#I have several fic related plans for the next month and yet today my brain decided I had to brainstorm another caitvi fic idea while I drov

[bonesandthebees]

I was on my feet working all day I'm so tired and blegh I'm debating if I wanna just curl up in bed with my book and tea and call it a night or if I should try to brainstorm/plot out future fic plans...

[valdemart]

A New Experiment (NSFW ValdemarxReader)

I made a nasty Valdemar fic because I’m 🎵Human Garbage🎵

It’s Valdemar so warnings for medical kink, mentions of gore (I don’t think its that intense), dead bodies, some swearing, and everything else that goes with everybody’s favorite Quaestor.

((I know hysterical paroxysm probably wasn’t actually a treatment or whatever, and time line wise it doesn’t really fit, but for the sake of this story I do not give a fuck. Do I want to romance the horrible demon doctor? Yes? Am I foolish enough to think it’s possible? Absolutely not. This is as good as it gets, fuckos, not being murdered maybe.))

To make it an entire year as a student doctor under Doctor Valdemar was previously unheard of. If the student didn’t vanish mysteriously never to be heard from again, they fled to another country and refused to talk about it. You, however, had done it and it hadn’t even been hard. As head doctor of the palace, Valdemar had no time for anything not related to science. All you had to do was focus on work while you were working and do everything they said immediately and correctly.

You had even managed to get a few compliments from them. They were not the type to hand out praise, but you had gotten ‘adequate work’ several times and even one ‘well done’.

There were a few ‘eccentricities’ to deal with, but what genius wasn’t a little bizarre? Another year or so working under them and no doubt you’d leave to become a brilliant surgeon.

After an entire year of hard work and dedication, you wouldn’t have thought that you’d undo it all with one little mistake, but isn’t that always how it happened?

The city morgue had apparently gotten a new delivery man; specifically, a tall, brown eyed delivery man with a roguishly handsome smile. You hadn’t had a lot of time for dating while attending medical school and, well, you were only human. You had to flirt with him a little bit. Despite him hauling around unclaimed corpses, he was in the mood to flirt a little too. Doctor Valdemar was engrossed in a project so you made small talk with the man while you counted the bodies and signed his delivery ledger. He told an unfunny joke and you giggled. It was harmless and didn’t interrupt your work at all. As soon as he left, you were back to work, categorizing the corpses based on possible causes of death to be examined further.

But, later, white cleaning various beakers and test tubes, your mind began to wander. You couldn’t help the big, stupid grin plastered to your face as you thought of the delivery man. He’d be by next week and maybe by then you would have the nerve to ask him to dinner. Or maybe he would ask you, wouldn’t that be something.

Valdemar called your name loudly and impatiently and you jumped. Had they said your name already without you hearing it? They did not like having to repeat themselves. In jumping, you had managed to knock two test tubes off the table. They broke with two quiet ‘tinks’ against the floor. You stared at them wide eyed for a moment before looking up. Doctor Valdemar was less than a foot away from you and frowning.

Shit…

You hadn’t ever broken anything before. The last person to break something had been an assistant and Doctor Valdemar had stepped on their hand while they were picking up the shards, driving the glass into their skin. That had made you conscientious about maintaining a firm grip on everything in the dungeon.

After a horrible, silent moment of staring, Valdemar smiled.

“Distracted today, are we? It wouldn’t have anything to do with that handsome man that was here earlier, would it?”

They weren’t yelling, but they often didn’t so there was no telling how mad Valdemar was right now.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Valdemar. I’ll clean it up and get right back to work.”

“Leave it for now.”

This kind of thing didn’t happen to you. You were a professional, dammit. You had never gotten in trouble before and now Valdemar was going to make you eat those broken test tubes.

Valdemar turned to the only two other staff currently on and waved their hand at them.

“Leave us.”

They exchanged glances with one another and then shot you two helpless, sympathetic looks before climbing the stairs to the palace.

“Come join me at my desk for a moment, wont you?”

Your feet felt like lead as you dragged yourself to the desk in the middle of the dungeon. Valdemar sat down, but you waited for them to nod at you before you dared to take a seat. There was another endless moment of silence as they watched you over their steepled fingers.

“Was I right? We’re you thinking of that delivery boy?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Of all the stupid things to get in trouble for.

“Seems even the good little humans lose their heads in the spring.”

This would be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“Mating season and all.”

Maybe you’ll be the first student to be forgiven?

“When was the last time you had sex?”

Valdemar didn’t waste time mincing words. A forthright question like this was embarrassing but not uncommon.

“Oh, um, two years ago I believe, Doctor.”

“Hmm, I see. Do you masturbate often?”

Despite your fear, you couldn’t help your blush at that question.

“Um, not very, I don’t think, Doctor.”

“Quantify it.”

“Um, once or twice a month.”

“I see.”

This next span of silence really does go on forever. It’s almost as though Valdemar has no intention of speaking. Their unblinking gaze is too much to bear and you speak first.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

“How?”

“P-Pardon?”

“How are you going to keep it from happening again?”

Well, you hadn’t expected that question. Usually, when you apologized to someone, they just accepted that you would do better.

“I, um, I’ll just-“

Valdemar stared at you while you stuttered, their passive face making it very clear that they could wait all day for an answer.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Doctor. I’ll do better. I won’t get distracted anymore.”

“And how can you guarantee that? The human drive to mate is so primal. It’s so deeply embedded in your brain that it will almost certainly always win over logic. I don’t blame you for what you are, but I don’t trust you to be able to resolve it on your own. After all, you aren’t even a doctor yet, are you?”

Well, at least they weren’t angry. You weren’t sure what they had planned, but it wouldn’t be like that time they broke another assistant’s arm for preparing the wrong slice of a cadaver’s brain.

“I’ll do whatever you think I need to do, Doctor.”

They rose suddenly and silently, making you flinch slightly.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s refreshing for someone to take responsibility instead of blubbering excuses. Although, I would expect nothing less from you.”

You watched Valdemar walk over to one of the metal exam tables and reach underneath to pull out the gynecological stirrups. A feeling of dread washed over you, but all you could think was how well you had oiled the stirrups, as they no longer squeaked when they were moved.

“It will be a simple treatment. Not invasive at all and so little blood,” Valdemar explained, steepling their fingers together again. “Now, please undress from the waist down and lie on the table.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. What the hell was Valdemar planning on doing to you? Cut you? Sew you up? Because you were distracted one time?! No! Please no! This couldn’t be happening! Not this!

“D-Doctor Valdemar, please, whatever you’re planning… I’m sorry! I’ll work twice as long just-“

You could try to run, but how far would you get? Valdemar was almost supernaturally graceful and quick and if they caught you, there would be Hell to pay.

Valdemar frowned but didn’t otherwise move. They were studying your face as though they were trying to read your thoughts and figure out why you weren’t obeying them.

“Are you afraid I’m going to mutilate your genitals? Really, now. Horny is one problem I can fix, but I can’t help you if you’ve gone stupid as well. If I carve you up, I lose my only capable assistant for days while you recover.”

Valdemar sounded annoyed, but there was the slightest bit of amusement in their tone. And while you desperately did not want to stall further and really anger them, the fear of the unknown medical procedure planned for you kept you frozen in place.

“Please tell me what you’re going to do.”

Your plea was raspy as you fought and failed to hold back tears, but to your great relief, Valdemar didn’t seem any more annoyed with your sniveling. It was the same impassive face they wore when a patient pleaded to save a limb from amputation. Just a minor irritation.

“Hysterical paroxysm.”

“What?!”

Then, to your great perplexity, Valdemar grinned. Not the sharped tooth grin that accompanied the arrive of more corpses for autopsy but a closed lipped grin like…they were trying to comfort you? What was happening?

“Hysteria. A most amusing theory, but further proof that the human mind is incapable of truly grasping medical science. However, in this case? This might be the cure we need. Now then,” Valdemar said, patting the exam table. “Up you go.”

What choice did you have? You could run. If that didn’t change Valdemar’s mind about cutting you up then you’d still lose your residency. You’d never be a doctor then.

And…

This was quite possibly the nicest Valdemar had ever been to anyone. They were the smartest and most capable doctor you knew. You had been chasing their approval since day one and never once had you seen them attempt any sort of bedside manner before. But now they were endeavoring it specifically for you. Squaring your trembling shoulders the best you could, you reached up and under your coat and pulled your pants and panties down with one smooth tug. You shivered as the cool air of the dungeon hit your legs and Valdemar merely watched patiently as you worked off your shoes and folded your pants.

“There’s a good girl,” Valdemar cooed as you laid down on the table. The praise had to have been meant to mock you, but as they almost gently assisted you with putting your legs in the stirrups, you weren’t sure of anything anymore. Valdemar had cracked ribs and dislocated ankles while strapping patients into restraints before. Was this really happening?

Valdemar opened a few buttons on the bottom of your lab coat and flipped each side outward, exposing you completely. The doctor never was one to waste time with a privacy blanket.

“No wonder I’m having problems with you,” they said as they ghosted a single digit down your slit, making you shiver. “Your little cunt is so engorged that there’s no blood left for your brain.”

They spoke with an almost bored air of professionalism, like they were examining a mole and not about to finger fuck you to orgasm. As horribly embarrassed as you were, prone in front of your boss like this, you risked a quick glace downwards. You only saw the crisp white dressing wrapped around the doctor’s head as they gave you a thorough visual examination, staring intently at your vulva as they softly spread and stretched you lips.  You bit back a whine. How were you supposed to work for them after this? You’d never be able to look them in the eye again.

“Now then,” the doctor said, standing to their full height. “Let’s commence treatment.”

Two long, hard fingers that felt more like a medical instrument than a part of someone’s hand entered you swiftly. The cold rubber of the glove made you gasp and your nipples hardened under you clothing.

Valdemar didn’t move like you had expected them to and instead called your name. Reluctantly and with a great deal of mortification, you met their gaze while you were being penetrated. They stared at you, unblinking, their razor blade smile finally back on their face.

“Do feel free to make noise. It will help me speed the treatment along.”

Your head fell back as they began, their cool fingers almost scrapping at your walls as their thumb made a perfunctory back and forth motion against your clitoris. It was as sterile and unerotic as something like this was possibly capable of being. But, somehow, it was doing the trick. You could feel yourself heating up against the cool air. Despite your humiliation, your boss was actually going to make you cum.

Despite? Or because of?

Valdemar was deathly silent now and, even with your eyes being snapped shut, you could feel their gaze on your face with needle like focus. Their movements didn’t change in the slightest, almost like they were using a machine.

And yet…

You were beginning to squirm and twitch under their ministrations. You balled your fists against the cold metal of the exam table and let the first of several heady moans escape you lips. You were really going to cum on your weird boss’s fingers on a table you were going to have to see every day you worked.

That thought was your undoing.

As you bit back a squeal and your back arched off the table, Valdemar continued moving their fingers until your contractions stopped and you tried to pull away from them. Then their touch was gone completely. You allowed yourself a moment to catch your breath. Despite the horribly bizarre nature of it all, it had been a good orgasm. However, the light, warm feeling fled you faster than it usually did. Most likely it was from the stirrups and exam table and lack of a soft, warm bed or the loving caress of a partner. Your high extinguished, you wanted nothing more than to get dressed, but you didn’t have the doctor’s permission. You propped yourself up enough to see Valdemar, who was now standing a few feet to your right next to a torch. Holding their fingers up to the light, they were scissoring their two fingers back and forth, studying your cervical mucus as it stretched. A hot wave of embarrassment sent you back down.

“D-Doctor? May I get dressed now?”

You looked when they didn’t answer right away and you watched with shame as they scraped your discharge off their fingers and into a vial.

“Yes. The treatment is over now.”

Your legs cramped slightly as you removed them and stood up and your toes tingled as blood finally reached them again. That discomfort was nothing compared to the aching empty that had suddenly taken over your chest. No, you hadn’t exactly had a long-term partner before and your lovers were few and far between since most people didn’t understand the long hours of a medical student, but you hadn’t been into casual encounters either. There had been cuddling and pillow talk with them and now, as you pulled your pants up in silence, you felt ashamed and used. Obviously, Valdemar wasn’t interested in romantic entanglements, that much you’d bet any amount of money on, but had this just been some weird power trip? Or an experiment? You were grateful it hadn’t involved the removal of any of your organs like most of the doctor’s experiments, but it did nothing to stop the sob that rose in your throat.

You froze. There was no way Valdemar hadn’t heard you. They had been incredibly accommodating with you this entire time, but no doubt your crying would anger them finally. Your luck had to run out eventually. You didn’t look up as they moved towards you, their heels clicking on the stone floor.

“I’m sorr-“

Your apology was cute off when their hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at them. Their grip wasn’t painful, but the indifference in their eyes as they studied your face knocked the wind out of you like a fist.

“I’m so sorr-“

“Oxytocin.”

“What?”

“Oxytocin. Dreadful little chemical. But it’s always so fascinating how humans are such slaves to their hormones. In the end, what are humans but machines powered by chemicals and electrical currents?”

You shivered at their voice. That odd, detached way they spoke about humans as though they themselves were not one was also so unsettling, even if you were usually able to ignore it.

What happened next, however, was the weirdest thing to happen in all your time working under the doctor. Stiffly, and with no affection, Valdemar leaned forward and pressed their lips to your forehead. They did not pucker and they made no effort to actually kiss you, but their thin, cool lips against you was probably the closest they had ever gotten to it. It was the equivalent of pressing a lizard’s face against you for a few seconds, but it stopped your tears immediately.

“That will be sufficient comfort for you, I hope?”

“Yes, Doctor,” you replied, your voice soft with incredulousness. There was no way that had actually happened. All of this was some incredibly messed up dream. Clearly, you had been working too hard and were stressed.

“Good. Now, take your lunch hour and collect yourself. Be back here on time and set up the diaphanization chemicals. Don’t make me wait.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Unsure of how to carry yourself, you half bowed, half curtsied before turning to ascend the stairs. Hopefully an hour would be enough time to process the last ten or so minutes. It probably wouldn’t be, but at least you were being given any time at all.

Before your foot had even hit the first step, you felt those long, thin fingers wrap tightly around your hips. You froze and your breath hitched in your throat.

“One last thing before you go,” Valdemar said softly, their breath tickling your ear as they spoke. “Do be sure to let me know if you start feeling distracted again. I need to take care of my favorite subject.”

[callioope]

I’ve been vague about what has been going on in my life intentionally, both because I needed to tell some people offline first and because it’s a lot to process. 

But here is what happened: I am in the process of miscarrying.

I thought it might help to share my story. Miscarriage is more common than people realize and rarely talked about. If someone can benefit from my story, all the better, but mostly this is to help my grieving and coping process.

This is pretty detailed, so trigger warnings and all that.

Exactly one month ago, I read the results I had longed for: pregnant.

Today, I’m sprawled out on the couch in the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced. 

They don’t tell you that miscarriage is a process.

We’ve been trying to conceive since the end of last June. It was taking so long, I was convinced I’d be scheduling a fertility consultation this coming June. They tell you if you’re under 35, to give it a year. Before we started trying to conceive, I’d tell anyone about how time speeds up the older you get. It makes sense logically, of course, when a year is 1/5 of your life, it sure seems long, but went its 1/32, well... 

But this has been the longest eleven months of my life. The first month we started trying, I had an unusually long cycle. 39 days. I was so sure I was pregnant. My breasts had been hurting for two weeks. Husband and I were vacationing in Minnesota to see Aston Villa play. I bought a pregnancy test, beaming, excited, and was puzzled by the negative result. A week later, when my period came, I cried to my mother, and she said something about the universe saying I wasn’t ready or something. Whatever it was sounded bleak and ominous to my ears. It sounded like it meant I’d never be ready. 

The fall was busy and stressful, and despite all the tedious ovulation test strips, nothing happened except somehow, my period got lighter month by month. I was pretty sure something was wrong with me. I thought I had a UTI. (I was actually stressed and dehydrated, which I eventually remedied.) While I cried at a Sara Bareilles concert in November, my mother told me that her OBGYN said it can take as much at 9 months for the body to recalibrate after being on the pill.

Speaking of which. I’ve been taking the pill for over a decade. For the most part, I took it correctly. There is some leeway to taking it incorrectly, for the record. You can miss two pills in a row and it still has instructions for what to do (while cautioning to be safe and use extra protection). Maybe only once did I ever have to throw out a pack for missing too many in a row. 

(This is maybe neither here nor there, but rebelcaptain accidental pregnancy fics have become a bit of a pet peeve for me. Jyn and Cassian are far too careful and intentional to let that happen, and it is so easy to be responsible since there are so many birth control alternatives these days that don’t even require reliance on routine or memory.)

So, of course, the concern lately is that clearly 10+�� years on birth control has messed me up. I do not know this objectively (what I do know is that I have OCD and anxiety and obsess over Everything That Can Go Wrong), but the point is that birth control really can have consequences that I don’t think are necessarily fully understood or studied. DO NOT GET ME WRONG, USE BIRTH CONTROL. My only regret is what I didn’t know.

I learned too late, but a lot of conception advice articles tell you to quit the BC as soon as possible. Even if my mom’s OBGYN is wrong, the general advice does seem to be that it can take up to 3 months for your body to recalibrate. So, if by any chance someone reading this is thinking about conceiving soon, if you take nothing else away from this rant, take this. I wish I had stopped taking the pill a few months before we actually intended to start trying.

After ten months of all this worrying, I finally got what I’d longed for. The moment I saw that positive result, it felt so surreal. There had been little things leading up to that moment, strange hints and signs, like I knew subconsciously even before a test would have been positive. I wrote that Howl’s Moving Castle pregnancy fic before I knew. I started learning “Here Comes the Sun” on my ukulele before I knew (it’s... silly, but I decided I wanted to learn the ukulele because I wanted to be able to play that song for my kids some day). It involves finger picking, so I’d been putting off learning it, but one day I just decided it was time. And finally, I decided to watch the latest season of Brooklyn 99. I’d avoided it because I knew Amy & Jake were also trying to conceive, and it was too emotional for me to watch that when I was so frustrated for how long I was taking. (Of course I didn’t realize they also had trouble, and watching it actually felt cathartic for me.) I got that positive result literally the next morning. 

I spent Monday, April 20, making checklists and spreadsheets. I set my first prenatal appointment for May 8. Those two and a half weeks were the slowest of my life. They stretched out like a rubber band. I couldn’t really focus on anything except this pregnancy I’d waited so long for. That’s probably why time moved so slowly. I wasn’t filling it with the hobbies I enjoyed, writing and playing my ukulele. All my overwhelmed brain could handle was the hilarious distraction of Community. Yeah, this is also around the time I disappeared from fandom. It was originally for a happy reason, I was just too excited to focus!

I know many women who have miscarried. The data seems to vary from source to source, but anywhere between 10% to 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. I couldn’t wait to get to the doctor to confirm everything was okay. I wondered if they would do an ultrasound; I dreamed of seeing a fetus on that screen.

We started talking about how we were going to tell our family. We wrote a pretend promotion letter for my sister, promoting her from “sister” to “aunt” (she’s a badass at her job and we had recently been talking about her promotions so it was thematically relevant). We planned to do a video call with my parents where we played Quiplash and created custom answers related to the pregnancy. 

But we never got that chance. On May 8, I went in for my first appointment. I’d spent the last three days sewing a mask because the ones we ordered still haven’t arrived yet. So all the time I would have spent preparing myself for the worst (as is my way) was spent instead distracted by sewing and finishing up Community. 

They took me to an office first and went over medical history questions. “Any morning sickness?” the nurse asked. “Not at all,” I said. “Should I be worried?” “No,” she answered. “Consider yourself lucky!” 

(For the record, many women who carry to term do not ever get morning sickness.)

(It was just one of those unfortunate exchanges.)

Then the exam with the doctor. All in all, it’d probably been 30 or 40 minutes by this point, all of this excited talk. I was going to tell my parents on Mother’s Day. My due date was Christmas.

I video call my husband just in time for the ultrasound. 

There was no embryo. 

The doctor said a lot of women are ovulating later in their cycles due to the stress of the pandemic. At the time, I thought maybe. Hope is funny like that, in the face of logic. It started to grow like a weed in the cracks of my breaking heart. 

But the thing is, even with that stubborn hopeweed, I knew. I’d been doing this for ten months. I knew when my last period was, I knew when I ovulated. I was 7 weeks and 1 day, and there was no embryo, and that was it.

The beginning of the process of miscarriage. 

Technically, it’d started a few days before that appointment, but I was distracted at that time. I’d noticed one morning that there seemed to be more hair in the shower floor than there should be. 

Dots started to connect. My breasts had stopped aching. Now, they started to shrink back to their original size. 

This happened over several days. I felt certain I would miscarry on Mother’s Day; fortunately, that did not happen. No, enough days had to pass for that hopeweed to prosper. Only then, when it whispered maybe would I start spotting and cramping. 

On Tuesday, the second ultrasound confirmed what I already knew. Not viable. Missed miscarriage. Technically, the prescription the doctor hands me reads “missed abortion.” “It’s just the technical term,” the doctor explains, acknowledging that many women might find this triggering. 

I don’t cry as much as I did. I only cry when I tell people. It seems important for people to know, just in case. Just one person in the relevant circles of my life. I had to tell my boss to explain the sudden uptick in unexpected doctor appointments. (I’m Rh negative, so I needed to go to the hospital to get bloodwork and a Rhogam shot -- and being in a hospital these days in anxiety-inducing enough without this trauma.)

It still feels surreal. All of this happened in one month. Somehow my life has changed completely and then reverted back. This is just a blip in my life, relatively, and yet it seems the longest month of my life.

In movies, in stories, miscarriage seems to go the same way: a flash of bloody sheets, a shout of shock and pain, and then grief. I never knew how it really goes: that it would stretch out for weeks, from the moment I saw that first ultrasound to now, twelve days later, just starting to bleed. I’ll have to go back for another ultrasound to confirm it’s done, and if it’s not, then I’ll need surgery. 

This speaks nothing of the grief. 

And then it’s back to square one, a whole year later: ovulation tests and endless waiting. 

It’s been a whole month; it’s been only a month, and miscarriage is a process. 

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Torch - Chapter 3: November

A/N: We are one day late but it’s here!  Get ready...

Love,

@fightfortherightsofhouseelves

&

@gryffindormischief

Also on FF and Ao3

Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.

_____

Hallowe’en, for all he knows of it now, was a boring event during the first eleven years of Harry’s life. Dudley would gorge himself on candy, gather up his cronies to increase their usual levels of Harry-focused torment, and Harry would simply wait for the day to end like he did any other.

Since his first year at Hogwarts, the end of October has generally been a mix of angst and some sort of life-endangering drama. In between, the Hallowe’en feast at least provided some form of light hearted fun.

When October 30th dawned, Harry had been looking forward to a day spent playing quidditch and avoiding Hermione’s heavy handed comments about the importance of revising early and thoroughly. By the time the sun sets, Harry’s almost hoping Voldemort plans to finish what he started fifteen Hallowe’ens ago.

At least he would only have to tolerate another twenty-four hours of Ron’s moping.

It’s not enough that practice was shite and they’re basically about to be destroyed on the pitch in less than a week. Ron’s got to go all dramatic and say he plans to resign . Harry finds himself wondering if there’s an encouraging way to say he’d rather have shite Ron than deal with McLaggen’s diva attitude.

After supper in the Great Hall, Harry loses himself in the rush of students and eventually wanders into the courtyard - moonlit and delightfully abandoned.

Finally feeling like his brain has an opportunity for quiet , Harry drops down onto the ledge surrounding the fountain and throws his arm over his eyes.

His spine pops a bit at being stretched so absolutely but in that good ‘am I creepy to enjoy this’ way.

Water spray tickles his bare skin, a touch icy despite whatever charms keep it from freezing over and Harry almost feels he could drift off. And maybe he does, until a throat clears and draws him from his funk.

Craning his neck only enough to identify the interloper, Harry finds Ginny Weasley eyeing him with a raised brow. “Don’t think pneumonia will get you out of this game.”

“Imagine if Oliver Wood heard I skipped out for a less than deadly ailment.”

Ginny laughs and wanders closer as Harry pushes himself into a sitting position and muses, “He’d probably be more disappointed I’ve let the Gryffindor team fall into such a state.”

Shrugging, Ginny picks at her fingernails and says, “Are you telling me Wood never lead a bad practice? You can’t put everyone’s performance on yourself. It’s up to us at some point, yeah?”

Harry glances up and meets Ginny’s gaze, so confident and strong when he recalls her blushing looks his first year.

Hell, she’s confident and strong on any litmus test and Harry can’t help but be bolstered by her words, ready to fight another day so to speak.

While he considers some new tactics to implement - on the field and in a more mental preparation type way - Harry finds he doesn’t feel the need to drop his eyes from Ginny’s.

And she hasn’t either.

It’s almost tangible, the feeling building in his chest. So much that he almost wishes it was mutual. Until he remembers Dean and severs the connection.

“Thanks, Gin.”

Her smile is small, but real enough. “Anytime Harry.”

___

By November 2nd, Harry’s so fed up with Ron and his constant fuming and grouching around, he’s almost willing to forget the past six years of friendship for the two minutes he’d need to properly bitchslap his best mate.

Seeing that nobody (maybe except Ginny) would regard such behaviour as captain-y, Harry sighs and sucks it up. There’s a match they must win today after all. So he pretends his little old hand slips with a dash of lucky potion exactly when Hermione happens to be looking. Oops.

At least now Ron’s chuffed and his ego oiled and pampered enough to pull some actual Keeping out of him. Harry can see it in the way Ron walks, prances, struts his way to the pitch - and he shakes his head and smiles. The match is certainly theirs.

It’s only when Harry catches a glimpse of red from the corner of his eye, rapidly obstructed by broader, less delightful Dean-shaped figure hovering over her for his own version of Felix Felicis: a kiss from Ginny.

Something inside Harry’s chest growls dangerously and he draws a long, shuddering breath to silence it. Not the time, he thinks.

Jaw set and hardened, Harry trots together with the Gryffindor team, entering the pitch in roaring, thundering applause. It’s deafening.

And they do win - how could they not? It’s exhilarating, and the whole team gathers in a spine-numbing hug around Harry, and Ron’s so proud and glowing the knowledge that this win is his as much as any of the others’.

Until Hermione just can’t help herself and confronts Harry so he admits, figures it’s safe to let Ron know it was all him now. No Felix, only him. But of course he finds a way to turn his win into a kick to his ego, it’s Ron.

Looking at his best mates hurt and mad, at Ginny disappearing with Dean, at his team chanting their way back to the castle in the midst of happy shouts from their fellow Gryffindors, Harry can’t bring himself to feel too excited. There’s an annoying voice at the back of his mind whispering that the worst is yet to come.

Dumbledore should just hire him to co-teach Divination with Trelawny and Firenze because it seems he’s a natural at it. Exactly as he feared, things do take a new, ugly turn just when he relaxes enough to forget about the looming danger of his best mates jumping at each other’s throats and Ginny points out that Ron’s already jumped - but not at Hermione and in a totally different way than Harry’s imagined.

Ron and Lavender. Lavender and Ron. All Harry can do is blink and...blink some more. Talk about unexpected.

The door to the Common Room slams shut and Harry closes his eyes tightly, silently curses Ron and slips out after Hermione, unnoticed. It’s hard seeing her like this, heart broken and crying all alone. Harry tries his best to support her, but he knows it’s useless...If he allows himself three seconds of honesty, he’d actually tell her that he’d been feeling the same for awhile. So they sit next to each other in silence, the sad and the broken.

Until Ron barges in, Lavender in a fit of giggles in his wake and Hermione looks more mad than Harry’s ever seen her. The insane, pained look in her eyes - it’s terrifying.

And she curses him, and Harry catches the shock on his best friend’s face before the birds hit and the pain sets in.

What a mess.

Later, when he says goodbye to Hermione in the Common Room, Harry climbs the stairs to his dorm feeling bereft, opens the door and readies himself for another blow.

But Dean’s inside, head leaning towards Seamus. It seems like Harry’s interrupted an important talk because both boys jump a bit when he walks in. Still, Harry pays them no mind and rushes out through the door, Cloak securely in his pocket.

“What the fuck.”

Harry grins. There’s only one mouth who could’ve said that, belonging to only one person who could’ve guessed there’s someone attempting to sneak out of the Gryffindor Tower invisibly.

“Hello to you too,” Harry bumps Ginny’s elbow from under the Cloak.

“Going incognito, are we?” Ginny arches an eyebrow, looking somewhere in Harry’s general direction.

“Too much drama, had to hide.”

She pretends to sigh, “Ah, well, I was about to hit the kitchen for some hot milk with cinnamon but don’t let me stop your little undercover mission.”

It’s an invitation to food and mischief and Harry’s not about to let it slip by.

“Lead on.”

Ginny does grin, satisfied and raises her palms to feel around her, “Make way, I’m coming in.”

“You sure it’s enough space for the both of us?” Harry teases.

She takes one look at him and shrugs.

“Not my fault if that bum of yours got too big. You should really cut down on your treacle tart intake.”

Harry pouts and tickles her mercilessly in return. His fingers play over her middle, tickling everywhere as she laughs and dances away from him, Cloak fluttering around them but Harry doesn’t care. All he wants now is her laugh, loud and boisterous, and Ginny...Ginny, with her freckled face and blazing look, Ginny laughing in his arms as they’re hidden in plain sight. Ginny.

He doesn’t have the map, but by now sneaking to the kitchens is something he could do in his sleep. Overall, it feels nice to be doing something stealthy for reasons related to treacle tart and impressing a girl rather than investigating the dark activities of your classmates.

The journey from the common room passes quickly as Ginny murmurs cheeky stories about each of the portraits; likely made up and all the more fun for it. When he tickles the pear and slips inside behind Ginny, Dobby is immediately on them, nearly knocking Harry over as he tucks the Invisibility Cloak away.

Ginny grins at Harry over Dobby’s head as they’re ushered to one of the long tables and seated with much prodding from the house elf’s spindly fingers. As has become something of a custom, Dobby praises Harry to an excessive degree and with Ginny as witness, he can’t help but blush.

Once they’ve requested treacle tart and warm milk to go along with it, Dobby departs with a flap of his ears and Ginny nudges Harry. “Eleven year old me would be so disappointed.”

“Because I’m quite boring and sneak about to get treats?”

Ginny laughs. “No - that would’ve been a selling feature. I mean young Ginny fancied herself your biggest fan, but it appears she’s been overtaken.”

Grinning, Harry props his chin on his hand and for some reason decides now will be the time he’s finally able to wink without looking like he’s got something in his eyes. Based on Ginny’s stifled chuckles, he doesn’t succeed, but he can’t really hate anything that raises that smile on her face.

Dobby returns, deposits their plates and mugs on the table, and disappears off to manage something or other while Harry cuts two healthy slices from the fresh tart. “He’s never given me a singing card though.”

And then, to Harry’s everlasting joy, Ginny actually blushes and stalls for time by taking a sip so overlarge she begins coughing almost instantly. He rises, ready to slap her back or do any manner of things to set her right - even the torture of a purely medical press of his lips to hers - but she soon recovers.

Ginny swipes the tears from her eyes with a sigh. “That was not nice.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m both deluded and a delinquent.”

“Is that a quote from Umbridge or Skeeter?” Ginny asks around a bite of treacle.

“Joke’s on you, it was Snape,” Harry shoots back, taking a long sip of his milk.

“Well if the supreme potions master turned defense against the dark arts teacher says so it must be true,” Ginny drawls, placing air quotes around defense .

Harry pushes his glasses up, more for something to do than from genuine need, and nibbles on a bit of crust. “D’you trust him?”

Her smile is sad now, even as her eyes bore into his. “I find the number of people I genuinely trust gets smaller and smaller with each passing year. You’re probably the only person I would say that to.”

“Dunno if my agreement is a vote of confidence in the intelligence of your judgment,” Harry mutters, picking at his tart.

Scoffing, Ginny tosses a serviette in his face and cuts another sliver for herself. “Stuff it, you know you’re brilliant. I came here for sweets, not to fluff your ego so you turn into a preening arsehole,” she grins at the end, her lips twisted in a dangerous smile, “ Speaking of my brother -”

“He and Hermione may end me before ol’ Moldy-shorts.”

___

“Not like it’s any of my business,” Harry drawls, turning a page of the Prince’s book, “But shouldn’t you tell him?”

“And what exactly should I be telling who?” Hermione volleys right back, tone a little waspish.

Harry draws in a breath, already regretting he’s opened the subject - but they are in the library and if he’s forced to spend another hour with Hermione looking at Ron out of the corner of her eye and Ron looking back at her from two tables away, where he’s studying with Lavender and Parvati, he’s pretty positive he’ll basically move in with Hagrid.

“Ron. Why don’t you just tell Ron that you’re sorry?”

Hermione slams her book shut, looks at Harry dangerously.

“Whatever should I be sorry for?”

“Does it even matter?” Harry answers, clipped. “Look, Hermione,” he pauses and sighs, “the two of you are my best mates and it’s difficult watching you angsting around instead of talking and, you know, sorting things out.”

“Well then,” Hermione jumps to her feet like an angry cat, “I will go angst somewhere else then.”

Harry can hear her stomping out of the library, completely ignoring Madam Pince or anyone else for that matter. With one last look at Ron, Harry lays his forehead on the old battered book, removes his glasses and closes his eyes. Why is having feelings so complicated?

When Harry finally convinces himself that there’ll be no more studying in the real sense of the word for the day, he throws all his stuff in his bag, takes another look at Ron’s ginger head, hoping he’d somehow manage to telepathically convey that he’s acting a bit like a git for the wrong reasons, then trots out of the library, the castle, and down towards Hagrid’s.

Later, when he’s gorged himself on Hagrid’s special rock cakes and he’d drank enough hot tea to keep the cold outside at bay, Harry finally starts to feel better. It’s nice near the fire, Fang resting his big head on his lap as Harry scratches him between the ears.

“I heard Ron’s with Lavender, eh?” Hagrid starts, dropping on the seat next to Harry, his pink apron fluttering about him.

Harry raises one eyebrow, but grins, “News travel at the speed of light, then.”

“We professors know more than you kids think,” he chuckles pleased.

There’s a pause, interrupted only by Fang’s deep snores.

“How’s Hermione?”

Harry studies him intently before he answers.

“She’s been better, I suppose.”

“Ye know, Harry, I like Ron. He’s a good lad, but sometimes he’s not too smart,” Hagrid stares into the dancing flames of the fire and shakes his head, dark hair falling down in rings around his big, kind face.

“Why do you say that?”

“Yer a smart boy, ye’ll figure it out,” Hagrid winks. “And Hermione too, she ain’t the brightest witch o’ her age for nothing. They are somethin’ , those redheads. Right, Harry?” He goes on to chuckle and Harry can feel himself blush.

Yet he pretends he didn’t understand, finds a good enough excuse to leave and drags his feet back to the castle in the near dark of an end of day, his bag full with rock cakes and untouched homework.

He falls asleep that night holding the Marauder’s Map, eyes boring into Ginny’s dot, waiting for it to move and return to the Common Room, to at least exit the classroom it shared with Dean’s dot for the past hour. Ironic, if Ron only knew there was only one wall between himself and his sister…

Harry’s last thought before he dreams is of Hermione and how lucky she is not to have a magical Map.

____

Over time, one of the strangest things Harry’s realized about his life - which seems quite adventurous to an outsider - is that it’s filled with long stretches of normalcy. The difficulty that is singular to his particular situation, is that even the most calm, boring, normal times feel like borrowed minutes that will turn sour and deadly at any moment.

Living with this sort of dichotomy of feelings leaves him to sleepless or fitful nights, and often a sour stomach that can’t quite manage to settle. As a result, his today breakfast is a sparse affair with barely buttered toast and a cup of tea so strong his spoon could stand.

Overall, when he takes a figurative step back and examines himself, Harry can admit he’s having something of a pity party. His best mates are quarreling like a couple on the verge of divorce, the girl he should think of like a sister is haunting his daydreams in decidedly non sisterly ways, everyone seems to be dating except him, and most days he’s torn between avoiding seeing Ginny and Dean or Ron and Lavender.

Really though, the thing he feels the most angry about is the fact that he really doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on any of that shite. He’s bloody sixteen years old and instead of spending his free time escaping the library and mooning over a girl who fancied him until right about when he...did not. He does not .

Regardless, the point is he’s spending most days diving into a genocidal maniac’s childhood and trying to determine exactly how his classmate is going to wreak dark magic havoc on the unsuspecting student body, rather than wallowing like a good, normal, angsty teenager.

So he does the only thing he knows. After breakfast, Harry manages to wedge himself between students and slip from the hall and out onto the grounds. Nothing like a good fly to calm his wild thoughts, he muses on the way.

He reaches the stands in record time, retrieves his broom and feels it hum to life in his palm, and finally trots out to the snowy pitch. Only to find he’s not the only student with the idea.

And as he watches her fly in graceful arcs across the sky, swirling and sending her hair twisting like a wild red pennant, Harry’s chest clenches.

She flips upside down, arms spread as she lets out a loud whoop and Harry feels himself breathe freely, even if just for a moment, and slips back into the shadows.