Follow up to the already epic pajama guitar pic of ‘19.. how did I miss this back in Feb?? This is so reminiscent of Sprousehart back when Cole would photograph the most beautiful shots of his “friend” Lili.
Tom Felton and Emma Watson being adorable human beans.
I mean, okay, I’m going to be that person for a second. I don’t typically comment or participate in the Feltson train, mainly because shipping real people is a little—mm. It’s not my jam unless those presumed to be together actually are together or don’t insist otherwise.
I occasionally post Feltson things because of the Draco/Hermione angle and generally as a reflection of their fictional counterparts. To support them together as their actual selves has always made me a bit uncomfortable, especially because Tom has occasionally been shown to be as uncomfortable when pressed on their status.
That said, there’s something curious about them. The whole Draco/Hermione thing aside, I find it wholesome and wonderful that they’re as close as they are. I can understand why people hope dearly that there’s something worth exploring between them, especially since most people can project themselves in that situation: if we’ve grown up together, gotten close, are both attractive, then what harm is there to wonder if you’ve got potential with that person?
His latest caption means jack to me, to be honest. His sign off is typical for Brits (x). What I personally find interesting is that he’s actually posted a picture of them together and tagged Emma, as it’s always been Emma doing the posting where the two are or inferred to be hanging out. That’s not to say it’s indicative of anything more than friendship at all, but honestly it makes me giggle.
Men are rather intentional creatures, whether it’s by method of omission or inclusion. For somebody who’s always seemed motivated to discourage speculation, this is kind of the wrong way to go about it; he’s got to know that posting that particular picture is ripe for overanalysis.
I do love their friendship. It’s honestly the sweetest thing—how they can transcend distance and make the effort to see each other and keep in touch, even though the both of them are so busy. Personally, that’s the beauty of Feltson for me, and it’s admirable. However, I’m not at all surprised that people wonder, and the excitement for the latest Instagram posting is rather contagious, if only for the fact that there are more questions than answers.
Even if they were regular people, it’s not that difficult to see the potential they’ve inadvertently developed, and that’s really the driving force and fanaticism around them. How is that not a beautiful thing to ponder?
Takes place some time after Trust. Part 4/? of my little Veela Draco series.
He was brooding today, she noted. She’d caught him absently
scratching at the faded Dark Mark throughout the day as his mood had gotten
ever darker. His birthday had been the week before so she had a feeling that it
was the anniversary of the evening he was branded.
She crept to the window and peeked out. In the moonlight she could just make
him out as he sat with his feet up on the
railing, a glass of firewhiskey on the arm of the chair, platinum blonde hair catching
the moonbeams.
Silently she opened the door and slipped out onto the porch,
padding her way over and sitting on the empty arm.
“Hey,” she murmured,
“Hey,” he replied, just as quietly before draining the rest
of his drink and lowering the glass to the floor.
Her fingers drifted through his hair until some of the
visible tension faded.
A sigh emitted from his perfect lips as he pulled her hand
down to nuzzle it and play with her fingers. Before getting together with him
she never would have imagined him to be so affectionate. It made her wonder if
that was because she was the type to need affection, so his nature inclined him
to be that way with her.
She wanted to ask him a thousand questions but could see
that tonight was not the night to be pushy with them. She’d learned through a
very small trial and error phase of when and when not to push. Something in the
back of her mind was telling her to wait, and for once it felt right to do so.
He eventually pulled her into his lap, her legs dangling
over the arm and her head on his shoulder. His fingers traced nonsensical
patterns across her abdomen as they watched the trees sway, leaves dancing in
the breeze.
He ran the tip of his nose along her ear before muttering, “I
was marked around this time, ten years ago.”
It felt like ten years ago was more like a thousand years and yesterday all at the same time.
She wanted to see his face but had the feeling that this was
one of those conversations best had with a lack of pressure that a gaze could
bring.
“Do you think about it often?” she asked quietly.
She felt him shrug, “Sometimes. Always on the anniversary.”
The conversation drifted as she debating proposing the idea
she’d been mulling over. He was Pureblooded and fairly conservative so she was
hesitant to bring it up otherwise, not wanting him to think she didn’t want to see it and be reminded by it. She took a breath and bit the bullet.
“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo to cover it up?”
she asked, nonchalant as possible.
He paused before asking, “What’s a tattoo?”
She thought for a second, “Remember that bloke we saw last
week when we were getting curry? The one with all the drawings down his arm?”
It was quiet while she let him think on it.
“Do you want me to cover it up?” he finally asked.
Indifference painted her features earnestly when she told
him, “It doesn’t matter to me. I just didn’t know if you knew it was an option
or not.”
“Promise?” he asked, hesitant.
“I swear to you,” she said, squeezing his hand momentarily
before allowing it to go back tracing their patterns.
“I almost don’t think I should. Having it is like a penance
for me to pay for doing those things,” he confessed.
“Draco. If someone cut off your arm five minutes from now would
you forget any of what happened? Would you feel any differently?” she asked.
Her mane jostled as he shook his head against it sharply.
“Alright then. The memory of it will stay with you for forever,
there’s no reason to heap extra on top of that,” she soothed.
He relaxed underneath her again. It was quiet for a while
before he posed another question next to her ear, his warm breath making her want to shiver.
“Have you ever thought about getting one?” curiosity colored
his tone.
“Sometimes. I have a hard time trying to decide what to get.
I’ve entertained getting one of that white Ironbelly we rode on when we broke
out of Gringotts years ago,” she said.
“You’ve thought about getting a pale dragon tattooed onto
you,” he said with faint amusement.
“Yes,” a grin curled her lips.
She felt his mouth turn into a satisfied, yet amused smile.
“So they can be of anything?” he asked, she could tell that
she’d gotten him thinking on it.
She nodded.
“And it doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone except me?”
he continued.
Another nod.
“How does it get on there? I know it can’t be some sort of
spell since that Muggle bloke had them. Does someone just get quill happy with
some everlasting ink or something?” he hypothesized.
She chuckled and explained the art of modern tattooing.
A low hum came from him and it was obvious the idea of his
skin being pricked thousands and thousands of times wasn’t quite appealing. She’d
start thinking more seriously on what she was going to get and let him watch
first if he was still reluctant. She hadn’t been joking about the Ironbelly,
though. Freeing that dragon from the bank had been deeply satisfying, even now
she still felt pleased over it.
Rain began to patter down onto the earth until it became a
downpour. When Draco’s shoes started to get wet he helped her back up and
stood. Not giving her the chance to move far, he picked her up, bridal style and
carried her back in, to bed.
