Chapter Text
October 18th, 6th year
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The great hall was buzzing with news: the great Harry Potter hadn't returned for school this year. Rumors were flying about, some Hufflepuff muttered about how the Boy Who Lived transferred to Durmstrang while another strung the idea that he was killed by a Death Eater. Every idea that came from the students' mouths were complete and total blasphemy. Gregory was ready to jeer at the idea of the Potter boy being declared dead, but it was probably a tactless idea, Vincent seemed to share the exact same idea.
"Imagine that; wouldn't that be great?" The lither man couldn't help but nod along, a few soft sounds of mirth escaping him.
Goyle watched closely as Crabbe went back to picking at his food, a new habit he seemed to have picked up a couple days ago. But he didn't concern himself with it just yet, Crabbe has seemed happier for what it was worth. He didn't realize he was blankly staring at Crabbe until he was sent a sideways look by Draco sat a few seats away from him. He cursed the pale stick of a man mentally before quickly diverting his gaze back down to his plate. He took a hearty bite of his own lunch, swallowing most of it down before speaking around the remaining food.
"Vinny, eat. What’s been up with you?" He inquired flatly.
Crabbe just shrugged halfheartedly, still picking the bland chicken apart with his fork. "I dunno, jus' not hungry I guess." He mumbled.
That's odd. Gregory thought to himself. He hadn't eaten all day, he watched him skip through breakfast, he claimed that he was too tired. He couldn't stand people going hungry around him, it made him feel powerless. Keeping people fed and happy made him always feel worthwhile. That's why he joined the quidditch team in the first place, he wanted to feel connected to some sort of community even if it was through brute force.
"But you didn't have breakfast." He bluntly stated, gesturing towards his still full plate of food. He was more than sure it was deathly cold by now.
He just shrugged again. It was like the roles reversed over the week. Gregory felt an unsure feeling tingle down his spine and then the concern finally hit him like a slap in the face. He felt a sudden urge to protect him, maybe to shield him way from the evils of the world, whatever evil inspired him to do this. He’s never done anything for Crabbe quite like this before, why start now? His brain provided no answer, but that heady need to protect still boiled deep in his soul.
His back straightened, popping up from his originally slouched position like a meerkat on watch duty. He looked around the great hall with bated breath, searching for something. The shape of darkness, the feel of darkness, just the breath of it. Nothing sparked his interest though, not even Draco's new posse of goons who seemed to always stir up something evil. Wasn’t that their jobs? When he looked back into Crabbe's eyes, his heartfelt gaze wasn't reciprocated; just a blank look, like cold stars against the night sky. Black eyes flit back down, away from his own dull ones. For once the silence between them wasn't comfortable, neither was it awkward. It was quiet as if a life had just passed, in a sense one had.
With every minute that dragged by agonizingly slow, the sinking feeling of concern only cemented further and further into Goyle's mind. Thoughts rushed faster than seconds and tension only swelled. Eventually the next block of classes started and it was as if every beaten nerve was given instant release, like a harmless animal saved from the butcher. Vincent seemed just as relived as him, if not more.
Though the plate of food was forgotten, the creeping darkness didn't cease its attack. It brushed against the nape of Gregory's neck, made his head throb in aching thought and left his mouth dry. That creeping feeling could easily be chalked up to anxiety, but no anxious feeling felt quite like this. Anxiety was that feeling before trying something new. The darkness had cold gripes that pulled and tugged and forced. It was a silent spell that affected those malleable and all things precious.
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Crabbe sulked pitifully during professor Flitwick's charms class like usual, he found it horribly boorish. Whilst everyone was paying rapt attention to the pint-sized man's speech about Merlin knows what he was taking an attentiveness to Gregory. They were in this class together, although separated. The meathead was trying to read, like actually making an attempt to pursue something that didn't involve violence. He took amusement in the other man's focus slipping from the book about charms and Flitwick's speech, especially when he rolled his eyes at every sniffle that came from the girl sitting beside him. Especially when she hummed.
Goyle could always pick up on unfathomably useless sounds like a hound dog new to tracking. Rather than using his senses for good he just took aggravation to every little noise like it caused him physical pain. Crabbe found each annoyed twitch and small growl hilarious. And despite it all he was still impressively inattentive. The adoration quickly faded when his eyes connected with his own. It launched him back to the “conversation” they had over lunch.
Each and every time they did this it felt like an awkward showdown of whomever had more will power than the other. Eyes locked onto each other, searched for something, then eventually left when told off; scampering away to something else. They never meant to hurt each other, although someone always ended up in pain indirectly. But no anger came with these showdowns, only guilt, embarrassment, a darkness that took root and grew and bloomed in the back of your head.
But nothing used to come of it years ago. Gregory would console him and all would be fine. But something seemed to have changed over time, a part in the system broken. Gregory had gone quiet, no response could be prodded out of him, no more sweet words; just deafening silence. The gripe of hate wasn't brewing within him, he just seemed to become shyer with every year. New boundaries were built up, he started asking 'if he could' or 'if he should' before doing anything with him.
Vincent hoped he knew what was becoming of him, a husk hiding something quite grand. A new thought dawned upon him, he felt smart for even thinking it. Professor Flitwick's voice was completely muted and any other feeling than the brink of an epiphany were muffled.
Maybe I did something wrong? Vincent thought, the voice loud in his head. But the discovery slipped just as quick as it came, so he gave up. He was too dumb to finish his own thoughts even in his own mind. The flowering undertones of a headache started to drum at the back of his head as he wracked his mind to concoct anything. But no answer came, he didn't even have a topic to focus on, just his emotions he could barely collect.
He repeated the thought one more time, this time looking past Gregory at the wall. The fading golden amber brushed lightly against the wooden walls. I did something wrong. Nothing.
"-bbe?" What? Is that you, God?
Suddenly, his thoughts shattered into little pieces of glass and he was sent hurling back into reality. It felt like he was just splashed in the face with searing cold water.
"Mr. Crabbe!" Oh.
He looked down at Flitwick, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the halfling looked fed up.
"Can you please tell the class the basics of non verbal spell casting?" Vincent ran a hand down his face. This class is absolute dribble.
He spoke with a tinge of annoyance, "Erm, a spell done without speaking?" He droned out. Flitwick just tsk'd and skedaddled by. If Vincent wasn't still vexed he would've already began plotting the pint-sized wizard’s “accidental demise”.
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The sun was gone by the time Gregory and Vincent were back down in the Slytherin chambers, not like the daylight affected them much. The darkness sprawled into every crevice of the brick backdrop and made its home, even the paintings seemed put off by the eerie atmosphere and they were already long gone. Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and the Nott scoundrel were all sat around the fireplace, laughing and gossiping. It was always a rancid day when you were trapped between the group.
Theodore was the first to take notice, the squirrelly looking boy pointed towards the pair and alerted the rest of the tribe to their interloping. Draco snarled, Pansy seemed delighted for the upcoming conflict, and Blaise—he was already beginning the confrontation.
"Hey! fatass, dumbass!" He had the gall to whistle at them like they were mindless dogs.
Draco pushed Blaise aside, a rare smile creeping up on his face. It wasn’t a nice one obviously, it was completely sinister. "Is it true? Are you a bunch of faggots?" Vincent could feel his face bloom into the pink of embarrassment and the hot rush of anger. The anger surged and thrummed in his ears before a firm hand came down on his shoulder. The beating soon quelled into a faraway tune.
The deep voice of his companion wrung out. "You and Blaise are around each other a lot; d'you you fancy him?" Pansy cooed at their fighting, she wanted to pry every drop of poison out of them.
Draco stuttered over his words, a scoff, he wasn't expecting Goyle to actually respond. "Shut up!" And so Gregory did, and so he walked away with Crabbe still pressed by his side.
The chubbier man burrowed into the warmth of Gregory when they got far enough away from the group. He was expecting to be pushed away at any moment, so he tensed up; but it never came. He felt his heart begin to speed up bit by bit, to the point the flustered feeling of love became nervousness like an open wound seeping blood. Soon the faraway beat didn't seem so far now, it wrung in his ears furiously so. He leaned into the touch despite it, dying for the contact. Goyle’s hand wasn't limp or begrudging, but supportive and reassuring. It was firm enough to keep him grounded but not so hard it became desperate. It was scary how quick “like” could turn into love from just from one hug, but he couldn't stop himself.
But unlike those odd days ago when “like” only spilled out into a disgraceful mess of lust; he didn't imagine the vain idea of pointless sex but the poise of just doing things together alone. Gregory would probably mumble about some “we always do stuff alone” and act avoidant again if Vincent were to ever mention this want. He never wanted Draco's words to be more true than right now.
Vincent pushed himself deeper into the arms of Gregory until it became a side-hug. He could practically hear the other man’s heart speeding up and his bones ache to drift away.
It didn’t take long for both of them to realise how awkward all of this was, but neither moved away. All the violence and crimes they probably committed in the past seemed inconsequential now that all he felt was tender care. They entered their dormitory, more than ready to sleep off the grueling day to prepare for the next. The lither man flopped down onto his bed, greedily enjoying the cushy mattress. Vincent followed suit. Gregory watched appreciatively from his own bed as Crabbe lit the candles lazily from his own, each flick of his wand adding more of the flickering orange haze to their room.
The light casted gaunt images of their shadows against the wall, setting the slower-paced mood. The shorter man let out a soft sigh and finally let himself relax. A soft rustle came from Vincent's side of the room, then another. Goyle felt a comforting heavy weight set over him. Gregory didn't need to open his eyes to know what was on him.
A hand of his own reached down to brush Crabbe's hair down which gauged a soft sigh from him. He pulled Vincent closer to him so they'd be more nestled together. He kicked his shoes off by his bedside and wiggled into his covers, Vincent was quickly inspired to do the same. As if they had been dating for years; they cuddled.
Gregory seemed more than content, he had finally found a place he felt safe enough to call home. Unlike the darkness that hid, he had warmth and a soul, he had something to look forward to everyday. A soft kiss was pressed against his neck, not a bite, a kiss a soft as an angel's. His eyes opened up in a flurry. He was met with the sight of Vincent with his arms curled into his chest, his rosy cheeks smooshed against his chest and the bed, and the slightest devious smirk on his lips. And then he knew what he was, and he accepted it.
As strange as the idea of being a freak of nature was, what came with it interested him far beyond than drive him away. Gregory knew he shouldn’t be accepting anything of this sort from a man, especially Crabbe, but he was just too lazy to move away. His father would never know anyways, Vincent would probably forget, and nobody would care to know what they did. Besides, it was rude to wake up someone sleeping—wasn’t it?