you've got a f r i e n d in me↓
aarondionyaxley
As a finger was swiped across a wound on his cheek, Owen could only clench his jaw and glare at the vampire. Yet he didn’t make any move to stop him or resist him. He allowed the venom to be wiped on his bloody face, and honestly? He was relieved when he felt the effects happening almost immediately. The ghastly gash began to knit together, the pain that ached through his body began to lessen, and he generally began to feel more like himself. He wasn’t as sore, or as cold as he had been constantly since the Dementors had been used on him endlessly, and his posture relaxed. He sagged in relief, the beginnings of a wolfish smile twitching at one corner of his lips -- it never fully came, he stopped it before he looked ridiculous. As glad as he was of the help, he felt weak for taking it. The men were too alike in ways and polar-opposites in others.
Owen had sat in silence for a while as Aaron told of his plan, how the Yaxley manor could be used as a safe house if the need be. But Abbie would never do that -- she would never trust him enough to willingly go anywhere. “For as long as I’m at Hogwarts and so is she -- she’ll be safe.” He was determined never to raise a wand to her again, nor allow anyone else to. “But everything is bound to blow-up soon… This war everyone is waiting for to happen, it’s obviously approaching, and even I won’t be able to convince her to hide it out and stay hidden.” She was stubborn, determined, and was one of those irritating people who would put her own neck on the line for her friends. “She has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.” His head shook and his scabbed hand lifted to push back through his sandy hair. It was no secret that he blatantly loved Abigail Fletcher and all her faults, but he would never admit it. Not for any amount of money or freedom in the world.
“But when the time comes and when it spreads to the castle; I’ll drag her there myself, if I have to.” It was a promise and of all the things Owen Page was, he always followed through with a promise. A large hand lifted and rested again on Aaron’s shoulder, a gentle, almost affection squeeze following suit. Neither were the kind to show elaborate shows of thanks or gratitude, and even this was a lot for Owen to give. “I’ll take full responsibility should anything go wrong.” That, too, was a promise. Owen was aware of the dangerous involved for Aaron should Voldemort learn that he had aided Owen in hiding someone he may have wanted and it wouldn’t have boded well for either. Aaron was his friend, his closest one, and he wasn’t prepared to allow him to suffer for something of his own accord. He would lie, should it ever come out, and say he stole blood, anything -- as long as it didn’t come back to Aaron. Enough of his loved ones had suffered because of him.
