Blue. The colour swirled around her, tickled her face and blurred her vision. It enveloped the soft curves of her cheek bones and caressed her full lips. Plump snow flakes swirled in the sea of blue, whilst several hugged her long black lashes. A beautiful blue heaven.
“Lysander!” A melodic voice twinkled through the brisk winter atmosphere, and the contemplative blond boy seated in a snow drift looked up from the journal clutched in his hands. “Oi. Lysander! Is that you?”
The approaching silhouette and source of the voice came into focus, and Lysander quickly snapped his journal shut. He gaped wide-mouthed for several seconds before running his hands through his untidy locks. He pulled his hand away from his hair and grimaced at the accumulation of recently melted snow puddle in his palm. He must have been dreaming in the courtyard much longer than he had realized. Wonderful. If he were certain of one thing, it was that this drowned-nargle excuse for a head of hair was sure to impress her.
“It is you.” She had reached his side and sunk down into the snow next to him. “You didn’t look up when I called your name. I thought that maybe you were your brother.” Her porcelain smile fell a fraction of a centimetre at the mention of Lorcan. Lysander snuffed down the eruption of irritation that surged through his chest at his brother and concentrated on the face next to him. His pulse quivered.
“Nope.” Lysander pushed his fluttering heart down out of his throat and offered her a small smile. “It’s just me out here, and well, you now.” She granted him a brief and sympathetic smile that opened the flood gates to thoughts that the Scamander boy would much rather have rather kept private. “I love this courtyard. Especially in the snow. It’s beautiful. You know. Gives me a place to sit and think by myself, do some writing.”
A beautiful place to sit and dream about her. The secret, unspoken words were hot behind Lysander’s closed mouth. He could taste them as they threatened to spew out. She could never know about the poetry that he had penned about her nor about the inner monologues he’d conducted to his brouther’s perfect blue angel while sitting in this snow-covered courtyard.
“You’re nothing like your brother, are you?” Lysander barely heard her. The feeling of a small hand on his thigh startled him. A hot trail of sparks danced up his leg from her small ivory hand. He looked at her face. Her plush blue scarves were coated with a layer of freshly fallen flakes. Before Lysander’s mind could catch up with his hand, he reached out and gently brushed the snow from her slim shoulders. She smiled, and he felt his heart stop. He quickly reminded himself to breath. This had to stop.
“So why aren’t you inside with Lorcan?” Lysander’s voice remained constant from months of casual practice. He sincerely hoped that his suspicions about his twin were wrong and cautiously glanced over her.
Blue was such beautiful colour for her. A soft tribute to her inner soul and a sharp accent to her external allure. Lysander chided himself. As beautiful of a colour as it was, blue was surely a painful emotion that he would never wish upon her, even at his gain and Locan’s expense.
“Actually, Lysander, I had wanted to talk to you about that.” Again, her voice cut through his ponderings, and his heart sunk. “You’ve always been a great friend to me, and, well, no one knows Lorcan better than you.” Lysander could feel both her and his heart’s imminent ache.
“What is it?” Lysander quickly muttered. It was better to just get this conversation over with. “It’s usually best to say what’s on your mind.”
“You’re right, Lysander.” She smiled and squeezed his knee. He became acutely aware of the fact that her hand had never left his leg. “Has Lorcan said anything to you about Lydia? You know, that Gryffindor prefect? I mean, well, I trust Lorcan. I do. And I don’t think that he’d intentionally hurt me, but he has been spending an awful lot of time with her.” Her large almond eyes stared at Lysander, waiting for his answer of reassurance.
Had Lorcan said anything to Lysander about Lydia? Merlin, what hadn’t Lorcan said to his twin about her? He had spent more time pressed up next to Lydia in the castles many empty classrooms in the last four weeks than he had on the pitch. But could Lysander tell the blue beauty next to him any of this? No. While he had no intentions of protecting Lorcan from his sins, Lysander could not be the one to shatter this delicate figurine’s world.
“Maggie,” her name felt strange on Lysander’s tongue, “you’re a fantastic girl. Merlin, I love you – ” he felt his pulse race for a moment before he was able to recover, “just like a sister. Whether Lorcan has said anything about Lydia or not isn’t any of my business. You shouldn’t hear the truth, whatever it may be, from me. This is something that you should talk to him about.”
“Lysander, you really are nothing like Lorcan, are you?” Those words hit Lysander’s bitter ears for a second time in the conversation. Her face was downcast, a new blue had replaced the soft and beautiful blue that had been there earlier. More quietly, her voice danced through the falling flakes. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if last year I had been your potions partner instead of Lorcan’s?”
Disbelief swept over Lysander. He ran his hand through his wet and frosted hair. He couldn’t allow his brain to linger on the very question that he had asked himself far too many times over the past fourteen months.
“Maggie,” Lysander’s voice surprised him. It was a bit more stern than he had intended, “It’s cold out here and almost past curfew. You should probably go inside.” He could not force his eyes to make contact with hers.
Lysander intently stared at the layer of freshly fallen snow. After a few moments he heard the sounds of her stirring next to him followed by the sound of her light retreating footsteps. He silently counted the crunching sounds until he figured she had entered the castle. Looking up before she was inside the castle was not on his agenda, and so he waited. When he did finally look up, she was still standing in the stone archway. The look in her eye told him everything that he needed to know. She wouldn’t ask Lorcan about Lydia, and later, after she dried her tears, she would again be in his arms. But for now, she just stood there and stared back at Lysander – A blue, blue beauty.
Lysander pulled his quill out of his bag and opened his journal.
Blue. The colour swirled around her, stung her face and obscured her vision. It weighed down the soft curves of her cheek bone and lashed at her down turned lips. Heavy snowflakes spattered the blue maelstrom around her, whilst several mixed with the tears that clung to her long lashes.
AN: Thanks for reading..... credit for the beautiful and inspiring pic goes to Jack. :) I hope you enjoyed this spontaneous little story. Lysander seems under written. Please take the time to leave a review. They are always appreciated.