He could deny it all he liked, but they were not strangers anymore. She knew he cared, in some miniscule, buried deep part of himself. Even if it was a fleeting fancy. Poppy reached out a hand alight with trepidation and let it linger in the gap between them. Her voice softened, as if approaching a kicked creature. “Kris, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stay the fuck away from me Dashwood,” her wounded creature snarled.
Poppy didn’t pause in her approach. Instead, her brow furrowed delicately and she made a concerted effort to press her small hand to the blonde’s chest. If he struck her, then so be it.
“Stop it, Kristoffer, just listen to me!”
As expected the other swatted her away and Poppy flinched, holding firm. Small hands curled into his lapel even as her head turned away, brown curls bouncing softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I shouldn’t have said that,” she continued. He was tense in her hold but made no movement to pull away again, likely expecting an apology. Poppy peeked back at him, face stoic and hard and impossibly closed off. How she hated that look.
Sucking in a deep breath, the brunette leaned her small weight against the former Slytherin. This was it: this was her only chance to communicate before he walked away for good. “I’m terrified,” she heard herself whisper. “I am sick to my stomach at the idea of losing you, Kris. Please don’t walk away like this. I don’t… I don’t expect anything from you. I just…”
Words failed there and Poppy swallowed anything that might come next. Saying any more would only bring them back to the beginning of this whole debacle. “You mean more to me than either of us wants to admit.”
A truth she wasn’t sure was clever to admit aloud.
Poppy didn’t expect it to change anything. She had no delusions Kristoffer would marry her, especially after that nasty slur that exposed more of him than she’d ever wanted to consider. Reputation aside though, there was more to the blonde than that. Poppy knew it, she’d fallen hopelessly in love with his more. Now, all she wanted was to salvage the wreckage of daring to bicker. She knew Kristoffer well enough to tread carefully. They’d never broached this topic before tonight and - evidently - he wasn’t keen on discussing it.
“I can’t give you anything you want,” the blonde finally said, breaking the tense silence. Poppy felt her heart skip a painful beat.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she dared to respond. Hazel hues found blue, the obvious lie behind them practically tangible. I don’t, Poppy insisted to herself. I just don’t want you flirting with other girls, marrying anyone else, starting a life that doesn’t involve me. Hah. A small hand came up to shakily brush a mussed blonde fringe from the Slytherin’s face. “I just want us to remain… friends.”
Despite this hopeless adoration. Despite the world-shattering realization that I love you.
A little used, a little blush
A little frayed at the edge
Cut through, hit the rush—
© Fox