smother the match once i've burned.
harry potter x fem oc
#1 - dark magic, 10/12/2021
#1 - light magic, 23/01/2022
#1 - ocxharry, 25/03/2022
#1 - goldentrio, 02/04/2022
#1 - boywholived, 08/04...
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꧁—— ❦ ——꧂
The faint dulcet hum unknowingly timed itself between the drawn out ruffle of pages being turned, the stroke of the paintbrush following the soft thud of the turning pages and thumping against the textured layers of previously dried oil paints, further detailing the impasto masterpiece.
Within the past week Lavinia found herself becoming quite fond of Harry's company, relinquishing in how easy she found it to be around him without having to worry about losing him as a friend. They were very consistent with the little routine they had subconsciously created; the two of them would wake up in their respective homes only to be sitting across each other by breakfast, choosing to spend the rest of their day in the other's presence. It had become a rare occurrence to see them separated, and no one on Privet Drive could change that.
Currently, Lavinia was sitting on the wooden stool in her room, humming the same childhood tune that plagued her mind like a broken record while she blended her paints and watched as they bleed, a true memoir to the war raging inside her mind. Harry was curled up against her headboard, Romeo and Juliet open in his lap ( he had insisted that he read her favourite play, and now she couldn't decide whether she wanted to kiss him or marry him ), the quiet snicker periodically interrupting the tune as he read her annotations.
Lavinia spun around on her stool, placing the paintbrush and palette on the fourth shelf of the bookcase — they always sat on the fourth shelf, never anywhere else —, and sat down on the end of her bed, clearing her throat to ask the one question that constantly floated in her mind.
"Can I ask you a question?" Lavinia asked once Harry looked up, continuing when he nodded. "You don't have to answer if you don't want too. I'll completely understand."
Harry softly smiled, placing the play down in his lap. "I promise I won't be mad. Just ask."
Lavinia nervously grinned at him, "I was just wondering how you got that scar?"
As she watched Harry's smile drop and his hand move to cover it, she immediately regretted asking; but the corrupt part of her personality buried deep within the arboretum of dastardly bones enjoyed observing as his mind fought with himself, the hooks she worked so hard to conceal clawed through ichor that pulsed her veins, and exigent demands of wanting to discover every secret rung in her ears.
Just a tosser, aren't you?, she internally scolded.
"My parents and I were in a car crash when I was one." Harry finally said, staring down at the play. "I was the only one that survived."
