everything exquisite is tragic

​

          “  don’t  look  so  pained,  i’m  doing  you  a  favour.  ”  he’s  grinning,  pressing  the  words  through  his  teeth,  looking  as  happy  and  unbothered  as  ever,  but  the  crinkles  around  his  eyes  are  strained  and  the  arm  he’s  offered  her  is  awfully  stiff.  truth  is,  she’s  doing  him  just  as  much  of  a  favour.  his  own  pride  and  stubbornness  might  be  the  only  factors  opposing  him,  but  he  was  determined  to  come  to  this  party,  so  he  found  the  one  slug  club  member  he  could  half  stand.  less  than  half,  realistically,  but  one  hand  washes  the  other.

NO U

          “  careful.  do  you  need  help  with  that?  ”

          the  industrial  grade  gas  canisters  is  all  they  have  to  make  due  with,  but  it’s  infinitely  easier  than  managing  a  fire  in  these  dry  lands  that  may  take  hours  to  die.  they’re  heavy,  though,  which  is  why  sirius  lends  a  helping  hand  even  if  she  might  not  need  it.  this  belongs  to  his  company,  after  all;  the  shared  fate  of  survivors  makes  it  easy  to  share  as  good  as  everything  else,  but  it  doesn’t  mean  they  lose  all  sight  of  the  future.  a  canister  like  this  can  keep  his  people  fed  for  months.  cooperation  brings  a  minimum  of  trust,  but  there’s  no  reason  they  should  go  beyond  that  threshold.  they  look  out  for  each  other,  but  not  more  than  for  themselves  and  their  own.  the  pack  survives,  but  only  with  its  clear  processes  and  hierarchies.  any  intruder  could  upset  the  routine  and  put  their  survival  in  danger.

          they’re  not  supposed  to  be  out  of  bed  this  late,  but  they  can  never  know  if  their  dormitory  is  really  as  quiet  and  asleep  as  it  seems  —  while  in  all  other  matters  the  twins  would  never  mind  their  friends  listening  in  on  their  conversation,  this  particular  instance  is  rather  a  confirmation  of  unspoken  thoughts  exchanged  in  nods  and  glances,  a  secret  language  nobody  but  them  can  learn.  orion  is  sat  sprawled  on  the  floor  before  the  fireplace,  elbow  propped  on  the  seat  of  the  sofa,  eyes  trained  on  his  brother.  they  know  what  the  other  is  thinking.  they  know  they  need  to  hear  it  out  loud.

          sirius  knew  andromeda  presley  as  a  walking  ray  of  sunshine:  ever-friendly,  ever  uplifting,  and  a  great  help  to  him  when  it  came  to  the  tedious  parts  of  herbology  or  care  of  magical  creatures.  they’re  long  out  of  school,  though,  and  the  war  has  made  it  seem  even  longer,  so  these  memories  of  back-in-the-day  have  been  replaced  by  an  image  that  seems  much  different  now.  they’ve  all  changed,  they’ve  grown  up  in  their  own  way,  and  grown  accustomed  to  the  strain  and  terror,  as  far  as  it’s  possible,  and  all  blissful  and  good-natured  ignorance  has  quickly  eroded  underneath  it.  

          still,  even  just  for  the  sake  of  morale,  sirius  is  often  lively  and  energetic,  as  if  his  high  spirits  alone  could  keep  the  somberness  at  bay.  it’ll  be  loud  laughter,  a  trick  here  and  there,  enough  jokes  and  comedically  timed  comments  to  keep  the  whole  order  entertained.  not  all  will  appreciate  it,  but  he  knows  many  will.  like  when  he  waves  over  to  andromeda,  gestures  for  her  to  sit  by  him,  and  holds  up  a  deck  of  magical  playing  cards.  

♚

      “—stupid aggression,” he repeats quietly, like trying on a new coat for size. that really is the difference that sets them apart, he thinks; they are all of them hiding behind a mask but some wear it better than others. and some, like regulus and his brother, don’t need to fake the parts of their character that elevate them above everyone else. 

      “can i not pity them anyways? violent or no.” it’s a harsh criticism of the same people he calls his friends but he knows they likely say similar things when his back is turned; little reggie, always staying his wand, reluctant little fool. but it is less fear or reluctance and more a matter of such qualms being little worth his time. “look at them—they have nothing else. most of them are clinging to their poise like a shipwrecked sailor fighting back the tide.” you cannot build class from nothing; you cannot multiply intelligence when you start with zero.

      regulus clicks his tongue, takes a sip of his flattening champagne and moves his head in a little closer to his brother, “if you don’t pity them, then what do you think? they’re not worth your hatred.” 

          they  may  be  the  closest  to  akin  out  of  everyone  else  gathered,  but  that  still  won’t  make  them  equal  in  morality  and  compassion.  it  was  a  light-hearted  quip  that  sirius  would’ve  preferred  to  keep  standing  as  it  were,  but  regulus  has  a  way  of  pointing  out  exactly  in  what  ways  it  is  he  doesn’t  belong  here  either.  the  feeling  of  distance  grows.

          of  course  regulus  wouldn’t  care,  he  cares  for  little  that  doesn’t  concern  him.  perhaps  sirius  is  similar,  but  he  does  care  for  principle,  and  he  does  care  for  righteousness.  are  they  concepts  he  could  explain  if  asked  to?  probably  not,  but  that  doesn’t  make  him  feel  less  strongly.  the  expression  around  his  lips  tenses  up  by  just  a  little,  then  he  smiles  a  masking  smile,  as  if  the  thought  were  so  easy  to  shake  off.

          “  we  don’t  need  to  get  into  all  of  that  now,  do  we?  ”  

not gonna lie this is way cuter when you're a dog. no offense

          regulus  is  easy  to  avoid  —  the  semester’s  schedule  bakes  routes  and  routines  into  every  student’s  daily  steps,  and  some  groups  and  cliques  gravitate  naturally  towards  different  parts  of  the  castle  and  the  student  body,  so  it  is  rare  their  paths  cross  in  this  massive  labyrinth  that  is  hogwarts  castle.  sirius  can  go  days  without  ever  even  seeing  his  face,  and  weeks  if  not  months  without  exchanging  a  single  word  with  him.  these  gaps  have  grown  with  the  years  and  the  waning  effort  on  both  sides,  and  so  it’s  rare  they  share  a  moment.  at  some  point,  though,  the  meeting  is  inevitable;  sirius  doesn’t  know  if  he  should  be  glad  that  neither  of  them  is,  for  once,  surrounded  by  their  friends.

i agree, this dump truck is scrum-diddly-dumptious, but ummm still... no touching...

johann  wolfgang  goethe  sentence  starters  (  accepting  )

            that  little  grin  he  wears  is  symbol  and  marker  for  just  how  much  better  he  considers  himself  than  anyone  else  at  the  function,  and  it’s  not  difficult  to  interpret.  most  of  the  status  these  pureblooded  families  flaunt  merely  comes  down  to  a  matter  of  attitude  and  image:  they’ve  all  mastered  the  art  of  portraying  themselves  as  powerful  and  perfectly  composed,  yet  anyone  privy  to  these  pureblood  society  secrets  can  tell  that  at  least  half  of  it  is  a  bluff  —  though  it  only  matters  for  everyone  else  to  believe  it.  not  the  brothers  black,  though.  that  smile  of  his  isn’t  cocky,  it’s  simply  aware  of  the  truth  —  if  they  don’t  outweigh  everyone  else  in  wealth  and  status,  they  certainly  do  so  in  class  and  intelligence.

          sirius  sighs  a  mock  sigh  at  regulus’  comment,  and  adds:  “  or  stupid  aggression,  ”  which  is  technically  in  the  same  vein,  but  much  better  describes  what  many  of  these  slytherin  brutes  encompass:  full  pockets,  empty  heads,  an  unchecked  amount  of  rage.

          “  you’d  pity  these  rock-for-brains,  if  they  weren’t  just  so  eager  to  resort  to  violence  so  quickly.  ”