Ultimatum PV November Morsus Closed

Green nodded approvingly as he saw November chew and swallow, eyes narrowed at him. "Good. Now you'd better finish that plate, or I'll have to feed it to you," he ordered, glowering.

Green grimaced as November described his previous residence, arms crossing, putting a foot up on the stone bench to press himself against the wall. "God, they sound like a bunch of snout-nosed ponces. 'Deserve what you can get.' Pfft," he snorted, flowing the bangs from his forehead. Suddenly, something changed in his eyes, and he grinned, slow and sinister. "You should introduce me to them some day," he purred. "Once we're out of here. We could have some fun." He winked, clicking his tongue.

'As regards your robes, though... Hmmn, Green hummed, tapping his fingers on his chin. "Well, they're about two galleons at Madam Malkin's. And I've already got mine secondhand," he nodded, "So it'll just be yours, then. I think we can afford that without even getting my father involved, so not to worry on that account. I'll have to take your measurements, but we could probably get something from the catologue; I'll send for it with an owl," he nodded towards November, jaw set. "What sort of styles might you prefer? Most of them are just muggle suits with cloaks instead of jackets," he shook his head, shrugging.

"A-alright," November mumbled, nibbling a bit more fervently at his string beans, still wondering if he could polish off the entire plate by himself, "are you sure you don't want any too?" he asked, his head cocking in the most puppylike fashion. "I thought, maybe, it was for both of us..."

He giggled at Green's indignation, blushing a little, hiding his face behind a hand, "I suppose they were, really," he finally admitted at long last, "they didn't let me do anything, except when it was something they were supposed to do themselves, then they just dropped it in my lap..." His eyes went wider still at Green's wicked smile, his offer. "Oh, I shouldn't," he gasped, eyes alight, but then leaned in, whispered very, very softly: "But I think I'd like that very much."

"You-... You really mean that?" His eyes went wide as dinner plates at the offer of brand new robes, just for him. "You'd get them for me? I-... Oh, I really, really couldn't, that's just, oh, it's too much-..." He shook his head, bewildered, though despite his insistence to the contrary, desire lit up his eyes like a Christmas tree. "I've never had anything like that before..."

Green looked at the plate, then back at November, cocking his head. "You know what? I could go for a slice of ham. I... I like to roll it up with a bit of mashed potatoes inside, then eat it like a sort of reverse hotdog," he whispered to November, leaning in. "But I can't do that here, there's always someone watching. At home, I generally eat alone... I mean, unless our house elf finds me. God, his face if he saw me messing about with his cooking... he'd probably throw the piano at me if he saw," he shuddered. "That's one good thing about this place. No more Lobby."

Green grinned wide as November whispered to him, his teeth small and white and sharp. "I would, too. So we'll have to remain friends throughout our stay at school, same house or not," he declared, looking into November's eyes. "Swear it for me, he whispered, suddenly reaching out, grabbing November's hand. "Swear it, and I'll see you dressed like a prince. Silver brocade and blackest silk, rings of onyx, cufflinks set with every jewel you can imagine. Swear it for me, and I'll get you a pocket watch that tells you when the next time somebody's going to bleed is," he whispered, eyes wild, hand gripping tighter, "And a hat with a feather in the brim that points to the last person in a room who ever whispered an unkind thing about you. Promise me you'll stay, and year by year, I swear I will get these things for you," he hissed.

"Oh, that does sound rather good. No one can see us, you should have it," November encouraged, gently pushing the ham and potatoes on what was now their shared plate towards Green. "Maybe I shall try it too, if you'd like. We could eat together so if anyone stares, we'll just say it's a new recipe." He smiled, began gently shoveling potatoes onto a thin slice of ham with his fork.

However, he once again dropped the fork when Green took his hands. At first, all he could do was stare in utter shock at the adoration and devotion on display before him. This-.... This was almost unthinkable. He was supposed to be the one this desperate, this longing, this adoring. He was the one who was supposed to beg for acceptance, only to ultimately be denied. He was the one meant for love and longing and quiet wishes whispered to pillows that he only wished he was courageous enough to speak face to face.

And here was Green, pouring all of this out for him.

Tears finally sprang to his eyes, and he reached across the plate to gather Green in his arms, squeeze tight, weep hot tears on his shoulder. "You don't have to get me anything," he promised, "I'll swear it all the same."

Green squeaked as he was seized into the other boy's arms, who he found was deceptive strong despite his willowy frame. He was momentarily cowed by the fierceness of it, the suddenness of November's reaction; some part of him had been aware of the insanity of his demand and his promise, the desperation in it, the madness, and had been daring November to accept it. Daring him, yet expecting him to run. To see him for the shriveled little thing of spite and ashes he was, and run before he burned his house down.

But he didn't. And he was so much stronger than Green was.

Green felt tears pricking at his eyes as he reached up and suddenly seized November back, small, clawlike hands digging into his shoulders. "I want to get you everything," he whispered, choked. He didn't know what this feeling was - something in his chest that burned and leapt and sliced, like a dagger loose and spinning in his ribcage, or the wheel of a train, reeling and sparking and driving him.

He knew this was more than friendship. That you didn't ask friends to the ball in the way he just had, or demand promises of them like this. But it didn't seem quite like love, either, not as he had read it. It was something darker. It made him want to crush the boy in his hands. To devour him.

Reaching forward, he snatched November's fork from his hand, gaze still burning into him. Slowly, like dragging a corpse over the rocks, he speared one of the ham slices, then slapped a dollop of mashed potato in its center, rolling it up like a cigar. The fork clinked on the plate as he stuffed the thing in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed in one bite.

"I want to get you everything," Green whispered in his ear, and November only clutched him closer, his hands shaking around his small frame, his heart pounding so heavy he was sure Green could feel it rattle his bones. He shook his head, fierce, dark hair flying, and whispered back in fervent, insistent tone, yet spoken so soft that only the other could hear him, a raging inferno in a thimble, meant only for him.

"You already-... Already have."

The words tripped on his tongue, the tears that still fell warm from his eyes stones that they stumbled over. He treasured this, this moment now, more than he ever did, ever could, any mere possession. He'd never seen that kind of fire in another, could never even dream of having it directed towards himself.

He wondered where they go from here.

The answer seemed to come as Green moved, still staring at him with such fire, such passion, such need. But his hands remembered the fork, the dinner between them, devoured one of the tiny ham-and-potato rolls he'd only just explained to November moments before. It seemed to, break the spell, a tiny bit, and November blinked, looked back down at the food. "Oh, I suppose we should-..."

You already have.

Green stared at November as he said those words, not understanding, neither in his mind nor his heart. What did that mean? What had he given him? Promises of something he wasn't even certain he could do? The candy on the train? November had a talent for hyperbole, but even he wouldn't call those things everything.

He bit his lip, suppressing the urge to kick the taller boy's knee. Moron. Now he had to make sure he'd do it all for real. The enormity of the task frightened him.

Green swallowed as November looked back down at his plate, and he looked at it, too, letting out a breath, leaning against the smooth, cold stone of the wall as he returned his attention there. "Yes. We'll need to eat. To be strong," he murmured, prodding at the beans. His stomach got full quickly, but some other sense inside him told him that he could never eat enough. "Who knows what will be there at the ball." He paused, eyes darkened like shadows behind a bedroom curtain. "Nothing is really safe, you know. You - yes, you do. You know," he sighed, closing his eyes, the fire having drained from him in that moment.

He opened them again. "I'm going to get my own." he declared, standing. "That portion's for one. You wait here, and eat it. I'll know if you try to hide it somewhere or give it to a house elf or someone else," he sighed, hands slipping into his pocket. He looked November up and down, tried to imagine him in something with a cummerbund. If he was going to get him everything, he'd at least look lovely in it.

"Right..." November looked down at his food, as Green's words rung in his ears, then grabbed the fork back up, began tucking into the food with renewed vigor. Green was right, nowhere was ever truly safe, their trials in the abandoned bathroom showed that even this idyllic and well-monitored school had its dangers. So if eating kept their strength up, and all this food was lying around without a peep towards moderation from the staff, then why wouldn't he take advantage of that? If permission wasn't forthcoming, he'd just, take. And taking here was easy.

By the time Green had returned, he'd polished off a good half of the plate, even down to the overly-salted ham. There was a flash of steely determination on his face for an instant as he came back, which soon dissipated into the warmth of sun breaking from clouds as soon as he set sight on the other boy. "Oh, hello again," he said softly, "what did you find for yourself?" He was curious, one might even say hopeful, that there was more on the plate than just more ham. In that case, maybe they'd be able to trade some, and November could get his hands on something a bit more suited to his palate.

When Green returned again, his plate was stacked high: Shepherd's pie and sausages, carmelized carrots and fried tomatoes, and on the side, a few mini custard tarts. "Good!" cheered Green as his eyes fell to November's half-empty plate. "You're actually eating! I thought it might be... I don't know, body issues, or something," he waved a hand, reaching over onto November's plate to scoop up some mashed potatoes. "Give me some of that, they're actually really buttery," he murmured, popping it in his mouth. Shoving his dish into November's fork hand, he plopped down on the bench next to him and leaned into his shoulder possessively before taking the plate back to balance on his knee.

He took one of the custard tarts, brought it up to his nose, inhaled slowly. "One thing I may never get used to," he sighed, "Is desert every day. Back at the Green household, we only barely managed it for holidays." He popped the tart in his mouth, humming a low, rich note as he chewed, swallowed. "God, I had to hustle hard for that. He has no idea how often I brought home muggle food and just put it on a plate," he snorted, amused. "Thought I was a fantastic baker. I don't even know if we had baking powder in the house."

November's eyes glowed with pure desire as Green returned with his plate, eyeing the carrots and sausages with the kind of hungry gaze that made him look like he'd leapt to life from the page of a copy of Oliver Twist. He loved roasted carrots. And tomatoes. And shepherd's pie, for that matter, too. It was almost a little difficult for Green to tug his plate back from November's hungry hand.

He blushed as Green praised him for eating, as if he were a fussy baby or such like. "It's, it's good," he mumbled, eyes downcast. "Yours looks quite lovely as well... I-... Do you think, perhaps, we could trade around a bit?" he asked at last, words shy, halting, eyes flicking from Green to the plate and back again, making him look very much like a yearning puppy dog beneath the dinner table.

"Oh goodness, yes, it was so dreadfully rare for anything like dessert to show up at St. Romuald's, I think the very first time I had cake was when I had a go at a recipe for it from my big book." he chuckled. "it was quite difficult, but even when it didn't turn out it was still rather tasty, so I wound up being the one to make everybody cakes and pies on the holidays." He smiled at the memory, one of the few happy ones he had.