#The fudge turned out good though!! Very crumbly very nice!

[starscreamingg]

fixing the uncuttable Toffee Block™ I made last night by boiling it again but this time with chocolate to make the cuttable Toffee Block™

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 4,144 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Better Me, Better You’ -Clara Mae & Jake Miller

Chapter Seven: Dolores Umbridge.

"First years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!" Professor Grubbly-Plank shouted over the noise.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I don't know, but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door," Ginny urged them.

"Oh yeah..."

"D'you think something happened while he was out?" Mel asked as they moved forward.

Harry shrugged. Both of them momentarily forgot about what was going on between them as they continued to talk quietly about Hagrid and where he could possibly be. When they reached the carriage, Harry stopped and stared at it strangely.

"Where's Pig?" Ron arrived quickly after them.

"That Luna girl was carrying him," Harry replied, turning to look at him. "Where d'you reckon —"

"— Hagrid is? I dunno– He'd better be okay..."

"Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there!" Hermione appeared looking angry. "I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever... Where's Crookshanks?"

"Ginny's got him," said Harry. "There she is..."

"Thanks! Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up..."

"I haven't got Pig yet!" Ron said, Mel and Harry decided to wait with him.

"What are those things, d'you reckon?" Harry asked them.

"What things?"

"Those horse —"

"Here you are," Luna handed back Pig. "He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?"

"Er... yeah... He's all right," said Ron reluctantly. "Well, come on then, let's get in... what were you saying, Harry?"

"I was saying, what are those horse things?"

"What horse things?"

"The horse things pulling the carriages!" said Harry.

Mel stared at the front part of the carriage, looking at... nothing.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about — look!"

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and wheeled him about so that he was face-to-face with the winged horse. Ron stared straight at it for a second, then looked back at Harry.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"At the — there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front — Can't... can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?" He said worryingly.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"I... yeah..."

"You don't look like you're okay," Mel frowned.

Harry just shook his head, looking more confused than ever.

"Shall we get in, then?" said Ron reluctantly.

"Yeah, yeah, go on..."

"It's all right," said Luna. "You're not going mad or anything. I can see them too."

"Can you?" Harry asked with concern.

"Oh yes. I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am."

"Lovely..." Mel murmured.

"Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?" asked Ginny once the carriage was moving. "What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?"

"I'll be quite glad if he has," said Luna. "He isn't a very good teacher, is he?"

"Yes, he is!" They all replied.

"Erm... yes... he's very good," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, we think he's a bit of a joke in Ravenclaw," said Luna.

"You've got a rubbish sense of humour then," Ron growled.

Mel felt anxious about being back. Most of the students were staring at her like she could burst into flames at any moment. She heaved a sigh, the girl was used to saying it every year but now she really had to get a grip. She wasn't going to give anyone the satisfaction to call her crazy, fickle, or whatever it was they deemed her to be. Ginny and Luna left to join their friends, when they sat down, Harry said grimly:

"He's not there."

"He can't have left," said Ron.

"Of course he hasn't," said Harry.

"You don't think he's... hurt, or anything, do you?" said Hermione.

"No."

"But where is he, then?"

"Maybe he's not back yet. You know — from his mission — the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore."

"Yeah... yeah, that'll be it," said Ron.

"Who's that?" Hermione questioned.

"It's that Umbridge woman!"

"Who?"

"She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!"

"Nice cardigan," Ron sniggered.

"She works for Fudge? What on earth's she doing here, then?"

"Dunno..."

"What d'you think she's doing?" Mel made a face. "Keeping an eye on my uncle, of course."

"No," Hermione gasped, "no, surely not..."

Professor McGonagall entered followed by a bunch of first-years. She remembered her first night there, and for some reason, that made her want to cry. She pushed it all deep inside just in time to listen to the hat's song:

In times of old when I was new And Hogwarts barely started...

The Hat continued on, until the last lines:

And we must unite inside her Or we'll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you... Let the Sorting now begin.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" said Hermione.

"Yes, indeed," said Nearly Headless Nick. "The hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels —"

Nearly Headless Nick interrupted himself when McGonagall stepped forward.

"To our newcomers," said Dumbledore, "welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!"

"Excellent," said Ron with relief.

"What were you saying before the Sorting?" Hermione asked Nick. "About the hat giving warnings?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I have heard the hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: Stand together, be strong from within."

"Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?" said Ron.

"I beg your pardon?" said Nearly Headless Nick.

"How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a hat?"

"I have no idea. Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there."

"And it wants all the Houses to be friends?" said Harry. "Fat chance."

Mel scowled at him.

"If you ask me, judging people because of their house is stupid. The hat's right, it does nothing but divide us. What if we have different beliefs half-way through? Are we supposed to just ignore that and never change?"

"Sorry, but it was you who said you'd refuse to be in the same house as Malfoy," Harry replied in annoyance.

"I was a kid when I said that," She retorted in the same tone. "It's exactly that childish mindset what Erick and I have to–"

"Ah, Flint," Harry rolled his eyes. "Forgot we're not allowed to breathe too hard around him..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude," said Nick, trying to break their argument. "Peaceful cooperation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate Houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron."

"Only because you're terrified of him," said Ron.

"Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins —"

"What blood? Surely you haven't still got — ?"

"It's a figure of speech! I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!"

"Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!" said Hermione.

"Node iddum eentup sechew," Ron replied, his mouth full of food.

"Well done, Ron," Hermione scolded when Nick left in outrage.

"What? I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?"

"Oh forget it," said the girl.

"Hem, hem."

The small voice made several heads turn, Dumbledore cut his speech and looked to his right.

"Thank you, Headmaster," said Professor Umbridge in what had to be the most unsettling voice she'd ever heard, "for those kind words of welcome. Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!

"I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati whispered.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance," She let out all of that at once. "The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction..."

Mel knew right away where this was going. 'Careful instruction' meant putting a stop to whatever Dumbledore was doing according to Fudge's ideas. She hadn't thought about it before, but she wondered if she was about to have her private lessons cancelled.

Umbridge sat down once she finished. Dumbledore clapped, Mel was amazed at the patience he showed after such a clear speech of censorship.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating."

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," said Hermione sharing a grim look with Mel.

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it? That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"I said illuminating, not enjoyable– It explained a lot."

"Did it?" said Harry in surprise. "Sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"Well, it certainly was a load of something..." Mel grumbled.

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," said Hermione.

"Was there?" said Ron blankly.

"How about 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'? How about 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'?"

"Well, what does that mean?"

"I'll tell you what it means. It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

"We're no longer running on free will," Mel added, glaring at the short woman.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!" Hermione gave a start.

"Oh yeah. Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed over Mel's laughter.

"Well, they are, they're titchy..."

"I know, but you can't call them midgets... First years! This way, please!"

"It suits her, doesn't it?" Mel smirked. "Finally found where to use her bossy nature."

Harry chuckled, and she realized that once again they had been left alone. It was a dreadful walk, not so much because of him, but because people were once again staring. At some point, Harry grew tired of it.

"Fancy taking a short cut?"

"Merlin, yes."

It took them longer to get to their tower, but Harry finally found an opportunity to talk to her.

"I was stupid to think things would go back to normal," He said darkly. "I know how it must've looked– Emerged from the Triwizard maze clutching the body... claiming Voldemort was back... then refused to speak about it, gave the whole school enough time to tell their own versions."

"There's no point on sulking about it," Mel replied. "You know how they are– Wouldn't have mattered... they think you're desperate for attention and I'm a nutter, so what? I have more important things to– Shit! We forgot to ask Hermione what the password was!"

They were staring at the Fat Lady, who didn't react kindly to Mel's swearing.

"No password, no entrance."

"Guys, I know it!" Neville ran up to them happily. "Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once — Mimbulus mimbletonia!"

Once in the common room Mel spotted the twins pinning something up on the notice board, she marched up to them, not hearing the timid 'G'night' Harry mumbled to her.

"What's the matter? You look absolutely — oh for heaven's sake..."

Mel looked at the sign that Hermione had just noticed on the board.

GALLONS OF GALLEONS!

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold?

Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs

(WE REGRET THAT ALL WORK IS UNDERTAKEN AT APPLICANT'S OWN RISK)

"Did you know about this?" Hermione asked her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel shrugged. "They told me their plans for this year..."

The girl decided not to mention she was also going to help them.

"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking down the sign. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."

"Why?"

"Because we're prefects! It's up to us to stop this kind of thing!" She huffed as they left the tower. "Anyway, what's up, Harry? You look really angry about something."

"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," said Ron.

"Oh, does he know?" Mel gave Hermione a knowing look.

"Lavender thinks so too," Hermione lamented.

"Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?" Harry muttered.

"No. I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down on our throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side."

"...sorry," He mumbled embarrassingly.

"That's quite all right," Hermione continued in a steady voice. "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year? About You-Know-Who. He said, 'His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —' "

"How do you remember stuff like that?" asked Ron.

"I listen, Ron," said Hermione.

"So do I, but I still couldn't tell you exactly what —"

"The point is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who's only been back two months, and we've started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat's warning was the same — stand together, be united —"

"And Harry said it last night, if that means we're supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance."

"Well, I think it's a pity we're not trying for a bit of inter-House unity," said Hermione crossly. "As Mel said, not everyone is so terrible, just look at Erick!"

"You two can adore that conceited twat all you want– He has both of you wrapped around his finger!"

"If I were you, I'd shut my mouth before I seal it shut," Mel scowled. "You know I don't care about the bloody badge."

Just as if to prove the boys' point, a bunch of Ravenclaws caught sight of her and Harry and hurried away.

"Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that," said Harry sarcastically.

"Hush!" Mel snapped. "I'll prove you two wrong..."

"Listen, I don't care if you insist on living in little fairyland–"

"This has nothing to do with fairytales, you idiot!" She hissed at Harry as they entered the Great Hall.

"Well then, what's your plan? Going to hire little dwarfs to sing us songs about friendship like Lockhart did?"

"You'll have to eat your words by the end of the year– It'll be as if the articles mentioning me never existed, everyone will want to be my friend, you'll see... I know how to win people over now."

"Because you're so patient and polite?" He said with heavy sarcasm in his voice.

Mel was so angry she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't yell at him in front of everyone. She refused to talk to him for the rest of the morning.

"Dumbledore didn't even mention how long that Grubbly-Plank woman's staying," Harry commented as they sat down to have breakfast.

"Maybe..." said Hermione.

"What?"

"Well... maybe he didn't want to draw attention to Hagrid not being here."

"What d'you mean, draw attention to it? How could we not notice?"

"Harry!"

"Oh– Hi, Angelina."

"Hi, good summer? Listen, I've been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"Nice one," Harry smiled.

"Yeah, well, we need a new Keeper now Oliver's left. Tryouts are on Friday at five o'clock and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new person'll fit in."

"Okay," He said.

"I'd forgotten Wood had left," said Hermione. "I suppose that will make quite a difference to the team?"

"I s'pose. He was a good Keeper..."

"Still, it won't hurt to have some new blood, will it?" said Ron.

Mel caught him staring eagerly at Harry and she knew at once he was planning to try out. She definitely wanted to see how that would play out.

"Look at today!" groaned Ron as McGonagall handed them their schedules. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snack boxes sorted..."

"Do mine ears deceive me?" said Fred, arriving with George and sitting next to Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today! That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?"

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George.

"Cheers," Ron pouted, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snack boxes," said Hermione, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?"

"Says me, and Ron."

"Leave me out of it."

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?"

"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," said George.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw."

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," said George. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint..."

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?"

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas."

"Oh yeah– I'd forgotten... Hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow– and the Lady here helped us a great deal, even if we insisted we didn't need it."

"Yeah... you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.

"Yep," said Fred. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year, now that we've got —" Mel noticed how Harry's eyes widened and George stumbled over his words. "— now that we've got our O.W.L.s. I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand."

"I can't believe this is your last year," Mel pouted. "I can't imagine the school without you two..."

"Cheers Lady, you'll have us for a whole year before that happens!" George smiled.

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop? You're going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose..." Hermione questioned.

Harry dropped his fork and dived down the table.

"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione. Mel gets it, she agreed to help us no questions asked."

Mel choked on her meal and grimaced, waiting for the blast.

"You're helping them?!" Hermione gasped.

"C'mon, George," Fred got up abruptly. "If we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."

"I'm going to kill them..." Mel grumbled.

"Why would you do something like that, Mel? You know it's not allowed–"

"Well, 'Mione, because I broke my back for four years only to be merely considered for the prefect position! I think I deserve a break," She tried to sound as grumpy and serious as possible so Hermione would feel bad for her. It worked.

"What did that mean, though?" Hermione quickly diverted the subject. "'Ask us no questions...' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"

"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons..."

Mel and Harry shared a look but she was still mad at him, so she did nothing.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?" Harry asked, trying and succeeding as well as her in distracting the others.

"Oh yeah– Bound to be, isn't it? O.W.L.s are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what N.E.W.T.s you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Not really," said Ron. "Except... well..."

"What?"

"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror," said Ron.

"Yeah, it would," said Harry.

"But they're, like, the elite. You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "I think I'd really like to do something worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!"

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "I mean, if I could take S.P.E.W. further..."

"An Auror's not the elite, though," Mel had been talking about her future with Sirius and Emily during the summer, so she had everything planned. "You know who's the real deal? The Unspeakables. Those are really something..."

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror too..." Hermione commented.

"Thought you wanted to be a Magizoologist?" Ron raised a brow.

"She wanted to be all that," Harry said under his breath.

"I can be all of it," Mel brushed it off. "But Aurors are only good if they have the right intentions, like Tonks, Moody, or Kingsley. However, it would also mean working for the Minister, and that man–"

"The Unspeakables work for him too."

"Not really," She smiled. "All I know is that whatever I end up doing, it won't be under any stupid man's orders."

"Suit yourself," Ron shrugged. "That'll be hard to get, though."

"We'll see."

"Hello, Harry!"

It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual: Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls; Harry remembered the agony of trying to get her by herself to ask her to the Yule Ball.

"Hi," said Harry.

Mel had to drown a very loud groan when she appeared.

"You got that stuff off, then?"

"Yeah– So did you... er... have a good summer?"

"Oh, it was all right, you know..."

"Is that a Tornados badge?" Ron asked abruptly. "You don't support them, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Cho.

"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" Ron insisted.

"I've supported them since I was six. Anyway... see you, Harry."

"You are so tactless!" Hermione exclaimed as Cho disappeared around the corner.

"Dunno 'Mione, Ron has his moments..." Mel said in amusement.

"I only asked her if —"

"Couldn't you tell she wanted to talk to Harry on her own?"

"So? She could've done, I wasn't stopping —"

"What on earth were you attacking her about her Quidditch team for?"

"Attacking? I wasn't attacking her, I was only —"

"Who cares if she supports the Tornados?"

"Oh, come on, half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season —"

"But what does it matter?"

"It means they're not real fans, they're just jumping on the bandwagon —"

"That's the bell," said Harry grumpily.

Mel got up quickly, accidentally hitting his shoulder. She didn't stop to say sorry.

It wasn't that she disliked Cho. She didn't, especially not after remembering she probably still thought Harry and her were a thing. However, the way Harry would react around her compared to the sulky comments he'd send her way, or the way he would dismiss her ideas, that was definitely a good reason to be mad. After all those years of friendship, he was going to favour another girl!

Well, two could play the same game.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

[stusbunker]

Home is Where She Is

For Better or Worst Series: Chapter Nine

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2304

Summary: Sam talks to someone he probably shouldn’t, Dean hones in on something going on back on Earth, a flashback and someone makes up Sam’s mind for him.

Warnings: I had a really hard time with this chapter due to recent events. Please read with caution. Drunk!Sam, Angst, Negative Self Talk, Unexplained Phenomenon, Magical Persuasion, Angst.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

For this reason, when I could stand it no longer, I sent to find out about your faith. I was afraid that in some way the tempter had tempted you and that our labors might have been in vain. -1 Thessalonians 3:5

              He wasn’t tasting anything, it hadn’t the time to settle on the tongue, it was shot back into his throat. Fast, hot, burning, crawling through his veins over the anger and into the tension in his chest and shoulders. Sam wasn’t an angry drunk, but he was an obvious one. Even after years knocking back the hard stuff alongside Dean, Sam had a limit and he had already surpassed it. The baseball game in the background kept the mood light as his fingers picked at the label of his beer. Something he hadn’t ordered, but what the bartender brought back instead of another double.

              Was this Becky all over again?

              Sam laughed mirthlessly at himself; who gets hit the same way twice? A shitty hunter, that’s who. He shook his head and tipped back the beer, letting the sour liquid coat his tongue and catch in the back of his mouth before emptying into a deep swallow. He heard laughter as a group entered, the sound melodious, sticking out above the rest of the noise surrounding him. He ignored it as the voice faded into the mumble of the group. The bartender started talking the Rockies’ bullpen and Sam fudged his way through the conversation, asking open ended questions to keep the man engaged. It was nice to talk to someone without expectations, to exist at the surface level of things.

              The distraction was short lived. Sam pouted as the bartender suggested something to eat but nodded and acknowledged the offer after a dizzying trip to the bathroom. It was then that the peace of the superficial was broken.

              “Well, look who is out of the house and off his leash,” Cady’s voice goaded from the high-top table across the way. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ignore the itch to reply. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from slurring his comeback. He kept his eyes on the screen. Her friends seemed to ignore her sudden outburst and the din continued, but her voice repeatedly rose above the general conversation, reminding him he was being watched. Not a comforting feeling, especially for one who preferred the other side of observation.

              Sam started spinning his wedding band on the bar, getting lost in the reflection as it crossed through the glass of water he received with his burger. It wasn’t anything flashy, but the ring reminded him of his wedding night, the glimmering circle in Emery’s eyes. The promise and the pact. He slid the cooled metal back on to his hand, familiar now in weight and position. Somewhere between that night and now things got complicated and he had been duped. How could he be sure it wasn’t her fault? What better way to keep him in line than make him forget he made a deal in the first place? Make him forget who he was at all.

              “Somebody is awfully quiet over here,” Cady’s voice came out as a husky whisper, her hand perched on his seatback. Sam inhaled and smiled back sloppily.

              “Cady! Enjoying yourself?” Sam asked, eyes not quite open. “How were finals?”

              She squinted at him before biting back a huge grin. “Good, yeah. Sam?”

              “Hmm?” Sam replied, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. She plopped down and turned to face him, resting her cheek in her palm against the bar. Interest and mischief battled over her features.

              “Are you seriously drunk right now?” She smiled at the bartender who shared her summation.

              Sam gave her the side eye as air puffed out of his lips in disbelief. “Do I look drunk?”

              “Um, yeah, you’re totally sloshed. I like it. I don’t think I’ve seen you relax before,” Cady trailed off, eyes sparkling as his lips scrunched up against his nose.

              “That’s because you only see me at work. Not really the place to relax, or drink, for that matter,” Sam adds like it is some untold wisdom.

              “I suppose,” Cady chuckles. “But we’re not at work now.”

              “We—are not,” Sam agreed. “But don’t try hitting on me again. It wasn’t fun last time.”

              Cady giggled and rolled her eyes as the bartender pretended not to hear their conversation.

              “Yeah, that was pretty dumb of me, huh?” Cady leaned forward grabbing Sam’s left hand. “What with you being happily married and all.”

              Sam’s face crumbled for the briefest second, his brow and lips unsure what they wanted to convey. He watched her inspect his ring, pulling back when she tried to take it off.

              “Don’t be like that,” Sam said over a pointed finger. Cady held up her hands in surrender, laughing at his unintimidating tone.

              “What are you even doing here? Drinking to drink?” Cady continued to prod.

              Sam shrugged, draining the last drops of his beer. He didn’t want to move on to the water, not yet. Dejectedly he started picking at his fries, dragging the plate towards Cady as she hadn’t stopped eying him eat. She took one and chewed on in carefully.

              “Why are you drinking, Sam?” Cady tried again.

              “Do you ever think about how much we change food to make it taste good? How many things are done to a potato to make it into a fry? When the potato itself is food, but we have to peal it and slice into it and just scald it in oil to make it desirable?”

              “Can’t say that I have thought about it lately. Where are you going with this?” Cady took another fry and looked over to her friends.

              “You can go, you know. You’ll have more fun over there. I’m not close-the-bar kind of fun,” Sam lamented.

              “Oh, I bet you could be,” Cady reassured, but stood anyway.

              Sam gave her a sad smile and a gentle nod. “Be safe?”

              “You too. I’m not going anywhere, if you need a ride, okay?” Cady looked back to the bartender before giving Sam a one-armed hug. He pulled his face away from the embrace but patted her forearm all the same. He didn’t know how he felt anymore.

^*^*^

              Everything she touched crumbled in the end. Emery stood feeling utterly helpless as Sam walked out of the house. His phone remained on the charging dock attached to the Bluetooth speaker which they kept opposite the stovetop; she wouldn’t be able to find him if she tried. If he went after the angels, they were dead or as good as. She wasn’t sure what would happen if he simply left her there and returned to his old life. He needed something out of this arrangement just as she did, but was it enough to keep him there?

              Baffled, Emery tossed the remnants of Sam’s meal and started loading the dishwasher. Once the mess in front of her face was cleaned up, her mind started to spiral. She headed to put away her shoes, taking the stairs dejectedly. As she closed the door to her closet, their oversized bed silently mocked her. Her sudden domestic bliss wasn’t reverting to the bitter stalemate it had been, it was completely unraveling. And yet she couldn’t quite understand why she was taking it so personally, why this felt more like a rejection than a jumbled negotiation. Why Sam walking away to clear his head was immediately equated as a failure on her part.

^*^*^

              Dean felt many things behind the wheel of the phantom Baby with Michael at his side: fear, resolve, annoyance, and panic, just to name a few. What he felt that night, though it was perpetually night, was something new and it made him that much more alert. In a word, it was defeat. He glanced over to the smug bastard angel to see if he felt it as well, but Michael was the same as ever. Dean fixed his grip on the wheel and sank shallowly into the sensation, the need to find the source and the fear of what it meant steadying his descent.

              Suddenly, the rearview mirror flickered from the repetitive retreating streetlights onto a bedroom, big and bright, centered around a very inviting bed. Suddenly a woman appeared, followed by a mutt. She spread across the comforter and stroked the opposite pillow as the dog circled at the foot of the bed. Dean didn’t know how, but he knew her even to the point where her name was on the tip of his tongue. Trying to hold his reactions in check, he continued to watch her as she began to sniffle, love lost flowing to him from upon the silent screen.

              Suddenly, she sat up and dragged herself to her feet, a voice both faint and coaxing reached through the void. “Let’s go Banders, if Sam’s not coming back, we really do have the whole place to ourselves.”

              “Oh look, another dog,” Michael slipped in, unimpressed. Dean rolled his eyes and looked back to see her before she left the room, but the darkness behind them had returned across the mirror.

^*^*^

Sam was starting to feel the sofa in his bones, the nights he refused to sleep in the bed with Emery began to accumulate in his joints. Bedraggled he rolled down onto the floor where Bandit found him doing his morning push-ups. After going through his regular routine, Sam went upstairs to shower and change. He knocked on the door to the room he no longer claimed as his, though it was where all of his clothing was kept. As he opened the door, Sam was greeted with a considering smirk on his wife’s face. Emery’s hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with untold gratitude and the sheer pleasantness of her expression dazzled him.

She had always been beautiful, his original appraisal hadn’t changed with the waning of the wedding spell’s magic. But that morning Emery’s beauty radiated out like a fireplace, warm and inviting, comfort at last. Sam actually sighed as an awkward grin bent his lips and he gave her a small wave.

“Uh, sorry, I thought you were done,” Sam apologized and started backing away.

“No, it’s okay!” Emery blushed. “I didn’t say anything, because I was hoping to surprise you back.” She adjusted a glinting bottle on her dresser top before speaking again, Sam confused, waited to see what she meant.

“I can’t believe it has been a month already, can you?” Emery slipped into her shoes and glanced at Sam over her shoulder.

“I guess not,” Sam agreed, still slightly dumbfounded by the new aura she held. They looked at each other, in the eye, the first time in weeks without annoyance or trepidation and shared a shy smile.

“Anyway, I’m done, have at it.” Emery paused at the door, sounding hopeful. “See ya after work?”

Sam nodded casually. The closing door sent a waft of jasmine back to him.

^*^*^

              Cady whistled as she pulled up to the curb outside the obscenely well-lit corner house. Sam grunted in the backseat as Cady’s roommate shoved him back to his side of the bench seat.

              “Dude, we’re here,” an unfamiliar voice pulled Sam from the depths of sleep, with a jarringly familiar phrase.

              “Yeah, I’m up,” Sam muttered, wiping the drool from his beard. Looking up at the house from the sedan’s backseat made him feel nine years old, the two-story monstrosity looming above, like all those that waited until his dad could vanquish its past. Instead of ghosts or even ghouls, it held forgotten truths and guilt, the shame of his outburst and the distrust of months of affection. He didn’t remember asking them to take him home.

              “You okay from here, stud?” Cady called from the driver’s seat.

              Sam croaked out something close to a ‘who the hell knows,’ but recovered with a decisive throat clear. “Yep, thanks.”

Like a new foal, Sam pulled himself out of the tiny backseat, unfurling his limbs until his feet steadied underneath him. Slapping the roof with two quick pats, Sam was off, heading back to the place that he couldn’t seem to leave.

              The security system was armed, causing Sam to grab for a weapon that was not in his belt, before he staggered toward the keypad beside the front door, that they never used. He groaned in relief while the disabled chime rang out. He squinted in the dark, trying to gain his bearings in the silent house. If Sam had been closer to sober, he would have been surprised that Bandit hadn’t come to greet him, if not concerned that the alarm hadn’t woken Emery.

              He stumbled into the Den, not wanting to ascend the stairs or set down his pride just yet. After nearly whiffing on the two steps leading into the sunken room, Sam caught himself on the archway. A slight growl came from seemingly nowhere. Slowly, Sam focused on the sight before him, emotion burned deep into his chest, causing the breaths to heave as he tried to meter their intensity. Bandit was pinned to Emery’s side as she slept, but the dog’s tail wagged once he saw it was Sam. Ever the dutiful boy, Bandit let his snout fall back into the crook of Emery’s arm. Seeing them huddled together like that, almost like they had been waiting up for him, damn near broke Sam in half.

              He lowered himself down onto the stairs, elbows falling to his bent knees as he cried. He cried out of frustration of having a life so tangible and impractical, for wanting to keep it. He cried because he was drunk and when he wasn’t sappy happy; he got morose. But mostly he cried because he was so relieved that she stayed, but so terrified that he could no longer rely on his feelings to guide him. Sure, he was smart, but his instincts came from inside and without those, who was he?

^*^*^

Read On: An Olive Branch and A Crossroads

[artificialqueens]

In a summer haze - part 1 (branjie) - i-n-o-n

Author’s note

Someone requested branjie camping, so I brought them to summer camp. Constructive criticism very welcome.

This will be the first part, if people want to read more. Let me know.

——————————

It’s really just babysitting.

That’s what Brooke tells herself as she mails her application for the summer counselor job, convincing herself that the only real difference is the amount of kids you’re required to watch. She conveniently neglects to realize the fact that babysitting usually consists of a few hours of letting a child watch TV, while summer camp is eight weeks of 24/7 alertness.

The camp is for girls aged ten through sixteen, and she desperately hopes to get the ten year olds. The older girls have more likely than not been corrupted by the drama of middle school, and will be worried about image and gossip - things that Brooke have moved past long ago, and doesn’t really wish to relive.

When she arrives at the camp she is handed a list by a short, black haired woman with an obscenely large pair of headlights and a look on her face that makes Brooke wonder if she’d just swallowed an entire packet of Warheads. There’s a tall, stoic woman by her side, with large pageant hair that seems highly impractical in their primitive surroundings.

The black haired woman introduces herself as Michelle, and her tone is as sharp as Brooke had assumed it would be upon first glance. She explains how the nine names on the list are the names of the girls that’ll be in Brooke’s cabin, and Brooke’s heart falls as Michelle tells her that they’re all either fifteen or sixteen. Great.

Relief is quick to follow though, as Michelle tells her that they’ve paired all the newbies with a veteran counselor, so she won’t be dealing with it on her own.

Brooke’s veteran is Shuga Martinez; a latin girl with big hair and a perpetual smirk. She’s here for her third summer, although Brooke wouldn’t necessarily have pegged her for a career camp counselor, so to speak. She throws her bags unceremoniously on one of the two twin bunks, eyeing Brooke as she does so. “Ever done this before, Blondie?”

“What?” Brooke is broken from her spell, setting her own bag carefully on her bed. “Oh, not camp, no. But I babysit a little bit…”

“So, no,” she smirks. Or, well, she strengthens her existing smirk. “This should be fun.”

She must sense the way Brooke is starting to shake in her chelsea boots - which she realizes now was a dumb choice of shoewear - because she quickly turns her smirk into a reassuring smile.

“Relax,” she says, placing a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “I never had any issues I couldn’t solve in a minute. We work together, and we got this.”

“Yeah?” Brooke hates seeming this timid, but she’s coming to the conclusion that she’s gotten herself into waters that she doesn’t know how to navigate.

“Of course, hun,” the nickname spills from Shuga’s lips with ease. “Besides, teenage girls ain’t that bad in the summer.”

——————————

The first morning is spent with the counselors scattered around the gym, which doubles as an auditorium. They’re waiting for either of the camp directors to come and host the intro meeting, even though Brooke can already tell that it’ll probably be Michelle. The actual owner of the camp, mother Ru is what the others call her, seems to be much too busy to actually get her hands dirty, or to get too involved.

Shuga abandons her as soon as they get inside, calling enthusiastic greetings to the other returning counselors. Brooke leans on the edge of the stage, revelling in the relative silence around her. Shuga is a talker, she’s found out, and she hasn’t had a proper chance to slow down and take things in on her own.

Brooke grabs a camp brochure from the box she’s sat next to and flips through it. She takes in the images of campers jumping into the lake, building rafts, playing soccer. It’s as idyllic as what she’d actually seen of the grounds so far, and although she is beyond terrified for the campers to arrive, she finds herself excited to explore all of the activities.

There’s a box of craft supplies in the middle of the stage, and Brooke looks around to see that the majority of the counselors are working on cabin decorations. She grabs a stack of colorful construction paper, a scissor and a few sharpies and settles on the floor. From the pocket of her shorts she digs out the crumbled list of names, and starts writing the girls’ names in big, swooping letters. If nothing else, she can hang it by their bunks to help her remember who’s who.

Her partner doesn’t seem inclined towards decorating - at least not at the moment. She’s sitting on the floor next to an equally smirky girl. Surprisingly, Brooke finds herself staring. The girl is tiny, with wavy, brown hair and a tattoo smattered across her sternum that makes Brooke wonder about the administration’s hiring conditions. There’s an easy, familiar rhythm between her and Shuga that suggests she’s a returning counselor too.

Shuga says something that cracks the other girl up, and Brooke feels an odd sweep of obscure jealousy.

She lets her eyes linger for a moment, hoping Shuga will somehow catch her eye and wave her over to make introductions. It never happens, so Brooke returns her attention to her crafting. She’ll meet everyone later, she figures. It’ll be fine.

Clever and precise as she is, she gives each name card a theme that matches the first letter of each girl’s name, and her perfectionism has her losing herself in the task. When she finally looks up, the girl with the tattoo is standing there and looking over her shoulder, grinning with one side of her mouth. She looks endlessly amused, and Brooke curses her fair skin as she blushes.

“You’re real thorough, huh?” the girl speaks, and her voice is like gravel and tar, taking Brooke by complete surprise. “Good thing you’re stuck with Shuga, she won’t make as much fun of you as the rest of us.”

“I, uh-”

The girl ignores her weak attempt at a sentence, thumbing through the stack of name cards before her with a mock critical eye.

“Whatchu gonna do if this Brooke Lynn bitch is real scared of bumblebees though?” she asks, holding forward one of the cards, delicately dotted with a few tiny bumblebees.

“She’s not.” Brooke sneers, grabbing at the cards. The girl just moves them further away from her reach, flipping to the next.

“What if Caitlyn don’t like cats? She could be allergic or some shit.” she continues, and Brooke rolls her eyes playfully. “Or what if Sarah-”

“If Sarah doesn’t like sunshine, she’s coming to the wrong place,” Brooke bites back, and the other girl’s brows go flying upwards at the sudden retaliation. She looks pleased above all else.

“You win that one, girl,” she admits, before eyeing Brooke with a judging lilt of the head. “But really, mami, trees? Why not turtles or tigers-”

“We’re surrounded by trees, I felt inspired.”

“-tequila?”

In one sweep motion, Brooke snatches the papers from her, ducking her head in a vain attempt to hide her stupid, treacherous smile.

When she looks back up, the girl is still grinning at her with keen fascination, hands folded behind her back.

“I’m Vanessa,” she says, her first words that don’t hold an ounce of teasing to them. “Most folks call me Vanjie, though.”

“Nice to meet you, Vanessa,” Brooke says, feeling the syllables of Vanessa’s name scratch at her throat before she speaks them. “I’m Brooke Lynn.”

She’s suddenly mindful that the bumblebee card has landed on the top of the stack. Vanessa’s eyes grow wide as she follows the direction of Brooke’s own stare.

“Oh,” she says, chuckling. “And you ain’t afraid of bumblebees.”

“Indeed I’m not,” Brooke is now the one smirking, and she finally feels like she has the upperhand in this conversation.

“You make one for Shuga too?” Vanessa asks, nodding in Shuga’s direction as she sits on the floor alongside the other counselors. “Cause she won’t tell you, but she’d appreciate the shit outta that.”

“I didn’t,” Brooke suddenly realizes, flicking through the papers. “You want to help me make one?”

“I ain’t no good with arts and crafts,” she admits, although she does sit down across from Brooke. “I fudge off of the pretty girls with the good hands, ya dig?”

Brooke laughs and Vanessa looks smug about it, but really Brooke is stuck on the pretty. Although she has a lingering feeling that she’s not the first girl Vanessa has said that to, she finds that she doesn’t really care.

Michelle chooses that moment to finally make her appearance, sauntering in from the left side of the stage with a clipboard in her hands. Her nails make an insufferable clicking noise as she taps her fingertips against the cardboard. She orders everyone off stage, even though it really only is Vanessa and Brooke, and they file into three rows of folding chairs.

As she berates them and warns them that parents could start arriving within the hour, Vanessa looks Brooke’s way and rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. As if Michelle had been the one kept in waiting.

——————————

On the small porch of their cabin, Shuga and Brooke await their campers, giving Brooke her very first chance to see everyone else’s cabin matchups. Visible from their porch is the cabins of the girls she’d managed to meet briefly following Michelle’s “pep talk.”

There’s Silky and Yvie, whom she’s been informed are more rivals than anything else. Apparently there’s a bet going around about who’ll request a switch of cabin firs. Then there’s Scarlet and Ariel, Mercedes and Soju, and Ra’Jah and Honey.

The cabin neighboring their own was occupied by Plastique and Nina, two girls that Brooke had immediately hit it off with. Nina looked much older than the others, towering over even Brooke who was a considerably tall girl to start with.

Most notably though, if you ask Brooke, was the cabin across the small stretch of grass from their own. It was Vanessa and A’keria’s, and between Vanessa’s tattoos and A’keria’s staff shirt that was tucked into a pair of high waisted, cut off shorts, paired with huge gold earrings: they were shaping up to be the cool cabin.

Brooke starts to feel the nerves the second the first kid appears on the lawn, carrying a tiny little suitcase and with her blonde hair in an adorable set of pig tails. Michelle directs her towards Nina and Plastique’s cabin - the lucky bastards got the ten year olds.

More kids appear, and as she thinks she’s about to be swept into chaos, she catches Vanessa looking straight at her.

“Get ready,” the girl shouts. “We only just getting started!”

And she’s right.

Once it starts, everything moves fast.

——————————

Every single Sunday, including their very first night, the kids line up to sign up for activities to do throughout the week. They have to do at least six a day, and Brooke is pretty sure it’s mainly meant to tire them out so there’s no hassle come bedtime.

The counselors receive their assignments on Sundays too, and much like the kids they rotate through activities, taking turn monitoring them in groups of two or three. They circle through the girls that way, instead of merely getting to know those that live in their cabins.

Brooke is relieved to find out, on that very first night, that to fifteen and sixteen year olds, she is the epitome of knowledge and experience. They ask her about boys, mainly, and she shoots Shuga a knowing look. The other girl immediately takes over, not seeming surprised in the least when Brooke tells her she’s gay as they’re lying in their bunks later.

Within the first week, Brooke gets to do every outdoor activity her mother had always warned her against - she hikes, kayaks, swims in the lake although it’s riddled with tiny fish and possibly leeches. She plays dodgeball and soccer and ultimate frisbee, and tie-dyes a T-shirt in the colors of the rainbow.

They eat three meals a day in the main hall, she and Shuga at the heads of a wooden table with their girls on either side, talking over each other and asking questions so often that Brooke rarely gets to finish an entire meal.

Once a week, dinner turns into a special occasion. The camp cook, Ross, cooks on the massive grills by the lakeside, and the girls sit on picnic blankets and tend to stay there all night.

That is, until they move to the campfire.

The campfire is lit every single night, with no exceptions. The counselors take turns lighting it, and Brooke thanks the lord she had the mind to stay with the girl scouts for more than just a week. It saves her from complete embarrassment. It does help her self-esteem to see the ever confident Vanessa try to constrain a string of swears as her matches somehow get wet, and the lighter runs out of gas.

Around the fire, songs are sung and ghost stories are told. They roast s’mores and pass around bags of chips and juicepacks. Brooke watches the girls sing and giggle, and regrets never going to camp herself.

Within days, the counselors start to accumulate an excessive amount of handcrafted jewelry, and cabin pride blooms furiously. Handshakes are invented, chants are written down, and Plastique and Nina’s cabin comes up with a rap that Brooke can only describe as suburbian.

By day three, the girls in Vanessa and A’keria’s cabin are wearing hoop earrings and red lipstick. Michelle surprisingly doesn’t tell them to quit it, but merely looks on disapprovingly. That doesn’t make anyone stop.

Yvie, who Brooke quite frankly hadn’t trusted around children at first glance, has a ten year old permanently stuck to her hip, even though she’s not even assigned to her cabin.

Brooke and Shuga have established personas that the girls find hilarious. Brooke plays he clueless newbie, and Shuga yells at her morning and night that she needs to clean her shit up so she can find her reading glasses. They call her nana, and the nickname is soon used by everyone at the camp.

She loves their kids, every single one. Even though Caitlyn literally never stops babbling on about her stupid dog. She loves how pleased they look as they present her with beaded bracelets and the way they engage her in their own elaborate handshake every time they see her. She doesn’t even mind how long it takes them to get ready in the morning as they fight at the mirrors, applying makeup that they’ll sweat off within the hour.

Camp life is structured around set routines, and the counselors have their own too. Every night, Shuga and Brooke sit on the floor between their beds and play Connect Four or Tic-tac-toe, until the giggles on the other side of the wall fade.

Then they head outside.

All of the counselors gather outside on the large stretch of grass that connects their cabins. They lounge in the dewy grass, passing around bottles of wine or liquor. These hours are usually Brooke’s very favorite, as the summer heat turns from aggressive to pleasant, and the grounds grow quiet. They exchange stories of what their campers have said, and things they’ve experienced at home.

Most times, when someone makes a joke, Brooke catches herself looking at Vanessa, no matter where she is in the circle. It shouldn’t make sense, that she is the one that Brooke gravitates to.

But then again, whenever Brooke looks her way, Vanessa seems to be staring right back at her.

She likes all of the girls, although she thinks Ra’Jah is too sensitive, and Silky is too loud. She’s forging genuine friendships with every passing day. Still, Vanessa is the one she finds herself looking for in a crowd. She’s who she wants to connect with, as if she is being guided to her by some divine light or force. If you believe in that kind of crap.

No matter where they are, Vanessa always shines the brightest.

So why shouldn’t Brooke look at her? Seeing as she makes everyone else blur around the edges.

Seeing as she’s Vanessa.

[theoriginalsfan124]

The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be

Chapter One

Four and half of moths have passed since the day the world, which we all knew, went to shit. Corpses started walking and literally eating people. As you all can guess there are little to no survivors left. I don’t know the exact number, I don’t know if there’s anyone besides two people left to roam this earth. Why am I sure there’s two people? The answers simple - it’s me and the guy sitting next to me in the car.

You could say we were on this ride from the start, although that’s not exactly the truth. We met only after the world ended. To be honest I don’t even know his full name or his age(though we should be close in age). You’re probably thinking - why the hell are you with a guy you barely know. It’s because he saved me right when I was left alone amongst the crumbles.

I remember clearly how I ran, that it seemed like I was flying, but that wasn’t enough. Walkers were hot on my tail. I ran into an alley, looked around where I could run in, close myself in and hide, hide from those things that were once people. However, nothing seemed safe enough. My legs carried me further down the street as I silently prayed to stay alive, but the hope I had was lessening by the second. The adrenaline pumped though my veins, however, it was getting harder and harder to breath, sharp pain appeared in my side, my body screamed for me to stop, but I couldn’t. Stopping meant death and never in my life have I wanted to live more. Slowly, I could feel my steps getting slower. Hot tears were streaming down my face. I knew I was done for. This was the end. This was how I’ll die - alone, scared and ripped apart by corpses.

-In here!- an unknown voice yelled.

As I ran I looked around - nothing. “Am I going insane now too?” I thought.

-I’m on the buildings rooftop, dumbass!

I looked up( dangerous I know, but I had nothing to loose) . In the distance, on a not so tall building, I could make out a figure of a man, who waved his hands in the air.

Run towards me, after you reach the building I’m on take a turn to the right. You’ll run into a dead end, but don’t worry, on your left there’s going to be a ladder leading towards the roof, which I’m on. Climb that and for the love of God, don’t look back! - The stranger yelled.

I was hesitant. Will I trust a complete stranger?

-Goddamit! Are you seriously hesitating?! - His now angry voice yelled.

Death was breathing down my neck, I had no choice. I did what he said. I made my way to the building, which he stood on, I turners right and climbed the emergency ladder to the roof with no hesitation. I thanked God the walkers were dumb enough and didn’t know anything a human would, but overall they were dangerous creatures with no thoughts or feelings whatsoever.

After I climbed up I dropped my backpack and then plopped myself on it, finally letting myself breath.

-Nice going there, dumbass? Did you want to attract all the cities walkers or something? - the mean voice of the stranger, who was now blocking the sun, spoke.

-They were chasing me, I had nowhere to go, - my voice was filled with the same amount of anger as his.

Whatever bullshit you did there has the streets swarming with walkers, - he furrowed his eyebrows and turned to scan over the surroundings.

I looked him up and down several times. I got to admit, he was good-looking, screw that, he was a that man was handsome as hell. He was tall, well-built, muscular, the stranger had short blond hair and ocean blue eyes that shone in the sunlight. Amanda or Margarit would have called him a full- course meal or snack already. Margaret or Amanda...God, did I miss them...

-Well fuck, - he cursed under his breath. - We’ll have to wait in the building until they scatter around.

He went to the door close by and opened it.

-You’re going with me or not? I don’t care either way, - he said and took the backpack laying next to the door in his hands before he put it on his shoulders and went though the door.

I shook my head and stood up to follow me.

-Are you alone? - I asked.

The blond male didn’t say anything, only nodded his head.

-I’m Caroline, - I stopped in the middle of the stairs and extended my arm to him.

-Noel, - he took it and slightly shook it.

He didn’t necessarily like the idea of me tagging along and he made that clear the first couple of days, but I’m very stubborn and after a week he just gave up. And here we are now, almost four moths on the road, and only hell knows where we are going.

I looked at him with the corner of my eye. Noel was focused as he looked at the road, one of his arms elbow rested against the car window, his other arm gripping the wheel. Out of both of us, he drove the best, maybe that’s why he was almost always the one behind the wheel. We drove our minivan in shifts, although my shifts were pretty short, and almost always interrupted by Noel getting fed up with my “driving skills”( out of habit I still followed all the laws except I did speed a lot), so he would usher me out the drivers seat and take the wheel instead, his excuse was mostly that we needed to save gas, because I was spreading to much or that “Goddamit, Caroline, it’s the end of the bloody world! Why are you stopping at the Stop sign?!”. I tried not to tell him to shove it, because even though we were somewhat friends, almost everything in the car, including the car itself, Noel had before me, so he could kick my ass out any second. He never did even if I did call him a chicken nugget, to which he would respond with “WOW! I’m so insulted.”.

On nights we would stop somewhere more deserted, turn off the engine and while one was sleeping, the other would stay up to keep a look out for walker. If a walker got close, we would start the car and drive elsewhere, or what Noel mostly done, got out of the van to kill it with a knife to make as less noise as possible, because the mostly only reacted to sound. A lot of sound meant a lot of walkers. This was we got rest and some sleep without letting our guard down.

I reached my hand out to press the button, which would turn on a song, which played at the stereo in the car.

-I swear to God, if I hear despacito one more time, I’ll throw this stereo out the window and leave your ass on the side of the road, - Noel threatened, forcing me to stop my movements.

-But it’s the only disk we have, a that’s the only song on it! - I reasoned.

-I don’t care, - he answered.

I sighed. I know I can’t win the argument, but I’m not me if I still didn’t try.

I wouldn’t need to repeat this song constantly, if you just talked to me,- I argued.

I saw him roll his eyes. I knew he wasn’t the biggest fan of talking, barely spearing a good morning or goodnight thought-out the whole day sometimes.

Can’t we just stay in silence?- He asked clearly annoyed.

-That’s the only thing we do - stay quiet! - I whined and threw my hands in the air.

-No one told you to come with me you know.

I frowned. He’s at it again - throwing the “no body told you to come with me” excuse again. He does this every time I do something he does this on occasion too.

-My god are you an ass...- I muttered under my breath as I folded my arms.

-Say the girl, who owns duck printed underwear.

-How did you even?! - I got flustered that I almost jumped out of my seat.

-Careful there, captain duckling. Also, pro tip, don’t leave your underwear on the top of your bag.

I can’t believe you... you-you- you fudge ball!

-That’s a new one. Besides, you’re the one that asked me to find your sweater, while you were driving.

Noel turned to face me and smiled. He rarely smiled, usually he was focused and serious, so his smile made me smile.

-Well, at least I’m not boring...- I shrugged.

He shook his head and turned back to the road and continued driving silently.

-We’ll stop at the nearest town. We need supplies, more clean water and some gas, - he spoke after a while.

I’ll come clean, this part I hated as much as I loved it. From one hand, we’ll finally stretch out legs out, take a walk, breath in some fresh air, but on the other hand, we’ll risk more than driving. Without even feeling it, I put my hand on my necklace. It was a dog tag, given to me right on the edge of my life falling apart, in other words, the world falling apart, by someone important to me.

-I hope nothing happens...-I spoke softly.

-Let’s hope for the best.

After a couple of minutes Noel took a turn to the left, towards a small town. More time passed and the van stopped next to a small shop and he opened the car door, and left the van. I took a deep breath and followed him out. I was silently praying all that time that nothing bad would happen to us, but life was never so simple....

[blazehedgehog]

Can you rank the Modern Sonic stages from Sonic Generations from your least favorite to your favorite?

I could have sworn I already did this, but I guess that was probably for Sonic Unleashed, come to think of it. Sure, I’ll give this a shot.

LEAST FAVORITE

Planet Wisp - So much of this level feels like it totally misunderstands the appeal of the original Planet Wisp. I don’t like the music, I don’t like riding the minecarts, it’s terrible as the last level, it goes on way too long, and it’s like 90% side scrolling 2D. The slower, fiddly, platforming-heavy bits of these modern games are always my least favorite.

Seaside Hill - This is one of the most head-scratching inclusions in this game, because Sonic Generations already had Green Hill Zone. Seaside Hill was created to evoke Green Hill; its presence in Sonic Generations is like the snake eating its own tail, nostalgia for nostalgia. I appreciate the stage’s size and how many alternate paths there are, but a lot of them also just aren’t very fun. The underwater section, platforming across turtles’ backs, the kart section… ehhh.

Green Hill - That’s right, I’m going there. Green Hill Zone in Sonic Generations kind of sucks! It has the unfortunate role of acting as the game’s tutorial level, but what this means is that it coddles you more than any other stage in the game. Every inch of this stage is covered in invisible walls, protecting you from even the barest minimum of danger. You can’t even look at a cracked stone wall without an invisible barrier pushing you away. Green Hill is the worst helicopter parent.

Sky Sanctuary - Like Green Hill, Sky Sanctuary has a lot of invisible walls trying to protect you from yourself, and some of them are so bad that you can’t even boost across tiny gaps out of fear you might not make it all the way across the two foot space. I also don’t like the part where you have to race the enemy to push a button (the controls can mess up and make you face the wrong way really easily), and, once again, it’s another level that starts to crumble around Sonic even though he isn’t actively causing damage?

Chemical Plant - Chemical Plant has one “holy cow!” moment, and it’s right at the start when you realize you can stop and jump across to the other roads, because most Sonic games would make that stuff off-limits (and it’s especially surprising after GHZ). The rest of the level… is… meh? The sliding box platforms can be finicky with their physics hacks, and it’s really weird to me that the stage just begins to self-destruct halfway through even though the game never tells us why. Does Sonic just emit destructive force? Also, this and Seaside Hill have the most framerate problems on PC thanks to bad shaders (something Dario said he could fix, but never did :p)

Speed Highway - This is up there with some of the most technical levels in Sonic Generations; it’s really easy to mess up a drift, or fudge an air boost, and throw a whole run in the garbage. That’s not really a complaint. I keep wishing they would have played up the sunrise aspect more – they fake it pretty well by hiding the skybox until the very end, but once you notice the illusion it kind of breaks. But at least they let you run on the highway itself with the cars.

Crisis City - This should honestly be lower on the list simply for the bizarre reason Sonic Team clearly doesn’t want to let Sonic 2006 go, even though Sega itself was trying to bury the game. Unfortunately it’s one of my favorite levels in Sonic Generations, and outside of Speed Highway, probably one of the few levels that comes closest to matching the Sonic Unleashed’s higher level of challenge. The 2D sections are awful (particularly the geyser stomping), but I think most of the 2D sections in Modern Sonic’s levels are awful.

Rooftop Run - I still think Sonic Unleashed’s original version of this level is a lot better, but this is no slouch, either. The addition of the hot air balloon festival is a nice touch, and the slower, more cozy town area at the start of the slow route is cute.

City Escape - It really is a toss up between this and Rooftop Run. I think I might like this song better, and I think the overall level itself is one of the fastest in the game. If you hit your routes properly, you almost don’t have to slow down ever. Because of that, it’s also one of the shortest levels in Sonic Generations, unfortunately. I think I average around a minute and a half? But, man, what a good 90 seconds. Special shout out to the new and improved truck chase at the end - the sawblade arms are good and ridiculous, and the little wallrun bit with the billboard on the final turn is a great touch.

MOST FAVORITE

[the-grumpy-panda]

Junkfoodio Rambleosa!

This is almost all I have left of this most recent junk food splurging madness. This write up might be slightly longer than usual as a result, but not as long as it could have been. I might be able to squeeze yet another ramble out of what's left. You're welcome. Or I may simply decide enough is enough and forego any more food musings. You're twice as welcome. Some of these may not be all that new/exclusive/limited/whatever by the time this hits the wonders of the internet press, but they are new to me as of this writing. If they've been out awhile, this is simply the first time I stumbled across them while out and about. So let's just get to it. -Thomas' S'mores Mini bagels! A slight chocolate smell, as if they were lightly dusted with cocoa (they're not) but no real s'more flavor. There's a light chocolate flavor in the aftertaste, but it's not enough to make these memorable or worth seeking out. -How will the Thomas' S'mores English Muffin fare, then? To begin, it's a sickly cocoa color, so at first glance at least it appears that it may be chock full of flavor. It smells like a doughy s'more, so that's a good start. The flavor is definitely closer to a s'more than the mini bagels, but it doesn't quite get it right. Again, it's too... doughy. If that makes sense. Maybe s'more just isn't a flavor that translates to bread products. These were still enjoyable overall, though, and were good all warm and toasty with a dab of butter. Definitely the one to try. -Triscuit Ginger & Lemongrass! Is there a greater food complexity than Triscuits? It seems we all wake up one day after reaching a certain age, and we just instinctively, and suddenly, like Triscuits. If this rule doesn't apply to you, then a-ha! You are an android, and you have failed my fail proof method of sussing you out. This particular Triscuit could prove problematic. I'm of a mind to think it will either be heinous, or not so bad. So far, Triscuits have been pretty consistent in making their off color ventures relatively successful, so the odds are in their favor. Everything about this particular version turns out to be... faint. There are very faint notes of ginger and lemon upon opening the bag, but you must take a deep breath in. There is a very faint ginger and lemon taste when chewing, but it recedes rather quickly. These work okay enough, and I enjoyed them as is, but this is one Triscuit that truly begs to be topped with something, where the faint ginger and lemon aspects would play a small part to a whole. These may also work well crumbled into a soup of sorts. -Triscuit Fig & Honey! These gave me an audible "Oh!" moment when I first saw them on the store shelf. I never knew I needed this until it was presented to me. Unfortunately, I was slightly let down by the experience once I opened the bag. There is a light fig aroma to be detected, but it could also be perceived as an earthy tone. It's not that it's bad, it's just not the sweet kick I was expecting to take in. The first few bites are also the same, a light fig/earthy presence that doesn't impress or dissuade. Then the honey note kicks in, and it has a burnt or old aspect to it that doesn't play well on the tongue. I suppose Triscuit was due for a misfire, but I wouldn't have guessed this would be the one. Overall, it's still an okay snack, and it too may best be served with an accompanying topping, but I'm less inclined to explore that option than I was with the Ginger & Lemongrass ones. -Utz Grilled Hot Dog potato chips! Oddly enough, upon first whiff these remind me ever so slightly of the Crab Chip that Utz (and others) produce. Which is peculiar for a hot dog flavored chip. If you're not familiar with the crab chip, it's a chip made with Old Bay seasoning. If you're unfamiliar with Old Bay, then you are not from, or have never visited, the East Coast. It's a staple seasoning blend, and over the last few years it has grown quite noticeably, and one can find "crab seasoning" on all sorts of food items. It was fun at first to see someone put it on a chip, and it's not bad on a chicken wing, but purists will maintain it's strictly for seafood, with crabs (obviously) being the absolute number one use. Followed very closely by shrimp, then followed by every other type of seafood. But I digress... heavily. Taste wise, the first thing I notice is salt. These are quite salty. The second thing I noticed was a heavy smoke flavor, which isn't the most pleasant thing to get from a chip, but I must admit it does make me think of something being grilled. The last flavor that is at play here is mustard. Underneath the salt and the smoke is a clear and distinct mustard element. I like the mustard part actually, and am sad it comes after the too much salt and smoke parts. I can't say it distinctly reminds me of a hot dog, but a grilled something or other element is there. -Utz Cheeseburger potato chips! Will these best the not quite right hot dog chips? Let's see. First whiff gives me a very faint ketchup odor, but one that is overpowered by a pickle aroma. Taste wise, I would have to say the same. They taste like a dollop of ketchup that was mixed with some pickle juice, and at the tail end there is also a salty cheese element that comes out. I don't get any smokiness like the hot dog one, so the cheeseburger or grill element is missing. As they stand, it's a weird ketchup/pickle/cheese chip. It's not gross, but they're rather forgettable, and after eating a few I noticed that again, these are quite salty. It left out in a bowl with no labeling, I imagine most would think they're either a pickle chip, or some kind of cheese and onion flavor. -Little Debbie PB Rounds! A fudge dipped peanut butter sandwich cookie. Well, isn't that cute? They've scored the top in the method of a traditional peanut butter cookie. It also tastes like a peanut butter cookie dipped in chocolate, so there's nothing else to add about it. It was good, and if you like peanut butter cookies dipped in chocolate, give this one a spin. My one complaint is that the cookie parts were a little too thick. This needed to be an ever so slightly thinner treat. Well, now that I think about it, I have another complaint. The peanut butter is a little too sugary and fake. It won't stop me from finishing the box over some time, but I do wish it was slightly less artificial as well. But it's a snack cake from Little Debbie. It's going to be fake, and at worst a bad Little Debbie treat is still alright enough to eat, so why am I complaining? -Keebler Lemon Cream Pie Fudge Stripe cookies! Almost nothing to say about these. They are exactly what they promise to be. A lemon cookie with some icing. They're good, and if you like such things, they're worth a taste.   -Hostess Summer Berry Donettes! Smell like blueberries, taste like raspberries and have the color of some kind of sangria Kool-Aid. They are however, quite tasty with a very nice moistness level. They don't seem as thick as other donettes I've had. They seem a little flatter and a litter rounder. Or I'm just crazy. I like these a lot. -Pop-Tarts Frosted Chocolate Sugar Cookie. No exclamation point. Pop-Tarts deserve no exclaims, certainly no acclaim. Dry. Dusty. Tasteless. Sad. Drywallesque.  I imagine these are merely left over World War I rations Kellogg's repackaged and then painted pictures on. Oh, yeah. For whatever weird reason these have villains from the DC comics realm plastered on them. The one I begrudgingly took a solitary bite from had someone named Cheetah on it. I don't know who that is, but she looked like a sexy Thundercat and was in a bikini. That's the only exciting thing about this travesty of a treat. But aren't Pop-Tarts meant to be for kids? Why are you pasting nearly naked, top heavy cat ladies on a kids food item? They're eating a Pop-Tart, for crying out loud! Their young little lives have already been messed up enough! Don't warp their brains, too. Shame at you Kellogg's. -Jolly Rancher Green Apple Pop-Tarts. They did it. Those crafty bastards actually did it. Foil wrapped HATE that you can buy for roughly three bucks a box. With the added stank of a green apple candy flavor, the worst candy flavor. I tried one, and if I saw these in a bunker I was to live in after a nuclear fallout, I'd go back outside and take my chances instead. To be honest, if I even see these on a store shelf again, it might cause me to spontaneously diarrhea all over the store and anyone therein while simultaneously setting fires in the hopes it erases these foul and vile things from the planet. If the judge and jury at my impending trial has tasted one of these, there is no way I'll be convicted. Eat this damn thing at your own peril. -Jolly Rancher Cherry Pop-Tarts. To be fair (immediately previous comments excepted) there are a couple of the fruit Pop-Tarts that are just barely passable as an edible entity that I can get through without too much fuss. This isn't one of them. Of the three here, it's the one that didn't make me want to decide to live solely on plain oatmeal, but there's a tartness to it that I didn't find appealing. I haven't had a Jolly Rancher candy since I was kid, and have no recall of their flavor, so maybe this tartness is in fact a component to the candy they were able to get into the tart. If so, good for them. For me, this tastes like a lemon/cherry Pop-Tart which leans too heavily on the lemon. Maybe that sounds good to others, and were it a real pastry I'd probably like it, but in Pop-Tart form,  I'll pass.   -Strawberry Nut M&M's! A tasty little devil, with flavor profiles in perfect proportion. Unlike some of the specific seasonal fare M&M tries, this one seems like someone actually worked at getting the balance right. If you like peanut M&m's and you like strawberry flavoring, this is a good match. The only complaint is I felt more than a handful was too much with this one. This is a snack best done in small doses, so a bag may last you a little while. -Krispy Kreme Glazed Birthday Cake Mini Crullers! Well, I can't say these don't taste like a birthday cake. The problem is they taste very much like a stale sheet cake one would get at the not so great grocery store you never really go to, but it's on the way to work and you have to bring something for the office party and you just don't have time for anything else. -Twizzlers Key Lime Pie twists! They do taste like a key lime pie, surprisingly enough. However, the gummy/chewy aspect of these make them a bit gross somehow. It's just not right. Softer than a normal Twizzler, it's like having a glob of melting putty in your mouth. I give them credit for getting the flavor right, but a solid pass for the experience as a whole. -Twizzlers Orange Cream twists! These taste like orange medicine. Do not like. Don't want. Moving on. Nope. No moving on. That's a wrap! I've said all I can say and my brain is on full sugar crash mode and barely functioning. Seems I forgot the obligatory sexist comment about some female celebrity, though. Hmm. Um. Tonks (Natalia Tena) from the Harry Potter movies can Hufflepuff my Slytherin anytime. Good enough? Way too much? Eh. I'm going to bed.

[rosyredlipstick]

the apple to my pie (1\?)

They weren't always a 24 hour pie diner. There were few factors that had led to this present 24 hour fact, events that had been placed in motion and happened that were now long over, but the aftermath remained. And the aftermath made these three facts - Nico di Angelo now owns a 24\7 pie diner on the corner of Main and Keystone. Nico di Angelo has several loyal employees who help run said pie diner. And one unloyal. (Leo always swears he's going to defect and franchise a Denny's across the street which - disgusting) And the last - Will Solace is a midnight customer, and this might all be because of him.

They weren't always a 24 hour pie diner.

There were few factors that had led to this present 24 hour fact, events that had been placed in motion and happened that were now long over, but the aftermath remained.

Nico had stayed late - one of his experimental pies had burnt and he was this close to perfecting the recipe - and Piper had forgotten to switch off the sign. She was covering Leo’s night shift, who was already used to the routine, and she had completely forgotten that was on her to-do list, and was honestly just a bit excited to get home. After all, she was used to her morning shifts where customers mainly demanded coffee on coffee on coffee, where she served mostly eggs and bacon, and the lack of routine messed up her whole thought process, so she’d claim. Nonetheless, when she pulled out of the parking lot that night the brightly lit ‘ Open ’ sign was still glowing scarlet, the door was still unlocked, and for all other facts and purposes, the pie shop was very still open.

Maybe if Nico hadn't burned that first pie, or Piper had realized her mistake, or if Leo hadn't called off at all, they would still be a normal hour pie place.

But that night, as their illuminated sign only grew warmer and continued to light up the dark air, a blonde man was just getting off his eighteen hour shift. This was about the time his absolute need for food was beginning to overcome his absolute need for sleep, and he was pulling over to the side of the road for an open diner he'd never noticed before.

Despite the sign though, only one other vehicle was parked, a sleek black motorcycle that Will admired for a long moment, and he approached the door with something like hesitation, but with a bit more awkward movement.

The pie maker jumped up at the sharp ring of the bell above the door, his hands hovering over the board that listed tomorrow's specials. A blond man - tall, tan, but obviously very tired, with rumpled clothes and wild, untamed curls - stood in the doorway, his hand lingering on the steel railing.

“Are you open?” Blondie looked around a little wary. He was desperate, sure, but not desperate enough to violate his welcome.

Before Nico could really come up with any good response, something that would have blondie coming back tomorrow at least, the oven screeched with displeasure, and Nico grabbed his hand covers off the counter.

“Um.” Nico glanced back to him, and he couldn’t help noticing how the man’s clothes clung ever so nicely to his defined shoulders, and the blue in his eyes that outshined the red. “Pie?” Nico questioned, hesitating only a bit.

The man smiled, slow and relieved. He stumbled onto one of the booths, and looked like he could barely make it. “Pie sounds fantastic.”

“Anything to drink?” He called over his shoulder, peeking back to watch as he slid in the booth

“Coffee, if you have it made.” He responded, rubbing at his eyes.

They didn’t, but Nico put on a pot anyways. It would only take a few minutes anyhow, and Nico wouldn't mind a cup either. He let the pie cool a bit - not wanting to risk crumbling the soft crust - and plated it à la mode with a scoop of vanilla. He made his own plate, taking a seat at the counter a few feet from the stranger.

“Blueberry crème with lemon and orange.” Nico bit into it slowly, enjoying the soft crack of the crust as he did so. He glanced up, and even from where he was standing, he could tell how hungry Blondie was.

“Long day?” Nico took another bite, examining the taste slowly. The blueberry mixed nicely with the lemon, and the sweet crème balanced out the zest of the orange. It wasn't as sweet as he'd like, but if served with a neutral beverage, it shouldn't be too bad.

Blondie only groaned, taking a long drink of his coffee, and Nico briefly wondered how he managed to do so with such scalding liquid, straight out of the pot.

“This pie is delicious.” The man groaned out, and Nico had to hide his quickly reddening cheeks. He was used to compliments on his pie, would usually just smile with a quick thanks, but he was definitely not used to the way Blondie was groaning. Who the fuck groaned when they ate pie anyways? Like, really.

“My mom used to always make apple pie for Christmas.” The guy smiled at that, all sweet and gooey like Nico's infamous mud and fudge pie, and Nico briefly wondered how to keep that smile there forever. Talking about his mother, sure, but that would probably ruin the mood for certain situations. And from the looks of Blondie's tan arms - exposed under the soft colored cut of his scrubs - Nico was very interested into those certain situations.

“Can’t go wrong with apple pie.” Nico gave him a half smile.

“That you can’t.” Blondie took out a hand and wiped it on a napkin before holding it out. “Will Solace, nice to meet you. Thanks for this, it’s –“ He took a deep breath, inhaling the combined scent of the coffee and fresh pie. “It’s incredible.”

Nico ducked his head at the compliment, a rare blush crawling up his neck. “Nico di Angelo. Owner.”

“You own this place?” Will grinned suddenly at that, looking ecstatic. “That’s so cool!”

Nico cocked his head. “What do you do? What are you doing running around so late?”

Will groaned at that, his head falling onto the counter. Doing this, he still managed to sneak another bite of pie as he spoke. “I work in the ER at the Apollo hospital downtown.”

“The one ten minutes down the road?” Nico nodded, “I’ve been there. One of my workers has the tendency to set everything on fire, resulting in multiple burns on him and my restaurant.” Nico made a face, “We’re frequent visitors.”

Will barked out a laugh, “You guys need to be more careful.” He told him, his voice teasing.

Nico shrugged, humor in the movement. “There’s a few reasons I chose this location. Close proximity to the hospital is only one of them.”

Will gave him a weak laugh, taking another long drink of his coffee. “I’ve never seen this place before.” He told him, glancing around, “I drive this route home every day, that’s so weird.”

“It’s because we’re closed.” Nico informed him, cracking a smile at the horror on Will’s face. “I stayed late to work on a recipe.”

“How long ago did you close?” Will asked, probably trying to rectify the situation. Nico didn’t mind. The company was nice, and the view was even better.

Nico pointed to one of the menus tucked away in the stand, the hours listed in gold on the cover. “Not that long ago. Piper worked the nightshift and must have forgotten to close up.”

“Bianca’s.” Will read off the menu slowly with a smile, and Nico’s stomach dropped a bit. “Who’s Bianca?”

Sure, Nico had prepared for this question - it was asked by nearly every patron who had ever stepped foot into the building, and it was easy to deflect at this point. Of course, there were people who always asked too many questions, and Nico was never much of a liar, so it happened occasionally.

He gave Will a half shoulder shrug, and hoped he wouldn’t pursue the topic. “My sister.”

Will grinned at that, “That’s cute. Does she work here too?”

Nico bit his lip, turning to face the counter and, more importantly, to hide his face. He grabbed a cloth, rubbing out some invisible mess. “Uh, no actually. She died a few years ago.”

There was a beat of silence - there always was - before Will spoke again. “Oh. I’m, um, sorry. For bringing it up.”

Nico shrugged, giving the other boy an apologetic look. “It happens. Anyways, it seemed fitting.” He gestured towards the counter, “She taught me how to bake, ya know? Seemed fitting.”

Will gave him a small smile, “It does. Seem fitting, I mean." He took another bite of his pie, nearly finished now. "Did she teach you how to bake pies, too?"

Nico nodded, "She and my mom did, yeah. But Bianca was more into the cooking side of things, I was always more of the baker." Nico cracked a grin, "When we'd do dinner, she'd always cook the entree and I'd handle dessert. It was a good balance, and our father was always happy to taste test."

Will snorted, "I'd be too." The other boy yawned, already reaching for his coffee cup as he spoke. "How long have you been open?"

Nico took a bite of his own pie before answering. The taste was good, a bit too much lemon if he was being honest, but workable. He'd have to try it again tomorrow, maybe with some of the fresh fruit Piper always got Sunday mornings from the farmers market.

"Bout a year now." Nico finally answered, already thinking over the few pies he was planning for tomorrow. "Business gets a bit slow sometimes, but it's been for us so far."

Will nodded at that, looking pleased as he finished off the last bite of his food. He blinked a few times, as if suddenly realizing he had finished his food, before pulling his nearly drained coffee cup towards himself.

Nico pushed the rest of his pie to the side - he hardly ever finished a piece of his own food - and turned to dunk behind the counter. He grabbed one of their styrofoam to-go cups, giving him a look. "You look like you're ten minutes from passing out." He observed, pumping a few shots of espresso into the cup before dumping the coffee and milk in. He snapped on one of the lips, sliding it over the counter with a strict look. "Drink."

Will gave him a grateful look, saluting him with the cup. "You're doing good work here, sir."

Nico rolled his eyes, clearing their plates so he could brush off the few crumbs gathered there. Piper would kill him if she opened the shop tomorrow and he'd left a mess, he knew from experience.

He had to suppress a shudder. That hadn't been fun for anyone.  

He threw the dishes in the sink - he still had a bit of cleaning up to do in the back as well - before wandering back up to the front. Will was nice to look at, sure, but it probably wasn't smart to leave a midnight-stranger alone in your unlocked restaurant. Like, common sense right?

Almost disappointingly, Will wasn't doing anything of the robber-sort, only looking determined to drain his newly gifted coffee. Damn. It was almost mid-way empty.

Will rubbed at his eyes, keeping his mouth on the edge of his cup (not that....Nico was looking at his mouth or anything) and gave Nico a sleepy wave as he slowly, but surely, began to slide off his seat. He  stood, stretching out his arms, and winced briefly at the few pops at erupted. The tight grip on his coffee cup never ceased, not that Nico was surprised at his point. "I should get going, I've got work tomorrow. How much -?"

Nico waved him off, "It's fine." He said, surprising himself a bit. "The register's locked up already, don't worry about." Which, yeah, was kinda true - but Nico always kept a bit of cash, nothing much, under the counter for emergencies. Which, this wasn't one. So.

Will gave him a suspicious look, already reaching for his wallet. "I don't need change, here -"

Nico took a step back, a rare teasing look on his face. "Save it, William." Nico hesitated for a second, “How about you just come back? We could always use another regular. And maybe when we’re actually open this time.”

A soft brush of color passed over the other boy’s cheeks, and he grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “I totally will. The pie was great. I'm usually working during the day so it might be awhile, but yeah. Definitely.”

Nico nodded, already kind of knowing that his pies were great but hey, it was always nice to hear. "See ya later, Will. Flip the sign off on your way out, will you?" Nico gave him a small teasing grin, "Wouldn't want anyone wandering in here, would we?"

Will colored again, and causing that was quickly becoming one of Nico's favorite activities. "You wouldn't want that." He agreed after a moment, a small laugh slipping out in between his words. "I'll see you later. Maybe try some other pie?"

"It is a pie shop." Nico waved him off. "I'd be disappointed if they didn't have more then one kind of pie."

Will huffed out a laugh, reaching over to flip off the sign - just as Nico asked - before closing the door behind him. He waved at Nico through the glass, his lips pulled up into a wide smile, and

Nico lingered for a moment, half wondering if the other boy would ever return, and got to work.

He locked the door behind the other boy, peeking out the window for a second longer then necessary as he watched the blonde climb into his car, the to-go coffee cup still safely clenched in his hand. Nico turned back to his store, always edging on creepy when it was empty and late at night - not that Nico minded - and began working through his latest plan.

Will worked during the day, yeah?

Nico had always considered going 24\7.

Yeah...Piper was going to be pissed.

Notes: listen i have no excuse for this cotton candy fluff except im stressed and needed to write something about these two dorks

also i've been listening to a lot of waitress so

this will probably be a multi-chapter piece and yeah, i know what you're thinking, "Rosy. Girl. do you REALLY need another WIP? Don't you have, like, at least four other things you should be working on?" and answer to both of those is: yes. so here we goooooooooo cooking pun bc why not: "a lawyer-turned-cook is a sue chef" lol i laughed

[readbookywooks]

The Sorting Hat's New Song

Harry did not want to tell the others that he and Luna were having the same hallucination, if that was what it was, so he said nothing more about the horses as he sat down inside the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless, he could not help watching the silhouettes of the horses moving beyond the window. 'Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?' asked Ginny. 'What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?' 'I'll be quite glad if he has,' said Luna, 'he isn't a very good teacher, is he?' 'Yes, he is!' said Harry, Ron and Ginny angrily. Harry glared at Hermione. She cleared her throat and quickly said, 'Erm ... yes ... he's very good.' 'Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke,' said Luna, unfazed. 'You've got a rubbish sense of humour then,' Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion. Luna did not seem perturbed by Ron's rudeness; on the contrary, she simply watched him for a while as though he were a mildly interesting television programme. Rattling and swaying, the carriages moved in convoy up the road. When they passed between the tall stone pillars topped with winged boars on either side of the gates to the school grounds, Harry leaned forwards to try and see whether there were any lights on in Hagrid's cabin by the Forbidden Forest, but the grounds were in complete darkness. Hogwarts Castle, however, loomed ever closer: a towering mass of turrets, jet black against the dark sky, here and there a window blazing fiery bright above them. The carriages jingled to a halt near the stone steps leading up to the oak front doors and Harry got out of the carriage first. He turned again to look for lit windows down by the Forest, but there was definitely no sign of life within Hagrid's cabin. Unwillingly, because he had half-hoped they would have vanished, he turned his eyes instead upon the strange, skeletal creatures standing quietly in the chill night air, their blank white eyes gleaming. Harry had once before had the experience of seeing something that Ron could not, but that had been a reflection in a mirror, something much more insubstantial than a hundred very solid-looking beasts strong enough to pull a fleet of carriages. If Luna was to be believed, the beasts had always been there but invisible. Why, then, could Harry suddenly see them, and why could Ron not? 'Are you coming or what?' said Ron beside him. 'Oh ... yeah,' said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches and echoing with footsteps as the students crossed the flagged stone floor for the double doors to the right, leading to the Great Hall and the start-of-term feast. The four long house tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed; he gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared. Luna drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow fourth-years and left to sit with them; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the last two of whom gave Harry airy, overly-friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second before. He had more important things to worry about, however: he was looking over the students' heads to the staff table that ran along the top wall of the Hall. 'He's not there.' Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need; Hagrid's size made him instantly obvious in any lineup. 'He can't have left,' said Ron, sounding slightly anxious. 'Of course he hasn't,' said Harry firmly. 'You don't think he's ... hurt, or anything, do you?' said Hermione uneasily. 'No,' said Harry at once. 'But where is he, then?' There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati and Lavender could not hear, 'Maybe he's not back yet. You know--from his mission--the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore.' 'Yeah ... yeah, that'll be it,' said Ron, sounding reassured, but Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid's absence. 'Who's that?' she said sharply, pointing towards the middle of the staff table. Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the centre of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined towards the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw, with a shock of recognition, a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes. 'It's that Umbridge woman!' 'Who?' said Hermione. 'She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!' 'Nice cardigan,' said Ron, smirking. 'She works for Fudge!' Hermione repeated, frowning. 'What on earth's she doing here, then?' 'Dunno ...' Hermione scanned the staff table, her eyes narrowed. 'No,' she muttered, 'no, surely not ...' Harry did not understand what she was talking about but did not ask; his attention had been caught by Professor Grubbly-Plank who had just appeared behind the staff table; she worked her way along to the very end and took the seat that ought to have been Hagrid's. That meant the first-years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened. A long line of scared-looking first-years entered, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient wizards hat, heavily patched and darned with a wide rip near the frayed brim. The buzz of talk in the Great Hall faded away. The first-years lined up in front of the staff table facing the rest of the students, and Professor McGonagall placed the stool carefully in front of them, then stood back. The first-years' faces glowed palely in the candlelight. A small boy right in the middle of the row looked as though he was trembling. Harry recalled, fleetingly, how terrified he had felt when he had stood there, waiting for the unknown test that would determine to which house he belonged. The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat's brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song: In times of old when I was new And Hogwarts barely started The founders of our noble school Thought never to be parted: United by a common goal, They had the selfsame yearning, To make the world's best magic school And pass along their learning. 'Together we will build and teach!' The four good friends decided And never did they dream that they Might some day be divided, For were there such friends anywhere As Slytherin and Gryffindor? Unless it was the second pair Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail? Why, I was there and so can tell The whole sad, sorry tale. Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest.' Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose Intelligence is surest. ' Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those With brave deeds to their name, ' Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot, And treat them just the same. ' These differences caused little strife When first they came to light, For each of the four founders had A house in which they might Take only those they wanted, so, For instance, Slytherin Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him, And only those of sharpest mind Were taught by Ravenclaw While the bravest and the boldest Went to daring Gryffindor. Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest, And taught them all she knew, Thus the houses and their founders Retained friendships firm and true. So Hogwarts worked in harmony For several happy years, But then discord crept among us Feeding on our faults and fears. The houses that, like pillars four, Had once held up our school, Now turned upon each other and, Divided, sought to rule. And for a while it seemed the school Must meet an early end, What with duelling and with fighting And the clash of friend on friend And at last there came c morning When old Slytherin departed And though the fighting then died out He left us quite downhearted. And never since the founders four Were whittled down to three Have the houses been united As they once were meant to be. And now the Sorting Hat is here And you all know the score: I sort you into houses Because that is what I'm for, But this year I'll go further, Listen closely to my song: Though condemned I am to split you Still I worry that it's wrong, Though I must fulfil my duty And must quarter every year Still I wonder whether Sorting May not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foes And we must unite inside her Or we'll crumble from within I have told you, I have warned you ... Let the Sorting now begin. The Hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harry's memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about. 'Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?' said Ron, his eyebrows raised. 'Too right it has,' said Harry. The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before. 'I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?' said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious. 'Yes, indeed,' said Nearly Headless Nick knowledgeably, leaning across Neville towards her (Neville winced; it was very uncomfortable to have a ghost lean through you). 'The Hat feels itself honour-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels--' But Professor McGonagall, who was waiting to read out the list of first-years' names, was giving the whispering students the sort of look that scorches. Nearly Headless Nick placed a see-through finger to his lips and sat primly upright again as the muttering came to an abrupt end. With a last frowning look that swept the lour house tables, Professor McGonagall lowered her eyes to her long piece of parchment and called out the first name. 'Abercrombie, Euan.' The terrified-looking boy Harry had noticed earlier stumbled forwards and put the Hat on his head; it was only prevented from falling right down to his shoulders by his very prominent ears. The Hat considered for a moment, then the rip near the brim opened again and shouted: 'Gryffindor!' Harry clapped loudly with the rest of Gryffindor house as Euan Abercrombie staggered to their table and sat down, looking as though he would like very much to sink through the floor and never be looked at again. Slowly, the long line of first-years thinned. In the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat's decisions, Harry could hear Ron's stomach rumbling loudly. Finally, 'Zeller, Rose' was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet. Whatever his recent bitter feelings had been towards his Headmaster, Harry was somehow soothed to see Dumbledore standing before them all. Between the absence of Hagrid and the presence of those dragonish horses, he had felt that his return to Hogwarts, so long anticipated, was full of unexpected surprises, like jarring notes in a familiar song. But this, at least, was how it was supposed to be: their Headmaster rising to greet them all before the start-of-term feast. 'To our newcomers,' said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, 'welcome! To our old hands--welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!' There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate--for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread and sauces and flagons of pumpkin juice. 'Excellent,' said Ron, with a kind of groan of longing, and he seized the nearest plate of chops and began piling them on to his plate, watched wistfully by Nearly Headless Nick. 'What were you saying before the Sorting?' Hermione asked the ghost. 'About the Hat giving warnings?' 'Oh, yes,' said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. 'Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.' 'Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?' said Ron. His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all. 'I beg your pardon?' said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, 'How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?' 'I have no idea,' said Nearly Headless Nick. 'Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.' 'And it wants all the houses to be friends?' said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. 'Fat chance.' 'Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,' said Nick reprovingly. 'Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.' 'Only because you're terrified of him,' said Ron. Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted. 'Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins--' 'What blood?' asked Ron. 'Surely you haven't still got--?' 'It's a figure of speech!' said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 'I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!' 'Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!' said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron. Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was 'Node iddum eentup sechew,' which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis. 'Well done, Ron,' snapped Hermione. 'What?' said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. 'I'm not allowed to ask a simple question?' 'Oh, forget it,' said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence. Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart. When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the Hall was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the Headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. His four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft ... 'Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,' said Dumbledore. 'First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students--and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.' (Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged smirks.) 'Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door. 'We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.' There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, during which Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged slightly panicked looks; Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching. Dumbledore continued, 'Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the--' He broke off, looking enquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, 'Hem, hem,' and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts. 'Thank you, Headmaster,' Professor Umbridge simpered, 'for those kind words of welcome.' Her voice was high-pitched, breathy and little-girlish and, again, Harry felt a powerful rush of dislike that he could not explain to himself; all he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ('hem, hem') and continued. 'Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!' She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. 'And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!' Harry glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old. 'I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!' Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. 'I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan,' Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles. Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ('hem, hem'), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.' Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back to her. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harry distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little 'hem, hem' and went on with her speech. 'Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation ...' Harry found his attentiveness ebbing, as though his brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Over on the Ravenclaw table Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harry was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect's badge gleaming on his chest. Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have ploughed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though, judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste. '... because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.' She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again. 'Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,' he said, bowing to her. 'Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held ...' 'Yes, it certainly was illuminating,' said Hermione in a low voice. 'You're not telling me you enjoyed it?' Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face towards Hermione. 'That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.' 'I said illuminating, not enjoyable,' said Hermione. 'It explained a lot.' 'Did it?' said Harry in surprise. 'Sounded like a load of waffle to me.' There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,' said Hermione grimly. 'Was there?' said Ron blankly. 'How about: "progress for progress's sake must be discouraged"? How about: "pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited"?' 'Well, what does that mean?' said Ron impatiently. 'I'll tell you what it means,' said Hermione through gritted teeth. 'It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts.' There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered. 'Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!' 'Oh yeah,' said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. 'Hey--hey, you lot! Midgets!' 'Ron!' 'Well, they are, they're titchy ...' 'I know, but you can't call them midgets!--First-years!' Hermione called commandingly along the table. 'This way, please!' A group of new students walked shyly up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, all of them trying hard not to lead the group. They did indeed seem very small; Harry was sure he had not appeared that young when he had arrived here. He grinned at them. A blond boy next to Euan Abercrombie looked petrified; he nudged Euan and whispered something in his ear. Euan Abercrombie looked equally frightened and stole a horrified look at Harry, who felt the grin slide off his face like Stinksap. 'See you later,' he said dully to Ron and Hermione and he made his way out of the Great Hall alone, doing everything he could to ignore more whispering, staring and pointing as he passed. He kept his eyes fixed ahead as he wove his way through the crowd in the Entrance Hall, then he hurried up the marble staircase, took a couple of concealed short cuts and had soon left most of the crowds behind. He had been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he walked through the much emptier upstairs corridors. Of course everyone was staring at him; he had emerged from the Triwizard maze two months previously clutching the dead body of a fellow student and claiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return to power. There had not been time last term to explain himself before they'd all had to go home--even if he had felt up to giving the whole school a detailed account of the terrible events in that graveyard. Harry had reached the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor common room and come to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady before he realised that he did not know the new password. 'Er ...' he said glumly, staring up at the Fat Lady, who smoothed the folds of her pink satin dress and looked sternly back at him. 'No password, no entrance,' she said loftily. 'Harry, I know it!' Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville jogging towards him. 'Guess what it is? I'm actually going to be able to remember it for once-- ' He waved the stunted little cactus he had shown them on the train. 'Mimbuius mimbletonia!' 'Correct,' said the Fat Lady, and her portrait swung open towards them like a door, revealing a circular hole in the wall behind, through which Harry and Neville now climbed. The Gryffindor common room looked as welcoming as ever, a cosy circular tower room full of dilapidated squashy armchairs and rickety old tables. A fire was crackling merrily in the grate and a few people were warming their hands by it before going up to their dormitories; on the other side of the room Fred and George Weasley were pinning something up on the noticeboard. Harry waved goodnight to them and headed straight for the door to the boys' dormitories; he was not in much of a mood for talking at the moment. Neville followed him. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had reached the dormitory first and were in the process of covering the walls beside their beds with posters and photographs. They had been talking as Harry pushed open the door but stopped abruptly the moment they saw him. Harry wondered whether they had been talking about him, then whether he was being paranoid. 'Hi,' he said, moving across to his own trunk and opening it. 'Hey, Harry,' said Dean, who was putting on a pair of pyjamas in the West Ham colours. 'Good holiday?' 'Not bad,' muttered Harry, as a true account of his holiday would have taken most of the night to relate and he could not face it. 'You?' 'Yeah, it was OK,' chuckled Dean. 'Better than Seamus's, anyway, he was just telling me.' 'Why, what happened, Seamus?' Neville asked as he placed his Mimbuius mimbletonia tenderly on his bedside cabinet. Seamus did not answer immediately; he was making rather a meal of ensuring that his poster of the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team was quite straight. Then he said, with his back still turned to Harry, 'Me mam didn't want me to come back.' 'What?' said Harry, pausing in the act of pulling off his robes. 'She didn't want me to come back to Hogwarts.' Seamus turned away from his poster and pulled his own pyjamas out of his trunk, still not looking at Harry. 'But--why?' said Harry, astonished. He knew that Seamus's mother was a witch and could not understand, therefore, why she should have come over so Dursleyish. Seamus did not answer until he had finished buttoning his pyjamas. 'Well,' he said in a measured voice, 'I suppose ... because of you.' 'What d'you mean?' said Harry quickly. His heart was beating rather fast. He felt vaguely as though something was closing in on him. 'Well,' said Seamus again, still avoiding Harry's eye, she ... er ... well, it's not just you, it's Dumbledore, too ...' 'She believes the Daily Prophet?' said Harry. 'She thinks I'm a liar and Dumbledore's an old fool?' Seamus looked up at him. 'Yeah, something like that.' Harry said nothing. He threw his wand down on to his bedside table, pulled off his robes, stuffed them angrily into his trunk and pulled on his pyjamas. He was sick of it: sick of being the person who is stared at and talked about all the time. If any of them knew, if any of them had the faintest idea what it felt like to be the one all these things had happened to ... Mrs. Finnigan had no idea, the stupid woman, he thought savagely. He got into bed and made to pull the hangings closed around him, but before he could do so, Seamus said, 'Look ... what did happen that night when ... you know, when ... with Cedric Diggory and all?' Seamus sounded nervous and eager at the same time. Dean, who had been bending over his trunk trying to retrieve a slipper, went oddly still and Harry knew he was listening hard. 'What are you asking me for?' Harry retorted. 'Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, why don't you? That'll tell you all you need to know.' 'Don't you have a go at my mother,' Seamus snapped. 'I'll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,' said Harry. 'Don't talk to me like that!' 'I'll talk to you how I want,' said Harry, his temper rising so fast he snatched his wand back from his bedside table. 'If you've got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved ... stop your mummy worrying-- ' 'Leave my mother out of this, Potter!' 'What's going on?' Ron had appeared in the doorway. His wide eyes travelled from Harry, who was kneeling on his bed with his wand pointing at Seamus, to Seamus, who was standing there with his fists raised. 'He's having a go at my mother!' Seamus yelled. 'What?' said Ron. 'Harry wouldn't do that--we met your mother, we liked her ...' 'That's before she started believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!' said Harry at the top of his voice. 'Oh,' said Ron, comprehension dawning across his freckled face. 'Oh ... right.' 'You know what?' said Seamus heatedly, casting Harry a venomous look. 'He's right, I don't want to share a dormitory with him any more, he's mad.' 'That's out of order, Seamus,' said Ron, whose ears were starting to glow red--always a danger sign. 'Out of order, am I?' shouted Seamus, who in contrast with Ron was going pale. 'You believe all the rubbish he's come out with about You-Know-Who, do you, you reckon he's telling the truth?' 'Yeah, I do!' said Ron angrily. 'Then you're mad, too,' said Seamus in disgust. 'Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a prefect!' said Ron, jabbing himself in the chest with a finger. 'So unless you want detention, watch your mouth!' Seamus looked for a few seconds as though detention would be a reasonable price to pay to say what was going through his mind; but with a noise of contempt he turned on his heel, vaulted into bed and pulled the hangings shut with such violence that they were ripped from the bed and fell in a dusty pile to the floor. Ron glared at Seamus, then looked at Dean and Neville. 'Anyone else's parents got a problem with Harry?' he said aggressively. 'My parents are Muggles, mate,' said Dean, shrugging. 'They don't know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts, because I'm not stupid enough to tell them.' 'You don't know my mother, she'd weasel anything out of anyone!' Seamus snapped at him. 'Anyway, your parents don't get the Daily Prophet.They don't know our Headmaster's been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards because he's losing his marbles--' 'My gran says that's rubbish,' piped up Neville. 'She says it's the Daily Prophet that's going downhill, not Dumbledore. She's cancelled our subscription. We believe Harry,' said Neville simply. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, looking owlishly over them at Seamus. 'My grans always said You-Know-Who would come back one day. She says if Dumbledore says he's back, he's back.' Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Neville. Nobody else said anything. Seamus got out his wand, repaired the bed hangings and vanished behind them. Dean got into bed, rolled over and fell silent. Neville, who appeared to have nothing more to say either, was gazing fondly at his moonlit cactus. Harry lay back on his pillows while Ron bustled around the next bed, putting his things away. He fell, shaken by the argument with Seamus, whom he had always liked very much. How many more people were going to suggest that he was lying, or unhinged? Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, as first the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards had thrown him from their ranks? Was it anger at Harry, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with him for months? The two of them were in this together, after all; Dumbledore had believed Harry, announced his version of events to the whole school and then to the wider wizarding community. Anyone who thought Harry was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was, too, or else that Dumbledore had been hoodwinked ... They'll know we're right in the end, thought Harry miserably, as Ron got into bed and extinguished the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus's he would have to endure before that time came.