#AND SOMEHOW GEORGE BELLOWS NEVER CAME UP

[crouteann]

not to be annoying but i cannot accurately portray how fucking stoked i was to see this in the 1900s room (??) at the cmoa. id never seen george bellows work before!!! it was one of my favorite things i saw there and i was gushing to davey about it for like 5 minutes making him look at it with me and then they had MAGNETSSSSSS

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hii!! I was wondering if you can write a dream imagine where like you guys are secretly dating and you sometimes post you and dream holding hands but you never tag him so like people know that you are dating someone but no one really knows who and one day you and the guys were talking and you say something like “oh yeah my boyfriend gave me this this and this” and everyone else is all like omg that’s cute but sapnap is over here like “dude dream literally had that here yesterday” but like sapnap doesn’t say anything to you guys he just tells the rest of the guys that he thinks you guys are dating but has zero evidence so the next few weeks they are just trying to catch you guys and one day when they suspect that dream is cheating (when he was actually like asking your mom for your hand in marriage or something) the boys are all like “dude we caught dream talking with someone else I’m so sorry to tell you this” and like you and dream start laughing so hard bc it was your mom and you guys are like “yeah We’ve been dating for like a year now did we not tell you guys?” Or something like “oh yeah did we not make it obvious?” Idk if it made sense 😭😂

I'm ✍️✍️✍️✍️

𝐌𝐎𝐌'𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: one or two swear words

You leaned back in your chair, listening to the conversation unfolding before you. You turned the volume up slightly as Sapnap began to tease you about your gaming techniques. You giggled as others began to weigh in, joking about this and that. George’s voice came in above the others. “Guys shut up, her boyfriend works for Microsoft and can get you banned,” he mocked, making you snort.

The image of Dream trying to figure out how to boil water flashed into your mind. “Yeah, he’s terrifying,” you chided.

Sapnap was the next to pipe up. “You can tell us you don’t have a boyfriend, you know. No one will care.”

“No yeah, I do. He bought me this shirt,” you defended, lifting the hem of your hoodie to show the group of them, earning a chorus of sarcastic cooing. Sapnap’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as if he’d seen it before.

George smugly grinned at you. “Oh, yeah? Does he go to another school?”

You snickered. “Shut up,” you mumbled, the chat switching to a new subject. Little did you know, Sapnap was texting George and the rest of them about his suspicions that this mysterious boyfriend of yours was actually Dream, knowing full well that he’d seen Dream buy that exact shirt a few weeks prior.

You’d been dating him for nearly a year, choosing to blatantly disregard any questions about who he was and vice versa. Most of your photos on Instagram involving him were vague and gave your audience more confusion than understanding. Comments about searching for your OnlyFans to see if they could recognize his voice began to circulate and your friends even fueled that fire.

You weren’t sure what Dream had told Sapnap all those months of secrecy, but somehow it seemed like the t-shirt was the first hint at your relationship. After he’d addressed his suspicions with the rest of your group, it was like a hunt to find out if it really was Dream or if Sapnap was just a few marbles short of sanity from one too many late nights.

In the midst of this wild goose chase, Dream was focused on getting your mom to warm up to him. She was a difficult woman to impress, but he was just as (if not more) stubborn than she was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, but he’d rather have her favor him over your past boyfriend and there was one she was determined to prefer over him until the end of time. You often joked about him getting close to you only for him to date your mother, which drove him absolutely sideways.

When she visited, he made dinner for all of you and―after studying for a week prior―discussed various books and authors she loved. It wasn’t until he exhaustedly brought up The Crown that the two of them finally clicked. He’d found her “g-spot,” you’d often tease.

After that, they were practically inseparable and he was the one that took her to lunch and sightseeing when she was in town until you got out of school. It was on one of these visits that Sapnap had spotted the two. She was talking Dream’s ear off about something, touching his arm to articulate her points and mockingly appraising him for opening doors for her without being asked.

At this point, Sapnap and the group were certain the two of you were together, therefore when Dream’s voice picked up on his radar and he saw him schmoozing an older woman, his stomach sank. He watched the two of them for a bit, not seeing much change in the way they communicated, but through the glass of the front of the restaurant, he was shocked that Dream was going behind your back in such a way.

That night the group was rather quiet, only a few mumbles from the others would pitch in as you and Dream basically had a conversation amongst yourselves. “So what’s the news. Why is everyone suddenly so mellow?” You joked, making a few of them chuckle awkwardly.

George cleared his throat. “Uh, we have to tell you something…” he muttered. “Dream’s talking to someone else…”

Your eyebrows perked slightly. “What do you mean?” You queried, Dream sending a silent what into the air.

Sapnap sighed. “I saw him with someone else earlier today. They looked like they were on a date or something…”

Dream laughed into his microphone, wheezing as he went about. “You bitch! I knew you were hooking up with my mom!” You joked, biting back your own giggles. You could hear the physical embodiment of a question mark ricocheting through the chat. “Dream and my mom are absolute besties. I wouldn’t be surprised-”

Dream drew in a sharp breath, his laugh making his voice barely audible as he cut you off. “STOP don’t encourage them!” He bellowed, struggling to breathe through his chuckles.

“What’s Dream doing with your mom?” George asked, tilting his head with a probing expression.

You wet your lips. “Since we’ve started dating, he’s been obsessed with being her favorite,” you jested.

“Since you’ve started dating?” Sapnap repeated to the group as if proving he’d been right the whole time.

Dream sighed, catching his breath. “Yeah, I’m at her place right now,” he spoke. “Hold on, I’ll prove it.” You let out a small chuckle as you heard him set his headphones down, followed by his footsteps thundering up your stairs before he was standing behind you. He briefly pressed his lips against yours in a greeting before leaning toward your microphone and sending a “hello from the otherside” to the group.

He leaned his arm against the back of your chair, you switching on your camera mainly because it was just the group of you. “I thought we were pretty obvious like you guys were just making fun of me because you knew it was him,” you stated.

Sapnap looked over his shoulder slightly as if he were listening for movement in his own home. “Wait, when did you leave?”

Dream scoffed. “I’ve been here all day. I literally woke you up to tell you where I was going.” Sapnap furrowed his brows in disbelief at this.

George was clicking away at his computer. “See, I knew I recognized your hands in the Instagram photos,” he mumbled. “I hate it here.”

You smirked slightly. “That being said, my boyfriend does own your guys’ server so he will ban you if you make fun of me.”

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

do you have any theories about the india trip ?? personally, im not sure what to think about it, but i’d love to hear your thoughts !!

(Sorry its taken me so long to answer this - it just got lost in my drafts cause im an idiot lmao 🤦‍♀️)

Im not entirely certain on what I believe happened in India, if in fact anything did happen at all - but more on that later! I guess though that these are the main theories (though if you have any differing opinions/theories, feel free to discuss them!):

1. Paul rejected John’s advancements

2. John wanted to further their relationship, and Paul wanted to maintain the ‘friends with benefits’ situation they already had

3. Nothing significant happened between the two (yet something still changed in John)

I’ll try to discuss which theories I find the most convincing, compelling and substantiated - as well as offering my own opinions and hypothesis’s ^^ (discussion bellow the cut)

1. Paul rejected John’s advancements

The theory I would say im most drawn to - not the theory that im necessarily most convinced by though - is that John made a move on Paul, after a few years of pining for him, and was subsequently rejected. Its a theory that I tend to be compelled by, but I have to admit that its one I struggle to justify entirely. The problem with this theory, for me, is that this is a conclusion ive drawn based mostly off of what their relationship appeared to look like after India. It seems as though something must have happened between them to have ruptured their relationship as profoundly as it did - and because they were on relatively good terms before India*, combined with certain inferences we could draw from comments John made regarding his feelings towards Paul and their relationship, it feels as though it’s possible that he made an advance on Paul, which was rejected and thus caused the ultimate disintegration of the Lennon/McCartney relationship.

(*I mean, their relationship was always complicated and difficult - but it seems that it was okay-ish prior to India, and then just inexplicably plummeted after the trip)

But nobody (as far as im aware) has confirmed, or even really alluded to, this advancement or rejection ever having happened. And the lack of evidence substantiating the claim is a major draw back for me!

However, I do also feel as though nobody’s really come out about anything that happened in India - all ive heard is that they meditated, wrote songs, John and Cyn fought, and Ringo ate baked beans. But like, more must have happened on the trip, surely? Im not saying the absence of information regarding the trip is proof that there was a big “lovers quarrel” between John and Paul, and that everyone involved in that trip is now just sworn to secrecy or something - but like, id just like to see a biographer really investigate the holiday, and try to conclude what events might have occurred during the trip, because as of right now, with the information we have, it seems to have been, bizarrely, both a lacklustre and uneventful, yet still hugely impactful event. If the narrative of the “India trip” were to be shifted in the future in light of new information, the same way the narrative of “Let It Be/Get Back” is being changed, I wouldn’t be surprised!

2. John wanted more, but Paul didn’t

Another popular theory is that John and Paul were engaged in something of a physical affair, but in India John proposed (or perhaps demanded even) that they take their relationship further, and Paul just wasn’t compelled to do so.

Beliefs vary regarding this, based on how far you personally think their relationship went: some might say they only ever did a little drunken experimenting with one another, and that it was just a fun fling until John suggested they take it further. Others might argue that they were in fact in a committed relationship, and John wanted to go public with it - or at the very least, demanded exclusivity between him and Paul.

In entertaining this theory, im most compelled to believe that John and Paul were engaged in occasional “flings”, and perhaps by ‘68 were even acknowledging that there was some deeper and more sincere between them - but ultimately, I don’t think Paul would have ever been inclined to fully commit to John, because I think he always wanted children and a family. In addition to this, though its clear John and Paul were passionate about one another, it isn’t clear how compatible they were in the long term - and with Paul being the more grounded of the too, I suspect he would have recognised this incompatibility, which John (the idealist) might not have.

Though I admit that John could certainly be unrealistic and irrational, im not convinced that he suggested to Paul they go public with their relationship, because I think John still had a fairly strong sense of his place in popular culture, and would have still been able to recognise that if they were to “come out”, it would probably deeply and irreparably damage both their careers - as well as George and Ringo’s too - at least amongst the general public. They’d still have some ardent fans, but their following overall would have become far more niche, and the “beatlemania” would’ve worn off swiftly. Im not sure if either of them would’ve been willing to take that heat in ‘68, especially not Paul, who as I mentioned earlier, I think might have recognised the futility and incompatibility inherent in their relationship.

Then again though, John was always a little “cocky”* when it came to his sexuality - I think if an interviewer were to genuinely have enquired into his sexuality, straight up asking him “Are you bi? Gay?” I get the sense that he would have told us! Sure he’d probably have dressed the response up with a dozen quick quips and jokes, but ultimately, I think he would have given a sincere response. And so, perhaps he did feel he had the confidence, at least in India, to actually “come out”, but if Paul wasn’t willing to make this official with him, perhaps this confidence dissipated.

(*No pun intended you pervs🤦‍♂️)

Another thing to note about India is that they’d have been relatively secluded, as well as off the drugs/drinks for the most part - and this would have forced them to really reflect upon their relationship. Perhaps John saw that he wasn’t contented with Cynthia, and recognised his desire for more from Paul - and so in such a raw state of mind, I can see how he’d become so shattered if Paul were to have rejected him (that statement could relate both to the first and second theory, I feel). Perhaps John made an advance upon Paul whilst they were both sober for the first time, and that changed their relationship somehow? Just thinking out loud here!

But again, this theory overall has the same problem as the first in that, though it appears to make sense, it still lacks proof; it ultimately isn’t a substantiated claim.

3. Nothing happened between J&P, but something changed

This is probably the theory that everybody is least interested in hearing, but I still think its a pretty valid one, albeit the least dramatic (In my opinion though its still a really interesting perspective to explore though!).

Its possible that nothing of particular significance happened in India, but something still shifted in John, causing him to vilify and reject Paul. The issue with this though, is that it begs the question: why did John undergo such a significant change in India then?

Id argue that perhaps John was making very subtle and slight moves towards Paul, that Paul either ignored or didn't pick up on. Id assume that perhaps John had been hinting at this desire for awhile now, and maybe he got it into his head that in India, where him and Paul would have a lot of time to be alone and intimate, his feelings would finally be reciprocated. But then, Paul never picked up on these hints, and never made any advancements - and this broke something within John. It would fit neatly within the Yoko narrative, because it offers reasoning to the abrupt but intense attachment John formed towards her almost immediately after India - as well as explaining the sudden vilification of Paul. But I suppose that the first two theories also fit pretty neatly within the Yoko narrative, because they all relate to the same basic concept that John wanted more from Paul, and Paul didn’t - and so he tried to replace him with Yoko.

I suppose though, that the this theory overall could also be countered by making the argument that Paul also began to spiral after India, and so some occurrence presumably must have happened to Paul too. I wonder though if its possible that maybe Pauls spiralling was kind of a result of Johns? I get the sense though that Paul would need a change in his life to cause his mental health to seriously deteriorate, but I don’t feel like the same is necessarily true for John - I think John is sort of the type to spiral, irregardless of whether his life undergoes a significant change or not, because I think John was the force driving a lot of the drama and troubles throughout his lifetime. So if Johns mental well-being started seriously deteriorating, I can see this being a cause of panic and anxiety for Paul.

But something that further inclines me to believe that an actual event occurred between John and Paul is this extract from Geoff Emmericks memoir (x)(id recommend reading the entire extract, its interesting!):

‘I glanced in Paul’s direction. He was staring straight ahead, expressionless and weary. He didn’t have much to say about India that day, or any other. I sensed at that moment that something fundamental in them had changed.”’

It just really feels as though there was some confrontation between John and Paul that had to have happened to perpetuate the miscommunication later seen between them. Like if there hadn’t been some kind of confrontation, then I can’t really understand why Paul would be reluctant to speak about India, or harbour any regrets or dismay regarding the journey. Perhaps you could drill it down to the betrayal they appeared to have felt by Maharishi allegedly hitting on girls - but I feel like this was a “betrayal” mostly felt by John, I never really got the sense that Paul was deeply effected by it.

But yeah - those are the main theories I think.

Overall, I think that the third theory is probably the most substantiated claim, but I think it leaves a lot to desired. It just doesn’t feel like it totally fits together, as though theres more to the story - but I guess relationships and peoples psyches aren’t puzzles, and so not everything is always going to piece together perfectly; but I dunno.

Like I said though, the theory im most compelled by is the first. I acknowledge that it lacks evidence, but it just seems to make a lot of sense to me! But really, who knows what the hell happened in India?

If anyone else has an opinion on all this, or wants to expand upon or even suggest a new theory, feel free to! I always like hearing from you guys!

[teddy06writes]

Do You Permit it?

{*wakes up in cold sweat* Failed L’manburg revolution Les Mis/Les Amis au}

Wilbur Soot x reader

Trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, character death, mentions of alcoholism

Premise: Wilbur, the marble lover of liberty wants nothing more than to gain freedom from the Dream SMP, You, the lowly drunk cynic want nothing more than to be by Wilbur’s side. When Wilbur becomes insistent that the only way to gain freedom is to barricade the few revolutionaries into the walls of what would one day hopefully become L’manburg you see all the flaws in the plan, but unwilling to leave your friends, nor you love that was never meant to be you stick with the foolhardy men, resigning yourself to your fate

{aka I wanted to make les mis content and this was the only way I could think of. also Wilbur = Enjolras but brunet and his revolution didn’t fail}

{Also Tommy/Tubbo as Gavroches but I can’t fully figure out this au, someone help}

{I had to dig out my copy of the brick for this one boys}

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“We will stand our ground! Fight for the freedom we deserve!” Wilbur yelled. 

The men spread around the backroom of Niki’s café cheered in agreement, causing you to sigh, and tip down a portion of your drink, “You do realize Dream will never let you be free right?” 

Wilbur glared at you, “(y/n) if we can fight, and we can prove to him that we deserve our freedom then we can have it.”

“Well sure, if you can fight,” You chuckled looking around the room at the men gathered, “I’ve never seen Jack Manifold pick up a musket. Fundy’s never had the chance to learn to shoot more than birds out in the forest. Tubbo shouldn’t be throwing his life away for something as foolish as this. Tommy just- Tommy just shouldn’t be given a weapon- period.” 

“They know how to fight well enough,” Wilbur spat, venom lining his voice, “If your not going to be a part of this cause then I suggest you leave.”

You glanced around the back room again, “Well this is a free public space innit? I shouldn’t think I could be kicked out of a public place.”

Wilbur's glare was burning, yet you reveled in the heat, watching as he crossed his arms, “(y/n) if you don’t believe in this cause why do you bother to come here night after night? Do you find satisfaction in poking holes in our plans?” 

“Perhaps I find more satisfaction in spending a night with my friends than drinking alone,” You challenged, taking another sip from your drink, “Perhaps I enjoy listening to your fantasies Apollo.” 

“These are not just fantasies, (y/n)! This is our tomorrow! This is the future that we are shaping!” He yelled. 

“This is your tomorrow?” You bellowed, standing up and gesturing around, “This plan of dying like a martyr? You are planning a future you will never see! You do see that this won’t work right? This revolution is doomed! Throwing your lives away for some stupid cause may not be a fantasy, but believing it will work sure as hell is!” 

“You know nothing of belief,” He spat, “You believe in nothing.” 

“I believe in you.” With that you plopped back down into your seat, having said your piece. 

Wilbur sighed, turning back to rest of the group, beginning to give instructions to his men, making plans for the coming days, discussing how they would smuggle the weapons and munitions into the city. 

Niki sat down next to you as she entered from the main part of the café, “Why do you do that? He could like you more if you didn’t always disagree with him.” 

“There's no other way I can get his attention. Nothing else gets through to him.” You muttered. 

“Have you ever tried agreeing with him? I know you dreamed of freedom once.” 

“That was a long, long time ago.” You sighed. 

~~

As days went on Wilbur’s plans grew bigger, the day of reckoning grew closer, and your nightmares of fire and blood became more and more frequent; no matter how much you tried to warn your friends, or drink your fears away they still lurked in the shadows of your mind. 

You watched as their plans continued to take form, never, no matter how much you urged, drifting from Wilbur’s plan of a barricade. 

Many a night found you in the back room of Niki’s café, arguing against everything that they said.

Tonight, as you entered, the café was a flurry of activity, people running excitedly to and from the back room, some not even bothering to hide the muskets or cartage packets they were carrying. 

You grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder as he started to dash past again, “Woah woah woah, what the hells going on here?” 

“Wilbur says that this is it! Tomorrow it begins!” He said excitedly.

“Tubbo! Quit standing around we’ve got work to do!” Tommy yelled thundering out of the back room. 

Tubbo smiled at you apologetically, “Well, I’ve got to go!” 

As the two boys ran off you quickly made to move into the back room, immediately coming face to face with Wilbur, who grinned wildly, “Come to join the festivities (y/n)? I’d’ve thought you’d be off away from here by now.” 

“Its happening then.” You murmured, slightly shocked. 

“Of course it’s happening,” Wilbur spat back, “You come here to try and shut us down again? You gonna try and sabotage our victory?” 

You sighed, starting to turn to leave, “Only a fool celebrates before the war is won Apollo.” 

“Are you suggesting I am a fool (y/n)?” 

You glanced back at him, looking around at the confident men and women around the café, at the people who were surely preparing to march to there deaths, “Never, but maybe, my Apollo, just this once.” 

~~

You had spent the rest of that night wandering around outside, skirting around Wilbur’s men, and moving through the gap in the walls where Wilbur would build a barricade come dawn, all with a bottle in hand. 

Just before dawn came you returned to your lodgings, gazing around at the mess just long enough to make up your mind. 

Somehow you found yourself going to your wardrobe, reaching far into the back, to where Niki and Eret had convinced you to stash your old flint locked pistol once you had figured to keep it, pulling it out and tucking it into your waist band. 

Soon you were back on your way, cartages knocking together in your pockets as you strode down the streets, absorbing the all too calm energy of the city, a storm clearly brewing. 

The time until Wilbur’s plan was to begin seemed to stretched on forever, and yet all the same you soon enough found yourself in a hive of activity, Fundy shouting at people to throw down their furniture, Tommy and Tubbo helping Eret, Niki and the others drag said furniture to form a barricade across the gap in the wall, Wilbur shouting orders and directing everything from the center of the storm. 

Distantly you could hear Sapnap’s yelling, slowly retreating as the barricade rose higher and higher. 

People began to cheer as it was finished, and Wilbur hoisted the L’manburg flag up to sit atop the structure. 

“I need someone to go find out there plans!” He yelled, climbing back down, “Someone they wouldn’t except to be with us!” 

“I’ll go!” Eret offered, “George trusts me.”

Wilbur nodded, “Good man, get going, and come back quickly, this is imperative to our success.” 

Eret tucked their carbine into his jacket, nodding to Niki before heading off. 

“(y/n).” Wilbur said, finally having seen your presence. 

“Apollo.” You nodded. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You gestured around, at the Barricade, and the barrels of gunpowder being rolled out of the stores, “I am here to help.” 

“Help?” Wilbur questioned. 

“Something like that.” You nodded. 

Wilbur's stare cut into you, “Are you good for anything?” 

You leaned back against the wall of the café, “I have a vague ambition that direction.” 

“What could you even do to help? You’ve hardly done anything in your life.” 

You scoffed, “I wasn’t always a drunk. Used to have lofty aspirations and the like.” 

“Be serious.” Wilbur demanded. 

“I am wild.” You argued. 

~~ The day wore on, and the barricade held some semblance of peace, even as Eret returned, quietly announcing herself to Wilbur. 

“What have you learned?” He asked. 

“They aren’t moving forward with any attacks tonight,” Eret reported, glancing around the barricade, “Dream has the badlands on his side, but they’re holding off until tomorrow, getting ready to attack from the right.” 

Wilbur sighed, looking to his men and then back at Eret, “We will take the hits as they come. We can win this.” 

Off to the side you watched as Niki bit her lip, standing up abruptly, “He’s lying!” 

Eret opened his mouth, both in shock and to object, when Wilbur held up a hand to cut them off, “Niki?”

She took a shaky breath, “Eret has been spying for the enemy. Feeding them information.” 

“That's not true!” Eret yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” Niki took a shaky breath, “Check their pockets, Dream probably gave them extra cartages, or a better carbine.” 

Wilbur turned to Eret expectantly. 

Slowly, relucantly, Eret began to pull extra cartages from their pockets, letting them fall to the ground as Fundy and Tommy quickly grabbed his arms, pinning them behind her back.

Wilbur stared at them, disappointment in his voice as he said, “Put them in the café. We can deal with them later.”

Almost on que the sound of boots slapping the earth grew closer, and you quietly began to load your pistol as Dreams voice echoed up the barricade, “What the hell is this?”

Wilbur carefully scaled a part of the barricade , just enough to peak over the top, “L’manburg revolution!”

Dream audibly groaned, then turned to his men, “Open fire!”

Almost immediately all hell broke loose, and shots were exchanged over the top of the barricade as you rushed forward to drag Tubbo back, hissing, “Stay down.”

He frowned, but stayed put as you hurried back forward to rejoin the fighting, shoving George, who’d been attempting to climb the barricade, back down to the ground.

“Get back!” You heard Wilbur yell distantly, “Get back or I blow the barricade!”

Whipping your head around you found that the marble man had grabbed one of the smaller legs of gunpowder, and was now slowly lowering a torch toward the barrel.

“Wilbur no!” Tommy yelled, already trying to get to him to wrestle the torch away.

“And yourself with it?” Dream challenged.

Wilbur took a shaky breath, “And myself with it.”

Behind the mask, Dream wavered, slowly turning back to Sapnap, who shook his head, “Fall back!”

Tommy’s face changed as he jumped off the barricade, whooping as Wilbur laughed, slowly climbing down as various people scolded or congratulated him.

“My life is not yours to gamble Wil!” Niki yelled.

Wilbur waved her away, still looking somewhat relived that his plan had even worked as he started to address everyone again, “They may be regrouping! Hold yourselves in readiness, if we’ve made it this far we can take this victory!” 

Tommy was still grinning and jumping around, grabbing your shoulder, “Did you see how they turned and ran! Ha! Cowards!” 

“And so the war was won.” You scoffed, still looking to Wilbur. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, muttering, “Cynic.” as he went to find Tubbo. 

~~

When night began to fall, and the barricade was still standing, you found yourself sitting next to Niki on the edge of the barricade, sharing yet another bottle of wine from the café. 

“Should I have ratted him out?” She asked, craning her neck to look at where Eret was slumped against the wall of the café. 

“If you didn’t we might’ve died sooner.” You mumbled, taking a swig before handing the bottle back to her.

“Well- I just- I guess you’re right.” Niki tipped the bottle back, taking a long drink. 

Wilbur came out of the cafe, arms loaded with bottles that he began to pass out, Tubbo following behind, passing out bread, before taking his spot next to Tommy at the base of the barricade. 

“Fundy! Take the watch. They won’t attack until it’s light,” Wilbur called, offering out the last bottle, “We’ll use this time to rest.” 

Jack Manifold chuckled, holding up the bottle he’d been given, “Well, lets drink!” 

“Yeah!” Tommy yelled, a little too enthusiastically, “To all the women I’ve had!” 

Tubbo laughed, elbowing him, “You haven’t had anyone!”

Niki chuckled, “To the life that used to be!”

“To the life that is to come!” Wilbur added. 

You rolled your eyes, the liquor you’d consumed that day coursing through your veins as you stood, scoffing, “Yeah, sure, to days gone by. Could it be you fear to actually die Apollo?” 

You shuffled forward, reaching out toward Wilbur, “You think that they’re gonna remember you when you fall? Is your death going to mean anything?”

His attention was back on you, and even if he seemed pissed you lived for that attention so you pushed on, grabbing onto his coat, “Is your life just one more lie?” 

Wilbur seized your hands, throwing you off of him, “(Y/n) that is enough!” 

You stumbled away, blindly grabbing the bottle from Niki, who simply grabbed your arm, leading you back toward the café. 

“What the hell was that?” She hissed. 

“This is gonna fail, I know its gonna fail. How can they not see that Niki? How can they not see that?” You rambled.

Niki pulled you past Eret and up the stairs to the storage room, “Stay up here, I’ll come get you once we’ve won.” 

“Not gonna win.” You mumbled, “Hey- you got anything to drink?” 

“Wine cabinet’s over there, don’t hurt yourself.” 

With that she was gone leaving you to your wine and your thoughts.

~~

It was a warm day, and you watched as Wilbur and the rest gathered around the gap in L’manburgs wall, cheering as Tommy held his musket high. 

Cheers of ‘we won’ fill the air, as your friends gathered around, cheering as the last of Dreams men fled, leaving L’manburg its freedom. 

‘I guess I was wrong.’ Still, you smiled as you moved to stand next to Wilbur and the others moved away.

‘I suppose you were.’ Wilbur smiled.

You looked up at the pale blue sky, ‘it is nice to see freedom, I do have to admit.’ 

‘i knew you’d come around (y/n).’

Sighing you looked at him again, ‘what now, Apollo?’

Wilbur’s hand grabbed yours, ‘we dance.’ 

You froze, ‘d- d- dance? you want to dance- with me?’ 

‘why not?’ he chuckled, ‘i know you can.’ 

Slowly you took his other hand. 

The day was warm, L’manburg was free, and you and Wilbur danced. 

Distantly you heard a yell, “He’s the leader!” 

‘Wil? what was that?’ you mumbled. 

‘whats what?’ 

“Wilbur was the one who nearly killed George!”

You looked around frantically before turning back to Wilbur, whos face seemed to change, looking beyond you, “Shoot me!” 

‘wha-’

Suddenly the day was cold, and not yet begun, as you bolted upright in the storage room of Niki’s café. 

L’manburg was not free, and Wilbur was stood proudly, his back to the wall, barley visible beyond Dream, Sapnap and Sam, who all had the barrels of there rifles aimed at his chest. 

Distantly, you felt yourself standing, “Long live L’manburg! I am one of them.” 

Wilbur’s face fell to shock, “(y/n) what are you-” 

The enemy still stood, frozen as you moved between there ranks, repeating, “Long live L’manburg! Take us both with one blow.” 

Wilbur was still staring at you in shock as you turned to him, “Do you permit it?” 

He smiled, understanding finally in his eyes, and then his hand was in yours as he turned back to face Dream, proud even in his last moments. 

The day was cold and not yet begun, Wilbur’s hand was in yours, and you could not feel the bullets enter your chest.

All you could feel was his hand in yours, his smile still warming your face, until there was nothing more.

[baekchelor]

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

pairings: George Mackay x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, golden boy George Mackay learns a basic human truth: that the heart is deceitful above all things.

❝ have  you  ever  been  in  love? horrible  isn’t  it?  it  makes  you  so  vulnerable.  it  opens  your  chest  and  it  opens  up  your  heart  and  it  means  that  someone  can  get  inside  you  and  mess  you  up.❞                                                                                                                         ―neil  gaiman

ONE | SCRIPTS & BONDS ◄ ᴘʀᴇᴠ

The first read-through for Dharma happens three weeks later at a film studio in London. Although George allowed Daisy to sleep at his place last night, he didn't even say goodbye when he walked out on the girl deeply asleep on the wrong side of the bed. He wanted to be early as usual, and leaving coffee ready on the kitchen counter didn't fall bellow a No-Strings-Attached relationship, so he didn't bother. There are only Greta Gerwig and some staffers to greet when he's ushered into the venue.

"Y/N isn't here yet," George observes, tired blue orbs scanning the room.

"Don't worry," Alma smiles. She's already slipped a coffee cup into his hand, the way she always does in work mornings when she's well aware George is still half-asleep. The boy snickers to himself, his manager is so predictable. "She'll be here."

"She's probably still with Henry," George surmises. Y/N isn't known as The Witcher’s princess for nothing.

Alma shrugs, encouraging to slurp his Americano and mind his own business. George is well aware this chat makes him look foolish and inexplicably jealous. Thankfully, Alma gossips along, "I don't doubt for a second she may have slept with him last night. But she won't be sleeping in, I can guarantee you that." George tilts his head, asking for more in tell. Alma's red-stained lips stretch open in a yawn. "She always comes on the dot, apparently. Never early, never late."

More interested than he should, and with an amused grin, he consults the time on his phone. Nine o'clock. "Thirty more minutes, then." He places the iPhone on the table in front of him, next to his script. "Let's time her." Alma chuckles, shaking her head. George plays dumb, opting to dramatically smell his coffee before proceed and take another sip from his cup. He picks up the thick white booklet, lines already colour-coded per actor, and starts to read through it.

Dharma is set in 1857 India. Aakesh, a penniless Hindi boy —portrayed by Dev Patel, the main lead— has always known his social standing is a consequence of wrongdoing in his past life. Y/N plays Marina, a wealthy Spanish girl Aakesh believes to be his past life love and the trigger of his attempts to clean his karma. George's character becomes involved when Colonel Edmund Thorn (Michael Fassbender), concerned about the safety of his fianceé, Marina, assigns James as her personal guard. They fall in love.

Thumbing through the middle section of his script, where the plot starts to thicken, it suddenly dawns on George how much acting this movie is going to require of him. His character demands him to declare his devotion to Marina with mere gazes, words few. Still, each movement of his body vociferates a heartfelt love, deepest that any he's ever impersonated.

George closes his eyes, trying to get in character. He imagines himself having this conversation with someone he desperately loves. He pictures Daisy in his head. Her thick, ash blonde hair and smiling eyes, the pink warm of her cheeks and the heat of her mouth when he kisses her.

It feels like cheating, though, because his character is supposed to be in love with Marina, and although Daisy is a girl he enjoys spending time with, he is not in love with her.

George's sigh exits in a long, laboured stream of breath.

"Everything all right?"

The voice is sweet, with an upward lilt to it. It sounds hesitant too, but like it's trying not to be.

The boy looks up. Y/N is studying him, dark-haired and flushed, the expression on her face shy.

"Oh, hello there," George smiles, clearing his head of its haze. He rises from his seat and extends a hand. "I'm George."

"I know," she giggles, holding it. Her palm is cold, whereas George's is warm. "I'm Y/N. I really admire your work. I’m a big fan… Probably had seen all your movies."

George can't help feeling a little sheepish at that. "Thank you," he says. Their arms fall back to their sides. "Same here. Without the 'I'm Y/N' part," he jokes, and he wants to slap himself for being that lame.

"Geo’s friend is a big fan of your boyfriend," Alma quips from behind her. She's too practical to ever get star struck. "I'm Alma, by the way. Geo's manager."

Y/N smiles charmingly as she shakes Alma's hand. And George finds himself in a daze, he loves the way she behaves, how her voice sounds like and the welcoming aura she irradiates.

<< The fuck is wrong with you?>>

"Nice to meet you, Alma." She turns back to George and smiles wider. She has small, pink lips; like petals. "I can arrange a meet and greet if you'd like."

"Thank you," George says, smiling back in spite of himself.

Y/N's eyes twinkle as she coyly shrugs her shoulders. She's wearing a tight little skirt George is sure Daisy owns too. It just doesn't look as good on her as it does on the girl who's currently in front of him.

"Whoa! Look at us getting along," she cheers, eyes transformed into two crescent moons, "Must confess I came prepared to try to break the ice." She seems to check herself then, pursing her mouth and laughing all of a sudden. "Sorry, that made it sound like we're going on a blind date or something."

George laughs along because her giggles are contagious and it is kind of funny. "We kind of are? We're playing star-crossed lovers and didn't even do a chemistry test. I'm pretty much going into this thing blind."

"Aren't we?" Y/N looks like she's glad to find someone in the same boat. "I was just telling--"

"Henry" George quips. His mouth stills awkwardly over the last syllable. He's not sure why he's letting himself be so familiar with this girl when they've only just met.

Y/N doesn't seem to mind, though. "Oh, no, no," she rolls back on her heels, "Henry and I are kinda...well..."

It puts George at ease for some reason. "Oh I see," he says affably with absolutely no bite to it, and Y/N's soft smile flashes again. "You were saying?"

"I was saying," she continues, "I was telling Dev about the no chemistry test thing, and he goes:" her voice fakes a man's voice, heavy British accent and everything, "you guys don't need it. Look at you both! Would look so good together.'" Y/N shakes her head a little, chuckling as she exhales. "I wasn't sure how to react."

"My friend Dean said the same thing," a smile creeps without George's consent as he confesses Dean's mischief. Y/N lets out a soft Oh. "I guess we just, I dunno-"

"You just have natural chemistry," Greta pipes up out of nowhere. She softly squeezes Y/N's cheek fondly. "Still on time, uh? You never change."

"It's all on Vanessa," she giggles with equal fondness. Vanessa is her manager slash personal assistant. George thinks the actress relationship with Greta is reasonable since they've worked together before in a movie he can't remember the name, but she stared alongside Timotheé Chalamet.

The director strikes up a bit of small talk about Y/N's last movie, The Selection, where she and Tom Holland bring the book to life in Netflix's screens. If George remembers it correctly, Holland plays a prince and Y/N portrays a commoner who is selected to compete for the prince's heart. The movie seems a cringe, but for some weird reason, George has decided to watch it once he gets home. Hopefully, Daisy will be gone by then, and the boy would stop at the convenience store to buy beer and popcorn.

George picks up his phone. Stealthily, he checks the time. Nine thirty-five. He and Y/N have been talking for approximately five minutes.

<<On the dot>>, he thinks to himself, recalling Alma's words. Then he hears his name. "Pardon?"

Y/N is saying, "I'll go sit with Dev. Catch up with you later?"

"Yeah, of course," due to his actor demeanour George can hide the disappointment trapped between his words. He understands she has to sit with Dev, their characters interact throughout the entirety of the film. "Do what you have to do."

"Talk to you later then," she shoots him a bright smile, her pink gums gleaming inside of it.

Greta is calling for the rest of the cast to take their seats around the square actors' table. Call it luck, but Dev and Y/N's sits are right across the chair labelled Mackay. The brit places his phone back on the table and slides into his chair.

"By the way," she says, turning around again. "Do I call you, George? Or..."

"Or?" flipping back to the first page of the script, he folds the cover back neatly as he questions the girl with his eyes.

"Your manager called you Geo." Y/N returns her inquisitive gaze. "That's your nickname?"

"Sort of," George laughs. "Very few people call me that way."

"May I?"

He shrugs, "Sure." As he rubs his palm over the script, he decides, on a whim, to try something new. How James, his character, calls her: "Ms Marina."

The crinkles in the corners of Y/N's eyes make the risk worth it.

"Okay," she says, walking backwards with her hands entwined. "Let's have fun today, Geo."

"Flirty Thirty” A gleam of the eye, a quirk of the lip, and it isn't Marina talking anymore, is Y/N tittering.

The room erupts in laughter. George's laughing the hardest of all.

"Y/N," Greta scolds half-heartedly. "Don't break character."

"Sorry, G," Y/N apologizes sweetly. "I thought I would break the ice."

Somehow, George finds himself smiling.

Today marks the fourth official Dharma read-through, and the tenth time they've gone over the entire script. George gets why Y/N is antsy; he is too. He can't wait to start filming in Mumbai, to smell the air of the streets, hear the whir of traffic and fast-paced Hindi. He can't wait to feel James in his bones in every take, the character encasing him, flesh and blood.

Fact is read-throughs are boring. So d*mn repetitive. George is just glad he's got perfect girl Y/N Y/L/N around to make things bearable.

Gerwig sighs in resignation. "Let's break for lunch," she says, addressing the entire group, "Reconvene in an hour."

George catches Y/N's eye and mouths, Padella? Y/N nods vigorously, flashing two thumbs up and a bright smile. The one the boy has grown fond of.

"I'm dying," George tells her a few minutes later as they walk to the restaurant. Luckily for both, it is near the film studio.

"Same here," she agrees. "One last read-through then India, here we come!"

"But we go through the script three times each meeting," George is half-whining, half-sniggering at the way Y/N's eyes roll to the back of her head. "We'll probably take even longer than usual today because of your little adlib."

"Sorry..."

"It was fun, though." Quickly, George reaches out to ruffle the hair on the top of Y/N's head. He wants to touch her. He just doesn't know why nor how and he doesn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. He cares too much for her. "Not a lot of laughs in this love story of ours."

Y/N doesn't bother smoothing down the mess. "Can you imagine loving someone as much, Geo?"

"Uhm..." George brushes a fingertip against his own fringe. He needs to get it trimmed before they start the live shoots. "I don’t know. Their love is something out of this world.”

"Yeah," Y/N watches the movement casually. "It is."

They get to the restaurant and the waiter, who is clearly a fan of hers, greets them enthusiastically.

"You two are so good looking," she gushes, but George knows the compliment is directed at Y/N. The waiter, who's tag reads Flo, merely is trying to be polite by her use of pronouns. "You get more and more dashing every time I see you." Y/N gives her the prettiest smile, and Flo enthusiastically looks at George, beyond happy for the reaction she got out of Y/N. George would be thrilled as well if the prettiest girl at Padella smiled at him in such a way...

<<What?>>

Padella has become a familiar haunt. They'd gone after the first read-through —when George discovered Y/Ns favourite food was any type of pasta— and every read-through after that, always ordering a dish they haven't tasted before and two glasses of wine. Not exactly in keeping with the diets, but George reckons these cheat days won't hurt. He and Y/N have taken to exercising together too, fitting in the gym sessions between their Dharma meetings and other schedules.

"I gained weight when I was a teenager," Y/N admitted during one of their workouts. "I had to work out to keep the weight off. Not like you." She'd smiled her sweet, bright smile, and George could imagine her being just as likeable with double the meat on her bones.

"I grow a beer gut like that," he'd told Y/N, snapping his fingers. "So I have to work it off, too."

In record time, Flo brings their dishes, leaving a courtesy starter on the table. George grabs his fork and swirls it through the fettuccini. It makes a pleasing, gooey sound as he incorporates the Pomodoro sauce.

"Oh, right, if I may Ms Marina," George says, giggling. The actress hums in return, mixing the contents of her own plate. "Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow? My sister is cooking carbonara, your favourite."

"Oh my god," Y/N looks up from her dish, mouth-watering at the mere thought of her favourite food. "She won't mind me crashing your dinner?"

"No," George replies, slouching over his bowl. "She asked me to invite you."

"Really?" her orbs go a little round. "Why?"

A mouthful of bolognese disappears into George's mouth with a slurp, "I might have mentioned your love for Italian food."

Y/N takes a sip of her rosé, "Won't you mind me crashing your sibling dinner?"

"Nah," he smiles. “We're friends." He swallows the food he's chewed into the side of his cheek and tries not to meet Y/N's eyes. "I kind of like hanging out with you."

"Oh," she answers instantly, so blasé, pink across her cheeks. George adores it. "I kind of like hanging out with you, too."

George glances up then, and they share a knowing smile before going back to their food. It's oily and red, a little salty. George knows he's going to have to wash his teeth and throw a box of mints into his mouth before they go back to the read-through, but he doesn't care. It's delicious.

Their comfortable silence is broken when Y/N's phone rings inside her Rebecca Minkoff’s bag. She pulls it out, glances at the screen, and gestures to George that she's going to take it outside.

"I'll be right back," she says; tongue running over her teeth. The boy nods, just as Y/N answers the call and turns.

"Hey, H," George hears her say as she pushes through the door. "What's up?"

Cavill, he thinks to himself, sucking up to another curtain of fettuccini.

Fleetingly, he wonders if he should tell Y/N to bring a date—as in Henry. But the idea is pushed to the back of his mind when Flo comes by their table to ask if they would want more wine, and it doesn't resurface, not even when Y/N strolls back in from her private call.

In her pale silk blouse and tight little skirt, the one Y/N owns too, Daisy looks every bit as gorgeous as she does in her Basic House ads. George gotta admit. Yet he feels a little itch when he looks at her, it bothers him, so he focuses his attention on the other Daisy in the room. His sister.

She's setting down a plate of sour bread on his dinner table, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Luhan watches her lazily, admiring the classy decoration of the table. It looks out of a restaurant. Much better than Padella's.

"Since when my sister's become a chef?" he says playfully. His sister giggles in response, her attention too immersed in the preparations. She wants it all to be perfect. Scratch that, more than perfect.

Only then George returns his gaze towards the other Daisy, and he notices she's staring at him, a pout on her pretty red lips.

"Why not?" she asks. George wants to roll his eyes, but he's too polite to do so. He lets her continue the tantrum, "You know I used to have a poster of Henry Cavill in my old dorm, right? The whole time I was in University?" George barely nods. "So please, please, please, please, please... Please, George. Let me meet his girlfriend, hmm?"

"No," he answers. The hurt in Daisy's green eyes confirms he's been too harsh. He reaches up to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. She lets him do it, wearing a small and sweet smile. "I'll get jealous, baby," he lies in an attempt to soften his previous words.

She laughs, hiding her face as it turns a flattering shade of crimson. She's always been flattered by stuff like this and George doesn't understand why. They're not a couple, to begin with.

"Okay," she circles the table, fingers lacing into George's as she sits on his lap. She plants a kiss against his lips, "I'll get going then. Call me later?"

"Yeah," he pecks her on the tip of her nose and her eyelashes quiver.

The moment Daisy leaves, her namesake, George's sister Daisy, pops his head from the kitchen.

"You know, Henry is my celebrity crush too," her feet express her enthusiasm in small jumps. "I'm so excited!"

"You what?" George's nostrils flare, "Why every girl I know is infatuated with him?"

The doorbell rings before George can retort any further. His eyes flick over to the wall clock on impulse. 8PM. Of course.

"She's here," Daisy smiles, hands flapping at her sides. She combs back her hair, pauses, and repeats the action two more times.

It reminds George of the time he'd run into Brad Pitt backstage at an award show in Los Angeles. He was already famous by then, but he'd still tugged at the sleeves of his tux obsessively, hoping the jacket was sitting squarely on his shoulders, right before he'd said hello.

He walks to answer the door as Daisy places the pasta on the table. Y/N's standing in the corridor with a bottle of red in one hand.

"Ms Marina," George drawls, "Is that you, in my humble home?"

Laughing, Y/N kisses both his cheeks in greeting. George chuckles, taking the wine, and suddenly, he feels his face burning hot. "On the dot, as always."

The girl blushes. At least he's not the only one.

"Come on in," George waves her through the door. "My sister is dying to meet you." He can hear the hissed Geo! like a whip slicing through the air.

Y/N snaps her knuckles, a smile pulling up evenly on both sides, "Hello, Daisy."

A demure, cotton-soft voice replies, "Hello, gorgeous. It's so nice to meet you.”

"Likewise,” the actress beams.

Save for a few bites of pancetta, the serving plates look as though they’ve been licked clean.

"That was so, so good Daisy. The best carbonara I've ever had" Y/N compliments the cook. "Thanks for letting me try it."

"Any time" she replies, looking like a kid who's just been handed a present. George smiles at her, pouring both girls another glass of wine.

The night has gone well. Being the outgoing type, Daisy wasted no time in making Y/N  feel comfortable in her brother's home. She'd seated her next to George at the table, fussing over them both as she peppered Y/N with questions about her last two projects. She'd let slip that she'd watched every season of The Tudor's and Y/N's smile had been bashful.

"I loved Henry's work," Daisy had admitted, and George couldn't help but giggle at how quickly his sister's face coloured in bright pink.

George offers Y/N the last bit of burgundy in the bottle. When the latter declines, licking at the wine-stained seam of her mouth, he pours it for himself.

"You don't have to be so formal with me," Y/N tells Daisy, her tone already fond. George can tell she likes that. "I'm a big fan of Henry too. I had the biggest crush on him before I even met him." Her face is still a little rosy. She blushes really easily, and George likes it.

“It still feels weird. Henry is your boyfriend!”

"It's totally fine. Trust me," Y/N reassures her. "We can fangirl over him as Geralt every time you want. I don't mind."

Daisy squeals.

"Okay, enough girl talk." It isn't jealousy what makes George scoff. At least that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his pocket for cigarettes. "I'm just gonna go for a smoke, okay?"

Daisy’s pretty face pinches, "I wish you'd quit. Those things are horrible for you."

"I'll just have one," he bargains, sweet as honey. He pats his belly, crafting a compact sound. "I need it. You fed me too well, sister."

Y/N sniggers and Daisy rolls her eyes. Pointedly, she asks, "Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes," Y/N answers. “But I agree, it’s nasty.”

George watches as Y/N —the traitor—agrees with his sister, "Anyways, you should come with me so I can show you around."

"You shall," Daisy encourages.

“I don’t know,” the actress murmurs but George has already hooked his fingers behind her elbow and is half-hauling her out of her seat. "C’mon, let's go."

"Fine. Lead the way, Geo."

They take the elevator down to the pool area on the fifth floor, where smoking is permitted. George puts a cigarette in his mouth, holding his lighter in front of it, so the flame ignites it.

Y/N takes a long sigh. "Daisy is great," she says quickly. "She's so much like you."

"Thanks. I guess?" George exhales, the smoke curling in a ribbon of diaphanous white. "You’re still seeing Henry, uh?"

The other smirks. "You say that like you know it for sure."

"Alma likes gossip” George licks his lips. They taste of wine and olives.

The girl shrugs. "It’s kinda..." she answers. "It's on and off."

"Oh?" George blows a few smoke rings, rounding out his mouth and flicking his tongue to create the hole in the centre. "Mind if I ask why?"

"No particular reason," Y/N rushes the answer. "I’d rather not talk about it. Sometimes it... it just doesn’t work, ya know?”

Without thinking, George makes an offer he didn't realize was on the table. "Whenever it doesn't work," he says, "you should just hang out with me," he quickly continues, a little freaked, words rushing out, "and Daisy. Me and Daisy."

Y/N laughs, just once: its all gums and perfect pearly teeth. "Do you feel sorry for me?"

"Hardly, Mrs Prettiest Face On TV," George retorts mildly. Y/N laughs again, and George can't tell if she's sarcastic or earnest. Not that it matters. "It's just you and my sister got along really well, and I–"

"Thanks," Y/N cuts in. Her eyes are particularly feline in this light, and her voice is a degree more gentle than it was before. "I'll take you up on that."

She watches him smoke in silence for a few more minutes, the night air clouding with the filmy exhaust of his cigarette. When Y/N yawns, George stubs it out. Then he loops his arm around her waist.

Unconsciously, she leans into the touch. "It's weird," she observes, "that we didn't know each other two months ago."

"Really weird," George concedes, slightly buzzed from the wine and only half-aware that something has lifted between them. "I’m glad it's two months later."

In the days leading up to India, dinner at George's become a regular thing. Every two nights, Y/N will show up with something to add to the table: wine, desserts and beer, a floury baguette wrapped in paper or a basket of fresh fruit.

Sometimes Daisy joins them, and the conversation flows like blood through veins. At around midnight, Y/N will excuse herself to give the siblings their space but not before George extracts a promise from her to work out or watch a movie the following day. (She happens to love cinema as much as him.)

Other times, when Daisy is out with her boyfriend and the other Daisy isn't smouldering George with text messages asking him to dine with her, go to the movies with her, come to the theatre to see her, bla bla bla; George will chat idly with Y/N until the wee hours of the morning. The ice in their drinks will crackle and melt, diluting their colour, as they discuss their childhood dreams and the trajectory of their careers. They recount their upward climb in show business, the slow decline of some of their peers, and the fear that they might someday be in the same boat. They joke about their management and how both companies have long given up on damage control when it comes to their love lives.

George tells her more about caring, candid Alma, and Dean, his co-star and now best friend.

"Blake and Schofield are real-life BFF's?" George’s companion asks incredulously, "I stan so hard."

In turn, Y/N confesses him Sam Mendes is her absolute favourite director, and George promises to introduce them. She also voices about Henry, their ups and downs and the fact half of their circle of friends categorize their relationship as toxic.

"Keep that to yourself," Y/N adds after a brief lull. "I've never told anyone about it."

"They won't hear it from me," George swears, taking a gulp of watered-down Pilsen. He doesn't even tell his sister.

Dharma begins its live shoots three months after the first read-through.

Y/N and George are scheduled to film in Mumbai for four weeks. Alma informs George it's likely they will extend to six due to Greta Gerwig's infamous obsessive compulsiveness. His actors often end up filming simple scenes over and over again for days, because the director doesn't think the natural light or the colour of a couch or the feeling is quite right.

"Already cleared it with the boss," Alma shares brightly. She means the head of his management, who happens to love George, as all CEOs love their biggest star.

"Fine with me," the actor says. "I don't mind staying in Mumbai a little longer." He's worked with less pleasant directors than Greta before, and a little OCD won't take the fun out of filming with Y/N.

He's pleased to discover that the other feels the same way.

"Let's press for six weeks," Y/N says as they climb into the luxury car waiting for them at the airport. She speaks in a natural tone of voice, as though there isn't a swarm of fans screaming outside the vehicle. "I had only been here once, years ago, I lived in a small city near Mumbai called Pune for almost two months.”

"How come?"

"School stuff... I can't wait to rediscover India. Have you ever been?"

"Nope," George says, sliding off his sunglasses and running a hand through his hair. "Count me in on the exploration."

The way Y/N looks at him like he's her closest person in the world right now makes George's insides warm.

ɴᴇxᴛ►

@loulouloueh​

[bush-viper-cutie]

“The Hogwarts Express” || YEAR 3 – Ch.7 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 7/31/2020

Word count: 3280

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

“YOU TOOK IT.”

“I DID NOT! YOU MISPLACED IT.”

“I DO NOT MISPLACE THINGS.”

Heather sat up and yawned, looking at the time. Ron and Percy’s angry yells had woken her up only a few minutes earlier than planned. She got up and took a shower and looked through her trunk for some nice-ish clothes for the train.

She only had two skirts, and only one that fit. She had been wearing hand-me-down shorts that matched Harry’s around Diagon Alley, but now that she would for sure see more people that knew her, she wanted to look nice. She hated realizing it, but she put in effort for the Slytherins, and especially Pansy. Her words were cutting deeper with every year.

She repacked her things and headed out, passing Ron and Percy’s room – they were still yelling at each other – to find Harry on the steps to the bar. He looked up at her and shushed her, motioning her forward to join him.

He held his finger up to his lips as she approached and she sat on the step next to him. She turned her ears towards Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s arguing voices.

“We have to tell them. They have a right to know – ”

“Terrified, Arthur. They’ll be terrified!”

“They should know just in case something happens.”

“What could happen? They’ll be happy in school. There’s no need to worry them with this.”

“And what if they decide to get mixed up in it? Just look at the past two years. If they had been told they wouldn’t have run away from their home. Sirius Black may be dangerous but I’m not sure about ‘mad’. He escaped Azkaban somehow, Molly. What’s a castle?”

“Don’t worry me, Arthur.”

“Well it’s the truth. And he was able to kill thirteen people with a single curse… He’s after the twins and we know he’ll be heading towards Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore won’t let Sirius Black harm them. You’re forgetting that.”

“The man lost everything the night Harry defeated You-Know-Who and he’s been in there stewing on that for twelve years. He’ll try everything to hurt him or even both.”

Heather gulped and turned to Harry but he was waiting for the silence to end between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to hear more. Finally, Mrs. Weasley sighed, and Heather leaned in to listen.

“Alright. Tell them. But if it’s as you say and Dumbledore is allowing the Azkaban guards to patrol around the grounds then there isn’t anything to worry them about.”

They could tell it was the end of the argument, so they stood and tip toed back up the stairs. The only Weasleys awake were still only Percy and Ron. They walked past their room and headed into Heather’s to talk.

Harry closed the door behind him, “That’s why Fudge didn’t even get mad! He let me off free because he expected to find me dead that night.”

Heather pulled her hair over her eyes and shook her head, “Can we not just go one year without all YOUR enemies trying to kill you?”

“Well both of us probably this time,” Harry corrected.

She glared at him, “Not helpful. I guess that’s why the Weasley’s are being lent the cars too. Because of us.”

“D’you know what this means?” Harry gripped her elbow intensely. “We might not be able to go to Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, let go. That’s the least of our worries. Maybe we shouldn’t go if that maniac’s gonna be there.” She walked over to her trunk and pulled it out from under her bed. “Did you double check your room? Don’t leave anything behind.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively and left the room.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Weasley could be heard banging on the other Weasley’s doors to get them up for breakfast. Heather headed downstairs and was soon accompanied by Hermione and Harry. The three sat down and nibbled on toast while laughing at Percy yelling at Ron still.

“I can’t believe they haven’t found it yet. I’ll find it in two seconds,” Hermione got up and stomped up the stairs.

Fred and George made their way down and took chairs closest to the stairs.

“She won’t find it,” Fred grinned.

“Why not? Scabbers probably just got to it or something.”

George shook his head at her, “We have it,” he muffled his laugh behind his hand.

Harry’s mouth fell open and laughed, “Why? He’s losing his head over it.”

“He can’t lose his head – ”

“It’s too big.” George took out the pin from his pocket and showed them.

Heather snorted, “‘Bighead Boy’? How mad did he get last time?”

Fred took the pin out of George’s hand, “Not how mad. That never matters.”

“It’s how LONG did he stay mad.”

“Not long at all.”

They smiled and got up from the table. They headed upstairs and Heather and Harry could hear them offer to help look. Seconds later Ron came down looking very upset.

“He’s lost his pin and thinks I’VE got it? For what?”

The morning went by as fast and chaotic as the last year. What should have taken a few minutes to get all the trunks down the stairs and in the cars was taking half an hour due to misplaced belongings and two instances where the trunks spit out all the contents on the stairs.

“Trunks to the left, animals to the right!” Mr. Weasley called out.

Hedwig was placed on top of Heather’s toad’s tank, which was next to a squeaking Scabbers trying to get farther from Crookshank’s paw that was coming out of his cage, which was bellow a screeching Hermes.

The second the ministry cars arrived Mr. Weasley and Percy started shoving things into the back while Ginny did her best to tell them how they should be shoved in. After two attempts, both cars were packed and ready to be boarded.

Heather and Harry were about to walk out onto the sidewalk when Mrs. Weasley stopped them and said Fred and George should head out first. Mr. Weasley walked them and Hermione and Ron to the last car and the four of them buckled up in the back while Mr. Weasley took the passenger side next to a Ministry driver.

They arrived at King’s Cross with twenty minutes to spare and even though all the other Weasleys could get out of their car and go, the four of them were told to stay put until Mr. Weasley got their stuff unloaded and on trolleys.

“Hermione, Ron, why don’t you take the lead. I’ll keep right behind you four,” Mr. Weasley smiled down at Heather and Harry.

Harry exchanged looks with Heather and they looked around the crowded station looking for anyone suspicious. They crossed the barrier and Mr. Weasley seemed more relaxed, but only slightly.

“Look,” Ginny pointed at Percy in the distance talking to Penelope.

He was pointing at his badge and showing it off for her while she held in giggles. Heather laughed at Ginny’s imitation of him. Sometimes Ginny acted a lot like Fred and George. Fred and George hopped onto the train first while Mrs. Weasley led Ginny away to find her a good spot.

Heather, Harry, Hermione, and Ron found an empty compartment and loaded their things in and headed back out to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She gave them all hugs and started handing out sandwiches she prepared for everyone.

“Er, Harry, Heather, join me for a second?” Mr. Weasley led them away to behind a pillar. “I need to tell you two something – it might frighten you and that’s alright but – ”

Harry interrupted him, “We overheard this morning. We know.”

Mr. Weasley pressed his lips together and nodded, “I’m sorry. If you two are afraid to – ”

“We aren’t.”

Heather didn’t want to speak up, but she did feel slightly scared. Not as scared to think Voldemort would try something again, but still worried about some maniac on the loose trying to kill Harry and her.

“Promise me you two won’t… Won’t try to find him.”

“What?” Heather looked at Harry, matching his confusion. “Why would we want to?”

Mr. Weasley looked beyond them towards the train but didn’t respond, as if he wasn’t sure about something. Mrs. Weasley called them back as the whistle blew. He led them back and waved goodbye as they got on.

Heather held Harry back, “We should tell Ron and Hermione. Right? What if we’re putting them in danger. They should know.”

Harry nodded and led the way to their chosen compartment. Heather slid open the door and they stood looking at the lump under the coat asleep, slumped on the window. Hermione and Ron – with a sleeping Scabbers in his hand already – shrugged.

Heather slid the door closed and took her seat next to Hermione and across from the stranger.

Harry looked wearily at the man and leaned towards Hermione and Ron, “We need to tell you something…”

Heather let him tell the whole thing to them with no interruptions. She was convinced, seeing how he went through it, that he indeed had no intention to find Sirius Black. She wasn’t sure why Mr. Weasley thought they would…

“Why would Dad think you guys would want to find him?”

Heather finally spoke up, “We don’t know. And it looked like he was holding something back.”

“Did it?” Harry arched his brow.

“Harry PLEASE don’t take an interest in this – ”

“I’m agreeing with Heather, Harry. You weren’t even supposed to know all this.”

Harry crossed his arms and leaned back, “I’m not. Calm down.”

“Some nutter who broke out of Azkaban want to kill you guys? Why can’t we have a normal year!” Ron stood up and motioned for Heather and Hermione to move over. “I need fresh air. Or water”

Heather stood up and switched spots, making sure not to nudge the sleeping man. “I’ll buy you some water when the trolley witch comes by… You guys seem a lot more worried than I’d thought.”

“Yeah. I’ve fought Vol – sorry – On my own twice now so why’s everyone so afraid of Sirius Black? Even when we’ll be at school with Dumbledore.”

Hermione drummed her fingers on her knees, “Heather… Harry… Did you get your permission slips signed?”

“No. Harry ruined the plan. I was going to do the handwriting spell but I didn’t get the chance.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Well you were there for a week. You could’ve then.”

Heather nodded slowly, “Right. But I couldn’t… I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“Well, maybe it’s for the best.”

Everyone looked at Hermione like she was crazy.

Ron scoffed, “How’s that good? They won’t be able to visit Honeydukes.”

It was Ron’s turn for everyone to look at him.

“Honeydukes? Honeydukes! The only reason to go to Hogsmeade! It’s a sweetshop that has EVERYTHING. They have Chocoballs, Pepper Imps, Sugar Quills – ”

“Funny, I don’t even remember it mentioned in ‘Sites of Importance and Historical Sorcery’. The book talks all about Hogsmeade like how the headquarters for the Goblin rebellion of sixteen-twelve was in the Inn and – ”

“Who cares about all that?”

Hermione huffed and turned back to Harry and Hermione, “Well what I’m saying is Dumbledore won’t be there – I don’t think – and so it would be very dangerous for you guys if you leave Hogwarts.”

Heather bit her lip, hearing what Hermione was saying but… At the same time wanting to go very badly. Harry was obviously unsure of her stance, going between avoiding her eyes and trying to communicate telepathically if she was game for sneaking out. She couldn’t make up her mind and avoided his eyes instead, despite being against going earlier.

“Heather agrees with me Harry so stop giving her those looks.” Hermione bent down and pulled Crookshank’s cage out from under them and unlocked his door.

“No!” Ron instinctively covered the wiggly lump in his shirt pocket.

Crookshanks attempted to jump on Ron’s legs but he pushed him back. He hissed and jumped onto the spot next to Harry and the sleeping man, crossing his front paws and staring at Ron with angry eyes.

For several hours they remained quiet and thinking about their own stuff, mostly. Heather wondered about Hogsmeade and Sirius Black. Would it be worth it to sneak out? She knew the answer already. No, it wouldn’t. Hermione was right they should stay inside, at least until Sirius was caught by the Azkaban Guards. But it was hard to not want to go when Ron was going on about how great it was.

After lunch the trolley witch came by and like every year, Harry bought as much as he could from the cart to share with them.

“Should we wake… whoever he is?” Ron helped Harry pile his snacks.

Hermione pointed up to the luggage above them, “R. J. Lupin. Probably our new Defense professor.”

The witch handed them a bag of cauldron cakes and smiled, “If he’s hungry I’ll be in the front. Take those just in case.”

Heather closed the door shut and handed the bag around, eager to enjoy a free pastry, “What do you think happened to Lockhart anyways? Hermione, you must know.”

Hermione’s face flushed as she bit into a pastry making Ron scowl. She shrugged, “I don’t actually. But he hasn’t released any new books like he does every year so… I guess all that talk about knowing where the Chamber was really was nonsense.”

Ron scoffed, “Oh was it.”

They sat and enjoyed the cakes, watching the rain droplets chase each other down the window until the compartment doors flew open, making them all jump. Draco was standing at the door with Crabbe and Goyle planted behind him with their arms crossed. Heather’s heart started racing and she felt like fainting or turning into a pricked balloon and escaping out the window.

“Potter,” Draco looked like he was chewing on an earwax flavor bean, almost spitting out their name towards Harry. “Who’s that? Got yourself a bodyguard? Too scared to take me on yourself?”

“It’s our new Defense professor, Malfoy. Professor Lupin,” Hermione crossed her arms.

Ron smiled and jerked his thumb at Professor Lupin, “Want us to wake him up for you?”

Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head. He looked down at Heather and she thought she would really faint if he mentioned anything. He had been the one to tell her not to say anything, but what if he did? What if he decided it would be more fun to try to anger Harry? How would they react? A whole week with MALFOY. At his HOUSE.

“The Slytherin section’s back there. Since you obviously didn’t know.”

Heather nodded, “Thanks for telling me.”

“She’ll make sure to avoid it,” Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco.

Draco was about to open his mouth and glanced up at the sleeping professor. He shut his mouth, thinking better of it, and pushed passed Crabbe and Goyle.

Heather quickly closed the car door, feeling her lungs fully expand again, her breathing now back to normal. Should she tell him not to say anything again? Just to remind him. What if he mentions it specifically because she asked him not to? But if she didn’t then he might mention it if he forgets they aren’t supposed to tell anyone –

“This year we shouldn’t let him get away with anything. I’m done being nice,” Ron bit into another cake angrily. “I’ll really hit him this time.”

“Shhh,” Hermione pointed at Professor Lupin and stared at Ron. “Shh.”

The train started to slow and they all looked at each other.

“Why are we slowing? We can’t be anywhere close to Hogwarts… It’s not even three yet.

“Shortcut?” Harry said hopefully.

Heather stood up to join Ron at the window, “No. We’re like halfway there.”

“See that?” Ron tapped the window. “What is that?”

Heather squinted as a raindrop slid down the glass and a black smudge entered the train up ahead. She looked down at Ron, concerned he didn’t even know what floating creature could be entering the train.

“We’ve stopped completely,” Harry pulled Heather back to her seat. “What did you see?”

“I’m not sure.”

The windows started fogging and their breaths came out in white clouds as the temperature dropped. The lights flickered off and they were cast in darkness except for the light coming through the window from the grey sky outside.

“Ow, Ron! You sat on my hand!”

“Sorry. My eyes are adjusting.”

The compartment door slid open suddenly and they all jumped. Neville was squinting at them and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

“Did you hear what they’re saying?” He tried sitting down next to Harry, “OW. What?”

Crookshanks jumped down and crawled into his cage under Hermione’s seat.

Hermione closed the latch, “What are they saying?”

“We’ve broken down. I think.”

“I’ll just go ask the driver,” Hermione opened the door and stepped out, immediately yelping.

“Sorry!” Ginny pushed Hermione back in and closed the door. “It’s spooky outside. All the lights are out.”

“Sit down, children,” a raspy voice quieted them down. Professor Lupin had sat up and coughed lightly to clear his throat. “I’m sure it’s only momentary.”

Ginny went to sit next to Ron by the window and Hermione sat back down in her spot.

“Lumos,” Professor Lupin held his wand out for extra light. “I’ll be the one to ask the driver.”

He stood up and froze as the compartment door rattled open slowly, and a hooded figure as tall as the height of the train – its head touching the ceiling – stuck its head in. Its face was covered by a wispy black cloak that covered its whole body but it’s long grey fingers. Heather’s eyes trailed down the cloak’s length and saw it was floating in the air, hovering.

Professor Lupin stumbled back as the creature made a low sucking noise, as if trying to breath in all the air from their compartment into its lungs. Heather’s hands shot up to rub her freezing arms and felt memories from years ago floating to the surface of her brain.

She stared up at the dark figure and batted her eyes trying to keep her memory down but couldn’t. She saw Dudley’s face looking up at her, angry and upset that she had pinned him down. She blinked and tried to forget, to focus on the dark figure as everything was silent, but the scene continued. Her own tears fell onto Dudley’s face and she saw her hand come down on him. She kept punching and punching until a loud wail erupted from his mouth. She blinked more and turned her head away, seeing Harry’s blurry body falling back on his seat. She remembered more. Dudley was crying, real tears flowing from his shut eyes. She was hurting him like he had hurt her, but she wasn’t enjoying it. She felt guilty. Guilty and scared.

A bright light blinded her and pushed her memory back down into the depths of her mind and she no longer felt horrifyingly guilty about how she had behaved. She blinked and this time everything came into focus. She looked down and saw Harry sliding off the seat and onto the floor like a floppy doll. Professor Lupin closed the door and sat back, gasping.

“Harry!” She dropped to her knees and helped him sit on the floor.

Hermione was down at their level shaking his shoulders, “Harry, are you alright?”

Ron tapped Harry’s cheeks until his eyes opened and he sat up straight.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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dear diary // chapter three

Hey! Long time, no see! I am so, so, so sorry that this chapter is late. I’ve been having a bit of a busy time recently and haven’t had many opportunities to write/edit like usual. But now I have a looser schedule so updates to the series should go back to normal! 😄 I hope you are all doing okay wherever you are! :)

Find the series masterlist here to catch up on the previous chapter!

Word count: 4.6k

(*) Warnings: mentions of bankruptcy and emotional abuse

All I could see was red. The anger that flowed through my veins was terrifyingly smooth, leaving my entire body shaking. The news that my mom just told me, well, sobbed to me, left me in awe. In terrible, heart-wrenching, shocking...awe.

Sweetie, my mom’s sweet and clear voice bellowed through my memory, I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry, darling.

“Charlotte, you need to calm down. Seriously. I don’t know what’s--” Leila said softly, her hands firm on my shaking shoulders.

At a time like this, I didn’t need her soothing me. I needed her to slap me out of this impending doom that I thought would tear me apart. I needed to get a grip on reality, to comprehend that this entire nightmare was actually happening.

“Leila, do you know what my mom just told me?” I huffed, throwing my phone onto the tidy bed that I had just made. Our first night in New York had started off amazingly, as if it was taken straight out of a movie; we met new and amazing people, found Leila’s wayward bag, explored the dorm building...

Then, when called my mom once we got back to our dorm...everything came crashing down like a colossal, teetering tower of Jenga blocks.

Leila scowled at me then, squeezing my shoulders harder. Her eyes, usually a coffee bean brown, looked inky black when her entire demeanor changed from confused to quite ticked off. I immediately regretted the tone I used, though there was no going back now.

“Does it look like I do? God, you can be so dense sometimes!” Leila stated, glaring right into my eyes with a look that sent a chill down my spine. “Something’s up and you need to tell me immediately.”

This wasn’t something that I thought I could even have the guts to say. But, sooner than I though, words started forming on the tip of my tongue at the speed of light; but one stood out in particular, one chilling me to the bone.

“Bankrupt.”

This set her back, making her hands falter a bit on my shoulders.

“What? Charlotte, I need deta--”

“The diner, Leila.”

The words slowly tore my heart into microscopic pieces. Every notable memory I had from my childhood took place at the diner. I could distinctly remember the scent of buttermilk pancake batter being mixed and the sounds of plates being stacked. I could remember the outside, the bright yellow paint standing out against the lifeless gray colors of the neighborhood that it’s surrounded by.

“T-The Golden Griddle?” Leila asked, confusion consuming her features once more. The intense look in her eyes slowly fizzled out and turned into pure fret. As she’d always been, Leila was not well-composed in these types of situations.

“Yes. There’s just too many complications with the building, too many expenses and so little money...” I sighed sadly. Tears welled in my eyes, though I didn’t need to show Leila that. And so, with a deep breath, I sniffled and shook my head to clear the emotions away. “My dad spent what he could to fix the cheaper things like the light fixtures and seats, but then he got carried away with fixing the rest of the bigger issues. It all added up over time, Leila. Now the diner...the diner doesn’t have anything left.”

The diner had so, so many issues for such a long time. The interior, for as long as I could remember, was small. There were only ten tables, half of those being booths that lined the walls, in total. The kitchen was also considerably compact for the amount of business that the diner would face. My parents always wanted to get around to renovate properly, but could never keep up with the overwhelming amounts of money spent on necessities like ingredients, napkins, utensils, advertisements...so DIY projects and repairs it was.

“But your parents still own it, right? They can bounce back?”

My heart yearned to be at home with my family. Why would I leave? God, I really am dense. Forget school, forget dreams. Home is where I should’ve been when that news was unveiled, not thousands of miles away.

“No. I guess the health inspector said that there were so many things with the building that set off a lot of red flags. He condemned it right on the spot.”

Leila’s eyebrow’s furrowed in thought. It was never easy for me to talk about these things - the serious things - with her. Of course, though, she knew almost everything about me; she knew that I was never the “open book” type and would always need a bit of encouragement to work my way up to talking things through. I’d rather sit and wallow in my misery than get help. The whole mindset had definitely not been ideal for anyone, but that was always the least of my worries.

The moment Leila looked back into my eyes was the moment she started to speak, her voice soft like it was before; again, I didn’t need to be sympathized, I needed to be able to see reason. This whole thing caught me completely off-guard.

Leila whispered, shaking her head, “How did this even happen?”

In high school, a very wise teacher of mine once said that there is no such thing as a stupid question, only stupid people who ask questions. However, by the looks of it, this was definitely an exception. Even with her ingenious, Leila had just asked one of the stupidest questions known to man. 

She knew exactly how this happened, and has known for years. The Golden Griddle’s financial instability had never, ever been able to be kept secret in a town such as Ceder Cove, no matter how many times my parents tried.

“Oh, wait. Sorry.” Leila stammered, looking up at the ceiling to collect herself.

“It’s fine. I just can’t fathom what my parents are going through right now. Henry, too.” I sighed, stepping back from Leila and letting my shoulders deflate. I slowly sat on the edge of my bed and crossed my legs, my gaze trained on the aged wood floor. “Even if I should, I’m not calling my mom back with more details tonight. This...this is just too much for me to handle right now.”

Leila was silent and I looked up to see her scrolling through her phone. 

Seriously? I cleared my throat to get her attention...but she didn’t even flinch.

“Leila. Are you even listening to me? Or...are you texting Skye?”

Leila’s eyes immediately averted from her phone to look at me. The smallest hint of a blush crept into her cheeks, though she played it off and rolled her eyes.

“Actually, Erin wants to take us shopping for the party next week when we’re available. Check your phone.” Leila stated, a defensive edge in her tone. I was the one to roll my eyes this time.

Now, let’s get this straight; I am not fond of parties. Leila had dragged me to each homecoming, each winter formal, and the two prom nights that we had. My date to prom both years, a guy named Harold Longhorn (a total snob), would not shut up about politics or the “oh-so-stupid” stock market. I only went with him because he said he’d tutor me for free with my AP Euro and AP Chem homework in collateral. Oh, and did I mention that his dad is a major entrepreneur in the Portland area? Wait, that’s unimportant; just like every single party I’ve ever been to in my life. 

“Do I have to go? I’d rather stay here and reread Pride & Prejudice for the millionth time or something that I actually enjoy. Dancing the night away doesn’t sound as interesting to me as my daily dose of Mr. Darcy.”

Leila scoffed and looked over at me again, her eyebrow quirked in such a way that left me a bit uneasy.

“News flash, Charlotte Parker, but Mr. Darcy is fictitious and will not save you from this.” Leila scolded, though she was playful about it. “I’m not letting you stay here because you’re a college girl now and you need to socialize with people other than me!”

“Ughhhh,” I groaned, laying down onto my bed and turning away from her and burying my face into my pillow that sadly smelt like home, “you sound just like my mom!”

Leila burst out into laughter that sent a faint chill down my spine. Whatever her plans were, she knew I’d loathe them.

“I’m glad.”

*

*

August 10th, 2020

Dear Diary...

Okay. Sorry for the radio silence. Lots has happened over the course of a couple weeks that I need to get off my chest. As Scar would say, be prepared...

First off, NYU is amazing. I’ve already met lots of (!!) people, though 4 have become friends! Two girls, two guys: Skye, Erin, Rory, and Ajay. They’re all really down-to-earth and genuinely cool people that I’m getting along with! 

Rory and Leila are really like two peas in a pod, and so are Skye and Leila. Leila is just a social butterfly, so she honestly gets along with everyone. Erin and Ajay, though, are more mellow and easy-going. Erin is so...laid back? Like she’s the type of person that you could spill your life story to. She’s just so, I don’t know... nonchalant? - definitely in a good way.

However, I feel more drawn to Ajay; we share similar interests and outlooks on life. He even saw my performance at Spotlite! He’s also a student director here at NYU, so if I do somehow wind up in the show, I’d probably work with him. It even helps that he’s kinda cute, but you didn’t hear that from me.

Overall, though, the campus is absolutely stunning and the view from our dorm window takes my breath away each and every morning.

Second, The Golden Griddle is doomed right now due to both bankruptcy and condemnation. My parents are all torn up about it, and to be blatantly honest, so am I. The diner has always been a home away from home, and now that I may have to face losing it forever...

Third, I HATE PARTIES. With a deep, burning passion.

Leila, if you’re reading this, then you can call me George Eacker: piss off because I’m watching this show - also known as Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist - now...well..when you’re at the party! There’s no way in hell that I’m stepping foot into anything resembling a disco or a dance or even, god forbid, a hoedown like that one during our sophomore year. Nope, nope, nope. Over my dead body.

All in all, I’m having a wonderful time settling into my new life in New York. Of course I miss home, but I also feel like it was time for me to spread my wings and learn to fly!

Alright. I gotta run. I’m going shopping. And, yes, it’s regrettably for this pointless party that I’m being forced to go to against my will. 

Talk, er, write soon!

Charlotte :)

*

*

“Ooo, what’re you writing about?” Leila asked, barging back into our slightly messy dorm after finishing with her morning routine. I hastily closed my diary and forced a smile.

“Um, it’s just the address of my uncle’s new house! Mom said to write it down somewhere in case I lost my phone.”

Shoot. Thank God Leila wasn’t really paying much attention to catch how bad of an excuse that was; she just turned her back to me and scavenged through a pile of dirty clothes already heaped in the corner by her closet. It’s been six days since we’ve moved in. I still haven’t really organized nor have I gotten around to calling my parents or Henry with updates about the diner.

“Right, right. He moved a couple days ago. Though, with our plans today, are you ready to go? Erin and Skye are already waiting for us downstairs.” Leila said, grabbing her purse. I gave her a scowl and grabbed my own, sighing as I slung it on my shoulder.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. But I have one quick question,” I said, finally catching her attention, “why are you wearing those?”

My eyes went to the unscuffed black stilettos on her feet; they had to have been at least 5 inches tall. She laughed and instinctively brought one of her ankles up to rub it as if she’d been in pain. The stilettos were paired with a pair of skinny and holey whitewash jeans and a black Shinedown sweatshirt with a crow and a butterfly printed in white; from what I remember, that was one of the band’s songs.

“I’m wearing these to the party so I figured I’d break them in a little first. And I need to find a dress that looks good with them, so why not?”

“Fair warning, you might actually break something else before you walk a block in those death traps.” I teased, making her huff. This was obviously not something she wanted to hear, but let’s remember who was dragging me to this stupid party in the first place. My sarcasm comes with the territory!

“Jesus, you make it sound like I’m breaking a law! They’re just heels!” Leila laughed, shaking her head. Her hair had been in two Dutch braids, making her outfit even more unique. To each their own, I suppose.

“Just heels that might put you on crutches,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I slipped my (comfortable) light pink flip flops on. We headed down to the lobby and quickly spotted Erin, chatting with Rory and Ajay, and Skye standing a little off to the side.

“Ah, there you guys are!” Erin grinned, running over and leading us over to the group.

“I thought this was a girl trip?” I asked, playfully eyeing the guys. Ajay gave a tight-lipped smile and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, it is. We were just heading out to find Rory another outfit that he apparently needs because his six other ones aren’t enough.” Ajay explained, making direct eye contact with me. I could see the different blends of brown tinges in his eyes - the light from both the windows and the bulbs above hitting just the right angles - shimmer behind his glasses. I also noticed that he was wearing a simple green t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts with black Nike’s. 

Wait, what?

“I may have a slight obsession with shopping,” Rory said sheepishly, slowly creeping away from the group, “but I also need something fresh. I can’t be seen in the same maroon shirt that I wore to--”

Ajay’s groan interrupted him but he followed in Rory’s footsteps with a small shrug. “We’ll be going now. Have fun.”

I immediately felt myself missing his eyes. The brown sparkles that caught my own. Was it so wrong to find his eyes...gorgeous? Didn’t think so.

As they waved goodbye, Leila migrated from my side to Skye’s. The redhead looked particularly sad today, but let out the slightest trace of a smile when Leila started talking to her.

“So, where’re we going to go first, o’ wise Erin?” I asked, turning to her. She looked a bit lost in thought, a bit dazed when our eyes met, but I could tell she regained herself before she answered.

“Well, I thought we’d take a trip to The Shops today,” Erin said smugly, her hand resting on her hip, “we can take an Uber in case we want to make other stops along the way!”

Skye visibly revolted at the thought, her arms tightening around her chest and her glower intensifying. The way her blue eyes darkened was just a bit unsettling, too.

“Okay. Sounds good...” I sighed, gripping my leather purse strap a bit tighter.

“Sure,” Skye groaned, “good. Great. Grand. Just how I wanted to spend my day.”

*

*

The nearby mall, The Shops, had a wide array of stores that we buzzed in and out of, Erin and Leila eagerly leading the way.

“You know,” I said, looking over at Skye, “I really don’t understand why we need new clothes for this party.”

Skye shrugged. “Me neither. I never really had to get new clothes for the banquets that I went to as a kid with my parents.” 

I instantly noticed that her hands were in tight fists at her sides.

“What do your parents do?” I asked, trying to keep her talking. I really wanted to get to know her better; she was still such a mystery and I was destined to change that.

Though, the bitter grimace she gave at the question was all the hint that I needed to know that I’d said something wrong, maybe even crossed a line.

“They do nothing but make a lot of money and prioritize themselves over anything else, even their own kids.”

Oh, wow. I blinked rapidly, willing my brain to say, something, anything, to break the agonizing silence building between us.

“Oh. I’m sorry I brought it up.” I stammered, though she shook her head.

“It’s okay. It’s just...not something I really like to talk about.” Skye sighed, almost ruefully. Despite my pending curiosity, I left the topic be.

“What’re you here in New York to do, Skye?” I asked instead, hoping to lighten her spirits a little. When she looked back over at me, she gave me a neutral expression.

“Graphics,” Skye stated, her tone firm and assured, “I want to be a graphics designer.”

“That’s really interesting. Have you designed anything yourself?”

Sadly, before I could hear her answer, Erin and Leila gasped in unison and pointed to a store. A quick glance at the shop name was enough to make me roll my eyes.

“Windsor! Yes!” Leila squealed, bolting into the store without a second thought. Erin rushed after her, gesturing for Skye and I to follow.

Several racks of dresses filled the store and even lined the walls, some popping with bright color and some glittering with infinite sparkle. I watched Leila pluck several dresses off their racks and fold them over her arm, shaking my head.

“Wow, look at this abomination.” Skye murmured, plucking a dress made of plastic (well, not literally, but basically) off the rack. It was a flamingo pink and looked like something a Barbie doll would wear. A laugh escaped her as she sifted through and pulled out the other options, the colors ranging from a vibrant cobalt to a neon yellow.

“I’ve always wanted to be Barbie disguised as a highlighter! Skye, how’d you know?” I giggled, taking a resembling green one off the same rack. My poor eyes ached at the sight of all the vivid colors.

“Pure intuition, obviously.” Skye responded, putting the dresses back on the rack. “Jeez, I could never wear any of these.”

I could agree; I would never be able to pull any of these off. Also, it didn’t help that they were so effervescent and looked severely uncomfortable. (I mean, how do you even move in that kind of material?)

“Me neither,” I said wistfully, plucking another dress off a nearby rack. It was a black sweetheart-necklined dress that cut off at (what I’d say) the knee. It had some lace detailing on the straps and a few sparkles scattered across both the bodice and the skirt. It wasn’t over-the-top, nor was it boring...

I held it up to Skye, making her jump back a little with surprise. I giggled and closed an eye, coming to a conclusion about how this dress would look incredible on her.

“Whoa, what’re--” Skye asked, her eyes widening. I smiled warmly and laid it over her arm.

“I think this is a good option for you, and I’m guessing your a 4?” I smirked, watching her gape in both confusion and amusement.

“How’d you...know?”

“Pure intuition, obviously.” I playfully mocked, making her crack a tiny smile. As we continued throughout the store, we came across a few more ridiculously bright options, thankfully not made out of a faux plastic. 

About five minutes into our little exploration, I spotted a dress; it was a silvery mauve skater dress with a flowing skirt and spaghetti straps. By some sort of force, it spoke to me.

“That’s pretty,” Skye said, nodding in approval as I held it up, “ it definitely speaks ‘girl who can read minds’ to me.”

Oh jeez, she’s cool. She’s really cool.

“Perfect, it’s just what I’m looking for, then,” I joked, folding the dress over my arm and walking further into the store. Erin and Leila, practically having the time of their lives, had their arms brimming with dresses that ranged from super glittery to extremely bright. I could swear I could see a familiar highlighter yellow in Leila’s stack, but that could just be my mind playing tricks on me.

Speaking of Leila, I stifled a giggle as I watched her wobble around in her stilettos, grimacing whenever she walked too fast. Not to say I told you so, Leila, I thought, but...I told you so.

“Ladies!” Erin squealed, pointing back to the dressing room area with her free hand. “Let’s go try these on!”

*

*

“How about this masterpiece?” Leila giggled, sauntering out of the dressing room. Erin burst into laughter, Skye rolled her eyes, and I, well...

“Oh my God, Leila...” I playfully gagged, covering my eyes. Turns out that she really did pick out a highlighter dress to try on. After a few laughs, she turned around and changed into a royal blue dress with a deep V neckline. It was sparkly, sassy, and overall...very Leila.

*

*

“Wow, you look great, Skye!” I cheered, giving her two thumbs-up as she examined herself in the mirror. The dress was a perfect fit and she seemed to be comfortable in it. Her hands idly fiddled with the skirt, experimentally flicking it back and forth in thought.

“It seriously looks amazing on you!” Erin smiled, nodding with approval. Skye gave me a small, appreciative smile in the mirror.

I took a quick glance over at Leila and was met with her wide eyes and deep red cheeks.

*

*

“Charlotte, phew, you look hot!” Leila whistled, gesturing for me to spin around. I didn’t really gush over the “dream dress” as much as I had hoped. In fact, the more I looked at it, the more I disliked it.

“Maybe we can find a different color?” I said, looking back at Erin’s face; she definitely did not like it. She shot up out of her chair and came back a moment later with a similar option. It was the same style of dress but in a jade green shade instead. It was also not as shimmery, but more dull and had ruffles on the neckline.

I ducked back into the dressing room and quickly changed. With just a glance at myself now, I knew I found the one. I stepped back out and saw everyone’s face light up.

“Yup,” Erin said smugly as she crossed her legs, “that’s the one.”

*

*

Erin walked out in a tight-fitting midi white dress that popped against her flawless chocolate brown skin. It had a plunging V-neck and a small slit on the left side that climbed all the way up toward the middle of her thigh. Needless to say...she was killing it.

“Now I just need some hoops...” Erin mumbled as she examined herself. Leila looked over at me and just gaped.

“Stunning!” I said, and Erin gave me a warm and self-satisfied smile.

*

*

Finally, we were heading home in an Uber. But because of how long the shopping took, we decided to stop and get some ice cream from a local parlor; all after persuading the driver to wait for us with a hefty tip.

Erin munched on a mixture of raspberry and vanilla, Leila got creamsicle all over her face, Skye picked at her brownie swirl, and I delightfully ate two scoops of cake batter.

“So. Are you two excited about going to this party now?” Erin asked, eyeing Skye and I. At the same time, we both shook our heads.

“New dress, same feelings.” Skye sighed, looking down into her dish. I nodded in agreement only to hear a dramatic sigh from Leila.

“You two will have fun. We’ll find fun things for you guys!” Leila grinned, glancing at Erin. The two shared a look that, like all the times before, sent a chill down my spine.

“You guys can’t make us have fun.” Skye said, figuring her face was serious; but I looked over to see a teasing smirk on her face.

“Well, we can sure as hell try! Besides, what do you guys have against parties?” Erin said, her tone a bit more tame then it was before. My eyes averted from theirs, and without looking, I could tell Skye was doing the same.

Awkward silence wracked the table for what seemed like hours before Skye spoke up.

“You can thank my parents for being the pessimistic and narcissistic assholes that they are. My distaste originates from them.” Skye said, her teasing tone completely replaced with a hiss. She spoke in a mumbled tone, as if she wished she didn’t want to speak.

“I’ve just never been really...happy with the ones I’ve gone to in the past.” I added awkwardly. I thought about the one good party I went to...and of course it had to be from the diner. Emotions bubbled in my throat and were about to escape before Leila (thankfully) interjected with a disapproving groan.

Then, right after, all three of us got looks of unbridled hope and amusement from Erin.

“That’s going to change because, dearest freshmen, you’ve never experienced a party quite like a college party.”

And it can stay that way, I thought.

*

*

The rest of the ice cream was eaten alongside lighter conversation, and then, FINALLY, we were back in the dorms.

The afternoon flew as I decided to buckle down and unpack the remainder of my things. Leila went to hang out with Erin and Skye (without heels, if you were wondering) as I slaved away at stacking my t-shirts in my closet, that is until I got a knock at my door.

As soon as I opened it, I saw a familiar pair of gorgeous eyes lock onto mine.

“Hi, I know this is kinda weird,” Ajay said casually, “ but I have a question for you.”

I leaned against the door, praying I didn’t look like an uncoordinated mess. “It’s not weird at all, actually. Shoot.”

God, his eyes are just breathtaking in any and every way. Was it weird to be obsessing over an acquaintance’s eyes like this? Yes, I thought, yes it was.

“Well, since we really don’t want to go to the party, I was hoping we could try to get something out of it?”

What does he mean? If we didn’t want to go, what good would we be able to get out of it?

I tipped my head a bit to the side in curiosity and felt some of my blonde hair come loose from its bun.

“Let me escort you. To the party.”

Wait, was that an actual thing? An escort to a college party? No way. It sounded so childlike, almost like something an elementary kid would say.

“Hang on. Do you mean, like, as a date?” I asked, my tone packing more intensity than I had hoped. His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“No, no. I just want to get to know you better. I thought that this would be a better option than hunting you down in a huge mass of drunk people and ending up not being able to find you.” Ajay explained, a light smile tugging at his lips. “So...?”

Maybe spending the night with someone with the same ideals as me would make the night less dreadful, perhaps even fun. I barely gave the idea a thought before words left my mouth. 

“Sure, Ajay, I’ll be your escort.”

[somenewsarah]

Betrothed

Requested: Yes: “Draco x raven claw reader, betrothed. She is a pure blood, her parents didn’t mind muggles until her mother was murdered by one during a trip to the muggle world. Her father grew cold and distant. He has some political power, so the Malfoys thought this would be a good time to approach him with the offer. The reader doesn’t mind it too much since she wants to make her father happy, but it’s complicated. Fred and George show her a time pranking people and she seems to form a crush on them.”

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw!Reader with bits of Weasley twin love c:

Warnings: Mentions of death, arranged marriage

Genre: Angst? With bits of fluff?

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I actually really loved this request, and I’m thinking about either doing a part 2 to this one, or making it a little series! Let me know what you guys thing and what you want!

Feet up, head back, eyes closed. The perfect way to spend your days inside the Ministry department. Your father is the head of the Magical Transportations department, and although you’re out of school for summer, you spend most of your days here, your nose stuck in a book.

 “Y/N,” your father says, tapping on his desk which your feet are resting on. You pick your head up, raising your eyebrow. “Help keep me on track, yes? We should be gone here by five o’clock, no later. We must meet your mother for dinner.”

 You nod, turning your attention back towards the ceiling. Your fifth year at Hogwarts had treated you well. You spent a lot of time in the library with your unlikely friend Hermione Granger. Together, you’d studied enchantments and spells as well as curses and hexes. You knew what they’d been up to, of course. In your opinion, they made it quite obvious.

 One of your closest friends, Luna Lovegood joined Harry Potter’s new group, Dumbledore’s Army, as well as a few of your fellow Ravenclaws, but you couldn’t be bothered to join it. It wasn’t really something you thought you needed. If the time came to stay and fight for Hogwarts, you would do what you had to do. You always would.

 Five o’clock rolls around slower than you would’ve liked, and soon, you’re on your way home with your father.

~

“So,” your mother starts. “I have an assignment.”

“Assignment?” Your father asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

 Although your family is a pureblood family, none of you showed a particular interest in the dark arts. Well, not until recently, anyways. Your mother found she needed something more in her life- something to fulfill a space that you nor your father could ever understand. So, she starts going to secret meetings, traveling, having these ‘assignments’ that must be fulfilled. At first, you suspect an affair, but after a while, it seems your father is in on the meetings and the assignments, but they keep it all from you.

 “Yes. I’m to go to the muggle world and follow traces of other dark wizards that are threatening our safety,” she explains. She eyes you carefully, but you say nothing.

 “Why wouldn’t they just get aurors to do it?” Your father asks, picking at his food. The thought dawns on you.

 “Because this isn’t an assignment from the Ministry,” you say, keeping your head low. Silence follows.

~

The next morning, after receiving your Hogwarts letter for your sixth year and having breakfast with your parents, you kiss your mother goodbye as she departs for her journey to the muggle world.

 “Please be careful,” you say, hugging her tightly. “Don’t try and be a hero, okay?”

 “I promise,” your mom smiles, kissing your forehead gently. “Take care of your father, make sure you write to him while you’re in school. He gets lonely all by himself.”

 “He has his work,” you snort. “But I will. How long will you be gone?”

 “Just a few months. But I’ll be back before you know it, okay? If things get bad, I’ll come back early.”

 Your father joins the two of you, holding your mother’s bags in his hands. He sets them on the floor quickly and wraps you both in a hug.

 “Hurry back to us.”

~

With your pockets full of galleons, you head to Diagon Alley to purchase your supplies for the coming year. The brightness of the alley has slimmed drastically- everything seems dead and lifeless, except for one corner. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

 You push the door open, and the shouts and giggles fill the air, livening up the dead scene outside. You wander around the store, looking for any of your friends or anyone you even considered an acquaintance, but there were so many people packed inside that you couldn’t distinguish any faces.

 “Y/N!” Hermione bellows, waving at you over the sea of people. You can’t help the grin on your face as you push your way over to her, eyeing the love potion in her hand.

 “Should I be worried?” You laugh, gesturing to the pink potion.

 “Oh, Merlin, no,” she laughs, placing it back on the shelf. “I was just admiring the potion-making, is all. Fred and George have really outdone themselves with this place. It’s incredible.”

 “It really is. Fred and George are the Weasley twins, right?” You ask, peering around to see if you could spot them. “I don’t think I’ve properly met them.”

 “Oh, they’re right back here! Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Hermione grabs your hand, pulling you through the sea of Hogwarts students, all there for a different reason. She pulls you behind a curtain and up a small flight of stairs. There, sitting in the stairwell, are the Weasley twins. “Fred, George, I wanted to properly introduce you to my friend Y/N. She was instrumental in helping the DA last term.”

 “Any friend of Hermione’s is a friend of ours. I’m George,” the twin on the right says, sticking out his hand.

 “Oh, thanks,” you smile. “Y/N.”

 “Fred Weasley,” the twin on the left says. You shake both of their hands, then look down at what’s in their lap. A small box sits between them, and they slowly deposit galleon after galleon, knut after knut.

 “This really is quite the place,” you say, looking over the railing at the store below. “How long did it take to amass such an inventory?”

 “We’ve been developing for years,” Fred, you think, says. “Started when we were just in our first year. Had a few setbacks with mum throwing out our stuff.”

 “This started with… pranks?”

 “Oh yes,” Hermione says, laughing like she’d had her fair share of Weasley pranks.

 “If you ever need a good idea for a prank, you know where to find us,” George winks. “It’s our favorite pastime.”

~

School begins, and soon, you’re so swept up in classes and Lord Voldemort, and your absent mother that you don’t even realize that you’d stopped writing to your father.

 “I’m sure he understands,” Luna says, her voice as dreamy and wispy as ever. “You’re not the only one who’s busy, you know. He does work for the Ministry.”

 “Yeah,” you start. “I suppose I just feel bad because I promised that I would write to him before my mom left.”

 “When is she coming back?”

 “I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. She’d only really been gone for a few weeks, though it felt like ages from having not heard from her.

 “Mail is here,” Luna says. You look around, but it only takes a few minutes for the owls to swoop down. Somehow, she always knows. Your miniature barn owl, Didgy, drops a small letter into your lap. You pet her affectionately, and she gives your finger a grateful nip before taking flight back to the owlry.

 “It’s from my father,” you say. “I’m sure I’m gonna get it big time for not writing soon enough.”

 But you don’t. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed that you hadn’t been writing, because he’d received some awful news from the muggle law enforcement. Your mother had been found lying face down in a small lake, dead.

 You set the letter down, fighting to remind yourself to just breathe. All you must do is breath. You cover your mouth with your hand, choking back a sob that builds in your throat. You know your eyes are watering, but you don’t make a move to wipe them, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to yourself.

 “It can’t have been that bad,” Luna says. She reaches across the table and picks up the note. Her eyes scan it, and she folds it carefully and places it back on the table. “Death is such a funny thing. It’s never the same for anyone.”

 ~

The funeral is bleak, and there are several people there that you don’t even know. Your black dress skims the floor as you stand next to your mother’s casket, hugging person after person as they approach you, offering their own condolences.

 The hollow feeling in your stomach doesn’t move. It sits there, festering inside of you, starting a fire for something you don’t even understand yet. But, you pull it together, holding your father’s hand as he stands next to you, stoic and pale, a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

 You look around the funeral, noticing a man with long, white blond hair staring at your father. He taps his cane once, then turns on his heel. You watch as your father watches him.

 “Y/N, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Harry Potter says, approaching the casket and you. “I’m here, should you need to talk.”

 “Thanks, Harry,” you say, trying your hardest to muster a small smile. In fact, you see several of your Hogwarts classmates. Luna, Hermione, Harry, and Ron all came together, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, there to offer their deepest of sympathies to your father.

 “Hey, you,” George says, walking up to you. He wraps you in a quick hug squeezing you gently. Your father still hadn’t returned. “How’re you holding up?”

 “Um,” you start, your eyes filling with tears at the unexpected question. “Yeah, I’ve um, I’ve been better.”

 “I’m so sorry,” Fred says, wrapping you in a hug next. “Please, if you need anything, we’re always at the shop, and we’re always here for you.”

 “I just wish I could find a way to make today a little brighter,” you say, mustering a small laugh.

 “Well, lucky for you, I think we might could help you with that,” George says, a gleam in his brown eyes. You tilt your head, looking up at him. “We’ve been testing something, and if you want, we could put it to the test.”

 “What is it?” You ask.

 “It’s a Memory Marble,” Fred explains. “The person who eats it will automatically share their most recent memory of the first person they see.”

 “That sounds like it could easily go awry,” you say, wringing your fingers together.

 “Or very well,” George smiles.

 “Alright, let’s do it.”

 Fred and George allow two people at a time to come up to the casket, and they offer them their own marbles. One by one, you hear stories about your mother from people you never knew existed. About times she was drunk off firewhiskey and danced on a table at the Leaky Cauldrin, or how on your parents’ wedding day, they were so busy dancing in the bridal room that they were both late to their own wedding, and almost lost the officiant. You heard stories about falling outs with your parents, about how they wished they’d stayed in touch after school, or how their school days were the greatest.

 Time flew, and soon, your father was back at your side, listening in to everyone’s stories like it was the first time he was hearing them himself.

 ~

 “We need to have a talk,” your father says. He sits down at the head of the table and loosens his tie. You’re set to return to Hogwarts the following day, but were spending the night with your father. The funeral ended on a positive note, all thanks to Fred and George Weasley, and you were satisfied that your mother would’ve loved it.

 “What is it? Does this have to do with the blond man?”

 “Yes, “he starts. He holds a glass of bourbon in his hand, sipping it slowly. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to provide a life for you that your mother would’ve wanted, so I’ve made an arrangement for you.”

 “What do you mean?” You ask, pulling out the seat to the right of him.

 “When you are of age, you are to marry Draco Malfoy. I’ve made the deal with Lucius, and we both think it’ll be mutually beneficial for all parties involved.”

 Your heart sinks, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you think of the red-headed twins and how the possibility of ever being happy seems so hard to grasp. Draco Malfoy is a crude Slytherin in your year, and it’s rumored that he’s working very closely with the Dark Lord and is currently a Death Eater, and that alone scares you beyond belief.

 Your mother’s last words to you float through your head. ‘Take care of your father.’

 Maybe this is your way of taking care of him. So, swallowing your own pride and fear and regret, you nod. Your father sighs, taking another sip of the amber liquid that sloshes in his glass.

 “Am I to meet him anytime soon?” You ask, a small lilt in your voice.

 “Lucius is arranging a date to Hogsmeade this coming weekend when you return to school. It’ll only be you and Draco, so maybe it’ll be a good chance to get to know him,” he shrugs. His eyes are darker than usual as he straightens up. He doesn’t meet your eye. “I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good. The Malfoys aren’t bad people, despite their past. They can give you a prosperous future.”

 With that, he stands from the table and retires to his room, stopping only once at the cart in the parlor to refill his glass.

 Sighing to yourself, you take your leave.

 ~

Draco Malfoy isn’t at all what you expected. He’s very formal and polite. He holds the door open for you, offers you an extra coat for the long trek to Hogsmeade, which you gladly accept. It smells of rich cologne and some sort of musk that is nice, but you can’t quite put your finger on.

 “I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, looking over at you as the two of you walk through the snow.

 “It’s alright,” you swallow, keeping your eyes low. “Could we maybe not talk about that?”

 “Sure,” Draco nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Before I say anything else, I also want to say I’m sorry for my father’s behavior at the funeral. He pounces on deals before he thinks them through.”

 “And here we are,” you laugh.

 “Here we are,” he repeats. He looks over at you, and you catch his eye. He’s actually quite handsome, with white blond hair just like his father’s, but his falls differently. It’s unruly and flops onto his forehead under his snow cap, and his eyes are a grey color that intrigue you.

 “I suppose we should make the most of it,” you offer. You extend your hand to him, and he takes it carefully, almost testing the waters between the two of you.

 You make it into Hogsmeade not ten minutes later, but the ten minutes are filled with conversation about the both of you. Draco wanted to know everything. Where you were born, what your favorite book is, how you feel about the uprising of the Dark Lord, where you stand on the issue of House Elves. You asked him similar questions, and found that you had a lot in common.

 You enter the Three Broomsticks together, laughing at something Draco said. He helps you out of your coat as you shake the snow out of your hair.

 “Y/N!” Someone bellows over the crowd. You look around, spotting the Weasley twins. “Hey, come sit with us!”

 “Actually,“ you start, but Draco cuts you off.

 “Sorry, Weasley, she’s with me,” he bites. It was a side to him that you’d heard about often, but not one that he’d been advertising with you. You look over your shoulder at him, then back at Fred and George. Your heart aches to go sit with them, prank with them, just to feel as alive as you did the first time you stepped into their store, but you hold your tongue.

 “I’m actually good friends with them,” you start. “So, if you don’t mind maybe being a tad more pleasant?”

 “Uh- I- yeah, I’m sorry,” he flounders. His cheeks pink up. “I didn’t know.”

 “That’s alright. I know this isn’t really ideal for either of us,” you start carefully. “And I know that I’m a pureblood and I should care about that, but I really really don’t. It would really help me adjust if you treated people with common decency, and if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’ll be sure to work on it.”

 Draco’s mouth falls slightly open, but he quickly composes himself. He folds his hand on the table as Madam Rosmerta brings around a tray of two butterbeers.

 “Mr. Malfoy,” she smiles, setting one down in front of the both of you. “Enjoy.”

 “Do you always get the royal treatment?” You ask, eyeing the warm beverage. “I mean, don’t most people order their own drinks and bring them back to the table?”

 “Father planned this,” he explains. He’s silent for a moment, then reaches across the table and takes your hands in his own. “I will try my hardest to be ‘decent,’ as you say, if you will do something for me. This will be easier on both of us if you wipe any preconceived notions of me out of your mind. I have an awful task to achieve this year, and it might be a little easier if you helped me. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I would understand if you went running for the hills, but I’m sitting before you right now, telling you that I’m willing to make this work with you if you are. If something happens after this is all over and you find me foul, then so be it.”

 Your eyes dart between his eyes and the hands that are clasped around yours. You soak in his words, your heart pounding against your chest. You know what the task is, your father told you before you left for Hogwarts, but you never imagined Draco would ask you to help him with it. You move your head to the side, your eyes locking with George Weasley’s. He offers you a weak smile before turning back to Fred.

 Sighing to yourself, you turn back to Draco.

 “Alright,” you nod. “Let’s do this. Let’s make it work.”

 You would take care of your father no matter what, and if this is how he wanted you to do it, then so be it.

@hecatemacbeth7

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Seven

Notes: Right... confession time.. So, I posted this fic yesterday... But, I’ve been having a really difficult mental health week (lots of self-doubt, self-isolation, and weeping) and it all came to a head last night when I spiraled and deleted this story (my depression/anxiety/Imposter Syndrome demon caught up to me, I guess). I was also close to deleting all my other fics and potentially closing my account, but @fight-surrender and my amazing husband talked me down from the ledge so to speak. It was actually their support, along with the amazing kindness of @giishu that convinced me to repost my story... so here it is. 

Lyrics are inspired by “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles. However, I was inspired by the version from “Across The Universe”, sung by T.V. Carpio (Such a great movie and soundtrack). 

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for their writing support and amazing beta-reads. 

Also, this is the last story until the Angst prompt... I’m also gonna take it easy with my writing. Going back into it after 8 years of numbness and denying my passion hasn’t been easy and it’s beginning to take its toll on me. I have so many ideas, but I want to feel well enough in my head to be able to write them properly (in case you haven’t noticed, I like writing about healing and hopeful futures... kinda hard to do that if you’re spiraling). I’ve got a few more stories already prepared for the Countdown, but I’m not making any promises on writing for other prompts. 

TW: Extremely minimal (like blink and you’ll miss it) reference to drugs.

Day 7 Prompt: WLW

Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand

________________________________________________________________

Please, say to me, you’ll let me hold your hand. Now, let me hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand. 

FIONA

The music here is bloody terrible.

So’s the alcohol. But what else can I expect from a dingy little pub in this dodgy area of the city? Besides, it isn’t the alcohol I’m here for, which is a shock, considering how much of it I drink. 

Nor am I here for this horrid music. I look at the stage and a skinny little whelp is crooning a pathetic rendition of a Pink Floyd song. Kid can’t be older than 18, of course he’s singing a Floyd song. I swear, you  listen to Dark Side of The Moon one time, and suddenly you think you know everything there is to know about music. 

Good Lord… he’s doing a Floyd medley. News flash, boyo, you cannot transition from Wish You Were Here to Another Brick in The Wall without raising a few eyebrows. 

He isn’t a bad looking bloke though. Shaggy brown hair, styled so it’s away from his eyes. He’s got a bit of a long, oval-shaped face, a little gaunt, but not too much. He reminds me of someone… Ah… George Harrison! He’s got a bit of a George Harrison vibe, I reckon. A part of me wants to snap a photo of him and ask Baz if he’d fancy him, but the last time I did that, he chewed my ear off for a week. 

Dramatic little shit. I’m only trying to help. He’s so edgy all the time. Baz is about to head into his final year at Watford and honestly, he needs to let loose and have a little fun, before the pressures of being a Pitch crushes him…

Maybe I’m being the dramatic shit...

I leave George Harrison to his crooning (Christ, he’s moved onto Money. Does he only know the popular Floyd songs? Tosser), and direct myself to the bar. The person I’m here to see greets me with a wide, toothy smile. 

“Well well, look who it is. How are you, love?” bellows Shannon Ryan (Shan for short). Shan is the annoyingly vivacious proprietor of the Golden Griffin Pub and Inn. She is all hair (bright, thick, ginger-red, with a generous amount of blond and strawberry-blond highlights, that falls in tight ringlets down her back) and little to no filter. She’s the kind of person that can decide in an instant if she’ll offer you a free pint, or if she’ll drag your sorry arse onto the curb. Most of the time, she’ll offer you the pint and a wink of her dark brown eyes. 

I give her a half smile and take a seat in front of her. Shan pours me a glass of Chivas (Bless her, she knows I love the stuff) and leans her elbows on the counter. I salute her and nod at George Harrison.

“Heads up Shan, if your lad starts playing Comfortably Numb, I may have to murder him with his own guitar.”

Shan playfully punches my shoulder. Normally, I’d retaliate with a knife to the throat, but I’m not nearly so… angry when Shan’s around. I can relax around her and allow myself to be a little playful. 

“Aw, come on now Prue, Mickey’s not that bad. A little rough around the edg-” She starts to laugh, because George Harrison’s begun to sing Comfortably Numb and I begin to crack my knuckles. Shan grabs my hands and gives them a pat. “Alright, very rough around the edges, but he’s a sweet kid.”

I met Shannon about 4 months ago. It was during one of my lower points. I had been on a wild bender, drinking, smoking up, everything. At some point, I lost all recollection of where I was and what was happening. I still don’t know how long I’d been out of my mind at that point, but I somehow ended up at Shan’s pub, trashed out and rambling nonsense. Shan took one look at me and she decided that she would give me a room and a bed, instead of throwing me out (a horrible decision, really). I woke up in an unknown room, in an unknown bed with her knocking on the door. 

I nearly killed her. 

Shan managed to calm me down and gave me some breakfast. Fat greasy bangers, perfectly poached eggs, fried tomatoes and back bacon. She had informed me that I had been out for quite a while. I remember feeling like a numpty had taken a beating to my head. She had offered to let me stay there so that I could recover from whatever was causing me distress. Instead of taking the hint and staying there, I gathered my belongings while she was gone and slipped out. That would have been the end of it, but I had returned a few days later to pay for my room and board. Shan refused to take my money, and instead asked that I pay her back by coming to see her from time to time. Originally, I was only supposed to come see her until the end of the month… But here we are, four months later and I still find myself wanting to come see her. 

Shan doesn’t know my real name (She knows me by my middle name, Prudence… I swear my family gets its kicks from naming their offspring ridiculous names), nor that I am a magician from a long line of magical aristocracy. She does not know that I am embroiled in the middle of a war that threatens to rip my world and my family apart. Maybe that sense of escapism is why I keep coming back here, why I keep flirting with this Normal pub owner. 

I turn back to her now. She is cleaning some of the dirty glasses that have been left on the bar counter. It’s a quiet evening tonight, not many patrons at the pub. Shan’s pub can gain a small gathering during the weekends, mostly young folks out on a crawl. Some tend to stay here on account of the atmosphere, and Shan’s personality. Tonight’s one of the quieter nights. I blame George Harrison mucking it up on the microphone.  

“Where do you find these characters, Shan?”

“Beats me. They sometimes just show up needing a spot. Mick’s been tossed out from his home, poor child. I give him a room, he works the bar. It all works out.”

Shan sometimes uses her rooms to shelter people who may need a place to stay. I wasn’t a special case for her. Any misfit or vagabond has a place to stay at Shan’s. I suppose that explains George Harrison, who has just finished his set and has exited the stage, thank Merlin for that. She’s now turned on her online music playlist, an eclectic mix of punk, classic rock, and current indie songs. It makes no bloody sense, but the patrons aren’t mad about it. 

“You’re too generous Shan.” She rolls her eyes and proceeds to serve some other patrons who have been waiting for her. Once George Harrison arrives behind the counter, she sends him off to prepare orders while she turns back to me. 

“And you, my dear friend, are far too cold. What brings you here tonight? Chasing one of your hoodlums, again?”

With the war brewing between the Old Families and the Mage, I have been tracking down members of the magical community who have been shunned and cast away by the Mage and his reforms. The Old Families believed that we could find some support amongst the masses who’ve been mistreated by Davy and his band of Merry Men. If I’m in the area, I’ll stop by the pub for a quick drink and a chat. 

Like I said, it’s been happening more often than not. 

Today is different. I am not here because I’m in the area. I felt the need to be here. Maybe it’s the bitter heat of August in London; Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s August 13th, the thirteenth anniversary (plus a day) of my sister’s death that brings me here. Normally, I’d be home, drinking myself into a stupor until enough time has passed where I don’t feel the grief anymore. I never allow myself to drink on the actual day of her death, because I’m too busy spending the day with Basil and Malcolm (Basil mostly), making sure that they’ve kept their heads in one place. I look out for my nephew first and once the day has passed, I go home and begin my process of drinking and mourning.

For some reason, I didn’t want to be home alone today. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt I needed to be here, at Shan’s pub. But I’ll never tell her that. So instead I put on my classic Pitch smooth face and smile slyly at her. 

“Who says I need a reason to be here? Maybe I just decided to come over.” Shan rolls her eyes at me. She faces me and leans over the counter, inches from my face. I have to look away, in case she notices the small blush creeping over my cheeks. I take another sip of my Chivas before looking at her once more. I tilt my head at her and smile. She places her hand on mine and pushes it down, until the glass is back on the counter.

“You’ve always got a reason, Prue. You don’t allow yourself to do anything simply because you want to.” Now, I roll my eyes at her. I down the remainder of my Chivas and slam the glass back down on the counter. I cross my arms over my chest and pull myself back from the counter. 

“Oh? And what exactly do I want?”

Shan also steps back from the counter. She’s got her hands on her hips and shrugs at me. She takes the bottle of Chivas and pours me another glass. 

“I am not nearly qualified enough to untangle the mess in your mind, Prue. I can only offer a listening ear and a reasonable amount of alcohol.” She leans back against the wall. I stare at her for a minute and take in how she looks in the pub’s dim light. Shan’s got incredibly light skin, but it isn’t entirely pale and the dim lighting in here is showcasing her pretty features. She’s wearing a black tank top under a dark purple vest that cuts just at her waist. She’s got on dark jeans and a light gold studded belt. Shan pulls her hair back into a very high, very messy bun at the top of her head. A few strands still hang loose and frame her face. I draw a shaky breath and take a sip of my scotch. I speak softly, more to the glass than to her. 

“My sister died. Yesterday has been 13 years since she died.” Shan relaxes her posture and approaches me again. I don’t shift my position at all. If she thinks she can get me to open up more than that, she’s wrong. I won’t come undone by a pretty girl with bright red hair. 

“You don’t want to be alone then?” Shan reaches for my hand. I don’t let her take it. I’m still focusing on my drink and the patterns of the wood grains on the counter. 

“I am perfectly fine to be alone Shan! I’ve been alone for many years, what’s another one?” I straighten my back even further, attempting to close off my walls. They had been slowly coming down as I spend more time with Shan, but thinking about yesterday, about Tasha, about the losses in my life, have caused me to build them back up with a more reinforced metal. 

Now, I’m here again, in front of Shannon, and the metal around my heart is starting to melt again. What power does this Normal have over me that she can make me feel this way? Shan exits from her side of the bar and she comes to sit down next to me. I want to turn away from her, but I can’t find it in me to do so. I’m running my fingers along the rim of the glass when I feel her tough, guitar-calloused hand lay on top of mine. I refuse to look her in the eyes. She gently places my hand on the counter and turns it over. I finally look at her as she clasps her hand in mine.

“What if you didn’t have to be alone?” Her deep brown eyes are staring right into my grey ones. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up. My breathing becomes a little erratic. I have not felt this in such a long time. Not since my final year at Watford. Not since I had my heartbroken into pieces and decided to shut it down forever. I start to pull my hand away, but Shan holds it tight. I frown at her and glare at her a little bit. 

“People like me are meant to be alone.” I try to make my voice sound icy and intimidating. But, Merlin help me, it sounds breathless, like I’m chocking it out. I take a sharp inhale of breath through my nose. Shan, the fool that she is, reaches over and grabs my other hand, she gently turns my body towards her and leans a little closer to me. She speaks in a soft and calm voice. I almost miss what she says because of the music in the background. 

“You don’t have to be alone.”

She leans in closer to me. I feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. I want to lean into her as well, but something stops me. I can’t. I can’t. Not again. Never again. I pull away from her and jump out of my seat. I ignore the confused and saddened look on Shan’s face and I fumble in my bag for my wallet. 

“I have to go.”

Shan grabs my arm and tries to look at me again. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me coming undone. I will not let another person into my heart only for them to destroy it again. I can’t handle more pain and misery. 

“Wait… Prue I-” She’s going to beg me to stay, I don’t give her a chance to finish.

“Thank you, Shannon. I’ll see you soon.” I pull out some notes and slam them onto the counter. I yank my arm away from Shan’s grasp and stalk out of the pub, leaving her sorrowful brown eyes behind me. 

I am meant to be alone. I don’t need anyone, especially not some nobody Normal. Even if the same nobody Normal is currently holding a key to my heart. I go home, fully intent on drinking my conflicting feelings away.

________

Six weeks.

Basil’s been missing for six weeks and I haven’t had any luck in finding him. 

I have tried every bloody spell I could think of. I have poured over every single one of Natasha’s old books in that blasted library. I have even tried to contact some of the undesirables in my midst to see if any of them knew anything. None of them could tell me any information. Even though I threatened and screamed and even cast spells to force them to give me any information, none of them had any information to give me. 

I was losing my mind. I wanted nothing more to march into Watford myself and threaten the bloody Mage himself, or even that stupid snivelling little magling, Simon Snow. The only thing preventing me from torching the damn school was the fact that The Mage knew exactly where Baz was and he could decide to retaliate by hurting or even killing him. He was not above murder, the bastard. 

The latest call we got from the numpties had demanded wands from us. They must have been bloody joking. Malcolm, the fool, was already looking for spare wands. I called him a spineless idiot, and if he couldn’t see that this wasn’t about a simple ransom, well then he really was more feebleminded than I thought. I told him that my sister scraped the bottom of the barrel when she married a Grimm and stomped out of the manor. 

The bloody numpties were holding him near some water, so I drew up a map of potential spots where he could be hidden. I was not going to rest until I searched each and every one, no matter how long that took. 

I now find myself walking down a familiar dodgy street, towards a familiar pub. I have not been back since Shan grabbed my hand and I almost allowed her a piece of me. I decided that I would not go back there and risk anything more happening between Shan and myself. To go back would mean I would have to talk about what almost happened, and to do that would mean I would have to either lie to her or give into my feelings, neither option really appealing to me. Still, I need to start a fight. I need to yell at something and punch something. And the thought of Shannon throwing me out of her pub and her life because I caused a fight with her patrons is exactly what I need to revitalize myself on this search mission. 

I storm into the establishment and see a few confused clientele staring at me. I should pick out which unfortunate character will be my target, but my eyes wander to the bar. I want Shan to be watching. 

She isn’t there. But her pathetic little ward is. I march to the bar and before the weasel says anything, I grab his shirt sleeve and pull him over the bar counter. I roughly toss him to the floor. The boy yelps in surprise and lifts his hands up to protect his face. I am not done yet. I am about to lift him up, when someone grabs my arm. I spin around and I’m about to deck them, when I see her deep brown eyes. 

“PRUE! That’s enough!” Shan looks absolutely murderous with rage. I have never seen that look on her face before. I give her a cold hard stare and sneer at her. 

“Get. Your. Bloody. Hands. OFF. ME!” Shan returns my stare with a scowl of her own. She keeps her hand secured on my jacket and begins to drag me outside. 

“We’re going outside, NOW!” 

Well that was fast. I didn’t even get to have any fun. 

Shan shoves me outside and practically tosses me onto the floor. I am astounded by the strength she has, considering just how skinny she is. But she does this for a living. She’s had to toss out larger folks than myself. I dust off my jacket and straighten out my jeans before turning to Shan, who is still wearing a livid look on her face. Her hair, although braided, has a frizzy halo that surrounds it. I already regret coming here. 

“I like you, Prue. But I will not have you starting fights in my pub! Either you tell me what’s gotten into you, or you can kindly fuck off!” She points an accusing finger at me and then out towards the street. I should be honest with her, but I have a knack for self-destruction, so I push my luck.

“Oh fuck off Shan!” She steps back, shocked at first by my demeanor. But she then shakes her head and scoffs. She steps up to me and responds with a coldness of her own.

“If you insist! But this whole tough bitch attitude is getting bloody exhausting! Call me once you’ve calmed yourself” she says as she begins to walk away. I want to let her go back. I want to watch her leave and never see her again. But my damn head won’t let her leave. I call out before I have a chance to stop myself.

“My nephew’s missing...” Shan stops in her tracks. She turns to me, her furious face already changed to one of deep concern. “He’s been missing for nearly 6 weeks and I’m going out of my bloody mind!” 

She approaches me cautiously. I know she is still very angry with me and my actions. She asks me smoothly, “Have they demanded a ransom?” Shan knows well enough to not ask about law enforcement. With the type of charges she takes in, the reality is that law enforcement will typically make matters worse. 

I roll my eyes and answer her. “We don’t pay ransoms in my family!” 

Shan stares incredulously at me, “Are you daft? I don’t know what kind of business you’re running Prudence, but I think the life of your nephew is worth a ransom payment, yeah?”

“This isn’t about a ransom, Shannon! It’s something more! Oh forget it! I’m wasting time, I could be using to search under bridges or in sewers!” This was a mistake. I never should have come here. I turn my back to Shan and start to walk away. 

“Under bridges?” She asks me. I stop and turn back to her. 

“The kidnappers sounded like they were near running water when they called. Which, considering this bloody city, could be fucking anywhere!”

“Christ…” Shan starts to shake her head. She put her hand to her face, as if she was starting to ponder something. It is enough for me to march right back up to her.

“What is it!?”

“I thought he was being batty…” Shan delivers that line in such a thoughtful way that I almost want to be gentle with her. 

Almost. But Basil is missing and this is the first tiny morsel of a clue that I have had for six weeks. So I grab Shan’s shoulders and press her further.

“Who was?! What do you know Shan!?” She frowns at me and shrugs me off.

“Nothing, Prue! I volunteer at one of the homeless shelters in the city and one of our regulars was going on about how one of his favourite sleeping spots near the river was overrun with boulders. It looked like someone was trying to hide something there. The man’s a little mad. He claimed that some of the boulders were moving.”

Moving boulders?! Bloody fucking hell! That’s it! That’s fucking it! Six weeks, I’ve been going mad trying to find Basil, and all this time, the one place I should have been looking was amongst the vagabonds and the homeless. Christ, go figure I’d find my most important clue with Shannon fucking Ryan.  

“Where is he now!!?” I demand of her.  Maybe a little too harshly. I really couldn't care less if I hurt Shan’s feelings anymore. I need to find this drifter as soon as I can. 

“Prue! You can’t be-” Shan tries to calm me down, but I am not having it. I am so close to bringing my nephew home, I am not stopping now. I get up to her face and nearly shout at her.

“You tell me where he is now, Shannon, or I swear to Christ…” Shan shakes her head at me, but she caves in and sighs at me. 

“You are a lunatic, Prudence. But he’s most likely at Whitechapel. He’s been spending most of his time th- Prue!” I’m already walking away. I have all the information I need.

“I’ll see you later, Shan.” I say to her. Maybe if I survive this, I’ll come back and apologize for being a proper psychopath towards her. Maybe she’ll forgive me. For now, I have more important matters to attend to.

“Prue! Come back! You can’t do this alone!” 

That’s where you’re wrong Shannon. I’ve had to do everything on my own. It’s what I’m best at. I can still hear her shouting into the night, even though I am far from the pub at this point. 

“PRUDENCE!”

________

I am once more, back at the Golden Griffin. The pub has just closed for the night, but I know that Shan is still inside. She usually stays behind a few hours after closing time in order to clean up the place. I stand right in front of the door, taking a few moments to decide if I want to knock on her door, or if I should leave. I lift my fist to the window on the door. I’m about to knock when Shan’s head pops up from the side of the door. She looks surprised to see me at first, then… is that relief? She whips the door opened and pulls me inside. 

“Prudence…” she whispers to me. She holds my hand in hers. Merlin, what is she doing to me? I let go of her hand and stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. I clear my throat and start to talk.

“He was alive. I found him in time.”

“Your nephew. I’m so relieved to hear that.” She’s got her hand over her heart and she sighs in relief. Has she truly been worried this whole time? 

I feel guilty for not coming back sooner. But I had to make sure Baz was fine and then well, I wanted to start planning retribution for this attack on my family. I hadn’t realized that it was mid-November and I still had not gone to see Shan. 

And so, here I am. At 2AM on a Tuesday. At this pub once more, in front of this Normal. This Normal who is nobody important, from a nobody family. Yet, all I’m hoping is that she can forgive me for my foolishness. 

“You said I couldn’t do it alone. I did it alone. I found him, I got him back. I didn’t need anyone.” I just have to antagonize her, don’t I? I am a Pitch after all. Shan shakes her head, like she was ready for this to begin with an argument. 

“I’m happy for you Prue. Truly, I am.” She responds with an icy sarcasm. Her arms are crossed and she is leaning away from me. She isn’t up for having a go at me. I take a half-step towards her and offer an olive branch.

“My real name’s Fiona. Fiona Pitch.” Shan drops her hands to her hips. She gives me a cold stare and shakes her head. She then raises her hands slightly only to cross them again. She’s upset and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve only been lying to her for several months. 

“Fiona. Christ… Alright…”

“Prudence is my middle name. I didn’t know you.” I offer her an explanation. She rolls her eyes at that and continues to stare at me. 

“Fine, Fiona. What do you want from me?” She waves her arms and points to her chest. I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t know how to answer her question. I also don’t like how she calls me Fiona with disdain in her voice. As if she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know or care for. I suppose I deserve that. 

“I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine to be on my own.” I take another half-step towards her. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” She asks me again. She is challenging me. Her voice, while still severe, is more inquisitive. She wants me to answer her, to let her in. To allow her another piece of me. 

I am not ready to answer her. Instead I continue to fight her and my own feelings. 

“I do not want another person coming into my life only to destroy it again!” I turn my head away from her as I expose a tiny piece of myself. Shan now steps forward. She is a breath away from me now. I want to touch her hair, her face, her hands. 

“What do you want from me, Fiona?” Her voice has now lost its edge, its icy tone. She is softer now, asking me to trust her. She reaches for my hand. I let her take it. I look down at our clasped hands, and I remember the last time she did this. I’m going to try and not run away again.  

“But then you held my hand… You held my hand. And you told me I didn’t have to be alone!”

“I did.” She says so sincerely. 

“And you helped me find my nephew.” I try to divert the conversation. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. Merlin help me, I am not ready for this. 

“I can’t take credit for that.” One of her hands has reached up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You helped me.”

“What do you want from me Fi-” She asks one last time. I feel her breath on my face. I give in.

This time, I am ready to answer her. 

I lean forward and kiss her. Her lips feel so soft, if a little chapped. Shan responds and returns my kiss. One of my hands has moved to the back of her head. I feel her thick soft curls in my hand. She has gripped my face in her hands. I feel her tilt her head and start softly nibbling on my bottom lip. I respond by lightly running my tongue over her teeth. I’ve wanted this for so long. Merlin knows why I’ve been denying it to myself. Our kiss breaks apart and Shan leans her head on the crook of my neck. 

“You. I want you, Shannon. Ever since you grabbed my hand and threw my world into bloody turmoil!” I whisper into her hair. She pulls away from me and looks at me as if I’m the most insane person in the world. She wouldn’t be wrong to assume that. I’m pretty sure there is a history of insanity within my family. 

“Well fuck, Prue… All you had to do was ask. But instead you ran away and acted like a bloody maniac. You could have talked to me, you know!” She shakes me lightly. 

“I bloody well could not!” I look away from her and shake my head. She wouldn’t understand. I am not the type of person who stands at the doorstep of a lover begging them to take them back or to love them. Even if I was, Shan’s life is wholesome and uncomplicated. All I am is one complication after another. She doesn’t need that in her life. 

“Why not? Help me understand you, Prue.” She’s grabbed my face again and she’s staring me down. Merlin help me, in the light, her eyes look like pools of honey. I grab her wrists tight. 

“I’m a bloody mess, Shan. I have no direction. I’m a disgrace to my family. A disgrace to my name.” Shan smiles at me. She runs her hands through my hair and I sigh. I’m a fucking mess. If my sister could see me now, she’d be so fucking disappointed. 

“You don’t have to be FIONA PITCH with me.” I snort sarcastically as she says my name with a snooty accent. “With me, you can be Prue. I like Prue a whole lot. She’s wild. She’s intense, but she’s got a good heart. She’s bloody gorgeous to.” With that, she grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me into another deep kiss. My hands trail down to her hips and hold her in place. My thumbs tuck inside the hem of her jeans and run across her skin. It feels so soft. So perfect.  We pull away again and I laugh a little. 

“I can’t promise that I won’t run away or that I won’t be a complete maniac.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t kick your arse for being completely daft!” Shan flicks my white streak. 

“This could be a bloody disaster…” 

“Or not... Just don’t threaten my bartender again, or I may have to kill you.” She gives me a playfully wink, but I know she’s dead serious. I respond with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of my head. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 With that, Shan cocks a half smile at me. She takes me by the hand and leads me away from the pub towards the stairs that lead to the Inn. She closes the lights as we walk up the stairs. 

I am not ready to give my heart to another person who could very well break it. But with Shan, I’m willing to risk it. 

Normal life be damned. 

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide. 

[divagonzo]

Savor - Romione (and kids)

Blame @headcanonsandmore for this one, explicitly. This post from months ago sparked a fire (and thanks to @hinny-reviews for the review that set the fire this week!) for writing while doing 10 other things too.  I know I kick everyone with angst but some fluff wouldn’t be remiss, either.

Rated K+ ‘cause giving kids caffeine before age 13 is frowned upon in many societies but there are reasons behind it.

I need my demarcation line darn it!

“Hugo dear, what are you doing?”

“It’s something for my art teacher, Mum.”

“Can I see what it is?”

Hugo leaned over the work, hiding it from Hermione. “No, it’s not done yet. I’ll show it when I’m finished with it.”

“Oh, ok.” Hermione stepped back from over his shoulder, giving her son some breathing room. He was highly sensitive to people inside his comfort zone, including his parents.

“Is it for a grade, love?”

“Yes, no, maybe. The teacher asked us to do some comics for a class assignment for extra credit. I had an idea for it and started the night we got the assignment.”

“When is it due, dear?”

“Tomorrow. I need to finish it tonight.”

“Well, then, I will leave you be. Dinner is in an hour. Your father made pork chops.”

“Did he – “

“Yes, dear. There will be no gravy on your plate, you’ll have hash browns instead of mashed potatoes, and toasted crumpets with dinner.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He leaned back over his work and continued onward, immediately ignoring Hermione once again.

She closed the door softly behind her, even though she knew he wouldn’t notice, not when he was hyper-focused on something he was working on, much like she was when she was working from home.

“Mum, I need some help!” Rose bellowed through their residence. She left Hugo and sought out her daughter, who was working on a project too, mostly for her own benefit. Left out of her thoughts was Hugo’s project. She didn’t worry because he was like her, finishing things before they were due.

A few days later...

“Mum! I won!” Hugo hopped into the back of the small auto that Hermione owned. While having one wasn’t really necessary, she did on occasion need to do things the Muggle way, including picking her son up from primary school. Fridays were his day to stay after school, having time with other kids doing science stuff. She’d had loved to have an after-school class learning how things worked, much like Arthur’s fascination in all things Muggle. 90 minutes of club time gave her a chance to be a normal Mum, picking her son up after school, even if it was just driving the car from the house to the school and back.

“You did?”

“I did.”

“What was the contest? Did I miss a notice from your teacher?”

“No. It was what I was working on this weekend.”

“Oh, the project you wouldn’t let me see because it wasn’t finished?”

“Yes, that one,” He fiddled with the toys in the middle of the back seat, giving his hands something to do on the fifteen-minute car ride back to their residence. “I finished it late that night.”

“How late?” She asked, worried that her son was already taking his academics entirely too serious at such a young age.  Ron was good about keeping her grounded and not falling into her work too hard now, since he retired from active duty with the Aurors and was working behind the scenes, along with George at the shop, still.

“Um,” he hemmed and hawed, trying to avoid answering the question.

“Hugo James Granger-Weasley, you tell me – “

“Midnight, Mum,” he stared at her in the rear-view mirror, looking abashed. “I wasn’t happy with one panel of it and had to rework it.”

His chagrin was enough for her to drop her argument – but the fact that he was making eye contact with her. He only did that with people he trusted the most – when it was most important to him. She threaded through the congestion of evening traffic while stealing glances at her son in the back seat. He was looking out the window, enthralled at everything passing him by.

So she shifted. “So tell me about it, dear. You never said what it was about.” She could set her watch the number of seconds it took for Hugo to process what she said, turn his attention back towards her and answer her.

Ten seconds later, Hugo was squirming in his seat. “Well, um, the teacher wanted us to a one-page comic and she wanted it to be about a hero of ours.”

“Oh really?” Hermione turned the corner away from the primary school and headed up the road to their home on New road with one stop on the way. “So who did you pick, dear? The character from the television show you’re enjoying?”

“No, Mum.” Hugo sat quietly while Hermione threaded her way through traffic to cross the river to the other side and near home. “Well, I wanted to but I chose someone else.”

“Oh really?” She turned into the chain coffee shop to pick up their order for the afternoon: a pumpkin spice latte with two extra shots of espresso, and for her son, a half caffeine caramel iced coffee drink with extra whole milk. They sat in line for only a moment before turning up at the window. The lovely young man at the counter, Cecil, recognized them for frequent customers and handed over their drinks before taking the quid Hermione handed over.   She handed the caramel drink to her son and he tucked in immediately, slurping to be heard in Aberystwyth. She waited for change before pulling off and turning back onto the roadway.

“How’s your drink, dear?”

“Good, Mum.” He slurped away while she navigated traffic.

“So tell me about this comic?”

“It’s in my bag and I will show you and Daddy when we get home.”

“He won’t be home for another hour, Hugo. He was off helping Uncle Harry at the Ministry.”

“Oh,” disappointment echoed in his voice.

“But maybe he’ll have finished early and come home straightaway.”

Hermione turned onto their street and went a few houses down to a cookie cutter home with a garage. By the time the garage door was finally down, Hugo was out of the car with his drink, leaving his bag behind for Hermione to collect. They went in, greeted with smells of spag bol, garlic bread, and wilted spinach for the adults while Rose got a small salad and Hugo, on his special plate that separated all of the foods, 10 baby carrots. Hermione lucked up a few years back finding them in a charity shop one afternoon.

“You’re home!” Hugo yelled and raced for his Dad, crashing into Ron’s waist before he was picked up and given a raspberry kiss on the cheek.

“’ello love,” Ron leaned down to give a kiss to his wife and another gargantuan hug to Hugo. “Go wash up before dinner. It’s almost ready. I know you’re peckish.”

Hugo scampered off before Hermione dropped his satchel near the dining room table. “Hugo won something at school today and he won’t tell me what it is until we got home.”

“Oh, really?” Ron was ladling sauce over the noodles for Rose’s plate before plating theirs. Hugo’s was already at the table. While he had specific choices, including food temperature, he had the Weasley appetite, never completely full. He’d taken after his Dad that way and secretly, Hermione was delighted by it.

“I’ll get him to show us at dinner. He’s so proud he won something, makes him feel more in touch with the other kids, probably.”

“I’ll ask once he’s had enough to eat.”

Hugo raced back into the dining room, settling in his chair and tucking in immediately to his meal. Hermione held back any thought of scolding him on his eating habits, considering what Ron mentioned how hungry he was at that age and that he could never eat fast enough to not have something nicked off of his plate by Fred and or George, too.

“When you get a moment,” Ron smiled at Hugo inhaling his pasta, “tell us about your award-winning entry.”

Hugo nodded and continued to scarf his food. Rose shared a look with her Dad, one that Hermione shared sometimes too, and she at with gusto, without as much flare as Hugo did.

A few minutes later, after talking about their days at work, Hugo burped, earning a snicker from his sister, he left the table to get his entry from his satchel. He returned, handing it to Hermione first. She scanned it, smiling broadly, before putting her hand to her mouth and letting her eyes shine bright. “Sweetie, this is amazing.”

Hugo beamed.

“This will go up on the fridge after your Dad sees this.” Hermione handed over the one sheet comic for Ron to appreciate.

He put down his fork and picked up the sheet.

“Mum, what is it?”

“Hugo was working last weekend on this and he won. How many entries were there?”

“Most of the level turned one in. The other levels, they had other things they did.”

“Oh, that many? Excellent.”

“Mum,” Rose whined.

“Here,” Ron handed over the comic to his daughter, looking quite embarrassed yet somehow proud at the same time. “He made me an Anime hero, with a cape and everything. I dunno Hugo; I think I look pretty fetching in that red suit and the white cape.”

Rose looked over the comic. “Hugo, you did all of this?”

“Yes, no one helped me, not even Miss Collins. I did all of it by myself, including the story.”

Rose handed it back to Ron. “Read it for us, Dad.”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said in her slightly choked up voice. Ron saw the pride in her eyes and appreciation that all of their hard work raising their children reflected back on Ron primarily.

Ron grunted a few times, clearing his throat, before starting.

“In another multiverse,” Ron looked at Hermione, “What’s a multiverse?”

“It means that it’s an alternate reality, like those weird stories Rose loves to read, like two characters from the television show she watches, but they open a coffee shop rather than saving the world.”

“Oh, I get it now.” Ron looked back at the comic. “In another Multiverse, there was a bookshop owner named Bilbo. He was tall, with bright ginger hair, mysterious curling scars down his arms, a hearty laugh, and willing to help anyone who came into the shop.” Ron looked at his son and smirked. “Bookstore, huh? Bet you got that idea from all the times I was helping carry Mum’s books, I reckon.”

“I did. You always help Mum when she buys up a month’s worth of books for us or when we go to the library and you help her bring them all into the house.”

Ron looked back at the comic, picking up where he left off. “And one day a small boy walked in, looking at the tall man standing behind the counter. A huge smile erupted on the tall man’s face. “How can I help you, my good sir?” Ron looked at Hermione. “He’s been reading your literature books again, hasn’t he?”

“He said the ones his age were dull and boring so I let him read the Jane Austen books.”

“That would explain it,” Ron muttered before turning back to the comic. He stopped and returned to look at Hermione. “Jane Austen? I fell asleep reading her story and couldn’t get past the first three pages.

“Well I find Martin the Mad Muggle dull but it’s still something you enjoy.” The smirk on her face betrayed how she felt underneath it all – that she loved that he enjoys reading for pleasure, now.

“That’s a fair point.” Ron turned back to the comic. “‘The little boy stood on his tiptoes to look over the counter. I bet you’re a superhero in disguise. You look like a superhero.’“

The next panel says, “Well, I am, and somehow you guessed it.” Bilbo leaned far over the counter, getting almost nose to nose with the protagonist. “But you can’t tell a single soul, no sir. This has to be our secret.” He stood back up, standing there with a twinkle in his eye in the next panel.

“But why do you run a used bookstore?”

“It’s the perfect cover if I need to be off to save a fair princess from the mad king. There are many mad kings in the world that people need to be rescued.”

“Can I go?”

“Maybe we should ask your parents first,” He said gently to the young man. “I bet if you went off with me they would miss you terribly.”

“‘I’m an orphan,’ the little boy said.” Ron stopped and sniffed. “You put Uncle Harry into the story. That’s sweet.”

“He told us about how his parents died and he was an orphan who grew up with Muggles. I figured it would explain why the little boy was by himself.”

“Good idea,” Ron surreptitiously wiped his eyes. His voice changed back into the storyteller's voice. “So what shall I call you, my apprentice?”

“Jamie,” He smiled. “I’m 9.”

“Nine is a good age for an apprentice.”

The next panel showed the two of them off on an adventure, rescuing a widow and her daughter from a rampaging hippogriff that looked remarkably like Hermione and Rosie.  The final panel showed a wedding, with lots of flowers and a minister who looked a lot like Uncle Bill.

“So what is this comic called, Hugo?” Ron kept looking at the work and was impressed with his son’s imagination at such an age.

“Heroes. The topic was a comic about our hero. I wrote about you, Dad.”

Ron smiled, just like the one he would give Hermione privately, full of love, adoration, affection, and just a bit boggled at how he was so privileged to have such an amazing family of his own. He opened his arms and Hugo ran to jump in them, relishing a hug. Ron watched over his son’s head as Hermione used her wand to affix the comic to the refrigerator with a sticking charm, next to all of the children’s other works of childhood art. She looked back at her husband and son, savoring this moment that would fuel her Patronus for months to come.

[futurewriter2000]

Cherished moments

A/N: Finally I finished this part. I got inspired long time ago by this other headcanon about Neville having a twin and one of the twins fancying her. I had a draft before but I deleted it because I didn’t like it much but today I finished this and am so proud. I have classmates who are twins and don’t get along at all so points to them for making me write this. I hope you like it. (Also this is a bit different. I started writing in first person instead of second like I usually do. It was a hard change but let me know if it’s better this way.)

PAIRING: Longbottom!reader x George Weasley 

xx

I wanted it to be easy. I really did. Everything my brother and I did, was together. Now... all I know is that it shouldn’t have been this way. It just shouldn’t.

First year

We were both scared for our lives. Neville was desperate to be in a Hufflepuff while I was more keen on being sorted into Slytherin. I found the Slytherin house intimidating yet misunderstood and it made my grandmother infuriated to think like this. She wanted both of us in Gryffindor, just like our parents.

What truly happened on the Sorting day was that Neville was sorted into Gryffindor, just like our grandmother wanted while the Sorting hat on my head screamed “ HUFFLEPUFF!” loud and clear.

I guess I should have noticed how the Sorting hurt Neville. Either it was him in Hufflepuff and me in Slytherin or we were both in Gryffindor. Guess, everything took a different turn for us.

Second year

The report card came and our grandmother was thrilled...for one of us. She noticed our grades were quite different from each other's. Neville was more advanced in Herbology and History of magic than Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts as I was. Our grades were a bit similar at Charms and Transfiguration but as much as we didn’t want to be pointed out, our grandmother didn’t care. She said that I was maybe not a Gryffindor like them but I sure got their talent.

I’d be lying if I said that hearing that didn’t make me happy and proud of myself. However, when I saw Neville holding his report card and frowning, I felt awful. I told him he shouldn’t care about the grades or about anything our grandmother told us, our parents would be proud of us no matter the grades.

But that didn’t compare to his short temper and jealousy. He pushed me away and was never the same to me again.

Third year

When the third year came nothing changed. He was still distant and being in different houses wasn’t helping. People kept whispering about us not even saying hi at each other which was definitely true. When he ignored me, pushed me away, didn’t even want to look at me... I felt torn, torn that my own twin brother disliked me.

I tried to lower my grades, maybe not to make such a big difference between us and our report cards but Professor Sprout knew me and she knew what I was doing by lowering my grades. I still remember what she told me the day she asked me to her office. “ Don’t help others by hurting yourself.”

Fourth year

That year was the year “we” and “our” became “I” and “mine”. I turned fourteen years that year and that was the age I finally realized I was done trying to make him forgive me for something that wasn’t even my fault anymore.

I started dressing differently, acting differently...I didn’t want to be the Hufflepuff wanting to be around my own brother. I didn’t want to be the Hufflepuff who was rejected by him as well.

I made a lot of friends that year, so many that I was actually surprised by how many people would like me. I always, just like Neville, had low self-confidence and when I opened up to people, they accepted me.

When the Yule Ball came I heard he was going with Ginny Weasley. She was also a Gryffindor, really beautiful as well, brave, nice, kind,... I couldn’t find anything to dislike that girl because she was really great.

I, however, went with a 7th year, Oliver Wood. I know there was a three year gap between us but he was my Charms tutor since the first year and I just couldn't help myself but develop a crush on him. Of course, we went as friends but I'd be lying to myself if I said that his yes didn't make me so overjoyed.

Since Oliver was a Gryffindor we used to study and hang out mostly at his common room. I was the youngest in his group of friends but nobody really made any differences. It was fun being around them, especially with the Weasley twins. They kept messing with me because I was two years younger but they were also the reason I became close friends with Ginny and Hermione Granger.

I guess I never thought all of this would impact Neville so much. He hated me being in the common room or around one of his friends but what was I supposed to do? Stop being myself just because of him?

" What happened between the two of you?" Ginny asked directly and Hermione quickly cut in.

"Ginny!"

"No, it's alright." I laughed and sat down on one of their beds. " It's a really long story actually. Guess, we both didn't think we were so different. "

"What do you mean?"

"We might be twins Ginny but we have never been more different. Like, your brothers are identical and they get along great. We are not identical, we have different friends, houses, personalities..." I drifted off and started to grow more uncomfortable.

They both noticed it, I guess because the next thing I know Ginny was sitting beside me and grinning. " Speaking of my brothers...I heard them talking about you." she giggled and I blushed.

"Me?"

"They are two years older than her. Next year they will be graduating." Hermonie rolled her eyes.

"Two years isn't much of an age gap." she looked at Hermonie. "And as I was saying, one of them likes you." she winked and got on her feet.

"Which one?" I grew curious, unable to stop beaming.

"That's for you to figure out." she smiled and left the room.

Fifth year

By that year Neville and I have been so distant that the relationship between the two of us turned into hate. How and why? Well, since I found out George Weasley fancied me, I started to like him back as well. Sooner or later the two of us started dating and Neville didn’t like it.

Now, with being the girlfriend of one of the most known students in school, I wasn’t just popular around the Hufflepuff house, I was popular in every house. Beside the point that I was dating a blood-traitor to the Slytherin house, they liked me. I wasn’t a match for Pansy who tried to bully me. She did that once and never again. I made sure of that. Somehow the Slytherins respected me, no matter who my family was, my house or my boyfriend.

I grew closer to Hermoine and Ginny, as well as Harry and Ron. They were fun to be around with, always prepared to do anything but the moment I joined Dumbledore’s army, Neville changed.

“ You’re doing wonderful, love.” George whispered in my ear as he passed by, sending me a wink before walking back to his twin brother and prepared to cast the Patronus charm.

I’ve been quite struggling with that charm but now since he was boasting I fixed the grip on my wand and shouted “ Expecto Patronus!”

At first, I thought it was an eagle but it changed its form, letting out a roar and making everyone’s attention turn to your silver Patronus. It wasn’t a lion as well, it was...

“ A griffin?” Ginny gasped and smiled widely.

It was beautiful, majestic and standing proud on its legs and spreading his wings.

“ That’s amazing, (y/n)!” marveled Harry. “ Fantastic job!”

George wrapped his arms around me, watching as the silver griffin disappeared from the air. “ Bet you thought of me, didn’t you?” he kissed my cheek and I rolled my eyes.

“ Of course. I remembered that wonderful time and the Quidditch match where you fell off your broom. Quite funny.”

“ I knew it. I wonder why didn’t the Hat put you into Gryffindor if it’s a griffin that’s the shape of your Patronus.” he wondered, now letting go of me.

“ Yeah, you’d make a great Gryffindor.” Fred added as he came walking towards.

“ Sorry, guys but my house is already taken, by my lovely Hufflepuff.” I proudly fixed my black and yellow tie.

“ I think you’d look great in Gryffindor colors.” George winked, walking back to practice his own charm.

“ Yeah.” snorted Neville a few feet away from me. “ Bet you couldn’t be more perfect.” he gibbed and shot me a quick glance.

“ What?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and narrowed my eyes at him. “ What is that supposed to mean, Neville?”

“ Oh, I don’t know, (y/n). Let me think.” he immediately stormed towards me and gripped his wand tighter in his palm. “ The first child to show her magical abilities at the age of six. The kind and popular Hufflepuff everybody seems to adore. The perfect student, with straight O’s in every single of her class. The perfect granddaughter, making mum and dad so proud!” he started to raise his voice.

“ You’re starting to sound a bit jealous, Neville.” I jested in return, making the whole attention to fall on us.  “ I’m sick of you being angry with me ALL THE TIME, Neville. Do you think I asked to be placed in Hufflepuff?”

“ It’s not about that, (y/n)!” he shouted.

“ THAN TELL ME WHAT IS IT ABOUT!?!”

“ YOU TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING FROM ME!” he bellowed and I backed away from him. “ You were sorted into the house I wanted. You get to have better grades than me, even Herbology when YOU KNOW it’s MY favorite subject! YOU get to be the one to play on the Quidditch field just like the rest of the family! YOU get to be the popular one, the smart one, the gorgeous one, the pride of the Longbottom family! And who am I?!? Just someone living in your shadow!”

“ Is this really what you think of me?! Someone who is shadowing you?!” I started to fight back. “ I can’t change who I am, Neville? I can’t change the fact I had shown my magic before you. I can’t choose the house I want to be in. I can’t lower my grades just so you could feel better- which I tried by the way! I cannot love Quidditch! That’s who I am, Neville! I’m not going to change myself to make YOU feel better!” I heaved from almost losing my own breath. “DO YOU KNOW- Do you know what it’s been like for me all these years? “ I felt the tears fall down unconsciously. “ To see you be sorted into Gryffindor, the house mum and dad were. I wanted to be in Gryffindor! I wanted to be in the house mum and dad were too, you know. And when I saw you get sorted I wanted to be sorted there as well. Do you know how much I felt ashamed at the beginning to being sorted into Hufflepuff, because I knew what grandma would say! That’s why I try to have outstanding grades. But you wouldn’t know that, would you because you were too busy being angry with me for something that even wasn’t my fault! You wouldn’t know that I spent days after days, Hogsmeade trips and night spent in that library, hungry and stressed out preparing myself for the exams. You wouldn’t know I had Oliver to tutor me not only with Charms and DADA class but also Herbology, Arithmancy, and Potions! And you wouldn’t know how many nights I cried because my own twin brother didn’t talk to me! You didn’t want to go with me to visit mum and dad! You didn’t want to sit with me in the classes we had together or even be in the same room with me! And you wouldn’t believe how much it hurts to see my boyfriend and his twin have this amazing bond and knowing that I don’t have that with my own twin brother!” I shouted, brushing the sleeves of my robes against my wet cheeks.

He was looking down at the ground, not even wanting to look at me what I said.

“ So maybe you were right. I was better than you in most of the things. But it wasn’t because I have a natural talent for it. It’s because I work hard to get where I am. I used to blame myself for not having a relationship with my own twin brother but I’m not doing that anymore. It’s your fault we drifted apart. Your fault that you hate me, not mine and I’m not apologizing for it anymore.”

Sixth year

The tables have turned for us. Now, I was the one angry at him. I was the one furious of what he had put me through. I was the one avoiding him because he finally decided to talk to me but with ten and more people to witness it.

Now everybody knew what I thought or how I felt and it made me feel ashamed.

George and I broke up. I told him to focus on his brother and his shop and that I need to focus on school and my brother as well. He understood and didn’t make any drama around it.

It was odd though. Seeing someone I love completely transformed. He wasn’t the childish Gryffindor with an ambitious goal. He was a successful businessman, running one of the most famous joke shops in England.

“ Purple always did bring out your eyes.” I smiled as I approached him.

“ Oh, hello there young lady. “ he grinned, walking closer. “ What can I help you with?”

“ Hmm...” I turned to one of the exhibited Extendable Ears. “ There is this guy, you know.” I turned around.

“ A guy, huh?” he continued, placing his hand on the shelf behind me.

“ Yeah. I used to date him.”

“ Did you now?”

“ Yes but now he’s all successful and rich...pretends he doesn’t even know me.”

“ What a git he must be.” he shook his head disapprovingly.

“ Yes, he is.” I pushed him on the shoulder and moved away. “ His brother though is cute. My telling me where to find him?”

“ Come here.” he stopped the joke quickly and hugged me.

I chuckled and hugged him as well. “ Knew some jealousy would make you stop.”

However, being without George in Hogwarts wasn’t the only thing missing. I spent my summer with a friend in Croatia and didn’t see Neville until the last week of summer.

I was mostly kept in my room, listening to my walkman but sometimes when I was reading or cleaning my room, I heard footsteps just outside it and some mumbles I couldn’t understand. It was a twin bond that I couldn’t ignore. Him wanting to talk to me. I haven’t felt it in a long time but since the day of our fight, I started to feel it every day.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I really couldn’t and when I heard him outside my room once again, I decided to open them.

He has grown taller, quite handsome. From the shaving scars around his chin and mouth, I realized he has been growing a beard and a mustache. There was a change in his figure as well. His posture was more upright, his shoulders broader and his arms more muscular.

He was staring at me, surprised I opened the door. Guess he had also felt like I wanted to talk as well.

“ I- I... I don’t know how to start this.” he spoke and I simpered.

“ Come in.” I welcomed him in my room and he looked around.

It wasn’t the room he remembered. Only now has he realized how much time the two of us didn’t speak and avoided each other. And to his surprise, there was still the frames of us standing on my shelves. He stared at it for quite a while before taking it in his hand and observing it.

“ I thought you’d thrown this away.” he looked up at me and I walked forwards.

“ No.” I took it in my own hands and took a closer look at the two young twins. “ I love this picture. How else do you think I cast that Patronus?” I placed it back on its place and sat on my bed.

“ (y/n)...” he started and sat down next to me. “  I didn’t know I messed up this much. I was a selfish kid and I was just so mad at you for being better than me. Everybody preferred you over me and I was so furious at you because of it. I was furious at me because of it too.”

“ Neville, your biggest problem was caring what other people thought. I didn’t care about our houses or who got better grades. I cared about you. You’ve been the brother I grew up with, the brother I built up sand castles and that treehouse with uncle Hank.” I smiled and put my hand on his, for the first time I felt his touch and I immediately felt happier, lighter. “ Remember that time with uncle Hank-”

“ - when we painted the walls of the treehouse different color?” he finished my own question, something we always could do. “ Yeah. I’ve been thinking of that too. That was how I cast my Patronus.”

Seventh year

You could have said we were back to the kids we used to be but we really weren’t. There were six years of catching up to do with him and it took a while to get used to each other again.

People were surprised to see us together but they were happy. Grandma couldn’t hold back her tears as she saw us talking to each other again, let alone laugh.

The summer before our seventh year, Bill invited both Neville and me to his wedding and we both attended it. I mostly wanted to see George. When I saw him though, my heart lept out of my chest for a moment. Missing ear and scratches all over, I didn’t believe what I was seeing.

“ George?” I asked as I approached him.

“ (y/n)!” he beamed and hugged me immediately. “ Hey, Neville.” he said to my brother behind me. “ Harry told me he wanted to talk to you about something. You too love.” he looked at me. “He’s the chubby redhead with aunt Muriel. He had to take Polyjuice potion...you know being wanted and stuff.”

“ Go on. I’ll come after you.” I smiled at him then turned my attention back on the earless boy in front of me. I punched him in the arm immediately after Neville disappeared. “ What the hell, George?!”

“ Ouch! What was that for?” he grabbed his arm and smiled at me.

“ I don’t know. Maybe not telling me why your left ear is missing?”

“ Oh that.” he chuckled. “ Do you reckon it makes me sexier?” he wiggled his eyebrows at me but I only punched him in the arm again.

“ George, this isn’t funny. The only way you can’t have an ear is when it’s cursed off. “ I glared at him for a moment before softening my expression and hugging him immediately. “ What if I’d lost you?”

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “ You’ll never lose me.” he whispered.

After the wedding, the two of us were separated and I haven’t heard of him the whole year. Neville and I were together however we could be. I was afraid if I wouldn’t share the moments with him that I’ll regret them. The news about Muggleborns and Half-bloods, everything was horrifying. The fall of the Ministry, the chase for the Chosen one...Half of the school was missing.

When the battle came, I tried to be with Neville but we didn’t stand a chance to stick together. Everything was happening so fast and wherever I turned bodies laid and blood was spilled. The only thought that was present in my head was ‘ Please, don’t be Neville.’

I didn’t see Neville after Voldemort’s fall but I did see George...and Fred. I didn’t know what to do when all he did was stare at the lifeless body of his brother. I took him by the hand and tried to avert his eyes from Fred. I know it was too late but I didn’t want him to have his last memory of Fred like this. “ George?” I whispered. “ I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on his cheek and his eyes quickly flashed to mine before the started to tear up.

He was still in shock, I could see that. He didn’t know what was happening. Maybe every single memory of Fred, every single spent moment he had with him was replaying in his head and he didn’t realize that that was all he was going to have.

I have stayed with George the whole time but I would be lying if I didn’t think about my own brother. When I saw him walking with that sword towards me, all I could think was being in his arms. Before I knew it I was already with him and he was hugging me back.

“ I was so worried.” he whispered and I cried on his clothes, trying to speak but was unable to.

“ I heard what you did.” I smiled through the tears. “ Mum and dad would be so bloody proud of you, Neville.”

“ To be honest, I was sacking my pants when I did that.” he simpered and I laughed.

“ Don’t tell that to others.” I smiled and hugged him again.

To know he was okay, to know George wasn’t, to know the war was over but to deal with the consequences...everything was too much to think about right now but the one thing I was sure never to do was take everything for granted like I did until now. I knew everything was going to be okay because now I finally knew how much everything and everybody means to me.

[redheadrecon]

Tags

(After dealing with escaping from the Fiends @thx-lost-yxars... @pomadenade / @echoesacrossthemojave ruinin’ Echo Team, one borrowed scenario at a time.)

Once the Fiend had vanished, Resa collapsed again. Less delicately, she and her cousin Kai dropped to the dusty asphalt. She was exhausted. So was he. The last bit of strength she had, she used to drag the pair off of the roadway. Last thing Resa wanted was to get trod upon by some unaware traveler.

Salvation seemed a joke. Resa crawled over to Kai and gave him a gentle poke. He blinked open an unfocused blue eye. It took too long for him to settle the gaze on Resa’s face.

“I gotta’ keep going.” She muttered to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Kai hoarsely replied. He squinted up at Resa. “I’ll be okay.” Resa sighed. She didn’t believe him. “Just go.” The severely wounded sniper wobbled a hand out, somehow, and clapped Resa’s right arm with a weak pat.

“I’ll come back.” Resa added, somewhat hastily. This cursed job. The only other family she knew besides the team and she had to leave him here. Just like so many other soldiers. She wanted to scream.

“Take this. In case.” Kai said. He pulled that arm back in and flipped his necklace out. A plain gold-plated ring, and a pair of metal tags clattered out onto the ground.

Resa unclipped one of Kai’s stupid tags. She reached up and clipped it to her stupid collar. Stupid job. Stupid everything. Stupid Fiends. Rage sustained the redhead as she got up again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She looked along the Old World road.

Safety had to be close, right? Stupid road.

---

Godfrey was the one to spot Eagle on the highway. Wary of a trap, he waited. The first trap had taken the two cousins. He didn’t want, nor need, to be the next one taken. He watched her stumble and fall. When nobody jeered from the stones or shot from the hills, he moved. Stealthily, from place to place in the dying light, Godfrey approached. Just in case.

“Oy, you alive?” The disgruntled corporal yelled out. He got a groan in reply. Godfrey shook his head. “Eliza!” He turned and bellowed. There was a beat of hesitation. When still nobody appeared, he yelled again. “Fucksakes, you lot! Get out here!”

---

‘Eagle’ woke up in a tent. Alone. The next day, probably. Maybe longer. Without the sun, she had no idea. A friendly looking ghoul stuck his head through the tent.

“Hey. Glad you’re up.” He croaked. It was his normal speaking voice. The rest of the ghoul appeared through the flap as he came to check on her.

“George. Did’ya’ find Kai?” She croaked back. Definitely not her normal speaking tone.

“Yeah. Godfrey and Liz brought him in. He’s... rough. How’d you get out?” George asked.

“You’d never believe me.” Eagle chuckled dryly. She patted at her neck where her collar of names should have been. Empty.

“Hopefully we won’t have to send those out.” George noted. “You kept trying to shove Kai’s at Godfrey and he just got mad. Took off at a run with Liz hot on his heels. She kept telling him to wait.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I doubted you would. I had to carry you in since the hotheads went runnin’.” George chuckled. That was a weird sound for most people, but Eagle was used to it. He laughed easily - a good joker, not as dry as Godfrey.

“What ‘bout Kai?” The redheaded sniper sounded concerned. She brought the topic back around.

“Time’ll tell if we have to send out the tag.”

Eagle sighed. The ghoul walked over and gave her a gentle pat on the arm.

“He’s a tough boy. You want anything?”

“Just my stupid things back.” The ghoul turned and handed the redhead her chain. She dropped it over her head. It jangled brightly. The grim sniper settled back into the rough pillow.

“Just yell if you need anything else.” George said, seeing how Eagle had settled. She looked angry, maybe inwardly angry. He didn’t need to pry. Godfrey and the LT would do enough of that later. George slipped out of the tent again.

Silence fell, save the dull clink of metal as Eagle turned over and stuck her head under the pillow. Stupid.

[creativenicocorner]

Excellent

//

          Meanwhile, Somewhere On the Banks of Lake Superior

The sky bellowed distantly with thunder from within the tumbling purple dark clouds of a promising storm. Made more prominent by the muted silence of all the creatures by the water’s edge. Accented with how the wind blew bitter and cold through the vegetation, over the rough waters, and all around two figures having a night stroll.

The figures didn’t seem too worried about their predicament. One of the two figures was perfectly content with the weather. 

The other slowly scratched the under-beak of her inky black feathered friend, Aaron.

The raven’s claws clenched and un-clenched on Giselle’s shoulder. Itching to fly, but knowing better to do so with such wind speeds. 

The thief barely followed her companion’s words.

“And then she said, ‘what do you mean Aquarius is an air sign??’ ”  said the other figure, finalizing her joke.

Giselle didn’t laugh. 

“You didn’t like my joke?” asked the figure, with a tone that didn’t so much worry if her comedic skills were good as much as she worried perhaps the joke wasn’t understood. 

The figure’s sense of irony was impeccable. Or so the figure thought. 

“Oh, yes, I did.” said Giselle distantly. Her black eyes unable to look away from the lake’s waters.

It seemed to grow choppier and choppier by the minute. 

The figure didn’t need to follow Giselle’s line of sight towards the watery horizon, but simply nodded knowingly. 

She was a long and awkwardly tall woman, who’s clothes billowed about her as if she were constantly underwater and was, perhaps, more corpulent than she sometimes appeared. That is to say, the figure seemed very capable in her ability to fill any space she needed and wanted without a shred of remorse.

“I think I’ve been very patient.” reasoned Giselle while keeping the testy-ness of her voice in check. “After all I only came over to this side with limited info to go on to begin with. I mean first I had to decipher all those freaking metaphors, and then-”

“It shouldn’t be long now. All in good time.” said the figure patiently. Like one who had all the patience in the world. 

“But who’s time.” 

“My time. ” said the figure.

Aaron the raven squawked loud with the animalistic clarity of feeling a force that was far bigger than itself and companion combined. 

“Right.” went Giselle, feeling small. “Right. What I meant was…well…when I started this It might not have been entirely clear as to how long it would all take. I mean when Sawyer referred me to you, you remember Sawyer?”

“I remember everything.” the figure said pleasantly. Then she chuckled, as if reminded of an inside joke. 

“…right. Well,”

“All good stories need a Fairfax.”

“Noted.” Giselle plunged on. Making an effort to contain her exasperation. 

The thief had seen, and encountered, creatures, and people, great, and small. With that there was one universal truth, (no matter the dimensional plane, it would seem); that some of them were down right silly. Silly in an upmost terrifying way.

The figure chuckled like a bubbling brook, “I’m sorry you were saying?” 

Giselle took a breath, thought of what she was about to say, and started to say it. Except the word she was going to start with wasn’t an average word. It was an old word. An important word. A Name. 

Not to be confused with a name, but a Name so strong the air around the thief and the figure started to crackle. 

Aaron the raven quaked on Giselle’s shoulder and gave such a fearful squawk it sounded human. Though ravens were known to occasionally sound human. 

Parrots weren’t the only birds to mimic human sounds. 

In a whirl Giselle had a damp hand over her mouth. Or was it clammy? 

“Don’t.” hissed the figure like a geyser. “This side may still know my name, but my true Name has long been forgotten here. I won’t have you speaking it back into existence. Not after all the hard work I have done.”

Giselle’s eyes, stricken with panic, shifted as she tried to focus on one part of the figure’s face. Every time Giselle felt like she managed to find a single place to focus on, she would feel the need to look elsewhere. 

Until, in the place where eyes ought to be, a twinkle would spark and flare like the bioluminescent lights of an anglerfish from the deepest depths of the aquatic abyss.

From beneath the figure’s clammy palm the thief’s scream was muffled. Her ghostly skin grew grayer, like when a cloud fills with water. 

Aaron would try to peck and scratch his talons at the wrist, but nothing would land. 

As if the figure was deathly still, and constantly moving all at once. 

In another all too human squawk a talon would try and wrap around what should be a wrist, and actually try to pull. 

This too, failed.

However, it played a vital part in reminding the figuring what they were doing. With a gasp of her own, she released her hold on Giselle.

The thief fell on her rear. Even when she fell it was a movement in suspension. Like watching a plastic bag or feather float down.

Giselle gasped for air as if she had been holding her breath. Turning to her side she vomited salty water and wheezed.   

While doing so Giselle saw stars before her eyes, and felt the unmistakable sensation of clawed hands on her back.

“Aaron?” asked the thief, turning to check.

But when she looked back the raven was hopping about, distracted. Chest incredibly puffed in an attempt to make itself look bigger than it already was. The corvid was clearly stressed. 

“Oh dear.” said the figure, clutching onto her other hand before squatting beside Giselle. “You could have gotten hurt.”

It was the closest thing to an apology Giselle was going to get. And she knew better than to ask for anything deeper. 

“So,” Giselle cleared her throat. Feeling it to be scratched with lingering salt. “the horizon. Any kind of ETA as to when it’ll be time? To be ready for us to travel I mean. I think I’ve been on this side for too long. I’ve done my part.” Giselle reached to give Aaron a small scratch behind his shoulder blades. The raven de-puffed some. “I don’t want to linger.” said the thief meaningfully. 

The figure nodded with a strange motherly regality. “You’ve done well. Everything will happen as it should, including your return to your side. If you can wait just a little longer, you’ll see.”

A flashlight passed over them. The figure’s eyes reflected back the light momentarily in such a way a shiver ran up Giselle’s spine. 

“Hey!” called the owner of the flashlight, “You need to head inland.” it was one of the shore beach service workers. They’d usually patrol the beaches to make sure no one was having sex on the beach at night, or to find washed up bodies, among other things. “It’s dangerous.”

The figure and Giselle shared a look as two beings who were without a doubt the scariest thing in the area would. 

The beach service worker adjusted his hat and stepped off his four wheeler. Unsure if the two heard him over the growing wind. “I said you need to head inland! Look, I’ll even give you two a lift, no questions asked.”

“How kind.” went Giselle scooping to pick up Aaron into her arms. 

“This isn’t a game.” continued the worker, starting to feel anxious. “Look I don’t know if you’re tourists or just college kids looking for mischief. People have drowned out there.”

At this, the figure smiled.

The first drops of the downpour started, and the figure practically glowed.

“Should I?” Giselle raised a brow, and nodded a suggested form of finality to the beach service worker’s life.

For simplicity, the the beach service worker is name is George.

“No, no..” said the figure calmly. Like a mother soothing a child that doing the dishes wasn’t needed. “But he can’t remember he saw us.”

Aaron croaked, hopping nervously. Fighting between two opposing thoughts. One that knew the wind was too dangerous to fly in, the other wanting to leave. 

Finally, Aaron took off, his gliding low with his talons grazing the sand. Wanting no part of what was to come. 

Giselle needed no other words of explanation. She leapt, yes, leapt towards George. Her form and hair billowing around her like wisp. Her hair trailing behind her like the smoke of a recently blown out candle. 

Giselle landed before the guard as if made of gossamer. The harsh wind of the storm didn’t seem to hinder Giselle’s movements. Always perfectly balanced. It was as if the wind moved through her.   

In fact, the way George’s flashlight hit her, he wondered if he saw a wing. A broken lacy dragonfly like wing.

But quickly George thought nothing of it. 

Lightning arched like a spider’s web over the clouds. Illuminating the area and the steely lake surface with a purple/white sheen.

George shivered. 

Giselle stepped forward, and gestured to George. Directly. In a way that made all of George’s hair stan on end. Suddenly feeling placed under a spotlight.

Even though Giselle hadn’t spoken, he knew without a doubt Giselle meant, “you”

She then gestured in a floaty like quality to the ground before her. As if a noble pointing out the most expensive item in a shop. 

George knew that meant “here”, somehow.

Mesmerizingly, Giselle circled and rolled her hands over her head. The universal mime “to dance”.

George couldn’t bring himself to look away even if he wanted to. 

Slowly Giselle floated her hands away, “all”.

Ballet Translation: Since you are here, let us all dance.

George resisted, unsure, and a little afraid. A tiny part in the back of his head cautioned him to turn away. To get on his four wheeler and never look back. 

Giselle then offered her hand for him. Open and willing for him to place his own. 

How could George refuse?

It was asked so nicely. Nothing like George ever encountered as an offer to dance.

So George agreed. And Giselle, with dainty step unfettered by the harsh elements of the storm, guided the mortal closer to the figure. 

The figure lifted her double chins regally. Pleased. And watched as George was brought forward. His steps becoming more and more graceful. 

George, who had never taken ballet, except when it was mandatory for college football. 

The figure struck a pose, and bowed to George. Thanking him for entering on stage. A stage George never knew he was part of. A stage he couldn’t quite hear the music too. 

But oddly, a sort of ringing sound started to swell in the back of George’s mind. 

It could have been the rain, now falling like sheets, or curtains. Veiling and obscuring a clear sight. Giving off that sound heavy falling rain gave off. A sound reminiscent to tv static, or waterfalls. A gush. 

Yet at the same time George couldn’t think of why the sound could also have been No.4, Pas de Trois: intrada: Allegro. 

Though one look at the figure, gently grinning like a welcoming shark, with rain passing through her as if absorbing the droplets, and George decided questions won’t help his situation. 

So he danced along. 

The three of them curtsied towards their audience, the lake. And George suddenly felt compelled to curtsey towards the figure. 

Graciously, she accepted it, which put George greatly at ease. 

The three of them struck their post, with George in the middle, and in unison, they began to dance. 

George didn’t know how he knew such a ballet variation, he didn’t much care. There were two fearfully lovely ladies to dance with after all. And he seemed to know all the steps. 

Rain, wind, and man danced their pas de trois.

Then again, a man getting duped into dancing was about as classic in ballet as, say, a swan on a lake. 

//

There’s always more questions than answers when it comes to scenes with Giselle. 

[lupinlongbottom]

Untouchable

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) (L/N) can’t stand to be in the same room as Charlie Weasley, let alone think about talking to him. Being close friends with his brothers makes it a hundred times harder to ignore.

Prompt: Hey! I'd like to make a request for Charlie where the reader is friends with the twins or Ron and he likes her but every time he tries to talk to her or even like enter the room she leaves or ignores him so he's like dang she don't like me but REALLY she's just so flustered around him and doesn't want to embarrass herself because she likes him so much. Thank you so much! (Sorry if this is a long request lol) - @theboywhocriedlupin

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: like one f-bomb, hella fluff

A/N: AH thank you Ash for the beautiful request. I hope I did this prompt enough justice to what you’d imagine. (Also, I love Tonks.... k bye)

__

The grand staircase was rather empty for a Saturday afternoon. Although Gryffindor wasn’t playing, most of the House had gone and attended the Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match. (Y/N) had decided to catch up on some well needed sleep than watch the match, figuring that a few extra hours would do her good. Her younger friends, Fred and George Weasley—whom she had learn to love like brothers—had a similar idea. Sticking behind, that is. She had awoken to a letter gingerly stuck to her face—all thanks to her pet owl—telling her too meet the boys in front of the entrance to their Common Room for a surprise.

“You guys are insane,” (Y/N) said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not going to work.”

“How do you reckon?” Fred asked, holding a rather unsteady red rope, his fists readjusting ever so slightly.

“Yeah! How do you know?” George exclaimed, voice cracking.

“My many years of experience have boded well.” (Y/N) said, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest. Her fingertips grazed her navy jumper lightly as she did so.  

“Shut it—”

“You’re not that much older than us! What? Like three years?”

“Three and a half, actually.” (Y/N) corrected, shifting her weight onto another step on the stairs. (Y/N) was currently in her fifth year at Hogwarts, having met the twins last year when they had begun their schooling career. It had been an interesting year, to say the least.

“Doesn’t matter! We know what we’re doing!” Fred said, gripping the rope tighter. It had led from Fred’s hands to a bucket, hanging ever so gently from the ceiling, right above the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“It’s not going to work.” (Y/N) repeated, glaring back and forth between the twins. A slight pout traced her lips.  

“She’s right, you know.” The Fat Lady bellowed, polishing her latest chalice.

“Yeah, yeah. We heard you the first time.” George groaned, waving off the Fat Lady.

“If you so much as get a drop on my head, I’ll never let you back into your dormitory until the end of your schooling.” The Fat Lady retorted. Her nose pushed up slightly with her tone. George and Fred gulped lightly before shrugging her off.  

“What did you even fill it with?” (Y/N) asked, crossing her arms, now genuinely curious.

“Remember how we asked you about the Aging Potion?” Fred grinned.

(Y/N)’s mouth hung agape. “There’s no way you two brewed an Aging Potion! That’s way too complex for second years! I can’t even brew it yet. It’s impos—”

“Impossible?” George finished.

“For us, probably,” Fred shrugged. “But when you ask a pretty blonde seventh year nicely,” His grin grew wider. “She may oblige.”

“How did you get Penny Haywood to brew that for you?” (Y/N) said, furrowing her brows. The blonde Hufflepuff was known for her kindness, that was no lie, but (Y/N) knew she wouldn’t possibly have given a group of known trouble-makers such a powerful potion. “She would never—”

“She’s a Hufflepuff.” Fred said simply.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Hufflepuff.” Fred repeated.

“Well,” (Y/N) huffed, not wanting to continue the argument. “Whatever the reason had been,” She clicked. “I hope your prank somehow works out.” She turned her back to the boys, who were excitedly awaiting for their victim—anybody, really—to exit their Common Room.  

“You really are like the sister we never had.” Fred swooned, batting his eyelashes dramatically.

“You already have a—never mind,” (Y/N) sighed. “I’ll stay and watch,” George grinned, Fred mirrored his action. “Only,” (Y/N) stated with a sharp tongue. “Only because I could probably help if something went wrong.”

“(Y/N), you’re such a worrywart.” George said, shaking his head lightly.

“The worrywart of Hogwarts!” Fred gasped, the realization spreading across his features quickly.

“I swear on Merlin’s beard if you two make that a ‘thing’, so help me—”

“Worrywart of Hogwarts! Worrywart of Hogwarts!” The twins chanted in unison, hopping up and down slightly. The bucket had shifted slightly from the platform beneath it. (Y/N) shot her hands up to stop them from their excitement, which, of course, urged them to jump and chant harder. The bucket had shifted even closer to the edge, begging to be tipped.

The Fat Lady had swung open in that moment, starling Fred. He yanked hard on the cord, sending the platform downward, the bucket tipping over completely. (Y/N) flinched, scrunching her face tightly. She didn’t get a good look at who was walking out, but she knew whoever it had been, they wouldn’t exactly have been happy. (Y/N) felt her eyes shut tightly, bracing for impact.

“What the…” The voice spoke. (Y/N) peaked an eye open, glancing at the victim. There, standing drenched in the liquid was a very enraged Charlie Weasley. His long red hair was pulled back into it’s usual ponytail, which now was seemingly longer than it was before thanks to the dampness of his hair. (Y/N) yelped quietly, flinging herself up the steps, out of Charlie’s possible gaze.

“Charlie!” Fred barked, now completely disregarding the rope. “Why aren’t you at the match?”

“I was looking for my hat—no luck—I had misplaced it in my trunk,” Charlie said, wicking his hands through his wet hair. “Obviously that was a terrible decision on my end.”

“Mum’s going to kill us,” George said, glancing quickly to Fred. “We’ve aged our brother to nothingness!”

“Aged your brother?” Charlie asked, stepping out of the puddle. “What could you possibly be—oh,” He cracked a slight but knowing smile before shifting his face back to it’s stony glare. “Why do my bones suddenly ache?”

“Oh no! It’s the arthritis!” George yelped, flinging his hands to his hair. “It’s already setting in!”

“We’re so screwed!” Fred said, mirroring George’s motions. Charlie chuckled airily, turning quickly on his heels to enter the Common Room yet again, probably to dry himself. “Oh man,” Fred sighed again. “Charlie’s going to die. Completely our fault! (Y/N), what do you—(Y/N)?” His eyes scanned over the steps, to where the still sleepy (Y/N) had been sitting before.

“Is he gone?” (Y/N) asked, crawling slowly down the steps, flicking her eyes between the twins worried expressions.

“Who? Charlie?” George asked, eyeing (Y/N) as she crawled out of her hiding spot. “Yeah, he’s gone. Probably forever.”

“Wonderful,” (Y/N) sighed as she stood up, stretching her legs. “Just wonderful.”

“You seem quite content with Charlie dying, considering you made quite the leap when he came out,” Fred mused. “Higher than a chocolate frog I would bet!”

(Y/N) felt her face heat up, the feeling rising from her chest to her cheeks. “Huh,” She hummed, fidgeting with her hands. “That’s interesting. I should tell my mum that, she’d love to hear about it. Let me go and write her now!” (Y/N) began her way down the stairs, only to have The Fat Lady fling open, pushing her nearly off the edge of the steps.

“Merlin, (Y/N)! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even know you were out here,” Charlie said, helping her upright. His eyes scanned her worried appearance. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy.” (Y/N) mumbled, pushing past Charlie to descend down the steps. She skipped every other step in hopes to get down the stairs quicker, which in reality helped very little. The Weasley boys watched her disappear from view, her (Y/H/C) bounding along the way.

“That was weird, right?” George whispered to Fred, who nodded.

“What?” Charlie asked, eyebrow cocking upwards.

“Have you ever had a conversation with (Y/N) that was that short?” Fred responded simply, crossing his arms.

“Always,” Charlie sighed, almost sadly. The twins shot him a surprised look. “Is that not like her?”

“Exact opposite, mate.” George said.

“I suppose you two know her better than I do,” Charlie said, running his fingers through his now somewhat dried bangs. “I really want to apologize, but why would she be so short with me?”

“Dunno,” Fred shrugged. “You should try—”

“—and ask her about it.” George ended. “She likes to do things with books in the library Saturdays usually, you could—”

“—try meeting her there.”

Charlie stared at his brothers with a blank look on his face. “You two really need to stop with the twin sentence thing. It gets annoying,” Charlie shook his head as he descended the stairs. “Also,” He turned around, looking at the twins—whom were cleaning up their puddle of a mess—and sighed. “‘She likes to do things with books in the library’? So, studying?”

“That’s what that’s called!” Fred exclaimed, flinging his wand nearly out of his hand.

“Can’t remember words I don’t use, Charlie.” George smirked.

“You two sometimes…” Charlie clicked, returning back down the stairs, determined to apologize to (Y/N), hopefully not making a fool of himself in the process.

—

True to the twin’s claims, (Y/N) was indeed studying in the library, hunched over a Transfiguration textbook. Charlie smiled to himself, staring quietly at her furrowed brows. She seemed to be having trouble with whatever she was jotting down. As if the solution hit her like a lighting bolt, her face lit up instantly, scribbling furiously on the parchment beneath her tapping quill.

Charlie didn’t even notice the stack of books he had been leaning on until he had toppled them over, sending a loud crash echoing through the library. (Y/N) shot her head up, scanning the shelves around her for whatever had made the noise. In an instant, Charlie hid behind the nearest bookshelf to hide himself. (Y/N) shrugged it off and returned to her parchment.

“That was close,” Charlie whispered to himself. He peeked around the corner, watching (Y/N) smile softly to herself as she closed her first textbook and opened another. “If she saw me, she’d think I’m being a creep,” He laughed gently. “But I am being a creep. Way to go Charles. Just go talk to her!” He hissed under his breath, arguing with his own logic.

“Hiya Weasley!” Tonks exclaimed loudly, slapping a hand hard on his shoulder.

“Tonks…” Charlie groaned. (Y/N)’s eyes met his abruptly. The color drained from her face as she quickly shoved her materials in her bag and scurried off out of Charlie’s line of sight. “What’d you do that for!?” He hissed yet again, the sound rivaling any snake that could possibly cross his path.

“Wanted to say hi,” Tonks smiled, rocking back and forth on her feet. A tuft of her shockingly pink hair floated into her face, which she pushed away quickly. “Why would you be mad?” Tonks’ eyes followed the hurried body leaving the library, (Y/N). She glanced back at Charlie’s slightly pink face. “Oh, I see what’d going on,” Her grin grew twice it’s size. “Got a crush on little (L/N) do you? I didn’t know you liked younger women.”

“She’s not that much younger, don’t make it weird.” Charlie said simply.

“Make it weird? Me?” Tonks batted her eyelashes. “I could never do that, Charles.”

“Seriously Tonks?” Charlie waited a beat, focusing on Tonks’ unchanging expression. “I’m convinced (Y/N) hates me now, I nearly pushed her off the staircase this morning. She’ll never talk to me again and—wait, when did you start calling me Charles?”

“Since I started feeling like it,” Tonks said, shrugging. “Besides, (Y/N) can’t hate you. It’s statistically impossible. I had Rowan crunch the numbers.”

“Rowan crunched the numbers?”

“Indeed. You see, the rest of your friends—you know, the coolest kids in this school—we’ve noticed how you stare at (Y/N) all the time,” Charlie opened his mouth to speak. “Let me finish please. So, we’ve done a little digging on the matter and low and behold, (Y/N) likes you too.”

“How did you possibly—”

“Penny asked nicely.” Tonks replied.

“But how—”

“Penny has a very trusting face, must be a Hufflepuff thing.” Tonks sighed.

“Tonks, you’re a Hufflepuff.” Charlie chuckled.

“That’s true, which makes the whole situation,” Tonks’ hair began turning a daisy yellow, growing past her shoulders, her face shifting into a familiar smile. Penny’s smile. “All the more believable, no?”

“You didn’t!” Charlie’s eyebrows practically flew up to his hairline. “That’s deceitful and wrong and—”

“Would you get your knickers out of their twist? Penny was going to ask anyway, might as well have me get it out of the way.”

“You really need to stop interrupting me.” Charlie sighed.

“What’s the fun in that?” Tonks said, shifting back to her usual appearance. Her bubblegum returned to it’s normal state, now sitting just atop her shoulders. “Listen, I know that you care about (Y/N), for whatever reasons you have, so I’m only going to tell you this because I care about your feelings,” Her hand settled on Charlie’s shoulder, albeit softer than the first time that afternoon. “She’ll be out in the courtyard around sundown.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“If you need any help keeping Cinderella at the ball, let me know. I can always hex her legs or something.”

“There’s the Tonks I know,” Charlie smiled. “Though, what’s a ‘Cinderella’?”

“You purebloods are missing out on some really fucked up Muggle children’s stories, you know that?”

—

“…no, I guess that wouldn’t work.” (Y/N) mumbled to herself, erasing the large line she had just drawn over her parchment. The wind was blowing lightly, making the courtyard that evening ever more enjoyable.

Charlie spotted her from across the way. No one else was in the yard, much to his shock. He had the slightest feeling that Tonks had a bit to do with it. With a heavy sigh and a jittering heart, Charlie entered the courtyard.

(Y/N) glanced up from her paper, noticing the redhead walking towards her. With a flick of her wand, her belongings packed neatly into her bag—she’d been practicing that since she had left the library earlier that day—and stood up.

“Wait! (Y/N)!” Charlie called out, running towards her. “Please don’t run! I just want to talk.”

(Y/N) paused for a moment, facing away from Charlie. She didn’t dare turn around.

“Look, I’m sorry for nearly killing you today at the staircase. I obviously didn’t mean to do that and I’m sorry,” No response. “(Y/N), please, respond to me. You rarely ever give me the time of day or speak to me at all, it’s like you leave the room whenever I show up and—”

“It’s not about the stairs, Charlie,” (Y/N) sighed. “You didn’t know I was out there, easy mistake, anyone could have made it.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“You! It’s about you!” (Y/N) exclaimed, turning tight on her heels, now facing Charlie directly. She drew a quick breath when she focused on his face. His cheeks had glistened in the of sunset, the shine dusting across his freckles gently. “I can barely talk to you without getting flustered. It’s like my tongue has two left feet!”

“W-what?” Charlie stumbled. He hadn’t exactly expected to hear that.

“How could a girl—who’s two years younger than you, I might add—even compare to the wonderful girls you hang with? I’m not as charismatic as Tonks, not nearly as intelligent or kind as Penny. Don’t even get me started on Tulip, she’s practically both of your brother’s role model,” (Y/N) took a deep breath. “And your brothers! I’m so close with them that even thinking about having a possible relationship with you seems irrelevant—”

“(Y/N) slow down, you’re going about a mile a minute—”

“You’re untouchable, Charlie Weasley. Always have been. It’s like the stars have aligned to make it so.”

Charlie smiled softly, ignoring (Y/N) now flushed appearance. She had been running her mouth for quite some time, just coming up for air. “Have you read that in your Astronomy text or something?”

“Astronomy? I don’t take Astro—Oh. The stars thing I said.”

“The only thing that’s making me ‘untouchable’, (Y/N),” Charlie took a hesitant step forward. “Is your head. You overthink.”

“It’s a specialty of mine.” (Y/N) mumbled.

“So I’ve noticed,” Charlie chuckled. “Look, (Y/N), nothing you do could possibly make me not like you. You are kind and funny. No need to mention that you have the most charming smile I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

(Y/N)’s face felt like it was overheating. “M-my smile?”

“Merlin, yes!” Charlie took another step towards her. “I wish you’d do it more often. It makes my mouth go dry and it’s hard to formulate a coherent thought whenever you do it,” Another step. “Please believe me.”

“I think I do.” (Y/N) said, fighting back the biggest smile she had ever felt like pulling. She couldn’t give him that now, not when he was about to spill his heart out to her.

“Good. I’m glad,” Another step. Charlie was now directly in front of (Y/N), only about a foot away. “I’m also glad you’re talking to me. I quite like your voice.”

“T-thanks,” (Y/N) stuttered. Charlie was just a bit too close, she could barely focus on what was  in front of her. “I like your voice too, if it makes a difference.”

“O-oh,” It was Charlie’s turn to be flustered. “Thanks.”

“What? You can give compliments but can’t receive them?”

“This whole ‘pining’ thing is all new to me, okay?” Charlie laughed, running fingers through his bangs before it met hers, snaking his fingers between her own. “Think you’ll be able to talk to me without running away now?”

“Depends,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Where would we be talking?”

“Three Broomsticks? Next weekend?”

“Deal,” She responded quickly. Charlie’s lips curled into a soft smile, leaning in towards (Y/N) slowly, his eyes closing. “Woah! Charlie!”

His eyes flung open. “I’m sorry!” He pulled his hand away from hers. “I thought that you were—that we would—now I feel like an idiot!”

“It’s okay,” (Y/N) giggled. “I want to, really, I do, but I just got over talking to you for Merlin’s sake! Think we can take it a bit slower?”

Charlie nodded. “You’re right. We’ll take it slow. I just got excited,” His free hand rubbed the back of his neck softly. (Y/N) moved to her tiptoes and placed a soft peck on Charlie’s freckled cheek. The heat from his chest radiated up to his cheeks and ears, flushing his entire face with a rosy hue. “Ah—well—wow, okay.”

“Speechless, are you?”

“Just a bit. Wasn’t quite expecting that, though I suppose you’re quite the unexpected lady.”

(Y/N) eyes lit up. “Merlin! I nearly forgot! The Aging Potion!” Her fingers grabbed Charlie’s jaw rather roughly, tilting his head around. “Charlie, how are you feeling?”

“Trying to find wrinkles are you?” Charlie smiled at (Y/N)’s silence. He was right. “Penny didn’t give the twins an Aging Potion. She told me straight away after they asked, so I told her to give them some water made to look like a potion.” He shrugged.

“That was rather clever, Charlie.” (Y/N) hand didn’t leave Charlie’s jaw. Her thumb grazed over his growing stubble lightly, enjoying the feeling.

“I’ve been known to be smart occasionally.” He grinned.

“I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too, otherwise I wouldn’t have that kiss to look forward to.”

“Just the kiss?” (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow.

“That, and the many more you’re bound to give me.” Charlie said, puffing his chest slightly.

“Clever and cocky, what a catch you are.” (Y/N) said, rolling her eyes.

“You know you like me.” Charlie hummed, his hand rested atop of hers.

“I do. I like you a whole lot.”  

—

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra , @crescent-ia

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

[hermioneshandbag]

One More Kiss, Part 6*

*Nipple Police Replacement Post

The day of the operation to bring Harry home, Sirius was beside himself. He wanted to be in the group that went to escort him, and he was not pleased about being denied. Remus looked to you to make him see sense, but this was more than his usual impulsive tangent.

You finally coerced him up to his bedroom and kept him busy until it was time for the group to leave. Needless to say, he was a great deal more relaxed when you went down to wish the group good luck. Remus and Tonks were somewhere between grateful for and incredibly uncomfortable with your efforts. You basically gave them a look that said, “Well, what did you expect?”

Sirius paced nervously until it was almost time for the meeting to begin, repeatedly asking, “Where could they possibly be?” and “What in Merlin’s saggy left nut is taking so long?”

When Dumbledore arrived, you dragged him into the kitchen, hoping that the meeting would distract him a bit. He did become involved in the discussion, though, so he calmed a bit until Remus et al returned and he knew Harry was there.

Sirius stayed in the kitchen with you when everyone was leaving after the meeting because he could tell that you were nervous about meeting Harry. As he was telling you that you were great and Harry would love you, there was a loud crash and his mother started screaming, which started a chain reaction with the other paintings.

Sirius jumped up and ran up the stairs, yelling at his hag of a mother to shut up. You had experienced this before, of course, numerous times since the first time when Remus and Sirius had been wrestling to keep Sirius from following you. You left Sirius to deal with the crone who birthed him while you went to calm down other portraits.

After he got the portrait covered, Sirius went to talk to Harry, then headed down to the kitchen. He introduced you to Harry, who didn’t seem at all impressed. You knew he was overwhelmed and decided to hang back for a day or two and let him settle in before you tried to get to know him.

In the meantime, you tried to curb Sirius’ temper with Molly. You didn’t interrupt when he and Molly disagreed on how much to tell Harry, but afterwards when you and Sirius went to bed, you had a small argument.

“Love, you need to go easier on Molly,” you began quietly.

“I think I know how to deal with Molly and my Godson, Y/N, thank you very much,” he snapped, temper still frayed.

“Take that tone with me again, Black, and you will be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future,” you snapped back, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I will not be spoken to that way, certainly not by the man who professes to love me.”

Sirius sat down on the small sofa in his room and leaned forward, head in hands. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

You came over and sat next to him, pulling him upright and tucking yourself into his side. “It’s this place and the situation and everything at once, love. Just…try to remember that everyone here has the same goals. And Molly loves Harry, sweetheart. You can’t cut her out just because you have more right to him. She took him under her wing when he didn’t have anyone else.”

He hugged you and pulled in a deep breath. “You’re right, love. I’ll apologize to her in the morning. And I’m so sorry I bit your head off.”

“I love you. You get a few free passes here and there,” you said with a kiss.

“Thank you very much. Can you think of any way I can show you my gratitude?” he asked in a naughty voice with a salacious grin.

“How about you do that one thing with your tongue?” you responded with an equally lusty grin and an eyebrow wiggle.

“My pleasure,” he purred.

Harry did not seem to be a fan of yours, to be honest. He wasn’t rude, precisely, and honestly you knew he had more important things on his mind, so you tried not to let it bother you. You hadn’t considered that Sirius essentially had a kid that you would need to be friends with when you got together.

It wasn’t like you had much one on one time with Harry – there were so many people in the house at any given time that you and Sirius could only be alone in his room, and that was even interrupted occasionally.

So you decided to take matters into your own hands. You noticed that Harry had missed lunch, so you made a platter of sandwiches and cookies and took them upstairs.

You were ridiculously nervous as you knocked on the door to his room where Hermione had said he was holed up.

“Hi, Harry,” you said after he called to come in. “Thought I’d bring us a bit of a snack.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

You pretended not to hear when his stomach growled loudly.

“Well I’m starving. Mind if I eat?”

“Suit yourself,” he said a little sullenly.

“So,” you said after you swallowed a bite of a sandwich. “We have a lot in common.”

“How so?” he asked, looking longingly at the plate of sandwiches you brought with you.

“We both love Sirius,” you said, casually handing him a sandwich. “And Sirius loves us both and wants us to be a family.”

“That’s it?” he said around his sandwich.

“Well, we’re both good looking and brilliant, too. I thought I’d leave the obvious unspoken.”

He laughed a little. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just thought I’d have some time alone with Sirius.”

“You can have that. Now and forever. I can make myself scarce.”

“I just…I’ve never had a dad. So when I found out Sirius was my Godfather, I thought maybe I’d have something like that.” He left unspoken that when he finally has time to be with Sirius, you were always around.

“You do. He talks about you constantly. He loves you so much, and he worries about you all the time.”

“So how would it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Us being a family. For Sirius.”

“Well, when this is all over, which we all hope will be soon, Sirius will be free, you get to be a normal kid with friends and a bedroom with I dunno…whatever kids your age like. Boobs I’d imagine. That doesn’t seem to ever get outgrown.”

Harry rolled his eyes and blushed at the mention of boobs. “Are you and Sirius getting married?”

“We’re not engaged, of course, but the topic has come up and he didn’t curl into the fetal position, so I thought that was positive.

“He’d like a house in the country,” you continued, “most likely near Hogwarts with room for all of us, including you and Remus and Tonks and Buckbeak and whatever kids and menagerie we wind up with.”

“Mrs. Weasley thinks he forgets who I am sometimes,” he said quietly, as if uttering the words was somehow a betrayal to Sirius.

You went and sat next to him on his bed and put your arm around him. “You now look like your father the last time he saw him, and the first time he saw you was like when he first met and got to know the man he considered his brother. So yes, I would imagine that occasionally he sees your Dad when he looks at you.

“But this is something that happens. My brother and sister and I went to a family reunion for the first time in years on my father’s side of the family. When we arrived, almost everyone stopped and did a double take at my brother. You see, he was about the age my father was when he passed away, and he took very strongly after him. So, the combination of not seeing him grow into this face and this face being the spitting image of our Dad…well, needless to say, a couple of the elderly relatives called my brother by my Dad’s name. Bittersweet.”

“That really happened?”

“Swear by my love for Sirius.”

“And you don’t think he’s nuts?” he asked very quietly.

“Welllllll,” you pretended to hedge. “Of course not. He’s impulsive and reckless, but he’s not crazy. And we’re going to give him the family he needs to value enough to tone down the antics, right?”

“How?”

“Well, you’ll need to find what works for you, but I use sex a lot.”

Harry threw himself back on the bed with his hands over his ears. “Nooooo! Why would you tell me that aaaarrrrghhh!”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you, two? Geez, like we wouldn’t have sex.”

“Ugh you did it again!!!” he was now rolling around the bed as of in grievous pain as you laughed at his discomfort.

The door to the bedroom opened with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Fred and Sirius coming to investigate the noise.

“What in Godric’s name is going on in here?” Sirius bellowed to be heard over Harry’s dramatic wailing and laughter.

“I believe I am almost through ruining Harry’s childhood by telling him that we have tons of sex.”

“Oh Merlin, really?” Ron stomped over to sit with Harry in solidarity.

“Really? You’re one of seven children, Ron. Do the math.”

The other four were standing around looking at you expectantly for details.

“That’s it. No details. No particular positions that we enjoy, although Harry? Doggy style is rather an obvious one,” you called over to him to be obnoxious.

Sirius was trying not to laugh as he dragged you out of the room and up the stairs to his room. “The twins looked like they were about to ask if they could watch,” Sirius laughed. “What on Earth were you doing?”

“Trying to make friends with Harry. So I brought him food and emotionally scarred him. I think it went well.”

“Merlin, I love you.” He pulled you close for a kiss, smiling into it to express his joy at seeing his two favorite people trying to get along.

As his kisses got a little more frisky, you backed away.

With a big smile, you said, “Darling, I have a headache or something for the next,” you looked at your watch, “four hours. Go away.”

“Harry wants me to himself?”

“Yes, love. He needs you.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss. “You are the kindest, most understanding woman I have ever known. You will do both of us a world of good by being the heart of our family. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now I am going to read in bed and if I am asleep, I expect to wake up with your tongue doing its magic. Deal?”

He leaned his forehead against yours as he shivered at the image. “You absolutely have a deal. I love you.”

After that, you and Harry became fast friends. You were careful not to tread on Molly’s toes, though. She had accepted him into her family when Harry had no other and you loved her for that. He also had his own mother who had given her life for his, so while for the majority of his life he’d had no parents, now he had Mums aplenty.

And with Sirius, Arthur and Remus, he had father figures, too. Sirius was ecstatic to have his boy with him and Harry seemed to relax a bit, even with all that was going on.

“Sirius, what happens if they convict me?”

“Well, I don’t know how we’d bear the shame of having an outlaw in the family,” he said, giving Harry’s shoulder a playful shove.

Harry laughed at that but sobered rather quickly. “Really, though. What will I do?”

“Well, I expect we’ll be safe here, though I’d prefer to leave this mausoleum. Y/N is from America, perhaps we can go there. Or anywhere, really. We both have enough money to live on the run comfortably.”

“You’d leave England?”

“Harry, I am very very tired of being vilified for trying to do the right thing. And if those blind cowards at the Ministry do to you what they did to me, then yes. I would grab the people I love and do a mass exodus and let them pay the cost this time.”

“I wish you could come with me tomorrow,” Harry said quietly. “Or Y/N.”

“Y/N said she would before and you said no! She absolutely will. She loves you very much, Harry.”

“I know. It’s sort of strange having so many people who care for me part of the year and then…well.”

“Vernon and Petunia. Two more vile people…well actually I know quite a few death eaters so I think they’re marginally worse, but you get my point.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, I do.”

“Mr. Weasley is the best one to take me,” Harry sighed. “I just…kinda wish you two could go.”

“I know, m’boy. Y/N will still go if you ask her.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you want me to ask her?”

“Won’t people wonder how she knows me?”

“Y/N is actually a frighteningly good liar. It was what first made Moody approve of her. Fairly certain she can come up with a reason and make it convincing.”

The day of the hearing you went in to work early to get a head start on paperwork and not feel bad about taking the time to go to give Harry moral support at the hearing. You would be waiting in the hall but at least you would be there.

At a few minutes before 8 you went to Arthur’s office to see if Harry wanted a cup of tea while he waited so Arthur could get in a bit of work before the hearing. You were almost there when you heard Arthur exclaim and saw him and Harry racing out of his office.

“They moved the hearing location and time, Y/N,” Arthur said as they moved toward you. You moved in step with them to the elevator, anxious to realize that you were so far away from where you needed to be so soon.

You put your arm around Harry and have him a quick hug. “I’ll take you to Ilvermorny myself I’d they expel you. But they won’t. But if they do, we’ll all still love you. But they won’t expel you because you did nothing wrong! And they better have a pretty decent army if they try to convict you of anything. You’re my cub now, and this mama bear is not going to play games.”

“Merlin, Y/N, I am not a cub,” he said, embarrassed but warmed by your concern. Even if he was nearly an adult, it felt kind of good to have a Mum-type he didn’t have to share.

You ran steps after you got off the elevator and delivered Harry with one last kiss and wish of good luck.

You and Arthur waited in tense silence. When Harry finally emerged you threw your arms around him, then tensed as the entire Wizengamot filled out behind him.

After a rather cold exchange with Lucius Malfoy, which ended with him giving you a look filled with consideration, you finally walked Harry and Arthur to the Atrium and hugged Harry goodbye.

You could tell that Sirius was happy for Harry, yet he was disappointed as well. That evening you were in your panties and a tank top getting your hair ready to wash your face when you said, “Honey?”

“Hmm?” he answered from the bed where he lie brooding.

“You’re happy for Harry, right?”

“Course.”

“Because…you almost seem disappointed.”

He looked at you, grey eyes snapping, but he remembered the last time he verbally snapped at you and wouldn’t put it past you to put him out of his own bed. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, I would’ve been alright with him being here all the time. I know, I’m a selfish prick.”

“Nah. You’re sick of this house and you wanted a playmate. I get it.”

He tilted his head as if to look at you from a different angle because the original one didn’t make sense. “Why do you always understand me?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” you said with a wink and walked into the bathroom.

You bent over the sink to wash your face, and you felt hands on your hips. When you rinsed the soap from your face and patted a towel across your skin, you felt something else pressing against your ass.

You leaned back against Sirius’ chest and put your arms around his neck, thrusting your breasts out in the process. Sirius was watching you in the mirror and groaned to see your nipples pebbled against the thin cotton of your top. His hands slid up your sides and under your top to remove it, then cupped your breasts while he kissed your neck, but his eyes never left yours in the mirror.

You started grinding back against Sirius’ cock, loving the sight of his long fingers caressing your nipples and squeezing your flesh. One of his hands started sliding down your ribs and stomach to slide into your panties.

You dropped one of your hands from his neck and reached between you to stroke his cock, then pulled your panties off and reached between your legs to guide him into you.

You held onto the sink and kept eye contact with Sirius in the mirror as he teased you with long, slow strokes. You pushed back against him but he refused to pick up the pace, continuing to slowly thrust into you. You started to work him with your inner muscles, trying to squeeze a faster pace out of him.

It worked. You saw the fire in his eyes as he shuddered before speeding up his tempo and reaching around you to tease your clit as he started snapping his hips into you harder and faster. You were moaning incoherently, the only words that Sirius could understand were his name and ‘please.’

Your face dropped forward and he gently lifted your chin to look back in the mirror. He wanted to see the look on your face when you came. He had to see your eyes when he came inside you.

“You gonna come for me, Y/N? You gonna squeeze my cock?”

“Yes yes oh stars yes,” you moaned, looking into his eyes as the pleasure washed over you. You held on to his arms as your legs went wobbly, one of his hands around your waist and one under your chin.

You felt him slam harder into you, knew that his high was close, so you looked into his eyes and panted, “Come for me, Sirius. Fill me up.”

With a growl, Sirius thrust deeply one last time, softly biting your shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“Merlin, love. That was amazing,” you breathed, finally looking away from the mirror to kiss him. “How about I’ll be your playmate?”

“Best playmate ever,” he said, picking you up to carry you to the bed. “And I’ve just thought of another game we can try tonight.”

“Another? What are the rules?” you played along.

“No rules,” he growled as he laid you on the bed.

“Then how do I win?”

“I think we both win,” he said against your lips.

“I think I’m going to like this game.”

“I know I am,” he said with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sirius. Always will.”

[sunsetbeachsoap]

Interview: Life's a Sunset Beach

She was going to be the next Elizabeth Taylor. These days Lesley- Anne Down takes work where she finds it - right now, it's in the best daytime soap opera since `Crossroads'.

Deborah Ross @deborahross

Monday 30 November 1998 01:02

So, here she is, then, Lesley-Anne Down, once "Britain's Most Beautiful Teenager" and once, of course, the flighty, ravishing, utterly captivating Miss Georgina Worsley in Upstairs, Downstairs. I can still see her now, in her little sparkling bugle dress, with those big sparkling eyes, flirting outrageously with someone jolly handsome in the Eaton Place drawing room, while, downstairs, Mrs Bridges was bellowing: "RUBY! ROO- BEEEEE! YOU COME AND HELP ME WITH THIS MILK PUDDING NOW, MY GIRL!" The part quickly transformed her into the nation's, and the tabloids', absolute darling. She may even have been Elizabeth Hurley before there was any Elizabeth Hurley. The prototype, if you like. And very, very big things were predicted for her. "The next Elizabeth Taylor," declared the Daily Mail in 1973. But today? Today she is not a great big movie star. Instead, she is Olivia Richards in the American daytime soap Sunset Beach.

Now, let's see, how best to give you a little thumbnail-sketch of Olivia? OK. Here goes. Olivia used to have a drink problem, and also used to be married to Gregory Richards, played by a cracking actor who can do lines, and facial expressions, but singularly fails to ever tie the two in together. Olivia has a baby son, Tres, unbeknown to her grown-up daughter, Caitlin, who is a graduate (cum laude) of The American School of Dramatic Hair Tossing - they are all, actually, very good at tossing, but Caitlin's the best - and who thinks Tres came from a prostitute. Caitlin certainly doesn't think Tres could be her brother, or might even be her half-brother, because Olivia once had an affair with Cole, who suffers under the weight of a great deal of hair gel and thus looks permanently perplexed, and who is now married to Caitlin, while Gregory is now married to Annie, who has lips like dinghies and who drugged Olivia and stole Tres in the first place before Olivia found out and Gregory divorced her, because he thought Tres died as a result of her drinking. And that's about it. I think. Tragically, Sunset Beach is only on here at 10.20am on Channel 5 which means that, for a busy, professional, go-getting high-brow like me, I only ever get to see it daily.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: "Look what Lesley- Anne has come to!" And: "Where did it all go pear-shaped!"Well, if that's the case, and I suspect it is, then I can only say you are mad. Sunset Beach is, almost certainly, the best thing on telly at the moment. Indeed, for anyone who has had, say, a Crossroads-shaped hole in their lives ever since Crossroads was axed, then Sunset Beach is just the ticket, and possibly more so. The plots are ludicrous, the acting is appalling and, as for the dialogue! Well, take Olivia to her ex, Gregory, while they are stuck in a lift, and he's coming on to her, because he's unknowingly been doped with Viagra, and she finds herself succumbing: "LOVE [breath] ME [breath] GREGORY [long breath]. LOVE [breath] ME!" It's all you could ever hope for, frankly, and no Benny in his silly bobble hat, which has to be a plus.

I say all this to Lesley-Anne. She is not offended in the least. She has, she says, never considered herself an artiste in any way. Do you think you can act, even? "God, no. Absolutely not. But if someone pays me to do something, I will do it to the best of my ability, and on Mars if necessary." How would you describe what you do in Sunset Beach? "Technique. Just full-blown technique! Although it's very hard work, darling. We average four scenes an hour. We don't rehearse. It's brush your hair, then boom- boom-boom, you're doing it." So, in short, it's a matter of trying not to fall over the props, then waiting for the truck to come round with your wages? "It is certainly much better paid than Upstairs, Downstairs ever was!" She says she now takes her jobs where she can find them. She once did a season in Dallas as PR Stephanie Rogers. "Why? Because they offered me a quarter of a million dollars for seven days' work over 10 weeks. What do you think I am, darling? STUPID?" Still, she agrees that "Who shot JR?" might be up there with "Is Amy Turtle a Russian spy?" as one of the greatest soap storylines ever. "Was she a Russian spy?" she asks. I say she got off in the end, but frankly, I always had my doubts. There always looked like room for a kalashnikov under her pinny, to me. "I see," says Lesley-Anne. "Hmmm."

Although she now lives in the very Hello! territory that is Malibu - "Jane Seymour lives round the corner. Her kids came trick or treating the other night" - she is over here for a few days, so we meet in her London hotel suite. We are joined, at various times, by Lesley-Anne's younger sister, Angela, Lesley-Anne's husband, Donnie, and her and Donnie's eight-month-old son, George, who seems to have black teeth ("We think the housekeeper is feeding him juice"), plus a succession of chambermaids who knock then come in to say: "Hiya, Olivia. I just wanted to say hiya, and maybe I could have a photo, Olivia?" "Maybe a little later, sweetie," says Lesley-Anne, who isn't even very good at acting friendly sometimes. Later, she complains: "This has been going on endlessly. In fact, when I first arrived here a few days ago, I went out in the evening. I was knackered, I looked awful, I wore a big hat - but still everyone in the street was shouting, `Ohhhh, Olivia'. And `Ohhh, Sunset Beach'. I don't understand it. It is such a silly little show."

Nonsense, I protest. It's a terrific show. In particular, I love the strange kind of time warp that goes on, so that a character knocks on a door, then 139 episodes later someone finally answers it. I like the fact that there are only ever two camera angles. I like the fact it makes Santa Barbara look slick. I like... "Oh, stop," pleads Lesley-Anne. Her sister Angela interrupts to say she thinks Lesley-Anne is a better actress than she thinks she is. "You were very good in Hanover Street with Harrison Ford," she insists.

"But that was such romantic drivel, darling!" Lesley-Anne cries.

"Trouble is, that film didn't know whether it wanted to be a war story or a love story," says Donnie.

"Ag-ga-ga-ga-goo," goes George, through his spooky, rotten teeth.

I say that, aside from anything else, she did do truly great cleavage in the American mini-series North and South. She can at least feel proud of that. She says: "That wasn't cleavage! That was my spare tyre being pushed up!" Lesley-Anne is possibly rather bonkers. But, still, she can be quite bright and funny at times.

She is now 44, but is still very fine looking, with the huge green, sparkling eyes, and great bones and everything, although she might be a bit over- made-up. You know, lots of black round the eyes and lashes so mascara- ed they look crunchy. She has so far resisted plastic surgery, "but only because Donnie won't let me". "Roy Orbison died on the table getting a face-lift," retorts Donnie. "It is a life-threatening operation."

Donnie, her third husband, is a cameraman whom she met on the set of North and South. Lesley-Anne seems to have spent much of her life going from one bloke to another, actually. First it was Bruce Robinson, the actor who turned writer (The Killing Fields) then writer-director (Withnail and I, How to Get Ahead in Advertising) and with whom she lived with for 10 years from the age of 15. Next it was an Argentine, Henrique Gabriel, an assistant director whom she met in Egypt on a film set, and whom she married on a whim, but left after 18 months for William Friedkin. She married Friedkin, the director of The French Connection and The Exorcist, and together they had a son, Jack. But when Jack was two, Lesley-Anne met Don, and upped it again. Lesley-Anne and Friedkin then fought a custody battle for Jack in a case which even her own lawyer, Marvin Mitchelson, described as "the nastiest, most vicious, custody case this town has ever seen". Friedkin said Lesley-Anne was an alcoholic, promiscuous coke fiend. She said he had threatened to kill her on more than one occasion, and had used a stun gun in front of Jack. After spending a million dollars each, they eventually agreed to a pre-trial settlement and joint custody, but only after Lesley-Anne had been vetted by a team of shrinks.

She says the shrinks ultimately declared her "a super-intelligent woman" which, she adds, "was very funny, because I lied to them every step of the way. They did these Rorschach tests on me. You know, the ink-blots. And they'd say, what does this one look like? I wasn't about to say it looks like two women having it off, was I? So I said, `Ohhh, it's a beautiful butterfly."' What did they conclude about you emotionally? "That I'm a complete hysteric!" And she might be, although perhaps not dangerously so. Certainly, she doesn't seem entirely whole somehow. I think she is intelligent, yes, but am not sure she's entirely all there.

She was born in Wandsworth, south London. Her father, James, apparently a very dashing-looking man, was caretaker of the local Territorial Army Centre. Her mother, Isobel, stayed at home to bring up the two girls, although did a bit of cleaning on the side when things got tight. Lesley- Anne, however, craved a more colourful life. "I had these cousins in LA, who'd send us care packages of clothes they'd grown out of - the most amazingly beautiful dresses that were totally alien to, say, going to Clark's for another pair of lace-ups in black, black or black. So I always had this desire, and image of myself, leading this fantasy life."

She started modelling at 10, was drinking gin and orange and clubbing at 12, started appearing nude in films at 14, and was living with Bruce at 15. I ask her if she thinks her childhood finished too early. She says. "I don't think it ever started!" What do you mean? "I just never felt like a child. I always had this desire to be a grown-up. I never had friends. I never felt I belonged. I was always happiest on my own, inventing things, finding secret places. If I'd also mutilated small animals, I think I'd have the perfect psychological profile of a serial killer." Did you ever, for example, have birthday parties? "Perhaps once. Although, then again, I might just be jealously appropriating someone else's." Did you like school? "Hated it. In particular, I hated Miss Harden, the maths teacher, who had hairy armpits and never wore long sleeves."

The trouble with Lesley-Anne, perhaps, is that she focused for so long on achieving things outwardly, via her own admittedly fabulous looks, that something within her just shrivelled and died. When, later, I ask her what attracted her to Friedkin, she says: "Money, talent, power." And you find those things attractive? "I did then. I'd met men with one or other of those things but, until Bill, I'd never met a man with all three." And the combination was lethal? "Lethal is the right word. That man was MERCURY IN MY BLOOD!" She can seem quite hysterical at times, yes.

Her first modelling assignment was for school uniforms, then it was bonnets, then it was a commercial in Barbados for an American soap powder - "and I thought, this is the life". She hooked up with Bruce at a party thrown by Ava Gardner. "He walked into the room in a white coat. I was in love. I didn't have a comb, so I ran into the lavatory and used Ava's toothbrush on my hair and lashes." He assumed she was at least 18. He, nearly 30 then, wasn't best pleased to find out she was only 15. "He called up all his friends, and said: `What am I going to do?' He went though a difficult time. My parents called him all sorts of names. Bruce would pack my bags and send me back to mum and dad. `I want to be with you,' I would scream. "

He proposed to her just the once, when she was 16. "But I said no. I didn't believe in marriage then." He never proposed again, although they stayed together until she was 24. She doesn't see him now. "He's become such a hermit, hasn't he? He lives in place near Wales that begins with H." Hereford? "Yes, that's it. He has so much to play for, but just tucks himself away." Perhaps he just doesn't want the whole LA shebang? "Oh. yes. Perhaps."

She says she is happy now, with Donnie and George. She doesn't mind that she never really achieved anything after Upstairs, Downstairs apart from a number of lacklustre films culminating in Death Wish V with Charles Bronson. "I'm happy to have survived, to still be here," she says. She has, yes, had her run-ins with drink and drugs but never, she insists, excessively so, and certainly not now. She adds that it's now time for her afternoon nap. "I'm very tired, darling." Bye, Olivia, I say. And I hope you get out of that stuck elevator shortly. "Oh stop!" she pleads again.