Dahlia
The things comprising Dahlia, the things taping her together, were all superficial. Her head was of voltage and lint, the rest of her was syrup and so was the couch beneath her, gooey and undefined. The breath that left her lips was that of bodiless laughter, echoing around the canyon of her skull.
Her vision was funny, bleary, both from the smoke in the air and the dryness of her eyes.
Dean wheezed somewhere distantly, about something she had just said, something she didn't remember.
They had smoked soon after Harry, Hermione, and Ron went to bed, and they smoked more than probably should have. Dahlia didn't know who needed it more, for her and Dean had no feuds with the lighter.
She had, for this night, for this session, dismissed all the moronic, nonsensical things she can't change. Only her body was there, and her humor.
Until Dean turned zealously to her, gasping at a memory, his eyes dopey with psychedelics, higher than anything she had ever seen.
Dahlia giggled so much at this comedy, in his features, in his mannerism, that her stomach ached and Dean had to let his smile to slacken before he could start his lazy speech. "What happened with you and Patrick? I heard he asked you out."
Too stoned to care, she grimaced frankly. "Yeah..." she sighed. "We're going on a date Saturday... at The Three Broomsticks."
Dean smirked. "You don't seem too... thrilled." He settled.
Letting her head fall upon the backrest of the couch, she evil eyed Dean with a reserved smile. "He's nice... and cute... but, I don't know..." Dahlia trailed off, drugged by the pretty fire.
"Yes you do, I know you do."
Dahlia twisted to explore Dean fully, she could interpret that an intelligent face was behind the costume of his high; he was right. She did know, and she was trusting that he would have allowed the conversation to succumb to their prismatic forgetfulness.
She sighed again, too doughy to think of anything thoroughly baked. "He's just the wrong person."
Dean snickered as he voiced his next question. "Then why did you say yes?"
"Well... you know it can't have the right person." Dahlia quipped, flinging her hand defiantly.
"That isn't true, Dahlia."
She shrugged sincerely. "At the moment it feels like the truth... after what happened on Sat—"
Shit.
Dahlia had no intention of telling anyone what happened Saturday after the party, but her tongue seemed inclined to disagree. A current of soberness left a wake of suspense in her veins and she looked over at Dean's very inquisitive stare. His thin eyes were even thinner with an incipient hunch, but he seemed too high to piece enough together for a conviction.
"Saturday?" What happened on Saturday?"
Remarkably, as she is not usually quick on her feet, Dahlia scraped up a lie. "Patrick asked me out Saturday and Neville seems kinda... tense about it."
The only response Dean granted her was a hum.
Scoffing at an additional thought, Dahlia drawled about another ordeal. "And we agreed to help Professor Sprout on Saturday before my date and that will probably be very tense. I only said yes because I need the extra credit."
Her heart delayed, knowing that she was to be alone with Neville. Alone for the first time since... He would have the whole morning to bring up what they did in the bathroom and she wouldn't be in a position to run. When Professor Sprout made her appeal to them after their Wednesday class to more intricately prune the second year's experiments she had jumped on the opportunity for her grade, which is about to start nosediving, but she had also jumped into the lake of privacy she had been avoiding.
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When the Stars Align (Neville Longbottom)
Fanfiction'Before he could give it another thought, Dahlia had leaned up, kissing desperately close to his lips, the corners essentially overlapping. It was deep, lasting, her hands had found his neck, her fingertips grazing over his jaw. He leaned his head d...
