#<- golden trio!! i barely actually write them so this is a fun change

[t1oui]

writing 8th year is actually kinda fun. also as much as oblivious ron is funny ron being the only one who knows what's going on is way more entertaining (in my opinion)

[zingaplanet]

I agree soooooooo much with all you said in that answer and especially you saying that it’s difficult to find the right words to describe what they have!!! Looking at it factually, Rafa and Novak have played each other a whole third times more often than Rafa and Roger have (59 to 40 if my memory’s correct) but I have honestly never sensed that kind of… feeling? Between the former as I have between the latter… And that isn’t to say Rafa and Novak or Roger and Novak or all three of them or all four of them with Andy don’t all have something special (After so many hours spent together on court and so much tennis-defining done, it must be so!) but there is a magic (?) about Fedal that transcends words and really does speak to the depth of the bond they share? I always find it hard to describe what exactly they make me feel, even outside any “ship” stuff (that’s just fun and games in the end, anyway) there is something so undeniable between them and I cannot put it into words at all, or rather, words don’t really do it any justice? I could try to write the most beautiful verses about them and it still wouldn’t capture what it means to know someone like that, to the very, very core of one’s being… and being known back the same. Sorry for the super long ask, but please do keep up the long answers if you have the time and energy, they are wonderful to read!

Hahaha don't worry, getting engaged in philosophically long discussions on other people's personal relationships is my favourite thing cause frankly, I DON'T HAVE A LIFE, so keep the asks rolling anons lol

So here's what I think honestly about the big four, or in this specific case if we're being a little honest, the big three and how Roger and Rafa approach their rivalry with Novak differently. I think the tennis world hasn't been kind to Novak (and by god they have their reasons) but if we're looking purely from an objective competitive perspective, I think it's also because the tennis world doesn't really like nor do they have the space to accommodate trios. Tennis has always been, as I mentioned, a very personal relationship between two people, either in doubles (we've seen many strong bonds and stories formed over the years with the Williams sisters and the Bryan brothers), or an intense two-sided rivalry in singles (Sampras-Agassi, Borg-McEnroe, Lendl-Edberg). There's just something mystical about pairs, I guess, and Novak broke through the Federer-Nadal story, he did it consistently and once we've thought we already have all the star players of a golden-era defining generation, and I think this is partly the reason why the other two of the big three didn't feel that particular sense of depth to their rivalry with Novak because THEY ALREADY HAD ONE, they've already had their biggest, career-defining rival to chase or to beat way before he came onto the scene.

Federer-Nadal were basically the ONLY story on the run from 2004 to around 2009, nobody else even came close, they were number 1 and number 2 for so long. And I think this initial period is the key to why the tennis world held their rivalry superior for so long but also to why they themselves did it. Firstly because the early 2000s saw a crucial transition from the older Sampras-Agassi generation to a new one, one that is surprisingly much more stronger than the previous one (Federer actually beat Sampras and Agassi multiple times, instead of just picking over their leftover crowns). When he became world number 1 and frankly with little competition (Hewitt and Roddick never really managed to beat him), there was a dominance established that somehow the whole tennis world feels is lacking something, a restlessness that doesn't exactly settle, and Federer himself actually feels it, I think, he references in a couple interviews that there was simply, in the humblest term, not enough exciting competition. And this changed when Rafa came into the frame, and he did it in the most staggering way, barely 17, beating the world number 1 and winning a first grand slam final against him. From then on, I think, they have already made a story for themselves, for Federer that this was a new challenge for him, and for Rafa, that he can now truly chase his idol on an equal level. The intense ranking chase going on from 2004 until 2008 was I feel something that the tennis world hasn't seen before and will probably never see again. It feels as if the balance is finally restored and the world is finally set right again. Tennis is somehow saved, because healthy competition at the very top level is the heart and soul of every sport.

As for Roger and Rafa personally, I think these formative years were the foundations of why they will always consider their rivalry to be the most important of their careers, regardless of the number of meetings, titles, or head to heads, simply because of its personal significance. Rafa became world number 1 for the first time chasing Roger, he won his first grand slam and Wimbledon against Federer. Federer lost his first grand slam final against Nadal, and truly felt the brunt of mortality when he lost his number 1 to Nadal, he was quite simply flying on wings and only realising that he could at some point fall. But that also reinvented his game, made him appreciate his wins more and as he later on admitted, made him fall in love with tennis and competition again.

Lastly, on this very long answer of an ask that you have now definitely regret asking (lol), I also think it's because of the very strange and almost psychically fated nature of their beings. They are literally polar opposites in an almost poetic way, not just in their extreme reverse style of plays but also in terms of their personal lives in general and they both knew it. Federer is the epitome of Swiss calmness and elegance, he doesn't actually show that much emotion on court, he literally grew up in the Swiss Alps (lol) and Nadal is the ever-passionate Spaniard, who wears his whole heart on his sleeves and was born and forever in love with his island Mallorca and the sea. I think there's never a truer example of opposites attract than them both. But the bottom line is, differences don't actually form a bond, it's the realisation that underneath all of these supposed opposites, there is a realisation that actually, they're also as close and as similar a person as they can be. Rafa even mentioned this again in their last presser, that they have very similar outlooks on life, and relating to my previous answer, they are two sides of the same coin, the only ones who can be as close as possible to 'live' the other's life.

I think that, is very frankly, one of the most whacky, poetic, and beautiful things the universe has ever designed, that underneath it all, those we thought our enemies were actually our brothers, and those we thought our opposites were actually the ones who're always there all along.

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Ron was right

Theo Nott x Reader

W.C. : 3043

Requestd by @herstory-study​:  Ok I kid you not(t) another idea just popped into my head.. I hope you like it... the gist of it is Theo and the reader have that relationship where they are best friends but also dating but nobody can tell bc they’ve always been super close so I imagine like a bunch of pple (including the twins) have placed bets on whether or not they are dating and I just imagine one day they come back from a date and pple in the background are either groaning/cheering cause they got $ u can take it from there

A/N: I hope you like it, Puff! Feedbak and reblogs are very aprecciated. Happy reading.

*Not my GIF. Credit to the creator.*

It had been a quiet day the first time Theo noticed you. Grey clouds move fast in the evening sky, the light breeze comfortable for every student out in the courtyard to show their house pride and wear their scarves around their necks. His friends talked about the Golden trio and what had they done that week to ruin their mood. Nothing new really. Theo never added much to those conversations, what was the point of complaining about something when you could ignore it. He too was bothered by Potter and his friends adventures and misadventures, but Draco and his friends weren’t the target. But that was just the way Theo saw it.

“Wait until I write my father,” grumbled Draco, sitting in the middle of the bench where Theo had been sitting with Blaise. “ Potter is going to regret it.” he said with a huff.

Pansy arrived just a second after he ended rambling, rolling his eyes as she sat on the grass without a care about her robes. She gave a pleading look at the other boys as she cocked her head towards the Slytherin prince. When neither one of them said anything she scoffed glaring daggers at both before she smirked “Draco darling, Why don’t you tell Blaise and Theo here what Potter did. I’m sure they’d love to hear it.”

Blaise’s protest died down on his tongue when Theo shut his book close “No need.” he said, looking straight in Pansy’s eyes “We saw it all.” 

And it was true, it was hard to miss one of their disputes when they shouted at each other, standing at opposite extremes of the hall as the crowd gathered to witness the latest drama between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

“Doesn’t matter if they know.” Draco said desperately, leaning to rest his arms on his knees “I already have a plan for them to know their place. And plan B in case that one doesn’t work.”

“Maybe you should try plan D for dumbass.” 

They all turned around to the large tree, their gazes lowering to the base of it. There you sat, an annoyed look on your face as you straightened your robes and stood. Your movements were sharp, taking your bag on your shoulder as you stormed away from them, all of them in a state of shock to even try to stop you. 

 “Who does she think she is.” muttered Draco, already jumping to his feet when Theo placed a hand on his chest.

“Leave this one to me.” he said lowly, his eyes never leaving your form as you walked away. Draco hesitated but gave him a slow nod as he sat back down. 

Theo smiled triumphantly, hiding his face quickly so no one would see him and his true feelings. He took off and ran after you, keeping enough distance so you would walk away from the eyes of his friends. 

He kept running, your back facing him as he came to a halt. “Hey!” he yelled, your eyes glancing back at him as you picked up your pace. “Wait, stop.” he yelled again, catching up with you as he stopped in front of you. 

“What?” you said sharply, looking down at his hunched form as he breathed heavily. You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over just your chest as you leaned back. “ Don’t tell me, Draco sent you to do his dirty work?”

“You…” he smiled, trying to keep in a laugh as he shook his head “You just called him a dumbass.”

You frowned, taking in the boy in front of you. Well kept brown hair, milky skin and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, his smile reaching his eyes as he stood to his full height. 

“Aren’t you his friend or something?” you asked confused.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around. “Even I can get annoyed at him.” 

You squinted your eyes, eyeing the boy before you looked up at him “Who are you?”   

He extended his hand with a smile, one you hesitantly took “Theodore Nott, but everyone calls me Theo.”

You raised both your eyebrows, shaking his hand with a nod “Right.” you said “Well, if you’re not here to avenge your friend…”

“I’m not.” he smiled as you mirrored his look.

“Maybe you’re not a dumbass.” you told him, staring into each other's eyes before you realized you had been in silence for too long “I’m going now.” you turned on your heel, resuming your walk to a more quiet zone where Slytherins weren’t complaining when his voice made you stop.

“You didn’t tell me your name!” 

You turned to see him with a smile, a glint in your eyes as you said “Goodbye, Theo.” He stared at you as you disappeared in the halls of the castle, breathing out a laugh as he returned to his friends.  

It was difficult to not think about you after that. Your two minute interaction had him wondering more about you, who you were, what did you like. He started to pay more attention to you after that. 

He thought getting your name wouldn’t have been a difficult task. He felt like the detective he read about when he was younger, sneaking in the middle of the night to behind his father’s back to read the muggle novel he got his hands on not a while ago, reading until his eyelids could barely stay open with only the moonlight to accompany him. He wanted to feel the rush of Sherlock Holmes, and he wanted you to be John Watson. But as he actually tried to get something about you without interacting with you he realized why everyone praised Holmes so much, it wasn’t an easy job.

You always seemed to be with someone, but in utter silence. Muttering a few words with the people around you as you always had something better to do. You were the mystery he couldn’t get out of his head, the thought that kept him up at night, the dream that had him drifting away as his friends talked. He wanted the honor of being your friend.

****************************************

You worked on your herbology research, a pile of dusty books at your left side as you read the one opened before you. Your study partner was someone gathering more information, probably found someone and got stuck in the chat. Nothing new, really. You were used to initiating the study date with your partner and ending it alone. 

You felt someone walking behind your back. Expecting to hear your partner’s voice, your head snapped up at the sound of someone else.

“So,” said Theo Nott, taking the chair next to yours with a proud smile on his face “How are you, Y/N?”

You dropped your quill on the table, tilting your head with a curious look “Who told you my name?” you asked.

“It’s written on your parchment.” he pointed towards your handwriting on the upper part of the paper. “I got to say, it was difficult. Not many people really know you, you're like a ghost in the castle.”

“Maybe to the people you asked, I am very well known here.” you said daringly, and he nodded. “Well you know my name, you can leave now.” You took your quill back up, following the line you were previously reading with your finger when the thudding sound against the table made you raise your head slowly with a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Homework.” he said simply, opening a book as he silently began to read. Not once looking back to you, not saying another until he finished. Taking his things inside and wishing you goodnight, leaving the library without another word. 

It became a routine after you realized he wouldn’t give up. He would always show up, sitting on the chair he did that first night and working on his homework. There were times when you would get there and he was already sitting, books scattered all over the table until he saw you, moving his things to make some space for you. He didn’t bother you, so you allowed it. His presence  warm and welcoming as you studied, you even helped each other sometimes.

A year had passed by since that night, and you didn’t realize when you started to think about him as a friend. The only person you actually felt comfortable calling  a friend. He had been there for your happy days, your rough days. He took genuine interest in you. Telling you about him and his life, sharing his candy and food as you walked through the castle side by side. He asked you about your life before Hogwarts, how was your childhood with a muggle parent. You told him all about your past school, how you lost your friends through the years as you never got to see them and you couldn’t explain your sudden change of school and life. Theo became your best friend and you couldn’t be more happy. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked you.

“I don’t know.” you shrugged, putting a raspberry in his hand as you ate one “Sleep sounds good.” you said with a smile and he laughed.

“Are you sleeping for two days straight?” he said in disbelief, and you scoffed hitting his face with another raspberry.

“Is that a challenge?” you dared, sticking you tongue out to him.

He scrunched his nose, catching the berries in his mouth until you stopped “Stop, your Gryffindor is showing.” he said with a fake look of disgust. You only laughed, shaking your head as you drifted back to his question.

“I’m not doing anything, then.” you commented, waiting to see what he had to say.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade?” he asked simply, your heart beating fast in your chest in both nervousness and excitement. But once you saw  the carefree look in his face your heart dropped. Why were you feeling that way?

“I don’t know.” you said, trying to put the hurricane of emotions inside you at ease “I’ve never seen the fun in going.”

“That’s because you’ve never been there with me.” he said with a smile, tilting his head with a sigh at the hesitance in your face “C’mon, Y/N. You’ve told me you have never been with your friends…”

“They’re not really my friends.” you corrected with your lips pursed “They hardly are the people I hang out with. They’re just there in a silent agreement of company.”

“Am I not your friend?” he asked and you knew you had already lost the small debate.

“You know you’re my best friend.” you said with a small smile, one he returned as he held your hand, a warm tickle in your hand where his skin touched yours. 

“Then it’s settled. I’ll go get you from your common room.” he said and you nodded, praying that the emotion flowing inside you was slipping in the look of your face.

Little did you know that Theo was feeling exactly the same. His stomach was doing flips inside of him as you smiled at him. He wanted so bad to tell you it was a date, that he had just asked you out on a date but you had just said it, that word that left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

You’re my best friend.

Maybe he had been in the beginning, but not anymore. Or maybe he was, but he didn’t want to be your best friend. 

Many had noticed how the Slytherin and the Y/H/H had grown closer over the past year. Theories of what was the core of their relationship were made. How did Theo Nott get close to you? Did you have a deal no one knew about. Where you friends, partners, lovers. No one knew, and neither did you. 

The weekend arrives and just as promised Theo walked you from your common room to Hogsmeade, hand in hand as you talked through the snowy streets full of students. 

You were oblivious to the crowded mess, talking inside a bubble no one could bother you. Not even the redhead pair that stared at you as you walked past them. 

"Are you seeing what my eyes are seeing, George?" 

"We wouldn't be twins if I wasn't, Freddie." 

*******************************

"MAKE YOUR BETS, MATES!" yelled George from the top of the table in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. 

"Our lovely Y/N."

“Friends"

"Or lovers."

"With none other than Theodore Nott." 

They said, finishing each other's sentences with the invisible link the pair shared, that invisible string that made them shout the exact same words at the end. They wore grins on their faces as more bets were placed. 

"What do you think, little brother?" asked George jumping form the table 

"Friends or lovers?" 

Ron rolled his eyes, turning to Harry who was already making his bet with a smile in his face. Ron scoffed "I don't care about snakes business. They can be whatever they want." he said bitterly. 

"Someone jealous?" taunted Fred as Ron turned with a red face to his brother. 

He angrily pulled some coins from his pocket, slamming them in Fred's hands as he muttered "Lovers." 

*******************************

You had the time of your life at Hogsmeade. Theo was right and you told him so when the sun started to set, a few stars shining on the sky as you walked back to the castle. He smiled, hugging you closely with genuine joy in his face as he promised to take you again on the next trip there. 

However the next day, the murmurs and eyes from everyone in your year followed you everywhere you went. 

You were never shy, but the constant attention had you on edge the entire day. Finding refuge in the far table of the library, hidden in between the shelves where the only source of light was if you had a candle with you. 

You stayed there until late, waiting until the library was practically dead, you doubted madame Pince was still there, but you could never know. You had made it to the end of the day. 

"What are you doing here?" Theo's shushed voice came from behind you, his eyebrows scrunched together as he sat next to you, closer than he usually did. 

"I'm hiding." you whispered. 

For a moment his stomach dropped at the thought that you might have been hiding from him, that he might have let something slip on your day together and you knew how he felt. But you started ranting about your day and the looks you received from everyone and he understood, he had gotten the same looks all day long. 

"Don't worry." he murmured, opening his arms for you and you leaned on his side. "Draco probably said something about you again. I'll talk to him later" he sighed and you chuckled. 

He looked down to you, a loving look in his eyes as you kept chuckling. How could someone be so breathtaking just by doing such mundane things like leaning against someone and talking? Since the first time he saw you he knew you were beautiful but, Merlin, now you were gorgeous. 

"He is never forgetting about that, is he?" you laughed. Staring at the table, you frowned when Theo didn't say anything. 

You turned your head up to him, finding him already looking back at you. You didn't realize when you had leaned so close to him, his breathing blowing softly against your face as you gazed into his eyes. The little flick in them waking up all the butterflies in your stomach as you could have sworn his eyes moved to your lips for a fraction of second. 

You froze, realizing what that could mean when you felt him lean closer to you, his eyes closing before someone cleared their throat behind you, making you jump apart from one another. 

"The library is about to close." said professor Snape, looking at you with a glare before he settled his eyes on Theo. "Take your friend with you Mr. Nott. Directly to your common rooms." he said painfully slow.

You both nodded, clumsily taking all your stuff as you walked around him and practically ran out of there. No one said anything, your eyes on the floor as he walked you to your common room. 

"I'm sorry." he said once at the door handing you your books, your hands brushing against one another, making the blush in your face deeper. 

"No, I… You don't have to apologize." you stuttered before the words left your mouth. 

Heavy silence settled again between both of you, the tension making your stomach turn as you wished your feet would move and get you out of there. Of course, they had other plans. 

Theo wished you goodnight in a mumble, turning around and walking away just as you dropped your books on the floor, calling his name. 

"Yeah?" he asked, never meeting your eyes. You felt your mouth go dry, your hold in his wrist loosening as you breathed heavily. You brought your hand up to his cheek, smiling as he leaned in. He had closed his eyes and you ran your thumb across his cheek bone, waiting until he looked back at you. You started to lean in, his eyes widening as he realized what you were doing. His smile widened, cupping your cheeks as he closed the space between the two of you in a soft kiss. His hands wandered to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours with a smile that reached his eyes. 

"Remember when I told you I wanted you to be my Watson?" he breathed out with a smile "Well, I'm not so sure anymore."

You chuckled, moving to kiss his cheek as you rested your head on his shoulder "Funny, I always thought Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were lovers." you whispered in his ear. He smiled at you, kissing you once more. 

Completely unaware of the audience not so far away, hiding behind a wall with wide grins. "Ron was right." 

TAGS: @fanficflaneuse​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @lupins-sweater​ @accio-rogers​ @gloriousrebelrunaway​ @slytherinprincess03​ @not-today-anxiety​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @infinity1o1​ @haphazardhufflepuff​​ @deafgirltingz​

[rocketink]

YOUR EYES TELL

In which you kiss Wonwoo twice at a party while getting over your ex and now you have a huge crush on him while you try to look for your soulmate. Or, your soulmate mark means how many times you’ve kissed them and now you have to ask your exes around while trying to accept there’s no way Wonwoo’s kisses have something to do with you.

Pairing: Wonwoo x gender neutral reader

Genre: angst + fluff

wc: 2.8k (I’m sorry I keep making them so long!!)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and maybe a curse word around there + a very hateful ex that says mean things to y/n :(

notes: credits to tiktok for this type of soulmate!! I found it very interesting haha // mingyu’s minghao’s soulmate aus! I’ve been a little lost I’m sorry, I just need to find inspiration sometimes and I wasn’t feeling like writing:( also!! Shall I continue with soulmate aus or should I start thinking about the gossip girl series?

You still don't know what to do with the number two next to a pair of drawn lips that you can see on top of your head when you watch your reflection in the mirror. This can only mean one thing: you've kissed your soulmate two times. Your mother already warned you, this type of soulmate is almost exclusively from your family, and if your counter says 0 you're in a risky position because you don't feel like kissing random people in any place of their body until you find your other half. But when the day comes and your counter already has the number two in it, you feel nothing but relief. Initially, of course, because that could only meet one thing: you have already kissed that person, a low number of times.

You want to tear your hair apart before dialing Seungkwan. He would either make a big deal out of it or be completely chill and transparent. You don't know if you like what he could tell you, but you decide to take the risk.

"I've got some big news," you say right when he picks up.

"Oh really? Me too!" He seems happy today, that's good.

"On the count to three, we'll say what we have to say, okay?" Seungkwan hums in approval and you sigh.

"I got my soulmate mark today,"

"Vernon has finally asked someone out... WAIT, WHAT?"

"It's so good that Vernon has finally risked his life asking someone out! He still has all the parts of his body doesn't he?"

"Vernon's unlucky love life is not important now, tell me everything about your mark!"

So you tell him, knowing you can explain yourself to the fullest because Seungkwan is fond of details. You tell him how you almost fainted this morning, how glad you are for not having to kiss some stranger's ass, how unsure you are of your future right now and how you can't start the list of how many people you've kissed on your own.

"Let's make a list together, then!" Seungkwan's too giddy about this, he's teasing you, and you know it, "where should we start?"

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Wait, really?"

"Yep, the first year of high school was wild, not much kissing but it was there. Then there's Im Changkyun, but we were still too young so we didn't kiss much, we mainly held hands. And then there's..."

"Kyungho..." Seungkwan whispers his name as if it was forbidden, and you almost laugh at your friend's hatred towards your latest ex.

"Seungkwan, breaking up with someone because you are not compatible is not a bad thing."

"It's not. Doing it over a text message and two weeks after you started dating and then blocking you is."

"Yeah, right." Seungkwan's right, Kyungho was an asshole to you, he behaved like a kid when you were acquaintances and it didn't change when you began dating. Throughout your two weeks of relationship, you saw him like five times because he barely made time for you. You can't remember how many times you've kissed him, but you wouldn't be surprised if only two times happened.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" You close your eyes. This is what you didn't want Seungkwan to remind you.

"Jeon Wonwoo," You say his name in a whisper and you're afraid Seungkwan hasn't even heard you, but he always does. "What happened doesn't count, he... is not available now."

"Y/n, the universe does not care if making out with Wonwoo one night counts or not, or if he's available or not. It happened, there's a possibility, it's there."

Seungkwan is, once again, right, but you don't want to be reminded of that night, or else your feeling for Wonwoo will hurt more than they do now.

It happened the night Kyungho broke up with you. Your feeling for Kyungho weren't the big thing, but you did spend your time and effort trying to make it work. You felt tired of giving and not receiving and ashamed of him being the one to break up with you and not the other way around. Seungkwan said Mingyu was going to a party with a few friends and he invited the golden trio (you, Vernon, Seungkwan) and he didn't let you complain.

You met Jeon Wonwoo at the party. You had seen him around campus a few times, in Mingyu's group of friends, he was incredibly eye-catching. That night, Mingyu introduced both of you properly and you don't know how you started talking. You don't remember much of that night in general, your brain preferred to forget all the traumatic experience of the breakup as the shots you took with Wonwoo kicked in (not many, but you were tired and they hit hard). What you do remember is pouring out your heart to a handsome stranger, him listening to you with beautiful eyes and speaking careful words. You remember kissing him first and Wonwoo following your lead. You remember him stopping you and you almost wanting to cry as you felt his touch all over your face.

"You just want revenge, Y/n. I can't give you that," you closed your eyes, you just wanted to sleep for a while. "Come to me when your head and your heart are completely sobered. Meanwhile, we can be friends." You nodded, a little ashamed. He gave you a sweet peck on the lips and a tight hug. When you got home and thought of what had happened that night, you knew your heart didn't need Kyungho anymore, your heart needed Jeon Wonwoo.

A few daws later, Wonwoo was seen around the halls with a beautiful girl by his side, too close to him, wishing for the same lips to kiss her as you had been kissed. You know from Mingyu that they lasted for two weeks, Wonwoo broke up with the girl, but Wonwoo told you he never liked break-ups. He must be feeling sad.

It's been two weeks ever since, and you are just like you were the first day.

"So your plan is talking to each boy, one by one?" Seungkwan raises his eyebrow. He's judging you.

"Yep, do you have anything better?"

"Are you asking if I have a plan that might not damage your integrity? I'm afraid I don't."

"Then shut up, when the time to find your soulmate gets to you I might not help you." He rolls his eyes and looks at the list you've made with the four names."

"And how are you going to approach them? Do you even know where they are?"

"Jungkook is friends with Mingyu, I'll try to talk to him without Mingyu knowing... Somehow. I still follow Changkyun on Instagram, that won't be hard. The only hard one is Kyungho, I don't know anything about him, thank God"

"And Wonwoo is the most approachable one, isn't he? Why don't you talk to him first?"

"No damaging my integrity is what we are looking for, remember?"

"I still don't understand why you don't want to talk to him. He is a nice guy, he'll be very chill about anything."

You almost tell Seungkwan that that's the problem. That night shouldn't have happened, not when you were heartbroken and Wonwoo was into someone else. Maybe that's the thing that hurt you, Wonwoo liking someone else and being heartbroken because of the break-up.

"I'd better talk to Changkyun now, the sooner the better, right?"

Talking to Changkyun was both a victory and a loss. He was a good friend of yours when you were younger and it's been a lot since you last talked to him. He wasn't weirded out by the sudden soulmate topic and instead he spoke freely about it, you suddenly remember how he had always been an open-minded guy. However, he had already found his soulmate.

You move on to the next person on your list almost immediately. Talking to Jeon Jungkook without Mingyu knowing was harder than you thought it would, mainly because you know nothing about him ever since he moved a few years ago, and you can't find him on Instagram or twitter. You know the only thing you can do is ask Mingyu directly, so you get Seungkwan to do it for you.

"Why do you want Jungkook's number?" Seungkwan looks at you after Mingyu pops out the question, you expected him to just give it to you, he is not the type to get into someone's business. He must be really curious.

"Just... Woozi told me... he's looking for a singer for his new song... Yeah... that,"

"Aren't you and Dokyeom his singers?"

Seungkwan looks uneasy. He is too honest, he doesn't like lying. He keeps on looking and you and you decide to help him help you because this is not looking good.

"You know how stressed he's being lately, Mingyu," You feel Mingyu's, Seungkwan's, and Wonwoo's eyes on you, "He thinks that trying a new voice will help him,"

"Then why isn't he asking me himself?"

"Mingyu, just give them Jungkook's number, it's not that deep," Wonwoo steps in "Excuse him, ever since he found his soulmate he is not as nice as he was."

Mingyu complies as his hyung tells him and you feel your heartbeat rising. You don't talk to Wonwoo a lot after that night so listening to his voice feels like reliving the events. Especially when his eyes don't leave yours, almost as if saying 'I know you're lying'. That night, he sends you a text

Wonwoo: Have fun with Jeon Wonwoo is typing... Wonwoo is on line

Whatever he was writing, you'll never know. You couldn't answer the text either

You don't know what's funnier, Kyungho trying to delete himself from your life or you trying to locate him back. Jungkook was not your soulmate. He actually gave up his soulmate life after a very tragic story with his supposed-to-be soulmate and now he dedicates his life to art, in any of the ways. It was a sad story, you cried like a baby at your situation and then at his while he laughed softly and told you soft thing like he always did. It was gratificating.

But now, your list only points towards one direction, and that is Kyungho's old working place, a café near some beautiful parks, and an outdoor basketball court Kyungho himself used to play in. He did a lot of things but being a good boyfriend or friend, actually.

You feel scared for a second 'will he be there?', 'How will he react?' 'What if he's my soulmate?' You stopped in your tracks. You didn't want to have such an awful person as a boyfriend. Great, another fear added to your list! But when you find the guts to come inside the café and he is right there, wearing the same clothes and same hairstyle he always had, you feel like ending all this as soon as possible.

His gaze changes when he recognizes you, surprised.

"Hi, Kyungho. I know you don't want to see me, but can we talk?"

"My shift ends in ten," he speaks after a few seconds "wait for me outside"

You do as he asks. For a second, you think he might run away through the back door or something, but he complies and meets you outside the café.

"What are you doing here?" Straight to the point, as he's always done.

You roll your eyes and he keeps a straight face.

"Have you found your soulmate?"

He laughs as if you had told the funniest joke.

"What now, baby? You want me as your soulmate so bad?" You want to slap him in the face.

"Just answer my damn question."

"Why do you think I left?" Your eyes go wide. Does this mean that he... You almost feel like crying, why does your soulmate have to be him and not Wonwoo? You shouldn't have, but you must admit you had gotten your hopes up for a second. "I'm joking! You should have seen your face!"

"So... No soulmate then?" You ask, pretending to find his joke boring when you're just furious.

"No, no soulmate Y/n. I feel nothing when it comes to you." Your hand moves faster than you think, and you surprise yourself when he grabs your wrist before your hand can reach his face.

"Nice try, Y/n. Maybe try again?"

"What if I do it for them?" You could recognize that voice everywhere. Kyungho turns around and there he is, Jeon Wonwoo. He is so close to Kyungho it's almost comical: Wonwoo is a bit taller, so Kyungho looks like a defenseless animal. "I play basketball nearby, you know? I wouldn't mind using you like a ball."

Kyungho is going to make another comment, you know that, but Wonwoo doesn't let him.

"Let's go, Y/n. We have better things to do." Wonwoo puts his hands in his pockets and begins to walk and you follow him, without looking back at a very scared Kyungho.

"Do you always go around asking exes if they've found their soulmates?" He asks and you blush.

"Not really"

"I'm guessing it was not just some random thought?"

You sigh, you didn't want to have this conversation.

"No. My soulmate mark has appeared and I had to do something about it."

"Oh, how random, mine has appeared too." You want to ask him directly about it, but you can't find your voice. "It's a number, what about yours?"

"A number too"

"That's nice!" He smiles sweetly, your heart is about to burst "Which number?"

"Two"

"Oh." He looks lost in thought for a second "Well, at least it's not Kyungho"

"Yeah, I don't even know why I dated him"

"I'm wondering the same thing. You deserve so much better," how can he be so chill about all this? All you can think is how he is the last person on your list.

"Jeon isn't your soulmate either." It wasn't a question, he was just confirming it.

"How do you know... about that?"

"I told you, Mingyu is not as nice as he was. He likes to gossip now, with his soulmate. Jungkook told him how he wished you found a soulmate who treated you nicely and how comforting he found your chic-chat"

That guy...

"I guess the universe thought I deserve something else, but what could be better than Jungkook?" You joke.

"Maybe try with another Jeon?" He chuckles when you don't answer him.

Does he know...?

"Aren't you going to ask me what my number is?" He knows.

"What is your number, Wonwoo?"

"Ten." What? If Wonwoo isn't your soulmate then... You will never recover from this low blow. "You seem surprised."

"I just- I thought that maybe... You know since that night... And I might be wrong but I'm sure I've never kissed anyone else apart from my exes and you... I'm sorry, I must have made this uncomfortable."

"Oh no, absolutely not" He is trying his best to stay calm, but you can tell he's a little nervous "so your soulmate mark is how many times you've kissed them?"

"Yeah"

"Mine too" Could this be possible? That much of a coincidence?

"That's... Curious, I think"

"It is." He is looking at you again with that look, the one that says 'I know everything about you even before you do' but this time you catch up.

"You think that we..."

"There's only one way to try."

When his lips meet yours just like they did that night, you find the same comforting feeling. It's like being pulled, like magnets. You feel safe.

And then you remember something you had forgotten about that night. You were feeling sad and tired, but Wonwoo's presence made everything better, your eyes were closed. You had kissed Wonwoo for the first time but then he cut you off and told you to come back when you were sober (but you were sober!). You thought he was caressing your face slowly with his fingers, trying to comfort you, but he actually gave you a kiss.

One on your right cheek, then another one on your left, then another one at the tip of your nose. His lips moved your jaw and placed a small kiss there, then on your chin and another one very close to your mouth and finally he planted a kiss on your forehead and you opened your eyes. He then kissed the back of your hand which made both of you laugh.

It is true that you kissed him two times, and it is true that he kissed you ten.

When you parted, a small eleven was placed on top of his head with a pair of drawn lips just like yours.

"I see a three there, soulmate." He pointed to the top of your head.

"And I see an eleven there, soulmate." You do the same thing he did. He hugs you "I'm so glad it's you, Wonwoo. You don't know how confused I was, I thought you were broken-hearted because of a break-up!"

"You just made that up by yourself! You should have asked me first instead of Jungkook or Kyungho."

"I know. I was scared you would end up being my soulmate but you wouldn't like me back"

"Y/n, I'm head over heels for you." You smile and he leans closer "You know what? I hate odd numbers."

"Me too."

He kisses you one more time.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening! I'm writing for Drarropoly for @gameofdrarry this year along with my girlfriend so I hope you guys check my stories out and have a good time reading them! 

Position: The Burrow | Theme: Gryffindor. 

Things are always easier in groups. Unless someone is keeping a secret.

Choose one of the following: Group Project Group Date Group Vacation

N.E.W.T.s Level:     + Include non-linear storytelling.     +Include the Established Relationship trope OR the Secretly Pining trope.

Min-Max Word Count: 3333-4444 words

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Tags: Harry Potter, Drarry, Relationship - Drarry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, secretly pining, Non-Linear Narrative, non-linear storytelling 

Word Count: 3,350

Summary: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter have never gotten along as everyone in their lives will attest to. That's about to change when their so called 'friends' betray them and force them all to go on a group vacation together. 

It goes better than they would have expected.

                              what will this change? (everything)

Harry breathed in the crisp night air sharply, collapsed on the ground and still trying to regain his breath as he shivered at the cold, wet sand pressing against his bare back as warm palms dug into his shoulders. The heat of the palms only grew more prominent as fingers grasped at his skin even harder, Harry’s attention soon shattered and shot as he felt chilled, bare thighs pressed into the skin just above his hips. 

The silence of the night was only broken by crashing, breaking waves of the ocean only a few dozen feet away and the whisper-soft words of, “You’re staring.” Harry, who made absolutely no move to look away, couldn’t help the amused quirk of his lips as his hands moved. Sand still stuck to his palms, but instead they pressed into those chilled thighs, Harry feeling a thrill at the shiver that wracked through the body of Draco Malfoy.

“I could say the same thing about you, you know,” Harry finally said, only absently feeling his heart pounding away as he watched Draco���s eyes flutter, long lashes only just brushing the edges of his cheeks. “The others are probably wondering where we are by now.” 

It was barely a token protest, Harry’s own eyes starting to fall shut as Draco leaned in towards him, whispering a soft, “Probably.” The word brushed against his lips, Harry panting around warm breath as those lips swayed even closer. “We should probably head back.”

“Probably,” Harry repeated, fingertips pressing into soft, cool skin. It was more effort than it should have been to cut himself off with a sharp bite of his lip, watching as Draco breathed out a long, slow breath, thighs shaking on either side of him. “Draco.”

Those lips, chapped and bitten and dry like his own, were so close. Harry could just tilt his head up the smallest amount and… Draco’s shivers echoed against him, the other’s breathing heavy and hot as his hands clutched at him even more tightly, nails scraping against his skin. 

Harry bit back the sharp hiss of what was certainly not pain, instead looking up as he noticed stormy grey eyes looking into his own. They truly were a storm in their own right, swirling with magic and emotion and apologies and explanations and begging and so much. It was the most Draco had ever spoken to him and it was all said without a word. 

“What will this change?” Draco’s question, soft and whispered and immediately whisked away by the summer night breeze, was the question that Harry had been avoiding thinking about — the question they had both been avoiding. 

“I-” Harry shuddered as those lips were so close again, the breath they shared the exact same. Finally, miraculously, Harry managed to choke out, “I don’t know.” But… But, but, but- 

Draco started to lean away, and Harry had a hand on the back of the other’s neck before he could move more than a breath away. Draco froze in his grip and Harry was overcome with the same feeling he always had when he was on the verge of doing something stupid and incredible and overwhelming.

He was standing in front of fierce flames with enough potion for only one person to pass safely through. He was speaking in a language known only to a few, ready to find the truth to the answers kept from him all year. He was staring at himself across a lake, knowing he was about to lose everything and yet safe with the knowledge he wasn’t.

It was the feeling of facing down dragons, and Death Eaters, and mermaids, and the corrupted Ministry, and Tom Riddle, and Dumbledore’s plans, and Death, and it was the feeling of not yet. I’m not ready to let go yet. 

Draco was tense against him, hands shaking from where he had been trying to push himself up before Harry had pulled him back down because Harry really didn’t know what this would change in the end, but… “But isn’t it worth it to find out?”

“Is it?” A hand slipped up to press against Harry’s cheek, Draco’s gaze harsh and heavy. His eyes showed a storm that was ready to break; to rage and scream and destroy. “Is it really worth it?”

Harry was silent, watching that storm grow as excitement beat away in his chest. Finally, somehow, he managed the breath to speak, answering with a soft, “No.” Harry met Draco’s eyes, breathless as he finished, “But you are.”

The storm broke. 

⁂

“Pansy, my dear, you know I care deeply for you, but are you absolutely mad?” It was a terrible enough fate that Draco had been forced into agreeing to spend a summer vacation with Hogwarts’ Golden Trio of all things, but this? This was asking too much of him. “Why can’t I simply room with Blaise? We shared a dorm for seven years!”

“But Draco, darling, Ron is rooming with Blaise on this trip, remember?” Pansy’s sickly-sweet tone was a threat just as much as it was a warning and Draco cursed the day she had made friends with Hermione bloody Granger. Granger, on her part, only seemed as pleased as Pansy, the two standing with their arms linked together and identical smiles on their faces. Bloody harpies. “And there are only a limited amount of rooms available.” 

Draco opened his mouth to argue because like bloody hell that was true. Their little ‘group vacation’ was taking place at the beach house of Pansy’s aunt, and if that woman was one thing it was extravagant. Unfortunately, before Draco could craft an argument that would get him his way, Granger stepped in.

“Oh, that’s right, you were just telling me about that! Your aunt is doing renovations in most of the bedrooms here at the moment, right?” Granger was smiling but the look in her eyes was pure evil. Pansy, the little tart, seemed to get off on it, beaming. 

“Right you are, darling. I’m so glad someone seems to remember the things I tell them.” Pansy snapped her gaze to Potter, who had until that point been silent. Shame it wouldn’t remain that way. “Harry, darling, you’re content sharing a room with Draco, aren’t you?” Ah, but the anger in those shimmering green eyes was always so nice to admire. 

Draco had half a hope that Potter would actually throw his weight around for once and get them out of the mess they were about to be stuck in, but then he looked at Granger. Potter heaved a sigh, tone dull as he responded with defeat, “I’d be perfectly fine with it, yeah.” 

“Excellent!” Pansy clapped her hands together before whisking Granger away to another part of the house to no doubt seduce her into more misdeeds. Weasley, vapid git that he was, didn’t even seem bothered by the Pansy and Granger bonding. 

Instead he just gave a low whistle followed by an idiotic, “Rotten luck about the renovations, huh?” 

Blaise glanced to Draco, a clear look in his eyes of, He really can’t be that stupid, can he? There’s simply no way someone can be that daft. 

Draco, reasonably, turned his own look to Potter, a very, very clear, Of course he’s that bloody stupid. What do you expect? He’s friends with Potter of all people. 

Potter, for one shining glorious moment, looked as if he actually regretted choosing the weasel as the one he was stuck with as a friend for the rest of his life. As it was, he sighed and turned towards the prison cell they were stuck sharing together, “Let’s just settle in. We don’t have to be in these rooms apart from when we’re sleeping.” 

“That’s the part I’m worried about,” Weasley snorted, the heathen. He then glared at Draco, who made sure to give his own nasty glare back. “Perfect chance for a ferret to slit some throats-”

“Why you-!” Draco dropped the bag he had been carrying and stalked forward and so what if the girls had confiscated their wands as soon as they had arrived to teach them a lesson in ‘restraint’? Draco didn’t need magic to teach irritating little weasels a lesson-!

Blaise turned traitor and grabbed him before he could add one more murder to his long life of mistakes, sighing and half-laughing with a cheerful, “Well, this is going to be a fun trip, gentleman, don’t you think?”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” Potter said, stating the obvious as he always did. Honestly, he was good for nothing except brute strength and looking not completely bad. “I’m pretty sure you already made some blood pact with Hermione about something and Draco’s about to kill Ron.” 

“Draco?” Blaise asked before Draco could because since bloody when had he been Draco to that prat? As far as he was aware, they were Malfoy and Potter to the bitter end of the world. Honestly, acting as if the two were friendly after… well, everything. “Since when has he been Draco?”

Potter looked back at Blaise and then at Draco, those bright green killing curse eyes locking with his own. There wasn’t hatred like there had been for so many years — there wasn’t even annoyance and frustration. There was- Merlin, Draco didn’t know what to call those emotions. Breathtaking, perhaps, for a start. 

As Harry spoke, he didn’t look away from him. “You two may feel differently, but we’ve all lost enough after this war and fighting. I think I’ve had enough of enemies and burning bridges for a lifetime.” 

With that he was turning and walking into their room, Draco’s mind spinning a million different ways a minute because that- What had that been? Was he saying that he didn’t want anything to do with Draco anymore? Was he saying he wanted more to do with Draco? Did he, perhaps- Well, did he mean… Was it possible…? 

“You know,” Blaise whispered quietly, finally letting him go. “I think this little ‘vacation’ of ours just got a lot more interesting.” 

⁂

Harry sighed softly against warm, pink skin, lips twitching into a grin as he felt the body pressed against his own give a small shiver, followed by a groggy, “This is a terrible idea, you know.” 

“Absolutely awful,” Harry agreed, lazily shifting on the gritty, sand-covered bed before ducking down to press his lips against more of that smooth, soft skin. His tongue edged out to trace against bright red marks and slowly forming bruises. It was more than gratifying to hear Draco Malfoy give a wrecked, quiet moan that bordered on a whine. “Probably the worst idea we’ve ever had, huh?”

“The worst,” Draco agreed around a soft pant, tilting his head up to allow Harry just the access he needed to nip at already bruised skin. Harry had thought the man had been beautiful in the light of a full moon, but he was now certain that there was nothing more beautiful than Draco Malfoy groggy and half-asleep and hopelessly turned on in the early morning slips of sun that fell over their shared bed. “It’s just going to end in tragedy.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, kissing at the sunlight touched skin and only stopping when fingers were tangling through his hair and tugging sharply. Harry laughed but followed the pull, lips slotting easily against Draco’s own. The kiss was already dangerously familiar, as was the way Draco’s hands dropped down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer — as close as they could get. “Probably use us an example of who not to fall for for years.” 

“Probably,” Draco repeated absently, those grey eyes warm and soft and still edged with sleep. “Harry…” The soft call of his name had shivers running down Harry’s back before he could even try to stop them. He was pretty sure he had never heard a better sound than Draco Malfoy calling his name like that. “It’s… It can’t be this simple.” 

“Why not?” Harry knew what Draco meant. It shouldn’t be so simple for them to just fall together so easily. There should have been far more kicking and fighting and screaming. It should have taken weeks or even months to realize there was something there between them, and even longer than that to act on it. That’s how it should have gone, but… in some fucked up way, Harry was pretty sure it already had gone that way. “Why can’t it be this simple?”

Draco’s hands clenched against him, annoyance starting to filter back into his eyes as he glared at him, muttering a sharp, “You know why. I’m- I was a Death Eater and you’re- You’re Britain’s Golden Boy! You-!”

Harry cut Draco off in his new favorite way, smothering the words with a kiss that Draco slowly but surely fell into. It was not long enough, in Harry’s opinion, when Draco pulled away with a pout, “Stop that. It shouldn’t- It shouldn’t be so simple.” 

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, going back to pressing soft kisses against wherever he could reach, grinning when Draco relaxed into the touches. “You wanna hear what I think, though?”

“What’s it matter what you think. You’re utterly daft,” Draco complained, tilting into the kisses before tapping at Harry’s shoulder blade, a clear message for him to continue. “Well? I’m listening, Potter.” 

Harry snorted, shaking his head and pulling back. He moved a hand to cup Draco’s cheek, grinning when he saw the other’s eyes flutter shut. “I think that I’ve had well enough of the world telling us who we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to do. So… I gave it some thought and you wanna know the answer I came up with.” 

“Mm?” Draco cracked his eyes open, seeming to almost study him before he was pressing his cheek more against Harry’s palm. “And what answer did you come up with, oh brilliant one?” 

Not even trying to smother his laugh, Harry leaned forward until his forehead bumped Draco’s. The sudden heat and craving in the man’s eyes had a shiver crawling down Harry’s own spine. “I decided… that I don’t care.” 

“You- What?” Draco blinked, some of that heat slipping away in favor of confusion. “What do you-”

“I mean that I don’t care what the world thinks or what it wants of me. I defeated their bloody Dark Lord, so now I’m going to do whatever I want — I’m going to chase after whatever makes me happy.” Harry ducked in to press a soft kiss to Draco’s lips, something sweet and short and simple. “And, God help me, you’re the one that makes me happy, Draco Malfoy.” 

Ah, there it was. Draco finally seemed to realize what Harry had been trying to tell him all night. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised that Draco was immediately trying to hide his face, cheeks flushed an even brighter red than they were when Harry had him on his back and was pounding into him. “You-! You can’t just-! Bloody prat-!”

“I can do whatever I want,” Harry teased, guiding Draco closer so the man could hide his face against Harry’s chest like he so desperately wanted. Harry wasn’t too upset about it. He had a feeling he would be seeing Draco’s flushed face far more in the future. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Chosen One.”

Harry laughed as Draco cursed and squirmed against him, doing nothing whatsoever to actually get free or move away — and, really, Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew it wasn’t that simple and that the real world was still out there waiting for them, but… 

Surely it wouldn’t hurt for the two of them to be just Draco and Harry for just a bit longer. After all… they had time.

⁂

Pansy, the little harlot, had waited until Draco had taken a sip of his tea to tell him and Blaise her latest bit of news. As it was, while Draco hadn’t spitten his tea out because he was a gentleman, thank you, he did immediately start choking. Blaise didn’t even attempt to help him, in shock himself — not that Draco could blame him. It wasn’t everyday that their former best friend turned traitor was telling them that she had sold them out to Gryffindors. 

“Are you bloody mental?” Blaise shook his head, paused, and then shook it again. “Is this punishment for something? Have you been imperioused?” 

“It’s a vacation, Blaise,” Pansy lied to their faces, rolling her eyes as if she was in the right. “It’s not as if I’m signing you up for your deaths — besides, we’ll be going to my aunt’s beach house! Draco, darling, you love it there!”

“I do, yes,” Draco agreed, voice harsh from where he had almost died. “It just so happens that I also like it when it’s the three of us and not the three people in this world who most want me dead.”

“Honestly, Draco,” Pansy scoffed, settling back with her own cup and a disappointed cluck of her tongue. “You simply must get over this delusion that you hate Potter when we all want to know you want nothing more than for him to shag you silly-”

“Pancella-!” Draco hissed, and oh, she was never going to hear any good gossip from him ever again! “I am not going on this little suicidal mission you seem so intent on putting together with Granger of all people!”

“Hermione, darling, is perfectly pleasant.” Draco looked to Blaise, who looked just as disturbed as Draco felt over the matter. “And we agree that it’s time we put all of this school rivalry nonsense behind us and, since all of our schedules have lined up just so, we thought it would be great to vacation together!”

Blaise was the one to take up the fight, edging in with a hesitant, “Pansy, you know we love you. Truly, we do. We’ll fight any number of light-loving fools for you, but…” Blaise glanced to Draco, who made sure to show an expression that conveyed how properly upset he was with the matter. “Is this really such a good idea for all of us to go?”

“Honestly,” Pansy tsked. “Potter already agreed to the trip and you know that Weasley will do whatever Hermione asks of him-”

“He agreed?” Draco was surprised to find that he was the one who had spoken since he hadn’t actually meant to voice his question out loud, but… “Potter, knowing full well that I- we’re going to be there still agreed to go?” 

Pansy looked at him, something like sympathy warming her expression. It was far worse than any mocking she could have done. “Actually, Hermione mentioned to me that he hadn’t wanted to go at all until he knew you- Sorry, ‘we’ were going.” 

“Of course,” Draco scoffed, looking away sharply. “The fool probably just jumped at the chance of tormenting me, no doubt.” Still, though… For a moment, just a moment, Draco had heard Potter was going and he felt something like… 

A fool. Draco was an absolute fool who hoped for things that would never happen far too easily. Flights of fancy, as his mother would call them. He had no reason whatsoever to agree to this trip, and, for as much as Pansy seemed to believe she was in charge, she couldn’t make him go along with it.

“So, then.” Pansy sounded close to laughing, Draco firm in keeping his gaze on his empty tea cup, faint memories of tea leaves and their meanings stirring at the back of his mind. “Do you want to go on a vacation with us, Draco?”

She couldn’t make him go. Nothing would change. They would never get along. This was doomed to end in disaster. Draco was not going to go and simply make things worse. He was going to say no. He was going to, but… 

Well… 

“You know, Pansy, dear… A little vacation to the beach sounds lovely right now.” 

Surely, just this once, the world could keep spinning in the face of Draco Malfoy’s hope. 

[newobsessionweekly]

First time in love🌿

Arón piper x reader

a/n: I edited it and I like it. I’m not a writer, or at least I don’t think I am, and it’s my first attempt to write something like this. It felt good. It’s my first attempt to write something in English (English is not my native language) so I hope I didn’t messed up anything. Tell me what you think and tell me if I should do that again. I liked it though. 🌿

warnings: none, I am still not good at this

Word count: 3k

Y/n watches the first season of Élite with Miguel, her best friend and only friend here in Spain. They became friends in college in LA and the passion for ocean brings them closer and closer as the years flew by. Her biggest dream is to fly around the world and in their four years of friendship, they travelled together to the most unique places she never dreamed she would see, Indonesia, Himalaya, Ibiza. But the place she loved the most is Spain, Miguel’s native country; her obsession with the Latin country began at a very young age when her parents took her to Tenerife for her tenth birthday. She only dreamt of living there, because her parents were strict and planned a different life for her; they chose her high school classes over the years and even the college, wanted for her to become a successful actress, just like Miguel. But now she decided to take her life into her own hands after a big fight with the people that bring her into the world and raised her to be this amazing woman she is today. It didn’t take long for Miguel to convince her to come with him in Spain and to start a new life there, with him by her side. 

Staying with legs crossed in front of the TV from Miguel’s living room, he is trying to explain for the third time already every actor´s real name but she wasn't really paying attention to his words. In high school, though she was so obsessed with Spain, she just couldn’t understand this language and learned properly only a few words. And now she was desperate to learn faster a few phrases and focusing on TV, hearing the actors talking and keeping up with the subtitles she thought was helping.   Tonight she is supposed to meet a few friends of Miguel’s, and she didn’t understand the importance of knowing every actor from the cast of Elite in order to know at least how to introduce herself to everyone. He promised her a million times they are going to love her while they were dressing and again a gazillion times while he was rushing her out of the flat because the cab was waiting for them for ten minutes already.

  She was so nervous that the whole ride to one of the most luxurious clubs in Madrid, her hands were caressing her dress over and over as her bottom and upper lip were switching turns between her teeth. She is very insecure and wants to make a proper first impression, hoping that maybe after this night she could call them her friends, not only Miguel’s.    

  What she didn’t knew, was that Miguel already spoke to his friends and told them that his date is a little shy and is worried about not making through the night. Well, maybe to be more convincing, he used the words “she is fucking freaking out right now” with some laughing emojis. He subtle asked them to try and talk to her first and give her a chance, because she became one of the most important people from his life, he could already call her his little sister. They love each other, but there are no romantic sentiments involved; Miguel is over heels in love with Aitana and Y/n is secretly crushing over his co-star, Arón Piper.  

  When they arrived, her hands started to shake and she was constantly telling herself that she wouldn’t survive the night. Miguel is different than Y/n, he is very dynamic, smiling maybe too much and he has a lovely personality so no one could resist to him, or this is what she thought. She didn’t believe him, she is convinced that his friends wouldn’t like her.  But Miguel rolled his eyes again at the sight of his dearest friend worrying so much; he finds her so funny and amazing, with a golden heart and the best in everything. Seriously thought, he couldn’t understand how she is can perfectly change a lighting bulb and also fix everything around the house, emanating so much seriousness and experience. And also he couldn’t understand how she is so smart, astonishing him with so many random facts about any subject he could made out, even the weirdest one and not so usual. He is so sure she would make friends easily that if he could give her all of his assurance, he would take her worries away without blinking.      

  Danna and Ester were waiting for them in front of the club, supposing about Y/n. Miguel had sent Danna some funny videos of Y/n and some cute photos since they live together and she could tell she’s as peppy as he is and there is no coincidence that Miguel calls her his sister, they are alike. Danna couldn’t wait to meet her and Ester is scrolling down on y/n’s Instagram and appreciates her beauty and let a few appreciative comments about her the talent for modelling to slip her mouth. They already like her.

  As they approaches the trio – Álvaro joined his girlfriend soon enough to hear a part of the conversation about y/n – that was waiting for them already for fifteen minutes, Miguel put a hand over her shoulders and smiled to her before turn to his friends and smile to them too. He shake hands with Álvaro and hugged him as he tells how much he missed him. Álvaro come to introduce himself and then followed two kisses on your cheeks – a very strange habit that those Spanish people have, but y/n finds it very sweet actually.

  “Well, Joder chica!” Danna exclaims as she approaches y/n and kiss her cheeks as greeting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Miguel talks about you nonstop!”

  She blushes at Danna’s words and accepts Ester hug. Y/n smiles bright that soon enough her mouth and cheeks will hurt her. She is happy, they all seem so nice and finally understood why Miguel tried to familiarise her with the names of Elite cast. She thought that he wants to introduce her to more surfing friends and when she asked, he refused to give her any details, fuelling her worries even more.     

  As the night flew by, her worries were found sinking in one of the many drinks, maybe in the fifth glass that once was filled with y/n’s Mojito. Danna is laughing at  one of y/n’s jokes and squeezes Jorge’s hand even harder. Everyone is laughing, starting with Miguel who is so proud of her for letting those worries away and continuing with Omar who couldn’t introduce himself properly and doesn’t even know the name of the funniest girl at the table. Even Arón is laughing while studying her face and the way she’s trying so hard not to burst into laughing while telling another funny story of hers.

  Miguel smiles bright at the sight of his best friend integrating into his group. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about her, she is surrounded by his dearest friends and already being part of the family. That’s what made her felt a little bit overwhelmed; y/n found herself standing beside these amazing people, so talented and so fucking kind for allowing her to feel again that family vibe she’s been missing, due to the fact she is so far from home already for an entire month.      

  Her eyes couldn’t move away from where Arón was dancing and singing to the remix hearing through the speakers, with a drink in his hand and, sometimes she saw him with a cigarette in the other one. Arón is the life of the party, she knows that, every other girls knows, even he knows that. He is a very good-looking man, that screams all the looks that are destined to him, but y/n can see beyond that. She can see how good friend is with other members of Elite cast, she can see how much fun everyone has around him and all she could do is to stand there and watch him with her mouth opened in surprise as Arón started rapping to one of his favourite songs.

  This is far from her favourite music genre, she couldn’t help smiling and enjoying that moment so much that she even considers listening to that king of music more often. Why everything sounds so perfect in Spanish? Why is everything so perfect in this country?  

  Y/n didn’t speak to Arón much, only few phrases related to his drink and her wanted to sit next to Miguel, but that was all. A few drinks later, Omar initiated a Poker game and though it was y/n’s first time playing, she surprised everyone – even herself – by winning too many rounds and collecting too many useless cigarettes, a bunch of them coming from Arón. That was Arón’s idea, to play with usual cigarettes instead of money, it makes the game more interesting to him.       

There were far too few hours until the sun rise when the party was over, and y/n is barely keeping her eyes open. Standing outside the club, saying goodbye to everyone, made her heart heavy; she didn’t wanted to say goodbye to anyone, she didn’t wanted the party to end because she is so sure she’s never goona hangout with them again. But when y/n felt Danna’s hand patting her softely on the shoulder, asking for y/n’s phone number, talking about a future gathering, maybe a shopping session, just the girls, made y/n’s heart skip some beats.

Arón didn’t remain untouched to her charm, he saw something in her too, and all night was trying to somehow catch her attention. He hoped that she is maybe more brave than he is, he hoped all night she would come to his side and start a conversation. But when the party ended, he realised he has to do something – however little – and not just let her go. He wanted to hangout with her again, to have a chance to speak properly and know more about the girl that beated the shit out of him at – what he thought poker was – his game.

Y/n watches as Danna get into the cab and from the corner of her eyes, she saw Arón approaching. Her hands started shaking so hard, she had to hide them in the pockets of Miguel’s jacket. She admits it feels weird to wear his jacket, but it was all his fault that she forgot hers back at his place, because he was rushing her. She never worked well under pressure.

“Nice played! I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can beat my ass at Poker.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He has the most gorgeous smile y/n has ever seen and her legs almost yielded, but she put the blame on the beers and the high heels. Y/n hates wearing heels, but even she knows sneakers don’t really fit for clubs.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone with so many cigarettes. Like, the world is ending and you had to make your full?” she smiled as she watched him laugh. He has a beautiful laugh too and his face just lights up when he’s not putting on that bad ass face Y/n finds interesting and hot.

“Speaking of cigarettes, here, take them!” she handed him the packs she won at the game, excluding the ones that she owes Miguel because he shared his so that she would be able to play.

“I figured you’re not a smoker. Damn, that’s what I call a profit. I arrived here with like two packs and I’m leaving with three. And I smoked a lot too.” Both of them laughed, and Y/n just couldn’t believe he’s a funny one as well. Damn, this boy has the whole package.

When Miguel informed her about the cab’s arrival, Arón smiled and opened his arms. He likes hugs and likes hugging people, being affectionate to them. So doing this move to her, the fact that he was maybe into y/n couldn’t be recognised. She looked at him astonished, but accepted his invitation anyway. Since the first time she saw him, she wondered how it is to hug him, how does his body feels and how his cologne smells. It was neither a short hug nor a long one, just perfect for them to memorise each other’s shape of the body and to share their perfume on each other’s clothes.

—————

Y/n moved out from Miguel’s place a while ago, but she was around a lot so she’s not really missing many things. He often makes little comments about it, but he didn’t mind having her around; y/n and Aitana are very close friends now and them allying together to beat Miguel’s ass at some video game is going him nuts, they are sometimes successful.

Everything reminded her of Arón. Y/n even started at some point comparing the hugs Miguel gives to that one stupid drunk hug outside the club when she met Arón. Miguel is taller than Arón, but also much more imposing. Arón is tall too, much taller than she, but he’s body isn’t that worked out, she felt his biceps in that stupid hug and hurt pretty bad when she accidentally hit her head to his jawline. But despite that, she finds so hard to stop staring at his Instagram profile and not to be excited when he posts something new on his profile or he films something for his Instastory. She had to admit at some point, he’s a total snack, even though he doesn’t have a six-pack. Y/n didn’t like that kind of boys anyway, she finds Arón perfect as he is, with his beautiful brown eyes, those little tattoos that can be seen on his naked torso and his messy, curly hair. When Miguel told her that she had a type and that in the category fits Arón perfectly, y/n just ignored him and rolled her eyes. After that she couldn’t stop thinking about it; he did it to see how her face is changing and to strengthen his suspicion.

Arón was thinking about Y/n a lot lately, and the short videos with her laughing or doing something stupid or funny that Miguel shares on their group chat isn’t helping. He couldn’t focus on set, in the last few hangouts with his friends, he hoped to see her and hear her laugh again, he hoped this time would be able to look her in the eye and made a proper conversation. But she didn’t show up at any of them. Everyone was asking about her, but Miguel just waved his hand at them and told everyone y/n has her own life and her own problems; she didn’t have to show up beside him at every gathering. Arón soon enough found out that Danna was keeping in touch with her and asked maybe too often about her. When he texted Miguel and asked what is y/n’s Instagram, Miguel understood soon enough that Arón got the hots for y/n.

Y/n was going back and forth through Miguel’s kitchen as she was trying to make a healthy smoothie for her and Miguel, with his dogs following her everywhere. Miguel’s dogs are her favourite and she always makes fun of him saying that she’s around this much because of the dogs.       

“Aye, chica” she turned her head towards Miguel who was standing on the couch in the living room watching some boring Tv show on Netflix.

Y/n was dwelling on these dreams of Arón. He was hanging out too much inside her mind, being there with his lovely eyes, his bright smile and the dazzling cologne coming after her. She was one day walking through Madrid and somehow recognised it. It’s like he was following her everywhere.

“Sí” y/n answered back when she figured he wanted to capture his attention.

“Check your phone” he wickedly smiled and that made her raise her eyebrow at him, with only bad things running through her head because that smile of his means only trouble.

“Instagram: @aron.piper started following you”

She froze. What the heck is going on? Y/n stalked him maybe too many days on Instagram because she never thought he might find her through his endless list of likes or followers.

“Joder!” she almost screamed when he responded to her story. Miguel was laughing his ass out at her reactions, he thought she is very funny.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who is more obsessed with this tv show than me”

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can make me listen to that rap music kind of thing and made me like it. But then I met you” she responded.

And then they talked over and over and almost every night. On some point they ended up where he just likes her message, not knowing what to say more. And those moments made Y/n think “That’s it, the conversation ends here and I might never talk to him again”. She fears every times that happens this way that that might be the end of the most beautiful moments she has had in the past couple of months. And while he’s looking for any proper response, she’s clenching every time her heart between her teeth and allows herself to be a pain in the ass and just write him one of the many random facts she knows.  

She has never felt this kind of emotion before, neither one of them. She has never felt the love from another person. Of course, Miguel loves her, he’s her best friend, she laugh at her phone too when he sends her funny messages, but she never felt like she could fly any moment and never thought her cheeks could hurt so much from smiling hours and hours at a phone talking to this amazing man. He is so beautiful inside and out and her stomach hurts when she thinks about him and that stupid hug.

Arón’s not less than Y/n. He’s also confused by the feelings from his chest and the thoughts that are containing Y/n in every single one. He also wonders why does he smiles like a sociopath at his phone and why he feels the need to talk to her any moment of the day. Y/n fascinates him in a way he never thought any woman would.

“You’re so in love, tonta!” Miguel smiled at her and rolled his eyes again. She has been neglecting him for the previous hours, and he is kinda pissed – he had to play alone their favourite game, for the countless night in a row – however he doesn’t make any comments. He has never seen her so happy; he is very proud,because two of his dearest friends managed to find someone right for each ohter.

For the first time, she’s in love. In love with the best person she could find, with a curly haired boy that smokes too many cigarettes but still manages to smell so good. Arón found out a few days later than Y/n that he’s heart had been stolen by the most brilliant woman he has ever met. But both of them are as scared of that.

[rataltouille]

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

[malfoyheartsgranger]

Comfort in Their Arms: Part 2

Summary: In the face of heartbreak, we run to those we believe can heal us. However, when confronted with pain we have never before experienced, we may be forced into the arms of the one person we never thought could provide us comfort.

Request: no ma’am

A/N: Part 2 of the Comfort in Their Arms tidbit. I’ve been thinking about adding onto it for a while, but I’m not sure who would actually be interested. Anywho, enjoy part 2, where Draco comforts Hermione! (P.S. I’m not a Ron-basher -- it was just necessary for this story yikes)

Warnings: sexual assault, breakup, crying, swearing

Word Count: 1.9k

…

Slam!

The door to the Head Boy and Girl quarters sends a shudder through the entire dormitory. Draco does not even bother to look up from writing his essay until he hears the sobs. He allows his eyes to drift up from the parchment as Granger storms in the room. “Past your curfew, isn’t it, Granger?”

He has long since stopped calling her a mudblood. He had always known she could do it, but when Granger had become Head Girl alongside his position as Head Boy, he accepted the fact that her status didn’t change that. She was still inferior to him, though. She always would be.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she growls. She tears her robe off and throws it at him.

“Geez, Granger, what’s got your knickers in a bunch?” he drawls, peeling the witch’s robes off his body as if they’re poisoned. He may be past calling her the terrible names, but he could still have a bit of fun, now, couldn’t he? “Weasel finally break up with you? I knew it wouldn’t last.”

“No, Malfoy. If you really need to know, I broke up with him.” She swipes her hands across her face, flicking away her tears. “I need to shower.”

She jogs upstairs, already beginning to shed her clothing. Draco throws his arms over his face, shielding his eyes. “Merlin, Granger, spare me!”

“Sod off!” she yells. Her voice sounds nasally. Heavy.

Draco shakes his head and returns to his essay. He very easily removes Granger from his mind. That is, until he hears the scream. It pierces the air, sending shivers down Draco’s spine. He freezes up, thinking of Voldemort.

He’s gone, Draco, he assures himself. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.

Another scream cuts through the air, stealing all of the oxygen from Draco’s lungs. “Granger?” he yells.

When he receives no answer, Draco jumps up from the chair he was sitting in and darts up the stairs. “Granger!” He keeps screaming for her. The shower is still running, so he knows she is in there. Frantic, he knocks on the door. “Granger?”

No answer. Only stifled whimpers and the running of the shower water.

Draco groans. He can’t believe what he is about to do. “I’m coming in.”

“No!” she finally answers. “No, you can’t come in.”

“I don’t bloody care, Granger. Cover up.” Draco shudders at the thought of seeing Granger bare in any way. Despite this, he barges into the bathroom. It’s a good thing Granger is still in the shower, but she is crying, and Draco knows he has to do something.

Why do I even care? he thinks. This has nothing to do with me.

“What the hell was that, Granger?” he questions.

At first, he gets no reply, but then he hears her whimper, “I can’t get it off.”

Suspicious of where the situation is headed, Draco asks, “Get what off, exactly, Granger?”

“I can’t get it off!” She sounds so desperate. “I can’t get it off, Malfoy! I can’t get it off!”

She continues shouting the same thing, getting quieter gradually. Eventually, she stops saying anything at all and Draco hears a loud thump. Hesitantly, he asks, “Granger?”

He only hears her mumble, “I can’t get it off.”

Draco knows she is still sobbing; he can hear her sniffs and heaves. He sighs but knows what he has to do. “Granger, I’m going to hand you a towel and you need to cover yourself. I don’t need to be seeing anything pertaining to your body.”

Draco grabs the towel off the counter and throws it over the curtain. He hears Granger sniff. He knows she is soaking wet and that so is the towel, because no, she has not yet turned the showerhead off, but when he has given her enough time, Draco peels back the curtain to find Granger lying on the shower floor, curled up in a ball, the towel wrapped around her.

“Hang on to it,” Draco sighs. He reaches in to offer Hermione a hand, but she doesn’t take it, just continues shuddering, so he resorts to picking her up, getting himself wet also. For the moment, all foolish prejudices are set aside. At first, she protests, but then she goes limp in his arms. He sets her down on the toilet and takes in her appearance. Her tear-stained face is still running with tears, her hair matted around her face. Her arms look as though they have been scrubbed raw. She is still rubbing at her arms and face, the towel barely holding on. Her pale legs stick out from underneath the plain brown towel, also red. Draco turns around to switch the shower off and then kneels in front of Hermione, keeping his eyes glued to her face.

“Granger, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t get it off… .”

“Get what off?”

She explodes. “His touch! I can’t get his bloody touch off of me!”

“Who? Weasel?”

She screws her face up and shouts at him. “Yes, Malfoy!”

“What did he do to you, Granger? I thought you broke up.”

“I broke up with him because …” She shivers. “He …”

Draco’s voice softens, surprising him and Granger. “What did he do, Hermione?”

Her breath hitches at the sound of her first name coming from Draco’s mouth. She lets out another sob. “I – I didn’t want him to touch me… .”

Realization dawns on Draco. He doesn’t care about Granger, of course he doesn’t, but his eyes darken as he thinks about the Weasel touching her like that – touching anyone like that. He may have made some mistakes, but never would he dream of hurting someone in that way. Draco moves to stand up, to go attack the man, but Granger’s sobs stop him. He sits down again. Granger is still scrubbing herself, and Draco grabs her hands to stop her from exposing her bone.

She gasps. Draco moves her hands down to her sides. “You’re going to peel them off.”

“That’s the point!” Granger yells as though her intentions were obvious. “I don’t want to feel it anymore!”

“I know, I know, okay? Tell you what, I can wait outside, and you can get dressed, and we’ll make sure we get it off of you, alright?”

“Why are you … being so nice … to me?” she hiccups. She suddenly seems very self-conscious and tightens her grip on the towel. She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at the floor as if it is the most fascinating thing she has ever laid eyes on.

“Because …” He doesn’t really know. He has never seen her so fragile, so breakable before. She has always been Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, part of the Golden Trio, war hero. She has never been this girl in front of him now. And unbelievably, the fact that she is open enough to him that she is willing to be this person in front of him allows him to be this way also. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get you clean.”

Draco leaves without waiting for an answer, just gives her time to dress. He shuts the door behind him and leans against the wall.

“What the hell am I doing?” he asks aloud. He hears the shuffling in the bathroom, the opening and closing of drawers, and the continued whines of the Head Girl. After a few minutes, Draco hears the doorknob rattle. The door swings open with a creak and out steps Granger. She is dressed in a loose yellow shirt and blue drawstring shorts. She has left her hair down around her face. It has already begun to go curly again. Draco realizes then just how not-exactly-bushy it is. Hermione looks down bashfully.

“All good?” Draco asks carefully. He tries his best to steady his voice, but he can hear the waver of it. He just hopes Granger doesn’t. He reaches out – he doesn’t know what for. To touch her? To cross his arms? Either way, he lowers them and glues them to his sides.

“I …” she sniffs. Granger nods and swallows hard. She looks up at him, her eyes swimming with tears, but there is also a certain resolve in them. “Yeah.”

Draco gives her a pathetic smile, but she returns it anyway. This time when Draco reaches for Granger, he doesn’t think. He just grabs her hand, ignoring the surprised gasp that escapes her. He drags her to her room, opening the door for her.

“Mal – Malfoy,” she stutters. “I’m – I’m ok.”

“You’re not,” Draco assures her. He keeps pulling her into her room. He tries not to pay attention to the pit growing in his chest. He can feel Granger’s anxious fidgeting through his arms. Suddenly her free hand grasps his arm also, halting his movement. She turns him to look at her. She appears so shy when she glances up at him.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. She gulps and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“It’s nothing, Granger,” Draco says. “Honestly, I just didn’t want to listen to your blubbering any longer.”

“Stop, Draco,” she interrupts. Draco sucks in a breath at the sound of his name. It is the first time she has ever heard it come out of her mouth not followed by his last name. Now he knows how Granger felt when he called her Hermione earlier. “I’m not buying it. Tonight was … it was really hard, and I’m really grateful that you were here.”

Not knowing how to respond, Draco nods.

“I don’t know what I would have done, Draco, without you here.”

Hermione moves her hand up to his shoulder, pulling him closer. Draco freezes. He has never been this close to anyone but his parents. Especially not a Muggle-born like Granger. Just when Draco regains his mode of movement, Granger pulls him into her arms. Draco loses all his senses again. He goes numb at Granger’s touch, goes even limper in her arms than she had earlier in his. He feels her chin rest on his shoulder, inhales her vanilla scent, accepts the tears that fall onto his shirt. He awkwardly reaches his hands up from his sides and rubs her back.

“He’s not here now, Granger.” Draco will take care of that later. When Granger is asleep. If she can manage to fall asleep.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Draco,” she says. “I do have a first name.”

“Right.” He nods. “Hermione.”

“Thank you.” Draco hears the crack in her voice as she thanks him. “Draco.”

She looks up at him again. He brings a hand up to cup her face and wipes the tears off of her cheeks. He leaves his thumb resting next to her eye, astonished with how soft her skin is. Her eyelids flutter closed as she takes a deep breath, her eyelashes tickling the tip of Draco’s finger. She looks so small then, so breakable.

Draco leans forward just enough that he can press his lips to the crown of Grang - Hermione’s head. He hears her sigh as he kisses her smooth skin and brushes a wisp of hair out of her face. He allows his lips to linger on her face for a few moments before retreating.

“You know,” he hears Hermione say, “you’re not so bad, Draco.”

He chuckles. “I guess you’re alright, too, Hermione.”

I guess you’re alright, too.

…

my stories

[eiressofinspirationwrites]

Blue on the Fourth of July

Pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale x American Female Reader (Not necessarily romantic pairings but it is somewhat left open to your imagination)

Word Count: 1570

Description: Just an oddly specific one-shot that popped into my head since it’s the Fourth of July in the United States today and yes, I know it’s really late in the day. I apologize in advance if it makes anyone feel excluded and understand that not everyone may be interested in it. I really tried to write it so that it would be less specific on some traits, but it almost seemed to take on a mind of its own and wouldn’t let me.  Also, to all of my fellow Americans who are/have been celebrating today, please stay safe and enjoy whatever festivities you are having with your loved ones!

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered to the demon, who was currently splayed out on the sofa taking a nap in the flat above the book shop.

“What is it, Angel?” Crowley mumbled groggily but he kept his golden eyes shut.

“Have you seen, Y/n, today?” Aziraphale asked, his voice still barely above a whisper.

“No,” Crowley sighed, “and why are you whispering?” “Well, she’s downstairs,” Aziraphale elaborated, “and I don’t want her to hear us because I’m worried about her.” “Why?” Crowley shot up because if his angel was worried about you then he was worried.

“Well, she’s looking rather blue,” Aziraphale elaborated, “I think something may have happened.” “Like what?” Crowley asked.

“You really just need to see her,” Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly, “I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Rather than say anything else, Crowley swept down the stairs and into the bookshop where he found you flipping through one of your favorites, but he startled you when he flew into the room so quickly.

“Crowley!” you exclaimed and dropped the book when you jumped, “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently nothing,” Crowley rolled his eyes, “because you look perfectly fine to me. Aziraphale, I thought you said she looked sad or something?”

“She does! Her hair wasn’t that dark blue color when she left yesterday afternoon,” Aziraphale pointed at your hair, which was, in fact, a completely different color than it was the day before.

“I’m not making the connection,” Crowley shook his head as he struggled to make sense of what was going on, “Her hair looks fine. I’m not sure what the issue is here?”

“I think I know what he’s talking about,” you chuckled, “I told him a few months ago that when I decide to change my hair color that I sometimes choose the color based on my mood that particular day.”

“Exactly!” Aziraphale crossed his arms with a victorious grin.

“So, did you choose blue because you’ve been feeling sad lately?” Crowley asked.

“No,” you laughed, “I actually chose it because today is July fourth.”

“I’m not sure that I follow?” Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed together as confusion washed over him.

“Oh, of course!” Aziraphale exclaimed, “It’s Independence Day in the United States!”

“So, you dyed your hair just to celebrate some holiday in another country,” Crowley said as he started to piece things together.

“Well, that was where I was born and raised, Crowley. I’ve only lived in London for a few years now,” you reminded him, “but I didn’t just dye my hair because it’s a holiday.”

“Please do tell,” Crowley encouraged you.

“My best friend and I used to do it every year growing up just so that we could match when we went to watch the fireworks,” you explained, “but after she passed away in a car accident, I’ve kept up the tradition in honor of her. This is actually the first year that I’ve not been able to get home for the fourth to watch the fireworks for her.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Crowley demanded, “We could have gotten you home if we’d known how important it is to you.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” you tried to downplay it but Crowley could tell that you were lying, “Besides it’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

“Not at all actually,” Aziraphale spoke up, “It��s only noon there in some states and fireworks don’t typically start until after dark. I’d say we have plenty of time to miracle ourselves over and you could even show us around your favorite city.”

“What do you say, Y/n?” Crowley, who had turned to look at Aziraphale while he was speaking, asked when he turned back to you.

“That would be fantastic!” you squealed excitedly, “When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Crowley grinned mischievously as he took your hand in his, “Just picture where you want to go and that’s where we will land.”

“Alright,” you grinned and closed your eyes to choose your destination. A second later the strangest sensation came over you and when it disappeared you opened your eyes to find yourself standing in front of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed excitedly as he looked around, “I love museums!”

“Washington D.C.,” Crowley crinkled his nose when he saw where they were, “Why here?”

“I love the museums and all of the architecture!” you bounced up and down, “I’ve never actually been here but I’ve always wanted to!”

“Do you have any idea how many people in this city have sold their souls to hell?” Crowley asked you.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you snorted, “but like I said, I’m here for museums and architecture and I’ve heard that they have a really big fireworks display!”

“Well, as long as you’re happy,” Crowley sighed, “Then, we’re happy. Where to first?”

“Obviously in here!” you waved your hands grandly at the building you had appeared in front of, “They have dinosaurs and I was obsessed with them when I was a kid!”

“I hate to burst your bubble, darling, but dinosaurs never actually-,” Crowley was cut off when the air was knocked out of his lungs by Aziraphale’s elbow being slammed into his gut.

“Why don’t you lead the way, my dear,” Aziraphale suggested with a smile and you didn’t hesitate before skipping ahead excitedly. When you were far enough ahead, Aziraphale hissed at Crowley, “You will not ruin that for her!”

“Sorry,” Crowley apologized, “and just so you know your elbow is rather quite pointy.”

Aziraphale merely gave Crowley an indignant huff before he followed after you. Crowley shook his head before he also followed.

After spending most of the afternoon exploring the National Mall and various other landmarks that were open, you finally suggested finding a place to watch the fireworks from, “I heard that it’s a good idea to find a spot to watch the fireworks from at least 2 hours early and since it’s almost 7 now…”

“Why don’t we find a place near the Washington Monument?” Aziraphale asked, “That seems like a good place.”

“Lead the way,” Crowley held out an arm. After making your way there your trio found a suitable spot from which you would have a great view when the show started.

“Guys,” you frowned, “We forgot to bring a blanket or something to sit on. The grass probably won’t be very comfortable.”

Rather than say anything Crowley simply snapped his fingers and an extremely plush comforter appeared on the grass in front of you.

“Oh!” you squeaked as you sank into the blanket, “This has got to be the softest thing I’ve ever laid on.”

“I would have to agree,” Aziraphale smiled as he laid down beside you, “This is very nice, Crowley.”

“Well, if I’m going to be forced to sit through this overly exuberant display of American patriotism, I would rather be comfortable,” Crowley grumbled as he sprawled out on your other side, trying rather unsuccessfully to downplay the gesture.

Rather than poke fun at him like you normally would, you chose to enjoy the moment and changed the topic. You and your boys spent the next couple of hours splayed out on the blanket, enjoying food from the picnic basket Aziraphale had miracled, and talking about anything that came to mind but when you saw a flash of color in the distance you shot up.

“I think they’re starting!” you yelled excitedly as Crowley and Aziraphale both sat up as well and sure enough a few seconds later the sky lit up with even more explosions of color.

“These are rather beautiful don’t you think, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked after a few minutes of watching the watched the sky with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed absentmindedly, but when Aziraphale leaned back enough to see Crowley’s face, he saw that the demon wasn’t watching the sky at all. His attention was entirely fixed on you.

Aziraphale’s own smile broadened when he saw that Crowley was smiling as he watched your face, which was filled with excitement and wonder.

After the show had been going on for some time, you started to laugh and Crowley asked, “What could possibly be so funny?”

“Our hair colors,” you said between laughs.

“What about them?” Crowley asked indignantly.

“Mine is blue,” you said.

“Obviously,” Crowley nodded.

“Aziraphale’s is so blonde that it might as well be white,” you continued.

“Okay,” Crowley drew out the vowels as he tried to follow your train of thought.

“And yours is red!” you exclaimed.

“And why is that so funny?” Crowley asked.

“I guess it’s not really,” you said wiping the tears from your eyes, “I just thought it was kind of appropriate considering that those are the colors of the American flag and here we are sitting in the nation’s capital on Independence Day, watching fireworks.”

“You’re so easily amused,” Crowley shook his head.

“I know,” you laughed again before slinging your arms around both of your boys and squeezing them tight, “Thank you so much for doing this for me, both of you. It really means a lot.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled warmly.

“Yeah, what he said,” Crowley agreed, “You’ve been through a lot lately. It’s the least we could do.”

“Why, Crowley,” you gasped teasingly, “did you just say something nice?”

“Only for you, darling,” Crowley admitted, “Only for you.”

[popunktomlinson]

this is just the mess of all the fics that i read between december ‘19 and may ‘20 for my own reference but if you want to check any out there are stars next to my favorites! this is mostly drarry with some larry, scorbus, and one (1) wolfstar pairing.

Larry:

Missed Connection - kingsofeverything (3k)

Harry is absolutely clueless when it comes to figuring out if other guys are into him, so he enlists his friend Niall to assist. That may or may not be a mistake.

Like Candy In My Veins - littlelouishiccups (85k)

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

Forget the Silent Nights - LadyLondonderry (45k)

The last Christmas with the seven of them in that broken old house on Redwood all together was probably one of the most memorable holidays each of them had, what with the wedding and the the snowstorm and the raccoons in their attic…

And the baby they stole, of course.

Point. Drop. Call. - 4ureyesonly28 (2k)

Teenagers get bored on a hot summer day and decide to play a little game…Whoever loses has to call their crush, no matter who or where they are.

Drarry:

Written on the Heart - who_la_hoop (114k)

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

hello goodbye (’twas nice to know you) - tamerofdarkstars (5k)

Draco Malfoy thinks he might know whose thoughts are scrawling themselves on his skin, but that's crazy. Impossible, even. It has to be a mistake.

Self-indulgent soulmate AU where the thoughts of your soulmate inscribe themselves on your skin in a shifting magic tattoo

Hope Springs Eternal (But Love Springs in the Forrest, Unannounced) - lettered (12k)

Draco falls into a love spring. Harry saves him! And now they’re bonded for life. Draco is horrified. Harry thinks it’s kind of neat.

The Lesbian Muffin Debacle - abusing_sarcasm (7k)

Pansy and Ginny have a muffin-induced potions accident and Draco and Harry are stuck watching their love life from the sidelines - quite literally. Fortunately, they're able to give each other a hand.

✨The Owl Who Came for Christmas - dracogotgame (18k)

Draco has a debt to pay off, no matter what Potter thinks. And he has a Very Good Idea to go along with it. Things don't go as planned.

Strange Bathfellows - bixgirl1 (28k)

It started with a bath. Or a potions accident. Or maybe it started before that, but who can tell anymore.

Featuring: Uncomfortable wanking, more comfortable wanking, mutual wanking, bath sharing, inappropriate betting, secret shagging, those secrets at Hogwarts that everyone knows, and oblivious Harry who knows one thing: he's falling in love.

Something I Don’t Want to Stop - lq_traintracks (16k)

It's Harry and Draco's eighth year, the Houses have been all but demolished in favor of unity, and they're being forced to room together. How ever will they cope?

Psuedo - dysonrules (24k)

Draco runs into an interesting man during a drunken night out. Pansy slips the man Draco's address, not realising that he is actually Harry Potter in disguise.

Things get a bit out of hand after that.

Two Truths and all those Hidden Lies - keyflight790 (8k)

It didn’t matter whether Draco knew about the Polyjuice or not; nor did it matter what face Harry deigned to hide behind in the club. Draco could spot Potter a mile away.

The Other Side to Draco Malfoy - makingitwork (20k)

Draco Malfoy's best friend is Theodore Nott, the only person he trusts. So The Golden Trio decide to make Harry use Polyjuice Potion to see what Draco knows about the war.

The only problem is, while pretending to be Theodore Nott, Harry discovers another side to Draco. A better, lonelier side.

Right Hand Red - lq_traintracks (73k)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good to You) - AWickedMemory (9k)

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry's groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that's okay: Harry's got a plan.

Good Company - Greenflares (8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

The Lip-Lock Jinx - Casis Luna (20k)

The Lip-Lock Jinx, a jinx that renders the victim mute that can only be undone in two ways: if the caster reverses the spell on the victim, or if the victim serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It’s just Harry’s luck that he gets jinxed by Ginny Weasley and he’s in love with Draco Malfoy.

Like Diamonds We Are Cut With Our Own Dust - raitala (11k)

Draco has borne the mark of the Dark Lord for over ten years. It is familiar to him, but he pays the price for it every day, and Harry has noticed.

Burning the Ground - lq_traintracks (10k)

"Strap him down," someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him -- the viscous fear.

Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists . . . He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins.

His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman's voice sigh, "Someone, get Healer Malfoy."

✨Turn - Saras_Girl (307k)

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Around You Moves -ignatiustrout (30k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

Who Else But You - jeni_andtheafterthought (6k)

Draco loses his soulmate before he understands what that means. Then, it happens again. Quite the anomaly, Draco is encouraged to keep a journal following the experience. Finding his soulmate, solving the mystery surrounding his soulmate bond may be more than he bargained for.

you’ve got the antidote for me - Kanadakicksass (21k)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

✨Grounds For Divorce - Tepre (122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Symbiosis - fireflavored (20k)

sym·bi·o·sis (sĩm'bē-ō'sĩs) n. Biology A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

Through The Looking Glass and What Draco Found There - magpie_fngrl (17k)

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest desires come true. Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Bond - AnnaFugazzi (173k)

I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn't make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I'm afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.

Two Wands Make a Right - dannyfranx (21k)

Harry's wand is playing up and Hermione thinks she knows the answer, but why does she have to be right all the time, why does Draco Malfoy have to be so god damn difficult and why is he wearing his tie backwards?

Running on Air - eleventy7 (75k)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

You Send Me (Honest You Do) - firethesound (37k)

As far as potion accidents go in general, and deaging incidents go in particular, Draco knew this could have been so much worse. Harry only lost about ten years, and all his memories are still intact. But the sight of him looking as if he’s stepped straight out of Draco’s Hogwarts memories has dredged up a whole mess of complicated feelings Draco thought he’d buried years ago, and Draco really doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

✨What We Pretend We Can’t See - gyzym (131k) ✨

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Eternity - TheFiestyRogue (1k)

On one's 21st birthday, one's soul mark is burnt into one's skin. It could be anything; a name, a number, a symbol.

Technicolor Beat - fortunate_cookie (5k)

"H-Harry, you..I don’t-understand...", the blonde said breathlessly looking to the equally as breathless Gryffindor.

"Yeah. I...yeah...", Harry replied intelligently.

or the one where harry and draco are soulmates and there's a chase involved.

such a softer sin - therewascourfeyrac (16k)

After Draco meets Harry Potter, he's left with two tattoos, one on each wrist. One for a soul mate, one for his enemy. He's never known any one else who has the same name on both wrists.

Just The Two Of Us - Hekatee, Pierian (3k)

Harry finally meets his soulmate. Except his soulmate has been given a heavy dose of morphine and has no idea that his drugged-up rambling includes the words that change Harry's life forever.

Timer - JulietsEmoPhase (2k)

“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?” Of course, Harry had to miss the moment his clock ran out.

Two Weeks - shiftylinguini (22k)

If Harry had to guess which out of he or his Auror Partner, and tentative new friend, Draco Malfoy, would turn out to have Veela ancestry, his answer would be: neither, because that is ridiculous. Finding out the answer is actually him, and that his Veela heritage is wreaking havoc on his ability to work, sleep, and above all be in the same room as Malfoy, is a surprise to say the least. But this is fine. Harry’s been through worse, and he can just sit this one out, regardless of how much his body is screaming for the one person he doesn’t want to ask for help. Can’t he?

A Convenient Impracticality - firethesound (39k)

Somehow Harry ends up agreeing to a fake relationship with his ex-nemesis-turned-friendly-acquaintance-with-benefits, except for some reason it involves an awful lot of actual dating and, sadly, not much sex. Confused? Harry is too, but when has anything with Draco Malfoy ever been as straightforward as it seems?

Precious Memories - ravenclawsquill (18k)

When Harry’s Pensieve breaks with a very important memory trapped inside, he has no choice but to hire an expert to repair it. Then Draco Malfoy steps out of his Floo, and Harry isn’t sure what to expect. He certainly isn’t anticipating tea, biscuits and gold-rimmed glasses.

Helix - Saras_Girl (93k)

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again.

Temptation on the Warfront - alizarincrimson (180k)

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

Scorbus:

re-read:

The Unicorn Incident - who_la_hoop (18k)

Growing up is hard to do, especially in the shadow of your father's reputation. Scorpius Malfoy has a tough time keeping his resolution to be the best Slytherin he can be when schoolboy games, unicorns, incompetent friends and a beloved enemy all conspire to teach him something different – and rather wonderful – about himself.

Scorpius Malfoy’s Future Wife - josephinestone (2k)

Albus Potter and Rose Weasley's parents have a bet on who Scorpius Malfoy is going to marry. If it's Lily, they will be just like Ginny and Harry; If it is Rose, they'll be just like Ron and Hermione. Harry witnesses the answer.

Never Trust A Slytherin - who_la_hoop (12k)

Al grinned. It would be the crowning glory of his final year – the one thing that would prove, once and for all, that he was not his dad in any way, shape or form. He would seduce a Slytherin – the son of his father's great enemy – and prove to Scorpius Malfoy his perfect trust in him. How hard could it be?

Wolfstar:

The Electric Fizzing Prick Pistols, or Whatever - whitmans_kiss (4k)

Everyone is born with Words on their arm that connect them to their Soulmate. James finds his, Sirius had everything figured out back in First Year, Peter doesn’t talk to girls anyway, and Remus thinks he’d very much just like to put his earmuffs back on and disappear.

[roonilwazlibb]

KEIYNAN LONSDALE? No, that’s actually HARRY JAMES POTTER from the GOLDEN TRIO ERA. You know, the child of LILY POTTER (NEE EVANS) and JAMES POTTER? Only 22 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as an AUROR (FOR NOW) and is sided with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. HE identifies as CIS MALE and is a HALF BLOOD who is known to be MERCURIAL, BULLHEADED, and PRIVATE but also EMPATHETIC, BOLD, and SELFLESS. — &&. ( LIZ, GMT+2, SHE/HER, 22. )

pinterest.

Instead of writing the longest intro possible I’m just gonna ignore Harry’s background BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW IT ALREADY !!!!!!!!!! thx

depression tw, death tw, war tw, PTSD tw

AFTER HOGWARTS.

So, the war is over ( a war that Harry has grown up fighting, mind you, the boy hasn’t had time for much else, has he now ? ) and people look to a teenager to continue being what he has been for the last seventeen years ( but what they’ve also rejected, when it suits the current tide of war ). But Harry James Potter doesn’t care much for being a beacon of hope ( of clarity, of light ), anymore. He’s not their symbol ( but at the same time, he knows that he will always be just that ).

The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts itself is a blur, for him. Tugged in every direction. Not so much a man, more of an object, something that his entire world feels entitled to. But he’s exhausted ( has he been able to breath properly for the last year, at all ? ). It’s too much for any seventeen year old, yet people expect him ( the boy who lived, never just Harry ), to carry it with gratitude, with a smile, with bravery. 

The days after the final battle, he feels very little, barely anything at all. All he really does is sleep.

The mark on his back is gone ( the one on his face isn’t ), but it doesn’t feel like it. Sure, he doesn’t have to fear for his life anymore, but the crowds are relentless. Suffocating him. He’s grieving, and all the masses ( the strangers, people who think that they know him because he’s famous ) want to do is hug him, shake his hand, clap him on the back. He tries to be understanding ( they’re grieving too, logically, he KNOWS that ). But by now, Harry is growing a little bit tired of being everyone’s emotional-support-boy-who-lived.

Anyways, a few weeks after the war ends, Harry falls off the map. Disappears from the grid. Could not be found, through any means. Some of his friends say that he rented a muggle car and drove through Europe. Others say that he just slept, refused to leave his house, so exhausted and depressed that he couldn’t be reached. Others are firm in their belief that he was busy hunting down the last of the Death Eaters. No one truly knows what Harry did, during those months. Only those closest to him have a vague idea.

He eventually returns, a little bit better. The weight on his shoulders lighter. Back to his former self ( though, he’s not quite sure who that was, this war has tried to consume him since boyhood ). His smile comes easier, it’s less weary. He has that Potter sparkle back in his gaze ( the one that makes his eyes look less like Lily’s, more likes James’, despite what the color might tell you ). He’s not at peace yet, but he will be ( his scar hasn’t hurt in months, that’s a start ).

Harry finds solace in his friends, that much has not changed. It was them he fought for, and it’s them that he continues to live for. The war never changed Harry’s capacity for love.

So, he’s back. People still look to him ( and they think that they know what he will do, ALWAYS always, always ). He can’t escape their eyes, their whispers, how they think that they know him. Most of the time, he hates it. But he’s also the type of guy to poke fun at it, doing his best to not take himself too seriously. Everything’s easier, that way.

Maybe he does it out of habit, or out of duty, but he does what he thinks will make the most people happy and joins the Aurors ( they had been nudging him in their direction ever since Voldemort fell, who wouldn’t want the famous Harry Potter in their ranks against the dark? ).

But Harry is just Harry, and Harry is so tired of being Harry Potter. For the first year after the war, the poor guy could barely go out for a drink without being mobbed, you know? The excitement eventually ebbed out ( thank god ) and became less exhausting, but it was still there, in smaller waves.

ANYWAYS ---- so he’s an auror. He doesn’t hate the work by any means, but he feels as though he has just gone from fighting one war, to fighting another. Which is really the last thing he needs right now? He still suffers from night terrors, about his friends dying, about Voldemort ( not so much Voldemort as other people remember him ----- in his dreams, Harry sees the Voldemort in limbo, at King’s Cross ). Eventually, those will go away too. Partly.

The Wizarding Wars have taken a lot of things away from Harry, and for that he is silently angry, a little bit, all the time. The war he fought may have ended —— but it’s still taking things from him. His agency, for one thing. Did he want to become an auror? Well, it would have been ONE possible path, but perhaps not the one he would have chosen first. Ever since the war, everyone just keep looking to him, to have him continue being the symbol of hope and greatness that he was during the last year of the war. But Harry is just Harry, you know?  Not much has changed since that evening when Hagrid came to get him, all those years ago. But people just assume to know what The Chosen One will do next, and Harry’s just sort of…. along for the ride, for the most part, when it comes to that and his public image. Right now, he is just doing what he thinks is right, for the greater good. He does what he thinks is expected of him, what he thinks will make the most people happy. He’s not thinking of himself, at least not yet. I don’t think Harry even realizes that he has grown resentful, a little bit bitter, angry. 

With that said, I really like the idea of post-war Harry as the biggest troll possible when it comes to the media. All those ridiculous rumors you read in the papers about The Boy Who Lived are often started by Harry himself !!!! It’s his way of gaining some of that agency back but also he just thinks it’s a fucking blast. 

Constant bad jokes about how 'he didn’t die for this’ and ‘did we really defeat Voldemort so that you could’.... are PRIME coping mechanisms too!!!! 

Never actually finished school but totally got away with it because he’s Harry Potter. Finally some perks, am I right.....

Overall, Harry IS concerned with being a good role model for the younger kiddos, but that year after the war? Harry was in a dark place, not fit for returning to school. Not fit for returning to anything, really.

Harry is a really good teacher and we ALL know this, so why isn’t this man teaching? It would be much better for his mental health too. Damn it.

With that said ----- I think this version of Harry will either continue down the auror route, eventually become head auror, but devote his life more to teaching the new aurors and reshape the auror department. BUT I have also always adored the idea of Harry returning to Hogwarts as a professor, taking up the position as the Defense against Dark Arts professor. We love full circles in this house !!!! I also think that would be really good for Harry, to be surrounded by kids ( who wouldn’t have really lived through the war, the boy who lived would just be a myth to them, it would be less dramatic, they’d soon forget that Harry has ever been anything other than their professor ).

Never really replaced Hedwig. These days, Harry uses various messenger birds and owls, mostly borrowing those of his friends. He did adopt a dog, though. 

I don’t think Harry will be fully at peace until more time has run its course. He has been through so much trauma, way more than any man ( much less a boy ) should ever have to experience. The scars may fade ( no, not THAT one ), but they will never quite heal, not for him. BUT he will be at peace, eventually.

TLDR: Harry is an auror, right now. He hasn’t washed off his past, but he has come to terms with it, in a way. 

PERSONALITY & OTHER FUN STUFF.

Harry Potter is compassionate, selfless, kind. Good at seeing the good. But also petty, impulsive, seething, moody. Bad at letting things go.

So incredibly brave, but shouldn’t have had to be? An eleven year old should not under any circumstances be led into the lion’s den and that’s that on that.

Has a hero complex, but it’s one that was forced upon him ( do not get me started on Albus Dumbledore, it will take up the rest of the intro ). Harry was LITERALLY just Harry, until suddenly, he wasn’t. 

The sheer dumb bitch energy of this man sometimes....... Thank god for Ron and Hermione is all I’m gonna say.......

Masks a lot of his trauma and pain with bad jokes, sarcasm and a seemingly carefree attitude. Tries his best to play down a lot of things ( his pain, his fame, his trauma, what he did during the war ). But he has a really serious streak too.

With that said, Harry does struggle with PTSD and survivor’s guilt. 

A total smart ass ( there’s no need to call me sir, professor? ). Harry has a sharp tongue aND is often much sassier than he should be, especially when challenged / when he sees something as unjust / when there’s someone that he just doesn’t like. But that sharpness can seep into his everyday life too.

Like I mentioned earlier, Harry is a total troll and will leak the most outrageous rumors that have 0% truth to them to the press. It’s all in good fun. Most of the time.

Honestly that thing Dan Radcliffe did when he wore the same shirt everyday for a month so that the pictures of him would all be un-usable is peak Harry behavior.

Harry would ultimately LIKE to forgive the remaining Death Eaters, the ones who has repented ( eg. The Malfoys ), but he is having a hard time with it. He is prone to spite and pettiness, and forgiveness ultimately doesn’t run easy in his veins. But the attempt IS there, and he doesn’t want to live with a sliver of bitterness in his heart, you feel?

The war hasn’t so much hardened him though, as it has softened him. Sure, it has made him weary, careful, closed off. But it has also made him kinder, more empathetic, more understanding, stronger in his sense of self.

Isn’t as rich as he used to be. Used a large chunk of his fortune after the war to help victims of the war to get back onto their feet. Anonymously of course. Harry has no desire to make headlines, ever again.

Refuses interviews. Most of the time. Only The Quibbler will get an ounce of truth out of Harry.

TIME CLASH.

Harry has always had a family ( a found family, his friends, family doesn’t end in blood ), but suddenly everything has been amplified, he has his parents back, his godfather, their friends. But they’re all his age, they don’t recognize him ( but he barely recognize them, either ---- if it hadn’t been for staring himself blind at their photographs, he wouldn’t know them ). It’s basically like The Erised Mirror Extreme Version, for Harry.

But there are also The Death Eaters ------- and the fear of having to go back, be the figurehead of yet another war that he has to sacrifice EVERYTHING for. Frankly, Harry has had quite enough. He doesn’t want to be their Atlas, anymore. But at the same time, his parents are back. And he doesn’t want to lose them again. AND he knows that they’d fight this war for him. Which makes him want to fight this war for them. Can you see where I’m going for this? It’s a really tumultuous time for Harry, he’s confused and just a little bit lost.

AND then there are the KIDS !!!!!! HIS KIDS !!!!!!!!! It’s a total mind fuck, Harry doesn’t feel ready to be a father, nor does he feel that the world is ready for him to have children. But his children are all grown up and from the future. He wants to protect their future, their peace. 

It’s a little bit selfish too. Harry wants that peace for himself. He wants all to be well, you know?

[boldlygowriting]

Book Review #1: Aurora Rising

Aurora Rising published in April of 2019 is the first book in the Aurora Cycle series by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff is a sci-fi adventure. The second book of the series is set to be published in 2020.  Kristoff describes the book as a “Breakfast Club meets Guardians of the Galaxy YA sci-fi, action, adventure thing.”

Synopsis: The story starts with Aurora Academy Goldenboy, Tyler Jones, the day before the Draft. Since our best boy is well...best boy at this space-bound military academy, he gets first pick of his future space crew. Or he would’ve if he hadn’t gone out in space to calm his nerves and ended up rescuing a girl named Aurora who’s been cryogenically frozen for over 200 years. 

Bestboy Jones misses the Draft and ends up with whoever is left over ie. the people no one wants.  A space elf with anger management issues, a socially inept, trigger happy genius, and an alien techwiz with a physical disability who doesn’t know how to shut up--known as Kal, Zila and Finian respectively. 

Bestboy Jones also has his twin sister, Scarlet, and his best friend, Cat, who definitely doesn’t have a crush on him. (Books words, not mine, okay). Who are also especially good at their respective jobs as diplomat and pilot. 

Aurora sneaks aboard their ship during their first mission, murders and a cryptic message from the higher-ups set them up for a journey across the galaxy. The fate of Aurora and the rest of the worlds now in their quirky, all-to-capable hands. 

A lot is going on with this book and this is my first book review in this format so bear with me. 

The Pros

It’s fun. This book is really fun. Like watching Guardians of the Galaxy, you can have a good, pretty stress-free read of this book with little trouble. While reading this I found myself enjoying the adventure aspect of it, and I think they do it really well. 

Easy to follow. The book is action-packed that’s more interested in what’s happening than explaining all of the confusing lore that some sci-fi and fantasy novels can fall into. It’s not bogged down by a lot of space jargon and takes the time to explain the parts that a reader wouldn’t immediately understand. I appreciated that it kept things simple. 

Diversity*. Kristoff assured there would be diversity race-wise and in sexual orientation. Which is true. Aurora is half-Irish and half-Asian, Zila is black, and Finian has a physical disability and is either bisexual or pansexual (I’m not exactly sure. I mean, he is an alien so like I don’t know...look, all I know is I’m bi and black, I’ll take the representation where I can get it.).

The humor*. Think about it, 7 eighteen-year-olds stuck on a spaceship together. It’d be impossible for there not to be humor and banter between them. Not all the jokes land and there’s more than enough of nudging and winking in the prose, but there are definitely some chuckle-worthy moments. They also use humor really well when it comes to breaking up tense and heavy moments even if they don’t entirely land. 

The romantic subplot. I can’t say who obviously, but they’re pretty cute together. It was cliche, but, I think that by the end it was genuinely sweet and I appreciated the way they went about it by the end. It’ll definitely be expanded on in the following books and that’s what I like the most because it really is a subplot and they’re taking their time with it like a realistic crush turn relationship.

There are some things genuinely done well in this book that made me almost enjoy it, but for every action, there’s an opposite action. Starting off the Cons is my biggest issue with this book. 

The Cons 

The characters. I’m sure you could tell by my cheeky synopsis, I’m not exactly a huge fan of all the characters. In fact, I downright hated one. (Despite calling Tyler  Bestboy all the time, no, it was not him. I just wanted to clarify that).

I could honestly break down every character and talk about why I did or didn’t like them, but I think that’s getting too far into biased opinion. However, even for the ones I did like, they were still flawed...and not in the fun way. 

The characters are a huge weak point, part of that reason is that they’re all pretty flat. Flat, in this case, doesn’t exactly mean boring. A flat character is one that stays relatively the same from the beginning of the book to the end, and all seven of the protagonists are pretty flat. Even if it’s the first book of the series, knowing there’s time to develop characters, all seven protagonists shouldn’t be relatively the same by the end. 

There’s a lot of potential in most of them, but the time for their development is often rushed by and cut off by action. There are some real, genuine moments, but they mean very little in the overall scheme of things, especially when the team that’s supposed to be a group of misfits never feels like a group of misfits. 

The team is played up as a group of outcasts (or half outcasts), but they never feel like it. Both those movies the author compared the book to have a moment where they genuinely bond. There’s no point where the squad bond as a group beyond a few shared chuckles in between intense moments.

The skirmishes and arguments between them don’t really go anywhere and no one’s feelings are genuinely hurt for longer than a few pages, so when they already work pretty well together, I barely noticed any changes in their dynamic. I hope in the future books the authors expand on the group dynamic and the characters themselves because they could be really interesting, if I’m honest. 

Most of them had a glimmer of something, but a glimmer wasn’t enough to keep me from realizing they’re just semi-archetypal shells. 

This is a side note: this book switches the POV between the seven characters, and honestly, you can’t really tell much of a difference between who’s speaking. If switching POVs is not your bag, I wouldn’t recommend this book for you.

The humor. You know, it’s not so much the humor itself that’s a problem. The humor itself s pretty juvenile, but they’re 18 years old and I have a filthy, sarcastic mind so if you can stand a million sex jokes you’ll be fine. If not then you’re probably not gonna laugh much. The problem with the humor comes in the writing. There’s a lot of ‘winking and nudging’ involved. Finian (alien/techwiz/ can’t shut up), delivers a good portion of the jokes and after he says something, either he, the narrator or another character will comment on it. 

I once read when it comes to comedy, a joke isn’t funny if you have to draw attention to it. And if this is your kind of humor it is funny, but a lot of jokes aren’t allowed to stand on their own...making them, well, not funny. 

The plot and pacing. I’m not going to write a whole lot about the plot, partially to avoid spoilers. Tthe more I think about this book, the more I realize it’s a straighforward space adventure. The plot is simple because the adventure is what matters, but the fast pace of the book, while engaging, doesn’t spend a lot of time on it. One thing happens, then the next thing happens, and so on. 

At one point, I almost got the sense that quiet moments couldn’t last too long without another plot piece falling into place or something terrible would happen. The squad never flounders long despite how often they talk about how in over their head they are and how dangerous everything is. 

That might be a whole other gripe, but oh well. 

I said it was fun and it was easy to follow, but that’s probably because everything happens so quickly you aren’t allowed to think for very long. 

The pacing and plot go hand-in-hand because one bowls over the other and you get what I call the ‘you can infere events.’ 

These are events that you can infere obviously. In this case, they acquire a lot of items without actually showing how. I’m all for getting to the good stuff, but slowing down to show some things could’ve been a chance to expand on things like worldbuilding and the characters.

The worldbuilding. We’re getting into the minor stuff now if I’m being honest, but it’s a sci-fi story so I felt I couldn’t not write about the worldbuilding, which is a little lackluster. I’m pretty sure one of the planets is a Valerian rip-off. (I know that was harsh). 

Diversity. I debated talking about this too. I don’t know anything about the authors but I know readers say they’ve been inclusive in the past. I think they were here too, and maybe I’m spoiled or asking for too much, but I have to get some things off my chest.

First, Zila. 

I went back and forth on this a lot, but she kind of suffers from Princess and the Frog syndrome. Essentially, she’s a POC or LGBTQ+ character who is put into the story, but they either a.) don’t matter too much to the story or b.) are basically invisible. 

I went back and forth on this because Zila is quiet. She doesn’t speak a lot, she’s an observer. Sometimes I forgot she was in the book. I think having her be quiet and observant works in other character’s POV because no one really understands her. In her own POV it should be a different story. 

They opened that door so I have to comment on it. The chapters in her POV are significantly shorter than every other character. If her thoughts aren’t necessary to the story, why have them in there? It felt like she was there because they needed another warm body to advance the plot. I hope in book 2 she gets more than what she got. 

Second, the representation. Period. 

Tyler, Scarlet and Cat are the three members of the squad that stick together because they have a close bond. They’re not the misfits in this group. They’re also all white and presumably heterosexual as of this book. Zila, Finian and Kal are the outcasts of the group. Having the black girl, non-heterosexual alien with a physical disability, and the space elf with anger managment issues be the weirdos that the golden trio are saddled with doesn’t exactly read well on paper (pun intended). 

Third, queerbaiting? 

Don’t get your hopes up, I didn’t add the question mark because I think this might change. I added it as a Disclaimer: I’m not the authority on all things rainbow and beyond. Very few things raise my hackles when it comes to media and represenation even though there’s a lot that probably should. 

That being said, this might jimmy some people’s johns so I thought I might as well mention it.

We’ve all heard the “why don’t you two just kiss and get it over with line,” (yes, the book uses this line) and I’m kind of over it unless it actually ends in a relationship. Just a warning there kiss between two people of the same gender, and that line was directed at them but I can assure you it’s not going anywhere, it was a one off, and it wasn’t serious. After so much BS from other books, movies and TV shows, I know that’s enough to piss some people off, and if I mentioned Zila and the representation, I had to mention this.

That was weird. So much time is spent making sure you know how attractive every single main character is. Like...a lot. I was genuinely wondering if this would end with some kind of orgy thing. No matter what POV it’s in everyone was drop dead gorgeous with killer dimples and voices like melted chocolate and luxurious push-up bras. 

Consensus:  

I found this book on the 7th floor of my university library. Why they have a random YA space romp from 2019 up there, who knows? The important question is: Do I regret picking it up? 

Well…No and yes. 

Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t shell out the $18.99 plus tax for it. (I’m a broke college student, okay? I get anxious spending $15) 

Like I said, I had fun reading this. I laughed. It had me turning pages faster than Aurora can say “Holy cake!”However, this book isn’t clever and it doesn’t have a whole lot of heart, not all books do, but to be a space adventure with misfit characters...if you want to keep people engaged, maybe it should? 

Everything is sacrificed for the execution of this quick-paced, adventurous romp. The worldbuilding and lore, the characters, the plot, everything. All of it was obliterated for something quick and momentarily entertaining. 

If a quick, substanceless adventure is what you’re looking for (and there’s nothing wrong with that, not every book has to be a nail-biting, bloodbath), you’ll definitely find it in this book.

If you’re looking for a book that’s going to affect you and make you feel like you’re part of “the squad,” you should probably look elsewhere. 

TLDR: 

Pros:

It’s fun

Easy to follow

The humor*

The diversity*

The romantic subplot

Cons: 

The characters

The plot and pacing 

The worldbuilding 

The humor* 

The diversity*

Overall rating: 5.5/10. 

[firethatgrewsolow]

Swiss Time - Chapter Seven

**Sorry for the delay!  And thank you @ladygrange for everything you do for me!  Hope you guys like it. <3**

Robert peered through the hotel window, the snow-capped mountains that had seemed so foreign to him when they arrived now a familiar comfort.  Their week was almost up, culminating in the show in a couple of days.  The time had flown by, and he realized that he was reluctant to leave.  A little, anyway.  He’d not seen Natalie since their castle adventure and subsequent dinner two nights before, and he found himself growing restless, even missing her a bit.  His gaze shifted to the streets below, dotted with shoppers and late lunch goers scurrying about.  A swirl of dark hair captured his attention, and he sat up, narrowing his eyes, only to fall back into the armchair as the woman turned around.  Definitely not Nat.  She was due to move over the weekend and would probably miss the gig, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  He wanted to sing for her, see her light up as he knew she would.  He smiled, his mind returning to the impromptu performance on the way back from Chillon.  Christ, how stoned had he been?  But it didn’t matter.  Her laugh was all he’d wanted to hear.  Bloody hell, what are you doing?  The click of the door behind him dispensed with the reverie, and he glanced toward it as Jimmy shuffled in.

“So, did you and Natalie enjoy Chillon?  You didn’t mention going.”

Robert took in the guitarist’s mildly perturbed demeanor.  “I haven’t seen you since.  Where were you yesterday?”

Ignoring the question, Jimmy plowed on.  “Did you tour the torture chamber?  It’s supposed to be quite remarkable.”

“Nah, we, uh, didn’t make it there.”

“What a shame.  I’d heard it was not to be missed.”  Jimmy tapped his finger gently against his chin.  “Hmm, I wonder if she’d consider going again.”

“Not likely.”  Robert chuckled, kicking his feet up onto the ottoman.  “I think once might have been enough.  She knows a lot about it, though.  Said she was going to write an article for a magazine.”

“So, our little Natalie Grace is a writer, then?  I had no idea.  She is full of surprises.”

“Well, she’s shy about it, but she must be pretty good.  It’s for a children’s magazine, but a popular one.”  Robert cleared his throat, patting down his jacket for cigarettes.  “You know, um, she’s probably not coming to the gig.”

“Why is that?”

“School stuff.”  Spying Bonzo’s pack on the coffee table, he snatched it up.  “I’ve been trying to think up ways to convince her to stay.  When we were at dinner . . .”

“Dinner, too?” Jimmy asked, cocking his head.  “My, my, aren’t we getting chummy.”

“Well, seeing as how she was free for the evening since you didn’t have a date with her after all . . .” Robert trailed off, pointedly raising a brow.

Jimmy stared back in silence, finally breaking out into a grin.  “Couldn’t resist.”  He reclined onto the sofa. “ So, you have a thing for our girl, eh?”

“I could say the same for you.  Jesus Christ, Jim, she’s a kid.”

“Of course, I’m only joking.  You were talking about convincing her to stay?”  

“Yeah.”  Robert nibbled his lip, treading carefully.  “I was thinking that she could, well, maybe she could write about us.  Like an interview and a piece about the gig.”

“You mean a review of the show?” Jimmy scoffed with a terse laugh.  “That’s absurd.”

Robert shrugged his shoulders.  “Why?  What could it hurt?”

“What would she bloody know about any of it?”  

“She’s pretty smart.”  The singer pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.  “And it might be nice to have her around.”  

Jimmy glanced to the window as a patter of rain hit the glass.  “She is nice to have around, I’ll give you that,” he murmured, the thread of something blooming in his mind.

“I’m sure she’d be complimentary,” Robert added, subtly emphasizing the word.  

Complimentary.  Jimmy pursed his lips, wheels in motion.  It wasn’t an entirely unpromising scenario.  In fact, it was somewhat intriguing.  A young, likely very malleable writer with a strong connection to a major music promoter.  Nobody would have to know that she was barely fifteen, nobody that mattered, anyway, and it would be a welcome change from the stodgy old fucks they always sent out to the gigs.  A friendly word in the local paper certainly wouldn’t do them any harm, and who knew where it could lead.  She wouldn’t be fifteen forever.  But that was down the road.  For now, at the very least, he would have a bit of fun with it.  “You know, I think you’re right.  That’s not a bad idea.  It’s actually a rather good one.”

Robert blinked, surprised by his friend’s acquiescence.  “So, should I ask her to do it?”

“Not directly,” Jimmy replied, shaking his head.  “Let me take care of it.”

“They want me to do what?”  Nat set down her teacup with a clatter, pushing her breakfast away.  “I’ve never done an interview.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Oh, it can’t be too hard,” Susan chided, waving her hand dismissively.  “Besides it’s the local paper.  You don’t have to be Hemingway.”

“Whose idea was this?”  Nat cut her eyes at her conspicuously quiet aunt.  “Well?  Whose?”

Susan hesitated, drumming her fingers on the dining room table.  “The paper’s editor, from what I understand.”

“Really?  So, I’m a fifteen year old nobody that’s hardly written anything, and somehow, mysteriously, I’m interviewing one of the biggest bands in the world?”

“Well, Christian is friends with . . .”

“Oh, no.”  Natalie grimaced, running a hand through her hair.  “You pulled some weird strings, didn’t you?  Susan, I don’t want to be that girl in school.  Half the kids will probably be going, and if they see this dumb interview, they’ll know that . . .”

“You’re a wonderful writer?” Sue finished, dropping a sugar cube into her tea.  “That’s what they’ll know.  As long as you don’t ask tough questions and give them a good review, you’re golden.”

“Review?  Of what?  I haven’t even listened to their full albums.”

Susan smiled coyly, stirring her steaming concoction.  “The show, darling.  Although, you should probably brush up on the records, too.”

Natalie’s jaw dropped.  “You want me to review the show?”

“Not me . . . them,” Sue purred, taking a sip of her tea.

“Them?  Oh, my God.  The editor had nothing to do with this.  I knew there was something funny about all of it.”  Nat skimmed her thumb along the rim of her cup.  “Who is them?  Robert?”  Her aunt looked artfully away.  “Wait, it’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”

Susan abandoned her tea, making her way to the bar.  “At the end of the day, does it matter, Natalie?  Good lord, you’re impossible to please.  Maybe they just want to do something nice for you to help you out.  A burgeoning writer and all that business.  And what if it was Robert?  I assumed you had a nice time with him.  You have no idea how hard it was to sneak away without you seeing me at lunch the other day.”

“Sneak away?  What are you . . .” Nat’s jaw dropped again as it dawned on her.  “You saw him come up to me.  There was no meeting with the architect.”  She frowned at her aunt’s giddy grin.  “What are you, some kind of twisted matchmaker?  I’m only fourteen . . .”

“Fifteen, you just said so yourself,” Susan chimed, wagging a finger in the air.  “Jesus, Nattie, I’m not trying to get you two together in that way.  At least, not yet.”  She smirked, exchanging her teacup for a thin, crystal flute.  “Listen, it’s a fantastic opportunity.  They’re notoriously crafty with the press.  They rarely grant interviews, and they wanted you specifically.”  She held up her glass with a glimmer in her eye.  “And when the kids from school see you’ve interviewed the band, you’ll be an absolute queen on the campus.”

Queen on the campus?  Jesus Christ.  “But what about moving into the dorm?”

“We’ll figure something out.”  Hands on hips, Sue expelled a weary breath.  “You cannot possibly be trying to worm out of this.”

Nat sensed there was more to it than just a random act of kindness.  Altruism didn’t suit the band.  Surely an ulterior motive was involved, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it would be.  She slunk back into her chair, resigned to her fate.  Sue’s right.  What does it matter?  There were definitely worse things than spending time with four handsome, talented musicians.  And funny and sweet and silly . . .  She clenched her fists, crushing the thought.

“So, that’s a yes, I presume?” Susan beamed triumphantly.  “Perfect!  Their albums are in your room, along with a brand new record player.  Courtesy of Christian, of course.  I also pulled some clippings from my personal collection.  I like to keep an archive on the bands that I . . . particularly admire.”  Sue popped open a bottle of Champagne, pouring a long, fizzy stream.  “And don’t worry, love,” she cooed, peeking at her wristwatch.  “You’re not meeting with them for another five hours.  You’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

Natalie tapped her pen on the pages in front of her, exasperated beyond belief.  The interview was an unmitigated disaster.  Bonzo and Jonesy hadn’t even shown up, and getting answers out of Jimmy was like pulling teeth.  She’d spent every spare minute preparing, even gotten a tiny bit excited, and apparently, it was all for naught.  He didn’t want to talk about anything personal, and she’d been shunned when she asked about life on the road.  Everything seemed off limits.  What was the point, she mused dejectedly.  Hadn’t they been the ones who wanted to do it to begin with?  And in hostile territory, no less.  Her gaze roved over the guitarist’s candle laden suite, landing on a trio of half-melted pillars situated on the coffee table.  A small book lay beside them, tattered and torn, and she squinted in an effort to read the title.  His clipped cough brought her gaze back to his.  A reprimand for being curious, she determined as she scanned his blank visage.  Prickly didn’t seem to do him justice.  Maybe leave off the ly.  Hell, he’s probably enjoying this.  How in the world was she going to put any of it together?  She ran through the options one more time.  Influences, go back to influences.  “So, um, what inspires you?  Are all of you into the same kind of music?”

Sighing dramatically, Jimmy rolled his eyes.  “Oh, God, not that again.”

Nat cracked, finished with the cat and mouse game.  “Dammit, this was your idea!”  She threw down her pen.  “What do you want me to ask you, then?  I’ve heard a couple of things about a shark.”

“Natalie, dear, you do cut to the chase,” Jimmy hummed, amused at the rise he’d finally elicited.

“Let’s just say that I’ve done my homework.”  She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering back to the book on the table.  “Would you rather tell me about your interest in, uh, more spiritual matters?”

“Ooh, I see you have done your homework,” Jimmy replied smoothly.  “In that case, why don’t you tell me?”

Recognizing Natalie’s stormy scowl, Robert hurriedly intervened.  “Come on, Jim, just answer the questions.  We asked for this, remember?”  

“Ah, fair enough,” Jimmy conceded reluctantly.  “Pity it has to be so one sided.”  With another heavy sigh, he resettled into the sofa.  “Well, I’d say we all have different influences, to some degree.  There’s a melding here and there, but I think that’s what makes us able keep it fresh and interesting.”

Encouraged, Natalie leaned forward.  “There’s quite a lot of blues in your records so far.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the root of it, I suppose.”  Jimmy glanced to his bandmate, who was clearly champing at the bit to have a word.  “What say you, Robert?”

“What we’ve tried to do is to sort of reinterpret some of the stuff from America . . . Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf.  It’s endless, really.  All those sounds, we kind of spin it round and round until we take it somewhere else.”

“Right, the expansion of it.  That’s important.”  Jimmy crossed his legs.  “I want to create, well, we want to create something that’s dynamic and keep pushing boundaries.”  He paused for a moment, searching for the right words.  “Something heavy that strikes you, and just when you’ve reached the edge, it softens.  Or vise versa.”

“Light and shade,” Natalie offered, grateful that he'd begun to open up.

Jimmy exchanged a look with Robert.  “Exactly.”  He turned back to her with a devilish smile.  “Sort of like making love.”

Natalie swiftly dropped her head, praying that the lighting was dim enough to hide the blush she felt racing onto her cheeks.  Her saving grace was Peter, who lumbered into the room.

“Let’s go, lads, interview’s over.  Ahmet just got back, and they’re ready.”

More than a little relieved, Nat closed her notebook and capped her pen.  “Thanks for taking the time.”  Even though it was mostly a waste of it.  She shoved them both into her satchel as Robert bounded up to her.

“Would you like to come and watch?  We’re just gonna run through some stuff, sort of a sound check.  It won’t last long.”  He held out his arm, his dimple deepening.  “I’ll take a request, if you like.”

Her lips curved at the prospect.  What did she have to lose?  “Sure.  Lead the way.”

Arm in arm, they plodded out of the room and into the hall.  As they reached the elevator, Robert peered behind him for the others, but they were still in the suite.  He punched the button, secretly hoping it would make haste so he could have her to himself for a few minutes.  His wish granted, the car arrived almost immediately, and he hustled on, selecting his destination as quickly as he could.  He caught a glimpse of Peter and Jimmy in the distance as the doors slid blessedly shut.  Mission accomplished, they were alone.  “You, uh, seem to know a lot more about us than I thought.  Very impressive.”

“I did some research,” Nat replied, basking in the warmth of his sideways smile.  “Aunt Sue is a pretty good resource.  Keeps tabs on certain groups that she finds . . . stimulating.”

“I bet she’s got quite a file.”  They shared a muted laugh.  “I take it you’ve listened to the albums?”

“Um, yeah, that would be part of my research.”

“Right.  Of course.”  Robert quietly cleared his throat.  “So, ah, what’s your favorite song?”  

Natalie pursed her lips as their eyes met.  “Moby Dick, I think.”

“The one about the whale, huh?” Robert teased, the corner of his mouth curling up.

“The one with no vocals,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Ouch, that hurt.”  Robert clamped his hand over his heart, and they shared another laugh.  “You know, you did a good job back there with Jimmy.”

Natalie snorted, shaking her head.  “You must be kidding.  I hardly got anything out of him.”

“You got more than most, believe it or not.”  A ping in the car signaled that they’d reached the first floor.  “Pagey likes you.  I can tell.”

“Good God, what does he do to the people he doesn’t like?”

Robert snickered as the elevator doors surged open.  “Nothing.  That’s what.”  

They navigated through the lobby and into the casino, winding around the masses and entering a cavernous room toward the back of it.  Natalie slowly canvassed the drafty space, examining the ancient looking wooden planks that made up the ceiling.  They were cracked and peeling, in need of a facelift.  Hell, a full renovation, really.  “It’s like a matchbox in here.”  She meandered to the wide glass windows overlooking the pool, which was empty, save for a fully clothed woman reading a book.  “Are you guys all set up?”

The floor squeaked underneath Robert’s feet as he padded to the front of the stage, inspecting the equipment.  “Yeah, looks like everything’s here.”  He gave her a wide grin.  “So, what would you like to hear?”

“I don’t know.”  Natalie surveyed the scene, nodding at Jonesy and Bonzo as they passed by.  “This is kind of a lot.”

“If you’re going to be a music journalist, you might want to get used to it.”

Natalie jumped at Jimmy’s words right behind her.  Shit!  Where had he come from?  Probably just thin air.  She spun around, her brow wrinkling.  “A music journalist?  Who said that?  I write articles about castles and history, not . . .”

“This is history, history in the making, darling, and you’re in the center of it all.  It’s fate.  Can’t you see that?  You’d be a fool not to take advantage of your position.”

Nat studied the guitarist warily, at that point quite sure that there was more to the situation than met the eye.  As she pondered her response, he turned on his heel, making his way to the stage.  A group of men in suits were taking their seats beside the platform as pops of bass and the rattle of drums shook the rafters.  Grabbing the microphone, Robert sidled up next to Jimmy, and the four musicians engaged in a few seconds of hushed deliberation.

“As it appears that our little Natalie can’t make up her mind what to request, I think, ah, I think we’ve got something to dedicate to her, yeah?”

The opening strains of Chuck Berry’s “Nadine” filled the room, and Natalie giggled as Robert substituted her name instead.  It was a rowdy, lighthearted rendition, and she was reminded of his silly serenade two nights before.  How anyone could classify him a some Rock God or sex symbol was beyond her.  He was simply too goofy for the label.  At the end of the song, they launched right into a poppy Elvis tune, and then another that she remembered as a child.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught shifting shadows at the door to the theater.  She watched Robert nod to the large man that was serving as a guard of sorts, and people began to file in.  She pored over their faces, some giddy, some disbelieving, all transfixed as the Elvis number morphed into Buffalo Springfield, which somehow seamlessly transformed into a rollicking “Good Golly Miss Molly.”  It was evident that the boys were completely attuned to each other.  It was tight, but still lively and fun.  They were obviously a great band, but as she followed Robert’s bouncing figure across the stage, she couldn’t help but wonder what all the fuss was about.

Robert beamed, flushed from the applause and cheers of the burgeoning audience.  He glided his eyes over the crowd, delighting in their delight at the unexpected show.  “We’d like to do one more.  It’s from the first LP, and it’s something I hope you’ll like.”  His gaze landed on Natalie at the foot of the stage.  “Particularly one of you.”

Nat could feel the stares of those around her, and she grinned as he winked at her, his gravelly voice cutting through the din.

“I can’t . . . quit you, baby . . .”

In an instant, her grin vanished.  This was different than the other songs.  Very.  Her body shook from the ear shattering boom of Bonzo’s drums and the thunderous bass and guitar that accompanied it.  

“Woman, I think I’m gonna put you down . . . for a little while . . .”

Robert’s wail made her mouth fall open as a wall of sound like she’d never heard before roared around her.  Bluesy and seductive, it enveloped her, heart and soul, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.  He was nothing like the silly serenader on the trail.  This side of him was new, completely alien to her.  She swallowed as a wave of heat rippled through her, a current of electricity the likes of which she didn’t know existed.  As her wide eyes locked on his knowing ones, she finally remembered to breathe.  Jimmy was right.  History was in the making.  And she fully intended to take a piece of it for herself.

[steelplatedhearts]

sorcerer’s stone reread

it’s been 20 years, the epilogue just passed, i’m emotional as shit, it’s time for a full reread, one book at a time. these posts are gonna be less recaps and more reactions, tagged ‘madi rereads harry potter’ for your blacklisting needs, here we go!

-i'm reading this in the new fancy illustrated form because my original copy is lost in a box in the garage somewhere because i didn't label my shit properly when we moved, and it's kind of throwing me off because i left it on the lawn overnight when i was six and the sprinklers went off and now the pages are all warped and kind of rainbow-ish from the smeared ink, and i've gotten used to it. the SPINE IS INTACT on this new book, what is that NONSENSE

-there's a little grunnings picture in this that says BORING IS OUR BUSINESS. imagine working at a company where that's your motto.

-"it was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge" is this like the weasley's clock at all?

-honestly, what the fuck was dumbledore thinking. a LETTER? he couldn't have knocked on the door? did he just not want to give them a chance to refuse? what if they hadn't read the letter? what if they had just turned and dumped harry in a foster home? THERE ARE TOO MANY VARIABLES HERE, DUMBLEDORE. you left a small child outside in november.

-harry potter is cinderella. discuss.

-...you know upon reread i'm kind of...worried about dudley? because, okay, he's been spoiled to shit by his parents, and he's gotten the message directly from them that Harry is an Acceptable Target, and i'm kind of wondering what other messages he internalized? messages like different is bad and this is normal and maybe even if you're different we'll treat you like him. what might the dursleys have done, if dudley showed any signs of being different? if they didn't have someone they considered Obviously Inferior around to hold dudley up next to as a shining example? i think there's an interesting point to be made about the cycle of abuse and how it can be perpetuated even through children but like...fuck, guys, they're eleven years old and i will never stop wanting something where they banded together.

-also, fuck harry's old school instructors who just ignored the signs of neglect. we like to think it got better at hogwarts, but it really didn't, did it?

-damn guys i PROMISE THIS ISN'T GONNA BE A DOWNER THE WHOLE TIME

-i love the fucking snake scene. someone give harry a pet snake.

-come on, mrs. figg, you couldn't even let harry watch TELEVISION? sure, dumbledore didn't want you to make it "fun" or whatever, but you could've at least made it not miserable.

-when i was like, eleven or twelve, i got a harry potter stationery set for christmas and i used the book and a green marker to write myself a hogwarts acceptance letter with the plan of like, going to britain and talking my way in, somehow. I didn't make it out of the neighborhood, but i still think it would've worked.

-what happens if a muggle family doesn't want to send their kid to hogwarts? do they even get a choice??

-"Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag." does an eleven year old need a television, vcr, and computer? no. does this demonstrate exactly what i was worrying about a few bullet points back? yes

-these illustrations are fucking amazing. hagrid has a TROLL DOLL KEYCHAIN.

-HAGRID IS SO WONDERFUL! he brought cake! he treated harry gently! he listened! i love him!

-so wait, hogwarts knew that harry was living under the stairs but didn't know that the dursleys hadn't told him about magic? or if they did know, they didn't bother to fill in hagrid? WEAK.

-“I know some things,” he said. “I can, you know, do maths and stuff.” my precious son

-i just now realized that this illustrated edition has the british text, and my ancient original copy has all the american changes they made when they first published it.

-i would read a 50k epic about nothing but petunia and lily.

-"Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake" #same

-...okay, hagrid, i adore you beyond reason, but why didn't you give uncle vernon the pig's tail, considering he was the one you were actually mad at, rather than dudley, who was literally just standing there?

-I bought a harry potter knitting pattern book once and there were all these patterns for molly weasley but nothing for hagrid, & that's some bullshit. molly and hagrid should probably be in a knitting circle. god how many sweaters and hats and shit does hagrid knit for harry's kids

-i would also read 50k of quirrell backstory fic

-honestly, the wizarding world needs to get with the paper money program. can you imagine just carrying around PILES OF GOLD every time you go out? my purse barely fits all my shit as it is

-has anyone done any deep-delving goblin stuff? because i would be all over that

-"After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.” man this line has ALWAYS STUCK WITH ME

-this whole "owl or cat or toad" thing clearly isn't even all that enforced if multiple weasley generations can get away with scabbers

-how does everyone already know about harry's scar? like, who told everyone?

-don't fucking @ me he's my son and i love him

-i honestly kind of wonder about the differences in reading this as an american person vs. someone from the uk? because reading this the whole concept of houses was cool and unusual, but would it have really been that ~magical~ for someone who was used to the concept?

-"mandy brocklehurst" sounds like the mean girl from an early 00s teen movie

-i love that the wizarding world has jello

-ah, the days when taking a single house point was an apocalyptic event

-madam hooch is a Lesbian ™

-parvati patil: the founding member of the neville longbottom defense squad

-parvati patil: ALSO the first person to defend harry to mcgonagall

-parvati patil: severely underrated, y'all

-i love that professor mcgonagall is 100% willing to ignore the rules if quidditch is involved

-as a former lonely smart child, hermione is so relatable

-i absolutely forgot neville was involved the first time they found fluffy. SORRY NEVILLE

-"so I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" ...hermione is my dad here, RULES ARE RULES GUYS

-they should at least modify the bludgers so they're less dangerous when you've got eleven year olds playing

-do brits really call baked potatoes jacket potatoes that's the funniest goddamn thing i've ever heard

-just let a bunch of live bats loose in the cafeteria, no way that'll cause a problem

-"harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid" and continued doing so for seven books, i love my son

-oh my god this book stops for two pages for "newt scamander's guide to trolls"

-"Inside a troll's mind: Food, violence, kittens, nose-picking, keep thinking it's tuesday"

-this book's hermione has hair that's almost IDENTICAL to my hair as a child

-hermione may be unwilling to believe that snape is a bad guy but she sure does zero right in on him at the quidditch match

-fred and george repeatedly hit voldemort in the face with snowballs while he couldn't do anything about it

-what's wizard church like? they celebrate christmas, surely some of them go to church. is there a wizard pope?

-i love that ron is good at chess even if he isn't traditionally book smart

-this picture of harry and dumbledore sitting on the floor in their pajamas in front of the mirror of erised is so cute and almost heartbreaking when you consider the future

-i know dumbledore is basically Grey Morality: The Musical, but i really do love him

-"harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training" oh no harry you're too small for this sadness

-look if you're letting literal children play a sport that makes them genuinely worry about dying, then there's a PROBLEM THERE

-"i'm worth twelve of you, malfoy"

-hermione hugs parvati, bless

-let hermione granger have more female friends

-that's, uh, something i'm probably gonna hit on a lot in these

-"wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life" oh, you sweet summer child

-i had to pause to look up how often the illustrated editions will be coming out because they're beautiful and i want them all

-it looks like once a year in october

-"four students out of bed in one night! i've never heard of such a thing before!" sure jan

-it's understandable for people to be pissed at harry for losing all these points the first time, but after five years of him being disliked for some reason and then vindicated in the end, you think they'd learn

-malfoy's got a point, this probably isn't something they should have students doing

-MARS IS BRIGHT TONIGHT

-”If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have, because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me!” i love him so much i want to cry

-"oh come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

-and i cry and my tears are golden trio feelings

-"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too." "Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that." bless you hermione

-NEVILLE MY DARLING SON

-YOU'RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE

-ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT

-also i really like that bit, mostly because, okay, Hermione's been learning about magic for a year, but that's stacked against eleven years of not defaulting to magic, that's probably a difficult instinct to change

-when i was maybe ten or eleven, i had a harry potter birthday, and my mom went full Artist on it, it was the coolest thing ever, but a special shoutout to the old antique keys she bought and glued feathers to and then hung from our ceiling fan

-i'm so proud of you and your chess skills, ron

-but holy shit they didn't even go over to check on him after, they just KEPT GOING

-which like, fair, it's a race against quirrel at this point, but DUDES. U GOTTA WATCH OUT FOR CONCUSSIONS.

-look, there's no way around it. a bunch of magically talented professors got beat by three eleven year olds.

-"it wasn't the snitch at all. it was a pair of glasses. how strange." harry is either way too chill or has no chill at all, there's no middle ground

-hagrid's scrapbook is the most precious thing

-when i was five reading this for the first time i was so pumped about gryffindor winning the house cup. i am less pumped as an adult, he could've awarded those points BEFORE the decorations were up, dude, where's the cutoff?

-ANYWAY this was so good, i remember back when when i first read these i would read a passage, leave the book in my room, run downstairs and recite an entire page at my mother before running back up to finish it

-those were the days

-this is the greatest book

-NEXT UP CHAMBER OF SECRETS, in which i will most likely be reading from my original waterlogged copy

[festivalists]

In the mood for Transylvania

With the Romanian TIFF slowly but surely emerging as a must stop for every film professional, not just for the ones curious about local cinema, we are happy to offer you Patrick Holzapfel's notes on the contemplative week he spent in Transylvania. Just like last year, he shares his experience entering the cinephilia space-time continuum, only this time peeking far beyond the snows of Sieranevada.

It is odd to be writing again. I wonder how one can come back to a place one has been before, as the same or a different person, watching the same or different films. How often do we have to come to a place until the memories connected with it become real again? Festivals in general give the impression of being always changing, while they seem to be the same from year to year. Cluj-Napoca, it was again. The huge Transylvania International Film Festival which would once again prove that you do not need many cinemas to project films.

I have seen it, and like last year it greeted me with rain and sticky weather. Like with so many festivals, the trip is part of the experience. Especially when being able to do it by car. Why? Well, because you might win a spring screen wash for your car at a Romanian gas station (I asked “Why did I win?” and the answer “Because you tank!”), or you can witness a dog not only running on the street in front of cars but doing it in circles in a roundabout. Moreover, for the first time in my life I had to pass through a mudslide while a policeman was observing it and shrugging his shoulders. In my imagination, I was swept away from the mud. Then I arrived in Cluj-Napoca with my muddy car. I was very happy to own a spring screen wash. From my hotel room I could see the whole town. Traces of the sun behind the clouds.

Why do I write about these matters that do not seem to be related to cinema? It is because I think they are related to cinema. Traveling to a foreign country is always about comparing it to images one has of it. In terms of cinema, this means you can see who is a “documentary filmmaker” and who does not care about the real world. Documentary filmmakers, like Christian Petzold, Thomas Heise, or Angela Schanelec in Germany, give an image of a country that holds true when you travel there. There is something you know about a country without ever having been there. Something cinema knows. It is not facts but sensibilities, and it is memories becoming material. In the case of Romania, it seemed to me again, the absurdities are very well depicted by cinema, the beauty and poetry are not.

However, I know of someone who would have jumped right into the mudslide: Buster Keaton. I decided to open my personal festival with him as the war – a so-called cine-concert with Diallèle accompanying THE GENERAL (1926). The musical trio with its wreaking sounds focussed on the idea of movement in the film as opposed to the idea of gags. It is an approach that works particularly well with THE GENERAL, because the speed of the film is its oxygen. Oh, this cross-cutting splendor. The music was taking the side of the machines, not of Keaton. Due to that, the actor seemed even more out of place than he is anyway. It was a rather nice way to start the festival even if the digital copy seemed to be a Blu-Ray (maybe it was that was just the bad quality of projection in the Student's Culture House, but it certainly was not projected from film).

Some thoughts on silence. There was very little of it in the theatres here in Cluj-Napoca. It was a cell phone paradise. Nobody seemed to bother. Sounds and lights everywhere. Is it too much for a festival to ask people to shut down their mobiles during screenings?

Another silence gone – Šarūnas Bartas. His cinema tells the story of a frustration, the frustration with words. Whereas in his first works he stunningly avoided them, now he has become some sort of prophet of the non-speaking. It is a paradox, though, as his characters talk a lot about not-talking. But his latest film FROST (2017) is much more than that. It is a journey into questions about the inability of touching and the impossibility of truth. Nevertheless, what remains is the absence of silence. Yet, silence is resistance as it is shown in Jean-Pierre Melville’s beautiful and cruel THE SILENCE OF THE SEA / LE SILENCE DE LA MER (1949), part of the director's retrospective at the festival. In the first row a young lady was sitting with a laptop as a live-subtitling device. The light of that screen (why does she have to sit there?) were louder than the words of the film.

I had to face it: Cluj was loud and joyous again. It was not a cathedral of cinema, nothing holy here, just people enjoying cinema. In the festival trailer, a guy eats cabbage and afterwards an alien-like creature bursts out of his stomach.

So, in the morning I sat down in a park close to my hotel. There were some ducks here, an old lady was picking leaves from the trees, many lovers here, they did what lovers do. It was almost silent. I tried to think about what I had been seeing so far: a lot of noise, some silence.

Interlude. What it takes to show films in Cluj-Napoca, present them as a big event, and pay for hotel rooms for people like me:

Drink some Staropramen or Sâmburești wine, pay for it with your Mastercard, or get some money at Raiffeisen Bank. That is how your day should start. While you are at it, go to McDonald's, they even have a parking spot where you can put your Mercedes, baby. At McDonald's they show HBO, or TV5Monde should you prefer French. After eating a cheeseburger and having beautiful talks about the arts with representatives of the Ministry of Culture as well as some big shots from Creative Europe, you can fill in some gas at a MOL. It is easy, and you are also doing something for the culture, as they faithfully tell you in their commercial. Maybe some Nespresso for take-away. However, please be careful and wash your clothes only with Persil. I can not bare any other detergent.

And don’t forget to write to me. You can use DHL. You can also add the beautiful images you made with your Nikon. I could digitize them and watch them on my brand new BenQ LCD monitor. You could also send them digitally. Don’t you own a Samsung mobile phone that makes even better images? You could also call me with it. Internet should not be a problem with UPC. Neither is light with E.ON, neither is water supply with Water Coman SOMEŞ S.A. I guess you have everything you need? If there is anything you miss, you can also go to M@dd Electronics.

On Romanian TV they said “I love Cluj!” The ambassadors and other inspiring people from the world of institutes are also there. I could see them walk on television. Don’t hesitate to drink some Jameson Irish Whiskey with them. They are nice. Don’t drink too much. I heard AQUA Carpatica is better for your health. Maybe when you become friends with them you can also buy a Tenaris pipeline together. There was a James Bond film with Pierce Brosnan where they had lots of fun in such a pipeline. If you want to feel more beautiful, I recommend Avon, it is “the company for women.” Should anthing happen in the pipeline, or anywhere else, Aegon will be there for you.

Cinema, I’m lovin’ it.

The emptiness of the Ethnographic Museum in Cluj-Napoca reminded me of an absence. It is not an absence that is connected with something or someone in particular, but one of those absences one feels in the soul while looking at things. As I walked through a building that contained the peasant history of the region in instruments, clothes, and decor, everything seemed to be so touchable and so far away. In a brave and weak second, I could not resist – though it was forbidden, I put my finger on one of these dresses, feeling the colors under my fingertips, the material with my skin, yet, the history seemed gone. A peculiar sensation that even got stronger when I felt that looking at huge photographies of people actually wearing those clothes, or working with those instruments, spoke a lot more to me than the touch. Is this, I asked myself, the price you pay for watching too many movies, or just for living in this world? The images showed eyes of people looking into the camera, there was joy and poverty, struggle and beauty. They were stronger, in a way even more present than the objects. I could only understand the weight of these instruments, their function, and beauty while I was looking at the photographs. As if I was blind for the real thing. However, I was wondering, what is real about those instruments and clothes without people?

After a dream, I woke up to a screening of CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ / NESFÂRŞIT (2007) by Cristian Nemescu, a film I had known already and loved. It was presented as a tragic and sad anniversary screening. Sad because director Nemescu died in a car crash while working on the post-production of this film. It tells the story of a meeting between a Romanian village and American soldiers passing through. It is at the same time a political statement, a light and romantic comedy, a coming-of-age film, a drama, a western, and an exploration about different forms of resistance. Due to rain and other issues, the screening started at midnight. So in the middle of the night, all the leaves were brown, and the sky was grey. It was uplifting and deeply touching at the same time. Again, I was wondering what spoke to me so much in this film. Is it finding oneself in those images, narratives? Is it really all about identification? I am not happy with it, I did not want to go to cinema to see myself on the screen.

As it is asked in the Golden Bear winner ON BODY AND SOUL / TESTRŐL ÉS LÉLEKRŐL (2017) by Ildikó Enyedi, what happens if two people see the same image, maybe look into the same mirror in a dream? Do they maybe become blind for the real thing, or do they only project themselves on the dreams of another person?

It was a day without structure. Cinema swallowed memories.

The Romanian Days had started. This line-up is the festival's flagship, because Romanian cinema keeps being exciting. I watched new films by Adrian Sitaru and Călin Peter Netzer, as well as many average to bad shorts. Sitaru’s latest offers a moral dilemma deeply concerned with the ethics of journalism and image-making. When you try to make people who suffered unjustly speak, and you know that the act of speaking makes them suffer, what do you do?

It reminded me of a note in one of my old notebooks: “Is filming stealing (time)?”

The issue of realism in Romanian cinema has been discussed on (too) many occasions. Yet, it catches the eye how certain ways of camera movement, color grading, or sound design are not connected to moral positions anymore. They are mere style. Due to that, every little change from what one seems to know comes like a surprise. There are not many surprises.

In the morning, the cleaning lady of my hotel took away my card, she came back and gave it to me. While arriving at my room late in the evening, the card did not work. I went to the desk, and they gave me another card, telling me the one I had was for a different room. I like the idea of a hotel where people have to find their room, because the cards / keys do not tell. I was sleeping in the wrong bed, maybe, like a baby that was given to another mother.

Flowers in the Japanese Gardens, some ducks searching for cover under a sunlit bridge, children screaming and scaring away the flowers. The flowers can not run. Yet they whisper to each other about hiding. Leaves falling to the ground, searching for a shadow. Someone let a tree die, here. It looks beautiful. The Botanical Garden in Cluj-Napoca is truly magnificent. I went there in order to hide, to look at water lilies reflecting suns.

Later I was going to see one of my favorite flowers in last year’s cinema – the one the protagonist is holding lovingly, moribundly close to his chest in Radu Jude’s SCARRED HEARTS / INIMI CICATRIZATE (2016). He is on his way to his love, he wants to give it to her. He bids farewell to the world and tries to live in it for the last breathe close to the sea. He is blooming but still dying. It is a film that exceeds wrinkles of suffering and instead gives an approach to death that consists of anger, desperation, and beauty. It is also concerned with the gap opening between what is said and seen, what is hidden and embraced by history and those writing it. Since I have seen it, I want to read Max Blecher’s writings. The film is based on his life and takes from his novels. I started reading his novel with a title that seems rather fittingly for my festival endeavors, Adventures in Immediate Irreality.

How an attempt concerned with history and its perception can be done rather clumsily showed CAMERA OBSCURA (2016), a documentary on cine-clubs during Ceaușescu that had above all a terrible soundtrack. It showed people telling redundantly their memories. In the end, it communicated its very clear message in titles – these cine-clubs are looked at as if they were pure propaganda instruments but they were much more and harm was done to their essential documentation of communist life in Romania during and after the Revolution. What is to be done with those films that only consist of what they talk about?

The flowers in the Botanical Garden had no messages. So before the screening of the not quite fantastic but decent A FANTASTIC WOMAN / UNA MUJER FANTÁSTICA (2017), I returned there. But all the flowers were in hiding. They were telling me, like Gustave Courbet, that we can only see what gets lit from the sun. I don't know... a festival can be such a sun, can't it? However, I am wondering, what if a sun chooses where to shine on?

There was more shadow than light on my last day in Cluj-Napoca. Nevertheless, I could see more than in the previous days.

Part of the bright shadows came from the long-buried Romanian classic THE ONE HUNDRED BILL / 100 DE LEI (1973) by Mircea Săucan. The film was shown in a newly restored copy that was so black and so white that Philippe Garrel, wherever he was, must have felt an itching in his left eye while watching it. Fittingly, it tells a rather dark story about two brothers, one a successful actor, the other – a drifter. They fall for the same girl but the film is, again, about more than that. It is about the unreality of dependency. The sound seems to be miles away from the image. People talk, yes, but the post-production voices are not meant to stick to the reality of the image. Instead they project themselves onto something which we know from being too late, a sensation close to an echo or something that resonates in a desire to be somewhere else. It is a bizarre and hypnotic film that must be watched again. It was followed by Radu Jude’s latest documentary THE DEAD NATION / ŢARA MOARTĂ (2017), which consists entirely of photographs and found-footage voice-over, telling or not telling about the history of anti-semitism in Romania during at the time of WWII. So, after all those flowers and doubts, cinema got me back when it started to open gaps between what we can and can’t see.

My week in Transylvania ends here. After a festival there is much to tell. It always struck me as funny to travel in order to sit through something that basically feels the same everywhere yet makes you travel again. It is like a double exposure of traveling. During a festival, we are at many places at the same time. One can keep the city or cinema at a distance. So, the sensation of memories intertwining with visits to places and films will always be distorted. It is highly dependent on the rhythm. TIFF has the rhythm of too much, too fast. Still, sometimes such an overdose allows for sudden freedom. It is like when Bresson wrote that the sound-film invented silence – a festival like this might remind us the true value of a single film and the time we spend with it. Curating at TIFF is looked at from the perspective of offering, bringing something, maybe everything. It is not about taste, morals, or values, it is about the market.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, though, because it might work and be understood like a convention for world cinema in Romania. Rarely have I visited a festival where so much is done to include the town and even its surroundings into the programming and the event as such. It feels like everything breathes TIFF, and the young audience shows that such an attitude can give the impression of cinema being alive. There is no possibility you have not heard of TIFF if you are local. Some beautiful encounters and impressions derive from such a presence.

However, the question remains if it is cinema that is alive or the event it is engraved in. Cluj-Napoca once again proved to be an island where such doubts feel out of place. It quite clearly tells people to have fun, to celebrate, not to repine. Considering developments in the Romanian industry bureaucracy, such a place is clearly needed and embraced by many. The festival is young, it wants to break with certain patterns, it is moving on where others hesitate. It looks bravely and sometimes blindly into the future. The beautiful thing about this is that it creates enthusiasm, the bad thing is that it does not ask you to look, it does not tell you anything about cinema as a festival. With this I mean there is no idea of how to look at films, how to project films, how to discuss films, or how to program films.

But don’t think too much. Take a # and dance me to the future of cinema.

If you are a film industry professional, you can watch films from Transylvania IFF on Festival Scope.

[keithcurrams]

Sound Kapital - Labyrinth Management and Events

St. Patrick’s Day 201

A secret gig for St. Patrick’s Day? In a barn not too far from the city centre? How could I resist.

I was tipped off to this event by the landowner over beers a few weeks back and was asked to give a hand setting up lights for the event. We put in a few evenings getting the place together, but  in truth the space was ready to rock; Well versed in the ways of the session all it needed was a once over with a sweeping brush but we decided to give it a bit of extra attention by rigging some lights, painting and extending the stage and adding a few new features.

The space was divided into 3 open plan areas; seating, performance, and at the far end a bar. Overhead the open balcony of a storage loft ran the length of the building , outside a single-serving latrine with sink. By the time people arrived this was complete with a red bulb and Vivaldi on loop from a small stereo.

Decided to plug everything in on Thursday to see how it fared out. Hot air blowers upgraded from being circuit board blowers in time for the gig. Try finding a ceramic fuse on a bank holiday Friday.

The acts started to arrive mid afternoon and soon the whooshing of hot air blowers was overlaid with chatter, the room was populated with bodies and black flight cases filled the floor. I left to come back, nipping home to eat and change and arrived back before 8pm. I could hear quiet chats and the clink of cutlery from the far end of the room, the musicians clustered around a table by the bar finishing their dinners, talking about songwriting and the events of the day  “…don’t think of it as a song when you’re writing it…” and I began to pick familiar faces out from around the table. The hitherto unknown ‘Bana Rua’ comprised of several knowns, Waterford is like 1 degree of separation, it’s quick to network here and guaranteed any new production is going to have at least 1 person from a previous, the same faces occur in a new context, producing new work, striving and pushing forward with their creativity.

The sun goes down, the house lights go off. The bare floors and many many couches are lit by fairyight, candles and a few well placed spots. Our pridefully extended and painted stage is a mere amp riser for the kit heavy acts, the frontline extending the length of the dancefloor and coming out half the width from the back wall leaving a narrow channel for dancing and movement between the areas. Soon after 8pm people started to arrive in 2’s and 3’s, taking seats along the long wall. Stephen Butler sat on the stairs to the storage area checking people in, allowing them to filter through to the performance area and crowd in around the bar. The venue filled fast, the 1st act not even on yet, revellers coming over from the city draped in flags and carrying cans.

The first plucked note from Toucan (Conor Clancy) hushed the crowd and the room’s attention turned to the music, Conor’s voice and general demeanour captivating the assembled.

Some spirit of fun resides in this shed, welcome and ready for the feast of St Patricks. A feast of drink and tunes.  The democracy of the crowd, some moving closer to the performance area to move to the beat, others hanging back to talk in groups scattered about the space. Walking around there are even more familiar faces and reunions, people I’d not seen in months all fresh and full of life for the night that’s in it.

The mood is infectious, such a party vibe like the sessions of my youth, booze, music and a concrete floor. Down by the bar I paused among the crowd to watch, to just be amongst the bodies and was drawn into an engrossing conversation that ranged from music to film to literature, topics punctuated by a sip of whiskey. It was one of those conversations that could easily have gone on all night until drink rendered us senseless and it reminded me that real chats still exist outside of my bubble. 

The mandolins, guitar and banjo of the second act Bana Rua take the floor shortly after Toucan, informing the crowd that “Bana Rua are gonna do a scabby few aul wans for ya” and count into a bawdy pub ballad. Vocals harmonising and the instruments come in greeted by a ‘rrRRRRRYEAH!’ from the audience seated and standing mere inches from the singers. Bana Rua’s performance was just beautiful, at times the four singing in canon, completely a capella, each songs’ end met with cheers and whoops from the crowd.

Bana Rua

With all the kit laid out ready to go, turnaround between acts was swift. Around 11pm Key Regimes took to the stage. As in they actually used the stage, which was nice to see. From the crowd I could just about see the 2 heads behind the wall of equipment; keys with cool tropical banner draped down the front topped by a midi triggered light bar, the familiar chic of handcut plywood and electrical flex.

Key Regimes

The cool uplifting funkiness of the Key Regimes is like a well-produced soundtrack for a party in a film and their live performance carries the same tone and texture you’d get from their recorded material. I found myself looking around for the rest of the band, this is a sound that should not be emanating from 2 people with just guitar and keys, so full and rich; pure soundtrack music with songs seeming to flow from one to the other.

Time passed and people danced. Around 12.43 ‘Between Ourselves’ had started the final slot of the night. The trio moved bopping behind an array of sequencers, synths and unknown apparatus glittering with buttons and lights that when manipulated delighting the crowd. They shifted up through the phases to bring the sound in the room to a great crashing crescendo, like a high hat strike that just keeps on ringing without a tail. Beats and samples queued up to be the next to rise through the mix, sloping troughs and frothy silvery peaks all kept in line by a solid yet shifting beat. They dropped elements into the mix then strategically pulled them back, soloing and jamming together with the same dynamic you’d see in any band. The three moved amongst each other, arms reaching across to adjust a dial, eye contact and flow, the likes I’d not seen since the late heyday of Untz with Dave, Muc and Petshop occupying one mind with 6 arms manipulating the mix.

Between Ourselves

The music builds and flows, sweaty bodies and hands are in the air, the concrete floor wet with slopped sups, I see a sea of bobbing smiling happy faces. Some other heads a bit the worse for wear, sat in corners tapping a foot to the music and leaning in to speak to each other.

The musicians finished up and the crowd thinned as the bulk of the revelers passed out into the soft night. Someone dutifully took on DJ duties, the remaining crowd singing along and dancing to ‘Stop Making Sense’ projected on the wall. Even though it’s a rip streamed from YouTube it is still a hairraising experience and  it  feels weird to applaud  a recording from decades ago but yet we do. Beyond the bobbing heads Dave hops up on stage pirouetting with a can of glitter, scattering golden flakes out over the remaining dancers in a graceful cinematic display.

Hours later now, the blueing sky is in danger of being overpowered by the twinkle of fairy lights. “It’s early days, it’s only 25 to 7” comes a voice from across the room. This is the warmest time; hearts are bared, the BS stripped away though anyone still standing has few layers left to peel back. All the demons are danced out and just a few assembled stalwarts herald the rising sun from the couches. Plastic cups of Captain Morgan and Coke are handed round and a toast is called: “May you get half an hour in Heaven before the Devil finds you”. Soon after I get the urge to go. I don’t really want to go, but I know I need to. I walk home in the bright morning sun, picking up some blaas and beans from the Spar en route and find myself momentarily bathed in stank from a passing lorry on it’s way from the abattoir. I awoke many hours later, the sun heading for the opposite horizon and me feeling more than a bit seedy but allover good after a few hours of sweaty tossy-turny drink filled sleep, a hunger on me for salty Tayto and Meanies washed down with about 2 pints of tea. The camera full of blurry mnemonics, and 6 pages of chicken scratch notes to transcribe.