#;owl

[owl]

Dear Professor McGonagall, 

I am doing fine. I have retreated to a hidey-hole so the press has been leaving me alone. Off season means I’m off. Just off. I am home in Louisiana, taking some time for myself and letting my momma guilt me about everything under the sun. (Letting meaning ‘having to listen to’) 

I will be back in England next week. 

How are you? 

Best,

★:a dream about your muse

He dreams of sunshine and bare feet walking on grass. Of bushes with flowers and the sound of laughter. Gilderoy is ahead of him and they are chasing butterflies, catching them in their hands before letting them go, smiles in their lips and the warmth of the sun in their faces. They don’t have to worry, they don’t have to think. Just keep chasing butterflies in dreams. 

➳:a nightmare about your muse

“Freak.” The voice is spar with bitterness and it feels like someone just kicked him in the stomach, taking the air out of his lungs, making it hard to breathe, to think. “I can’t believe you actually thought we could be friends. Who could be friends with someone like you?” The words are like the bite of a snake, sharp and poisons, leaving Xeno defeated and hurt.

“You don’t mean that.” It’s almost a plea but Xeno is only met by mocking laughter. 

“Of course I do.”

✌:a daydream about your muse

Some older boys are making fun of him again. Of the way he isn’t wearing shoes and his socks don’t match. They mock the way he was mumbling to himself, they mock the things he believes in. 

And then there’s Gilderoy, sweeping in as a knight in shinny armour, saving him from.

Ⓐ:an imagined conversation with your muse

“I think is better if you stopped with the parties, and the smoking.”“But Xeno….”“I mean it, Gilderoy. I worry about you and all this parties and drugs are no good for you. Can you at least try?”“Okay, Xeno. Just because you’re the one asking.”

✄:an embarrassing thought about your muse

Does he notice how his real smiles light up entire rooms? 

½:something my muse associates with your muse

The calm after a storm, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, smoke that fades away, the song Summertime sadness, hidden tears and jars with neon lights. 

⌘:something my muse has always wanted to tell your muse

At first he is afraid of opening the letter, afraid of what it might say but when he sees who send it, a relieved sigh leaves his lips and his shaky hands reach for the letter. 

The words are soothing and he feels a bit better and he does his best to think of the positive words instead of the negative ones. This simple letter is the proof that he does have friends, that someone does like him despite his odd ways and Xeno can’t quite express how much it means to him, how much he appreciates the gesture. 

He had thought about it more often than not, the question lurks in the back of his mind like a stain in the carpet that he just can’t quite wash off. He can cover it, he can hide it, he can do his best to ignore it but it is always there and sometimes, its impossible for him to avoid thinking about it: What if you are truly insane?

The question is simple and it makes a lump form in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. He clenches his hands into tight fists, his knuckles turning white because he might be insane and simply too foolish to realize. It hurts in a way that makes his lower lip quiver but still, he smiles. He can’t let them win, can’t let his fears crush him and the mean words get to him because he is better than that…Isn’t he?

“I-It’s not like that.” He mutters, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s n-not like that.” He repeats, this time louder, a fake a smile that just doesn’t belong in his lips. “I…I’m not insane, I’m just different than everyone else. That…That is not a bad thing, you know? I see things different, I am not narrow minded. I’m not insane.”