[OPEN] What happens in Hogsmeade stays in Hogsmeade

[nonscriptum]

Who: EVERYONE! Especially you!
Where: Hogsmeade Village
When: Oct. 1-2
Rating: PG (Will change if necessary)
Summary: Get your wolf pack and head to town.
The Story:

Ah, Hogsmeade.

They say it's the Vegas of the wizarding world. Or they would, if wizards knew anything about Vegas. Or maybe they'd say it because they don't know anything about Vegas. It doesn't really matter.

What's important is that Hogsmeade is only a hop, skip and jump away from Hogwarts (Hogsmeade, Hogwarts? Coincidence? Wake up, America!), and is host to a number of exciting prospects for people of all ages, provided you're Year 3 or older. Perhaps you're a professor searching for a stiff drink at the Hog's Head Inn to wipe away the stress of the week's classes? Or maybe you're a hapless student with fresh eyes for the little hamlet, eager to try your first Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?

The village has something for everyone, with all the assorted businesses a thriving witch-and-wizard town could need: grocers, an apothecary, magical item mechanics, clothiers, sporting goods, bookstores, and the Wizarding Wireless Network headquarters.

Where will you be?





NOTE: If there is a particular venue located in Hogsmeade that is not listed and you would like to add it for people to visit, please feel free to make an addition with a context image and a little blurb so the non-HP savvy (who are those people?) can identify it! xoxo

Comments

[poppycock]

[ he sees her blush. it's impossible not to see it; he can never look away for long, and in this particular instance he has some vested interest to peek. and oh how he is glad he does, gazing at her cheeks so prettily flushed and growing ruddy. his heart races ever louder and quicker; it leaves him breathless in its wake at her answer.

he daydreams too. he daydreams about her, fantasies as lascivious as they are warm and sweet. he thinks of her body, soft and pliant against his in the corners of privacy they steal. he remembers her kisses and smiles, and he wonders. he wishes. it is a torturous longing, both a sinking stone and a bird taking flight in his chest. he wants her daily, nightly, now.

he wants the joy he feels with her, completely. but more than that, he wants her to feel it too. he wants them to have the chance to feel it, no matter how impossible it has seemed to him. he wants her to want that chance just as viscerally as he swears he sometimes needs it to keep going, to keep breathing.

this isn't just about sex. this is about her and him, and past the surge of desire and terror is a realization:

she might be ready to trust him with more than what they are now. she is saying perhaps she could.

all traces of his characteristic smugness begin to fade as warmth and elation ferment. there's sincerity in his voice; sincerity and apprehension, for he wants to do right by her, by this. he wants to do this right because she means so very much to him and so should this. there's pink in his cheeks in bright, high spots because despite how he knows she cares for him, he is exposed.

he stops in his tracks and looks at her. he wants her attention. he wants to impress this: ] I believe I would.

[therapize]

[He might be the most beautiful in moments like these: when she has said something to leave him speechless, breathless and open. Despite her own flushed skin she steals a look for herself, almost shy because it isn't just Klaus she's left open with her proposal. It's a risky thing, not only for the possibility of rejection but also of overeagerness, a desire for the act itself rather than all it can mean.

But he understands. She hasn't made her suggestion out of teenage lust—at least, not solely. She wants to be with him, to surrender herself body and heart alike, and to have Klaus in turn offer the same. And he is willing, eager even from the look in his eyes, one which prompts a slow grin to spread across her lips as that momentous step they've agreed to take settles in.

The candy now stands forgotten; even the piece she'd plucked from the shelf to occupy her fingers is put hastily back, outside of it's proper place and without care. Her attention is solely for him now, and she steps closer, meaning to steal a moment of privacy even among the steadily moving crowd of students around them.

Her words are for him alone, along with so many other things she wishes to give him. Happiness and joy and herself--everything.]

I love you.

[poppycock]

[ he is waiting, his heart in his throat, everything around them still and far away as she steps towards him; she and the grin that lights and burns him up inside is all he sees. it's the sweetness of her smile that comforts him, that puts all his fears of rejection to rest. his hand lifts even as she turns, his fingertips reaching to touch and trace down the golden silk of her hair framing her face.

he does understand. he is certain that she understands as completely and intensely as he, and there is nothing but contentment and a frightening, uncontrollable joy rising in him seeing with such clarity she wants and feels just as he.

his fingers stop on their own volition, weaved between strands of her hair when she defines the tumultuous, exquisite storm inside of him, between them. he's known; he must have known, because how could he not know? and yet the words are a wonder and a fear both. a blessing and a terrible blow. his eyes have rounded and they search hers, disbelieving, hopeful, and slowly shadowed over by anxieties that hold his breath captive: does she love him? is this love, the emotion as twisted to him as it is foreign? could he, should he, love her knowing what he knows?

(love is a curse, one he hasn't been worthy to give and receive fully, completely, truly.)

his pulse is deafening; a race inside his chest. he knows by the look in her eyes that he has been still and silent too long. how she falters and begins to look down makes him start, seizes him with an utter terror so different and all-encompassing. (it doesn't matter, his fears. what matters is that he doesn't lose her, that he isn't the reason she loses that smile.

he knows he is a coward, but he decided long ago that he wouldn't be a coward for her. he decides now.) his hands grab her arms, pull her back; his chin tilts to beckon her gaze with desperation and command both in his frame. it takes a moment, a shaky breath, but his eyes are clear. the words are slow, careful, fearful, but they come. ] I am terrified of what I feel, [ love, he thinks, helpless ] for you. But if what I feel is love, then that would makes sense, for I have felt and known it so rarely... [ he pauses, takes in breath. ] I love you, Camille.