September, 1879 - Valenduris House, London (the week before fall term, Sixth Year)

Vincent was pleased to be back in Wizarding London. He didn’t mind the muggle world, other than perhaps having to hide a part of himself that defined him, but for his mother’s sake he did his best. Due to recent public events however, he’d managed to convince Mama that the safest place for him this close to the start of term really was with the Valenduris family. If he had the added benefit of waking to Cassian’s round, eager face, then - well - all the better.

On this last week leading up to their sixth year, Vince had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon waltzing around Diagon Alley holding firmly to his list of supplies. He’d found everything fairly quickly and then proceeded to spend the remainder of the day tagging along behind Cass as the two of them dipped into the sweetshop and then went to oogle brooms. Vince himself hated flying; the very thought made him queasy, but since looking at brooms made Cass happy, he tended to tolerate it. There wasn’t much that Vince wouldn’t do for Cass. In fact, he’d started to notice as of late that since becoming friends with the big blonde, he was starting to… feel something. Something different, something… more.

At first, Vincent had thought it was simply gratitude. Thanks to Cassian, people didn’t tend to push him around as much. They generally stayed away unless he was on his own and even then, it had been more tolerable as of late. But these… stirrings he’d been having, they were certainly more than simple gratitude. Besides, he and Cassian had been close friends for years and it had only just started to happen.

It was like… every time they brushed against one another, or Vince accidentally bumped into him, the point of contact was electric. Little jolts would spark from where big fingers accidentally nudged him, sending shivers down Vince’s spine. He found himself looking for reasons to touch Cass: swatting a bug off his shoulder or handing him something palm up so that the other had to pick it up himself. It wasn’t usual, that much Vincent knew, but he wasn’t abstractly aware of what it meant yet in order to really pay it much mind.

This afternoon, as he sat cushily on Cassian’s bed watching the other fiddle around with an enchanted finger trap they’d bought at the joke shop yesterday, Vincent felt the urge to smile lopsidedly at his friend and run his fingers through long blonde locks. He didn’t. Instead, he just sat up straight and gave a big, cat-like stretch. “You’re never going to manage to undo that thing,” he teased. “It was a waste of a sickle to even buy it when we could have purchased all the more of these silly little beans.” Vince picked up a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean and stared at it suspiciously. Some things were still new to him despite having been fully exposed to the wizarding world for five years now.

“What do you reckon?” he asked, holding the white bean out to Cass, palm up. “Milk or snail mucus?”

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

“I still can’t believe you haven’t tried these before,” Cass remarked from his cross-legged seat on the floor next to the bed. He nodded vaguely up at Vince to open up the bag of Bertie Bott’s beans he’d picked up. This stupid enchanted trap commanded his attention for the last ten minutes, drawing a small crease between his eyebrows. “And I told you, there’s a trick to break this thing up, like a specific angle to it…” The treasure inside the trap was usually a ring or some similar silly trinket, though Cassian was really determined to get the marshmallow-fluff chocolates it always came with. Of course, the second you maneuvered to grab the little treasure box the trap revealed, it would solidify to stone all over again.

“Gah…” Exasperated by his most recent failed attempt, the blonde dramatically threw his head back on the bed, regarding his friend upside-down with an eyeroll. “You’re right, obviously. What a waste of a sickle.” Honestly, it was refreshing to see Cassian act this way again, like a glimmer of the carefree boy he used to be. If you asked him, he’d say that it was easy to fall into the rhythm of how things have always been when Vince is around.

For instance, upon learning that his friend had never tried several sweets that were staples of his own childhood, Cassian proceeded to purchase a small fortune of nearly every treat the shop had. So much so that the family’s governor admonished the teen once they arrived: be more mindful of such excess expenses young sir, and money’s not grown on trees, good sir, and you will be the one managing the estate’s finances one day, dear sir... Having Vince around nearly made a saint of Cass, who out of politeness, did not completely lose his temper. Thoughtfully, Vince volunteered that many of these candies were for the kids, Cassian’s brood of five younger siblings. The idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, though Cass agreed as readily as though it’d been their plan all along.

Vince was invaluable this way – a different lens through which to look at the world. Like the way he parsed out what people said and what they really said, and if that input should even matter to them at all. In a world that felt foreign and increasingly hostile to the young new head of house, Vince was the only one he could trust. The only one who knew more about him than he knew about himself.

“Hmm, let’s see,” the boy mumbled, untangling his legs out from under him to stand. He bent down to inspect Vince’s palmed offer, squinting at each one before deftly picking the one on the right. “Milk,” he decided, popping it with confidence into his mouth. Two chews later he made a grotesque face, gagging as he dangled his tongue with a half-eaten greenish white bean on the end of it. “Euck…” he summarily spat it back out. “All the white and brown ones are suspicious. Grab us red ones - the worst of that lot would just be pepper. Mm, or beef, but I wouldn’t mind it.” He snorted with laughter, shaking blonde locks from out of his eyes. It’d grown far too long, but he had no intention of cutting it until the very last day before school.

The young man raised his arms to the ceiling in an overdue stretch, exposing a few inches of his stomach to the softest late-summer breeze wafting through the window. “It’s bloody boiling today…” he grumbled, kneeling beside Vince on the bed to further open his third story window. He leaned his full head and shoulders out to inspect the clouds overhead. Ominous gray clouds, heavy with the day’s humidity, threatened to break any minute now. It looked as if they were stuck here, at least for the time being.

Plopping back onto the bed, now sprawled up against the bedpost opposite Vince, Cassian looked a bit defeated. The unseasonable heat made him want to take Vince down to the stream he’d swim in as a kid, or maybe the park to see new creatures at the zoo. Now they’d have to pick between that or the quidditch game tomorrow…

“So goes our last Saturday of complete freedom,” he announced, clearly distressed by his restlessness but trying to put on a relaxed face. “I’m sorry that we didn’t get around to doing everything we wanted today.”

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Vincent Iago

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Vincent grinned in response to his friend’s comment. There were a lot of things he apparently hadn’t tried, or seen, or done that was usual for a full-blown wizard. He was nonplussed by it; Cassian had practically made it his personal mission to see that Vince shared these experiences with him and so far he was having a great time of it. Rolling his eyes playfully, he shook out more of the beans onto the bed and separated them by color with his index finger. A trick Cass said; Vincent would believe it when he saw it.

He was pleased to see Cass more himself this week than he had been as of late though. Ever since the blonde’s father had died a few years ago, getting Cass to smile and relax had become difficult where once it had been as easy as breathing. Vincent knew the loss obviously put a lot of pressure on him, pressure that the Slytherin himself did not share considering his own circumstances. Still, he knew he would be there for Cass, always, if the other ever needed a shoulder to lean on.

Eyeing the Gryffindor as he made a face, Vincent couldn’t help but laugh. He nodded in agreement; all the white and brown ones did seem to be rather repugnant. He moved the pile of red ones he’d sorted to the forefront and began to examine them for slight color variations as Cass laughed and shook his hair out of his eyes. Vincent focused hard on the little beans to keep from staring. Too bad his efforts were in vain then as the big, beautiful blonde beside him decided to stretch.

If green eyes flickered up to watch Cass move, Vincent wouldn’t admit it. Still, he was entirely taken in with the sight of the other, all broad muscle and a big heart, as Cass’ belly was exposed. Vince blushed a touch and doubled down to look at his beans again as the other went to open the window, crawling onto the bed beside him. The movement made all of the beans roll together into the crease between Vincent’s stomach and the bed and he quickly covered his separated reds to keep them from mixing in with the pack. “It is rather humid out,” he agreed.

A sadness touched his friend’s visage as Cassian settled himself opposite Vince on the bed and the Slytherin frowned. (He hated that look.) “Why are you apologizing?” He hummed, playfully, before tapping Cass’ forearm with his foot. “We’ve done so much already! I rather don’t mind the idea of lazing about for a single day.” Vince carefully collected the red beans in his palm and held them out for Cassian to take as he sat up and sent the remainder rolling about.

“Between tomorrow’s game and whatever else you’ve got cooking up in that big head of yours, I’m relieved actually,” he added, trying to collect the beans and knowing there was probably one wedged under his bottom somewhere. Vince knelt on the bed to grab at it and then set them all to the wayside on the side table. Cass was right, only the red ones were really worthwhile. He grinned as he sat gently beside his friend the other way and gestured to take a bean. “I’m sure there’s plenty we can come up with to do right here,” he nodded, teasingly. “We are two of the most ingenious wizards to ever exist, are we not?”

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Vince didn’t need to worry about getting caught in his blush or his looks. Cassian wasn’t nearly as observant as his friend, in part because he never had to be. Everything he’d ever wanted or needed was put right in front of him, or otherwise sat within reach. If anything, Vince was the first to teach him that this wasn’t the case for everyone - and the fact infuriated Cass to no end. If he had it his way, every kid coming to Hogwarts should receive a bag of candy and the same standard set of supplies and robes, no questions asked. It evened the playing field, and took unfair advantages out of the equation - the same kind of logic applied to why they wore uniforms in the first place. And look how well that turns out?

Trying to not scowl - more from his train of thought than anything the other was doing - the blonde glanced over to Vince. “Tch,” he clicked his tongue at the gentle tap of the toe on his forearm, though his expression softened ever so slightly. He didn’t want to give Vince the wrong idea, since the broken plans had nothing to do with him.  “Sure, but we could’ve been lazy outside. Or at least seen an Erumpent or something,” he grumbled, trying to repress a sigh as he turned his forlorn look out the window. “We won’t get to enjoy summer like this until next year. Any by then we’ll be going into our seventh year, and we’ll be more preoccupied with… other things…” What those other things were, he actually had no idea. Careers and girls, he supposed. Cass hadn’t given it all that much thought, though it certainly contributed to pent-up anxiety that things were soon going to change in big ways for the both of them.

The Gryffindor ran his hand absently through his hair before plucking two beans from Vince’s palm, popping both into his mouth without much thought. “Hmm, apple and cinnamon,” he surmised as the brunette moved to settle in beside him. Even if it felt like his day’s gone to shit, having Vince here at least brought some level of comfort. It’s not like the Slytherin needed his protection or anything, but it was reassuring to know he was alright because Cass could see that with his own two eyes. “It’s not a bad combination. The bright red and the speckled one I think.”

At Vince’s proclamation that this was a relief, however, Cass let out a loud laugh. “Are you kidding? So you’re telling me I’ve been dragging you every which way for my own jollies?” His face scrunched up in mock-admonishment, and he gave Vince a light punch on the arm. “And who are you calling a bighead? Ingenious, are we?” Leave it up to him to pull out the fancy vocabulary words.

“Fine then, since all my plans are so exhausting,” he wasn’t actually offended of course, that could be observed by the grin that never left Cassian’s lips, “What’s your idea of having fun indoors? Don’t you dare say reading.”

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Vincent Iago

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Vince’s grin of amusement was obvious even as Cass clicked his tongue adorably. He couldn’t help but snicker a little at the word “Erumpent” too. He knew it was a creature, a highly unlikely one they’d ever see around here mind you, but it still sounded ridiculous to his unusually muggle-trained ears. Popping another red bean into his mouth, the Slytherin hummed. (Watermelon, good choice this time.) “Whatever other things we’re preoccupied by, I’ll always have time for you,” he said gently, not quite looking Cass in the eye as he said it.

As the big Gryffindor also had a splendid combination of beans, Vincent figured they were on a lucky streak and he rolled a funny looking orange one to the side. He held it carefully between his fingers and examined it for dark spots. He was startled then by Cass’ big laugh. Turning towards his friend, Vincent watched as all the animations ran across the other’s’ face. He loved how expressive and openly honest Cassian could be; it was one of the thing Vince sometimes wished he could emulate half as much. He always tried to tell the truth and be as straightforward as he could but… for some reason he still got the short end of the stick generally.

Rolling his eyes a touch, Vincent offered the orange-looking bean to Cass. “You do have a big head,” he replied, deadpanning. “As for your plans, I enjoy them! Really, I do,” Vincent laughed. “But I’m just saying, a break isn’t terrible either.” Outside the now open window a soft rain began to pitter-patter. Vince let the silence carry as he considered the question he’d been posed. He could think of a great many things he wanted to do in this soft bed, by the romantically open window with the rain on the other side, and all of them involved touching Cass in some way. He knew he damn well couldn’t say as much however, so he leaned back to share the other’s pillow and sighed.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled quietly. “I could read to you,” he offered, teasingly. As he said it, Vince turned his head towards Cass and wished the other would lean back and lay with him. Maybe then he could just… carefully brush too-long bangs out of the Gryffindor’s face and Cass would realize how perfect he was. Vince almost snorted at the thought; maybe in another life.

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Vincent was acting weird. Like he was hiding a piece of himself, and for the first time in their friendship, Cass couldn’t put a finger on when the mask was on or off. At first he figured it was timidity over spending so much time with his (very large, highly overwhelming) family. But then there were moments in private, moments exactly like this - where he’d feel Vince looking at him, but he’d look away the second they made eye contact. Of course he had no concept of what Vincent truly felt, but he sensed something off, and it twisted his heart.

Cassian’s best guess: Did Vince still have that ridiculous idea in his head, that he didn’t belong with them, with him? He thought they were past that already, but maybe not. How long would Vince just go along with the program because he doesn’t think he deserves to have a say? When will he feel enough confidence to make himself known, his honest self? This train of thinking bothered the blonde, and he wondered if he should say something about it.

No… that would definitely ruin the moment…

Instead Cassian gave a derisive snort at the big-head accusation, rolling his eyes to show Vince exactly what he thought of that. “Hmm, I don’t know if I believe you, that you really enjoy all these plans,” he said teasingly, shaking his head. “I figured you would like the quidditch game tomorrow, but now that I think about it, I’ve never really heard you talk much about quidditch. I don’t even know your favorite team if you do. What an ass of a friend I must be…” he went on, through his laughing his eyes betrayed a hint of apprehension. He sort of meant it. From now on, he resolved, taking the orange bean from Vince’s palm and popping it in his mouth, try and find out the things that make Vincent happy as these stupid beans do.

Rain broke outside finally, and with it came a welcoming cool breeze into the room. Sighing, Cass scooted down a bit to lay too, the perfect angle to feel fresh air coming through. “Oranges,” he noted absently as he chewed, staring up at the ceiling. “You can read something if you want. No bloody sonnets though. I’ll fall asleep. Er–” remembering what he decided, he turned to look at Vince. “Unless you like poetry…?”

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   Vincent Iago

For a moment, Vincent felt himself get caught in a lie and he reddened a touch. He’d never actually expected Cass to ask about the quidditch match tomorrow, much less delve into the topic. In all truth, the Slytherin hated quidditch. He hated everything about flying and brooms and… being off the ground. The only reason he went along to matches really was to watch Cass and make sure the Gryffindor didn’t kill himself, even if it killed him to watch. (In fact, half the time Vincent watched the game through his fingers, focusing only on Cass and trying not to see those nasty bludgers careen at his friend.) “I like… all the teams,” he tried, fruitlessly.

For six years, Vincent had managed to hide from Cass the fact that he hated Quidditch and was terrified of flying. He knew now, as he wracked his brain for a team name - any team name - that he was finally at the end of that rope and the thought of disappointing the other made him flounder. Vince didn’t want to be the reason that Cass made that face again! He made a half ditch attempt to pull a team name from thin air. “The Scarecrows, from Munstershire,” he said, matter-of-factly. Then, peeking at Cass out of the corner of his eye, he tried to keep a straight face and failed spectacularly.

At risk of betraying himself with a laugh, Vincent sat up abruptly and dug around through the bag just beside Cass’ bed. He pulled out a great tomb entitled The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and settled back into his spot, beaming all the while. “I make no such promises,” he replied, eagerly flipping through the many tagged and annotated pages. The irony of his last name was not lost on Vincent, even as he distastefully flipped past Othello. He’d once read the entirely of the play to Cass. They’d discussed it at some length, that afternoon on the grounds, and frankly… other than teasing Cass by calling him Cassio for a good afternoon, it was a play that Vincent would rather forget. He appreciated the memory though, and having shared the damned thing with Cass. It made the whole ordeal less… irritating, he supposed.

Finally flipping through to the exact page he was looking for, Vincent ran his fingers gently across the text. He had in fact flipped right to the sonnets, knowing full well that he wanted nothing more than to babble sweet nothings at Cass in wonderfully riddled olde English. He turned an impish grin upon the other. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” He asked, teasingly. For a moment he wondered if Cassian would recognize the sonnet. It was doubtful, but he opted for another in case.

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state,” Vince started. He gazed intently at the text. “And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate…” It really was an apt sonnet. It was one Vincent often contemplated on his own, enough so that he had memorized it. “…Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,” he looked up from the page and recited the remainder from memory. “…For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Vincent grinned, even as the last of it floated easily in the quiet silence between them. The rain continued to patter peacefully outside bringing in the scent of damp earth through the window. He didn’t dare say much else, choosing instead to turn his head just slightly and gaze at Cassian in profile. They were rather close, all things considered, enough that he was sure Cass could feel a warm breath on his cheek. Vincent held his breath and waited for the other to say something.

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Cassian raised his eyebrows at first, determined to keep a straight and earnest face. But as Vince turned redder every second the silence extended, the hue creeping even to the back of his neck, the blonde’s lips started to twitch into a smile. Of course, Vince is never truly rendered speechless (though Cass swelled with a bit of pride knowing that he stumped him for a minute), and so he kept nodding very intently while his friend tried explaining himself until, finally, he busted up laughing.

It was a booming, full-body kind of laugh, one that sent his head back in the pillow while he covered his face and gasped for air.“Oh yes… I forgot… about the… the Scarecrows…” Soon enough, he managed to make a recovery, sobered a bit by the fact that his instinct was right. It sealed in Cassian’s mind that no one knew Vincent better than him - a fact that went the other way around as well - yet there were still countless things about Vince that he didn’t know. This realization came with some relief, though. Whatever his friend is dealing with, they could surely work through it together.

“Let’s skip the quidditch game tomorrow,” he finally suggested, feeling a little guilty that he didn’t notice sooner. “It's Puddlemere United versus Montrose Magpies, just a midseason game. We’re strictly for Chudley Cannons in this house, mind you.” Truly he could not resist the urge to make sure the Slytherin was properly informed about this, and then he waved his hand as though sweeping a counter, quietly dispelling the topic for another day. 

The question was a rhetorical one of course. It was no surprise to see the well-worn “sonnet book,” as Cass called it, come out. Without much thought he found himself nestling into his spot to get comfortable for listening. Vince had a nice voice, for reading.

“Romeo and Juliet?” he inaccurately guessed, he was certain, because they’d read that play too, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what Shakespeare thought about a summer day. Was it a day like this one? Blue eyes drifted to look out the window as Vince started to recite the sonnet. Some days the words passed over his head in a haze. Other days, the words pierced him, lighting a fire in his chest or twisting his gut. Today it was the latter, with a cool breeze lifting the hairs of his neck and arms on end. For a moment, silence filtered between them.

"...Can you read it again?" he asked as quietly as the patter of rain outside. This wasn't entirely uncommon thing for him to ask, but usually it happened when the words didn't make sense. It was unusual, then, for him to ask to hear the sonnet again when the look on his face said plainly that he was already considering its meaning.

After the second reading, the silence that followed felt full, unspoken thoughts lingering between them. It… worried Cassian. He latched on to a negative interpretation, one bewildered by Shakespeare’s blind faith in love to overcome this state of anguish. And more importantly, what did Vince mean by this - did he really think he was the same as this cursed man?

Feeling Vincent so close didn’t bother Cass, it reminded him of where they were, and dragged him out of his own head. He turned towards his best friend, not confused, not angry, but locking eyes - firmly this time - with a look that implored to the brunette, please, why won’t you be honest with me, with yourself?  “Vince…” he started softly. “Do you see yourself in this sonnet?”

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Vincent Iago

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Vincent was glad that his lack of knowledge about Quidditch did not seem to throw Cass into a tailspin. In fact, as the other rumbled a laugh about it, he felt relieved. He wouldn’t have minded seeing a professional game, not really; it was one of those new, wizarding experiences he knew Cass was keen on sharing with him. As it was though, Vince only nodded solemnly as the true team was announced and he made a mental note to regurgitate it lest anyone ever ask him again. Chudley Canons. He could remember that. Refusing to say any more on the match for the time being however, and hoping he may have gotten away with his aversion to the topic overall, Vincent settled upon the sonnet. They could revisit going or not to the game in the morning; he would so hate for Cassian and his family to miss out on their tickets because of him.

“No,” he chuckled in response to the other’s guess. “Not Romeo and Juliet.” They’d read through that one recently, so he supposed it was natural. Vince quite liked the story that went along with the tragic couple though, finding himself perhaps most drawn to Benvolio. It was so powerful what havoc a misunderstanding could wreak under the right circumstances.

After his initial reading of the sonnet, and the silence that lingered between them, Vincent turned back to look up at the ceiling reciting a second reading from memory. His tone was low and slow, lingering on the important parts and then quiet and even, tasting the sweet resolution of the final two lines. He turned his head back towards the big blonde and waited.

He could see the gears turning in Cassian’s mind, the thoughtful look on his delicate features reflective of it. There might be some who thought the Gryffindor dull, or stupid, but Vincent knew better. He might be big and jocky, but Cass was clever and resourceful too. They were two halves to a whole: where Vincent was not always the most apt, Cass was always ready to guide them thusly. Breath still ghosting across the other’s neck and tomb laying flat in his lap, Vincent sighed contentedly. This was where he was happiest, always. As Cass spoke then, the little Slytherin watched his face move and considered the rather heavy question.

In a way, yes - he absolutely saw himself in the sonnet. He was very much in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, and he often wished he too could be  like… one more rich in hope, Featured like [Cass], like him with friends possessed. But on the other side of the coin, he was also alright with his lot in life, in as much as he dared to be complacent. Complacency was not in Vince’s baser nature, but he supposed if this reflection here - lying in this bed listening to the rain and chatting with Cass - was any indication as to his lot in life, he could be appeased. Haply [he could] think on thee, and then [his] state… /For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, “That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” Vincent mumbled aloud, completing his thought process. He grinned at the big blonde and wondered just how honest he dared to be.

“I do, in a way,” he sighed, gently, voice low. “But only in that I count myself lucky to have you in my life and… by having you, I find any inevitable offense more tolerable.” Vince offered Cass a small grin; they both knew what it had been like for him before they’d become friends. It was only natural that Vincent was grateful for Cass’ friendship, even if the other might not realize just how grateful and attached he was. “Don’t think too much about it?” He pleaded, teasingly. Vince knew Cass was about to get all wrapped up in pity for him and he didn’t want that. It wasn’t the point to the sonnet, even if he wasn’t sure he was ready for Cass to realize the actual point. “It’s just a silly, romantic sentiment. A compliment, really.”

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

The soothing lilt of Vincent’s voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket, striking enough that it tore Cass away from his mounting worry for a moment. A skilled orator already, Vince could easily become a major politician or magistrate one day.  Recognizing this only served to remind the young Gryffindor that days like this were numbered. Whatever Vince said, once they graduated they would be off to their own endeavors. Visiting and meeting frequently as best friends should, of course. But with none of this idle time they had now, where they could read for hours, and the blonde could drift off into dreamless sleep to the soft notes of the other’s voice.

That’s why it felt so imperative, right this instant actually, to get a straight answer. He felt personally responsible for Vince in a way the other never really asked for, a small part of him realized that. But it was all for his sake. Cassian wanted nothing more than to make sure Vince could see everything, experience everything, have anything he could want… For these things to foment in the Slytherin’s mind into realization that the world is his for the taking, if he really wants it, and that he requires permission from nobody. Only then would Cass be satisfied that he’s finally proved how they have always been on the same footing.

This is partially why he didn’t buy into Vince’s self-reflection in the sonnet. Or rather, why he refused to.

“I’m glad you just see yourself as the lark,” he huffed at his friend’s mask, because again, again he sidestepped Cass’s challenge to speak plainly. “Because there isn’t a complacent bone in your body. You’re not poor in hope for what you can accomplish. You’re not mired in disgrace - whatever your family did has nothing to do with you,” the last came with a meaningful look from behind blonde locks that fell in his eyes again. They’d discussed this at length, and this was his regular reminder.

Perhaps these sonnets were the most tolerable form of vulnerability the other could muster, Cass realized. But he still felt a bit stung that he couldn’t break through, after all these years. Don’t think too much about it? Cassian scoffed at the thought, a look of consternation never once leaving his face. What the hell are you supposed to do with poems, then?

“I don’t think it’s very romantic,” he grumbled, clearly put out by his train of thought, and not really reading into any of the implications. The way he saw it, they were closer than brothers. “This Shakespeare has a twisted take on love. I understand the sentiment, yes, very flattering,” he waved away the thought, growing a bit more restless against Vince’s stillness beside him. “But a true love builds and grows. They seek to change his state alongside him, not at a safe distance. To fight the intolerable together, not tolerate it,” he added, borrowing from Vince’s sentiment. Cassian rolled over to his side now, craning his head on one hand to look down at the brunette’s inscrutable face. “Like the way I fight for you,” he finished gently, hoping the other was starting to understand his point. And how I will always, until you tell me not to.

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Vincent Iago

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Vince wasn’t surprised, really, at the turn of Cass’ thoughts and attitude. They’d been here before, hashing and rehashing Vince’s perception of himself. There wasn’t much Cass could really say that would impact Vince’s ideas though; he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he simply was on the outs. He was everything much of the wizarding world hated: from muggle-blooded and raised, to descended from the scandalous failure of a father few dared to even name. There wasn’t much that endeared Vince to the general wizarding populous and… he hated it. He really, really did. This world he was so fascinated and enchanted by was just rigged to hate him by proxy.

But at the end of the day, Vince was just glad he had Cass. With Cass by his side, there wasn’t much Vince felt he was lacking in life. He knew one day they’d graduate and go on to make something of themselves and maybe then it would matter more. Vince knew he had to decide one day if he was going to stay in the wizarding world and pursue a magical career, since he didn’t have the luxury to be a gentleman of leisure, or if he was going to set all of this aside and choose a muggle occupation, maybe even marry a muggle heiress. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. In all likelihood, he would choose whatever path kept him as closely linked to Cassian as… well, as possible. But for now, eyeing the big blonde beside him, Vince couldn’t help but sigh dramatically and blow a little in his friend’s face.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, simply. And, in a way, Cass was right. Vincent was not a complacent person, but right now it just didn’t matter. Next year, or two years from now, it might. But right now, it didn’t. So Vince simply listened, taking in everything Cass said and filing it away for the future. He knew it behooved him to have Cass in his corner, now and in the future when he inevitably would need the other’s protection again, maybe even his shining influence. But for now, all Vince saw behind the facade of one lovable teddy bear he wanted to snog silly, was the tortured heart of someone who wanted to be there for him. For that he was endlessly grateful.

As Cass turned over on his side towards Vince, the Slytherin smiled at him. He too turned over then and gazed, pensively, at Cass before lifting a hand to gently brush away those too-long bangs from his friend’s bright blue eyes. “Do you fight for me?” He murmured, teasingly. Do you love me in the same way I love you? his heart ached to ask.

A true love builds and grows. They seek to change his state alongside him, not at a safe distance. To fight the intolerable together, not tolerate it.

“I do love you, you know,” Vince dared to admit quietly then. “I love the way you see me and listen to what I say, and what I am. Nobody else has ever done that… and in a way, I think that’s all the sonnet is truly expressing. It’s not that the lark won’t fight, or that his love won’t help him conquer all. It’s simply that… by being loved in return, the lark can be satisfied at the end of each toiling day. Because he has his… truest of loves beside him, supporting him, always there to catch him when he falls.” Vince offered the blonde another small smile.

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Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Vincent laid there stolid, not returning even an inch of Cassian’s frustration. Instead he looked pensieve, face relaxed and lips turned slightly up. This puzzled the blonde, the same way this damn sonnet did. It was the same thing that bothered him about divination or potions class; he struggled with the gray area for interpretation.

“Of course I do,” he interjected unflinchingly, sounding a bit dismayed that the Slytherin would even ask. “Don’t you remember? The first time we really spoke was third year, after…” he trailed off, partially because of course Vince remembered, and partially because the brunette’s grazing fingertips on his forehead sent electric currents through his entire body. This is how he looks when he’s unmasked, Cass realized, heartrate picking up for reasons he didn’t care to define. Blue eyes searched intently as his best friend spoke, working to commit these details of his expression to memory.

“Ah–” the syllable came out as a sigh clipped with surprise. This was the exact same feeling he had at the end of nearly any disagreement with Vince: where Cass thinks he’s winning and winning, up until the last moment, when he learns that he’s walked right into his friend’s snare. Only this wasn’t a disagreement, it was a discussion about the rhetorical meaning of a sonnet. Moreover, Vincent’s confession to him had been profound.

“I know you do,” Cass answered indirectly, a slight blush indicating how truly ill-equipped he felt for the way their conversation was going. But dutifully, it carried on with his promise, and didn’t shy away from this part of himself Vince decided to reveal. It meant a lot to Cassian that he even did. “I’ll always see you, and listen to you,” he started, slowly trying to articulate how he felt. Distantly, he heard the rain pick up outside. “I mean… I love my brothers too, and you’re… close family to me.”

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   Vincent Iago

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Pleased by Cass’ almost immediate reaction to his question, Vincent hummed. He nodded even as the blonde trailed off. He remembered clearly; it was a defining moment in both their lives and not one he’d soon forget. Since that day in fact, Vincent’s life had grown a little bit brighter. That was the day, really, he attributed to the sun shining upon him. Still, he continued on without further comment to bare his soul, just the tiniest bit. It was clever, in a way, to do so by attributing it to the sonnet. Vincent could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest even as he spoke, appraising Cass’ reactions all the while. He half wished the big Gryffindor would just catch on already, while the self-preservative portion of his brain continued to talk in deniable riddles.

Finally, Vincent paused. He tucked his hands under his cheek to keep from touching Cass again, instead eyeing him with all the intensity of one waiting for the final judgement. When the words ’I know you do’ fell from Cass’ lips, Vincent almost sat up abruptly. Instead, he sucked in a held a breath. How could Cassian know all this time? Vince’s mind supplied. He couldn’t possibly, not really. And, as if to confirm the negative little voice in the back of Vince’s head, the blonde dropped the word brother into a following sentence and Vincent felt all the air push out of lungs.

He felt as if someone had slapped him.

Blinking green hues at the other, Vince tried to keep the frown that threatened to darken his features at bay. He couldn’t be upset without revealing to Cass the reason why, and yet… he struggled to school his features. A forced laugh escaped the Slytherin and Vince rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. Outside, the rain had begun to pour harder.

Well that was certainly not what he had been expecting, but he shouldn’t be surprised perhaps. It was so obvious in the way Cass was that he didn’t feel the same. Vincent had been kidding himself for a second there that he might. Still, the niggling little feeling in the pit of his gut dared him to push the boundary anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Cass could certainly reject him, but was it really in the Gyffindor’s nature to be nasty about it? Vince scrunched his nose at the thought. He didn’t think so, not at least to him, but… Maybe he was blinded by these heavy, rose-colored glasses he carried around where the other was concerned. Self-preservation was a booming instinct, one that Vince had learned early on.

Turning back to gaze at the blonde, he debated just shoving Cass over playfully and changing the subject. Green eyes made the mistake of flicking back over his friend’s face however and Vincent caught himself sinking. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears; it was deafening in a way that was unfamiliar to the Slytherin and frankly, quite disconcerting. Cass just looked so… vulnerable, so openly honest. Vince raised a hand to touch him again, hovering just above the Gryffindor’s shoulder. He could shove and sit up, and this would all be over. Instead, Vincent decided to take a leap of faith.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, maybe something in the honestly behind Cass’ gentle blue gaze, but in the next moment Vincent felt his hand settle on the blonde’s face rather than his arm. It was a feather-light touch, barely there, and he let out a shallow breath as he did so. He debated saying something along the lines of I don’t want to be a brother but that felt too brazen, even for this particular moment. Once those words slipped from his lips, there was no way to plausibly deny them anyhow. No, Vince was not so bold as to say much of anything. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath - heart still pounding in his eardrums - and pressed forward, carefully finding Cass’ lips with his own. As soon as he did so, the hand on the other’s cheek moved to hook around his neck almost automatically and Vincent shut his green eyes quickly to keep from having to see the aftermath. He didn’t pull away.

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Cassian Valenduris

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   Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

Cassian swore he saw a glimpse of it - that flutter of a veil, Vincent’s internal debate on whether to lower or keep the mask lifted. His stomach turned somersaults over it, wondering where his friend would land, wondering if he’d even be able to tell for sure again. They’d lost eye contact now, and Cass watched apprehensively as the other studied the ceiling. A small part of his mind wondered (in a really vapid way) if he’d said the wrong thing. The fact that Vincent let the silence linger, and steep, and surround them was telling. The brunette never went completely speechless, after all. Is this what anger looked like on him?

Unfortunately for Vince, Cassian had no trouble with prolonged silence. He rarely felt the need to fill it, even in situations like this, where the silence weighed oppressively on the both of them. The young Gryffindor would always bend, not break. But he certainly felt trepidatious - he chest ached from the breath he held in as the other stirred again, waiting for the backlash, for the shove, for the deflection and that smooth, polished mask.

This trepidation only grew as Vince turned to catch his gaze this time. True to his promise, Cass kept it. You will be seen, he steeled himself with resolve. More than that - his expression implored the other to respond. And… respond he did.

The blonde let out a short sigh against the feather-light touch on his cheek, not expecting it, and again shaken by the kinetic energy that so easily surged from deep in his gut into the small amount of space between them. Vince moved into it like a moth attracted to flame, and Cass’s mouth couldn’t form the words to stop him. So he closed his eyes, not willing to see the moment of impact, the moment where everything risks getting undone.

The kiss felt…

Cassian groaned softly into it, conflicted as he lay perfectly still against the feeling of the Slytherin’s arm hooking around his neck to bring them closer. The move parted his lips slightly, which deepened the kiss quickly, and there was no telling who started it. Cass had kissed plenty of girls before, this was beyond anything he’d experienced. This felt uniquely, strangely, so acutely different from all of that.

It consumed him, to the point he couldn’t string together a coherent thought at all, like a part of his brain had decided to shut down completely. It was in this fugue-like state that Cass lowered down to his back, tugging the other along over him.

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   Vincent Iago

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Cass’ soft sigh was only encouragement as Vince’s hand came to press ever so lightly against the blonde’s cheek. It warned Vince that this could still go horribly lest he decide to press on. Sucking in that deep breath however, the Slytherin decided to leap and he was rewarded, soundly, for it.

The noise that emanated from Cass’s throat when they connected was unlike anything Vincent could possibly even dream. He melted into the contact, finally letting his defenses slack just a touch. Every sense was on high alert for danger, repugnance, any possible hint of turmoil, and yet he was lit entirely aflame. It was as if a blue fire were tracking up and down his spine, urging the Slytherin to make the most of his moment. Lips parted then, Vincent took little time being demure and he pressed forward, licking Cass’ bottom lip and pushing that boundary.

Vince couldn’t say he’d ever, really, kissed anybody before. Not like this. He’d shared a few chaste kisses in his infancy with his first friend, a girl by the name of Hermione. He couldn’t remember if any of them had ever been more than just on the cheek however, and since then… virtually nothing. There weren’t many girls that lined up to kiss the outcast son of a murdering, rumored Azkaban prisoner. Still, even if there had been, Vince was sure they wouldn’t have compared to this.

As Cass tugged him closer and rolled onto his back, Vincent felt himself hefted just slightly on top of the big blonde. Green eyes opened in alarm at the movement, but every new point of contact was alight with an electricity he’d never felt before. Sensations crawled all over Vincent like fireflies dancing along his skin. Grinning into the kiss, Vince hummed a soft little sigh against Cass’ lips. This was what he’d wanted. This was exactly where he’d hoped to be. If the arm around Cass’ neck tightened then, tugging the other closer and pressing them firmly together again Vince could not be blamed. He involuntarily pressed down against Cass hoping against hope he wouldn’t gasp at the contact and break the kiss.

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Cassian Valenduris

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   Cassian Valenduris

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i desire very little but the things i do consume me

There were no thoughts. If Cassian had a single shred of self-preservation, it went directly towards ensuring there were none. Because with thoughts came emotion, and even in his short-lived experience, emotion wreaks irreparable damage. It was easier to exist in this moment, to consider nothing about what happened before, or what might happen later. He clung to the idea, the same way his hands moved with their own will to seek Vince’s hair and his shirt to cling to him.

Cass was certain that his skin must’ve felt scalding, his heart a battering ram against his chest. But still their mouths persisted, almost hungry, feeding from each other like wind spurns flame. The blonde did not open his eyes when Vince did, trusting instead what his entire body said as it reacted to every new touch, to the weight pressed down on his chest.

His body told him to send his hand thoughtlessly to Vincent’s side, caressing his ribcage before grabbing a fistful of fabric at that spot. It sent his other hand from Vince’s strawberry blonde hair  down to graze his neck, pausing his thumb on the pulse that sat on the edge of his throat and clavicle. His pulse was fast too, beating hard against Cass’s careless fingers. Almost in response, their bodies melted closer together, the thrill of new contact driving another muffled groan into the other’s mouth. He felt dizzy, then, realizing he hadn’t been breathing.

How could something so unnatural feel more effortless than breathing…?

Damn - his body shuddered from the intrusive thought, instantly breaking from the trance that very nearly consumed him. With that thought came the anvils on his shoulders. Where they were, in his family home. The man he’s meant to become - the one everyone depended on. The boy he is - a sometimes lonely, needful one below all the gilding, who needed more than anything his best friend by his side.

“Vince…” he finally gasped, breaking their kiss abruptly by twisting his head to the side, eyes breaking open to blink several times, concentrated on the window. 

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   Vincent Iago

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