#mvrleymk

had evan been planning to burst into the girls’ bathroom post encounter with vincent goyle? no, not particularly. when he woke up that morning, he hadn’t even foreseen the mid-corridor violence for himself –– though he probably should have. when he’d caught sight of the back of marlene’s head as she disappeared into the toilets, he’d just made a beeline. “ marlene, ” he looked at her as the few other witches in the bathroom made noises of distaste and subsequently vacated the premises post haste. he was out of breath –– because it still hurt to breathe. he was useless with healing magic, and there was no way in dante’s inferno that he was going to the infirmary with a broken rib and no kosher explanation. the rest of his words are left unsaid, sure that she can read what information she needs all over his face. 

valentine’s day was a crock of shit, a money grab –– but overall, it was decidedly a muggle holiday. evan had always refused to observe in years past, whether or not he was single. this year, it was more of the same –– if not for one half-dead white rose, the tips of its petals tinged with a sickly yellow-brown. he took up his usual post outside of marlene’s last class for the day, the back of his head leaned against the coolness of the corridor’s stone walls. when she finally appears, flyaway hairs glowing in the sunlight from the corridor’s window, he merely holds it out to her. “ got you this. ” he all but shoves it at her, desperate to rid himself of the mark of such an imbecilic day. 

evan was by no means stupid, but he’d never be labelled an intellectual. his brain moved too quickly, jumping from thought to thought like if he dwelled on one thing too long it might burn him –– not unlike putting your fingers too close to a fire when you were just trying to thaw them out. every so often when he’s at a loss for words and only halfway through a scroll that’s due the next day, evan remembers the way the sorting hat cackled to only him as it mulled over the idea of placing him in ravenclaw and can’t help but cringe internally. 

waiting around for marlene in the library feels like routine now, having been a weekly ritual for over a year. he shows up to their usual secluded corner first, dragging the table closer to the nearest wall torches so he didn’t have to listen to marlene complain incessantly about the bone chilling cold in the less populated recesses of the stone-walled library. then he waits for her footsteps, the sound of which he’s memorized ten times over. “ i think you’re late, ” he comments when he hears her at last, not looking up from his herbology textbook.