SeductiveInkWell

Llewellyn stood, in the courtyard, staring out across the dusty road with expectant eyes. His friend stood at his side, standing at a distance that respected the difference in their genders and station. She was coiling a spare stretch of gauze about her hand, greasy with cleaning oils. She watched the prince with sad eyes, knowing the turmoil that lay beneath her master and friend's blue eyes. 'Do you think they secured a fair treaty,' Llewellyn murmured again, for the twelfth time that morning, 'they are known for being brutal, but they also have strict customs when it comes to surrenders…' He picked at his own fingers and bit his li

The bitter arctic clung to his skin, frosting the grey with magical spirals. Pitch glared at them, brushing his sleeve. He didn't want a reminder of his failure. What could been. Yet he remained in Antarctica, wandering the snowy plains as if they were his own personal hell, every speck of ice a dagger that plunged straight through his soul. He had the Guardians to take care of, his Nightmares to ready…..but the look on Jack’s face seemed etched into his mind. His words on repeat, stinging, as if Pitch had been dunked in the glacial waters below. He couldn't forget them. They were a personal rejection, and worse—a failure.

Harry glared across the clearing at his nemesis, one Draco Malfoy, in all his pale glory. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t pale about Draco Malfoy, was his eyes. Ah, those eyes, storm cloud grey, but if you got close enough, you could see flecks of summer sky blue in their depths, and Harry was sure that sometimes in the heat of their confrontations, he’d seen the flash of lightning too. Harry shook himself mentally. What the hell was he thinking? He was contemplating how pretty Malfoy’s eyes were when he got angry. When he really should be concentrating on Hagrid, and his lecture on whatever dangerous and vicious magic