Green Pastures, Still Waters

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The Tree are sentient, singular in physical representation, but not in spirit, composed of an amalgam of powerful forces predating primordial life, a collective consciousness of ancient energies.

They are legion.

They stand resolute at the edge of a pasture, hibernating for hours, years, centuries, existing amidst the sonder of human life to awaken only when the cosmos properly aligns according to universal constructs, on an All Hallow’s Eve beneath the light of a full moon.

Or in proximity to magic.

This isn’t the first time these particular humans have congregated beneath their branches. The bonfire tonight is weak by historical memory; The Tree are not threatened. They reach out, their energy attracted to magical cores.

The grouping around the fire holds passing interest but the pair seated on the back of the mechanical machine parked near their trunk draws their interest. One has a powerful magic, a vibrant core, golden with courage and empathy, yet tarnished by an evil long banished, an old soul The Tree find familiar, comforting.

The other human attracts The Tree the most. A magic as green as fresh grass, cunning and fiercely loyal, resides deep within a heart once black with the burden of choice. The heart now beats true, sloughing off pain like a snake sheds its skin, raw in its newness. 

Individually, each of the two souls appeal to The Tree, but collectively, the two form a balanced energy, a dichotomy complete. 

The very air around them sparks and vibrates with a magic The Tree haven't felt for centuries.

The green human speaks, its voice a sarcastic drawl. Is it still called tailgating when we’re just sitting in the back of your truck and watching a bonfire burn? Behind the snark, his voice vibrates with his heart’s tremor.

The Tree long to wrap branches soft around him, soothing a doubt years in the making. The other boy’s heart beats the same refrain, can he not hear it? It vibrates The Tree’s very roots.

Yes, Malfoy, it’s still tailgating. The golden boy’s fondness, bright with a shiny newness, curves his lips into a smile. 

The Tree rustle, shifting branches to allow the full moon’s beams to shine upon the pair.

It’s a beautiful night, the boy named Malfoy says, his face luminescent in the moon’s reflective glow.

The golden boy agrees, though the face his gaze is fixed upon is not on the moon’s. Beautiful. A whisper that shivers The Tree’s amber leaves. 

Both boys look up, watching the leaves shift and shudder. The Tree release a leaf to fall, slowly floating in still air on a hopeful breath. It drifts to land between them, and their eyes meet. The Tree still, slowing the Earth’s rotational spin. 

The boys draw together, opposing forces inexorably joined. They put up no resistance, to The Tree’s relief, their lips meeting amidst swirling magic.

The Tree sigh, content, and leaves rain down around the boys, dancing on ancient magical currents. 

* * *

Day 30 of Autumn Drarry Drabbles, y’all! I was drawn to this image and had it sitting on my desktop, as inspiration. The prompt is “Is it still called tailgating when we’re just sitting in the back of your truck and watching a bonfire burn?” a trial this...unusual to fit the season. thanks to toluene for helping with the plural pronoun trouble. Enjoy! xo peach

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