noah & drystan

It was common consensus that Drystan Fawcett was a bit of a grump.

"Grump" was probably putting it lightly.

But as he was strolling out of bed, certainly out of bounds, late at night, there was a definite lift to his step, and if he didn't think it would risk getting him caught, he would probably be whistling, with a blanket slung over his shoulder and a little thermos in the other.

Drystan had a fairly good feeling he was getting lucky tonight.


It was hard getting a law abiding Ravenclaw out of bounds in the middle of the night, except she was an Astronomy nut, so Drystan might have used that angle to his advantage.


There was a tang in the air, a wet feeling. He knew something was very wrong, but it wasn't until his gaze landed on a body slumped on the floor by one of the enormous windows that his mind registered the copious substance infecting the room: blood.

With his stomach roiling, he clapped a hand to his mouth and staggered back, just when Drystan saw the weak moonlight outlining the curly hair of the prone figure. In that moment, the blood drained from his face, he thought his legs would give out, and he gagged, "Oh, no."

Unaware that his legs moved him shakily closer, he took in the shoes, the familiar frays in the robe, the profile, and he was running, shouting "Noah! NOAH!" before dropping to his knees beside him.

His knees jostled the body as they landed, and the tremor must have alerted Noah, whose eyes opened in calmest, sharpest gaze Drystan knew he'd never forget.