#ala_baguette

[potterblog]

This fic is so amazing! <3 One of my top favorites of all-time!

I came back just to post this here so I could tag @ala-baguette 🥹 Knowing Where To Look is officially complete and if you haven’t read it yet you should. It’s post war, and Gawain Robards is our main man. This fic is so unlike anything else I’ve read and i just love it so much. Seeing Mary as an adult just made my heart so happy but also hurt so much. Just please do yourself a favor and read this. You won’t regret it.

[pebblysand]

Hey Pebbles! Can u please give some updates on the next chapter of KWTL? Or any snippets please?

@ala-baguette, idk, do you want to give me updates/snippets from the next chapter of KWTL?

[tobiwurd]

On Reading Harry Potter Fanfiction

I’ve been reading a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction, specifically “canon-compliant post-war fanfiction”.

Anyone who knows me shouldn’t be surprised, as I have consumed J.K. Rowling’s series since childhood, and fanfiction is how people who share my hobby of writing explore and expand the original universe.

I’ve dived into this kind of content before. Back in 2009, after finishing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I felt lucky to find authors across many independent archives (websites dedicated to hosting fanfiction) who were willing to fill in the gaps left by J.K. Rowling, especially those in the 19 years between the Battle of Hogwarts and the Epilogue.

Coming back now, 15 years later, it is fascinating to notice how both myself and the fanfiction community have evolved: I’m no longer a teenager, so my interests revolve around a broader repertoire (of fiction, sure, but of life experiences as well) and now I have a better eye for writing technique and aesthetics; the community is better structured, with well-established archives centralising stories that no longer simply fill the gaps left in the books, but have organically formed a new canon for the universe and its characters.

This evolution of readers and writers is, in many ways, comparable to how novels have driven changes in cultural perception since the 18th century.

An example of this cultural shift, as I perceive it, is notable when considering the copyright disclaimers added by authors at the beginning of their stories.

“Disclaimer: Only JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.” Author White_Squirrel in Chapter 2 of The Arithmancer

From a functional standpoint, adding the disclaimer is undoubtedly the safest legal practice. However, considering how concepts and ideas are formed and shared through cultural means, any attempt to attribute “ownership of Harry Potter” to any individual is pointless.

Yes, J.K. Rowling might receive all the money earned from exploiting Harry Potter and the rest of the Wizarding World. Still, culturally, if we take ideas and behaviour as currency instead of pounds and dollars, many fanfiction stories today owe their existence to other fanfiction authors, not the original Harry Potter books.

Moreover, the groundwork canon of these stories does not revolve around events from the original saga but around Fred’s funeral, Harry and Ginny’s reunion after the war, Hermione’s trip to Australia, the Death Eater trials, etc. — all of these scenes that J.K. Rowling never wrote, but that were covered extensively by fanfiction authors. 

It’s clear how much recent stories are supported by others published in fanfiction archives over the years, more so than the original books J.K Rowling legally “owns”. The following are examples of how this shift in influence affects my experience of these stories when reading with attention to technique and emotional delivery, focusing on canon-compliant content.

In Beasts (ongoing since December 2023), author @whinlatter does not write the summer after the battle, skipping to Ginny’s seventh year at Hogwarts. Her powerful emotional delivery of the psychological challenges affecting the characters’ lives and relationships in the post-war period is excellent despite the untold chunk of the narrative.

The author supports this choice with flashbacks to missing moments from the original books. Still, I had further support from the affective memories from reading Grave Days, which author Northumbrian completed in 2010. It depicts the funerals and reunions of that summer, and the emotion from these scenes enhances the impact of reading the more recent tale by whinlatter.

Similarly, Knowing Where To Look (finished in 2024) starts immediately after the battle but is told from the point of view of an original character (Gawain Robards). Author ala_baguette indirectly tells the reader about Harry’s development with the other main characters through his late-night conversations with Robards at the edge of the story's main plot.

The result is remarkably engaging, but it would not have the same effect if I hadn’t previously read Ginny slapping some sense into a similarly sulky and reticent Harry in The First Day by author little0bird, completed in 2010 before J.K Rowling even published the canonical pairings for all characters (I never imagined George/Katie, a non-canon pair, could be as good as in this story).

In 2024, fanfiction is already self-referential, both in its conceptual and emotional aspects. It no longer depends too much on the original universe written by J.K. Rowling to thrive. The community participants define the collection of ideas and behaviour around the stories and characters despite not owning the trademarks.

In other words, fuck J.K. Rowling, her money, and her bigoted opinions; all hail the independent authors who renew and refresh the wizarding world and those who culturally inhabit it.

[ala-baguette]

The Unsaid Words Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks Characters: Andromeda Black Tonks, Ted Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, Teddy Lupin, Harry Potter Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Finding Strength, Angst, Family, Ficlet, Character Study, Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, POV Andromeda Black Tonks Series: Part 16 of Left Behind Summary:

"Nymphadora may have taken after her father in many ways, but that particular trait—her stubborn determination—that she had gotten from her mother. Andromeda was strong too. She could not afford to fall apart over those who had left her behind. She had to focus on those who were here."

Or... Pre-canon - post-canon: Moments when Andromeda Tonks had no words, or at least none deemed necessary.

Pride

Ted had offered to come with her.  She’d told him not to.  Simultaneously, she felt regret and relief at this.  Regret in that she desperately craved the comfort he so effortlessly exuded.  Relief in that she didn’t trust that her father wouldn’t be firing off Killing Curses if he had. Father stood stock still.  His hands were thrust deep within his pockets, and Andromeda was sure one was gripping his wand.  But he did not move.  Every muscle in his body seemed tensed—poised to spring—but he did not move. The clock on the mantel ticked.  The only sound.  The only evidence that time continued onward.  It echoed around Father’s study. He didn’t look at her—his eyes were fixed upon the ornate Turkish rug, and if one had walked in at that moment, from his expression one would have thought the carpet had just been heard speaking the most inexcusable profanities. Andromeda kept her chin held high.  She forced herself to stay still, not to shift her weight, not to fidget with the new ring on her finger.  For better or for worse, she was her father’s daughter, and so, despite the pounding of her heart and the coldness of her fingertips and the subtle trembling of her arms, she kept her chin held high.  “Say something, Papa,” she demanded. He did not immediately respond.  When he did, it was not with words.  Instead, he merely walked to the door of his study, twisted the handle, and held it open for her.  Still, he did not look at her.  Still, he did not speak. He didn’t need to.  Nor did she.  There was nothing more to say. The response did not surprise her.  Her bag was already packed and waiting for her in the foray. What did surprise her was how much it hurt.

Continue reading on AO3

[remuslupinfest]

Author Reveals!

We’re happy to announce it’s finally time for author reveals! Authors: you’re now free to adjust the dates on your works, as well as repost them to other sites. The mod account will be removed as a co-author from AO3 shortly.

A great big thank you to everyone who participated in the fest as an author, commenter, or just a reader.

We’re already excited to do it all over again next year  ♡

REMUS/SIRIUS

Don't Need Another Metaphor (It's Simple Enough) - by magickedpiracy Gnossienne - by jennandblitz Heaven’s Just One Sin Away - by DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes Hidden Desire - by TheHufflebean Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations - by TheQueerTailor my jokes are my armour, my kindness is my sword - by littleoldrachel Pomegranate - by OrangeFlamingo Romance and Adventure - by LuminousGloom Sweet Nothing - by phasesofremoony time will crawl (till our tails fall off) - by stardiver two imperfect souls might touch perfection - by soloorganaas Wanderer’s Soul - by annanotherthing

REMUS/TONKS

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables - by ala_baguette it’s just what you do to get by - by EveSaintYves Our Surprise Metamorphmagus - by Howellatme Sounding Off - by CelesteMagnolia A Third Roommate - by CelesteMagnolia

REMUS/SEVERUS

As You Hit the Wall - by miffmiff Budding Affection - by SafePlaceSnupin Bumps & Bruises> - by multilingualism Dark as the New Moon - by nocturn to witness the beauty of your repair - by leftsidedown

RARE PAIRS

Compliments - by SiriuslySapphic Every Rose Grows Bonny in Time - by stonecoldhedwig From Blossoms - by MeliMess The Gardener's Arms Make Him Feel Alive - by DontStopHerNow The Limits of Patience - by puuvillaa Marked me like a bloodstain - by Patriceavril night of red - by ayebydan Our Ogygia - by zeddmarker pour some sugar on me - by succulent_nurturer Scent of summer snow - by TracingPatterns The Sounds of Us - by Sniper_Jade tie the anchor to our feet and say goodbye - by MKAugust the wolf in the woods - by secondsister You and Me, Moony - by AmethystHeart2421

GEN

Animals - by turanga4 Leave Replacement - by sliebman10 A Long Read - by Tpants A Professor through the eyes of a Werewolf - by Tardis_Magic93 Slay the Beast - by zeddmarker Tangible Hope - by SiriuslySapphic There's No Place Like Home - by EchoOfaWind Things We Do - by Wanderingdonut Tired of Being Alone - by cheyla

[iknowasecret]

iknowasecret’s Rec List

Hogwarts Mystery

The Hexley Saga by The_Al_Chemist https://archiveofourown.org/series/2237784

Hogwarts Mystery Stories and One-Shots by closetcannons https://archiveofourown.org/series/3230115

This Used To Be A Home by SquidVicious https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430179/chapters/35815425

Hatred And Fear by A_Story_Without_Words https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119091

Harry Potter Raindrops On Roses by backinyourbox https://archiveofourown.org/works/373224/chapters/608435

In the language of flowers by dwellingondreams https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074770/chapters/32426100

Stir the Pot by Dragonstorm https://archiveofourown.org/works/32963029/chapters/81811381

Harry Potter and the Conspiracy of Blood by Cambangst https://archiveofourown.org/works/6701647/chapters/15327019

The Bottom of the Barrel Gets Closer Every Year by Dragonstorm https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370092 A Lonely Path by ala_baguette

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37048174/chapters/92482453#workskin

Hunger Games

I wanna see you be brave by Lorata https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486351/chapters/3137002#workskin

Favors by Jocelyn https://archiveofourown.org/works/36844903/chapters/91920796

Harry Potter/Hunger Games Crossover

Against the Odds by Persephone_Evans https://archiveofourown.org/works/35198830/chapters/87705361

Alex Rider

The Price of Treason by BlueberryLibrary https://archiveofourown.org/works/33099040/chapters/82166845

Goodbye Lullaby by TheInverseUniverse https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165344

The Point Blanc Alumni Association by BlueberryLibrary https://archiveofourown.org/works/32568643/chapters/80786542

Ranger’s Apprentice

Willpower by Lethwyn https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302849/chapters/21085847

[seriouslysam8]

I know you probably have a whole plethora of fics to read but you should read Knowing Where to Look by Ala_Baguette. I know the Hinny in it is very very limited but it's such a fascinating take on immediately following the battle of Hogwarts and Kingsley dealing with a mole within his inner circle. It also has to notch exploration of PTSD suffered by all the different characters from both wars.

I have no read that one yet. I shall put it on my list and get to it eventually.

[weird-obsessed-girl]

Kreacher fanfiction

I have a feeling this is a niche within the Harry Potter fandom, but here are some small fics centering or heavily featuring the House of Black's house elf Kreacher. for some reason i find his characterization in fics to be so interesting, not to mention Kreachers' relationships with others.

This WILL NOT include any sort of sexual relationship between Kreacher and anyone else (im looking at you ao3 authors who have done Hermione/Kreacher) (not even side-eye) (full on STARE OF JUDGEMENT)

anyway heres my normal masterlist that has wolfstar, drarry, tomarry and jegulus

Kreacher - MerakiForest

Harry brings up Sirius' treatment of Kreacher, character study (tiny) | G | 804

A Christmas Miracle - littlelass

Wolfstar raise Harry, Sirius tries to bond with Kreacher because of cristmas and Kreacher's fondness of baby Harry | G | 890

Let Me Figure It Out - hmweasley

Immediately after the battle Harry goes to the kitchens, Kreacher requests something of him | T | 1.5k

The Strongest Friendship Of Them All - MusicPlotter

After an incident Harry thinks Ron hates him and isolates himself, Kreacher steps in | M | 2k

Companions and Chess Matches - puppyduckster

Regulus is lonely now that Sirius has gone to hogwarts, this is the start of his almost-friendship with Kreacher | G | 2k

you were clearly meant for more (than a life lost in the war) - songofswiftsunrise

Regulus doesn't actually die, because Kreacher ignores Regulus' orders | G | 4k

Honour of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - mcepl

Harry explains to Kreacher that he's marrying Ginny, and that makes her his mistress, Kreacher no longer servant of House Black but of House Potter | G | 4k

Kreacher - ala_baguette

Kreacher is missing his last remaining master (Harry) during horcrux hunt, he rallies all of the kitchen elves to fight in hogwarts battle, i actually recommend this series | T | 6k

A Sirius Not-So-Serious Summer - weirdsisters99

Harry is whisked away to Grimmauld Place to live with Remus and Sirius, Kreacher becomes nice-ish with Harry | T | 8k

The Restoration of 12 Grimmauld Place - ChiaroscuroGirl

not really focused on Kreacher but as it says on the tin, this is cute | G | 8k

[elizabethpotter2]

Oof, this was a good one I couldn’t put down

[backwardsbicycle]

In the middle of this fic 🔥

[pebblysand]

[FEBRUARY ‘22] - THE LIFE/WRITING UPDATE NO ONE ASKED FOR (AND SOME QUICK LINKS)

happy february everyone! i hope you’re all doing well. i had a very good january actually, full of skiing holidays, general catching up with friends, chilling, ect. as you’ll see below, i didn’t do much reading/writing this month, but i think we all deserve a holiday, every once in a while :)

Anyway, before diving into more life/writing updates, here are some quick links to different blog pages you might not see on mobile :

FIC MASTERLIST

FIC RECS

WRITING ADVICE

ORIGINAL PIECES

OPINION PIECES & ASKS

FINANCIALLY SUPPORT MY WRITING (thank you!)

[NOTE: i am currently not accepting prompts]

Castles (chap 11) ETA: man, i don’t know. i haven’t touched the file since putting out last chapter, sorry.

links extended a/n-s: chapter v ; chapter vi & vii ; chapter viii ; chapter ix ; chapter x

[more life/writing updates under the cut]

WHAT I’M READING:

books:

i'm almost done (as in 26-pages-left) with enfant de salaud. i considered trying to finish it specifically for this post but this little thing called time got the best of me today. i'll talk about it more at length in next month's post but generally, it's a powerful book, but not my favourite from this author. i'm aiming to finish this one and get through 1984 on my kindle this month, but as i explained in last month's post, i'm not holding my breath on my reading anymore at this stage.

fics:

i’m still reading: knowing where to look by ala_baguette and still enjoying it. aside from that, i honestly haven’t touched anything since last december, my tbr is getting longer and longer - i really need to get back into the groove. i’m currently sort of looking for some seamus/dean content, something that would be a bit deep and interesting and my vibe? if anyone has recs in store, let me know.

.

WHAT I’M WATCHING:

it’s funny, after months and months of watching almost nothing i enjoyed throughout the pandemic, i’m finally back in action with tv shows. i really missed the enthusiasm that a good show can bring. also the next season of peaky blinders is coming up in february (for the love of god let them give us the release date goddamn it), so i’m very excited for that.

in the meantime, here’s what i watched in january:

dexter, new blood: forget everything i said last month. don’t watch it. no need. no fucking point. i’m so mad. i don’t even want to talk about it.

stay close: as a writer myself, i have so much love and admiration for harlan coben and for the way he’s managed to develop a style of writing and fiction that is so recognisable. i basically grew up on his crime fiction and i turned on stay close not knowing it was one of his shows, and within five minutes, i was like “oh, this was written by harlan coben, wasn’t it?” it’s a good show, the actors are good, the characters interesting. it’s not the best crime drama i’ve ever watched, but i was definitely hooked. hc has a very specific way to drop in details and clue in his viewers/readers trying to find out whodidit/whathappened and i’m usually so used to his fiction i’ve gotten pretty decent at catching the hints (hello, safe), but here i couldn’t figure it out until almost the end. overall, a very good show if you’re into crime dramas.

mare of easttown: i’d added this to my to watch list after listening to the my dad wrote a porno podcast because they were promoting it and honestly, it’s a beautiful show. i watched it with my mum and we both really loved it. kate winslet is virtually unrecognisable in it, and all the characters just have so much depth and struggle and will to live. this is also built on a murder mystery and i kind of saw the final twist coming from miles away, but i also feel like the crime story is a bit of a subplot in the show, second to the relationships and the character development, which are absolutely incredible. watch this if you like strong, atypical, female characters, faithful depictions of female friendships, and stories about grief.

rules of the game: this is for all my silk fans out there, as it’s maxine peake’s newest venture. it’s … good? fine? i watched it all on sunday evening (it’s only 4 episodes); i’d read rather bad reviews going in so i was a bit worried, but i kind of see what happened to this show, now. on the plus side, it tackles a lot of themes i’m interested in (workplace sexual harrassment, the #metoo movement, mental health, etc.) and has a lot of decent actors in it. one thing i really enjoyed was that they put a lot of attention to tiny details of women’s “everyday” lives. for example, one of the characters struggles with substance abuse following a sexual assault, and at her first na meeting, a member of staff welcomes her, says “we’re all family, and everyone’s very nice. just stay away from the old creepy men who want you to explore all the twelve steps with you alone.” and it’s very cleverly treated as a joke in the series, but there’s such an underlying theme of “jesus christ, the patriarchy really is everywhere” that i thought was very cleverly done. i also loved the way they tried to explore the idea of how women themselves, who have been victims of predatory behaviours, can also become accomplices, and hos the world’s not all black and white around this issue. this being said, as i’ve read in many other reviews, the main issue with this series is that there is a planet-sized gap between maxine peake’s acting and a) the rest of the cast and, b) the general plausibility of the plot. her portrayal of the main character is just so good, and the rest of the show is just so meh, with so many cliches and incoherences, that it creates a weird inadequacy in the story. she carries the whole show on her shoulders, but she can’t possibly fix all of its problems. there is so much struggle, subtlety, humour, tragedy in her character and her acting is just so much better than everyone else’s, that all the other characters come out incredibly bland. the general plot of the show is also rather cliche - i sort of wish they’d have done this over 6/8 episodes rather than 4, i feel like they’d have been able to explore the complexities of the themes more. overall, though, if you’re a maxine fan like me, i’d definitely give it a go.

i also watched the hp reunion at the beginning of the month which brought so much joy and fluffy feelings to my heart. i loved it. i’m also one-and-a-half series into smother, which is an irish crime show - series two is airing on rte right now so i’ll probably do a full review next month. i’ve also started euphoria and … i don’t really get the hype? like, i might finish it, i might not, and i don’t know if it’s because i’m too old for it. i’ve seen a lot of “adults” say the show had too much sex/drugs in it which shocked a lot of people, but tbh, i don’t really care about that. my main issue with this show is that the characters are so fucking bland and the plot is so fucking sloooooow. i feel like i’m literally slugging through, like every bloody episode is the exact same (though, you could make the point that teenage life is incredibly repetitive, as i remember it) and at the end of the day, i wouldn’t care much if the main character actually did od. the webcam girl plot is funny and interesting but not very new, and neither is the ***spoiler alert never saw that one coming*** secretly gay football quarterback jock, haven’t we seen that story a million times? i genuinely feel like the only interesting character (and the reason i’ve stuck with the show so far) is the trans character portrayed by hunter schafer, whose acting and complexity is so much above everyone else’s. i’m mildly interested in her and couldn’t give a fuck about everyone else, so i’m not sure how long i’m going to stick with this just for her, if i’m honest. it’s a good show to watch… while staring at your phone half the time. look up every couple of minutes and you won’t have missed much except a dick pic or two and really, i don’t need more dick pics in my life, thanks.

.

WHAT I’M LISTENING TO:

i’ve been on a the kooks binge all month as i went to see their gig last saturday and wanted to remind myself of their songs beforehand. the gig was honestly one of the highlights of my month - they played all the old classics like seaside and naive, and the room was buzzing with excitement - i think it was most people’s first post-pandemic gig. i’m going to see the dandy wharols in london in a couple of weeks so i need to get onto their playlist now, haha.

.

WHAT I’M WRITING:

as i said above and kind of anticipated last month, i took january off writing. i was really tired at the start of the month, then i got a cold, then went on holidays, then tried and failed to do something about one of my best friend’s asshole, abusive boyfriend, and my mental health hasn’t honestly been the best.

however, the @thethreebroomsticksficfest is having another fest in march, for which i am going to try and finish that seamus/dean fic i’ve had sleeping on my hard drive since last june. this has postponed castles plans a bit as i’m not sure i’ll have time to work on both this month, but that means you should at least see something new come out on my end soon-ish.

.

WHAT I’M DOING:

man, so many things have happened/are happening this month. for one, i’ve quit my job and moving onto a different one next month, with about three full weeks of freedom in between. with that time i intend to 1) write, 2) get through my never-ending list of errands and life admin shit i’ve been putting off the past few months and 3) i need to do a lot of painting work on my apartment which definitely needs a refresh. as i’ve mentioned, i’m also going to london for a long weekend (any recs welcome!) and starting my new creative writing class TONIGHT - for which i am so bloody nervous; for real, i can’t deal. oh, and i’ve gotten totally, completely, and wholeheartedly addicted to wordle. i have a feeling this break is going to pass in the blink of an eye.

sadly, as an end note, i’d also like to dedicate this post to a kind, loving and funny french bulldog named boris, who passed away very suddenly at the age of three, just a few days ago. boris was one of my best friend’s dog, and one of the bestest boy i knew. i saw him grow up, hung out almost every day for the first year of his short life, and have remained very close since. although boris wasn’t my dog, i’m just incredibly heartbroken over this, and of course, so is his human. my little boy, i don’t necessarily believe in heaven for us humans, but i do reckon there has to be a dog heaven somewhere. you all are too perfect not to. so, i hope you make loads of friends there (don’t growl too much at the other boys, please, there’s enough girls for you all), get all your favourite beds and tug toys, and buckets of those cashew nuts you used to love. here on earth, we all miss you terribly. i know that wherever you are, you can see how sad your mamma is, and i know you wish you could cuddle in next to her. we’ll help her through this, like you helped us through so much. sleep tight my love.

lots of love,

pebblysand.

[barnabusthebarmyballetschool]

Chapters: 8/30 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Gawain Robards/ Mary Macdonald Characters: Harry Potter, Gawain Robards, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mary Macdonald Additional Tags: Post-War, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Original Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Family, Character Study, Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Politics, Slow Build, Canon Relationships Summary:

The War is over. At least that’s what everybody keeps saying. But the Reformation has begun, and the work is just beginning. After so much loss— so much pain— how does one pick up the pieces of the Wizarding World and rebuild the Ministry into one that is stronger than it has ever been? The election is approaching, desperate Death Eater attacks continue, and through it all, who can be trusted? Does he even want to be a part of it all?

Such a good post-Hogwarts fic over on ao3 that follows Gawain Robards in the immediate days after the battle and how he comes to meet & get to know Harry Potter. It's a really interesting character study and outsider POV, and there's clearly been a great deal of thought gone in to the plot. 

Please check it out and show the author some 💖

[ala-baguette]

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Crookshanks (Harry Potter), Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Rose Weasley, Hugo Weasley Additional Tags: Pet Loss, Euthanasia, Sad, but also hopeful, Grief/Mourning, One Shot, Ficlet, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, POV Crookshanks (Harry Potter) Series: Part 15 of Left Behind Summary:

"I don’t fear The Great Rest. Not in the way humans do. Why fear something that is a part of life? Something we have all been working toward since birth? I have lived a long and beautiful life since My Human found me, and I have no regrets. But I am not without worries. The tears on My Human’s face worry me. The slumping of her posture worries me. I want to get up and go to her. I want to purr until her heart is soothed and her tears dry and her back straightens. But I’m just so tired. Who will do it when I am gone? Who will bring her mice when she has not eaten and who will zoom around the room to remind her to go to bed and who will sit on her lap and purr when she is stressed? How can I leave her behind? "

Or... A loving goodbye and a well-earned rest. (NSFW-- unless you need a good cry at work, in which case go for it)

It’s the cold that wakes me.  I blink open my eyes to find that the morning sun has moved from the sitting room sofa as I slept.  I glance to the fireplace, prepared for the disappointment I know will come.  I can never understand why humans refuse to light the fire all summer long.  Why do they confine this joy only to the winter months?

No matter.  It is time to move.  My body aches as I jump off the sofa, and I stumble a bit.  But I need not go far.  Just down the hall.  The sun will now be warming my favourite napping spot—the window seat in my human’s study.  It is a good spot.  The seat is soft and well-cushioned, it is warmed by the sun for almost the entire afternoon, and it frequently comes with scratches from My Human when she isn’t too distracted by work.  

I have been getting extra scratches lately. My Human has been watching me and periodically will set aside her quill just to come over to pet me for a moment or two.  She didn’t used to do this so often, and I wonder what has changed.  But it is a good change, so I can’t be bothered to wonder very hard.

When I let myself into her study, My Human looks up from her desk to watch me walk across the room to my favourite window seat.  I glance briefly at my food bowl in the corner.  It still holds my breakfast from this morning—or is it dinner from last night?— but I am not hungry.  I see My Human take this in with sadness in her eyes.  I want to sooth this sadness.  But I am tired.  So instead, I will nap.  

I move to jump onto the seat, but it is growing more difficult.  My body aches, and I am so very tired today.  I’m often tired now adays.  My hindlegs don’t have the power they once had, and I don’t quite make it.  I dig my front nails into the plush rust-coloured velvet of the seat and hear a satisfying ripping sound as they anchor themselves there, but still, I struggle to get purchase with my back paws.  Gentle hands help to give me a push.  There was once a time I may have met this with indignation, but today I am grateful for the assistance.  I can’t let anyone know that, of course, so I still respond with an affronted meow as I at last make it up onto the seat.

“It’s alright, Crookshanks,” My Human sooths gently.  “I’ve got you.”

I calculate the trajectory of the sun briefly, then gently lower myself on the side of the sun patch that will enable the maximum time soaking in the sunshine before I must move again.  A sparrow is perched on the tree outside, and I try to muster an “Eck eck” to tell him to get lost, but I am too tired. Instead, I lay down my head and prepare for sleep.  My Human’s gentle hand strokes my head, and I nuzzle deeper into the soft cushion that has been set out just for me.  It is coated nicely in a layer of my fur.  Periodically, The Humans clean it off, and I have to start again, but for now, there is plenty.  I let out a purr of satisfaction.  The kind that always makes My Human smile, though I am too tired to open my eyes to see it.  I feel My Human press her lips to the spot between my eyes—the spot only My Human is allowed to kiss—and I drift off to sleep.

I dream of the countryside.  Of the past.  But it is many countrysides and many pasts, all jumbled into one.  At times, I cannot say if this is memory or imagination.  Sometimes I seem to be on the Hogwarts grounds, running along side a large black dog who is not a dog.  Sometimes I seem to be in the yard of the crooked house where I spent a year without My Human.  A chicken with missing feathers is waddling fast away from me while The Temporary Human admonishes me, though I know her admonishments are half-hearted at best and she will still give me a saucer of cream come teatime.  Sometimes I am at the cottage My Humans moved into after school. The first Tiny Human is even tinier than she is now—just a hairless kitten.  She watches me with wonder, reaching out a pudgy hand.  I get up and walk away before she can pull on my tail. It is time to patrol the garden, anyway. It is my duty to ensure the Gnomes do not return.

I miss the countryside.  The London terrace-house is not all bad.  The house is large and spacious; the housekeeper knows to wait patiently while I decide if I want to be inside or outside after I scratch at the front door; there is no shortage of rats to chase in the alleyway; and there are plenty of windows to sit in.  But it just doesn’t compare to the open freedom of the country.  I often wonder why My Humans moved here so suddenly. My Human’s work seemed to have changed and necessitated a relocation to London.  She still goes to the office nearly every day as she has for years, but now work also finds her here.  People in business robes carrying briefcases come and go frequently—far too many people for my comfort.  And when I go outside, there are often a collection of people with large cameras that flash with frightening brightness and smoke and loud bangs.  Sometimes, one of these people will crouch down and hold a microphone to my face and ask me my opinion on the capital gains tax or the French tariff on potions ingredients or new restrictions for experimental charms. The other humans will laugh.  I will merely stretch, give them a dismissive look, and walk away.

What silly things humans find to worry about.

I feel a hand scratch under my chin.  It takes me a moment to realise it is not in the dream.  I open one eye.  It is The Spare Human.  Strange. He does not often come into My Human’s study while she is working.  But he is not unwelcome.  I turn my head over to allow him maximum access to my chin, and I offer him a small purr.  But I am tired and my eyes close again.  The hand retracts, and I hear him cross to speak softly with My Human, their voices coming in low, soothing murmurs.  

Half in dream, I think of this surprise in life.  Once, I would never have let The Spare Human scratch my chin.  When first we met, he did not like me, and I did not like him. He guarded the rat who was not a rat and yelled and kicked at me when I got too near.  After the rat was uncovered, we reached a begrudging truce, but back then, I never would have expected us to reach a point of chin scratches. The years have changed us both.  

I’d had my doubts when My Human had picked The Spare Human as her mate.  But I had to admit she laughed a great deal more and was much more relaxed when he was there.  And when The Hairless Kittens arrived, one after the other, it was clear she had never been so happy.  

They have their ups and downs, of course. They argue at times, but humans seem to enjoy doing that—why else would they all do it so often?  My Human works hard and long hours, and this vexes The Spare Human.  It vexes me too, but I have more logical and productive ways of handling it.  I bring her dead mice when she forgets to eat, zoom fast around her study to alert her of the time when she works too late into the night, climb into her lap and purr when she looks too strained… The Spare Human never seems to understand the nuance of these techniques, but I can’t blame him, really.  He is only human, after all.  They only see so much.

When I open my eyes again, I’m not sure how much time has passed. I blink groggily as I raise my head to see what has woken me.  No amount of sleep seems to ease the tiredness.

A stranger is in the room now.  I am not much fond of strangers, but this one has a kind face as she smiles down at me, and she does give quite exceptional ear rubs, so I decide I don’t mind her so very much.  I’m less sure a little later, however.  She proceeds to lift my lip to look at my teeth, pinch the skin at my neck. Then she presses on my belly and something there is painful.  The Stranger pets very strangely.  She pulls out her wand, points it at my chest with a muttered, “Sonorus,” and bends her ear to it.  After a moment, she retracts her wand and straightens.  She offers one more admirable ear rub and a gentle smile before turning away to speak to My Humans.  What a strange human.

The Tiny Humans are there now.  I don’t remember them coming in.  The Spare Human is holding the smallest one—he is hardly out of the hairless kitten stage and suckles on his paw as he stares around the room with wide eyes that seem to blink rarely.  The elder Tiny Human plays on the floor with a toy, occasionally trying to interject with questions, but the adult Humans ignore her or occasionally shush her.  They are taking amongst themselves, the Stranger with a grave expression on her face. Tears run down My Human’s cheeks and The Spare Human puts his free arm around her shoulders as he listens quietly.

I know then what they are talking about. On some level, I’ve known for some time.

My Human looks at me and our eyes lock. I offer her a few slow blinks.  I try to tell her from across the room that it is okay.  Try to convey my love and purrs through just our eyes.  She buries her face in her hands for a moment, then lowers them, drawing in a deep breath.

She comes to me then.  She kneels on the floor so her face is on level with mine and pets me gently.  There is something different in her pets.  It is as though she fears breaking me.  But I lean into her hand, and she smiles a watery smile as she rubs the requested spot just behind my whiskers.  

Then she looks to the Stranger and nods.

The Stranger opens her bag, and I see her preparing some sort of potions vials. I can’t be much bothered by what she is doing.  I’m tired.  And I’m ready.

I don’t fear The Great Rest.  Not in the way humans do.  Why fear something that is a part of life?  Something we have all been working toward since birth?  I have lived a long and beautiful life since My Human found me, and I have no regrets.  But I am not without worries.  

The tears on My Human’s face worry me.  The slumping of her posture worries me.  I want to get up and go to her.  I want to purr until her heart is soothed and her tears dry and her back straightens.  But I’m just so tired.  Who will do it when I am gone?  Who will bring her mice when she has not eaten and who will zoom around the room to remind her to go to bed and who will sit on her lap and purr when she is stressed? How can I leave her behind?  

It is at this moment that the Tiny Human sets aside her toy and toddles to My Human.  It is clear she does not fully understand what is happening, but she understands her mother’s pain and understands her need for comfort.  Tiny humans are almost like cats in that way.  Such a shame they all seem to forget this skill as they get older.  The Tiny Human places pudgy arms around My Human’s neck and My Human turns to look at her. Her motherly instinct immediately wipes sorrow from her face and smiles at her daughter.  But even if it started out as a farce, there is truth in that smile. She pulls her kitten close; they press their foreheads together and rub nose and a small laugh escapes my human’s lips.

The Spare Human puts his hand on My Human’s shoulder now.  The younger Tiny Human is still perched on his hip.  My Human looks up at them from where she sits on the floor, still stroking my fur with one hand and hugging her kitten with the other.  My Human and The Spare Human exchange an unspoken communication.

My Human looks to me once more.  I blink slowly at her, assuring her it is alright. That I will be alright.  She smiles.  The crinkling of her eyes allows the tears she had tried to hide from her kitten to escape and streak down her face.  But her back is straighter.  She holds her head higher.  

It is only when she turns back to the Stranger that I remember she is there.  The Stranger has been waiting quietly.  She nods to My Human, her face full of sympathy before she moves back to me. She gives me another excellent ear rub before she pinches me, and I feel a small sting.  This human really does pet very strangely indeed.  But then she backs away and My Human is there again.  

My Human strokes my fur and murmurs words I am too tired to quite listen to, but the tone is soothing.  I rest my head on my paws and try to purr for her as she rubs the spot behind my whiskers.  Her face seems to swim before me; my vision is going in and out of focus.

As I drift to sleep and beyond, I feel her lips press to the spot just between my eyes.  Moisture drips onto my head.  Is it raining?  Perhaps if it is raining the humans will light the fire.

“I love you so much, Crookshanks.  Thank you.”

I dream of the countryside.  It is not raining here.  It is a beautiful sunlit countryside.  And a large black dog who is not a dog greets me there.  And as we run, side-by-side across green hills, I feel no more pain.  My body is again strong and light and fast and I am no longer tired.  And I no longer worry.  

My Humans are safe.  They will look after each other.

[ala-baguette]

*Slides new chapter across the table and quietly backs away.

[ala-baguette]

Summary: Ron is trapped in the tunnel outside the Chamber of Secrets, with no one but Lockhart for company and ruminates on what it means to be a big brother.My submission to Weasley Fest, 2023Relationships:  Ron Weasley & Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley & Arthur WeasleyRating:  T4k words  |  Read it here or on AO3

“Ron!  Are you okay?  Ron!” “I’m here!”  he called back.  Then he regretted it immediately as the dust in the air coated his lungs.  Ron coughed violently.  Rubbing grime from his eyes, he looked around to better assess the situation.  Harry’s voice came muffled from the other side of a wall of broken rock.  He reached out a hand and pushed futilely.  Predictably, it didn’t budge.  Large cracks marred the ceiling above and a few small pebbles tumbled down the side of the rock pile.

A groan drew his attention to a spot on the floor to his right.  Lockhart was lying on his back, one hand weakly rubbing at his head as he blinked dazedly at the ceiling.  The dust clung to his hair and early wrinkles, making him look as though he’d aged a hundred years.  Not so pretty now. “I’m okay,” Ron called to Harry.  He allowed himself one moment of relief that they were all alive before fear and anger flooded in.  Ginny.  He turned to glare in Lockhart’s direction, teeth grinding audibly.  Ron’s wand was lying on the floor beside him, and he snatched it up and pocketed it.  “This git’s not, though—he got blasted by the wand—”  He told himself he was only trying to nudge Lockhart with his foot to test his responsiveness.  In truth, he took quite a lot of pleasure in kicking him.

“Ow,” Lockhart groaned, rolling on his side to rub the spot on his shin.  But Ron didn’t want to waste another thought for the useless lump.  He turned back to the fallen rock and the direction of Harry’s voice, and again pushed desperately against it with his palms. “What now?” Ron called.  “We can’t get through—it’ll take ages…”  Ginny.  Damn it all to hell!  How am I going to get to Ginny?  She’s already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours.  If she dies… all because Lockhart…  By Merlin’s bollocks, I swear I’ll— Ron felt a very strong compulsion to kick Lockhart again.  And he had no energy to waste on resisting such impulses. “Ow!” Lockhart yelped as Ron’s foot again landed a blow. “Wait there,” came Harry’s muffled instruction.  “Wait with Lockhart.  I’ll go on… If I’m not back in an hour…” There was a very pregnant pause. If Harry didn’t come back in an hour, they both knew what that meant.  Ron would have lost, not only his little sister, but also his best friend. Ron screwed his eyes shut as he felt a familiar churning in his stomach.  He drew in repeated deep calming breaths through his nose.  This is Harry, Ron reminded himself.  Harry, who faced You-Know-Who three times already and lived.  Harry who always managed the impossible.  Ron trusted Harry with his life. But this was different.  This was trusting him with Ginny’s. He opened his eyes to face the impenetrable boundary before him, knowing there was no choice.  “I’ll try and shift some of this rock,” said Ron.  His voice came out weaker and shakier than he cared to acknowledge.  “So you can— can get back through.  And, Harry—”  His voice broke.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know how to beg him to bring his little sister back safely.  To come back safely himself.  To not leave him here alone. “See you in a bit,” Harry said when no words came.  He sounded so sure.  So confident.  So unrattled.  This is Harry. Ron’s breath echoed in the confines of the tunnel as he stood motionless, staring at the rockfall.  Ron wished he hadn’t thrown Lockhart’s wand away back in the office; then he’d at least be able to have a little light.  Ron didn’t dare light his own; what if it acted up again and gobbled up what little oxygen there was left in this poorly ventilated tunnel?  So he stood there in near blackness with just the faintest ghostly light filtering down from the way they’d come.  Harry’s muffled footsteps retreated further and further away until there was no sound beyond Ron’s breathing and the occasional tinkling of a fallen pebble. Ron craned his head to look up at the cracks in the ceiling.  Even if he’d had a wand that worked properly, it would have been too risky to use magic.  The whole ceiling could collapse right on top of him.  He glanced back the way they’d come.  Even on the off chance he managed to climb back into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and run to find help, he didn’t speak Parseltongue, so there was no way they’d be able to get back down to Harry and Ginny. He didn’t realise the tears had fallen down his cheeks until he felt them drying, turning the dust that coated his face to a clay that pulled at his skin.  Ron sniffed angrily and rubbed at his face—a rather pointless endeavour as his hands were just as dirty as his face.  You’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?  Hermione would’ve known what to do.  She would have had some brilliant solution to all their problems. Eyes screwed shut as he thought, Ron breathed deep and slow through his nose.  Maybe Ron was not so clever as Hermione.  Maybe he was not so fearless as Harry.  But he wasn’t useless.  He refused to be useless.  Ginny was his little sister and it was his job to look out for her.  And if he couldn’t use his brain, and he couldn’t use his wand, he would just have to use his hands. Drawing in one final deep bracing breath, Ron opened his eyes, straightened his back, and reached out to dig his fingers in a crevice and pry out the first rock.

***

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!  NOW!  YOU’RE GROUNDED UNTIL NEXT YEAR, YOUNG MAN!” “BUT IT WASN’T MY FAULT!” “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!  YOU WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” Ron let out a bellow of frustration as he stormed up the stairs.  He slammed his bedroom door as loudly as he could.  Even from the top floor of the Burrow with the door closed, though, he could still hear Ginny’s cries of pain and fear.  He covered his ears with his palms and screwed his eyes shut as his stomach churned. Leaning against his closed door, he drew in repeated deep calming breaths through his nose.  Continuous rumbling thunder filled his ears beneath his hands.  “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered into his self-imposed void. By the time Ron lowered his hands and opened his eyes, the house had gone quiet.  Mum had taken Ginny to Saint Mungo’s then.  She’d have instructed Bill to make sure he didn’t leave his room.  Not that he wanted to. Ron went and flopped onto his bed and set about glaring at the ceiling.  It was so unfair!  Why was he the one in trouble?  He hadn’t told her to do it. Sulking eventually got boring, however.  Ron reached onto his dresser to rifle through his stack of Martin Miggs comics.  He pulled down a copy of Volume #37—a particular favourite where Martin and his best friend, Eugene Anorak, go to the arcade to try to win a teddy bear from the claw machine for Martin’s little sister’s birthday.  Ron lost himself in the comic, marvelling at Martin and hoping that’s what he was like when he was older.  Martin was tall and handsome and popular and the captain of the football team.  And he was brave and heroic and always stood up for Eugene who was small and wore horn-rimmed glasses and got picked on by the bullies. It was a couple hours before his reading was interrupted.  Ron had just gotten to the point where big brutish Clyde Bog, the bully, had showed up and pushed Eugene out of the way and broken his glasses.  Martin had dived into a Muggle duel to defend his friend.  “Pow!  Wham!” Ron muttered under his breath, punching the air in imitation of Martin—he was so fearless, diving into battle without so much as a wand.  Then Ron heard the movement and conversation downstairs. He set aside his comic book—he’d read it so many times, he knew how it would end anyway—and tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.  He could make out Mum and Dad’s voices, but he couldn’t hear the words.  A moment later, he heard the creak of footsteps climbing the stairs. Ron hastily shut the door as silently as he could manage, and tossed himself back on the bed.  He’d just managed to shove his comic book under the pillow and turn on his side to resume a sulking position when a soft knock landed on his bedroom door.  He didn’t answer it.  Instead, he determinedly kept his back turned, eyes fixed on the wall in a glower.  A moment later, he heard the door open and close, a pause, then footsteps crossed the room.  Ron felt the bed sag as Dad settled himself on the edge. “It wasn’t my fault,” Ron said when Dad didn’t immediately speak.  He kept his glower fixed at a creased corner of his Chudley Cannons poster.  When Dad still said nothing, Ron finally rolled over to look at him.  Dad was merely gazing at him, seeming to quietly invite Ron to go on.  It was the great thing about Dad; he, at least, would let Ron tell his side.  Ron dragged himself up enough to lean against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I didn’t tell her to follow me.  And it was Charlie who left his broomstick lying around.” Ron didn’t like the silence.  Suddenly, he wished Dad would yell at him like Mum had done.  Instead, he just gazed at Ron with a look of disappointment. “Charlie and Fred and George went out to play Quidditch and they refused to let us come!  They said we were too little.  All I did was say to Ginny that it would serve them right if we stole their brooms afterwards and went to play without them and see how they liked it!  I never told her to do it!  I never told her she should go flying without a grown up!” Dad sighed, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, and removed his glasses to clean them.  “She was following your example.  And you saw her doing it.  You saw her take Charlie’s broom, and you didn’t stop her.  She’s only six, Ron.  There’s a reason she’s not allowed anything but the training broom.  And a reason neither of you are allowed to go flying without Bill or Charlie with you.” “The training broom sucks, Dad!  It barely works anymore.  It’s all jerky and bouncy, and it’s slower than a flobberworm.” There was silence.  Dad seemed to be waiting for something.  Ron swallowed and looked away. “Is Ginny alright?” Ron mumbled at last.  Not able to look Dad in the eye, he picked at an orange thread on his quilt. “She broke her collarbone and was in a lot of pain.”  Ron winced as the thread he was tugging pulled loose and left a small hole behind.  “But the Healers patched her up alright.  Your mum’s letting her have pudding before dinner, so she seems quite content at the moment,” he added with a smile.  But then he sobered.  “It could have been a lot worse.”  Dad’s tone was now sterner than Ron ever remembered hearing it.  “From what Bill saw from out his window, he thinks she must have performed accidental magic and been saved by a Cushioning Charm.  If that hadn’t happened, she could have been really seriously injured.” “I think that was me, actually,” Ron mumbled.  He chanced a glance up, and Dad cocked his head to the side.  “I saw her falling, and I just… reacted…” A soft smile crossed Dad’s lips.  “Well, then, I’m very proud of you, Ron.” “It’s not like I meant to do it!” Ron defended.  Precisely what he was defending, he wasn’t sure.  “I didn’t do underage magic on purpose or anything.” Dad’s smile quirked and Ron got the impression that for some reason, he was trying not to laugh.  “No.  Heaven forbid you saved your sister on purpose.” After a moment, his expression turned serious again.  “Listen, Ron.  Ginny’s your little sister.  You have a responsibility to look out for her.” “Ugh.  She has other brothers who can look out for her!  Why does it have to be me?  She’s so annoying!  Always following me around.  She’s clingier than a bowtruckle!” “Because you’re not just her brother,” explained Dad patiently.  “You’re also her best friend.” “Why would I want a bratty little sister for a best friend?  That’s pathetic.” Dad half smiled, but cut Ron off before he could go on.  “She trusts you,” he insisted.  “She looks up to you.  She’s going to come to you for advice sometimes, and I need to trust that you’ll be there to help her.  Fred and George are starting at Hogwarts this year with Percy and Charlie.  It will be just the two of you at home soon.  It’s your turn to be the big brother. “And even on the holidays…  Bill and Charlie are growing up.  Bill’s going off to Egypt at the end of the summer, and knowing Charlie, I’m sure he’ll be off on some mad adventure the minute he finishes school too.  Ginny doesn’t feel as close to Percy as she does to you.  And… well… between you and me, I don’t know that any of us trust whatever advice Fred and George might give her.” Dad cupped Ron’s jaw and lowered his head to force Ron to meet his eye.  “You are the most important person in her life,” he said seriously.  “You should be proud of that.  But with that also comes a lot of responsibility.” Ron licked his lips, drew in a deep breath, and let it out.  “Fine.  I guess I can look out for her or whatever.” Dad smiled.  His hand moved to the back of Ron’s neck, and he pulled Ron close to kiss the top of his head.  “Good man,” was all he said.  “Now, I’ll talk to your mother.  You’re no longer grounded.  You can come down for dinner if you like.  But if you’d rather stay up here and sulk some more, that’s okay too.” After Dad left, Ron stayed where he was for a bit.  He continued to pick at the hole in the quilt.  Then he sighed, got to his feet, and moved toward the door. He did want to check that Ginny was alright, after all. Besides.  It was toad in the hole for dinner, and Ron was starving.

***

His nails were broken and stinging, but Ron kept digging.  Sweat and tears irritated his eyes and made the dust cake to his face, but Ron kept digging.  His muscles ached, his trousers were torn, blood oozed from a scrape on his knee.  Ron kept digging. How was this happening again?  It was just like last year.  Harry going on to save the day while Ron was left behind.  Was this his fate?  To be forever the sidekick and never the hero?  But it was Ginny who needed saving this time.  Ron’s little sister!  It was Ron’s job to look out for her. Ginny. Ron kept digging. She’d tried to talk to them at breakfast.  Tried to tell them something important.  He should have gone after her.  Should have checked in on her.  This was all his fault. Ron heard motion to his right, and from his peripheral, he saw Lockhart sidle up.  The man merely stood there, hands in his pockets, looking the wall of rock quizzically up and down. “Are you going to help, or what?” snapped Ron when Lockhart made no move. “What are we looking for?” Lockhart asked with the casual air of one inquiring if he might have dropped his quill. Ron let the rock he’d just pulled from the wall fall and straightened, dusting off his hands as he glared at Lockhart.  “Harry?  Ginny?” he allowed the contempt to drip into every word, couldn’t help but add “idiot,” under his breath.  He knew Hermione would have been lecturing him on proper respect for a teacher if she could hear.  “On the other side of this rockfall, remember?” “Oh dear!  So sorry to hear you lost your little friend.  Cute little buggers, aren’t they?  But I’m afraid I don’t like them much.  Make me itch.  So perhaps I shouldn’t help you search.” Ron stared at him, face frozen in slack-jawed incredulity.  “Huh?” he managed after a moment. Lockhart looked back at him.  He blinked at Ron as though just as confused.  “Guinea pigs.  They make me itch.  Did… did you not just say you lost your hairy guinea pig?” Ron gaped at him.  “Ginny,” he enunciated very clearly, anger rising.  “Ginny.  My sister!  Not guinea pig!  Ginny!  What the blazes is the matter with you!” “Your sister?  Goodness!  What’s she doing in a place like this?  In fact,” Lockhart paused to look around the tunnel as though he’d only just thought of something.  “What are any of us doing in a place like this?  Awfully cold and damp, isn’t it.  A body could catch his death down here.” There was silence for a moment as Ron stared at Lockhart and Lockhart stared at something moist dripping down one wall.  “Are you taking the piss?” Lockhart turned back.  He opened his mouth, then closed it as he stared at Ron in confusion.  He looked down at the front of his trousers, then back to Ron.  “Er… No.  I don’t seem to be.  But, now you mention it, I could rather use the loo.  Is there a toilet down here?” “…Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” Ron buried his face in his hands rather than have to look at that daft fool for even another second. “I am rather particular about a clean toilet, mind,” Lockhart continued sceptically as he continued to take in their surroundings.  “I’d rather hold it than go somewhere… unsanitary.  But if you know of a toilet that’s clean and private.  I’m rather partial to brass fittings and lilac wallpaper, but I suppose we can’t be so very picky.” Ron felt something inside him snap.  “Don’t you get it?”  He dropped his hands from his face to glare at Lockhart.  Patience was, let’s be honest, never his greatest virtue anyway.  “My sister and my best mate are trapped down here unless I move this rock.  And so are we!  Don’t you get that?  We’re trapped.  And while you’re standing there, planning your next remodel, they might already be… already be…  It’s my job to look out for her!  She’s my little sister.  And I let her be taken.  And for all I know she’s already…”  He couldn’t choke out the words.  Saying it aloud was to acknowledge the very real likelihood that it was true. “Well, there’s no need to be so upset.  If you wanted help, you could have just said something, after all.  I suppose I can hold it, though they do say it can increase your risk of bladder infection and maybe even damage your kidneys or prostate, I’m just saying.  Now wait a minute, who said that again?  I can’t recall where I leaned that, let me think…  Was it in school?  Strange, I can’t seem to remember where I went to school.  Or perhaps I work in the medical profession?  No, that doesn’t seem right.  What do I do for a living?  How odd.  Can’t remember.  Hang on now, what was my name again?” Ron squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep breath through his nose.  He summoned his void as best he could, but Lockhart’s infuriating voice continued to pierce through.  “Look,” Ron growled through clenched teeth over the other man’s ramblings.  He opened his eyes and looked at Lockhart with an internal prayer for patience.  “Your name is Gilderoy Lockhart—”  Lockhart laughed at his own name (“Gilderoy.  That would be hilarious,”), but Ron talked over him.  “Your Memory Charm backfired—that’s why you can’t remember anything.  But if we get out of here, we can get you to a Healer, and they’ll help you get your memories back.  In the meantime, can you just shut up and help me move this rock?”  He turned back to the gap he’d managed to make in the rock and continued his work to widen it.  It was almost big enough for him to squeeze through.  When it was, he would ditch Lockhart and go on ahead to find Harry and Ginny.  Because he wasn’t sure he could stand another five minutes with the dolt. “Alright, alright,” sighed Lockhart dramatically.  “I do hope I don’t break a nail.  There’s nothing worse is there?  Pangs every time you use that finger for the rest of the week!”  Ron bit his tongue as he left a smear of blood across the next rock he pried out of the wall.  “So what do I do?” Lockhart continued.  Just pull them out like this?” Ron was just turning around to snap at Lockhart to just figure it out and quit stalling when he felt his eyes widen in horror.  But it was too late.  Lockhart had grasped a clearly weight-bearing rock right under one of the cracks in the ceiling and tugged. “LOOK OUT!”  Ron dove and tackled Lockhart out of the way as a huge slab of rock cashed down exactly where they had been standing. Arms covering his head where he lay on top of Lockhart, he listened to the sounds of falling rubble in terror as small pebbles bounced off him.  When they seemed to be in the clear he lowered his arms and looked round.  Then he groaned.  Half the progress he had made had just been buried in rock again. “I say!” said Lockhart behind him.  “This place doesn’t seem to be structurally sound!  Not at all.  We really ought to get out of here before— OUCH!” Ron winced slightly at the pain in his foot, but it was worth any amount of pain to have shut Lockhart up for a moment.  Lockhart rubbed at his shin and bit his lip.  It wouldn’t last.  But it was nice for a moment. “Alright.  New plan,” said Ron through gritted teeth.  “Sit here.  Stay there.  Be quiet.”  Yes.  He liked that plan better.  Ron returned to the gap in the rockfall, sighed, and got back to work. Lockhart’s voice continued to float across to him, but Ron ignored it, and Lockhart didn’t seem to require an answer to his babble anyway.  “Should really have a contractor down to look at this.  Doesn’t seem to be a job for children.  Should probably leave it to the professionals…” The hour has to be up, Ron thought.  He grunted in exertion as he managed to drag a particularly large rock out of the way.  Harry, where are you?  What am I supposed to do if you don’t come back? “Probably could use some support beams or something.  And I can’t help but feel we should be wearing helmets.  But maybe it’s better this way.  Helmets do tend to make the hair terribly flat, don’t they…” The gap in the wall was getting there.  It was almost as wide as he’d had it before.  A few more rocks and he’d be able to squeeze through.  But it was wide enough for Harry and Ginny, he thought.  If they managed to… If they weren’t already… Then he paused because he heard something over Lockhart’s chatter. “Ron!” The hail echoed softly from down the tunnel.  Had he imagined it? “Shhh!” Ron hushed Lockhart, listening hard.  To his relief, Lockhart complied.  There were footsteps moving fast in their direction.  More than one set? “Ron!  Ginny’s okay!  I’ve got her!” A sound escaped Ron’s lips without him planning it: something somewhere between a whoop and a sob.  He craned his neck to look through the gap he’d managed to make in the rockfall, and there they were, rounding a bend and running in his direction. “Ginny!” Ron croaked.  He thrust his hand through to help pull her through the hole, and she came tumbling directly into his arms.  He looked her over, eyes raking over every inch of her desperately to see if she was hurt.  Then he pulled her into a hug.  “You’re alive!  I don’t believe it!  What happened?  How—what—where did that bird come from?” he asked distractedly as a large fiery red bird swooped through the gap in the wall. “He’s Dumbledore’s,” said Harry as he clambered through himself. Ron turned to assess his best friend and be sure he was alright too, but then there were even more distractions.  Harry was smiling with evident exhilaration, but he was completely covered in muck and slime and was that blood?  And in his hand— “How come you’ve got a sword?” Ron blurted. Ron gaped.  Harry looked every bit the hero, standing there covered in blood and holding a sword.  And Ron had just sat here moving rocks for an hour. “I’ll explain when we get out of here,” replied Harry. “But—” “Later,” Harry insisted, and Ron noticed him looking worriedly toward Ginny. Ron followed his gaze down.  His arm still rested around her shoulders.  She was looking down at her feet with tears streaming down her cheeks.  She was so pale and looked weak and tired, and Ron had no idea what was going on, what had happened to her, what might still happen to her.  But it didn’t matter.  Ron pulled her into a hug, screwing his eyes shut and drew in his deep calming breaths through his nose.  Ginny wiped her tear-streaked face against his shoulder. For some reason, Ron found himself thinking of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle.  No.  He wasn’t thinking of Martin.  He was thinking of Eugene.  He remembered how in Volume #37, while Martin had been Muggle duelling with the bullies, it had been Eugene who, having fallen to the floor, had noticed the trap door to the claw machine had been left open.  It had been Eugene who had retrieved the teddy bear for Martin’s sister’s birthday gift.  And in Volume #22, while maybe it was Martin who climbed down the well to save the lost kitten, it had been Eugene who had gone to fetch a rope to help him get back out.  And in Volume #41, when Martin had been trying to convince Stella Strout to go to the dance with him, it had been Eugene who had given him the bouquet of roses from his mother’s garden after Martin had lost his on the bus.  And in Volume #11… Ginny sniffed, and Ron tightened the arm around her shoulders.  It doesn’t matter what happened.  Not right this second.  It’s all okay.  I’ll look out for you, he thought into his void.  I'm your big brother.  It’s my job to look out for you. A vague mumble floated down the dark passageway and penetrated his void.  “Glad you found your guinea pig.”   Ron groaned.

[ala-baguette]

The Kneazle was originally bred in Britain, though it is now exported worldwide. A small catlike creature with flecked, speckled, or spotted fur, outsize ears, and a tail like a lion's, the Kneazle is intelligent, independent, and occasionally aggressive, though if it takes a liking to a witch or wizard, it makes an excellent pet. The Kneazle has an uncanny ability to detect unsavoury or suspicious characters and can be relied upon to guide its owner safely home if they are lost. Kneazles have up to eight kittens in a litter and can interbreed with cats. Licences are required for ownership as Kneazles are sufficiently unusual in appearance to attract Muggle interest.

New chapter is up!

Join Newt as he seeks solve the mystery of Lady Corbyn’s missing brooch with a couple of unlikely assistants.

Fandom: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Newt Scamander

Additional Tags: Mystery, Adventure, Epistolary, Episodic Narrative, Historical Fantasy, Prequel, Travel, Magizoology (Harry Potter)

Summary:  The year is 1913. War is brewing in both the Muggle world and the Magical one, and the whole world can feel it coming. But who has time to worry about such things when there are creatures to save?  Join Newt as he travels the world, meeting new friends and foes, exploring new terrains, experiencing new cultures, and, of course, studying the wonders of all the fantastic beasts and where to find them.