#Maidin City

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[user230507021118079]

"Ní mhaireann solas na maidine don lá." // "No morning sun lasts all day." - a naoi déag ✧ 19

summary: 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛.

*the only character I own is Tara. all other rights go to she-who-should-not-be-named

previous chapter || ch. 20

Tara quickly shuffled down the hallways, feverishly wiping her face clear with the back of her hands. And as she emerged back out into the main atrium of the French Ministry, she found the building in total chaos. People were running around, talking and even shouting frantically with each other in a flurry of different languages. 

Up ahead, she spotted Travers speaking to a group of Aurors, so she made her way over to them first.

“What’s happening?” she demanded immediately upon her arrival.

Travers was the one to answer her.

“Grindelwald is calling a rally. Tonight. His summons just went up around the city.”

“Do we know where?” she asked.

The man shook his head, appearing to be a bit frazzled.

“No. But we’ll find out. And when we do, I want every single person in attendance arrested.” he shouted, not only at her, but at the rest of the crowd of Aurors.

A scowl quickly overtook Tara’s expression. 

“If you go in too hot, you run the risk of casualties. You know that.”

The Director glared back at her.

“Risk of casualties rises every second we let Grindelwald's actions go unanswered.

“You’re playing directly into his hands!”

Travers took a single step forward.

“We are not letting him get away this time. If you disapprove of our methods, then perhaps your skills are of better use elsewhere.”

Tara ground her teeth together, stepping up to him as well.

“If you send those Auror’s in there tonight…their blood will be on your hands.” she spat.

Travers didn’t entertain her with another response. Instead, he simply shot her one last pointed glare, before turning and waving a hand at the surrounding Auror’s. 

“Let’s move!” he barked, pushing past Tara. “Find Theseus! We need to figure out where this rally is taking place, now!”

Tara watched them walk away from her, clenching her fists tightly at her side. She had seen a few of the Aurors steal worried glances back at her as they followed their Director, but ultimately none of them had left his side. 

Out of a distant corridor, Theseus finally emerged back out onto the main floor, suit jacket now back over his shoulders. 

His eyes had quickly honed in on where Tara was standing in the center of the atrium, but neither of them moved.

Travers then quickly shouted Theseus’ name, and the Head Auror severed eye-contact in order to jog over to the rest of his team.

Tara let out a frustrated, albeit muted, scream.

Even as alarm bells began to echo out overhead, Tara paid them absolutely no attention. For someone else suddenly crossed her view, moving swiftly in the complete opposite direction of every other body in the Ministry.

It was Leta.

Tara broke out into an immediate sprint in order to catch up with her.

“What are you doing?” she called out the moment she reached the witches’ side.

Leta simply looked back at her with a pained, desperate expression.

“The Records.” she answered plainly, her voice cracking. “I just…I need to see it. They’re making me feel crazy.” 

Tara pressed her lips together, but nodded all the same.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The two of them took off for the Records room, which was on the floor just above the Ministry’s main chamber. Peering over the railing into the cavernous room below, they found themselves staring at rows and rows of records stacks. They each had intricate carvings of tree limbs etched into the sides of them, and held at least a hundred shelves of files a piece.

Tara glanced sideways at Leta, watching as she took a long, deep breath before raising up her wand. 

“Lestrange.” she beckoned. 

Instantly the stacks began to move, shuffling around amongst each other like a cup game, before making way for one in particular as it rose up and off of the floor, swiftly levitating towards where the two were standing at the railing. When it came to an eventual stop, it hovered perfectly at eye level with them.

The shelf facing them had the Lestrange family name printed above it. But the cubby itself was mostly empty. There was a rectangular mark left behind in a thin layer of dust, a sign that something had in fact laid there in the past. Now in its place, was a single, folded piece of parchment. 

With shaking hands, Leta reached out to collect it. And Tara peered over her shoulder as she read the printed script out loud.

“Records moved to the Lestrange family tomb at Père Lachaise.”

The two witches share a worried glance, but before either of them could venture so much as a word, a sharp, high-pitched squeal suddenly caught their attention.

Whipping their heads back to the record stack, Tara quickly took notice of a small, green creature poking its head out from in between one of the small crevices in the shelves.

Her eyes widened in recognition and Leta once more raised her wand.

“Circumrota.” she whispered softly.

Slowly, the record stack began to turn, eventually revealing to them the opposite side.

And the two people who were clinging onto it for dear life.

The first wizard was wearing the undeniably recognizable blue, wool trench coat of their childhood friend. And the other, was a woman with short, cropped, brown hair who looked vaguely familiar to Tara. But it wasn’t until she bashfully tilted her head over her shoulder, that she remembered how that was so; she had been one of the MACUSA Auror’s present at the events that had transpired back in New York.

“Hello, Newt.” Leta greeted kindly.

“Hello.” the Magizoologist replied, glancing back and forth between his two friends for a moment. 

“Hi.” the American Auror squeaked out as well.

Tara had opened her mouth to ask the obvious question about how they had come to cling onto the side of the record stack, when suddenly a combination of footsteps, and low growls sounded from behind them.

“Oh no.” Newt exclaimed, causing the two witches on the platform to spin on the balls of her feet. There, they found the old secretary who was in charge of guarding the doors of the archives, slowly walking sauntering towards them. At her sides, she was flanked by two, large feline-esque beasts with glowing blue eyes.

“What kind of cats are those?” Leta asked nervously. 

“Those aren’t cats, they’re Matagots.” Newt quickly explained. “They’re spirit familiars. They guard the Ministry. But they won’t hurt you unless you-”

“Stupefy!” Leta had cried out, clearly growing uncomfortable by how close the woman and creatures were getting to their position. 

Her spell hit one of the animals, but instead of sending it flying backwards, it simply hissed angrily before splitting in two, multiplying right before their eyes.

“-unless you attack them!” Newt finished off as her curse continued to ricochet off of the hides of the ever-growing population of creatures, thus creating more and more aggressive duplications. 

“Oops.” Leta whimpered.

“Go, go!” Tara shouted, pushing Leta back towards the railing. 

The two of them then jumped forward without a second thought, both Newt and the American Auror reaching out their hands to help pull them onto the record stack.

“Reverte!” 

The stack flew backwards into the lower level of the archives, the Matagots lunging after them with vicious snarls.  

Newt cast a silent spell of his own, which resulted in the other shelves in the room to begin spinning and twirling around their location, in an effort to obstruct them from the view of their pursuers. 

Once their stack hit the ground, the group of four immediately leapt off. Newt threw his case down onto the ground, flicking it open and ordering the witches to jump inside. 

They all obeyed him without question, scrambling down the rickety wooden ladder into the small shack that was waiting for them below. They had no time to look around, as Newt followed close behind, sprinting out the front door and into the infinite, magical scope of the rest of his case. Mere seconds later, a loud, excited roar echoed from somewhere far beyond their position, practically shaking the ground beneath their feet.

“Get under the counter please!” they heard Newt call out to them. “She’s going to make quite a mess coming through there!”

Leta, Tara, and the American Auror dove under the wooden counter that extended out of the farthest wall of the room. Just in time too, as an enormous creature suddenly came bursting into the workshop. The room magically grew to meet the animal’s size, but its massive tail did manage to swipe some things off of the surrounding shelves, sending them clattering to the ground. Leta let out a surprised scream, reaching up to cover her ears with her hands. 

Tara peered out from the safety of their hiding spot, taking a fraction of a second to marvel at the large creature as it tramped around in a brief circle. This one also seemed to resemble a cat, but not in the same way the Matagots did. Despite its size, this one had several of the hallmarks of a mountain lion of sorts, except with a tail that looked like it should belong to a paper-mâché dragon.

“Stay here!” Newt ordered the group again.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Tara replied, pushing herself further under the cover of the counter, dragging Leta with her as the big cat finally shot up the ladder, exploding out of the top of the case. The lid slammed shut behind them, but they still managed to hear the muffled roars of Newt’s creature, as well as the shrieks of the Matagots somewhere far above their heads. The case shook slightly, which was then followed by the loud sound of shattering glass. 

Then…total silence. 

The group of witches shared worried eye contact before eventually coming to a silent agreement to crawl out from under the cover of the counter. And as they dared to peer up the long ladder of Newt’s workshop, the lid of the case suddenly flicked open, revealing the starry night sky that twinkled high above their position. 

The American Auror had snatched something up off of the ground before following Leta and Tara up the ladder and back onto solid ground.

When Tara emerged from the case, the first thing she saw was the lettering of the tall, metal entrance gate that they were suddenly standing beneath; Père Lachaise. 

“Shit.”

Newt and the creature were a few meters across the way from them, the latter appearing overjoyed by the situation, bouncing around and letting out excited mewls here and there. It then turned back towards Newt, nuzzling his chest affectionately with its giant head, nearly knocking the wizard over in the process.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, wait-” Newt laughed. “Hold it there, please. Come on- Alright, okay-”

The American Auror shuffled forward, holding up what she had gathered back inside the case. The soft jingle of a small cluster of bells echoed rather pleasantly out into the nighttime air. 

The large creature immediately turned towards her and the toy, its eyes wide with excitement.

That’s when Tara saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Paranoidly turning her head to the left, she managed to catch sight of Leta sprinting down the dark path of the graveyard.

Briefly glancing back over her shoulder, Tara watched Newt finish ushering the creature back into his case. When he picked up his head, the two of them made brief eye contact before Tara quickly spun on her heels and took off after her friend.

“Leta!” she called out into the darkness, the bottoms of her shoes making light imprints in the soil as she went. “Leta wait-!”

She managed to catch up with the smaller witch just before she walked through the entrance way of a particularly large mausoleum. As she grabbed Leta’s arm to stop her from moving any further, her eyes glanced upwards, dancing across the name etched into the ancient stone above their heads; Lestrange . 

Quickly, she looked back down at Leta.

“Are you sure?”

Leta nodded tearfully, seemingly unable to speak.

Tara took a breath, dropping the hold she had on Leta’s arm. Only to then swiftly slip her hand into hers, tightly interlacing their fingers together before the two of them moved to descend down the long staircase.

The walls of the all-too-creepy tomb were lined with statues of older, dead members of the Lestrange family. All men of course. But if that wasn’t bad enough, the moment that the two of them emerged into the main chamber of the mausoleum, they found themselves stumbling upon a gaggle of people who were already gathered inside.

Three of them were standing at the center of the room, a fourth pressed up against a far wall, seeming absolutely terrified at what he was watching go down.

One of the men at the center of the room had his wand brandished. His skin was dark, and he was wearing a long, navy-blue coat. Across from him, stood a beautiful woman, done up in a blue, scaly dress. Her hair was tied up in a disheveled bun at the top of her head, and she had her arms out to either side, shielding another person with her entire body.

The man cowering behind her had short, black, choppy hair, and was wearing a red and black vest that rested overtop a black button up. Neither of which looked like they fit him right. 

Tara had to stifle a gasp when her eyes found the young man's face, immediately recognizing him as Credence, the Obscurial.

The fourth person in the room was the man cowering against the back wall. Notably as far away from the wizards as possible. He was a shorter, stout man with a small moustache across its upper lip.

“Move back!” the man with the wand demanded loudly. “Move out of the way! If I must kill you as well as Corvus, I shall!”

In less than a heartbeat, Leta had also pulled out her wand.

“Stop!” she shouted, causing all heads in the room to turn towards their position at the bottom of the staircase.

The entire tomb fell silent as the man in front of them stared back at Leta with an expression of grief-stricken astonishment. When Leta had made a move to step forward, Tara intercepted her actions, eclipsing half of her body with her own, not exactly appreciating the way that the man had shuffled forward as well.

“Yusuf?” Leta suddenly whispered, her voice shaking.

The man’s wand arm finally dropped down to his side.

“Is that really you?” he said in return. “My little sister?”

Tara blinked in surprise. 

From behind them, two more pairs of footsteps began to echo down the stairs in a hurry. And soon enough, Newt and the American Auror had stumbled into the room as well, bringing the final count of those crammed into the underground resting place to eight. 

In the beat of silence that followed their arrival, Credence carefully walked out from behind the woman in the blue dress.

“So he’s your brother?” he asked timidly. “Who am I?”

Leta swallowed heavily.

“I don’t know.”

The young man’s expression contorted into something that resembled pain. For it looked as if it was hard for him to do so much as breathe.

“Just tell me my story…then you can end it.”

Yusuf slowly turned back to him, his own shoulders beginning to shake.

“Your story, is our story,” he said, briefly glancing back at Leta. “Our story.”

“No Yusuf-” Leta begged, but the man did not listen.

“My father was Mustafa Kama, a pureblood of Sénégalese descent and most accomplished. My mother, Laurena, was equally as high-bred, a noted beauty. They were deeply in love. They knew a man of great influence, from a famous French pureblood family. He desired her. Lestrange used the Imperius Curse to seduce and abduct her…that was the last time I ever saw her. She died giving birth to a little girl.” he continued, again glancing over his shoulder back at Leta. “You.”

Tears quickly began to well up in the shorter witches’ eyes.

“Stop this.” Tara hissed, but the man ignored her as well.

“The news of her death drove my father insane. With his dying breath, my father charged me to seek revenge; kill the person Lestrange loves best in the world.” Yusuf continued darkly, still looking at Leta. “I thought at first it would be easy, he had only one close relative- you. But…” he then paused.

“Say it.” Leta hissed from behind gritted teeth.

Yusuf almost looked apologetic for a moment.

“He never loved you.”

Leta released a shaky breath.

“He remarried not three months after her death. He loved her no more than he had loved you. But then, his son Corvus was born at last. And that man who had never known love, was filled with it…” the man said bitterly. “All he cared about was little Corvus.”

A tense silence blanketed the tomb as his words fell on all of their shoulders.

“So…this is the truth?” Credence dared to ask. “I am Corvus Lestrange?”

“Yes.” Yusuf answered.

“No!” Leta had shouted at the exact same time.

Credence looked back and forth between the two half-siblings, and regrettably, so did Tara. 

“Realizing that Mustafa Kama’s son had sworn revenge, your father sought to hide you where I couldn’t find you.” Yusuf continued. “So he confided you to his servant, who boarded a ship for America-”

“He did send Corvus to America, but-” Leta had attempted to interject.

“His servant, Irma Dugard, was a half-elf. Her magic was weak and therefore left no trace I could follow. I had only just discovered how you had escaped when I received news I never expected…the ship had gone down at sea. But you survived, didn’t you?” he said, whirling on Credence accusingly now. “Somehow, someone had pulled you from the water! ‘A son cruelly banished. Despair of the daughter. Return, great avenger, with wings from the water.’ There-” he said, pointing back at Leta. “-stands the despairing daughter. You are the winged raven returned from the sea, but I…I am the avenger of my family’s ruin.” he said, once more raising his wand. “I pity you, Corvus. But you must die.”

Leta suddenly surged forward, ripping her hand out of Tara’s and pushing past her so roughly that the Irish wish stumbled slightly over her own feet.

“Corvus Lestrange is already dead, I killed him!” she screamed.

No one moved. No one breathed as her words settled across the now silent tomb. 

With tears continuously streaming down her face, Leta raised her wand with a shaking arm.

“Accio!”

A heavy box, which had been haphazardly hidden in a far corner of the room, was summoned forward by her magic. It slammed down at Leta’s feet, a plume of dust rising in its wake. The witch then slowly knelt down to its level. Now in the presence of a Lestrange, a series of gears and locks began to whir to life, as the box itself started to unfold like some sort of metal puzzle.

Despite her own shaking, Tara subtly raised her wand as she stood behind Leta, making sure everyone else in the room stayed back.

“My father owned a very strange family tree.” Leta began to explain as the records began to uncoil out of the box, stretching upwards in an uncanny resemblance of that very thing. “It was only recorded the men. The women in my family were recorded as flowers. Beautiful. Separate .” she said before taking in another shaky breath. “My father sent me to America along with Corvus. Irma was to pose as a grandmother with two grandchildren…Corvus never stopped crying…I only wanted to be free of him. Just for a moment…just…a single…moment. So I swapped him with a sleeping baby in the cabin across the hall. But soon after that, the ship began to sink. I didn’t have time to take it back so…I said nothing.” She then swiftly casted a spell up above their heads, conjuring the haunting sea-green image of a drowning baby swaddle.

Back on the tree in front of her, an unlabeled orchid twisted around the branch with Corvus’ name on it, constricting it until the green leaves slowly began to wither and die right before their very eyes.

Another suffocating silence fell over those gathered. 

“You didn’t mean to do it, Leta.” Newt finally whispered from behind them. “So it wasn’t your fault.”

Leta looked over her shoulder tearfully.

“Oh, Newt.” she whispered. “You never met a monster you couldn’t love.”

“Leta…” the female Auror at Newt’s side ventured as gently as she could. “Do you know who Credence really is? Did you know? When you swapped them?”

Leta just shook her head.

“No.” she whispered.

Across the room, Credence’s expression shattered.

However, any further conversation surrounding the topic was violently cut short. The loud sound of falling stones echoed up into the air, as directly across the room from where Tara and Leta stood, a small entrance way opened up out of the tomb wall itself. It revealed a steep staircase, leading even further underground, and disembodied voices could be heard floating up from below. Like some sort of horrible portal to hell.

The man who had been pressed up against the wall during the entire ordeal, never even saying so much as a word, had surprisingly been the first to explore it.

“Queenie?” he called down into the corridor, before hurrying down the stairs.

Newt and the American Auror had immediately sprinted off after him. And Yusuf shot one last pointed look at Leta before following. 

Tara bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, quickly crouching down to her friend's side.

“Lee-” she whispered. “Stay here. Please.”

The witch gave her no verbal promise but nodded her head. Her attention was still trained harshly on the family tree in front of her. 

Tara stared back at her friend for one last moment before rising to her feet, heading for the foreboding entranceway herself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡☆ﾟ.･ ───

previous chapter || ch. 20

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Michelle Delea

When did you start writing poetry?

I started writing about eight years ago, though I was slow to call it poetry. My perception of poetry then was almost entirely informed by the Leaving Cert syllabus, when all great poets lived in back-breaking books and their poems like fossils we would speculate on. Poetry always had magic around it, it was something to behold rather than to produce.

I fell in love with words through songs. I remember the thrill of lapping through CD sleeves full of lyrics in the 90s, when you would feel honoured to have access to words. Years later, at Livestyles hip-hop festival in the Pav, I met a young writer who showed me how accessible poetry really is, how alive it is in Cork and how healthy it is as a tool of expression. At the same time I discovered Ó Bhéal at the Long Valley, I was allured by this community and it’s gently kept my writing consistent ever since.

  Does the creative process of writing affect your mood and how?

Writing is a very peaceful process. You can and ought to be more honest with yourself than with anyone, and writing creates time for you to practise this honesty. In my experience, this can be intimidating and even off-putting at times. The reward of defining a poem in this space can be very liberating. It’s a process which makes me feel more self-aware and ultimately more calm.

  Where do you seek inspiration from?

As my career is in architecture, I am always inspired by my environment. I am constantly observing Cork: imagining maps and measuring with eyes, noting the time of light on different windows, recitements of the local body language. Artists have always been stimulated by a landscape they can engage with, and this city is always reliable for that. I am equally inspired by us: our stripped-down interactions, the privacy of our relationships and the purity of communication.

  What advice would you give to someone just starting to write?

Allow yourself to daydream more often, and every now and then, try to put it into words. Try not to hide behind abstractions. If you have one line to start from, get it down and trust that the rest will flow. After you’ve developed an enjoyment with the process, you will feel more confident to write on any subject. And of course, if you live in Cork, come along to Ó Bhéal.

  What book would you recommend to our readers?

Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows (1933) is a staple book of beauty that I often return to. It meditates on Japanese aesthetics in a way that never really leaves you. It has inspired my architectural work, poetry, painting and general perception of objects.

Doireann Ní Ghríofa’s A Ghost in the Throat (2020) was a special read for me this year. I found myself overwhelmed by the female force throughout, illustrated by the rawness of motherhood and her obsessive pursuit to flesh out historic poet Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill.

  Sinking You

Undersea There are mountains And you can float to their peaks

 They will pass you up Where we break the glass With naked bodies

 Where only starlight Strikes chopped water Drying out and dripping

 Clung to your shoulder You are wrapped in ocean And these arms gone cold

 The moon itself kisses The milky hill of your eye Its light is low and creeps

 Beneath your roofing lashes Arrives at welcome doors I follow it in

 Where wind is hasty and Giddy and races through Your unbrushed hair

 Like you were a forest It grew up playing in And your limbs tire

 From staying afloat You tilt away Lying weightless

 In my open palms You request I hold You by the head

 Not to take the weight From your neck But the pace

 From your Thinking, you say: Cradle me better

Cradle me sinking Cradle me back To thinking nice things

  Lón

Níor itheas pioc,  faic na fríde,  ón uair eirí ar maidin. 

Ná bí buartha  fúm, a stór,  tá an chistin lán go béal. 

Lán d’arán ‘s im,  ‘s d’fhan an bainne   ina shuí,  mil i bpróca leis. 

Fáinne drithlí,  líocha beo,  corcra-gorm ón ngás. 

Dheineas téamh ar   Chorcán iarainn, ansin, chas gealacán an uibhe bán.  

Chaitheas glasraí  scaipeas smut suibhe,  ciste te i dtaisce leo. 

Dheineas snaois de  ghráinne piobair,  breicní blasta os mo chomhair. 

Thit salann chomh bog le sneachta lasmuigh,  ar bhia  scamallach ón ngal. 

Leáigh siad, iad réidh  iad úr, shuigh mé.  Leag mé an pláta anuas, 

Idir forc agus scian.  Ní raibh blas agam as.  Criotheadh an ciarsúr   san aer mar bhrat.

  Michelle Delea is a multi-disciplinary creative from Cork City. She has been a regular contributor to Cork artist collectives, which have featured her poetry, performance art and choreography. She has an MA in Architecture from CCAE and currently works with a local architectural firm. Michelle has performed at multiple events including Voulmentin Literary Festival, Shannonside Festival, Townlands, Electric Picnic and Live @ St.Lukes during Cork Midsummer Festival. She is a recent reciprocate of the Art Council’s Engaging with Architecture award. Michelle is an advocator of collaboration and maintains an experimental approach to the arts.

[tadghpairceir]

Open to anyone at the Dublin Lattice Stop in the early morning.

Tadgh sat quietly watching the early morning sun golden up and peak over the Adler trees. There was a lot on his mind, more than usual as he’d just come from the cemetery to trading out another bit of sea glass left atop his family’s headstones for one he’d deemed better... Dublin was his usual morning stop now, as he left Malmö for either Los Angeles or New York City for work. The stop was usually empty but as he checked the time and started to head underground to the train he heard footsteps and greeted them, “Maidin mhaith”

[sceaweretemp]

ar maidin | alfie solomons

my first ever fic has found a new home here

based on my headcanon that alfie never fucking sleeps until he just conks out at his desk

he is the odd nap king

Camden didn’t have a cycle to the day and night so much as it had disorienting, sudden switchovers. There was the bustle of work in the day, the burst of fun in the evening, the outright chaos of the night. There was never really a lull, except a clear hour before the dawn when everything seemed to stop. Too late for revellers, too early for workers, peace found a home here, nestled up to the buildings and slumbered.

You should have been slumbering too, wrapped up in the outrageously expensive sheets Alfie insisted on but never fucking slept in. Yet here you were, heels clacking down the damp steps of a goddamn illegal distillery.

The bakery was near pitch black underneath, the lamps off or burnt out. The light coming from the office tucked against the back wall threw everything into relief and made you squint, hands coming to rub tired eyes. Why couldn’t you just love some normal boring office boy? A gasp of a laugh came from you at the thought and only grew when you saw Ollie tucked up in a huddle outside the office.

Back to the wall, knees to his chest, leaning against a barrel with his head back and mouth open. A gentle kick to his leg did little to rouse him, casting a look to your side to see Alfie bent over the desk inside. Another kick.

“Ollie”

Another.

“Ollie!”

He jumped awake, hand swinging out to grab a weapon that wasn’t there.

“It’s just me”

A sleepy grumble, hands trailing over eyes.

“What time is it?”

“God knows, late…early. Get yourself off home, I’ll get someone in to cover you tomorrow. Today. Fuck it, I dunno, just go”

“No, I’ll go when Alfie does”

“Awww, Ollie, that’s sweet. Now piss off. Seriously. Get gone”

He pulled himself up, all gangly limbs and sleep filled, like a baby animal trying to right itself for the first time. He cast a look through the window too, turned to you with uncertain eyes, and then saw himself off into the shadows. Whether Alfie liked to acknowledge it in public or not, you were as much the boss as he was now, and Ollie at least knew how to pick his battles by now.

The office was warm and bright in comparison to the warehouse, almost cosy in its close air and dimmed lamps scattered around like stars in a constellation.

“Alfie”

He was studying multiple ledgers, scratching away at columns and numbers, a jumble only he could decipher.

“Alfie-“

“Ollie!” he bellowed off into the darkness and you felt almost hungover in your drowsy state, the noise rattling around your skull.

“I sent him home”

His brow furrowed for a moment, continuing away at his scratch, before his hand stilled and he looked up at you.

“You did what?”

“He was sleeping outside the door like a bloody puppy, Alfie. It’s ain’t right”

“He was where I needed him”

“Alfie, when’s the last time you slept?”

He pulled his face into an expression that read ‘stupid fucking question’ and went back to scratching at numbers.

“Right, get up”

You set about turning the lamps off, lowering the light in the room until only his desk lamp was illuminated.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, darlin’?”

“I-“you marched over to him, snatching the pencil from his hand and chucking it off somewhere across the desk. He made a noise at you, watching it fly away. “Am making sure you get some goddamn sleep”

“I’m fine, I am, sweetie, I promise”

“You haven’t been back to the house in 2 days, napping in your chair for 20 minutes in between threatening people isn’t healthy, Alfie”

You perched yourself on the armrest of his chair, bringing your arms around him and leaning your forehead against the side of his head.

“I miss you”

He sighed, bringing one hand up to wrap around your forearm, his rings glinting in the low light.

“I need to get these books done”

“You have a fucking accountant. I know, I sort out his pay stubs”

“I like doing ‘em myself, I like-“

“Being a bloody control freak, I know” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his scruff scratching against your chin.

“Careful”

“Or what, you’ll spank me? I’d be surprised if you had the energy”

You felt him smile against you as you nuzzled your nose into his cheek.

“Although, if you were to come home, we have this giant bed…”

He grunted at your teasing tone and you trailed your hand up the side of his neck. His hand clenched around your arm and you thought for a second he might try to pull you into his lap.

“That we could just…conk the fuck out in. I mean, honestly just, be unconscious for days”

You pulled yourself back to sit straight on the armrest, looking at his with tongue in cheek, eyebrows raised.

His expression made you laugh out loud and swipe your hand back over his cheek, thumb tracing the shadows around his eyes.

“Mmmm…grumpy Alfie needs a nap”

“I will fucking shoot you, woman”

“No you fucking won’t” you pushed your hands down on his shoulders to steady yourself and swung yourself round to stand in front of his chair, blocking his view of the ledgers.

“Get up, I’m taking you home”

He slumped back in the chair, dimming eyes staring back at you.

“What? What’s that look?”

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“Looking after me”

“Oh piss off, you sap. Get your fine fucking arse out of that chair before I tie you to the goddamn couch already”

His eyebrows raised at that, a sleepy smirk crawling over his face.

“We’re not fucking over the desk again, I nearly broke a rib last time, I swear to God, Alfie”

“You were fine” He heaved himself out of the chair with a groan, wincing and rubbing both hands over his hair. You flicked the lamp off and pushed away from the desk.

“God, I love such an old man”

“Yeah, yeah” he waved you off as you went over to retrieve his coat from where he’d chucked it on the seat next to the doorway. You could see him storming into the room, probably screaming at some poor lackey, chucking shit all over the place and then complaining to Ollie when he couldn’t find it again.

“It’s my sciatica, ain’t it, always fucking plays up when-“he started mumbling to himself, flicking bits of paper around the desk.

“Your keys are here, love” you dangled them over your finger, leaning against the doorframe, and waited for him to amble over to you. He retrieved them with a scowl, fitting them in the lock before taking his coat from you.

“And if you slept in a proper bed once in a while, your back might be a little better”

“I’m going aren’t I, yeah, do you see me leaving the office?”

“I see you”

He closed up the office, tugged his coat on, realised he’d left his hat and cane, unlocked the office, locked it again and then swung his arm around you. You stumbled off into the shadows together, and you realised as you went that you were making a slow march towards the light at the end of a fucking tunnel.

“How d’ya get here? If you were walking round the city by yourself-“

“I got my bodyguard to drive me, given that I have one of them now”

“I like knowing you’re safe”

The sharp ring of his cane against the damp floor punctuated the journey the rest of the way as you climbed up into the dawn together. By the time you made it up, the sky was tinging pinker and a few people were dotted around, shifting shapes in the distance, rising as you fell. You leaned further into Alfie’s side and savoured the warmth of him, lips pressed against your temple.

Once your guard/chauffeur came into sight he pulled away a little, releasing you enough for you to climb into the car, hand swatting lazily at your bum as you bent into the seat.

“I’m having you over that desk again”

“Alfie!”

“What?” his goddamn smirk as he crawled in after you, slouching back against the seat, half out of it already. The guard kept his head down and set off, driving you closer and closer to the big bed with the silky sheets and hopefully a few days of bloody peace.

You leant back against his shoulder, hand scratching at eyes as the growing sun stung at them, before you whispered.

“Only if I get to tie you to that bloody couch”

[sceawere]

ar maidin | alfie solomons

Built around my headcanon that Alfie never goddamn sleeps, someone save this man and bring him some warm milk and a blanket already.

Camden didn’t seem to have a cycle to the day and night so much as it had disorienting, sudden switch-overs. There was the bustle of work in the day, the burst of fun in the evening, the outright chaos of the night. There was never really a lull, except a clear hour before the dawn when everything seemed to stop. Too late for revellers, too early for workers, peace found a home here, nestled up to the buildings and slumbered.

You should have been slumbering too, wrapped up in the outrageously expensive sheets Alfie insisted on but never actually seemed to sleep in. Yet here you were, heels clacking down the damp steps of an illegal distillery.

The ‘bakery’ was near pitch black underneath, the lamps off or burnt out. The light coming from the office tucked against the back wall threw everything into relief and made you squint, hands coming to rub tired eyes. Why couldn’t you just love some normal boring office boy? A gasp of a laugh came from you at the thought and only grew when you saw Ollie tucked up in a huddle outside the office.

Back to the wall, knees to his chest, leaning against a barrel with his head back and mouth open. A gentle kick to his leg did little to rouse him, casting a look to your side to see Alfie bent over the desk inside. Another kick.

“Ollie”

Another.

“Ollie!”

He jumped awake, hand swinging out to grab a weapon that wasn’t there.

“It’s just me”

A sleepy grumble, hands trailing over eyes.

“What time is it?”

“God knows, late…early. Get yourself off home, I’ll get someone in to cover you tomorrow. Today. Fuck it, I dunno, just go”

“No, I’ll go when Alfie does”

“Awww, Ollie, that’s sweet. Now piss off. Seriously. Get gone”

He pulled himself up, all gangly limbs and sleep filled, like a baby animal trying to right itself for the first time. He cast a look through the window too, turned to you with uncertain eyes, and then saw himself off into the shadows. Whether Alfie liked to acknowledge it in public or not, you were as much the boss as he was now, and Ollie at least knew how to pick his battles by now.

The office was warm and bright in comparison to the warehouse, almost cosy in its close air and dimmed lamps scattered around like stars in a constellation.

“Alfie”

He was studying multiple ledgers, scratching away at columns and numbers, a jumble only he could decipher.

“Alfie-“

“Ollie!” he bellowed off into the darkness and you felt almost hungover in your drowsy state, the noise rattling around your skull.

“I sent him home”

His brow furrowed for a moment, continuing away at his scratch, before his hand stilled and he looked up at you.

“You did what?”

“He was sleeping outside the door like a bloody puppy, Alfie. It’s ain’t right”

“He was where I needed him”

“Alfie, when’s the last time you slept?”

He pulled his face into an expression that read ‘stupid fucking question’ and went back to scratching at numbers.

“Right, get up”

You set about turning the lamps off, lowering the light in the room until only his desk lamp was illuminated.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, darlin’?”

“I-“you marched over to him, snatching the pencil from his hand and chucking it off somewhere across the desk. He made a noise at you, watching it fly away. “Am making sure you get some goddamn sleep”

“I’m fine, I am, sweetie, I promise”

“You haven’t been back to the house in 2 days, napping in your chair for 20 minutes in between threatening people isn’t healthy, Alfie”

You perched yourself on the armrest of his chair, bringing your arms around him and leaning your forehead against the side of his head.

“I miss you”

He sighed, bringing one hand up to wrap around your forearm, his rings glinting in the low light.

“I need to get these books done”

“You have a fucking accountant for that. I know, I sort out his pay stubs”

“I like doing ‘em myself, I like-“

“Being a bloody control freak, I know” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, his scruff scratching against your chin.

“Careful”

“Or what, you’ll spank me? I’d be surprised if you had the energy”

You felt him smile against you as you nuzzled your nose into his cheek.

“Although, if you were to come home, we have this giant bed…”

He grunted at your teasing tone and you trailed your hand up the side of his neck. His hand clenched around your arm and you thought for a second he might try to pull you into his lap.

“That we could just…conk the fuck out in. I mean, honestly just, be unconscious for days”

You pulled yourself back to sit straight on the armrest, looking at him with tongue in cheek, eyebrows raised.

His expression made you laugh out loud and swipe your hand back over his cheek, thumb tracing the shadows around his eyes.

“Mmmm…grumpy Alfie needs a nap”

“I will fucking shoot you, woman”

“No you fucking won’t” you pushed your hands down on his shoulders to steady yourself and swung yourself round to stand in front of his chair, blocking his view of the ledgers.

“Get up, I’m taking you home”

He slumped back in the chair, dimming eyes staring back at you.

“What? What’s that look?”

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“Looking after me”

“Oh piss off, you sap. Get your fine fucking arse out of that chair before I tie you to the goddamn couch already”

His eyebrows raised at that, a sleepy smirk crawling over his face.

“We’re not fucking over the desk again, I nearly broke a rib last time, I swear to God, Alfie”

“You were fine” He heaved himself out of the chair with a groan, wincing and rubbing both hands over his hair. You flicked the lamp off and pushed away from the desk.

“God, I love such an old man”

“Yeah, yeah” he waved you off as you went over to retrieve his coat from where he’d chucked it on the seat next to the doorway. You could see him storming into the room, probably screaming at some poor lackey, chucking shit all over the place and then complaining to Ollie when he couldn’t find it again.

“It’s my sciatica, ain’t it, always fucking plays up when-“he started mumbling to himself, flicking bits of paper around the desk.

“Your keys are here, love” you dangled them over your finger, leaning against the doorframe, and waited for him to amble over to you. He retrieved them with a scowl, fitting them in the lock before taking his coat from you.

“And if you slept in a proper bed once in a while, your back might be a little better”

“I’m going aren’t I, yeah, do you see me leaving the office?”

“I see you”

He closed up the office, tugged his coat on, realised he’d left his hat and cane, unlocked the office, locked it again and then swung his arm around you. You stumbled off into the shadows together, and you realised as you went that you were making a slow march towards the light at the end of a fucking tunnel.

“How d’ya get here? If you were walking round the city by yourself-“

“I got my bodyguard to drive me, given that I have one of them now”

“I like knowing you’re safe”

The sharp ring of his cane against the damp floor punctuated the journey the rest of the way as you climbed up into the dawn together. By the time you made it up, the sky was tinging pinker and a few people were dotted around, shifting shapes in the distance, rising as you fell. You leaned further into Alfie’s side and savoured the warmth of him, lips pressed against your temple.

Once your guard/chauffeur came into sight he pulled away a little, releasing you enough for you to climb into the car, hand swatting lazily at your bum as you bent into the seat.

“I’m having you over that desk again”

“Alfie!” You swung round to face him, eyes flicking between the driver and him.

“What?” his goddamn smirk as he crawled in after you, slouching back against the seat, half out of it already. The guard kept his head down and set off, driving you closer and closer to the big bed with the silky sheets and hopefully a few days of bloody peace.

You leant back against his shoulder, hand scratching at eyes as the growing sun stung at them, before you whispered.

“Only if I get to tie you to that bloody couch”

[user230507021118079]

"Ní mhaireann solas na maidine don lá." // "No morning sun lasts all day." - a hocht déag ✧ 18

summary: 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛.

*the only character I own is Tara. all other rights go to she-who-should-not-be-named

previous chapter || ch. 19

Tara hated Paris.

The streets reeked of garbage, the people were rude, and it was just generally very hard to breathe wherever she went. 

The French Ministry of Magic had set them up with small accommodations that allowed them to extend their research and advise their Auror’s, but ultimately things were just as chaotic as they were back home, if not worse.

Watching wizards running about her with matching looks of worry, or even grave determination caused a flare of panic to begin rising within Tara’s chest.

So she found Leta first.

“You don’t have to stay here.” she had told her, knowing more than most the significance the country and city had to Leta’s bloodline. 

But the witch had shaken her head in response, her expression otherwise unreadable.

“I have to see this through.”

Tara clenched her jaw tightly, but relented.

“You come to me with anything, alright?”

Leta nodded.

Tara went to find the other British Auror’s next.

And when she did, she found them all standing in a huddle of sorts. Those who had been at Hogwarts were sharing their knowledge of what had been done and seen there. And there were overt talks and suggestions of hunting down the followers that they had located in the French city, some voicing some particularly bloodthirsty options. 

A few paces away from the circle itself, Tara saw Travers and Theseus engaged in a hushed conversation of their own, matching steely expressions on their faces. Occasionally, when they would hear some of the words being floated about by their subordinates, they would turn to each other, share a few more words and then nod in agreement. 

Tara’s heart dropped into her stomach.

Marching across the room, she purposefully came to a stop in front of the two wizards, making a point to keep her hands tightly hidden at her back. For she didn’t need either of them to see the way that they were shaking. 

“I would like to request a moment with the Head Auror if I could.” she asked officially. “We need to discuss the readiness of his force.”

Travers gave her a rather suspicious glare in response, her actions at Hogwarts surely not forgotten. But in the end, he begrudgingly nodded his head, more or less because Theseus had already made a move to walk away with her.

Tara had moved out of the meeting space with a purpose, forcing Theseus into a half-jog in order to catch up.

“What is it?” he asked once they turned down the corner of a distant hallway.

Tara was pointedly peering into each doorway that they passed by.

“We need to train.”

“Train? What are you talking about?”

Finally finding an adequately empty meeting room, Tara shouldered the door open, immediately using her wand to send a small cluster of tables careening into a distant corner. 

Shrugging off her coat, she absentmindedly tossed it to the side, walking out into the now-empty center of the room. As she turned back around she found herself facing a very confused-looking Theseus who was still loitering in the doorway.

Tara nodded her head.

“Now, Scamander.”

“Why are we doing this? We need to be out there getting ready for-”

“But you’re not ready, are you?” she quickly interjected. “None of you are ready for the type of danger Travers is seconds away from sending you into!”

“We don’t know that-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Scamander!” she spat, raising her wand slightly. “You know it better than most! Now fight me, and if you manage to win, I’ll take it back.”

Theseus let out an exasperated sigh, but reluctantly shed his overcoat, tossing it to the side just as she had moments before. He had only just barely pulled his wand out of his back pocket when Tara had shot her first spell forward. 

The wizard managed to duck out of the way, the curse instead scorching the wall behind his head. When he whirled back on her accusingly, he found her expression dangerously blank in nature. Clenching his jaw, Theseus fully gave into the challenge. 

He fired his own curse forward, and Tara quickly deflected it off to her right.

In the minutes that followed, neither of them spoke a word. The only sound that filled the meeting room were that of their spells and the combination of their labored breathing.

Tara seemingly hadn’t been ducking, or even so much as moving out of the way, and yet Theseus found himself missing close to every single shot at her that he took. And the very few that did hit, she seemed to absorb like a solid block of concrete. While on the contrary, he himself was taking countless hits to his shoulders and chest specifically, causing his opponent to grow frustrated with his performance.

“You’re not fighting me.” she growled.

Theseus scoffed, well out of breath by that point.

“Trust me, I am.” he coughed. “I just don’t see the point-”

Another curse hit his shoulder, sending him tumbling backwards as Tara quickly advanced on his position. 

“The point is you’re going to be thrown to the wolves out there, and I don’t think you’re ready. So prove to me. Prove to me that you are, Theseus!” she shouted, sending off another complex string of curses for him to dodge. 

Theseus attempted to jump out of the way after one of them nicked his back. He swung his arm back over his shoulder, firing a retaliation spell her way, one she blocked with a grunt.

They continued to go back and forth like that for a little while longer, but Tara was still seeing no sign of the progress that would make her feel better about their situation. Letting out a particularly loud and frustrated yell, she aimed her wand at his feet. And when a curse exploded there, it tripped the larger wizard up, sending him spiraling down to the ground in a heavy heap.

She marched directly up to him, still aiming her wand down at his crumpled form.

“Fight back, Scamander.” she demanded again.

Theseus pushed himself up slightly, but remained mostly on the floor. His wand clattered out of his hands and onto the ground as he let out a heavy breath of resignation. 

“I can’t.” he coughed out, shaking his head. “I can’t beat you.”

There was a long, brittle silence. 

“You said we wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt…” a shaky voice eventually whispered.

Her tone was strange, unnaturally so, prompting Theseus’ eyes to flicker upwards. And what he found there- shook him to his very core.

Tara was standing directly over him, her wand still aimed down at his face. But her entire body was shaking, and there were suddenly rivers of tears streaming down the sides of her face. 

When his eyes met hers, she quickly dropped her arm, turning and running out of the room completely, not even stopping to pick back up her jacket. 

In his stunned state, it had taken Theseus a moment longer to scramble up and onto his feet, also gunning for the doorway. But when he had finally spilled out into the hall, it was already too late. There was no trace of the witch who had just left him. 

The Head Auror let out a pained sigh, bracing his forehead up against the nearby wall with a grimace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡☆ﾟ.･ ───

previous chapter || ch. 19

[user230507021118079]

"Ní mhaireann solas na maidine don lá." // "No morning sun lasts all day." - a sé déag ✧ 16

summary: 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝙺𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛.

*the only character I own is Tara. all other rights go to she-who-should-not-be-named

previous chapter || ch. 17

“I don’t like the idea of running and hiding.” Tara grumbled as she shoved more clothes into her suitcase.

Leta sighed from where she was waiting in the doorway of Tara’s bedroom.

“You’re not hiding. Or running.” she attempted to reason. “You’re just taking precautions. Precautions that are necessary . If that wizard had only aimed a little bit higher-”

“I know, Leta. I know.” Tara interrupted, snapping her suitcase shut with a heavy sigh. She flattened her palms against the lid, pressing down on it slightly. “I just feel like he’s winning somehow.” she eventually admitted in a whisper.

Leta’s expression fell into a more serious one, walking over to place a supportive hand in between her friend’s shoulder blades.

“You will never let him win.” the witch stated confidently. “I know enough about my best friend to know that.”

Tara slowly glanced back at her, eventually managing the smallest of smiles. One that Leta quickly returned.

“Come on.” she beckoned. “Theseus is waiting.”

Immediately, Tara let out an annoyed groan, tugging her case off of her bed.

“You know, we were actually having a really nice moment there, and you just had to go and ruin it by bringing up the oaf.” she grumbled.

Leta snickered.

“Hey- that ‘oaf’ is about to be your roommate for the foreseeable future. So, behave yourself.”

“No promises.”

The two of them left behind the flat that had been their home for close to a decade by that point, and crossed the street to meet up with the Auror that was patiently waiting for them at the corner.

Theseus pushed himself off of the lamp post that he had been leaning on.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Leta glanced over at Tara, noting that the girl was still sporting a heavy frown.

“As we’ll ever be I guess.” she answered for them both.

Theseus shook his head, instinctively reaching over to grab Tara’s suitcase from her hands.

She was quick to snatch it back.

“I can manage. Thanks.”

Theseus clenched his jaw for just a moment before forcing a smile onto his face. 

Leta had to force down her own laughter.

The group arrived at Theseus’ house about twenty minutes later. He had offered the witches the two bedrooms on the second floor, stating that he would take the couch for the time being. 

As Tara pushed open the door of what was now to be her room, she had to push aside the sickening sense of deja vu that had tried to creep up her spine. Shaking her head, she simply threw her bags down onto the bed and began to unpack.

Dinner wasn’t nearly as awkward as the last time the three of them had eaten together. They were smart and avoided all talk of Grindelwald, and by extension the Ministry, completely. Instead, they took turns swapping stories about their times at Hogwarts, stories that included either each other, professors they knew, or even the absent youngest Scamander brother.

It was the most normal Tara had felt in a long, long time.

But when night inevitably fell, she had terrible trouble falling asleep. And when she did manage to do so, she was plagued by frightening images of the entire city of London on fire. People all around her were bleeding out, screaming, or just lying motionless in the street. She saw Leta amongst a pile of rubble, and had tried to reach out for her but was promptly thrown aside by a force that she could not see. She eventually found herself collapsing down at the side of a second body, this one much larger. And when she reached out to roll it over, she was looking down at the bloodied and battered face of Theseus Scamander.

Tara sputtered back awake, gasping for air. It took her a while longer to settle her breathing in the darkness of the otherwise empty bedroom. She then promptly shoved the blanket off of her legs, slipping out of the bed completely. She could feel her head pounding against her skull, her breathing still fairly shallow. Reaching up, she ran the back of her hand along her forehead to clear it of the slight sheen of sweat that had appeared there during the night terror.

After taking a few more moments to remember how to properly fill her lungs with oxygen, she crossed the floor and threw open the door with a purpose.

Padding down the staircase, she walked through the dark house with a familiarity that she all but refused to acknowledge. Emerging out into the kitchen, she immediately began to rifle through the cabinets. Upon finding what she was looking for, she stood up on the very tips of her toes, wrapping her hands around the neck of a large bottle of Fire Whiskey. Bringing it down onto the counter, she made quick work of twisting off the cap. 

She had been just about to bring it to her lips, when a voice from behind her stopped her in her tracks.

“You’ve lived in my house for one day, and you’re already stealing my alcohol?” Theseus piped up from the entryway of the kitchen.

Tara winced, pulling the bottle away from her face and placing it back down on the countertop. She braced her hands on the surface to either side of it, but did not turn around.

“Couldn’t sleep.” she muttered in response.

Theseus took a few steps further into the room.

“Well, that’s not gonna help.”

“Exactly.”

Theseus didn’t, or couldn’t, respond to that one.

“Did I wake you?” Tara managed to ask.

“Nah.” the Auror whispered. “Couldn’t sleep well either.”

Finally, Tara tilted her head to look over at him through the darkness. She couldn’t exactly make out his expression, only the brief glint of his eyes as he moved towards the counter, eventually taking the bottle from her hands and opening one of the other cabinets up above their heads.

“How about I pour us some glasses, you know, like civilized people do, and we talk about it?” he suggested, already beginning to complete the first action.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” she muttered.

Theseus hummed in response.

“Right…Just the drinks then.” he said, offering her a glass.

Tara took it with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Theseus shrugged his shoulders.

“Just don’t challenge me to another drinking contest and I think we’ll be alright.”

Tara scoffed.

“Funny how you keep misremembering that.” she muttered as she shuffled over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for herself.

Theseus kept his promise. They didn’t talk much at all initially, and when they did it was only to make remarks on the beverage and other trivial things about the house.

“You know this place hardly looks like a home.” Tara said in between swigs of whiskey.

“What do you mean?” Theseus asked.

Tara briefly gestured around with her hands.

“It’s so…bleak. Empty. You didn’t even have a stock of food the last time I was here. It was hard to believe this was the place you were actually living in.”

Theseus swallowed his drink with what seemed to be some difficulty, briefly glancing down at the table, his hands winding a bit tighter around the glass itself.

“Yeah well…I don’t really end up spending a ton of time here if I’m being honest.”

“Why?” Tara quickly pressed.

“It’s just…it’s like you said. It’s hardly a home.” he admitted.

Tara’s glass paused inches from her lips. The sound of his voice was so quiet. Vulnerable. Almost broken . And it might have been because of the alcohol, but hearing it…made her sad.

After downing the rest of her drink, Tara placed the empty glass back down onto the table.

“It was a nightmare.” 

Theseus picked his head up, looking over at her quizzically.

“The reason I’m awake.” she clarified.

The Auror’s expression immediately softened, though she still couldn’t make out much of it within the dim light of the kitchen.

“We said you didn’t have to talk about it.” he reminded her.

“I know.” she replied, lazily dragging her finger around the edges of her glass.

Another silence befell them as Theseus continued to nurse the rest of his own drink, having fallen behind as per usual. Back across the table from him, Tara took a moment to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek.

“I saw the Ministry on fire.” she blurted out, causing Theseus’ head to tilt up again. “I saw Leta dead on the ground. Countless others too. Buildings in pieces…just like back in Dublin-”

“Tara-”

“And I saw you.”

That made the Auror fall still, his mouth parting in surprise.

Tara was gripping her glass tightly now.

“I don’t know why I’m dreaming about these things. But I swear if anything happens to anyone else because of me…” her voice trailed off as she quickly shook her head. The feeling of hot tears had begun to burn at the edges of her eyes. 

Theseus reached across the table, carefully taking the glass from her hands. His fingers briefly brushed against hers as he did so, snapping her back to reality. Her eyes somehow found his in the darkness.

“We won’t let that happen.” he said boldly.

Tara stared back at him for a moment before eventually letting out a quiet huff of laughter.

“You’re really good at making bullshit promises, Scamander.” she mumbled. “I almost believe you there.”

Theseus stared back at her sadly, quite unsure of what to do at that moment. Half of the words or acts of comfort that had immediately flashed into his mind would surely have been met with either a chastising comment, or even a potential slap.

So, he opted to remain silent.

He gathered the glasses to deposit them into the sink, telling himself he would deal with them tomorrow.

Tara rose from her chair, frowning slightly as she felt the effects of the alcohol already fading from her system. She had begun to make her way back towards the staircase, sending Theseus a mock salute as she passed him by. 

“Try to get some sleep.” he called out after her.

Tara only hummed in response before disappearing from his sight.

When she was gone, Theseus let out a long, quiet sigh before heading back over to the couch in the living room. Only to lay on his back and stare dejectedly up at the ceiling.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡☆ﾟ.･ ───

Surprisingly enough for both of them, nightly drinks around the kitchen table became routine. 

Whenever a nightmare struck, or when sleep was simply alluding either of them, they would slink down into the kitchen together, pour out some fire whiskey, and just… talk.

Theseus had never been someone that Tara pegged for a particularly great conversationalist. As his nature was much like hers in a very blunt and abrasive sort of way. But her perception quickly changed over the following month. He was almost akin to a springboard, her words and anxieties bouncing off of him with little to no apparent consequence.

“I just wish I could stop.” she admitted quietly to him one night in particular.

“Stop what?”

“Caring so much. About the world. About other people. I think it would make everything…hurt less.”

Theseus hummed thoughtfully.

“I think that’s what makes us different from him though.” he countered wisely. “Our capacity for empathy. For compassion. It’s what we have that he doesn’t.”

Tara bit down on her bottom lip.

“But is it making us weaker?”

Theseus stared back at her with a light seriousness, his palms resting flat on the table in front of him.

“I don’t think so.” he eventually said. “Maybe in the moment. But when we finally see this thing through, I think that’s how we’ll win.”

“How so?”

“Because at the end of the day, without the manipulated followers, Grindelwald has no one. He has no friends. He has no family. Nobody who truly cares about him…ultimately, he’s standing alone.”

The corner of Tara’s mouth had twitched ever so slightly, the sentiment nearly drawing a smile out of her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡☆ﾟ.･ ───

previous chapter || ch. 17

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

#OTD in 1689 – Siege of Derry began.

In 1685, the Roman Catholic James II came to the throne of England. His agent Richard Talbot, earl of Tyrconnell, started to dismiss Protestant officers from the army in Ireland, replacing them with Roman Catholics. For English Protestants, the last straw came when the birth of a son to his second wife meant that his Protestant daughter Mary would not succeed to the throne. In the summer of 1688,…

[sceawere]

an oíche | alfie solomons/shelby!reader

set after ‘ar maidin’ and ‘truce’

@collecting-stories

“We’re going to freeze to death”

“Alfie, please shut the fuck up, my love”

“We are going to freeze to death, yeah?” he took pauses between each set of words, staring into the fire in front of the wagon.

“We’re not going to freeze to death, you’re being a baby”

“How the fuck do you live in these things? I mean, honestly, I want to know, how generations have survived living feral like this”

“We’re not fucking feral you dick”

You punched his arm before shuffling closer to him and snuggling into his side, wrapping the edges of your shawl around as much of him as you could. He’d had a permanent scowl on his face for hours now, ever since you’d had the car pull in to the field at the back of Tommy’s place and set off for the group of wagons parked there.

“The fuck is happening here, love?”

“Come on, I’m staying here tonight”

“No, we’re staying at the big house, you said”

“Nooooo, I said we were going to the big house, not staying in it”

“Right well that’s lying then isn’t it? You lied to me”

“No, I simply didn’t provide additional information, it’s not my fault if you forgot to clarify”

He planted his cane and stared you down.

“This is retaliation, isn’t it? For the gy-“

“Ah ah ah, Alfie, you can’t say that remember? We have a contract, one you tried to void”

“I wasn’t going to say it, was I? You didn’t let me finish, you have no bloody faith in me, sweetheart”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, the breeze grasping onto the strands of your hair and dancing them over your face.

“I’m not staying in a gypsy camp, sweetheart, I’m just not”

“Right well, have fun sleeping alone in a house full of Shelby’s then”

You walked over to him, planted a big kiss on his cheek, and made back off into the field without a second look. He grumbled behind you, debating his options, which idea he hated more. You kept the smile on your face imagining the expression on his face as he called your name behind you.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Say I were to come and spend some time with your…lovely gypsy family over there” he gestured with a vague wave and you cocked a hip, your hands finding a spot on each side, “would I be able to convince you, to make a deal, in which we then move to the big house what your cousin lives in. With the walls, and the, plumbing and that?”

You took in then let out a deep dramatic breath, running your eyes over the horizon and drawing out his torment.

“No, I don’t think so, I think I’d like to sleep in a wagon tonight. With my lovely gypsy family”

“Right”

You hummed a response, smiling creeping back onto your face. You loved making Alfie squirm and this was the height.

“So either way I’m getting screwed tonight aren’t I?”

“Well, Alfie, we’ll just have to see where the night takes us, won’t we sweetheart?”

You took his hand and led him off towards the wagons, Johnny noticing you and greeting you with a big hug.

“Johnny Dogs, you mad fucker, come here” he picked you up from the ground and shook you a little, making you laugh, “oh, I missed you, uncail”

“And who’s this gentlemen, here then?”

“This is my man, Alfie, you might know him better as the man Tommy keeps fucking around with”

“Ah, so this’d be The Wandering Jew himself, eh?”

Alfie bristled a little at this but you just shrugged at him.

“You named yourself that, hun, din’t you? And I’d like to remind you of a certain contract right about now”

Alfie nodded to himself, set his jaw, and avoided eye contact with both you and Johnny, shaking his hand.

“Lovely to meet ya”

“Yeah, and you. Bringing the grand boy down to slum with us, are you?”

“Well, I think it’s important to share traditions with the ones you love, isn’t it Alfie?”

You turned to him with a smirk, fully enjoying how uncomfortable he was. Alfie was used to being the biggest man in the room, at least metaphorically, and he was absolutely out of his element here in the grass.

“Yeah, yeah, love, it is, yeah”

“Right, then. Where you having us?”

Johnny had set you up in a spare wagon they’d been fixing up and you’d been relishing being back out amongst the stars, with your family. London was nice. Sometimes. You’d grown to love it because of what it meant to you but you were never really a city girl and it was only when you got back out that you realised how close you’d been pressed. Alfie was not a country boy but he’d kept mostly quiet for your sake, taking what drink was offered him, and grumbling under his breath.

“You’re being very accommodating, my love, thank you”

You planted a kiss on his temple, smoothing his hair back against the side of his head.

“I’m too bloody cold to do much else, darlin’”

“Shut up” you scuffed up the hair you’d just fixed and turned back towards the centre of the group, where a bonfire was roaring, watching the people laughing and joking.

“We’re going to freeze to death”

“Alfie, please shut the fuck up, my love”

“We are going to freeze to death, yeah?” he took pauses between each set of words, staring into the fire in front of the wagon.

“We’re not going to freeze to death, you’re being a baby”

“How the fuck do you live in these things? I mean, honestly, I want to know, how generations have survived living feral like this”

“We’re not fucking feral you dick”

You punched his arm before shuffling closer to him and snuggling into his side, wrapping the edges of your shawl around as much of him as you could.

“Is muintir sinn”

“Is what?”

You laughed into his shoulder, your own drink warming your veins.

“It means we’re family. Well more like…kin. Not necessarily a family of blood, you know? Although Johnny is…sort of my uncle. Somewhere, it’s…”

You flapped your hand in the space between his chest and the shawl and he hummed into the crown of your head.

“I appreciate you doing this Alfie”

“Din’t have much of a choice, did I darlin’?”

He took another drink and you looked up at him.

“You did, Alfie Solomons does nothing he doesn’t want to”

“Yeah, well” he scowled again, looking back over his shoulder “what are the beds like in these things? Ya gonna fuck my back up?”

“No, it’ll be good for you” you turned to move the door open, letting him see further inside, “see, nice flat-board one at the back there, blankets and everything. We’re practically domesticated” you whispered in to his ear with a giggle and he shook his head at you.

He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, both of you looking out to where two of the lads had started play scrapping, their brothers cheering them on and you gave out a shout yourself.

“Go on, Billy!”

“Bloody feral, I tell ya”

You laughed together, him refilling his cup.

“I will say, this ain’t half bad”, he lifted the cup to you.

“Oh, a compliment!”

“No, no, don’t start that”

“No, where’s Ollie when you need him? I want this on paper!”

“Fuck off, darlin’”

You planted another kiss on his cheek, laying your forehead against him, drinking in his warmth, his smell, the sound of the fire, and the people, and the feel of the breeze on you. You didn’t mind London, as long as Alfie was there, and you loved the road, but if he’d stayed at the big house tonight you know neither of you would have slept half as well. But you had him here. And you had the night.