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clnriswood · 4 years ago

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DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Four

a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense -- but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.

tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien @averagefangirl21 @inurealiyah @fuzzzwald @lesfleursmonet @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive

If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat's next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.

“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.

She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.

“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.

“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.

“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.

“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”

The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.

“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.

“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.

“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”

“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.

“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”

The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.

Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.

“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”

The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.

“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”

He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”

The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”

“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.

The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”

He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.

“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he -- well, because he kind of told me so.”

Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.

“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”

“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”

“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”

Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.

“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.

“Yes I know that,” she echoed.

“Oh,” he said again.

Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.

“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.

“You want to help me?” he asked.

“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who's noticed it, I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”

“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”

“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.

“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.

“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.

“The what?!” she gaped.

“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”

“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.

“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”

“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.

“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.

The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.

“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”

The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.

“And how might that happen?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”

. . .

“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”

The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.

She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.

“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.

“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”

“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”

The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.

“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.

“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”

“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”

She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”

Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.

“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”

The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.

“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”

“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.

When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.

Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”

The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.

“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.

He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”

They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.

“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”

“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.

The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.

“Hullo,” Harry grinned.

“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.

“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”

Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.

“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.

Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.

Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”

“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.

“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.

The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”

Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.

“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.

It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.

“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.

“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.

“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.

It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.

The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.

“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.

“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.

“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.

“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.

On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”

“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”

Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.

Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”

“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”

It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.

“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.

“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.

“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”

“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.

“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”

“Go on,” the professor encouraged.

Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?

“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because...”

“Because?” Slughorn persisted.

“Sir-” she tried again.

But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”

The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.

The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.

Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.

“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”

Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of -- well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.

. . .

“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”

The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.

“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn't have done it on my own.”

Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.

“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.

She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.

Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.

“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.

She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”

The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.

“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.

“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”

“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”

Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.

“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”

Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”

“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”

Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.

“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.

“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”

Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.

“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”

“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.

“Shut up,” Neville added.

“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”

Harry had a hand on his wand now.

“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”

He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.

And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.

“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”

Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.

“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.

He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.

“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”

“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.

Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.

“You like having me put you in your place.”

There was silence.

The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.

“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”

And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.

“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”

Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.

She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.

“Incendio.”

Suddenly, her dress was on fire.

Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.

“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.

The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”

“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.

Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.

Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”

“What-” he began.

“Incendio!”

Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.

“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.

And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.

“What?” she teased.

He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.

“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”

. . .

“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.

Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.

Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.

“So. What was all of that about then?”

He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.

“What d’you mean?” she arched a brow at him.

Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.

“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”

He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.

“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”

“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.

“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.

“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ��yes.’

But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”

“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.

Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.

“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”

She blinked up curiously at him.

There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.

“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”

Her heart sank.

“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”

“Ced-” she tried.

But he wasn’t having it.

“And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”

Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.

“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.

“Because,” he started.

Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.

“Because it’s how I look at you.”

#cedric diggory x reader #draco malfoy x reader #cedric diggory imagine #draco malfoy imagine #cedric x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #cedric diggory fanfiction #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco x cedric #draco malfoy #cedric diggory #draco malfoy imagines #cedric diggory imagines #harry potter fic #draco fic #cedric fic #harry potter x reader

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luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

chapter eight.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 6.5k

⇥ warnings: 18+, lots of cursing, general chaotic energy [more than usual], poly relationship, switch!reader, dom!joon, switch!jin, switch!hobi, sub!yoongi, sub!jk, sub!tae, sub!jimin, jk is a whole cutie, everybody gets their bob ross on, PUNS, pick up lines, smut [thigh kink, noona kink, marking, oral (f receiving), dom/sub themes, daddy kink, mentions of spanking, lots of lap sitting]

Chapter Eight

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 8:38am

I wake to the sound of thunder and groan as my eyes strain to focus on the rain pouring down outside my window. Hastily, I grab for my phone and scroll through my notifications. Yup, my friend Brianna - the president of the Alphites - had emailed to say that Habitat is cancelled for the morning.

What did this mean for my date? Swiping over to the group chat, I quickly type a message to the boys.

Queen (y/n), Worldwide Handsome, and 6 Peasants

8:40am, (y/n): “Yo, dweebs. No volunteering today because of the rain. Looks like our date is cancelled, too…”

I laugh evilly as my phone consequentially blows up with a series of question marks and exclamations. Just as I’m about to put a stop to the madness I’d caused, my phone screen darkens with the telltale chimes of an incoming FaceTime.

Not even bothering to shift out of bed, I swipe to answer. “Hi, Hobi,” I grin at my sunshine who looks a little pouty this morning. The metaphorical rain cloud over his head lessens marginally at my smile.

The puffy, bare-faced boy sighs and runs a hand through his wild hair. Obviously, Hoseok had just woken up, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him.

“(Y/n)? Did you hear me?” Hobi chuckles, bringing my attention back to my phone. “You weren’t serious, right? Our date is still on? We have the whole thing planned! The rain doesn’t even affect it! And—”

“Is that (y/n)?” A cry of uproar sounds from the background on Hobi’s end of the line. A thundering of footsteps commences; and, suddenly, I am faced with seven slivers of faces all crowded together.

“(Y/n)!” Jungkook rips the phone from Hoseok’s grasp and takes off out of the room. The background blurs as he runs. Faintly, I can make out blurry figures giving chase behind him. “(Y/n)! Please still come over. We have everything set up! Saturdays are always full of noona, and I don’t want to break the tradition.”

Letting out a laugh at the fluffy haired boy, I smirk, “First of all, let me just say that I’m glad you don’t subscribe to the whole ‘SaTuRdAyS aRe FoR tHe BoYs’ toxicity. And second of all, you do realize you just gave away the date plans, right?”

“Jungkook!” The shout from what could only be an enraged Seokjin echoes across the connection.

I watch in amusement as the background once again blurs. As the feed refocuses, Jimin’s beaming face greets me, and I roll my eyes at the realization that Jungkook must have tossed him the phone. Probably playing a game of ‘Monkey in the Middle’ with their eldest brother, I assume.

Deciding enough is enough, I retake control of the situation with the tried and true method of the shock factor™. “Hey, I’m naked.”

Silence falls.

Then comes the seven pairs of eyes crowding the screen that I had hoped for.

Disappointed huffs resound from the collective as I cackle, trying my best to ignore their indignant cries.

“Noona’s not even naked!”

“Why, there’s not even a boob to be seen!”

“She’s got us lookin’ like boo-boo the fool, boys…SMH!”

“Jin, did you just say ‘SMH’?” The boy opens his mouth to respond, but I decide there’s no time to discuss acronyms right now. Shaking my own head swiftly, I clear my throat, “No, never mind. Now that I have your attention, I need someone to tell me what the plan is. Am I getting out of bed today? Are we still doing the thing?”

“You can get out of your bed and into mine,” Taehyung’s words barely escape his mouth before he is pushed out of frame by at least four of the others.

“Tae, are you trying to get your name added to my punishment list?” I smirk as two boys in particular gulp, “Jimin and Jin already have the distinct honor. Isn’t that right, boys?”

“You can add my name, noona!” Jungkook gasps out, lunging once again for control of the phone. He is shoved out of the way by Namjoon.

“Oh, my little Kookie,” I laugh, “That would practically be a reward for you.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your own punishment, (y/n),” Namjoon stares me down from the other end of the phone.

“I mean, you can try it,” I shrug, “But I’ll probably either like it or turn it around on you at some point. Just saying…”

“Sounds good to me,” Joon grins, his dimples popping out, “Now get your sweet ass over here so I can spank it.”

“Right now?” I double check the time, “It’s still not even nine fucking AM. What is this going to be? Some sort of all day extravaganza? Y’all better be feeding me.”

“Yah, do you know who I am?” Jin butts in from his small corner of the screen, ”You are in the presence of Worldwide Handsome Chef Extraordinaire Kim Seokjin! Of course you’re going to be well fed - both with my visuals and with food!”

“I have no words,” I say.

Jin forges on, “Speechless, eh? I’m used to it.”

“Could the two of you stop your gross flirting for one second so that we can actually convince (y/n) to come over?”

Yoongi’s scowl appears on screen as he takes control of the phone. Jin can be heard squawking indignantly in the background.

“Gross?” I raise an eyebrow, “That’s not what you were saying when you were teaching me piano.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Taehyung yelps.

“I think so,” Jimin answers darkly.

“Wait, what’s a ‘you feminism’ again?” Jungkook mumbles from somewhere in the room.

“Oh my god,” Namjoon moans, sounding completely done, “(y/n), I am begging you to hang up and call my phone so that I can actually let you in on the plan.”

“Bet,” I say, “I’ll call you in an hour. I’m going back to sleep.”

I hang up, abruptly cutting off their whiny protests. Boys can always wait. Extra sleep, however, must seized at every opportunity.

Sinking back into the bliss of my comfy bed, I smile as I flip my phone over and promptly fall back asleep.

(Y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 11:57am

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!”

“(Y/n), for the love of Jared Padalecki, get your ass up!”

Groaning, I wave Luna off with a limp arm, still half asleep. “Go away,” my garbled words prove to be futile as she pulls the covers right off of me.

“Your entourage is here,” Luna hisses, grabbing my ankle and attempting to tug me off the bed.

“My what?” I kick at her hold, “Stop going all horror movie on me!”

“You haven’t seen horror! Horror is waking up to the furious sound of fists pounding at the front door and thinking your dark past of downloading music off of sketchy websites has finally caught up with you! Horror is pulling open the door in just your Harry Potter onesie only to be faced with seven hot and all-too-put-together dudes!”

My brain slowly wraps its away around the meaning of her words. “Oh, fuck.” I launch out of bed, flailing around for my phone.

111 Messages

34 Missed Calls

14 Voicemails

“Good god,” I toss my phone back on my bed and stalk past Luna into the living room where my ‘entourage’ is gathered.

“Okay, what the fuck,” I cross my arms over my chest as I stare down at the seven boys spread out across our second-hand sectional.

“Noona, you’re here!” Jungkook springs up from his seat and tackles me in a hug.

“Where else would I be? I fucking live here,” I mumble into his chest, annoyance slipping away with each breath.

“I told you she just overslept,” Yoongi mutters from the couch, sounding very much like he was dragged here against his will.

“Finally,” I say, pulling away from Jungkook to beam down at Yoongi, “An intellectual. Now, what about the rest of you overreactive imbeciles? Did you just come over so that you could snoop around where I live?”

As I say this, my eyes narrow on Namjoon. The boy is inspecting the teacup I had forgotten to put away last night like it’s a new archaeological find. My words fluster him, and he fumbles with the cup before it falls from his grasp to shatter on the floor.

“I am so sorry!” Namjoon yelps. The rest of the boys look on with disappointment but not surprise.

“That was my great grandmother’s teacup,” I whisper, falling to my knees dramatically.

“Namjoon, your destructive nature has gone too far!” Seokjin yells, scrambling over to me. My face is buried in my hands as my shoulders shake. I can’t hold it any longer.

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, it’s fine, Joon. I’m kidding. It was just a cup from Target’s clearance section.”

“So evil!” Namjoon whines, “I was so worried!” Shuffling over to the hallway closet, I pull out our dustpan and broom. Walking back, I hand it off to Namjoon before he can attempt to pick up a fragment of the shattered cup.

“Don’t even think about using your bare hands, Joon,” I narrow my eyes at him, “A trip to Urgent Care does not count as a date.”

“Noona,” Taehyung pipes up, “You should join the Acting Club! Did I mention I’m the president?”

“Oh, here we go,” Yoongi scowls, flicking his eyes over to where Seokjin is rapidly turning a concerning shade of red.

Mount Seokjin erupts, “You’re only president on a bullshit technicality! Fifth years can’t be on Exec boards, you swine!”

“Yo, Seokjin, I’m really bummed about that policy, and Imma let you finish. But, let me just say that if y’all don’t leave so I can get ready, I will avoid you for the rest of time.”

Seconds tick by. I frown, “I don’t see movement. Why don’t I see movement?”

“Well,” Jimin hedges, shrinking under my gaze, “We figured you could just come back with us? It would save you a trip?”

The disobedience in this crew would drive me off a cliff. “I guess I was not clear the first time. I am going to drive myself because: 1) I can leave on my own terms and 2) I can leave an overnight bag in the car just in case. Although, that possibility is slipping away by the millisecond.”

“Alright! Time to go!” Jungkook barks, herding the boys towards the door.

As they practically run out the door, Namjoon turns back to me with an arched brow, “No going back to sleep.”

I salute him, “Scout’s honor. I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, I’m finally left in peace and quiet.

“Want to explain what that was all about?!” Luna stalks out of her room, “I need the tea!”

A full hour and a half later, I find myself in an eerily empty frat house.

“Y’all really kicked everyone out, huh?” I comment as I peer around each corner of the house. There is not a soul - besides these seven fools - to be seen.

“I mean, there are only three other people that actually live here permanently,” Namjoon counters, ever the diplomatic president, “The rest of the rooms are mainly for guests or if a member needs temporary housing.”

Humming noncommittally, I come to an abrupt halt when the dining room comes into view. All the furniture has been pushed to one side to make room for eight easels and an excessive amount of paint.

“It looks like a Michael’s threw up in here,” I marvel.

“Who is Michael?” Jimin pops up next to me with narrowed eyes. The rest of the boys file in behind him.

“My sugar daddy,” I deadpan, “He’s an artist.”

Namjoon cracks up, while Jimin pouts adorably. “I guess you know what we’re going to do now, baby,” Namjoon says, still chuckling lightly.

“We’re doing DIY Painting with a Twist!” Taehyung yells, “The twist is that there’s no wine. Namjoon said it could get ‘too out of hand’ - whatever that means.”

“What is everyone going to paint?” Hobi asks the room after a brief pause, “I’m going to make something for (y/n)! It’s a surprise.”

��That’s so sweet, Hobi,” I smile at the boy, “Thank you!”

Not a group to be outdone, the boys quickly affirm that they too had been planning to make something for me all along.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh, “Careful, I’m going to get used to y’all spoiling me.”

“Good,” Namjoon nods, “You’re learning.”

“Yes, daddy,” I tease, “Are you going to keep spoiling your good girl?”

“You’re not a good girl,” Yoongi laughs, “You’re a fucking force of nature.”

“Thank you,” I wipe a nonexistent tear from under my eye, “This is why you are currently my favorite.”

“What!”

“Wait, you have a running favorite?”

“How can I get to be your favorite?”

Five minutes later, the room is empty aside from Jungkook and I. The rest of the boys dispersed the moment they decided to make painting a competition for my favor.

“Aren’t you going to hide away, too?” I address the younger boy next to me.

“Why would I go anywhere else when you’re right here?” Jungkook shuffles closer to me, “Besides, I wanted to use a different canvas.”

“Ah, I see,” I nod sagely before pulling my long-sleeved shirt up and over my head.

“Noona!” Jungkook chokes as he takes in my slightly sheer tank top and the black bra that peeks out from underneath, “I meant your wrist!”

“Calm down, Kook,” I laugh, “I can put it back on if you want. I just don’t want to get paint on it.”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously.

He then grabs my arm gently, flipping it over so that the inside of my wrist faces up. His thumb brushes over my erratic pulse and pauses. “Are you nervous, noona?” His wide eyes stare up at me, “You don’t have to let me paint on you.”

“It’s okay, Kookie,” I say, brushing his fallen hair out of his eyes, “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

The boy’s cheeks bloom a bright red as he flashes me a small smile, “That’s one of my favorite movies.”

My heart swells as the cuteness that is Jeon Jungkook, and I can’t resist teasing him further. “Jungkook,” I whisper, leaning forward, “I would gladly share my door with you to keep you warm.”

“Noona,” He whines, trying to pretend like he wants to get away from me. I would rate his efforts a 1/10 considering his hand is still firmly wrapped around my wrist.

“The iceberg would melt because of how hot you are…” I keep going, arching closer to murmur in his ear, “Just like the Titanic, I would go down on you for hours.”

“Noona!” Jungkook yelps, “Stop playing with me!”

“Fine,” I pout, “But the offer stands.”

“You’re going to kill me…” He mumbles. Dipping his paintbrush into his nearby palette, Jungkook begins to etch the outline of what looks like some sort of flower onto my wrist. The strokes of the brush across my skin make me shiver - something that does not go unnoticed by Jungkook.

His eyes dart to mine, and I feel like crumbling under the weight of the adoration I find within them.

“Kookie,” I glance down, breaking the intensity before it consumed me whole, “What kind of flower is this?”

He mumbles something inaudible.

“What?” My ears strain to pick up the boy who for some reason decided to answer in the language of tiny.

“A tiger flower,” Jungkook turns away to grab a new brush, his hair failing to hide his flushed cheeks. I watch enraptured as he mixes the orange and white shades to get the end result he wants.

Returning to my wrist, he leans down and lightly blows across the drying paint.

“This is unfair,” I mumble as the boy continues to unknowingly seduce me. Or did he know? My eyes narrow as his gaze flicks to mine. Arching a brow, I decide to press him, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the matching tattoo on your forearm, right?”

“N-no,” Jungkook panics, eyes darting this way and that, “That would be Ludacris.”

Did he just— Not the time.

“Mhm,” I hum, ever the skeptic.

Jungkook swallows before once again resorting to tiny speak, “Okay, yes, it does. I’m asking you to love me, noona. Please.”

My breath escapes me in a whoosh as I stare dumbfounded at the pleading boy who once again starts to paint my wrist. Why is such a beautiful human lacking in adoration? Why does he need my affection when he has six other lovers?

“Why?” The question slips past my lips before I can catch it.

“Because,” He continues to paint, “I can see myself loving you for a very long time, and I just want to be loved back for just as long.”

The silence that falls after Jungkook’s admission feels safe and comfortable. His words swirl around my mind. And as he finishes the flower now adorning my wrist, I give him an answer I’m not even sure he had been waiting for. “Jungkook,” I wait until he meets my eyes, “I don’t think I’m in love with you yet. I’m not even sure I know what love is or what it feels like. But I can see myself falling for you. And I do know that there is a place in my heart labeled ‘Jeon Jungkook’, just like there are six other places for the rest of you… Y’all really do take up a lot of space.”

I let out a little laugh as Jungkook’s lips twitch in amusement. I continue, “It scares me sometimes. How I might fall for all of you and get heartbroken seven times over. But, I might also fall for all of you and get seven times the amount of love in return. And so I’m willing to fight for that chance. Besides, what’s life without a little risk?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, and then he whispers, “I really like you, (y/n)-noona.”

I lean closer to him. Our noses brush as I whisper back, “I really like you, too, Jungkookie.”

The smile I get in response is blinding, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m done!” Taehyung hurtles through the doorway, lugging a giant canvas that definitely had not been in the room earlier, “I call this masterpiece: ‘My Boo’.”

Gaping, I take in the massive canvas full of swirling colors and abstract shapes. It’s honestly overwhelming and a bit dramatic, but that is Taehyung. And I love it.

“It’s so pretty!” I coo, shuffling over to side-hug Tae.

He shyly hangs his head on my shoulder, “You really think so?”

“Yes, baby,” I nod, “Of course I do.”

One by one the other boys return to present me with their art. Seokjin presents a sea of rainbow colored hearts (“Get it? I see hearts when you’re around!”). Hobi shows off his technicolored sunset (“It’s how I feel when I look at you, (y/n)! Hopeful, but at peace.”). Jimin bashfully hands over a painting of two silhouettes dancing (“It’s us.” *blushes profusely*). Yoongi gives me a black canvas with a portion of lighter blue mixed in (“You make my world brighter.”). Finally, Namjoon shuffles over with a succulent plant in a painted flower pot (“I accidentally elbowed a hole through my canvas… This is my favorite plant, for you.”).

The boys also marvel over the flower that Jungkook painted on my wrist while the younger boy beams with pride. One of them mentions ordering pizza for dinner, and the room clears within seconds as the majority flees in search of a menu.

Namjoon is the last to remain, admiring the art etched on my skin. “You know what it means, right?” He murmurs, thumb tentatively brushing across the dried paint.

“He told me,” I nod, focused on the gentle caress of his fingers.

Namjoon lifts my hand to his mouth and places a light kiss. The motion takes me back to the memory of a few weeks ago where he first had performed the action. “I hope you know the sentiment extends to all of us as well.”

“Oh, does it?” I smile, “You might have to mark me to make it believable.”

“Consider it done,” Namjoon says before pulling me closer to him and placing his lips on my neck. What an opportunist, I muse as he bites down gently. His tongue flicks before his lips once again press down on my neck. Namjoon litters my neck with small kisses. I gasp as he suddenly returns to the initial spot and bites down slightly harder, sucking and licking at my neck afterwards.

“Joon,” I breathe out as he pulls back, looking all smug and proud of himself, “I will get you back for this.”

“I look forward to it, baby.” With that, Namjoon laces his fingers through my own and tugs me out of the room towards the ruckus being caused in the kitchen.

One hour later, the eight of us are piled on the massive living room sofa.

“I think I’m pregnant,” Seokjin moans, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “The father is Papa John.”

“I told you not to race to beat Kook to the last slice,” Hobi shakes his head, “No one ever listens in this house.”

“You get me, bro, you get me,” Namjoon extends his fist to Hoseok who fist bumps him.

I survey the room from where I’m perched on Taehyung and Jimin, one leg hitched over one of theirs. “I thought we were going to watch a movie?” I furrow my brows, “Or was that just a ploy to get me to stay longer?”

Jungkook scrambles to his feet, “I’ll go get Titanic!”

“No!”

“Please, god, no!”

“Noooo!”

The crestfallen expression that crosses Jungkook’s face tugs at my heartstrings. “Aw, Kook, I really inspired you with my words earlier, huh?” His pouting intensifies as he stalks back over to his end of the couch.

“Never let me watch what I want,” He mumbles. Sensing that this is an often fought battle, I shimmy off of Tae and Jimin and head over towards the youngest.

“How about this,” I reason, “Let the group decide what movie to watch, and I’ll sit with you during it.”

“Promise?” Large brown eyes peer up at me. At my nod, his expression brightens, and he pats his legs excitedly.

Settling down on his thighs, I realize I have made a grave miscalculation.

My thigh-riding kink + Jungkook’s muscular thighs = chaos

As the rest of the boys argue between watching Die Hard or The Hangover, I shift my hips slowly to try to get more comfortable. Jungkook’s swift inhale tells me that my move wasn’t as low-key as I had hoped.

“Noona, stop moving,” He mumbles into my hair, his arms firmly circling my waist.

“Sorry, baby,” I mutter back to him, trying hard to reign in my thirst.

The boys finally decide to watch Die Hard. Minutes tick by as the movie I’ve seen multiple times before plays on the screen. I’m only half paying attention, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook isn’t paying attention at all.

His fingers have shifted under my tank top and are drawing patterns onto the skin of my stomach. “So soft,” He marvels, his words ghosting across the skin of my neck.

The effect the boy has on me is deadly, and I retaliate with one of the only ways I can. I grind my hips slowly down onto his. The heat of his body warms my own, the hardness of his cock becoming more and more apparent underneath me.

“Noona,” Jungkook moans, “You’re so unfair.”

I whisper back, “You started it.”

He scoffs, moving my hair to one side of my neck, and pauses. “Oh, what’s this?”

“Don’t even think—”

His lips descend onto my neck, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Insolent child,” I breathe out, trying to keep my shit together despite finding it so fucking hot that Jungkook’s mouth is where Joon’s had been just over an hour ago.

Keeping my eyes firmly on the screen where John McClane is steadily taking down a whole crime organization singlehandedly, I try in vain not to imagine getting double teamed by Jungkook and Namjoon. By the time the credits roll, my panties are a mess. I can feel Jungkook practically throbbing underneath me from being so hard, and I’m pretty sure my nipples could cut through glass.

“What’d you think, (y/n)?” Hobi beams over at me from the other end of the couch.

I plaster a smile on my face like I hadn’t just been imagining the whole room naked and engaged in NSFW activities. “It was iconic as always!”

The boys seem to happily accept my answer. Well, most of them do. Yoongi is staring at me with a suspicious expression. Damn, that boy is too observant for his own good.

“Well,” I decide to try to regain some semblance of self-control, “Where did I put my keys?”

“WHAT!”

“You can’t leave! It’s only 9pm!”

“You said you would would stay overnight!”

I roll my eyes upwards, at least this provided Jungkook an opportunity to tug a pillow onto his lap. “I’m going to get my bag from the car, you fools.”

The boys let out a collectively sheepish “Ah”.

“I’ll walk you, noona,” Jimin stands, making his way over to my side.

“Trying to butter me up, baby?” I can’t help but ruffle his hair, “Okay, come on.”

Jimin and I make our way to the front door where my keys lie on the entryway table. Grabbing them, I head out into the darkness of the front yard with Jimin trailing after me.

“Will you sit with me for the next movie, noona?” Jimin asks, running a hand through his hair as we trek towards my parked Jeep.

“What’s in it for me?” I joke, unlocking the passenger side door and grabbing my bag. Turning back towards the house, I shut and lock my car behind me.

“Cuddles?” Jimin answers, eyes wide and bottom lip poked out.

“Stop that,” I moan, moving swiftly past him, “Puppy-Dog eyes? That’s so unfair!”

“Is it working?” He races to keep up with me, “I think its working.”

“You’re still on my shit list, Park Jimin,” I whirl around, drop my bag to the ground, and grab the front of his shirt. Moving to a standstill with his lips an inch from mine, I say, “Or did you forget?”

Jimin gulps, his eyes dark, “I didn’t forget. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

I place the lightest kiss to his lips, “Good answer.” With that, I pick my bag back up and waltz back into the house. “Are you coming?” I call at the boy still standing in the middle of the front yard.

“Now I know why Kook says you’re mean,” Jimin shakes his head at me as he regains the will to move.

“You’re a fast learner,” I comment, placing my keys back onto the entryway table. “I’ll sit with you.”

“Yay!” Jimin cheers, “I’ll go tell Taehyungie!”

“What?” I screech after the boy’s departing form, “I didn’t know this was some sort of package deal! Lord give me strength…”

Rifling through my bag to double check I have everything, I notice that I seem to be lacking a sleep shirt. How is it that I could pack three different pairs of socks for one night over but forget a fucking shirt?

“SOS,” I call out, zipping my bag back up. Once again, the sound of stampeding steps is heard before the seven of them appear above me.

“Someone needs to give me their biggest and comfiest t-shirt.”

A brief pause permeates the room before all seven boys dart into action. Left all alone in the entryway, I let out an incredulous laugh at how completely whipped I’m becoming for them.

After a few minutes, I hear them congregating in the hall just up the stairs. Just as I’m about to go investigate, they shuffle down. Namjoon presents me with a pile of what must be a selection of t-shirts from the bunch.

“We all want you to wear our clothes, so we decided to make it fair and just let you pick one without knowing who’s it is,” Seokjin explains.

Looking around the room, I can tell they all think this is a magnificent idea. Meanwhile, I’m baffled why they think I wouldn’t know who’s shirt is who’s just from the style, size, and smell. However, I decide to be a nice girl and play along.

“Okay,” I grab the entire pile along with my bag, “I’ll go change.”

“I’m so excited!” Taehyung bounces up and down, “She’s going to pick mine. I know it!”

“That’s because you gave her your Ce—” As Taehyung tackles Jimin to the floor, I take that as my cue to leave.

Speeding up the steps, I make a beeline for Yoongi’s room, entering and locking the door behind me. My bag is tossed on the bed first followed by the sea of mostly black and white clothing. They know me so well already.

I examine my options:

A white Balenciaga t-shirt with “Europe 2018” embroidered in red over the heart,

A soft pink hoodie by Marques’ Almeida with long black silky drawstrings,

A red and black striped Raf Simons long-sleeved shirt with sewn-on patches,

A Fear of God white t-shirt with the iconic “FG” on the front,

A black Mastermind t-shirt with the brandname and a skull and crossbones emblazoned on it,

A black Celine t-shirt also with the brandname on the front, and

A grey long-sleeved t-shirt by Carhartt with the name in blue along the sleeve.

Making my selection, I shake my head over the careless nature these boys handle their extremely expensive clothing. I am almost certain that Jungkook had given me the only shirt of the bunch that was under $100.

Regardless, I fold the rest of the shirts before stuffing them into my duffle bag. If they all want me to wear their clothes, I will - eventually. Quickly, I change into my sleep shorts, tug on what I assume is Hobi’s shirt, and head out of Yoongi’s room.

Opening the door, I blink as seven expectant faces shine back at me. Six expressions fall as one lights up even more. “You chose mine!” Hoseok cheers, running to engulf me in a hug that sweeps me off my feet, “Oh, you look so cute!”

“Can’t. Breathe.”

“Why’d you leave your stuff in Yoongi-hyung’s room, noona?” Taehyung pouts as the rest of the boys try to pretend like they also aren’t miffed.

“Because I’m going to sleep with him?” I march over to Yoongi and hug him from behind, pressing my lips to his cheek. “Is that okay with you, Yoongs?”

The boy grumbles under my show of affection, but his hands come up to clasp over mine as they circle his waist. “I can live with that, I guess.” The eye roll accompanying his words is so evident even when standing behind him.

“You’ll pay for that, baby boy,” I whisper in his ear before biting gently down on his earlobe, reveling in the cute little squeak that emits from him in response.

“She’s still sitting with me and Tae during the next movie, though!” Jimin - ever the instigator - interjects as the group makes their way back downstairs. Yoongi and I shuffle behind them.

The eight of us decide to watch The Hangover next since that had been the runner-up before. Once again, I’m draped between Jimin and Taehyung. This time, I’m fully placed on Jimin’s lap while my legs are sprawled out across Tae’s thighs.

My legs had barely even settled onto his lap before his hands were on them. This time I don’t even pretend like I’m paying attention to the movie. I’m more entranced by the way Taehyung kneads his way up my legs from my ankles to my calves to the insides of my thighs.

Meanwhile, Jimin is snuggled into me tightly. His face is shoved into the crook of my neck, and I honestly think he might be sound asleep. With each breath, Jimin’s pillowy lips brush my collarbone. I couldn’t tell if this is my own personal heaven or hell.

Looking up, I meet the dark gaze of Min Yoongi once again. Neither of us break eye contact as I try to read the look on his face and his body language.

He is either: 1) pissed off by something I did, 2) turned on by something I did, or 3) all of the above.

My hunch is the third. Testing that theory, I slide my tongue across my bottom lip. Sure enough, his eyes track the motion instantly before returning to mine. Bing-pot.

The movies seems to take way longer than it’s hour and forty-something minutes. I blame the combination of my sexual frustration and the varying degrees of awareness of it from the boys.

As soon as the credits roll, I extract myself from the holds that Jimin and Tae had on me. “I’m tired,” I lie.

“Aw,” Seokjin hurries over to me and sweeps me into a tight hug, “Get some beauty sleep, darling. Because, in the morning, I’m making pancakes!”

I place a swift kiss to his cheek, “Sounds perfect.”

I bid the rest of the boys goodnight with similar affections. Slowly, I make my way over to the stairs, knowing that Yoongi is trailing after me closely.

Making sure to put an extra swing in my hips, I climb up the staircase like I was getting paid to do it. Finally, I enter Yoongi’s room, turn to face the boy it belonged to, and tug him inside.

“What the fuck, Min Yoongi,” I hiss before closing the door behind him and shoving him against it.

“What?”

He has the audacity— I take a calming breath.

“You eye-fuck me throughout the entire movie and ask me ‘what’?” My hands curl into the fabric of his shirt.

A small smile makes its way across Yoongi’s face as my glower intensifies, “You can’t expect me not to think about that after you announce to everyone that you’re sleeping with me.”

“I didn’t mean literally, you buffoon,” I groan, turning away to head towards the bed.

Yoongi grabs my hips, halting me in place. “I know. But that didn’t stop me from thinking about what it would be like with you. What it would be like to be selfish with you.”

“You want to be selfish with me?” I ask softly, “What does that mean?”

“It means that I know that Tae was the first to get your mouth, but I want to be the first to give you mine.”

Yoongi’s words steal the breath from my lungs and the chill from my very soul. I gasp out, “You want to taste me, baby? That’s what you want?”

“More than anything,” Yoongi groans, pushing his hips into mine. “Please, (y/n), I’ll do anything to put my mouth on you.”

I pull away from Yoongi so that I can face him. His pupils are blown out, his hair is messy, and his expression is devastating with its pleading look. After being teased by so many of the others for the whole evening, he looks like my salvation.

“Okay,” I nod, lying down with my legs hanging off the edge of the bed. “Do your worst. No, not the time for that expression. Do your best. Please.”

Chuckling, Yoongi sinks to his knees before me, running his hands up my legs and resting on the hem of my shorts. He sends me an asking look, and I nod. His fingers shake slightly as he pulls off my shorts.

Left in nothing but pair of lacy red boy-briefs, I shiver in anticipation as I feel Yoongi slip a tentative finger underneath the remaining material.

“Fuck,” He groans, sliding his finger up and down my folds, “You’re so fucking wet, baby.”

“Well, do something about it,” I command, moving my hips up so that he might get the hint to take of my underwear. His finger slides out from underneath them and he doesn’t even hesitate before sucking it into his mouth.

“Yoongi,” I hiss, getting more and more impatient.

Yoongi pulls his finger out of his mouth, “Sorry, (y/n), I just want to savor this moment.”

“You can savor my pussy with your mouth,” I say, “Or are you all talk, Min Yo—”

Quicker than I can comprehend, Yoongi slides my panties to the side and licks a stripe up my folds. I moan as he sucks and licks at my pussy like a man possessed.

“Fuck,” I grab his hair and tug him closer, feeling him moan into me.

The build up of tension and frustration from being surrounded by these boys for the entire day has me on the brink of orgasm already.

Yoongi’s mouth closes over my clit, circling it with his tongue and flicking it slowly.

“More, Yoongi,” I demand.

He listens. Still worshipping my clit, Yoongi slips a finger inside me, curling it in such a practiced way I could scream.

He adds a second. Yoongi’s fingers thrust in and out of me as his tongue continues to taste and tease my pussy.

When he hits a certain spot in me, I moan his name, and I swear he growls. Repeatedly, his fingers hit that same spot inside me and I’m panting, trying my hardest not to come. Not yet.

“Harder!” I moan. Again, Yoongi follows like a good boy, his fingers and tongue picking up the pace.

Pausing to pull my legs over his shoulders, Yoongi meets my eyes. The pinkness of his lips glisten with my juices as he sighs, “I think you might be my new favorite meal.”

Before I can even respond, his resumes wrecking me. He fucks me with his fingers, grabbing at my ass with his free hand.

His mouth devours my pussy, wreaking havoc on my clit with every flick of his tongue.

My thighs quake as my battle to hold off coming becomes too much to endure. My back arches as the pleasure builds up with each quick stroke of his tongue and every movement of his fingers.

As if he knows exactly how to ruin me forever, Yoongi sucks on my clit harshly, and I come, my thighs trapping him between them. Despite it all, Yoongi continues to fuck me, lapping up everything like a starving man.

Soon, the overstimulation hits and I relax my thighs. Pulling his hair, I murmur, “Stop.”

Yoongi obeys.

“Come here,” I sit up, extending an arm out to him. He shuffles forward and when he is within reach I launch myself at him. Kissing him fiercely, I taste myself on his tongue.

“That was so good, baby,” I reach my hand up to stroke his flushed cheek. “Do you want me to help you out?”

“No,” Yoongi shakes his head, “I would rather eat you out again.”

“You’re insatiable!” I cry, tugging out of his hold. “We’ll see…”

a/n: this chap got away from meeee AHHHHHH it’s the longest one yet uwu hope u enjoyed! :) also this is v unedited bc i wanted to post asap so keep that in mind hehe

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cage7241 @cvbachacbitch @honeyspillings @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @athletes-of-god@doingmybestalltheftime @elraee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @breeeeh17 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @im-a-space-child @yeontanismypresident @drowning-in-oxygen @team-wang-puppy @lvvegood @anongirl007 @may114 @r-e-d-i-s-h @unatempesta-dipensieri @dragon-rider-with-a-book @blueberrygeniejam @wondrsblog @vi-hoshi @kirbykook @katemwatson @kawaiikpoplover268 @amsteramyy @sami4life @a-feeling-of-euphoria @the-jackals @bubbletae7 @platinum-grenade @bunnyboyenthusiast @brightly-byun @oofmeintheheadpls @sadboibts @lidda @goldenwidow3 @t-mel19 @lmkjimin @psiphidragon @jeon-joker @sathom013 @lustremyg @ggsmashgg @justyouraveragerando @shadowstark @our-little-meow-meow @baby-hobii @mythicalmeep @asifetch7 @kassandravictoria @eltrain80 @briannasthings @bumblekey93 @ohmwreckr @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @softchimmee @kookoo-kachoo @lenuminous @ass-hole-in-one @peaches-422 @spacejooon @sleepyje0n @uxwi @tellmeyoulovemepls @yady24 @lovesick-heart0 @redirect-min @hopetookourvibe @noonaduck @mini-coop25 @multifandomgirl29 @rhd31 @yoongixvevo @sweetnspicy93 @kuppyjiminie @love-and-other-possibilities @fuckyouandtheboatyoucamein @geminidrawsstuff @livorna @naajix @minjoonhome @subtlepjiminie @mono-kookie @purpleheartsfortae @krystle1990 @jungkooks-nut-is-tasty-in-busan @sky-the-squirrel @jinyounglovebot @vivpurple7 @xcastielbabyangelface @patpus @daydreamingwithbts

a/n: if u asked to be added to the taglist and u did not get tagged, u might be one of the couple ppl that i couldn’t tag [check ur settings, fam!]

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priorireverte · 4 years ago

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Congratulations Clementine!

Your application for Hannah Abbott has been accepted. I so love seeing people take on Trio characters because in a lot of ways they’re so new to me, having a mostly Marauders background, and it excites me to see what people make of them. You’ve done some great development on her already!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Clementine, she/her

TIMEZONE: AEDT / GMT+11

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Fairly active in the afternoons/evenings and on weekends.

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers or anything. Experience-wise, I’ve been RPing on and off since I was about 17, almost exclusively in some form of HP-verse.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Hannah Abbott

BIRTHDATE: August 1st, 1980

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Hannah identifies as cisgender with she/her pronouns. In terms of her sexuality, she has always assumed that she is primarily attracted to men, because it is what she has, in her mind, deemed safe. Despite the more open and accepting nature of Wixen society, one of her Muggle mother’s sisters, who Hannah is extremely close to, lives with her female partner and Hannah has seen the way that Muggle society treats same-sex couples. This choice for Hannah, however, is heavily based on her own assumptions of what she should do, as she has rarely felt sexual attraction for anyone, needing a strong emotional connection with someone in order to do so. (She will eventually identify as demisexual, however, she has never come across that kind of terminology before / may not do so for a long time)

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood (muggleborn mother, magic father)

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff

OCCUPATION: Waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, works occasionally at a Muggle florist owned by her grandparents

FACECLAIM: Eliza Scanlen

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

In the weeks after the war ended, Hannah chose to isolate herself back into the Muggle world as she struggled to come to terms with not only what they had won, but what they had lost along the way. Having to repeat her sixth year at Hogwarts would have been difficult enough for Hannah, but the added circumstances had left her with both physical and mental scars and she had been in no real place to assist with much of the rebuilding. Hannah, who cries and anything and everything, ended the war with barely a tear, as if it had all completely dried her up. She reentered Wixen society slowly - guided by friends who understood what they had all gone through and her determination to build her shattered family back together again. Getting a job at the Leaky was one of the best things she could have done for herself: it allowed her to not only be around other people once again but to see the ways in which society could grow and thrive after a war.

Hannah has no real regrets about her actions and involvement during the war - she could not live with herself if she hadn’t fought. Her fight began when they first took Cedric from them, and it only continued when they took her mother too. She chose to put all her fears and worries behind her until the war was done, and that was when she could collapse.

Despite all her progress, the news of the Returned set Hannah back once more. No matter how hard she tries to cut down her own hope, she opens the Prophet every day, desperate to find the name ‘Abbott’ on the list. Logically, Hannah knows it’s near to impossible - her mother was a Muggle, no matter that she loved a wizard, that her children were magic. But deep in her heart, all Hannah wants is to be able to see and touch her mother once more.

PERSONALITY

Hannah is generally a bright and cheerful person - she has a smile and a wave for everyone who enters the Leaky and is often found deep in conversation with the regulars. She has a knack for names and faces, and it was her decision to fill the back alley with pots and planters, spending her breaks with her knuckles deep in soil. Hannah is a quiet listener and while she can babble when nervous, she knows that sometimes silence is the best response.

On the flip-side, however, despite her outward appearance of calm, inside Hannah is a permanent mess of anxiety and panic. She can be remarkably high-strung despite her patience and she often requires validation and reassurance - when younger, she was happy to follow along with the thoughts and actions of others: her independence seemed to come later. Hannah is an easy crier: tears for frustration and stress and panic, tears of sympathy and laughter. When flustered, she becomes clumsy, which often results in a cycle of more panic and usually ends with something broken. Hannah struggles with looking after and caring for herself, often choosing to take care of others instead.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Hannah was born to a pureblooded father and a Muggleborn mother, leading her to spend most of her life split between both worlds. Her parents were quite adept at sheltering her from the judgement of other families - particularly those who believed her father had ‘tainted’ the bloodline, however, Hannah soon began to realise that not everyone was as accepting as she had believed. Her parents really pushed for Hannah to be as accepting and as loyal as she could be: they instilled a heavy focus on just being kind to others, something that was not difficult for their quiet daughter. The Abbotts were unable to have any more children after Hannah, and so she was completely doted upon by both sides of her family. Hannah was exceptionally close to her mother and her mother’s side of the family, having spent many summers growing up, pottering around on her grandparents’ farm.

Her mother was murdered during Hannah’s sixth year at Hogwarts, in a targetted attack. While the family will not openly discuss it, Hannah has come to understand that the intention had been to warn her father from not only continuing to outwardly express his pro-Muggle views at the Ministry but from attempting to use his influence to halt the corrupt ongoings. As a result, her father completely shut down, shuttling Hannah to her grandparents’ in a cloud of grief and guilt, and she barely saw him for the remainder of the year. After the war, when her father realised he could have lost the last of his family, they slowly came back together. The Abbott’s healing is slow, but gradual, and Hannah knows that patience is what they need right now.

HISTORY

Before the start of the war, Hannah was three things: patient, uncertain, happy. Before the end of the war, she was three different things: angry, broken, determined. At once she was almost two Hannahs: the Hannah who cried during her OWLs, who spent her free time in the greenhouses, who smiled at the first years and made stupid jokes to cheer them up. And she was also the Hannah who sobbed at the loss of Cedric, who buckled under the weight of being prefect, of knowing their whole house was grieving and it was she and Ernie they would look to. The Hannah who lost her best friend and herself when her mother died, and didn’t know when she would ever get herself back.

Hannah finds herself carrying these things with her: every tear, every panic attack, every story she’s ever listened to. And, more than anything, she wants to prove that Hufllepuffs are more: more than just Cedric being killed and tossed to the side, more than just “that other house”, the spares and the leftovers. She is driven by the need to show that being hard-working and patient and loyal and true is sometimes just as important as being brave or wise or cunning.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

This RP was recommended to me by some friends I have RPed with in the past / am currently RPing with. I think I’m looking most forward to playing a trio-era character in a different time of their life to anything I’ve played before - my usual characters have either been Marauders-Era or a recent foray into middle-aged trio.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here are some hcs I wrote like…six years back? And here is a pinterest board because that is who I am as a person :)

#prioriacceptance #hannah abbott

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problemic-characters · 5 years ago

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Harry Potter: Percy Weasley

Percy Weasley is my favorite Harry Potter character. He’s intriguing, his plot is compelling, and really, he deserves more attention.

NOTE: This post is not in any way intended to disparage the rest of the Weasley family. I think that all of them are great people, yes, even Ron.

A lot of people, when looking for redemption arcs in Harry Potter, like to point to Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy. But why does almost no one look at Percy Weasley? There are legitimately more fanfictions, headcanons, and so forth about how Voldemort is secretly a great dude who just wants to help the Wizarding World than there are about Percy Weasley. Can we just... talk about him for a minute?

Percy Weasley grows up in a very much Gryffiindor family, “it doesn’t matter how much money we have as long as we have love” type of home. But Percy Weasley is ambitious. He’s not particularly brave. Any House would fit him better than Gryffindor. He’s ambitious, studious, hard-working, but not brave. And growing up in this Gryffindor household, his best attributes, the things he wants to be, are being constantly put down by his family. Certainly none of the other Weasleys value ambition, a consummate Slytherin trait. Arthur Weasley is content with his low-paying position at the Ministry. Percy Weasley is constantly teased and mocked for studying, for wanting to get somewhere in life. His family’s values are not Percy Weasley’s values and it shows. Fred and George Weasley continually mock him for being a Prefect and striving for academic achievement. While Molly Weasley doesn’t do anything to encourage this, she’s not discouraging it very effectively, either.

So Percy Weasley goes to Hogwarts, and it is a fantasy to him. His parents and older brothers have told him stories and built up its image until Hogwarts isn’t just a place, it’s a dream. So Percy Weasley goes, and he puts the Sorting Hat on his head. And the Sorting Hat says to him, Slytherin. Or, Ravenclaw. Or, Hufflepuff.

And Percy Weasley thinks back to the Sorting Hat, Please, no. Gryffindor, Gryffindor, what will make you give me Gryffindor?

And in response, the Sorting Hat tells him, Are you sure? Gryffindor will not bring you happiness. Gryffindor will not advance your dreams. Gryffindor will not encourage your search for knowledge.

Yes, Percy Weasley thinks.

“Gryffindor!” it yells, and Percy Weasley joins the red-and-gold-clad table amidst cheers.

But his year-mates laugh when Percy Weasley asks them to go to the library with him and mock him for writing out essays three days in advance. When he gets an O on a paper, people look down at him and ask why he invested so much time into a random assignment.

Maybe Oliver Wood is his mortal enemy, obsessed with Quidditch and constantly ignoring homework in favor of flipping through Quidditch magazines. Maybe he ignores Percy Weasley, the quiet studious bookworm hiding in the corner, and in return, he ignores Oliver Wood, the bright laughing kid constantly pestering the Quidditch team. Maybe the duo becomes friends, bonding when Oliver spends hours reading books on Quidditch strategies. But in the end, it doesn’t matter.

In his fifth year, Percy Weasley makes Prefect. Some part of him expects his family to be proud, and his mother is. But the twins mock him about it, and the rest of his family simply don’t care. And seeing his mother chastise the twins, Percy Weasley wonders if his mother only cares about his achievements in that they can be used to pressure his (better, the vicious, nasty part of him whispers) siblings.

When Bill and Charlie made Prefect, he thinks with a touch (more than) of bitterness, the rest of the family cared. But I’m not the brave Gryffindor, I’m just good old studious Percy, and therefore it’s expected.

He starts dating Penelope Clearwater, and the rest of the year passes by in a blur of prefect duties and watching out for Ron Weasley.

Percy Weasley’s sixth year starts with a clandestine kiss in a secluded corner from Penelope Clearwater but quickly devolves. His younger sister, Ginny Weasley, is deteriorating, and his other siblings are doing nothing. So he offers her a Pepper-Up Potion, stays up late nights to assist her with homework, and reassuring her that Ron Weasley won’t get expelled. He thinks about taking her to Madam Pomfrey more than once, but Ginny Weasley insists that she’s fine and Percy Weasley does nothing.

He’s on the brink of just reporting her to the school nurse anyway when suddenly Penelope Clearwater is petrified, and his days devolve into a frantic mass of fear and chaos.

Suddenly, his little sister is taken (dead, his mind supplies), and Percy Weasley is writing a letter to his parents. telling them that the youngest Weasley has been taken by the Heir of Slytherin. And then, just as suddenly, Harry Potter rescues her and rescues Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets; Percy Weasley is left reeling in the wake.

The seventh year, there’s a mass murderer on the loose, and Percy Weasley is paranoid. His parents asked him to watch out for both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter because really, a Prefect and the eldest Weasley remaining at Hogwarts? They ask him to keep an eye on the two. And, well, maybe they don’t outright ask him to watch Ron Weasley, but it’s implied, isn’t it? His younger brother is close to the Boy-Who-Lived and therefore a target. Percy Weasley is certain his parents know this and assumed he knew it as well. After all, Sirius Black didn’t discriminate between the Potters, Peter Pettigrew, and the innocent Muggle bystanders, did he?

When he makes his rounds of the Great Hall after Sirius Black tries to break in, he doubles back a few times to subtly check on his siblings. All of them, even the twins. Percy Weasley is terrified, and he hopes to Merlin that Sirius Black is caught soon. Normally, he hates the Dementors with a burning passion, but tonight, he’s grateful for their presence.

He decides that he needs to put more effort into ensuring Harry Potter and Ron Weasley’s safety. Harry Potter, he follows around obviously, trying to discourage Sirius Black from attacking when an older, well-trained student is in the vicinity. For his brother, he focuses on keeping a subtle eye on him, and ensuring that Ron Weasley isn’t following Harry Potter around. For all that Percy Weasley likes the Boy-Who-Lived, he knows that Harry Potter is a magnet for trouble and danger. He tries to watch them, he really does, but then Sirius Black breaks into Gryffindor Tower, almost killing Ron Weasley, and all Percy can think is, I failed.

When the news comes that Sirius Black is caught, Percy Weasley breathes easier. They’re safe. He feels this for all of two hours, right up until Sirius Black escapes. Harry Potter is raving about the mass murderer’s innocence, the innocence of the man who killed his parents, and Percy Weasley wonders a tiny bit about the boy’s stability. But not for too long.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Percy Weasley has his dream job. He’s overjoyed. Not only that, he’s working under Bartemius Crouch. For Merlin’s sake, the man is a legend! So Percy Weasley ignores it when Crouch calls him “Weatherby,” and the sneers of other Ministry workers who look down and say, “Just like your father.” He knows it’s not a compliment, and a tiny part of him burns with anger at his father. But it’s not very large, and he ignores it.

At the Quidditch World Cup, everything goes wrong so quickly. Percy Weasley stands back to back with his father and fires off Stunners towards the mob. He gets a bloody nose for his trouble, but in the end, his family is safe, and that’s all that matters.

As the year progresses, he slowly finds that he’s taking on more and more responsibilities for his boss. But this is a good thing! It just means that his idol trusts Percy Weasley more and more. And then Percy Weasley is judging at the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and all he can think is this: Merlin, Ron? So he runs down to the lake and drags his younger brother to safety. And he knows it’s foolish and stupid, but he thinks, just to himself, that if Ron Weasley had stayed away from Harry Potter, this never would have happened. And it’s true, isn’t it?

But everything is going fine for him, right up until Harry Potter finds Bartemius Crouch wandering the Forbidden Forest in a daze. And then all of Percy Weasley’s dreams are spiraling down a drain, disappearing into the fog. Sometimes, he can barely breathe, barely think, and he’s been demoted so many times that he might never even reach up to his father’s rank at the Ministry.

The Boy-Who-Lived stumbles away from the Portkey holding the corpse of Cedric Diggory. Percy Weasley doesn’t know what to think, what to believe, but then Cornelius Fudge is right there, telling him that Harry Potter is insane. And, well, Percy Weasley doesn’t want to believe it, but there are tiny little things that have been adding up over the years. And Cornelius Fudge is the Minister. Shouldn’t he be right, then? So Percy Weasley believes the Minister for Magic.

In the wake of the debacle, he gets a promotion. He exhales, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It’s fine. He can still accomplish his dream. So he returns home, ready to tell his family the joyous news. But when he does, they don’t care. And then his father tells him that it’s all a trick, that Percy Weasley could never achieve something like this on his own merits, no, the Minister is manipulating him.

His throat tightens, and suddenly, he can’t breathe again. Percy Weasley screams at his father instead and storms out of the house. If his father doesn’t think that he could accomplish this on his own merits, then his father is a fool. And Dumbledore is going down, because that’s what the Minister said, and if the Minister is wrong, then his father is right and Percy Weasley didn’t get anywhere because of him, no it’s all because of his father, everything for the Ministry, for his dream, comes back to Arthur Weasley-

When Percy Weasley finds out that his youngest brother is consorting with Harry Potter, he writes Ron Weasley a cautionary letter. Because family is still family, and he doesn’t want his siblings to be hurt. And perhaps no one truly knows what went down in Harry Potter’s first year, not besides Harry Potter himself and Albus Dumbledore, but what they do know is that Harry Potter was involved in an incident with Quirinius Quirrell, and then Quirinius Quirrell was dead. And in his second year, Harry Potter made his way to the Chamber of Secrets, where Percy Weasley’s sister almost died and his younger brother was trapped in a rockfall with an amnesiac idiot. In his third year, Ron Weasley was kidnapped by Sirius Black because he was standing next to Harry Potter and had his leg broken. And then a werewolf attacked him (not that Percy Weasley blames poor Professor Lupin, it’s not as if he could control it, but he would hope that at least Dumbledore would have had better containment measures than simply releasing a werewolf into the Forbidden Forest each full moon) and Ron Weasley could have died or been inflicted with lycanthropy. Then, in the fourth year, Percy Weasley’s brother was pulled into the Black Lake and attacked by the merpeople because he was Harry Potter’s friend. And then Harry Potter disappeared with Cedric Diggory and Cedric Diggory came back dead. So, no, Percy Weasley does not want Ron Weasley associating with the Boy-Who-Lived, because their continued association will get him killed. He writes a letter. It goes unanswered.

Down in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, Percy Weasley can’t deny the fact that Voldemort is back. But if Voldemort is back, then his father was right. And if his father was right, then Percy is useless. His entire career amounts to being manipulated by a man who couldn’t remember Percy’s name and then as a convenient pathway to try to spy on his family.

So Percy Weasley runs, and runs, and runs, and doesn’t go back to the Burrow. Not until Christmas, when the new Minister for Magic drags him there. And upon arrival, he knows that Rufus Scrimgeour only wanted to go to talk to Harry Potter. Percy Weasley is a tool, a way for the Ministry to try to reach Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. That’s the only reason anyone keeps him around anymore, as a stepping stone to get somewhere else, to someone more important.

He’s standing uncomfortably inside the Burrow, watching his family like strangers. Molly Weasley embraces him, but, well, his mother has always been the most accepting of his dreams out of all his family. Even if he still wonders if it was for the standard that she could hold his siblings up to. But either way, the rest of his family are staring at him, and then Percy Weasley is being driven out of his former home with mashed parsnips. Outside the house, he stares at his polished black shoes and waits for the Minister to come out.

The Minister is unhappy, and Percy Weasley knows that his negotiations with the Boy-Who-Lived did not go well. Some part of him is viciously happy at this, but the rest is worried because while he might only be a tool, Percy Weasley is still a higher-up of the Ministry and very much aware of the situation. The war is turning in the Death Eaters’ favor, or it always was, and it doesn’t matter because if the Ministry can’t regain the public’s favor, the Death Eaters can start swaying it to their sides. So he returns to the Ministry with piles of paperwork and a wand holster up his sleeve.

He attends Dumbledore’s funeral. Even if he didn’t approve of many of Dumbledore’s actions, he was still a great man. Percy Weasley can recognize that now, at least. None of his family approaches him. The feeling is mutual, and he ignores them as well.

The Ministry is overthrown, and everyone knows it. Perhaps Percy Weasley keeps his head tucked low and recites the pureblood lines, this sham of a government. Perhaps he forges Muggleborn paperwork that proclaims them to be halfbloods. Perhaps he smuggles Muggleborns and their families out of the country. Perhaps he throws himself into work for the Death Eaters, secretly sabotaging them the entire time.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Instead, what matters is that he makes his way to Aberforth Dumbledore and joins the Battle of Hogwarts. Percy Weasley joins the Order of Phoenix and fights side by side with his siblings. When he makes a joke, Fred Weasley laughs, and he wonders if maybe the twins aren’t so bad after all- his younger brother is dead, and Percy Weasley can’t help but wonder if there was something he could have done. If he had seen the explosion faster and pushed Fred Weasley out of the way. If he hadn’t distracted his brother with the stupid joke. If he had traded his own life for Fred Weasley’s, because, well, Fred Weasley is loved. George Weasley needs his twin. They have a joke shop. Countless people would be (are) devastated if (because) Fred Weasley died (dies). And Percy Weasley is not.

After the battle, he returns to the Ministry. He rejoins under Kingsley Shacklebolt’s administration in the Department of Magical Transportation. But, well, Percy Weasley will always wonder if he could have saved his brother.

Fin

This turned into more of a character study than a list of reasons. Percy is my favorite character because he betrays his family. In the series, he had this extremely compelling storyline and background that was never fully explored. And not enough fanfiction writers explored that either, so I wrote this about why he is honestly one of the most interesting characters in Harry Potter.

#percy weasley #oliver wood #character study #harry potter #arthur weasley #molly weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #fred weasley #george weasley

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 5 years ago

Text

Moonlight Chapter Nine: Legilimency

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 9/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Eight+

Chapter Ten+ >>

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

"Ah, Severus, thank you for joining me," Albus said pleasantly as Severus took a seat in the headmaster's office.

Severus nodded and waited for Albus to get on with what he wanted. Thanks to his spying and his extracurricular activities with Miranda, he was a bit behind in class preparation and sleep, both of which were making him irritable.

"I've asked your friend Miss Rose to join us," Albus began, a knowing smile on his face.

"She's not my friend," Severus interrupted petulantly. He hated Albus’s knowing smile, especially when it was directed at him.

"As you say," Albus said, eyes still twinkling. “I am sure you are aware of Miss Rose’s interesting occupation."

“Unfortunately."

"She's been turning her attention to our friend Sirius."

"He's not my friend either."

"Of course, of course. The point is, she's been coming rather closer to the Order than is perhaps prudent. It is time we discover what side she is on."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I think your talents will be most beneficial during this meeting,” Albus observed.

"That's what Lucius Malfoy said a few weeks ago,” Severus commented dryly.

"If you've already read the lady's mind, you could simply divulge the information and save us all some time."

"I...haven't." Severus drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he realized that it had never occurred to him to do so. Legilimency was much more invasive than veritaserum and he supposed he respected her too much to try to invade her privacy in such a way. He was extremely annoyed with himself for this.

"No?" Albus asked, amused.

“No." Severus answered shortly. He clearly wanted to end the discussion.

“Does that mean that you believe her story?” Albus asked, ignoring Severus’s irritation.

“As far as I have been able to verify it.” He did, in fact, trust Miranda, although he could not say exactly why. She seemed honest, but she might simply be an excellent liar. There was a trail of documents at the Ministry of Magic confirming her address and occupation. He’d checked the school records at Ilvermorny and those also agreed with what she had told him, but he knew such things could be falsified. It was entirely possible that she was working for Voldemort to test Severus’s loyalty. Hell, she could be a spy for MACUSA for all he knew. Disturbed by his carelessness he added, “Without further interrogation it is impossible to be completely sure.”

“I agree,” Albus said. He frowned and then asked, “Do you know if it was Lord Voldemort who put her on Sirius’s trail?”

“I don’t. Lucius has not been keeping me informed of his plans. The Dark Lord has not mentioned her in my presence. It is entirely possible that hiring her was an independent action by Cornelius Fudge that Lucius commandeered.”

“That may be hoping for too much,” Albus observed. “I wonder if it would be wise for the young lady to return to America.”

Severus snorted. “You try to tell Miranda to do something wise.”

There was a knock on the office door and Miranda strode into the room.

”Hello, Headmaster, thank you for taking the time to see me," she greeted, smiling.

“Of course, Miss Rose. Punctual again I see," Albus replied, gesturing to a chair next to Severus.

She eyed Severus as she took her seat. "I wasn't aware that we were going to have company," she said evenly.

“Yes, this must be rather distressing,” Albus said, eyes twinkling, “particularly since Severus has informed me that the two of you are not friends, but I thought that he might be useful during our meeting. I hope you can endure it, my dear. Would you care for a lemon drop?”

Her jaw tightened, but she took a lemon drop. “It’s just as well,” she said, her voice cooler than it had been, “I have questions for Professor Snape also.”

“I am afraid that I must tell you something that you will not like,” Albus went on pleasantly.

“Oh?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

"You came to this meeting thinking you were going to be asking the questions. I'm afraid you were mistaken. The time has come for me to ask you questions."

"Really?" Her expression was a mask of amusement as she wondered what was going on here. ”Do you mind if I smoke Headmaster?"

"I do, in fact," he replied easily.

Severus raised an eyebrow at this, especially as he noticed her fingers twitch as though she wanted to reach for her wand. How interesting that she was so tense in Albus’s office when she had seemed so relaxed at Malfoy Manor.

"I think you should hand Severus your wand as well,” Albus ordered politely.

She hesitated a moment, but then did as Albus demanded. She smiled blandly and asked, "Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"You have been asking many questions about former Hogwarts students,” Albus began. “You have been drawing quite a bit of attention to them and, as a result, raising questions about their current locations and activities. I want this to stop."

"I wasn't aware that tracking a murderer was an activity that the Headmaster of Hogwarts would want to stop,” she observed.

"Sirius Black is many things, but not a murderer.”

“Do you have proof of this?”

“Unfortunately the eye witness and the culprit are one in the same and currently at large.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Miss Rose, how much do you know about the Wizarding War that took place here about twenty years ago?”

She shrugged. “I know the basics. Some fool styling himself ‘Lord Voldemort’ got a lot of folks worked up over blood-purity and used it as an excuse for a lot of destruction and murder. He mysteriously vanished after attacking a baby named Harry Potter who, as I understand, is currently at Hogwarts and is Professor Snape’s least favorite student.” She smiled wryly at Severus and he gave her a withering look. Then she turned back to Albus and quipped, “I wasn’t aware there was going to be a quiz on British History today, or I would have studied harder.”

“It’s quite all right. You do seem to have the basics correct, but I wonder if you quite understand the depth of terror that reigned here during that time,” Albus commented.

Her smile vanished and she looked rather serious. “No, I don’t, but I do understand that it is not a joking matter.” She studied Albus for a long time and then asked, “Headmaster, is there a reason that you are raising an army of witches and wizards against the Ministry of Magic?"

"We are not arming against the Ministry per se."

"Then what exactly is going on?"

"Voldemort has returned. Minister Fudge is determined to deny this fact and I am determined not to be taken by surprise the way we were when the last Wizarding War began."

“I see,” she said slowly, her fingers fidgeting with the lemon drop and her mind racing. If Albus was correct, than Severus’s checkered past was not quite so much in the past.

She eyed Severus again. “No wonder you were so tense at Malfoy’s,” she said dryly.

His eyes were glittering as he stared back at her. He found it highly amusing to see her caught off guard. “Indeed. I told you it was fortunate that you weren’t dead,” he gloated.

“Well, I didn’t know Malfoy was an active Death Eater when I took the invitation, did I?”

“Perhaps you should have been more careful in your research. It seems as sloppy as your potion making.”

Her eyes narrowed angrily. “You could have volunteered a bit of information, you know.”

His lip curled and he replied, “You made it clear that you don’t like to mix business and pleasure. It is not my fault if you are not as clever as you thought you were.”

“Not as clever!” she sputtered, shooting out of her chair. “I’m the one who talked us out of that situation, as I recall. You didn’t do anything but try to slip me veritaserum. What was your plan after that? A bit of Imperio? Some Cruciatus for giggles?” She whirled back to Albus and said with a forced smile, “Headmaster, I think I need a cigarette. I can keep the smell away from you, I promise."

"The smell is not the problem, my dear, the magic you do with the smoke is,” Albus replied calmly.

Severus snorted. "So that's what you've been doing.”

"Not on you,” she retorted. “I didn't need to use any magic on you."

"Do stop bickering children, we haven't the time," Albus interrupted. "Miss Rose, I am afraid I can no longer ignore you. I want to know whose side you are on."

"I'm not on a side,” she deflected. “America stayed out of the last Wizarding War and I expect we'll do the same if another one begins. I’d probably be sanctioned by MACUSA if I were officially to declare a side."

"Everyone must choose a side, official or not. Politics don't matter to anyone but people like Cornelius Fudge."

"The man is my client. If I gain a reputation for betraying my clients, it'll be bad for business,” she protested angrily.

"I'm not asking for an outright betrayal. I am simply asking you to cease investigating the Order. It would also be very good if you would continue to track Sirius Black, but fail to find him.”

"Oh, so you just want me to look incompetent?"

"In a manner of speaking,” Albus said patiently. “Voldemort is one of the strongest wizards ever to live. If he comes to power, he will spread death and destruction throughout the wizarding world, I daresay, even in America. I believe Severus mentioned that you are of Muggle descent. Witches like you will be the first target if Voldemort is triumphant.”

Miranda had started pacing, trying process everything that Albus had revealed. She was furious that she had somehow missed such an important detail as the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, although she supposed that might explain all of the extra activity among the darker magical creatures. She was also fighting to regain control of her temper. While she might have been willing to take on Severus in a fight, she could tell she was no match for Albus. She was at their mercy as long as she was in this office. She’d assumed that they were trust-worthy, but she’d just been shown that several of her assumptions were rather incorrect.

Severus was watching her intently and seemed to have guessed her train of thought.

“Sit down, Miranda,” he ordered quietly. “We aren’t going to attack you. At most, we may have to modify your memory, but you have a much better chance of leaving this room unharmed than you did of walking out of Malfoy Manor at all.”

She stopped pacing and glared at him. “And I’m supposed to trust you? If Voldemort is back, it seems you’re an active Death Eater rather than a former one.”

“Miss Rose, I trust Severus completely,” Albus stated firmly. “And, moreover, I believe that you do as well.”

She inhaled sharply, but allowed, “I suppose that is true, although Heaven knows why.”

She sat back down and was silent for a long time. She finally said, in a business-like tone, “I think we have two issues at hand: the first being what I’m going to do about Mr. Black and the second regarding an English civil war that you’re asking me illegally to take sides in. I think we should deal with the issues one at a time.”

“I understand that this must come as a shock to you Miss Rose,” Albus observed, “but I believe that you are of a strong constitution. I am willing to give you the time you require to take a decision.”

“I am going to take your word on Black’s innocence.” She smirked and added, “Honestly, it is my inclination not to trust government authorities and Malfoy gives me the creeps, so I’d rather not do his and Fudge’s bidding anyway. I can also promise not to reveal what you are up to. I can’t promise to help you beyond that just yet, although I am willing to consider the matter.”

“Thank you, Miss Rose.” Albus smiled at her. “However, there is still the matter of vetting you.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

"I would like you to allow Severus to see your thoughts. He is an expert Legilimens. If he thinks that we can trust you, we will trust you."

She looked grim and asked, ”Is it really necessary to use Legilimency? Is there nothing else I can do?"

"Do you have something to hide?" Severus demanded.

"No more than anyone else. It's just…” Her voice trailed off and for a moment she looked rather vulnerable. “It's going to be unpleasant. I can't let you into my mind, it simply won't work. I was telling the truth the other evening at Malfoy Manor. I really am immune to veritaserum. When you enter my mind, there will only be a wall. You can bore through it, but I can't lower it to let you in. I also can’t get out to perform Legilimency myself without boring through the wall. It’s a shame, it would have been a useful skill in my profession”

"I am sorry, Miss Rose, but I must insist,” Albus said firmly. “Perhaps you would prefer to create the necessary entrance?”

She shook her head, looking resigned. “No. It will be faster if Severus does it. I have a hard time maintaining consciousness when I try to cut my way out.” She folded her legs underneath her in the chair, closed her eyes, and began to breathe slowly and rhythmically. After about five minutes, she opened her eyes and said, “I am ready.”

Severus rose and drew his wand. He had never heard of the strange mental protection that Miranda had described and he did not relish the idea of cutting his way into her mind. He half wished that Albus would do his own dirty work. He frowned and held her silver gaze with his black one. “Legillimens,” he said.

He was standing on a dusty road inside her mind, facing a smooth, gray wall. It reached as high as he could see. He pushed at it, hoping there would be another way in, but it felt as hard as physical stone. In her mind’s eye, he drew his wand and commanded, “Scalpero.”

Red sparks began drilling a hole through the wall. Miranda was sweating, fighting to keep her breathing even. Severus knew he was hurting her, but he put it out of his mind. He had a job to do and the sooner it was finished the better. Slowly and steadily the hole grew larger. Finally he forced his way through the barrier and her thoughts were swirling around him.

……Miranda was wrestling the werewolf, grunting in pain as it slashed her from shoulder to hip…She was lying on Severus’s bed and he was reading to her…She was six years old, singing and twirling around the parlor of a farmhouse in winter. A large man with bright blue eyes was playing the fiddle while a kind-faced woman wearing spectacles and four boys older than Miranda were singing along with her…She was fifteen, terrified, and walking slowly up the aisle of a dark church to a coffin surrounded by six tall brown candles. When she reached it, she saw the body of a silver-haired boy a bit older than she was….She was twenty, lying in a heap on the floor amid the ruins of a bookshelf. She pulled herself to a sitting position, her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. She pulled a vial of turquoise liquid out of a pocket and gulped it. Tossing the vial aside, she pulled herself up to standing and drew a knife out of her boot. She crept silently out of the room and through a dark hallway, towards the sound of a battle. Through a broken door at the end of the hall, she could see two wizards dueling furiously. As she reached the door, the older wizard disarmed the younger. She quickened her pace and stole into the room as the older wizard cast the Killing Curse. The younger man slumped to the ground and Miranda plunged her knife into the neck of the victor, whose eyes widened in pain and surprise before he too slid to the ground, dead. She wiped her blade on the dead man’s robes, kicked him in the head, and continued past him to the side of the younger wizard. When she reached him, she sank to the floor beside him, and silently laid her head on his chest….

Severus was sweating himself as he combed through her thoughts.

Show me what I need to know, he ordered.

I can’t! It hurts…. she whimpered.

The sooner I have what I need, the sooner it will be over.

She shuddered, but tried to direct her thoughts to something relevant to his search.

……She was eleven, standing on the engraving of a Gordian Knot in a large, circular room. She was surrounded by the wooden carvings of four odd looking creatures. Suddenly one of them flapped its wings and she rushed towards a group of students, smiling….She was eighteen, arguing with the large blue-eyed man in the farmhouse. Three other men sat around the room looking irritated and amused…She was twenty-five, on the trail of a strange reptilian creature that moved like a kangaroo….She was riding a gray horse through the woods…She was walking by the sea near her cabin…She was having tea with Professor Horace Slughorn…She was knocking on the door of an old woman Severus recognized as having lived near Spinner’s End for his whole life…She was sitting in Cornelius Fudge’s office, feigning interest in whatever he was prattling on about….She was running her foot up Severus’s inseam, flirting with Lucius….She was in Severus’s bed, arching her body against his….

Severus became aware that she was trembling like a leaf in her chair.

"Please, stop," she whispered. He broke eye contact and she fell forward in a faint. He caught her before she hit the floor and gathered her to his chest.

Without looking at Albus, he said, “She is who she says she is. Was that really necessary?" His voice was very quiet in his anger.

Albus looked grim but answered, "You, of all people, know it was.”

"Were you worried about the Order, or were you worried about her compromising your spy?"

"Does it matter?"

Severus turned and glared at Albus, but the older wizard looked exhausted and waved him away. "Take her down to your rooms, Severus, before Umbridge gets out of class."

*****

Severus paced the length of his bedroom, waiting for Miranda to awaken. She was lying on his bed and had been unconscious for perhaps twenty minutes since she had fainted in Albus’s office. He had no idea how long she would be out or if there would be any lasting damage from his entry into her mind. He was angry at Albus, although he knew that the older wizard was right to be cautious. He was angry at Miranda for making what should have been a simple excursion into her thoughts a traumatic one. He was angry at himself for hurting her and he was angry that he cared. After all, it was not his fault that she had a strange mind. Why should he feel so guilty, then? He had not really taken any time to consider what exactly he was doing carrying on with her. Obviously the physical part of the relationship was exquisite. He had thought that was his primary motivation for seeing her, and that had probably been true at the start. He had been telling himself that his concern for her safety was simply due to his selfish desire that she continue warming his bed. If he were fair, he supposed he enjoyed her company as well as her body. She was competent; a trait he usually did not find in others. She was comfortable with silence and did not feel the need to prattle on constantly. She knew what questions to avoid asking him. She actually seemed to like him; something he had rarely experienced. And she was certainly never dull.

Miranda suddenly opened her eyes, although they did not seem to notice their surroundings. “David?” she whispered. "Where are you?"

He stopped pacing and went to sit next to her on the bed.

She sat up, her voice urgent and frightened. ”David? Where are you? I can't see you.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Miranda, it's Severus.”

Her eyes focused on him, but she still seemed completely confused. She asked for David a few more times before finally recognizing Severus. He handed her a glass of water, which she drank, hands still shaking.

After she had drained the glass, he asked quietly, “David is one of the young men I saw dead?”

She looked away from him and gave a short nod. "We went to school together. We were going to be married. Had a date set and everything. Then we set out after a dark wizard, Isidore Carter. He must have taken a page out of Voldemort’s book, he was murdering No-Majs right and left.” She inhaled deeply to calm her voice. “I suppose you saw the rest.”

“I did.”

She was still in her memories and went on, speaking half to herself. “David was a bit like my brother Columba, always a kind word for everyone, always looking on the bright side of things. He was no match for me in a duel, but he never minded. He was more patient than I was and his potions always turned out perfectly.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “He never should have taken on Carter alone. We were tracking him together, but Carter separated us and got ahold of my wand in the process. By the time I got to them, I was too late. But I had my poisoned knife, so at least Carter couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You saw it anyway, it must be terribly dull to listen to.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Well," she smiled angrily and tried to turn the subject, "I'm glad Malfoy wasn't bright enough to ask you to do that. Fainting is so undignified."

“It is unfortunate that Legilimency is so painful for you.”

“Unfortunate that Legilimency is so painful for me?” she repeated incredulously, still avoiding his eyes. “I’d say it’s unfortunate that you and Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was necessary.”

“Come now, surely you realize that we had to be certain that your story was true,” he said, a bit patronizingly.

“All I realize is that you and Malfoy are rather more similar than I had thought,” she replied coldly.

"Miranda, look at me," he demanded.

"Why, so you can mentally rape me again?"

“Stop being melodramatic,” he snapped defensively. “You agreed to it. It is not my fault that your mind is so unusual.”

“I agreed because I had no choice,” she said in a low voice. “I could have taken my chances with you, but Dumbledore obviously had me outmatched even before he relieved me of my wand and my cigarettes. What else was I supposed to do?”

A heavy silence descended on the pair. Eventually her trembling stopped and the color returned to her face. At last, she stood.

"May I have my wand back now?" she asked, finally looking at him. "I'd like to go home."

Severus handed it back to her reluctantly. He didn't want her to leave like this, but he had no idea how to convince her to stay. He certainly wasn’t going to apologize for doing something he felt justified in doing.

Suddenly her eyes flashed and she pointed her wand at him, "Legilimens!" she hissed.

Severus was so startled that she was in his mind, seeing his thoughts before he could do anything to stop her.

…..He stepped over the corpse of a bespectacled man that lay at the top of the stairs. He did not want to enter the room at the end of the hall. He could hear a baby crying and he knew what he would see, but he could not stop himself. He opened the door and a red-haired woman lay dead on the floor, her child in the crib behind her. His knees buckled and he leaned against the wall for support, then he gathered her into his arms, holding her and weeping….

Miranda withdrew. She lowered her wand and said causticly, “It will take a while for the hole you made to close again. I thought I’d take advantage of it.”

Severus stood up slowly, his eyes blazing murderously at her. “How dare you,” he hissed.

They looked daggers at each other for several minutes. Then she pocketed her wand, walked away from him, and leaned her shoulder against the wall near his wardrobe. Her hands were shaking slightly as she took out her cigarette case. She drew out a cigarette, lit it, and took an extremely long drag of smoke. A gentle breeze started, and she stood there smoking, meeting Severus’s glare with her own.

“The dead woman was Lily?” she finally asked indifferently.

“Brilliant deduction,” he bit back at her.

She smoked to the end of her cigarette in silence, snuffed it out on his wall, and vanished the butt into thin air. Then she muttered, “Severus, I think we need to go out and get shit-faced.”

“Am I supposed to understand that charmingly plebeian phrase?” His asked, his voice a knife of sarcasm.

“Drunk,” she answered condescendingly. “We need to get drunk.”

She stalked to the bathroom and when she reached the door she turned and gave him a once over. “You know how to dance?” she asked dubiously.

“Of course I do,” he spat. “What does that have to do with…”

“Good,” she interrupted. Then she turned on heel and entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

He shook his head in disbelief as he heard the water start running. How dare she? How dare she invade his mind? He never wanted to see her again! He whirled around, stormed through his sitting room, into the hallway, and slammed the door behind him. He did not stop until he reached his office, where he slammed the door so hard that the jars on the shelves on the wall rattled in protest. He sat down at his desk and started furiously marking scrolls. He had work to do! He did not have time to waste on that vulgar, imperious harpy!

Half an hour later, his breathing had returned to something resembling normal. He threw down his quill and sat back in his chair, his eyes staring blankly at his desk. He knew exactly how Miranda felt. How many times had he submitted to the Dark Lord’s invasion of his mind? How long had it been since he had had a choice? It was true that he took a grotesque sort of pleasure in knowing that he was able to fool the Dark Lord with his powers of Occlumency, but it still made him want to vomit every time. He inhaled sharply. He was livid with Miranda for what she had done and furious that she was attempting to order him about. However, sitting in his office reading the twaddle his dunderhead students had written seemed even less appealing than whatever Miranda had planned.

“Very well,” he muttered. “Shit-faced it is.”

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

End Notes:

I head-canon that the Fidelius Charm (which is ambiguously described in the books) was still protecting Harry at the point that Severus came upon James and Lily after Voldemort murdered them. This would explain why he did nothing to help Harry--because he could neither see nor hear the child.

Miranda finally gets caught using one of her tricks in this chapter. Her cigarettes contain tobacco as well as other useful magical herbs (although not marijuana--that's a thing unto itself). She can use the smoke to relax herself and to help herself heal more quickly. She can also use it to relax other people and make them more pliable to her manipulation of them. She has not used this trick on Severus, although she certainly used it at Malfoy Manor. Smoke and magic will appear later in the story.

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

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Eight+

Chapter Ten+ >>

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape #snape #snape x oc #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #espionage #spying #smoke magic #american magic #ilvermorny #legilimency #manipulation #albus dumbledore #romance #adventure #second wizarding war

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hufflly-puffs · 5 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Chapter 19: Elf Tails

“Hermione gave an almost inaudible sniff. She had been exceptionally quiet all day. Having hurtled, white-faced, up to Harry outside the hospital wing and demanded to know what had happened, she had taken almost no part in Harry and Ginny’s obsessive discussion about how Ron had been poisoned, but merely stood beside them, clench-jawed and frightened-looking, until at last they had been allowed in to see him.” – It is hard that it took Ron almost dying for him and Hermione to make up and speak again and rekindle their friendship. Not to be melodramatic on main but whenever you fight with someone, whenever you feel like you can longer talk with each other, the reasons for it are usually not worth the fight. Don’t get to the point where you regret you never made up with someone. And I think this is what Hermione has been thinking about all day: how she almost lost Ron without the chance to make up, with all the anger and hurt feelings between them, and how trivial the reason for them fighting seems now. Something to consider before you throw away a friendship.

“‘Who’d want to kill Slughorn?’ ‘Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side,’ said Harry. ‘Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And …’ he thought of the memory Dumbledore had not yet been able to extract from Slughorn, ‘and maybe Voldemort wants him out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore.’” – I think this is the real reason Voldemort is after Slughorn – right now he is the only one who knows about the secret of his immortality and therefore how he could become mortal again.

“‘But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas,’ Ginny reminded him. ‘So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore.’ ‘Then the poisoner didn’t know Slughorn very well,’ said Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she had a bad head-cold. ‘Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he’d keep something that tasty for himself.’” – It is the same pattern as with the Cursed necklace – there was a big chance the necklace would never make it into the castle, just as there was a big chance the poisoned mead would never make it to Dumbledore given Slughorn’s nature. Both times Dumbledore was the actual target, both times the execution was sloppy and careless. And this is something Dumbledore points out later in his final conversation with Draco, that perhaps Draco never wanted to succeed, that he might have even hoped Dumbledore would put a stop to it.

“‘Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren’t, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed. Of course,’ she added broodingly, ‘that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don’t seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim.’” – If we do believe Dumbledore that Draco secretly wanted his plans to fail, I don’t think it was his intention to hurt others in the process, or even kill them. If Katie hadn’t touched the necklace then surely Filch’s Secrecy Sensors would have detected the necklace. And he might have assumed that either Slughorn or Dumbledore would have tested the mead of poison before drinking it. Draco is, as Dumbledore tells him, not a killer.

“‘I mean, it’s always bin a bit of a risk sendin’ a kid ter Hogwarts, hasn’ it? Yer expect accidents, don’ yeh, with hundreds of under-age wizards all locked up tergether, but attempted murder, tha’s diff ’rent.” – Is there a compulsory education in the Wizarding World or is it up to the parents to decide whether they send their kids to school or teach them at home? Hagrid’s wording makes it sound like home-schooling is an option, because surely not just Hogwarts but every Wizarding school is a bit risky for the same reasons (though clearly the weirdest stuff always happens at Hogwarts).

Also by now it is an established plot device that whenever Harry needs to know something he isn’t supposed to know to just let Hagrid accidently tell him.

“‘I’m a ruddy teacher, aren’ I, yeh sneakin’ Squib!’ said Hagrid, firing up at once.” – Using the word ‘Squib’ as an insult is not very cool, Hagrid.

“‘I’ve been waiting for you to come back,’ said McLaggen, disregarding Harry’s drawn wand. ‘Must’ve fallen asleep. Look, I saw them taking Weasley up to the hospital wing earlier. Didn’t look like he’ll be fit for next week’s match.’” – Leave it to McLaggen to use the first chance he gets to get a place in the Quidditch team. I mean Ron, Harry’s best friend, has been in the hospital wing for hours, clearly Harry has other concerns, but all McLaggen cares about is Quidditch and his chance to play. Jerk.

“Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy.” – A sentence straight out of a fan fiction, I am sure.

“‘Yeah, I’m really going to tell you, because it’s your business, Potter,’ sneered Malfoy. ‘You’d better hurry up, they’ll be waiting for the Chosen Captain – the Boy Who Scored – whatever they call you these days.’” – The Boy Who Scored. THE BOY WHO SCORED. I mean it does sound like the porn version of Harry Potter, just so you know it.

“Then Cadwallader scored again, making things level, but Luna did not seem to have noticed; she appeared singularly uninterested in such mundane things as the score, and kept attempting to draw the crowd’s attention to such things as interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who had so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute, was suffering from something called ‘Loser’s Lurgy’.” – As much as I am not interested in Quidditch I would love to hear Luna comment matches.

“‘Ginny came in to visit while you were unconscious,’ he said, after a long pause, and Harry’s imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing a scene in which Ginny, weeping over his lifeless form, confessed her feelings of deep attraction to him while Ron gave them his blessing …” – Confirmed: Harry James Potter secretly reads romance novels.

“‘Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes and Dobby will do whatever Harry Potter wants him to do!’ said Dobby, tears now streaming down his shrivelled little face on to his jumper.” – I had wondered about this last book. After Dobby had warned the DA about Umbridge Harry had forbidden him to hurt himself and Dobby had accepted that order. Now we know why. Dobby is free to choose his master (Dumbledore) and apparently he can obey more than one person, based on who he likes and respects.

#Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince #Elf Tails #chapter notes #hbp

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darkkbluee · 5 years ago

Text

Stufflebot Prompt Fill #6

Prompt: Rita Skeeter inherits Ilvermorny.

For @stufflerain . Good luck for next week!

So.. yeah… I don’t know how this came out but oh well ~ Here comes a wild AU ~

“Heir of Slytherin, this. Heir of Slytherin, that. Do these people have nothing better to talk about?!!” Hermione scoffs as she notices another group of Hufflepuff’s jumping back and out of Harry’s way.

“You’re right,” a voice says from behind them, and they all turn to look at a very disgruntled Parvati Patil. “These people think that Slytherin is the only Parselmouth in the world and that it is an evil ability. What would they know about the difference between a boon and bane?”

“Huh? You mean there are other Parselmouths in the world? Blimey, as if Slytherin wasn’t bad enough!” Ron exclaims and Parvati glares at him.

“Of course! I’ll have you know that Parselmouths are very popular in India, Africa and Australia. And that Britain doesn’t have a monopoly on the ability.” The irritated girl states and Hermione is instantly enraptured.

“You mean there are other families in the world with that ability? And oh, the difference in public opinion about a magical gift in different parts of the world is very interesting too! Can you tell me more?” Hermione asks as she stares at the usually gossip-engrossed girl in wonder.

“Yes.” She says, taken aback by Hermione’s enthusiasm. “In fact, the American school, Ilvermorny, was founded by a distant half-blood descendent of Salazar Slytherin, Isolt Sayre, who ran away from her family. She ran away from her family, married a muggle and is well known for her travels across the world. In fact, Harry is more likely to be a descendent from Sayre or a foreign Parselmouth as compared to being the Heir of Slytherin.”

“That is interesting.” Hermione’s eyes glazed over, as if engrossed in thoughts. “Where can I find books on this? Does the library have more information?”

“I learnt from our cultural histories. As for the library? I guess so. It’s not like I go there much. Ask Padma.” Parvati shrugs and then turns to the green eyed boy was silent throughout the conversation. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re the Heir of Slytherin, Harry. And Parseltongue is certainly not evil.”

“Thanks, Parvati!” Harry smiles. Parvati nods back before leaving.

“Come on, Harry. We have a free period now. We need to go back to the library.” Hermione says, her hands clamping down on Harry and Ron’s shoulders. “I need help with this and it’ll go faster with more people.”

“What? Why?!” Ron says, aghast at the idea of more reading right after classes.

“Because,” Hermione says, and her eyes blaze with determination, “We’re going to prove that Harry isn’t the Heir of Slytherin by tracing the lineage. That someone can be a Parselmouth without being Slytherin’s Heir. And vice-versa too.”

Hence, all thoughts of the Chamber of Secrets were forgotten as the trio found a much better, easier and safer way to prove Harry’s innocence.

***********

Rita Skeeter looks at the latest issue of The Quibbler with wide-eyed surprise. It doesn’t help that an official Gringotts Certified genealogy tree is attached to the article.

“Oh.” Bozo, her photography partner, looks over her shoulder as he reads the article. “Congrats, Rita.”

“Con-congrats?!” She sputters through her shock, her hands clenching around the magazine that reports more fiction than facts. “I’m being called the Heir of Slytherin and you’re congratulating me?!”

“Well…” Bozo scratches his head. “You’re also Isolt Sayre’s oldest descendent and have apparently inherited Ilvermorny. It’s like, being descended from one of the Hogwarts Founders! Which you also are, technically. Fame and money! Just think about how many articles you can sell just by adding ‘Rita Skeeter, Descendent of Salazar Slytherin and Isolt Sayre’.”

“That is not the point, Bozo!” she shrieks. “I just wrote an article in last month’s Prophet about how Harry Potter is a budding Dark Wizard and we need someone with a firm hand to guide him. And now, this! He’s not related to the Slytherin line and he’s in Gryffindor. I, on the other hand, was a Slytherin. This makes it seem like I was targeting Potter to draw attention away from myself. And even worse, why did I not know about this? I could have written a better article on the topic than some 11 year old girl! Think about the lost opportunity!”

“Errr, so you’re angry about the fact that Lovegood got a drop on the news before you did?” Bozo asks hesitatingly. “Not that the article paints you in a bad light?”

“Of course not.” She scoffs. “Who do you think I am? I’m Rita Skeeter. Publicity is not an issue. A missed opportunity is.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Bozo asks and Rita grins.

“Milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.”

She does just that, and the next 3 months are the best months of Rita’s career. She’s suddenly very popular amongst the pureblood crowd and even Lucius Malfoy gives her a wide space and respectful nods.

Everything is peaceful, until Hermione Granger is attacked. The girl was the main researcher of the article and her petrification was assumed to be a revenge plot. She manages to somehow evade the arrest and prove her innocence when Fudge himself comes to her office with an arrest warrant. A judicious use of blackmail also helps. Later, she even tones down on the ‘Heir of Slytherin and Ilvermorny’ titles. And all is well.

Then, Ginerva Weasley, a pureblood is kidnapped and killed. The Ministry wastes no time in arresting her. Apparently, having a reputation for sneaking in and printing private conversations of Ministry personnel means she has the ability to sneak into Hogwarts to petrify Muggleborn students, and having blackmail on some of the jury means they’re all the more eager to not give her a trial and throw her straight into Azkaban. The Animagus thing was just icing on the cake.

She doesn’t accept her condition, though. She is a Slytherin and she will be free, by hook or crook. The thought of her innocence keeps her sane and sharp enough to plot a crude plan. She decides to write and smuggle an anonymous letter about the injustice done to her to The Prophet, in the hopes of drawing attention to herself. Maybe all those purebloods would at least help the Heir of Slytherin out!

She does just that, and waits eagerly to be freed. It doesn’t work. Instead, an inquiry is launched and Sirius Black is freed. Rita, on the other hand, is fined for illegal activities and attempted insurrection. Her sentence is extended and for once, she is at a loss. She re-learns a lesson she had forgotten over a decade long successful career:

The pen is mightier than the sword but no match for the bureaucrat.

#harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #parvati patil #hogwarts #heir of slytherin #isolt sayre #ilvermorny #crack #harry potter au #rita skeeter #sirius black

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one-true-houselight · 6 years ago

Video

youtube

It’s me, doing stand up!

I cut out the spelling of my name for privacy reasons. Also, the bit that’s cut off the the end is just me saying that I never went skiing again, and that now I just do safe things, like trying to enter the adult job market.

Transcript under the cut, and if you are so inclined, my Ko-Fi is in my bio. Thanks!

Hello everyone, I am Erika, and tonight I will be performing All Star by Smash Mouth.

I’m kidding, no one would want to hear that. I cannot sing.

(from the crowd: I would!)

(laughter) You don’t want to hear me sing, I promise you.

Alright! Hi! In actuality, I am Erika (last name, pronounced ko-kek), and you’re like ‘ooh, we get a last name now, a mystery, and you’re like it’s an interesting last name too!’ That’s probably because you’ve never seen it spelled out. Let me walk you through my last name (ko-kek), alright, are you ready for this, are you ready: [redacted spelling]. Yeah! Four Ks! That’s a lot of Ks, and they’re in a real strange order. If you- if you noticed, uh, it’s the same set of four letters twice, it’s [redacted spelling] but you may have also noticed that’s not how it’s pronounced! Cuz you know, that would make sense. This is apparently from, like, changes in immigration, that you know happen, which, this is according to my uncle. But my grandfather, who lived in the Netherlands in the 40s (yeah, those 40s), pronounces it like Ko-Kek, so I’m inclined to believe him.

Now, having a weird last name in school is always kind of a crazy existence, though I will say, most of the time when people are like ‘oh, that’s a weird last name’, it’s because people are racist, or at the very least are being like ‘oh, I’m gonna put Western Expectations on things that shouldn’t have them’, but as you see, my last name, is Dutch, as I mentioned, and Dutch white people, which I am one of, have done some incredibly awful things, so I don’t feel bad mocking it. So we continue on. So, this, so with my last name in roll call, we could change my last name to [silence] and it would sound the same. Let me, let me walk you through…Let me walk you through a roll call, so like the teacher’s up here, and they’re like ‘Alright, let’s see…we have Ferris Beuller? Oh you showed up, very good, alright. Harry Potter? Oh, you didn’t die, that’s fantastic. And then, Erika…[long silence]. And I’m just over here like ‘oh yeah that’s me, hi.’ Now sometimes, I like to speed it up, and rather than say here or present or anything, I’ll just say my last name (Ko-kek) to like, speed up the conversation so it’s not like, uh, Erika, long pause, here, oh, how do you pronounce that?, Ko-kek, it just speeds up the process. So, I’ll go, they’ll go Erika… and I’ll say (Ko-kek). The problem is they’ll get confused sometimes. They’ll look at me and they’ll go ‘Oh, is that here in Dutch?’ No. But you did your best.

And not only does my last name have enough Ks to stop a substitute teacher dead in their tracks, my first name? Erika? Also with a K. My sibling is Kat with a K, my mother is Karolyn with a K, though that’s not her fault, she kind of like, came into it and was like ‘oh, I guess this works out’. And my father…is Doug. But, but, he has a middle name that’s very strange and has a K in it so it all works out, it’s fine. So, if you’re ever like reading something, and you’re looking at it and you’re like ‘huh, there should be a K in this word’, it probably wasn’t a typo, my family just needed to name another child and just like, stole it.

So, I do have to say I’m Erika with a K a lot, because most people will assume it’s with a C. Or, more recently, two Ks. Which is kind of fun, but it’s also at the same time like ‘I’m drowning in Ks, please don’t give me more!’ But no, so I say Erika with a K a lot, which means I realized something really really cool. That rhymes with Erika with a They! These are the puns the queer community was built upon.

I do use they/them pronouns, and I even wear a little tag for it, it’s right here, it’s very nice. Um, and, it’s just kind of weird sometimes, because people will sometimes not use my pronouns, which kinda makes me sad. But I’ve realized something. I was just assuming they were reading the tag and just being rude about it. But recently, I’ve realized that they’re just not reading the tag. The way I’ve realized this is I’ll be like, walking through Target, and someone will be, like, looking around, and they’ll see me and they’ll see the tag and go ‘A ha! A worker!’ And they’ll be like ‘Do you know where the towels are?’ And this is very strange for me, mostly because I know where the towels are. So I’ll go ‘Ok, they’re over there in that corner, but I don’t work here, please.’ And, and they’re like ‘Oh, I just assumed you did because of your name tag.’ Now there’s a couple of problems with that. My ‘name tag’, as they put it, doesn’t have a name on it, which means they clearly didn’t read it. The other big problem with it is that most stores or places of business have a sense of decorum, or at least consistency in their design. My tag, on the other hand, while I love it very much, how do I put this, it doesn’t look good. It looks like if an eight year old magpie with attention issues made it at summer camp. This is basically how the making of my tag went: I’m was just sitting there and I’m like ‘Alright, I’m gonna put five shiny things on it. Wonderful, wonderful, this random piece of gaff tape? That has to go on, that’s, like, that’s key to the whole pronoun tag process. Now, for the words. And I start writing, I’m like ‘they/them and-’ oh my god. What if I could fit more shiny things on it? I’m still writing, I don’t know what I’m writing at this point, it doesn’t look good. Oh, I could put more shiny things on it, maybe I could like, steal a rock and somehow affix that to it…And then I look down and I’m like ‘oh, I finished the words, guess I’m gonna just put it on my shirt!’ And it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. So, a lot of people don’t read the tag, but a lot of people do, and I have a lot of wonderful friends and family who support me very much.

Though, being openly trans can be, can get a little confusing sometimes. Sometimes I’ll tell stories about being in the Girl Scouts, and be like ‘Ha, that’s funny for obvious reasons!’ and people will be like, ‘oh, it’s the girl thing!’, and I’ll be like ‘no!’. Because the Girl Scouts are actually super cool about trans girls and non binary kids, which we appreciate very much, especially because it gives us a very good reason to buy Girl Scout cookies, beyond just buying something to fill the hole in your heart.

Crowd: support the gays!

Exactly! But no, the weird part about it for me is the scout part. Let me tell you a story. So one time when I was sixteen years old, I was a camp counselor for a bunch of small children, and we went to a playground one time. So I’m wandering around, like you do, like making sure the children don’t like, die, and I see two girls sitting under a tree, and they’re doing the whole, like, ‘rub two sticks together to start a fire’ thing. So I go ‘I’m gonna wander over and see how they’re doing’, and I’m like ‘How’re you doing, kids?’ And they look at me and they’re like ‘Erika? Why do you rub two sticks together to start a fire?’ and I’m like ‘Well, that’s a very interesting question, so you see, there’s a fire triangle, and the fire triangle has heat, fuel, and oxygen, and you have to have all three because fire is just adding oxygen-‘ And I just go on this like, five minute tangent about, like, talking about the science of fire, and you’re probably sitting there thinking like. Erika, explaining how fire works is like, the most scout thing you can do, and normally I would agree with you. Except. I talked for five minutes about the ins and outs of fire science, and neglected to mention fire safety. So I realize this, and I’m like ‘oh no, I’m going to start a wildfire by proxy’, so I just start yelling fire safety tips with absolutely no context. So I’m like, ‘You need a bucket of sand!’, I didn’t tell them why they needed the sand, I just said you needed one, and I’m like ‘build a circle of rocks on the ground!’, and they’re just gonna do that and go ‘I can build fires for the rest of my life, perfect!’ And then I’m sitting there, so like, another counselor is walking behind me like ‘two minutes left’, I’m like ‘Oh no, I have two minutes to like, save my entire town’, and I’m like ‘You should probably have an adult present’, and then I realize I probably should have mentioned that first, and I was like, ‘alright, just imagine I said adult present first, and just, and then put everything else, remember everything else, but remember adult first, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ So, luckily, my town has not had any reports of wildfires. But suffice it to say, I am not exactly scout material.

I am going to finish out the night by telling you a story from my scouting days. I was about eight years old, and we went on a ski trip. Now, let me tell you a little thing about eight year old Erika. You may have noticed that up here as a 20 year old, I’m a little bit lanky, my limbs do weird things as I run about the stage like an excited golden retriever. But see, I’m like, at a controllable lanky now. When I was eight, I was just gangly. My limbs just changed like, lengths every day, sometimes by multiple feet. So I’d be like, walking along, and I’d like just, kick a doorway, or like I’d be sitting and raising my hand, you know how like, you sometimes hit your hand on your desk, and you did it like, once a month? I did it twice a day. And people would be like, ‘Erika why do you keep hitting your hand on the desk?’ and I’m like ‘Cause my hand wasn’t there before! It was over here, I don’t know what’s happening!’ It was like I was living in a world of cartoon physics that I didn’t have control over. So I’m just like, ‘I guess I’m walking and my arms over here now, great!’ So my scouting troop looked at this, and was like ‘you know I think would be a great idea to do to this tiny, eight year old, whatever this is? We’re gonna stick a piece of wood, long, skinny, really slippery piece of wood on each of their feet, and then we’re gonna push them down a mountain.’ So, uh, you can probably tell where this story is going.

So, we get to the mountain, and I have my skis, we had to like, wait in a really long line, and I’m like, ‘oh, I’m so excited to go skiing’. So I’m walking around and I’m like, ‘alright, this is very exciting’, I see there’s a ski lesson about to start, and I’m like ‘I should probably do that because I want to make sure I know what’s going on’, so if you’ve never been skiing before, here’s what a skiing lesson is. You have a large group of people that want to learn how to ski, and you have a very excited person ready to tell you about skiing. So, you all go with them, you walk sideways up the mountain because you know, whatever. And the person, the very enthusiastic person, tells you a lot of really good skiing tips, and I, an eight year old with undiagnosed ADHD, sat there, and uh, kind of cycled between looking at the person, watching their mouth move, and having my audio processing like, on the ski lift, OR, I would be watching them, and a skier would go by, and I would watch the skier and be like, ‘oh, maybe I can pick up some tips from the skier’, absolutely ignoring the person that’s just giving me the tips for free. So I did not pick up a lot of good ski tips, but I did pick up one, and this is, this is, I will always remember this. He was like ‘alright, if you’re going down the mountain, and you want to slow down or stop, you make a triangle with your skis.’ And so I was like ‘alright, I’ve got it. I make a triangle with my skis to go slow, great, fantastic.’ So then, I’m like, ‘alright. I know everything there is to know about skiing. It is time to get started.’

So the first time I fell a lot, which, you know, of course you fall a lot, it’s you first time, and like, who knows what skiing is. The second time I also fell a lot and you know, I’m still getting the hang of it. Third time, also fell a lot, but you know, it’s fine. I’m just going to like, skip to the end, because I fell most of the times. It was less of me skiing down the mountain, and more of me just falling over and over again until I reached the bottom. But then, the last run of the day, I’m like ‘alright, I’m gonna do this’, I get about three quarters of the way down the mountain and I haven’t fallen once. And I’m just sitting there like ‘oh my god, I’m the skiing master. Oh my god, I’m gonna go to the Olympics. It’s gonna be great.’ So I am, I’m going down the mountain and, if don’t know if you know this about physics, because I wasn’t stopping and starting by just falling down constantly, I actually picked up a little bit of speed, which was really nice. But at this point, I was going a little bit faster than I intended to go, and I was like, ‘Huh. I kind of want to slow down now’, so I go into the little card catalogue that is my mind and I’m like ‘a ha! Triangle equals slow! Perfect!’ So I, I look down at my skis because I want to make sure I’m doing it right, and I’m like ‘alright, ready, here we go. Triangle.’ And nothing happened. Now the problem with this is, is that I was eight, and didn’t have critical thinking skills. So I looked at this situation, and I said, ‘huh. This triangle is not working. But it’s the only thing I know about skiing, and since I am a skiing master and know everything, this can be the only solution.’ So I double down on the triangle.

Now here’s the thing. I tell this story a lot, and one time I was telling it and I got to this part, and my friend looked at me and said the following: ‘You were doing the wrong kind of triangle!’ Which is a baffling thing to have yelled at you. So I was sitting there like ‘what are you ta- Was I doing an isosceles? Should I have been doing a scalene? Like, did you want me to yell the pythagorean theorem at it? I don’t know what you’re telling me!’ So she could not explain it, so we moved on. So then I told this story again, and another set of friends was like ‘Erika. She meant you had to do a triangle like this.’ And I was like, ‘oh, because that would actually stop the, oooooh.’ So now, twelve years after this story happened, I now know how to ski. So that’s cool, but back to me being eight years old.

At this point, I am going even faster than before, somehow, going much faster than any eight year old pile of limbs should ever be going, and I go ‘this is bad, I can no longer, uh, control which direction I’m going’, which is bad because I’m heading right for a circle of snowboarders. And so I’m I’m, I’m like, trying to turn and I can’t and I’m like ‘oh no’, so I just kind of look up at them, because I am approaching them at quite a speed, and I just start screaming, ‘HEY! YOU GOTTA MOVE! I CAN’T STEER!’ So they look up at just this banshee shriek from up the mountain, and they go, ‘huh. we should move,’ and they do, as well as they can, because they only have one piece of wood instead of the two that I was privileged to have. But they manage to make it out of the way, and I don’t hit anyone, and I continue down the mountain.

At this point, I literally, like, sit down on my skis and dig my hands into the snow in an attempt to stop myself, which works slightly better than the triangle, which isn’t saying much. So at this point, I have basically reached the bottom of the mountain, and I have reached, and at the bottom of the mountain there was a straight-away, and at the end of the straight-away there was a barrier of snow. Now the barrier of snow was about one, one and a half feet. The straight-away…I’m not really good with distances, but it was at least two feet, we’ll go with that. So I reach the straight-away, and I look up for this at least two foot distance. And I see this barrier of snow and I’m like ‘Ah. Here’s where my journey will come to an end.’

So I’m heading down this straight-away, I’m slowly slowing down, but I’m still going at quite a speed, and I’m like, ‘oh, it’ll be a little bit of an impact, but it’ll be fine.’ So here’s what happens. Here’s the barrier of snow, here’s me, here I go. Wheeeeee. And I hit the barrier of snow. And I go up and I go over it into the super secret special hill that they don’t show anyone, because it’s covered in bushes, and rocks, and leads to the parking lot.

So, at this point, I am now somersaulting down the hill, you know, fun times, and I’m grabbing bushes, I am desperately trying to like, not die, and at this point, I decide, I’m like ‘you know what would be a good, you know what would be good at this time? A flashback of my life.’ So my life flashes before my eyes, and it finishes I’m like ‘huh. That didn’t last as long as I thought it would.’ So I’m tumbling, and I’m just like ‘I’m gonna die! It’s fine!’ So I reach the bottom, and I kind of sit there and I take stock of everything, and I look around and I’m like, ‘Hey. I’m alive. I just wasted a life flashback, do you know how expensive that it?’ So I’m sitting there, and then I realize something. I realize that in my current state I cannot move because all of my limbs that change size all the time are tangled together. And I can’t get out of my limbs because my arm is so that like, I would have to hook it around my foot, but my foot is currently eight feet long because there’s a ski attached to it. So I’m-You know those like, Cracker Barrel things, the like, little metal puzzles that you play with for five minutes then give up because you want to play the peg game? I looked like one of those.

So I go into my mental autopsy, which you know, all eight year olds with anxiety have, and I go ‘we’re gonna just change the cause of death to…starvation.’ Which was very very silly, of course, because I would of died of thirst before I died of starvation. So I’m laying there, waiting for my eventual fate, and I look up into the parking lot I landed next to, and I see two guys walking towards me. And I go ‘huh. Interesting,’ and I go back to my mental autopsy, and I recross out starvation, and write ‘murdered in the snow, while tangled in my own limbs.’ So I’m just like, ‘there’s nothing I can do’, so I just kind of look at them, and they’re looking at me.

Luckily for me though, they were just coming over to help, because from their perspective, they had just seen a screaming ball of just, extremities, shoot over the barrier, tumble down a mountain, and then just lie there motionless for a while. So they walk over, and they’re very nice, they help me out of my skis, and they’re like ‘Do you, do you need to go into the lodge?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.’ So I, so they walk me into the lodge and we find my mother who’s there, hello, hi mom, and, and she’s like ‘what happened?’ And I’m like ‘I don’t know.’

#mine #comedy #standup #standup comedy #skiing #pronouns #non binary #names #stories #LMAO IT ME #also you can literally play this video at .75 and it sounds normal #ooops

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ficdirectory · 7 years ago

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The Crossing (Disuphere series #3) Chapter 11

Scene V: Decide to Stay

Life gets busy over the next week, with work and continued adjustment to living on her own. Mom and Dad are always there if she needs something, but Dominique tries not to need anything. The next Wednesday, she heads back to the park to hang out at the picnic table and take pictures of the trees.

If there’s one thing she loves about this place, it’s that it exists in a kind of bubble where no one asks invasive questions about each other. No one cares that she dresses up. While they ask questions, they don’t judge it. It’s refreshing. Like, she can come out here in a Hermione robe, and nobody looks twice. She’s gotten a quick reputation for being the one who might be a different character every day, but instead of getting a hard time about it, the other residents look forward to seeing that day’s costume.

She doesn’t expect to find Jesus here again. But he shows up about a half hour after she does.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me,” she ventures, putting her phone face down on the table for his benefit.

“I didn’t wanna say anything...but this...kinda used to be my spot.”

“Seriously,” Dominique says, standing up. “Well, I’ll get out of your way.”

“No. Wait.. I didn’t mean it like that,” Jesus objects.

“Really? ‘Cause it kinda sounded like an invitation to vacate…” Dominique points out.

“It wasn’t. I don’t like all company...but I don’t mind yours,” Jesus admits quietly. “I like knowing you don’t treat me different...even knowing who I am…”

Dominique considers this - then, slowly, she sits back down. Dudley’s under the table again, but she doesn’t mind. Makes her think about Roberta. Dominique’s gotta make time to hang out with her, too.

Jesus is drawing again, and Dominique is trying not to stare. Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and gets up to take some more pictures of the park, after giving Jesus a heads up. When she comes back, Jesus is still drawing.

“One of my sisters is like that. Always taking pictures,” he offers.

“Hmm,” Dominique muses. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Well, you’ve been clear about what you’re doing and why. So it’s not a bad thing. So far.”

“I don’t know anybody who can draw like you,” she offers.

“What do you mean?” he asks, glancing up.

“I mean, like, my dad can draw a good stick-person. He even did a short cartoon once of a rock falling on one of his stick people using pages of an old phone book and flipping them really fast.”

“Did it look real?” Jesus checks.

As real as a two-dimensional rock falling on a stick-person can look. But I was seven, so…”

“So you were impressed?” Jesus checks, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I was.”

“You like your parents?” Jesus asks, still drawing.

“I like my parents. Who says that? I love my parents,” she sings, clapping a hand over her mouth too late. She totally just injected Sincerely, Me from Dear Evan Hansen into casual conversation. “I’m so sorry. You were not supposed to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” he says easily.

“Just...kind of a strange question…” she allows. “Why? Do you get along with yours?”

“Used to,” he sighs. “It’s been kinda rocky lately...well, for years, I guess. We went on this trip to Minnesota all together, and it kind of undid a lot of the trust I feel for them. We’ve never really gotten that back. Not all the way.”

“Yeah, trust is hard,” she nods.

Jesus puts the sketchbook down on the table between them and turns it so she can see it. This time, it’s a drawing of their picnic table. A perfect rendering. But beside it, in the ground, where none exists, Jesus has added a sign in his picture. It’s wooden - reminds her of one of those in the old Winnie the Pooh cartoons. This one says AVOIDANCE.

Dominique considers it. “What are you avoiding?”

“Laundry,” he admits.

“Can’t Val help with that?”

“She can, but I want to work on being able to deal with it myself. And it’s hard.” He’s silent a while. “Did you mean what you said about that I come on too strong?”

Dominique nods, and then feels her breath catch. “I mean…”

“No, it’s okay. I was just curious. No one’s ever used those words to describe me before...but they make sense.”

“They do?” she asks, still wary.

“Yeah. I lived a big part of my life trying to make sure the other person in it was always...whatever… So I guess I am kinda sensitive to moods.”

“You’re saying I’m moody?”

“You’re dressed like a wizard…” he points out.

“You’ve never read Harry Potter?” she asks, incredulous.

“Not much time for reading, no…”

“Huh. So...this is awkward, but you wanna go to Starbucks?” she asks.

“The one in the Target? Not really,” he allows.

“There are other Starbucks,” she clarifies, wondering if Target was the trigger for him.

“There’s actually a coffee shop right near here. It’s not a big one - not a Starbucks - but I always wanted to check it out.” Jesus offers.

“I’m not getting in a car with you,” she says bluntly.

“I’m not getting in a car with you.” he returns, just as serious as she is. “It’s walking distance from the apartment.”

“Fine,” she agrees.

It’s a nice day to be out. Clear sky. Not too hot. But Dominique’s still on edge. Glancing at everything. Jesus seems the same, but at least he has Dudley. Dominique wishes Roberta were here. But she’s too fancy for the outdoors.

The coffee shop is close. Small. Homey. Looks new. Like she and Jesus are the first two to discover it. They approach the counter, and Dominique immediately spots the lemon poppyseed muffins. She picks one out and a bottle of water, while Jesus stares at all the food in the lighted case.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I want everything,” he whispers. “But I don’t actually have money...so…”

“I got it. Pick out what you want.”

“You don’t understand. I literally want every single thing inside there.”

She takes a breath. “So what do you need right now?”

“I can’t choose.”

“Is it okay if I do? Do you trust me enough to do that?”

“Yeah...I mean, I guess…”

Dominique cracks a smile. “Well, with that resounding show of support, I think you can try...this cinnamon swirl coffee cake. Some water...assuming you’re not a coffee guy? Are you?”

Jesus shakes his head.

“Okay, water. And this cookie. ‘Cause cookies help everything. Oh, which reminds me…” She turns to the barista: “Can we have two frozen hot chocolates, please?”

“Sure,” the barista answers. He tells Dominique the total, and when she holds the money out, he pretends not to see her scarred hand. Dominique feels heat flood her face.

“Dude, she’s a wizard. You should be freakin’ honored to accept money from her,” Jesus insists, his eyes flashing.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see…” the barista stutters.

“Yeah, I bet…” Dominique comments under her breath. “Let’s go.”

They’re outside again, carrying their stuff back to the park. It’s quiet for several minutes. Until Jesus sips his frozen hot chocolate.

“Damn,” he says sounding disappointed.

“What?” she asks. “Is it awful? Please tell me it’s awful so I can go back in there and cast a spell on him, Hermione-style.”

“No. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my twenties. I hate that that asshat makes such good drinks.”

“We are going back to Avoidance, aren’t we?” Dominique asks, in a light but measured tone. “In Avoidance, we don’t have to think about asshats who make perfect frozen hot chocolates. We can think about friends who make amazing hot chocolate cookies…”

“Wait. We’re friends?” Jesus asks.

“Well, I was hoping…” Dominique ventures.

“Friends heading back to Avoidance together…” Jesus tries out. “I like it.”

Dominique smiles. “And with a wizard, no less.”

Jesus does too. “Yeah, looks like I lucked out.”

#fic: the crossing

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jordan202 · 7 years ago

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The Journey - Part Twenty One

Hey guys, we are back. Thank you @jia911 for proofreading this for me!

Previous chapters are HERE.

Timeline for Part 21

This chapter continues to explore what happened to Owen and Amelia during the events of 11x22, when he left to a war zone and Amelia stayed behind working at the hospital. We will go forward and find out what they were up to in those long months apart.

Author’s Notes: Kenan & Kel was a show I used to watch as a kid on Nickelodeon. I suppose most of you are not familiar with it. The scene in which Amelia remembers her dialogue with Owen is a part of chapter 12.

The Journey – Part Twenty One

“Did you bring it?”

Amelia sneakily closed the door after herself, taking a good look at the eager little face staring back at her with enormous chestnut eyes.

“Of course I brought it,” she revealed the bottle she’d been hiding in her white coat, watching with delight as a smile transformed the little girl’s face.

“Who loves Orange Soda?”

Amelia heard the quote as she passed by the patient, receiving a high five before she sat down on the wardroom chair and propped both her legs on the frame of the bed, crossing them at the ankles.

“Am I late?” The neurosurgeon asked while serving two plastic cups with the bubbly drink.

“No, you’re just in time,” the girl replied with enchantment in her eyes, accepting the cup at the same time she turned up the volume on the TV.

Amelia kicked back on the chair with a smile on her face and focused on the small screen hung on the wall opposite to the patient’s bed.

Jamie Donovan was an eight-year old girl with an aggravating case of cystic fibrosis. With a full time working mom who had to juggle two jobs in order to afford her daughter’s medical insurance, Jamie spent most of her time at the hospital undergoing treatment. Amelia had met the girl a couple of months before during a neurosurgical consult for a particularly complicated lumbar tap. And since Amelia hardly ever left the hospital, she had slowly found out that spending her nights in the company of the kid was actually more enjoyable than spending it on busy on call rooms that had to be shared among other surgeons who were working during the night.

Amelia had gone back on two consecutive days for follow ups with the adorable patient and quickly become attached. After finding out Jamie spent most of her time alone or only with the nurses, Amelia instantly felt compelled to provide the kid some company, but it didn’t take long for her to find out that she actually enjoyed those excursions more than she’d initially assumed.

Because of the side effects of some of her medication, Jamie’s sleep pattern wasn’t regulated, making the young patient often sleep throughout the day and stay up all night. Since Amelia had come down with a case of insomnia since her brother had died, it was actually entertaining for her to spend her free time with Jamie. The girl was easier to talk to than anyone else in Amelia’s life at the moment because unlike the adults, the kid never demanded any satisfactions or criticized Amelia’s behavior. On the contrary. Her conversations with the eight year old patient were often much more honest than the ones Amelia would have with her friends and co-workers throughout the entire day.

Just a few days before, even her favorite resident had offered to take Amelia on a support group for people who were grieving, and that made the neurosurgeon feel even more isolated and lonely. From there on, she’d have to tone down her jokes too, and the prospect of controlling her spontaneity was exhausting. She didn’t want to have to measure her words, or think about everything she wanted to say before actually speaking.

But with Jamie, none of that had to happen. Amelia could just be herself.

In a matter of days, it had become almost a ritual that Amelia joined the young patient in the late hours of the night to play board games, read the Harry Potter books or simply watch old children shows on TV. Jamie’s favorite, Kenan & Kel, had made the eight year old curious about the taste of orange soda, something she’d never tried before. Amelia had promptly stepped up to sneak the forbidden drink into the pediatric wing, but after Jamie had a severe fit of cough after laughing incessantly at the show, the neurosurgeon started to second-guess her decision.

“What are you doing, you little brat?” She belatedly realized. “Put your CPAP back on.” Amelia commanded, referring to the breathing device Jamie must have on at all times.

“It’s really annoying.” Jamie complained with a scowl.

“It makes you breathe a lot better, so end of discussion.” Amelia said with a firm but gentle tone.

“Fine…” Jamie sighed, knowing there was no counter argument. “Just wait until I get my new lungs, then I will run out of here so fast that you won’t be able to catch me.”

“I sure hope so.” Amelia’s eyes met Jamie’s and when they did, both smiled at each other.

Half an hour later, the show was over and Amelia frowned when Jamie asked to change channels as soon as a series about a teenage couple began.

“What, you don’t like this show?” Amelia asked tactfully, finding it strange. It was a typical silly school show with shallow, dreamy romance and more often than not, high pitched songs. It was obviously aimed at young girls and Jamie was exactly the target audience.

“I don’t like boys.” The unwilling patient said, rebelliously folding her arms on her chest.

“Oh, you don’t like boys?” Amelia teased, raising one eyebrow as she playfully added, “may I ask why?”

“Because all they do is play with their stupid toys or pretend they are superheroes and they never listen.” Jamie complained, making Amelia laugh. “And also, they need help for everything.”

“Surely not all boys are that bad?” The neurosurgeon asked with delight, without the faintest idea that one day, she would raise four boys who would perfectly fit Jamie’s description.

“The ones in my school are.” Jamie replied, still not convinced. Even though the girl had stopped going to classes a few months before when her condition had worsened, she still hoped to go back someday.

Amelia looked at the little girl with a mix of amusement and comprehension.

“Well, you see, the good thing is that even though boys seem horrible now, one day you’ll grow up and you won’t think so anymore.” The neurosurgeon gently explained. “I know they can be immature and annoying, but they can also grow up to be quite nice.”

Jamie squinted before staring at Amelia questioningly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.” The grownup smiled, thinking about how Derek would pick on her when they were younger and how later in life they’d become closer and actually shared things with each other.

“I don’t want a boyfriend, though.” Jamie decided.

“You don’t have to have a boyfriend if you don’t want to.” Amelia tried to contain a smile. Jamie would probably change her mind one day, but she was still at that age when boys and girls had constant feuds with one another and didn't mingle in any circumstances. “But boyfriends can be fun too.” She added, hoping to sound encouraging.

“I don’t see how.” Jamie replied with disbelief, giving Amelia a sideways glance, almost as if hoping her new friend would contradict her.

Amelia quickly picking up on the act and realized Jamie was much more interested in hearing what she had to say than she was letting it show. Decided to keep the light atmosphere, Amelia focused on her own surprising confession.

“Boyfriends can come in handy because they usually reach the higher shelves.” Amelia explained with a contagious smile, trying not to think about how, during the time they were together, Owen would often tease her by hiding the coffee pot in the top cabinet just so she would ask for his help in the morning. “And they give the best hugs, too.” Amelia daydreamed, being transported back to a time when she’d fall asleep feeling the safest she’d ever felt even when a strong storm would hit just because she was in Owen’s arms.

She tried to focus on Jamie instead of how much she missed those nights. Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quality sleep.

“It’s weird.” Jamie decided, completely rejecting the idea of being at good terms with boys.

“Sometimes it is,” Amelia smiled with patience, turning her eyes back to the TV. The young couple shouldn’t be more than sixteen and yet they were exchanging love vows and making promises of eternal love.

Jamie noticed how Amelia’s eyes captured the image on the TV and a smile lingered on her friend’s face.

“Do you love a boy?”

Amelia was caught completely off guard. She looked back to the little girl and tried to think of something to say to dodge the unexpected question but couldn’t. It was the first time in months that someone upfront asked Amelia about her feelings and the situation had become so unusual lately that she froze, unsure of how to react.

Her first instinct was to say no, but even though Amelia hadn’t exactly been allowing her feelings to blossom lately, she knew there was no point denying them. And she couldn’t lie. Not to Jamie.

“I do.” Amelia replied, feeling her eyes slightly tearing up. Deep down, she’d always known the answer, but actually voicing her feelings for the first time had an overwhelming effect on the surgeon. Her throat suddenly got constricted as she admitted with a hoarse voice, “very, very much.”

Amelia didn’t add the fact that the “boy” she loved was over six feet tall and had the prettiest pair of crystal blue eyes she had ever seen.

Jamie noticed the subtleties in Amelia’s reaction and her posture went from defensive to completely approving.

“Really?” She asked excitedly, eager to hear more. “Is he your boyfriend? Where is he?”

When Amelia realized she didn’t have answers to those questions, she realized it was time to call it a night.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, miss.” The neurosurgeon got up with a gentle smile, mysteriously walking over to the bed to help Jamie settle in.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jamie replied with a begging face, obediently getting under the covers.

“Maybe some other time, ok?” Amelia said with a gentle voice. “I have to go get some rest now, but tomorrow I will be back and we can watch more Nick at Nite.”

“Will you stay for the Nicktoons tomorrow?” Jamie asked with a begging smile. “Please?”

“I’ll do my very best.” Amelia promised, blowing the girl a good night kiss before finally making her way to an on call room.

Owen finished setting up the last bags of everything they were collecting to take onto the next trip. He couldn’t believe he was going to the third mission in a row. Despite rewarding, the whole thing was also very exhausting.

Both he and April Kepner had once again extended their tours. At first, despite the physical toll the humanitarian missions were taking on them, they had kept their spirits high, driven by the instant positive response in the population they were helping. But as weeks followed, it became harder to face the cruel reality that the more people they helped, the more needed their help, or so it felt like.

The number of human beings living in unsanitary and poor conditions in that area of the world was heartbreaking. Being there and being able to help humbled Owen. He felt a reinvigorated sense of purpose and strived to do his best, to be better every day. Sometimes, a case slipped through their fingers and the team felt the helplessness associated with being in an improvised facility with a very precarious health care system. But in most days, Owen went back to his tent feeling like his presence and his work had made the entire difference and that filled him with joy and contentment after long hours of work.

But then he’d lay his head on the pillow and his thoughts would involuntarily shift to a familiar pair of silver blue eyes and a dimpled smile that even after all that time would still haunt his dreams nearly every night.

Owen would speak to his mother on the phone pretty much every week, and from Kepner he’d hear updates on how life was going on back in Seattle. Mostly, April gave him updates on Jackson, sometimes even on Alex and Arizona. But the only one Owen really wanted to know more about was hardly ever mentioned in his friend’s conversations. He wasn’t sure exactly where Amelia was right now, but he supposed she was already back home with her family. Owen only hoped that, wherever she was, the neurosurgeon was happy, safe and doing better than she was when he’d last seen her.

It was hard finishing a day of work and watching all the other guys and few women calling back home to their loved ones, hearing encouraging words from their spouses and sweet messages from their kids. All of that forced Owen to once again face the cruel reality that he would probably never get to have any of that.

“Are you ready to go?” His friend’s voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing the trauma surgeon back to the present moment.

“Yes,” Owen replied, staring deeply into her eyes. “April, are you sure you’re up for this?” He asked carefully. Owen had witnessed several times how heated the conversations between Kepner and her husband had become over the months and the fact April was extending her tour yet another time had surely added more friction to the already fragile marriage. “I mean, maybe you should go back home, see Jackson… you can always come back, you know.”

“I know, but I have to do this now.” April informed him with resolution. “I have to, Owen.” She lowered her voice a bit. “There are so many people who need us, much more than in Seattle, and I…”

As her voice trailed off, Owen gave her a discreet nod of understanding. He got her. Just like him, April had gone there because at home, her reality was as heartbreaking as some of the scenes they were witnessing. The only difference is that there, in mission, they could actively change that reality.

“Have you told Hill to hurry up and get that bag of syringes on the back of the truck?” April nodded her head in disapproval, walking up to the young army private who was also deployed in mission. “Hill, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful with the bag of…?”

Owen chuckled to himself, watching the scene from a distance. It was amazing how April had grown in those few months they’d been in the Middle East. The leader in her had finally been allowed to make an appearance, and his friend had come to find out she was actually good at it. It gave Owen joy to realize that and he smiled to himself, grabbing two loads and carrying them to truck before it became too dark for them to evacuate the area.

Amelia dragged her feet through the empty hospital corridor. The night was cold and a chilly air was blowing, making the neurosurgeon wrap her arms around herself, cursing the white coat for not being warmer. As it happened every holiday season, people tended to avoid going to the ER, unless they were really in need of it. And without a certain male head figure, the emergency room felt particularly empty.

It was nearly midnight and Amelia’s shift had ended five hours before, but she’d stayed at the hospital as usual. That night, she caught up on all her charts and did some research for a paper she intended to publish, but the holiday spirits seemed to have contaminated everyone around her, and Amelia couldn’t stand more than two hours at a cafeteria table hearing everyone around her making plans to be with their loved ones.

The neurosurgeon had finished her coffee, grabbed her journals and aimlessly walked around the hospital halls, deep down hoping for something to do to keep her busy. Amelia definitely didn’t want go back home. She knew that at some point she would have to because the laundry was piling up and she was pretty sure she hadn’t washed the dishes in about a week, but that night it had started to snow and something about the white fluffy flakes falling from the sky reminded her of home.

For a minute, Amelia’s heart felt a little less cold as she was assaulted by memories of a happy childhood when she would gather around a huge Christmas tree with her parents and four siblings, eagerly waiting for Santa to bring her presents. The memory was so distant and so deeply buried into the past that Amelia wondered if she’d really lived it or made it up. It just seemed completely unfathomable now, especially considering her present moment. Her remaining family members were all scattered around and Amelia had no idea if they were keeping the tradition of getting together for Christmas.

Months ago, Amelia had stopped answering her mother’s calls and that had resulted in Carolyn Shepherd showing up at Seattle to check on her daughter. It had taken Amelia a couple of days to convince the woman she was fine and ever since, Amelia had been forcing herself to call her family in New York at least a couple times of a week to avoid similar reactions. She’d found out that five minutes of shallow dialogue over the phone did the trick and conditioned herself to memorized every answer her mother and sisters approved of, mastering the art of speaking a lot of words without actually saying anything at all.

At work, it was mostly the same. At times, Richard Webber and Maggie Pierce would check up on her. It didn’t take Amelia long to figure out what they were doing and similarly to what she’d done with her family, the young surgeon forced herself to sit down for lunch with them every now and then as she mechanically smiled and told them everything the duo expected to hear. Amelia dutifully participated on every attendings meeting, eagerly oversaw and drafted residents’ evaluations and at times, had even volunteered to conduct the presentation of cases in her department’s weekly case discussions. It had quickly become very obvious that the more Amelia did and the more she engaged socially, the less people bothered her, because they would simply assume she was doing very well. That way, Amelia kept everyone happy while moving on with her life avoiding everything she could possibly feel and instead, focusing only on what was rational.

Soon enough, people had gone from worrying about her to actually admiring how tough and incredibly strong Derek Shepherd’s sister was to so gracefully be able to handle his loss and the disappearance of his wife and kids while succeeding at keeping her professionalism and the quality of her work. Most people had no idea about her attachment to the former chief of surgery, so Owen’s name was hardly ever mentioned to her, but in nights as slow as that one, Amelia couldn’t help but to think of him and wonder if he was alive and well.

When all talks, discussions and procedures were over, and every voice in her head had been silenced, it became increasingly harder to ignore the void left untouched inside her heart ever since the day he’d gone away to join the Army. Amelia missed him more than she would dare to acknowledge.

Her gaze fell upon the nurses station, where the patient files remained neatly organized over the counter. Before Amelia could control her thoughts, a flash memory came to mind.

“Are you done here?” Owen had whispered very close to her ear.

“Nearly.” Amelia replied, melting at his presence.

“You know where I’ll be.”

The memory faded together with the comforting feeling that had warmed Amelia’s heart as she thought about the excitement she’d once felt to go meet him. There had been a moment in her life when Amelia knew exactly which place Owen was or would be. But now, she had absolutely no idea where in the world he was, or what kind of things he was going through.

As much as Amelia tried to obliterate her every feeling, every now and then she’d hear someone asking Jackson about April and the neurosurgeon couldn’t deny the fact that hearing Kepner was okay gave her a sense of relief, because she knew that Jackson’s wife was working alongside Owen. As long as Kepner had good news to tell, that had to mean her colleague was alive and well and Amelia relied on those little snippets of information to maintain the remainders of her mental sanity.

She had to make a superhuman effort not to ask Jackson directly, or even figure out a way to get in touch with Owen. For a few times, Amelia had drafted emails that she’d never sent. It was better this way, the neurosurgeon always told herself. The least involved she got, the less she would suffer.

After deciding to leave the ER, Amelia made her way to the elevators, thinking about going to see Jamie. The little girl’s condition had worsened in the last couple of months as she caught one infection followed by another. Earlier that week, Jamie had been discharged from the PICU after two weeks of treatment for a complicated pneumonia, only to be readmitted four days later with high fever and low blood sats.

As much as Amelia tried to remain uninvolved with the case, it had become impossible not to get attached. She ran into Jamie’s mother outside the PICU, instantly asking for an update on the case. After waiting for a couple of hours to see the young patient, Amelia finally settled for going to an on call room, already foreseeing the many hours of insomnia she’d face before a new day began.

Owen patiently waited until everyone was deeply engaged in heartfelt conversations and swiftly sneaked outside. It was nearly Christmas morning and that night, almost everyone was enjoying a break from work. The trauma surgeon had watched as the large team of healthcare professionals and volunteers reminisced about the past, talked about their family or suggested traditions they’d usually do at their own homes over the holidays.

Usually, Christmas was a time of the year that Owen really enjoyed. He loved the spirit of solidarity and selflessness that seemed to take over people during the holidays. Just like magic, everyone became more attentive, generous and gentler. Over there in mission it was no different. Even though they were in a country with no Christmas traditions, most of the workers were clearing their heads enjoying the popular date, some of them having actually had a couple of drinks after dinner.

Owen left the main tent and rejoiced in the cold air outside. At the desert, the temperature could drop to a nearly negative at night, but he didn’t mind. A couple of soldiers who were on duty that evening greeted their official as Owen passed by them and walked to a safe distance, enjoying his solitude on a top of a rock where he could sit by himself while still keeping an eye on the makeshift camp.

Owen let out a heavy sigh, trying his hardest to control his mood. It was almost impossible not to feel a bit depressed in a night like that, but he had no choice other than to toughen it up and remain on top of his game. After all, he had an entire unit to run, people who were relying on him, and letting them down was not a possibility.

As his eyes meticulously scanned the field looking for something slightly suspicious, Owen slowly relaxed in the quietness of the evening. From a distance, he could hear the soothing sound of the wind blowing against the tents, creating an inviting atmosphere to celebrate the fact they were all alive, well and almost ready to finally wrap up that mission. A few days following New Year’s Eve, that mission would be over and most soldiers were going home. After nearly one year of being out in the field, Owen had finally decided to go back too. He was chronically tired and his soul was crushed after seeing so much pain and misery in the eyes of the civilians they’d helped over those long months. But what Owen really hoped to take back home with him was the sense of accomplishment of someone who’d done his duty very well and been able to help thousands of innocents with only the few resources they had.

As he thought about home, Owen wondered about his mom and realized he should take a few minutes to give her a call that night. It was Christmas, after all, and she would deeply appreciate hearing from him. As Owen made the decision to grab one of the stationed phones in a few minutes, his hand reached out for his pocket, grabbing a familiar folded photograph.

The trauma surgeon carefully opened it, seeing how worn out the picture was after so many months carefully kept inside his uniform. As usual, Amelia’s smile didn’t fail to dazzle him and Owen let out a heavy sigh. He thought about the evening in which she’d given him that picture, the way she’d met him at his place moments later and how they’d spent the night together. He’d had so many dreams back then. So much hope. And yet all had faded in a fraction of a second.

There hadn’t yet been a single night when Owen hadn’t spent long minutes thinking about her before finally falling asleep out of exhaustion. Every day he wondered how she was, if she was doing okay and the only thought that comforted his heart was that she was probably being well looked after by her mother and sisters.

But after a few months of deployment, Owen had casually heard Jackson including Amelia’s name as he told his wife about a surgery and that had made Owen wonder what exactly the neurosurgeon was up to. When he’d left, Owen had been sure she planned to go to New York, because Amelia herself had said so. But so many things had happened ever since, that he’d had no idea of what exactly was the situation in Seattle. If Amelia was operating, it could only mean she was somehow okay. It was hard not having any confirmation, but for now, even though it killed Owen, that comforting thought would have to be enough because he knew that in order to keep focused and doing his job well, it was better if he didn’t hear any details, or that could quickly escalate. As an experienced soldier, Owen had long ago learned that too much information could add an unwanted load of anxiety to his days, which would definitely compromise his ability to perform in duty.

But his time in the Army was soon to be over and Owen knew that once back at home, he wouldn’t be able to simply pick up where he’d left off. Too many things had happened in the past year, life changing events, and he knew that drowning in work once in Seattle wasn’t the solution. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but Owen knew he had to do something with his life. He’d spent the majority of the past months focusing on his job and the first thing he’d do once back home was to give his personal life a much needed new share of his attention.

“That your girl, Major?”

Owen looked up to the owner of the voice that had distracted his thoughts. His eyes found the broad smile of a nineteen year old who looked way too young to even be there.

Danny Hill was a skinny boy who was deployed in his first ever mission. The kid was as naïve as he was willing to learn and while most people quickly lost his patience with his eagerness, Owen found it amusing that a guy that young was actually willing to risk his life to serve his country.

He wondered if Hill had any idea of what he was signing up for when he’d first enlisted, but Owen supposed that probably not. No one really did. Not until they arrived there and saw it for themselves.

“What are you doing out here, Hill?” Owen gave him a polite grin, on purpose dodging the question. “I thought you were on post for the night.”

“Only until midnight, sir.” The boy cheerfully replied, taking a seat next to Owen while handing him a generous portion of chocolate chip cookies. “I brought this for you, Major.” Hill added considerately. “I saw you out here on your own and I thought you could use some comfort.”

Owen raised one eyebrow and thought it was probably better not to ask. But when he took the first bite and tasted the delicious flavor of the homemade goodies, his expression transformed. Before he could ask, Hill’s face lit up with a proud smile as he explained.

“Delicious, aren’t they? My girl Annie cooked them.” The eager nineteen year old grabbed a picture from his pocket and proudly flashed it at Owen. “She baked those for me and sent them because she knows they are my favorite.” The boy affectionately informed, looking from the picture to his official with enchantment in his eyes.

“She sounds like a catch.” Owen added with reluctant amusement, contaminated by the effusive joy in the young man’s words.

“Yeah, she is.” Danny Hill looked back the image of the smiling girl with a round face, shining eyes and a large white apron wrapped around her body. “She is studying to be a cook, you know? But not those fancy restaurant cooks, I am talking about a real cook, that makes all sorts of homemade stuff. You know, the kind you’d only find back at home in Indiana. She bakes the most delicious things, you wouldn’t believe it, sir.” He added with visible pride. The boy was so chatty that Owen thought if he just stayed there without saying a word, Danny Hill could probably go on all night. “You know, I asked Annie to marry me before I came here.” The boy held his head high and sat up expanding his chest. “And she said yes.” He added with unmistakable pride, talking as if he’d just achieved the world’s greatest accomplishment. “When I go back home to Indiana, I am going to marry her and we are going to live in a house that has a big porch. One of those wooden porches, you know, I am going to build it with my own hands.” He flashed Owen a smile. “And then someday when I am done building it, we are going to have our own family.”

Owen saw the effusive joy in the young man’s face and his amusement transformed into affection. Danny Hill was just a kid who was going through the hardest of times in a dangerous zone, and yet he could find happiness and a reason to smile in a world that was filled with viciousness and evil. Owen desperately hoped that boy kept his positivity, because the world needed more people like him. He only hoped the cruel reality of life didn’t corrupt him, because the way Hill spoke about his fiancé back home and the dreams he had for them made Owen root for his plans to work out.

“What about your girl, Major?” Danny asked, not discouraged by Owen’s sullen silence. “What does she do?”

Owen breathed in heavily. He knew the right thing was to tell Danny that Amelia was not his “girl”. Maybe she had been once, but not anymore. And he had no idea where exactly she was at the moment. But the idea of crushing the boy’s childlike dreams of happy endings after such a long mission went against everything Owen preached about group support. He knew that the promise of a happy ending was probably what kept the boy going and he just didn’t find it in himself to break such positive expectations.

“Hm…” Owen hesitated, unsure of what to say exactly. “Her name is Amelia. She is a doctor too.” He added, watching as Danny smiled with contentment, obviously pleased to be hearing the information. The boy’s face had a mix of appreciation and flattery to be having a one on one conversation with the male figure he’d come to look up to during those longs months in deployment. Danny kept staring at him, as if patiently waiting for Owen to give out more information. “I left her home in Seattle and I really, really hope that I will see her again when I go back.”

“It sucks to be gone this long, doesn’t it?” Danny said and Owen belatedly realized the boy was trying to comfort him, obviously assuming Owen was hurting too much to even talk about the woman he loved. The idea brought a smile to Owen’s face. “Don’t worry, sir, you’re going to see her in just a few days.”

“Yeah.” Owen replied with consternation, unwilling to contradict the kid, even if he wasn't the least bit sure.

“I can’t wait to go back to Indiana.” The boy resumed his chatter. “When I get there, first thing I’ll do is… Major! Look out!”

And then it happened so fast that Owen acted more out of instinct than anything else. After the first shot had been fired, he immediately jumped on Hill, knocking the boy on the ground as a group of rebels opened fire against their camp.

What had just seconds before been a party became a horror movie scene as the soldiers on post shot back against the insurgents that had for some reason attacked the Medicaid group. All the military personal inside the main tent quickly went out and before Owen could clear the scene, he felt something moist and warm staining his shirt.

And just like that, he knew.

“Hill!” he rolled over to the side, knowing the boy had been hit even before his eyes could see it. “Hill, talk to me!”

The kid’s large brown eyes were nearly invisible under the moonlight glow, but Owen could see the expression of panic in them as the teenager took his hand to his wounded abdomen and then to his face, spotting the red stains on his fingertips. His once blissful expression became a mask of sheer terror, and Owen easily lifted the skinny boy in his arms, sneaking out behind the barricades to safely access the inside of a medical tent in the opened camp.

Quickly enough, his trained team saw what had happened and in seconds, a gurney was brought over just as one of the nurses started to get a line on Hill’s arm while Owen assessed him. The gunshot wound to the abdomen had probably lacerated the patient’s liver and judging by the paleness in his face, the boy was losing too much blood, way too fast. Owen knew his condition required immediate intervention. Ignoring the gunshots being fired outside the tent, he looked up and saw Kepner at a close distant, holding her phone near while obviously being caught off guard by the rebels in the middle of a call.

“Kepner, we gotta pack up and bug out.” Owen said with authority, turning around to summon the anesthesiologist who was with their team. There was no time to be lost, if he didn’t act immediately, it was very likely the young man on the table would die. “Hill, look at me!” Owen commanded, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes with the intention to keep him conscious. “You’re going to be fine, okay? We are going to get you all fixed up, you hear me?”

“Major…” Danny Hill’s weak voice resonated in the room, and Owen had to lean over a little to be able to hear him. “Major, please…” The boy was nearly whispering. “You tell my girl that I love her, okay? You tell Annie that for me?” Danny’s eyes seemed to lose focus each second more, startling Owen. “Tell her that she doesn’t have to blame herself… That I did this for us…”

“No!” Owen held his hand and fiercely squeezed it, hoping with all his heart that Danny didn’t let go. “You’re going to tell her yourself, Hill…” Owen said with an authoritative voice, unable to believe that was actually happening. The life of a good, decent kid was on the line and Owen hadn't even properly processed how that had happened yet. But one thing he was sure of, Hill was not going to die on him. “You’re going back to Indiana and you’re telling her yourself.”

“I… I…” The boy’s face twitched in a scowl of pain when Kepner helped Owen cut his clothes and access his wound. The anesthesiologist was ready to put the patient under, but properly waited until the surgeon gave him the okay to do so. “Tell Annie I love her, sir… Please… You have to promise me.”

“You will tell her yourself, Hill.” Owen reinforced, too determinate not to let that boy go. Life was too fragile. It could end in a heartbeat. And it was too short to be wasted in stupid things like pride and fear. Perhaps making the most impulsive decision he’d made so far, Owen commanded. “We’re going to do it together, okay? You and me.” He tightened his grip on Hill’s hand, feeling the young man faintly squeeze his back in agreement. Encouraged by the positive reaction, Owen reinforced it. “We’ll both tell our girls when we get home, alright? Are you with me?”

“Promise?” Hill’s breath collided like vapor against the oxygen mask the anesthesiologist had put on his face. Instead of the determined eyes of an Army soldier, all Owen could see was the scared face of a terrorized nineteen year old boy. “Do you promise, Major?”

Owen knew the job very well. Medicine wasn’t an exact science. Doctors were trained to never make promises.

“I promise.” He held Hill’s hand and gave his colleagues a head nod, informing the anesthesiologist that he should begin the procedure.

For the following hour, Owen heard gunshot wounds outside but none of that mattered at the moment. It was Christmas and a young boy with a huge heart had his life hanging by a thread. He relied on Owen completely to save his life and the surgeon wasn’t letting go.

That kid couldn’t die. He deserved to live. He had to live.

And with that thought, Owen finally figured out that Danny Hill wasn’t the only one who needed the promise of a happy ending to endure the few days left until they finally went back home.

Back in Seattle, Amelia watched as everyone hoped for an early finish at work to go home spend Christmas Eve with their loved ones. Unsurprisingly, the neurosurgeon had volunteered to take the night shift at the hospital. Amelia finished the late rounds and sat by one of the stations, listening as a faint radio in the distance played Stevie Wonder’s Someday at Christmas.

The melody unconsciously added to Amelia’s depressed mood. It was the first time she was completely alone for the Holiday.

During every other day of the year, being on her own had been a welcome situation. But that night specifically carried too much meaning to be spent in such a depressing mood.

Alex Karev had organized a reunion to at least invoke what was left of a holiday spirit in the discouraged group of surgeons. Amelia initially hadn't planned on accepting the invitation, but on a second thought it looked more appealing than spending the evening alone at the hospital.

The neurosurgeon had just made up her mind to go see other people in a social event for the first time in an eternity when her phone started buzzing.

Noticing she was being paged by Pediatrics, Amelia immediately dropped her plans for the night and ran upstairs. The message didn't specifically say it, but Amelia was pretty sure what the pager was about.

Jamie.

Rushing into the PICU, she found the little girl’s mom moving around in panic as a team of doctors and nurses gathered around the bed.

“What’s going on?” Amelia frantically asked, but no answer was needed. As soon as her eyes fell on the patient, she watched as the eight year old’s body contorted in uncoordinated movements. “When did she start having seizures?” The neurosurgeon asked, making her way among the other professionals at the same time one of the doctors ordered another round of drugs.

“In the past ten minutes.” One of the attendings replied. “We rounded on her just a couple of hours ago and she didn’t have this periorbital edema or unilateral ptosis… she’s on day three of treatment for a sinus infection, but…” the PICU doctor looked as confused and taken aback as Amelia, and he was visibly distressed by the unseen complication. “Her liquor culture was negative, she had no neurological deficits, she couldn't possibly have evolved with meningitis and gotten this worse in just two hours, I…”

“Book an OR for me, now!” Amelia interrupted him as she asked one of the nurses, immediately focusing her attention back on the attending. She knew he was telling the truth because just that afternoon she’d seen Jamie too and despite her nasty infection, the girl wasn't presenting those critical conditions. Amelia quickly did the math and reluctantly spoke, hoping with every fiber of her being that her diagnosis didn't represent a death sentence. “It’s not acute meningitis. I think Jamie has a cavernous sinus septic thrombosis. I am going to confirm it with a head CT, but I am pretty sure.” Amelia declared after a quick physical exam, knowing the awful complication was the likeliest possibility under those circumstances.

“Dr. Shepherd!” Jamie’s mom came running behind them as Amelia and the PICU team rushed with the patient to radiology. “What’s going on?” The desperation was visible in the mother’s eyes and the woman broke down crying, obviously worried sick about her daughter. “What’s happening to Jamie? Why… why is she having seizures?!”

Amelia felt her heart constricting and tried her best to remain as neutral as she could while speaking to the woman she’d inadvertently grown close to.

“Her intracranial pressure is too high, Mrs. Donovan. I need to take Jamie now to try to fix it before it’s too late.” Amelia explained feeling like she was being punched in the gut. “Her sinus infection formed a clot and it traveled to her brain. It’s compromising the blood flow. There is no time for anything, if I don’t do this now Jamie is not going to make it.” Amelia explained with sorrow in her voice.

“But… but…” The woman ran to catch up with them, lost for words. “Dr. Shepherd, please… Jamie is all I have. She is all I have.” The woman begged, watching as the team prepared the girl for the emergency CT. Grabbing Amelia’s elbow, Mrs. Donovan looked straight into the neurosurgeon’s eyes as she pleaded. “You have to save her. Please…” The woman broke down again, unable to control her emotions. “It’s my daughter… it’s my baby girl… Please…!”

The words hit Amelia harder than she anticipated. It was like once again a cold dagger was being buried into her heart. The neurosurgeon knew too well the pain of losing a child and she could relate to Jamie’s mom entirely.

A clot stuck in such a delicate portion of the brain most likely meant disastrous effects, including imminent death. Amelia had dealt with cases like that a few times in her career and nearly every patient had died from it. From what she’d just seen on the scans appearing on the screen, Jamie’s thrombosis was massive and it matched the way her symptoms had quickly progressed. The fact the girl had a severe underlying condition that compromised her oxygenation also didn't help.

But Amelia was determined to achieve the only outcome that mattered: keeping Jamie alive.

And the surgeon could only hope she was able to evacuate the area in time.

“I am going to do everything I can, Mrs. Donovan.” Amelia said with honesty, hoping for the best but expecting the very worst, feeling her heart break into a thousand pieces as she dodged the crying mother. “We have to go now.”

“But…”

“Now!” Amelia said, helping to push the gurney with a decisive tone.

Her entire system was on the verge of a collapse and Amelia knew that if she stopped to process what was happening, it was likely she would freak out. So instead, the neurosurgeon focused on the task ahead, keeping unusually calm because she knew the ultimate goal required every bit of her serenity.

That Christmas was already the worst one of her life.

And Amelia wasn’t about to let it get even worse.

---

who lives? who dies?

#omelia #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #greysanatomy #thejourney #thejourneyfanfiction #owelia #omeliafics #omeliafanfics #omeliafanfic #omeliafic #greysanatomyfanfic

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babayagay · 7 years ago

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I know Mafalda Prewett isn’t technically a canon character, but she was going to be, and I honestly believe the series would have been better if Mafalda was wasn’t cut out of the Goblet of Fire. You might be asking: ‘wait who’s Mafalda?’ and that’s a reasonable question bc literally no one would have fathomed a character like her.

Mafalda Prewett was created by Rowling “to eavesdrop on conversations held between the Death Eaters of her house, and repeat what she heard to the The Trio in an attempt to impress them”. Think of what she could have added to the story, a Slytherin confidant to the Golden Trio. Think of the potential insight we could have gotten from Slytherin House right before the return of Voldemort. But since she ultimately was cut from the fourth book, we don’t really know much about her besides the little Rowling has shared.

What we know:

She was sorted into Slytherin

her father is a squib accountant, and her mother a muggle

She is extremely academically gifted

curious and nosy

prone to gossip

and somewhat unpleasant

Mafalda being in Slytherin is huge, because her one connection to the wizarding world is through the Weasleys: a Light, pureblood family that hasn’t been sorted anywhere but Gryffindor in decades, maybe centuries! Even though Mafalda had only two purposes in the books, to take Rita Skeeter’s place, and act as Hermione’s foil, her character would have made a huge difference to the series.

The Weasleys are thought of as the best of the purebloods, right? But we do know that Ron displayed some judgmental tendencies at best, racist/specist at worse. We also know that Molly Weasley had a canon, squib second cousin that they never talk about because his “profession” brought shame to the family? So let’s assume, that even among the Weasley’s, a certain prejudice exists between blood. (everything below this line turned into a fic, so tl;dr if you want)

Let’s say Mafalda first learns of Hogwarts when McGonagall comes to the door and asks to see her parents. McGonagall tells her all about this special magic school for her where she can learn to become a witch. She receives her Hogwarts letter, scoffs it off as a joke until her father, her normal, orderly, accountant father, speaks up and reluctantly confirms McGonagall’s story. He tells his shocked wife and daughter about his estranged parents and his unorthodox childhood. Mafalda, an ambitious learner, immediately decided she wants to go to Hogwarts and practice magic. She always knew she was different, after all.

Mafalda came to Hogwarts in the Trio’s fourth year, making her Ron’s junior by at least three years. Imagine this.

Nervous little Mafalda, a social outcast in the muggle world (presumably for her unpleasant, braggy traits), stumbles up to the Sorting Hat, trying to convince herself this school wasn’t all a dream. The Sorting Hat automatically see’s her relation to the Weasley’s and suggests going to Gryffindor because that’s where her family is. But Mafalda had heard enough about the precious Weasley’s.

Through McGonagall who had commented on her ginger hair and freckles, through her father who had nothing but disdain for the family who shunned him, through the weird Wand Maker who was old enough to recognized the name Prewett, through the Hat who had sorted dozens of Weasleys….

No, Mafalda decided she didn’t want to be roped in with the Weasleys. She had her goals and ambitions. And much like the advice Harry got when he was sorted, the Hat told her she would find her real friends in Slytherin. So Mafalda made her choice, savoring the look on the her cousins’s faces as she took her seat proudly at the Slytherin table. And though initially, Mafalda was shunned for her blood status, she made her own niche and proved that the supremacist’s were wrong about her, because she was not going to be shunned like her father.

Still, that didn’t stop the bigots from ignoring her, even as she climbed to being the smartest Slytherin witch in her year. Anytime someone challenged her because of her blood, she would scathingly show them just how quick she was with a wand. Her marks were high, grade wise and target wise. She had a string of friends that would tell her the latest goings on of Hogwarts, and more importantly, what was happening in the pureblood circles.

Mafalda was often compared to Gryffindor’s Hermione Granger, something she did not enjoy very much. Perhaps because they were very similar, and/or the muggleborn was best friends with a Weasley. But as she learned more and more, Mafalda couldn’t help but see the similarities. And one couldn’t ignore that the Gryffindor got higher praise than her in most of their classes. So Mafalda “accidentally” ran into the Trio one day in the library as they were researching for the First Task.

“Something bad is happening in Slytherin.” she whispered one day to Granger as she picked up her “accidentally” dropped book. It was enough to garner their attention at the very least. Mafalda pretended that she didn’t want their attention or praise, but a small bit of her craved it.

“It’s getting worse.” she would mumbled as they crossed paths between classes. They would meet during quidditch matches or shared classes, anywhere in public really. She would tell them about the bigots in her house because thats what they seemed most interested in. Somewhere along the way, they had crossed into basic conversation, and Mafalda found herself asking Hermione how to write a protection spell in ancient runes or how to administer a poisoned potion without the drinker noticing the taste.

Hermione, to her horror, found that the unpleasant, little, Slytherin Mafalda was a miniature version of herself as a first year. And she was progressing quickly.

Imagine if Mafalda was the link between Gryffindor and Slytherin as Voldemort’s power grew. Imagine if Mafalda was the first Slytherin to join the DA, ‘only because Umbridge thought she was a Weasley, of course.’ She would recruit many more Slytherins to Potter’s side because a world where Voldemort ruled was a world that did not welcome her.

Imagine none of the supremacists paying attention to the daughter of a squib, as she quietly spied on them and reported their conversations directly to Harry. The Trio would know that the Ministry had fallen days before the Order could get a whiff of it. The Trio would know which students took the Mark, and which one’s were struggling to stay out of it. The Trio was privy to Voldemort’s movements all because the daughter of a squib had used his bigotry against him. Mafalda had worked her way into the Lion’s den and proven she was worthy of their attention.

When the Trio left to hunt Horcruxes, Mafalda was there to help Neville, Ginny, and Luna keep the D.A open and recruiting. Mafalda was there watch her fellow Slytherins struggle with the Carrow’s tyranny, and if they proved themselves trustworthy, she would quietly invite them to the Room of Requirement where she could offer them protection. Some accepted, but most did not, and Mafalda was ready with an Obliviate on her tongue when they turned her down.

It was thanks to Mafalda that half of Slytherin stayed to fight at the Battle of Hogwarts, because her real friends, the one’s the Hat had foretold all those years ago, wouldn’t let her fight alone. The rest would not, and could not, fight their parents, and she begrudgingly respected that. Mafalda was the one that would stun them and put them in the room of requirement until the battle was over. Because even she wouldn’t allow them to stand with their parents, even if it was unwillingly on their part. She carved dark runes into stone doorways that decapitated Death Eaters if they so much came into a three feet radius. She took cutting curses, while she covered escaping first years, and dodged subsequent bone breaking curses when she tackled the Death Eater who had Avada’d her roommate of five years.

When everything was over, Mafalda found herself face to face with Molly Weasley, her long-lost distant cousin. She was surprised when the woman embraced her, crying out how she had saved her daughter’s life inadvertently when Dolohov and Lestrange led the hunt for ‘the Weaslette bloodtraitor’. For once, her ginger hair and freckles had actually done some good, even if, Mafalda thought disdainfully, she was mistaken for a Weasley once again. Months later, Mafalda received notice that she had been nominated for an Order of Merlin, by none other than Harry Potter. There was a personalized note from him, attached to the owl.

‘Mafalda. I never got to say this while we were at Hogwarts together. Thank you. I’ve nominated you for an Order of Merlin, and Ron told me I should have nominated “Mafalda Weasley” as a joke. But I don’t think you’d find that very funny. You’re the real hero. –signed Harry’

Mafalda smiled fondly. She was a Prewett and proud.

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loathedlineage-a · 7 years ago

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Talk about Amelia being an Obscurial. Would being warned of the danger help her learn to use her magic or would it make her more scared and therefore more likely to become one?

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on

Omg, being told that her magic would actually be corrupted and turn against her if she chooses to suppress/refuse to use it would absolute devastate Amelia. I mean, even before she was made aware of being a witch she felt like a freak with the strange events that had occured around her (eg: glass shattering, lights flickering, pipes bursting in her room and even one incident where she unknowingly made herself go deaf for three days). Being told she was a witch and had legit magical powers did explain those unexplained events, but it didn’t make Amelia feel any better.

That, and her introduction to the wizarding world wasn’t the best of intros: while everyone else was either raised in the wizarding world or was informed of their heritage through a letter which calmly informed them of their acceptance into Hogwarts, Amelia simply had no idea until death eaters brutally attacked her and her adoptive family (- torturing them), killing the latter (though their main target was Amelia). The situation was traumatic in itself but adding the existence of magic to the whole ordeal was just one shock too many: it unfortunately left Amelia terrified of all magic, including her own.

Anyhow, so before when she didn’t know she was a witch and all these weird stuff kept happening around her, Amelia often did her best to ignore it (which was completely useless cause it, well, just kept on happening). And afterwards when she was told she was a witch she pretty much still had that mindset. It all comes down to a lot of nativity and inexperienced, to be honest. Amelia has as much knowledge about magic and the wizarding world as an 11 year old muggleborn who just received their acceptance letter to Hogwarts. She more of less just kinda goes into a drastic panic state of assuming she can ignore her magic entirely and it’ll ‘go away’.

Her desire to want nothing to do with magic and refusing to learn anything about it is made perfectly clear, but of course Amelia is quickly told that choosing to do such a thing would only bring her more harm than good, which absolutely devastates her. It does, in some ways, scares Amelia into studying her magic (and even coming to a decision that if she can learn to control her magic then she wouldn’t have to use it ever again) but at the same time it simply leaves Amelia feeling like she has no choice at all, that her freedom has been striped away from her.

In some ways, it’s a good thing that being told she would/could develop an obscurus causes Amelia to have a serious re-think about studying her magic, rather than scaring her completely to never use her magic (thus becoming an obscurial), but again it doesn’t leave Amelia feeling happy. She becomes depressed, or I guess even more depressed as she’s already dealing with the loss of her entire adoptive family. And now on top of that she’s told she doesn’t have a choice, she has to study magic (otherwise hers will turn into an unstable dark force) and just basically she has to leave her old life behind - a life where Amelia was very content.

She even directs some of her hatred towards magic itself, essentially blaming it for taking away her family and every chance she had at a normal life. In all truth, the only reason why Amelia willingly agreed to go to Hogwarts was because she thought a) if she was taught how to use her magic, she wouldn’t have to use it and b) she could find a spell or a potion of sorts - a cure - to ‘fix’ herself. Those were her ultimate goals for attending Hogwarts/studying magic however over time once Amelia got used to her ‘new life’, as well as came to accept Harry/the Potters as her family and overcoming her fears, Amelia’s goals shifted and she basically became much more accepting of her magic. Which of course refrained from such an obscurus being developed.

The sad thing that really gets to me about all this is that if Amelia hadn’t come to understand that learning how to use her magic is the only way she’s gonna be able to control it, she would have no doubt gone down this path and developed an obscurus. Like, this could have very easily been canon for her, and it all comes down to Amelia deciding whether or not to willingly study her magic.

#thedefectedone #ask meme #answered #outofarrogance #{ headcanon }#long post tw #bless u for sending this in omg D:

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dat-imagine-tho · 8 years ago

Text

Mine

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Warnings: Language

A/N: Gif is not mine. Requested by a lovely anon: The reader has always been Draco’s girl. This princess. One day at a Malfoy banquet one of his cousins tries it on with her. I have slightly changed it from the prompt, it’s actually at a wedding instead

Today was a happy occasion; food, friends and love. This was a wedding after all.

Draco may not have been originally keen on going, but after much good-natured persistence by you, he happily obliged. Although, it was mainly factored towards his inability to not do things that made you happy. He acted as if it weren't his cousin's wedding.

You were surprised to receive an invitation at first but the shock dissipated given the fact that Teddy Lupin was a true Hufflepuff through and through. The guy had a big heart when it came to giving people the benefit of the doubt and loving unconditionally; he got the best of both his mother and father.

Earlier that morning, you had spent the time getting ready, Draco took almost no time at all, you on the other hand had to perfect your routine, which you eventually had.

Entering the front room of the house ready to leave you called out to your husband. There was something about dressing up in formal clothes that makes everyone look great.

That still didn't prepare you for when a rather handsome Draco stepped out in his black suit, white dress shirt, black tie and shoes to match. You looked away bashfully, afraid you would be judged for staring.

Draco stopped in the doorway before turning his head towards you standing in the adjacent room. Seeing you quite literally took his breath away. Eyeing you up and down as he made his way over to you. A blush made its way to your face when he had said, "Hey beautiful, you look absolutely sexy in that dress."

The wedding was spectacular, you would forgive anyone who thought that this wedding was a real life fairytale. From the colour scheme, atmosphere, and right down to the tiniest details of fairy lights and the cobblestone footpath immersing every guest straight into a children's story book.

Following the succession of the ceremony the guests were ushered into a snow-white tent with even more fairy lights raining down from the roof. The wedding guests began the search for their assigned seats.

Draco was unimpressed. This look was plastered on his face the moment he realised the table in which you sat was shared with Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione and a medium-length black haired young man roughly the same age as Draco with a blonde girl with gorgeous blue eyes.

You nudged your husband gently and gave him a sad, pleading look begging him to be nice for your sake. He reluctantly obliged to, at the very least, not to say any snide comments or go out of his way to be rude. This did not mean that he would act happy when he wasn't, nor did it mean he would engage in friendly conversations with his old classmates, especially Potter.

An awkward start was quickly swept away when the girl two seats down on your right had introduced herself, "Hello, I'm Emily Gibbs." She smiled politely at you, she had such a warm welcome and you were instantly drawn to her. "Hi, I'm (y/n)," you replied back with a matched politeness. "What's your relation to the bride or groom?" She asked. "I'm with Draco, Teddy is his second cousin." You smiled at her.

Cutting in, the dark-haired boy to your right answered "I'm Malfoy, Acacius Malfoy." In an almost offended gesture, as if he couldn't believe you hadn't already taken notice of him. He peered through his dark hair with his piercing blues looking you up and down, taking you in.

Unknowingly, Draco smiled at him, "I haven't seen you since we were, what? Nine years old?"

"Yes, back when we played quidditch on your property." He replied.

"During school break, I remember." Draco added.

After a long sip of his water, Acacius took his time in responding, "Uncle Lucius gifted you with your first broom, second to top of the range. The newest model wasn't available in London, yet. Of course, my Father had my broom imported. Unsurprisingly, I kicked your arse." His voice was the only thing ringing throughout your table.

Ginny sat picking at her food not giving anyone eye contact. You were taken aback by his comments but tried to remain polite. "It was only by one point. We would have had a fair match had we had the same broom." Draco, despite being irritated by the fact he was being made a fool of especially in front of Harry, kept his voice friendly, although verging on his true emotions. It was a testament to how much he cared for you, by keeping his promise.

"You're only as good as your broom, I suppose." The clatter of cutlery clinked as Draco's distant cousin began eating his food. Harry chocked slightly on his water he had been nervously sipping. Ginny was furious and had every right to be, she was a fantastic quidditch player in her own right and knew finances was not the only component to a great player. Ron's mouth was agape, he could not believe someone had a go at Draco. Hermione although shocked herself, elbowed Ron for his undignified expression.

After an awkward silence, conversation picked up from whispers between Ginny and Harry, Hermione joining in as well. Ron was listening while scoffing down his food, Draco sat glaring at his plate picking at some chicken, while you were trying to work up the courage to speak to Emily again. Looking over at her she smiled at you, returning the favour you smiled back which then initiated the conversation between the two of you.

The conversation was going well until Acacius wormed his way into it, taking control. You could tell that Draco, despite being related to him, was liking him less and less, the whole table in fact was liking him less and less. He seemed to gain more confidence the more he heard his own voice. At one moment he winked at Ginny, who just glared back, that didn't seem to affect his ego at all.

As he continued to talk he rested his arm on your chair. Draco immediately tensed, shooting him a dangerous look, you on the other hand were taken aback. He seemed to ignore Hermione altogether. 'What a dick!' You thought, you had encountered his type before. 'Poor, Emily. She's so nice and he's so...' You went to offer Emily a sympathetic smile, she was not looking. She seemed shunned to silence by her partner.

Tension continued to grow so you leant over to Draco asking him to get you another drink, hoping this would ease things from boiling over. Muttering under his breath he left the table to get a drink for you at the bar.

"So, you're Draco's girl then, can't say I ever pictured him with someone like you," Acacius spoke up.

Already this conversation was extremely awkward, "He's a really sweet, caring guy I fell in love with." He laughed, causing you to grit your teeth.

"I assume you two are together, then?" He asked Ginny about her and Harry. "Happily married," Harry replied coldly, wanting nothing more than this idiot to leave.

The self-titled charmer looked to Ron and Hermione this time, "And you two, blind date gone wrong?"

"Wait, just a minute!" Ron began but was cut off by Hermione,

"How dare you!"

At that moment Teddy appeared at the table unaware of the conversation's turn, "Hey, how is everyone tonight? Thank you so much for coming, dessert is on the way." Just as he had spoken it a wait staff came behind him and began placing beautiful looking chocolate mud cake slices with vanilla bean ice-cream in front of each guest and leaving one in the vacant seat belonging to Draco.

Emily pardoned herself with the excuse of getting herself a drink, you could tell by the telltale signs of her still full glass on the table that she was overwhelmed by the current events.

You internally groaned when the voice you began to hate spoke again this time really close to your ear, "You know, Draco just does anything you ask. Just folds and does whatever you say like an obedient pup." By this time you closed your eyes in distress, you had an intuition that there was something very off, most likely dangerous about this man.

Almost like how a predator swoops in on prey seeing how Draco was still absent he continued "If you ever want to be with a real man, we can always slip out now to somewhere and I can show you everything you're missing." Your skin crawled, you felt sick to your stomach.

"Don't talk to my wife like that!" You snapped your head over to see Draco had returned, the look he wore would be absolutely frightening if you hadn't been so grateful for his timing. Acacius stood up quickly, knocking his chair over, "What are you gonna do about it? Come on, I'll kick your arse!" He rushed towards Draco, but the other man stood his ground as they squared off. Both men pulled out their wands and aimed it at the other.

You and Emily exchanged looks, non-verbally agreeing, looking back to the two men who acted more like boys you lifted your wands. Emily targeting her boyfriend, you targeting Draco. In an instant both of their wands flew from their hands and into both Emily's and yours.

Harry, Ron and even Teddy stood before Acacius, "I think it's best you leave!" Teddy sneered.

Being obviously outnumbered, the horrid man left still with an air of arrogance around him.

"What a wanker," Ron stated while going back and sitting next to Hermione.

The guests settled and began going back to their conversations.

The music changed from a soft melody wafting in the background, to fill the tent with a lively ambience. Teddy and his new wife took the floor in a confident and elegant choreograph.

Guests were being encouraged to join in the festivities. Couples and friends alike made their way to the dance floor. Draco offered his hand to you, you blushed and accepted it as he lead you to the dance floor.

He twirled you majestically, then resting his hand on your hip, you placed your hand softly on his broad shoulder, and your other hand had enclasped in Draco's.

As you danced with the man you loved you saw something that contributed to the smile on your face; Emily was dancing with Neville. You rested your head on your husband as you rocked back and forth slowly.

Towards the end of the song you looked into Draco's eyes, completely in the moment. "I love you so much (y/n), I fall more and more in love with you every day, and I still can't believe you said 'I do', to me."

You smiled, "I can't picture my life without you. I love you too."

You stopped dancing only for a moment so that Draco could speak these words, "You remind me of a fairy tale in that dress you're wearing."

You added laughing "Well, I guess that makes you my knight in shining armour." Draco smiled and looked slightly away in thought before looking back to you, "You've always been my princess."

Kissing him lightly on the nose, "You've never treated me than anything less, I don't want to ever be with anyone else."

"You'll always be mine," Draco promised before capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

More? (x)

#Draco Malfoy #Reader #insert #fanfiction #imagine #short #story #fan fiction

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braverytaught · 8 years ago

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minerva’s life post-dh.

strap in, y’all, it’s meta time, bc this is something i’ve thought about and never quite enumerated. what happens to minerva after the battle of hogwarts? what we know is that she becomes headmistress, lobbies for severus’s portrait to be added to the headmistress’s office, and is still headmistress when the next gen comes around. let’s expand on that.

teaching and student interaction.

the most important thing i’ve decided is that minerva does not stop teaching once she becomes headmistress. not entirely, anyway. dumbledore didn’t teach while headmaster, to my knowledge, but let’s be honest, dumbledore also did a lot of un-headmaster-related things while he was headmaster. even leaving aside the plotting and leading of a rebel organization, he had time to be chief warlock of the wizengamot and supreme mugwump of the international confederation of wizards, which were presumably significant responsibilities. he was away from hogwarts a lot. what i take from this is that the actual duty of being the headmaster/mistress needn’t take up all of one’s time. minerva doesn’t hold any of the positions outside of hogwarts that dumbledore did, so i think it’s perfectly reasonable to assume she would still have time to teach alongside her duties as headmistress.

not in the same capacity as before, of course. she’s no longer the main transfiguration professor; she hires another one after becoming headmistress. but i think that, at least for the first few years after becoming headmistress, she continues to teach the n.e.w.t.-level transfiguration classes, and perhaps later on transitions to teaching more specialized, advanced electives - she’d certainly be qualified to teach sections of ancient runes or arithmancy, though neither appeals to her as much as transfiguration itself. what i find most likely is that she comes up with seminars that go into a deeper level of detail regarding specialized branches of transfiguration (animagi is an obvious example, but there are also certain types of transformations, conjurations, etc that could be explored in depth). she’d probably teach one a term, and it would be a point of pride for talented students to get into headmistress mcgonagall’s seminars. (assuming the next transfiguration professor isn’t an animagus, she also definitely shows up to provide a practical demonstration during the third years’ animagus unit.)

there are a few reasons she keeps teaching. one is simply for my own sake, because i think that one of the reasons i rarely interact with next gen blogs is that it’s hard to find reasons to interact with students on a meaningful level as headmistress, and i don’t want to have a bunch of so how are your studies going? threads that lead nowhere. i mean, how often did dumbledore talk to students who weren’t harry? not often. it was generally a point of surprise in the narrative if dumbledore showed up to talk directly to individual students. so having her remain a teacher, where she has good reason to interact directly with students, is just easier on me.

but also, ic, minerva just wouldn’t be happy not teaching. that’s another reason i’ve shied away from rping a lot of post-canon things - because as much pride as minerva would take in being headmistress, as much as she’d enjoy the position and use it to try and make the school a better place, i just have a hard time imagining what she’d do in the position, what joy she’d take from it, if there isn’t teaching involved. minerva loves teaching, y’all. she loves educating and nurturing the students directly, on a closely involved level. she loves seeing them grow over seven years. removing herself from the actual learning environment and activity of the school - staying holed up in that headmaster’s tower - would defeat the entire purpose of her profession.

so yeah, she absolutely would not give up teaching just because she’s headmistress. and just as important, she doesn’t become a stranger to the students either, or tries hard not to be. she doesn’t just make speeches and sit at the high table for dinners and then return to her office. she tries to spend a lot of her time in the school proper - around the library, in the hallways, where she can see the students, where she can be familiar to them, not an intimidating figure from afar, but someone they know. because the students are the most important part of her job; what’s the point if she doesn’t get to know them?

post-war

after voldemort’s defeat and snape’s death, minerva is appointed acting headmistress. (her official appointment as headmistress doesn’t take effect until the beginning of the next term, but it’s never in doubt that she’ll take over.) as you might expect, she’s one of the chief figures in cleaning up hogwarts after the battle. she meets with parents; she helps reunite muggleborns; she attends ministry hearings and acts as witness at more than one death eater trial; she oversees the school’s reconstruction; she donates rather significantly to a fund to help muggleborns and half-bloods who have lost their homes and possessions during the war. though she spends most of her time and energy at hogwarts, she nevertheless emerges as one of the main figures of authority in the time after the war, and it’s well-known that she corresponds regularly with kingsley shacklebolt, advocating for various legislation and ministry action to help the wizarding community rebuild.

she hurts, of course. she’s tired, of course. she’s grieving, of course. but she deals with grief as she ever has: by throwing herself into her work. and there is so much work to do.

there is talk amongst the board of governors about keeping hogwarts closed for the next term. the school needs heavy reconstruction before it’s safe to house students, they argue, and families will want to keep their children near to home in the aftermath of the terror.

minerva puts her foot down. her students have already lost a year of instructional time, she says - they were too busy being tortured and terrorized to pay attention to their studies. most of britain’s muggleborns were barred from even entering the school. there are eleven-year-olds who got their hogwarts letter only to be told they weren’t allowed in. what they need, she argues, is their school back, and proof that hogwarts is once more the safe haven it was always supposed to be.

so she works hard all summer to ensure that the school will be ready for the students’ return. she personally visits the homes of the muggleborns who should have entered hogwarts the year before. she organizes a revised curriculum to take into account the instructional time lost the year before, and sets up a safety net of study groups and extra tutoring for students who have fallen behind.

her focus isn’t solely on muggleborns, though. when the fall term starts, she takes care to keep an eye on the slytherins. they are a smaller group than usual - some of their parents never sent their children back to a hogwarts they feared would be hostile to them - and many of those that remain have lost parents and siblings, or found themselves the target of distrust and hatred from those students who suffered from the hands of death eaters. she reminds her students and staff that to be slytherin is not to be a death eater, and that children are not responsible for the actions of their parents, and that their goal in the aftermath of war should be peace and respect.

it doesn’t stop the tension or the bullying. it doesn’t stop the fights that break out between students whose families have been hurt by one another. and often minerva isn’t sure which side to take - the gryffindor’s whose parents were killed, or the slytherins whose parents are in azkaban for the murder? both have suffered. neither are at fault. she tries not to take sides, and quell the fighting when she can. she will always be a gryffindor, but she is no longer head of house. all students are hers to consider and protect.

for her efforts during and after the war, she receives an order of merlin, first class - and, even more unexpectedly, her name on a chocolate frog card. she attends too many funerals after the war is over - but there is an influx of weddings, too, now that there is peace. minerva did not always go to all the weddings she was invited to by students (there were too many, and she never really liked weddings all that much; unless she was quite fond of the pair in question, she often sent a card instead) but now she makes an effort to attend as many as she can, in that first year, and cries at every one of them. (everyone politely pretends not to notice, of course. she has a reputation to maintain.)

next generation.

i’ve seen two schools of thought when it comes to minerva’s interaction with the next gen. there is, of course, the idea that she doesn’t really know the next generation until they come to hogwarts - and that she heavily considers retiring once they do. i’ve also seen the hc that she is very close to the next gen and their families, to the point where they consider her a sort of aunt.

my hc is somewhere in the middle. no, she does not quail at the sight of james sirius potter’s name on the list of attending students. no, she does not consider retiring. she knows the potters and the granger-weasleys. she corresponds with their parents with some regularity, and she has been over for dinner on multiple occasions. but she isn’t super tight with them. she’s good friends with harry, hermione, and ron, but she spends most of her time at hogwarts, and she doesn’t come to visit often enough that she’s considered family. there’s still a respectful distance there; she’s friendly with the next gen but has never presented herself as being closer than their teacher. she knows them before they attend hogwarts, but their time as students is when she really gets to know them.

that’s not to say she doesn’t favor them in her mind, of course - she keeps a close eye on the potters and the weasleys, and has a keen interest in their futures. they’re friendly. she’s not hagrid, though; she doesn’t have them around for tea every friday. but she corresponds with their parents directly about their progress - and shares some amusing stories - and, truth be told, is quite proud whenever one of them gets sorted into gryffindor.

later life and death.

in my main canon - that is, not in any ship verse where minerva’s in a relationship - minerva never remarries or has any desire to. she continues to live at hogwarts, in the headmistress’s quarters, for a very long time. she’s alone there, but she isn’t lonely. she has a school full of children and a staff full of friends, and she gets far too many letters to keep up with, thank you very much.

she has nightmares about the war. they never really go away, though they do diminish as the years pass. she never stops, in her heart, fearing that she will have to live through a third war, though that fear wanes greatly as peace settles in. as she grows older, the most pressing fear she has is that of age itself; brilliant as she has always been, she’s terrified of the thought of losing her faculties and her independence.

but, of course, she is minerva mcgonagall, and frail simply isn’t in her vocabulary. albus dumbledore lived to be 115 years old, and would have lived longer if allowed to die by natural means. minerva continues teaching until the year 2050, her 115th year, and though she does contend with the struggles of age, her mind never dulls. that fear, at least, she is spared from. in 2050 - just six years shy of teaching a full century at hogwarts - she finally retires; though she would happily continue teaching until the end of her days, she finds the responsibilities of being headmistress to finally become more of a strain than she would like to deal with. besides, she’d like to live to see hogwarts led by headmaster longbottom.

though she rarely entered it after elphinstone’s death, she never did sell the cottage in hogsmeade where they had lived during her three years of marriage. when she retires, she moves back into it, alone but within a close distance of hogwarts, from which she would hate to be very far away. she still visits hogwarts, occasionally giving guest lectures, but spends most of her last few years at home, resting, listening to quidditch matches, editing copies of transfiguration today, and being forever plagued by a gaggle of potters, weasleys, and mcgonagalls. (her nieces and nephews have gone on to have children of their own; her family only grows.) when she dies, at the ripe old age of 121, it is peacefully, in her sleep. she deserves that. she’s been through enough.

#; that explains a great deal ( headcanons. )#( me: i'm too busy to be on tumblr )#( me: posts a long ass meta a day later )#( listen this has been halfway written for a while i just sat down and finISHED IT )#v: all was well ( next gen. )#( anyway u all know how much i love angst but.........minerva mcgonagall deserves a Happy Retirement and a Peaceful Death )#( i'll fight u on this )#( i probably could have written more about her later life but hush i'm TIRED )#long post //

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