#”Professor are my knees too pointy” like come on

[yujateaandpi]

Magnus Archives Season 1 Spoilers

Listening to the Magnus Archives for the first time and I just want to say I completely understand the implied horror of Mag 34 (Anatomy Class) but in concept it’s actually so wheeze wheeze funny. Like these people-shaped-eldritch-thingies were working sooooo hard to pass as human they even got little matching outfits and picked the most generic names for themselves and they were sooooo good about paying attention in class to their freaked out professor— and the moment they learned what lungs are— they just start breathing really loudly?! It was 100% a “oh shit guys, they have air holes,” moment and the fact they had to overcompensate by then breathing audibly??!! While making extreme eye contact?? They might as well have chanted, “Look we are so normal we breathe so normally.” That’s a sitcom level moment there. They could recycle that scene in an 80s comedy about aliens trying to fit in on Earth. 

[amara-scott]

Imagine Mattheo and Theodore fighting over you constantly.

P.2 // MATTHEO'S ENDING

P.1 // HERE

“It’s true, isn’t it?” My head snaps around, Theo’s sad eyes glossy. He looks down, stepping closer and stops a foot from me. His eyes wandering back up, like he’s taking one last good look at me. Taking me in.

“It’s always been him.” He continues.

“It’s always been him.” Theo's words are buzzing around in my head now and then. Every time I try to study, eat, sleep.

A few days have passed and my head still keeps me awake most nights. During classes, I tried to focus on what the professors were saying- but failed miserably.

Pansy tried to get through to me, sitting beside me during every meal and while I studied in the library. Just like right now. My eyes are fixed on the upper level, where it happened. I have to think back to Matt's eyes. The way his face dropped. The face I haven't seen in a while and catch myself missing deeply.

He has ignored me ever since. Theo at least tried to get over the fact that I discovered what they were fighting about all the time. He even sent me a small smile during lunch today. But one that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"-We could go to Hogsmeade, get some fresh air?" I blink back into reality and sigh, closing my book. I shrug, sitting back in the chair and chew on my bottom lip.

"I'll take that as a yes." She stuffs our books into her bag and stands up, pulling me after her by my hand. Back in our dorm room, we got dressed and cosy up, today was a chilly October day. I buttoned up the last few buttons on my coat. We walk up the stairs, down the hall and out of the castle. All in peace. No annoying Draco in sight. No Blaise pulling a prank. No Matt hexing a first year.

"Listen, Y/N –" I look up and try not to roll my eyes, knowing what will come next. "– hey! Don't do that. I don't get a kick out of this either, okay?" I glance over and nod. She hooks her arm with mine as we walk on the path to Hogsmeade.

"I know, sorry. It's just – I'm so tired." I wipe my eye, probably smudging my mascara, but I don't care enough to fix it.

"Trust me, I know. You lay awake and toss and turn a lot lately." She sends me a small smile and I huff a laugh, nudging my shoulder with hers.

"Do you think it would help if I talked to Matt?" She asks and I frown, shaking my head.

"I don't want him to think I don't care enough to go up to him." She nods.

"I get it."

The rest of the way we talk about everything but him. But my mind is clouded with every moment we ever shared. I try to find out if I missed the hints. Missed a note he might have sent me. Overheard a sentence he breathed out. Or maybe misinterpreted an invitation to a party.

"Butterbeer?" I glance over at Pansy and nod, smiling as we enter the warm and welcoming Three Broomsticks. It's not too crowded. We walk a bit further to get a good seat in a booth. I sit by the window and take off my wool coat, rubbing my bare hands together. Pansy sits down across from me after ordering a few butterbeers for us.

"So, what do –"

"– Pansy! Y/N! –" Our heads go over to the voice, Enzo stumbles over, Theo and Draco trailing behind him. They were coming down from the second floor. Enzo falls into place beside Pansy and hugs her, making her squeal and I have to laugh at the view, they definitely have had a few butterbeers. Punched ones. Or maybe a different kind of substance. Draco rolls his eyes and greets us too. My eyes meet Theo's as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, glancing at the spot next to me. I patt the cushion and he looks up, raising a brow.

"Either you sit down now or I will." Draco says and frowns at him. Theo quickly slides in next to me and Draco pulls up a chair, sitting at the head of the table.

I look at my hands in my lap, playing with the ring on my pointy finger. I listen to Enzo's conversation with Pansy. Draco throws in a comment here and there. When Theo's knee bumps against mine, I look up at him. "Sorry." He mumbles, running his fingers through his hair. "How – how are you doing? Haven't seen you around a lot lately." He asks and I sigh, shrugging.

"Well, not too good." I admit and he nods, looking down at his hands, also playing with his fingers. "I'm sorry." He adds, looking back at me.

"For pressuring you. I feel like an idiot." He shakes his head to himself and smiles, waiting for my reaction.

"No! No – you don't have to apologize." I say and glance over to the door as it opens, holding my breath. A few more Hogwarts students come inside with red cheeks and thick clothing.

"He's not coming tonight." I meet Enzo's eyes and gulp. "Matt's been ignoring us all." He mumbles.

"It's all my fault."

"No, love – don't say that! He's a bloody, stupid git for acting that way." I raise my brows at Enzo's outburst and see Pansy covering her lips, holding back a grin. Draco chuckles and Theo joins in.

"He should have manned up way long ago and none of this would have happened."

Draco nods, rolling his eyes. "His constant blabbering about you irritated me to no end. No offence, Y/N." He talked about me? What did he say?

"Oh no." I glance at Theo and follow his line of sight. Matt. With – a girl? Is he for real? Who even is that?

"He's such a dimwit." Enzo mumbles, turning on the couch to get a better look at him. Matt and his friend haven't seen us yet, but I had enough. I feel like walking up to him right now and shaking him by his shoulders until he could think straight again.

I didn't notice my balled up fist until Theo takes my hand in his and I look up, still fuming. Matt and her sit not far from us, sharing a couch. His eyes meet mine.

"He's a fool, you know that." I huff at Theo's statement but nod. "Oh, believe me, I know." I mutter. Matt leans over to the girl, talking into her neck and making her giggle. I clench my jaw and force my eyes away. He's dead to me. Who in their right mind would do that?

I try to focus on the outdoors. Or my mug. Nothing really distracting me.

"Hey everyone." The utter audacity. Matt and his date stand next to a sitting Draco, looking at everyone. My eyes stay fixed on my empty glass. Everyone greets back. From the corner of my eye I see Matt laying his arm around her.

"Well, we don't want to intrude any further –" The girl says but Pansy slams down her mug, looking up at her.

"– you don't! This is quite entertaining, really. Why don't you take a seat? We can all make some room." I glare at her but she still smirks at Matt. A deathly smile. And we actually make room for them. Matt next to Theo and the girl next to Enzo. Well, this isn't awkward.

"I'd love to take a picture right now." Pansy adds and I roll my eyes, looking out the window again and biting my inner cheek. Draco and Matt start talking about Quidditch training as Enzo and Pansy fall back into conversation about Merlin knows what.

"What's your name." I can't hold back any longer and look at her. Only now taking her in. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a button nose. A blue tie around her neck. So Matt's into Ravenclaws now?

"Julie. And you? You're Y/N, right? Matt hasn't mentioned you yet but I guess rumor has it you're into him." I am now gripping my wand below the table tightly, thinking about all the ways I could curse her, what kind of potion I could pour into her morning tea or if chasing her into the forbidden forest would be enough.

"Oh, me? Quite passionately, actually. He is the man any woman would want, you want to know why?" I ask her, ready to burst. Theo sighs, muttering my name warningly, which I ignore. Julie frowns at me, looking uneasy, shifting in her seat.

"He's egoistical, he would never put you first. He plays with you – and your feelings – not caring about any consequences because, well, quite frankly they don't typically affect him. And the best part is, once he is ready to admit his feelings, he simply ignores you, having you toss and turn at night until you go mad. Sounds pretty good to me." I shrug and lean back with a tight smile, focusing on my glass again.

"Anyone else need another drink? I certainly do." I mumble at the end and stand up, taking my glass and climbing over the back of the couch. As I pass behind Julie, I send Pansy a look of disgust. She shakes her beaming head at me, looking like a proud mom.

At the bar I take a deep breath, slowly feeling my heart sinking and reality kicking in. That he is all that what I described him as. But also the one who made me feel special and loved. Cared about. I press my teeth together as I feel a wave of utter despair hit me. I gesture to my empty mug as a bartender sees me. I tap my finger on the wooden bar top, debating if walking back to the table would be a good idea.

"Ouch." I glance over to him as he sits down next to me, sliding the mug forward. He sighs, leaning his crossed arms onto the counter top.

"Fuck off, Riddle." I turn my head, not wanting to take any of him in. Not his messy chocolate brown curls. Neither the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know, I deserved that." I nod at his statement.

"Would you look at me?" I glare at him, placing a hand on my hip.

"And now? What do you want, Riddle." He rolls his eyes, turning in his seat to face me.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously, I couldn't think of a single thing you would want from me right now." I get out and sound as harsh as I wanted to.

"Hey, everything okay over here?" The bartender asks, placing two filled mugs in front of us. We both look at him.

"Yes!" "Yes!"

We say in union, the guy raises his hands in defense and walks off. I turn back to Matt once more.

"I want to know why you're such a bitch to me." He says, his eyes boring into me as I let his words sink in. My mouth opening in shock.

"What?" I ask in disbelieve, daring him to repeat himself.

He stands up, stepping closer. I get up too and have to tilt my head but don't blink once as he towers over me. His fists by his sides and my hand hovering above my wand. Breath shallow.

"You heard me. "

*Slap.*

I pull my tingling hand back, still glaring up at him. His face is still turned to the side, one of his hands covering his cheek as he looks at me again.

"How dare you call me that, you ignorant –" I hit his chest.

"– thickheaded, –" Another hit.

"– senseless, –" Another one. He let me continue for a few more words until I was a crying mess and he held my hand that got weaker with every hit.

"You done yet, love?" He asks, a small smile on his lips. I frown, blinking a couple times to clear my vision.

"I don't think I will ever be." I mutter and he grins, looking down at the ground and slowly back up at me. The warm lights turning his eyes almost golden.

"I don't want you to." He mumbles and leans his head lower, my breath is quick but I can't even think of another word before his lips meet mine.

His arms grow around me like veins, pulling me closer to his chest and deepening the kiss. I tangle my hands into his hair, my stomach buzzing with an annoyingly sweet feeling. He smells so good.

As we part, I catch my breath, glancing at his slightly parted, puffy lips.

"You did that on purpose?" I ask, referring to the girl. He can't hold back a grin and nods.

"I'm sorry, I just had to know for sure if – you really wanted me the way I need you." I roll my eyes weakly, sighing.

"Boys."

"Your boy."

—

Tags for Mattheo's Endling:

@bbysebbystan @leona-hawthorne @vaseoftulips @readingthingsonhere @bluee-23 @elowynev @zoeonsaturn

— Theo's Ending is coming soon 🖤

[captain-n-crunchies]

Sharkie 🦈

Soul Evans x Black reader

So, everyone has a unique thing about them Blackstar with his tattoo, Kid having weird ass stripes, Crona pink hair and all in between but what always is cool is how soul unique teeth and eye color sure red eyes are cool and all but shark teeth? Who customized him?? And as his girlfriend you love everything about but his teeth just have more love to them ig...

"Soul my pookie bear you eva cut yourself with those teeth of yours?" asking curiously as you cut him off when he was talking about whatever stupid idea him, and Star had.

" First off, not cool to cut off somebody and second when I was a kid it wasn't cool to start bleeding because your own teeth cut your mouth." So sassy...

" But like you know it my favorite part about you ya'know" you said as you get from your set to grab something to drink, Soul nods and then thinks... his teeth out of all his cool personality traits his teeth are your favorite?

" Why my teeth like it not that cool? I got a motorcycle AND I'm like super chill and laid back, like I'm the coolest dude in the school and my teeth is our favorite thing?

You tap your chin looking him over and nod confirming, listen Soul has a lot of things girls would think is cool but think about when you first met him, he seemed pretty dorky.

+ Flashbackkkkk +

' It's hotter than a mothafucka!' I think looking up at the blazing sun laughing his hot rays of heat onto my skin, my meister/ weapon is already breathing heavy, sweating, overall, just miserable. Getting accepted into one of the best weapon/ meister academy is like getting an invite to the grammies once and a lifetime and we were very under dress, being from the south myself this heat was not even trying to spare us ( Glorilla come to mf front!)

Making it to the top of the stair s we both fall to ground

" FINALLY! THANK GAWD" my meister/ weapon Coco (omg who??) said in complete anguish as I hold my knees trying to breath correctly when a girl in pigtail and a dude with spikey hair, a tall ass girl with a ponytail, two twins and a black and white dude comes up to us

" Hi! Welcome to the DWMA, I'm Mak-"

" Girl hold on! Don't you see we finna die right now!?"

" Coco! Don't- Don't be rude!" you say scolding your weapon/ meister for rude to them greeters, you smile at the Maka girl and introduce yourself, " Hi, my names y/n and that's Coco don't worry about her attitude right now, she tired"

" Tired is a understate girl, YOU SAID WE WAS GETTING CHAFFURED HERE!"

" And we did he drove us here all we had to do was walk?"

" Walk my ass we got cooked trying to learn y/n'

Rolling my eyes I ignore Coco complaints and ask about everyone names, one of the twins excitedly introduces herself as Patty and her sister Liz and the guy next to them is Kid, who names they child Kid?? The tall girl introduced herself as Tsubaki and talks about this Blackstar dude who to me seems to be invisible but never mind that and lastly the guy with spike hair said his name is Soul, Like I said Kid and Soul like emo is an understatement. Maka asks about what weapon class are we and we say we're a part of a man named Professor Stein class right now, she says we're in their class and we start walking into the school.

" Coco girl we made itt" We both squeal together holding hands in awe of how big the school is and listening to the group talk about how the DWMA works and what the classes do, when Soul starts talking I notice pointy things in his mouth and I squint my eyes and poke Coco to pay attention, Coco looks at me and him and starts looking too and the rudest things she did points it out

" What are you staring at him for? You think he cute or som- OW!

" Thats what you get for being rude I'm telling to pay attention instead of looking at the mirror" I say calming and he just smirks, HE HAS SHARK TEETH! Gasping I tell Coco to look, and she stares and gasps back

" OMG! Your like some of those shark people! Like off of Naruto"

" I was thinking more off of Spongebob the dude who was trying to Kill Spongebob?"

The excited twin blurts out his name and we look it up agreeing, he rolls his eyes and checks Coco back calling out her being tired after walking up some stairs

" OH! Well excuse me y/n? He insulted me!"

" You said he looks like he off spongebob I'd do the same thing"

" Nuh uh! I said his teeth!"

It's been about three months since our first day at the DWMA and things been pretty cool besides us having a run in with a demon sword and Soul almost bleeding out the school been cool, and we've gained some friends and some enemies, but I think I've been gaining more than a friend with one of the group members; Soul and I have been talking a lot 1-on-1 about random things and every time we part ways I run to Coco giggling about every little thing like when we took a ride on his motorcycle and we had like an almost unofficial official date and when he got my a copy of his headband but with my name and all things I like on there. Coco keeps telling me to confess and all but what if he doesn't like me like that? Like I know I'm a bad bitch but what if I'm not a baddie but a baddie that happens to be his friend? I constantly think about that, and it's put on a tiny strain on me and Soul's relationship.

Today Soul texted me about meeting up for a casual hangout away from the group and for the past ten minutes me and Coco looking for outfits and we found the perfect outfit, after fixing my hair and doing a 5-minute face Soul texts me he's outside. Getting out my dorm there he is checking his phone, and he smirks saying I took long enough, and we ride to our regular spot an arcade with a lot of pinball machines and fair games, hours of fun later we landed ourselves walking around Death City, our conversation switching from things like classes to missions to even crushes.

" So, you got a crush on anyone?" Soul asks and I laugh it off saying not really, walking in silence I look up to Soul staring at me a bit

" What?" I say giggling and he chuckles a bit saying I'm very giddy today which isn't out of the usual, but he wants to know why.

" Well I started to think I mayyy have a crush a somebody" He gets silent but still asks who.

" Well, he pretty funny, cool hair a bit, got a nice voice and -"

" KID! The guy with stripes is your crush!?"

" NO!"

" Oh- continue" turning his head away from my face and I laugh it off his concerned tone and continuted listing all the qualities this crush of mines has

" Oh! and he's pretty dorky always saying cool and walking funny it almost like he trying to impress someone " with my eyes landing onto him with each word his red eyes largen and he asks is it him and with a smile I nod and grab his hand as he gloats on how he knew all along and in his words ' Wanted you to confess first' yeah right...

" So, what do you think he seems pretty nice huh?" He smirks and wraps an arms around my shoulder and nods, walking me to dorm and leaving with a kiss a cheek.

+ Flashback over +

Laughing a bit at the memory of how we met I slide over to Soul who now playing some videogame and sit beside him playing with his hair and watching him play, " You were pretty dorky when we started dating" I comment poking his cheek and he groans at the memory telling him to never remind of his "uncool" actions again. Talking about he couldnt beileve still how his best attrabute to me is his teeth.

" Well it ain't your style"

" I have great style! This is the epitomy of the best fashion sense"

" A leather jacket isnt fashion Soul"

" Who says? YOU? Wearing navy in the summer?"

Gasping at his diss to my last date outfit I hit him over the head with a pillow repeatdly telling him to take it back, after a pillow and a quick talk about our favorite things about eachother I began to think of one last question, Did Soul the self proclaimed coolest dude alive BITE someone?

" Hey I got one more question"

" Yes, in the pool as a kid I'd act like a shark"

" um... thank you for that confession but I didn't say that

" oh... then no I didn't act like a vampire-"

" Did you ever bite someone"

... Complete silence as Soul stared at me weirdly and tried to run away from the question and being yourself you obviously tried to pry it out of him

" Cmonnn it's not that bad! Coco even did it!"

" Coco has the brain of a rabid animal so it checks out"

And for the past 10 minutes you ask crazy question and all Soul doesn't is gives you a look or ask you the same question. And Maka sitting in her room a few feet over thinks about telling you about the time when soul bit Blackstars ankle during a fight... but that for another time

.............................................................................................

[smilingangel582]

Hii coming back to yuukoku no moriarty

I enjoyed that so much and also... Next week I'm probably gonna take a break cuz my birthday is coming on 19th this month hehe so I may sneak a few fics here and there

Enjoyyy ps spoilers for moriarty the patriot

Summary: Sherlock enjoys the phrase William always uses when he wants to catch him. But fortunately for him and unfortunately for Will Sherlock has a another thing he desires...

Me? Beg how absurd!

"Pleease Liam!"

Silence.

"Just one time... Trust me I won't ask u to say it too much!"

Sighing, William James Moriarty gave him a tired look as he stopped his attempts to grade the papers piled up on his desk. Aparantly a certain childish detective wishes an audience from him and so far he was able to entertain me (undeniably even himself).

So far the phrase 'catch me if u can' Brough some sense of happiness however it doesn't stop there.

When he gives Sherlock an inch he takes a mile.

"For God's sake, I can't beg without a reason Mr. Holmes"

"I know, I know... but it sounds almost as arousing as that line! Please... just once"

"No..." Shaking his head, Will returns to his work, and the detective pouts look a bit immature in his actions.

"Alright fine, I'll make u beg!"

Will shrugs now and notices Sherlock constantly trying to loom over him, perhaps distracting him. "Behave... like a good detective"

"Ugh, fine..." he sits back down, and that made Will chuckle in amusement, seeing how he resembles a child there.

Sherlock thinks harder and attempts to slide a foot over his leg as he thought accidently hitting his leg "Sorry..."

But thats a good idea... he purposefully crosses his legs again and hitting him gently, on purpose.

Will notices this and ignores though it is irritating. Now Sherlock smirks "Oh Liam what's that? Your brow twitched... wanna beg me to stop?"

"Do you think that makes me wanna beg? Mr. Holmes, I expected u to read the situation well, but... ah!" He flinched so hard that the pen drops on the desk. The pointy tip of Sherlock's shoe slides up his shin and that caught his attention unfavourably.

"Something wrong?" He grins now gently sliding up his knee and Will backs off to shrug off the touch "What...? You OK?"

"Crap... Holmes don't-!" He stumbles back again and glares "stop it..."

"My, I haven't seen a look like that, my sweet Liam." he comes forward, "What? You like me to do... this?" He slides his hand up his hips, and Will backs to a corner, suddenly letting a reaction unexpected and something which Sherlock didn't intend to get from him.

"Wait... are you ticklish?"

Blushing Will frowns "No... why?"

Sherlock grins now "I was trying to make u moan but it seems something even better will make u beg..."

"Wait-" he gasped now grabbing his wrists "Don't... hehe uhuh Sheherlock!"

"Oh? This..." squeezing his waist making a giggle slip past his lips, "I don't see why it bothers you, Mr. Not ticklish?"

"Wahahait, sehehriously haha... Sheherlock!" He squeaked now and then Sherlock perked his ears "Was that begging I hear?"

"Nohoho! It's hehehe, a command!" He giggles, sinking back against the wall weak to it already.

Laughing, Sherlock couldn't help but tease. "Bloody hell, Liam, how could the Lord of crimes even be intimidating if you're so giggly and adorable?" He chuckled, now pinching his ribs more prominently, making him cackle back."Is a tickle all that it takes to break you?"

Giggling but nothing to say so Sherlock crawls his fingers up the top ribs. "What's under here~?"

"Ahahaha pl-" he instantly closes his lips, but that doesn't go unnoticed by the detective. He grins like a child. "Oho... was that that I think it was... soooo closee!"

Will squirms now, "Whahatever dihihid you hehehear you mahahahan chihihild?"

Pause, and it was at this moment this professor knew, he messed up.

"AHAHAHA WAHAHAIT! JEEHEHEHEZ! AHAHAHA HOHOHOLMES!"

"Ooof..." he winces playfully at Will's predicament as he tickled his armpits "Didn't see that coming did ya?"

"EHEHENOUGH! STAHAHAHAP THAT! FOHOHOOL!"

Shaking his head "Oh no sweetheart, you should beg not order... I'm tickling you till you beg for mercy!"

After a while or torturous processing his decision he gave up. Will can never handle tickles and teases, especially from this menace. He cried out desperately "HAHAHA PLEHEHEHASE! STAHAHAP AHAHA MEHEHERCY!"

Fingers stopped and Will gasps for breath, flushed and tired, he didn't look like the calm professor anyone assumed he was before now that... he's well tickled pink.

"Ahaha, gohosh, you're ahaha trickster!" He giggles a bit and notices Sherlock suddenly in awe, "Liam...well..."

"Whahat?"

"I think I have a kink in listening to you beg like that..." he said it with a blank face and Will frowns with a groan "Huh? My word...surely you jest..."

Grinning, he leaned forward. "That's even more satisfying than that line you used!"

"Whatever... just let me have a break, aha, " he waves a hand and Sherlock grins "what? So that means I can do it again?"

"Ha! Try again? This was unprepared, next time I won't make a single implore!"

"Again? You liked that, didn't you, Liam?"

"Oh hush! I got work, so leave, " but a smile remains as he pushes his face gently.

[kyanmapng]

han seojun college boyfriend headcanons.

listen to breathe by golden child.

˗ˋˏ author’s note ˎˊ˗

time for me to forget about the disrespect and give you the good seojun feels. imagine if seojun actually went to college and you got lucky to date this dork. let’s see what that would include.

coffee dates and making everyone around you feel single as hell. you would talk about your classes and how scary this one professor is and Seojun would stare at you over his sugar bomb of coffee and smile with his head propped on his fist. he would tell you about all the shenanigans his gang pulled and maybe just maybe the scary professor got one coming as well. 

waiting for you when he doesn’t have classes. depending on the weather he would bring an umbrella (you always forget to check the forecast) and if it’s cold he gives you his scarf, but purposely doesn’t get more than one pair of gloves because he wants to do the cheesy “your hand in my pocket” thing to warm you up. 

when he’s bored in lectures he texts you and annoys you even if you don’t text back, because you can’t fail this! has the biggest grin on his face when he breaks you and you text back that you WILL block his number. (you never do, but he pushes you to the edge often.)

seojun definitely tells you he will help you study just to be the most distracting element. he can’t help it, you look so focused, pouting over the notes and he has to poke your cheeks and needs to hold your hand because you don’t need to use both of them to study. 

but if you are about to breakdown over classes, serious Seojun mode is activated. he will help you make flashcards, ask you questions, bring you snacks, offer support in any way he can. he would write the test for you if he could. he leaves little encouraging messages on your notes (even though he feels slightly embarrassed so he always tries to put them in so you will notice at dorm/home). 

you are definitely motivating him to keep on going and to study some more. he is thankful for that. kisses are big motivation, he is a simple man. 

he often doesn’t say that he is tired, juggling uni, part-time and modelling gigs. but you know him too well not to notice the signs and you drop by with some home-cooked meal to his dorm and hope the vultures (his dorm mates) won’t be there so you won’t have to fight them to the death lol. you can see the metaphorical ears and tail whip out as soon as he sees you in the doorway. 

he definitely snuck out to your dorm when your dorm mates weren’t there and you had a movie night with cuddles (and maybe a make-out session here and there oop--). 

if you have a group project and as usual people aren’t doing their part, Seojun is ready to go and have a talk with them for you. the parts would be done in a day.

seojun is definitely popular and basketball team tries to scout him every year, but Seojun is already busy as it is. though if you ask him if he won’t play, he is saying yes right away. he is a sucker for his s/o. gives you a kiss that makes others blush saying: “good luck kiss.” and you are the talk of the university for a few days. 

he is also invited to every party, but he turns them down most of the time. sometimes his gang makes him show up, but it’s just not his scene. even though he is ungodly good at beer pong (frat boy seojun everyone?), but he is a lightweight and he’d rather not end up doing something stupid so he is the designated driver. he had to pull his friends from the pool where they fell 3 times in one night and he got tired with capital t. the car still smells like chlorine. 

maybe you both run into each when you get dragged to a party by your friends. and seojun is just watching everyone doing their thing and keeping his friends away from pointy and sharp objects like the mother hen he is. and then he sees you vibing with your group of friends, laughing at some joke and his lips turn upward instantly. and you text him to let him know you are fine because it’s a ritual. you both let each other know if you go somewhere late or just go somewhere period. and he texts you back, something along the lines of “look up”. 

just imagine meeting eyes with him in the dim lighting and college people around wreaking havoc in someone else’s living room. it would be kinda fanfic moment until he hears his friends yell “cannonball” and he has war flashbacks to the other party. so he has to run away to herd them back away from the expensive-looking pool. 

god help anyone trying to hit on you, Seojun’s senses are tuned into it. he has seen you turn down people a few times already, he trusts you completely and it makes his heart swell when you tell people that you already have a boyfriend you love. but he also loves to see the flirty faces morph into shock when he snakes an arm around your waist or shoulders and goes “are you having fun babe?” it’s his guilty pleasure, honestly. 

and if you do the same? his heart is sold. you see this girl sit down next to Seojun who is taking a breather after most of his friends passed out around him and she tries to put her hand on his knee, but he says he is not interested and taken and is about to get up to leave, but you (braver now when alcohol courses through your veins) decide to plop down on his lap and kiss his cheek, turning to the girl after. “oh sorry I didn’t see you there.” she leaves in a hurry after that. and when you try to stand up he just holds you closer, refusing. “you are really cute when you get jealous.” “i think that makes two of us.”

the day after he shows up with a hangover cure and tells you all about the things you might not remember. he makes sure you do remember the lap sitting, it’s his favorite part. it’s teasing material for months. 

when the holidays begin he is giddy to bring you to spend time with his mom and sister. it makes his heart do flips when his favorite people interact. even when he is clearly at disadvantage, his mom has so many stories to tell and you love to get something to tease him with as well. but he knows his time will come once you take him to your parents. 

he was extra nervous when he was meeting your parents, he asked about your mom’s favorite flowers and your dad prefered drink and almost studied to make the best first impression. your mom was blown away right away and your dad gave Seojun harder time just because he had to make sure he is serious about you. but when he sees how bright you get thanks to him, he warms up to him instantly. 

overall, college boyfriend seojun would be the best hypeman while also being the main cause of your inability to focus. he gives the best hugs when you are stressed with exam season and is basically a mind reader. would do anything for you and doesn’t ask for anything in return and that only makes you shower him in love and affection more.

[mommymooze]

Post Timeskip Hugs from the Resident Hugmeister: Blue Lions Style.

This was the worst you have ever seen any of your house members. There was a brief feeling of a bright light ahead when Byleth returned, however the next battle had some of the former students, our friends, on the wrong side of the battlefield. To say that your comrades are sad, despondent, unhappy, melancholy, despairing or down right down in the dumps, well, they seem to be lower than that.

You need to get them to the right path, tomorrow the sun will come up and things will look better in the pure light of day. Deciding only you can cure their sorrows and chase away the gloom, you find your friends one by one to give them a supportive and healing hug.

First is Sylvain. He’s still here at the little campfire the Blue Lions built in the area of the pond. A metal barrel bottom holds the wood and ashes, making easy cleanup. He’s staring into the few flames that remain. You run up and hug him from behind. It is a bit difficult with his armor and all of those pointy things sticking out but you try.

“Hey!” he yelps, grabbing and pulling you onto his lap. You hug him from the front burying your face in his metal covered chest.

“What’s that for?” He asks, a hint of a smile on his face.

“You look like you need a hug.” You say as you close your eyes and put your hands around his neck, playing with the hair there. “We are all here for each other.”

Sylvain wraps his arms around you and closes his eyes. Finally, he sighs.

“Thanks. I needed that. “

You get up and ruffle his hair a bit before you walk away.

Heading to the kitchen you find Ingrid making a late night snack. The candles give off a warm glow as you open the door.

“Want me to make you a snack too?” She kindly offers.

“I’m hungry for something else.” You hold your arms wide open to her. Ingrid slides into them, hugging you warmly, laying her cheek on top of your head.

“I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone.” She softly smiles.

“That won’t do. If you ever need a hug, I’m here for you.” You squeeze her a bit, then let go. “Enjoy your snack” You laugh, before she can say anything you’re already out the door.

You make a bee line to Mercedes’ room. Knocking softly you hear a pleasant request for you to come in. Annie and Mercie are sitting on the bed talking. You run in and leap onto the bed giving them both soft squishy hugs. Merci laughs and Annette giggles.

“That feels nice. What’s this all about?” Annie giggles.

“Can’t I give two of my bestest friends hugs and let them know I care for them?” You grin.

“Sure!” Merci purrs, giving you a warm hug and rubbing her cheek on the top of your head.

“Want to join us for tea?” Annie offers.

“No, I have more hugs to deliver.” You respond as you get up on your feet. “Rest well and know that I’m thinking of you guys!”

You’re nearly skipping out the door. Your hug meter going higher and higher.

Walking past Ashe’s room you notice he has a candle burning.

“Hey Ashe, it’s me, can I say good night?” You softly call to him through the door.

“Sure! Come on in.” He is reclined in his bed, reading one of his favorite stories. You sit next to him, urging him to scoot over. One arm behind him, the other on his chest you give him a warm hug from the side. He rests his chin on your head as he continues to read. He remembers times before the war when you were a cuddly little thing, always hugging people that were sad or down.

“Mmmmm. Never change. You give the best hugs.” He says as he turns the page.

You cuddle with him a bit more, drawing circles around his collar bone when suddenly he wiggles and laughs. “I didn’t even know I was ticklish there!“

You both giggle as you get up and pat him on the head. “Good night, Sir Ashe.” You leave headed for your next conquest.

The Professor sits on the porch in front of their room gazing at the stars. You walk up behind them and hug them, your arms around the tops of their shoulders.

“I guess you can say with me sleeping all this time, I haven’t been hugged in years.” They muse.

“Well then, you are long overdue.” You say as you sit beside them and hug them tightly.

“Have you hugged the others? After everything they have been through, daresay they deserve many and need many more.”

“Yes, they do.” You concur.

“Your hugs are therapeutic. I remember the first time you hugged me. I was quite surprised. It was right after our first battle, with Kostas. You hugged me and thanked me for keeping us all alive. I told you that you don’t have to hug me for doing my job and you told me to get used to it. I believe I have. Sometimes I think your hugs are the only thing keeping us all together.”

You blush and give them a squeeze before you head out for your next delivery.

The cathedral is eerily quiet. Only the sound of the wind whistling through the broken panes of stained glass can be heard. You silently approach the sleeping form of the mad prince. To say you are putting yourself at risk is an understatement. Still you feel you have to try. You see him sleeping on the floor by the crumbled goddess statue. He kicks out, his shoulder jerks. He must be having a nightmare. Softly you stroke his cheek. His body stills and his face leans into your hand. You run your fingers through his hair as you hum a lullaby. His face begins to relax and he appears to be sleeping peacefully. This is probably one of the few times he has felt a human touch in years. You run your fingers through his hair for a while longer hugging his cheek to yours, then sneak away safely.

Quietly you attempt to sneak into the training grounds, however the squeak of the door as you open it betrays you. Felix does not pause his strikes upon the training dummies, however his brow furrows even further than before. Slowly you approach him and hug him from behind. Suddenly you are both on the ground with Felix sitting in front of you surrounded by your arms.

“You put your arms around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic.“ He groans.

“It’s not pathetic, its human. You’re human.”

His head falls forward as he groans. You hold him tighter to your chest. "Tell me you don’t want me to hug you and I’ll stop.”

“Tsk.”

You hold him until his breathing slows, his heartbeat calms.

He tilts his head back onto your shoulder. “Why?”

“This war is sucking the life, the humanity from us. I am trying to remind you, to remind everyone, why we are doing this. Not for honor or glory. We’re fighting for ourselves and each other. To make this a better place for everyone to live. To remind us when this war is over, we can enjoy the simple things that war has taken from us.” You whisper.

“Hmm.” he responds, placing his hands on yours that are gripped around him.

You nuzzle your nose into the corner of his neck.

“Cut that out!” He grumbles.

“I will leave you to your pursuit of perfection. But only if you take a drink before I go.” You smile, handing him his waterskin.

He takes a long drink, he really should have stopped much earlier to drink more.

“Good night.” You say, skipping out of the room.

Mission complete for this evening. Tomorrow is another day, a boatload of more hugs and reassurance to hand out to your friends, your fighting family.

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 2

3rd Person POV

By the age of nine, Jean and Tom Granger found that their adopted daughter (Y/n) was quite a peculiar child. It wasn't just the strange hourglass scar on her neck, but she was incredibly smart, picking things up that most kids in high school wouldn't understand.

By Year Five of school, (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger had aced all of her classes on top of taking Year Nine level classes - Geometry and AP Biology.

And by the age of ten, (Y/n) was fluent in Russian, French, and Spanish.

The eldest Grangers also learned that their adopted daughter was extremely athletic. (Y/n) had played football - what Americans called soccer - and was top of her class in her Karate and JiuJitzu classes.

(Y/n) was also an inventor. She could come up with solutions to problems that Jean Granger had told her that most adults couldn't solve. She had built her first circuit board at the age of five and her first engine at the age of eight.

The Grangers' had put a shed in their backyard where their adopted daughter was always tinkering with things she would buy or was gifted from neighbors.

It wasn't to say that Jean and Tom's other daughter wasn't smart, for Hermione Granger was very intelligent. But all three - including Hermione - knew that (Y/n) was on a whole different level of intelligence.

Hermione Jean Granger wakes on July 26th of 1991 to her sister standing over her, a wide smile on her face.

The two sisters - even considering that (Y/n) was adopted - looked nothing alike. Hermione had frizzy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, whereas (Y/n) had sleek (H/C) hair and brilliant green eyes. There was a strange thing about (Y/n)'s appearance though, she had an hourglass shaped scar on the side of her neck. (Y/n) liked the scar, but it reminded her of black widows, which wasn't great because (Y/n) didn't like spiders.

Hermione sit up in her bed, pushing her covers off her.

After the two use the bathroom - (Y/n) taking a quick shower and leaving her hair damp - they make their way downstairs to find their parents already in the kitchen.

"Morning girls," Mrs. Granger greets her daughters as she places breakfast on the table.

"Morning Mum," (Y/n) and Hermione say in unison.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger were dressed for work - they were dentists at the local dentists' office a few miles away.

After the four finish breakfast, there is a knock on the door.

Looking slightly confused, Mr. Granger stands up from the table and walks towards the door.

He opens it to see a very stern looking woman with black hair and blue eyes.

"Good morning," Mr. Granger greets the woman.

"Good morning, sir," the black haired woman says. "Are your daughters home? I'm here about a scholarship, per say, for a new school."

(Y/n) and Hermione exchange excited looks.

"Yes, they are here," Mr. Granger answers the woman. "Would you like to come in?"

The woman nods and steps inside the neat house.

"Hermione! (Y/n)!" Tom Granger calls and the two girls rise from their chairs simultaneously and walk out into the living room.

(Y/n) waves shyly at the woman, surprising the other Grangers. (Y/n) was never shy.

A small smile spreads across the woman's face at the slight of (Y/n) and catches sight of the hourglass scar on her neck.

"Hermione and (Y/n), was it?" the woman asks and the two nod.

"I'm Professor McGonagall. I'm here about a school for gifted people like yourselves," the woman says.

(Y/n) and Hermione exchange gazes, like a clashing forest, brown on green.

"It might be hard to believe, but the two of you, you're witches," McGonagall says and (Y/n)'s gaze flashes a silver, almost too quickly for McGonagall to see, but the woman does.

This sends a flash of curiosity though McGonagall, but she holds out two letters.

(Y/n) and Hermione step forward and take the letters from the Professor.

Miss (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger 100 Crestent View Ln. The Third Largest Bedroom Hampstead, London

"That's so very incredibly specific," (Y/n) murmurs. Opening the letter, she quickly reads:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

(Y/n) looks suspiciously at the letter for a moment before looking up. "Are you sure?" (Y/n) asks. "I'm not anyone special. I can't be a witch."

At the comment about (Y/n) being no one special, the other three Grangers exchange looks that McGonagall presumed to mean that they though that the statement wasn't true.

"Has nothing ever happened when you were afraid or nervous?" McGonagall asks and a flash of realization flashes behind (Y/n)'s eyes. "If you two have to go to work," McGonagall turns to Jean and Tom, "I can take the girls to find their school things."

(Y/n) looks excitedly over at her mother and father, "Mum, Dad, can we?"

Jean looks at McGonagall and nods.

Hermione and (Y/n) grin at each other.

"Go get dressed and then you can go," McGonagall says, smiling softly at the girls' excitement.

(Y/n) and Hermione run up the stairs.

(Y/n) goes to her bedroom and opens her closet door. She pulls out a black AC DC t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts from her dresser.

Thinking for a moment, she grabs a zip up hoodie and throws it on, placing her wallet inside one of the pockets.

(Y/n) stops at her sister's room and a moment later, Hermione pops out, dressed in a pair of jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt.

"So, what do you think about this?"  (Y/n) asks as the two make their way down the stairs.

"I think it's interesting, us being witches and all," Hermione answers as the two enter the living room where they find their mother asking McGonagall to keep her daughters safe.

McGonagall, (Y/n), and Hermione walk outside and McGonagall tells the two girls to take her hand.

They do, and they're suddenly somewhere else. (Y/n) and Hermione look up to see a sign, which reads, The Leaky Cauldron.

They walk inside.

It was a small, tiny, grubby-looking pub. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. All of a sudden, the low buzz of chatter stopped when two people walked in. One of them was a very tall man, he almost looked to big to be allowed. He had long black hair and a black beard. The other was a small boy with jet-black hair, bottle green eyes, and light skin. The bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said the man who must have Hagrid, clapping his great hand on boy's shoulder and making his knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at the black haired boy, "is this — can this be — ?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter ... what an honor."

(Y/n) studies the boy for a moment, then he looks over at her, as though sensing her eyes on him.

The old bartender hurries out from behind the bar, rushes towards Harry and seizes his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back." The boy didn't seem know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry was shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle.

(Y/n)'s POV

I look up at Professor McGonagall who looks at me with a question evident in her eyes, though I couldn't tell what it was.

McGonagall follows Harry and Hagrid out of the pub, Hermione and I following.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'." Hagrid was saying.

"Is he always that nervous?" Harry asks.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience. ... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?" Hagrid responds. "Three up ... two across ..." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry." He taps the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Hagrid and Harry proceed to walk through the archway.

McGonagall follows the two and Hermione and I follow close behind.

"The first stop for us is the wizarding bank, Gringotts," McGonagall says leading Hermione and I towards a large, grand, white building that looked over the rest of Diagon Alley.

The doors open and we walk in, the doors closing behind us. We walk over to what looks like a Santa Clause elf - pointy ears and relatively short.

"Good morning," McGonagall says, pulling out a golden key, "we need to visit Miss (L/n)'s vault."

"And does Miss (L/n) have her key?" the goblin asks.

McGonagall hands the goblin the key in her hand. "Very well," he says, handing the key back to McGonagall, who, in turn, hands it to me.

"I'll have someone take you down to the vault. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Hermione, Professor McGonagall, and I follow Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

Griphook holds the door open for us.

We walk into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It slopes steeply downwards and there are little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart comes hurtling up the tracks towards us. We climb in and are then off.

When the cart finally stops, the four of us get out stopped in front vault 714.

"Key please," Griphook says and I hand him my key.

I was confused though, because Vault 714 had no keyhole.

Griphook simply examines the key closely, and then hands it back to me. I guessed that they key must just be confidential.

"Stand back," says Griphook importantly. He strokes the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melts away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," says Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Hermione asks curiously.

"About once every ten years," Griphook answers with a rather nasty grin.

3rd Person POV

Griphook steps aside and (Y/n) and Hermione's eyes go wide at the sheer amount of gold, silver, and bronze coins inside.

"This is mine?" (Y/n) asks Professor McGonagall, who smiles softly, holding out a drawstring bag.

"Your mother was very addiment on leaving most of her gold to you," McGonagall says and (Y/n) nods dumbly as she takes the bag.

Hermione helps (Y/n) scoop some of the coins into the bag. Though they had taken quite a bit of coins, it didn't even seem to make a dent in the large piles.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Professor McGonagall explains as (Y/n) studies a wooden box in front of the truckloads of gold coins. "There are seventeen silver Sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle."

(Y/n) nods absently as she opens the box, Hermione next to her.

Inside, she sees a stack of letters and a few pictures.

Hermione holds out her bag, and (Y/n) closes the box, placing it inside the bag.

(Y/n) smiles gratefully at her sister as Hermione pulls her backpack back onto her back.

One wild cart ride later, the three stand blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.

Hermione pulls out her letter, and (Y/n) reads over her sister's shoulder:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Course books:

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)by Miranda Goshawk A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungiby Phyllida Spore Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them by Newt Scamander The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment:

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) I set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Where do we even start?" Hermione asks in amazement.

"If we get are cauldrons first, we can put our other supplies in it," (Y/n) thinks quickly.

Hermione nods and then both look up to Professor McGonagall, who smiles softly and leads the two to the Apothecary where they pick up two cauldrons and two supplies of basic potions ingredients for Hermione and (Y/n).

"Books now, 'Mione?" (Y/n) asks with a grin as they are about to pass a large bookshop.

Hermione shoots her sister a grin and the two girls walk into the bookshop, McGonagall waiting outside with their cauldrons and potions ingredients.

(Y/n)'s POV

Hermione grabs two of each of our course books while I look around at some of the other books. I grab: Hogwarts: A History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of teh Twentieth Century, and a book that looked like it was for kids titled, The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

The next place we went was called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside were two boys one was the Raven haired boy from the Leaky Cauldron; the other was a short boy with blond hair that was greased back; he had a mean attitude about him.

Harry's POV (A couple minutes before)

Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so I entered Madam Malkin's shop.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when I started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood me a on stool slipped a long robe over my head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah," I said, not really liking him very much.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," I say.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Nope," I respond.

"I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," I say. I really don't like this boy, I thought.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," I say, wishing I could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" says the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at me and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," I tell him, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," says the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," I say. I was liking this boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," I say coldly.

"Do you?" says the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," I say shorty. He seemed not to want to talk to this boy any more than he needed to.

"Oh, sorry," says the other boy, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." I respond.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways."

A tinkling of a bell interrupts the boy. I look over to see two girls walk in.

"Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before I could answer, Madam Malkin says, "That's you done, my dear," and I, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hop down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," says the drawling boy.

3rd Person POV

A few minutes later, (Y/n) and Hermione walk into the bright sunlit alley, their robes folded neatly in a bag.

(Y/n) smiles at Professor McGonagall and places her robes into the cauldron, then (Y/n) lifts up the heavy cauldron, Hermione doing the same with her own.

"What next?" Hermione asks Professor McGonagall.

"You two still need wands," answers McGonagall, pointing towards a store.

As we walk closer, I read the sign, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

The three of walk inside. A tinkling bell ring somewhere in the depths of the shop as they step inside, and an old man walks to the desk from teh deep recesses of the shop.

"Hello, good afternoon," the man says. "I am Mr. Ollivander. You two are here for wands I presume?" he asks and Hermione and (Y/n) nod.

"(Y/n) (L/n)," Mr. Ollivander says, "I was wondering if I was going to be seeing you soon." he pauses, looking carefully into (Y/n)'s eyes. "Your mother's eyes." At the statement, (Y/n)'s eyes seem to light up with curiosity. "It seems that only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Twelve inches, ash wood with a unicorn hair core. Good for stubborn and courageous witches and wizards."

Even at this small amount of information, (Y/n) had perked up. Hermione glances over at her adopted sister and feels a rush of pity for her. She can't imagine not knowing who her parents were.

It wasn't that (Y/n) didn't remember, because she did have very vivid nighmares about a car slamming on the brakes, a flash of green light, then red, then everything would go dark. It always ended the same way however, with Mrs. Granger carrying a two year old (Y/n), who was clutching her black and white stuffed cat, back to her home.

(Y/n) wrenches herself out of her thoughts as Ollivander approaches her. He had come so close that he and (Y/n) were almost nose to nose.

"And that's where . . ."

Mr. Ollivander touches the hourglass shaped car on the side of (Y/n)'s neck with a long white finger.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it," he says softly and (Y/n) looks back up into the wand maker's misty silver eyes. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do . . ."

He stops, and (Y/n) continues to watch the wand maker, her green eyes flashing silver for the second time that day.

Ollivander, as though sensing (Y/n)'s desire to know more, moves onto Hermione, and she quickly revives her "Vine wood, Dragon heart-string, 10 1/4 inches, unyielding" wand.

(Y/n)'s POV

Again, the same process commences with me, but I end up trying more wands then Hermione. Finally, I get my wand, and strangely my, "Alder wood with a Phoenix Feather core, 12 1/4 inches. Alder is an unyielding wood, yet I have discovered that its ideal owner is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable. Whereas most wand woods seek similarity in the characters of those they will best serve, alder is unusual in that it seems to desire a nature that is, if not precisely opposite to its own, then certainly of a markedly different type. When an alder wand is happily placed, it becomes a magnificent, loyal helpmate. Alder is also excellent for protection against outside forces, and, when combined with phoenix feather, is a suitable match for a wizard who will "make their mark on this world.'" Mr. Ollivander says, and I look up at him in shock. Hermione hadn't gotten such a lengthy explanation of her wand.

Mr. Ollivander fixes me with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss (L/n). Every single wand. It so happens that that phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave two other feathers - just two. It is curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, one of it's brothers gave you that scar."

I swallow thickly.

"Your other wand's brother, however, I sold just a mere thirty minutes ago," Ollivander continues, "to a young Harry Potter. Curious how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember . . . I think that we must expect great things from you, Miss (L/n) . . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible yes, but great."

Hermione and I return home a few hours later with Professor McGonagall, me clutching a woven basket that housed my new black and white cat Marvel inside.

3rd Person POV

Before they enter the house McGonagall stops (Y/n) before she can enter.

(Y/n) turns to looks quizzically at the professor.

"Good luck," the Professor says simply, then holds out to train tickets. "These are you and your sister's ticket's for Hogwarts." (Y/n) nods, taking the tickets. "I'll see you on September 1st," McGonagall says. Then the Professor turns around and walks away.

Word Count: 4,100 words

So yeah, here's Chapter 2.

I wonder if any of you know who (Y/n)'s dad is yet. I tried dropping some hints at the very beginning.

So yeah

I'll see y'all soon!

Love y'all!

              Kaitlynn 😍❤️

[blushing-starker]

starker + 9 🥺

Peter's doing it again. Trying to merge with Tony, fuse their bodies together even when the boy knows it isn't possible unless several bones are tossed away. But it's his boyfriend. Peter doesn't stop attempting something unless a freight train knocks him out. There are, unfortunately, no trains in the tower.

He's kidding.

(He's not, Tony's got a pointy elbow digging into a stomach a bit too fleshy for his liking, skinny knees knocking harshly against his own and fluffy hair up to his nose. He loves the kid, he does. But these cuddle sessions are leaving purple bruises every time Pete forgets his strength and squeezes Tony lovingly.

It's cute.

He's dying.)

The screen flashes, sunset orange assaulting them as the Manda(d)lorian blows up what looks like the alien monster Thanos stored his troops in. Peter, a painful blessing, wiggles even closer to provide comfort and chase away horrible memories he's too young to have. It's one of the only reasons Tony's thankful for the age difference; Peter was too busy enjoying his childhood with May and Ben to really focus on the demons that haunted the concrete jungle and, years later, the billionaire's nights.

A stray curl of brown hair goes into Tony's mouth, now Pete's in his lap and Jesus, he needs to exercise with Rhodey if the kid can so easily get him winded. It's ridiculous, Pete can't be much more than a hundred and twenty pounds when he's wet but his chest still heaves like the time he and honey bear had to sprint through the whole MIT campus so they wouldn't be late for a final test.

Maybe he's just tired from playing with Morguna yesterday? Yeah, that makes a lot more sense than his spiderling exhausting Tony so suddenly when just two days ago he pinned Peter to the wall and-

Sniffling. There's sniffling. His shirt is wet, tremors are wracking Peter's blanket covered body and what the hell happened, no enemy is near, nobody died and his boyfriend didn't mention anything bad getting him down at school. Oh god, is his lover hurt? No, no, Friday would have notified Tony. He thinks about all the dates May has drilled into his head and no traumatic anniversary is even close to today.

Pete hides his face against the arc reactor for all of two nanoseconds before Tony is tugging him up like a sorrowful puppy, tucking the boy's knees on either side of his hips so Tony can properly face the creature softly sobbing.

"Hey, hey, baby, what's wrong? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you wanna shut that off, head to our room and cuddle under your fave blankets? Maybe eat breakfast at midnight? Cuz you know I can wake Sam up and he'll cook that French Toast you like. With the, you're still crying. Oh, hey. I can steal Strange's cape. There's my puppy eyed boy. Tell me what's wrong and I'll snatch it in five minutes."

He'd feel bad about negotiating, but Peter has strictly informed Tony in the past that there's no other way to get him out of his head. A cause and effect type of dynamic helps Peter rationalize; if he explains the situation, Tony can help resolve it. It's a system that always makes things bearable, brings Peter back into reality much more quickly than anything else. Unless there are puppies. Then he can skip away from internal shadows in chase of cute dogs within five seconds.

"It's just," Tony inhales deeply, mentally prepares himself for nightmares, terrible flashbacks or another bully determined to make his baby sad, "don't laugh. I'm serious about this, ok?"

That lower lip wobbles and he's ready to go, body prepared to leap off the building and hunt down any threat that's causing half of his heart to sob like this. "I promise I won't laugh at you. I would never, ever laugh at something that causes you pain, Pete. I promise I'll help in any way I can. Tell me what's wrong."

A slow inhale now so Peter can copy him and explain without being in the verge of an attack. Two, five, ten beats of his heart dedicated to calming the kid. He still burst into tears.

"You're just such a good dad, Tony." Pete crumbles, cries into his neck and what the fuck just happened? How is this his life? Something chirps from the tv and Baby Yoda runs towards his father. The exact same way Morgan ran to Tony last night.

Even if Peter dumps him because of it, he's canceling the fucking show.

"Peter Benjamin Parker, are you drunk? Or high? I'm gonna put you to bed and you will sleep until those neurons wake up again because this is the weirdest thing you've ever done. Come on, no, don't use your super strength, that's cheating."

His sweet, adorable, exhausting boyfriend shakes his head, refuses to move and Tony relents, huffs into warm hair just to be petty. "You're so soft with her, Tony, just like Mando and the baby. And it's really cute, and pure, and wholesome, ok?"

"So you're crying about it at midnight?"

"I'm a sensitive person, Mr Tin Can.

"Jesus, Pep wasn't like this when pregnant," it's a low murmur but Pete still slaps his arm, sends Tony flailing onto the floor with the kid on his lap. Definitely gonna work out with Rhodey.

"You see? This is what you do to me, Peter. Give me a heart attack and bruises. I think we're gonna invade some professor's office to fix an unfair grade and you're crying because of a green puppet."

"Hey! He's more than that, he's adorable." More sniffling. He's getting this kid a therapist.

"FIne, an adorable green puppet. I'm gonna get you waffles and the cape and access to the show if you stop giving me injuries. Now help me up, I'm pretty sure my back can't take this."

Nothing. Not a twitch. Why does Tony always fall for the stubborn ones? "I'll let you braid my hair with Morgan tomorrow, so please assist an old man, oh God." Peter heaves him up, nearly throws Tony into a wall before controlling that superhuman strength and leaving his boyfriend upside down on his shoulder.

Well, at least he isn't crying anymore.

(They watch the next episode with Morgan. They both sob on his chest, mutter something about being a wonderful father and yeah, he's happy they think that, glad he's creating a better legacy than the one he inherited but Tony's 99% sure every Avenger is wiping away tears and there isn't enough Kleenex for all of them when they wail about "pure and wholesome" relationships.

He buys the team Baby Yoda plushies. Just to calm them down.)

(Peter finds one hidden away in the closet and grins because his boyfriend is as much of a dork as he is.)

[feferipeixes]

is it just me or is tau with dipper and an adder stone a really cool concept??? like 👀 at any content w it. not like. im not trying to pressure you into making anything or anything im just. sharing mutual love for an interesting concept??? yeah lol

Yeah it is really cool! I’d never heard of adder stones before that post but they seem pretty dope. I know you weren’t trying to pressure me into making anything but here is a small thing I thought up~

===

“Dipper! Hey, hey Dipper, Dipper look at me, look at meeeee, your sister! Check this out, hey!!”

Dipper, sitting on a rock in his striped swimsuit, was hunched over a shard of black glass he’d found while walking along the beach. He groaned at the sound of Belle’s voice and curled up tighter. “Not now!” he barked back. “I’m busy studying this volcanic rock I found. I read that people used to use them to send secret messages and do magic yknow.”

Belle’s padding footsteps came to a halt inches away from him. “The only secret code on that rock is the one that says you’re a nerd,” she said, shaking him by the shoulders. “And you don’t need a rock to tell you that ‘cause I’m nice enough to do it for you! That’s just the kind of gal I am.”

He rolled his eyes and looked up. “What is it?”

His sister posed dramatically like the models she’d seen on TV, which she personally thought made her look very enchanting thank you very much despite the fact that she was ten and had sand all over her legs and swimsuit. “Look at my dazzling jewelry!” she announced, showing him her right hand.

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “You put a rock on your finger.”

“Yeah!” Belle pulled her hand away and held it up to the sky. “I found this cool rock with a hole in it like a ring! Now I’m just like a beautiful swan maiden from that movie Kidnapped At Dawn.”

“Oh my stars, Belle, you don’t want to be like the girl in that movie,” Dipper grumbled, looking back at his piece of glass.

“Oh yeah? Well... it’s still a cool ring! Maybe Danny from Mrs. Penlip’s class and I will get married someday and he’ll give me a ring juuuust like this one!”

“Ew, that’s gross!” Dipper got up and snatched the rock off his sister’s finger, to her loud dismay. “The getting married thing and the putting a weird rock on your finger thing.”

“Give it back!” Belle shouted, her face turning red. “Okay maybe not Danny -- he did pee on the slide at recess last year -- but someone else then!”

Ignoring her, Dipper put his hand out to block her from grabbing the rock, and used the other to hold it up to his eye. “Just gotta check out the damage here,” he huffed, trying out the voice of the professor from Dr. Researchman because it was his turn to act out a character from his favorite show. “Gotta see all the beach gunk you got on yourself -- whoa.”

Belle stopped flailing and cocked her head. “Whoa?”

“Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,” Dipper breathed and swung his head around. Through the rock he could see a massive pink lizard, stretching as far down the beach as he could see. It looked sort of like a salamander but it had red frills around its head and a catlike smile. The... whatever it was... seemed to notice his attention, as it winked at him and started crawling away.

And that wasn’t all he could see. There were little sparkling bits of fluff everywhere in the air. One close to his head made a buzzing sound and flew into his gaping mouth. He yelped and tried to spit it out, but as far as he could feel with his tongue there wasn’t actually anything in there.

“Belle, this is so cool!” he said finally. “If you look through the rock you can see all this invisible stuff! I can’t - I can’t even explain it, I uh, I gotta sketch some of this in my notebook!”

Without taking the rock away from his eye, he scrabbled around behind him to try to find his notebook.

Belle put her hands on her hips and pouted. “Yknow, it was my rock first,” she said. “I should get to look at the invisible stuff first.”

“Finders keepers, losers criers,” he shot back, sticking his tongue out.

“It’s losers weepers -” she started, glaring at him, and then faltered. “Whoa. How are you doing that?”

At last grabbing his notebook, Dipper flipped open to a blank page and started doodling. “How am I doing what?”

“That thing with your eye!” Belle squeaked. “Through the ring rock, your eye like turned completely black! How are you doing that?”

“Uhh.” He finally took the rock away from his eye and squinted at it. “I dunno. That’s kind creepy. Hey wait...” he added, catching a glimpse of his own hand through the opening. “It makes my nails look really long and pointy too. What is this thing?”

“Let me try, let me try!” Belle squealed, grabbing the ring back. “I wanna see if it makes my eyes go all creepy too! It could be a really cool Halloween effect, yknow?”

Looking at her brother, she started to put the rock up to her face, and for a split second something dark and horrible flickered before her eye, like the worst nightmare she’d ever had come to life, sending a shiver down her spine as it came into focus, and -

“Belle! Dipper!” Lionel’s voice came from a little bit down the beach. “It’s time to go!”

Belle shrieked in surprise and fumbled the rock. It went shooting into the air and landed somewhere in the sand. Both she and Dipper gasped and dropped to their knees to search for it.

“Kids?” Lionel said, much closer now. The twins looked up at him, disappointment written all over their faces. “Come on, let’s go. I bet you two are hungry -- I know I am -- and I saw a great restaurant on the way here that serves ice cream burgers. That sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Oh boy, does it!” Belle shouted, jumping up and running toward the car, lingering thoughts about the stone already dashed.

“You coming, Dipper?” Lionel asked.

Dipper picked his hands up and watched the sand filter through his fingers. “Yeah, I guess,” he murmured. He stood up and gave his dad a weak smile, then ran ahead to catch up with his sister.

“Hey Belle,” he said when they reached the car, both panting from exertion. “Um. Did you see any of the cool stuff I was talking about? In the rock?”

She frowned. “Iunno. I didn’t really get a good look at it. There was something kinda scary in there but I dunno what it was.”

Dipper kicked at the pavement with a sandaled foot. “That blows. It was so cool -- it was like there’s all this hidden magic stuff all around us and we just can’t see it.” He sighed as their father caught up with them and started to unlock the car. “I just. Wish I could see that sort of stuff all the time.”

(Only a couple of years later, Belle saw Dipper’s eyes go dark again, and from then on he no longer needed a magical rock to truly see the world around him.)

(AO3 link)

[glorifiedsnickersbar]

Prized Possession

A short story; featuring Countryhumans Egypt

Word count: 1474

         “Down here!” 

The excited patter of feet on stone echoed through the forgotten tunnels. Archeologists, originally scattered throughout the maze of catacombs, now conglomerated in one spot as a group of muscled men pushed against a well fitted stone. 

         “Wait!” a little shrimp of a man ordered, trudging over with his two sizes too big boots and oval glasses sliding down his pointed nose, “Wait, wait wait- there are writings along this wall. If you remove the stone from its place you will destroy them!” 

         “They look like every other glyph on that wall,” A stocky man with a bright red beard huffed, “Just take a picture, you can decipher it later.”

The group started to push the boulder again, but the little man pushed at them, albeit a vain attempt if it wasn’t for the intelligence of the second man trying to move the heavy weight.

         “Professor,” the group halted again, “Our orders aren’t to scrutinize everything. It’s to get as low as we can through the palace catacombs. By the slant in this floor it’s clear this boulder was rolled to conceal a passage. We’re just doing our job.”

         “Well let me do mine!” the shrimpy, pointy nosed man huffed, a rather high pitched sound, “Egypt himself sent me ahead, and I plan to give him a full report of what’s found, down to the most minute detail,” He smashed his thumb and forefinger for emphasis, “Now either you let me do my job, or I get you all fired!”

         “Ever the grumpy one, aren’t you Jayden.”

     All turned to find the country’s embodiment leaning against a darkly lit wall, yawning as he pushed himself up. He brushed off his well tailored suit, slipping a loose hair back into its place with the gelled mass that always wanted to escape back into its natural curl. He nodded to the men before him.

         “Those hieroglyphs aren’t the only things that would have been destroyed if you’d have continued,” reaching up, he scratched a fingernail against the ceiling above, rock streaming down as if it were sand, “That boulder is the support for this entire ceiling, like a wall in a house. My father was a genius in building structures such as this. Remove that, and you’d have been crushed.”

The group of heavy lifters moved away from the boulder, looking at each other in a silent agreement that they had better be more careful. 

         “Truly amazing,” Professor Jayden marveled, running a finger under the hieroglyphs, “Egypt, this may be the tunnel system your father told you about!” He jumped on the balls of his feet as he looked across the walls, identifying markings and structures that could potentially lead them through the maze, “I’m reading the hieroglyphics, and-and they all explain an aspect of a goddess. Just, over and over - goddess of treasures, goddess of light, there’s one by the twenty-second column that says ‘goddess by-”

         “My side…” Egypt nodded, looking around, “Yes, I saw it. But it could mean anything.”

         “You act like you’ve given up finding your father’s most prized possession,” the professor huffed, “So much was lost of your father through the years. We can’t lose hope on anything if we’re coming so close now!”

Egypt sighed before nodded, helping in the search for more clues, something that could direct them further into the maze of corridors and treacherous traps. They had already lost three men to hidden dangers set eons ago.

     It was several long and grueling hours later when the archeological crew decided to leave things be for the day. The humans believed they were getting nowhere, aside from the Professor, who insisted they go on as he looked over another set of hieroglyphs. The heavy lifters, tired and frankly agitated at the rat-like man, threw him only profanities as they stomped off, knowing the way by now after bathroom breaks and having to constantly find new supplies above ground. Professor Jayden huffed as he continued to read and decipher, mumbling a few profanities of his own. Meanwhile Egypt inspected something of his own. 

     A portrait, carved deeply into the stone, was far too peculiar, even for Ancient Egypt’s standards of gods with animal heads. No, this was a woman, shrouded in light linen that hid all of her skin from anyone’s eye. She stood before Ancient Egypt, who seemed to scrutinize her. Egypt thought he knew what the carving was, but the manner of the woman was far from what he remembered.

         “Professor…” he started, his attention remaining on the delicate details of the woman, “What do you make of this?”

The pocket professor looked over briefly before waving a hand in dismissal.

         “Either a slave inspection, an offering to one of his gods or a concubine.”

         “But she is completely covered,” the Country noted, “not an inch of skin shows. That was not exactly commonplace, even amongst the Jews in that day.”

         “Oh I doubt that,” the other huffed, forgetting his place for a moment as the student, being a teacher for so long now after graduating under Egypt’s tutorage, “Her face can’t be- well hello…” he inspected the carving, Egypt having to quickly step back before his toes were mauled, “You’re right- most peculiar… If it was a slave there wouldn’t be much covered… an offering would be much younger. And a-”

         “A concubine would flaunt her beauty to earn his attention,” Egypt gently touched the carving, frowning as the lightly painted white began to rub off on his fingers. He scratched at again as curiosity took hold, knowing any carving meant to last wouldn’t just rub off so easily. “Jayden get me a small brush-”

     The tool was soon in his hand, and Egypt took to brushing away what he realized was more of a chalk then a solid ore. The red, white and black colored man smiled widely as he began to dig with his fingernail where an impression was filled in. 

         “My name- Jayden it’s my name!” he exclaimed, and continued to dust until a thin piece of rock fell away. 

     The two stared at it a moment before looking at each other. Nodding in unison both began to tear away the thin wall, light encroaching on the room hidden from them as the hole turned into an archway. Taking a lantern, Egypt stepped in, paying no mind to the warnings that played through his mind, ever so carefully taught by his father. His curious eyes softened at the sight before him.

     Taking another lantern to place on the opposite wall, a woman laid on a stone slab, carefully etched into with watery designs of the Nile. She glittered gold, every detail of her body having been painted over by the heavy and valuable substance. The clothes she wore, untouched for years, still held their white color, perhaps mildly tanned by the dust and dirt. Egypt ran a hand down her smooth, cold arm, his attention crossing her face. So intricately painted was she, that each eyelash could be counted, and the creases in her lips felt. In her golden fingers lay woven a beaded white Lotus flower, never to wilt or fade. Her hair, braided to lay over her chest and reaching down to her stomach, not only was beautifully painted gold, but held beads, blue and green, neatly woven like a fine silk. Her feet were bare, aside from a single ring that rested on a toe. 

     Behind her on the above wall rested a qoute. Egypt read it, his eyes blinded with tears. Professor Jayden smiled up at him as he examined the body, only to frown.

         “What is it Egypt?”

         “Do you know what happens to a human female if she gives birth to a countryhuman?” He asked cryptically.

         “Uh-well no… very few have.”

         “This carving reads as this woman’s death date. My birth.” Egypt held in a sob as he turned to look at the human woman that carried him, who never was able to meet him, watch him grow, “My father’s prize possession was my mother.” he gave a choked laugh, “When a human woman gives birth to a countryhuman, they die, because it takes an entire people to fuel a Country. I had none.” 

He fell to his knees, placing his head against her cold one as he apologized for killing her. For taking her away from his father. He was told that his birth was something to celebrate, but he always knew that it was a day of mourning too.

         “Greif is what killed my father,” he hiccuped, “not the changing times.”

     The two left well after nightfall, having activated one of the hidden dangers that sealed off the passages forever. Egypt wasn’t going to disturb his father’s peace, by disturbing his mother’s. He wasn’t going to flaunt her beauty, just as his father instructed.

(Just thought it was cute and kinda crushing)

[drarryangels]

I’m a new follower and I love your acc. You don’t have to do this but- an au where every student gets re-sorted each year because morals change. Most people stay in the same house their whole life, but there’s an occasional ravenclaw turned hufflepuff. Harry has always been almost sorted into slytherin, and every year he turned down, getting placed in Gryffindor. By eighth year he just doesn’t care anymore and imagine Draco Malfoy’s reaction when the golden boy gets sorted into his house.

Thank you so much for this prompt! It was really interesting to think about, and I definitely think the re-Sorting would’ve made more sense for canon but you know whatever. Sorry this is so late!! It took me foreeeever to write this. Hope you like it.

ps. if someone knows how answer box things work pls message me and lmk. srsly. idk how to do the keep reading and tags on ask box prompts. 

Year 1:

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” A pointy faced boy held out his hand to Harry.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,” Harry said, glaring up at Malfoy.

Malfoy sniffed and walked away just as a tall woman with a tight bun strode up to the top of the stairs.

“We are ready for you,” she said, smiling stiffly, and beckoning the crowd of tiny first years after her.

Harry’s stomach churned with anticipation in what was awaiting him wherever this strict teacher was taking them. Professor McGonagall, he thought her name was. In any case, he was just hoping he wasn’t going to get kicked out of school before the first day of classes. It seemed likely for someone like him. He had never been worth much. Although, maybe he could change that here, away from the Dursleys and his old school.

Professor McGonagall stopped in front of a set of large oak doors and turned to smile slightly at the first years before pushing the doors open.

Harry’s eyes widened as the doors opened, revealing a great hall full of students. Four long tables lined the room, with one table heading the room, where the teachers must sit. Every table was heavily laden with glimmering plates and sparkling silverware, the likes of which Harry had never seen. Mass amounts of staring eyes lasered down on Harry, making his face flush up in a wave of heat. His vision waved and dotted in front of him with the heat of the eyes, and he looked down hurriedly at his feet.

“Potter, Harry,” Professor McGonagall said after a long list of names.

Harry looked down even further at his feet, wishing desperately for everyone to disappear. Or, even better, for himself to disappear. Unfortunately, no such thing happened, and Harry walked up slowly to Professor McGonagall, where she held a mangy, trembling hat.

Malfoy’s snickering whisper followed Harry all the way up until he sat on the stool in front of the whole student body. Harry’s knees knocked shakily as the hat was put down over his eyes.

“Hmmm,” a rough voice sounded in his ear. It took Harry a moment before he realized the voice belonged to the hat speaking to him in his head. “Not Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff? No… too much desire to prove yourself. In that case, Slytherin would be a good choice.”

“Not Slytherin, please,” Harry whispered.

“Not Slytherin, eh?” the hat responded.

“Not Slytherin.”

“Well, alright then, better be… GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry sighed in relief and nearly ran down to the Gryffindor table to sit next to the new red haired friend he had made, the one with the big family. Oh, yeah. Ron.

Harry smiled as the Sorting finished up. Malfoy had gotten Slytherin, of course. He really was going to turn out rotten.

Year 2:

“I can’t believe we didn’t get expelled,” Harry muttered to Ron, climbing up the stairs to the common room.

“Me neither,” Ron said, his mouth still full of the sandwiches Professor McGonagall had given them.

The two walked in silence along the corridors of Hogwarts up to the common room until a familiar nasty smirk caught Harry’s eye as they passed the passageway that split up to the Ravenclaw tower.

“Malfoy,” Harry said flatly.

“Potter,” Malfoy snorted. “Enjoy your ride to Hogwarts?”

Harry started forward, but Malfoy stepped back, the green crest on his robes flashing up at Harry. Harry shook his head and walked away with one last glare thrown over his shoulder.

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit he got Slytherin again,” Ron said, finally finished with his sandwiches.

“Again?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “we’re all re-Sorted every year, although the older students are Sorted separately from the first years. Wish I knew where but…” Ron trailed down, looking down at the snapped wand held in his hand.

“It’ll be alright, Ron,” Harry said, pulling him along to hurry up to Gryffindor tower. Ron scoffed as he was dragged along.

“There you two are,” Hermione said from behind them as they reached the portrait hole.

“Hermione!” Ron said, his face lifting.

“Save it, Ronald. I know what happened.”

“Hermione,” Harry began, “what are you doing here?”

“Waiting up for you,” Hermione sniffed. “You can’t as well get into the common room without the password, now can you?”

Harry and Ron looked down at their feet. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled slightly.

“Come on, boys. McGonagall is waiting to re-Sort you. Honestly. She’s been sitting on my armchair for the last half hour.”

Once Harry was sat down on a chair with the Sorting Hat on his head and more than a few eyes watching carefully, the Sorting Hat began again.

“Mr. Potter. Still want Gryffindor, yes?”

“Er..yes. Not Slytherin.”

“Gryffindor,” the hat said tiredly to the room.

Year 3:

“Not Sly-”

“Not Slytherin. I got it Potter,” the Sorting Hat grumbled. “Can’t understand why you hate it so much. Never thought I’d say this to you, but you’re sounding a little prejudiced.”

Me? Prejudiced? Harry thought.

“Yes, you. I’m sure the Weasleys have told you plenty about Slytherins, but foul wizards end up in all Houses, Potter. You would do well to remember that.”

What do you mean?

“Better be….”

No, wait!

“GRYFFINDOR!”

A collective whoop rose up from the Gryffindors as Harry walked out of the side room and took his usual place at the Gryffindor table.

Ron was already seated and was happily chattering with Seamus about his summer holidays in Egypt, while Dean dozed off with his head propped on Seamus’s arm.

Hermione walked out of the side room, her face tipped with crimson, and Harry waved her over, hoping for someone to talk to. Hermione gave him a small wave as she walked straight past him.

Huh? Did Hermione not want to sit next to him? Harry was trying to think of what he might’ve done wrong when Hermione sat by herself at the Ravenclaw table. Ron had stopped talking and was staring gobsmacked at where Hermione was now sitting.

“You’re joking me,” Ron said, stunned.

Harry just stared.

“I mean we all knew she would end up there, I suppose,” Ron said with his mouth still hanging open. “But still. Some part of me thought she would always be in Gryffindor.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered. He looked down at his empty plate. A sinking feeling filled Harry’s stomach. Anticipation for this year climbed up his throat as he realized how different this year would be without Hermione over their shoulders in the common room constantly. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice when Draco Malfoy emerged from the side re-Sorting room and sat down across from Hermione at the Ravenclaw table.

Ron noticed though.

“But that’s Draco Malfoy,” he gasped.

Harry looked, and sure enough, Hermione was glaring at Draco from across the Ravenclaw table.

He looked at her, said something, and then looked down.

Ron started up from the table, but Harry grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down.

“No, Ron. Look.”

Draco Malfoy was shaking hands with Hermione Granger from across the table. He wasn’t smiling, but when his robes shimmered and changed from green to blue, he didn’t look completely displeased either.

Harry thought about what the Sorting Hat had said to him about not all bad wizards being Slytherin. This year really was going to be different.

Year 4:

“I don’t know why you two have got your knickers in such a twist,” Hermione said with annoyance as they filed into the re-Sorting room once again. “I thought last year went fine even when we were in different houses. We just spent less time in our common rooms, and more time in the library.”

“I wouldn’t consider that an improvement,” Ron grumbled. He was lucky Hermione hadn’t quite heard him.

“Look,” Hermione said. “Ron, I know you’re upset about this because of Draco-”

“Draco?” Ron’s face was full of disgust.

“Yes, Draco,” Hermione glared. “I don’t know why you’re so fussed about it. Even him and Harry are polite now. Granted, they’re not friends. But they’re civil at least. Why can’t you give him a chance?”

“Are you kidding?” Ron said, his voice rising. “He called you a- a you-know-what, and is a jerk! He tormented us first and second year! You can just ignore that?”

“He apologized! You don’t know what it’s like for him!” Hermione huffed.

“Oh, I sure don’t. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be hopelessly rich and to have everything I need whenever I need it.”

“Ron,” Hermione said in a warning voice.

“Seriously, Hermione! He’s like your new best friend or something!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, color rising quickly on her face. “You two are my best friends. No one’s going to replace you. You know that. He’s just a friend. Among some of my other Ravenclaw friends. You don’t complain about them!”

“Because they’re not evil!”

“He’s not like that anymore, Ron,” Harry said quietly.

Ron fell quiet. “You too, then?” Harry stayed silent until Ron stormed off.

Draco Malfoy chose that moment to walk by and wave at Hermione. He sent a nod in Harry’s direction, who returned the gesture.

“Long year ahead of us, hm?” Hermione said, looking after Ron.

“I’ve got a feeling,” Harry nodded.

Year 5:

“Mate, you’ve got to stop going on about these invisible creatures,” Ron said across Gryffindor table.

“I just want to know what they are!” Harry said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Loony Lovegood seemed to know,” Hermione snorted around a sip of her drink. She was looking well and happy with a Gryffindor tie hung loosely around her neck.

“Leave her alone,” Malfoy said, coming to sit next to Hermione. “Hullo, Hermione.”

“Hi, Draco. I know she’s nice, but still!”

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded and took a bite of his potatoes.

“Potter,” Malfoy said. “Weasley.”

Ron grunted and Malfoy raised his eyebrows and looked away.

“Lovely Sorting this year, wasn’t it?” Malfoy asked.

“Happy to be back in Slytherin, huh?” Ron said.

“Perfectly fine either way, thank you very much. Although I will be happy to avoid my father’s wrath this year,” Malfoy said.

Harry looked up sharply and stared at Malfoy at that.

“Your father’s wrath?” Harry asked, leaning forward subconsciously. Hermione nudged Harry in the side, although he didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Yes, Potter. My father’s wrath. Unlike your perfect life, we can’t all avoid being hit by our parents at the very slight of their whim,” Malfoy said offhandedly while reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice. Ron choked and Harry stared. Hermione put her hands over her face with a sigh.

“My perfect life?” Harry said.

“Yes,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “You, Potter. I know you really have it bad over there.”

“Malfoy. I live with my Muggle uncle and aunt.”

“I’m well aware,” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“They….” Harry hesitated.

“What, Potter?” Malfoy finally set his utensils down to look at Harry. “Spit it out.”

“They hit me, too. You shouldn’t assume things you don’t know about people’s lives,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione had stopped cold in her movements and Ron’s face was rapidly turning purple.

“Why did you never tell us?” Hermione said softly.

“Didn’t seem important,” Harry shrugged. Ron gripped his fork tighter.

“Oh boys,” Hermione closed her eyes and set one hand down over Malfoy’s hand and the other over Harry’s. “Less trouble this year, okay?”

“Sure, Hermione,” Harry said with a growing smile.

Year 6:

Harry sat down heavily on the stool he had sat on every year since coming to Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat was set on his head, and for the first time, it didn’t slip over his eyes. He closed his eyes anyway, squeezing them tightly until the Sorting Hat yelled out Gryffindor after a long deliberation.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Harry asked Hermione as he passed her seat at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione shrugged and pointed to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy sat completely alone with his head on his arms and a sad look etched into his features.

“What’s up with him?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed, standing up from the Ravenclaw table to join them at the Gryffindor table.

“Ravenclaw again?” Ron asked as she sat down.

“Yeah,” Hermione said.

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, looking around. A strange streak of nervousness spiked through his stomach.

“Slytherin table,” Hermione said. “He’s been ignoring me.” She shook her head and looked down with a distinct expression of concern.

“Ignoring you?” Harry said, still scanning the tables.

“Harry…. Are you…” Hermione paused. “Are you blushing?”

“Me? Blushing? No!” Harry stammered. But his face only heated up more and the nervousness settled into Harry’s stomach.

“Oh my god! He totally is!” Ron let out a bellow of laughter.

“Shut up!” Harry shoved Ron off his seat.

“Oh, Draco!” Harry called, standing up and waving as Draco’s blonde hair bobbed past the Gryffindor table in green robes.

“What do you want, filthy half blood?” Draco snarled as he passed. Harry sat down with a plunk and expression of shock.

“Draco?” said Ron, stunned.

“Don’t want to hear it, blood traitor.”

“Did he just…?” said Hermione.

“I thought he was….you know, on our side,” Ron said.

Harry sat blankly in his seat, his eyes following Draco across the Great Hall, and a look of sharp pain in his eyes.

With another swish of green robes, Draco was gone.

Year 7:

“I miss being at Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “All of the magic and wonder.”

“I miss the food,” Ron sighed.

“Oh, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. She looked over at Harry out of the corner of here eye. “Harry you’re going to have to talk to us at some point.”

Harry shrugged from his seat on the armchair where he was curled with his chin on his knees.

“Look,” Hermione knelt by the foot of Harry’s chair. “I know… I know you’re upset about Dumbledore still. And I know…that you miss Draco. And that you feel betrayed by what he did, but-”

“Please stop speaking to me as if I’m your patient, Hermione,” Harry turned his head away.

“Harry…”

“Please, Hermione.”

“Harry, you need to talk about how you’re feeling!”

“I’m scared, Hermione!” Harry sat up. “For him. I knew he got the Dark Mark, and he wouldn’t talk to me all year. Avoided me at every turn. Shoved me away. Every time. We had actually become friends, and he couldn’t even look me in the face. Now I can’t stop thinking about him at Hogwarts, surrounded by darkness and evil that he’s a part of!”

“Mate, he made his choice and you made yours,” Ron said. “I’m sorry to say this, and I get that you liked him, but you really need to get over that now.”

Harry shrugged and buried his face back in his knees. Hermione sat down next to Ron with a groan and leaned over.

“He loved him. You get that, don’t you? Harry loved Draco,” Hermione whispered.

“Loves him, more like,” Ron snorted.

“Sh! Either way. I don’t think he can get over him,” Hermione put her head in her hands.

“He’s going to have to.”

Year 8:

“It is wonderful to have you all back,” McGonagall  stood regally in front of the High Table. “Although we have experienced trying times for many years, our world, and your education, is now safe once more. Our annual re-Sorting for each year will take place in the same locations as always. First years are on their way, and their first Sorting will be witnessed by the whole student body. I’m sure some of you have noticed by now that we have some old faces for an extra year. An additional eighth year has been added on for those who missed out on their education the previous year.” McGonagall sniffed. “Let the re-Sorting commence?”

The freshly minted eighth years filed into the same old room for re-Sorting that they always had and waited quietly for the Sorting Hat to reach their room. Some quiet chattering filled the room, but for the most part, it was silent.

Harry could see Draco in the corner of the room. Thin and tired looking, with bruises under his eyes. Harry thought he would be angry when he saw Draco again, but there was nothing but the familiar swooping of his stomach and the flushing of his skin. It was almost infuriating how through everything, his reaction to Draco remained the same. Harry looked away quickly when McGonagall finally entered the room.

He waited patiently while the rest of his classroom was re-Sorted, most staying in the Houses they had always been in. Hermione was back in Gryffindor, which she seemed very happy about with Ron at her side. Neville also remained in Gryffindor, and Draco stayed in Slytherin. A nasty look flashed across his face when the Sorting Hat called Slytherin, but it was so fast that Harry was half convinced he had imagined it.

After what felt like hours, Harry’s name was called. The feeling of the Sorting Hat being set on his head was all too familiar.  

“Ah, Harry Potter yet again,” the Sorting Hat said, “vanquisher of the Dark Lord.”

It’s not all glory.

“Of course not. So what will it be this year? Gryffindor again?” the Sorting Hat sneered.

Harry left his mind blank for a moment.

To be honest, I really don’t care anymore.

“Really?” the Hat said interestedly. “Even if I said Slytherin?”

You know better than I do.

“Finally you admit it,” the Hat laughed. “SLYTHERIN!”

Harry opened his eyes to the stunned faces of his remaining classmates. Ron and Hermione both had their mouths wide open, and Neville had dropped his latest potted plant.

“Slytherin?” Harry heard someone mutter.

Harry’s eyes met Draco’s. His skin was whiter than usual, and his hands hung loose at his sides. His mouth was opening and closing as if he was choking on his own air.

“Hi,” Harry said, coming to stand in front of Draco.

“You’re in Slytherin,” Draco said, his voice scratchy.

“The Sorting Hat has been trying to put me in there for years,” Harry smiled a little stiffly.

The two stood in silence in front of each other until Draco finally looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Harry stood in silence, his eyes widening. “I did it to protect Hermione, and Weasley, and… you. I thought if I stayed away, they wouldn’t come after you. But then once I was there, they offered me so much. I was so stupid.” Draco threw his head back in annoyance with himself. “I thought they would really give me what they promised. Safety, happiness, riches, fame. And then those things never came and,” Draco’s voice came quicker, “and then they were threatening me, and hurting me, and I couldn’t back out. It was too late. I already had the Mark.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said quietly.

“No, it’s not,” Draco said.

“No, I guess you’re right,” Harry said. “It’s not okay. But I forgive you.”

Harry stepped a little closer and cautiously wrapped his arms around Draco in a hug. Draco straightened for a second before he hugged Harry back with loose arms. Harry held him a little closer and smiled.

Maybe this year, things might actually go the way Harry wanted them to.

[yukiwrites]

A Well-Deserved Break

Thank you for the support as always, @breeachuu! I hope you likey ;D

Summary: Wolfram had been thrown into action basically from day 1 since he arrived in Fódlan, so he welcomed the break from the dangerous missions with open arms, using his time to bond with his friends.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Ever since Byleth returned from the darkness with her newfound power, things had been hectic. Well, compared to how busy their student lives had been during the past year, the Pegasus Moon had actually treated them well so far.

The Archbishop assigned them a seemingly harmless mission for the end of the month -- to accompany their newly Enlightened Professor to a ritual right under Garreg Mach -- and the immediate threat of Solon and Kronya was also dealt with. Though, of course, there was still the matter of the two villain's third companion as well as the Flame Emperor and the Death Knight to take into consideration, yet so far the threat hanging by everyone's heads seemed to lessen.

However, that didn't equal to peace -- neither of mind nor body. With Byleth's enlightenment, all eyes were turned to the monastery: if the goddess bestowed her favor unto another mortal, would that mean another war? Should the knights prepare? What would happen after the divine revelation?

The students were tense; the professors were on edge (excluding Hanneman who was so overly excited about it all it somehow put everyone off) and the devouts started flooding the monastery in their pilgrimage to catch but a glimpse of the Enlightened One. There was no shortage of worries.

And all of that happened in less than two weeks! The Pegasus Moon was still so young in the sky yet so many things had already happened, culminating into an air of stilled stress amongst the students. The commotion, the pressure for answers and the heavy, familiar dagger hidden close to Dimitri's chest only added into the prince's list of reasons to scare sleep away from his grasp.

Exhausted due to his usual insomnia, Dimitri simply shook his head once he realized sleep would evade him until morning no matter how much he tossed on the bed. Sighing, the prince moved his heavy body out of bed, making sure to fasten a sword onto his belt, hiding the dagger in his chest pockets.

The minute he finished going down the stairs towards the greenhouse, something in the sky caught his attention, making Dimitri immediately assume battle position. "That-" he squinted, trying to make sense of a small shadow hovering over the Goddess Tower, "-is too small to be a wyvern... and yet...?" He quickly ran towards the tower, never taking his eyes off of the unidentified flying object.

However, the shadow of the night started playing tricks in the prince's eyes -- the 'creature', so to speak, stayed perched atop the tower without moving for so long, Dimitri couldn't discern it from the other spires.

"Did I lose it? Or was it simply a wild animal...?" He mumbled to himself, not allowing his battle stance to waver. After a few more minutes of staring into the dark with no apparent change or whatsoever, the prince finally allowed his shoulders to sag. "Hahh... It also may have been my imagination," he closed his eyes to avoid the eyes of the dead glaring at him even at that moment, knowing it within him that it was entirely possible for him to see things moving in the shadow that would be invisible to anyone else.

Had he succumbed to his maddening thirst for revenge, he would've laughed in spite of himself. However, he simply sighed and turned back the way he came, intent on at least remaining around the dormitory until dawn broke. At least he'd be able to glimpse on the Professor's face before anyone else if he did so, instead of waiting for her at the training grounds as he had been doing as of late.

Barely was he past the second flight of stairs leading down to the greenhouse, Dimitri once again saw something with the corner of his eye, this time flying dangerously close to the ground.

"Ha!" He let out an exclamation of surprise, running after the approaching shadow -- it seemed it intended on landing right in front of the greenhouse itself. "To think a wild animal this large would wander into a human settlement like this!" He securely gripped at his sword's hilt, ready to unsheathe it the moment the creature landed.

The clouds in the sky started parting, finally allowing the moonlight to uncover what had been hidden: the creature Dimitri chased was no animal at all.

It -- or rather, he -- had all the makings of a human donned with large wings and a reptile-looking tail.

Dimitri knew who that person was, as well. "Wolfram?" He heard his voice say before his mind could even process what his eyes were seeing.

The white-haired boy froze the moment his feet touched the ground; even his wings stopped flapping, his tail so stretched it actually looked like a toy from where the prince stood.

"Um," Wolfram stuttered, holding a pendant of sorts between both hands. "I can explain, Dimitri." He turned to his friend in a stiffed motion, a nervous smile plastered across his face.

Taken aback, the prince could barely form coherent phrases, his mind a rush of thoughts. The moment he opened his mouth, however, he flinched, looking around with caution. "If anyone sees you like this-" he quickly ran to the boy, touching the thin shoulder at the exact moment Wolfram called back his manakete side. The faint glow by Dimitri's hand made the prince look at it with curiosity, though by no means shy away as Wolfram thought he would. "... First of all," Dimitri's eyes lingered on Wolfram's open back shirt before trailing towards the stairs to the second floor, "let us change locations to somewhere more private -- if you are alright with it, I will escort you to my room."

Wolfram clutched his pendant with both hands, the initial panic fighting the warmth Dimitri's composed reaction brought his heart. "O-of course, that's fine. Lead the way."

They exchanged hurried nods as the prince set out at large steps, being evenly matched by Wolfie's equally long legs. Soon they were back at the noble wing of the dormitory, the silence between them being filled by their quick and calculated steps.

Dimitri opened the door of his room soundlessly, allowing Wolfram to enter before taking a last look at the corridor to be able to close the door. Taking a deep breath, the prince turned to his friend. "I assume that was the reason for your 'amnesia'." He stated, though it felt like a question.

Wolfram flinched, widening his eyes in confusion. "You didn't believ- I thought you said-?" He gasped.

Dimitri flashed a forlorn smile, trudging towards the bed to sit on it. He gestured for the chair by the secretary for Wolfram to follow suit, which he did while stumbling. "I did say that I was willing to trust you so we could understand each other, did I not? Your lie was born due to your own circumstances, which I do not claim to have the right to know." He rested both elbows on his knees, lowering his head. "I can see why you would do so no, however. Are you perhaps a Child of the Goddess? I have heard of them only in the oldest tales of how this continent came to be; but there can be no mistake, taking into account that draconic appearance."

Wolfie tilted his head to the side. "Child of the Goddess? So they're the shape-shifters of this world- of Fódlan...?" He looked up in thought, wondering if that was the term they used for 'manaketes' -- shape-shifting, dragon-like yet humanoid beings who enjoyed long lifespans.

Dimitri didn't raise his head, visibly tired. Wolfram kind of wanted to sit on the floor just to be able to be in his friend's line of sight. "No wonder you had to keep it a secret." The prince took a deep breath, struggling to straighten his back.

"Um, actually, that's not really the truth, but maybe part of it?" Wolfram scratched his cheek awkwardly before reaching for his bandanna. He slid it out of his head, revealing his pointy ears.

Once he did so, Wolfram promptly sat on the floor by Dimitri's feet, crossing his legs to be more comfortable. That way, they could look straight at each other no matter how shocked or tired the prince was.

Looking at Wolfie's ears made Dimitri widen his eyes in awe.

So that's the reaction of a human who's never seen a shape-shifter, huh... Wolfie thought to himself as he fought a relieved smile despite the thundering of his heart inside his chest.

"If that is not the entire truth, then- ah, may I?" Dimitri reached out to touch Wolfie's ears, stopping to receive consent first.

"Sure, go ahead." The manakete turned his face to the side so Dimitri could nervously reach out, poke it quickly and retract his hand lest he hurt his friend.

"Thank you. Ahem, well -- if that is not the entire truth, then what is? Of course, you do not need to tell me if you do not wish to, though I could be of much more help if I at least had a proper grasp of the situation."

The warmth won the battle against the thundering inside Wolfram, making him smile wide and genuinely, taking Dimitri's hand into his own. "Mhm, thanks for being so considerate as always, Dimitri. This is all gonna sound real crazy real quick, so it's better to listen with an open mind, okay?"

"Very well." The prince nodded without hesitation, though a curious frown furrowed his brow.

"Mhm," Wolfie squeezed his hold on Dimitri's hand, not actually knowing where to begin. For all of the preparations he went through to follow the destiny's call, he really didn't think he'd end up being discovered not four months after arriving. "Nyaha," he giggled, trying to remember what his father had said about using a very specific curse to manipulate people's memories. "I kind of forgot about that, Father..." he mumbled.

Dimitri waited as Wolfram gathered the courage and the words, trying to keep his own mind as open as possible.

"Guess there's no easy way around it, right? I'll just come out with it, then!" Wolfram apparently talked himself into spilling everything as it came, his eager eyes bringing a slight solace to the tired prince's chest. "I'm from another world." He blurted out and, before Dimitri could even react, kept on talking. "And I don't mean just 'another continent' like Petra or Shamir. Another world entirely. I actually came through a portal kiiind of like the one Byleth- ah, the Professor jumped out of last month."

"I-I... uh, see." Dimitri tried to look as though he had an open mind, but even that sudden revelation went right through his head. Did Wolfram come from that darkness that enveloped their Professor? How did he come here in the first place? Was that magic something common whence he came? Was Solon also involved-

Seeing the apparent shift of expressions in Dimitri's face rather amused Wolfram, though he didn't allow that to keep him from talking. "In my world, there are these, uh, beings? That can shape-shift into other forms. I was actually gonna say that it's 'common' for them to roam around the land, but that's not actually the case; I guess it's because my family is kinda big that I just assumed everyone else knew of them, too." He bobbed his head to the sides. "We're descendants of the, uuhhh equivalent of the goddess back there, so I guess it's not too far from the truth to say that I'm also a Child of the Goddess, though not the one from this world."

The image of a mother pulling a misbehaving child's ear popped into Wolfie's head, making the boy raise one eyebrow. "Haha! I take that back, I take that back!" He laughed. "Sorry about that, Dimitri! Heehee, it's just that Naga keeps telling us that she's not a goddess and that she just happened to be the first one of our kind."

"Naga? So it really is an entirely different being than the goddess Sothis..." Dimitri was too shaken by all the new info to even be shocked by Wolfie's sudden laughter. "But then, what could a denizen of an entirely different world need to do in Fódlan?"

"Yeah, about that. As I said before, we manaketes -- ah, that's how we call the dragon shape-shifters back in my world -- are directly related to Naga, and sometimes we have to do her bidding. She says she's not a goddess, but she has so much power it stretches through other realities and worlds to the point of, well, I dunno exactly. She has so much power I don't even know how to express." He shrugged, never letting go of Dimitri's hand. "By the way, I'm actually only a quarter manakete, so that's why my ears are short like this."

"Short-"

"And, since my manakete blood is more diluted, I thought I wouldn't be able to hear Naga's commands at all, but that was before. One year ago, she touched? I guess she touched me? I don't know what that was, but her presence filled my house and she told me there was someone like but unlike me that needed help in a world that would soon beeee- um... I'm not sure if I should say this to someone who was actually born here, but..." He hesitated, not wanting to instill fear into someone who was supposed to rule over a Kingdom in a land fated to fall into disarray.

But it was Dimitri he was talking about here -- Wolfram chose to believe in his friend's ability to stay by the light. He believed Dimitri could take it, even though the grips of exhaustion threatened to claim the prince's consciousness at any moment. Wolfie had also chosen to believe in Byleth and fight BY her side instead of to take it upon himself a guard duty no one asked for.

"Please, Wolfram. Do not mind me and go on. I can take whatever it is that you are going to say."

"Mhm," Wolfie brushed his thumb on the back of Dimitri's hand. "Well, Naga told me to stay by the Professor's side during the time this land was thrown into turmoil -- I don't know if the past few months were it or if the worst is still to come, but I know that I was given a mission to help her, so to Fódlan I came. I was probably chosen because there would be no way for my siblings of my Mother to pretend they were human since their ears are wayyy pointier than mine."

"I... see." Dimitri exhaled. "This is honestly a lot to take in at once, but I am glad that you finally took that weight off of your chest. I will keep your secret for as long as you wish me to, my friend, though I might need some time to digest it all..." He looked down sheepishly.

"It's okay, really. Thanks for actually keeping the mind open and all; but I think you should go back to bed now, you look ready to fall over!" Wolfie smiled, pressing his forehead on Dimitri's.

Dimitri sighed, his body deflating. Perhaps it was because of Wolfram's story, but the shadows that had been keeping sleep away from the prince's grasp had dissipated. "I shall accept this advice, my friend. Forgive me for cutting the talk short despite saying I would hear whatever you had to say."

"Uh-uh," Wolfie shook his head, taking Dimitri's boost to put himself on his feet. "We have all the time in the world to talk. See you tomorrow?"

Dimitri flashed a tired but genuine smile, squeezing Wolfie's hand one last time for the night. "Of course."

Being with Wolfram during the largest part of his free time took a load off of Dimitri's shoulders, to be honest. The boy's upbeat attitude and easygoing smile coupled with how excitedly he talked about his family whenever there was no one nearby was a breath of fresh air to the tormented prince. He could be with Byleth during the lessons and with Wolfram during the free time, both of which allowed Dimitri to distract himself from the constant pressure of the shadows looming around his very being.

Dedue watched over the pair with a content smile, happy that his liege was taking breaks more often than usual as well as actually heading to bed at light's out time. It was as though being with Wolfram filled Dimitri with health, and Dedue didn't care if that was a temporary fix for his Lord's ailments or the first step towards the path of healing; he simply wanted Dimitri to be well.

Wolfram shared such sentiment as well, especially after Dedue thanked him out of nowhere one day, almost two weeks after Dimitri caught him.

"Huh? What's this about?" Wolfie scratched the back of his head in confusion. Dedue simply smiled softly, bowing once again.

"For being with His Highness. Once again, I thank you."

"O-oh, but I'm just being friends with him, no need to bow-" He scrambled about, grabbing Dedue's shoulders so as to make him stand upright.

"Very well, but my gratitude remains unchanged." Dedue complied as Wolfie's hands lingered on his shoulders. "I must be going now." He bobbed his head in acknowledgement, receiving the same courtesy from Wolfie before leaving.

As he watched Dedue's back leave, Wolfie felt a strange tingling inside his chest. He was proud for Dimitri to have someone care for him so much like Dedue and proud to be able to call himself friends of them both. It was a strange, yet pleasant feeling.

The half manakete looked at the lake, its surface reflecting the sunlight as it swayed slightly with the wind. Wolfie felt his heart thumping as his mind begot a thought he abandoned back in Ylisse before jumping into the portal: the making of a friendship jewel.

Wolfie's bond with Dimitri was a short one, truly, especially considering how many centuries of life the half manakete still had in front of him. It could even be considered fleeting -- to have a friendship blossom and bear fruit in such a short time wasn't he manakete way.

It was perhaps the human side of Wolfie.

No, that wasn't true, either. It was neither one nor another part of him, but the entirety that it was Wolfram. He wanted to share these feelings with Dimitri and have him reciprocate them; as someone who holds his trust and secrets. As a precious friend who believed in him simply so they could get along at first.

Wolfie had the process of the jewel-making beaten down inside of him, for the off-chance that he found someone here whom he could share everything with, though held little hope to. Yet, there Dimitri was, holding such a large place in Wolfie's heart it made him want to call Dimitri his friend for all eternity, even after the prince's lifespan had been consumed.

Smiling widely, the half manakete meant to head to the stables to have a talk with Aquilo when someone poked at his back, startling out of his mind. "Wah?!"

"Oh! I didn't mean to scare you, Wolfie! You didn't reply when I called, so I figured I'd poke you." Dorothea took both hands to her chest, apologetic. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something; is now a good time?"

"It's fine, I was just surprised, is all." Wolfie giggled awkwardly, then tilted his head to the side. "But, uh, sure! We can talk."

"Perfect!" Dorothea linked arms with Wolfie, humming. "Can we relocate to my room? I can serve the tea."

"Ohhh, lead the way!"

Out of the rooms Wolfie had been in during his stay at the monastery, Dorothea's was the one of the tidiest ones -- it also faintly smelled like perfume, even by Wolfram's heightened senses. The tea she brewed was also high-quality, especially when paired with these snacks from the Imperial City. Yum!

"So, Wolfie... I remember you roomed with Dedue before getting your own room back when you transferred, right?" She rested her chin between both hands, enjoying how Wolfram stuffed his face with sweets.

"Yeah?"

"But now I barely see you down here on the first floor, even when it's time to sleep -- I did hear Caspie mention you two were rooming for a while, but I was wondering if there was something else happening. Are you okay, Wolfie? I know we haven't interacted much lately, but somehow I think I can understand how you feel, especially during battle." She lowered her head, playing with a lock of her hair. "I also don't like any of this bloodshed and I could see that it shocked you, too. Caspie isn't the brightest one around so I figured I could reach out to you if you ever wanted to talk."

Wolfram choked on the tea he had sipped, laughing. "Gack- haha! It's true that Caspar doesn't have a way with words, but he's really thoughtful and attentive, you know?" He smiled softly, not realizing the heat rising up to his cheeks. "He's the one who offered to share his room with me so I wouldn't be alone. I never told anyone I don't actually like being alone, but he still offered to help like he knew."

Dorothea blinked, finding in that answer something she was not expecting, but that was way too interesting to let pass. "Oh?" She flashed a wolfish grin. "Did something else happen that we're all oblivious about?"

Wolfie looked at Dorothea in confusion. "Um, he also asked me to compete with him on how long we can stay in the sauna," he raised one finger, then another and another as he kept retelling their day-to-day. "Or how he always shares his dessert with me 'cause I always end up going back for more, or how he's really bad at teaching some moves with the axe, but really good at demonstrating... Ah! One day, I caught him feeding a cat and being really embarrassed about it -- also really scared someone would catch him and tell him to take the cat away! It was so funny and adorable."

Dorothea had to clutch her chest. "Adorable? That's you, dearie." She covered her face with both hands, giddy inside. Caspar was the single most dense guy Dorothea had ever had met, but it looked as though Wolfie was a close second! Couldn't he hear himself? He was talking about their daily lives one moment, then praised Caspar's qualities in the other! "But you have my full support." She gestured a thumbs up, her face flushed from excitement.

"Um, t-thanks?" Wolfie sipped the last of his tea. "I told him I'd impose only for a little while, but it's been over a month now... I honestly don't want to move out and he hasn't said anything in the matter, either, so I guess we're good for now? I want us to stay roommates for a bit longer."

"Oh, goddess, that's so cute." Dorothea's eyes sparkled. "Go on, dearie, tell me more!" She insisted, refilling his cup with fresh tea.

Grinning, Wolfie took Dorothea's invitation with gusto, quite literally. He had a lot to talk about regarding Caspar, after all!

[rhabakoli]

Infinite White - 8

The text Fenja translates is the letter Gandalf writes about Aragorn (i think to Frodo? not sure rn), per @finnickfoxes request. And since I am a true dumbass, I actually translated it myself, instead of just look it up. But I like my version better anyway. 

Previous chapters here.

Trigger warning: space talk. Anyone disagreeing with me will be blocked. 

Taglist:@dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @thescarsweleave @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9 (i’m just gonna tag u now, scream if you don’t want to) 

**

“So, how’s his family? Did they suspect anything?”, Maeve asked. They were carrying their trays to their usual table, finally catching up with each others lifes. 

“They are nice. A bit touchy. His uncle asked me if I know UNO, and then he kinda… welcomed me to the family?”, Fenja answered and then shrugged. 

“They have quite a low standard to meet. They’d love you.” Maeve gave her a sour look, kicking at her. “You’re lucky my hands are full.” Her friend just grinned cheekily and dodged her half-assed attack. The mensa was filled with chatter, the sounds of dishes clattering and the occasional discussion escalating. “And did they say anything about your breakdown?” Maeve sat across her, cracking open her coke and taking a sip. “No, I don’t think they know.” Fenja halted, then looked up at her roommate. “Well, I think his mom might know. But she didn’t say anything.” Mave nodded and took a bite from her lunch. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Fenja shrugged, gaze focused on her plate. “As long as I don’t have to explain it to everyone, I’m fine.” “I think your man will be glad to do it for you, if you asked.” Fenja carefully tasted her soup, trying not to burn her tongue. Then, as she processed the words, she raised an eyebrow at Maeve. “Who?” “Ragnar.” “Ah.” She smacked her lips together, blissed out expression on her face. “Goddamn, that soup is delicious.” Suddenly, her spoon came up, pointing across the table, almost threatening. “Also, he’s not ‘my man’, where even did you get that from?” “He’s not?” “Nah.” Maeve shrugged, then ogled the bread on Fenja’s tray. “Can I have some?”

**

The lecture hall was packed, every single seat taken. Some poor souls were even sitting on the stairs, eager to listen in and maybe find some validation, and inspiration - who are we kidding, mainly they just wanted to hear that it would be worth it all and it’d get better. Fenja was sitting all the way up, last row, glad to even have found a seat. Half the literature department was here, some journalism majors too. “I heard she’s only doing this, because her husband is a Ragnarsson. Otherwise she’d never have gotten the spot.” Fenja scoffed, as she pulled out pen and paper, ready to take notes. Unfortunately, her neighbours heard her and turned. “You have something to say, honey?” Her eyes grew round, she twisted in her seat and shook her head. “No, sorry, I just misheard. I thought you said she only got the lecture because her husband’s a Ragnasson.” “Well, I did.” The guy leaned his forearm onto the back of his seat, his body angled towards her, chest puffed like a bird ready to dance. His friend mirrored him, twirling her thick long hair around her finger, smirking. “Which doesn’t make sense, to be honest. She’s been holding lectures and seminars even before she’d met him, so implying she’d need the help of a rich man is not only wrong, but also degrading to her, her achievements and other authors and writers that have made it by themselves.” He wanted to throw another comment in, probably just as entitled and ignorant as his first, when Fenja raised a hand to stop him. “I’m not interested in fumbled comebacks dragged from your misogynistic fathers mouth, so, let’s leave it be, yes?” “Listen, bitch-” “You better think of a new beginning for that sentence, because I can promise you this is not going to end well for you. I know for a fact that the dean is quite the feminist, and he does not tolerate such behaviour at all. I’d pull my head out of my bum, if I were you, because your view on the world is growing a bit old, don’t you think?” He opened and closed his mouth, looked like a fish on the dry, skin flushing. His friend was looking on with big eyes, absolutely shocked anyone would talk to him like that. “You will regret this-” He finally found his voice, anger radiating off him. Fenja sighed. “Listen, you educationally handicapped amoeba. I am not going to regret this, even if it gets me into trouble. Because I know for a fact, while I will have to sit through a serious conversation on properly handling my anger, you’ll have to face an angry dean about the way you view women and I bet you’ll get to go to a couple very educating lectures, which I doubt you’ll get credit for.” They now had enough, they were storming off, the girl tutting over him, while he almost rammed into Ragnar, who took a step to the side and watched them go. “Hey.” He gestured over his shoulder, into the direction the two asshats were fleeing. “What was that?” Fenja shrugged and sat properly, facing forward. Some of the professors were gathered by the podium, talking. She tried to get a good view, but a rather tall professor was in the way. Wait. She knew that back from somewhere. Also, that manbun beat her in UNO just last week. Ragnar sat next to her, typing away on his phone, when she poked him violently. He really felt that, even through the fluffy sweater he wore. Gods, did she have pointy fingers. He hastily grabbed her wrist, holding it so she couldn’t attack him again. “What?” “Is that your Uncle?” He followed her line of sight, chuckling. “Yep.” “What’s he doing here?” “He’s teaching, princess. He’s specialized on Viking history and Nordic religions.” He laughed at her face. Her mouth stood open, eyebrows raised and her breath left her with a silent “oh.” “By the way. Auntie asked me to tell you, that she’s in town all week, and I am supposed to drag you to dinner, so you can meet her.” Now, that really got her attention. “What?” She pointed down to the podium, where a small, dainty woman assumed position and straightened her papers. “You mean that auntie? The amazing, famous author/Journalist?” “Yep.” He’d really get himself bitch-slapped one day, if he continued to play down such important, impactful events. Fenja flailed in her seat, almost falling out of it. “You can’t just - what, I -” Ragnar caught her arm, pulling her back up like it was nothing. “Calm down. How about dinner this friday. Whole family will be there.” “Is that supposed to help me? In any way?”, she asked, her tone suggesting how it definitely did not help. “Bear too.” He grinned at her, chuckling at the speed at which her expression - her whole demeanor, really - shifted. “Okay.”

Down at the podium, Gala cleared her throat and welcomed them, introduced herself and explained why she was holding his lecture. Ragnar knew all of this, he had only come up here to deliver his aunts message. But Fenja was so cute, all attentive, eager to soak up whatever knowledge his aunt decided to share. How she sat there, focused, scribbling down notes and questions for later. She did it on seperate sheets, organized and thought-out. He watched her profile, let his eyes roam over her figure, how she was wrapped into a hoodie at least two sizes too big, how she had a foot up on the seat, and an arm wrapped around her knee, leaning into it. How she ran the flat of her thumb’s nail over her lower lip, - left, right, left again - lips slightly parted. He licked his lips, swallowing and then promptly snapped himself out of it. Shaking his head over his creepy staring and suddenly, uh… not-friendly mood, he turned to watch Gala talk about the struggles of writing, writer’s block and solutions that helped in her experience. The lecture took about an hour, with a Q&A session added. Here too, Fenja listened closely, checking questions already answered and noting them down. Ragnar caught himself staring again. He always had felt the need to kinda protect her, keep her close, in his arms, but- oh boy. Oooooh. He leaned back against the chair, crossed his arms and stubbornly stared ahead, until his aunt excused them and everyone was leaving. He’d have to talk to someone about this. Crap. Someone help him. He must have made a sound, because Fenja looked over, concern on her face. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah, I’m good.”

** “Okay, so, I’ve got some examples I need you to translate, please.”  Ingrid laid down papers in front of Fenja and sat. “We’re gonna implement this in the program, we need to get clear on pronunciation and grammar and stuff.”  Fenja looked down at the paper, then back at Ingrid. “That’s your example?”  “Yep.” This whole family, for real.   “Uh, you’re not gonna get accurate, actually used German that way, right?” It’s from Lord Of The Rings. The hell.  “It’s not about that, it’s just an example, a start. It’s about the words, not what it means in context.”  She nodded, then held her hand out for a pen. “You want me to do it on paper?”” Now it was Ingrids turn to shrug. “However you’d like, doesn’t make a big difference.”

It didn’t take Fenja too long to translate it, even when using old German, plush and polished words, to keep the feeling of the original. She caught Ingrid’s attention, as she put her pen down and leaned back in her chair. They were seated in the Ragnarsson library, spread all over the place with school stuff, research, Fenja’s papers for her essays and Ingrid’s paperwork for the Linguae Populi. “You wanna read it?”, the girl asked, and promptly put her chin into her hands, abandoning her work.  “Sure.” Fenja cleared her throat and took a deep breath.   In a sure, but soft tone, she read aloud:

“Nicht alles das Gold, funkelt; Nicht alle die wandern, verloren; Alt und stark nicht verdunkelt; Wurzeln in Tiefe nicht erfroren; Feuer aus Asche entsteht, wie Licht entspringt dem Schatten; Soll zerbarste Klinge nun heilen, Krone wieder auf Königs Haupte weilen.”

Fenja felt slightly uncomfortable under Ingrid's attentive gaze; she raked her fingers through her hair and looked down at the paper. “It's probably not perfect, and certainly not even close to the original translation, but I tried.” The girl stopped her immediately, waving a hand through the air and shaking her head adamantly. “no I'm sure it's absolutely fine.” “Sounded fine to me.”, Came from the door. “Dad!” Ingrid uncurled her legs, bound over to her father like a puppy and dove into his arms for a big old hug. “I didn't know you'd be home today! I thought you had a work trip to Ontario?” Ivar stroked his daughter's head as he looked down at her. “I sent your Uncle instead. Gala has some business there, so he'd have gone there anyway.” Piercing blue eyes fixed Fenja ij her seat, while Ingrid took her fathers free arm and pulled him over. “You speak german?” Fenja nodded, intimidated and shy. “My family came over during the war, and they never let anyone lose touch to their roots. They expect you to be fluent in german.” Ingrid pulled the paper with the translation over and showed him. “That's from Lord of the rings. She's a nerd.” “Then you must like her, no? Two peas in a pod?” He grinned playfully, his calm exterior and the way he bantered with his kid, put her at ease. He wasn't bad, in any way. He was just so… tall, and broad, and had this very hard and cold aura, if he wanted to. They talked for a while. Ivar asked her more about her family, if they came before the war, or if they lived through the harsh times there. Fenja tried to answer, even taught him a couple of words and phrases when he asked for it. Turns out, the big bad Ivar Ragnarsson was a very curious and eager-to-please puppy dog. Now it was obvious, where this part of Ragnar came from. Those two were so much alike.

**

Ragnar was minding his own business, concentrating on his work, as a body fell into the spot next to his and a phone was shoved into his face. “LOOK AT THIS!” He did. “What am I looking at?” Fenja grinned, eyes alight with excitement, her whole body vibrating with restless energy. “That's a photograph of a black hole!” She sounded so proud, you'd think she made it. Without having to prompt her, she started into an extended rant, explaining how and when, how big it was (very), and how she really wanted to go visit it (so damn much), and how it looked like Sauron’s eye (It really did, wow), and ‘what if there is some kind of alternate universe where hobbits exist and the black hole is actually a way to go there, or to look into other universes?!’ “You want to visit a black hole.” “Yep.” “You think it’s a way to an alternate Hobbit universe?” “Yep.” Ragnars eyes were skipping over her face, taking in the scrunched nose as she smiled, the tousled hair from her run over, the healthy color of her face, the twinkle in her eyes. She was so cute, this excited. So open, so warm. It was a glimpse of how she could have been, if her parents had survived; she'd be way less inclined to shut others out. He also noticed how close she was. Her arm was wrapped around his biceps, her front pressed into his side as she leaned against him, essentially hugging his arm, while she was still holding the phone up, her elbow on the desk in front of him, his forearm trapped under hers. “You’re crazy.”, he shook his head.  “That’s my best personality trait, that are you talking about?” “But I’m coming with you. No way you’re gonna survive there. Either you’ll eat yourself to death, or you set one foot there and collide with some monster.”  “It’s settled then.” She let go of his arm, laid her own arms and head on the table, face towards him. “Now the only things left are contact with aliens and society’s realization regarding Pluto’s wrong degradation from planet status.”  Ragnar knew better than to dive into that discussion. She was very passionate about space. Instead, he plucked a hair hanging from her lashes.  “But what if there are no aliens?”  Okay, he was weak. Don’t judge.  Fenja groaned, but didn’t move much. “People who honestly believe that we are the only ones out there, are either very stupid, ignorant, or just plain scared. I can respect scared cucumbers, because that means on some level at least they agree that we can’t be alone, that’s just not logical.”

They fell into a comfortable pattern, Fenja ranting, Ragnar working. Sometimes it was the other way around, sometimes it was almost completely silent between the two of them. It was like a bubble, a safe haven on campus. Other students usually tended to avoid the two of them, because rants could happen just about any time, and those two got really passionate, including flailing arms and sometimes even thrown pens. So, their table was a corner-table, but other than them, there were no others in close vicinity. 

No one wanted to be part of… whatever they had.

**

Part 9

[fidemcanem]

❛ ♡ ❜

send  ❛ ♡ ❜  to suddenly hug my muse // accepting

@pr0ngs -- cut for length (5K+)

It’s 1971, and Sirius Black is eleven years old.

He’s fluent in French, and proficient in Latin. He’s got all sort of books under his belt ---- treatises on magical theory, histories of the pureblood wizarding families, dense histories and slim essay collections alike ---- though very few voluntarily. He’s been schooled in manners, in acceptable pursuits, in wizard chess and dancing and which fork to use.

His parents deign to see him off onto the train, noses stuck in the air at the crowds around him. “Remember,” his mother tells him, “you are representing this family. I expect you to do whatever is necessary to represent it properly.”

Sirius can hear another boy’s mother in the crowd telling her son to be nice, to make friends, to have a wonderful time, to write home often. He nods, sullenly, but doesn’t object. He’s itching to step away from her, to discover what life is like away from her rules and strictures and scathing, sharp rebukes.

His father merely nods at him. Sirius often feels like his father believes that his sons are not worth his words; he reserves them for his wife, for those who are useful to him. One day, his imperious gaze seems to say, one day you might be worth my time.

Sirius hugs Regulus, but neither of his parents, ignoring his mother’s impatient tsk.

And then he’s on the train, pushing through a sea of nervous and excited faces that he doesn’t recognise, until he finds a compartment empty aside from one boy with messy, dark hair and glasses.

“James,” he introduces himself as.

“Sirius,” comes the reply, and he sprawls himself onto a seat with no regard for posture or decorum, because he can, and nobody’s there to stop him. When the train pulls away, each breath tastes a little more like freedom.

By the time they reach Hogwarts, he’s got a firm friend (and ---- perhaps ---- a firm enemy; the greasy-haired boy in the carriage who’d been oh-so-proud of Slytherin had rubbed him the wrong way entirely) and he can’t believe that his house and his mother are so far away from him, that he won’t be back there for another three months.

He’s a little nervous, as they gather to wait outside the great hall, though he doesn’t let it show. He and James have connected with an ease he’s never experienced before; for the first time he’s found a friend that he’s chosen for himself, who isn’t defined by name or money or social status, hasn’t been vetted for appropriateness. What if he does go into Slytherin, and James isn’t interested in being his friend anymore ---- leaves him stuck with Severus?

James catches his eyes just then and grins. It’s a wide and easy thing, and Sirius can almost taste the promise of late nights and whispered conversations, homework completed by committee, catching quaffles without having to look to know they’re coming.

Something resolves in his chest. So easily, are eleven years put behind him. Toujours pur, he thinks, derisively. No, not for him the tiring rhetoric of his parents. He’ll make a new Black family motto, carve out his own path. Toujours courageux, perhaps: always brave. Like James.

James whoops from the gaggle of first-years when the sorting hat, after a moment of deliberation calls out Gryffindor! to the room. Sirius can see the disconcerted expressions at the Slytherin table ---- cousins and peers who’ll write home in shock, tonight ---- and doesn’t care, because James is grinning at him again, and he’s grinning right back.

The hat barely has to come to rest on James’ mess of hair before it shouts the same, Gryffindor! sending a thrill through Sirius’ body, right down to his toes. James comes barrelling towards the table with no regard for the professor who tells him to slow down, Mr Potter!, and Sirius barely has time to twist his body before he’s caught up in a rough hug. James squeezes him tight and ruffles his hair and says “I knew it, knew we’d be together!” before he lets go and slides himself onto the bench next to Sirius, their legs pressed close together and their shoulders touching.

Across the table, a sandy-haired boy whose name Sirius can’t remember looks a little bemused, and he’s not the only one. Sirius doesn’t care; his heart is an uncaged bird. His blood is singing. He feels like he could live forever, with James Potter by his side.

It’s 1973, and Sirius Black is thirteen years old.

It’s July, the dog-days of summer. Sirius ---- cheeks pink with the heat, shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows ---- is sprawled on James’ bed, his half-packed trunk abandoned some time ago. He scowls as he stares up at the canopy of his best mate’s bed, wallowing in the uncharacteristic silence carpeting the dorm.

It’s only a day before they’ll be back on the train, returning to King’s Cross and then back to their own houses for the summer.

There’s a dread in the pit of his stomach ---- a sour, lingering thing, like the taste of bad milk that just won’t go away. It’s curdled inside of his bones, all lumps and lactic acid, and he feels like he’d rather lie here and starve than willingly leave his friends for the oppressive walls of Grimmauld Place.

If last summer is anything to go by, it’ll be miserable. His mother can barely look at him anymore, save to fix her startlingly clear eyes on him with a look of tight disgust.

(“I might as well only have had one son,” she’d said to his father when they’re sat at the dinner table, Sirius obnoxiously chasing limp vegetables around his plate.

“Why, what am I?” he’d found the courage to ask acerbically. “Chopped liver?”

He’d regretted it the second she’d turned her furious gaze on him. She looked at him like something not human, like something she’d like to squash under the heel of her boot, given half a change. Toujours courageux, he’d reminded himself, but shrank away from her ire nonetheless.

“A parasite,” she’d spat. Regulus looked like he was about to cry. “And an ungrateful one at that. Leave this table: I’ll not have you and your petty rebellions ruin this family.”)

His father will barely consent to be in the same room as him. His brother ---- a guilty pang, as he realises he only write twice this term ---- is wide-eyed and uncertain, not sure whether to talk to Sirius or to follow his mother’s example.

Maybe, Sirius thinks, he can just stay here, the whole summer. He’ll sneak food from the house elves and hide out in the dorm, and nobody will know. His mother might not even miss him; she’ll go the whole two months of the holiday passing bitter remarks on a son who’s not even there. James and Remus and Peter will come back to school and find Sirius already there, living like a castaway, only much better fed and far less sunburned.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door; he heaves himself to sitting in time to see James push his way into the dorm. James is all packed ---- or at least, everything’s been thrown in the vague vicinity of his trunk ---- because James doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick when he thinks about going home.

“Cheer up,” James says, unable to miss Sirius’ drooping shoulders and turned-down lips. “We’ll be back before you know it. Besides, mum said you can come stay for a whole two weeks, if you want.”

“And what about all the other weeks?” Sirius mutters, darkly.

“I’ll write.” James promises.

“And what about when you’re sleeping?” Sirius is aware he sounds pathetic, wheedling. But they’ve barely spent a minute apart this term. James smiles when he says it, so he doesn’t bother to feel too embarrassed by it.

“Then you’ll be sleeping too, idiot.”

“And if I’m not sleeping? If I’m trapped in a waking nightmare about my mother strangling me to death with my own Gryffindor scarf so she doesn’t have to touch me?” James snorts.

“Then I’ll be having nightmares too.”

He says it with such confidence. Like he really believes that across all that distance, something will keep him awake if Sirius is awake. It’s nonsense, Sirius knows, but it makes him feel better nonetheless.

“Yeah, all right,” he sights. “Do me favour and take my scarf, will you? If she’s going to strangle me, I at least want her to have to do it the hard way.” James laughs, and Sirius manages a smile, too, less sickly than before. Then all at once he’s pushed backward onto the bed, enveloped by the warm weight of James. It might be comforting, if James didn’t have such sharp elbows and a tendency to jab them right into Sirius’ more vital organs.

“It’s not that long, really,” James promises, and Sirius wraps his arms around his friend and breathes the scent of his jumper and wonders if it would be weird to steal one from James’ trunk. Just to feel a little closer to him. “I’ll write to you every day. Twice a day.”

It’s little consolation, but at least, Sirius thinks, making no effort to extract himself from this pointy jumble of limbs, he’s got this to look forward to come September.  

It’s 1973, and Sirius Black is fourteen years old.

Or he will be in three minutes, at least ---- according to his watch. Halloween clings on in discarded decorations and leftover sweets, tongues stained pumpkin orange and liquorice-dark. They’ve all sorts of plans for tomorrow, given that Sirius has scored the ultimate prize this year with a birthday falling on a Saturday.

All of which means he ought to be sound asleep right now. Instead, he lies awake and watches the second hand tick ‘round, and the minute hand press closer to midnight. He wonders if he’ll feel any different. More grown up.

James had been delighted on finding out that Sirius was the oldest; last year he’d added a zero onto the birthday card he’d slung Sirius’ way, so it read 130 today, and it had been packed full of jokes about getting old --- creaking knees and failing hearing, and the inevitable decline of Sirius’ rugged good looks (James’ words, not his).

James’ birthday card, when it had eventually come around, had been addressed to young whippersnapper.

Sixty seconds to go. Sirius has seen James hiding something in his trunk, and is mostly sure that it’s a present for him. He can’t help but feel pleased at the attention. James’ mum had sent him toffee, last year, and he wonders if she’ll do the same again ---- if she’ll remember.

(His own mother sent him nothing, of course.)

Midnight.

He takes his first breath as a fourteen-year-old, and finds it tastes much the same as before. He’d half-hoped, idly, that getting older would make it easier to be his mother’s son. Before he can think to be disappointed, or annoyed, his hangings are whisked open and he lets out a startled yelp.

James is there, grinning in the dark, barefoot and with his glasses askew, wand illuminated but covered in his cupped hand so as not to wake the others.

“Budge up, grandpa,” James whispers, and Sirius does. James shoves a horribly wrapped present at Sirius, and then clambers in under the covers. His feet are freezing, and there’s a brief scuffle before Sirius ---- always warm ---- gives in and lets James press them up against his legs.

He looks down at the mess of wrapping paper and spellotape in his lap, and thinks to himself that cold feet in his cosy bed is a cheap price to pay for the fire that James has kindled in him all these years.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” James demands.

“Sure,” Sirius says, and some of his emotion must have spilled over onto his face without his permission, because James laughs and leans sideways to envelop him in a hug. It’s not rough or shoving, there’s no hair ruffling or teasing; James simply wraps him up on his arms and stays there with him, content.

Sirius couldn’t care less what’s in the present. James is the best gift he’s ever had.

It’s 1974, and Sirius Black is fifteen years old.

He was ‘politely asked’ to quit the quidditch team three months ago. Why his own house wanted to deprive themselves of their most handsome and second-most-talented player is a mystery him, except in all the ways it’s not.

So he had a habit of hovering around James and ignoring the rest of the team, what of it? There was another beater, wasn’t there? And someone had to protect the star player and his boyishly handsome jaw from the inevitable threat of bludgers.

(“Black! What the hell are you doing shadowing Potter? The bludgers are down the other end of the pitch harassing our seeker!”

“Yeah, but one of them was looking at him funny. Trying to lure me away, I think; I’d best stay right where I am. On the off-chance, you know----“)

It’s all rather a shame, really. When they were legitimately required to work in tandem, they flew like nothing else Hogwarts had ever seen. Even their erstwhile captain ---- departed now for the fair shores of adulthood ---- had grudgingly admitted that there was nothing to frustrate an opposing team more than Sirius and James flying in perfect synchronicity, one clutching the quaffle and the other with a devastating aim with bludger.

Apparently, though, he’s not dedicated enough. Doesn’t take it seriously.

    (Ha, ha. Oh, how his teammates had laughed when he’d made the requisite joke. Or at least, James had.)

He’d bowed out gracefully, because to be fair, they weren’t all that wrong. Sirius loves nothing more than flying with James, but his fellow beater had been a bore and the rest of the team insipid at best. Loyal to his friends and his house though he may be, he’s not the world’s most enthusiastic team player.

He’d commentated once, after that, and once only; McGonagall had been furious when she’d got to him, mid-match ---- who knew that the general student body didn’t want a running commentary of James Potter’s every, dashing move ---- and then been relegated altogether to the stands with Remus and Peter and the rest.

He doesn’t mind, much. Watching James fly is a treat ---- nay, a privilege.

Especially in a match like this. The winner will take the cup, and Sirius feels like the crowd’s every roar is funnelled straight through him. His stomach swoops as elegantly as James’ broom, drops out when the quaffle is stolen, soars when James wins it back once more.

Come the end, he’s got one arm around Remus’ neck and one around Peter’s pulling them both uncomfortably down towards his level. There’s a knot of tension in his stomach; it’s been a long, difficult match, fought tooth and nail.

The snitch has been sighted and both seekers are pelting towards it; Gryffindor have a one hundred and fifty point lead (thank you, James Potter), and if Ravenclaw catch the snitch it’ll be a tie. They hurtle closer, skimming the grass before shooting up again, and Sirius must be the only person in the crowd not paying them the slightest bit of attention.

Because James Potter, a hero dressed in red and gold, has just bodily slammed a Ravenclaw chaser out of his way and snatched the quaffle from mid-air. He flies low and close to his broom, eyes focused, and the deftness with which his manoeuvres is incredible.

He slams the quaffle through the hoop from only inches away, and Sirius roars a half-second before the rest of the crowd as the Ravenclaw seeker’s hand closes around the snitch.

It doesn’t matter; James has won it for them.

They pour onto the pitch, a knot of seething celebration around the red-and-gold team at the heart of it. Sirius and Remus and Peter are all fighting to get through but it’s no good; the wall of human bodies is too deep and, in Sirius’ case at least, tall.

But then James Potter bursts through the crowd, still being patted on the back and clapped on the shoulder, eyes bright and grin wide and lip split from a close call with a bludger (wouldn’t have happened if Sirius had been up there), and throws himself at Sirius.

He goes so far as to lift his friend’s feet off the ground, earning a yelp and smack from Sirius and laughter from Remus and Peter, who are quick to join the embrace.

“Just proves it,” Sirius shouts above the crowd. “You’re the only worthwhile player on that team!”

“Oi,” comes the offended voice of the Gryffindor keeper to one side. Sirius ignores it, and clings a little tighter to James.

It's 1975, and Sirius is fifteen years old.

He's giddy with achievement. No other victory has tasted this sweet; no other glory has carried him higher. Three years it's taken them, but finally ---- finally ---- here they are, animagi at fifteen years old. And all right, they'd had to revise their expectations a bit from lions and tigers and bears (oh my) down to dogs and deer and rats, but even that can't take away from it.

They've been grinning for a week now, all wild-eyed secrecy and knowing laughter. If they'd been close before, now they must seem impenetrable.

Remus, who'd been flustered and grateful and disbelieving, and a little tearful, looks at them sometimes, with this small smile on his face that makes Sirius’ gut churn in a way he doesn't quite understand.

The moment of truth comes; the gloomy press of dusk, the sour taste of nerves behind his tongue. They're going to run with a werewolf tonight, and even if that werewolf is their friend, it impresses a quiet awe on them all.

And oh, do they run. The night is velvet-dark and apple-sweet, and they clutch it between their teeth as they thunder through the forest, weaving and tumbling and wrestling with the wolf who doesn’t seem sure how to react to its new companions, alternately curious and aggressive. But they keep him from leaving the trees, they keep him occupied ---- too occupied to bite and scratch and claw at himself ---- and it’s worth a wound, worth every wound to know that Remus might wake a little less pained and weak in the morning.

They’re exhausted by the time the moon sets, and they’ve nudged and chased and tempted the wolf back to the shack. They retreat, as they were asked to do ---- ‘I don’t want you to see me change. Horrible doesn’t begin to cover it’ ---- and creep back through the tunnel, towards the greying dawn.

It’s Remus that’s his downfall.

As a dog, Sirius can smell the sweat from Prongs’ flanks, rising as faint steam in the morning chill. He can smell the rodent scurrying ahead of them. He can smell the air and the decaying corpse of something small, can smell the vegetation and undergrowth and paint a picture of it all, even with his eyes closed.

But behind him, he can smell blood and wolf and man and pain and despair, somehow, and he doesn’t realise the low whine he can hear is from his own throat. He hesitates. He wants nothing more than to go back, than to stay with Remus, to hold him and keep him warm, to ease his aches and to help, in anyway he can.

That moment is all it takes; the willow shivers back into life above them, and though the deer and the rat might be beyond its reach, there’s a big black dog standing with its ears pricked, peering back towards the tunnel it guards.

It hits him like thunderbolt.

Sirius doesn’t realise he’s flying through the air until he hits the ground, a strangled canine yelp beaten from his lungs as his body bounces, paws scrabbling to right himself and unable to do it. There’s sharp pain in his hind leg, and he pulls himself away from the tree with it dragging behind him.

“Sirius!”

It’s James’ voice, faint with terror, and human once more. Will it be better, or worse, Sirius wonders, if he’s human instead of dog?

The change is brief, and agonising. He doesn’t cry out, but he can taste blood where teeth have pressed hard against tongue to stymie the sound. He rolls over onto his back, and looks down at his leg, and immediately regrets it. His ankle is twisted around the wrong way, like a comical mistake on a five-year-old’s drawing.

James and Peter half-support and half-carry him back to the castle. He doesn’t whimper with every step, because that would be pathetic, but he does crack a few jokes about it. Neither of his friends laugh.

They tell Pomfrey he fell down the stairs, in the dark. She probably wouldn’t believe them, except she’s distracted ---- she should be leaving to tend to Remus, Sirius knows, and the guilt of knowing Remus might spend any more time half-conscious and bruised in that shack than he needs to is somehow more painful than his broken ankle.

And so, in a thoroughly uncharacteristic display, he doesn’t joke or whine or flirt; he takes the frankly disgusting potion she pushes into his hand, grimaces hard when she flicks her wand over his foot and he feels the bones grind back into place, and lets her hurry away.

James clings to him when she tries to chivvy him out of the hospital wing and back to bed.

“You may come and see Mr. Black in the morning, after breakfast,” she tells him. “He’ll be perfectly fine.” James doesn’t let go, and neither does Sirius, because both of them know a broken foot could have been so much worse, in the circumstances. Eventually, he consents to be chased out, and Sirius watches him go.

He’s asleep not long after, and he dreams of having four legs, and freedom.

It’s 1976, and Sirius is sixteen years old.

He feels rotten.

Not just bad, or upset, or guilty. He feels rotten, to his very core; like he’s been riddled with maggots or termites this whole time, slowly hollowing him out with nothing to show for it until now. All it took was pressure in the wrong place, and he’d crumbled ---- showed what he truly was.

He’d cried for hours: wretched, self-pitying tears that left him somehow feeling heavier than before, until his throat ached and his diaphragm ached and his lungs and his eyes and his teeth ached, every sorry part of him punishing him for what he’d done.

How could he ever have thought it was harmless? How could he ever have let the words trip from his tongue like any other words, like they weren’t the words that would ruin his life? Maybe you should follow him to the Whomping Willow and see for yourself, Snivellus. Just a collection of consonants and vowels; verbs and nouns and connectors, all strung together in such a way as to leave him like this.

No-one’s talked to him, yet. For all Sirius knows, they might never talk to him again. They might cast him to one side like the false friend he is. He doesn’t deserve them, any of them ---- not Remus, not Peter, and not even James, who almost single-handedly moulded the image of the man he wants to be. Especially not James, perhaps, who’s brave in the real way that Sirius is not, and good in the real way that Sirius can never be.

In the end, blood is blood: it doesn’t come out in the wash. He is his mother’s son.

And yet, James comes to him, in the end.

Sirius is all out of tears; his head is throbbing, his eyes red and puffy, his face blotched and streaked through with tear-tracks. He looks a mess, and he knows it. James only regards him, serious and uncertain, lip caught between his teeth.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius croaks. “I didn’t think ---- I was just so ----”

He trails off, because there’s no real explanation past the first. I didn’t think. He has no excuse, no justification. Somehow, that makes it worse. This was all instinct. Didn’t that mean it was his true self, his real colours?

“I’m an idiot,” Sirius whispers, and knows the word doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Yeah,” James agrees, curtly. The lump in Sirius’ throat rises a little further. He’s not sure what it is ---- shame or bile or perhaps his treacherous intestines trying to choke him from the inside. At this point, he’d consider it a mercy.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispers, even though it’s Remus who needs the apology, really. This isn’t sorry for what I almost did, this is sorry that I disappointed you, sorry that I wasn’t good enough, sorry that you thought you had a brother but he turned out to be a hollow, porcelain thing that shattered at the faintest knock.

James lowers his head, hands shoved in his pockets.

He’s not far away, but the distance is deafening. Even where they’re mad at each other, squabbling and arguing amongst themselves, there’s still a closeness. They’ll snap and snarl but their knees will still be touching, or their shoulders brushing.

The inches between them now are a gulf, a canyon. Sirius has burned his bridges without evening meaning to, and tossed his ropes into the abyss after them.

James heaves a sigh, and turns to go. Sirius chokes back a sob, the sound catching in his throat as he does his best to hide it ---- he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t deserve pity --- and James pauses. Sirius covers his face with his hands, tugs hard at his hair so the sharp pain in his scalp is all he can think about it.

He flinches as James’ arms close around him. He’s half-expecting to be punched, or shoved, but he’s not expecting this gentle embrace.

“You’re an idiot.” James places the words carefully, gingerly in the space between them. “You’re not evil. Give it some time, Sirius.” And then he’s gone, and Sirius has forgotten how to breathe, and he’s sure that this is how he’ll die ---- rotten and hollow and broken and wretched, choking on his own betrayal.

It’s 1978, and Sirius is eighteen years old.

There’s a bittersweet, syrupy regret clinging to him. These days have been the best of his life, and soon enough, they’ll be over. It’s mere weeks before they’ll leave Hogwarts on the train for the last time.

It’s impossible to ignore that the world outside these walls and grounds is a darker place than it was once. The saccharine glow of their childhood is fading, melting away from them. There’s no catching it. They’re grown up, and there’s a war building. Some nights, Sirius tries to hold the concept in his mind, to understand it; more often than not he finds that he can’t. It’s something far away, and abstract, something that happens to other people in other places.

Tonight, wedged tightly in the small space between their tower window and the cornice ---- even he doesn’t fit as well as he used to, though he’s been slower to grow than the rest ---- it feels all too real. Unavoidable, like it’s hiding behind every word and glance and thought, a shadowy presence that he can’t shake.

If he takes a breath too deep, he’s sure he can feel it as a crackle at the bottom of his lungs, like kindling ready to be tossed into the fire.

Sirius doesn’t often seek out time alone. Today, he’d slipped away without a word ---- they can find him if they need to, after all, they’ve got the map ---- and has been soaking in this silent solitude for hours now. Weightless, like he’s teetering at the edge of something, and he can’t quite find the courage to leap.

It’s a queer feeling that’s overtaken him, and all the stranger for the fact that it doesn’t seem to have gripped the others in quite the same way. Late last night, Sirius had sat up from where he was curled up against Remus’ side and looked down at him with a dark intensity in his eyes that had made Remus frown.

         (“Promise me,” Sirius had said, low and fierce, “promise me that leaving Hogwarts won’t change a thing. With us, you know.” Remus’ frown had softened, and he’d reached up to brush Sirius’ hair from his face. Sirius had chased the cool touch of Remus’ palm with his cheek, leaning into it.

    “I promise,” he’d said, but Sirius hadn’t  been content until he’d heard it a dozen times, pressed close against his ear between kisses.)

He wonders if there might be something wrong with him, and pretty quickly dismisses the thought. It’s a dark rabbit-hole to go down. He thinks he’s all right, usually, and so do his friends, so what can it matter, anyway?

It’s James who comes for him, of course.

They barely fit up here, anymore, and James’ feet hang sickeningly over hundreds of feet of empty air once he’s wrestled himself up next to Sirius and stretched out his legs.

“All right?”

“All right.”

A call-and-answer that spans seven years. They have whole conversations in those words, meanings deeper than the brief syllables. Tonight it’s are you okay and I’m staying and you can’t stop me, and it’s the answering I’m not sure and I won’t try.

They sit in silence for a while, Sirius on the right and James on the left, just the way it always is, and their legs and their arms pressed together, just like they always are. Sirius feels sick with longing, missing something that’s not even gone yet. Where will they tuck themselves when they no longer have this vast network of corridors and rooms, passages and alcoves, towers and dungeons? Is there a space for them, out there?

“I’ll miss this place,” Sirius says. An obvious statement, and one that barely scratches the surface of his feelings. He doesn’t need to try and explain, with James.

“Yeah,” James agrees, quietly.

“I love you.”

It’s a muted admission. He proclaims his love for his friends often and loudly, grandiose, sweeping gestures and honeyed words stolen from Shelley, from Ovid. This softness is rare indeed, unprompted and unfiltered, free from his usual dramatics. James looks at him in surprise from behind his glasses, the sunset glinting from them in a burning yellow-orange.

“I love you too,” James says. As if it’s obvious, as if Sirius is an idiot.

He reaches over for a hug, ignoring Sirius’ mildly alarmed exclamation as they tip over in the tiny space, Sirius’ elbow hitting the wall and his head the window ---- inside, Remus peers out with some mild concern before he returns to his book.

“You’re stuck with me,” James informs his friend, once he’s got him trapped. “Stop being so unbearably dim and morose. Nothing will change when we leave school.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say that won’t sound trite or twee, so he does the only obvious thing available to him, and licks a stripe across James’ face to get him to move. James does so, cursing him, and managing to land an elbow in his stomach (they haven’t got any less sharp, over the years.)

They lie there, tangled and laughing and oblivious and on the edge, waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s 1981, and Sirius is twenty-two years old.

James pulls him into a hug, and Sirius pinches his arse to draw a laugh from him ---- few enough of those, these days ---- and looks at Lily over James’ shoulder, clutching Harry, his godson to her chest.

“See you soon,” James says, and it’s a demand rather than a statement.

“Promise,” Sirius says.

If he’d known this was the last time ---- the last hug ---- the last goodbye ---- he might have held a little tighter, a little longer. He might not have let go at all.

[tinybibmpreg]

Day 66 // ft. Pythrormr, Dreya, Oliver & Alban

#12 / Safe and Sound

“No no–it’s alright, come here,” Pythrormr beckoned his son closer. The boy hesitated, and then stepped forward. He gently tugged the boy against him, and took a moment to soothe and nuzzle him, rumbling softly. He brushed a clawed finger over the boy’s head-feathers, marveling still at how different the short, rounded squares were from his own sleek and pointy ones. They were puffy and soft in contrast to his silky feathers.

Two-toned eyes stared up at him, and he kissed the boy’s smooth forehead. “Father, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, my dear, just in labor. Your sibling is on their way.” He rubbed his swollen belly, and his son put a tiny hand on it as well. The baby kicked, and as he winced, his son grinned.

“Hello! It’s me, your brother, Oliver! Father says you’re going to be born soon. I’m excited to meet you.”

“And I’m sure they’re just as excited to meet you as well. N-now…” A contraction gripped him, stronger than all the previous ones, and he trailed off, holding his belly. “Ooh…”

Oliver searched his face, frowning. “Father?”

“Oh, j-just a moment, darling- mm…” Oliver crawled off of his lap, and knelt next to him as he laid down on his side. He buried his face into a pillow to muffle the noises he was making. Oliver pet his hair, making a small cooing sound, mimicking the one he often made when the boy was upset.

After a minute, the contraction faded away, and he took a moment to steady his breathing. Then, he turned his face towards his son. “Oliver… I need you to go down the road to the house with the dead tree and knock on the door. Ask for Miss Draya. Be very polite. When she asks you what you’re doing there, tell her the General needs her help.”

“Okay.”

“If she asks how far along I am, just say I told you I’m very close.”

Oliver nodded. Pythrormr rubbed his head, and pressed another kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy. Now, hurry.” After a pat to the shoulder, Oliver climbed off the bed and ran off. As soon as he heard the front door slam shut, he sighed and began to undress. He got off the bed and looked around at the candles and charms he’d set up. He adjusted a few of them, and lit the final candle at the small shrine on the nightstand.

He drank the concoction that had been sitting in the center of the shrine since he’d first realized he was in labor, wincing at the bitter taste of it.

All that was left of the ritual was a prayer, so he got comfortable in his nest and recited the chant he’d once heard at the other side of the lake, the one he’d repeated over and over while straining to deliver Oliver over six years ago.

-

Though Oliver was young, he understood what was going on. His bearer liked to baby him, pretend he was ignorant of many things, but he knew that having a baby hurt a lot, and that his bearer would be sick and in pain until his sibling was born. He’d read a few books about it.

Still, he didn’t like seeing his bearer in pain, and it did scare him. The books described how childbirth was dangerous, and that things could go wrong for both the bearer and infant.

It hurt his lungs to run all the way to the house with the tree, but his bearer had told him to hurry, so he did. Running always made breathing difficult, especially if he ran for an extended period of time. Oliver slowed down when he reached the property, and went up the door. He knocked, and waited, coughing.

Doing that didn’t make his chest feel any better, but he couldn’t help it.

The door opened, and a reptilian woman with long brown and black headfeathers glared down at him through her thick glasses. “What are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Oliver. Are you Miss Dreya?”

She snarled and corrected, “It’s Professor Dreya to you, Oliver. What do you want?”

“The General needs your help, Professor!”

Her eyes widened. “So you’re that wretched creature he delivered six years ago. Great to see the cause of my banishment choking ungratefully at my doorstep, I suppose.”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say in response to that. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She sighed, her ruffled feathers smoothing down. “So, your bearer’s having another mongrel, is he?”

Mongrel wasn’t a word he had heard before. “He’s having a baby.”

“And he wants me to help him.”

Oliver nodded.

She resigned to her fate. “Alright. How far along is he?”

“He said he’s close.”

“Great, a nonspecific answer. Hey, did you run here?”

“Yeah.”

“...Are you alright?”

He shook his head. “I have bad lungs.”

“We’ll take my truck over. Come on.”

-

In between pants and groans, Pythrormr prayed to his beloved’s gods, even if he did not believe in them, in words he only half understood. He knew the father would have wanted the children to be born according to his culture’s tradition, and though the man had no idea he had sired two offspring, Pythrormr would not disappoint him.

He could feel the urge to push growing stronger with each contraction, but waited. Until the urge was irresistible, or if Dreya had told him he was ready, he would hold back.

The front door opened, and he heard his son’s light footsteps, as well as the heavy steps of a reptilian, the dragging of a long tail.

“Father, I brought Professor Dreya!” Oliver brought the former professor into the bedroom. Dreya looked just as irritated as always, her feathers ruffling as she took in the sight of him laboring in his nest. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yesss… Your sssibling issss quite clossse…”

“I’ll be the judge of that, sir. You just lay back and actually try to relax this time. Oliver, go make yourself as out of the way as possible.” She put her medical kit on the bed next to him as she approached, a look of disdain on her face. With a bit more force than necessary, she moved his leg out of the way.

“He… He can sssstay… Ah…”

“I said to relax,” she growled, two of her declawed fingers pressing into his cloaca. He leaned his head back and focused on breathing, mouthing the words to the prayer. “You still have a few centimeters to go.”

“But I-”

“-Feel the urge to push,” she finished for him. “I know. But yet again, your body has no idea what it’s doing. That’s why we don’t have little hybrid babies all alone on the outskirts of the desert.”

“I… I have you.”

“Against my better judgement. I should hold your little half-breed hostage until you reinstate me back into society.”

“I’ll- I’ll kill you if you hurt him, Dreya.” He pushed himself up with one arm, teeth bared. Then he fell back on his side as his abdomen contracted, groaning.

Dreya moved towards Oliver. The boy hissed and darted to the bed, ducking under her arms. Pythrormr forced himself to get to his knees, pulling his son close. His headfeathers flared, and he growled at her even as the pain made him want to curl up.

“Always on alert, ready for anyone to strike, no matter how injured, how ill. That’s General Pythrormr- ready to kill even when he’s an hour away from delivering a hybrid that won’t survive past the age of ten.”

He refused to believe that Oliver wouldn’t survive to adulthood. His blood had always survived impossible odds. Oliver was a fighter at heart, just like everyone else in his bearer’s family. The baby would be as well.

Though… he glanced down at his son. Oliver had just run a distance that would be easy for any reptilian child his age, or even a younger one his size, and his breathing was ragged, his chest no doubt wracked with pain. He could feel his son’s heart racing against his skin, not from fear, but overexertion.

He knew even a human child wouldn’t still be so worn down.

“Well, General? Do you believe your children will survive?”

“They’re my blood.”

“The both of them are lucky to be carried to term at all. They need doctors and daily medical care. You leave that boy here all alone, don’t you? Just him out in the desert, just a few miles away from me.”

Of course Dreya still held a grudge against him. He shouldn’t have expected her to forgive him after so long. It’d been foolish of him to think he could actually have help during his delivery.

He had Oliver move behind him, and when Dreya pulled a knife from her coat, he lunged at her.

-

It was exhausting to kill and then drag a body outside, and to clean the blood from his scales, but he refused to have a corpse looking at him while he gave birth to his beloved’s second child.

Oliver was unfazed by the death, but worried about him as he sank to his knees in the doorway. He doubted Dreya had told the truth about how dilated he was, so he bore down, groaning.

“Father!” Oliver hurried over to him.

Pythrormr did a count in his head, and then relaxed, panting. “Hey, Oli… Would you mind cleaning up the floor in here while I have your sibling?”

“Okay.” Oliver, always the obedient child, did as he was told. He left the room to find cleaning supplies, and Pythrormr crawled over to the bed. He pulled himself up onto it, and got into position. As soon as he was ready, he pushed again.

Just as Oliver’s birth was excruciating, this one was too. He didn’t understand why it hurt so much to deliver such small babies, but his body insisted on making it as painful as possible.

His son cleaned up the blood splatters on the floor, and picked up and relit a candle that had fallen. Once all the blood was gone, soaked up by towels, Oliver came over and asked, “Do you need anything, Father?”

He shook his head. Oliver still seemed worried about him, and sat down on the floor next to the bed.

The boy stayed quiet and huddled up until Pythrormr gave one last yell. The baby slid out onto the bed, and he gasped. Carefully, he lifted up the baby and laid them down on his belly. As he wiped the baby clean with a small towel, Oliver peered over the edge of the mattress.

“You have a little brother, dear.” Oliver’s eyes brightened, but he didn’t move. Laughing softly, Pythrormr reached for him. Oliver climbed onto the bed and crawled closer. The baby began to cry, a quiet whine just as Oliver had done as a newborn. He finished wiping the baby clean, and wrapped him up in a soft blanket. Leaning back against the wall, he held the baby to his chest and tugged Oliver against his side.

His son was enamored with his new sibling. “Hi there, brother… I’m your big brother, Oliver.” The boy looked up at him and asked, “Father, what’s his name?”

“I’m not sure yet, dear. It took me a few hours to come up with yours…”

“He looks like me. But without my spots.” Oliver was albino, but with patches of brown on him that was very similar to his father’s skin color. The baby was all white, not a single brown scale or speck of flesh to be seen.

Typical of young children, the baby had far less scales than he or Oliver, and the scales he did have were fairly smooth.

“His eyes aren’t like mine either…’ Oliver said, as the baby settled down and opened his eyes, revealing pale pink eyes. His pupils were the same shape as Pythrormr’s.

“They’re the same as half of your eyes.” Each of Oliver’s eyes were half brown on the side close to his nose, while the outer half was pale pink. “Would you like to hold him while I take a shower?”

“Yeah!” Oliver happily took his little brother, and once Pythrormr was certain he had a good hold on the baby, he left to take his shower. It felt great to feel hot water on his scales, and to get the fluids off of his thighs. He felt horribly sore between his legs, and it hurt to touch his slit.

The water started to turn cold, so he shut it off and dried himself with the last towel he could find. He found and pulled on a pair of underwear and some shorts, deciding to go without a top so he could get some skin-to-skin with the baby.

It felt nice to lay down in his nest, knowing they were all safe and sound. The baby was cooing at Oliver, and his son was purring loud, a scratchy rumble Pythrormr loved to hear more than anything. He had Oliver lay down next to him after retrieving a diaper for the baby, and pulled the baby against his chest. He would have to prepare food for the baby, and give him a proper bath, but for now he was content to let them all relax.

He was just about to doze off when Oliver asked, “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Hm… How about Alban? Oliver and Alban… I think your father will love your names.”

“They’re human names, right?”

“Human names, just like him. He’ll be so proud of you two. You’re both perfect.”

“Even if I’m really sick all the time?” No doubt the baby would be just as weak as Oliver, have the same poor immunity and fragile skin.

“Yes. You’ll always be my perfect boys. Your father will agree.”

“When are we going to meet him?”

“I don’t know, Oli. Maybe when you’re both bigger. It’s a long trip to where he lives. Your brother is too small to make it that far without a doctor, and I’m afraid there’s no doctors who would go with us.”

He had considered taking Oliver with him to the isolated territory his beloved resided in the last time he’d gone, but did not. He was too focused on work, and wouldn’t have been able to have had the time necessary for introducing Oliver to his father. He’d been lucky to have a night alone with his beloved. Now Alban was squirming in his arms, and he couldn’t risk traveling so far with a newborn.

“Okay. I hope it won’t be too much longer, though. I want him to meet Alban too.”

“So do I, dear.”

[meltingalphabet]

What’s So Scary About Halloween? Age 20

By college, I thought I understood the rules. I thought I knew the laws instilled upon me. And in a moment of desperation, I thought I knew how to play the system.

But I was very, very wrong.

At age 20, I went to a party.

It was my junior year of college and I was struggling to fit in. People who didn’t know me looked at my deformed hand with disgust and morbid fascination, wanting to know how I lost a thumb and two fingers but not wanting to ask. They noticed my glass eyes with scrunched up noses and ill hid stares. I could see the questions form in their minds even as they bit their tongues, giving me tight lipped smiles. It didn’t help that I wouldn’t stay out long after dark and that I never drank or smoked. It’s hard to make friends when you’re afraid of everything and everyone. When you’re so damaged. So utterly broken.

I watched my freshman and sophomore roommates melt into the social stew of college, of sex and alcohol and drama, while I stood at the sidelines. No, not stood. As I hid behind bushes along the sidelines, praying no one would see me. By junior year, I lived in a small dorm room by myself where I’d eat every meal, only leaving to go to class and church.

And then I met Hayley.

Mom had always told me that sitting in the front row made you get better grades. I don’t know how founded that piece of advice was, but I listened to it all throughout high school and college. But my alarm didn’t go off that morning and I was running late. I normally get to Organic Chemistry ten to fifteen minutes early. The class was a common requirement taught by two professors: Professor Goldwick in the spring and Professor Martin in the fall. Professor Goldwick was in his late seventies and thought the 19th amendment was a temporary fluke. He was a boring asshole, but he was a tenured one. Professor Martin was younger, prettier, and actually competent at her job. Which meant that Organic Chemistry in the fall was always full beyond capacity. She was smart enough, and considerate enough, to hold extra lab classes for the spillover, but there was still only one lecture a week.

But the time I arrived, there was standing room only. I groaned as I picked my way towards the back where there was room. I sat down heavily on an empty step, frustrated with the morning’s events. I began to skim through my notes from last week when someone sat down beside me. I looked up and was faced with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She smiled warmly at me.

“Running late?” She asked, her voice low and smooth.

I nodded dumbly, not saying a word.

She smiled. “Yeah, I normally see you sit at the front.” She pointed to my normal seat and I blushed. She giggled slightly, “sorry, that came off as creepy. I’ve just…” She paused to think, “I’ve just noticed you.” She watched my face, waiting for a response. I swallowed and gave her a half hearted smile in return before looking back down at my notes.

A hand appeared between my face and the page. “I’m Hayley.” She said. I looked up and took her hand.

“Taylor.”

I saw the question form on her forehead as she tried to register what was wrong with the handshake. What was wrong with me. Her gaze shifted down and hesitated on the large white scar over my missing fingers, but her eyes quickly lifted back to my face and she gave me a small but genuine smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Taylor.” She said as I turned to face the front of the room. My ears burned with heat and I blushed deeper. Miguel once told me that my ears grew bright red when I was horny. I know he told me that with affection but it horrified me. Like a public boner. I didn’t like my feelings being transparent.

Professor Martin began the lecture and I tried to forget about Hayley. Tried to ignore her presence beside me. The room was so crowded and she was so close. The slim space between us vibrated with electricity and the sounds of the professor’s words grew in and out of focus.

Class ended and Hayley and I began to pack our bags as students trickled out of the room. “Any fun plans for today?” She asked, picking up her pen and notebook. I paused and looked at her. She was watching me, waiting for me to respond.

“Uh, no. Not really.” I said honestly.

She smiled. “Wanna go get something to eat at the shack with me?” She tilted her head slightly with the question and my heart stopped. It was the same way Jackie used to look at me. My breath caught in my throat and I coughed awkwardly, looking around the room.

What would a normal person say? I thought, but it was too late. I was already being weird. I stood and sped out of the room without saying a word.

She called after me, her voice faltering with confusion. “Oh, uh… see you next time!”

I could think of nothing but her for the rest of the week, looking forward to Organic Chemistry as if it were Christmas. Even though I hated straying from my routines, I walked past the still empty front row and waited there in the back of the classroom, hoping she’d sit by me again. And, to my surprise, she did. She smiled and said hi before sitting down beside me. This became our new tradition every Thursday morning. She’d make small talk and at first it was mostly one sided, but slowly I was able to warm up to her. We talked about our majors, what dorm we lived in. Small things. And then one morning Hayley asked me to get a bite after class and I agreed.

We were eating chicken tenders at the shack, a fried food place on campus, when she started excitedly discussing Halloween. Only two days away, it made sense. It’s what normal people talked about. I swallowed hard, my chicken getting caught painfully in my suddenly dry throat. A little pit in my stomach began to grow.

“Are you going to Pi Kappa Alpha’s Halloween party Saturday?” Hayley asked, her eyes large and filled with childlike excitement.

The pit grew hot in my gut. “Uh… I wasn’t going to.”

She smiled at me and my knees literally went weak. “Would you like to come with me?”

The pit fell as if it were an anvil in an old cartoon. I could feel it fall down, deep into the earth and far away from me. And with it, the world. I was in a dark place. A place of shadows and the shadows were speaking. Some were calling to me and some screaming at me. Beckoning me to come, telling me to leave. Green figures with thin sharp teeth asked me to play.

There was a pressure on my shoulder and I realized it was Hayley’s hand. She was looking at me, her eyes filled with concern. I had stopped breathing. Humming filled my brain as I inhaled. My heart was racing, thumping against my chest as if it were trying to get out. I looked at Hayley and she was smiling at me. I exhaled with a sigh, the sensations falling from my body like a too tight coat. Her smile was like a life preserver, giving me something to focus on. Something to bring me back.

I heard a voice, distant and far off. “I’d love to.” It said. I didn’t think it was my voice at first. I knew I would’ve never agreed. But it was my voice and that’s what it said. It betrayed me.

Hayley wrote her number down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “See you there.”

I knew the consequences of Halloween. I knew it was a mistake. I had intended to text her that I couldn’t make it. That I was sick. But then my thoughts would fill with Hayley’s smile and I’d find myself somewhere else. Somewhere without worry or fear. And so, filled with an optimism and hope I hadn’t had in years, I didn’t text her to cancel. Instead, I skipped class to try and think of a way to save the night. A way to avoid the wrath of Halloween.

The aisles of the store were practically empty, a ghost town on the night before Halloween. I scanned the remnants of the costumes for something useable. A nurse, a pirate, a nun. I hesitated at the last costume, but images of evil nuns and priests made me move on quickly. I was about to give up on finding a costume that was Halloween-proof when something white caught my eye. It was hiding, three plastic costume bags deep on the metal arm, no longer sorted into any particular order. I pushed aside a bag with a man in a devil’s costume on the front.

“Perfect.” I said, smiling at the costume that lay beneath.

Already drunk kids filled the frat house’s front yard as I approached. My phone buzzed in my hand with Hayley’s newest text message:

Out front. See you soon.

I looked up and immediately spotted her. She was dressed in a torn pale gown that flowed out around her. Her skin was painted grey with heavy black shadows under her eyes. Around her neck was a loose rope, tied in a noose. Her eyes lit up as she spotted me and she jogged over to where I stood. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I blushed as she fell away, leaving her hand on my shoulder, her body still close to mine.

“Hey.” She said as she smiled up at me. I had several inches on her and seeing those big brown eyes look up into mine sent shivers through me.

“Hey.”

We stared at each other for several seconds before I looked her up and down. “And what are you supposed to be?”

She stepped back and spun for me. “A witch!” She laughed.

I returned the laughter. “Oh, I get it. Like from the Salem witch trials. Uh… You don’t think that’s… in bad taste?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But don’t you think witches are probably already offended by commercialized pointy hats?”

I sighed, “I guess.”

“Besides,” she said, pushing my shoulder back playfully, “I could say the same thing about you!”

I looked down at my own white gown, careful not to let my halo fall from my head in the process. “What’s wrong with my costume?”

“You don’t think Christians would be offended by you dressing up as an angel?”

I rolled my eyes. “As a Christian, I don’t find it offensive.”

She raised an eyebrow, “and how do you know I’m not a witch?” She pulled at my gown and looked up at my coyly. “As someone who worships Satan, I find your costume very offensive.”

Hayley turned and lead me into the house, now pulsing with loud music and party-goers.

The party was actually really fun. Despite drunk jocks and more slutty bees than you’d think was necessary, I enjoyed watching Hayley’s face open with excitement as she introduced me to her friends. My face and skin burned pleasantly with the first alcohol I had drank since middle school.

We left on the early side.

“It’s her first college party.” Hayley slurred as she very un-delicately stroked my face. “We don’t want to overwhelm her!”

Hayley’s friend Paul, dressed as a pokemon character I didn’t recognize, rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Taylor seems very delicate. It’s a good thing she has you to take care of her.”

She smiled at him coyly as she pulled me into her in a faux gesture of protection. Paul winked at me and I blushed, thankful that the room we were in was dimly lit.

Hayley fell into me as she stepped off the house’s front steps and I wrapped my arm around her to steady her. She had been excitedly babbling about her dreams of going to veterinary school since we said good-bye to Paul, her words unnecessarily loud and sloppy, interrupted here and there with small violent hiccups. I patiently let her talk, relishing learning more about her.

“Wait,” she slurred, pausing and pointing at the woods beside the street. “I know a shortcut.”

I looked at the densely packed trees. “Maybe we should stick to the road.”

“No, trust me.” She said, her breath reeking of alcohol. “I take this path all the time to get to my dorm.”

“Come on, not tonight.” I said, trying to lead her away.

She giggled as she slipped from my grasp and ran into the woods.

“Hayley!” I called, but she was gone. I jogged in after her. I could hear her footsteps, loud through the dry autumn leaves. She hiccuped and giggled. I ran forward, following the sounds. And then they stopped.

My steps slowed. “Hayley?” I asked tentatively. I stopped for a second, listening for any sign of her, but the woods were silent. I began walking again, the forest tall and dark and quiet around me.

“Boo!” Hayley said as she jumped out from behind a tree.

I screamed in surprise. “Jesus Christ!” I cried, my breath hitching as I laughed in relief. “Fuck, you scared me.” My breathing calmed and my laughing turned into giggles. Hayley was looking at me intently, her smile lopsided from drink.

And then she leaned forward and kissed me. The world faded as she pushed her soft lips into mine. She pressed her body against me and electricity shot through my skin. I remember she smelled like vanilla, despite the cloud of alcohol that hung around her.

Hayley pulled away. I opened my eyes, slowly as if just waking from a deep sleep. She smiled again and laughed before whispering, “catch me if you want another kiss.” And she was off.

It took me a few seconds before I registered what she had said and I ran after her, again following the noises of her feet through the forest. And just like last time, the sounds soon stopped. I began to walk, excitement filling my lower abdomen as I eagerly waited for her to jump out again and kiss me. The thought sent tingles up my spine and back down to my inner thighs. This time, I’d kiss her deeper, taste her. This time, I’d pull her into me and never let her go.

A snapping of a stick brought me back to the present and I paused, “Hayley?”

Another stick broke, a thicker one from the sound. It was coming from above me. I looked up. The dark woods were still. I searched the branches for her. Movement caught my eye and I saw something on a thick branch several feet above my head. There wasn’t much light from the moon, but I thought I could make out shoes.

“Hayley?”

Two feet stood motionless above me.

“Hayley, is that you? What the fuck are you doing?”

One of the feet moved forward hesitantly, as if testing the still night air, before stepping forward. I went to reach my hands out to grab her but she was in front of me so quickly. I hadn’t had a chance to move. In just a second Hayley’s eyes in line with mine. And then there was another snap, louder than before. It sounded wet, much wetter than a stick. A splintering noise that I still hear in my nightmares.

Hayley spasmed in front of me and I stepped back in surprise. The noose was around her neck, but it was no longer loose. It pressed up and into her throat. Her head was bent at a wrong angle and I could see her bones pressing into her skin where her spine had broken. Her big brown eyes bulged and her mouth was open, exposing a bloated tongue.

We weren’t that deep into the woods and students walking past soon heard my screams. They found me hugging Hayley’s lifeless form, pulling at the tight noose around her neck with my two fingers.

It was ruled a suicide.

Sometimes I think if I hadn’t blindly grabbed her, if I had actually used my bad hand to hold her and my good hand to free her, she would’ve survived. But I know it was too late.

Since that night, I have never wavered from my strict no Halloween policy. My husband Chris has been incredibly understanding. He knows about Hayley and the story I told everyone about what happened to my hand. To my eye. He thinks I have Halloween PTSD, which I guess is true. The nasty coincidences. So many horrible events on the same night, years apart. It’s understandable why I’d hate the holiday. Anyone would.

Our son, Zack, has never dressed up. He’s never gone to a Halloween party nor has he even gone trick or treating. I’ll admit, it hasn’t been easy. The other parents don’t understand. They assume I’m a religious nut. But I have to protect myself, and I have to protect Chris and Zack. I’m still plagued by the memories of Hayley’s face, her eyes bulging from their sockets. I look at my beautiful, wonderful family and I’m reminded that Hayley will never have one.

Zack turned five this year and it’s beginning to get even harder to keep him from celebrating. But I thought I had been strict enough, that I had stressed to Chris how sensitive the situation was. I thought he realized that Halloween was forbidden for a reason, even if he didn’t know what it was.

But he caved. He took Zack to a Halloween store without my knowledge and bought him a costume. I came home to my beautiful baby boy squealing with delight as he showed me what he was going to be for Halloween.

Zack’s dressing up as a black cat tonight.

I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.