#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic

[triglycercule]

nightmare viewing the murder time three as little toys but more in like a little spoiled kid kinda way. because it would be funny and if you take into the account that he was like 6 before getting corrupted and do some mental loopholes it would be even funnier. like these are his dolls (killer dust and horror) and this is their barbie dreamhouse (his castle). they all have to stay in one room because nightmare needs to keep his toys in a toy box. the toys only ever come out when he wants to play but oh damn it they keep on breaking out!! silly toys,,, and then he locks them into the room again.

nightmare serves them food with plastic tea cups and plastic plates and there is no food. there is no tea. they have to imagine the food because dolls can't literally eat. there are food containers and stuff in the house but its all just a bunch of empty boxes. horror starts tweaking out after he scavenges the kitchen and finds a cereal box and milk carton that have NOTHING in it (why keep empty boxes?????)

they have to go where he wants them to go. nightmare gets to dress them up in whatever he wants because theyre his dolls they can wear anything he wants. it gets incredibly embarrassing when the trio is forced to wear pink pretty dresses and fight like that. or they have to go around the castle doing stupid fucking roleplays and it gets weird because theyre being forced to reenact a bullying scene and nightmare's giving them the death stare if they don't get it right (is this projection. this must be some form of coping mechanism dust theorizes)

and then you know nightmare's not exactly the best toy owner so he loses a few of his dolls here and there. maybe they get destroyed when he was playing a bit too rough with them! (killer dies in battle for like the 29th time) but its okay because he can just go back on down to the store (something new) and buy. wait no. steal another doll and then put it back in his dreamhouse and BOOM he has a full set again!! so sweet so cute. his dolls don't have consciousness what are you talking about theyre begging to be let go?? that's all just your imagination. what do you mean you're asking about the several slowly dying bodies with removed arms or legs in his dungeon. oh that's just where the broken but not yet destroyed toys go dw theyre fine its humane

[maulfucker]

This song is making me want to start yet another fic to never finish,, "Tell me... Where is your hideout? Who are we running from? I'm starting to think that you were right, and now I'm afraid of letting go of your hand...." Maul giving up on his Mandalore plan and deciding to just stalk Kenobi to tell him about his vision. Staying illegally in Obi-Wan's room because I love putting these guys in situations (and because Maul would NOT leave him alone until Obi-Wan actually accepted Maul is right, which he won't). Following Obi-Wan to Utapau and helping him escape after the clones attack, feeling equal parts vindicated and enraged (because he was proved right but Sidious still won). Them being on the run together....

[astrabear]

My labor, and my leisure too (pt. 1)

I've been poking around some ideas lately, about the difference between what feels like a happy (or at least satisfying) ending to a character and what feels like a happy (or at least satisfying) ending to the audience.

This is unedited, un-beta'd, and incomplete. I've already started working on the next bit; I just didn't want to wait to yeet it out into the universe.

********

If Nile hadn’t been frustrated nearly to tears by the time the rest of the team came in, she might have noticed that Nicky and Joe seemed oddly subdued and distracted. But she was, so she didn’t – all she could see was the endless array of charts and computer displays swimming before her eyes.

“I have run so many simulations I feel like I’m stuck in a time loop,” she said as they all gathered around the output table. “I’ve recalculated all the parameters to the limits of possibility, sometimes beyond. And I can’t find any way we pull this off.”

“But the intel we just got – “ Gert was new, had been with them for less than twenty years, and hadn’t quite let go of the idea of being a superhero.

“That intel is what makes it so hard.” Gert frowned, and Nile quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic you were able to track it down. If you hadn’t, we’d be totally screwed.”

“So what’s the problem?” Lijie asked. She ran her finger along one of the infiltration routes in the display. “This looks straightforward to me.”

“The problem,” Nile said, “is the timing. Whoever lays those charges, they’re not getting out. Any delay long enough for exfil is long enough for them to be detected and disarmed by the security system.”

“But we’re shutting down the security system. I walked you through that just the other day. I’m telling you, it’s foolproof.” Jerrah, over 1600 years old, hated that Nile still referred to him as one of “the kids,” but his temper and defensiveness had not mellowed with age and at times like this she felt entirely justified.

She heroically resisted banging her head against the table. It would only scramble the schematics. “Your plan for shutting the system down is foolproof. It’s great. It will absolutely work. But what we didn’t know until recently is that it’s on an automatic reset timer that will boot it back up after a set amount of time. You’re welcome to review the programming,” she ran her gaze around the team, addressing them all, “in fact I’d love it if you’d all review the scenarios I’ve run. Just to be sure. But I’m telling you – the numbers just don’t work. The support team will be fine, but the one with the charges is not getting out alive.”

Gert laughed. “I thought that was the point of us. We don’t have to get out alive.” They looked around and noticed no one else shared their amusement. “What am I missing?”

Jerrah answered while scrolling through Nile’s calculations. “An explosion this size isn’t just going to take out the complex, it’s going to wipe out the whole atmo dome. Anything not secured will get blasted out of the gravity well. You remember about Quỳnh? This would be infinitely worse. Literally.”

“But what about – “

Step by step, Nile walked them through it. How any equipment robust enough to survive the explosion would make it impossible to complete the mission to cause the explosion in the first place. How fast the debris and bodies would be moving with no inertia to slow them down. The number of bodies there would be, and the limits of their ship’s sensors. All of it. The inescapable physics, and the impossibility of making that choice.

“We have to scrap the plan,” she said, “start over from scratch. We’ll find another way, somehow, to – “ Joe and Nicky had withdrawn a bit from the group and were having their own private conversation. This, too, should have been a sign: they didn’t do cross-talk during mission briefings, and through all the months of planning they’d taken this mission particularly seriously.

But Nile was too frazzled and distracted for this to register, so she just barked out, “Hey guys! Are we boring you? Or do you have something you’d like to share?”

Her friends, mentors, brothers, exchanged a final loaded glance and then refocused on the group. Nicky put his arm around Joe’s shoulders, and as he did so his sleeve rode up, just a little, showing an odd patch of dirt on the inside of his upper arm. She found herself staring at it without knowing why.

“Joe and I will lay the charges,” Nicky said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lijie snapped. “Nile’s right. Do you really think we’re going to just let you guys float around in vacuum forever?”

Three things happened simultaneously in an instant that felt to Nile like a lifetime:

…Nile noticed that the knuckles on Joe’s right hand were also weirdly dirty.

…and Joe said, “Of course not. We’re not asking you to.”

…and Nile thought Bruises. Not dirt. Bruises.

Then time slammed back into place and she cried out from the force of it.

And the room erupted into chaos.

[coldflasher]

the flash should have ended with barry quitting his job at ccpd to become a stay-at-home husband and that's on that

[thetimelordbatgirl]

With all the mystery around who Ruby is and who her mom is, I really, really hope it isn't actually the Trickster like others have been saying, because while yes it would be nice to see something from SJA appear in current DW, it also would just feel weird at this point as the Trickster was such a Sarah Jane villain that it just feels wrong to give him to the Doctor as an enemy just because Sarah Jane is gone.

[bookwyrminspiration]

you guys dont' understannd Im' literally losing my min dover this secret santa i am losing it I am going to scream I need you to promise me you'll scream with me when I post it you'll lose your minds too promise me okay because oh my GOD they're SO

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[gender-snatched]

You could not make me immortal because even if I faked my own death and left I would not be able to stop using ao3. Ao3 going back 100 years with 5k fics or something

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Twelve

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing, Actually Redeemed Snape

Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter Twelve: Everybody Make a Scene

Summary: Even inner House friendships are hard.

DRACO is burning with curiosity all the way to Professor Snape’s office, wondering what Harry could have meant about “officially” getting detention as well. Madam Hooch, upon her return, had asked for Potter’s whereabouts and with the students all speaking over each other to explain, she had dismissed them all before informing him, Ron Weasley, and Tobias O’Bannion that she would be speaking with Professor McGonagall to get a clearer picture of what had transpired while she was gone, so they were going to have detention and if the need for additional punishment was determined, they would be informed at a later date. They would also lose 5 points each per House, which Draco was unhappy about for all of a moment before realizing that it meant Gryffindor lost more points than Slytherin anyway.

He supposes that this meeting with Snape is in regards to this detention. He likes his Head of House and thinks the students from other Houses simply don’t like that he takes Slytherin’s side over theirs the way many other professors do. That being said, everyone knows how much he dislikes hearing they’ve been caught misbehaving, particularly in classes with the other Houses, as he wishes for them to always maintain the dignity of their House. If anything is going to get him in trouble, it is misbehaving in a class with Gryffindor and losing House points as a result.

When he reaches the professor’s study, he knocks and is told to come in. Professor Snape is seated at his desk, writing, but he puts his quill down as Draco enters. He motions for him to come over and sit, and only once he has, does he ask for an explanation of the day’s events. Draco obediently explains the events that transpired, ensuring he is being brief as, based on the way their Potions class is conducted, he’s determined that Professor Snape can be much like his father in these instances. He does not want excuses or explanations, he wants the important points, and nothing more.

“Getting onto your broom, against Madam Hooch’s explicit instructions to keep your feet firmly planted on the ground, was a lapse in judgment on your part that I hope to not see you repeat,” Professor Snape lectures once Draco is finished recounting the events. “However, as it was in response to Mr. Weasley’s clear instigation, I find myself not particularly inclined to punish you to the same degree. Your loss of points is punishment enough. I am changing your detention to a study hall session, to be served with me, where I expect you to do the homework you would otherwise be doing in your dorm.”

“Understood, Professor. Thank you, sir.” Draco tries to stifle a grin, knowing full well that Professor McGonagall is much stricter than the Potions master with her own students, so it is highly unlikely that Weasley and O’Bannion will get out of detention. Which reminds him that Potter somehow may have, and reignites his curiosity. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. I will escort you back to your dorm, Malfoy. Would not want Filch to think you are wandering about without permission.”

He has a point. The first years are discouraged from being out after dinner unless they are serving detention or, like this, with a professor as their curfew is the earliest of all the years. It is frustrating, but even if he were to refuse, the professor’s own quarters are somewhere down in the dungeons so he’s likely going in that direction anyway. At least this way, Draco can be sure he won’t run into the professor on his way back from the library, as he’ll have already turned in for the evening.

En route, the professor asks after his parents, and he imparts what he has gleaned from their letters. He takes the opportunity to ask some questions about Potions, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts, as Professor Quirrell is a disaster of a teacher. All of Slytherin knows that their Head of House appreciates intelligent students who take advantage that their Head of House is knowledgeable in multiple fields, especially if it is likely to improve their ability to answer questions and complete work in class. As his mother would say, it never hurts to keep on the good side of those who would best assist his growth here at Hogwarts.

“You have a good evening, Draco. I trust that I shall not hear you have lost us more House points again.”

“No, sir,” Draco promises. “Have a good night.” 

Snape nods his head and turns to go further into the dungeons. Draco provides the password required to get the stone wall to open and allow him into the Slytherin common room. He steps in, allowing it to close behind him, and then steps to the side. He makes a show of looking through his bag, in reality wanting only to allow enough time to be sure the professor is no longer in the hall, then he asks Theodore to drop his school bag on his desk while he returns to the professor’s office to grab something he’d left behind. 

Harry is being shooed out of the library and told to get back to his dorm by Madam Pince when Draco finally arrives. “There you are!”

“Sorry, Professor Snape insisted on taking me back to the dorm,” Draco explains, trying to catch his breath. “Now, what did you want to tell me?”

“Right, but you have to promise not to say a word to anyone,” Harry says gravely. “If Professor McGonagall finds out I’ve told anyone, she’ll definitely rethink punishing me for today.” He then goes on to explain how rather than scold him, she had taken him to meet the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and he’d been allowed to try-out for the Seeker position they are trying to fill.

“Good thing you gave me that Quidditch book,” Harry finishes with a grin. “If I get the spot, I won’t seem completely out of place.” 

“Yes, well, you’re welcome,” responds Draco with a grunt, obviously jealous. “Ugh, if only Slytherin’s team had an opening, I could use this to get them to let me try out too. You have to admit, my flying today was pretty amazing, right?”

Harry agreed, admitting he’d been impressed with Draco’s ability to maneuver around Weasley and O’Bannion. They had all done their bit of bragging, and while it had been clear that none of them were new to being on a broom, the Gryffindors had been visibly clumsier than the Slytherin. Draco’s pride was not misplaced, and it made Harry wonder how his own abilities might compare. It would be fun to figure out one day.

“Where are we going, by the way?” Draco asks.

“I wanted to see if Neville was still in the Hospital Wing,” Harry says. “Sides, you have to head back down anyway.”

“True. Are you going to get your own broom, or are they going to make you use the garbage school ones?”

They start talking about possible brooms the rest of the way, getting so engrossed that Harry has walked halfway down the marble staircase to the ground floor before he realizes he needs to go back to the first to get to the Hospital Wing. He stops there with Draco, reminding him he needs to go to the Hospital Wing before promising that he’ll try to remember to talk to McGonagall about trying to get the new Nimbus, if possible, even if it means pulling from his vault at Gringotts. He doesn’t remember what they cost, but he’s confident he has more than enough to get one in there. They are getting ready to say goodbye when the doors from outside open and in comes a group of Slytherin students all holding brooms. 

Harry realizes this must be the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he looks them over, wondering who among them is the Seeker for the team. They all glance over at the two of them, but ignore them as they head for the dungeon entrance, with the exception of a tall, muscular boy who raises an eyebrow and comes over in their direction. His dark brow is prominent, even more so with the scowl on his face, as it closes the very small gap between his hairy eyebrows so it appears as one big unibrow, and his teeth are distractingly crooked.

“On a date, Malfoy?” he asks. “You would do well to keep away from the likes of Potter and his lot. Wouldn’t want to turn into a blood traitor, now would we?”

Harry isn’t sure what exactly a “blood traitor” is supposed to be, but it’s obviously an insult based on the way this boy says it, and by the scowl it elicits out of Draco, who responds with an anger-filled, “Watch what you say, Flint.”

“Or what? Li’l first year’s gonna go running to mummy and daddy?” Flint mocks, laughing. 

Next to him, Draco’s eyes narrow, and he looks like he’s about to go down the stairs towards the older boy, but Harry grabs his arm. The boy is easily twice their size, so even without the possibility of magic they have yet to learn, he could probably easily trounce them. 

“How long do you think it took him to come up with that, Draco?” Harry asks instead, falling back on the one thing he always had over his more physically intimidating cousin. If this kid was anything like Dudley, he was probably as dumb as he was strong. “He clearly couldn’t wait to share it with you.”

It works to at least give Draco a moment to come to his senses, who takes a breath as if to calm himself down before he says, “Good question, but I’ve a better one. Hey Flint, after meeting your mother, I’ve always wondered: what is it like?”

“What?” Flint scowls, eyes narrowing at the question.

“What is it like being a half troll? After all, it doesn’t seem to have done you any good in looks or intelligence.”

“Why you little-”

They don’t stick around to hear the rest, or for Flint to come up the stairs. Harry and Draco take off running back up the stairs and down the first floor hall, Draco laughing uproariously at having made his housemate so angry. They head for the stairs to continue up to the second floor, the sounds of Flint yelling still behind them, so that they try to pick up speed hoping they can get far enough away to slip out of view.

Harry is just thinking that they should have tried to get to the Hospital Wing, where they might have been able to get safely under the watchful eye of a staff member, when he spots two familiar figures ahead. Hermione and Neville seem to be heading up to Gryffindor Tower, and when the sound of quick footsteps reach them, they turn around and share similarly shocked faces at seeing the two boys barreling towards them. 

“Harry? Wha-” Hermione starts. 

“No time!” Harry interrupts, grabbing her arm to pull her along.

“Move it, Longbottom!” Draco calls out.

“GET BACK HERE!”

The sound of Flint yelling down the hall gets the other two moving as well, and soon the four of them are running together up to the third floor. Harry starts to turn in the direction of the stairs to the fourth floor when he spots Mrs. Norris and he makes an abrupt about face. They can’t afford to have her following them, giving them away to Flint or worse, going off to find Filch. Everyone knew that the caretaker and his cat had an understanding, and she was his partner in crime when it came to catching students being in places or doing things that they shouldn’t. If they were lucky, Flint would run into her instead.

When they reach the Trophy Room, they duck inside and stop, all of them doubling over to catch their breaths. Harry stays near the entryway, keeping an ear out in case he hears the sounds of Flint heading in their direction.

“Wh-Wh-WHAT was that all about?” Hermione demands between breaths. “Shouldn’t you two be in the dorms already, especially after all the trouble you got in earlier? Are you trying to get expelled?”

“Oh, quiet, Granger,” Draco responds, straightening though his chest is still heaving. “Harry didn’t get in trouble at all; he was allowed to try out for the Quidditch team.”

She blinks at this information, surprised, while Neville gives his breathless congratulations. She recovers quickly enough, though, as she then says, “So that’s reason enough to be out after curfew? It’s very selfish of you, both of you, to just do as you please without regards to the rest of your Housemates.”

“Who-”

Harry cuts Draco off with a shush, emphasizing it with a wave of his hand, indicating that he can hear someone just outside. The voices are muffled, though, and he can’t tell if it’s Flint or someone else, but they seem to be getting gradually closer. He motions for them to go through the Trophy Room, into the adjacent room, which turns out to be an Armor Gallery. They make their way through quietly, occasionally looking over their shoulders and listening out for the possibility that the voices have gone into the Trophy Room, when Neville knocks into an armor. He tries, desperately, to keep it from falling over but only manages to hold onto a gauntlet as the rest topples over.

There’s a shocked silence as they all jump, staring at where it has fallen, and then they clearly hear not a student, but Filch yell out for them to stay where they are. 

“Run!” Draco hisses, taking the lead and making a beeline for the opposite door from whence they came. 

Neville drops the gauntlet and all three Gryffindors are hot on Draco’s heels, running as far away as they can from the Hogwarts caretaker. Harry quickly catches up to Draco as they hurl down one corridor after another, coming across a tapestry that they tear through to find themselves in a hidden passageway that spits them out not far from the Charms classroom. It’s pretty far from the Trophy Room, and so they all stop again to catch their breath. 

“I think–” Harry finally manages to say, though his chest is still heaving with the effort to catch his breath, “--we finally lost ‘em.”

Neville is sputtering and wheezing, and it’s only now that Harry notices that the wrist he’d injured in class seems to be fine. He points it out, and Neville tells him between gasps that Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts matron, had fixed him up in no time but kept him resting in the Hospital Wing due to his anxiety. 

“Glad you’re feeling better, mate,” Harry says. He straightens and looks around, getting his bearings before he starts to head down the corridor. “Think we should try to get back to the dorms before we’re caught.”

“Finally, a sensible plan,” Hermione mutters, but they’ve barely started walking again when they hear the sounds of voices at the end of the hall.

“Now what?” Draco whines. 

At first, they think it might be Filch, as he often talks aloud to Mrs. Norris while he patrols. The second voice is clearly Peeves, his teasing sing-song voice easily distinguishable. When the first voice is raised in anger, Draco and Harry immediately recognize it as Flint, though they can only make out his yelling at the poltergeist to get out of his way. As always, antagonizing Peeves is never the right move, and his response to being yelled at is to raise the alarm that a student is out of bed. It is guaranteed to bring Mrs. Norris, with or without Filch, to investigate, and the group immediately backtracks to find somewhere to hide lest they get caught up in the trouble. 

The need to hide becomes more urgent when they hear running footsteps that seem to be getting closer, and it occurs to all of them that Flint may also be looking for somewhere to hide from the caretaker. They pick up the pace, trying to remain quiet, but come upon a locked door. Harry, who is in front, pulls at it uselessly before Hermione shoves him aside, pulling her wand out to cast the Unlocking Charm they’d just learned that day. They tumble in, Harry pushing the door closed and twisting the lock on it as soon as Neville is through, and then he leans against it to try and listen. Hermione leans against it next to him to listen, forcing Draco to crouch down in front of Harry to do the same.

It means that when someone–surely Flint–throws themselves against it to try and open it, they all jump back in surprise, Hermione bringing her hands up to cover the yelp she nearly lets out. There’s a moment of fear, wondering if like they had just done, the older boy will use the Unlocking Charm to try to get in and find them, except it never happens. Harry tentatively leans back against the door, just in time to hear Filch’s voice. There’s a tug on his sleeve, but Harry shakes the hand off, trying to listen.

“Marcus Flint, think the Headmaster’s rules don’t apply to you, eh? Well, we’ll see what Professor Snape thinks about you being in the forbidden corridor.”

Harry’s eyes go wide with surprise, and this time when he feels the tug on his sleeve, he looks over to find Neville is the one pulling at his robe. His face is pale, eyes wide, but he’s looking at something behind Harry. He turns to look, and finds himself looking at an impossible creature: a dog with three heads, towering over them all, all three bearing their teeth as they growl. Harry thinks they must have caught it by surprise, perhaps it had been sleeping before they had so abruptly come barging in, but regardless it was clear that it was not welcoming their presence. 

Without taking his eyes off of them, his hand gropes along the door trying to find the lock so he can undo it and let them out. Sure, Filch taking them to Professor McGonagall would definitely lead to punishment, maybe even to her revoking his recruitment to the Quidditch team. Maybe he’d even be expelled! At least he would be alive and in one piece.

While it feels like forever, in truth it takes him mere seconds to find and undo the lock, then he’s pulling the door open and the four of them are collectively falling over each other to get out of the room. Draco, who manages to not fall over when Neville topples out and knocks into Harry, slams the door shut. He pulls his wand out with a shaking hand, but then stands there staring at the door without doing anything. It’s as if he is waiting for the dog to somehow open the door to follow them, but although it had been clearly growling when they were inside, from outside no noise can be heard. 

“W-W-We should g-g-go,” Neville stammers, scrambling to his feet, and the others nod.

Harry bids Draco good night, and then they all take off running, wanting to put distance between themselves and the three-headed dog as well as avoid the possibility of running into Filch once he is done dragging Marcus Flint to Snape.

Back in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Neville, and Hermione get into the common room and collapse into the chairs in front of the fire. It’s still early enough that there are still people sitting at tables, talking, playing games, and working on homework, but although they draw attention to themselves by bursting into the room, sweaty and out of breath, they are quickly forgotten in favor of other activities. 

“What could they be thinking, keeping a dog like that in a school ?” Harry asks once he’s caught his breath, though he keeps his voice low to avoid being overheard.

“N-N-No idea,” Neville responds. “M-Maybe it’s why i-it’s f-f-forbidden to go th-there?”

Hermione huffs, annoyance clear in every line of her body. ““You don’t use your eyes, either of you, do you?” she snaps. “Did you not see what it was standing on?”

Harry, who finds himself at the end of his patience with her, replies sarcastically, “I don’t know, the floor ? I was a little busy watching its three heads , in case you didn’t notice.”

“ No , not the floor ,” she says witheringly, glaring at him. “It was standing on a trap door; it’s guarding something, clearly.” She stands up, giving him a withering look. “I hope you’re happy. You could have gotten us killed, or worse���expelled. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

The last is said in such a way that Harry is sure she means quite the opposite, but he doesn’t respond as he watches her stomp away. Sure, maybe he and Draco could have ignored them and kept going on their own, but he didn’t know if Marcus Flint would have seen them and demanded they tell him in which direction they’d seen them go. Or if he would have instead taken out his anger and frustration on them. Not that she seems to care about that possibility; she was too busy being judgemental and calling him selfish. Well, he wasn’t going to apologize for trying to protect his friends.

~~~

Things are noticeably frosty between Harry and Hermione beginning immediately the next day. In fact, Hermione refuses to even look at him or acknowledge his presence in any way. She greets Neville like normal, but otherwise pretends Harry isn’t there, and sits elsewhere for breakfast. Harry doesn’t care, taking the first opportunity to instead talk to Draco about the trapdoor.

He reminds him and Neville of their conversation following their visit to Hagrid’s hut, regarding his birthday trip to Diagon Alley. If the three-headed dog was guarding something, chances were high that it was whatever Hagrid had pulled from the vault he’d emptied. It made perfect sense, but now begged the question of what it might be that required such a creature to stand guard over it, quite literally! Neville was less keen to find out, stating he rather hoped to never go near the dog again. Draco rather agreed, except he too was as curious as Harry.

For a week, most of their conversations center around the many possibilities regarding this treasure worth guarding. It serves to distract Harry from the try-outs that take place over the course of that week, which he’d been allowed to watch under the guise of serving one of his detention. In actuality, it had more or less been a real detention as Madam Hooch had made him help her clean and trim the school brooms. But he doesn’t want to admit he’s nervous about possibly not getting the spot to an older student, all of whom to his inexperience eyes had seemed just as qualified if not more so, with few exceptions. So instead, he encourages Neville and Draco to consider what is being hidden in the school, so that they spend countless conversations throwing out and discarding various ideas, until they ultimately decide that something as mundane as jewels and expensive magic items that can easily be bought wouldn’t warrant someone attempting to steal it from Gringotts. By the Friday the following week, they’ve exhausted all possibilities they can think of, and if it weren’t for the fact that they still are not speaking, Harry would ask Hermione for her thoughts on the matter.

That morning, however, gives them something new to think over. The morning mail delivery begins as usual, except for a large package carried by six owls, drawing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. Harry watches it, intrigued, as surprised as everyone else when it’s brought directly to him. He blinks in surprise, staring at it as another owl brings a letter that it unceremoniously drops on top of the package before flying off again. He tears it open to find a professionally typed letter, the letterhead for which reads “Quality Quidditch Supplies”, which read:

Mr. Harry Potter,   Please find enclosed the Nimbus Two-Thousand ordered by your guardian, Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall, on your behalf. She requested the following message be included with your purchase:   Congratulations on becoming the Gryffindor Quidditch Team’s new Seeker. Please be sure to keep your new broom out of sight; wouldn’t want your classmates getting jealous. Speak with Oliver Wood when you receive this for the practice schedule.   We at Quality Quidditch Supplies thank you for your business. We humbly request you and your guardian review our endorsement proposal, enclosed with this letter, and get back to us at your earliest convenience.

Neville, who had been reading over his shoulder, gasps. “A Ni-”

“Shh,” Harry hisses, slapping a hand over the boy’s mouth. “Not here. Let’s go.” Harry doesn’t bother skimming the rest of the letter before shoving it into his bag. Chances are high that Professor McGonagall already turned their offer down on his behalf, and she was likely to be very displeased that they’d sent him the package to arrive with the morning post, as it seemed she would have preferred it be kept secret. He had seen others receive things from their owls in their dorms after classes, in the afternoons before dinner, or even in the evenings afterwards. Nothing for it now, though, except to get out of the Great Hall as soon as possible.

Snatching it up, he gets up with the other boy scrambling behind him to follow. Across the hall, he catches Draco watching them, an eyebrow raised in question. Jerking his head towards the doors, he heads out the door expecting the blonde to follow suit. 

“You get the position? Is that your broom?” Draco asks, as soon as he catches up to them outside of the Great Hall.

“It’s a Nimbus Two-Thousand!” Neville declares as Harry nods yes to both questions, impressed despite his own continued fear of flying. 

The previous day’s class, for example, had seen him much too afraid of back on the broom, much less re-attempting the kick off he’d botched the week before. Harry had tried to help him, explaining as best he can what to do, but as Madam Hooch had declared him among those not needing further lessons, he can only help outside of class now. Hermione had looked annoyed to be told that she would benefit from another lesson, but Harry thinks that at least it means Neville will have her around the next class to help. After all, she’s not mad at him , so it’s only Harry she’s giving the cold shoulder to right now.

“Nice! What are you waiting for? Open it!” 

Harry looks around, but makes no move to remove the wrapping around the broom. “Professor McGonagall’s note said she didn’t want others seeing the broom just yet,” he explains. 

“Tsk.” Draco huffs, making it clear how he feels about it. “Would have been nice seeing Flint’s reaction. I overheard him and some of the Slytherins talking about how good of a broom it seems.”

Harry was sure that anything that might annoy the other Slytherin would make his friend happy. From his understanding, Marcus Flint had started attempting to bully Malfoy when their Head of House wasn’t around, but upon realizing how much the younger Slytherin enjoyed Quidditch, had gone instead to talking about how he would never put him on the team. It had crushed Draco realizing that he would either have to appease the fifth year student the rest of the year and into the next, when a position would open up with this year’s seventh year Seeker graduating, or give up on getting recruited until after Flint has graduated himself. 

“Anyway, you had better go put it away quickly, if you’re going to,” he says, waving Harry on. “If you’re late to Potions, Professor Snape will have your head.”

“Good point,” Harry concedes. 

He tells them both to go back and finish breakfast, and that if anyone asks, to tell them that he refused to open it and so they aren’t sure what it is and give whatever wild speculation they think might throw people off. Neville opts instead to go with Harry, explaining as they go that he doesn’t think he can handle it if everyone bombards him with questions.

In his own words, “I think I would get too flustered and I might let out that you’re the new Seeker, or that you’ve gotten a broom.”

They’ve just reached the first floor when they run into Professor Flitwick, who notes the package and congratulates Harry, as he’s been made aware of the special circumstances regarding his recruitment from Professor McGonagall. He asks after what type of broom he’s gotten, and seems genuinely pleased with hearing Harry’s gotten the best on the market. With no one else around by the two Gryffindor, he confides in a low voice that he looks forward to a team giving Slytherin a run for the Quidditch Cup this year. Harry thanks him, beaming with pride.

Saying goodbye to the Charms teacher, they’re caught off-guard when someone asks, “I suppose you’re pleased with yourself, getting rewarded for breaking the rules?”

Harry turns to find Hermione approaching, scowling at the package in his hand. It’s clear she heard at least some of the exchange with Professor Flitwick and knows what he’s holding. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me,” Harry reminds her, frowning. He takes her comment to mean his getting the position of Seeker, which he wasn’t just given . He’d been a nervous wreck all week, and the fact that she can’t even offer a congratulations hurts.

“Um, guys, d-don’t fight.” Neville looks nervously between them. He’s uncomfortable with them fighting, and feels helpless as to how he can help them make up with each other.

Not that Hermione gives him a chance to say anything, as she turns her nose up and walks away from both of them, heading down the stairs they just ascended. Harry huffs, annoyed at her inability to be happy for him, and goes to put his broom away. He hides it under the pillows of his bed, not wanting to risk the curiosity of any of his dorm mates getting the best of them so that they try to peek at what’s inside. Then, both boys take off running to ensure they arrive at the Potions classroom on time, albeit out of breath.

It’s a struggle for Harry to actually pay attention. Much as he likes Snape and wants to do well in the subject, his mind keeps wandering. He’s likened Potions in his mind to cooking back at home at the Dursleys’ place, only with much stricter recipes and cooking instructions. He thinks someone like Professor Snape, a master in the field, is probably much like a chef, who can make adjustments on the fly to get the desired result, but a novice like him had better pay attention. And he tries, he really does, but he still finds himself daydreaming about the broom upstairs enough that he adds the ingredients in the wrong order not once, but twice, so that he’s instructed to come back after lunch to redo his potion from scratch, and given an extra assignment of writing an essay to explain why the order of ingredients for this particular potion is necessary.

Neville at lunch tries to use the essay as a nudge for Harry to try to make amends with Hermione, with the reasoning that if anyone can help him with the explanation, it would be her, but he refuses to entertain the idea. She’ll want an apology or for him to admit she was right about his behavior the week prior, and he refuses to do either. He says he’ll talk to Percy and ask for his help instead, and then tells Neville to drop it. 

The only bonus is that having to essentially do an extra two hours of Potion after lunch makes the afternoon go by much quicker. Oliver Wood caught him on his way back to the dungeons to explain that their practice would be late as Hufflepuff’s team was using the pitch in the afternoon for their practice, and so they wanted to avoid them seeing Harry coming down. He would be their secret weapon, and as such, the goal was to keep anyone from finding out about him for as long as possible.

To that end, the twins end up serving as a distraction, playing a prank on Percy that has the common room in an uproar. Harry uses that time to sneak out with his new broom, Neville following as he’d promised Draco not to open it until the three of them were together. They meet outside the castle, and by the light of their wands, he unwraps the Nimbus Two-Thousand. They gush over it, with Draco explaining in much finer detail than either Harry or Neville could on all the ways the broom is an innovation over its predecessors, and then he extracts a promise from him to let him try it out for himself at some point in the future, once all the secrecy of his position is over and done with. 

Harry had worried that Draco’s loyalty to his House would mean him telling them about Gryffindor’s new Seeker, but Draco had said that while it was tempting, because he does want his House to win both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup, he also rather liked the idea of Marcus Flint losing face in front of everyone. After all, if he tries to get mad that Draco hasn’t said anything, he can point to the fact that even those in Gryffindor weren’t aware of their new Seeker, and he can’t possibly expect Draco to magically know something that Harry has managed to keep from his own Housemates. 

It’s a perfect excuse, considering that keeping the secret turns out to be the hardest thing Harry’s ever done. Oliver suggests after practice that he hide the broom in McGonagall’s office, considering the difficulty of hiding it in a shared dorm, and Harry’s glad upon his return to Gryffindor that he’d agreed. His roommates all want to know what the package was, some even speculating that it was a broom, but he quickly denies it, saying instead that it was a series of things that he’d bought for his Muggle relatives back home. It’s a lie none of them can possibly refute, considering that he never speaks of his family, and so none of them are aware of his actual relationship with them. Or the fact that they would never accept anything from the wizarding world. 

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of classes, homework, and practices. They never practice before seven, as by then nearly everyone is busy with schoolwork and studying so they are not out and about. If anyone asks about his whereabouts, he lies and says that due to his actions during the first Flying Class, he has multiple detentions with Professor McGonagall, to be served either with her or Hagrid, and as both Ron and Tobias were vocal about how miserable it was, no one questions it. In fact, they seem sympathetic, which seems to further annoy Hermione, although she never disabuses anyone of the lie.

Sometimes, particularly when he’s struggling with some of their reading assignments, Harry wishes they were still speaking. Hermione’s ability to explain things so they are easier to understand, and he thinks he would have a much easier time getting the work done so he can get more sleep each night, but he’s too stubborn and prideful to make the first move. Even if he does miss her company. Instead, he relies more on Percy, who is smart but not necessarily the most engaging tutor.

Turns out that as a fellow fifth year, he and Oliver are friends. When the Quidditch Captain catches Harry falling asleep over an assignment, he talks to the prefect, letting him in on the secret of their newest recruit and requesting that he try and help the first year so he doesn’t fall behind due to the practices. Much as Professor McGonagall may want the team to do well, their studies would always take precedence, and he fears that she would pull the new Seeker off the team if his grades seem at all affected by the constant practices.

Still, Harry finds that for the first time in his life, he’s genuinely happy. Classes are challenging, but he can study and put his all without having to worry that he might upstage Dudley by doing well. Perhaps he’s not the best student–that is undoubtedly Hermione, who never seems stumped by the material–but he’s certainly not the worst. Plus, overall, he likes his Housemates even if he’s not particularly friends with the other half of the boys of his year. His friendship with Draco has them believing he’d be better off in Slytherin, but he thinks they’ll change their tunes once the first Quidditch match comes around. 

Before he knows it, Halloween is upon them, marking two months since term began. The older students are abuzz with excitement, telling the first years all about the feast to come that evening. Most teachers also have a tendency of either teaching something tied to Halloween, or something fun to match the mood of the students. Professor Quirrel, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, uses his lesson to stutteringly explain how Eastern European wizards of the late seventeenth century helped the spread vampire lore among Muggles so as to allow them to find ways to protect themselves after a noticeable uptick in vampire killings among the Muggle population was noticed. Much of what modern-day Muggles knew of vampires was still fairly accurate, although they no longer actually believe in them. As far as Defense classes, it’s one of the more interesting, at least for the Muggle-born among them.

It only gets better when in Charms, Professor Flitwick announces that he feels they are ready to learn the Levitation Charm. As they all remember the way he made Neville’s toad fly about the classroom, they are all excited to get to it. Although the professor tends to pick their partners for them, which Percy once explained was his way of ensuring that students mingled outside of their direct friend groups, in a rare move he tells them he’ll allow them to pair themselves up. Due to the uneven number of students in their year–ten boys and nine girls for a total of nineteen Gryffindor first years–there is usually a group of three, which has allowed Hermione to stay with some of the girls. Today, however, Amos in his dorm woke up so sick that after one look at him, Percy had personally marched him to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey. He had yet to make an appearance, meaning that when the girls paired up like normal, Hermione was left to be paired with the one boy also left without a partner today: Ron Weasley.

No one else in their year butted heads more than the two of them, and Harry is tempted to offer to switch except he doesn’t think Hermione will appreciate it since they still aren’t talking. So despite feeling bad for her, he turns his attention back to the professor, who is reminding them of the wrist motion they’ve been practicing, as well as the fact that like many other spells, pronunciation and enunciation were key to performing the spell correctly. Then there is a chorus of Wingardium Leviosa as everyone begins attempting the spell.

Seamus, not unexpectedly, manages to set his and Dean Thomas’s feather on fire, to the laughter of those around them. It keeps Neville from prodding theirs with his wand lest he do the same, and the two struggle to get the combination of wand motion and pronunciation right. While they take turns trying and failing, Harry can overhear Ron and Hermione arguing as she tries to correct his pronunciation.

“You’re saying it wrong ,” he hears Hermione snap, not for the first time. “It’s Wing- gar -dium Levi- o -sa, not Levi-o- sa .”

Ron snarls at her, “If you’re so clever, then, you do it.”

Harry turns around to watch, trusting that if anyone can get this right and therefore give him a clue as to what he and Neville are doing wrong, it’s Hermione. He watches her roll up her sleeves, perform the flick and swish movement the professor has had them practice countless times by now, and recite confidently, “ Wingardium Leviosa .” Unsurprisingly, the feather does as intended and begins to float up into the air accordingly with the movement of her wand, until it is nearly four feet above their head.

Professor Flitwick is over the moon at how quickly she’s understood and executed the spell, bringing the attention of the class to it, as if they hadn’t already noticed the only feather floating about. Hermione is undoubtedly pleased with the praise, but Harry thinks that judging by the scowl on Ron’s face, it may have been better for the professor to not have singled her out.

Eventually, a few others manage it as well, to varying degrees of success. When class is done, they are all excused to go. Neville tells Harry to go on ahead, as he wants to get some pointers from Hermione as he had only managed to get the feather to float for a few seconds just before the end, and he wanted to understand what he was doing wrong. 

Harry agrees, offering to take his DADA book with him. After lunch they have History of Magic, and while Neville will only need that as he’s still taking the Flying class, Harry will also need his book for Magical Theory and he’d rather grab it now and then take his time eating, then have to wolf lunch down in order to run up to the dorms before History.

As a result though, he ends up going in the complete opposite direction of everyone else in class, so he misses out completely on the drama that ensues. When he gets to lunch and sees Neville, sans Hermione, he asks what happens and Neville fills him in on them overhearing Ron bad-mouthing Hermione to other boys in their House, calling her a nightmare no one could stand to be around, with even Harry being fed up with her. When she stormed off and someone pointed out she must have overheard, he had doubled down, saying she must have noticed she had no friends.

“That bloody arsehole,” Harry starts, moving to get up out of his seat to see where the offending git was seated. Neville grabs his arm and pulls him back down, pointing out that Harry can’t afford to get in trouble and end up with detention when he’s got practices to attend. 

“I’ll talk to Percy later,” Neville says. “H-He’ll say something to his brother. We should try to find Hermione.”

Harry agrees. He’d never intended to spend this long not talking to Hermione, and really, it was stupid that he hadn’t tried to make amends sooner. His previous desire to take his time with lunch is forgotten as the two boys eat quickly, and then attempt to find Hermione in the short amount of time they have left before class. Unfortunately, she isn’t in the Gryffindor common room, they can’t check the girls’ dorms, and the library also yields no results. They resign themselves to having to talk to her after History class, only to find that she isn’t there. When they point out her absence to Professor Bins, he tells them she was not feeling well and received permission to go to the Hospital Wing.

They rush there after class, but it’s to no avail. All they get is scolded for running in the halls by Madam Pomfrey, who tells them the only Gryffindor she has is Amos, who is currently sleeping. They’re baffled by this news, and go off to their respective classes, both deciding they’ll ask around. Draco seems not at all concerned, going so far as saying that he’s surprised no one has told her she’s insufferable before. It angers Harry, he makes a point of telling Draco that he’s disappointed to find he and Ron might be more alike than he thought. He’s well aware doing so will make Draco mad, but he doesn’t care in the moment, wanting only to lash out. Having been bullied by his own cousin for years, he knows all too well that no matter how much you don’t want it to, hearing mean things being said about you hurts. 

With neither one of them having any luck in locating Hermione, Neville goes to speak to Percy about their missing friend, Harry in tow. He’s gratified to see the prefect get visibly upset at hearing that his youngest brother was acting like a bully, but the feeling is short lived when he speaks to Annalena Murk–the other Gryffindor prefect–and she informs them that Hermione is not in the girls’ dorm. She tells them that chances are she’ll show up for the Halloween feast, especially if she skipped out on lunch. Neither is happy with this, but Percy assures them that if she doesn’t show up, he’ll personally speak with Professor McGonagall to inform her of what’s happened, leaving them with nothing to do except kill time until dinner.

They both give up fairly quickly on getting any homework done. They’re too worried and distracted. In fact, their worry over Hermione’s absence puts such a damper on their mood that everyone else’s growing excitement as the hour for the Halloween feast draws near is incapable of lifting. When it’s time to go down to the Great Hall, they trudge downstairs along with everyone else, Harry visibly annoyed at seeing Ron laughing it up like nothing’s wrong.

There is a moment of surprise and wonder at seeing the transformation that has taken place in the Great Hall, with the normal candles replaced entirely with floating jack-o’-lanterns that shine brighter than any Harry has ever seen before. Besides the pumpkins, live bats fly about the room, in large clouds that make the candles flicker, and singularly as they move between the walls and the unseen ceiling beyond the enchanted sky. All other meals since the start of term had plates along the center that seem to magically refill themselves without any discernible change to the quantity on them. Now, like that previous feast, the food appears on golden plates before their eyes once they have all been seated. 

The novelty is lost on Harry, though, when he looks up and down the row of students and fails to see Hermione among their numbers. Parvati Patil, coming over from Ravenclaw where she was presumably speaking with her sister, sees him looking around and comes over.

“Are you still looking for Hermione, Harry?” 

He blinks up at her, and then nods his head. “Yeah, have you seen her?”

“Lavender and I stopped at the girls’ lavatory on the second floor and heard her crying,” she tells him. “We told her the feast was starting, but she asked to be left alone.”

“All right, thanks.” Harry and Neville frown at each other, unsure of what they can do now. It wasn’t as if they could go marching into the girls’ restroom to go find her. “We should let Murk know.”

Neville nods, and they get up to do just that. She tells them she’ll go check on her once she’s finished eating, and encourages them to enjoy the feast in the meantime. Reluctantly, they sit back down, Neville commenting that perhaps they should try to grab some food to take up with them for Hermione. 

They’re only just settling in to eat when Professor Quirrell comes sprinting into the Great Hall. “Troll!” he yells as he goes, stopping only when he’s reached the staff table, where he leans heavily. He’s standing in front of Dumbledore, gasping for air as he says, loud enough for most of the room to hear in the silence that has fallen upon his entrance. “Troll–in the dungeons–thought you ought to know.” Then he falls over in a dead faint.

Immediately, the room erupts into a roar of sound, as multiple students begin screaming. It isn’t until multiple purple firecrackers get shot into the air by Dumbledore that it quiets down, the headmaster speaking into the silence immediately.

“Prefects,” he calls out. “Please lead your Houses back to their dorms.” Then he turns to instruct the teachers.

Professor Snape stands and adds smoothly, “Slytherin, as the troll is in the dungeons, you will head up to the Hospital Wing until we can be sure the way to the Slytherin dorms has been cleared.”

Percy is in his element, calling for order and instructing the sixth and fifth years to take the lead with the fourth through first years following, and the seventh years–and therefore the most magically experienced–taking up the rear to ensure the safety of the first years. The only other House as organized turns out to be Slytherin, and so the two Houses depart the Great Hall almost simultaneously, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff close on their heels. The prefects take turns calling to the students in their House to try to maintain some semblance of a line so they can ensure no one accidentally follows the wrong House in all the confusion.

There is still some mixing up of students, as some practically jog in an attempt to get away from the Great Hall and the nearby entrances to the dungeons quickly, while others have trouble keeping up in their panic. Harry and Neville find themselves not far from Draco, who looks paler even for him, and it’s clear that the thought of a troll in the dungeons is as terrifying to him as it is to Neville. 

Taking pity on his friend, Harry sidles up next to him and asks, “How do you think a troll got into the school?”

Draco looks over at him, surprised, and admits, “I have no bloody idea, but wait until my father hears about this. If I get even close to being injured, he will have that old coot’s head for certain.”

Harry thinks that it would be warranted. He may not have Hogwarts history memorized, but he was pretty sure that a troll getting into the school was rare, if not completely unheard of until now. He rather wishes Hermione were here so he could ask her, as she would definitely remember such a thing being mentioned in Hogwarts, A History . 

Suddenly, he grabs both Neville and Draco by the arm as he stops, realizing that at least one person is still unaware of the danger. Some students who walk into them complain about their being in the way, and Harry comes to his senses enough to pull them both aside.

“What are you doing?” Draco demands, watching as his Housemates go by.

“Hermione. She’s in the girls’ loo on the second floor. She doesn’t know about the troll.”

“Oh no,” Neville moans. “W-We should tell Percy.”

They look around but there are simply too many students for three eleven-year olds, none of them particularly tall, to spot one specific student. Even with the Weasleys’ distinctive red hair, all they can see is a mass of bodies jostling each other to get to their destinations quickly. 

“They said it’s in the dungeons,” Draco reasons. “She should be fine on the second floor.”

“What if she decides to go to the Great Hall?” Neville asks, already thinking of the worst case scenarios. “Or worse, what if the troll doesn’t stay in the dungeons? Oh no, oh no, this is bad.”

He’s starting to panic, and Harry’s grip on his arm tightens. “Calm down. Let’s go try to find a prefect, any prefect. It doesn’t have to be Percy. One of them can find a teacher for us.”

“Wh-What i-i-i-if we don’t find one on ti-ti-time?” Neville asks worriedly, his anxiety making him stutter.

Harry, who had already started pulling the other two boys along down the hall, stumbles to a stop. What if they couldn’t find someone on time? They were only on the first floor right now, just past the stairs, but already he couldn’t see any of the Hufflepuff students. They must have already broken off to get to their dorm, meaning there were two prefects they were guaranteed not to find. The Gryffindors were headed up to the seventh floor, but they might be too late if they have to climb all the way up there and then come back. He has no idea where Ravenclaws are going, so they would have to grab those prefects before they broke off from the crowd as well, with no knowledge of what they even look like. 

“Hurry, let’s see if we can find someone,” Harry says, practically sprinting. The Slytherins are heading for the Hospital Wing, so if he can’t find the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw prefects, that might be their best bet. “We at least know where the Slytherins are going.”

He’s running up the steps, jostling other students and calling quick apologies as he does, with Neville and Draco on his heels. Draco keeps calling him, but Harry doesn’t stop until they reach the third floor. Once there, he breaks off from the crowd of now mostly Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students to catch his breath. Neville follows suit, breathlessly asking a Ravenclaw girl for her prefect, but she either doesn’t understand or she doesn’t know, as she shrugs and quickly pulls away to keep going. Harry tries again while Neville catches his breath, but once again there’s a shrug as the boy he’s asked waves vaguely ahead of him. A Gryffindor seventh year, bringing up the tail end of the Gryffindor students, spots them and tells them to move along and not get left behind, but she doesn’t wait to see if they follow her. 

Harry looks down the hall where he can see a few Slytherin students heading towards the Hospital Wing, but Draco grabs him and shakes his head. “Look, I guarantee the Slytherin prefects aren’t going to leave the Hospital Wing with a troll on the loose,” he tells him. He thinks, but does not say aloud, that they aren’t stupid enough to endanger themselves for some Muggleborn first year.

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters. He seems to have an internal debate, looking towards the Hospital Wing, the stairs back down to the second floor, and then in the direction of the stairs leading up to the fourth where the other students have disappeared. He’s quiet for a beat before he finally makes a decision and declares, “Fine, then I’m going to go get Hermione.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco argues. “She’ll be fine . You expect a troll to come up to the second floor from the dungeons ? Let’s say you’re right, and you do: what can you do against a troll ?”

It’s a valid question, but truthfully? “I don’t care,” Harry replies. “We can’t just leave her there.”

“I-I-I’m c-c-c-coming with you,” Neville announces, though he’s visibly shaking.

Draco scoffs. “ You ? Some backup. Well, I’m going to the Hospital Wing, with the rest of my House, like I’m supposed to. Good luck and try not to get yourselves killed.”

He turns on his heels and marches away from them in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Harry’s disappointed, but he can’t say he doesn’t understand where Draco is coming from. He really doesn’t know what he’ll do if the troll is down there, but he’s sure the same goes for Hermione, and he kind of blames himself that she’s spent the afternoon crying alone. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, she might have felt they were good enough friends for her to come to him– them , him and Neville–instead of crying by herself.

“Come on, Neville.” They head for the stairs, and are barely halfway down when he hears steps behind them and he turns to find Draco has run back.

“Ugh, if you get me killed, Potter, I will haunt you for all eternity,” he declares. Then he grabs Neville and shoves him back up the stairs. “You go find one of your prefects. They’re more likely to listen to you than me.”

Neville nods his head and takes off at a stumbling run. He is more likely to find Percy or Annalena, knowing the direction to their dorms, Harry thinks. But more importantly, he rather appreciates that his best friend is willing to have his back in this, when he very clearly would rather they not do this at all.

“Thanks,” he says, before taking the lead.

They rather hope to run into a teacher along the way, even if it means getting in trouble for not doing as they’re told. A sense of foreboding seems to follow them with every step, so that every little sound–real or imagined–makes them practically jump out of their skins. When they reach the girls’ restroom on the second floor what feels like an eternity later without incident, they are too relieved for words. Instead, Harry knocks on the door before opening it slightly and calling to Hermione within.

“Go away.” Comes the sniffled reply from within.

Glad to hear her voice, he opens the door all the way and steps in. “Hermione, you are here. Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“I already told Parvati and Lavender I’m not hungry,” she says, audibly annoyed. Her voice seems to be coming from the last stall, which is confirmed by it being the only closed stall door. “And what are you doing here? Do you just think none of the rules apply to you?”

Draco, who had been lingering in the open doorway, follows Harry into the room. “Move it, Granger! We don’t have time for this.”

“ Malfoy ?” Hermione pulls the stall door open.

“Please, you can scold me on the way upstairs,” Harry reasons, coming forward to grab her now that she’s come out of the stall. “There’s a troll loose in the dungeons; we can’t stay here.”

“What? A troll ?” Hermione is trying to pull her arm away as he manages to pull her halfway across the room, clearly not believing them. “What are you talking about?”

Before Harry can respond, they all freeze at the sound of grunting and shuffling footsteps. Draco moves away from the restroom door, trying not to make a sound as he backs up towards the other two, and then a foul stench hits them. Draco gags while Harry coughs and tries to cover his nose and mouth with one arm, still holding onto Hermione with the other while she tries to use both hands to cover her own face. They all look up almost simultaneously and watch in horror as the ugliest creature they’ve ever seen comes shuffling through the doorway.

The ceiling over the door breaks from the sheer size of the troll, who straightens once inside to his full, towering height. Harry can’t tell exactly how tall it is, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was over ten feet tall, possibly much bigger than that. It certainly looked to be the size of a house, with its head appearing only just shy of the vaulted castle ceilings above it. Everything about it, from the dull, granite color and lumpy appearance of its skin made it seem like a walking boulder someone had attached tree trunks to in order to give it limbs. Its head, by contrast, was ridiculously small, like a tiny gumball set atop a football. Its long arms hung low, almost ape-like, along its side with one large hand gripping a large club nearly two-thirds the length of its arm. 

It wore rags that seemed to be some semblance of clothes, and the smell coming off of either them or the creature itself was bad enough to make Harry’s eyes water. But he did not dare blink as the troll’s mean little eyes took them in, and it lumbered ever closer. The club it was dragging knocked into the sinks along the wall, causing them to break, one of the pipes bursting and shooting water everywhere.

“What do we do, what we do, what do we do?” Draco demands, backing away from the troll.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Any ideas?”

He can see Draco shake his head from the corner of his eye, but Hermione is behind him and he can’t see her. He can, however, hear how heavily she’s breathing and he thinks she might be having a panic attack right now. He hopes Neville has managed to find someone, anyone, but even if he does, they have to stay alive long enough to be rescued. Harry’s eyes move from the troll, to the door behind it. The castle’s many lavatories are all fairly big, meant to accommodate many students, but the troll’s size makes it seem so much smaller than it is. There is no space underneath the stalls for them to try to crawl underneath the partitions, and with it destroying the sinks, they can’t crawl underneath those either.

Frankly, it seems like their best bet may be to try to run around either side of the creature, and attempt to get around it. It’s unlikely they’ll all manage it, but if even one of them can, they can try to lure it out into the corridor where there’s more room, assuming it doesn’t just decide to go for the easier targets still trapped inside.

“I think we’re going to have to try to get around it,” Harry says. The only saving grace is that the thing is moving at a steady, fairly slow pace, possibly due to its size. “One or two of us go left, the other goes right, and if someone manages it, try to get it to follow out into the corridor maybe?” Actually, Harry thinks maybe he can try to slide between the thing’s disgusting, horned feet, as the floor is now slick with water.

“Are you insane?” Draco practically yells, causing the troll’s glance to move over towards him. 

“Do you have a better idea?” Harry demands. The troll swings its gaze back to him, all the time moving steadily forward, while the three of them continue to move back. Hermione has still not said a word, but when her back hits the wall, she lets out a small squeak of surprise, and Harry finally looks back at her.

She’s clearly terrified, eyes wide and focused on the troll. He looks at it himself, then turns around completely to face her, shaking her a little. “Hermione, when I say go, you have to try to get around the troll on its left side,” he explains. She shakes her again until she looks at him, and asks, “Do you understand? On my signal, move along the stalls and try to get around it.”

“I guess we’ll go right?” Draco asks, eyes moving towards the sinks. He realizes that although getting over the broken pieces may be tricky, the fact that it has destroyed a lot of them means there’s slightly more space between it and the wall, if they can just safely get around the club its dragging along.

“Yeah,” Harry says, thinking it best to not say what he’s really planning. Last thing he wants is for them to argue about it. “All right, everyone ready? Ready…set…”

Before he says go, he takes off running at the troll, causing Hermione to gasp and Draco to demand what he’s doing. He does not answer, simply yelling “Go!” as planned, as loudly as he can, to draw the trolls attention onto himself. Harry doesn’t look up, hoping to not psych himself out, certain that if he hesitates, he’ll surely end up dead.

Draco takes a moment to get over his shock, and then he’s shoving Hermione to prompt her to move towards the left while he goes right. His hesitation turns out to work in his favor, as it prevents him from being close as the troll drags its club forward, breaking more sinks as it moves to swing it at Harry, who never slows down.

The troll swings the club downwards, causing Hermione to scream, certain that it’s going to manage to catch the other boy, but at the last second Harry dives forward and ends up sliding across the floor right between its legs. Draco takes advantage of the trolls surprise to clamber over the broken sink pieces, managing to get around it, but his feeling of triumph is short-lived. Behind them, the troll’s focus has moved back to Hermione due to her scream. She’s trapped herself inside a stall, and it moves to lift the club.

“Oh no, Hermione!” Harry is standing next to Draco, frantically looking around for something he can use to draw the troll’s attention. He grabs one of the broken faucets and lobs it at the creature, yelling loudly for its attention. “Oy! Pea-brain! Over here!” 

Draco thinks that the yelling is what does it, as it doesn’t seem at all phased by the piece of metal that hits it. He thinks this is undoubtedly the stupidest thing he has ever done in his entire life, but still, he grabs another broken off piece of sink and throws it at the troll, adding his yells to Harry’s to cause it to lumber towards them. Slowly, they backup towards the door, hoping to draw it out of the bathroom completely before it remembers that there’s another person still trapped inside.

It’s working, and Harry dares to hope that they’ll actually get it out into the corridor before his hopes are dashed. The floor is still wet, and he is soaked through from his slide across the floor. It gets tangled in his feet, and he falls backwards with a loud, wet flop . The troll seems to sense his opportunity, as it draws the club over its head, ready to swing it down towards him. Draco tries to draw its attention, but it does not look away from where Harry is scrambling to get back on his feet. 

Then from behind them, someone yells, “ Oppugno !” Draco turns, and the relief he feels at seeing Percy, a Weasley of all people, has his knees buckling as his legs lose all strength to support the rest of his body.

Harry watches as the spell hits the troll’s club, yanking it from its grasp as it roars in surprise. He feels a hand wrap around his arm and yank him to his feet, and then Percy is shoving him out into the corridor towards Draco. They watch, astonished, as the troll tries to grab at the club before there is an audible crack as it connects solidly with the creature's head, and then it’s lumbering forward like a fallen tree, and crashing into the floor. Silence reigns with the exception of the sound of water still bubbling out of a broken pipe, and then Percy is calling into the restroom in a strangled voice. 

“Hermione?”

Timidly and shaking, Hermione comes out from the stall she’d been trapped in. “I-I’m here. Is it dead?”

With a sigh, he says, “I don’t think so. Come on out of there.” He directs her to come around the thing, reaching out a hand to help her once she’s close enough to grab it. 

Percy’s so pale that the freckles on his face visibly stand out. Harry thinks that from this day forward, if he ever hears the twins ragging on their studious older brother, he’ll tell them they should hope to be half as brave or smart as he is. Without hesitation, he had single-handedly taken down a troll , and saved all three of their lives. At the very least, he had saved Harry’s. 

Loud footsteps draw all of their attention  down the corridor, and they all look over to see Professor McGonagall running towards them. Not far behind her is Professor Snape, with Professor Quirrell bringing up the rear. They slow down as they catch sight of the four of them, Professor McGonagall’s gaze seeming to assess them quickly before moving on to the bathroom beyond them and the destruction within, surrounding a clearly unconscious troll. When he spots it, Professor Quirrell faints dead away again, and Harry can’t help thinking that he makes a poor Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher if he can’t handle even seeing a troll, and an unconscious one at that.

“What is going on here?” McGonagall demands, oblivious to her colleague lying unconscious behind her. Snape, for his part, goes around all of them to inspect the troll inside. “What were all of you thinking? You could have been killed! I want an explanation this instant !”

They all look at each other, none of them seeming to know where to start, when both Hermione and Percy speak up at once. 

“Please, Professor–they were looking for me.”

“I can explain, Professor; this was my fault.”

The two look at each other, as McGonagall glances from one to the other, before she opts to listen to her prefect. “Explain, Mr. Weasley.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Percy says. “I was made aware prior to the Halloween feast that Miss Granger had not been seen for some hours. I meant to inform you of this if she failed to show up, but forgot in trying to get all the other students upstairs. Mr. Longbottom made me aware of the fact that she was done here, and that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy had come in search of her, and I found them cornered by the troll.”

“Did it not occur to you two to go with Mr. Longbottom in search of a prefect?” Professor McGonagall asked, looking from Harry to Draco.

“We tried,” Draco insists, crossing his arms. Of course they were going to get in trouble for trying to do something nice.

“There were just so many people,” Harry adds, “and when we asked, no one could point anyone out. We thought we should try to come get Hermione before she could wander down to the Great Hall on her own while Neville went looking for Percy.” Then, thinking that if any prefect is going to get in trouble, it shouldn’t be Percy he adds, “We’d told Annalena about Hermione being here during the feast.”

This information causes McGonagall to press her lips in a tight line before she looks over at Hermione. “And why, Miss Granger, were you not with the rest of the students earlier?”

“Well.” She hesitates, and looks over at Percy briefly, and she seems torn on whether to tell the truth or not.

Percy saves her the trouble. “It appears that my youngest brother may have been bullying Miss Granger earlier today.” This doesn’t seem to improve McGonagall’s mood, as she lets out a sigh. Professor Snape comes back at that moment, asking Percy if he is the one who took the troll out. “Yes,” he admits sheepishly. “I cast the Oppugno Jinx when I saw it was trying to swing its club at Harry.”

“While I admire the fact that you both thought of Miss Granger’s safety,” McGonagall says, looking from Draco to Harry. “You should not have come down here yourselves. If Mr. Longbottom had not informed Mr. Weasley of your whereabouts, all three of you may have been killed. And Miss Granger, if you are having trouble with your Housemates, I expect you to reach out to the prefects or myself–that is what we are here for.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the three first years chorus together. 

The remorse they feel is clear, and standing in a line just in front of Percy, they look in a sad state indeed, especially Harry, who is still visibly drenched. She eyes them for another quiet moment, before looking over at Snape. They seem to come to a silent agreement before she speaks again.

“You all were very lucky. I hope you learn from this,” she tells them. “That being said, I am very proud of you for looking out for each other in such a situation. I will be awarding five points to each of you, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, for coming to assist Miss Granger. As well as to Mr. Longbottom, for his assistance in notifying a prefect.

“As for you, Mr. Weasley, not many fifth year students would have the knowledge or presence of mind to take on a mountain troll on their own to come to the rescue of three younger students.” There is no mistaking the pride in her voice as she says this, and she does manage to smile at him. “For that, you will earn an additional 20 points for Gryffindor. I will be sure to notify Molly and Arthur of what an upstanding Gryffindor they have managed to raise.”

Percy looks shocked, as if he’d been expecting punishment instead of the praise being heaped on him. “If none of you are injured, you may go to your respective Houses as they will be finishing their feasts in their dorms, and classes tomorrow will be canceled,” she tells them. It is now that she looks around, spots Professor Quirrell and lets out yet another sigh. “We will attend to things here.”

“Mr. Malfoy, please let your Housemates know I shall be at the Hospital Wing shortly to escort you all back to the Slytherin dorms,” Professor Snape says. Then he steps aside to speak to a portrait that has up to this point been watching them intently. After a moment, the gentleman in the painting nods his head, then scurries off into the other paintings.

Percy thanks the professors, then instructs the three of them to come along. They’re all quiet as they walk to the stairs and climb up to the third floor, the Gryffindors escorting the sole Slytherin among them by silent agreement. When they are close enough to see the doors of the Hospital Wing, though, Draco stops, causing the others to stop as well. They all share awkward looks, then all three first years speak up together, looking at Percy.

“Thanks.”

The prefect flushes red in embarrassment. “It was nothing,” he says. “It’s my duty as a prefect to ensure the safety of all students, especially first years.”

“Thanks to both of you too,” Hermione adds, looking from Harry to Draco. “I…would’ve been in real trouble if you hadn’t come…”

It’s Draco’s turn to look embarrassed, a visible pink tinge creeping into his cheeks. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it get to your head.” He bids them a goodnight, then rushes off to the Hospital Wing doors to pass on his Head of House’s message to the rest of the Slytherins. 

Percy, Harry, and Hermione continue on up to Gryffindor, where they are greeted by the loud sounds of their Housemates enjoying the feast that had been cut short below. No one seems to notice their return except for Neville, who looks relieved upon sighting them as he rushes over and pulls Harry and Hermione into a tight hug. Over his head, they smile at each other, glad to be back in the safety of their common room, surrounded by their classmates.

Soon, they’ll regale everyone with the night’s events, testing the limits of just how red in the face Percy Weasley can get in one night as they dramatically recount his arrival at the most crucial moment. It will give the twins a new way to embarrass their older brother, as they spend the weekend announcing the arrival of the Hero of Gryffindor, Percy Weasley, Savior of the Boy Who Lived wherever he goes until he threatens to feed them both to the next troll he finds. But it will not change the fact that he is a hero, and that his relationship with a small group of first years, as their relationship with each other, has irrevocably been changed.

[obsesssedblerd]

"Who's your new teacher?"

Synopsis: Toji meets Megumi's new preschool teacher and immediately develops a crush.

Pairings: single dad! toji x f! reader

Wc: 2.3K

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, a tiny bit of angst, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft, mentions of shiu, shiu and toji work together, shiu being an idiot (lol sorry he'll get love in another fic) , everyone is happy bc I said so

a/n: omg, first fic, we made it! barely proofread, sorry for mistakes. also, tysm for 1,000 followers here! the other two fics that were on that poll will be coming soon!

update: pt 2 here

-------------

Toji’s Fushiguro’s muscles ache. The job he took was harder than he anticipated, and it took way longer than it was supposed to. After confirming that the payment from the job is in his account, he calls Shiu Kong so he could check in on the kids. “About damn time,” Shiu scoffs when the line connects. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t hear from you until sunrise.” 

“Job’s done,” Toji says as he gets into his car, settling into the drivers’ seat with an exhausted sigh. “I hear the TV in the background. Better be cartoons or something age-appropriate.” 

Shiu laughs. “Of course, what else? ‘M not getting cussed out by you. Anyway, you comin’ back with Megumi? Can’t believe you took him on the job with you. Once you’re back, I can get out of here.” 

Toji’s heart nearly stops. He sits up in his seat, gripping the phone so hard that the screen nearly cracks from his strength. “The fuck did you just say?” 

“Huh?” 

“Megumi isn’t with you?!” Toji’s voice booms in the car. On the other line, he hears Shiu gulp. “I… I thought he was with you.” 

“You idiot! I asked you to pick him up from preschool around the same time you pick up Tsumiki from her school because I knew this would take a while!” 

“You did?!” Shiu asks, and then it goes quiet; him more than likely flipping through his messages to double check. “...Shit,” he breathes out. 

Toji inhales sharply, then exhales shakily in an attempt to calm the rage, and even the fear that pools in his gut. “If anything has happened to my fucking son, Kong, I will murder you and make your death look like an accident. Keep an eye on Tsumiki.” 

“Fushiguro, I swear, I-” Toji hangs up before Shiu can explain himself further, then he starts the car. 

He grips the steering wheel hard, and his breathing picks up as his mind spins with every horrific scenario possible. The preschool closes at six thirty. It was close to nine. He didn’t see any missed calls from them. On a normal day, he’d be done before work with plenty of time to pick up his four year-old son, but today’s job was far more difficult and required more time. 

The car speeds down the street leading to his destination. He’s half-expecting to see Megumi sitting outside with his backpack, clinging to his dog plushie and crying. Or worse, he’s not there at all; because this world is full of terrible people, and they won’t hesitate to steal a small, unsupervised boy. His heart aches at the thought, and he shoves it away before he feels the need to throw up. He’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. Everything is going to be fine. 

—

When Toji arrives at the preschool, he rushedly parks lopsidedly in the lot, then exits the car. His eyes scan the steps leading up to the front, and when he doesn’t see Megumi outside, he rushes to the door. 

He sees a security guard in a booth, and before Toji can even ask any questions, the guard gives him a small smile and nod, pressing a button that unlocks the door to the preschool with a click. Toji’s shoulders slump in relief. They were expecting him. That meant Megumi is still here and safe. 

Toji nods back at the guard in thanks, and rushes down the dimly-lit hallway. He sees a light coming from a classroom that still has its door open, and he slows his steps when he hears a child giggling. His child. 

Then it’s followed up by a beautiful, melodic laugh that makes him stop in his tracks. It’s a lovely sound; one that his heart skips to, and one that gently rings in his ears even plenty of seconds after it stops. 

Toji peeks into the classroom to see Megumi comfortably resting in a pillow fort, and you, kneeling beside a lamp and using your hands to make shadow puppets on the wall to entertain him. “Alright,” you say softly as you rearrange your hands and fingers. “What’s this one?” 

You smile as you watch Megumi hum thoughtfully, and Toji is transfixed by you. Who are you? Where did you come from? Since when did Megumi get a new teacher? Why is your smile so bright and so beautiful that the sun would envy? Why is his heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of you? Fuck, why is he staring? 

“Ooh!” Megumi gasps as he figures out the animal you made with your hands. “Rabbit!” 

“Correct, great job!” You reach forward and give him a high-five. “I think you’ll really like this next one,” you say, and Megumi giggles again as he sits up, completely focused and ready to guess. “Ready?” You ask, and the boy nods. 

Toji crosses his arms, quietly leans against the door of the classroom, and watches, unaware of the soft smile that creeps onto his face. When you put your hands in front of the light, and the shape of the animal displays in front of Megumi, he squeals excitedly and stands up. “Doggy!” He shouts with a wide grin and pulls up his favorite dog plushie that he takes with him everywhere, imitating the sounds a dog would make. You break out into laughter, and Toji nearly stops breathing so he can fully take in the sound of it again.

Beautiful, he thinks. You’re so fucking beautiful. 

Megumi’s eyes flicker towards the door, and he gasps before running as fast as he can towards Toji. “Papa!” 

“Hey, Megs.” Toji kneels down, hugs the small boy against his chest before picking him up in his strong arms, sighing in relief as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s okay, and he doesn’t look too upset that he was here for this long. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah!” Megumi pulls away, then gestures towards you, who watched the tender reunion with a sweet smile. “Ms. [Y/L/N] played so many fun games with me!” 

“Aw, I’m so happy you had fun, Megumi.” You take a step closer so you’re standing in front of Toji, slightly lifting your head upward to meet his eyes due to his height. “We tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Megumi said that it does that sometimes. He took a nap earlier, but I’m sure he’ll be sleepy soon after all of those games. I also gave him dinner earlier.” 

“That’s… I just-” Toji struggles to find words, especially when you slightly tilt your head to the side and blink slowly. He exhales, then snaps himself out of his daze. “Thank you so much,” he says. “Are you new? I swear, I’m not usually this late.” Great. Megumi’s pretty teacher might think I’m just the worst parent on this damn planet. 

You nod. “Yes, I’m new. Today was my first day with this angel,” You use a finger to gently boop Megumi’s nose, and he smiles, shyly burying his face into Toji’s shoulder, “and the other kids. I figured you might’ve been held up at work or something. It’s okay. Things happen. Besides, he’s such a well-behaved kid. I didn’t mind spending this much time with him.” 

Toji places Megumi on the ground, then gently taps his shoulder. “Let’s grab your stuff, okay?” As he helps Megumi pack his backpack, Toji bites back a smile when he sees you watching him out of the corner of his eye. He notes the way you fiddle with your hands and avert your gaze after catching yourself. 

You walk over to your desk and open a drawer, pulling out three suckers from a sealed jar. Once Megumi had all of his things packed, you kneel before him, handing him the suckers one by one. “Here you go. One for you, one for your sister, and one for your dad. I can tell he works really, really hard.” 

Toji doesn’t hide his smile this time; it was impossible, especially when Megumi accepts them excitedly. “Candy! Thank you!” He hugs you gently, and you return it, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “You’re so welcome. Thanks for being so sweet today. You made my first day so fun.” 

A muffled gasp coming from outside has the three of you looking towards the window. Toji sees Tsumiki’s face squished against the glass with her usual, excited smile, and Shiu Kong standing beside her, looking relieved when he sees Megumi safe and sound. He purposely avoids Toji’s glare. 

The sound of Megumi’s small yawn gets his attention, and Toji’s gaze softens when the boy rubs his tired eyes. “Aw, ‘m sorry. It’s past your bedtime. Let’s get you home.” He leans down to pick him up again, and once you have your belongings, the two of you leave the building together. 

When you three make it outside, you face Toji and Megumi. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Megumi,” you say quietly to him, who is slowly beginning to drift off. Then you look up at Toji, who is softly smiling at you. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, too, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, you will.” 

You wave goodbye, and Toji makes sure you get into your car safely. “Hey, Megs,” Toji gently shakes Megumi as he watches you drive out of the parking lot. “Do you know her name?” 

“Ms. [Y/L/N]” 

He chuckles. “No, kid, her first name.” 

“I dunno,” Megumi mumbles before closing his eyes and resting his cheek on Toji’s shoulder. “Sleepy, papa.” 

“Ah, there they are!” Shiu exclaims, and Toji would’ve thrown a punch if his son wasn’t in his arms, and if his seven year-old daughter wasn’t happily skipping towards him. “Hi, papa!” 

“Hi, sweets, how was school today?” 

“Good,” Tsumiki says, then grins mischievously as she points to the spot where your car was just a minute ago. “You like her!” She teases. “You wanna hug her and kiss her and give her chocolates!” 

“Alright, you.” Toji rolls his eyes and laughs softly as he uses his free arm to lift up a giggly Tsumiki, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Both of you should be in bed. Let’s get home.” 

“Aw, okay.” Tsumiki then leans forward to gently kiss her sleeping baby brother’s cheek. “Night, Gumi.” 

Toji secures both Tsumiki and Megumi in his car, and then faces Shiu, who is smiling nervously. “Well, look at that. Megumi’s doing great and you even developed a crush. How cute. All’s well that ends well.” 

“Very cute, but guess what?” 

“What?” 

Toji finally throws a swift punch at Shiu’s jaw, greatly holding back his strength so it wouldn’t break. Shiu stumbles, then groans, cupping his face with his hands. “Okay, fine, I deserved that.” 

“Damn right,” Toji says as he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “See you later.” 

—

Toji almost never stresses about his appearance in the mornings. After all, it was just dropping off the kids. But this morning, he frets over which shirt would look better with the jeans he picked out, if he should wear a different type of cologne, or if he should slick his hair back. 

All because he’s seeing you again. 

He decides to skip the new cologne and go for his usual, simple one, dresses in a dark shirt to match the jeans, and also ditches the idea of slicking his hair. Once the kids are ready for the day, he leaves early and goes to a coffee shop to pick up a medium cup of coffee. First, he drops Tsumiki off at school, then he takes Megumi to preschool. 

Toji spots you almost immediately. You were out in the front amongst the other preschool teachers, parents and their kids, wearing a gorgeous yellow top and simple blue jeans. When you see Toji and Megumi approaching, you pause your conversation with your coworker and walk over to them. Toji decides that he likes that, and that he loves the way you kneel in front of Megumi to meet his eye level, telling him good morning and asking if he was excited for the day. 

You raise to your feet, Toji hands you the cup of coffee he purchased earlier. “For you,” he says, “As a thank you for everything yesterday.” 

“Aw.” Your eyes light up as you accept the cup. “Mr. Fushiguro, this—” 

“Toji,” he corrects softly, and he ignores the way his heart stutters when your smile grows. 

“Well, Toji, this is lovely. Thank you so much.” 

“I never caught your name last night.” 

You tell him your name, and Toji tests it once. From the way you shyly avert your gaze, he can tell you that like the way it sounds in his voice. Megumi clears his throat, and Toji looks down to see him staring up at him, his brow raised in suspicion. “You never stay this long. Don’t you have to go to work?” 

Damn, kid. Thought we were on the same team. 

You laugh as Toji rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Megumi—a gesture that the four year-old returns immediately. “Well, he’s right, gotta get going,” Toji says, looking back up at you. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yes.” You nod, then point to the warm cup in your hands. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a great day at work.” 

“You too.” Toji then gently ruffles Megumi’s hair. “Be good.” 

He doesn’t realize how big he’s smiling until he’s back in the car, and he sighs as he remembers Shiu’s words from the night before. A crush. That word seems so silly. He’s not a teen in high school. Toji looks up just in time to watch you take Megumi’s hand and lead him inside the building with the other children, and he chuckles to himself as he starts the car up.

Maybe “silly” was okay when you’re this pretty.

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[helaintoloki]

Hey I want to request something since I saw your request was open. So can you do a fic where five and y/n ( they are already married) end up in the deli with the other fives.

Basically there are only few fives that have a y/n but she's died in their timeline. So basically it's just the other fives wanting to know more about her abd the fives telling their stories of their y/n

Y/n absolutely loves the attention she almost sequeled when she saw the other fives lol.

a/n: so this actually ended up turning into a more depressing piece than i planned LOL but the original intention is there

warnings: language, angst, mentions of death, light amount of fluff

summary: your search for answers leads you to a deli with multiple versions of your husband inside

As the danger of the impending apocalypse finally begins to sink in for Five, he realizes he needs to get you somewhere safe until he figures out a way to stop the world from ending. Thus, while his siblings continued to fight off the monstrous cleanse that was Ben and Jennifer, Five quickly grabbed hold of you and jumped you both to the only place he could think of.

You stumble over your own feet as your body adjusts to being dropped into a new setting, your hand quickly raising to shield your eyes from the bright neons that hang above you as you take in your surroundings. A subway car comes to a screeching halt in front you, and before you can protest Five is quickly ushering you inside.

“Five, where are we?” You demand, completely disoriented from having been transported away from the fight without warning and preoccupied with worry at the thought of your family fighting against the Cleanse without you both present. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you somewhere safe where you can stay until I figure out how to undo this mess,” he instructs you hastily, his lips pulling back into an exasperated frown at your resistance to enter the subway car. He doesn’t have time for you to fight him on this, his siblings need him, and he needs you away from the fight. Though you’re skilled at combat and wickedly smart, you don’t have powers, and Five can’t risk something happening to you while he’s preoccupied with saving the world.

“You’re leaving me?!” You exclaim in distress as panic immediately begins to take over your rational mind. You push against him harder to move away from the train, but despite all your efforts the boy doesn’t budge.

“It’s only temporary, I promise you,” he assures you, and when you shove him hard in the chest once more he tightly takes hold of your hands and brings them to his lips to comfort you. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, somewhere with a beautiful house and a garden full of strawberry bushes. I found it while exploring other timelines in search of clues on how to prevent the apocalypse, I know it’s safe because I went there alone. You can stay in the house until this is all over and I’ll come back for you.”

“Five, what if…” you swallow harshly as tears begin to well in your eyes, your emotions overtaking you at the thought of this being goodbye, “…what if you don’t come back?”

Five refuses to meet your gaze when the question leaves your lips. He’d never lie to you, and he knows he can’t guarantee he’ll live long enough to join you in the peaceful timeline he’d found, but he doesn’t have the heart to voice this to you. How can he look you in your tear filled eyes and tell you that this might be the last time you’ll be together as husband and wife?

Sighing, he releases your hands in exchange for cupping your face so that he may brush away the tears that slide down your warm cheeks. He hopes that one day you’ll be able to understand that every moment leading up to this has been for you, and he would happily die a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

You open your mouth to argue only to snap it shut when your gaze falls over his shoulder and lands on another figure in the subway. You blink away your tears to get a better view and are left speechless when you realize you’re staring back at the face of your husband.

But how can that be when he’s standing right in front of you?

Noticing your change in demeanor, Five follows your gaze and spots the lookalike that stands across the way from you both. His features contort into confusion as you both watch the second Five offer you a wave in greeting before disappearing down the stairs. Exchanging looks of uncertainty, Five and yourself immediately rush after the doppelgänger to figure out just what exactly is going on.

Your quick chase leads you both to the front doors of a deli, the dazzling sign above welcoming you warmly as you cautiously open the doors and set foot into Max’s despite Five’s protests to wait. If this other Five has the answers you need to return home safely together, then you’ll stop at nothing to get them.

Your originally confident demeanor quickly dwindles when the restaurant becomes deathly silent upon your entry. While you only expected to see one Five, you now find about twenty of them staring intently at you as you slowly walk towards the lookalike from the subway that waves you over to his table. Five is quick to rush after you and place a protective arm around your waist; you’re not the only one unsettled by their stares, and he feels uncharacteristically territorial in the presence of himself.

“Have a seat,” the subway lookalike offers with a gesture towards the empty space across from him, and you’re both quick to slide into the cushions at his command. “I’m glad you found me.”

“What is this place?” Your husband demands impatiently as another Five dressed in a waiter’s uniform approaches your table with three cups of coffee in hand.

“This is where all the Fives come after they decide to give up on figuring out a way to stop the apocalypse.”

As he speaks, a plate of pie is suddenly placed in front of you, and before you can even open your mouth to question it, the waiter offers you wink and assures you, “It’s on the house.”

Picking up the fork, your eyes widen in surprise as you realize what specific dessert has been given to you. Looking up at the Five across from you, you ask, “How did he know that-“

“Pumpkin pie is your favorite?” The lookalike finishes for you with an amused smile before leaning back to take a drink of his coffee. “We all know that, because we all know you.”

“Me?” You repeat quietly, brows drawn together in confusion as you look to your husband who seems rather displeased with all of the attention you’re getting. He never once thought to think of himself as potential competition over you, but it figures. Who better than himself to sweep you off your feet?

“Mind telling me why you all seem to have such a great interest in my wife?” Five demands with a wry smile, eyes blazing with annoyance and a subtle hint of jealousy.

“‘Your’ wife?” The Five behind the deli counter scoffs in amusement. “Take a number, pal.”

“What deli Five means to say is that each and every one of us has our own y/n in our own perspective timelines,” the boy across from you clarifies before gesturing to the the back of the shop. Your eyes widen in shock as you take in all the various pictures of yourself that line the wall from top to bottom, and it takes you a moment to process the fact that various versions of you have existed throughout time unbeknownst to you.

“My y/n was a trained assassin,” the Five at the table next to you describes with a dreamy smile before biting into his sandwich.

“Mine was sent alongside Hazel and Cha Cha to kill me,” another voices while pulling down the collar of his shirt to showcase the ghastly scar on his chest. “She gave me this along with three beautiful kids before I screwed it all up with this end of the world bullshit.”

“If you all care so much about her then why did you give up trying to save the world?” Your husband protests in agitation. Your search for answers is going absolutely nowhere, and you’re both left with more questions than solutions. If these doppelgängers were really meant to be him from different timelines, then why did they quit so easily? His sole purpose, his entire being, was doing everything in his power to ensure the safety of his family. Come hell or high water, Five would always be willing to get his hands dirty if it meant you and his siblings lived to see another day. So why weren’t they doing the same? “Why come here instead of preventing the apocalypse so she has the chance to live a safe and happy life even if it means you can’t be in it?”

A forlorn silence fills the deli at his question, and now none of the Fives can find it in themselves to look at you. Their features are almost shameful, their eyes full of guilt and their shoulders full of tension as no one dares to answer.

“When us Fives find a way to save the world, y/n is the one that pays the price,” the boy across from you discloses somberly before tilting his head to meet your gaze. Looking at you is like looking at a ghost, and he has to stop himself from reaching out to you as if you are his own. “The Handler killed my y/n after discovering my betrayal of the Commission.”

Another Five raises a woeful hand before announcing, “Viktor killed my y/n on accident with his bow after he discovered his powers.”

“My wife took a bullet for me because she thought my life was worth more than her own.”

“Dad had y/n disposed of in my timeline because he saw her as a distraction to me and my siblings.”

“Cha Cha tracked us down, found our home, and burned it to the ground with y/n still in it while I was away trying to save the world.”

You swallow harshly and ignore the knots in your stomach at hearing all the violent ways in which other versions of you had met their end. Your heart aches at learning what these men have been through and how much they’ve lost, but it also makes you begin to wonder if your fate will be worse than any story they can come up with. Sensing your discomfort, Five wraps a comforting arm around your figure and pulls you closer into his side.

“No matter how many times I traveled back to make it right, the result was the same,” the boy across from you relents in a desolate tone. “If I couldn’t even keep the most important woman in my life safe then how could I expect myself to save the world?”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you murmur softly, taking it upon yourself to reach across for his hand and offer your comfort. “I’m sorry for all of your losses. But as a y/n myself, I don’t think she would have wanted you to give up. She would have wanted you to keep going in spite of her death because that’s what she loved about you- your strength and your resilience when it comes to saving the people you care about.”

“God, you sound just like her,” he comments with a doleful laugh before shaking his head and pulling his hand away. “Believe me, I did everything I could. But no matter what we do, there’s no escaping the apocalypse.”

“So that’s it? There’s nothing we can do?” Five retorts in disbelief. This was all a complete waste of his time. He’s nowhere near close to preventing the Cleanse, and you’re still not somewhere safe away from the impending apocalypse.

“You can enjoy the time you have left with your y/n,” the lookalike instructs firmly, the other Fives in the deli nodding along. “You got lucky, you still have your wife, so why don’t you do us all a favor and take her somewhere nice?”

“I’m not giving up on this,” your husband argues before hastily rising from his seat in the booth. “There has to be a way to save the world, and I won’t stop until I figure it out myself.”

You watch him stalk out of the deli with purpose as he slams the door open and begins to formulate his next move. The room is silent other than the bell that jingles above the door, and you take this as your cue to leave.

“I should probably go after him,” you admit with a meek smile before scooting your way out of the booth. The Five from the subway rises to meet you, and he can’t help but to carefully cup your face in his hands and admire your features for just a moment. This might be the last time he’ll ever get to see you in person, and he’d like to commit every detail of you to memory from the reflection of the light in your eye to the smell of your perfume.

“If he ever gives you any trouble, you know where to find us,” he instructs you firmly before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and releasing you from his hold. Smiling faintly, you return the gesture by chastely pressing your lips to his cheek before rushing off after your husband.

Who would have guessed that in every timeline, in every possible version of himself to exist, Five’s love for you knows no bounds.

[hor3nee]

• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

   Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i’m visualizing a fic where reader goes off to fight with their dragon and comes back to jace being furious that she would endanger herself and feelings are revealed…. can you make that happen? xx🙈

Request: Being dragonseed and getting close to jace during the trainings. Maybe she claimed silverwing or vermithor? She goes to battle while he is not there and jace is STRESSED

Request: Jace sneaking out to check on the girl he secretly loves

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Jacaerys took it upon himself to teach and train the dragonseeds, he didn’t think his loyalty to his betrothed would be challenged. Since the beginning of war, his bond with Baela became stronger and they got closer, but as he watched you atop Silverwing, hair in the wind and soaring over the water, he felt things he never felt before. 

Was it the blood of the dragon, although thin, that was calling to him? Or was it the sight of a woman on a large dragon? Jacaerys couldn’t tell. What he knew was that he never felt that way when Baela was riding Moondancer. 

‘’What do you mean, she went to the Riverlands?’’ he shouted at his mother, all manners forgotten.

Rhaenyra met his glare with a calm gaze. ‘’The Greens are marching up to Harrenhal. I sent her to meet their army before they reach the Riverlands.’’

‘’And what of Vhagar?’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice rising as he thought of the beast that had devoured his little brother and his dragon in a single bite. ‘’They know Daemon has taken Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, they brought their biggest dragon to fight him.’’

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. ‘’It is a high possibility, but Silverwing is a large dragon, as you said yourself. Y/N will handle Vhagar if Aemond dares showing up.’’

‘’She is not ready to go to battle.’’ Jacaerys’s fists clenched at his sides, making up the worst scenarios in his mind. ‘’You sent her to her death!’’

‘’I needed to send a dragon. It was Silverwing or Vermithor.’’

‘’Why did you not send Vermithor?’’ 

‘’Because I didn’t want to reveal our biggest asset to the enemy,’’ Rhaenyra said, her brow furrowing as she noticed her son’s agitation. ‘’Why are you so agitated? The dragonseeds were your idea, Jace. We have to send them on the battlefield at some point.’’

The reasons the search for dragonseeds began was to get more dragons on their team, but also to not risk their own in battle by using those with blood 'thinner' than their own as fodder. It was selfish and evil, but losses are inevitable during a war. Better be a stranger than someone you love. 

But now, his plan had backfired.

‘’She’s not just a dragonseed!’’ Jacaerys snapped, his eyes blazing with anger and worry. ‘’She’s—’’ He stopped himself, realizing how much he had revealed in his fury and the implication of what he was about to say. 

Rhaenyra spoke his name softly, finally figuring the nature of her son’s worries, but he turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye. 

⁂

When night came, Jacaerys was unable to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. All he could think about was you fighting against Vhagar…and losing. 

If you didn’t return from the Riverlands, he would never forgive himself for encouraging you to claim Silverwing. 

Finally, Jacaerys could not take it anymore. He sprung out of his bed, changed into his riding clothes and slipped on a cloak. Quietly, he sneaked out of his quarters and started heading towards the hills where he knew Vermax liked to sleep. Rhaenyra would be furious in the morning when finding out he went to the Riverlands without her approval, but he needed to go to you. 

‘’Lyka (quiet), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys said as he mounted the dragon, not wishing to alert anyone of his nightly adventure. The poor thing was whining and confused why his rider was waking him, but obeyed his command. 

They set out into the night, flying towards the northwest. The wind was cold, biting through Jacaerys' cloak, and the darkness was absolute with no moon to guide their way. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of Vermax's wings, cutting through the icy air.

After what felt like hours of flying blindly in the night, Vermax began to screech, a high-pitched, urgent sound that pierced the silence.

‘’Sagon gīda (be calm), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys commanded, trying to calm his dragon. But Vermax continued screeching, his eyes darting around as if he had seen something human eyes couldn’t. ‘’What is it, Vermax?’’ 

Vermax's screeches grew louder, more insistent, and Jacaerys felt a surge of unease. He strained his eyes, peering into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. He knew that dragons had senses far keener than humans, capable of detecting things long before they were visible.

‘’What do you see?” he muttered, more to himself than to Vermax, as he tried to understand his dragon’s distress.

Vermax couldn't understand the common tongue, but his behavior made it clear that something was wrong. He twisted his head, sniffing the air, and let out another screech, this one more urgent and filled with warning.

Jacaerys suddenly realized what it could mean: Vermax had detected the scent of another dragon. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the dark skies for any sign of movement. The thought of encountering Vhagar in the pitch-black night sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to steady both his dragon and himself.

Then, through the darkness, he saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Realization struck him hard. 

‘’Silverwing,’’ he breathed, understanding now what Vermax had sensed. 

Immediately, Jacaerys commanded Vermax to descend. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that he had not reached the Riverlands yet. If Silverwing was down here, it could mean you were injured. Dragons were known to stay by their rider's side and guard them when they were vulnerable — or dying.

The prince's heart raced as they descended, his mind filled with worry. As soon as Vermax touched ground, he dismounted and scanned the area frantically, searching for you. 

Silverwing screeched loudly when Jacaerys got close, the sound stirring you from your sleep and snapping into alert. You reached for your dagger sheated at your hip, ready to stab whoever would try to get close.

‘’It’s me,’’ Jacaerys quickly said before you could touch him. 

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you said with a frown. ‘’Has Her Grace sent you looking for me?’’

Jacaerys stayed silent. His mother did not care much for you — or any of the dragonseeds. 

The sight of blood on your hands sent his heart into a frenzy. ‘’Are you hurt? What has happened?’’ 

He kneeled beside you, and you let out a small hiss. ‘’I'm not on my deathbed, my Prince,’’ you reassured. ‘’I saw the Green's army marching to the Riverlands. They were definitely surprised to see a new dragon had been claimed by the Blacks. I engaged in battle, burning several of them, but their archers started shooting arrows at us. Silverwing dodged them the best she could, but I received one in my leg…’’ You glanced down where the arrow used to be, blood seeping through your clothes and down your leg. ‘’I know I should not have taken it out, but the pain was too much.’’ 

‘’It’s okay.’’ Jacaerys drew his sword to cut a piece of his cloak to make a bandage for your leg. ‘’All that matters is that you’re alive.’’ He began wrapping the piece of his cloak tightly around your wounded leg, but not so tight it would cause you more pain. ‘’I…I was worried about you.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow at the prince. ‘’Me?’’

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and your wounded leg. ‘’Don't do that again. Going alone in a battle. What is Vhagar had been there?’’

‘’Why? Because I’m a woman?’’ 

‘’No.’’ Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’No, that’s not— When I didn’t see you at training this morning, I thought you were in the village helping your parents with the sheeps. But Baela informed me that you had been sent to the Riverlands at first light to meet the Greens and all I could think about was Rook’s Rest. What Vhagar did to Luke, and Rhaenys… Gods, if you were the next to fall, I would not handle it.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’Aren’t I just a paw in your mother’s war? I’m not stupid, my Prince. Dragonseeds don’t matter to Her Grace. She just want the power of our dragons.’’ 

‘’I care. I care about you. I care so much about you that I could not sleep without knowing if you were okay. I would not have taken flight in the middle of the night if I didn’t care about you.’’

His words hung in the dark night, the air filled with his confession. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you processed his sudden confession. This conversation felt like forbidden territory. You were a shepherd’s daughter and he was a highborn prince, betrothed to a princess.

‘’You…you shouldn’t say things like that,’’ you finally murmured, averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. You tried to hide the fact that his words made you feel things you shouldn’t.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, then slowly reached out to tilt your chin, his fingertips gently tracing over your skin. ‘���I should, because it’s how I feel.’’ He leaned closer. His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

‘’What of Baela?’’ you managed to ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest, torn between desire and loyalty.

He shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. ‘’I don’t feel strongly for Baela the way I do for you,’’ he confessed.

—

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[allophonicmess]

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 1

Remember that inspo I posed the other day? I coudn't let it go and decided to write a three part fic based on it.

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool& Wolverine, descriptions of a panic attack, angst, implicaded age gap

word count 2k

No beta and English isn't my first language

there will be fluff later on but sadness first:

Too Sweet

Logan felt a great mix of emotions since he had followed that red-ass clown Wade into this universe. Most of it was anger, confusion, rage… But In that moment as he was sat on the black beat-up couch among Wade’s friends… He was overwhelmed.

Not by sensory overload, although that casserole that blind Al had made did stink up the place with garlic-

He was overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness, joy and companionship of the people around him. He hadn’t felt that way in ages if he ever did at all. He never felt that way with his team before everything happened.

He liked them, sure. But this company of weirdos shared a Kinmenship he never got to experience.

“Hey, Peanut! Are you angrily staring off into space to allow for good exposition?” Wade had plopped down on the couch right next to him. His jeans-clad thigh rubbed right up to his. At this point, Logan had given up on trying to keep him out of his personal space.

The older man frowned and stared at Wade next to him. His beer was getting warm but he didn’t feel like giving up his spot on the couch.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He huffed, taking another sip of his beer. But Wade just clicked his tongue, scooting even closer to Wolverine.

“Aww, you know what I mean! You are big and gruff and don’t talk that much… It’s kinda hard to capture you in writing you know. There are only so many words in the English language to describe your grunting and-“

“Are you done?” Logan sighed, finishing his drink. He was starting to regret coming with Wade. Getting drunk in some shit hole of a bar sounded better than listening to Wade's babbling.

“See! That’s what I mean. Sigh is nice, sure but it doesn’t quite capture the nature of those beautiful noses you make, big boy.” Wade petted Logan's thigh, which the older man quickly pulled away as he stood up abruptly.

“Jesus fucking- Can’t you annoy someone else? You got all of these muppets to talk to. Stop bothering me god damn it.” Logan placed the empty bottle down on the couch table. He scanned the room, looking for someone else that Wade could annoy to death. His eyes landed on the brunette… Vanessa… He knew that something had been going on between Wade and her. He never told him the details but from the pining look Wade gave her and the sad as fuck sighs he made, it was clear that the motherfucker wasn’t over her.

“Go and talk to the girl for god's sake. She might be the only one here to appreciate it.” He grinned at Wade, enjoying how his stupid grin faltered even for just a second. He leaned down on Wade's level, whispering to him in an overly joyous manner. “It might even get you laid.”

They stared at each other for a hot minute. Both men tying to provoke the other into action. But Logan was getting bored so he pushed “I might try if you don’t have the balls-“

“Fine!” It came out way too loud. Wade got up quickly trying to keep up his jolly attitude. “Fine, I will. But not because you said so.”

“Or threatened you.”

“You didn’t threaten me.”

“Sure, if you need to believe that” Logan got back onto the couch, now stretching out lazily across it. He closed his eyes, pretending to snooze.

There was no witty comeback, which surprised Logan. But it only came to show that Wade was serious for once.

Logan would never tell but he warmed up to Deadpool. He respected the man, despite his annoying and borderline brain-rotting bad humour. But he had principles. He cared for those around him, loved them dearly and would do anything to protect them. He did in fact. Logan spread out on his worn leather sofa is proof of it. He hated to admit it but Wade was the better man of the two. He didn’t let those he loves down, running away like the drunk asshole Logan is. Wade would have come to help her, would have-

The obnoxiously loud ringing of Wade’s apartment doorbell ripped Logan out of his self-deprecating talk. He blinked against the bright ceiling light and watched as Wade sighed softly. He had just started his conversation with Vanessa and it seemed to be quite a good talk from the looks of it. He seemed frustrated to be ripped away from it. Wade nodded softly, towards Vanessa, excusing himself but he was stopped by Colossus.

“No please Wade, I get it. You seem to be engaged in an interesting conversation.” The 7’5’’ metal man said, touching Wade by the shoulder to turn him back towards to woman. Logan huffed, he wasn’t the only one trying to get Wade laid.

The giant stomped towards the door, turning the doorknob that looked comically small in his silver hand to let the latecomer in.

“Hi! I’m so sorry for being late. I still had to finish some work. It’s the end of the semester, you know how it is.” A sweet voice called from outside.

Then two things happened at the same time. It was like a push and pull.

Ellie, Yukio, even that odd taxi driver… they all turned towards the door in excitement. Smiling and wooing at the woman that just entered the apartment with a cake carrier tucked under her arms.

Logan on the other hand? He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He sat there, staring as Colossus pulled her into a big hug, lifting her off the ground before taking the container off her hands to allow the others to greet her. She was smiling, laughing at some joke Ellie had cracked at her.

She looked younger. Maybe she was, who knows how time worked in this universe. Or it was the lack of stress she had to face, no heartbreak, no constant rejection from a bastard that couldn’t see that the best thing was right in front of him.

“Ah, there you are! We were starting to miss you!” Wade pulled her into a tight hug. He seemed to be content. And the older man cursed himself for even caring about it.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, or so he hoped. Maybe she didn’t know him. It would be for the best.

“Yeah, I already told Piotr, I had to finish some lesson planning at the academy before the school year is over.” She replied as she greeted Vanessa and the rest of the group.

“Oh right. You are the only one that actually knows what she’s doing at that school.” Wade joked, earning a playful remark from Colossus.

So she also studied at a human university before starting at the school, Logan noted. He was still stuck on the couch, feeling unable to move as he kept staring at her.

“You know her?” The sudden comment coming from right next to him made Logan flinch.

“Whoa, relax man. I just noticed you staring at her for like 5 min straight. And you don’t seem too happy about her being here.” Ellie stood next to him, casually watching the scene just as he did.

“None of your fucking business.” Logan managed to spit out. While he did get startled, the interruption helped him to finally feel able to move again. And it happened just at the right moment. He needed to get the fuck out of there.

Ellie just huffed, watching Logan get up on shaky legs. It could just be from the constant level of alcohol in Logan’s blood, making his knees weak, or the age. But she suspected that there was more.

Yet Logan’s attempt at a quiet escape was hindered by Piotr, calling him to come to the kitchen to introduce the two.

“Come to kitchen! I want you to meet my good friend Y/N. She also works at the school. You will like her”, the man sounds proud. He should be.

Logan ignored him, pushing his way through the small crowd with shaky steps. Why was he sweating for god's sake?

“Logan!”

“No” He called, breathing was getting harder again.

“Logan!”

“I’m good! I’m-“ He finally reached the door, rattling the doorknob and cursing that his fucking fingers got shaky. Everything was too loud and too hot and too-

“Wade, it’s fine. He doesn’t have to.“ She tried to stop the two men next to her from calling the man over. He was clearly in distress and it hurt her to watch him fumble on his way out. There were only so many people that were scared of her outside the battlefield.

She had met “their” Logan, but only briefly at some anniversary event. They had simply mismatched their time at the school. He left shortly after Y/N started working and they hadn’t met much. She wondered what the other her must have done to him to cause such a reaction.

Finally. Fucking finally. The door opened and Logan simply burst into the hallway, rushing down the steps to feel the air rush back into his lungs. A fucking embarrassment. That is what he was. The Wolverine scared shitless by a woman that doesn’t even know him.

But the other one did and it killed her.

“Logan, what in the ever-loving- fuck was that?” Wade had run after him. He just couldn’t leave it alone, could he?

“Fuck off.” Logan breathed weakly. He felt tears prickling in his eyes and it made him hate himself just a little bit more.

“You just running off? Scared of a girl?” Wade kept pushing, following Logan as he walked down the familiar street towards his bar of choice. That being the cheapest and quietest he could find in the city.

“Scared you can’t get one off? I don’t wanna make predictions but man, I think she is into the dark brooding type” he kept pushing “ Or you know what? If I can’t get Vanessa laid I might try with her, I mean she is quite-“

That made Logan snap. Turning around and impaling Wade against the closest wall. Both sets of claws out and push into the other man's torso. He only groaned in return.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking-“

“Okay, okay, whoa ow… man-“ Wade coughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “ I was only joking man. Unfair. Fuck. I am unarmed-urgh”

Logan retracted the claws letting Wade drop to the floor. He knew the man was joking, he should. But it was all too fucking much too soon. He wouldn’t let it happen again. And how to best prevent the inevitable heartbreak? Don’t even let her get close, to begin with. She didn’t deserve it. She never did in the first place and he would do anything in his power to stop it from happening to her.

“So, you are just leaving me hanging? It’s your party too, you know.” Wade got up, inspecting the bloody holes that stained his new shirt. He cursed softy.  “Damn, it was brand new. Ruining a perfectly good shirt for the exposition”

“Don’t wait for me,” Logan said, turning away from Deadpool. A cheap bottle of whisky was waiting for him to calm his nerves and forget about that fucking stunt. He won’t see her again, not even talk to her or talk about her. It’s for the best. She would agree if she knew,  Logan was sure of it.

New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

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