A/N:
Thank you to everyone who had reviewed the first chapter!
I recognize that this fan-fiction is quite cringe-inducingly-corny-and-horny. But in my defense... well, I've actually got nothing to counter that... just wanted to try my hand at the Bethyl pairing... *shrugs*
Uhhh. About the rating? Mature content on the horizon. I'll mark the start and end of mature scenes for people who aren't interesting in sexual content. I wasn't expecting to write M stuff. Actually, I didn't want to write smut at all, but Daryl has a specific kind of personality and a fire burning for Beth... soooo... *blushes* Daryl's dirty mouth also makes this story M, so if you aren't here for smut the rating is due to crass language.
Disclaimer 1: I don't own and don't claim any copyright(s) of TWD and HP, as well as any cover art. I write for fun and that's all, folks!
Disclaimer 2: Daryl is canonically foul-mouthed... with equally foul-thoughts.
Disclaimer 3: lemme know if you see any missing letters or words that fit wonky in sentences. I might not have caught all the mistakes.
.:.
Who's who: Beth is not a bookworm 5th year student|Daryl is "not" a destroyer-of-quills 6th year student.
.:.
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KINDRED SPIRITS, PART II: TRANSPARENT
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His eyelids drooped lower as he gazed - stared - 'oh fuck, that makes me sound even more like a creep.'
Drip . . .
The startling brightness of her eyes rivaled the clear skies outside of the castle walls.
Drip . . .
Was he a little disgusted by how she made his blood boil so damn easily? Daryl questioned himself, and, oh yes, he knew pining was for fucking losers.
He had better things to do than watch the pretty little blonde, that's what he told himself.
Was that honestly true?
'Fuck, yeah,' he argued with that stupid voice in his head that sounded much too like his sappy friend.
He should look away from her. He knew he should.
His eyes shook with the effort to tear away from the sight of her. He followed her soft and slim figure and her fucking shining eyes. 'Nobody's eyes should be that bright, dammit, it ain't natural.'
With this great act of trying not to notice her, his heart only hammered faster.
Drip . . . he was unaware of the ink blobbing at the sharp end of his quill's hard-brass metal tip. Something else was... ahem... hard.
"I'm so fucked," he rushed out in one heated breath.
Wispy hair splayed around her. He gnawed at his lip, wondering how she'd look underneath him, pretty mouth gasping as her blue eyes begged him for more. He knew her eyes, he'd been gazing into them for years now. He knew what she wanted, without her needing to speak a word, the only sounds he wanted her to make were breathy whimpers and desperate calls of his name.
"Achoo!"
Daryl's focus ripped away from Beth to the unwanted noise of someone sneezing between the towering bookshelves behind him.
His freehand pounded once on the table, angry at the distraction. 'What the hell...?' he screwed his brows together in question at the sensation of cold liquid leeching onto his flesh.
His lifted his hand up and saw the edge of his hand colored blacken from... the... 'the fucking ink!'
He stared for a moment longer at the stain, he knew it would take more than one washing to scrape the smear off.
The feathers of his quill tickled the back of his hand, and he hurriedly turned his head to glare down at the next problem he faced. In his hand, the stem of his quill had snapped in his shock of hearing a sneeze amidst his fantasizing. The top feathered portion of his quill had managed to land squarely on the back of his hand.
Sweeping his eyes from the quill, to his ink coated hand, and at the failure that was his essay, he summed this situation up, saying, "Shit."
'Only the first week back,' he mused with a frown, 'already swamped with shit and surrounded by nasty fuckers.'
He didn't know how he would make it through the term.
A tiny movement drew his angry eyes from the mess he made.
He chanced a look at her.
His heart hammered at an obnoxiously fast pace and just like that, just like magic, as corny as it sounded he wasn't so angry anymore.
How could he be when bright eyes stared back at him? He knew those eyes, right now they were questioning and full of concern...
'Was she worried about me?' Daryl allowed himself to wonder, briefly. Very briefly he allowed himself to dream.
His hand twitched, causing him to violently throw his broken quill down while his knees jerked underneath the tabletop - and then all hell broke loose due to his unusually clumsy movements.
His inkwell tipped over from his knee-jerk, spilling all of its contents onto his parchment and the table.
Beth's mouth dropped open, eyes wide. She clutched at the edges of her textbook while leaning forward to the edge of her chair.
The Vulture of the library, otherwise known as Madam Pince, came flying around a corner, hissing at him for the ink slowly seeping into the grooves of the table Daryl occupied. She vanished the ink with an immediate wave of her wand.
"Anything to say for yourself this time, Mr. Dixon?" she craned her neck down at him.
Beth's lips clamped shut in fear at hearing the sharp tone of the Vulture.
He shrugged his shoulders.
A decidedly nonchalant move, Beth noted, and she couldn't help but roam her eyes over the wide span of his chest and the girth of his shoulders.
'He was so strong,' she sighed, wanting to run her hands down his neck and pull him to her by his shoulders.
"-other. Not again, Mr. Dixon, this is the last time. I will be speaking to the Headmaster about your lack of compassion."
Beth reared back into her seat, no longer sitting precariously on the edge.
What did the Vulture mean by that?
'Daryl was plenty compassionate...' Beth pulled along a chunk of her hair, fingers latched to the end of a curl. 'He was kind and strong, and...'
Her hand slowly dropped from her hair before falling limp to her lap, she raked her brain for the past experiences she had with the elusive Daryl Dixon.
He was mysterious, keeping to himself and less-than-a-handful of friends... and she was definitely not one of them.
Sinking further into her chair, she realized she had no memory of speaking to him beyond asking for a spare quill, but she wanted more.
But how?
She wanted to hold him close and press her ear to his chest, listening for his heartbeat and hoping his would be racing as fast as hers. She wanted to fall into him and hear him whisper in her ear.
Her eyes drooped slowly, heavy-lidded by the warm weight of her daydream.
She wanted more. More than classmates, more than a smattering of accidental glances, more than just staring at him from afar... but how could she tell him what she wanted, when she hadn't the courage to say more than pleasantries to him?
How, indeed.
A/N:
Sorry this is short. At around 700 words, I tend to lose my brain and call it quits but managed to push myself to write 1k! I wanted this out before November, hence the shorter chapter. I had an idea about Bethyl in Herbology class but didn't get around to writing it in time!
Not Beta-read: to anyone interested in being my second pair of eyes, please PM me; I do edit my works before sending a chapter out to a beta-reader. I'm mainly interested in having another person inform me when something doesn't make sense and spelling. I tend to overuse metaphors and similes. Don't expect to do heavy editing because I tend to crank out the main errors first.
Please review if you would like me to continue writing this story. Do you want to read more...?
