#hufflepffs

  ❝          i  keep  going  to  the  river  to  pray        ,            ❞            HE  SPEAKS  THE  BITTER  TRUTH            wrapped  underneath  the  slightest  of  smiles        .                ❝          simply  because  i  need  something  that  can  wash  away  the  pain        .            ❞  

to see her, he would think, is to know her. so he does not see her, not at first, but does know of her. they share the same house respectively, black & gold adorned by happenstance, and by character. they’ve spoken over the years, sure, and her presence is not wholly unwelcome in his time in the common room. he lies / he knows her.

keeps low in his profile, and to himself always, as elbows rest across the thick tabletop he’s procured of his own volition. fujita opens his text, a tome of herbology, and one hand runs through his hair as if already exhausted of the subject. looks up for a moment to survey the others —— striking heads of gold and orange and brown —— before their eyes meet. squints at her uncomfortably in his own acknowledgement, and now that the tie is severed, there’s an awkward way he clears space. sure, you can sit with me. 

❝ ... hello. ❞ accent thick, native to an island of the rising sun, and not of the united kingdom’s dreary plains. ❝ i guess good morning. ❞

” ’ello? ” Greg called, voice low -- wet gravel and cracked concrete in summer cut through the early morning silence. Puddles; muddy and thin revealed his meandering path through the shop. 

It was raining -- had been all week, and Greg was soaked to the bone. He’d been wandering the streets of London, as he did from time to time when the four walls and slanted ceiling of his flat in Nocturne became too much ... when they began to close in like the walls of his cell in Azkaban.

It was the anniversary.                                  It’d been a year since his release from Azkaban, and his life was slightly more stable than it had been when Millie had helped him find a place to stay. He had a job -- a muggle one, but a job all the same. The owners at the club were good people -- for muggles. They paid him more than they should, and didn’t look at him funny when he asked, in their words strange questions. Greg didn’t want to leave them -- not yet, even if there were better opportunities out there that could help get out of the wizarding worlds gutter.  

@hufflepffs

she has a gentle way of things, from wand waving to brewing potions & delicacies that are permeate to the nose far better than a witch’s brew. blunt bangs are pressed back, knowing full well he doesn’t belong here. hufflepuffs are, if anything, a kind lot. squibs don’t get sorted, and yet : here he is among them, accepted as if he could spin a silly charm and/or fly amongst them atop quidditch fields. he won’t / he can’t. 

AND YET : she is here with him, cozied up afront the fire, and offering him black tea that tastes sweet, and in that moment he swears it white lotus. 

among the pillows and throws that have made their way to the floor, he leans his head back as the steam flushes through his nose. a scent, a memory, and he tells her something private in native language that only he can understand, but knows she’ll listen with baited intent on rounded knees and gentle arms. i hear you, akira, even if i can’t understand you.

tells her again and again, i don’t deserve this place, and with each talk of the tongue, she holds him tighter. saucer and cup longer forgotten now, half-full in what he imagines once, he would think, half-empty. 

                       ❛  all i’ve ever wanted to be was useful  ❜                                             @hufflepffs​​

                                      THIS  IS  A  SENTIMENT  HE  UNDERSTANDS              book  placed  down  carefully  on  his  lap              /                  a  single  flick  of  his  hand  closes  it  swiftly          .            blue  eyes  are  soft  when  he  looks  at  her        .          she  reminded  him  of  himself  at  that  age          ,          if  only  ever  so  slightly            (            after  all          ,          he  is  sure  that  she  is  liked  at  least  by  most  students  of  her  house        ,            a  luxury  he  never  quite  got        .          )              soft  is  his  voice  when  he  does  speak        ,          lowered  as  to  not  attract  the  attention  of  the  other  students          .                  ❝          take  a  walk  with  me          ,          miss  cain        .            ❞            he  rises  quickly        ,          swift  strides  leading  them  outside            .          

the  chill  autumn  wind  quickly  shifts  to  something          softer            as  soon  as  he  sits  down  underneath  oak  trees          ,            the  courtyard  abandoned  by  students  and  teachers  alike  with  the  exception  of  them  now      .          ❝          tell  me      ,          why  would  you  ever  think  that  you  were  not  useful        ?          ❞

source: send  💬  for me to make you a starter with a random line of dialogue from this generator.

what's my vibe? | @hufflepffs