Back at Hogwarts for his Eight Year, Draco finds himself in need of a quiet place where he could hide when everything feels too much. He finds a perfect nook not far from the castle but it turns out it’s already taken…
I cannot even express how excited I am to finally be able to share this comic with you!!
I hope y'all will like it - It’s a story that had been on my mind for quite some time now and it merged into the longest dreville comic I have ever drawn.
Thank you so much @veelawings for bringing back the @chubbynevillefest and for giving me a reason to finish it! And endless thanks to @pineau-noir for helping me polish those dialogues into their absolute best versions!
„The Rue de la Chanvrerie was hardly as long as the range of a carbine. Bossuet improvised a speaking trumpet with his two hands, and shouted, ‘Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! Ahoy!’ Courfeyrac heard the call, saw Bossuet, and came a few steps into the Rue de la Chanvrerie, crying a ‘What do you want?’ that was met on the way by a ‘Where are you going?’ ‘To make a barricade,’ answered Courfeyrac. ‘Well then, here! This is a good place! Make it here!’ ‘That’s true, Eagle,’ Said Courfeyrac. And at a sign from Courfeyrac, the band rushed into the Rue de la Chanvrerie.”
Victor Hugo, Les Miserables
Alright. This is my very first gingerbread house and it is supposed to be a mix between Hugo’s Corinthe and the actual building standing in its place. I have used @vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo amazing and interesting posts about illustrationsandmaps for the Corinthe as a basis.
The changes/my interpretations:
Yes, the first floor has only one window in Hugo’s novel. The real building has three. Mine has two. xD Because one looked just really weird and it is the room with a billiard-table and considering that Bossuet spends a lot of time there…accidents happen? So we are left with one usable window.
The whole story about the poteau, the original name and the painter(?) who painted a bundle of Corinth grapes…well. I have no idea what this “poteau” looked like. I included it in form of the grapes in the corner of the building.
My desperation to figure this poteau-matter out led me to look up a ‘not abridged’ German translation – which did not include said story. But it is the explanation for the thing that looks like a weird vintage Dalek next to the corner: a guard stone. The common French word for this seems to be ‘chasse-roue’, but it looks like ‘borne’ can be used for this too? My French is close to not existing, so please forgive me, if that was a mistake.
There were no pictures/drawings/whatever of the roof. Therefore, I used the one of the real building, which does not have a chimney. The color is supposed to look like the red roofs in paintings of the time. Thank you again @kasielartist for telling me how to blend this. I have not one artistic bone in my body and was completely lost.
Thinking about it…the National Guard’s “Qui vive?” and Enjolras’s “Révolution française” is quite a Hänsel und Gretel exchange =D
“How did you get those scars?” he asks, green eyes narrowing as he runs his fingers all over you, as if mesmerised by the traces he left on his skin.
He may not remember, but you will never forget.
“Car accident,” you lie, but he doesn’t seem to believe you.
“Do you have more?” he asks, hands fumbling with your belt, trying to sneak into your trousers.
“The Healers said it’s a bad idea,” you remind him, gently pushing him away. The hurt in his eyes stings more than the dittany did on your wounds.
You know he’s been rejected most of his life. You promised him it would never happen again, not with you. You swore when you married him, and yet you’re hurting him.
“Right…” he mumbles, but you take his hands in yours and kiss them tenderly.
“We’ll get your memories back,” you whisper, trying to blink away the tears. “I promise, my love.”
You take him to Godric’s Hollow, but he stares at the graves as if they belonged to strangers.
You hold his hand as you walk down the Hogwarts corridors, hoping he will remember something, even the ugly sides of your.
You run down the hill where you got married, the wind in your hair as he looks so alive and laughs when you both stumble and end up in a tangle of limbs among the wildflowers and the grass. You kiss his lips, and they taste like lemonade and sunshine. You let him take you there, slow and feverish, his lips parted on a gasp as he sinks inside you, and he still doesn’t remember.
You take him to Tromso to see the Northern Lights, and he stares at the sky with the same awe and wonder as the first time.
You take him to Marrakech to get lost in the souk with him again.
“We used to travel a lot,” he notices as he hugs a koala in Australia, a delighted expression on his face.
“You’d never been anywhere,” you explain, “so I took you wherever you wanted.”
You scream as you zoom along the zipwire to see the gibbons in Thailand, and he turns to smile at you, so full of life and yet empty of memories of you.
“Want you,” he whispers against your skin in a Venetian calle, his hand sneaking under your t-shirt, thumbing at your scars. He loves them because he can’t remember he put them there, and you won’t tell him.
“I love you,” you confess, as if the matching rings on your fingers were not enough. “Always, even if you can’t remember me.”
He doesn’t say it back.
You take him everywhere. Machu Picchu, Grand Canyon, Paris.
He’s eating a cherry blossom ice-cream in Kyoto when it happens, and his green eyes widen.
The ice-cream lands on the floor with a splat, and his hands shake as they grab the front of your shirt, pulling you closer.
The memories come back, one by one, your awful past and his mingling together, finding a reason to belong.
“I love you,” he says, and you smile through the tears.
lyric comic collab with @sealbatross for Death and Taxes! this was a lot of fun to make and the idea was bonking around my head for a while. sam’s panels still blow my mind !! enjoy!
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