#I’ve been trying to figure Arthur’s face out and it is harder than it looks

[nyxoty]

Arthur Lester the shrimp you are ♥️

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Blood and sand - Chapter Eight

“Lookin’ nice and defiant today, I see,” lilted the Butcher, and Luke could not put his finger on what had changed, but something had, and it sent weird shivers up and down his spine.

“Shut up and get to work,” Arthur said, and lunged. And it was—

A dance, Luke thought a few moments later, and then felt insane because it wasn’t a dance. It was violence, blood, viciousness, shouts (Arthur), laughter (Dennis), and for one moment, Luke wondered if it looked like that when he was training, if it looked like being played with, like the local bullies had done once to a small, dirty dog they found in the street.

CONTENT WARNING: Luke is badly inured in this one. There is brief but graphic violence done to that child in this chapter. The art reflects this, and it is gorgeous, but know that it is, like this moment in Luke’s life, graphic. You have been warned.

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

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Chapter Eight: The Test

This was an entirely new experience for Just Luke Yang: an adult who didn’t talk down to him, didn’t seem to see him as less, fully paid attention, and actually gave good advice.

It was so shocking that he didn’t even mind being thrown painfully onto the sand again and again because Dennis (“Butcher was my old life, and Mr. Collins was my da’”) helped him back up again and then helped him figure out what he’d done wrong to get thrown down.

Luke drank it like parched soil. He was smiling as he scrambled to his feet again, sweating and panting, smiling harder than he could ever remember doing.

“Better,” said Dennis. “Tell me what you’re supposed to do.”

“Knees slightly bent, one facing forward, the other to the side, so I have full range of movement,” said Luke. “Ensure my fists are up so I can protect my face. Keep my elbows near my body.”

“Good. Now we’re getting into the tricky stuff,” said Dennis The Butcher Collins. “They won’t be polite about it. D’ya know how to take a hit, laddie?”

“I’ve taken a lot of hits,” said Luke, “but that isn’t what you’re asking.”

“No, it isn’t,” lilted the man, who proceeded to slowly (and painfully) show Luke how to take a punch.

This lesson would take a while. It didn’t make instinctive sense to turn toward the fist coming his way, to try to tense and take it in his side instead of his stomach, to twist his head so he got hit in the forehead, not the jaw.

“This one’ll take learning. Gonna have to practice it,” said Dennis, and then he paused. His gaze fixed on a point behind Luke, went hard and sharp. “Go eat.”

Bent double, Luke looked up. “What?” he breathed, having forgotten food existed.

“Go eat. Clean up. Tomorrow, we’ll work on hits… and on holds. I’ve got someone else to train right now.”

Still panting, wiping sweat from his face, Luke turned.

Arthur Lester stood in the entry gate, scowling, arms crossed.

Dennis’ smile changed. So did his eyes; this was not a look Luke understood. It was hungry, focused. Predatory. And so very, very still. “Go on, now,” he said, not looking away.

Luke tried not to limp as he walked out. He couldn’t stop grinning, in spite of how weird that last moment had been.

Arthur’s face was toward the Butcher. His eyes, however, were toward Luke. After a moment, Arthur seemed to realize he was there. “How did it go?”

“Really well,” said Luke. “Incredible.”

Arthur Lester smiled. He had a nice smile. It was completely different from that wild teeth-baring thing he did before biting a person. “I’m glad to hear it. Shut up—I know he’s waiting,” he added in a mutter. “Take care, Luke.” And he strode toward the Butcher.

Luke hesitated in the doorway, too curious to leave right away.

Arthur faced off against Dennis. He tensed; his jaw was tight, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Lookin’ nice and defiant today, I see,” lilted the Butcher, and Luke could not put his finger on what had changed, but something had, and it sent weird shivers up and down his spine.

“Shut up and get to work,” Arthur said, and lunged. And it was—

A dance, Luke thought a few moments later, and then felt insane because it wasn’t a dance. It was violence, blood, viciousness, shouts (Arthur), laughter (Dennis), and for one moment, Luke wondered if it looked like that when he was training, if it looked like being played with, like the local bullies had done once to a small, dirty dog they found in the street.

That memory didn’t taste good. He’d tried to save the dog when they were done, but he couldn’t. It hadn’t died alone, and that was all he’d been able to do for it.

Arthur hit the ground hard on his back with a sound that Luke could feel in his lungs. “Now, that was right clumsy of ye,” the Butcher started, but it seemed to have been a trick, because Arthur kicked out and knocked Dennis Collins right off his feet.

Luke gasped.

The Butcher hit the sand on his back and laughed.

And Arthur was on him, so fast, knife coming down, teeth bared and eyes wild, absolutely trying to kill.

Before Luke could cry out, the situation changed again, and somehow—like Arthur weighed nothing—Dennis flipped them both over and pinned Arthur down with his weight. He laughed again.

“Damn it!” Arthur snarled, and snapped his teeth at the other man as if trying to chew through his face.

“You lost, boyo,” said the Butcher, still grinning, just lying there and flattening the other man. “Call it, and we’re done.”

“We’re not done!” Arthur snarled, struggling.

Dennis didn’t budge an inch. “Suit yourself… but if you wear yourself out before whatever the next battle is, you won’t do too good in it, will you?”

Oh, that look. That look. It still wasn’t quite right, but it was as if Arthur’s eyes and Arthur’s face finally fully agreed on something, and that something was hating Dennis Collins.

It made the Butcher smile more.

Luke’s heart gave a little lurch. He didn’t know what he was seeing. It felt… uncomfortable to watch. Embarrassing, somehow, awkward, rife with things he had no words for. He’d never seen anything like this.

Arthur spit.

“Really?” Dennis seemed less than impressed and rolled off him. “That’s beneath you, boyo.”

“Fuck you,” said Arthur, rising and shaking, having pushed so hard that he gave himself muscle fatigue.

Luke’s moment to subtly run was gone. Dennis eyed him. “Come and get him, lad. He needs a hand.”

“I don't need anything!” Arthur snapped, and marched unsteadily toward the exit gate.

Dennis waited, whistling.

Luke hesitated for all of four seconds, then ran after Arthur.

#

They had enough time to go shower, and Luke offered to help, was told he couldn’t, and hadn’t quite gathered enough gall to say Yes, I actually can before the next fight was upon them.

It wasn’t a brawl this time. This time, the call was for duels.

“All right, you lot, let’s get you sorted,” called Dennis from the arena entry. “You and you. You and you. You… and you tonight. Yes. You and you.”

Luke queued with the rest of them, shaking a little, gripping his knife. Duels? One-on-one? If he got the wrong person, or some huge beast, or…

Dennis stopped him. “Hold on, lad. Your match isn’t up yet.”

Well, it wasn’t Arthur. Arthur stalked past, barely acknowledging the, “You… and you,” and hunching into the arena.

Luke did a double-take: Dennis had changed his clothes, trading out the Arthur-torn items for untorn, but they were just as worn, just as threadbare. Luke could see Dennis’ body-hair through it.

“There he is,” said the Butcher. “You—” he squeezed Luke’s arm—“and you.”

Luke turned.

Luke looked up.

And up. And up. Three ups, and it was the surviving bull-headed guy from the Last Lonely Inn.

“Nnng,” growled the bovine fighter, and stomped into the arena.

Luke stared.

“You’ve got this, lad, if you’re smart,” said Dennis. “Use your knack. Let him underestimate you. Go on.”

“I could fit my entire body into his thigh,” Luke blurted.

Dennis shoved him into the arena. Not hard, no; but Luke stumbled and nearly fell.

The duels had already started. Combatants spread out, paired off as ordered, and in the broad light of day, were clearly showing off. Magic flew; sand flew; blood flew; bodies flew, the evident error of taking the hit when they should have dodged.

And the King watched it all.

His inescapable attention swept over Luke like a wave, heavy and suffocating and filling empty space. Luke shuddered, gasped, and squinted in the bright sunlight, looking for his foe. Where had the guy gone? You wouldn’t think a big cow-headed man could just—

The blow came from behind, and something in his spine snapped. Limp, paralyzed, unable to breathe, he flew forward a dozen feet, crashed and badly rolled, feeling the horrifying buzz of nerve damage, and heard the heavy steps coming after him.

That had been meant to kill him. He’d nearly died, right there, and terror twisted in his head, under his burning, scraped skin.

He had seconds to use his knack, less than he ever had before. Fortunately, the bull-headed man clearly thought he’d won, and did not hurry as he brought his blade down.

Faster faster faster—

Luke regained control of his body just in time to roll. The axe clipped his shoulder, and he cried out, gripping his arm as he flung himself upright.

The bull-mad snorted, nostrils flaring and pupils big. Then he charged.

It was too close to dodge. Too fast to deflect.

The left horn pierced directly through Luke’s sternum, exploding in a red flower of pain, and slammed him into the arena wall.

Agony. This was agony. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow the blood filling his mouth. He couldn’t do anything but burn.

The bull-man pulled free, threw him to the ground with a toss of his head, studied him, then turned to go, unhurried.

It was an emergency. It wasn’t just knack-time, but true talent, because he couldn’t afford to just fix the rift, but he had to detoxify, had to clean the inside of himself from the spill of other inside of himself as his organs tore. Panic made him feel slow and stupid. He choked on blood.

The bull-man walked around fighting pairs. He ignored the dead bodies, avoided stray blasts, and was six feet away from the exit when Luke got back to his feet.

Luke—healed, terrified, and furious for it—ran, leaped, threw his arms around the bull-man’s neck from behind, and stabbed.

He stabbed directly into the center of that throat. Directly into the voice-box, scraping the spine behind it, and then let go.

The bull-man pulled the knife out, but the damage was done. He gripped his throat, staggering toward Luke, one hand failing to staunch his life’s blood, the other reaching.

Luke backed away, eyes huge.

The bull-man staggered. Fell to his knees. Fell on his face. And died.

Luke saw the life leave him, and had to throw up.

He’d seen dead things. Even dead people. He’d never, ever made one dead himself. Letting it happen flew against every instinct he had.

Muted by all the sounds and spells and violence, Luke sobbed, hugged himself, and ran past all the beings in need of healing toward the exit gate.

#

Somehow, Luke made it out of the arena, though he didn’t really remember much of that walk.

Somehow, Luke remained unmolested all the way to the communal washroom.

Somehow, Luke was the only person who wanted all the blood and vomit gone, at least at this moment, and he left his clothing a stinky, soggy mess as he stepped under falling water.

It was no mere shower. It was a torrent, a river-like flow with weight and sound and speed designed to clean flesh or fur or feathers, and Luke felt like he could disappear into it.

He liked the idea of disappearing into it, right now. In this moment, in this wake of death he had caused, he could not clearly see his path forward.

Parker. He had to bring Parker back.

Was he going to have to kill more?

(He knew he would.)

Was he going to have to feel pain like that again, gored through?

(He knew he would.)

Was he going to throw up and practically pass out every time?

(He really hoped he would not.)

Luke suddenly realized he didn’t want Parker to know about any of this. About how he’d used his magic. What he’d had to do. He didn’t want Parker to know he’d… done this.

Luke sank to his knees under the heavy, warm water, and quietly as he could, he cried.

[chapter nine] [masterpost]

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 196

New chapter!

Thank you everyone who participated in AMA Week :)  It was a lot of fun.

This week we are back at it, and jumping right into some fun.  TW: Feet and toes. Nothing sexual, but I know it squicks some folks.

Shoutout to @gayassholeposts, the latest speedrunner through the story. And to @baelpenrose for hanging in there with me.

“That’s actually valid,” Charly confessed when I recounted the incident. “Derek can be pretty rude.”

Tyche nodded before releasing her next throw.  We were currently in the gym, where she was practicing throwing knives at greater distances.  When the blade sunk into the barest edge of the target, she turned and shrugged. “It’s one of his best qualities, honestly.”

My hands went up in surrender. “Hey, I’m first to admit I need blunt people around me sometimes. It’s never been an issue with me.”

“True.” She turned back to lining up her next throw, and I resumed my position behind her, watching for and corrections I could spot.

Her next throw went to the left. “I think the extra force is twisting your arm? Your wrist bent at the last second.”

Scowling, she dug out a wrist brace to test the theory.  Sure enough, her next throw was at least safely within the target and not in danger of hitting anyone - not that it mattered, the target was against a wall for practice. But the principle was still there.

I let her go through a few more throws while I turned back to Charly. “Wha - Why are you taking your socks off?”

“Yoga?” she smiled brightly before carefully bending into a handstand.

“Your knees are bent.”

“I know. They’re sposed to be.”

My eyes narrowed. “Pretty sure they aren’t.”

“Pretty sure they are,” she replied calmly. “Hand me that reeeeeallly small bow?”

This was going places I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like. “Which hand?” I asked suspiciously.

“This one.” Sure as shit, she bobbed her left foot, toes splayed.

“Oh the hell if I am going to have you try shooting arrows with your feet while Tyche is throwing razors down the gym!”

“I’m bored, and I just want to see if I can even draw the bow. No arrows, swear.” Her foot bounced again, freaking me the fuck out. “Gimme.”

Very gingerly, I put the thickest part of the bow between her toes. “This had better be good enough, bc I am not touching your feet. Feet are icky.”

Without losing her balance, she shook her head at me from near the floor. “I’ve seen you pick up and sort laundry with your feet because your hands were busy.”

“That’s different!” I insisted. “If I hurt someone with my feet, I am hurting them with the actual foot.”

“Ask Arthur,” Tyche offered, not turning towards us. By this point, she had three knives almost in the center of the target. “It was his chin she broke in half.”

“I heard…” Charly grunted softly while she tried to grab the bowstring with her right foot. “And his ribs.”

“Hey!” I objected. “That one isn’t fair - he walked between me and a heavy-bag, and to this day I don’t know why.” I wasn’t going to admit to anyone that he hit his head so hard when I kicked him that he couldn’t remember either.

I felt awful about it.

“For besties, you two sure beat each other up a lot,” she observed as she finally managed to pull the string about an inch. “This is harder than it looks…”

All I could do was blink at her. She was balanced on her hands, arms straight, head bent at the least comfortable angle I had seen on a living human, with her toes literally in front of her face, drawing a bowstring, and really believed it was harder than it looked. “I can’t figure out if you lost bones or gained them.”

“Me either,” came the response. Not even a little out of breath, arms as steady as if she could just do this forever.

“What in the fuck??”  Tyche’s shout when she finally turned towards us was what sent Charly toppling to the ground - apparently startled jumps don’t work the same with elbows and shoulders.

“Damn it,” she complained. “I almost had it, too!”

“Had what? A herniated disc?”

“What? No.” Charly shooed away the suggestion. “A good grip on the bowstring.”

I gave Tyche an emphatic look. See? This is what I’ve been dealing with.

She groaned. “Charly…” Finally, someone was going to talk some - “You’re supposed to use an adapted pull assist for that.”

Nevermind. Sense has left the building. Possibly the quadrant.

“I’m really trying to figure out if I should let Coffey know about this,” I groaned.

Despite my fervent wish to the contrary, Charly already had the bow gripped in her left foot and was effortlessly coiling back over. “Who do you think gave me the bow? You can’t just use a regular one for this, it has to have a much lower weight.”

Gods dammit, now I need to know. “How much lower?”

“This one is… hmmmm, I think twelve pounds. HA!” Somehow, she had managed to hook the string just right so she could actually draw it. “Darn it, I might need socks or something. This does not feel very nice.”

Shaking my head roughly to snap out of my curiosity, I tried the first subject I could think of. “Did you talk to Teeth yet?”

“Mmm-hmm. They want to try the exoskeleton first, with the option for cellular therapy later.”

“WHOA whoawhoawhoawhoa whoa,” Tyche cut in. “Someone explain, now. What is wrong with Teeth?”

“Technically, nothing,” I assured her before filling her in on the situation. “They’re worried we are going to force them to grow an arm and a leg, we just want them to be able to wear their prosthetics.  The exo was Maverick’s suggestion as a compromise.”

Rolling her eyes, Tyche scoffed. “Of course they chose the exo. They love their prosthetics, and they love Nixe’s prosthesis. A big honkin’ one that they are probably going to hack halfway to the heat death of the universe? Obvious choice, really.”

Finally - finally - Charly voluntarily uncurled and laid on the mat. “Pretty much. You would have thought Teeth had light emitters installed in their head, the way their eyes lit up when I suggested the exoskeleton.  And when I had some sleep and a think, the fact that they were more willing to do the therapy later made even more sense.”

I nodded. “Ultimate good-faith gesture: a compromise that showed you really want what’s best, especially when it’s not what you would prefer.”

She clicked her tongue and threw me a wink. “Exactly. And yeah, we’re good with it. Neither of us actually give a crap if Teeth got the cellular therapy, we just knew they were stir crazy or injured every single second of the day.”

Tyche dropped to the mat as well and started stretching her legs. “So, are the schematics with Ivan, or with Maverick?” When all she got was an arched brow in response, she threw her head back and groaned. “There’s not a chance in this life, the next, or the one after that, that you would let anyone but those two rough out anything for Teeth.”

Charly mumbled something and glanced at us, only to see us both staring her down as hard as possible. “Fiiiine,” she sighed. “Conor just finished the specs, and Ivan’s mocking it up as we speak.” Her hands flew up to rub her face. “Not like I can let Teeth spec out their own stuff. I don’t know if we’d end up with the most tricked-out pony in the show, or the barest of bare bones needed.  Nixe thinks barest of bones, though, and I know I would trick it out with all kinds of shit, so we handed it off to those three.”

“That means Teeth is free to spec out your pull,” Tyche pointed out.

Just when I started groaning, Charly sat bolt upright. “Oooo! You’re right!”

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[harrypotter-imaginess]

Commission info for Love Letters from your favorite character here!

- Honestly, your probably meet him through his Dad or all people

- You meet Arthur at the store, you’re probably at a department store or the grocery store

- Maybe you work here, maybe you just come there weekly to run errands

- But you’re probably a personal shopper

- And you’re looking for something in particular, but every time you go to that section, there’s this lanky middle aged man just standing there

- And you really don’t want to get involved

- But your over active imagination gets the best of you

- What’s if he’s a widower? And he’s just not used to shopping because his partner did all of that

- Or what if he’s trying to get a gift for his new love interest and he’s just trying to get back out there

- And well, if he is a widower, and he just needs some help- shouldn’t you help him?

- Isn’t that just the right thing to do?

- So even though you don’t want to get involved, you very hesitantly approach this red haired man

- “Um, excuse me sir- but is there something I can help you with?”

- He lights up when you approach him

- Looks like the poor thing is a widower

- “Would you explain the purpose to me of this item?”

- He’s holding up a bath kit, one that comes with a bath bomb, some bath salts, and bubble bath soap

- “Um well it’s a bath kit sir”

- He looks at the package for several ing moments before pointing to the circular bath bomb

- “Is this a sweet? Is it a treat you eat when you’re in the bath tub?”

- You practically fall over yourself rushing to tell him that no, it is in fact not a treat

- “It’s like a bubble bath type of thing, you drop it into the water and it turns the bath a certain color, this ones a fortune type so after it’s done fizzing out you get a little fortune.”

- “Well isn’t that fascinating, you Muggles are quite remarkable”

- You don’t think it’s that amazing, just some baking soda and aromatics

- Also what’s a muggle? Is that some middle age slang for young people?

- You help him to the register, and you think that’ll be it, you’ll probably never see him

- So imagine your surprise when you see him again next week, this time in front of a completely different section with the same expression

- “Well hello again, can you help me with this?”

- It’s sort of a fast friendship, you learn a little more about him with each visit

- He is in fact, not, a widower

- He has 8, no 7 children

- And he works for the government

- “A glorified paper pusher really” he says, but you get the feeling he’s being humble

- “How old are you, if you don’t mine me asking?”

- You tell him and he smiles

- “That’s how old my Son is, you two would be a good match.”

- “Which one? Don’t you have seven?”

- He smiles, because you still count Fred as his child even though he’s gone, just like him

- “Take your pick, I’ve got a whole volleyball teams for you to pick from”

- You laugh

- He’s a nice guy, the exact image of what a dad is, you think

- You like him

- Arthur likes you too, he thinks you would be a good match for Percy, maybe George

- He wants to give Percy a fighting chance, he’s a good boy-

- But he’s got his nose stuck in a book most days, Arthur considers it lucky if he ever gets married

- So it’s in early winter that he drags Percy with him to the department store hoping he’ll run into you

- “Why do I have to come along again?”Percy asks grumbling as he walks beside his father

- “Because I’m buying gifts for my department-“

- “You never buy us any gifts” Charlie teases from his other side

- Arthur also brought Charlie, to seem a little less obvious about his intentions of setting you up with one of his children

- He figures Charlie is the most harmless, if you see Bill... well that would be disappointing for you

- considering he’s married and all

- And the scars might raise more questions than he’s willing to answer

- And then Ron was busy at the ministry today, an emergency or something.

- He’s already decided as he walks through the store that if this doesn’t work out, he’s bringing George next week-

- And if that doesn’t work out, well-

- Maybe Ginny would be more your type

- how solid are Harry and Ginny really

- He’s so caught up in his own mental gymnastics that he doesn’t realize one of his sons isn’t following him until he’s well inside the store

- “Where’s Percy?”

- “Oh, he left like 15 minutes ago to take a phone call for work, but I bet he snuck off to that bookstore across the street.” Charlie says casually eyeing a brightly colored display

- Arthur sighs, well he does need to get some gifts for the kids, almost Christmas and all

- “Hello Arthur, what are you dissecting today?” You ask when you see him

- “Just picking up gifts with my son-“

- A small frown lilts onto your face, his son?

- It’s only a little shift of your head and you see him

- Well isn’t he just gorgeous

- He’s got a firm build, toned arms littered with dozens of scars and burns

- His face is chiseled, with a light dusting of red hair, matching vivid hair is long and pulled into a bun

- And the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen

- Damn what a hottie

- Arthur should have told told you his son was a total smokeshow

- And he’s got 6 of them?!? Are they all this gorgeous?

- Arthur doesn’t miss the way you look at Charlie

- And one glance at Charlie is all He needs to know that the feeling is mutual

- Why didn’t he think of Charlie?

- Well- actually he had started to think that maybe Charlie just didn’t feel that way about people.

- And so, to be supportive, he wasn’t going to push him into any romantic relationship

- But well since he seems to find you pleasing-

- “This is my son Charlie-“ he says putting both his hands on Charlie’s shoulders and jerking him closer to you

- A light red begins to dust Charlie’s cheeks, wether it’s from embarrassment or attraction he’s not sure

- You fidget in front of him feeling oddly self conscious

- “Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)”

- He takes you hand in his with a firm squeeze and you feel a little lightheaded

- His hands are surprisingly soft

- On closer inspection he’s got a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose

- Adorable really

- “So how do you know my dad?” He asks when Arthur is busy /giving you two time to get to know each other looking through the candle selection

- “Oh um I don’t know I guess we just became friends talking about how stuff works?”

- It’s a little weird to think about it, Arthur is your dads age, but he’s like your friend?

- It’s kinda weird tbh

- You wonder how Charlie’s digesting it but he just grins

- “Yeah that sounds like Dad.”

- It’s cute, the way he looks at his Dad

- You remember hearing about Charlie, that he works far away and that Arthur and his wife worry about him. And that he likes animals

- It’s kind of like meeting a celebrity, you know all about him

- except for the fact that he’s a wizard of course

- Well, it was nice meeting one of Arthur’s famous son’s, you suppose he’ll go back to Romania soon and -

- “I was wondering-“ he leans down, his voice low “if you might do me a small favor?”

- Your eyebrows thread together and your head tilts to the side a bit

- “It depends on what it is”

- Charlie only grins

- And so you find yourself standing in front of King’s Cross Station on your next free day, wearing a nice outfit that seems neither too causal, or like you’re trying too hard

- Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt until you see Charlie round the corner

- Well doesn’t he look absolutely delicious

- He’s wearing a crisp white collard shirt and a sweater over it, with a pair of khaki trousers

- Very dark academia

- “Sorry have you been waiting long?”

- You shake your head

- “No only a few minutes, have you thought about what you might want to get him?” You ask and he flashes a little and shakes his head

- “The best I could think of was a gadget of some kind?”

- You nod, you can work with that

- The favor Charlie wanted was pretty simple

- He needed help picking out a Christmas gift for his Dad

- Oddly wholesome in its own way

- You take him to a large department store

- “Maybe this pasta maker?”

- “No, Mum’s already got one”

- He should know, his dad enchanted it to make pasta on its own

- “Than maybe this waffle maker?”

- He shakes his head again, they had one and it did not end well

- You go to several stores throughout the day, but there’s nothing quite right at any of them

- Eventually you both slump down on chairs, untouched mugs of tea in front of you, both of you utterly exhausted

- “This is so much harder than I thought” you mumble, Arthur seems like such an easy to please person

- “I’m sorry” Charlie says, honestly the reason neither of you can pick something is because he can’t be honest with you

- Yeah his Dad loves muggle gadgets, but he loves them because he wants to take them apart, to see how it works

- And then he wants to enchant certain parts to make the contraption even better

- But he can’t tell you all that now can he?

- Not when you’re a muggle

- He sighs leaning back in his chair

- Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you for help, he saw how close you and his Dad were, like you were already family-

- But it’s unfair to you to monopolize all your free time like this-

- “It’s no problem really, this is actually really fun”

- You’re not lying, hanging out with Charlie is really fun.

- Usually spending time with people you’ve only just met exhausts you

- But being with him makes you feel comfortable, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm

- Guess he’s kinda like his Dad in that way

- You feel your mouth quirk into a small smile at the thought.

- He kinda looks like his dad too on closer inspection, around the jaw and-

- “Are your ears pierced?” You ask, and Charlie immediately flushes. A hand nervously fluttering to his ear

- “U-um yes, I did it when I was younger-“ he lets out a nervous laugh

- You raise an eyebrow

- “What did some girl break your heart?”

- He sputters at that

- “N-no of course not”

- You feel a wicked grin curling on your face, he’s awfully fun to tease

- “Boyfriend then?”

- He’s burning so bright red that you think steam might actually start coming out of his ears

- “N-no it was nothing like that,” his eyes are looking into his mug, fingers still twiddling with his earlobe.

- “My brother and I got them at the same time with our other friend. It was really their thing, wanting to get the piercing that is, I just joined to be apart of it”

- You can certainly see it, Charlie getting swept up in his friends things.

- “Besides this sort of thing... it doesn’t really suit me” he lets out a nervous laugh and you feel your heart swell

- “I think it would look great on you” The words leave your mouth without even thinking and you feel your face grow hot when they do.

- What are you saying!?!

- You’re embarrassed, but Charlie’s flattered.

- He’s never been the favorite sibling, he’s not as brave as Bill, or as funny as George, Percy’s the smart one, Ron’s the charismatic one, and Ginny’s the athletic one

- He hasn’t got anything to compete with honestly-

- All he can do is try to emulate his siblings, he guesses he’s still trying to figure out who he is

- Which is a little pathetic at his age- at least that’s how he feels

- But hearing you say it would look good on him- well it makes his heart flutter

- Meanwhile you’re completely ignorant to the fact that you’re making his heart race

- Completely caught up in your own embarrassment

- Geez you’re just blurting stuff out like a kid

- A lightbulb goes over your head

- “Hey I think I might have an idea of what your Dad might like!”

- You practically tug him into the the next shop, his face contorted in confusion until you show him what you thought of

- “Oh Merlin, it’s perfect”

- You’re both standing in the toy section of a department store

- Charlie’s watching the bubble machine like it’s the best thing he’s ever saw

- His dad is going to love enchanting it

- While Charlie’s asking the clerk about gift wrapping and other things you wander around the store

- Stopping when you see a rack of candles

- They’re the ‘homesick’ candles, with a scent that’s a place

- And then you see something else glint from the corner of your eye

- “Thank you so much for your help today-“

- You’re both standing in front of king’s cross again, you’re about to go home

- Charlie takes a deep gulp, if he was brave like Bill he might ask you on a date- a real day

- But he’s not

- So he’ll just thank you for your time, and ask for a business card so he can send you a tasteful gift with maybe a card asking to spend time again with you

- But before he can get the words out you thrust something out to him

- It’s a neat folded striped pink and green bag

- He takes it carefully on his hands, leading inside

- “Candles?”

- You nod

- “They’re those homesick candles, they have a scent for places, I got you London and then another one that says English country- it’s amber, honeysuckle and moss, I thought you might like it” you’re blabbering-

- There really wasn’t a need to do anything like this for him

- But well- you know he probably feels so homesick, not to mention his rowdy siblings

- So maybe this will offer him some comfort

- But he’s not looking at the candles he’s looking at something else that’s glinting beside them

- Thick fingers gently pinch the end of the thick paper square

- It’s a pair of earrings

- They’re Dragon Earrings

- “Oh that.” You look at the item with a wide expression “it’s really like a gag gift, I know you work with animals and you’ve got the piercing so-”

- Charlie’s grinning

- “You didn’t have to do all this.”

- “O-oh no, it was no big deal at all, I um- I wanted to.” You give him a shy smile and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach

- He’s never going to be as brave as Bill, or as Smart as Percy, as funny as George or loyal as Ron.

- But he wants to be kind

- As kind as you, if not more

- “No, I couldn’t possibly let you do something like this for me, especially not after all your help today”

- You feel yourself deflate, ah you were overstepping weren’t you?

- It’s just- you’ve heard so much about him and you work so well together,

- You had started to think of him as a friend

- But clearly it was too much -

- “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” your eyes snap to his face, which is dusted with pink, deep brown eyes staring into your own

- “To repay you for all the kindness you’ve shown me today”

- You feel a smile spread across your face, arching into a goofy grin

- He’s looking at you hopefully, pieces ears burning red. A matching hopeful smile curled onto his face

- “I would love to”

[yeenybeanies]

Slaying Monsters

i started this three months ago, and decided it was time to finish it. i’ve been wanting to write a piece with dev & some other gang members for a while now i didn’t proofread it yet don’t @ me

red dead redemption | charles smith & devin clarke ( oc )

3,728 words

language, blood, & animal death warnings

thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon | ko-fi

Unattended bags are always tempting to a borrower. It’s partly survival and partly curiosity that draws the little beings to bags and boxes and other such vessels that contain stuff. Ideally, that stuff would be useful. 

Such is Devin’s idea upon approaching a lone saddlebag. They’ve been watching it for a while now. It has remained unbothered and undisturbed atop a tree stump for over an hour. Surely there’s bound to be something good inside, what with the many members of the Van Der Linde gang constantly coming and going. And surely, whatever those contents may be, small amounts won’t be missed.

The coast is clear. The camp is preoccupied in tending to the daily duties; no one is paying the bag any mind. Devin makes a break for it, keeping low as they run through the grass, to the stump. They pause at the base and give the camp a quick look, pleased to see that no one has taken notice of their presence. For just a moment, they allow themself a prideful smirk, then they refocus on the task at hand: climb the stump and get in the bag. The former is hardly a challenge; deep cracks in the bark provide handholds enough that the borrower doesn’t need their hook or climbing equipment to scale it. Despite the strap and buckle keeping the bag shut, Devin is small enough to slip through a gap and reach the interior. 

The space is dark and cramped, but some light filters in through the gap they’d entered. The first thing Devin notices is the smell of leather and sweat, and fabric beneath their feet. Clothing. It’s best not to take anything from these; missing scraps from a shirt or a pair of pants would definitely be noticed. Deeper down, past the clothes, another smell becomes more prominent: something earthy and floral. That could be useful. Devin crawls through the mounds of fabric, navigating the musty space, until their hand brushes something soft. A bit more pawing around reveals it to be an umbel of little flowers. Intrigued, they grasp the stem and pull the plant into the light for better inspection. 

“ What the hell…. ”   White flowers, jagged leaves…. Devin scrunches their nose, confused. Is their plant identification knowledge failing them? Or is the owner of this bag an idiot? 

Pondering is short-lived. Footsteps approach from the outside––a human. Devin’s heart speeds up. They drop the plant and dive for cover within the clothes just as the bag is lifted. It sways in the air with the human’s long strides, most disorienting. When the swaying stops, the borrower remains hidden, knowing full-well that they are not safe yet. There’s an exchange of words overhead, a brief moment of stillness, and then the world starts tumbling. Devin clutches hard onto the clothing concealing them. Much to their chagrin, this particular jostling is painfully familiar. They’re on a horse. 

Somehow, being in a saddlebag is worse than being stuck under a hat. 

Fuck. 

Suppressing the sickening feeling in their stomach and the myriad of emotions swarming their brain, Devin fights against the horrible shaking and pushes their way out of the fabric folds. Climbing is significantly harder, but they still press on, going so far as to use their knife and hook for more purchase on the tough leather. Slowly but surely, they manage to reach the opening they’d initially climbed through and peek out. The wind whips and frays their hair and makes it difficult to see much of anything. They catch glimpses of the ground speeding below at breakneck speed, and at the horse’s white-and-grey spotted pelt. 

Most surprisingly, and to some relief, though, is the rider. The long, black hair and the big, sawed-off shotgun identify the man: “Charles!” 

Alas, their voice is unheard over the wind. Devin growls, frustrated, and retreats back into the relative safety of the saddlebag. There’s no use trying to get his attention right now. They’re just going to have to endure the bouncing and the shaking until he slows down. They can only pray that it’s soon.

———

Only an hour or so elapsed by the time the galloping slowed, though, to Devin, it felt like a lifetime. Despite their queasiness (courtesy of the bumpy ride), the borrower pushes free of the mountains of fabric and scrambles up the leathery interior, to the opening. They pause at the rim and focus on swallowing the bile in their throat, then, once it’s clear, level the back of the human’s head with a hard stare. 

They breathe in until their chest burns, and let out the loudest yell they can muster: “CHARLES!”  

The man jumps in his saddle and whips his head around, one hand to the shotgun on his hip. His eyes scan the horizon behind him, well over Devin’s head. 

“Down here. Hey!” They wave an arm, trying to ignore how foolish they feel. Even after months of being around Arthur, it still goes against everything they know as a borrower to flag down a human. 

Were the situation different—were Devin not currently fighting some ferocious nausea—they might find it comical how Charles’s expression changes. First he’s struck with recognition, eyes still on the horizon, and then the color in his face pales with realization and horror. Slowly, as if he were making every effort to delay the inevitable find, his gaze lowers to the gap under the saddle bag flap and the little borrower peeking out. 

“Devin?” It still takes him a moment to process their presence, and then he’s all but falling out of the saddle (much to his horse’s displeasure). After he’s got his feet on the ground and his balance under control, the man unbuckles the saddlebag lid and flips it open. The color is rapidly returning to his face in a heated flush. “M-Miss Clarke, I didn’t know you were—why are you in my bag?” His hand nears them, but Devin waves it off. 

“Don’t. I might puke. It’s a marvel that I haven’t already.” They try to suppress a shudder.  “I didn’t know this was your bag. I just saw it sitting back at the camp, untouched for some time. Thought I could get something useful.” 

Charles grimaces sympathetically and lets his hand come to rest on his horse’s flank. He isn’t thrilled to hear that someone was rummaging through his belongings for things to scavenge, but such behavior is to be expected from a borrower, he figures. It does make him feel a little better to know that Devin hadn’t been targeting him specifically. 

“I should take you back to camp. Arthur would kill me if something happened to you.” Never mind the berating Charles would give himself. He might not know Devin as well as Arthur does, but their charm is infectious. They are well on their way to having another human wrapped around their teeny tiny finger. 

“I’d like that. Eventually. But I don’t think I can take much more galloping right now. Riding in Arthur’s hat was better than riding in here.” The borrower leans over the leather with a quiet groan. The nausea is subsiding, albeit slowly. They do stiffen just a little when Charles lightly rubs a knuckle to their back, but the gentle pressure draws another, more content groan from their tiny lungs. 

“I'm alright,” they say after a minute. They glance up at Charles, offering him a weak but grateful smile, and then look to their surroundings. It’s not anywhere they recognize, but that’s not surprising. “So where are we going? ” 

“Well, I was going out foraging,” the man says. “Now that you’re here, though…” He trails off, uncertain. 

“Oh! Speaking of foraging–––” the borrower vanishes back into the bag, leaving Charles perplexed. Once they emerge again, they hold up a sprig of white flowers. “What the hell are you doing with this?” 

Charles squints at the plant, then raises his brow in realization. “You know what that is?” 

The surprise in his voice is a little insulting. Devin scrunches their nose. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Smith. I’ve lived in the wild most of my life. I know what water hemlock is.” 

He holds his hands up and offers an apologetic shrug. “That’s actually what I was going to forage for. I found some while I was out with Javier the other day, but I didn’t have time to collect more.” 

“Okay.”  Devin inspects the flowers, twirling the stem between their hands. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re going to do with it. Are you planning to poison someone? Is it that Micah guy?” 

That earns them a snort. If only. “No. I use it on my knives and arrowheads. That and oleander sage. Gives them an extra kick.” 

Devin frowns, just a smidge disappointed.  “I suppose that’s a good alternative use. I used to do the same with my knife when I could find hemlock.” They drop the sprig and watch it fall to the ground far below. “It’d be so easy to poison Micah though…” They say so only half-jokingly. 

“Don’t I know it.” Charles shares the sentiment, but he shakes his head. Much as he’d like to see that snake gone, it’s not his place to do anything about his presence. Yet. 

Now that the nausea has passed (for the most part), the borrower pulls themself from the bag and climbs up the saddle, making their way up to the seat. “I’m okay now,” they say. “We’ve already come this far. We might as well go get that hemlock. I can use it too.”

Charles looks a little uncertain, but when he opens his mouth to protest, Devin levels him with a hard stare that makes him think twice. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you ride up here with me?” he offers. “It’d probably be a bit smoother.” 

Smoother would certainly be welcomed. Devin nods and climbs onto the man’s hand when it’s brought down to their level. His skin is warm and rough, similar to Arthur’s hands. Unlike Arthur, though, he carries them with greater caution. Devin pats his thumb. 

“Relax. I’m not made of paper.”  

“Er… right.”  

They can’t fault him for his caution. Charles has significantly less experience handling Devin than does Arthur. If anything, it’s comforting to know that he is actively trying to keep them comfortable. 

He grabs the saddlehorn with his free hand and hauls himself up. First he brings them to his lap, and then, after thinking, lifts them higher to his shoulder, where they climb off. Devin sits just outside of his beaded necklace and takes a handful of his hair. 

“Is this going to bother you?” 

“No, it’s fine. Use what you need. Let me know if you start to slip.” 

Once he’s sure Devin is secure––as secure as they can be on his shoulder––he spurs his horse gently in the ribs. They set off at a slow canter, something a bit less bumpy than the gallop before. Charles is correct: it’s more comfortable riding on his shoulder than it was in the bag, if only a little bit. Devin resigns themself to the reality that they will likely never enjoy travel on horseback, but this is at least tolerable. 

Charles is silent for the most part, which doesn’t bother Devin. They find themself occupied looking at the scenery. From their usual vantage point on the ground, they don’t much get to appreciate views of mountains and trees and vast prairies. Even on the off occasion that they hitch a ride on Arthur’s person, they often take to hiding in his scarf, thus dashing any chances of catching the view. 

Despite the ride’s discomfort, Devin finds themself enjoying this. They are grateful, though, when Charles tugs the reins and brings the horse to a gradual stop. He spares them a glance when they sigh. 

“You doing okay?” 

“Just peachy.” Devin gives the shoulder beneath them a pat. He dismounts rather awkwardly, trying not to jostle them too much. 

It strikes Devin that they have not just one, but two humans invested in their safety and comfort. It leaves them with mixed feelings fluttering about in their chest. 

Best not to dwell on it right now. 

Walking is a little choppy at first, what with Charles figuring out how best to adjust his gait with Devin on his shoulder, but, once he figures out a good rhythm, it smooths out. He steps carefully, eyes scanning the ground for the plants he seeks. Devin watches too, though they’re less focused on the hemlock and more interested in… well, everything else. Hemlock is but one plant in a new area full of things to explore. 

“Hey. Let me down.” Devin gives the man’s hair a light tug, drawing his attention back to them. Though he can’t fully look at them from where they sit, he still furrows his brow in an uncertain expression meant for them. Devin rolls their eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a big boy, Charles; I walk around on my own every day.”

“I’m sure, but–––”

“Either you let me down or I’m jumping.” That seems to work. Charles acquiesces with a reluctant sigh and gingerly helps the borrower down to the ground. He remains crouched after they hop off of his hand, still looking unsure. Devin waves up at him. “Go on. Keep doing what you were doing. I’m fine.” 

“Yell if you get into trouble,” he says, voice stern. Devin chooses not to take offense. 

“Sure thing.” They part with a final wave and dart off into the grass, out of the human’s view. Still he hesitates, but he does eventually get up and carry on with his task. Devin breathes out an exasperated breath. 

Having the care and concern of two humans is endearing, yes, but it can also be annoying. Devin might need to have a stern talk with the both of them if they keep this overprotective behavior up. They aren’t a child.

Charles does not feel good about just leaving Devin on the ground, but it wouldn’t have been right of him to hold them like some helpless creature. They’ve reminded him twice now that this is the life they live; he makes a mental note to try and be more respectful of that. After all, he reasons that he wouldn’t much appreciate it if someone else tried to keep him from doing the things he does every day. He isn’t palm-sized, but he imagines Devin still doesn’t care to be doted over. So he bites back his unease. He came out here for water hemlock. That’s what he’s going to find. Devin will be okay. 

Following the nearby creek, Charles begins his search. He tests the soil beneath him with his foot, feeling its spring, its moisture, then starts scanning. Familiar white flowers speckle the banks. A faint smile creeps onto his lips. There’s plenty here for him to make use of.

–– –– ––

Devin pushes through the tall foliage, looking high and low for anything that might be useful. They find medicinal herbs, and spices for seasoning. Mentally they commend Charles; he sure knows where to look when it comes to valuable natural resources. Some of these plants are a rare find back at Horseshoe Outlook. They pick and take as much as they can carry, stuffing their bag full. 

All is going fine. It’s going great, even. They’re making their way back down to the ground, munching on a sweet, juicy raspberry. The red fruit soaks their hands, their face, and their clothes, making them appear as though they’d just mauled something. It makes them snicker, thinking how Charles will react to see them like this. Their good humor dies suddenly, though. Devin feels a chill rush down their spine. They pause, alert, head on a swivel. 

In an instant, everything seems to slow down. Devin drops to the ground as a pink, gaping mouth sails just a hair’s breadth over their head. It snaps shut, long fangs closing around air, and the scaly head of a rattlesnake retreats back to its coils, gearing up for another strike. Berry forgotten, Devin pulls their knife and their hook out. They stare the snake down just as it does them. It’s big––not just to them, but by rattlesnake standards. It’s a big fucking snake. The borrower’s heart races in their chest, but they don’t run, nor do they back down.

–– –– ––

Charles takes several clippings of water hemlock and carefully stows them in his satchel. He doesn’t take everything that he sees, not wanting to clear the area of the deadly plant, but he’s pleased with his haul so far. Already he has enough to coat his knives twice over, so he thinks that he could probably give Arthur and Javier some as well, so as not to waste it. He takes a few more stalks, then stands and stretches his back, arms held out to the side. 

“That’s enough,” he mumbles to himself. He turns back to where he’d left Devin and scans the ground. Their tiny footprints are just barely visible in the dirt, and disappear into the grass. 

“Miss Clarke?” he calls, taking a knee near the footprints. They don’t answer. “I think I’m just about done here, so I’m ready to go when you––woah––!” The man jumps back as a rattlesnake head pushes through the grasses. Layers of alarm spike in his brain: it’s a big-ass snake; Devin isn’t here; it has blood on its face; Did it eat Devin––? 

“Just ‘Devin,’ Charles,” says the tiny voice. Charles flinches again. He swears he heard that voice coming from the snake. Did it eat them? He stares on in confusion, pondering whether or not he needs to cut the damn thing open, when its head flops to the side. Hauling it along is the little borrower. 

“Oh my god. Are you––did the snake–––?” He stammers over his words, which surprises Devin. Arthur stammers here and there, but Charles is always so clear and calm when he speaks. They glance down at themself, noting the red stain and slick coating their hands, their head, their clothes… 

“Ah! It’s okay! This isn’t––” they drop the snake and wave their hands, trying to placate the man, “I’m okay! This is all snake blood! And raspberry juice.”

Charles still looks horrified, glancing between the borrower and the rattlesnake. He does note that the blood seems to be coming from a deep wound on its head, right between its vacant eyes. 

“You… killed it?” He gathers himself on his knees and leans forward, gingerly prodding the lifeless body. 

“It tried to kill me first,” they say, sounding almost indignant. “Kinda lucky, though. I haven’t taken down a rattlesnake in a while. I can use it’s fangs and its venom.” 

Charles lifts the carcass from the ground, testing its weight in his hands. His eyebrows shoot up at its heft. When he stands with its head at eye-level, its rattle-tipped tail still touches the ground. 

It’s a big fucking snake. 

“You… killed this monster?” He can’t hide the disbelief––or perhaps it’s awe––in his eyes as he looks back down to Devin.

They huff back up at him, trying not to take offense. “Yeah. I did,” they say, arms crossed over their chest. Charles waves his free hand. 

“I don’t––I don’t mean to doubt you Miss––er, Devin. Sorry, I’m just… impressed.” Impressed would be an understatement. 

Devin rolls their eyes. They adjust their bag and their knife, then trudge on towards Charles. Before they can ask him to, he stoops down and lowers a hand for them to climb onto. Once he has them at his level, Charles can see their annoyance clear as day. 

“I tell you––both you and Arthur, you need to understand that I’m not helpless. I’ve lived my whole life out here. Half of it’s been alone. So spare me your patronizing looks and comments.” There’s venom in their eyes, in their words, as present as that in the venom in the snake’s fangs. 

Charles has no hand free to hold up, but he does dip his head apologetically. “You’re right. I admit, I underestimated you. And I’m sorry for it. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and it’s a learning process.” 

Devin’s features soften a little. They sigh and run a hand through their blood-slicked hair. It’s gross, but it’s not the first time they’ve been covered in blood. It won’t be the last time either. 

“I like you, Charles. A lot. It’s a learning process for me too.” They offer him a half smile, though it does look a bit daunting with their red visage. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” 

The man grimaces. “Think you want to… wash off first? Arthur is going to have a fit if he sees you like this.” 

Devin looks down to themself, returning the grimace. “...yeah, probably. What I can, at least.” The blood wasn’t going to come out of their clothes without any soap, but they could wash their skin and hair off. Maybe they could hide their outerwear from Arthur, too. They had their underclothing on that wouldn’t show bloodstains. 

Rattlesnake draped around his neck, Charles carries the borrower down to the creek and crouches at the bank. He brings his hands down for them to hop off and clean themself off. When they start stripping their outerwear, he turns his head to give them some privacy, and waits for them to draw his attention again when they’re done. Damp, but cleaner, and left in their long underclothes, Devin climbs back into Charles’ hands and scurries up to his shoulder, right next to the snake carcass. 

“You good?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” they say. They give his shoulder a pat. 

Charles stands, still a bit awkward with his passenger, but less so than before. “Pearson is gonna love this snake,” he says, tongue in cheek.

Devin bristles and glares daggers at the man. “This snake is my prize. That man is getting none of it. You can have some of it if you want, since you’re carrying it home, but I’m not sharing it with anyone else.” There’s that venom again.

Charles snorts. He pulls himself into his saddle and spurs his horse, gently pushing her to start trotting. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Devin.” 

[theclockworkmonk]

Out of the Mouths of Babes - Chapter 1

Read on AO3 here

Prompt:  “Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

Ron was still huffing grumpily as he stepped forward and pushed the door of their flat open for Hermione, so she wouldn’t have to adjust Teddy in her arms. His gracious show of chivalry clashed hilariously with the sour look on his face.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head at him, “One would really assume you’d be used to it by now.”

“I have gotten used to it!” he said defensively. “I keep getting used to it, over and over, but then they just keep getting worse! If you want to snog your girlfriend, snog your girlfriend, if you want to talk with your best mate, talk with your best mate, but it’s downright rude to try to do both at the same time. But was there a single moment today where they weren’t draped all over each other? No! I don’t even want to think about what their hands might have been doing under the table. I mean, shit… ”

“Ron!” Hermioned hissed harshly, quickly covering Teddy’s ears.

But it was too late. “What’s shit?” the three-year-old asked innocently. Hermione shot Ron a murderous glare.

“I’ve told you Ron, for once in your life, watch what comes out of your mouth! Teddy is at a stage in his development where he’s very observant and curious.”

“What’s curious?” asked Teddy.

“That just means you’re growing up to be the most clever boy in the world!” Hermione told the toddler sweetly. She lifted up his shirt and blew him a raspberry, causing him to erupt into giggles. She put him down and he ran off to sit on the sitting room rug and start playing with the toys they had brought out before taking him today.

Ron was still grumpy as he plopped down on the sofa and watched Teddy absentmindedly. In hindsight, Hermione saw that she should have given him some time to cool off between ending their double lunch date with Harry and Ginny and picking Teddy up from Andromeda, to give her a night off to spend with other adults unencumbered. But if they had delayed at all, Harry would have jumped at the chance and taken Teddy himself. He was always using his role of godfather to indulge his martyr complex, but Hermione had steadfastly reminded him that Ginny was off for the first time in weeks after the intense conclusion to the Quidditch season, and she deserved to have her boyfriend all to herself.

Hermione sighed as she sat next to her fiancé on the sofa, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You have to remember, Ron, that Harry is still learning how physical affection works. He grew up without anyone ever touching him except to control him or hurt him. It’s called being touch-starved, it’s a real phenomenon in psychology. It’s understandable if he over-corrects in the other direction and doesn’t understand that public displays of affection come with boundaries.

She turned her head to look at him kindly, but found him giving her a deadpan frown.

“Seriously, Hermione? Not everything is related to something you read in a book once but somehow remember years later. This has nothing to do with Harry’s Tragic Backstory, they get more and more handsy because they know that it drives me up the wall, they’re just fucking with me.”

“What’s fucking?” asked Teddy.

“Sorr— Ow!” Ron helped as Hermione elbowed him hard in the side.

“Behave yourself,” she told him. “And don’t sell Harry short, that is not why he does it.”

She settled back into leaning against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“....That is absolutely why Ginny does it, though,” she added, making Ron snort with laughter.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, content to just watch Teddy play with small smiles on their faces.

“Thanks for volunteering us to take him,” Ron said softly into Hermione’s ear. “Having him around, this time of the year….it helps.”

Hermione nodded somberly. “I know what you mean.” The next day was May 2nd. Three years to the day since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione sniffed as she felt all-too familiar tears threatening to break free again. “Being around someone so young, someone who won’t ever remember how bad things had gotten, who would only know the new world we fought for. It reminds us that none of them died in vain.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed quietly. “I think the rest of the family feels the same way, they always get super clingy with Vic this time of the year. Me too, I’ll admit.”

“Oh yes, I’ve definitely noticed that,” Hermione nodded. “Even more so than with Teddy, since she’s a Weasley. She represents your family’s survival and healing, I suppose.”

Hermione chuckled at something she remembered. “The worst of them all is your mother. She’s really been cranking the doting up for Victoire, and between you and me, it’s driving Fleur absolutely mad.”

Ron sat up a bit to face her, smiling mischievously at the gossip. “Oh yeah?”

Hermione nodded and smiled back. “She won’t say anything until she figures out a way to phrase it passive-aggressively instead of bluntly, but Fleur is clearly feeling smothered by the pressure of being the mother of the only grandchild.”

Ron’s smile faltered a bit, and the same grumpy mood he had when they returned home seemed to return.

“Well, she probably shouldn’t worry,” he grumbled. “If my best mate and my sister keep being as insufferable as they are, it’s only a matter of time before Harry’s knocking Ginny up—”

“Ron!” Hermione growled angrily, shooting Teddy a sideways glance, but fortunately he seemed too busy playing with his toy dragons. She breathed a sigh of relief, then started giggling.

“What on Earth makes you assume that?” she asked him incredulously.

“Hermione, if they can’t control themselves in the middle of a sodding café, what makes you think they can when alone in their flat?”

Hermione snuggled back up to him, pouting her lip playfully. “Well if that’s the case, why them and not us? I’d like to think that we’re similarly…. out of control at times…” she slowly brought a hand to rub up his thigh. Then, suddenly, her eyes narrowed dangerously, she stood up, and put her hands on her hips.

“Unless you’re saying that you’re just not as attracted to me as Harry is to Ginny?”

Ron just raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You’re trying to trap me because you think I’m adorable when I’m nervous, but you have to be less transparent than that, love.”

“Shoot, it was worth a try,” laughed Hermione, sitting back down.

“You know that I meant that you would never allow that to happen,” pulling her close again. “You can’t even make noncommittal plans for drinks in a pub without triple-checking your schedule and giving it a color-coded entry in your planner, there’s no way you’d ever let something as important as…. that just slip your mind. But you know how reckless those two are, is it really hard to believe they would neglect the Contraception Charm once?”

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. “No, I really don’t think so. There are some things that Harry and Ginny do take seriously, one of them is family, they wouldn’t be blasé about it. And don’t be so disgustingly modest,” she said, lightly swatting his leg. “I am not always meticulous, you know damn well you’re capable of turning me into a scatterbrained piece of goo.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but she could feel Ron grinning proudly at that.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured in her ear, and Hermione felt goosebumps erupt on her neck. He pulled her closer and Hermione felt herself blush scarlet as he whispered all sorts of things he planned to do to her to prove her right.

“What’s knickers?” asked Teddy, who apparently had very good hearing. Hermione blushed harder than ever as she elbowed her fiancé again.

It was after dark when Ron and Hermione finally stepped through the fireplace of the Burrow. They could hear the large, loud gathering in the kitchen before they saw it. They found Andromeda talking and laughing happily in the kitchen with Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, George, and Charlie, all drinking either tea, firewhiskey, or some combination of both. But as pleasant as the evening had been, she still beamed when she saw her grandson running towards her.

“He wasn’t too much trouble, was he?” she asked apologetically as she scooped the toddler into her lap.

“He was a delight!” said Hermione cheerfully.

“Yeah, this kid stuff is easy!” said Ron dismissively. “And yes, that’s a git thing to say, feel free to saddle us with him until I regret it.”

Andromeda laughed and thanked them again. After Ron and Hermione returned home through the fireplace, Teddy rested his head on Andromeda’s shoulder. He was clearly very tired and was starting to get fussy.

“Well,” Andromeda sighed, “I guess I should get this one home. Thank you so much for having me, all of you.”

But then, Teddy spoke up in a sleepy voice.

“Grammy, what’s knocking up?”

There was a loud crash as Molly dropped the teapot onto the kitchen floor. Fleur gasped dramatically, Bill coughed and sputtered on his firewhiskey, while George just erupted into laughter.

Andromeda pulled the boy off her shoulder and looked at him sternly. “Edward Remus Lupin, where did you hear that?” she asked.

“Oh, I believe we know where” Molly growled as she flicked her wand to levitate the shrapnel on the floor and started to reassemble it into a teapot, “I honestly don’t know where these sons of mine got such foul mouths. I have half a mind to go after Ronald and remind him that he’s not too old for me to wash his mouth out with soap. I am so sorry, Andi.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Andromeda. “Harry can swear just as well as any Weasley.”

She addressed Teddy again, more gently this time. “Go on, Teddy, where did you hear those words?”

“Uncle Ron said something about Harry knocking Ginny up, but I don’t know what he means,” Teddy said.

The kitchen of the Burrow had never before fallen so quickly, completely silent. The only sound was another crash as Molly dropped the teapot again.

[panda-noosh]

odd one out {draco malfoy x reader}

Words: 11.3k

Summary: You’re known as the only Weasley without magic. Draco Malfoy has always taken great pleasure in teasing you for this, and you have always been ready with a retort. Your bickering with the Malfoy boy has gone on for years, but is it all done in bad blood?

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i can’t stop writing for Harry Potter and that’s really just what you’re all gonna have to put up with. 

---

 You don’t want to be here.

   You don’t belong here, as you’ve been reminded a grand number of times throughout your seventeen years of living. To these people, you are nothing more than the unlucky one, a mistake. To these people, you are weaker.

    The halls of Hogwarts aren’t exactly unfamiliar to you, despite being the only person in your household who never properly attended. You’ve been here many times throughout your life, visiting sick family members, accompanying your parents when they don’t trust you enough to leave you at the Burrow. 

    It’s your twin brother, Ron, who is in need now.

    When you walk into the infirmary, he’s sitting up. Your mother squeals, throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as you and your dad approach in a slow and careful manner, not wanting to startle Ron any more than Molly has already managed.

    But even as you walk in and scowl at him, you can’t deny the relief that floods your system; the owl sent by McGonagall hadn’t even been fully read before Molly was slamming it down on the table, gathering her robes and telling you to get ready to leave. You had been busy doing your own school work, tucked away in the room you share with Ron during holidays, but was now barren besides your stuff.

   He had been poisoned, according to your father. Nobody knows how, or by what, or by whom - just that Ron had drank something given to him by Professor Slughorn and had immediately started foaming at the mouth. 

    Now, however, he looks in good enough health that you don’t see it as a problem when you slip your hair tie from your wrist and flick it at him from across the room. He yells, flinching so fast he nearly takes Mum’s head off as she clings onto his neck.

    Mum spins, glaring at you. “He’s ill!”

   “He’s fine,” you reply, slipping onto the seat next to his bed. “How have you managed to poison yourself, then?”

   Ron scowls. “I didn’t poison myself. Someone else did.”

   “Who pays enough attention to you to want you dead?”

    “Y/N!” Mum hisses. “At least give it a minute before you both start bickering.”

  You and Ron roll your identical eyes before Ron sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “None of you should be here. You know that, right? With all the stuff going on with You-Know-Who-”

    Dad waves a dismissive hand. “We won’t let something like that keep us from making sure you’re okay.”

  You raise your hand. “I personally said I wasn’t prepared to die just for you, but-”

  “Y/N!”

    But looking down at Ron, you see him smiling; you smile back. You know all too well the kind of boredom he must be feeling right now, all alone in the medical suite with nothing but his thoughts and Madame Pomfrey keeping him company. You remember all those Christmas’s when he would come home and tell you to be quiet when you complained about how lonely the house gets with everyone gone - now he knows how it feels.

    Mum and Dad move on, telling Ron about how Bill sends his condolences and how the twins will be popping in soon to see him; you sit back, gazing around the room. Although you can use none of the stuff hung around you - in fact, it would most likely kill you if you tried - you know exactly what each piece of equipment does and how it is used. You reach out and gently twiddle the lid on a jar of unicorn hairs.

    The door to the medical suite opens. You glance over your shoulder just as Madame Pomfrey peeks her head through the curtain, a grand smile on her rounded face.

   A grand smile that falters as soon as she sees you.

   This happens all the time; it’s one of the reasons you don’t like being inside Hogwarts if you can help it. You’re known by name amongst most of the staff, and none of them dislike you nor discriminate against you in any way - but they’re weird around you. They never know what to say, are never certain how much you understand compared to everyone else in your family. 

    “Molly, Arthur, Y/N!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims. “Minerva told me you’d all arrived a little earlier than expected.”

    She shoots you yet another glance, giving you an uncomfortable smile. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you, Y/N. How is the - uh - studying going?”

    Muggle studies. She wants to say Muggle studies.

   “Good,” you reply, already standing up. “I’m just gonna go to the loo a quick minute. Give you more room to work around Ronald here.”

   Ron reaches for your hand. “Don’t leave me with-”

   “Get well soon!”

   You duck out of the medical suite and into the hallways, immediately pressing your fingertips to your temples; you hate it here, hate it so much, have never felt so out of place than you do right now, and it doesn’t even make sense. You know just as much - if not more - than some of the people in this god damn school. Just because you were never able to perform any of the hocus pocus bullshit they’re able to perform doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. You grew up around it. You lived it - still live it.

    You sigh and start down the hallways. You aren’t even sure where you’re going - you just know you’re not heading in the direction of the bathrooms. You pass a few people on the way, people who don’t know who you are or what you are, people who see you within the walls of Hogwarts and don’t even consider that you might not have the same abilities as them.

     You smile; it might be your last chance to exchange niceties with them before they realise who you are and start avoiding you.

    You turn down into another set of corridors, these ones empty as everyone filters into separate classrooms. They look quite spooky when deserted, unnaturally clean with the brick walls encasing you; you run your fingers along them, mind wandering to what it would be like to be within these hallways every single day for ten months out of the year. 

     A ghost swooshes over your head. You close your eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable-

    “The Squib Weasley! The Squib Weasley!”

    “Afternoon, Peeves. How are you?”

    “All the merrier for seeing you!”

  “Oh, yes. You always do enjoy taking the mick out of me.”

    He swoops down and bunks your head; it doesn’t hurt too much, considering he’s a ghost, so all you do is glare at him as he kicks off the wall and bounces back up to the ceiling.

    “Do a magic trick, Squib! I want to see a magic trick!” The ghost cackles, the bells on his hat jingling. “What about a nice card trick? They’re popular amongst non-wizard folk.” A storm of playing cards suddenly rain down upon you, and Peeves laughs even harder.

    This is the kind of treatment you fully expect from Peeves. You look down at the puddle of cards, kicking them as you say, “I’m afraid I’m not that skilled. I can’t do any tricks, I’m afraid.”

   “Useless Squib Weasley!” He bonks you on the head again. You growl, jumping up and swiping at his foot, but he merely kicks away from you, laughing even louder. “Useless Squib Weasley! Useless Squib Weasley!”

   “Get out of here, you idiotic little corpse!”

    Your head snaps round, blood draining from your face at the sound of that voice; you know it all too well, of course, considering it’s coming from a person you would much rather avoid.

     Peeves cackles in your face one final time before vaulting down the corridor. His laughter only echoes so far before you and Draco Malfoy are left in complete silence, the only sound being his polished black shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walks towards you.

    You look up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes closed. “Malfoy.”

   “Weasley.” He stops. Opening one eye, you can see he’s stopped directly beside you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, a smirk on his face. “What brings you here? I know it’s not the magic.”

    “How did you figure that one out?”

    “Just a hunch.”

   “Mm.” You look at him. “I was visiting Ron, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”

    “One thing I never understood about you was how you can have such an attitude with someone like me.”

  You raise a brow, pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone like you?”

   He pulls his wand from his pocket and twirls it, casually, between his fingers. “A wizard.”

    He says it like he’s talking to someone who has never heard the word before. He’s smirking like he’s expecting you to gasp and say “Wizard?!” He’s acting like you haven’t heard the exact same comment a thousand times before.

    You nod slowly, watching his wand rotate. “Are you gonna try and hex me or something? Pretty cowardly of you, Malfoy, considering I have no way to defend myself.”

    His smile fades into his customary scowl; he tucks his wand back into his robes, instead choosing to intertwine his hands behind his back. “You shouldn't be walking the hallways on your own, Weasley. Security measures have been heightened since the Dark Lord came back.”

  “So I’ve heard,” you reply. The casual tone to your voice makes Draco’s eye twitch; you take a point for yourself in this silent competition the two of you have going on. “I felt like I was the safest one, considering Voldy-mort isn’t really interested in Squibs, is he?”

    “That’s not the point; I can’t just be letting outsiders walk about.”

   “I’m not an outsider. Dumbley-dore knows me just-”

  “Stop with the stupid names-”

    You lean forward, speaking louder just to annoy him. “Albus Dumbley-dore knows me just as well as he knows you. In fact, he probably knows me better considering he’s taught the majority of my family. How many Malfoys has he taught? Two? How many Malfoys has he liked? Zero.”

    Draco glares. You smile, enjoying how easy it is to wind him up. He probably approached you thinking you would find his mere presence intimidating; he couldn’t have been more wrong.

    “Well,” he drawls, straightening up. “I’ll be letting Professor Snape know of your presence, and the attitude you’ve taken with me. I’ll let him handle it.”

   “Oh, Snape! Goodness, it’s been a while since I last saw his ugly mug. Let him know my parents and I will be staying in the Hogs Head for a few days if he wants to pop in for a chat.”

    Draco growls, turns on his heel and stomps back the way he came; your laughter follows him, uncontrollable. It’s one of the few things you enjoy here at Hogwarts - seeing Draco, winding him up. You will never understand why he continues to approach you every single time you come and visit. He knows nothing he can say will affect you, as you grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister with an attitude - you’ve heard it all a hundred times before. 

  ----

    “See, this is so much more fun than Scrabble.”

   You scowl, glaring down at the chess board. The moving pieces seem to have something against you. No matter how hard you concentrate, or which direction you direct your little white pieces to go, you never seem to be getting any closer to winning this game.

    “Concentrate, Y/N,” Ron urges. He’s been laughing at you for the past hour and a half. “Where does your bishop need to be?”

    “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be directing my bishop right up your-”

   “Y/N Weasley, enough of that!”

   You jerk upright, sending the chess pieces scattering. The curtain is pushed open, revealing your mum, dad and Professor Burbage. Mum stands with a scowl on her face whilst Professor Burbage and Dad chat animatedly to one another, barely even registering the people around them.

    “Honestly, who taught you to talk like that?” Mum grumbles, bustling over to Ron. She places the back of her hand against his head and scowls. “Your temperature is going up again, sweetie. Have you been drinking the potion Madame Pomfrey gave you?”

   “Yes,” Ron grumbles, swatting Mum’s hand away. “It’s just warm in here. She never lets us open the bloody windows, Mum. It’s like I’m in prison!”

    But Molly isn’t paying attention; after checking up on Ron, her attention snaps immediately to you. You meet her gaze and raise a questioning brow, freezing in your seat. It’s never good when Molly Weasley has her eyes on you.

    “You alright, Mum?” you ask cautiously.

    “Professor Burbage wanted to talk to you, dear,” she replies, and your heart instantly dips into your stomach,

   Your head snaps round to where Burbage and Arthur are stood; they’ve stopped their animated chatter now, Arthur with one arm around Burbage’s shoulders whilst pointing at you with the other. 

     “This is Y/N!” Arthur exclaims. “Our little Muggle-expert. Honestly, Charity, I’ve worked in Muggle Artefacts for ten years, but I’ve not learned half as much from them as I have from our Y/N here.”

     Your face flushes. “Dad.”

   “Oh, don’t be humble, dear!” Molly exclaims, gripping your shoulders. “We were just telling Professor Burbage here all about your little solo trip to London a few months back, how you navigated the trains perfectly - ordered their own food and everything!”

   Ron snickers. You slap his arm.

    Burbage looks at you. Her eyes look tired, strained, her hairline thin and hair itself even thinner. Her nimble fingers are twisted in front of her, and she says nothing as she continues staring at you.

    You glance at Molly, desperate for a bit of help, but Molly isn’t looking back. She continues massaging your shoulders as she says, “Of course, we don’t let any of them out on their own anymore - not with everything going on, but goodness, we were just so proud of Y/N when she came back in one piece. Apparently the train took an hour and a half to get from London to Birmingham! How bizarre is that?”

    “Oh, Molly, dear,” Arthur tuts. “How many times have I told you that Muggle transportation isn’t the same as wizard transportation?” He shakes his head, turning to Burbage. “I’ve told her a thousand times, I really-”

    Professor Burbage lurches forward and grabs your hand. You gasp, stumbling off your chair as she vigorously shakes it, nearly ripping your arm from its socket. Behind you, Ron has stopped snickering and is instead watching the scene unfold, clearly uncertain about what is actually happening.

    “Y/N Weasley,” Burbage says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s an honour to meet you finally. I taught all of your brothers, so I did - all except Ronald, who apparently isn’t interested in Muggle Studies.”

    Molly sighs. “We told him-”

  “You didn’t tell me anything!” Ron exclaims. 

    Burbage ignores them both. “I know you’re no Muggle, of course - it would be insulting to say you are - but I did always find Squibs most interesting characters. They’ve got one foot in wizard life, one foot in the Muggle life. It really must be an experience, shifting between two very different worlds.”

    “Uh….”

   “Go on, Y/N,” Arthur urges. “Tell her about London. Tell her about the. . . the - What was it called? The peasant?”

  “The pheasant, Dad. It was a pheasant.”

   “Oh!” Burbage cries suddenly, making you flinch back. “I’ve heard of those! Birds, are they not? Quite ugly little things, but very big. Very big for birds…” She trails off, muttering to herself. The entire time, her hand remains firm in your own, refusing to let it go as if in fear of you running away from this seemingly important conversation.

    All you want to do is run away.

   “Anyway,” Professor Burbage bursts, “I’ve just come in to ask if you’d like to attend my next lesson for a few minutes. I’ve got a N.E.W.T. class coming in and I know for a fact having someone like you involved in their learning would do them a world of good.”

    Oh goodness, no. 

   The answer is immediate. The mere idea of standing up in front of a classroom of wizards to walk them through how you were the one genetic failure in the family is enough to make your stomach turn. You open your mouth to express this, but Arthur jumps forward before you have a chance.

    “That would be an honour, Charity. An honour for Y/N and the family!”

    Your eyes widen. “Actually-”

   “Wonderful!” Burbage exclaims, grabbing your arm again. She wrenches you out of Molly’s grip, already ushering you out of the infirmary, the sound of Ron’s uncertain grumbles following you out. At least your brother can see how uncomfortable this idea makes you, but his chunterings don’t make any difference.

   “Professor,” you beg, stumbling after her as she leads you through the crowded hallways. “Professor, I really don’t have anything to say to your N.E.W.T. students or whatever. I’ve been to London on my own once, and it really didn’t go as smooth as my dad is making it out to be. I nearly got mugged, like, four times, and there was this guy with a knife-”

     “Here we are!” 

    You glance over; lining up against the wall is a group of seventeen year olds, all of whom are staring at you in a mix of confusion and amusement. Some of these people know exactly who you are, considering they’re in the same year as Ron, whilst others merely see a very distressed individual dressed in casual robes.

    “Good afternoon, class,” Burbage begins, refusing to let you go into her classroom or to let go of your arm. “I hope we’re all well. Please enter, and take your books out.” 

   The line of students files into the class, and you and Burbage follow close behind. Your heart is racing, eyes flicking back and forth along the students currently scooping textbooks and wands out of their bags, whispering amongst themselves. Burbage’s classroom is decorated with moving pictures of Muggle buses and trains, Muggle supermarkets and schools - all of which you probably know less about than anyone else in this classroom.

    Burbage pushes you towards a seat in the corner, kindly telling you to make yourself comfortable. You give her your best smile and sink into the plastic, crossing one knee over the other, resisting the urge to bury your head in your hands. Every eye is on you. Every single one.

     You bite your lip and look around, and that’s when you spot him.

   Of all people in Hogwarts, you never once would have expected to see Draco Malfoy unpacking a Muggle Studies textbook. The boy from a family of Muggle haters. The boy who spends every waking moment ensuring every non-pure-blood wizard in his vicinity is completely miserable is stood in a Muggle Studies classroom.

    “Malfoy?”

   His name bursts from your lips before you can stop yourself. You slap a hand across your mouth, turning to Burbage with an apologetic look that she raises her brows at, but refuses to comment on. Instead, she barrels on with the lesson.

    You glance back at Malfoy, who is now staring at you with an open mouth; he’s going to laugh at you. Seeing you sat in the corner is going to bring him such amusement. You can already hear the jeers he’s probably going to throw at you as soon as this bell rings, how he’s going to make your life a living hell for the short period of time you’ll be here.

    “Okay everyone, now that we’re settled, I’d like to introduce you all to a special guest who has so kindly offered to overlook our lesson today,” Burbage says after her introductions. 

    “Actually, Professor, I’d rather-”

   “This is Y/N Weasley, one of the few Squibs I’ve had the honour of meeting.”

   The class goes silent. You bite your lip, ducking your head into your hands before anyone can see the horror that is currently rising to the surface - you want to scream. 

    “Y/N’s parents were just telling me a few minutes ago that Y/N went into Muggle London - remember our last few lessons on Muggle London? - all on their own! Isn’t that incredible?”

    “Terrifying,” Malfoy jeers. “What a hero!”

   You grit your teeth - it’s started.

   “Exactly what I was thinking, Draco! What an honour it is to be in the presence of such a brave soul.”

    You look up through a slit in your fingers, giving Professor Burbage a pleading look, a silent plea for her to just stop, to just get on with whatever lesson she had planned while you sit in the corner and mind your own god damn business.

    But she just smiles brightly. “Tell me, Y/N - how did the Muggle’s react to having a Squib walking amongst them?”

    You lift your head, purposefully avoiding a glance at Malfoy; even without looking at him, his snickers are unmistakable. “They didn’t know I’m a Squib, Professor. I just looked like a normal person.”

    Burbage’s eyes widen. “Really? They couldn’t even tell?”

   “But Squibs are so obvious,” someone jeers from the far side of the classroom - looking over, you’re pretty certain you recognise the man as Zacharias Smith, someone Ron has always taken a disliking to, but only because Hermione threatened to go out with him one time. “Could they not feel the uselessness coming off you?”

    You scowl. “Have you been paying attention in Muggle Studies at all? Squibs don’t give off a bloody scent, you dumb little-”

    “But I thought Muggle’s dress differently to us,” a girl in the front row interjects, raising her hand pointlessly.

   “They do, dear,” Burbage replies. “They tend to wear. . . shorter clothes. No robes. Correct, Y/N?”

   “Uh, yeah.”

   “So how were you not recognised as a Squib?”

    “I wore Muggle clothes-”

  “Your older brother told me Muggle clothes can make a wizards skin burn-”

  “Y/N isn’t a wizard, you idiot. They’re a Squib-”

  “They’re the same thing!”

   “No, Squib’s don’t have magic, wizards do.”

   “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Gregg, or I swear-”

   “Alright, class, enough!” Burbage exclaims, but it’s too late for that now. Questions are being fired at you from all directions, questions that seem most innocent to the oblivious but which actually cut pretty deep into the thick skin you possess.

    The word Squib in itself doesn’t sit right with you - you’ve never identified as a wizard nor a Muggle, but there’s something about that word that just puts a bad taste in your mouth. Maybe it’s the way it’s spoken by others - like an insult, a sneer rather than a simple term. Maybe it’s the implications it holds - here is a person who comes from a family of people who can basically do whatever they want. Here is a person who comes from a family seen as mystical, but they are not the same. They were not blessed in the same way even though all odds were saying they should have been.

    You swallow thickly, glancing over at Malfoy for a reason you cannot pinpoint - it’s not like he's a source of comfort. It’s not like he will be any different than the ignorant wizards currently yelling question after question at you. Nonetheless, your eyes find his, and it’s with a jolt that you realise he’s staring right at you with an almost worried expression on his face. A tilt to his head, brows furrowed, lips pursed. 

     You don’t know why you do it. You mouth the word help in his direction, and immediately he stands.

   “Everyone shut up!” he hisses. “Giving me a bloody headache!”

   The class fades into silence. Malfoy grunts, sits back down and ushers for Professor Burbage to continue the lesson, which she does with only mild hesitance. It’s clear she now realises that bringing you here today was perhaps not thoroughly thought through, but you don’t make a move to leave. You sit in the corner of the classroom as she goes through the lesson plan, keeping your head ducked in an attempt to ignore the stares.

   Once the lesson plan has been explained, Professor Burbage tells the class to get on with their work before she says, “Y/N will be walking around to help anyone who needs it.”

    You roll your eyes; will wizards ever get the hint?

   You push yourself up from your chair and start your rounds of the classroom, ignoring anyone who actually asks for your assistance. At this point, you just want the lesson to be over so you can head back to the infirmary and play Ron in a game of Scrabble - you’re much better at Scrabble than he is, and winning a few rounds will boost your dignity after those horrific chess games you played earlier.

    “Excuse me, can you help me with question-”

  “Piss off.”

     “That’s not very nice, Weasley.”

   You stop dead. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

  “I need help with question three - as I just asked.”

   You scowl, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking, twirling his pen between his fingers in a way not unlike how he had twirled his wand only a few hours prior. You take a few steps back and glance down at his work.

    “‘What mode of transport should a Muggle use if they want to move a sofa from one place to another?’” you recite. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You’re not that thick.”

    “Just give me the answer.”

  “No. You’ll never learn if I just hand it to you.”

    He scowls, kicking your shin beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

   The sudden subject change nearly gives you whiplash, though it’s not nearly as shocking as the soft note his voice has suddenly undertaken. Your gaze snaps to him, an eyebrow raising. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “You asked me for help literally two seconds ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

    “I’m fine. Just - uh - a little shy when I'm the centre of attention.”

   “A Weasley, not liking attention? That’s a first.”

   You flick his ear. Malfoy grunts, swats your hand away before saying, “Why did you agree to come here?”

    “I didn’t agree to anything.” Before you can think better of it, you tug the stool out from beside Malfoy and sit down, leaning over in an attempt to look like you’re just helping him with his work. “She came into the infirmary with my parents and basically dragged me in here - you know how my dad is with all that Muggle stuff. He wouldn’t let me say no.”

    Malfoy snickers, pretending to write something down. “Is it true you wore Muggle clothes?”

   “Don’t start….”

   He raises a hand in mock surrender, that stupid grin forming on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I heard - what is it? - Adidas? I heard they’re very comfortable-”

    “You’re taking the mick out of me,” you hiss, slapping his arm. He bursts into laughter, and the noise seems to startle even him, as he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, face turning bright red.

    “I hope it’s just Muggle Studies we’re discussing over there, Draco!” Burbage calls.

   Draco scowls, slowly lowering his hand before he glances at you and says, “I hate this bleeding class.”

    “Mm, I gathered that. Never took you as the type to be interested in what Muggle’s get up to.”

   “I’m not, but it’s an easy N.E.W.T.”

   “That’s what they all say.” You nudge his elbow. “Just admit it, Malfoy; you’re interested in Muggle activities.”

    “Shut up, Weasley, or I won’t help you out of your next ambush.”

    You snicker, pushing away from the table. “There won’t be another ambush. I’m not stepping foot back in this classroom if I can help it.”

   “That’s what I said during my O.W.L’s, and now look where I am.”

    “See, this is when my Muggle education comes in handy; no need for crappy lessons like this.” You clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy. Have fun learning about vans.” You tap question three on his paper. “V-A-N. You’re welcome.”

  ----

Hogsmeade is a good place to be for a Squib.

    Magic isn’t necessarily expected. You can walk through the streets and nobody will be under any illusion that you’re different. It’s freeing, a rare experience when you spend half your life either not fitting in amongst wizards, or not fitting in amongst Muggles. There is no in between for you.

    Today, Arthur and Molly permitted you and Ron some time to go into Hogsmeade together before you and your parents are due to depart to the Burrow again, where you will grudgingly continue your Muggle classes, steeping in your own boredom. 

    The streets would be considered empty if not for the abundance of Ministry officials littering the area; they stand outside every shop, talking to passers-by, warning them of the danger they are in by simply being outside. Kingsley Shacklebolt - a good friend of yours - gives you and Ron a stern look when you pass him standing outside Olivander’s. 

    “I thought Molly and Arthur would know better,” he says. “You two should be inside at all times.”

  “It’s like the Order wants us to go insane,” Ron mutters when the two of you are walking away from what was undoubtedly about to turn into a proper scolding. “Honestly, what are the chances You-Know-Who is just going to turn up in the middle of Hogsmeade? I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere he doesn’t like the Saturday crowds...”

   You and Ron continue to shop for a little while, though none of the stores particularly interest you. You love looking at the architecture and the fancy colours of each shop, but when you can’t really use any of the stuff being sold, the architecture isn’t enough to keep your attention seized.

  Nonetheless, you trail after Ron because this may be the last time you are able to see him until Christmas, and you’ll be damned if you let your last few days of company go to waste. The colour is back in his face, that tiny sway to his walk returning now that the poison has officially cleared his system; though you will never admit it to him, the worry you felt sitting at his bedside these past few days has been eating you alive. To see him back on his feet and grinning again is like Christmas come early.

     “Oh!” He latches onto your arm, snapping you from your daze. You follow the direction in which he is pointing, throwing your head back to groan into the air when you catch a glimpse of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron’s favourite place in the whole of Hogsmeade.

    “Oh, come on!” Ron exclaims, dragging your protesting form forward. “Just a little look to see if they’ve got anything new in.”

  “Why would they have anything new in?” you hiss, pressing a foot against the door frame in your attempts to make Ron let go of you. “The Quidditch season started months ago! Everyone’s already got everything they-”

    “Don’t make me hex you!”

   You groan, letting your foot slip to the floor. Ron tugs you into the shop after him, a bright smile on his face as soon as he lays eyes upon the Quidditch sets propped up on the far side of the shop. He scurries off, leaving you to awkwardly pluck at the bits and bobs that - apparently - have something to do with Quidditch. Growing up, you always found the concept of Quidditch to be quite intriguing. Charlie would never let a single family dinner go by without ranting about some team or other, and you were always inclined to listen. 

   However, you were never able to properly play. The only way you could ever fly a broom was when one of your older brothers would get it off the ground first before placing you upon it - which never really had the same effect, and has left you in many bad states over the years. Your mum put a ban on it when you were seven years old, though that never stopped Charlie Weasley from letting you have a go on his broom every now and then.

    You glance over at the broomsticks as the memories pop into your head; they are magnificent looking. It’s with hesitance that you stalk over to them, running your fingers along the bristles at the end, imagining the magic seeping from your fingertips into the broom, watching it lift off the floor purely because you wished it to, because you want it to fly and nobody else. 

    You don’t even crave an expensive one, not like Harry’s, or Ron’s new one that he got when he was made a Prefect. You just want one - any of them would do, as long as they work, as long as it’s yours.

   But that will never be the case.

    You bite your lip and look down; this always happens. You’ve been able to push past these feelings of uselessness pretty well during this Hogwarts visit, but they push to the surface now. 

     “Oi! Weasley!”

    You stumble away from the brooms, very nearly knocking over a display case filled with different Quaffles as you do so. Draco laughs, wading towards you with that long-legged stroll of his, and that stupid smile plastered all the way across his face. Him catching you ogling the broomsticks, knowing full well you can’t actually use one, is really the thing that tops off this already quite disastrous trip.

    “What are you doing out of the castle?” you ask quickly, struggling to stop the display case from wobbling.

      “I’m a Prefect. I can do what I want.”

   “And you want to stand here and take the mick out of me, I suppose?”

   Draco raises a brow, glancing behind you to where the broomsticks are mounted on the wall by invisible bonds. He looks back down at you, tilts his head and says, “Feeling a bit envious today, Weasley?”

    You roll your eyes, hands still messing with the display case. “I really don’t - for the love of - I really don’t have the - Oh, my goodness, can you just use a spell and straighten this bloody thing?”

   Draco laughs, but does as you say. With a flick of his wand, the display case stops wobbling and you can safely lower your hands to your sides. 

    “Thanks,” you grumble. “As I was saying, I really don’t have the time to sit here and listen to you go on about your fancy spells. Mum wants me and Ron back at the castle in about half an hour, so-”

  “Oh, plenty of time!” And before you can pull away, Draco has wrapped an arm round your shoulders and is steering you back towards the wall of broomsticks. With his wand outstretched, he points to each one, uttering their names into your ear like a teacher giving a student a tour. 

    His breath tickles your neck, and you’re not sure why you’re so aware of it. His fingers are cold against the tiny bit of shoulder peaking from your robes, and again, it’s startling how aware of his touch you are.

    “Have you ever flown one of these before?” he asks, after telling you what each one is called - this is information you already know, of course, considering you grew up in a household of Quidditch fanatics, but you let him ramble on anyway.

    “No,” you reply. “Well, not on my own. My brothers had to get the broom off the ground for me and then I would ride around on it for awhile until the magic wore off and I - uh - landed.”

    Draco hums. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

   “Yeah. It is. It’s just stupid, and painful.” You shrug Draco’s arm off your shoulder and spin. “Quite like this conversation. Can I leave yet?”

  Draco raises a brow; it’s that facial expression that always gets to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. You and Draco have watched each other grow up in tiny little bursts - you came to visit Hogwarts multiple times within the school year, and every single time, you somehow managed to have some sort of run-in with Draco. The two of you have bickered with one another from day one, but this facial expression is one that has always, always made you want to punch him.

    “I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he says. He turns on his heel and starts walking before you have a chance to decline his offer. You splutter, frantically scanning the shop for any sign of your twin brother - it’s when you spot him talking to Seamus Finnigan that you groan and decide to give in to your fate. You have to jog to keep up with Malfoy.

    “I know the way back,” you say, stumbling over your robes. 

   “I’m sure you do. That doesn’t mean I can’t accompany you.”

  “I really don’t think I should be leaving without telling Ron first…”

  “Ronald will handle the journey back perfectly fine on his own.” Malfoy glances back at you. “Plus, I don’t think Ron would like to hear what I have to ask you. It’s probably best we’re on our own.”

  You falter, heart skipping. You don’t like the sound of those words, especially coming from someone as unpredictable as Malfoy. 

   You raise a brow, ignoring the way he smirks as he turns back, giving a passing group of third year girls a nod. 

   “Don’t look so worried, Weasley. The wand is staying beneath the cloak.”

  “It’s not the wand I’m wary of.”

   His smirk turns into a grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d fancy a trip to the Quidditch pitches later tonight.”

    You stare at the back of his head as if doing so will somehow unravel the joke he’s clearly trying to pull right now. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t even snicker, though you can’t miss the way in which he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes. 

    “Sorry,” you reply sometime after. “I just. . . Can you repeat that?”

  He groans. “It really isn’t a difficult question.” He looks over. “And it’s not a date, either. I just thought you might appreciate a little bit of flying time on the pitches before you leave.”

    Is this Draco Malfoy being nice? If you weren’t currently witnessing it first hand, you wouldn’t believe it to be possible. You pick up your pace a tiny bit, just until you’re walking directly beside him when you say, “I can’t fly a broom, and you know that.”

    “You just told me your brothers used to help you; I can get it off the ground, and then you take it from there.”

    “And you don’t mind me using your broom? You’re not scared I’m going to break it?”

   Draco shrugs. “I have more than enough Galleons to pay for a new one, Weasley, don’t worry.”

   “I wasn’t worried,” you mumble. “But I - uh - I guess I could do that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”

   Draco glances down at you. “I’ll meet you at the pitches at nine o’clock then.”

    “Nine o’clock it is.”

    ---

    You have to tell your parents you’re going to visit Ron.

   They’ll never let you leave otherwise, not with Voldemort still breathing. Honestly, you can’t even blame them for the protective pull they’ve put on you, though you also can’t help but notice just how much stronger it is over you than it is for Ron - your twin brother had been in the infirmary after being poisoned only a few days prior, and yet they let him roam about Hogsmeade as much as he wants.

     “You know it’s probably Ron they’ll go after before they come after me,” you recall telling them over dinner one night. Your mother hadn’t even looked up from her food, though you saw her jaw twitch with the idea you had just implanted in her head. “He’s the one that’s best mates with Harry.”

  “You and Harry are also good friends,” your dad says, pointing his fork at you. 

   “Right, but not - like - best friends.”

   “Y/N, we’re not discussing this over dinner,” Molly had snapped. “You’ll do as we say, and that’s final!”

   Now you feel like you have no choice but to lie.

    You inform your parents that Ron has asked for your company during his next study session in which he wants you to check over his essay and correct any spelling and punctuation he’s messed up on; a lie, of course, but Ron’s genuine lack of skill when it comes to basic spelling and grammar is an easy enough lie to ride upon. Your parents immediately permit you to leave, kissing you goodbye before sending you off to the castle under the moonlight.

    The Quidditch pitches themselves are magnificent when it’s dark.

    You’ve never been to a proper Hogwarts Quidditch match; you went to the Quidditch World Cup with your family a few summers ago, but you’ve always wanted to see Ron or Harry play.

   Or Malfoy.

    The rings stand tall, glittering gold in the darkness. The lights from the commentator’s stand have been kept on, and it’s almost as if night time doesn’t exist. You can see everything perfectly; the audience stands, the rings, the soft grass you are currently walking across to reach the very centre of the field where Draco Malfoy stands, his broom at his side, his robes fitting him perfectly.

     He gives you a smile when he sees you. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Navigating around this place without magic can be a real pain.”

    “As I’m so often reminded.” You nod to his broom. “A Nimbus 2001. Not bad.”

    Draco shrugs, though his smirk is evident. “It’s carried me well.”

   “Is that why you’ve never caught the Snitch?”

   He scowls at you. “Do you want to fly it or not?”

   You slowly reach a hand out, gently brushing your fingertips along the wood. It really is pretty - you can already imagine Ron’s face when you tell him that you somehow managed to have a go on a real Nimbus 2001, something Ron couldn’t even dream of doing.

     You lift your gaze. Draco is staring at you, watching the adoration on your face, reminding you that you will forever be unable to do as he does. You flinch your hand away and stuff it in the pocket of your raggedy robes.

    “Let’s have a look, then,” you say. “Get on it and show me how it works.”

  Draco sets everything up. You watch him closely, recounting the steps you have memorised for no reason at all, steps you are intrigued by but will never use. He gives you one final look before he mounts the broom and takes off.

    And he’s just as beautiful as you imagined.

    You’ve seen Quidditch matches. You’ve watched players soar through the air for hours on end, watched them swerve between hoops and dodge Bludgers with an efficiency similar to that of a bird. You’ve seen it all, but it’s quite different when you’re watching someone like Malfoy have the sky all to themselves. There’s no dodging, no jerky swerves, no expressions of frustration. It’s just Malfoy and his broom, swerving between nothing, grinning down at you.

     His blonde hair flashes silver every time he flies in front of the commentator’s lights. You place a hand on your forehead, blocking out the beams just enough to see him do a loop before he yells out your name and waves.

    You laugh, unable to help yourself. Jumping to be seen a bit better, you wave your arms violently back and forth, hoping for no reason at all that Malfoy can see you, that he’s smiling down at you, having fun-

     He does a final loop and then crashes to the floor, dirt flying up all around him, splattering his robes and his face, but he’s laughing and smiling as he jogs back to your side.

    “Wow,” you say, giving him a round of applause. “That was good, Malfoy.”

   “Thank you, thank you,” he replies. “Your turn?”

   You nod enthusiastically, watching Draco set the broom up until it is hovering in the air between you. 

   “The magic bits all done now,” he says. “I’m assuming you know how to work the rest?”

   You place your hand on the broom; immediately it deflates, becoming heavy in your hand when it should feel light as air. You frown, dropping it to the floor.

    “It stopped working,” you say.

   Draco hums in confusion, bends down and picks it up. He tries again, getting the broom to float before he steps back and you have another go. Once again, the broom deflates and crashes to the floor between you.

    “Well, that’s bloody annoying,” you grumble. “Walked all the way through Hogsmeade and this is what I get for it?”

    Draco picks up the broom again. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you want to have a go, I’ll just get on with you.”

  You falter. “What?”

   He swings his leg over the broom and motions for you to get on behind him; there’s plenty of room, but the mere idea of soaring through the air upon the same broom as Draco Malfoy is a bit intimidating.

   “Listen, mate.” You take a cautious step back. “I know my family can be a bit of a pain when it comes to you, but I never had any issue with you. If you want me dead, you could have just-”

  “Oh, for the love of-” Draco surges forward, grabs a handful of your robes and rugs you onto the broom behind him. You yelp, having only seconds to grab onto his waist before he’s kicking off the floor and suddenly you’re in the air.

     You bury your head in his spine, groaning against his robes; you were so prepared for this, and yet the abruptness with which he took off has your stomach reeling. The wind pelts your face. The world gets smaller and smaller and smaller below you…

    You peek an eye out from Malfoy’s robes, the breath leaving you in an instant. Hogwarts really is a wonderful sight to behold when you’re looking at it from above; the lanterns flicking subtly in the hallways, the shadows of passing students drifting by the window, the smoke billowing from the many chimneys dotting the castles exterior.

    “Bloody hell,” is the only way you can articulate your feelings. 

    Draco laughs, the noise reverberating against your cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

   “It’s. . . more than nice,” you choke out, finally pulling away from him completely, though you keep your arms wound around his waist. “Is this what you see during every Quidditch match? ‘Cause you clearly don’t see the Snitch all that often.”

   Draco jerks the front of the broom. You simply laugh, even as you’re forced to tighten your grip on his waist to stay in the air.

    “It’s a little different,” he replies, shooting you a playful glare. “There’s always so much going on in a Quidditch match, it’s difficult to stop and focus on the scenery.”

    “That makes sense.”

   Draco hums, jerking his broom to go in the opposite direction. “I hope that’s not another dig at my Seeker skills, Weasley.”

   “If the shoe fits, Malfoy.”

    The broom is directed into an abrupt nosedive.

   You screech, pressing your head - yet again - into Malfoy’s spine, as if being unable to see the floor will mean you are not heading directly towards it. The wind whistles loudly in your ears, though not loud enough to cover Malfoy’s cackling laugh as he tugs and suddenly the broom is soaring back into the air.

   You pant, lifting your head, darting your eyes left and right. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

    “Did that scare you?”

    “Of course it did! Why would you do that?”

   He glances at you, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything - you get the message. He’s always had fun teasing you, and that isn’t going to stop tonight.

   You roll your eyes, slapping him on the back. “You’re the absolute worst.”

   “So you’ve told me.”

    It’s silent after that. The two of you fly circles round the Quidditch pitch until it gets too cold for Malfoy to grip the handle properly. He heads back to the ground, feet skidding against the floor, one hand winding around and gripping your waist to stop the impact from hurting too much.

    You stumble off the broom, grin evident on your face. “That was incredible!”

   Malfoy lazily picks at the handle, not looking up when he hums in agreement.

   Your excitement is palpable, screaming through your system at a million miles per hour. You clap your hands, doing a tiny twirl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch purely because you can, because you’ve just flew, because Charlie is going to be so damn proud of you-

    You open your eyes to see Malfoy staring at you. 

   He’s wearing an expression you have never seen him wear before; dazed, almost, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what he’s feeling or seeing. His lips are slightly parted, hands limp so his broom falls halfway to the floor. His blue eyes stare into your own, and slowly he starts to tilt his head.

    Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly look away. “Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.”

    He doesn’t say anything for a number of minutes, and you’re suddenly much too nervous to look up to see why. You can still feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your head, even as you keep your eyes trained on the grass beneath you.

     And then suddenly Malfoy takes a step forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to put you nearly chest to chest with the Slytherin. You can smell the wind clinging to his clothes, the fresh scent of grass and a slight undertone of sweat. You can hear his breathing, suddenly much more shallow than it was before.

    You risk a glance upwards, not entirely sure why you’re not moving away from him, making some remark about how weird he is or how badly he annoys you. All words have died on your tongue, and it’s understandable when you look up to see him staring right down at you, not a single flash of humour upon his face.

    His hand is on your cheek in seconds; your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, the feel of his palm making your heart jump.

    “Your smile is. . . very pretty,” he says, so quietly his words could easily be mistaken for the wind. 

    “Draco…”

   “Come back to the castle with me,” he continues. “I can convince McGonagall to let you stay in the Slytherin common room.”

    Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?” 

   His grin flashes in the dark, sharp and perfect. “If you want to accompany me. If you-”

    His words are cut short by Molly Weasley bellowing your name from across the Quidditch field.

   You leap away from Malfoy, very nearly falling over your own robes in the process. Malfoy himself looks suddenly flustered, running his ringed hands through his hair and looking away from the blinding lights in an attempt to hide the pink hue of his cheeks.

    “Y/N Weasley, do not ignore me!” Molly screeches, and then she is Apparating in front of you and seizing you by the shoulders, shaking you. “ARE. YOU. INSANE?”

   “Mum!” you exclaim. “Bloody hell, Mum, calm down!”

  “CALM DOWN?” she cries, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Can you even begin to comprehend the fright your father and I got when we sent an owl up to the school to check how you and Ron were getting on, only to be told that you weren’t even in the Hogwarts castle?”

    Guilt falls heavily on your shoulders. “Sorry.”

   “Oh, you will be.” Molly grabs your wrist and starts stampeding across the field, muttering things like “early grave… grey hairs….can’t believe” beneath her breath. You, however, don’t even fully register what she is trying to say as you turn and glance at Malfoy, who is standing stock still in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, watching you go with his broom hanging limp at his side.

    Molly Apparates back to the Hogs Head, and that’s the last you see of him.

   ----

   “Please tell me it’s a joke.”

    You don’t even look up.

   “Y/N, please tell me Mum was just pulling my leg.”

   “I don’t-”

   “Oh, god, you can’t even look at me.” Ron falls into his chair and grabs a hash brown, stuffing it in his mouth. “You were out with Malfoy?”

    You wince; the volume with which Ron always insists on speaking has never made sense to you. “Not for very long,” you lie. “And what’s it to you who I hang out with?”

    “Good point,” Hermione chirps. “But Malfoy, Y/N? Really? You could do so much better.”

    Something burns in your chest, an overwhelming urge to tell the two of them to get their judgemental noses out of your business; however, you know doing such a thing will do nothing to persuade them that nothing is going on between you and Malfoy, so you instead choose to scoop some cereal into your mouth and pretend you hadn’t heard.

    “It just doesn’t make sense,” Ron continues. “Malfoy’s a Prefect, for crying out loud. What’s he doing sneaking out of the castle in the dark?”

   “Clearly he wanted to see Y/N,” Hermione says.

   “Well, yeah, but why? Y/N’s a Squib!”

  “Thanks, Ron,” you grumble.

   Ron groans, nudging your elbow. “You know that’s not what I meant; most people don’t have a problem with you. But Malfoy - he’s a different cup of tea altogether, isn’t he?”

    “How so?” 

   Ron shrugs. “He’s just a close-minded little weasel. Can’t see anyone being anything other than pure blood.”

  Hermione rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to remind you, Ron? Y/N is a pure blood - they just haven’t got the magical abilities.”

    Ron waves a dismissive hand. “Either way, I’m surprised Draco hasn’t tried humiliating you a thousand times already.”

    “Have you ever actually had a real conversation with Draco?” The words are out before you can stop them. Hermione and Ron cautiously glance at you, eyebrows raised.

    “Oh, don’t tell me he’s buttered you up,” Ron says. “Not you. I have to bloody live with you!”

    “He hasn’t buttered me up,” you shoot back. “I just don’t see why I should completely boycott him just because you lot don’t like him. He’s nice to me.”

    Ron scoffs. “He’s nice to me. You know what that sounds like, Y/N? Sounds like you’re fraternising with the enemy; getting cuddly; abandoning the side that put clothes on your back-”

   “Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione hisses, slapping his arm. “Give it a rest; Y/N can like whoever they want.” She nods at you, giving you a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  You smile back, even though her words do nothing but fluster you; she speaks of you liking Malfoy as if you outright said you liked him, but you never did. To be honest, you don’t even know what your feelings are for Malfoy; after last night, you will admit to feeling something, something that was always lurking beneath the surface but refused to make an appearance because every time it started to rise, Malfoy would say something to Ron, or you, or he would just be ignorant and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what you were feeling for him.

    But last night, things took such a sharp turn. So sharp, in fact, that you haven’t even fully processed what any of it means, or what you’re meant to do now, or how you’re meant to approach the topic with Malfoy the next time you see him. 

     Breakfast finishes, and it’s nearly time to leave. On any normal day, leaving Hogwarts is the highlight; you can escape the stares and the uncertain questions. Now, however, as you, Ron and Hermione stand up from the table and get ready to go downstairs where you are due to meet your parents, you can’t help but feel a little. . . incomplete, as if you didn’t finish something you set out to do on this brief trip.

    Harry catches up to you all as you’re wondering down the staircase. “You lot couldn’t have waited?”

   “We’re on a schedule, Potter,” you reply. “Molly and Arthur Weasley cannot be left waiting.”

   Harry rolls his eyes, pulling you into a brotherly side hug as you arrive in the main hall; sure enough, Molly and Arthur Weasley are nowhere to be found, and not a single person is surprised.

    “Always late,” Ron grumbles. “I just want to get rid of you.”

   “Shut up.” You pull Ron into a hug. “Try not to get poisoned again before Christmas, alright? I won’t be able to handle Mum on my own if Percy doesn’t show up again.”

    “It’s not me we need to keep an eye on,” Ron says, pulling away. “If I put you on a leash, do you think that will keep you away from the Slytherin boys?”

    Harry splutters, head snapping up. 

  You groan. “Nothing happened with Malfoy and I!”

   “Oh.”

    Your heart drops.

   And it shouldn’t. The sound of Draco’s voice - that quiet, innocent little oh - should have done nothing to faze you, but it does. You whirl around and there he is, standing on the bottom step with his hands swinging by his side and his face strained with his attempts to keep that strong expression upon it.

     “Sorry. Looks like I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he sneers. 

    “What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits. “Can’t you see we’re a bit occupied at the-”

   “Draco…”

   Malfoy’s blue eyes flick to you. A muscle tenses in his jaw before he shrugs, turns on his heel and starts walking back the way he came.

     Your heart is beating so fast. It feels heavy. Your eyes are burning, unshed tears rising to the surface even though none of it makes sense; you weren’t lying. Nothing did happen between you and Malfoy last night - nothing serious, nothing physical.

    But you would be a liar, a downright fool, to claim nothing changed. Soaring through the sky on the back of his broom, watching the stars glide past, laughing louder than you have laughed in many, many months - something did happen, whether it was physical or not.

��   You turn, eyes finding Ron’s immediately. He’s scowling until he meets your gaze and notices the desperation there; his twin, the strongest of his siblings because you’ve been the most misunderstood your entire life, yet here you are, on the verge of tears because you don’t know what to do.

    Ron’s expression softens. He looks over at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom seem to have read the room and have since continued their chat about Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

   Ron sighs, steps forward and says, “Go. I’ll tell Mum and Dad you went to the loo or something.”

   You’re off in a heartbeat.

    If last nights endeavours don’t give away your feelings for Malfoy, then the speed at which you dart back up the stairs certainly does. The hallways are empty besides the odd stray ghost, all of whom you ignore as you search desperately for any sign of Malfoy roaming amongst them. It seems like all is lost until you eventually round the corner leading to the library and very nearly crash right into his back.

    He’s leaning against the wall, though he spins around as soon as you make an appearance. His eyes widen, mouth opening but you’re speaking before he can say anything.

    “For gods sake, Malfoy! Why do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” you pant, slapping his arm. “Do you know how difficult it is to run up those stairs when they’re moving like that? No, of course you don’t, because you can just Apparate or whatever it is you lot do to get from one place to another.” You groan, clutching the stitch in your side. “Please don’t let me leave here without an explanation.”

    Draco stares at you open mouthed, seeming too stunned for words.

   You close your eyes and say, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

    “What are you-”

  “I don’t think nothing happened between us last night.”

   Draco pauses. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the wall in exasperation; your side is still aching, and time is running out, and you’re no longer all that confident in the fact that Draco feels the same way.

     “I think. . . I think we were very caught up in the moment,” you hurry on. “It was dark, and the lights were a little romantic-”

   “Romantic?”

   “And obviously we’re both very confused, because we hate each other, you know? That’s kind of like our thing! You take the mick out of me, and I take the mick out of you, and then we don’t see each other for a good few months and then it restarts, and-”

    “I don’t hate you.”

   “Yes you do. You always have.”

    Draco places a hand on your arm, gently easing you away from the wall. Your eyes open, hands trembling with anxiety but that doesn’t stop Draco from slipping his fingers between your own.

    “I don’t hate you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Do you wanna know a bit of a secret, Weasley?”

   Your heart jumps. “Uh. . . Go on then.”

  “Last night when the broom fell every time you touched it? That was me. I was making it fall so I had an excuse for you to fly with me.”

    You blink. In any other situation, with any other person, that news would absolutely infuriate you. But now, you look up into Draco’s eyes and you see that soft, cheeky smile and you can’t even bring yourself to feel anything besides absolute fondness.

    Nonetheless, you scowl. “You really are a little rat, aren’t you Malfoy?”

    He throws his head back and laughs, and that does it for you. You grab his chin, pull his head down and kiss him.

    His hands find your jaw immediately, winding through your hair as the world disappears and trouble doesn’t exist. It’s a weird feeling to be so at peace with someone who is the definition of destruction, someone who was born and raised to cause havoc. You silently wonder who taught him to be so gentle. 

      Draco pulls away first, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping so casually across his bottom lip, as if savouring the feel of you. You are less graceful, stumbling away from him enough to exclaim, “So that broom would have stayed up if you weren’t messing with it? I knew it!”

    Draco rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand to pull you back towards him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t prefer flying with me.”

    You scowl. “I would have preferred having the option.” 

   “I’ll make it up to you.”

   “You better; let’s see who can catch the Snitch quicker.”

   Draco pecks your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

   ----

      “Draco, fly straight! Fly straight!”

   “Why would I do that? The Snitch isn’t-”

    “Just fly straight!”

    Draco groans, tugging the broom in the direction you’ve ordered. Up ahead, Ron and Charlie twist around each other, eyes scanning the garden for any sign of the little golden ball you’re all desperately searching for. Charlie is good - you know this, have seen him play Quidditch too many times to deny such a fact. Now, however, you’re determined to give your boyfriend a point.  

    “Has Weasley spotted it?” Draco calls over the wind. 

   “There’s three Weasleys in our vicinity, Draco, you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

   “Ron. Has Ron spotted the Snitch?”

   You glance over your shoulder. “No, he still looks like he doesn’t know where he is.”

   “Oh, good.” Draco speeds up then; you cling onto his waist, keeping your eyes firm on Charlie up ahead. “What have you got planned, Weasley?”

   “Give me a minute.” You push yourself up using Draco’s shoulders; your boyfriend cries out, averting his eyes from the path ahead to look up at you as you balance on the back of his broom, a trick Fred and George taught you when you were only little.

    “What are you doing?” Draco yells, reaching round with one hand to grab your knees. “You’re gonna fall!”

   “Just keep flying straight!”

   “Oh my-”

  Charlie tries to whizz past, knowing full well what you’re planning to do - he’s seen this trick a million times before, has always claimed it to be cheating. In your eyes, you can’t really cheat if you’re nothing more than a bystander.

   And that’s what drives you to leap forward and crash onto the back of Charlie’s broom.

   In the background, you can hear Draco cursing, his own broom swerving left and right before he manages to get it together and spin back around. Ron is laughing. Charlie is fuming.

   “Get off!” your older brother exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”

  “Give Draco a chance,” you say through giggles, before you slam your hands into the front of Charlie’s broom, directing it to the floor. Charlie yells out your name, thrashing against your hands, but this is something you’ve been doing from the age of eleven, when Fred and George figured out they could use their younger sibling to their advantage, despite the fact you can’t actually fly a broom yourself.

    Charlie’s broom crashes to the floor and the two of you roll off it. You scramble up and sprint to the far side of the yard before Charlie can grab your foot and pull you back down for a scolding. 

    It’s with the professional on the ground that Draco is able to snatch the Snitch right out from under Ron’s nose. You cheer when Draco holds the golden ball in the air, jumping and clapping in your excitement. 

    “That was cheating!” Ron yells.

   “I said that, mate,” Charlie calls back, but neither you nor Draco are listening. Draco comes back to the ground, stumbles off his broom and rushes towards you, the Snitch still in his hand. You jump into his arms, giving him a hug as he laughs heartily in your ear.

   “That’s one way to win a Quidditch match,” he says. “Don’t do that again, though. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack when you stood up.”

  You pull away, keeping your arms around his neck. “Aw, were you worried about me?”

    Draco scowls. “I’ll push you off the broom next time.”

  You chuckle and press your lips to his. He melts in that way he only seems to when it’s you he’s melting into, his arm tightening on your waist, the other pressing the Snitch against your neck. 

     “Oh, bloody hell, Y/N-”

   You pull away from Draco just as your mother appears in front of you, red-faced and furious. 

    “AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIVING BETWEEN BROOMS? DO YOU WANT TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? HONESTLY, CHARLIE COULD HAVE DIED! Oh, hello Draco, dear - would you like some toast?” 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :(  I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!!  AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left - 

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs.  I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round.  This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me.  I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat.  However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling.  My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him.  The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up.  Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent.  Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity.  My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side.  Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up.  The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground.  The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting.  Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me.  He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out.  When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction.  I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up.  Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back.  Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay.  Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.”  Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you.  Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth.  With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me.  “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs.  Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force.  Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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[neon-junkie]

Hopefully it's not a bother, but could you write something about the Van Der Linde gang getting magically transported (Magic, Tardis, Marko, Science ) to the modern universe and having the gn! Reader help them adapt to this world? Maybe some of their reactions to new things (indoor bathrooms, new music, tv, memes) Thank you so much, love!

oh god this is a long post, and as always, im convinced i’ve missed one member out... minor drug warning on Johns headcanon, but the rest are tame. hope u enjoy!

Part 2 is here  |  Part 3 is here

Arthur finds your computer and figures out how to turn it on. Your face turns white when you find him on Tumblr, quickly shutting the tab and urging him up off the chair. "Hey! I was reading that! I was... erm, I think I was having sex with myself," he tells you. Yep, he's found the fanfiction. "Do they really mean that? That I got kind eyes and a, uh... fat ass, I think it was?"  You quickly show him the kitchen and run back to delete all your history. John goes rummaging through your cupboards for something to eat, and eventually finds the brownies in the fridge. You find him on the roof, his eyes red and his heads spinning. "Them.. them brownies..." he mutters. "I know, John," you sob back. You know which brownies he ate, and my god, he ate a lot of them. Arthur babysits him, his mind still questioning what he just read on your computer. Dutch finds the beast of a lawnmower you have in your garage, so you show him how to use it. Why not? He's mowing your lawn for free. Well, he did mow your lawn, but you eventually have to send a search party out after him, only to find him a couple of streets away, parked up next to a childs lemonade stand, insisting they should be selling this lemonade for more if they want to make a profit. 

Hosea also goes missing, but you find him during your search party mission. He's walking up the street back to the house with a paper bag in his hands, and he tells you he's managed to con the gas station clerk into giving him some free booze. You're not sure how, but he's done no harm so you let him enjoy his wine in peace. Bill found your anime figure collection, the ones with the big boobs. He asked you what they were, despite seeming rather flustered, but you tried to explain that it's normal and gave him a book to read. You catch him on your computer a few hours later buying himself a waifu body pillow because "I love her, dammit! Just let us be!" He also keeps pressing the squishy boobs on your anime mouse matt, and yes, he's still very flustered. Javier finds the TV in your room that has Netflix on it, so you show him how to use it and he seems happy distracting himself with that. You walk in a few hours later to see that Javier hasn't moved, but Molly is now by his side, also engulfed in the drag show on the screen. Javier has a thick pair of false lashes on that Molly managed to put on him, and the first thing he says to you is "can you believe this? They voted her off! I... I can't believe this." He's shaking his head and looks like he's about to cry. Charles discovers your computer, and you decide he'd be happy just browsing the web. You come back hours later to find 100 tabs open and your computer fan is louder than an airplane. The current tab open is on a 'where's Waldo?' piece. He's very close to the screen, and you decide to show him how to zoom in to help him find Waldo faster. He's very thankful, and not causing any damages so you leave him to it. Lenny also rummages through your kitchen and finds a pizza in the freezer. He asks you what it is, so you put it in the oven for him. He spends the whole 15 minutes sitting in front of the oven, briefly saying hello to Sean as he runs through. Lenny manages to get the pizza out without burning himself, turns the oven off, cuts up the pizza and takes it upstairs to enjoy with Jack. Yes, he also fed Sean a slice. Sean finds the energy drinks in your fridge that you keep for work. They tasted a little funny at first, but after the third one, he's decided he likes them. You catch him opening his fourth, his eyes are wider than the moon. He cries when you take it off him, and spends the rest of the day running around the garden with your dogs, followed by going to each member of the camp and personally annoying them until he crashes out under your dining table. It's a cozy spot for a nap. Kieran uses your computer after Charles comes off it, and discovers youtube. He starts off with simple cat videos and eventually moves on to fails and meme comps. By the time dinner rolls around, nobody can understand him, and you barely understand half the things he's saying. The only thing you do understand is "big mood," which is what Kieran says when he sees Sean asleep under the dining table. Pearson decides to avoid the kitchen and try something new, and you're quick to decide he'd enjoy rock music. You show him a couple of CD's and leave him to have a listen, only to come storming back up the stairs a few minutes later because he's turned the volume up to full blast and is having a rather funky jam session. "Now this, this is real music!!" He's really enjoying the classics. Trelawny is quick to figure out how to use the TV. He's seen "those moving picture shows" before, and he's mesmerized by how far they've come! You catch him up at 5am watching documentaries to help bridge the gap between his time and yours, and when you walk into the lounge, you're met by a very sleep deprived Trelawny. The only thing he says to you, with heavy bags under his eyes, is "terribly sorry to hear about all these wars you've been having, my dear." He finally goes to bed, but only because you make him. Swanson disappears, but there's a church down the road from you so you decide to check there first. He's inside, joining in on the ceremony, singing his heart out to all the hymns with a real bible in his hands, not the fake one he has back at camp. He seems content so you leave him to it. He thankfully returns just in time for dinner, and tells everybody how he's been blessed and that we can "never leave this land!" Strauss also disappears very quickly, and you have to search for him when you go to look for Dutch. He's also at the lemonade stand, trying to explain to Dutch that if the child sells the lemonade for more, then they're less likely to get customers as it's too expensive. The two of them are arguing, and the child seems rather confused. Strauss later has a breakdown at the noise your toilet makes, he informs you that he'll be using your outside bathroom, even if it is just the bushes. Micah says he doesn't need you to show him the ropes and swats you away, so you leave him to it. You've not seen him for a good few hours, so you run around the house trying to find him. You eventually find him in your room, going through your underwear draw. Arthur is quick to knock his lights out, and you leave him tied up in the garage so he can't do any more damage. Micah also pissed all over your toilet seat and didn't flush. Abigail joins Trelawny in the lounge, watching the TV after Jack tells her he's happy playing with the toys in your room. She and Trelawny have an argument over what to watch next, so you give her your laptop to watch TV on, along with a pair of headphones. She refuses to come off a few hours later because she's way too engulfed in the modeling show she's watching. You promise her you'll let her give you a makeover if she comes off, and she finally agrees. Jack discovers your big box of legos and he seems more than content playing with those. He ends up building a fort, with the help of Lenny, and the two fire pillows at you when you try and enter the room. The pillow canons are, of course, made from legos. At least they're not lego pillows! Jack also thanks you for the pizza, describing it as 'yummy.' Sadie finds your katana collection, and you're quick to take them off her and attempt to hide them. She spends some time pretending to be interested in something else, but as soon as you turn your back for a split second, she's found them again and is heading straight for Kieran. The room where you keep your katanas is now locked and Sadie is in time out. Susan comes across your sewing machine and you're happy to show her how it works. She picks it up quickly, and her eyes glisten as she realizes just how fast this thing is. You leave her be since she's not causing any harm, but come back an hour later to find she's made new a new dress for herself, and all the girls in the gang, including Sadie. They're all matching! Tilly finds your piano and tells you she's happy to be left to her own devices, she knows how to play. You eventually have to tell her and Susan to calm down after receiving another noise complaint, as Susan is attempting to sing opera, and Tilly is killing it on the piano. At least she hasn't damaged anything. She later joins Mary-Beth in time to watch Beauty and the Beast, also sobbing at the film. Karen goes into your garage and discovers your old golf clubs. You show her how it works in your garden, but just like everybody else, it goes wrong. Your neighbor knocks on your door, screaming, demanding to know why you keep firing golf balls through their window. That's when you find Karen and Sean (who is still on his energy drink high) having a contest to see who can smash the most. Mary-Beth discovers your kindle, and she seems rather content with being able to read. There's no way this could possibly go wrong? Well, you come back a little later to find that Mary-Beth is sobbing after reading Beauty and the Beast. She wants a sappy romance just like that to happen to her. She cries even harder when she watches the Disney film, along with Trelawny who hasn't moved from the TV for hours. Molly picks up your tablet, and after showing her what youtube is, you leave her to it. You find her a few hours later sat in front of your mirror with the most flawless, full face of makeup. She greets you by going "hey sisters!" and speaks to you like a vsco girl. You have no idea what she's saying, but she seems to be doing fine, so you leave her to it.

[erzherzog-von-edelstein]

On the Banks of the Delaware

Summary: America gets to know the German state that England hired to help fight him. It doesn’t go as he expects.

Period: The American War of Independence.

Characters: America and Hesse

Word Count: 1.5K

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

The general told America in a letter that they had defeated a group of foreign soldiers, and were holding the officers captive. That was exactly what Washington had planned for days, and America was overjoyed that it had gone so well.

Once the prisoners were back in camp after a very long and wet trip back, America allowed himself to relax and feel some sense of triumph. He had struck a blow against England and he was sure that it would be an important one.

But, he was surprised when Washington added, “It seems that one of them is like you, and I think that you should be responsible for him. Keep him here and get information if you can.” 

America was wary of whoever this fellow country was, but he felt like it would reflect poorly on him if he did not extend some courtesy. He had not been completely oblivious to England’s lessons about how to behave in war.

General Washington led a tall man in a Hessian uniform, and America stood out of respect. He wasn’t certain whether it was strange to do for an enemy, but it seemed correct.

The general left him alone with the man, and America decided that it was best to introduce himself. He extended a hand, and said, “I’m America.” The man avoided his hand and said, “I know.”

America awkwardly withdrew his hand, unsure it he had done something wrong. He tried again as the other sat down and loosed the tie holding his hair, “And you’re Hesse?” As Hesse nodded he released his dark hair from his ponytail, “I am. I see you’ve already heard of me.”

A curtain of long dark waves fell around his shoulders, and America found himself staring. Hesse was very attractive, incredibly angular and sharp. The smattering of scars across his face only added to the sense that he was striking to look at. The loose hair softened him to the point that America could feel his face growing hot under his gaze.

Hesse said, “Do you have anything to drink? I could use something strong.” America said, pointedly, “General Washington ordered your rum to be destroyed.”

Hesse sighed like this was deeply annoying. There was a kind of calm arrogance about the man, and it was somehow charming. He said, “A terrible waste if you ask me. Rum isn’t cheap.”

America stiffly sat across from him, and repeated a well worn lesson from his childhood, “Alcohol is a vice. It makes men behave badly.” Hesse rolled his eyes and replied, “You’re such a Puritan. Trust me, young man, a little vice keeps you sane.”

America shook his head. He knew what he believed in and he was not going to budge. The last thing he needed on his hands was unruly drunk soldiers. He replied, “I have ale if you want something.”

Hesse shook his head, and all of his waves moved in a way that America found intriguing. He replied, “No, I would rather not. The beer that you make is barely better than water.”

America shrugged, since he did not care one way or another, but it seemed polite to offer. He turned his attention to a different subject that had been on his mind, “Can I ask you something?” Hesse shrugged, “If you would like. I’m your guest.”

America bit his lip and said, “What do you have against me? I’ve never met you before and you’re fighting me.”

Hesse laughed, and America couldn’t understand why. Before he could ask, Hesse clarified, “My dear boy, that is not it at all. Arthur is paying me to be here, and he is paying me very well.”

America hadn’t thought about the power that gold may have. He felt naive when he asked, “So, could I convince you to join me?” Hesse laughed against and said, “If you had a better offer I would. But judging from the state of your boots, you’re in no position to.”

America asked, though he knew it was hypothetical, “What would you do if I could offer a fortune?” Hesse smirked and replied, “You get rich first, and then we’ll talk.”

It was a frustrating dead end, and he knew that he could not push harder. He hardly had the money to pay for his soldiers’ uniforms, and it showed. America tried to turn the conversation to something that he knew. He said, “Do you know Gilbert? He’s my mentor.”

It seemed like a safe topic of conversation, since Prussia was the only other German he had met. He had heard about Hannover, and England’s relationship with him, but England’s distance had meant that America had never met him. And he felt quite proud to say that Prussia had taught him.

Much to his surprise, Hesse chuckled and said, “Oh yes, I do know my cousin. I know him much better than you do.”

America was not sure what to make of the cryptic statement. But, before he could ask any questions, Hesse continued unprompted, “He thinks I’m a scoundrel and I think that he is a fool.”

America could not understand him at all. The man who had taught him so much about strategy and discipline that he could turn the tide of the war was not a fool. He felt the desire to defend Prussia, even if he probably did not need it.

He replied, pointedly, “You must not know him very well if you think that.”

Hesse gave him a knowing smirk and then crossed his legs so that he could reach his boot. Then, he started to pull off the shoe. America said, without thinking to find a tactful way to ask, “What are you doing?” Hesse replied, “Your general made me stand in a river. My stockings are wet and I would rather have them off.”

Even if it made sense, America was not sure if he should object. It certainly did not seem like proper behavior, but he didn’t know if it was normal amongst soldiers. He decided it was better to not say anything in case he was wrong.

Hesse took the silence to continue speaking, “I am not saying that Gilbert is unintelligent. He knows his craft very well. But, he is still naive enough to use his skills for righteousness.”  He raised one eyebrow and added, “And he’s apparently judged yours to be worth his involvement.”

He succeeded in pulling off his boot and dropped it with a thud. America said, slightly defensive, “And you don’t believe in a righteous cause?” Hesse looked remarkably handsome as he smirked and nodded, “Here’s my wisdom for you: One man’s righteous cause is another’s fool’s errand. Gold is not subjective. It is tangible, and it is unchanging.”

America bristled and said, “I think that’s very honorable of him. I am grateful for all of his training. ”

Hesse began to roll down his wet stocking in a way that made it nearly impossible to not stare at his muscular calf. He shook his head slightly and said, “Honor is such a fickle concept. You think he is honorable because he is helping you.”

America wasn’t certain how to refute him, but he was also certain that his gratitude was sincere. Hesse added, “Though, he could have done it because he wanted to make dear old Fritz happy. If his king orders something, he will do it.”

He lowered his foot and brought the other boot up so he could work on that foot. America didn’t like the implication that Prussia had only acted on orders and he replied, “You make it sound like discipline is a fault. Do you think that Gilbert should really fight for money like you do?”

Hesse took off the other boot, and rubbed the bottom of his foot like he was still trying to ward off the cold of the Delaware. He nodded slightly and said, “He could make a lot of money if he did, especially with his reputation.”

America found himself staring at Hesse’s exposed calf and trying to concentrate. He wished that he had poured himself a glass of ale. He replied, “I think that some people are born with a sense of good, and they act on it. I think that Gilbert is one of those people. I like to think that I am too. You may not believe me now, but I’m going to do good in the world.”

Hesse smirked again and replied, “I assure you, Gilbert was not born with it. He had it beaten into him by monks. He may have left the church, but he’s still that same monk looking for a crusade to fight. He like you that way. You may not be a Puritan anymore, but you still think a single sip of rum will send you straight to Hell.”

America felt like he didn’t know enough about Prussia’s past to know what he was talking about. All he knew was that Prussia was someone who had the expertise to help him. But, he could not speak or else he might reveal his own ignorance about European history.

Hesse finished removing his second stocking and he then laid the stockings carefully over the back of a chair to let them dry. Hesse said, “I am done now. You can stop looking so scandalized. I am not going to take off my breaches.”

The very thought of Hesse taking off anymore clothing made America blush. He attempted to stutter out an answer, “Uh…yes, I mean, don’t do that.” 

America felt himself blush even more furiously. Hesse said with a smile, like he had figured out some puzzle, “I think I see why you are defending Gilbert now.”

[popunktomlinson]

this is everything i’ve read in the past month put into a list for the sole benefit of my short term memory. it’s a mess of pairings but mostly drarry and can be summed up as lots of enemies to lovers, excessive pining, and a splash of fake dating.

Drarry:

What Real Thing? - loveglowsinthedark (13k)

They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Aural Gratification - birdsofshore (11k)

Harry's not gay – he just likes listening to exciting stories about Aurors. It's not his fault that the narrator's voice is so smooth, so expressive... and really rather hot.

You open always (petal by petal) - birdsofshore (65k)

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Lumos - birdsofshore (41k)

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Heartlines - shiftylinguini (73k)

Harry never expected he’d end up chipping away at his virginity while wandless and bonded to Malfoy in Northern Europe.

He never expected that would turn out to be the least surprising thing to happen while out on their training expedition in the middle of nowhere, either.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse - who_la_hoop (153k)

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . .?

Strange Bedfellows - orphan_account, ravenclawsquill (31k)

When Harry encounters a frail and fidgety Draco Malfoy at the Ministry, he just knows something is wrong and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

A story about Deadly Nightshade, crippling insomnia, excellent wine … and finding what you need in the strangest of circumstances.

The Devil’s White Knight - orphan_account (65k)

When Harry wakes up in an alternate timeline--a timeline where Voldemort was defeated long before the first war--he discovers everything is different. His parents, his godfather, his friends--and him. Harry must deal with the consequences of who he would have been if he had been raised by his parents, and figure out where he stands with his casual hook up, Draco Malfoy.

Who Shagged Harry Potter? - faithwood (6k)

One beautiful sunny Sunday the Slytherins wake up after a raunchy night only to discover a very naked Harry Potter sleeping in their dormitory. Naturally, they ask themselves a logical question: Who the hell shagged him?

Draco Malfoy, It’s Your Lucky Day - faithwood (47k)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

Love Comes Tumbling - taradiane (22k)

'Harry's thoughts were of how much he would have done differently with Malfoy over the years, and of Dumbledore's final words to the other boy . . . "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." Maybe, Harry wondered, he could find some mercy, too, and give Malfoy the second chance that Dumbledore had believed him worthy of.’

punch-drunk fingerprints - tamerofdarkstars (2k)

In a world where every touch of a soulmate leaves a temporary heat mark on bare skin, Draco Malfoy suddenly finds his life devolving into a massive cliche because the Boy Who Lived Twice has no idea how to respect the personal space bubble.

Muggle Technology and Heroism - TommyLane (90k)

Draco Malfoy wasn’t exactly the best roommate Harry’s ever had. The man tended to watch way too much James Bond and his obsession with muggle technology not only rivaled Arthur Weasley’s but more often than not ended with Harry trying to assure him that the appliances weren’t out to get him. Then there was the little fact that Harry was hopelessly in love with him while Draco remained completely unaware, bringing nameless men home night after night.

But Harry loved his life and was somewhat (as long as he doesn’t actually think about it) content enough in the way things were going. That is until Draco’s old boyfriend comes sweeping back into town – making Draco breakfast and fixing the remote control before Harry can and forcing him to realize that if he doesn’t do something soon, that he might lose the man he loves before he even gets a chance to ever actually have him.

Party of Two - fireflavored (13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

A Dented Old Street Sign - orphanghost (27k)

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

(The Piece) I was Missing All Along - lauren3210 (31k)

Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.

The Gentlewizard Club - Sophie_French (28k)

Draco wants what Draco wants. And if he has to snuggle up to Harry to get it, well, surely, Draco can handle that. Problem is, not sure Harry can.

Larry:

A Little Bit Like Fate - Galaxie (8k)

Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate.

Go Nowhere Tonight - objectlesson (12k)

As always, the easy nonchalance with which he treats the rumors hurts, stabs Harry in the gut, twists the knife. Because it is hard for Harry; it’s hard to know people think they should be or are together because he wants that. Wants it so fucking badly, and it would be one thing if he could just silently quarantine that part of himself and pine secretly, but instead he’s faced with fictionalized accounts of his and Louis’s nonexistent love life and photoshopped pictures of them being coupley every time he’s on the internet. It is hard, and the fact that it supposedly isn’t for Louis functions as proof that it’s unrequited. “It’s gonna be a rude awakening for them,” he starts, gazing into his empty glass, “when we eventually come out but are dating other people. No one likes being half-right.”

Good Enough to Eat - objectlesson (7k)

“Okay. I just...fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Harry whimpers, and he must be blushing because Louis can feel waves of heat coming off him, his embarrassment a hot, palpable thing. “So, like…I love rimming videos. Nothing makes me come harder,” he admits, covering his face with his hands so his voice comes out muffled and strangled.

You Drive Me Crazy (I Just Can’t Sleep) - objectlesson (18k)

The first time Louis ends up in Harry’s bed is a total accident.

Vinyl and Lace - objectlesson (8k)

Harry tries on a skirt in the X Factor dressing room as a joke. Louis doesn't think it's very funny.

Wolfstar: 

Let Us Be Silent, That We May Hear the Whispers of the Gods - gyzym (2k)

Remus Lupin doesn't want to hear it--not tomorrow and not yesterday, but certainly not right now.

Trobed:

Advanced Ambulatory Ichthyology - gyzym (49k)

Course provides advanced instruction in avoidance of the phenomenon commonly known as "jumping the shark." Prerequisites for this course include Introduction to Friendship, Contemporary Best Friendship, The Politics of Emotional Baggage and Cohabitation 207. Students may wish to simultaneously enroll in our sister course, Introduction to Non-Traditional Romance, but said enrollment is optional.

Introduction to Women’s Studies - ama (7k)

You know the story. They're best friends, they're inseparable, Abra has a rainbow collection of hijabs as extensive and impressive as her graphic t-shirt collection and is the hottest girl Tory's seen outside of a mirror--not that that means anything. Right?

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

Draco Falling in love if you were in Gryffindor Pt2

Warnings: Swearing. Angst.

You were there for the last trial and some anxiety just fucking hit you like a bus

Something was wrong. You knew this and you tried to voice that.

Draco could tell you were nervous for your two friends that were in this

Most of the trial was spent trying to calm you down, Fred and George also trying to distract you

That's when Harry came back and you stood up and saw it

"No." You whimpered.

Draco couldn't see what made you react like that until he realized that Harry was on top of Cedric.

You buried your face in Draco's jacket and just sobbed

Fred and George couldn't believe this happened.

Hermione and Ron watched as Mad eye Moody walked away with Harry sobbing

You were left to hear Cedric's poor father screaming over his dead son's body.

The next few days were hard

No one dared to separate you and Draco.

Which finding him asleep on the couch with you in his arms in the Gryffindor common room was now a regular occurrence.

Mcgonagall never questioned shit.

You helped Harry through his grieving and he helped you with yours.

You spent the summer again with the Weasleys

Fred and George's business was surprisingly well

Something strange happened though.

Mid-day, all of you were sitting around having lunch and there was a knock on the door.

Draco was standing there with this shocked look.

"Draco? Sweetie what's wrong?" Molly asked.

"I've uhm..." He walked in and ran a hand over his face. "I've been disowned." He said making everyone stand up.

"What!?" You asked.

"My uhm.. my family called me a blood traitor for being with you and uh..." Draco blinked a few times.

"They disowned me." He repeated.

"Good lord!" Arthur gasped and you hugged him.

"You've got us Draco... We're not going anywhere." Fred said putting a hand on his shoulder.

"If I see Lucius in public can I kick his balls?" Ginny asked making everyone turn to her.

"What? I'm just saying! A swift kick to the--"

"OKAYYY GINNY!" Molly said putting a hand over her daughter's mouth making you all laugh.

Draco stayed with all of the Weasley's too.

Molly found him sitting outside one night and she sat next him.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked.

"Couldn't sleep. I give Y/n so much crap about staying up late but I'm the one who can't sleep." He chuckled.

Molly put a hand on his shoulder and he sighed.

"We love you Draco. Just the way you are and we wouldn't change a single thing about you. You're not a blood traitor." Molly said.

Draco hugged Molly and she gained a son that day.

The school year started with Umbridge.

That damn woman and cats. What the fuck was with her and cats!?

You hated that woman more than anything and when Fred and George pulled a bunch of fireworks out you were like "Right on!"

Course when they were expelled it pissed you off more than you could possibly say.

For some reason Draco was loved by this woman though and he used that to his advantage.

When he found out about her hurting Harry you actually had to restrain him from killing her.

When centaurs took her you wouldn't stop smiling.

You kept singing "ding dong the bitch is gone" and everyone couldn't stop laughing.

Draco's parents did try to convince him to leave you and come back home to which he responded with a simple "No. Fuck off."

You guys joined the order

You stood by Harry every step of the way and when Arthur nearly died Draco was pissed.

Like he had some murderous rage in him

You all worked with Harry and Sirius though

Sirius actually loved Draco

Like yeah, the kid's dad is an unbearable asshole but damn this kid's got a spark!

Draco actually thought Sirius was awesome too.

When he found out the two of them were related they were like "Hey! Disowned buddies!"

But everything came to a screeching halt when you helped Harry

and ended up in that battle.

Shit hit the fan and of course Draco's father was there.

It all happened so quickly, flashes of light going by you as Tonks tried to get you and Draco to safety.

Then you heard it.

Bellatrix's killing curse.

You turned around and saw Sirius stumble and your heart dropped.

You broke away from Tonks, sprinting to Harry.

You had to pull him back as he let out this hauntingly sad scream.

When you finally got out of there Harry was of course having a meltdown.

Draco was there for him though listening to it all

It was almost hard to believe that Draco hated him at one point.

Draco made him laugh at one point

"Did you see my father's face when the thing actually broke though? I think he almost cried"

Harry was glad he had this guy as a friend

The school year was of course hard on Harry

Ron could see the poor guy's mental state just deteriorating

Draco no longer had to worry about things getting back to his parents, so you bet your ass Harry sat at that table every fucking day.

"Wait wait wait. You're telling me that his cane is also his wand?" You asked about Lucius's cane.

"Yeah he pulled out at the ministry, that's why he carried it with him? I always figured it was because he was a pompous ass who wanted to look official." Harry said making you all laugh.

When Albus died all of you were in this state of shock

Like holy shit this is bad.

Like it was bad before but now it's bad.

When Snape took over Draco genuinely could not tell if he was evil or not.

He was literally the only one in the group who was automatically like "He's evil dude"

You guys didn't realize how bad this would get until you had to bust into Bellatrix's vault

You were more of a look out of sorts

And uhm

All of you ended up at the Manor.

"Seriously, is your dad goth or just a fan of black?" You asked.

"Personally I think he takes the whole evil thing too seriously." Luna said.

"See Luna gets it." You said.

Then they chose a prisoner... Or two.

They figured the quickest way for information was to ask Draco while hurting you.

And boy it almost worked

You screamed bloody murder as she carved into your arm

He had to restrained by two people as you screamed.

Even Lucius thought this was too extreme, for fucks sake you were children.

Harry finally got free though and you all left

You were crying like crazy, you couldn't catch your breath as Draco held you.

The two of you were so scared then and damn it only got worse as that final battle approached.

You told your family to run and do not fucking look back and they did

Molly hated seeing you come home that day

You looked so exhausted and you just hugged her crying.

Fred and George both hated seeing you like this.

I mean: yes you spent your past few years here in the burrow but damn it that was your family.

You finally got to that battle

You fought strong and hard the whole time

Any death eaters near you or your friends went down in seconds

Draco saw Fred in danger and saved his life.

"You just saved my life!" Fred panted.

"Anything for a friend." Draco said also out of breath.

"We're not friends Draco." Fred breathed. "Sorry I--" "We're brothers." He finished.

And damn it Draco fought even harder because the Weasleys became his family.

When Ginny and Molly were in trouble he was not having that shit.

"GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER YOU PRAT!" he said before fucking destroying her.

Molly managed to find a smile in such a tense situation.

Ginny also thought "This guys an asshole. But he's my brother so it's fine."

You and Draco fought together at one point against his parents

Oh God Draco was a wreck as he was arguing with his father.

"YOU COULD'VE BEEN WITH US! YOU COULD'VE HAD THE WORLD WHY DIDN'T YOU WANT THIS!?" Lucius screamed as he threw attacks.

"I JUST WANTED YOU TO FUCKING LOVE ME!" Draco answered, knocking Lucius on his feet.

"Go. Don't you ever show your face again!" Draco told him.

And Lucius booked it with his mother.

Then the battle reached a halt when Harry was dead.

Draco took it hard, burying his face in your shoulder as Hagrid held Harry.

Hermione and Ron both couldn't believe this was happening. This was their best friend.

You listened to Neville's big "Fuck you" to voldemort before noticing Harry's leg twitch.

You touched Draco's shoulder and Harry finally fell out of Hagrid's arms and Draco grabbed the wand and threw it to Harry

The battle was so bright it looked like the light from it was fucking melting

And then Harry won

It was over.

Everyone was cheering until their throats gave out

You hugged Draco and the Weasleys hugged you guys.

When you finally let go Draco let out a laugh.

"Y/n I have a question." He finally said.

"What is it?" You asked.

"Will you marry me?" He asked.

Everyone in your vicinity went dead silent before you said

"YES YOU IDIOT!"

Your wedding was awesome by the way

Molly made the cake

Later down the road you had kids

And you spent every holiday at the Burrow because the kids loved their grandparents

Course they also loved their uncles who gave them free stuff from their shop.

Everytime you went to King's cross you and the group would get dinner together.

You became a journalist, Draco worked at the ministry alongside Arthur

You absolutely loved the people sitting at the table.

Because damn it: This was family.

And it wasn't going anywhere.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 140

And here we have the last chapter of the Food Festival!  This is one part I was pretty excited to write - The Closing Costume Party.  I wouldn’t have been able to get this one squared away without @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog... Both of you caught a few things I didn’t that kept it from making sense from a reader perspective. So thank you both, very much.

I growled softly to myself as I twisted my arms behind my back to pull on my costume. Normally, I was more than flexible enough, but the amount of leverage I needed right now just wasn’t happening unless I was willing to seriously dislocate something. Dropping my hands, I frowned as I jiggled my arms a little to work feeling back into my elbows.

“You really should have fitted this sooner than now,” Conor laughed against the back of my head as he pulled the laces tight on the blood-red corset.  Getting one made while laying low and avoiding Hannah had been a nightmare, but it was going to be worth it. I just knew it.

“You just wanted to see me try this entire costume on sooner,” I joked as I felt everything fit snugly - but not too tightly - into place.

Maverick flicked a lock of my hair over my shoulder and positioned it just-so. “It’s not his fault that you couldn’t fit this over your scrubs and have it work for tonight.”

“Who wants to see a corset over scrubs?” I scrunched my nose at the thought while smoothing my sleeves and adjusting my collar. “So far so good?” I asked, slightly louder.

As a credit to their maturity regarding the matter, both men looked me over earnestly before glancing at each other. Conor finally broke the silence. “Aren’t the slits in the skirt a bit… high?”  Maverick whispered in his ear, and an expression of utter comprehension glowed on his face. “Oh! That’s… Love, that’s clever.”

I grinned hard enough to cramp my jaw. “Thank you.”  Despite how daring the outfit looked, there was exactly zero chance of any wardrobe malfunctions more serious than a hole in my stockings  - a near-indestructible nude bodysuit under everything made sure of that.

“Your turn, now,” Maverick insisted, eliciting a groan from Conor, who he had turned toward while brandishing eyeliner.

“Isn’t it bad enough I let the two of you do this?” He gestured at his hair, which was styled within an inch of his life and would sustain an EF4 tornado with minimal loss of glitter.

“Nope,” I popped, still smiling as I sat down to put on my boots.  Parvati and Hannah had envisioned tonight to be a sort of return-to-our-roots in a very feral, primitive way, complete with costumes. “We’ve been imagining since before we could cook,” Hannah had pointed out.  Between that and the multiple hints that I wasn’t capable of costuming myself, I had gone a bit more over the top than I had originally planned. Hence the corset, the boots, Conor’s hair… although the leather pants the guys were wearing had been decidedly Maverick’s idea and I resisted the need to fall at his feet in gratitude.

Once we were finally costumed, we managed to arrive just-fashionably late to the last hurrah of the Festival. I don’t know who gaped harder - us at the party, or the people who managed to recognize me when they saw me leading the men in. Parvati’s incredible, winding mural was noticeably weathered and patchy, giving the overall atmosphere a post-apocalyptic feel.  The only noticeable lighting came from the braziers, and deep, almost subsonic music thumped in my chest, driving my adrenaline just high enough to overwhelm my anxiety.

My nose led us over to the first stall of the night, the smell of charring meat fitting the tone. Per a previous discussion around our costumes, I did not reach for anything but instead Conor took my portion and fed it to me - his idea, this time, though Maverick had readily agreed. It was just enough to set off a few murmurs before I heard a familiar laugh cut through the air.

“Councillor Reid!” Jokul’s voice crowed, turning our heads his direction. Warmly, he clasped my hands when offered, trembling with the laughter he was trying to suppress. “This is an unexpected but pleasant surprise.”

I took a moment to take in his fur trousers and tunic, with rough metal covering vital areas. “The dirt is a nice touch,” I offered, squeezing his hands in greeting. “And Ivan! Well done, sir!”

Ivan rubbed the freshly-buzzed back of his head and grinned. “He actually already had the furs, I just made the armored parts.”

“I meant all of it,” I admonished softly, waving at his work throughout the event.

“Antique, yeah?” Conor asked, gesturing to the furs both of them were wearing.

To his credit, Jokul scoffed. “Absolutely not. Quality synthetic.”

“Don’t let Hannah find out.”

A silver brow arched high enough to impress even Tyche. “Who do you think I commissioned?”

“Clever boy.” I winked at Ivan, eliciting a grin.

In response, Ivan did a runway-twirl, his fur kilt flaring just slightly. “What do you think, Councillor? Can I pull it off?”

With the cheekiest grin my soul could ever manifest, I stared him down. “I think I am the wrong person to ask that.”  Even in the dim light, I could see Jokul’s face turn bright red.

“I smell goat,” Maverick interrupted, entirely off topic and completely unabashed.

Ivan’s nose twitched. “Oh, you’re right!” Sniff, sniff. “And it’s on a spit! Let’s find it before it’s gone!”

With that, he snagged Jokul’s wrist and dragged him less like he was an easily two-hundred pound man and more like he was a kite.  When I snickered, my former enemy leaned over and murmured “I like the chains, very nice touch.”

I shook the wrist that connected to Conor’s belt and whispered conspiratorially. “Your idea, really.  You were so convinced I was leading the entire Ark like this…”

He had the decency to snort. “Seeing it in reality, I was a complete idiot. But it’s quite poetic, and I like it.”

“Poetic?” I asked as I tried to keep pace in the six-inch heels I had elected to wear.

“Are they chaining you down, or are you leading them by their gonads? Or, perhaps, are they saving you from yourself?” He gave a very pointed look at the delicate chains going from the shackles on my wrists to the links attached just above Maverick’s and Conor’s hips.

“Saving me, definitely.” My confession was unashamed and completely sober, the result of the primal music and smells surrounding me.

“Gods agree, someone needs to.”

I didn’t have time to argue before we arrived at the source of the enticing smell - a Jamaican barbecue vendor, who had oxtails, saltfish, and…

“Grilled goat!” Ivan crowed triumphantly. As he started handing out portions from the dancing, grinning vendor, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed that the portion he tried to hand to me was intercepted by Maverick first, and then fed to me rather than feeding myself.

“Not my idea,” I managed around an insanely delicious bite. “Swear.”

“Kink tomato,” he insisted, holding up his hands.

Conor almost choked laughing. “Not our kink either, mate. Just set dressing for the Queen over here.” Taking another bite, he winked at me.

“Ah, Conor’s idea then,” Jokul nodded sagely before erupting in the closest thing to a girlish squeal I could imagine coming from him. “Miss Harper, we’ve been looking for you!”

Shit, I thought to myself. I hadn’t thought of what Charly would say when I discussed this idea with Conor and Maverick, and I was just realizing it was a monumental oversight.  Plastering a smile on my face, I turned in the direction Jokul had shouted - 

Only to be confronted with what looked like a fox with antlers, a rakish Anansi, the Queen of the Dead, a blind healer, and… a walking shrine? I wasn’t sure what exactly Arthur was dressed as, but I could clearly identify a shabby tweed suit, his sword, a tome that I hoped was faux-moldy, breastplate, shin guards, along with various tchotchkes that looked like they came from high-schoolers and were a bit too beat up to be faked.

“Arthur, what are you?” I asked. Where anyone else would find it rude, I knew my bluntness would be either appreciated or ignored entirely.

“The Ghost of Classes Past.” He swept into a near-Shakespearen bow, gesturing at the bits and bobs that adorned him. “Humans protect, and we mourn those we could not to ensure they live on in memory.” The thump of the music did not change, but his costume gave it a sepulchral tone, like a dying heartbeat.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, the antlered fox bounced familiarly before looking at the Queen of the Dead. “You did a fantastic job on their costumes! They look amazing!” Her antlers were, of course, somehow illuminated from below, but damn me if I could figure out how.

Despite the fact that I knew damned well that Tyche wanted to erupt into laughter at the suggestion, she managed to, quite impressively, tamp it down to a savage smile of silver fangs and blood-red lips. Flapping a hand at myself, Conor, and Maverick, she gave her bell-like fake-laugh, fully in character. “Oh, I had nothing to do with this. Darling Sophia and her merry toys conceived it all on their own.  This is the first time I’ve even seen it, darling.” She turned to me, tipping her chin down in respect. “Well done, dearest sister.” Tyche was on peak display, with kohl lining her glowing grey eyes, a black bodysuit covering her from  collar to feet, fitted vest and cardigan vest, all partnered with a skirt that could be ten inches thick or ten miles of ribbon - who knew with all the darting and layers? Not me, but I was surely impressed with what looked like ten miles of black feathers flowing from her waist to her hips.

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty.” I swept my leg back in a daring curtsy, forcing Conor and Maverick to smother their laughter at Jokul and Ivan’s faces.

“Ma’am! Ma’am ma’am ma’am!” Charly demanded as she pulled me upright. “You blushed at the concept of kink night, and here I find you leading your men around by their hips!”

I tossed my hair and winked at Jokul. “They aren’t being led, they are saving me from myself.” To Charly’s credit, I did look one deep breath from embarrassment - a black dress with red trim, sliced from floor to ribs and collar to navel, over what appeared to be just fishnet stockings and cavalier boots. The only thing, visibly, retaining any sort of deceny was the corset sealing me in the dress. To go with it, I sported chunky, silver cuffs chained to both Maverick and Conor. Ducking in, I whispered, “I probably will have to be cut out of this bodysuit, no worries on me flashing anyone.”

“Ooooo… well played, madam, well played,” she cheered, twirling me around, forcing both men to pivot with me, laughing, before  giving me a very concerned look. “How fucking tall are those?” This was clearly directed at my heels, which she was staring at like a shark presented with a steak.

“Six,” I admitted. “But I did pointe ballet for a little while, so… This isn’t that bad.”

Maverick ducked into the center of the circle we formed. “They’re a full size too big to allow for swelling and she has the toe boxes lined with impact foam.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to wear these things?” I asked with a glare that had him standing ramrod straight and barely restraining a laugh.

Tyche, to her credit, patted my shoulder. “While sitting.  Or, if you have to stand, with a platform in the toe.”

“No shit,” I hissed, setting the mummified healer doubling over in laughter. “But I’ve done enough damage to my feet, thank you, so… there may be foot braces involved.” One of which was currently digging in just in front of my heel, which I made a mental note to pass on to the development team.

A thick, French accent set me shaking my head when it came from the very-not-French looking mummy. “Well played, Sophia.  The sling and calf brace design I saw recently get approved by medical?”

I groaned as I realized that of course this was Antoine. Life and Death, forever partnered. “Yesssss,” I hissed. “Grey created the design.” I unzipped one boot down far enough to roll it below my knee, exposing braces above and below the kneecap before running further down. “The weight is distributed throughout the leg, before terminating across the front and back of the arch of the foot, to even out the pressure.”

I could almost see numbers whirling beneath the six-foot-plus candy-pink bowler hat. “That… sounds like it might actually be comfortable,” Coffey intoned. I couldn’t help but grin at the tilt of his hat and the feather arching behind him.

“More comfy than actual heels, yes,” I admitted before deflecting attention as far from me as possible. Which, considering how much weight was normally put on the ball of the foot in heels like this, wasn’t a lie…. “But we aren’t here for this! We’re here for food!”

Cheers erupted, and we set off dragging each other to what bits we had discovered.  The theme of the night was firmly set around protein, grilled if possible, with wicks of smoke dancing through the flickering light along with the thump of the music.  Some were spicy, others unexpectedly sweet. As I laughed, and ate, and sweated, and danced, I could freely admit that there was exactly zero percent chance that I would have imagined this in my wildest dreams. And even better? I could enjoy every second, every smell, every beat of the music. I made a point to wink at each camera I could spot, to the point that, first Tyche, and then everyone else felt the need to comically push down my thumbs-up and cover my face.

Clearly, Parvati and Hannah, who I hadn’t seen all night, were monitoring what they would later discover to be a flying pass on their final exam. 

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[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [14] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia, angst, violence. NOTE: Things are happening. lol I hope you all enjoy, I’ve got the Clemens Point chapter of the game plotted out pretty solidly rn so hopefully these will come a little easier. We’ll see. TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland​

You just knew it was a bad idea. 

Perhaps not on Sean’s part, despite what you had heard about him, as his part of the plan seemed to fall into place as he said it would. Yet, you were a wire pulled too tight, something you had been feeling more and more as the days went along in the new camp. 

Your head almost felt too cluttered, going over the memories that had managed to come back to you, feeling stuck in that camp. You really could only sleep a couple of hours each night. It wasn’t right to keep ignoring everything that was pressing down, you knew it. Could start to feel it, yet you just couldn’t shake that fear. More and more, the nights would pass with you back on that mountain. The snow in your face, that loud gunshot. Yet, there was no Arthur to pull you out of that moment when it came to feeling that cliff edge dig into your torso, arms grasping for purchase before there was nothing but air. 

A couple of times you woke up with a shallow gasp, eyes wide as you tried to take in the area around you as reality sunk in. A few nights you had to stifle a couple yells, hand pressed tight to your mouth. Recently, however, it felt like you were expecting it. The jarring shock and fear seemed to ebb out as you woke up, that tight feeling in your chest and aching in your face from clenched teeth becoming more common. You just needed a night of good sleep, yet it seemed like your mind wasn’t going to let you. 

Trying to tell you of a thing you were well aware of in the back of your mind. Yet, you had been shoving it aside, not wanting to address it and what seemed to be teetering at the edge of your recollection. 

Instead, you went robbing with Sean. 

You knew you weren’t his first choice, or anybody’s with how things had been with you recently, but he needed a distraction and you knew you could stall a stagecoach for a few moments. It seemed simple enough, or at least it should have been. 

You hadn’t been expecting one of the drivers to start picking holes in your story. Most of your statements were met with questions, a tightness to his brow that came across to you as anything but concern. He was suspicious and you hadn’t said all that much to him. If you had been bucked off your horse, you certainly didn’t look all that roughed up. It was almost as if he could see through your plan, a look in his eye as if he recognized your face.

The weight of your gun at your hip was becoming more and more apparent to you as you tried to keep a somewhat even and politely confused expression in light of the man’s suspicion. You knew you should have just signaled for Sean--this was going downhill, he needed to take his shot soon if he was still waiting for the moment. 

Yet, despite that, the driver’s actions seemed to make the final call at the moment anyway. You could feel yourself growing all the tenser as you tried to continue forward with your story. However, you saw him shifting, arm going down toward his feet for something. You knew exactly what it was he was going to pull out. The rational part of you knew you should have raised your hands and further convince him that you were just some unfortunate soul on the side of the road. Yet, your hand moved toward the holster hidden by your hip under your jacket, pulling your weapon out as you saw the butt of the gun the driver was pulling out. 

If he just intended to threaten or if he saw through your story enough to want to shoot, you weren’t too sure. However, the way his expression shifted when he saw you going for your weapon was met with a sharp change in expression, something harder and more determined as he raised his gun up quicker. You almost didn’t feel like you were in control of yourself, your arm rising and you fired off a shot. The action seemed to pull everything around you into motion. 

You weren’t a good shot, you knew that. Yet, at that distance, it was enough. You shot hit him in the chest, sending him falling back into the seat and almost into the lap of the man sitting beside him. Your mind started screaming at you that this was a mistake, you were about to get shot. However, another shot rang out over your shoulder, hitting deadlier than your previous one as the driver fell out of the stage and into the dirt. The other man almost dove for the abandoned weapon, making you raise your weapon again to fire off another shot. 

However, Sean beat you to it, hitting him as he rose up after the one you shot missed him. Finally, it seemed like the horses had enough, charging the stage forward and down the road before slowing just somewhat out of sight. 

“What happened to signalin’ me before you decide to start trouble?” Sean asked, more confused than reprimanding. 

You let out a somewhat shaky breath, shutting your eyes as you saw your father’s body hit the ground in your mind’s eye for a moment. 

“I don’t...I don’t know,” you muttered, clearing your throat, “We shouldn’t linger.” 

“You can say that again,” Sean commented, letting out a whistle to call his horse over. You followed suit, trying not to overthink the sinking feeling in your gut as you tried to process what just happened. 

Riding out toward the abandoned stagecoach, you knew this probably wouldn’t be the end of it. 

                                                            ***

You watched as he flung the rock out again into the river that surrounded the camp, the rock sinking into the water with a small splash. 

Jack had been trying to skip a stone for the last couple minutes, possibly longer. Though, you had only been invited to join him only recently. You return to camp with Sean hadn’t been all that out of the norm, not with how many people come and go from the camp, yet he couldn’t seem to just keep the events of the day to himself. It hadn’t taken too long before some people knew you had just up and shot a man in the chest. 

At least, that was what it sounded like from an outside view. 

You weren’t too sure what to make of the whole event, the moment playing out in your head throughout the day. There had been the moment where you were pretty sure you saw your father, the memory mixing oddly in with what sat fresh in your memory from that stagecoach. The way your father’s head snapped back with the impact of the bullet, the way the stagecoach driver’s body hit the ground. The way your hands struggled to grip the reins of your horse on that mountain, the gunshot ringing in your ears. 

The memories put a small shiver to your spine, making you let out a slow breath as Jack turned back toward you, a slight frown on his face. 

“I can’t do it,” he said, bringing you back to the moment. 

“Skipping stones?” you asked, clearing your throat slightly to keep the shake from your voice as the little boy nodded his head. 

“They just keep sinking,” he said, picking up more rocks as you stood from where you sat on a log near the bank to approach him a little more. 

“My dad taught me when I was little,” you said, shaking off the odd feeling upon mentioning your father with what was going on in your head. “You have to use flat rocks.” 

“Flat rocks?” Jack repeated, to which you nodded. 

“Yeah…” you said, bending down to pull one out the dirt, brushing it off somewhat, “You have to throw them a certain way, almost across your body. Like this.” 

Once you had risen to your feet, you turned your body slightly and flung the little rock out toward the water. To your relief, it bounced along the surface a few times before dropping down into the water. It wasn’t hard to hide the small grin that threatened to cross your face at Jack’s child-like wonder at the action before he immediately started digging around for another rock. You stood there with him for a few more minutes as he continued to toss rocks into the water, still not able to skip them but he seemed more determined with your little instruction. 

However, when he was looking around for yet another rock, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. A familiar figure was making his way quickly toward you, only pausing when it seemed like he noticed you weren’t alone as Jack pulled another rock from the sand. Though, it didn’t take long for the boy to notice him standing there, too. 

“Heya, Uncle Arthur!” he greeted as Arthur stepped further into the area, “She’s teaching me how to skip rocks!” 

“That’s great, kid,” he replied, the tension to his voice wasn’t lost on you, “I’m thinkin’ your mama’s been askin’ for you, though.” 

“Oh, okay,” Jack said, somewhat deflated before he turned toward you, holding the rock out toward you, “Here. Can we do this another time?” 

“Sure,” you said with a small nod and grin, taking the rock from him as Jack turned to rush back toward camp. 

You watched him slip passed Arthur, the man watching him go for a moment before he was stepping down toward where you were standing near the water. The tension and frustration in his body language were as clear as day, pulling a small sigh out of you as you turned back out toward the water to toss the rock back in. 

“The hell’s gotten into you?” Arthur demanded, the sharpness in his tone surprising you somewhat. 

“What are you talking about?”

You had an idea. If the events earlier that day weren’t clear enough, you knew you had been tense and distant with him recently in light of everything going on in your head. Though, with Arthur being out most of the time doing business for the gang, you thought it wouldn’t have been that noticeable, and yet…

“You goin’ out on a job with Sean?” he continued, his tone tight, “Lost your head and shot a man for no reason near town, the way he’s been tellin’ it. With what Dutch has been tryin’ to do in Rhodes, last thing we need is that.” 

“Sean’s got the story wrong,” you stated, “I was defending myself--and like you can talk. Last time you headed into town with Sadie, that ended up some firefight.” 

“That’s different,” Arthur returned, causing you to let out a small scoff. 

“Is it? You and Sadie were defending yourselves. I saw the driver reaching for his weapon, saw the butt of his rifle. I just…” 

You let out a sigh, your words trailing off. What you had done, you knew you had your justifications and yet it didn’t feel like you were sure. However, Arthur seemed to step back from his confrontation somewhat, his body language relaxing slightly as he shook his head. 

“Ever since that trip we took, feels like things changed. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Shit. You had to fight the urge to shut your eyes, your gut twisting as you pressed your lips together. There had been a lot you were avoiding thinking about, much less talking. Yet, you knew you had to let him know what was going on. 

“It wasn’t the trip,” you said around a sigh, “It’s...it’s just Micah.” 

“He say somethin’?” Arthur asked, the shift in his expression almost immediate. 

You knew he was waiting for something to go after him with regarding what happened to you, and with what you remembered of the event, there just might be something. Yet, you didn’t trust your memory at the moment, not with how...incomplete that memory was. How messy your head was getting, along with trying to navigate your current and past feelings toward Arthur. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head slightly, “He hasn’t said anything to me, and I’ve been avoiding him. I just…” 

You could feel a tightness in your chest building as the words sat at the edge of your tongue. There was a part of you that had just wanted to tell someone what was going on but couldn’t, and yet…

“I feel like I’m losing control of myself, Arthur. I don’t know,” you admitted, crossing an arm over your midsection, pressing your free hand over your mouth for a few moments as if trying to hold back the words. Still, you let it drop after a few moments. “I’m remembering things. I keep...reliving that moment on the mountain over and over in my sleep. I keep hearing that gunshot and I just wonder if...I don’t even know. I can’t focus, I can’t sleep. I shouldn’t have gone on that job today, I know. I don’t want to fight with you, Arthur, I...” 

“I’m…” Arthur started, moving all the closer to you as you tried to swallow against the tightness in your throat. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I had no idea that was happenin’.” 

“...I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you admitted. 

Despite your best efforts in holding it back, a short sob escaped you before you pressed a hand over your mouth. Yet, you could feel the shaking in your shoulders, the sting of tears in your eyes. 

As much as you understood that Arthur wasn’t the most comforting of people, you were somewhat relieved to see him step forward with a small sigh and shake of his head. Arthur’s hands were warm against your shoulders as he placed them there, causing you to meet his gaze. 

“No, you ain’t,” he said, rubbing your shoulders somewhat, “I don’t...I don’t rightly know what’s happenin’ with you, but--Christ, you ain’t had an easy time. I forget that sometimes.” 

Despite him keeping you somewhat at arm’s distance, you found yourself stepping forward to slip your arms around him and pressed yourself against his chest. Arthur was a little slow to respond, but you felt him wrap an arm around your back, his hand coming up to rest against the back of your head and he threaded his fingers through your hair somewhat. You could feel him release a breath at the action, causing you to take in a slow one in return. Smoke, cigarettes, and horse lingered in your nose for a few moments. 

“...You thinkin’ Micah did somethin’?” he asked, making you shut your eyes and release the breath you were holding. 

“I don’t know,” you replied into his chest, “I just know my mind’s trying to tell me something, but I...I can’t make sense of it.” 

Arthur let out a small sound from his chest, letting that linger as you took some comfort in his arms. You could remember the last time you had wrapped your arms around him back when you had visited the Downes’ ranch. This time felt more natural, you supposed. This whole thing with him was starting to. You knew in light of everything that you were still trying to settle on your feelings for him, trying to reconcile them with how you remembered feeling about him in what you could remember. 

“I appreciate everything you have done for me, Arthur,” you muttered, gripping at the back of his shirt for a moment before you released it to pull back somewhat. 

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied after a pause, pulling back somewhat to look at you, “Couldn’t just...toss you aside after everythin’. Not after I…” 

You knew what that unfinished sentence was. You knew he blamed himself in part for what happened, or wholly sometimes. The knowledge of that had you reaching up to rest on his shoulder at the moment, your other still resting somewhat against his side. Neither of you had fully stepped away from the embrace, you could still feel one of his hands resting against part of your back as you shook your head. 

“You know that I never blamed you for all of this, right?” you asked, Arthur dropping his gaze for a moment before he nodded lightly, letting out a sigh through his nose. 

“...I know,” he replied, glancing back up toward him as you met his gaze. 

“You’re one of the few people here who make me feel safe here, Arthur,” you admitted, catching the look on his face that may have suggested that he would disagree. “Wanted.” 

You hadn’t entirely meant to admit the last part, but you knew it to be true. Though, that admission seemed to pull a silence from Arthur, your gaze still on his face as there seemed to be a momentary conflict in him. Yet, his gaze seemed to soften slightly, your heart picking up in pace somewhat as his eyes seemed to move about your face. There was a guarded part of you that had been present since you found them all in that frozen town in the mountains, and at the moment it was telling you that you should shy away from the warmth of his hand against your face. 

Yet, you allowed it, even as he leaned in to press his mouth against yours. 

Arthur’s lips were somewhat dry, yet the action put a flutter in your chest. His stubble prickled somewhat against the skin of your cheeks as you found yourself pressing back into the kiss somewhat, the feeling pulling a small pang of familiarity. You knew that moment during Sean’s party at Horseshoe wasn’t just your imagination running off with a bit of memory that surfaced, now. Yet, the realization seemed to pull something to the forefront of your mind, putting a twist to your gut. Reality seemed to sink in as you stood there, kissing him in a place where anybody could walk over and see. 

Your hand shifted up to push back against his shoulder, breaking away from the kiss as that guarded part of you started to throw up a bit of a wall. Arthur let you pull away, some confusion settling into his expression as you pressed a hand against your mouth before glancing out toward the water for a moment. 

“I shouldn’t--I wish you hadn’t done that--I...damn it,” you said after a moment, not able to control the waver in your voice. 

“Darlin’...” he started, stepping toward you but you ended up shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you continued, “On top of everything I’m trying to sort through, I…” 

You trailed off, catching the shift in his expression as the softness and confusion fell away. Arthur pressed his lips together, lowering his head to where his hat hid his eyes. The sight pulled at your heart somewhat--you knew you weren’t handling this well at all, yet you just…

“I just need some time alone,” you said, voice small.

Arthur didn’t reply, but you ended up turning and walking away anyway. You let out a breath as you did so, feeling that tightness in your chest. 

You messed up, a voice in the back of your head told you, twice in one day. 

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Tomorrow I’m posting a hidden moment about what happens once the kids are at school and two former marauders are left alone. Stay tuned! -Danny

Words: 4,225 

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Listen to: ‘Better Off’ -by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

Chapter Six: Hidden Nightmares.

"Prefect, eh?" growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swivelling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away toward Sirius and Lupin.

"Well, congratulations," said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, "authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn't have appointed you..."

Mel took her friend away from Moody in case he decided to continue trying to scare him to death.

"I was never a prefect myself," said Tonks as she walked past them. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny.

"Like the ability to behave myself."

"Same reason why Mel didn't get a badge," Emily walked past her daughter. "I hope this works as a lesson..."

"Sure does, now I know I'm doing something right," Mel smirked.

"What about you, Sirius?" Ginny asked.

"No one would have made me a prefect! I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge."

"I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends," said Lupin. "I need scarcely say that I failed dismally."

"What about my dad?"

"Matthew was a brilliant student but Dumbledore knew that giving him the badge would've been like given us green light to go around doing whatever we pleased," Sirius grinned.

"Again, same the reason why Dumbledore didn't give you a badge," Lupin smiled.

"You really think I would let my friends do mischief without any consequences?" Mel feigned indignation.

"Yes," The three adults replied.

"Well, I think I'll sort out that boggart before I turn in... Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right? 'Night, dears."

Mel walked into Harry just as he was getting up and she stumbled backwards.

"Sorry," He said quickly.

"It's fine..."

"You all right?" Moody asked them.

"Yeah, fine."

"Lovely dinner," Mel smiled tensely.

"Come here, I've got something that might interest you," He told them.

From an inner pocket of his robes Moody pulled a very tattered old Wizarding photograph.

"Original Order of the Phoenix," growled Moody. "Found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... Thought people might like to see it."

Harry took the photograph and Mel leaned closer to take a look.

"There's me," said Moody. "And there's Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side... That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family. That's Frank and Alice Longbottom — Poor devils, better dead than what happened to them... and that's Emmeline Vance, you've met her, and that there's Lupin, obviously... Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him... shift aside there–

That's Edgar Bones... brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family too, he was a great wizard... Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young... Caradoc Dearborn vanished six months after this, we never found his body... Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same as ever... Elphias Doge, you've met him, I'd forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat... Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like heroes... budge along, budge along... That's Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke..."

It was the first time she'd ever seen of her grandfather. He looked a lot like Dumbledore, but he lacked the warm gaze and the fancy robes. He had the same hair colour as her though, and there was a similarity between his nose and her dad's.

"That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally... Sirius, when he still had short hair... and... there you go, thought that would interest you! Eh?"

Five people were staring up at them: Petter Pettigrew, Lily and James Potter, and her own parents.

"That's great," She tried to sound enthusiastic. "Look at that..."

"Yeah," Harry's voice sounded heavy. "Er... listen, I've just remembered, I haven't packed my..."

"What's that you've got there, Mad-Eye?" Sirius asked loudly from the table.

Harry left so quickly she almost thought he'd disapparated, she understood though, that picture was full of ghosts, and for some reason, she felt kind of responsible for them– maybe Harry felt that way too, after all, it was him Voldemort was after...

The adults surrounded the table and stared at the picture, there were tons of quiet exclamations and nostalgic chuckles as they examined it, but what made her leave the room was the way she knew her mother and Sirius had finally found their friends' faces staring up at them, she could see something dark and heavy falling on their features.

Mel didn't feel like sticking around to hear stories about when they were all young and alive, when Peter was still Peter and not the traitor that had gotten his friends killed. It was stupid to remember something they couldn't have back.

She was in the main hall when she heard someone crying.

"No! No... riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS !"

Mel ran up the stairs and found Harry looking at Mrs Weasley... She was sobbing above a second Harry, only that this one was dead.

'Boggart', Mel thought.

"Harry, we need to get help–"

"Mrs Weasley, just get out of here!" Harry's eyes fixed on the vision of his own body. "Let someone else —"

"What's going on?" Lupin rushed in followed by Sirius and Emily. Moody was right behind them."Riddikulus!"

Mrs Weasley wept harder.

"Molly– Molly, don't... Molly, it was just a boggart," Lupin patted her head gently. "Just a stupid boggart..."

"I see them d-d-dead all the time! All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it..."

She had been dreaming the same thing that summer– hell, her boggart had been the same thing years before that! Seeing it again that night caught her off guard. A thousand different images of Harry trapped in the cemetery came to her, the pain she'd felt that night, the memory of Cedric's body laying on the grass...

She tried to get out of the room as fast as possible.

"D-d-don't tell Arthur– I d-d-don't want him to know... Being silly... Harry, I'm so sorry, what must you think of me? Not even able to get rid of a boggart..."

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, sounding impressively calm.

"I'm just s-s-so worried– Half the f-f-family's in the Order, it'll b-b-be a miracle if we all come through this... and P-P-Percy's not talking to us... What if something d-d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what's going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who's g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?"

"Molly, that's enough," said Lupin. "This isn't like last time. The Order is better prepared, we've got a head start, we know what Voldemort's up to — Oh, Molly, come on, it's about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can't promise no one's going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we're much better off than we were last time, you weren't in the Order then, you don't understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one..."

"Don't worry about Percy," said Sirius. "He'll come round. It's a matter of time before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry's going to be begging us to forgive them. And I'm not sure I'll be accepting their apology..."

"And as for who's going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died," Lupin looked up to Emily and smiled a bit, "what do you think we'd do, let them starve?"

"Certainly not!" Emily kneeled beside her, hugging her by the shoulders. "Not after all you've done for us! After seeing how much you care about Harry! You're one of the best friends I've had in a long time, I would never abandon your children..."

Harry turned and locked eyes with Mel. He had a distraught expression on his face as he watched her cover her mouth, struggling to breathe.

One time when she was six, Mel had to be taken to the nurse because some kids cornered her in the playground and she lost it; a teacher carried her out. When her mother arrived they told her Mel had suffered a panic attack.

A panic attack wasn't exactly a good omen nor the best way to spend her last night before going back to school, but she had no control over it.

"Deep breaths, Mel..." Harry muttered, quickly making his way towards her. "It's okay–"

The boy tried to touch her and that stirred her into action. Mel slapped his hand out of the way and ran out before someone could stop her. She ran up all the way to Buckbeak's layer and she locked herself there until her crying stopped.

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!" Mrs Weasley yelled.

Mel let out a pained groan, her head was pounding after last night and all she wanted was to get to the train so she could take a nap. Mrs Black's portrait was howling, but no one tried to close the curtains since the house was loud with voices coming from every floor, all gathering their stuff before leaving.

"I'm dying," The girl leaned on her mother's shoulder. The woman ran her fingers through her hair tenderly.

"You had a rough night. Been years since you had one of those..."

"It was the stupid boggart," She muttered. "I'm okay now. I'll see Erick, so that's kind of cool..."

"You and Harry haven't talked, then?"

"Mum..."

"I'm not trying to force you–"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!"

A dog ran into the hall, looking rather lively.

"Oh honestly... well, on your own head be it!"

Mrs Weasley, Emily, Mel, Harry and Sirius all left the house together.

"Where's Tonks?" Harry asked.

"She's waiting for us just up here," said Mrs Weasley.

"Wotcher, guys," Tonks -disguised as an old woman- winked at them. "Better hurry up, hadn't we?"

"I know, I know... but Mad-Eye wanted to wait for Sturgis... If only Arthur could have got us cars from the Ministry again... but Fudge wouldn't let him borrow so much as an empty ink bottle these days... How Muggles can stand travelling without magic..."

Sirius was having the time of his life though, running around chasing pigeons and barking loudly. Mel and Harry laughed at his antics, Emily rolled her eyes and mumbled something about him being a child.

As they walked through the streets watching Sirius chase cats and go crazy with the poor birds, she felt Harry glancing at her from time to time. Mel knew he only wanted to help, and perhaps he was a little hurt about the way she'd reacted last night. However, she was far from even acknowledging that she'd cried in front of so many people.

"I felt it, you know?" Harry said when no one was paying attention. "Your panic attack..."

"I figured," Mel said numbly. "It's the lifeline... doesn't matter, I have it under control."

"I could've helped," He insisted. "When we were little–"

"We're not little anymore," She replied sternly. "You handle your stuff, I handle mine. That's what we agreed on."

Harry's jaw clenched, he didn't speak after that.

It felt like a type of rebirth when she crossed the platform and found herself in front of the scarlet train.

"I hope the others make it in time," said Mrs Weasley.

"Nice dog, guys!" called Lee Jordan.

"Thanks, Lee," said Harry.

Sirius made a show of himself, acting as the perfect puppy.

"Mel, come here for a moment," Emily drew her away from the group, looking anxious.

"What is it?"

"I didn't say anything until now because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable during your stay but... oh, well..."

She noticed how her mother glanced at Sirius, who was rolling around at Harry's feet.

"Mum... Are you and Sirius... a thing?"

Her mother hesitated.

"I know you've noticed how... I mean, we've... we're not exactly together."

"Oh," She frowned. "Why not?"

"What?"

"If you want to be a couple, then be one."

"I... you... you're not upset?"

Mel gave her a small smile. "You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy. If being with Sirius gives you that, I have nothing against it. He's a good man– bit stubborn, but he treats you well, right?"

"He was always a good friend..."

"I hope all goes well, then."

The woman stared as if she'd mistaken Mel for someone else.

"You have more of Matthew than you could ever have of me, you know?" Emily beamed. "I'm thankful for that."

"Sirius would be an idiot if he rejects you, to be honest."

Her mother laughed.

"Don't get your hopes up about this, though..."

"I trust you," Mel brushed it off, hugging her one last time before going back to the group.

Five minutes later Lupin was wishing her a safe journey. Mel held onto him tightly, his scent filling her lungs.

"I'm going to miss you lots," She mumbled against his chest.

"You'll see me soon," Lupin rubbed her back. "Now, just because you weren't made a prefect doesn't mean you're allowed to misbehave. Make us proud."

Sirius ran up to her and crashed against her legs, she kneeled and hugged him as well.

"I'll miss you too, Snuffles... look after my mother while I'm gone, okay?"

He barked, snuggling his face closer to hers.

"Well, look after yourselves," Lupin told the rest of the teenagers. "You too, Harry. Be careful."

"Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled," said Moody. "And don't forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don't put it in a letter at all."

"It's been great meeting all of you," said Tonks. "We'll see you soon, I expect."

"Quick, quick," said Mrs Weasley as the whistle blew a second time. "Write... Be good... If you've forgotten anything we'll send it on... Onto the train, now, hurry..."

For one brief moment, the great black dog reared onto its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry's shoulders, but Mrs Weasley shoved Harry away toward the train door hissing, "For heaven's sake act more like a dog, Sirius!"

"See you!" Harry yelled from the door.

The black dog chased the train barking madly until they turned, then he vanished.

"He shouldn't have come with us," Hermione murmured.

"Oh lighten up, he hasn't seen daylight for months, poor bloke," Ron shook his head.

"Well, can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. Are you coming with us, Lady?" Fred asked.

"Maybe later," She shrugged.

"All right, see you later!"

"Shall we go and find a compartment, then?" Harry asked.

"Er..."

"We're — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage," Hermione said awkwardly.

Suddenly Mel felt really bad about not going with Fred and George.

"Oh," Harry tensed next to her. "Right. Fine."

"I don't think we'll have to stay there all journey," said the girl. "Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time."

"Fine– Well, we... might see you later, then."

"Yeah, definitely. It's a pain having to go down there, I'd rather — but we have to — I mean, I'm not enjoying it, I'm not Percy."

"I know you're not," said Harry.

"I'll tell Erick you say hi, Mel," Hermione offered, thinking that would ease her mind.

"Brilliant," She said without much excitement.

"Come on," Ginny spoke, Mel felt immense relief as she turned to look at the girl, "if we get a move on we'll be able to save them places."

"Right," said Harry, and he looked as pleased as her.

After a while of silent walking, they ran into Neville, which was even better, more people to talk to.

"Hi, guys– Hi, Ginny... Everywhere's full... I can't find a seat..."

"What are you talking about?" said Ginny. "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here —"

"I don't want to disturb anyone..."

"Don't be silly," Ginny chuckled. "She's all right."

They all followed her inside.

"Hi, Luna! Is it okay if we take these seats?"

The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty-blond hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, or that she had chosen to wear a necklace of butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. She nodded.

"Thanks," said Ginny.

In the middle of all the movement of putting away trunks and pets, Mel and Harry somehow found themselves seated together. The girl thought it'd look suspicious if she were to move now, it would confirm that she was actively avoiding him.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter."

"I know I am," said Harry, frowning slightly.

Her eyes then moved to the next person, which happened to be her.

"You're a Dumbledore."

"Yeah, people keep saying that," Mel said.

Luna moved to Neville. "And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody," He said.

"No you're not," said Ginny. "Neville Longbottom — Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," sang Luna.

"Guess what I got for my birthday?" Neville asked them.

"Another Remembrall?" Harry teased.

"No– I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago... No, look at this... Mimbulus mimbletonia."

"Sick!" Mel beamed. "Er- in a good way..."

"It's really, really rare," said Neville excitedly. "I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My great-uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

"If you do manage, I'd love to have one," Mel eyed the plant with interest.

Harry did a strange noise next to her and she stared back, daring him to speak.

"Does it — er — do anything?" He asked, glancing nervously at her.

"Loads of stuff! It's got an amazing defensive mechanism — hold Trevor for me..."

Neville put the toad on Harry's hands. Luna was staring again.

Neville held the Mimbulus mimbletonia up to his eyes, his tongue between his teeth, chose his spot and gave the plant a sharp prod with the tip of his quill.

Liquid squirted from every boil on the plant, thick, stinking, dark-green jets of it; they hit the ceiling, the windows, and spattered Luna Lovegood's magazine. Ginny, who had flung her arms up in front of her face just in time, merely looked as though she was wearing a slimy green hat, but Harry, whose hands had been busy preventing the escape of Trevor, received a face full. It smelled like rancid manure.

Neville, whose face and torso were also drenched, shook his head to get the worst out of his eyes.

"S-sorry," he gasped. "I haven't tried that before... Didn't realize it would be quite so... Don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added nervously, as Harry spat a mouthful onto the floor.

Mel cackled, cleaning her face without an ounce of grumpiness.

"That was amazing!"

The door of their compartment slid open abruptly.

"Oh... hello, Harry. Um... bad time?" Cho stared at the lot with an anxious expression.

"Oh... hi," Harry quickly tried to clean his face.

"It's a terrible time," Mel said brightly, "We stink."

"Um... well... just thought I'd say hello... 'bye then."

Cho Chang was blushing when she closed the door. She heard Harry groan and fall back on his seat.

"Never mind," said Ginny. "Look, we can get rid of all this easily. Scourgify!"

"Sorry," said Neville timidly.

"Don't be, that was really interesting to watch," Mel smiled.

Neville blushed at her comment.

"I'm starving," Ron walked in, Mel quickly made room between her and Harry, which he took without even noticing.

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each House," said Hermione. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" said Ron.

"Malfoy," replied Harry.

" 'Course," Ron made a face.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," said Hermione to Mel. "How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll..."

"Cheating of course," Mel shrugged.

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said Ron.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said Hermione. "Oh! Erick seemed fine, Mel– couldn't talk to him because of Malfoy, of course..."

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," Ron explained, "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something..."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!"

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all."

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

"For heaven's sake, Ron —"

"He's not being unfair, is he?" Mel defended him. "If anyone deserves detention, that's them..."

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," Ron then pretended to be the Slytherin. "I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's... backside..."

Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna Lovegood. She let out a scream of mirth that caused Hedwig to wake up and flap her wings indignantly and Crookshanks to leap up into the luggage rack, hissing. She laughed so hard that her magazine slipped out of her grasp, slid down her legs, and onto the floor.

"That was funny!"

Her prominent eyes swam with tears as she gasped for breath, staring at Ron. Utterly nonplussed, he looked around at the others, who were now laughing at the expression on Ron's face and at the ludicrously prolonged laughter of Luna Lovegood, who was rocking backward and forward, clutching her sides.

"Are you taking the mickey?"

"Baboon's... backside!"

"Hey, Lovegood," Mel grinned. "We're going to be great friends..."

"Can I have a look at this?" Harry asked Luna. He was staring at the magazine she'd dropped. "Mel, have a look at this, will you?"

He was showing her an article over Ron's shoulder.

SIRIUS - Black As He's Painted?

Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?

For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever questioned that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the dementors.

BUT DOES HE?

"What is this?" Mel asked, her voice slightly shaking with contained laughter.

"Hang on," Harry said distractedly. "This one's about Fudge.."

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, denied that he had any plans to take over the running of the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts, when he was elected Minister of Magic five years ago. Fudge has always insisted that he wants nothing more than to "cooperate peacefully" with the guardians of our gold.

BUT DOES HE?

Sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge's dearest ambition is to seize control of the goblin gold supplies and that he will not hesitate to use force if need be.

"It wouldn't be the first time, either," said a Ministry insider. "Cornelius 'Goblin-Crusher' Fudge, that's what his friends call him..."

"Anything good in there?" asked Ron.

"Of course not," said Hermione. "The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that."

"Excuse me," said Luna. "My father's the editor."

Mel had to bit her lip to not make a sound.

"I — oh. Well... it's got some interesting... I mean, it's quite..."

"I'll have it back, thank you," Luna took back the magazine and buried her face behind it.

The door to the compartment opened again.

"What?" Harry snapped at Malfoy.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention... You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah, but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

The group laughed. Mel felt something crawling up her chest, ready to pounce.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione.

"I seem to have touched a nerve... Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Hermione sharply.

Mel's heart skipped a beat.

Dogging.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​

[weasleydream]

A story of love, pain and shitty parents - part 4

The fourth part is finally here, I’m sorry it’s been so long!

To be honest, I’m really disappointed with this chapter, I feel like I haven’t been able to write down what I really wanted to transmit. It was a really important part for me and no matter how bad I think it is, I won’t be able to do better, I’ve made it too personal for that sooo I still hope it’s okay!

As usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist 

The first of September was near and it looked like all the students had begged their parents for one last trip at what had become their favourite place in the world. To be fair, Weasley Wizard Wheezes was a beautiful shop, and it looked even more alive now that most of the other shops in Diagon Alley had disappeared. 

“I don’t understand why your name isn’t on the storefront.” Mrs Hoggs, an old lady who couldn’t refuse her grandson any visit here, was looking for a few Sickles in her bag. “I mean, you’ve helped with this shop, right? You should have your part of recognition, that’s all I’m saying.” she added without letting me a second to reply. 

Her eyes fell on the picture that was hanging on the wall right behind me. It had been taken on the inauguration of the shop, and I was squeezed between Fred and George in front of the dream of a life. If Mrs Hoggs was particularly obsessed by the fact that I “didn’t have enough recognition”, she wasn’t the only one wondering why I seemed to be “left on the sidelines”. That was so annoying that even her grandson sighed. 

“Aren’t you bothered? If you want my opinion…” Mrs Hoggs kept babbling. She was so passionate by her one-sided debate that I exchanged an exasperated look with her grandson. “Oh, Mr Weasley!” she suddenly exclaimed at the very moment Fred’s arm wrapped around me. “I was talking about-”

“I know, Mrs Hoggs, I’ve heard that same speech a few times already.”

Fred smiled kindly, and I once more wondered how he would stay so calm in all circumstances. 

“And we don’t need to change the shop’s name for the very good reason that one day, Y/N will be a Weasley too.” 

Fred left with a broad smile on his lips, leaving me alone with a flabbergasted Mrs Hoggs and my shaky legs. Suddenly, my heart was beating harder than ever and I could have sworn my cheeks had never been that red. 

“Can I have my pygmy puff now?”

_ _ _ 

I found Fred lying on the couch, his eyes closed and an arm thrown on his face. Thinking he was sleeping, I silently grabbed the brush I had left on the table and detangled my hair, which were still wet from the hot shower I had just taken. I headed to Fred with the intention to wake him up, but his steady breath and his peaceful attitude made me stop. It was more and more rare that Fred was calm, and no matter how hard they tried to hide it, I knew that both he and his twin were worried sick. About the war, obviously, but I was willing to bet that they were also scared for me. Without realizing it, I had sat just in front of him and modeled my breathing after his. 

“Are you going to watch me like this for long?” Even though his voice was quiet, I jumped and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Hey, love, come here.”

Fred opened his arms and I curled up against him like a cat. He embraced me and pulled me against his torso as hard as he could without hurting me, and at the moment I wanted nothing but being closer to him. But instead, I murmured in his ear, scared my voice would either show how overwhelmed I was or how desperate. 

“Did you mean it? What you said at the shop, did you really mean it?”

Fred shivered, and a part of my brain realized it was the effect of my voice. 

“Of course I meant it. I love you Y/N, and I think Y/N Weasley sounds more than good.”

I wanted to say so many things, that I loved him too, more than anything else in this world or every other world, that I wanted to be his for the rest of my life, I wanted to find a good joke to avoid expressing my deepest feelings, but I found myself unable to do that. Instead, I smiled, broadly, and I kissed him. 

“Fred, Y/N, are you- Merlin, not again!”

Fred groaned and let go of me, and I got up to face George’s amused look. 

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to find an apartment of your own? I mean, as much as I tolerate you, always walking in on you snogging is getting annoying.”

George was smirking, but in fact, the three of us knew what the situation was. The war was imminent, the terror had taken an important place in our lives and the only future we could see was uncertainty. No matter what he would say, George didn’t want to let us go, nor did Fred and I want to leave. That’s also why talking about a wedding was so strange for me. For all that we knew, we could be all dead within the next month. 

“Is there a reason why you interrupted us?” suddenly asked Fred to break the uncomfortable silence. 

“Actually, yes. Mum is going to kill us if we aren’t at the Burrow in an hour. You know how obsessed she’s been with Harry’s birthday.”

_ _ _ 

Once again, everything happened without me understanding anything. One second, Bill and Fleur’s guests were dancing and laughing, and for the first time in what felt like years I was genuinely smiling and enjoying a dance with Fred, and the second after everything was chaos and everyone was screaming. I didn’t know where George was, and I didn’t have any other choice than to assume he was alright. Fred jumped aside when a green flash of light flew toward him, grabbing my waist before falling on the ground. 

“Leave!” he screamed, gesturing toward the Burrow. 

I shook my head and pushed him out of another flash of light’s way. 

“Y/N, please, I need you to leave!”

To be honest, I didn’t know why I did it. Maybe it was something in Fred’s eyes; this pure terror that made them look almost black, or maybe it was because of the crack of his voice as he was begging me to leave. Maybe it was something else, an instinct that was murmuring that I had something else to do. I didn’t know, but I eventually nodded and gave my back to Fred. By now, a lot of guests had disappeared and I found a way to leave the tent quite easily - without paying attention to the Death Eaters trying to kill everyone, of course. 

And suddenly, I understood. I understood why something had made me leave Fred alone in the danger, I understood why my instinct prevented me from apparating away from the carnage. 

First, it took the form of a reflect, light and almost insignificant, a little golden spot in the darkness. I fixed it, and slowly, the shape of a person appeared. The silhouette was darker than black, and I knew the man’s soul was ten times worse. 

I had thought my hatred would get over my self control. I had spent so much time hating him, promising myself the most terrible of revenges, I had sworn he would die because of what he had done to Fred, and I had imagined this moment a thousand times. But I hadn’t imagined I would walk calmly toward him, toward the man who had tortured me and killed the first person who had ever loved me. I could have never imagined it, yet I was walking toward my father, almost a year and a half after the last time I had been in his presence. 

“I’m surprised.” he spoke up, and I shivered. Too many memories were flooding in my mind, things I had tried so hard to forget. “I thought you would have tried to kill me.”

The acid line I wanted to throw at his face stayed blocked in my throat, and all of sudden I found myself on the verge of crying. I didn’t know why, but I was feeling like I was a little girl again, trying to hold back her tears as her father was walking slowly toward her, a glass of whisky in one hand and a cane in the other. My eyes fell on what had produced the golden light, and I gasped when my necklace shone. Slowly, I lifted my hand, reproducing a gesture I had done a thousand times, except that this time my fingers found nothing.

“I wanted to talk to you.” he said, his voice calm as if he had never done anything to me. As if he had never tortured me. “I wanted to explain.”

He took a step forward and I took three backwards. My breathing was shaky, along with my legs and the rest of my body. For a few seconds, all I could see was the light hitting me, the chimney masked by a veil of tears, Mary bathed in a green light, and then my father’s figure, more terrifying than ever, and too close for my own good. 

“I want to explain why I will destroy everything you ever cared for.”

A hundred of Cruciatus curses would have been less painful than imagining him killing Fred, George, Molly, Arthur and all of those I had ever loved. My hands were shaking and only now did I notice I didn’t have my wand. 

He took a step, and I found myself unable to move. 

“I want you to know why I’ll make you suffer like I suffered.”

Everything else seemed to have disappeared. There was only him in front of me, and the weight of the promise he was making, a weight so heavy that I was suffocating and weakening more and more. 

“You killed the love of my life. I will kill you for that.”

He took another step, and my knees gave up on me. I fell on the ground and cowered, my eyes closed and the sound of my sobs hiding the other sounds. I didn’t see him, but I felt him kneeling in front of me. I desperately tried to regain control, I tried to remember Fred’s blood, Mary’s body, my own pain, but my brain was dizzy and I was unable to move. 

“But  won’t kill you now.” he whispered in my ear. “It would be too easy, don’t you think? I want you to be scared. I want you to wonder when I’ll come back for you. I want you to stop living, I want you to be scared of dying.” 

And, still unable to move, still paralyzed by his hold on me, I bit my lips to stop a scream when his fingers touched my skin, putting the necklace back around my neck. 

“You look like her.” he declared with a quiet voice, the one that had always scared me the most. “You look like your mother.”

“Don’t talk about her.”

It was the first thing I managed to say, the words escaping my mouth despite the lump in my throat. As soon as they echoed in the night, I looked down and tensed, subconsciously waiting for a punishment. It was an old habit, and I doubted I would ever be able to get rid of it. 

“You killed her.” I added, feeling barely braver when he said nothing. 

He laughed with a terrible laugh, maniacal and without an ounce of joy. Only pure insanity. 

“No, you killed her. The Dark Mark killed her. Mary killed her. But me? I just loved her. And you killed her. We were perfect together, and you came between us. You got rid of her, I get rid of you. This is a good deal.”

It felt like I was another person when I noticed I was shaking. I could imagine the way my lips were trembling, the way my hands were hidden in the folds of my dress, and the way my eyes were full of tears. 

“I don’t understand…” I cried out, unable to do anything else than to express how broken I was and to despise myself for being so pathetic. “Mary- Mary was her friend and- you were the one who forbade her… I don’t understand… Please leave me alone, I don’t want to-”

“Oh no! No no no no no!” my father gave his back to me, taking a few steps forwards before turning again and throwing his arms to the sky. “Mary never listened to me! She never listened! She hated your mother, she let her die!” and he laughed, a laughter without life or joy, only insanity. His mouth was twisted in a strange way as if he was going to cry at the same time. “Mary killed her, the Dark Mark killed her, and you killed her.” 

Suddenly, he was dead serious again, the only sign showing any disturbance being the compulsive clenching of his fists. I almost crawled backwards, my eyes never leaving the hand that was holding his wand. 

“Looks like the fun is over. See you soon, Y/N.”

And he disappeared, leaving me alone and shaking on the grass, his silhouette burned in my retina for what I believed was forever. Only now did I realize how hard my heart was beating. It was pounding against my ribcage like a desperate animal trying to escape. I would have done anything to escape too, because my whole body seemed to have become a jail which role was to keep me ready for whenever my father would show up. 

Around me, everything was silent. Too silent, like the calm after the storm. As my brain was getting less clouded, I remembered what had happened before the moment I had ended up in front of my father. For a second, I wondered why the Death Eaters were so silent, then I understood they were gone. I only reacted when voices screamed my name. 

“Y/N!”

“Y/N, where are you?”

I walked away, an unpleasant impression of being watched making me shiver. When I reached the first silhouette I had seen, the whole discussion with my father had begun to sink in me, and thousands of questions were invading my head. 

“Y/N?”

George took a few steps toward me, approaching slowly and talking with a small voice, as if he was in front of a wounded animal. Maybe he wasn’t wrong, maybe I was really a wounded animal, fragile and desperate to defend herself until her death which was obviously close. 

Thinking about my death made something crack in me; a wall I had struggled to build and that was supposed to protect me. When the wall completely broke, it stopped containing everything I had kept hidden for years. Every pain, every tear, every scream, it all came back to me with such a vigour that I fell back on my knees and I screamed. 

_ _ _ 

Without a word, Molly handed me a cup of tea in which she had added some firewhiskey. I was squeezed on the couch between Fred and George, still trembling even though sweat was covering my forehead. I didn’t even notice the few drops that fell on my dress when I lifted the cup, nor did I notice Fred’s arm around me. I didn’t see the concerned look exchanged between Arthur and Molly either, all of that because I was lost in my thoughts. My father had said so many things, but all of this couldn’t be true, right? 

“Your necklace,” murmured Fred. “Did he give it back to you?”

I promptly yanked it out with the very strong feeling that it had left a burn on my skin. My eyes fell on my closed fist in which I was clenching and something, an image, came back from the depths of my memory. Something that looked like a book under George’s arm as he was looking for the place where he had hidden Fred. A book I had never seen afterwards, because I had refused in the first place and then because I had forgotten it. A book that had to be pretty important for George to take him with him in the emergency. 

“The book.” I murmured. Fred shifted, Molly looked away. Something was wrong. “You still have it, right? I want to read it.”

“There’s nothing important in this book.” said George, his voice a bit too low for him to be honest. 

I looked at Fred, and he turned his head a bit too late. I had seen his eyes fixed on my fist.

“Fred, tell me.” 

He looked up, and his worried eyes met mine. He bit his lips before slowly taking my hands, looking quickly at George and Arthur before eventually sighing. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve hidden that to you, love. I thought- I thought you wouldn’t want to know it. The book was a sort of journal. It was written by your mother. She…”

My heart was pounding, it was the only thing I could hear besides Fred’s voice. 

“She was a Death Eater too. That’s why she was alone... That’s why she’s dead.”

The Dark Mark killed her. 

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