late



Lip bitten and brows furrowed, Micah cut away at the mound of cheese before him– wand, for once, as steady as a beam, because the task at hand required all the precision he had and it wasn’t something he was really known for. In the quiet of the kitchens and his audience’s own attentive silence, the pressure was heavy – immense – weighing on him just as much as gravity.

He was also tired, but it was more from the strain of keeping still rather than sleepy exhaustion. And anyway—it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this before. Of course, that didn’t mean it got any easier…

Once a month, every month, on every third Monday evening, the Hufflepuff snuck out of bed and into the kitchens, where and when the castle’s insurmountable kitchen staff were at their most quiet. After coming across the lot of them gathered around one of their own as she busily sculpted a perfect likeness of Neuschwanstein Castle– every window, every peak– and tentatively asking what was going on, the boy had been invited to try his own hand at it. The cheese wouldn’t go to waste, they had explained—it was a craft as well as a hobby, something to enjoy as well as take pride in, and if no one was in the mood to eat it (because that was what cheese was for)– it was molded back, restructured and returned to more practical, usable portions, as pristine as it had been before.

(Not recycling, one of them had piped up, hairless brow wrinkling ever so slightly, because that it implied it had been tarnished by use, which it hadn’t.)

And so the hearth’s fire still flickered and crackled, giving the long, broad tables a barred sort of gleam, Micah leveled his wand, brows narrowing even further as he focused on one rough-hewn barricade. Directly posed against the fire, shadows played across it in teasing, misleading strips, playing length and width for sizes longer or wider than they really were, but on the other hand, he couldn’t work with direct light, either. He was comfortable with the house elves, ridiculously so, and while some of them still stared at his mouth when he spoke, it was—different, to say the least. House elves weren’t like pe– humans, they weren’t like humans. For one thing, they didn’t stare with quite the same kind of horror.

So it was different. Although it was still awkward sometimes, the way they did or didn’t look at him, it felt… more out of his control. Less his fault. Like they might know a lot more than what he already knew, although only Merlin knew if he would ever ask.

The point was, he was comfortable enough to speak here, and he didn’t want that comfort taken away. Creating more light would do just that, and as it grew later and later he was all the more reluctant to give that up.

Diffindo, he silently cast again, and another chunk of cheese fell, neatly severed from the rest. All around it was a wreath of bits of cheese– pockets of them, even, within the belly of the sculpture itself. Leaning back, Micah looked to his audience equal parts expectant, hopeful, and hopeless. “What do you think?” he asked a house elf, whose face was one among the many thoughtful or judging expressions eyeing the thing. It was supposed to be Kilkenny Castle, but he wasn’t quite that good yet, if ever.

One of Verity's favorite perks about being a Prefect was that she could roam the castle at night, and no one batted an eye at her. The Prefect bathroom was also well tidy, but Verity had a penchant for finding herself in need of midnight snacks nearly seven days a week. Luckily, the Hufflepuff had incredibly easy access to the kitchens. Tonight however, her reason for requiring the kitchens was a bit more altruistic, as she wanted to make a gift for her friend, Sasha. Earlier in the day she had made a baker's dozen pumpkin pasties, but now would come the more difficult part as she pondered how best to charm them to be "guilt-free".

Due to her focus, she didn't intially notice the crowd around the hearth whose own focus was on the impressive cheese carving. But as she laid out the pastries, she looked up and was realized what day it was. Verity had never lingered long in the kitchens at night - generally it was more of a mad dash to the sweets and then hustling back to the Hufflepuff dorm - but she had noticed the cheese carving contests before, and once was allowed to sample some rather choice gouda that had been carved into the likeness of Princess Di. How they had known about the people's princess was beyond her knowledge, but she chalked it up to the fact that everyone mourned her passing. It was fortunate that she had witnessed the scene before, or the brunette might well have thought that she had stumbled upon a sacrificial ritual and shouted - which would have completely thrown off the boy's concentration.

Micah? Due to the shadows and the fact that he wasn't facing her she couldn't be certain, but Verity had spent more time than she should have staring at the back of his head. He had a tidy head shape. But as she watched him, the shadows dancing over him as he carved silently, she noticed that he seemed more at ease than she'd ever seen him before. Less self-conscious. Which surprised Verity as she would be well about to piss herself with all of the kitchen staff watching her with those almost unblinking eyes. Right disturbing. Okay, Verity, stop being a creeper and get to work.

She was about to see if she could alter the disappearing charm to just somehow target the calories, when Micah finished his sculpture and broke the silence by asking a house elf their opinion. Verity looked at the castle admiringly, and clapped. "Tidy! I give it an eight-point-five."

When the house elves looked up as one, small frames stiffening and large eyes like searchlights, Micah had only a moment of confusion before the clapping reached his ears, cutting through the quiet like gunshots.

He froze. Even if it’d been his friends, he still would have, but they were all in bed, he knew, so it was someone else. Had to be someone else. And then the time caught up with him, because yeah, it was late, and he wasn’t a prefect–

And so he whipped around, expression set in guilt and panic, before the voice– and then the face– registered. Verity.

Color rushed to his face, hot and telling. As a fellow Hufflepuff and a friendly familiar face, Verity was a lot better than who his panicky mind had been envisioning (–Harcroft, maybe, or Whitman, who despite his civility put the Hufflepuff boy on edge for reasons he didn’t want to think about), but at the same time she was worse. Micah didn’t know if it was because nearly his entire family was made up of women– strong personalities he happily followed –or if it was just coincidence, but he had always been a bit more sensitive to them than he was to his fellow guys. Compliments, teasing, a change in mood, looks—the boy was sensitive to them like a weathervane. Even his own feelings tended to fluctuate with them.

And Verity was Verity, a girl through and through—a fact Micah was all the more aware of with every smile and mystifying blush, which in turn made him blush. Confusion, unsurprisingly, only made it worse. What? “Wh-” Micah roundly blinked, before a tiny, subtle cough brought his attention down his side, and then to the castle behind him. Oh.

The helpful elf gave him a look, a bland, innocent look that, of course, made it all the more worse. Heat flooded his ears, turning them a bright, telling pink. “Um,” he uttered, staring at the elf in entreaty. When the its hairless brows only twitched upward expectantly, he dragged his gaze away, meeting Verity’s with that same frozen, deer-in-the-headlights look. “It’s gouda,” he managed dumbly and, swallowing, immediately wished he hadn’t.

His gaze dropping to the ground, embarrassment swamped him, slowly creeping onto his shoulders and showing through the nonexistent sleeves of his thin, white tank.

Micah's deer-in-the-headlights gaze made Verity regret just speaking out with no warning. Though she doubted that anything she could have said would have caused a different reaction. She smiled warmly, hoping that would put him at ease, and she stepped closer to her housemate and the elves. As she stepped closer, the light from the hearth caught on her Prefect badge, and she realized that he must think that she was there to discipline him for being out past curfew, and she held up her hands. "Oh, you're not in trouble. I was just working on a project of my own..." She motioned towards the pumpkin pasties.

She noticed the brief exchange between Micah and one of the house elves, and when Micah met her gaze she quirked her head slightly, as she hadn't been able to discern subtle expressions in the dim room. But when he told her that it was gouda, she laughed slightly too loudly, and quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment. She wasn't sure if he was offering her some, but she could never turn down cheese.

Verity moved closer to Micah, and leaned to meet his eyes. "You are quite talented. I would never have the patience to carve something this intricate. I'd probably end up cheating, and just transfigure the cheese block into the shape," she confessed with a chuckle.

You’re not in trouble. The words were slow to register, through the cloud of embarrassment flushing his ears, but they eventually they did and so for a split, blessed second relief cut through, setting him at ease enough that he looked up, a very faint, bashful smile lifting a corner of his lips.

Then he saw Verity was close –when did she get so close?– and he stiffened again, reddening a little further.

The praise was a little daunting, if only because he was so aware of his own shortcomings that doubt and second-guessing were a knee jerk reaction. (And if they weren’t—confusion, because he couldn’t see what the big deal was.) But it was nice, especially coming from someone like Verity, whom he quite admired, and he did want it. He was just being ridiculous. The elves thought he was being ridiculous.

“That-” Lips curled nervously, flattening as only the tip of his tongue peeked through, darting along before disappearing. He couldn’t be more aware of the lump of scar tissue pressing against the roof of his mouth, thick and ugly. Clearing his throat, Micah shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, a gray, threadbare pair from which barefeet peeked. “That still takes skill,” he offered shyly. It was the truth. That she was among the best in their Transfiguration class didn’t take anything away from it. “Using different methods doesn’t make it cheating.” Unless they went directly against the rules, of course.

Before it could lapse into awkward silence like from his very nightmares he scuffed his foot and swallowed. “Do you–” He glanced down at his feet before meeting her eyes again, peering up at her. “Do you want to–?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, for the moment giving up on words completely. Whether he meant trying a bit or her hand at the castle, he left it up to her to decide.

"That still takes skill."

Verity blushed lightly, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, while tracing a small circle on the ground with a slippered foot. She dared not look up, worried that he might notice that she was behaving like a right twit, but smiled at the floor when he insisted that it wouldn't be cheating. Oh god, what do I say? I should say something, shouldn't I? Fortunately, Micah broke the silence, and she managed to look up and saw him motion towards the castle.

She considered the options, as Micah didn't specify his offer. Eating cheese was always a good choice, but it was even more difficult for two tongue-tied teens to chat with food in their mouths. And she wanted more opportunities to talk with Micah. Verity remembered one of the younger girls in her House discussing the latest issue of Witch Weekly (not that she really listened to every article, that would just be silly and pathetic. Honestly.), and decided to see if the writers of that filth knew what they were yammering on about ad nauseum.

"Will you teach me how to properly carve a cheese castle?" The Hufflepuff girl asked, biting her lower lip slightly. It was a silly request, and she immediately berated herself for asking.

Micah relaxed a smidgen more, when Verity didn’t seem immediately put off by his awkwardness, or that she’d laugh, and indeed seemed to take pity on him, even, as she returned with a more specific question– offer– of her own. That, at least, took off some of the pressure he was feeling… somewhat. (Merlin knew he was good at heaping it on himself.)

Still, a note of unease lingered. He had offered, but– “Yeah, sure,” he said weakly, picturing it despite himself. He was maybe, maybe  feeling just the slightest bit apprehensive. He tried not to regret anything. “Let me just–”

Blindly patting the table behind him (which he now leaned against, valiantly trying for cool), Micah smile-grimaced at her– smiled at her, grimaced at himself through the redness of his cheeks –and when that turned up nothing, he glanced to the side and met…

Oh so bland, neutral, wide wide eyes, trained on the teenagers as unblinking as any camera. The others, miraculously– damningly– were either suddenly busy or nowhere to be seen, ignoring the pair with a nonchalance that had Micah’s face going hot all over again. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and faced Verity again with a smile that fluttered at the edges of his features like a feeble butterfly. “Um,” he scratched the back of neck, palm scraping against the bristles on his nape, “if you could–” He gestured at emptiness on his right, at the head of the table.

The next second, the castle vanished, only to be replaced by smooth block of cheese. Right then. He exhaled. Brown eyes met amber ones, expectant but nervous. “D’you have your wand?”

When did all of the house elves suddenly up and leave? Verity looked around, and most of the kitchen staff seemed to have decided that inspecting various cupboards was infinitely more interesting than the two teens. She tried to prevent her mind from thinking about their reasons, as it was dreadfully egocentric. But... was that one whistling? The Prefect removed them from her thoughts before she caused herself to flush a terribly ugly shade of scarlet, and looked to Micah, who appeared quite suave leaning against the table.

He smiled at her, and she felt the butterflies awaken in the pit of her stomach. Verity moved to where he motioned, and every nerve in her body felt aware of how close he was to her. Close enough to touch. Stop being weird, Verity. He met her eyes, and she smiled at Micah to hide her nerves.

"Yeah, I have my wand," she responded, and pulled her ebony wand from the pocket of her flannel pajama pants. "Teach me your secrets, Obi Wan."

Verity stepped close. Micah, miraculously, did not fall over (though his skin did prickle, almost, at the proximity).

Obi Wan, though. A smile cracked through the nervousness, startled but—pleased, maybe, yeah. And the obvious friendliness of it—Micah ducked his head, pinkening, but it wasn’t the blush of awkward like before. The knot of nerves in his chest loosened a little more. “Obi Wan was a jerk,” he pointed out shyly, slanting her a quiet little grin that, hopefully, told her he got the reference.

Not wanting to fall into a rut now that a bit of confidence had come his way, Micah directed his attention onto the cheese with new resolve. “Carving cheese is kind of like whittling,” he began, grasping the tray and turning it, just enough to have it face them at an angle, “but it’s… really like carving cheese. Because there’re different kinds, and some of ‘em will lose their shape faster’n others. Cheddar’s good, ‘cause it’s–” don’t think don’t think don’t “–hard enough to hold but soft enough to shape. This,” he patted it, somewhat dorkily, “is cheddar.” Passing Verity her own pair of gloves, he reached out, giving the corner facing them a light squeeze and glancing at her to see if she’d follow suit—smiling a little self-consciously as he did, of course, but it cleared quickly enough, particularly when another house elf appeared at Verity’s other side, touching her elbow gingerly before holding up an apron. Micah himself didn’t use one, after realizing he did better without it, but usually at the cost of smelling like cheese. He didn’t mind, but he didn’t know if Verity would.

…Did he stink of cheese? Would Verity mind if he smelled of cheese?

Catching himself before he swamped himself under another tide of crippling panic, the Hufflepuff desperately forced the thoughts away. Quickly– jerkily– he turned away.

“When, when you start—there are four charms to remember, Persecto being first and foremost.” Forgetting himself, Micah quirked her a wry grin. “Then Defodio Parveo, Perfricus, and Diffindo. These’ll be your tools.” He faced the block, narrowing his eyes as he muttered under his breath, “persecto!”

And then, bringing the tip of his wand close to the topmost edge, he shaved off a bit, and then another, and then another—catching what he could until he was left with a handful of cheese, wand lowered and a small, sheepish smile flushing his face. “The thing you gotta remember most, though, is being patient. And um, not stressing out if you mess up.” Not that he thought she would, but—yeah, best to stop while he was ahead. “Cheddar?” he offered pinkly.

Verity grinned when Micah called Obi Wan a jerk, as she was happy to learn that he understood the reference. "Well, I would hate to compare you to a jerk. Even a jerk played by Ewan McGregor. I'm glad that you got the reference, though. I should probably come with a warning label that announces I frequently make references to Muggle culture."

When Micah handed her gloves, her breath caught in her throat like an imbecile as their hands brushed, but she quickly put the gloves on before following his example and squeezing the cheese lightly. It did seem fairly malleable, which she could only assume would be important for shaping it. A light tug on her elbow brought her focus to the house elf handing her an apron, and she felt it would be rude to decline.

"Thank you," she smiled at the elf, and tied the polka dot apron around her waist. It would also be helpful to make sure that no one found out about her activities, as she imagined that working with cheeses could cause her clothes to smell... well, cheesy. Not that she minded the smell, but Verity imagined it could be problematic if someone found out. She would hate to cause her House to lose points or anything.

As she put on the apron she thought she caught Micah sniff himself before quickly turning away, and she contemplated assuring him that he didn't stink, but then realized that would just create a terribly awkward situation. Better to pretend that she didn't notice.

"And here I was thinking those charms would never be useful in my life," Verity admitted with a chuckle, having to ponder for a moment to recall the spells.

Watching Micah carve the block of cheddar, Verity smiled at how confidently he whittled away at the cheese. She tried to think of what she should carve, as she didn't want to tackle something too ambitious for her first cheese carving. Verity laughed when he told her of the importance of not stressing out over mistakes. "That would be just like me to freak out over an accident," she smiled and accepted the offered cheese and nibbled on it as she tried to visualize the sculpture within the cheese. "This is quite good cheddar. May I try?" She asked, and held out her wand.

Micah didn’t focus on the way Verity squeezed the cheese, or the way the apron hung neatly on her slim frame, or the way she seemed to smile at himso brightly, so frequently, that his ears began to heat just thinking about it though he hadn’t the foggiest idea why, because his ears would begin to heat from just thinking about it—from thinking there was anything to think about, anything at all. It was that or fail utterly at being awkward, and Micah– was a little tired of being so awkward, to be honest. But it wasn’t something he could just turn off.

So he hadn’t. Clutching desperately on the coattails of casualness, the poor boy focused on the task at hand until some of the color faded from his ears. So he only winced a little at the jab at herself, but it was a sympathetic wince more than anything else. Aside from his own social anxiety, that terrible too-awareness that came from being around others, Micah wasn’t really one to sweat ‘the small stuff’– too much of it was spent for social situations, and in the end it left him a certain kind of peace towards stuff outside of them. He was still his own worst critic, of course, but at least it was easier for him to forgive himself.

“Yeah, sure,” he hastily shuffled away, until he was sure she had enough room to work. Enough arm space was important; he could easily see an accident happening, just because he was too dumb to move otherwise.

As Verity took position, Micah bit his lip, debating whether or not he should just let her work in peace (he should), or try to help (he… probably should, maybe, yeah). He didn’t want to be patronizing, but he had promised to teach her, and he took his promises quite seriously. In the end, he inched closer—hopefully close enough without being obtrusive. “Don’t-” He licked lips, heart beating nervously, loudly in his chest. “Don’t worry about form,” he told her, trying for a reassuring smile and, miraculously, succeeding. “The important thing is to– to get a feel for it, so you don’t end up cutting off more than you meant to, or less.”

Unlike her housemate, Verity had a rather difficult time forgiving herself when she didn't succeed in perfection - which was her goal in all endeavors. She had managed to become marginally better over the years, but it continued to be something she struggled with, and she had to be very aware of herself when she did it.

When Micah stepped away from her to give her ample room for casting, she hid her frown, as his presence actually made her feel more confident about what she was about to attempt. Like she didn't have to worry  about making a mistake, because he was there to convince her that it would be alright. So her face lit up when he moved closer - not so close as to be stifling, of course - and smiled at her. She nodded at his advice, and faced the cheese block. Verity internally rolled her eyes at herself for comparing her current situation to a specific episode of Spongebob where Squidward taught an art class, but she found herself inspecting the cheese block for the carving within it while simultaneously chiding herself for her childishness.

"Persecto," Verity cast the spell, and felt the cheese cut away easily as she carved into the block. Uncertainly at first, but she quickly became more comfortable with the act of carving, and found herself grinning broadly as she continued.

Slowly, a star shape began to reveal itself, and she began to swap out Persecto for the other spells as necessary. "Defodio Parveo," she murmured at the end to smooth the leaf at the top of the cheddar replica of the Paopu fruit. Wow, subconscious, you suck at subtlety... Verity suppressed a groan at the obviousness, though maybe Micah didn't play video games.

Backing up next to Micah to observe her work, she tilted her head and appraised the carving. While not quite ready to tackle a castle, she felt pretty proud of the job she did for her first time and nodded at it approvingly. "How does it look?"

Verity did well—easily, even, that Micah offered her a bright, pleased grin; without injury, cheddar shavings readily fell away, revealing the clear shape of a star. He hadn’t been half as good when he had started. Micah leaned over her shoulder for a better look—though not so close as to crowd her, of course. “It’s great,” he told her, earnest and honest. A bit of pink still clung to the boy’s cheeks, but in his desire to encourage – to share – bashfulness was nearly forgotten. “It’s got detail an’ everything.”

And if the star-shaped fruit looked familiar… Well, it could only be coincidence.

“You’re gonna be way better at this than me,” Micah grinned, shuffling to the side so as to stand beside her properly. “When I first started–”

Holy heck he’d been terrible. He could still remember Gilly, one of the jollier elves, patting his hand with an air of great pity. His blush returned at the memory. “I wasn’t very good,” he confessed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I, um. I tried to make a dragon, and…” Without drawing one out, he rapped a fist against the table’s edge sheepishly. It hadn’t turned out nearly so well, his first attempt; the consensus had been torn between a niffler and a knarl.

Though on the bright side, the house elves had been more comfortable with him ever since. They still went and got him things, made sure he was comfortable, but—when things were quiet, they invited him to join them now, and when things weren’t they even let him help a little when he offered. Maybe some might see it as a downgrade, but for Micah it was just fine—more than fine.

It was getting late, though. At this hour all kitchen activity had trickled to a few elves here and there, unobtrusive in their tidying up except their number, which Micah was suddenly, consciously aware of. No one was making polite but pointed sounds or looks their way, but he noticed one quietly tend to the fire, lowering the flame to glowing embers. Another, he saw, was putting the pots and pans away. And even his own body seemed to be giving him a head’s up in the form of a slow, quiet yawn that seemed to creep up on him; his mouth was already stretching open before he had the presence of mind to cover it with the back of a loosely curled fist.

And it was kind of a long yawn, no matter how much he tried to smother it.

Once the last of it faded, he stared at Verity, looking a little horrified at himself. Oh my god… “Sorry,” he said faintly—looking maybe, maybe as though he wanted to off himself. Just a little.

The girl beamed when Micah complimented her carving, and flushed only slightly when he told her that she'd be far superior to him, shaking her head slightly.

"I started with something easy. I'm sure if I attempted a dragon on my first try, it would have made your first carving look like it well belonged in the Louvre," she joked. "But thank you for sharing this with me."

And then he let out a lion's roar of a yawn that probably woke the dead. Verity couldn't help but laugh, and realized how late it truly was. She had become quite the night owl over the year, due to often studying for her AS Levels until well past midnight. It wasn't uncommon for her to fall asleep in the Hufflepuff common room surrounded by textbooks, only for her to wake up in the morning and find that someone had put a blanket on her while she slept.

"No need to apologize," she assured him. "I'm sorry for keeping you up so late. But this was tidy, I had a lot of fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime? I mean, if you would like to, that is. But you should probably go to sleep. Don't want to have to dock you House points for being out past curfew." Verity stuck her tongue out to show that she wasn't serious.

Verity laughed, but it was a nice laugh, not mean at all; though he cheeks remained as bright as ever, Micah relaxed, even smiling a bit (if a little bashfully). He hadn’t bored her, then. That was...

That was good, yeah.

He grinned a little more brightly at her teasing, comfortable enough –finally– to play along. He ducked his head, glancing at his toes before looking back up again. “Better get going, then,” he offered, smiling shyly beneath his lashes. The urge to scuff his toe was strong; banter was not something he had much experience with, ‘cept with the guys and Ji-Hyun and Valerie.

He very nearly forgot something, though, and hastened to get on with it. “Um, maybe next week?” he hazarded, straightening up. Drawing a hand from his pockets, Micah smoothed down hair in thought. “I, the elves, they, um. They don’t do this every night–” cheese was cheese, after all, “so um. Next week then, yeah. If you want.”

A pair of elves cleared the cheese away. Another darted in to clean up the table. Feeling all those hard-won shreds of cool rapidly deserting him like a sweaty grip on a ledge, Micah ventured a step away from Verity and the table. And then another, and another, until he was slowly making his way to the barrels—backwards. “Good night, Verity,” he said, shooting her one last, quick smile before spinning on his heel, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hitched up in that humble little slouch.