#aho chapters

[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

5/10 - one, two, three, four - read on ao3

july 1998 - december 1998

Harry’s eighteenth birthday passes in a blur of boxed wine and Fleetwood Mac. Dean, Luna, and Ginny all go back to London to celebrate, leaving Draco in the care of Claire and Arabella, who seem to be convinced that all of his problems can be solved with a night of drinking and dancing and giggling over decades-old village drama.

“Will you tell me how you met?” Draco asks, feeling sentimental and a bit self-destructive.

He hadn’t expected an invitation to Harry’s birthday, of course, but he hadn’t thought about how it would feel to be the only one left behind. The envy is entirely unfamiliar. The desire to be close to Harry isn’t new, but he hasn’t felt it with this kind of intensity in a while.

It seems to be a running theme.

He’s spent the last week and a half pulling himself further and further away from the horror of sixth year and everything that came after, and in most ways, it’s working. He read a couple more chapters of Wuthering Heights. Ella and Marcie came to Crawley Down for a day trip and they watched Pride & Prejudice. His strong opinions about the pond scene and Elizabeth Bennet’s facial expressions seemed to win him a few points with Ella. He started a letter to his mother, and then he tore up the parchment and threw the pieces in the trash.

There was a reckoning, a leveling, a natural disaster that swept through and against all odds, it feels like progress. There is a new landscape now, a verdant forest, one that he’ll never have to leave behind. The sudden rush of sensation had overwhelmed him, but he saw it for what it was: life, returning. It feels bigger, like he’s created room for it, a place for it to live. He welcomed it all, the melancholia and the ecstasy, the devotion and the grief, the petulance and the shame, the wistfulness and the euphoria and the prickling sensitivity. He feels everything, and he revels in it.

It’s settled somewhat, particularly in the last couple of days, and he feels safe enough in his own head and in his body to indulge with Claire and Arabella.

The two women exchange a quiet look, full of love and light.

“Well,” Arabella begins, “I was working at a bakery in London, this was back in… ‘71? ‘72? Anyways, Claire was a regular, and she liked to make my life hell.”

“I was a little obsessed with her, to be honest, and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to place convoluted orders so I could spend more time at the counter, staring at her,” Claire says.

“And then one day, she comes in with this huge order in the middle of the morning rush, and I’d had such a bad shift already, so I-”

Claire laughs, delighted, “She spit in my coffee!”

“No,” Draco is enthralled, on the edge of his seat.

He can’t really imagine Arabella that young. It’s not so much about actual age, he just has trouble picturing her with the kind of youth that makes you full of spite and reckless confidence. He can’t imagine her young in the way that would compel her to spit in someone’s drink.

“I did,” Arabella confirms sheepishly, “And then the next day, she came in and apologized for the inconvenience she caused. She was working this awful administrative assistant job at a corporate law firm and they’d made her go out and get this order last minute.”

Claire sighs, “I had cried on the bus home.”

“I felt so guilty, so I never charged her again and we slowly became friends. She thought she had finally cracked me but truthfully, I had no idea I was interested in women until the moment she kissed me.”

Draco’s smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he can’t help thinking of his younger self, the boy who had poked at Harry’s bruises. The rest of the night is veiled with wine and laughter, wrapped up in an effervescent kind of happiness that he can feel like a physical force, skin tingling, heart pounding. It’s all he remembers, the story and then the sensation, when he wakes up with the worst hangover of his life the next morning.

He isn’t sick, but it’s a near thing. He’s almost proud of himself for getting so drunk, for letting go of his need for constant self-monitoring, and for getting through the rough day after. He feels like shit but it doesn’t pull him back in time.

Dean, Luna, and Ginny come home late in the afternoon, just as hungover as Draco, and Claire makes them all chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. It’s the first time Draco’s seen her use the stove for anything but putting water on for tea and coffee. They’re the best pancakes he’s ever had. Ginny is sitting beside him at the kitchen island, leaning heavily into his side, staring down at the counter.

“Hey,” he nudges her, “Have you decided about your birthday?”

She looks over at him with a miserable little smile, “No. I don’t know if I’m ready to go home, but I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” he parrots her words from the other day back to her.

The next week, she goes to the Burrow for exactly two hours and then returns to Crawley Down for something like a party. Draco has spent the afternoon helping Claire string lights up outside while Luna watches on and talks to the flowers.

“They’re going to be on their best behavior tonight,” she says.

Draco and Claire exchange an amused, affectionate glance.

Back in the house, Arabella is baking an excessive amount of pastries and Dean is making hefty pitchers of sangria. Draco flits between the garden and the kitchen, fetching extra screws and the spare drill battery, and Dean hands him a glass each time, an inch of the fruity wine sitting at the bottom. He drinks just enough that his anxiety fades to a distant lull and his mouth pulls up into something lazy and joyful, but he’s careful not to overdo it.

He’s been cracked open so frequently, so recently, that he’s almost certain he’ll bleed his feelings all over the hydrangeas if given the chance.

He hears the tell-tale crack of apparition just before eight. The sunset is still doling out its last rays of light, and the crickets are starting to sing. He’s loose-limbed and comfortable, sprawled across the clover lawn. Luna’s hands are in his hair, weaving tiny braids.

Ginny steps out into the night, Ron, Harry, and Hermione trailing behind her.

“Draco,” she crows, “You’re pink!”

He sits up slowly, turning to face the group spilling out the back door. Ginny’s face is wide open, relieved. Happy. It makes Draco smile reflexively. He was a little worried, given how reluctant Ginny seemed when she left a couple hours ago. Hermione seems significantly less burdened than the last time Draco saw her, back before the trials, and Ron looks the same as ever, lingering at her elbow, except he’s grinning at Draco like they’re friendly. Harry is, as always, an unreachable thing.

Their eyes meet, for just a second, and…

Draco isn’t sure what’s happening. A heart attack, maybe. The sangria could finally be hitting him. All he knows is that, for the first time since he was fifteen, he doesn’t feel cold at all. His entire body, down to the marrow, is lit up with a gentle, shimmering warmth. It’s an aftershock, another reawakening, one more part of himself he thought was long dead but is now remaking its home deep in his chest.

“He’s had like three glasses of sangria,” Dean calls from the doorway, “You’ll have to catch up.”

Draco manages to pull himself together, just barely, just enough to notice the wariness emanating from Hermione. It’s more caution than suspicion, but either way, it’s not quite comfortable. He can’t know, not for sure, whether it’s directed at him, or if it’s something else, but he finds himself wanting to ease it all the same.

It’s a party, after all.

“You were in Australia, right?” Draco asks.

Based on her expression, the question is unexpected but not unwelcome, “Yes, we went to visit my parents. It was nice to get away for a while.”

“I get that,” he replies, “You look very relaxed, both of you.”

Ron tips an imaginary hat to him, and it’s so ridiculous that Draco is, against his will, charmed. There’s an earnestness about Ron that he can’t help but appreciate. He knows how rare it is, how valuable.

“So do you,” Hermione smiles.

Luna pulls everyone into a Muggle party game that Ella had left at the house after a visit. Well, almost everyone. Harry sits out, on the sidelines, scowling into the distance.

There was a time back in fourth year, after the stark violence of the World Cup but before he understood the horror that was coming, when he believed that his life could still be something he chose. Something good. He remembers moaning to Pansy about panicking every time Harry looked at him, slipping back into the familiar grooves of meanness. She laughed at him every time.

He remembers the Potter Stinks badges, about the original ones he can’t even think about with a straight face. He remembers being terrified, and seeing Harry’s fear like it was a smudge of ink on his face. He remembers how he imagined taking care of him, helping him with research for his tasks, bringing him extra food from the kitchens after Draco’s weekly visit.

He misses Pansy’s laugh, and he misses how simple his wanting seemed then, in comparison.

It’s different now, on the other side of the war, than it was before it. For a moment, he lets himself fantasize about Harry confiding in him and Draco finding some way to ease his burden.

It doesn’t last long. Luna drags him into a round of something called Twister. He ends the game in a pile of tangled limbs with Dean and Ginny, bruises already blooming on his ribs where Dean had accidentally dug his shoulder in.

He sits out the next round, which turns out to be an excellent idea when Ron finally convinces Harry to join them. On the sidelines, Hermione sits next to him.

“Are you going back to school next month?” she whispers, careful not to disturb the other conversations happening around them.

He shrugs, “I haven’t decided.”

The Death Eaters who had been running the school under Snape weren’t exactly paragons of academic excellence, so the year was pretty much a wash for every student. Draco had never even started his seventh year, but even those who did will need to either retake the year or test out of the necessary classes. Ginny and Luna have both taken the exams this summer that will put them in seventh year with Dean. He doesn’t want to go back to the castle, but he doesn’t want his friends to leave him, and he doesn’t want to waste away here, no matter how much he has grown to love Claire and Arabella or the village.

It’s not home, not really, and he will have to leave eventually. He just doesn’t know where to go yet.

Hermione smiles, not at him, but at Ron, whose back is arched in some impossible shape, “We’re all going. It’ll be weird to be back, after everything.”

“Oh,” Draco isn’t sure whether to be glad or afraid, “I don’t really know what I’d do, either way. I have nothing better to do, besides keeping this garden alive, but…”

“If you do go, I’d welcome the competition. I haven’t forgotten whose name was just below mine in all the rankings.”

Draco grins at that. Maybe school would be easier, actually enjoyable, without the weight of duty upon him.

She lowers her voice even further, “Between the two of us, I think Harry would feel better if you came.”

He blinks stupidly at her, “What?”

“Not that he’s said anything about it, because God forbid we have a conversation with any emotional depth, but I think he’s a little worried about you.”

Ron groans loud enough that it interrupts the conversation, “That’s Hermione’s problem face. Please, Draco, don’t get her started.”

Even in the midst of playing the ridiculous game that Luna is narrating like it’s a nature documentary, Ron has been looking over every do often, unable to keep his eyes off of Hermione for very long. It’s sweet. It makes Draco feel something enormous and unfathomable, something that stings.

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Mind your own business.”

She lets the subject drop, though, and Draco is overwhelmed by the idea, mortifying and more than a little painful, that Harry pities him.

The night stretches into early morning. He stops drinking, but everyone else is just getting started and the next few hours end up cast in the same golden film that the rest of the summer has been.

Draco and Luna end up in a mirror of their earlier position, Luna sprawling across the clover and Draco’s legs. He weaves tiny braids into her hair this time, and tugs at them affectionately every time she giggles, which is often. Ginny gets drunk, and they all discover that her sharp edges get smoothed out with wine. She gives Draco a messy kiss on the forehead.

Harry sips at a beer, which Draco privately thinks is some sort of self sabotage, and his eyes rarely leave Draco. It puts him on edge, makes him careful.

“Draco, do you remember in your second year, when you helped me sneak into the kitchens?”

He looks up at the dark expanse of sky above, velvet blue and glittering with thousands of stars, “Of course. You were crying.”

Luna pokes his arm, “And you were the first person who was kind to me. I didn’t properly meet Ginny until I was a second year, you know. I always wondered how you knew how to get there.”

It’s like she’s prodding at a bruise. He can’t tell Luna that when he came to Hogwarts, he had already spent more time around house elves than wizards, and the kitchens were the only place he felt close to home at all. He can’t tell her about Twila and Odie, not in front of everyone, not when he’s already so close to tears.

“It’s a secret.”

The conversation drifts, and so does the group, migrating to separate sides of the garden. Hermione starts asking questions about the plants, so Draco and Claire lead her through the flower beds and vegetable patch while Arabella and Luna drift behind them.

“And you did a lot of this?” Hermione asks Draco, impressed, “I can’t keep a cactus alive.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, I just help Claire out sometimes.”

“Sweetheart,” Arabella chuckles, “Claire has killed everything she’s ever planted out here by midsummer. You are a miracle worker.”

“He’s always been good with nature,” Luna says wisely, as if she knows.

She’s right, he supposes. Before first year, his accidental magic manifested itself in bursts of bright green vines and vibrant spreads of wildflowers blooming beneath his feet. He realizes, suddenly, that the plum tree has grown more than it really should have, that each strawberry plucked has been full and ruby red, like something out of a painting.

“Maybe,” he admits sheepishly.

They get closer to the other group chatting on the lawn, though they’re separated by rows of tomatoes and sweet peas. A lull in the conversation allows for Draco to catch a bit of what Ginny is saying.

“And we all love it here. Everyone in the village loves Draco and Luna, of course, and Draco says it reminds him of summers at Malfoy Manor.”

This, of course, is meant to be a ringing endorsement. Ron sees it with amusement, but Harry’s face is wiped completely blank, unreadable.

“That’s a compliment, is it?” he says wryly.

Ron reaches out to flick at Harry’s head, “Well, you only saw it that once.”

“I imagine it was quite nice, without the murderous dictator,” Ginny adds, giggling.

Draco smiles wistfully out at the garden and wishes he could show them what the Manor used to be, what it never will be again.

Ginny turns, sees him, waves, “Tell us something good!”

He weaves his way to her, ducking under the grape vines, and lowers himself onto the faded, worn-soft quilt next to her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it nice.”

Harry nods, as if he’s been vindicated, and it makes Draco feel a little less self-conscious. The comment hadn’t been aimed at Draco, not really.

“When I was a kid,” he swallows past the lump in his throat, “My parents weren’t exactly the most hands-on.”

“Shocker,” Ginny mutters, glaring at nothing.

“The point is, I spent a lot of time outside. There were a lot of little pockets of magic, scattered throughout the woods behind the Manor.”

Harry looks away from him.

“Like the clearing?” Dean prompts.

“There’s this clearing, deep in the grounds, where the weather is always perfect. There’s some magical tree planted there, I think,” he clarifies, turning briefly to face Hermione.

Her gaze goes sharp, curious, but Draco continues. He doesn’t want to talk about the clearing, not when he’s been drinking, not when he feels so raw and exposed already, homesick and still reeling from the sight of Harry, the feeling it elicited in him.

“Anyways, one of the other pockets was a pond where the fish had some sort of premonitory gift-”

Ginny cackles, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? They could see the future, kind of. And they were really brightly colored, so you could always see them in the water. They’d make shapes, moving scenes, of things that were going to happen.”

“That’s so random, why did that just exist behind your house?”

He shrugs, “That’s why it was a good thing.”

“Not like the peacocks,” Dean jokes.

“Not at all,” he breathes, tender and bittersweet, “It wasn’t a weird display of wealth, it wasn’t useful, it was just there, hidden. For no reason.”

Ron scoffs, “Sounds like a weird display of wealth to me. I reckon one of your loony ancestors installed it and led nature hikes to show it off to all the other rich tossers.”

Dean buries his laugh in Luna’s hair, winding his long arms around her. She blushes a little, leaning back into him. Ginny’s smile flickers, almost drops, and then it’s replaced by a vacant imitation. Draco reaches out, grabs her hand on impulse.

“Gross,” Draco wrinkles his nose, though he doesn’t completely understand why he’s doing it. He only knows that it works. Ginny squeezes his fingers.

Dean rolls his eyes, raising his head from where it was resting, in the crook of Luna’s neck, “Shut up. Someday, you’re going to fall in love with someone and it’ll be worse.”

“Draco in love would be a terror,” Ginny says breezily and everyone laughs.

She isn’t wrong. He’s still concerned about her, about the hollowed-out expression on her face, about the creeping feeling of worry and dread, the feeling that he’s missing something big, important.

Claire tugs on a lock of his hair, “No, he’s really very sweet.”

The laughter dies. Dean looks at him, incredulous. He just keeps breathing. This is not the end of the world, despite the way that his heart is threatening to leap up his throat and past his teeth, and if he were feeling less vulnerable right now, he’d probably be able to laugh at it with the rest of them, send Claire and Arabella a warning look, mitigate the damage.

But he can’t act nonchalant about this, not after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, after everything that’s happened tonight.

“What?”

Luna stares at him, in that strange way of hers. He shakes his head. He can’t even tell her not to ask. He can’t say anything. He’s more than a little afraid that if he opens his mouth, his heart will come leaping out of it, bearing the inscription this belongs to Harry Potter.

He’s been burying it since he was fourteen, but he’s done a lot of digging recently. He has the dirt under his fingernails to prove it.

Claire doesn’t offer any additional explanation, and the conversation eventually moves along, though he suspects that Dean and Ginny won’t let it go so easily. They’re at least willing to let it rest for now, while the others are here, and for that he’s grateful.

It’s another thunderclap, another warning, another crack in his tenuous control. This is precisely why he doesn’t drink. He’s going to shatter across the stepping stones that wind a path through the Thomas’s beautiful garden, and it’ll ruin Ginny’s birthday. He waits until he’s certain the attention has shifted off of him, and then he goes inside, imagining eyes on his back the whole way.

He just wants a moment to collect himself, a moment where he doesn’t have to monitor his expression or keep himself in line.

“Draco,” a voice calls after him, footsteps on the stairs, “Are you alright?”

Arabella steps into the room. He tries to steady his breathing, school his face again. He’s endured so much worse than this, all without crumbling, but in making himself back into the soft, ethereal thing of his childhood, he’s dismantled all his armor. He’s exposed.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

She smiles kindly at him, “I can go, if you’d like to be alone?”

“No, no, that’s okay. You can stay.”

“I’m sorry if Claire made you uncomfortable, she was just teasing.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I don’t remember what I told you, actually.”

Arabella pulls him closer, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You were talking about a boy, the other night, and I guess we assumed that the other kids would already know who it was, or at least suspect.”

“I didn’t tell you who it was?”

“No, nothing like that. You told us that he probably would have spit in your drink, that’s all.”

Draco laughs, and then he can’t stop laughing, “Oh my God. He would have. Maybe still would.”

“Surely not,” Arabella says with a frown, “Dean says you’re a war hero.”

He ducks his head. The only thing he can say in response is, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“You’re a good person, Draco,” Arabella pats his head.

They go back down together. The group has wandered back inside to loiter in the kitchen and start saying their goodbyes. Dean and Luna talk softly, trading kisses every few sentences in the corner, and Ginny glances at them surreptitiously. No one pays them any mind when they join them, except for Harry, who silently tracks Draco as he crosses the tiled floor.

“It was nice to see you guys,” he says, hoping that it’s enough to cover the paralysis he’s feeling.

He can’t manage speaking to Harry directly, which is a brand new symptom. It hadn’t been so hard, before, while they were at Hogwarts or when he was with Hestia or when Harry and Hermione came to his flat. Until tonight, he’d thought all of the embarrassing parts of it, everything but the enduring loyalty, had been calcified. He thought that his heart would never beat like this again.

But he was wrong. All he needed was room for the fluttering and the desire and the attentiveness.

“I look forward to seeing you at school,” Hermione says, and to Draco’s surprise, pulls him into a brief hug, “We can study together.”

Just like that, he’s decided. How is he supposed to deny Hermione, or watch as Ginny leaves when he knows now something is wrong? How is he supposed to resist the allure of being in the same place as Harry, getting to stare at him from across a crowded room, watch him on a broom?

Ron grimaces, “Oh no, you’re both going to get worse, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” Draco says brightly.

***

Taking the Hogwarts Express is a surreal experience. It’s not difficult to find a free compartment, in fact, most of them are empty. They all cram together, Draco, Ella, Luna and Dean on one side, Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry on the other.

“Do you want to try and find your friends?” Draco asks Ella, voice low.

She shakes her head, “I don’t even know who’s coming back.”

He drops it. Ginny draws her into a conversation about Quidditch, and they both attempt to drag him right along with them. He answers questions when asked, but mostly he just stares out the window at the world they’re speeding through, a blur of green hills and blue skies. It reminds him of the summer holiday with Marcie, which feels so far away now, as if it happened in a dream.

At the Welcome Feast, McGonagall makes a speech about unity and healing and what comes after war, no corny tangents about the power of friendship in sight. Draco’s grateful for it.

She does, however, announce changes due to low enrollment.

“Classes and seating for meals will no longer be determined by Houses,” she says in her strong, tremulous voice, “Quidditch will resume in the spring term with an official Hogwarts team, which will be accepted into the Sorcery School World League and compete against other Wizarding schools in the spring. Small intramural games are welcomed during the fall term.”

There is an uproar at this. Draco finds that his interest in Quidditch is, for the most part, nonexistent now. The allure of competition has faded.

Dean catches him on the way out of the Great Hall, “Are you going to try for the school team?”

“Probably not,” he replies, leaning into the arm that Dean slings over his shoulders on instinct, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, remember? Besides, in what world am I going to beat out Harry for a Seeker spot?”

“You could always try a different position. And with a school-wide team, they’ll probably want sub players, right?”

Draco wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, I get it,” Dean rolls his eyes, “You don’t want to be second best.”

“I’m used to that,” Draco says, “After all, Hermione does exist.”

He hears his name called distantly, through the clamor of first years trying to find their prefects, across the crowded corridor outside of the Great Hall. He turns and immediately locks eyes with Pansy Parkinson. She’s just as lovely as she’s always been, thick, dark lashes and a French bob that curls around her jaw, messier now than it used to be.

“Pansy!”

He weaves through the crowd, and it parts in front of him as people recognize his face. He doesn’t even think twice about sweeping Pansy into a hug, even though they haven’t held an actual conversation in years, even though he can’t recall the last time he embraced her.

Her nails are shorter, but they feel the same running through his hair, scratching over his scalp, “I see you’re finally embracing the waves.”

Draco chokes out a laugh that is at least half tears, “I missed you, Pans.”

She punches him in the bicep, harder than necessary, “What the actual fuck? I can’t believe I had to find out you were some sort of badass from Snape of all people.”

“What?” he pulls back from her, in response to the punch and her words.

She frowns, “The trials? I know you didn’t go, but surely you listened to the wireless broadcast?”

He winces, “Ah. No, I did not.”

“Seriously?” she narrows her eyes at him, “Okay, well, the greasy asshole went on a whole monologue about how no one did more to defeat Voldemort than you but Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore themselves, you were his star pupil, et-fucking-cetera.”

Draco feels the color drain from his face, “He said what?”

“Uh huh. The Prophet’s been writing constant stories about it. Did you really have no idea? Where the hell have you been?”

“A Muggle village?”

Pansy holds him at arm’s length and scans him, maybe for signs that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, maybe for wrinkles in his robes, “You’re screwing with me.”

“No, really.”

Pansy breaks into slightly hysterical giggles, and Draco follows suit. Dean catches up to them, touching Draco’s back right between his shoulder blades to announce his presence.

“Sorry,” Draco wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, I totally just ditched you.”

“It’s alright,” Dean says mildly, “Hello, Pansy.”

“Hello.”

“Is Blaise here?” Draco looks over Pansy’s shoulder, but he doesn’t see Blaise’s tall, willowy frame anywhere.

“No, he’s in France with his mum. Says he’s going to be a man of leisure, whatever the fuck that means. He promised to come for the first Hogsmeade weekend,” she squeezes Draco’s shoulder then lets her arm fall back to her side, “We can catch up later.”

Draco rolls his eyes and grabs her hand, “Come on. You can meet all of the other pests.”

“We have actually met before,” Dean points out, “We’ve been going to school together for seven years?”

That first night, everything seems possible, attainable. He feels the ghost of fourth year all around him, but for once he doesn’t mind it. It reminds him that he was happy here, once, and that it can happen again.

The feeling doesn’t last very long. Hogwarts feels as it always has, like a bad dream. He slides back into old habits, creeping silently through the halls, smoothing his face over before he steps into a corridor, spending too much time in his head.

He does most of his homework with a rotating cast of mostly Gryffindors, and he sits between Pansy and Ginny at every meal, and Luna drags him to the kitchens at least once a week. It’s not bad, not like it was in Crawley Down when he’d broken down completely, but he can feel himself drifting. He can feel the burning vitality, that bright spark of joy at finally being alive again, begin to fade. It’s slipping through his fingers.

Another storm isn’t far off.

Some things are the same as ever: the lightning bolt Pansy had carved into Draco’s bedpost in the dorms is still there, Harry is sending him intense, confusing glances, he’s still trying to keep his head down. Other things are different: he spends every Sunday afternoon writing a letter to Marcie and sends it along with Ella’s, he can’t bring himself to care much about Slytherin politics, and he doesn’t bother picking fights with Harry in response to those looks of his.

He finds himself standing in front of a blank wall one day, wishing for the Room of Hidden Things, but it doesn’t appear. He wonders if the castle has finally decided he is unworthy of its aid, if it can sense something in him that the people in his life seem to have missed.

Most of the time, Draco forgets that the Dark Mark is there, on his skin, faded but still recognizable. He’d grown so used to it tugging at him during the war that it was a relief when it became just ink. It doesn’t move anymore.

But sometimes, like today, he catches a glimpse of it and it makes him want to tear his skin off. On some level, he understands that it was a sacrifice, an act of love, getting the Mark. He did it to protect. Right now, it doesn’t make him hate the spiral of the snake’s tail any less. Right now, it’s just a reminder that the same magic that has eaten away at his home is in him too, lives on his body. He stares at the unmoving brick and scratches at the ugly black lines.

He thinks of sectumsempra, of his blood spilling out over gleaming white tile, just a couple floors below him. It still feels earned, the way all of his pain does. He couldn’t tell you what he did to deserve it, but his heart knows he did something. He loves and it hurts and it’s always his fault.

***

Pansy drags him around Hogsmeade, her fingers laced in his. The long red nails that have practically become a part of her dig into the back of his hand, leaving little red crescents behind.

“We’re already late,” she says, for the thousandth time, “Pick up the pace, babes.”

He knows better than to comment on the real reason they’d left the castle fifteen minutes after they really should have. Pansy had trimmed her bangs last night, and styling them this morning had nearly ended in tears and bloodshed. They look fine to Draco.

Blaise is meeting them at a cafe Draco’s never heard of, nestled on a relatively quiet street. It was Pansy’s choice, as she’d spent the summer living in Hogsmeade with her dad and half-brother. She knows which spots have mostly escaped the notice of the hordes of Hogwarts students that regularly descend on the town.

Blaise greets them both with kisses to their cheeks and exclamations over their hair and clothes. They settle into the cozy corner booth, trading pleasantries and barbs.

“How’s France?”

“French,” Blaise replies, an amused little grin on his face, “How’s England?”

Pansy sticks her bottom lip out, “Fucking awful.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It can,” she says darkly, “You have no idea what I’ve had to put up with. I didn’t know it was possible for Draco’s obsession with Potter to become more pathetic-”

“Could you keep your voice down?” he hisses.

To her credit, she does lean over the table a bit and lower both her volume and tone, “But it has. And Potter is somehow even weirder about Draco. I can’t actually tell if he’s plotting murder or marriage.”

Draco’s face burns.

“Well,” Blaise drawls, “I commend you on your patience.”

“Thank you.”

“I assume it’s more of the same? Besotted gazes across the room, waxing poetic about his hair and his eyes and everything?”

“Worse,” Pansy cries, “He’s somehow made friends with them! Not Harry of course, but the rest of the Gryffindors. Oh, and Luna.”

This revelation seems to actually crack Blaise’s disaffected exterior. He stares at Draco, jaw dropped.

“What the hell?”

“I know.”

“How’d you manage that?” Blaise asks.

Draco shrugs helplessly, “I think I tricked them.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, “Please. You couldn’t pull one over on a scarecrow.”

“Excuse me,” he says angrily, “I fooled Voldemort!”

“Congratulations,” Pansy replies, flat and unimpressed, “You managed to lie to a desiccated corpse with delusions of grandeur.”

He throws his hands up and retreats from the conversation. It’s pointless to argue with either of them, and Draco doesn’t actually want to. The relentless mocking, Pansy wielding her stiletto like a weapon under the table, Blaise smirking over the rim of a stemmed glass; it’s comforting. It’s easy to let them take the reins, to sit back and let their voices wash over him, to cede control.

When they’ve had their fill of overpriced salads and champagne, and it’s time for Draco’s second lunch of the day, he doesn’t want to leave.

“We’ll walk you over,” Pansy says, and they move arm in arm through the narrow, cobbled streets.

His friends, along with Ella, are waiting for him outside the restaurant. It doesn’t look like Marcie has arrived yet. Blaise pulls him in, and he’s enveloped in the familiar scent of vanilla and leather and black pepper, one he’d nearly forgotten, the cologne that Blaise has worn since he was thirteen years old. He lets himself fall into the embrace.

“You have my address,” Blaise murmurs, “Send me something.”

He leaves with a final goodbye, a kiss to each of Draco’s cheeks.

Pansy goes after him, waving at Draco as she does, “See you back at the castle.”

Ella elbows him, harder than strictly necessary, “What was that? Send me something.”

The impression she does of Blaise is obnoxiously flirty, and right on the mark. Draco groans. He is never going to live this down.

“That’s just how Blaise is,” he says firmly.

Ginny narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything. Ella doesn’t look convinced either.

“Really,” Draco says and drops his voice, “You want to know a secret?”

He is, admittedly, a little tipsy. It’s becoming something like a theme, the warm buzz of alcohol and him saying more than he should.

“Duh.”

“I’m pretty hung up on someone else. Blaise and Pansy were making fun of me for it earlier.”

He doesn’t think Ginny heard him. Ella is delighted to know something that other people don’t, and she seems to know that she won’t get anything else out of him while they’re surrounded like this, so she doesn’t push. He knows it’ll come back to bite him.

Donna and Leroy arrive with Marcie, handing her off to Draco and thanking him profusely for being such a good role model for the girls. It’s a little embarrassing, especially because he isn’t entirely sober and because Ella is in full view behind them, trying not to audibly cackle. It’ll become fuel for teasing later.

Inside the restaurant, he sips at his water and steals chips from Marcie’s plate. He walks around the shops afterwards, surrounded by all of his friends, hand clasped in Marcie’s. Ella and Ginny talk Quidditch to his left, Hermione and Luna talk politics to his right, Ron and Dean grumbling about the new Defense teacher in front of him.

“Are things better, with the Prices?” Draco asks, comfortable and well-insulated from the rest of the world.

Marcie nods, albeit reluctantly, “Yes. Especially now that I’m in school during the day. And I have friends, so I can go over to their houses and watch movies and be around other Muggles.”

“You know I would have taken care of you both forever, if I could?”

“Obviously. We’re awesome.”

“And you know I’m still here if you ever need anything?”

Marcie pinches him, “Yes. I know.”

“Alright.”

He lets go of her hand, but only to pull her into his side.

“So…” she grins up at him, “Do you want to hear about my friends?”

“Of course.”

She launches into a lengthy explanation of the politics of teenage girls, and Becca is a little sensitive, and Lauren is too scared to tell Rowan that she likes her ex-boyfriend, even though they all know already and Rowan has been trying to drop hints that she’s fine with it.

“Ex-boyfriend? How old are these children?” Draco exclaims, mostly to make Marcie giggle.

“Fourteen. Georgia said that Rowan started dating before anyone else in our year, when she was eleven.”

Draco shakes his head. That’s a first year.

“That is too little.”

“I think it’s a bit weird, but Becca says I’m just a late bloomer.”

“I think maybe they’re early bloomers.”

Marcie nods, “That’s what Donna said too.”

“So, you’re talking to Donna about school, and your friends?”

“You need to stop worrying about me,” Marcie says, “I’m fine.”

“I believe you, but I can’t just stop worrying about you. I probably always will, at least a little bit.”

But Draco is satisfied by Marcie’s wide smiles and her enthusiasm as she talks about school. She’s returned to Mr. Price and they all start the trek back to the castle, Ella taking up the spot that Marcie had left by Draco’s side.

“You know, you two don’t have to worry about me either,” he says once he realizes that they’ve essentially just traded shifts, “I’m okay.”

Ella stares him down, “Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

***

Draco wakes up to cold stone and an ache in his neck and a throat clearing loudly. He blinks his tired eyes open. He’s outside the Room again, though he’s mostly accepted that it has stopped appearing for him now, and Professor Islington, the History of Magic professor, is standing over him with a rueful smile on her face. Binns never reappeared after the battle, and Professor Islington is a good deal younger and a good deal more interesting.

“Draco, what are you doing out here?”

Draco rolls his shoulder, sending a stab of pain down his spine, “It was an accident.”

“You’re not supposed to be out of the dorms. It’s the middle of the night,” she doesn’t seem to be too upset, so he doesn’t bother to worry about detention.

He shrugs, “Habit, I suppose.”

“Go, sleep in an actual bed.”

Draco obeys, one foot in front of the other, staggering with exhaustion.

“Oh, and Draco?” Professor Islington calls down the hallway, “Would you stay after class this afternoon?”

He winces and waves his hand in a vague gesture of agreement, continuing through the corridor and back to the dungeons. He can’t fall back asleep once he’s burrowed under the duvet. Instead, he stares up at the canopy and wonders how much longer he can go on like this, standing on the edge of a cliff, before he topples over once again.

History of Magic is his last class of the day, and his favorite. Professor Islington knows it, too, and ruthlessly exploits both the timing and his preference. He often gets pulled into discussions with her after class is over. Last week, he’d left with an armful of books.

“I want to talk to you about your sleeping habits,” she begins once the room has emptied, “Specifically the location.”

He sighs, tired, “Can you just give me the detention and skip the lecture?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” he says under his breath and takes a seat in the front row, closest to her desk.

“Is there a reason you decided to take a late night excursion to the seventh floor?”

He frowns. He knows the existence of the Room is sparsely documented, to say the least, and he’s not sure how many people are currently aware of its existence. Dumbledore had acknowledged it once, after Draco had begun to work on the Vanishing Cabinet there, but Snape didn’t appear to know about it, and it’s never been spoken of in any classes.

“I used to study there,” he says carefully, “Under the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

Professor Islington pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “I’m not an Auror, alright? You’re not under investigation for anything. I just wondered if you knew about the Room.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.”

“Then you’ve noticed that it hasn’t been quite right,” she reaches for a notebook, “Has it appeared for you?”

He blinks at her.

“Well?”

“Uh,” Draco’s mind races, “No, it hasn’t. I didn’t know if it was indicative of a larger problem…”

She raises an eyebrow, “And what else would it have been indicative of? You’re a historian in the making, Mr. Malfoy, you have to be more inquisitive.”

He chooses the lesser of two evils, accepting the reprimand instead of trying to explain that he thought the castle was turning against him. Now that he’s thinking about it, it sounds ridiculous. It’s a fucking castle.

“It hasn’t appeared to me either. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you call it?”

“The Room of Hidden Things. It’s what- Dumbledore called it that.”

“Ah,” she scribbles something in her notebook, “And it appears to you like that, as a cluttered room?”

“For the most part. I know it changes, depending on what is needed, but that’s what it looked like the first time, and I usually asked for it specifically.”

“Interesting. That version of the Room is very distinctive. And it’s the only recorded static iteration, you know. There is no other form that the Room takes that appears to different students, at different times, answering different requests. It’s malleable. I like to think that it’s the original form.”

Draco leans forward, “You think that it was once a normal room in the castle then?”

“Sort of,” she replies, reluctant, “I don’t want to unduly influence your research, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself for now.”

“My research?”

“There are quite a few students who are familiar with the Room, it was used quite extensively during the war, but as far as I can tell, none of them are quite as attached as you. Or as skilled in Charms.”

It’s certainly news to Draco. Maybe he should have gone to the trials.

“As you know, seventh year students are required to complete a capstone project in order to graduate. I think this should be yours.”

He stares at her in shock, “You want me to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws and has barely been documented?”

Her eyes go bright, “No, I want you to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws, has barely been documented, and has been recently damaged by one of the most under-researched curses in existence.”

She says it with such unshakable confidence that he doesn’t bother arguing the point.

He’s going to need to re-read A Comprehensive History of Curse Damage. And that book about permanent Charm work, if he can remember what the author’s name is, or what the book is called, or what the cover looks like. And figure out who the hell used the Room during the war.

The list grows and grows. Every bit of information he uncovers prompts ten more questions, tugs him deeper into an endless pit of fixation. Draco’s always been a little obsessive. He starts a puzzle and he can’t stop until he’s solved it. Any time he’s not in class or eating, he’s researching. He avoids the library, instead taking books up to the seventh floor so he can read across from the entrance to the Room. It provides him with a distraction-free environment. It means that he spends most of his time alone.

He misses meals frequently. It’s not that he’s isolating himself on purpose, it’s just that they’ll be worried. They are worried.

He didn’t expect it to bring back sixth year, but maybe he should have. Just because he’s relived the worst night of his life and made his peace with it doesn’t mean there aren’t still a veritable treasure trove of other horrifying experiences for his subconscious mind to choose from. He dreams of bleeding out in a flooded bathroom, of his feeble crucio actually connecting, of falling from the Astronomy Tower, of crawling into a dark cabinet and vanishing, forever.

That one isn’t bad, really. It’s worse when it’s real, when he dreams of Dumbledore contorted in pain, Bellatrix laughing, of watching the life fade from his eyes.

***

It all comes to a head just before Halloween. He slips back into the dungeons late one night, prepared to crash and wake up too soon from a nightmare, and then stops short when he sees Pansy waiting for him.

She’s standing in front of the fireplace, backlit by the orange flames, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

She takes a half-step forward, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was researching for my capstone-”

“I mean the past month, Draco. I’ve barely seen you for weeks. I know you’re not eating, Luna said the house elves haven’t seen you, and you skip almost every meal. You’re definitely not sleeping. It’s like sixth year all over again.”

Draco doesn’t even have the energy to get properly angry, “You don’t even know what sixth year was like.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Neither of them speak for a while, the only sound coming from the crackling fire.

Draco breaks first, “I just… I have to do this.”

“What are you even talking about? Some project? Is it really worth it, for a grade, for a scrap of some professor’s approval?”

“It’s not about the grade, Pans,” he sighs, scratching absentmindedly at his forearm, “There’s something I have to fix. I have to. If I can fix this, maybe I can fix…”

“What?” Pansy’s voice shakes.

He breathes, and then it all spills out, “Maybe I can fix whatever cursed thing is still inside me.”

“Draco,” she comes closer, reaching out, and he flinches away, even though she’s still all the way across the room.

“You don’t understand,” his breath comes faster, “You didn’t see it. The things I did, the way I was. You weren’t there. And I know I did it to myself, I know, I know it’s my fault. So I have to fix it.”

He’s hyperventilating now, gasping, struggling for air. He ignores Pansy’s broken pleas and goes up to bed, where he can cast a silencing charm and lose his mind in peace. The sobs take over his entire body. He heaves with the force of his panic.

Eventually, he cries himself into an uneasy but dreamless sleep.

***

He skips breakfast the next morning to sit out by the lake. Ella finds him by there, staring down at him with hands on her hips.

“Hello. You look a bit dead.”

“Thanks.”

She sits beside him, close enough that their elbows knock together, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I fought with Pansy.”

“Oh, believe me, everyone knows that,” Ella says, “She’s taking it out on the entire school. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea. And what it was about, I guess.”

“I didn’t start it,” he says petulantly.

Ella scoffs, “Are you four years old?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe start with why you can’t seem to take care of yourself properly?”

He can’t help it, can’t keep it in. He cries into Ella’s shoulder for a minute before he collects himself and pulls back to look at her.

“I don’t think I’m a very good person-”

She holds a hand up, “Yeah, I’ve heard enough of that. Spare me the rest of that self-deprecating monologue. You’re fine. A little embarrassing, yeah, but it’s not like you’re fucking Stalin.”

Draco frowns.

“Right. You definitely don’t know who that is. My point is that you’re just some random person. Maybe you’re not an extraordinarily good person, but not all of us can be Luna Lovegood. God, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been moping about for the past month.”

“That’s not really what happened.”

“So, what did?” she asks.

“I just… I got distracted, I guess, and then I stopped taking care of myself,” he explains, discovering it as he lays it out for Ella, “And when that happens, I tend to start thinking there’s something inherently wrong with me. It’s just a cause and effect thing.”

She flicks the center of his forehead, “Next time this happens, and you feel like shit about something, you’re going to find me immediately, got it? I’ll force feed you or something. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re a kid.”

“So are you? And Marcie would kill me if I let you continue on like this.”

“You’re going to get sick of me.”

Ella glares at him, “I already am. You think I wanted an annoying older brother? Marcie just adopted you and I had to deal with it.”

Draco, for the first time in weeks, feels light, happy, like he could float away on the autumn breeze. Ella could give him all the shit in the world but she couldn’t take back calling him her older brother.

“You know,” he says cautiously, “This is why I wanted you and Marcie to be somewhere more stable. I’m just not the most reliable person right now. I would have kept you forever if I thought I could take care of you, you know that, right?”

Ella blinks, and a tear escapes from her molten hazel eyes, “Oh.”

“You’ve done such a great job looking after Marcie,” Draco pushes the words out, because Ella needs to hear them, “No one, and I mean no one, could have done better. But you should be looked after too. You deserve that. It’s not something that you have to earn, but even if it was, you would have done it a thousand times over. I wanted you to be looked after, both of you, and I can’t even look after myself. I did what I did because I knew my limits, and because I love you.”

“Of course you do,” she says loftily, wiping at her cheeks, “Now, I demand payment for making me talk about feelings.”

“Name your price.”

“You have to play a Seeker’s game against me.”

Draco looks over at Ella in excitement, “You’re a Seeker?”

“I want to be. Ravenclaw’s always had someone older in the spot, but I think I could make the school team next year. I want to practice.”

“Of course I’ll play with you. Anytime.”

“Now you’re the one who’s going to get sick of me.”

“Impossible.”

***

He doesn’t seek Pansy out. Whatever else he may be, good or bad, he is fundamentally scared of her. He’s scared of how well she knows him, of how unafraid she is to rip him apart.

She finds him, on the seventh floor, books spread out in front of him.

“Draco Malfoy, you are a monumental idiot.”

He braces himself.

“You are not unknowable,” she says, furious, “You are petty, and sometimes you’re cruel, you’re proud, too proud to ask for help and too proud to see an easy way out. You care so much about other people, but you can be remarkably self-centered. You think everything is on your shoulders, like you could possibly carry it. If you think for a second that there was a part of you I did not know, a part of you I did not love, you’re an idiot.”

She turns and stomps away, leaving him to stare after her, eyes full of tears and heart full of love.

***

It’s easier, afterwards. Ella helps him come up with bare minimums: at least one meal a day where she can see him, a Seeker’s game on Sunday mornings, followed by at least three hours of social interaction that has nothing to do with school work, and five hours of rest each night even if it’s spent awake.

He knows there’s a larger conversation waiting for him with Pansy, but there are only so many things he can manage at once, and he’s not overwhelmingly concerned about it. They’ve come through worse things. They can see each other in group settings, and they can be alone together, even if it is stilted and awkward in a way their friendship has never been before.

It comes with the natural consequence of spending more time than ever with Ginny. He never manages to get much work done when she’s there, the natural consequence of her own apathy towards her education. She’s set on professional Quidditch, and eventually coaching, so she doesn’t see much point in worrying about classes. If not for her mother’s insistence, she might have gone straight to a minor league team and made it to the majors within a couple of seasons, and wouldn’t have finished at Hogwarts at all.

He’s in the Gryffindor common room, which still seems forbidden, though the separation between Houses has grown murky and the traditional divides haven’t been enforced at all this year.

“Are you really not going to try out for the school team?” Ginny asks, successfully drawing his attention away from studying.

He glances at her sideways, “I don’t understand why you want me to.”

“You’re the best Seeker we have, and if I’m going to have my pick of pro teams, we need to have a stellar season.”

“What makes you say that?” Draco asks, incredulous.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, “Because it’s true?”

“Aren’t you overlooking someone? Youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history?”

“What? Harry’s not playing Quidditch this year.”

Draco takes a moment to process this information. It doesn’t make him any less confused, any less indignant.

“Why the hell not?” Draco actually closes his textbook fully, turning to stare at her, “Quidditch is like 40% of his personality, what the fuck?”

Harry himself sits up straighter on the other side of the common room, “I can actually hear you, you know?”

“Sorry,” Draco says offhand, the usual nervousness that seems to manifest every time Harry is within a twenty foot radius vanishing in the face of his shock and genuine outrage, “I didn’t mean to say something nice about you out loud, I understand how that may be upsetting.”

“Fuck off.”

Ginny has a terrifying, calculating look on her face, “He’s too busy. Hero shit.”

“I’m sorry, was he not busy with hero shit the entire time he was at Hogwarts? Is there some other homicidal megalomaniac who’s strangely fixated on him that I’m not aware of?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t run the second the fighting is over,” Harry bites out.

Draco frowns, a little hurt, but mostly suspicious. He’s getting better at not taking things personally, at separating instinctual, emotional responses from malice, a bad mood from animosity. Harry isn’t usually one to guilt trip, not seriously, so Draco assumes that he’s trying to convince himself of something more than he’s actually still upset that Draco opted out of participating in the trials.

Ginny, however, doesn’t seem to reach the same conclusion. She scowls at Harry, and when she speaks, it’s vicious and protective.

“Don’t say that shit in front of me,” she snarls, “I will not be as polite as Draco.”

Draco hides a smile. He really does love Ginny, and there’s something nice about being defended. It’s not something he has a lot of experience with.

“So he can say whatever-”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. He’s just being bitchy, you’re being mean.”

Harry shuts up, and Draco lets the conversation lapse. He hadn’t known that he’d be pressing on an open wound, and he does not have the capacity to stitch anyone up, much less Harry, no matter how much he might want to.

It comes up again the next day, against his will. Ginny is putting on a dramatic reenactment of the exchange for Dean, mostly for the purpose of recruiting someone else for the crusade to get Draco to attend try outs in February. Hermione is paying more attention than he thinks is warranted, especially because she doesn’t really care about Quidditch, and then the entire thing is derailed by a discussion of Harry being an asshole.

“Does he think you should have done more?” Dean asks, horrified.

Draco tries to ignore the conversation entirely. He doesn’t want to talk about it, any of it. Not his reluctance to testify, and definitely not Harry’s disapproval. He knows that Harry isn’t having the best time- he can see the exhaustion, the desperation, on him like he’s looking in a mirror- but he’s apparently alone in that line of thinking. He never expected to be the only one who could see past their history of antagonism, and he’s wholly unprepared for it.

“Obviously no one can say that Draco didn’t do enough,” Hermione says diplomatically, “But I’ll admit, I was a little frustrated that he shut down the idea of the trials so quickly. I don’t know why Harry is still bringing it up though.”

“He wasn’t really in a position to-” Ginny starts, clearly remembering just how much of a mess Draco was last summer.

He cuts her off before she can get too far, “I told you when you asked, Hestia knew everything I did, and I didn’t think that personally recounting all of the bloody details was worth it. The war was different for me. I’m not saying it was harder or anything, but I wasn’t exactly going around breaking dragons out of Gringotts or sneaking supplies into Hogwarts. I did what I had to do, and I’ve made my peace with it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit in front of a crowd and talk about it.”

Hermione nods. He hadn’t realized that there was still a lingering discomfort in their friendship until it’s gone, but she’s noticeably more open and relaxed around him over the next few days.

He doesn’t really know what to make of it.

“I just didn’t quite understand you,” she says when he asks, “I don’t like not knowing things.”

Ron chuckles, “And you get tunnel vision, love.”

“That’s true,” she admits sheepishly, “I kind of have to be forced to see things from a different perspective. Sorry.”

Draco shakes his head, “No apology necessary. I was probably more combative than necessary when you asked, which couldn’t have helped.”

“I get it, mate,” Ron says cheerfully, “It’s like I told Mione, we’ve been fighting this war since we were kids. We should let someone else fight the next one.”

Draco finds himself agreeing with Ron Weasley, and perhaps more alarmingly for his fourteen year old self, enjoying the conversation they have afterwards. As it turns out, Ron has a knack for sniffing out people in desperate need of a mother, and Draco has promised to come to the Burrow for New Years before he knows entirely what’s happening.

“Mum will probably make you a sweater if you’d like, even though you won’t be there on Christmas.”

Draco remembers the lumpy, uneven knit of the characteristic Weasley sweaters and he wants nothing more than to be bundled up in one.

“I wouldn’t want to make more work for her…” he says haltingly.

Ron tuts at him, “Oh, don’t be silly.”

***

Draco finishes Wuthering Heights on a lazy Sunday morning in December, just before exams. His Sundays have expanded past the bare minimum, and he spends a few hours each evening reading. Wuthering Heights usually just makes him feel frustrated and sad, so he’s taken several breaks to read other books, mostly Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, which are far more light-hearted on the whole.

He only has a couple of chapters left now, and he’s determined to see the whole depressing story through. The dread builds and builds, until the inevitable release. Heathcliff dies. Draco feels sick and relieved and angry, a wash of emotions that he struggles to keep in line.

It’s just all so pointless, he thinks, all that time spent tormenting everyone around them and this is how it ends.

But. Hareton and Catherine are going to be married on New Year’s Day. There’s something poetic about that, something about beginnings.

Heathcliff and Cathy never find happiness or peace. They die miserable, separated but never left alone, and even then, they haunt each other. But Hareton and Catherine survive. They survive despite the grief, despite the suffering. In the end, there is hope because there is youth.

There is life, and time enough left to live it.

He turns the last page and heaves a huge, shuddering breath. It feels like the first bloom of spring at the end of a long winter, like the first sight of land after months at sea, like seeing Marcie’s smile when she glimpsed the ocean for the first time, like a grueling, bloody chapter finally coming to a close. He shrugs the last of the weight from his bowed shoulders.

It will get bad again, eventually, perhaps even frequently. But he knows what the very worst of it feels like now, and he knows what lies on the other side of it, and these are things he can never unknow.

***

It’s wintertime and Draco Malfoy is eighteen. He’s spent Christmas with Claire and Arabella and Dean and Luna, the family he’s trying to feel deserving of, and there’s a letter from his mother sitting unopened at the bottom of his trunk, and the cooling embers inside of him have ignited again, and he is eighteen.

His trunk is on the step beside him, in front of a house he’s never seen before. After this, he’ll go straight to the Burrow for New Year’s, and he’ll stay for the rest of the break. He’s looking forward to it, truly.

He’s not looking forward to this next bit, though. His hands are shaking. He is terrified, and he feels like a child, and for a moment before he knocks, he wants to be one again. Three raps on the door, and then he waits.

“Old age and war have made me reluctant to engage in small talk,” Andromeda says as soon as she opens the door, “You look so much like your mother.”

Draco is proud of himself when he takes it for the compliment it is, “Thank you for inviting me over.”

Andromeda is older than his mother, but not by much. She has a kind face, and wildly curly hair that shines silver in the porch light. She looks like Bellatrix. She looks like his mother. Somehow, she also looks nothing like them at all. There is a warmth and a softness to her that tells of hearty meals and a loving home. He wants nothing more than to belong to the family that produced her, and he realizes with a start that he does.

“Yes, yes, Teddy is at Harry’s. I wanted to speak with you before I introduced the two of you.”

Draco nods and straightens his back. He’d expected this, so it barely even brings his mood down. Of course Andromeda would want to vet him. She knows what grows from their family tree, better than perhaps anyone besides Draco. Andromeda leads him into a small, messy kitchen. Tea is prepared and sitting on the table against a wide window that looks out over the darkening street outside.

“Help yourself,” she gestures at the steaming tea pot and waits for him to prepare a cup before she does the same, looking up and smiling at Draco every so often.

They take their tea the same way.

“I wanted to reach out earlier, but I just never found the time to make it happen. We don’t have much family left. I want Teddy to have as much as possible.”

He nods.

“We’re the last of the Blacks, you and me and your mother. And Teddy, I suppose. I know what our family is, and I know how hard it is to leave. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to stay,” Andromeda sighs, “I always had some regret about leaving Cissy there alone, the year I ran away with Ted. It was after she’d left Hogwarts, but she was still living at home. I know the choice you had to make, and I made the opposite one.”

“Oh,” Draco traces over a scratch on the table.

Andromeda reaches out and takes his hand, “My daughter, Dora, we never agreed on very much. She was a little impulsive, like me I suppose, and I was so- I wanted her to be better than I was. I wanted her to have the space to figure things out slowly, to not jump into things the way I did, the way I had to. We fought a lot. I wish, more than anything, that I’d tried harder to understand her. If I had… I think I would have seen that she was. She was better than me, so much better. You know, one time during an argument, she told me that to choose to love another person was never a waste, no matter what came of it.”

It strikes right at the center of everything Draco is, and leaves him incapable of speech, or even tears. He’s so shocked that his hands start to shake again, the spoon in his tea clinking melodically against the china.

“I was too stubborn to really listen to her at the time, but it’s something I’m trying to do now. I’m trying to be better, for her, for her son. I guess what I’m trying to say is I know the choice you made, and I made a different choice, and it is one of my biggest regrets. Your love for your parents was not in vain, even if they couldn’t return in properly. And it means something to me, at the very least, that you stayed. That you tried to protect my baby sister when she should have been protecting you. I just… I needed to tell you that. I hope you don’t mind me poking my nose into all of this.”

Draco shakes his head furiously, “No, no, of course I don’t mind. Thank you.”

He’s still shaken, unsure of how to express to Andromeda what her words mean to him, when she gets up from the table to pull him into a hug. He folds himself into her, as small as he can get. He is still a child, and right now that doesn’t feel like such a bad thing.

“And because I know our family,” she murmurs into his hair, “I know you probably came here expecting some kind of test but the only thing you need to do is care, Draco, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that at all.”

[goatpaste]

Thoughts on the new JoJoLands chapter + Digital color for the main cast?

ah!! the new chapter was sooo fun, I really do love Paco and this was a good Paco chapter, thats my buddy :)

also new antagonist freak aho!

as for colors, i dont love them lol. im sorry im just not feelin them beside jodio for the most part lol

but as local green enjoyer i had to take a wack at Usagi design and make it less crazy lookin lol

also some Paco's my beloved ✌️

[luvmmarner]

ANDREI SVECHNIKOV - HATE HATE HATE

This was written for @comphy-and-cozy apart of the summer fic exchange! I know it’s really short the next few chapters will have over 7000 words. I was rushing to get everything mapped out and I changed and rechanged so much shit! I restarted 5 times and I restarted like a week ago because nothing made sense, but now I have a whole plot mapped out and everything! There will be 10 chapters so no need to worry! This is more like a prologue! I promise! I decided to make it a readers pov however I’ll post many other povs in the behind the scenes readers name and stuff like that. Hopefully that makes sense! (It’s 1AM help me deal lord)

A big thank you for @wyattjohnston for letting me be apart of this and I’m so so sorry for delaying this for so much days. Holy crap! I promise I’ll get all the chapters out as soon as possible.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Word count: 1K

TW: reader gets drugged (that’s it nothing bad)

It was immediately obvious that you detested him after you had your first encounter with him. You felt frustrated by his arrogant and excessively confident demeanour. You were unable to comprehend how your brother Sebastian Aho initially connected with him. Both of them were interested in different things, with the exception of the fact that they were both on the Carolina Hurricanes and loved to play hockey.

You hated him or did you?

enemies to lovers + brothers best friend

If it wasn’t the sunlight waking you up it was your brother and his loud obnoxious friends over. Today was the same as every other day since their shouts were so loud that they resonated throughout the walls, and the buzzing of your alarm clock didn't help matters either.

“Wake up and come downstairs sleeping beauty” you heard your brother Sebastian call from all the way downstairs. All you could do was groan at the request. You didn't want to get out of bed, nor did you feel like getting out of it. Even if you didn't have to work today, all you intended to do was relax and take it easy.

You decided to listen to the voices downstairs and suddenly recognized a voice that you had never heard before. The voice had an accent that was anything but typical of someone from North America. It was abundantly evident that whoever it was, they were from Europe.

When you had been considering whether or not you should go downstairs, you heard some movement coming up the stairs.You believed it was your brother at first, but when a hand caressed your back, you were taken aback.

The voice asked, "What are you doing in the middle of the hallway, young one," as his touch was still lingering before it finally moved away from you.

"First of all, I'm not young, and second of all, who are you?" You shot back your response using the most condescending tone you were capable of producing.

"My name is Andrei. And yours? Actually you don’t need to say I already know it and regardless I’m just going to call you young one." When he had finally turned around to face you, he inquired.

There was no denying the fact that he had a stunning appearance. It was obvious that he was much taller than you, and his perfume smelled like a combination of apple cider and pumpkins. His accent did not help matters either; it just added to the hotness of him.

“Don’t call me that ever again." You responded back, clearly irritated by the way he called you young one. You weren’t young by any means and just because you lived with your brother doesn’t mean you were.

“Cool well I could careless what you have to say by the way your brother asked for you to come downstairs. I'll see you down there once you decide to stop staring at me.” Andrei said in a cocky voice which just made you even more irritated and mad. Who does he think he is calling you out like that.

“I wasn’t staring” You told him as he chuckled and turn away down the stairs. You heard him say “Sure sure sure.” Before his voice disappeared alongside many other voices in the house.

Your brother yelled at you as you made your way downstairs, telling you to come sit down and introduce yourself to the others.

“Come here and introduce yourself, these are my friends I train with.” It was said by your brother Sebastian.

You responded to the request by rolling your eyes.

You sat down on the sofa immediately crossing your legs and staring at the guy in front of you. The guy I you just had an interaction with the guy who called you “young one”

She shouldn't be sitting with us, she can't be more than 5 or something," Andrei said. Inquiring while casting a sideways glance at your brother, Sebastian then joined the others in what appeared to be a simultaneous fit of laughter.

You had no choice but to hurry back to your room because there was nothing else you could do. You weren’t going to sit there as he kept making fun of you/ if one thing wasn’t obvious is that you had a strong dislike for him.

It was unlike any other typical day that had come before. You happened to be invited to join the girls as they headed out to the club to celebrate Brianna's engagement.

You and your friends came to the conclusion that the best way to celebrate would be to first go to a pub and then go home.

You had a difficult time choosing between the dresses, but in the end, you went with the glittering silver dress that was covered with beads all over it and was only slightly shorter than the others.

You didn't give a second thought to whether or not it would be a good idea to wear it, particularly given the fact that you were a female in the company of a large number of other females; nonetheless, since you didn't even give it a second thought, you simply slipped it on and joined the girls in the car.

As soon as you arrived at the club and were able to enter, you made your way straight to the bar and placed an order with the bartender for several alcoholic beverages. You acknowledged their kindness and then turned to look for your friends, but on the way, you were unlucky enough to run into someone.

Their hands grasped your waist to prevent you from falling to the ground. Once you made it to your feet their hand didn’t leave yours.

“Woah watch where you're going young one.” The voice said. You didn’t even need to think twice who it was. You knew it was Andrei. The cocky European voice was a clear indicator.

“Are you following me or something? Are you obsessed?” You said as irritation ran through your veins. You detested his arrogant grin as well as how he spoke with utmost cockiness you’ve ever heard before.

He paid you no mind, instead emitting nothing more than a muffled murmur as he drank from his glass. You made the decision that you weren't going to let that dampen your spirits, and instead you were going to have the best night it was even possible for you to have. You set your drink down and proceeded straight to the dance floor after doing so.

You danced for a few minutes, then went back to your drink to have a few more sips of it before joining your friends for some more dancing.

You were immediately overcome with feelings of lightheadedness and dizziness upon dancing for quite some time, it was to the point where you found it difficult to stand. Your vision suddenly went black and you were sure that someone had caught you before it became completely dark.

…

[butmakeitgayblog]

Lostia vibes?

I shit you not, I saved several of these yesterday exactly for this very reason 😭

I know you'd probably guess CI Lostia but aho no, no no. This is Teach Me Lostia. This is The First Wife material. This is young married Lostia out for a stroll on our babyfaced new adjunct professor's lunch break, back when they still actually made time for each other and hadn't let everything slip away.

Because aint no way in hell this isn't full on younger years Professor Lexa.

The hottie with a body little white shirt (in Clarke's words 🧐). The paint and clay splattered jeans that she's had since junior year and refuses to give up. It's giving the pre-Elbow Patches era, which Clarke will see glimpses of when she visits her house this coming chapter, and just maaaaybe Clarke will help the wound-too-tight, prim and proper professor rediscover a bit of her younger laid back self 👀

[slamdunk-headcanons]

You sleep on his chest

3/3 from the "You sleep on his chest" series. part 1/part 2

So, the "Sleep on his chest" series comes to an end (or maybe not?) and I hope you guys had fun with it! Thanks to the anom-chan who sent this amazing headcanon ideia! Comment if you want me to keep this series with more Slam Dunk characters!

Mitsui Hisashi

You were doing too much. Mitsui knew that. You were helping them study for the tests, so they don't get suspended from the team. And you were helping your teammates to study for the same reason. And still, you were doing your best on the trainings because you were the key player of the women's basketball team of Shohoku.

So it wasn't a surprise for him to see your eyelids closing repeatedly while you struggled to stay awake. It was almost 11 o'clock. Only you two percieved to keep studying at your house. Miyagi, Sakuragi, Rukawa and your teammates all left at least 20 minutes ago.

"Oi, you should go to sleep now", said Mitsui.

"No! We have to finish this chapter today or we won't be able to finish all the test content!", you replied shaking your head effusively.

"You're already sleeping", Mitsui insisted. "I'm leaving now".

"No. I'll finish it". "Fine. So I'll take another cup of coffee for us on the kitchen, ok?" "Ok"

When Mitsui got back, you were already sleeping, your arms serving as a uncomfortable pillow to your head. Mitsui sighed and smiled. He sat again next to you and shook your shoulder gently "Oi, [y/n]-chan, go to bed. I'm leaving" "No" you mumbled turning your head to Mitsui side, but still asleep. "I have to finish this unit." Mitsui kept shaking your shoulders. You tried to push him away a few times, but then, your arms enlaced Mitsui's neck and your head finished lying on his chest.

Mitsui freezed for a few seconds. You were in a deep sleep, probably thinking you were in bed iwth all your big pillows to hug, and he became one of them. After a few seconds, a small smiled curved his lips.

"Why are you so stubborn?", he whispered while taking you in his arms. He took you to the TV room and layed you on the couch. As he doesn't have any blanket to cover you up, he used his own basketball jacket to do it.

You immediatly cuddled in the couch grabbing his jacket and sighed. "Mitsui, you idiot", you whispered. "You have to study so I can keep cheering for you, aho!"

Mitsui giggled and left a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving.

Miyagi Ryota

The summer training program for the interhigh were reeeeally making you and Ryota tired. He would walk you everyday for the hotel where the women's Shohoku basketball team was staying.

But, on that day, you were so tired that you could barely walk. So Ryota decided to pay a taxi, and insisted to go with you. "But you could go directly to your hotel". "No, [y/n]-chan! I'll accompany you just like everyday." You sighed. "Ok. I won't insist because I'm too tired to fight".

The taxi came, and Miyagi helped you to get into the car holding your hand gently.

On the way, he noticed you head boucing while you struggled to keep awaken. Blushing, he said "I-if you want to, you can take a nap on my shoulder"

You immediatly layed your head on his shoulder without saying a word and Miyagi IS SO SHOOK.

He's extremely cautious when the issue is touching girls, specially you. Every touch is a big event for him, and that one was totally unexpected and unedited.

The taxi accidentally passed through a hole on the street, and you two shook on the back sit. Your head slipped down from his shoulder to his chest.

Miyagi is going to have a heart attack

As you're sleep, when you felt his warm chest, you uncounciously cuddled closer to him;

He's definetly having a heart attack why you could keep sleeping with his heart pounding like that?

When the taxi stopped on your hotel, Miyagi made you sit up really quick and gently before you noticed you slept on his chest.

You rubbed you eyes to see him already off the taxi stretching his hand towards you to help you off the taxi

He shyly said "good night to you" blushing a lot and, even sleepy, you couldn't stop thinking what happened during the taxi ride.

Check out the Masterlist!/ Ask box is open!

[heeverseblog]

this time- bonus chapter pt. 2

synopsis: today is jake’s birthday and you wanted to bring him and your family to a place for all of you. what you didn’t plan is that a new member of the family will be welcomed.

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader

genre: established relationship, marriage, family, pure fluff

GOT MOTIVATED TO WRITE IT AFTER SEEING JAKE KISS THAT DOG ON THEIR FANSIGN CUZ IT’S SO CUTE!

                       -----read below-----

your alarm rang and you woke up to turn it off. jake groaned at the sound and you slowly hugged him from behind.

“happy birthday, baby,” you gave him a light kisses on his shoulder.

jake smiles with his eyes still closed. then he turns around before caging you in his arms.

“baby, i have to make breakfast.”

“sleep in for a while,” jake says with his groggy voice.

“no.” jake says, before hugging you like he’s a baby.

“sim jaeyun.”

jake chuckles but doesn’t budge.

“jake, come on.” you whine and jake finally lets you go. you kissed his head before telling him to sleep some more.

you cooked bacon-pancakes and made another stack of pancakes for his special breakfast. for jake, you’ll be making him a special one by putting it whipped cream and strawberries then drizzle it with chocolate syrup.

“mom, need some help?” aera calls you from the living room.

“could you wake your siblings for me, sweetie?” you say as you finish cooking the scrambled eggs.

“okay, mom.”

“and don’t let your brother and sister barge in to your dad!” you follow-up when aera starts going upstairs.

“can’t promise that!”

and just like aera said, you heard them screaming and running to jake’s room, waking him to greet happy birthday.

“kids, let’s have breakfast now. we’re going out today!”

you call from the stairs. jake was walking down the stairs with haeun on his back while hajoon and aera were walking together.

“daddy, daddy, where are we going?”

“i have no idea, princess. looks like your mom is going to surprise us.”

“if the four of you will sit down then i’ll tell you.”

the kids [including jake acting like one] immediately ran to their seats.

when you brought out the pancakes with a candle, you all sang jake a happy birthday before he blows out the candles. jake asks for a kiss on his cheek and you gave him one.

your and your family enjoyed breakfast. jake especially. he knew your adventure time inside joke but he really liked how you prepared him pancakes. he each gave your kids a bite and the twins immediately became hyper.

jake carries hajoon and does this superman thing to him which he likes. haeun wanted one too so she got it. and aera, as much as she was embarrassed, jake immediately carried her and she enjoyed it.

mornings weren’t quiet in your home but you didn’t mind it at the least.

“alright, everybody. come on let’s wash up so you can get dressed.”

your kids followed your orders ran up to the stairs and you were going to follow when jake hugs you from behind.

“does the birthday boy need something?”

jake kisses your cheek, “thank you.”

“your birthday’s not done yet,” you lightly pat jake's arms on your waist, “come on, we have friends waiting for us.”

“are the jay and sunghoon coming? yujin and gaeul?”

“no and no. you’ll see.”

you wanted to drive today because your family didn’t have a clue where you’ll be going. while you were driving, all the kids were talking about is how you’ll be taking them to a carnival but aera tells them that jake isn’t into those. then maybe you’re taking them to a boat ride but you gave them a hint that it’s not even close.

your ride became an hour and a half. jake kept asking if you wanted to switch seats but you kept telling him that you were close to your destination. even though the ride lasted for two hours.

“we’re here!”

the kids looked at the window in awe. you turn to jake aho also had the same expression that you held in your laugh.

“oh my god!”

“we’re going to see dogs!”

“mommy, mommy, let’s go!”

“alright, alright. we’re coming to get you.”

you and jake carried each of the twins. jake helps aera get down by holding her hand.

jake had a dog once. he missed having one but couldn’t adopt due to parenting duties. so the closest thing you can give it to him is by visiting a place full of dogs.

“woooow!”

haeun lets a golden retriever dog sniff her hand before letting her pat its head. hajoon and aera were petting a dalmatian dog.

jake finds a dog that seems to be a collie. you went to him and he was baby-talking the dog.

“hi, girl! what’s your name?” jake says as he rubs the dog’s back. he looks at the dog’s tag and reads the name, “layla.”

“hey, layla. aren’t you a good girl? who’s a good girl?”

you couldn’t help but smile at your husband’s cuteness. you took out your phone and took a picture without him knowing. suddenly a golden retriever goes under your arm and you flinched before having it lie down on the floor as you scratch its belly.

you went to your kids at the small dogs. there were shih tzus, maltese, and pomeranians. you went to their direction and the dogs jumped on your legs and you giggled.

“mommy, can we get a dog?” haeun gives you her puppy eyes, something she got from jake.

“sweetie, we’ve talked about that. dogs are big responsibilities. it’s like being a mommy.”

“but i want to be a good mommy like you.”

“what am i missing?” jake walks over to you with layla following him from behind.

“daddy, can we get a dog?”

“haeun, your mom is right. taking care of dogs…it’s like taking care of kids. you need to raise them, feed them, play with them, and always be there for them.”

“like you and mommy?”

“that’s right, angel.”

“but…don’t you want to have a dog?”

“i already have you, your sister, and your brother. i'm happy taking care of you.”

“and mommy?”

jake looks at you, “and mommy,” and that gaze just melted your heart. you broke your gaze when layla got in between you and jake sniffing.

“this one is a kisser,” you say while giggling. jake rubs layla’s head and asks the kids to pet her.

as you were watching your family, this scene before you was exactly what you envisioned your family would be.

you asked the staff to take a picture with the dogs and with layla by the middle. when you saw the picture, you laughed, thinking how layla blends well with your family.

“you know, she seems like a good member of our family.” jake jokes but you know deep down that jake wanted to have a dog. you remember him having a dog when you were in high school. of course, it was because the whole school buzzed about it.

“jake, do you really want a dog?”

“baby, it’s fine. i have you and the kids,” he holds your cheek, “couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“i know but, i just can’t help but think that—"

“y/n,” jake rubs your shoulders, “i’m happy with my family. we can talk about having a dog next time. hm?”

you nod, “okay.”

then jake grabs a toy and he tells layla to sit before he throws it and says, “fetch!”

layla walks to the toy and she gives it to jake.

“good girl!”

jake rubs layla’s head and tells the kids that dogs also like being scratched at the belly. the four of them were laughing and enjoying themselves. all you could do was stare at your beautiful family and then you took another picture.

you got out of the bathroom and saw the twins sleeping at jake’s shoulder. jake was typing at his phone, probably talking to jay and sunghoon. aera was petting layla and you couldn’t help but notice how she shares her love with dogs like jake.

minutes later, layla was walking towards you and she was wagging her tail. she sat down beside you and leans her head on your leg.

“hey there, girl.” you pat her head and she closes her eyes, feeling relaxed from your touch.

“i can see you make my family happy.” you look at jake playing with your kids, “my husband, especially.”

jake was peacefully sleeping. dreaming, actually. it was the day you got married and the day you kissed as a married couple.

but what he didn’t remember was getting…licked?

“y/n, wait.” jake says, groaning as he can feel fur on his fingers.

wait, fur?

“what the—”

“morning, sleepyhead.”

only then did jake realize that a furry, four-legged animal was sitting on his bed.

“layla?” jake says and he swears he can see the dog’s eyes flutter and shine when he called her name.

“what are you…” jake scratches layla’s head and you couldn’t help but melt at the sight.

“what are you doing here, huh, girl?” jake giggles as layla licks his face.

“i adopted her.”

jake’s face grew wide, “what?”

“she’s ours.”

“ours?” this time, jake’s voice became softer and like a kid asking for assurance.

“but are you sure? what about the kids?”

“come on, they love layla. and I know you do too.” you say as you scratch layla’s head then sticks her tongue out and lays her head on your leg.

“and i want you to be happy.”

you look back at jake as he touches your face, “i love you, you know that?”

“but you’re going to have to help me in bathing the dog.”

jake chuckles, “yes, ma’am.”

you give him a peck then layla jumps out of the bed and you hear your kids call her name.

“see, they love her—jake!”

jake grabs you by your waist and lays you flat on the bed. he leans closer to your face and your breath stops. you’ve been in a relationship for two years, married for four years and jake can still take your breath away.

“are you happy?”

“of course, i am. i have three wonderful children playing with a cute dog downstairs that my lovely,” jake leans closer, “beautiful wife adopted to be part of our beautiful family.”

and with that, jake gives you a kiss and you pull him by his nape to deepen it.

“mommy, daddy, layla pooped on the couch!”

haeun screams from downstairs and you pull away from your kiss.

“you’re so cleaning that up.”

you say not before jake tackles you again but nag him to go downstairs and clean layla’s mess.

[jeanie-g]

I need more!!!!

'a gold star for me' plz

you ask and i shall deliver!! this is an au where jack is a middle school english teacher who wants to go into sports journalism and nico is the hot, new gym teacher that gets his goat!

also featuring trevor as the science teacher all the 8th grade girls have a crush on and jamie as his teacher's aide (who trevor is desperately trying to woo). also sebastian aho cuz i needed a villain lmao

it's hot, it's funny, it's relatable, and even a bit inspirational at times (i hope). it also might be my longest fic (with, like, actual chapters! wowza!)

here's a couple snippets:

The last essay of the semester, on a handful of Ray Bradbury’s short science fiction stories, was due at the start of last class. Jack had managed a good rate of on-time turn-ins, of varying quality but nonetheless complete, which bodes well for his end-of-semester performance review. Daniel turned his in on Monday, which wasn’t a surprise, and Jack was able to mark it over his evening tea, reading it and giving it its deserved A+ before the kettle even whistled. As for the rest, Jack dedicated a solid two hours to the task last night, breaking out his lucky red pen and using it frequently. Now, Friday morning, he has a stack of graded papers on his desk ready to be handed out before the weekend. Well, except Charlotte’s.

Charlotte was suspiciously absent on Wednesday, which isn’t out of the norm, really—her multiple absences was something he brought up to her mother during their parent-teacher conference last month, though the woman just sighed and said that she got frequent stomach aches (Jack wasn’t about to comment that her ailments had the habit of landing on test days). It’s not that Charlotte isn’t smart—Jack would hate to say she has potential if she only just applied herself—she just doesn’t want to be there. Jack has had more than his fair share of students like that. If it weren’t for their parents’ expectations—and their checkbooks funding their frankly overpriced tuition—kids like Charlotte would flunk out voluntarily. They always seem to get cold feet right before report cards come out, though.

Charlotte continues in her excuse train, and Jack waves a hand for her to stop. He’s heard it all before, and Charlotte is as transparent as a glass door, but Jack knows they’ll both be miserable if he gives her grief for it now. The whole point of getting these all done the night before was to have an easy, stress-free weekend with no homework of his own. All but forcing Charlotte to scribble some half-thought out mess on some looseleaf during her study hall would only stress them both out—Charlotte for obvious reasons, and Jack, because he’d be the one who’d have to actually read it.

and!

“What are you drinking?” Nico asks, and Jack had almost forgotten about the empty glass in front of him. Jack opens his mouth to answer but hesitates.

Part of Jack wants to lengthen this moment between him and Nico, really stretch it out as long as he can make it. Another part wants to nod his head towards the door, grab Nico’s hand, and pull him through it. With the way Nico is looking at him right now, he doesn’t think it’ll be too difficult. He’s certainly spent less time working up the nerve to make the big ask with other men, but something is telling him to let this moment grow—slow down the drive and coast a little.

“Gimlet,” he says, and Nico flags down Ana as she passes to order two for the both of them. Ana nods and grabs the well-loved bottle of Ketel One. He’ll let Nico take the lead and see where he ends up. He seems more than capable.

With Nico sitting down now, Jack can study his arms resting on the bartop, thick and covered in fine, dark hair. His gaze travels up the line of them, and he notices the bulk of his biceps stretched along the fabric of his shirt. “So, you’re new in town, checking out the local scene?”

Nico nods, catching Jack studying him with a cheeky smile. “Yes. I don’t really know anyone in the area yet. This seemed like a good place to start.”

“Well, yeah, Salt Crab’s the best. Isn’t that right, Ana?”

Ana turns around, towel in one hand drying some wine glasses. “Sweet talk’s not gonna make those drinks free, Hughes.”

Jack’s laugh bubbles out of him, and he catches Nico staring at him, like he’s hanging onto his every sound. Nico’s eyes flick to the floor and back up.

“You have a nice laugh,” he says, and Jack has to divert the conversation before he starts blushing like a schoolboy.

thanks for the ask, @solip1386 <333

[reixtsu]

Reixtsu’s Masterlist

I will try my best to stay on top of it and update it whenever I post something new xoxo

Milgram

Es:

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Haruka Sakurai:

Milgram boys meeting their girlfriends

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Boys x Shy Reader

When Their Daughter Has A Boyfriend

Yuno Kashiki:

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Females Reacting To Their Girlfriend

Fūta Kajiyama:

First Time Headcanons

Milgram boys meeting their girlfriends

Seven Minutes in Heaven

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Boys x Shy Reader

Reacting To When You’re Pregnant

When Their Daughter Has A Boyfriend

Fūta Smut HC

Mu Kusunoki:

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Females Reacting To Their Girlfriend

Shidou Kirisaki:

Milgram boys meeting their girlfriends

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

When Their Daughter Has A Boyfriend

Mahiru Shiina:

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Females Reacting To Their Girlfriend

Kazui Mukuhara:

Milgram boys meeting their girlfriends

When Their Daughter Has A Boyfriend

Mikoto Kayano:

First Time Headcanons

Milgram boys meeting their girlfriends

Seven Minutes in Heaven

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Biting Headcanons With Mikoto

Milgram Boys x shy reader

Reacting To When You’e Pregnant

When Their Daughter Has A Boyfriend

Kotoko Yuzuriha:

How Milgram Characters Would React To You Stealing Their Clothes

Milgram Females Reacting To Their Girlfriend

Bungou Stray Dogs

Chuuya Nakahara:

Fell In Love With Your Voice

Chuuya x reader who loves ice wine

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Osamu Dazai:

Spying on Atsushi and Akutagawa on A Date With Dazai

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

L'heure Rouge - Vamp! Dazai x gn! Reader (Discontinued)

Doppo Kunikida:

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Atsushi Nakahara:

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa:

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Edogawa Ranpo:

“Lost Something?”

Ranpo With An S/o Aho Can Bake

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Fyodor Dostoevsky:

Fyodor x Nikolai x Makima! Fem! Y/n

Nikolai Gogol:

Fyodor x Nikolai x Makima! Fem! Y/n

Yukichi Fukuzawa:

Ichigo no Ai - Strawberry Love - 苺の愛

Kyoka Izumi:

🥚🥚 Easter Egg Hunting With Bungo Stray Dogs Characters 🥚🥚

Jouno Saigiku:

Cuddling Headcanons

Soukoku:

Unspoken Love Locked In A Closet

Silent Gestures

Soukoku x reader

Shin Soukoku:

Spying on Atsushi and Akutagawa on A Date With Dazai

Rampoe:

Ranpoe Headcanons

Bungou Stray Dogs Long Stories

✾ Shared Interests ✾ - Soukoku x Female Reader:

Master List Of Shared Interests

Prologue

When The Petals Fly Away - Chuuya x Female Reader:

Release Announcement

When The Petals Fly Away MasterList

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 - Dazai x Female Reader:

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 - Dazai x Female Reader MasterList

Chapter 1

Jujutsu Kaisen

Satoru Gojo:

Toge Inumaki:

Inumaki Fluff Headcanons

Megumi Fushiguro:

Hugs

Utaite

Nqrse:

Taking Care Of A Sick Nqrse

Eve:

Eve Headcanons

Genshin Impact

Wanderer/Scaramouche/Kabukimono:

Wanderer Meets Scarameow

[inkblot22]

The Clasping Jaws Of Conjoinment

Well. It was bound to happen one day. I was bound to project my derangement onto my bae character. I am currently in Chapter 6 and while this does not have any spoilers it does confirm my previously held belief that Idia is not some sweet, soft boy, and is, in fact, a huge asshole. Anyway, onto the degeneracy. A certain concept in this fic was made by the author of ensorcelled. I absolutely love this fic please give it a read if you like pwp. Also! This is dedicated to @mermaidfan76. If you want me to untag you, I can do so, just let me know. This is part five of Pants on Fire.

This fic is aimed towards mostly afab readers or gender neutral readers. Although no explicit mention of body parts (other than Idia's) is made, there is still a certain implication that will be made if this ends up getting a part five. If you're okay with that, I hope you enjoy!

TW for heavy dubcon PLEASE don't read if you're upset by coercion, noncon, ignored request for contraception, captivity, abusive relationship dynamics, Idia being a huge pervert, fetishization of virginity, talk of virginity (it's very brief,) Virgin! Reader, allusions to electric shocks

Real talk, if anyone in your circle hits you with anything that Idia says in the last half of this fic, please register that as a HUGE red flag. It's fun and whatever here because you can click away from this fic, but you cannot click away from real life. Practice safe sex and self-respect folx.

The time has somewhat blended together. All you know is the present, and presently, you’re sitting in Idia’s lap, with Ortho out, again. It feels like he’s always out. 

Ever since Idia knocked you out via triggering your collar, you have no choice but to admit that you’re far more inclined to “hang out” with him. It’s a safety thing. If you don’t hang out with him, he gets annoyed… and even though you’ve only really annoyed him to the point of doing something once, you’re smart enough not to put your hand in the dog’s mouth again.  

So you’re sitting with him. Honestly it’s very benign, but your back is beginning to hurt and you’re kind of hungry, so you shift a bit and stand up.

“Do you want some cup noodles?” You ask. If you’re going to be stuck here, you may as well make the best of it… and you don’t want to hear Idia complain about you being cold-hearted.

“Nah, I ordered in some stuff. Come sit back down, it’ll be here in a moment.”

So you do. You take a seat on his lap and you are not deaf to the thrilled noise that escapes him. You don’t acknowledge it though.

“So… we’ve been together for a while.” He starts, “Did you know that today is our four month anniversary?”

You didn’t, but you do now. You nod, well aware that you look convincing either way.

“Ah, I’m so lucky that I have such a cute partner.”

 Idia is kind of hard to read at the best of times, but right now, attempting to figure him out is the equivalent of reading someone’s Russian grandmother’s cursive handwriting. You give him a blank, wide-eyed stare, and he gives you a toothy smile.

“I’m lucky…” His thumbs slide under the hem of your shirt and he presses his lips against the corner of yours, “So, so lucky…”

“W-wait-” You begin.

Idia cuts you off. You hate it when he does this, “But… I think you could stand to be a bit more affectionate. I mean, I know I’ve got your affection at level three, at least. And I get that you’re like an ahodere character, so I’ll spell it out for you.”

“Aho-”

“Shhh, shh. We should do more couple stuff. I already got us matching pajamas, but we have time now, while Ortho isn’t around…”

You pause before talking, just in case he wasn’t finished, “Idia, I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Seven, you’re slow. I’m telling you that we should fuck since my little brother won’t be back for a while.”

This time you pause because the air left your lungs when he said that. It’s okay. It gives you time to weigh your options.

If you go along with it, there’s a chance he’ll just leave you alone afterwards. If you don’t go along with it, you’re possibly going to get zapped. You don’t really want to let Idia see you naked, much less allow him inside of you, but… you also would prefer not getting shocked. 

When you finally speak, it’s measured, “So… if I go along with this… do you think you’d be okay with taking the collar off of me?”

Idia’s face brightens. He obviously thought you’d outright decline, but he squeezes your waist and taps his nose against yours as he kisses you again, “That sounds sensible. Are you gonna stay put?”

You nod. Idia lets you go and you awkwardly sit on the bed as he stands up, motioning towards your legs. It takes you a second before you realize what he wants. You take off your pants and underwear, watching as he simply reaches a hand in the fly of his sleep pants and frees himself. You have to focus all your energy on not shrieking when he does so.

The head of his cock is a bright, cobalt blue, same as his lips and eyelids. It’s proportional to his height and you jump up to your feet when he wraps a hand around the base and a inky substance oozes from the tip.

“What is that?!” You can’t help yourself.

“Listen, you can’t act surprised that I’m riled up after you’ve been acting all cute and shit. Sit back down.” He snaps.

You obey immediately, for fear of getting shocked, and Idia grabs you. You find it funny, he isn’t exactly traditionally strong, but he still just will manhandle you sometimes. Is it because you actually don’t mind him treating you like a toy? You jump as he shifts you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh. It almost feels like a red-hot poker.

“N-no, wait, hold on. Do you have a condom?” You ask.

“Are you usually this picky when you have sex?”

“You’ve had sex before?”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer. The answer is that you really haven’t. You’ve never even tongue kissed someone. The most experience you’ve had is with toys and your fingers, but you’re not really sure how to explain this. His eyes stare into yours and you think he gets it when he smirks, wide and deranged.

“Wow… I knew I was lucky. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a good first time with your senpai… whee hee hee…”

He uses his nimble fingers to adjust himself so he’s pressed against your entrance, ignoring your previous plea for a condom, and slowly, slowly eases his manhood into your walls. You have the sense to bite your tongue at the sting, the stretch causing a dull burn in your ring of muscle. Your body isn't used to this type of intrusion. 

As he supports you with a hand in the small of your back, his hips begin to slowly pump. Cool air hits your neck where the collar once was, and Idia presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth again. When he pulls away, you can see the pink, peachy tone in his hair and on the apples of his cheeks.

“Ah, I’m so lucky…” He mumbles.

[goodnightoilcountry]

jo's carolina canes fic rec list !

fic rec masterlist: jo's nhl fic rec list !

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

ANDREI SVECHNIKOV

9PM in Vancouver by @ thewintersoldierdisaster summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal word count: 7k

sunkissed pt1 + p2 + p3 by @ sydnikov summary: you’ve been in love with Andrei for as long as you can remember. when you first got hired to work in the social media department and met some of the members of the team, just one look at the hockey star’s brilliant smile and you were in deep. your heart truly broke though when he introduced his girlfriend after a game and you had to pretend you were happy for him. now you had to watch as they became happily engaged, knowing you'd never be the light in Andrei's life like he was for you. word count: 16.9k total

fleeting by @ sydnikov summary: every moment with Andrei is fleeting. word count: 17.5k

the one by @ holy-pucks summary: the reader is andrei's favorite girl, but she isn't his only. for awhile, the arrangement was comfortable. he'd show up whenever he was in town, they'd fuck, and then he'd leave. rinse and repeat. so how will andrei react when their routine comes to a screeching halt? word count: 8k

eye on you by @ behoright summary: andrei is oh so drunk, and he needs you to pick him up from the bar. word count: 4.5k

JACK DRURY

nostalgia by @ pennylanefics summary: you meet jack's parents for the first time over dinner word count: 2.3k

coffee to go by @ pennylanefics summary: while getting coffee one day, you run into your ex boyfriend after successfully avoiding him for the past few months word count: 1.1k

PYOTR KOTCHEKOV

all the pretty girls by @ unluckyhoneybee summary: where Pyotr never cared when girls preferred Andrei until it was you.

SEBASTIAN AHO

this is how it ends by @ silverstonesainz-archive summary: not every chapter ends in happily every after word count: 6.4k

i could love you with my eyes closed by @ matthewtkachuk summary: Sebastian doesn't like your boyfriend - he's forgetful, stands you up, and doesn't know a thing about you. when will you see that he's the right guy to figure you out? word count: 4k

finish line by @ silverstonesainz-archive summary: a resolution where all parties are happy. word count: 4.1k

the olympics are overrated by @ sydnikov summary: Sebastian Aho x reader where the reader is an olympic athlete and the canes are in off season but Seb is staying in raleigh this summer and not going back to finland and all he wants to do is spend time with the reader but she’s super busy with training so he gets super clingy. word count: 5.1k

SETH JARVIS

lover boy by @ sydnikov summary: hockey is a violent sport, one based on luck yet also talent, and most never escape unscathed. you learned that lesson too early, and haven't quite been the same ever since. then Seth Jarvis comes along, tearing down your hardened walls with ease, and, suddenly… You don't feel so alone anymore. word count: 9.7k

being bold by @ sydnikov summary: Seth has a crush on you. a bad one, and he makes it very obvious throughout the years he’s known you, though you’ve still never taken him seriously because of his immaturity and energetic personality. much to his chagrin, you keep denying him—until one night, scorned by thoughts of your most recent ex who never knew how to touch you right, you give in to Seth’s advances. word count: 7.4k

if they woke up, somebody better be dying by @ stormsplurge summary: inspired by the interview he just did for spittin chiclets where he talks about how he usually wont fall asleep until 3am word count: 0.7k

jacket by @ prettytoxicrevolver summary: jarvy sees you in the wags playoff jacket for the first time word count: 1.6k

our wedding (seth jarvis) by @ hockeyboistrash word count: 0.7k

TYSON JOST

i should've fought harder by @ butgilinsky summary: what happens when you both find out that your messy breakup was the biggest mistake of all? word count: 5.5k

[shelling4869ford]

Prompt - Double trouble

So this is for you @gingerwitchhh, hope you like it. But honestly, I didn't run it to my beta yet (she's still busy with the new chapter of the Sherlock-Conan crossover), and the prompts (which are still open) are more to get me back to writing. Right now, it still feels like I don´t know what I'm doing, which is even more frustrating since I should know how to write, yeah but - whatever, hope you'll still like it. Next one will be a glimpse into what happened after "Lost in time" since it was also a prompt (even though it seemed to be gone).

See you next time around :)

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

Double – trouble

“Honestly, I thought our first double date would be a little more… romantic, Heiji.” Kazuha complained, before reaching for Ran's arm, in order to pull her closer for her argument.

“I am sure Ran-san and Kudo-kun would rather see a movie or somethin’ like that! It’s their first well… real meeting with us after all.”

“No offense Kudo-kun” She fussed, but didn’t see the weak smile on the detective's face, while he could clearly see that Ran herself looked rather unwell, being drawn in their argument.

“Actually, Kazuah I piked tha heist because these two are accompanying us.” Heiji clarified proudly when they entered the building.

“After all, “No one get’s hurt” on a Kid heist – So no body’s dropping today for this Tokyo murder magnet.” He grinned, ignoring the girl’s surprised looks as well as the annoyed groan of his friend.

“Oi! Hattori –“

But Shinichi’s protest was drowned by someone calling his fellow detective by the name.

“Hey, Hattori-kun!”

“Ah Nakamori-san, nice ta finally meet ya!” Heiji greeted the young woman, who made her way towards them. Shinichi raised his eyebrows at the familiar name, he knew Heiji had pulled some strings to get them here, but what surprised him wasn't the fact that the two children of police officers seemed to know each other, but the fact that the girl in front of them looked quite similar to Ran.

“I’m glad you could make it! I’m sure you’ll be quite helpful, catching this fealty thief.” She smiled.

“Oi Aho-ko, who are you talking to?“

“Ah Kaito! If you allow me to introduce you to Heiji Hattori, the son of the chief of the Osakan police department and his friends, this is my fried Kaito Kuroba, also my classmate and some crazy wanna be magician and fan of Kid." She sneered in annoyance. 

"So just ignore him during – what the?!” She stopped herself, looking from her childhood fried to the guy accompanying Hattori and back. 

“WHY are there two of ya!” The detective of the east yelled, before she had the chance to do so.

“Baka-ito I swear if that’s one of your jokes!” Aoko hissed, turning back to her classmate.

“What! No I-“ But even before he had the chance to defend himself a roar of laughter interrupted him, coming from the last person you would have expected, Kudo Shinichi himself.

“Oi Kudo?” Heiji hissed, trying to calm him down, but his friend didn't- or rather couldn’t answer since he couldn't stop his laughter.

“I- I guess the guy just needs some fresh air.” Kaito flustered, taking Shinichi by the shoulders in order to guide him around the next corner.

“I – We’ll be back soon, don't worry about us.”

“Seriously Tantei-san?” The thief growled in annoyance, looking down at the detective who was still bending over from laughter, once they were out of earshot.  

Shinichi took a shaking breath, still trying not to burst out laughing again.

Honestly, a room full of police officers, a magician named Kaito – and no one questioned his presence? The detective shook his head.

“So your name is really Kaito, and no one ever figured out that you’re actually Kaitou Kid?”

The high schooler in front of him just raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, no. Seems like my disguise is just as good as your fake glasses have been, brat.” Kaito growled and was satisfied to see his lookalike flinch at the remark.

“At least they never had enough proof to arrest me for good.” He mused.

“So you don't deny it?”

“Huh?” The sudden serious tone of the detective had ripped him from his thought.

“You being Kaito Kid?” Kudo’s blue eyes were piecing his own, before a sly smile appeared on his lips.

“Can’t, right detective? Not after everything that had happened between us.” He smirked, his whole manner had changed from Kaito to Kid within seconds, so that the detective took a step back, slightly flustered.

“That’s not what –“

“Oh relax already will you – honestly you detectives are no fun.” Kaito grumbled, already back to his “usual” self. The sudden change left Shinichi perplex, he knew that changing from one persona to another wasn't that hard when you're used to it, but that didn’t mean it freaked him out any less. The magician – or rather thief – on the other hand, seemed to be much more disturbed by his silence, since he struggled to continue their conversation.

“Besides, it’s not like there are more people with our face running around, are they?“

‘You’d be surprised…’ Shinichi mused.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

This time it was Shinichi who was surprised by the serious tone of the thief. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front his chest, casually waiting for a reply. Shinichi frowned, despite all this he could clearly see the tension in the magicians shoulders, as well as his gaze which lingered on the hallway behind him, probably planning for the best way to escape.

Kaito was surprised to see a smile appearing on the detective's lips, Kudo had closed his eyes, hiding his hands in his pockets, before he looked up again, still smiling.

“Not much I guess…” He answered with a shrug. But the thief still wouldn't let it drop so easily.

“Awe, you’re still scared I could spill your little secret? Conan Edogawa…” Shinichi tensed at the name, but only for a brief moment, before he rolled his eyes at the not so hidden blackmail in the other high schoolers word.

“Maybe, but beside…” He mused, before a dangerous grin appeared on his lips.

“… where would be the fun in catching Kaito Kuroba, when I’m here for Kid.”

Kaito was taken aback by the detectives' statement for a second, before his lips mirrored his smile.

“Huh, guess you are different after all… Tantei-kun.”

The tension in his shoulders vanished, when he saw that the detective was serious about it, guess he should have known that Kudo would react different from what he was used to.

‘Especially compared to some British nerd, trying to catch me during our Japanese lesson.’ The thief groaned at the thought. 

“You shouldn't start celebrating just jet through.” Shinichi warned his look alike, in a serious tone.

“Huh?” Kaito looked up from his thoughts in surprise.

“Well, on the one hand – I’ll still catch you, and on the other…” The detective smirked, pointing over his shoulder.

“… Ran it still waiting out there.”

“What?!”

Kaito followed the hint, bending slightly to the side in order to look around the corner they were hiding behind. It seemed like the three girls were having a great time, while Hattori gave him a sour stare, but once Kudo’s girlfriend saw him, her whole manner changed in an instant. He twitched when he saw her hand forming a first, he very well remembered that the girl could turn solid stone to powder with just one punch.

“I guess she still has a bone to pick with you, after you’ve been playing Dress up ever so often.” The detective added with a smirk, as he saw Kaito slowly losing the color on his face.

“Not to mention Hattori as well-once he’ll figure it out.”

“B-But- I’m sure she wouldn’t, I mean she –“  Kaito stammered

But the detective just laughed at his lack to form a useful sentence, instead he turned around to leave him to his agonizing thoughts.

“Well good luck with that Kaito.” Shinichi mocked.

“I’ll catch you later”

He waved, not looking back, while he made his way back to their small group.

“Oh fuck you, you little –“  The thief growled, as he went after the detective but stopped when Mori’s deadly glance found him once more.

‘Jeez- I’m as good as dead.’

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

Honestly, I wanted to end the shot with a brief flash to a scene after the heist, where Kaito finds a message from Shinichi offering help with the organization – but since that would just leave an open ending, and kind of bittersweet stuff (on Kids side) I skipped it, for one simply happy little shot – after such a long time with no writing at all.

[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

3/10 - chapter one, two - read on ao3

may 1998 - july 1998

Draco used to be small, short and waif-like. In the past couple of years, he’s gained a few inches of height and enough wiry muscle to complete this one, final task for the Dark Lord. Even if he hadn’t, if he still had a child’s frame, if he was weak and underfed, this is something he would find the strength for. He would do it brittle and broken and barely standing, if he had to. 

He cradles Harry’s fragile bones, all the skin and sinew that make up this impossible body, against his chest. He’s reassured by the heartbeat he feels beneath his palms, faint and almost unnoticeable. Harry is alive. Harry is alive and Draco’s mind is a frozen, glassy lake, reflecting only the certainty on its surface. Voldemort’s attention is elsewhere, on the other Death Eaters and then on the crowd amassed in front of the destroyed castle, but Draco knows better than to let his guard down for even a second.

Harry is alive, and that means the war must continue. Draco is not done yet.

When Harry shifts in his arms, Draco gives up his wand easily, gladly, knowing that it will be Harry’s devoted and abiding servant, just as Draco himself has been.

It doesn’t even feel like a loss, not when it’s him. 

***

Dean finds him after everything has calmed. Draco is laying flat in an empty courtyard, away from most of the carnage. He can’t make himself move. Three years of his life, years that he won’t, can’t regret, but years that are now useless all the same. He’s tired, and he’s lonely, and there is nothing left inside of him. He has used up every reserve. He’s done what he promised, even if it was a vow he’d only ever spoken to an empty room, and now it’s over. He’s not sure what comes next.

His eyes are closed, but he can still tell when a shadow falls over him. He looks. 

“You know, there’s a bit of a mob after you,” Dean says, like he can’t decide how seriously to take it.

“They think I’m a Death Eater,” Draco pauses, runs a hand over his forearm, “I guess I am. You think they’ll leave me in Azkaban while they get it sorted?”

A strange sense of calm falls over him. It doesn’t matter much what happens to him now, no missions to complete, no one to save.

“I’m not letting them. Apparently, neither is Harry.”

Draco blinks, “Harry?”

“Yeah, I told him I’d find you while he kept them busy. He said you lied to Voldemort.”

Draco snorts, “Is that proof of innocence now? If so, he should let all the Death Eaters loose.”

“You lied about him being dead.”

“Yeah.”

“And you lied about recognizing him at the Manor. Obviously I wasn’t there to see that either, but Hermione’s a good storyteller. You might want to leave? It’s still a little chaotic, and there’s not exactly a way to notify the entirety of England that you’re actually fine.”

Draco rubs at his eyes, “I need to see my handler.”

“Alright,” Dean says skeptically, “Who’s the unlucky bastard?”

“Hestia Jones. I saw her earlier, so she’s definitely here.”

Dean hauls Draco up, grasping his elbow, and then lets go of him just long enough to throw an arm across his narrow shoulders, “Listen, after everything is less mad, Luna and I are going to spend some time in my village. You should come with us.”

“What?” Draco splutters, “Why would you want me to come with you?”

“You’re our friend,” Dean says like it’s a fact of life, like it should be common knowledge.

Together, they pass from the courtyard into a corridor, empty except for Ron and Hermione standing at one end of it, staring. 

“Apparently he’s got a death wish,” Dean sighs, “Have either of you seen Jones?”

Ron and Hermione narrow their eyes at him, perfectly in sync, heads tilted at the same angle and everything. It’s a little eerie. After a moment, however, Hermione sets her shoulders and her expression clears.

“She’s in the Hall with Kingsley,” she turns the corner ahead of them.

When they enter the Hall, Harry is not battling a crowd hungry for Draco’s blood. He’s sitting alone, staring out at the bodies lined up on the floor.

Draco eyes Dean with suspicion. He shrugs.

A few people shoot Draco angry or fearful glances while they make their way to the corner where Hestia and Kingsley are surveying the room. Hestia’s face brightens when she sees Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Hestia says, “We finally meet.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Hello, Hestia.”

She gives him a look, sharp and dangerous, “I heard a story, just now.”

He meets her gaze warily.

“Apparently, you had a chance to use your extraction plan and you didn’t.”

He winces, “I wasn’t compromised-”

She swats at the back of his head, “I could just strangle you! Oh, well, I guess it’s no use now. It’s all over. You’re a free man.”

“Am I?” he side-eyes Kingsley, who doesn’t appear to be paying any attention.

“Give me a break,” Hestia grumbles, “You just had the bloody Savior protesting your innocence, no one is about to cart you off under a binding spell. Is your mother here?” 

Draco shakes his head, though really, Hestia should know the answer to that question.

“Thought not. That’s probably for the best. I don’t think that the new Ministry will be eager to make an example of her, not when they have your father.”

Draco nods, just once, thankful for the confirmation. Hestia never does beat around the bush, and outside of the sporadic expression of care for his safety, she treats his life like a series of variables to maximize. He doesn’t really mind. He wouldn’t have responded to anything else.

Kingsley clears his throat, “The new Ministry won’t be making examples out of anyone, if I have anything to say about it. Justice is a worthier objective.”

“Of course,” Hestia says.

Draco is familiar with the tone of Hestia’s voice when she’s being patronizing, so he has to stifle a laugh. 

“Some people are being… difficult,” Dean says, “About Draco, I mean.”

Draco elbows him.

Hestia waves Dean off, turning to Draco again, “Yes, yes, I’m aware. You can handle yourself, no?”

“I can,” Draco says. 

Dean digs his fingers into Draco’s shoulder, “No, he cannot. Besides, isn’t handling him your job?”

Hestia smiles indulgently, “Not anymore. Free man, remember? But if anyone tries to hex him, you’re welcome to send them my way.”

Draco tugs on Dean’s arm, “I’m sure you’re busy, so we’ll just be leaving now.”

“Take care, Draco,” Hestia says.

“You too.”

Dean lets himself be dragged away.

“Is Luna alright?” Draco asks, words running into each other.

He’s operating on fumes now, and he’ll crash soon, but the conversation with Hestia has given him a bit of direction. His work is not done, not yet.

“Yes, she’s fine. She went to find her father.”

Draco nods absently, scanning the room, though he’s not sure what he’s looking for until he sees it: Harry, still alone, head hung. It’s strange. Draco hasn’t felt much besides weariness and desperation and scattered flashes of relief for months, maybe years. He doesn’t now. But he does get the familiar urge to smooth a hand over Harry’s shoulders, to take his weight, to help. Like muscle memory.

Draco blinks, comes back to himself. Dean is staring at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Okay,” Draco breathes, “Okay, then. I need to- You understand, I can’t stay-”

Dean groans, “Yes, yes, I understand. Go figure your shit out.”

“Could you tell Weasley and Granger thank you for me? If you get the chance?”

“Not Harry?” Dean asks, looking genuinely bewildered. 

Draco knows that he’s blushing. His only hope is that his face is streaked with enough dust and blood to obscure it, “Uh, yes, Harry too.”

“I’ll tell them,” Dean assures him.

Dean, thankfully, doesn’t try to prolong the goodbye, or extract any promises from him. He knows where Draco will be.

***

Draco’s mother has not moved since the last time Draco was at the Manor, nearly three days ago. As soon as he’s confirmed that she is alive, he ventures carefully into the dungeons. His body aches, bone deep. He hasn’t slept or eaten. He pushes through the lingering pain and dread.

He isn’t sure what to expect. There haven’t been many prisoners at the Manor in recent weeks, but there are other Wizarding houses that were used by Death Eaters, who will likely retreat to these last strongholds.

Hestia knows everything he does. He trusts her to take care of it. And she knows that he will take care of this. He has to. 

There’s something that happens when you’re powerless, when your mind is forced to confront the horror that surrounds it, when you have no escape: you contract to fit within the space you have. That’s what he does, what he has always done. He has one narrow path now, and he will walk it, no matter how painful it will be.

One foot in front of the other, all the way down the steps and into the first empty chamber. He’s more afraid of what he’ll find in the rooms at the back of the dungeons used for interrogations. 

Draco pulls the first of the iron doors open. 

“Onward,” he whispers into the darkness.

***

It takes a full week for her to gain consciousness. Most healing spells are accompanied by side effects of intense drowsiness, so Draco tries not to worry about it too much. The Muggle girl he had found half-dead in the very last room couldn’t be older than twelve or thirteen. Draco suspects that she survived because whoever was in the process of killing her was called away to fight.

When she does come to, she stares at him with bottomless black eyes and a trembling lip, “Please, please, I just want to go home.”

She doesn’t try to run away, or even sit up, but she does flinch away from Draco’s steady hand. 

“It’s okay,” he says as calmly as he can, “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you. Do you remember what happened?”

“My sister’s a witch. We were taken by Snatchers over Easter, but I don’t know where she is or, or-” she starts crying, and heaving these shuddery breaths that sound like they hurt. 

Draco shifts uncomfortably. He knows he has terrible bedside manner, “Um. She’s not here, but she could have been taken somewhere else, okay?”

“Oh-Okay.”

“The Wizarding hospital is still getting back up and running, so I’ve given you what treatment I was able to. Hopefully, they’ll be operational soon.”

“Where am I?”

Draco sighs, “This is the house above the dungeons you were in, but the war is over. The last of the Death Eaters are on the run, and I’ve locked them out of the wards. You don’t need to worry about them. You know about the Order?”

She nods. 

“They’re hunting them down right now.”

“Who are you?” she asks.

“My name is Draco. This is my house now, my father has been sent to Azkaban.”

“You’re not…?” she shakes her head, like she’s trying to assure herself, “I’m Marcie.”

Draco rolls up his sleeve to show her the Mark. He doesn’t want her to be afraid of him, but if he was in her position, he would feel safer if he knew everything upfront. 

“I got the Mark so I could relay information back to the Order. I swear you’re safe with me.”

Marcie’s eyes widen, “So you’re like a spy?”

“I suppose.”

“Wicked.”

He seems to have assuaged the last of Marcie’s fears, because she becomes instantly more energetic, peppering him with questions about the house and books he’s read. She seems horrified to learn that he’s never even heard of her favorite author.

“Well, if we’re to be friends at all, you’ll have to at least read Matilda and James and the Giant Peach, they’re my favorites.”

Draco raises his eyebrows, “Oh, will I?”

“Yes. And there’s a film for Matilda as well, but Ella says wizards don’t have tellies.”

Draco is only thirty percent sure he knows what she’s talking about, but he doesn’t have to admit it to her. Marcie is already nodding off into a restful sleep. Draco checks her vitals once before he slips out of the room. He has a monitoring spell up that will alert him if she shows signs of waking, but he still checks obsessively. It feels like the only thing he can do.

Dean and Luna come to check on him later in the afternoon, apparating directly into the most bearable sitting room while he’s pacing down the length of the corridor outside. Dean pokes his head out of the doorway.

“Everything alright?”

Draco joins him and Luna in the sitting room, “The little girl woke up. Her name is Marcie. She fell asleep again before I could get too much information about where she’s from and all that, but she’s much better. Her wounds have healed fine, and nourishment charms have improved the slight malnutrition, but she can’t fully recover here.”

Luna nods, “Too much Dark magic.”

“Too much rot,” Draco says fiercely, “I don’t have time to fix it now.”

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure if it can be fixed at all. The Manor was the first thing he ever loved, before his mother, before anyone or anything else. It was never about the house, but Draco knows that the stain has seeped into the ground. He loves his home, but someday he may leave and never return. 

For now, he sets to finding a flat in London. 

***

“Marcie, do you have somewhere else you could stay?” Draco asks a couple days later, when she’s managed to stay awake for more than half an hour at a time. He has a feeling that he knows the answer already.

She shakes her head and makes a valiant effort to refrain from crying. Draco envelops her in a very stiff and very awkward hug. 

“Your sister, what’s her name? We can try to find her.”

“Her name is Ella. Ella Renford. She’s a fifth year, and she has the prettiest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen,” Marcie sniffs, “She was wearing a purple friendship bracelet I gave her when we got taken.”

Draco is silently relieved. He helped bury a lot of bodies, and none of them had a purple bracelet or looked the right age to be Marcie’s sister. She could still be alive.

“Okay. I’m going to write some letters to people who can look for her. For now, we’re going to find somewhere else to stay.”

“But you’ll be with me, right?”

Draco wants to fall at this little girl’s feet and weep for a week straight. Instead, he just pats her shoulder.

“As long as you want me there.”

He decides, fairly quickly, that his flat should be in a Muggle area. He wants Marcie to be comfortable, and he wants to be far enough from Diagon Alley that his mother can gaze unseeing out of a window and not be recognized from the street. 

He drags Dean and Luna to showings.

“I’m afraid of doing something strange,” Draco tells them, “I don’t know how Muggles behave.”

Dean and Luna exchange a pitying glance. They know as well as he does that he’s more afraid of being alone. They keep him company anyways. Dean is just as useful as Draco had imagined. He knows what to look for in a Muggle place, and a little about how magic interacts with Muggle technology.

Luna is supremely unhelpful. She contributes nothing but vaguely ominous commentary, delivered in her trademark dreamy lilt. Draco listens to her when she tells him not to apply to the flat above the chippy regardless.

Eventually, he finds a decent flat and moves Marcie and his mother in. Marcie recovers as much as she’s going to without a Healer. Mungo’s is still battling with potions shortages and staff shortages and too many patients that are worse off than Marcie, so they stay in the London flat and Marcie makes him go to the library with her so she can sign up for a card.

And then, one afternoon when Marcie has goaded him into a game of Go Fish that he is absolutely going to lose, Ron Weasley shows up at his door.

He’s laughing at Marcie’s bragging when he flings it open, expecting Luna even though she never knocks, or perhaps the nosy old man who lives across the hall. But no, it’s Weasley, tall and freckled and looking about as uncomfortable as Draco has ever seen him.

“Oh. Ron,” Draco says, then curses himself. He has literally never called him Ron, “Um, how can I help you?”

“Hestia sent me. She couldn’t get away from the Ministry, but there’s been a development about that girl-”

Draco moves out into the hallway quickly, closing the door softly behind him, “Ella Renford?”

Ron takes a small step back, creating an acceptable amount of space between them and narrowing his eyes, “Yes. Ella. We still don’t know exactly where she is, but one of the prisoners rescued from the Rosier house recognized the description you gave. Apparently, she escaped from there a week before the Battle. There’s no information that suggests she was recaptured.”

“So she’s alive?” Draco is aware that he’s wearing perhaps the biggest smile he has ever worn in his life. Ron looks a bit concerned.

“Presumably. We still need to locate her, of course, and there’s still a possibility that-”

Ron stops talking, probably because he is taken aback by the massive hug that Draco sweeps him up in. 

“Thank you, thank you so much, Merlin,” Draco sets him back down, “I need to tell Marcie.”

Ron frowns, “Who’s Marcie?”

“Oh, just come in. You might as well meet her. I’m sure she’ll want to hug you as well.”

His suspicions are correct. Marcie squeals and leaps into Ron’s arms as soon as he can get the words out. 

“I knew it, I knew it,” she cries, “Ella’s so clever, I knew she would get out and come find me. Draco, didn’t I tell you?”

Draco laughs, “You did.”

Ron leaves with orders to read Matilda at his earliest convenience and a stilted handshake from Draco, who is so happy that he wants to do something he hasn’t truly done in years: celebrate. Marcie and him venture out to a Muggle shop, where she coaches him through buying ice cream. They eat straight from the carton, saving a thick layer at the bottom.

“When Ella comes, she can have the rest of it,” Marcie murmurs, and succumbs to the inevitable sugar crash.

Draco hasn’t quite figured out how to be gentle with anyone but Marcie. It’s easier, he thinks, to do it when no one is around waiting for him to fuck it up. 

Luna and Dean are the best friends he’s had since fourth year, and he loves them as much as he’s loved anyone he doesn’t also hate, but despite their efforts to pull him into casual embraces he maintains his distance. There is a wall he’s built that he doesn’t know how to take down. He did it knowingly and willingly, and he will never regret it, not when it saved Harry’s life. 

With Marcie, though, it’s easy. It’s more instinct than it is desire, a softening of his voice and care to his touch that he’s never really experienced before. He grew up an only child, isolated from the rest of the world. She’s not exactly the gentlest kid anyway. She’s loud and often afraid but never sad. She is quite possibly the happiest person Draco has ever met.

“Do you miss Ella?” he asks one day, after they’ve spent most of it lazing about a park in London, picking at the food Draco brought and watching the ducks in the pond nearby. Marcie had named each and every one of them, even if she definitely couldn’t tell them apart. 

Marcie smiles, because of course she does, “We play this game, when she’s away at school, where we talk to the wind instead of each other. That way, we don’t miss each other as much. I’ve been talking to the wind so it’s not that different from when she’s at Hogwarts. I wish she was here, and I hope that she’s safe but I know that I’ll see her soon.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Draco says, swallowing the worry that tries to climb up the back of his throat. It has only been three or four days since Ron showed up at the flat, and the time is blurring. They’ll find her soon, he tells himself. They have to.

Dean has gone back to his village, Crawley Down. It’s close enough to London that anyone with a license can apparate, but he’s spending time with his mums and warned Draco and Luna not to expect him to be going back and forth very often. Luna is joining him at the end of May, which is rapidly approaching.

Draco doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He doesn’t particularly want to stay in London. Something about the city makes him feel claustrophobic. You can never really be alone here. There’s always someone on the other side of a wall or next to you on the pavement. He also doesn’t want to leave Marcie. He’s definitely not going to leave until they find Ella, and maybe not for a while after that. 

He knows he can’t hold onto her forever. She deserves a genuinely stable home, one that isn’t under the direction of a fractured teenage boy, one that ghosts don’t linger at the edges of. The beginnings of a Ministry program for war orphans is coming together, but he’s not sure where a Muggle kid fits into that. Some day, he will have to let her go, and then he’ll be alone again. 

He’s scared to return to the Manor, of what he’ll find there.

He sets it aside for now. It’s a beautiful day and Marcie wants him to teach her how to do a cartwheel.

***

The next time there’s a knock at the door, Draco races to answer it, full of breathless hope. Instead of Ron, Harry and Hermione are on the other side.

Draco’s smile falls. They both look far too solemn to be delivering good news. He glances over his shoulder. Marcie is in her bedroom, door shut, inhaling one of the books they’d checked out from the library last week. They’d forgotten to bring a bag with them, and had to walk back to the flat with stacks of books held tight beneath their chins. 

“Is this about Ella?” he asks quietly, hoping that they’ll follow his lead. If it’s bad news, he doesn’t want Marcie to overhear it before he can figure out how to tell her.

Harry blinks, confused, but Hermione seems to know what he’s talking about.

“Oh, no, still no word about her.”

Draco sags a bit against the doorframe, relieved. There’s a bit of silence, and then Harry clears his throat and his face hardens into a confident, serious expression. It’s a little disappointing when Draco feels nothing. Whatever fire had raged inside of him at fourteen has been snuffed out, and he’s not sure he’s capable of lighting it again, for anyone.

“We’re arranging public hearings,” Harry says, “And we need your testimony. If not against your father, then the other Death Eaters you interacted with.”

Draco doesn’t reply immediately. He thinks about everything he’d be asked about, everything he’d have to explain to a room full of people who largely despise him, all his worst moments laid out in front of a captive, unsympathetic audience. He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming, but he does know what his answer is.

“No.”

Harry narrows his eyes, “What?”

“I have nothing to offer that you can’t get from someone else,” Draco says firmly, “I won’t participate.”

“You don’t feel responsible?” Hermione asks, finding her voice.

“For what?”

“For what happens next,” she says, “For the world being rebuilt.”

Draco feels a savage sort of vindication when he smiles at her, “Fuck the world.”

“What was the point then? Of all the fighting?” Harry frowns, annoyed.

Harry is doing what he always does. He’s trying to understand what Draco is doing, ascribing motives and intentions where there was nothing but blind panic. Draco, though, is finally, finally free. He has done his duty. 

“I had people I wanted to protect, people I was responsible for, and I gave up three years of my life to them. I have no debts.”

“But-” 

Draco shakes his head sharply, “I won’t testify. Hestia knows everything I know, and it has not escaped my attention that she isn’t here asking me to do this.”

Hermione stares at him, disappointed and a little frustrated maybe. Harry is, as always, more suspicious than anything else, though he also seems rather angry. Draco hasn’t been paying very much attention to how the news of his true loyalties has been received, but judging from Harry’s willingness to fall back into old patterns, there must still be some skepticism.

Testifying in the trials could quiet that. It could also make it worse. The thing is, Draco doesn’t care. He will never be a convenient hero, and he’s not interested in plunging himself into the same hurricane of public opinion that he saw Harry experience at school. 

“Hestia doesn’t know everything, though,” Hermione says thoughtfully, “You didn’t tell her about the Manor.”

At that, Harry tenses up, coils, like he’s getting ready to strike.

“Astonishingly, I was not the only person present for that. I’m sure you’ll muddle through without me.”

Draco is getting tired of being cross-examined. He’s tired of fighting. 

He starts to shut the door, “Have a good day.”

“Why?” Hermione asks, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“She would have been angry.”

“Because you stayed?”

Draco shrugs, “I’m sure she’d be happy to answer your questions about how stupid I am.”

***

Marcie is too old to ask for bedtime stories, but not too old to want them. Draco’s not sure how it happened the first time, all he knows is that it ended in Marcie fast asleep on the bed beside him and no nightmares for either of them. 

He does it every night now, reads a chapter from Fantastic Mr Fox and then leaves a nightlight on for her. He likes it. There’s something comforting about things made for children, and it’s a comfort he never had, not even when he was a child himself. It was always running off by himself between French tutoring and etiquette lessons. 

Marcie has him read James and the Giant Peach on his own time, and he surprises himself by bursting into tears when he turns the last page. If he had to put it into words, he would say something about how the world is depicted as cruel and kind in equal measure, mundane and magical. Marcie makes fun of him for the tears and hugs him tightly.

“You know why I like Roald Dahl?” Marcie’s voice is uncharacteristically sensitive.

“Why?”

“He knows how scary it is to be a kid.”

Draco nods, “Yeah, he does.”

“I used to dream of someone coming to save us, you know,” she continues, “But no one did. No one even helped us.”

“I used to dream of that too,” Draco replies. 

He had wanted to live in the kitchens, or be whisked off by some distant relative, or to disappear into the untamed wilderness. It was a lonely child’s fantasy. He wants nothing more than to make it come true for Marcie.

It’s a pointless exercise, really. Marcie has already seen the horrors of war, and before it, the cruel tide of an uncaring world, in all of its violent ebbs and flows. Draco can only give her space, only time. So a day before the trials start, he starts to build levees to keep the flood at bay. He takes Marcie out of London on an early train, barreling through the brilliant green dips and crests of the English countryside. Draco bought a pack of two disposable cameras at the station, and Marcie spends at least an hour of the ride adorning them with stickers. 

They end up, quite by accident, at the eastern coast.

She’s never seen the ocean, but she falls in love immediately, gasping at the very first sight of the deep blue waves, glimmering and churning, from the train’s window. They’ve made no plans, booked no reservations, so they spend the entire day at the beach, eating kebabs from a stand on the boardwalk. Marcie’s curls turn wilder, and the waves Draco has resolutely ignored all his life make themselves known, and forcefully. 

Once the sun starts to set, once Marcie starts shivering, he finds a nearby hotel and pays for a room. He’s never experienced this before, the quiet pleasure of taking a hot shower and sinking into a strange, pillowy bed, but it feels nostalgic all the same. 

The concierge at the hotel, when prompted, offers Draco a few bookshops and their addresses. They waste a delightful afternoon trying to navigate the winding streets, getting lost and ducking in and out of shops. Marcie finds a pair of terrifying porcelain dolls at an antique store and insists that they must have them. Finally, they locate one of the bookshops and they emerge with three bags altogether, mostly for Marcie. She sneaks in a few Muggle classics for Draco.

“We’ll need to watch the series once you’re finished with this one,” she says, back in the hotel room, holding up a cheap paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice, “Ella loves it. I’m undecided.”

Draco can’t respond with anything but a smile, “Undecided?”

“I don’t want to spoil it for you,” Marcie mimes zipping her mouth shut.

Sitting on the floor of the room that night, eating Indian takeaway and taking turns reading passages from Matilda out loud, he imagines another life, maybe a Muggle one, with seaside holidays and a large, warm family.

It’s not his, nor is it Marcie’s. It never will be, not quite, not completely, but for now this is enough. It is enough to spend the rest of the week going on precarious, salt-rusted rides and learning how to beat each other at arcade games and finding little nooks to read together in comfortable, placid silence and taking so many photos that Draco has to buy another set of cameras, then another. It is enough to roll it in sugar, to give her a glossy, saccharine summer as an epilogue to her bitter story. 

When he develops the film, it paints an eclectic, beautiful montage of wide smiles and blue skies; Marcie standing in the ocean, Draco sleeping on the train home, the view from the top of the observation wheel, Draco’s face half-hidden by A Tale of Two Cities, Marcie holding the creepy dolls, a cute dog they’d seen on the street. He gets two copies of all of them, one for him and one for Marcie.

She tapes one of them, a blurry shot of the two of them sprawled on the beach, over her bed. It tears at Draco’s heart the first time he sees it, and every time after. He thinks that maybe he could do this. He could keep Marcie safe, wrap her up in a patchwork of new memories, each replacing the ones he never asks about and she never offers up. He’s full to the brim, with love, with possibility.

Although the fighting is long over, and now the trials are as well, Draco feels for the first time like the war might be ending too.

And the war does end for Draco, on his eighteenth birthday, a breezy morning at the very beginning of June. Luna and him and Marcie are at the London flat, attempting to bake his cake, when Harry shows up on the doorstep, bearing the only gift Draco wants this year:

Ella Renford, fifteen years old, as tall as Draco and scowling at him with hazel eyes.

***

Luna darts into another obscure little shop he’s never noticed in Diagon before, pulling Draco right along with her. She’s joining Dean in Crawley Down next week, and she wants to get a gift for his mums before she goes. It’s a bit worrying, honestly, because she’s being quite indecisive for Luna.

“Maybe you should just bring flowers,” Draco suggests after the fourth or fifth shop, “Or, I don’t know, ask Dean?”

Luna shakes her head, pale curls almost floating in the breeze behind her. Her expression is as serene as ever, except for the miniscule crease between her brows. It gives her away every time.

“No. I need to get this right.”

“You get everything right, Lunes. You’re sort of a genius.”

“But,” she pauses, “I know there’s a perfect gift. I just haven’t found it yet.”

Draco raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a feeling.”

“Oh, it is?” Draco sighs, looking down the street. He doesn’t really go into Diagon much these days, just when Luna asks, because he still gets tight, apprehensive looks from people on the street. It’s much easier to stick to Muggle London, even if sometimes he feels like he’s bumbling around, especially with Marcie.

“I don’t think it’s flowers.”

“Is this a feeling,” he stresses the word, because you never know with Luna, “Or are you just being fussy?”

She gazes at him with wide blue eyes and Draco feels silly. Who would ever accuse Luna of being fussy?

“Alright, we’ll keep looking. What happens if you don’t find something? Are you going to postpone leaving?”

“Maybe,” Luna chirps, “I could just stay in London until you come as well.”

Draco folds his arms. He’s left Marcie at the flat with Ella, whose side she hasn’t left in the days since Draco’s birthday. He’s so fucking Happy that Ella is okay and that Marcie has her sister again, but it means he has to face the music of what happens next. 

“Don’t say that, you might end up staying forever.”

Luna slits about the sidewalk like an agitated pixie, “I might.”

“You won’t. You’ll go to Dean’s little village and make friends with all the cows, I’m assuming there will be cows, and you’ll charm everyone you meet and his mums will fall just as in love with you as Dean is.”

Luna doesn’t roll her eyes, because she never rolls her eyes, but there’s something fondly exasperated about the way she pats his hair, “Okay, Draco. I don’t see why you can’t just bring Ella and Marcie to Crawley Down.”

Draco doesn’t have anything to say to that. If he told her the truth, she’d only argue with him, in whatever way Luna argues. 

“You love them,” Luna says gently and then she mercifully lets the conversation wilt and die.

He returns to a flat quiet, except for the sound of Ella and Marcie talking through the walls, a near-constant hum. Ella has said no more than a handful of words to him. He loves her despite it, for it, and he does it fiercely. He also knows that there is only one way to be kind to her, and that is to let the both of them go. Draco is already fracturing beneath his own weight, and he cannot take her burden and stay standing. 

She deserves to set it down, though. She deserves the same careless freedom he’s tried to give Marcie, but Ella is older and wiser and she knows what Marcie doesn’t, what Draco can’t help but know. She knows that he isn’t to be trusted. Not with this. 

His mother sits, silent and still, in her chair by the window. Sometimes vague expressions flicker across her face now. He reminds himself that it’s progress, that she might get better, that one day she might even meet his eyes and smile. There’s an emotion that swells inside of him when he looks at her but he refuses to name it, to give it space within him.

He’s not sure how to help her and he’s tired of the obligation. He’s tired of the way it pulls at him, snagging on his skin and tearing his body up.

“Love you, Mom,” He taps the doorframe and moves on to his own room, which is depressingly devoid of his personality. Trinkets from Luna crowd the top of his dresser, but other than that, his space is generic. 

He’s tired of this too, of feeling like a blank sheet of paper that the people around him write on, only for their signatures to be quickly erased. He’s tired of loving, and staying, and being ripped apart for it. His love is a thing that has never brought out the best of anyone, Draco included.

“Home sweet home.”

***

The knock on the door, the one that Draco has been dreading, comes just after Luna has left for Crawley Down, a packet of seeds and a well-worn cookbook stashed in her bags.

Mr. Garnier, as he introduces himself, is coordinating the Ministry response for displaced children. He apologizes profusely for how much time it has taken to get to their situation, but he had much more urgent placements to deal with. And, as Marcie and Ella were safe here, they were some of the last children to be settled. 

“But we have found an older Wizarding couple to take you in!” He says, as if he expects Marcie and Ella to jump for joy. 

Marcie attempts a shaky smile. Ella glares. 

“Their children have all left home, and they’re eager to help in any way they can. I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.”

Marcie looks at Draco expectantly, but he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. 

Ella grabs Marcie’s hand, “Come on. We have to get our things.”

Draco hovers, asking them repeatedly if they have everything they need. He slips Marcie pastries, lemon raspberry like they ate the morning they got lost in a seaside town, bundled up in waxed paper and tied up with a blue ribbon.

Mr. Garnier flushes red, “They will certainly have food at their new home.”

Marcie pulls Draco into a tight, grasping hug. She trembles in his arms. Ella steps on Mr. Garnier’s foot on their way out and Draco has to choke down a laugh. She never really warmed up to him, but he’ll miss her all the same. Luna was right, after all. He loves them.

And he loves them enough to give Marcie a kiss on the head and give Ella a fistbump. He loves them enough to tell them they can write him anytime. He loves them enough to cry once they’ve well and truly left.

He loves them enough to not ask them to stay.

***

He tells Dean and Luna in a letter that the girls are gone, which is an adventure in and of itself. He has to send it off to Crawley Down in the Muggle post. He’s only certain that he’s done it right when he gets a letter back urging him to join them in Crawley Down.

They probably know that he’s not fit to be alone, but he doesn’t really feel fit for company either. He lingers in London, haunting the flat like some kind of phantom, until he can’t stand to look at his mother’s vacant, unseeing stare anymore and he does the only thing he can.

He goes to the Manor. 

Walking through the deserted halls is like walking through a mausoleum. A testament of things long gone. He is surrounded by decay, outnumbered. He doesn’t dare touch anything. There is a thin layer of dust, of course, but it’s worse than that. If he looks closely, he can see blood worked into the grain of the wooden floors. 

Dark Magic creeps over every surface like mold, like a living thing. There’s a chilling, spectral presence somewhere in the walls, in the very fabric of this place. He knows, without needing an official Ministry inspection, that it cannot be salvaged.

He walks out into the garden, stares up at the ivy-covered wall that he used to perch on. He hasn’t climbed it since that night last summer, the night he brushed death twice, but he toes his shoes off now and peels his socks from his feet. He scales the wall with practiced ease. It still leaves his soles sore and weeping. He looks out at his forest, and there is nothing left of that teeming, wild life, stretching as far as the eye can see.

Draco cries again, there at the top of his entire world. He hasn’t gone to the clearing yet, but somehow he knows what he’ll find, and he’s correct. He steps past the treeline into a meadow covered in snow. It’s the middle of June, but try as he might, he can’t banish the storm clouds from the sky above or the icy wind from between the trees. Within this sacred grove, it is eternal winter.

***

Hestia can’t have known that he returned to the Manor, but something prompts her to coerce him into lunch. 

“You look like shit,” is the first thing she says, the second being, “It’s nice to see you.”

He sighs and accepts a stiff but welcome hug, “You look great.”

“I know.”

“Where are we going for lunch?” 

They’ve met at Hestia’s office in the Ministry. It’s charmingly cluttered, with a picture of her dog hanging right across from the desk. A map of Wales is spread out on the floor, anchored in each corner with empty beer bottles.

“I’ve got my Wizarding robes on today,” she says as if he can’t see that with his own two eyes, “So it’ll have to be somewhere in Diagon.”

“You don’t want to swing by McDonald’s?” he jokes. 

She gives him a look, “You’re buying, and I know exactly how much money you have in your Gringotts vaults. If we were going somewhere Muggle, it would be somewhere a lot nicer than a McDonald’s. Our Wizarding options are limited. Diagon’s still a bit empty.”

“Yeah, I went with Luna a little while ago. So many shops were still boarded up.”

“There’s a bill working its way through the Wizengamot right now, special loans for small businesses,” Hestia gives a vague wave of her hand, “Anyways, we’ve got the Leaky Cauldron, that French bistro that just opened, and the chippy, which I’m convinced will survive the apocalypse.”

“What, do you want me to guess where you’d like to go?”

She rolls her eyes, “French alright with you?”

They apparate to Diagon, and Draco tries not to let on that he’s on the brink of puking his guts out on the sidewalk. Apparition does not agree with him. There’s a reason he and Marcie took a train to the coast. 

The teenage witch who seats them at the bistro seems to recognize them both, but thankfully doesn’t say anything except to tell them the name of their server. They make it through appetizers before disaster strikes in the form of Harry Potter. He is, for some unfathomable reason, alone and being seated at a table set for one. Hestia sees him before Draco does.

She raises an arm, “Potter, are you eating alone?”

Draco follows her gaze to its inevitable conclusion, green eyes and the casual line of Harry’s body. He feels the ghost of broken glass against his feet. 

“Uh, yes.”

“Join us if you’d like.”

And he does. He waves off the hostess and moves his setting to their table himself, grinning at Hestia and throwing an unreadable glance Draco’s way.

“Draco,” Harry greets him without meeting his eyes, “It’s been a while. How is your mother?”

The question only stings a little, “She’s alright. Better, I think.”

Hestia peers at him over her menu. For all of his secrets he’s laid bare at Hestia’s feet, this is not one of them. She knows him, though, and to anyone well-versed in the language of Draco Malfoy, he’s being quite obvious. He’s just answered a question about his mum, for Christ’s sake.

Harry immediately turns that fleeting glimmer of attention on Hestia, “Any luck with Robards?”

Hestia shakes her head, her lips cutting a grim line across her face, “I swear to Merlin, if he blocks one more thing…”

“Charlie told me that Travers might be susceptible to a bit of charm, but I don’t know. Seems pretty tight lipped to me. He’s the only person who might know anything.”

Draco stiffens, but keeps his head tilted down at his glass of wine. It’s no use, though. Hestia knows fucking everything.

“Hm,” she says, a laugh hiding just behind the sound, “If only you were the political sort, Draco.”

He glares at her, half embarrassment, half betrayal, “He won’t tell me shit.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure. What was it that he left for you? A bouquet?”

Oliver Travers, distantly related to one of the Death Eaters and educated at Beauxbatons, had been Draco’s only Order contact besides Snape and Hestia in the last year of the war. He was a low-level Ministry official, and he had been nothing but a middle-man, one stop along a winding channel of information, passed down from spy to spy.

He’d taken to leaving a bundle of forget-me-nots with the information drops after he’d met Draco for the first time, as a reference to his clothes, spun with Notice-Me-Not charms in the very fibers. 

It had been nice, and a little funny. Ironic. He still has a few of them pressed between the pages of a book in his room at the Manor, a reminder of the loneliest time of his life and one of the only people who had noticed. 

“He’s too self-serving,” Draco says, knowing it’s more an easy answer than a truthful one, “That’s why we understand each other.”

Hestia does something ridiculous with her eyebrows and Draco takes a long drink of his wine, bitter and dry against his tongue. He keeps doing it, not because he needs the buzz or even wants it, but to distract his mouth from contributing to the conversation.

He’s tipsy by the end of lunch anyways, and in no state to apparate. He’ll have to leave Diagon Alley on the other end and walk back to his flat from there. He’s never been intoxicated, in any sense of the word, in front of his mother, but he’s comforted by the thought that it won’t matter at all. She likely won’t even look at him.

Draco takes care of the check, waving off Harry’s insistence that they split it, “Tell him, Jones. She knows exactly how much gold I’ve got in my family vault. I’m convinced that she checks it every day, you know, just to know another thing.”

Harry hasn’t looked at him with open hostility at any point in the afternoon, but he gets close then. Draco smiles, and he knows it’s a sharp, brutal thing. His favorite thing about alcohol has always been the heat, the slide of it down his throat and the embers settling in his chest, but his fingers are cold and shaking on the tablecloth.

Harry clears his throat, “I meant to ask, how are Ella and Marcie?”

“They’re alright. The Ministry finally got to their case, they’re with an older couple now.”

“I thought-” Harry shakes his head, “I’m surprised. From what Ron said, Marcie seemed pretty attached to you.”

“They’re better off where they are,” he says blandly. If he says any more, he’s going to burst into a fresh round of tears, and then he won’t just be drunk, he’ll be drunk and crying.

Harry scowls at him but doesn’t say anything. He’s silent as they leave the restaurant, waving when he parts from them. 

“That was fun,” Hestia says cheerfully, “And enlightening.”

“Fuck off.”

***

He struggles through 7 days of interviews with French nurses and tries to coax out a sign of approval from his mother. He writes another letter to Luna and Dean, full of nothing, and crumples the paper in his hands. There is a dam inside of him, one of his own making. Every night when he lays in his bed, he can feel the pressure building, and he’s scared out of his mind at the eventual collapse, the one he knows is inevitable.

Draco doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself loitering outside of Harry’s office at the Ministry on Monday night, trying to stop himself from knocking on the door. He should be packing up his things, finding someone to watch over his mother, taking the train to Crawley Down if he can’t stand the feel of apparition in his stomach. 

There’s a light on inside, warm and inviting, and there’s a lure hooked deep in Draco’s chest, pulling him in. He imagines what would happen if he did it, if he knocked. Harry would call out for him to come in, and then he’d turn that shocked, pleased smile Draco’s way.

Except that’s not right. That’s an expression Draco has only seen in his periphery, directed at other people, or in muddled dreams. He recalls the look Harry had given him at lunch, distrustful and turbulent, and the way he’d looked at Draco in sixth year. Frustration and hatred and desperation, all warring for dominance in his narrowed eyes and the rigid set of his mouth.

Draco’s not sure what he’s doing here, but no, that’s not exactly the truth. He’s here because he’s looking for something. Whatever it is- redemption, understanding, punishment- he knows he won’t find it. Not in the green tiled halls of the Ministry, and certainly not from Harry Potter.

Draco decides that now is the time to develop survival instincts. He apparates to his flat, and arrives already hyperventilating. There is no reason why he should feel like he’s being hunted, like he’s back in the halls of the Manor, sneaking potions ingredients into Severus’ makeshift lab. He is fine. He’s in London, he’s safe, he’s fine.

If he spends another week here, he is definitely going to do something he will deeply regret. 

He owls one of the nurses on Tuesday morning and draws up a contract. He packs his things. He sends a message to Mr. Garnier, asking him to pass on his new address to Marcie and Ella. By sundown, he’s on the last train out of London.

Luna meets him at the station in Crawley Down. She doesn’t ask him why he didn’t apparate, or how he’s doing or what’s taken him so long, she just envelops him in a hug.

“Come on,” She says, pulling back just a bit to smile dreamily at him, “Arabella’s very excited to meet you.”

Arabella, Draco knows, is one of Dean’s mothers. He’s got two, because he’s lucky, but Arabella is Mum and Claire is Ma. It feels like something he has always known, but in reality, he’s only known it since the Manor.

Draco shakes his head, trying to clear it, “Okay.”

Luna leads him into the village and to a picturesque two story house in the center of it. Wisteria crawls up one side of the gray stone walls. The front door is painted a bright blue. Luna doesn’t bother knocking, she just opens the door and tugs Draco along after her.

They’re greeted with the scent of chocolate and the sound of low chatter, both filtering out from a room to the right of the main hall. Dean leans out of the doorway.

“Hey! Do you want a brownie?”

Draco pushes away the old, creeping feeling that he doesn’t belong here, “Yes. Please.”

Dean dresses him in his old clothes, frayed denim and soft, worn t-shirts from when Dean was approximately Draco’s size, years ago. They spend most of their time that first week at the house. Dean is worried about Luna and Draco sticking out in the village, though he doesn’t say it in so many words, but Draco is at least somewhat used to the Muggle world because of Marcie.

Luna is another story. 

They go on long walks up and down the river. Luna adores the ducks that float along with the current and waddle up onto the banks. Dean gives her corn to toss their way, and she greets each one by name. Draco is reminded, with a sharp pang, of Marcie doing the same thing. Luna, though, recognizes them and somehow remembers the complex web of relationships between them. She talks to them as if they can talk back.

Dean looks on fondly, trading faintly incredulous looks with Draco. They get used to it quickly. She does the same with the sheep that come up to sniff at their hands through the fence by the road. Luna could befriend anything with a heartbeat. 

“So,” Dean says on one of their morning strolls,  “I know you’re not exactly the most chatty person, but are we really not going to talk about it?”

His arm is wrapped around Luna’s shoulders, but his hold is light. She keeps running off to pick flowers or to take a closer look at the cows in the pasture across the road, but she always comes back to tuck herself into Dean’s side. It makes something warm spark in Draco’s chest, a brief flash of warmth and pain, and then it’s gone again before he can grab onto it.

Draco’s mind races, “Talk about what?”

“Any of it? The Manor, the forest, Marcie and Ella?”

“What made you finally come here?” Luna adds. 

“No, we’re not.”

They accept the answer, but he knows it won’t last. Eventually, the dam will break.

After a week or two, Dean takes them to wander around the shops. Luna is still odd, but that’s an immutable fact. Most of the villagers, who are primarily over the age of 60, are charmed by her lyrical way of speaking and the wide-eyed sense of wonder that lingers in the space around her. They seem indifferent to Draco. He’s quiet but there’s something about his accent and his posture that instantly sets him apart. He tries to bow his shoulders.

The summer is full of warm, sunny days and dark, muggy nights. He looks up at the stars and is comforted by their brightness, this far from the city. They still look wrong, like there is something in him that can tell they aren’t in the correct order, though he doesn’t really know anything about the constellations. 

And then the weather turns.

The storm lasts nearly a week, six days of rain and thunder. The sudden chill and the damp air and the dark clouds all conspire against him, and he ends up with the worst cold of his life. 

He’s spent so long boxing away the weak, vulnerable parts, punishing them. The deprivation is almost satisfying. It’s harder to do this, to let Claire measure out his medicine, to accept soup and honey lavender tea from Arabella, to allow Dean and Luna’s concern. Suffering feels like a natural part of his existence, an existence he has become accustomed to enduring alone.

“How’s your appetite today?” Arabella asks, voice soft.

Draco groans. He’s starving, a gnawing emptiness in his stomach, but if he eats something there’s a good chance he’ll throw it back up.

Arabella sighs and she manages to make it sound empathetic, “Oh, sweetheart. I wish there was something I could do. Sometimes you just have to wait these things out.”

Draco decides he hates cough syrup, its artificial flavor, the slide of it down his throat, the sickly sweet coating it leaves on his tongue and teeth. More than anything, he hates the way it makes him feel like a prisoner in his own body. 

It’s only a sensation, crawling across his skin, only a throbbing in his head and a heaviness in his joints. He slips into these strange moments where he loses track of time, drifting in and out of restless sleep, and it shouldn’t be a big deal. He should be able to get sick and let people take care of him and have a few nights of shitty sleep, without completely losing it. It’s not a big deal.

Except.

The last time he felt so disconnected from his body and from the world around him, he was sweating poison out on the Manor’s lawn. He tries not to think about it, but the memories persist, and he can’t hold onto the tenuous threads of his mind long enough to batter them away. He has a dream where he’s falling into an inky black emptiness, and when he wakes up, his skin is on fire.

He wants to plead, to his friends, to the universe, but his throat is scraped raw and no sound comes out. It makes him panic more. 

Flashes of that night come back to him, but they’re distorted, sometimes by sleep and sometimes by the effects of the cough syrup. He sees his clearing back at the Manor, but the trees are burning around him and he’s choking on the ash. He sees Nagini, poised to strike, and then her jaw unhinges and swallows him whole. He hears Snape singing a lullaby that Narcissa sings in Draco’s earliest memory.

It’s different from truly reliving the experiences, because in his delirium, they’ve become cartoonishly horrifying, easier to handle than the solid, awful truth of it.

He stops taking medicine. He recovers from the cold. He once again seals off the portion of his mind where he keeps all of the worst things about himself and he talks to Luna and Dean. He doesn’t tell them much, but it’s enough. It’s enough for now.

He tells them about the Manor, about his soft soles and the rough ground, about how much love has always hurt him. He tells them about the thing he was as a child, a boy whose friends were trees and rocks and the animals that roamed the Manor’s grounds. He tells them about Twila and his clearing and all of the beautiful corners of the place he grew up.

“I don’t think I can ever go back there,” he says, and he doesn’t have to tell them that he will never truly be happy anywhere else. They know.

They’ve seen him there, in the middle of war, not happy but more somehow than he is in the aftermath, like there was a center to him, a tie that bound him to his home. A tie that’s been cut now.

Luna leans her head on his shoulder, “Maybe we can find somewhere else.”

He nods and he smiles and Dean looks at him, just looks. It’s not lost on him that Luna had said ‘we’. He does not take it for granted. He wants to find a home with them, but deep down, he knows it’ll never be quite what he’s lost. 

The place where he spent his childhood was not inherently special or beautiful or magical, but because it was the first thing that was his. He had so much love within him once, and he poured it all into leaking cups, all except the love he gave to his home. It was the first and best thing he loved as a child, the only thing that ever truly protected him. It was the only thing that loved him back in a way that made a difference.

He can’t put it into words, or even thoughts, what it means to him. He will never be able to go back, and he will never be able to leave it behind him. He’s scared to even try. 

“You might not be able to go home, or find another one,” Dean says after a few moments, “But I think you can make one.”

[praetorqueenreyna]

@aho-dapa GOD FR WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE! reading actual good fairy fiction makes me realize how poorly SJM did at worldbuilding and incorporating fairy lore into her books.

SO the characters I've grown instantly attached to are Vivi, Madoc, Locke, and Prince Dain!! I'm only like...10 chapters in tho. I just think they seem fun and interesting. I do really like Jude and Taryn though! Both of them have hidden depths and logical motivations for acting the way that they do, and they have the potential to be great leading ladies.

HONESTLY the only character I'm "meh" about is Cardan lol. BUT AGAIN I'm only 10 chapters in and I'm aware that he also has Hidden Depths and potential for character growth. Considering he is the titular "cruel prince" I'm guessing he becomes a lot more likeable later on. But right now he is just a rude boi.

[szalonykasztan00]

Tamlin Vs Water-wraiths Vs Tithe

In the post, @aho-dapa ask a question on Why Tamlin as a High Lord didn’t do anything regarding the fact that Water-wraiths possibly kill and cannibals other fae in his land. Well, answers depend on a few criteria.

But before that, I wanted to state something.

When I refer to this scene in Chapter 9 I assume that Alis was talking about this particular Water-wraith that came to the Tithe. However, after thinking about it for some time I concluded that it might be that Alis was talking about this group or the entire species, not that particular one that was just a representative. (I don't know if that counts as fea racism we don't have enough information on that. From the book I assume that it might be but I am not an expert on racism in general or fea racism if that was even it). 

We don't know anything/minimal about the cultural, historical, social and economic background of the Fea nations. Much less about their biologic (excluding High fea and IIlirians I guess). World of feas seems to operate on semi-animal rules as well as human rules. It gives a very strange mix that allows many possibilities for which rules apply and when. They obviously have taxes but at the same time, magic chose the strongest fea of the court to rule it. Feas are also possibly highly religious creatures so there is that aspect.

So depending on when water-wraiths were created (evolve?), people may have a different view of them. 

If they were created with the rest of the fea in their current form/behaviour, then punishing them for doing something considered natural (trying to fill their hunger by any means necessary) by The Goddess would be religious blasphemy and morally wrong (may result in an uprising or revolt). 

IF they were a curse to be like this later in the history of the world, the fea may consider their ever-hungry existence as a punishment in itself.

It also brings the question of where is "the line" for creaturs that in their existence need to take something from other sentient creatures. Like succubus or incubus for example. If they feed from someone and they accidentally kill them then there is no proof that that was an accident. It would be needed to be treated the same and for many court citizens, it results in death/imprisonment. 

I think is highly possible that fea in general, as well as Water-wraiths, are rather-territorial creatures. Thus they usually don't leave their "territory". Thats give the possibility that the amount of water-wraith victims is objectively low. (Kinda like socially exaggerated shark attacks). 

The thing is that there might not be enough evidence to properly judge the cases. Water-wraiths seem to operate on a killing plan :

Drown.

Eat to the bone or with the bones.

Dispose of the evidence on the bottom of their habitat.

If there was no witness then there is no certainty that there was a crime at all. People just go missing in the woods (with a lake) or near a river. It might be a really big open secret. But until there is a witness/evidence that will give lawful reason to search particular Water-wraiths habitat.

That part depends solely on how you see Tamlin and his regin.

There is also a question of priority. We know that Tamlin was HL for +/- 400 years with 50 under Amaranths's occupation, which limited, an unknown amount, his ability to rule and change his court. We also know that Tamlin got a court similar to Hybern in terms of cruelty, possible laws and most definitely people. On top of the court being burdened with losing half of its territory or/and moving the borders, and possibly sanctions and reparation that damage SC's economy. And we know that Tamlin's father would not care about common people or other lords that he didn't like/respect. As far as we can debate Tamlin may spend he's rule by making and enforcing laws that were more urgent to him. (Maybe he ended child marriage (it seems to me as something important to him), giving some equivalent of minimum wage to the people, etc.). He has to deal probably with the opposition of lords, that didn't die in war and share a worldview with his father. In the end, he manages to transform that little Hybern into the place where fea comes to get safety, where people are devoted to him to the point that are willing to sacrifice themself for his cause, it may not be perfect but going there.

There is also an interesting thing. We read that it was I think another day of the Tithe or at least it long into the Tithe when the Water-wraith came. Right? So there wasn't someone before who couldn't pay the Tithe before? Was the Water-wraith the first form thousands of people that came to the Tithe that couldn't pay? Maybe (and it's a thing I read once in fanfic but I like that explanation) she was trying to prey on F/erye's lack of knowes/experience like when Tamlin's first time collected Tithe? That's why he was so rough about it? (remember Tamlin is not good at communication/he was embarrassed and Lucien may not be there at the time same with Alis).

That would be it form me. To summarise:

Religus, philosophy and moral reasons of fea wolrd.

Precedent of law

Social prejudice vs reality

Lack of means to prosecute the crime/lack of crime.

Tamlin's just not there yet as a High Lord.

[usernoneexistent]

WIP tag game ask - here is yours ^^

Tell me whatever you wanna share about wth is going on "underneath the greenhouse,"please? <3

Thanks for the ask. It's my origin story for Eulin, an underappreciated ship caused by me. Also the one series of stories that has the most chapters written so far. It's also starts the earliest in the chronology I have for the AHoS. It's a whole lovely organised mess.

Also the first where I included some characters from the Hogwarts Legacy game despite never have played it XD. It's also to help explore their personalities and character growth since I do deem them as my quietest and perhaps less problamatic characters but throughout it they have grown and opened up their personalities a lot more both in expected and unexpected ways and taken me somewhere I hadn't really planned for. There is a lot of work I need to put into it but that's for any of my stories.

[buttercupjosh]

Happy National Boyfriend Day to all of my current favorite hockey boys🎉💜. Every year, I highlight my favorite band members (I used to post about this on insta but I stopped and ya girl has never had a boyfriend) on this day and since I’m a full time hockey clown, I’m going to highlight hockey players. (I know my chances of actually dating a hockey boy is extremely unlikely but it’s fun to talk about them). In no particular order, here’s a current list of hockey boys running around rent free in my head and this is subject to change at any moment:

-Tyson Jost (curly haired cutie who drinks respects women juice, is pro-BLM and is a Cup winner in my heart. I hope he succeeds in Minnesota)

-Cale Makar (Conn Smyth and Norris winning, Cup champion, fellow Scorpio, humble icon)

-Mikko Rantanen (my sweet Finnish Cup champion prince, fellow Scorpio)

-JT Compher (a ginger cutie who moved in during the Avs Cup run)

-Andre Burakovsky (2x time Cup winner, will be missed while he starts a new chapter in Seattle, will forever look cute with puppies and babies)

-Tyler Seguin (this cutie is the reason why I love hockey so much)

-Brock Boeser (Mr. Sensitive, Prince Charming. he’s been through a lot in life but still shows humbleness and I admire him so much for that)

-Elias Pettersson (fellow November Scorpio, long lost Sedin brother, streetwear king)

-Quinn Hughes (he moved back in after leaving for a while. I think napping together would be a vibe)

-Jason Dickinson (anti-racism cutie)

-Andrei Svechnikov (emotional support Russian)

-Teuvo Teräväinen (another Finn that I’ve become attached to)

-Sebastian Aho (another Finn that I’ve gravitated towards)

-Martin Necas (sugar boo) (if you know, you know)

-Brady Skjei (best known for an iconic SNL skit, fellow Harry Styles and Taylor Swift fan, sliver haired cutie)

-Nico Hischier (Swiss prince)

-Ryan Graves (I know it’s overused but vampire giraffe that reads anti-racism books)

-Joel Farabee (buzz buzz king who helps carry the Flyers on his back)

-Travis Konecny (radiates raccoon energy, has pretty eyes and is a married father)

-Roman Josi (I know he’s married and has children but he’s very attractive. My Swiss king, who has verbally supported the growth of women’s hockey and BLM)

-Phil Myers (I hope this giraffe will succeed in Tampa, my emotional support bottom pairing defenseman)

-Anthony Beauvillier (bark bark cutie with eyes that are so blue, you could drown in them)

-Mathieu Joseph (2 time Stanley Cup winner who’s Black, I wish him the best in Ottawa)

-Colton Parayko (gentle giant with a college degree and looks great in glasses)

-Jakob Chychrun (drinks anti-racism juice and his house is so nice)

-Pierre-Luc Dubois (a cute fridge who’s also a dog dad and is anti-trump)

-Jacob Markstrom (I know he’s going to be a father soon but this is my emotional support goalie and I miss him in Vancouver)

-Mitch Marner (I neglect him because of one of his teammates but he is a Directioner and dog dad so I’m here for him)

-Nolan Patrick (indie music king)

-Gritty (PURE CHAOS THAT I L*VE)