#and i had to write it down the same way a white prophet has to write their dreams lmao

[papervenom]

✩ chapter six: return to hogwarts ✩

summary: summer ends with questions and unease: no word from cedric, a train ride laced with tension, and a whisper of something big about to unfold at hogwarts. everyone’s keeping secrets, especially the ministry, and your return to the castle doesn’t come with the same comfort it used to. the air feels different this year. heavier. like something’s about to begin.

chapter warnings: sexual tension!! mild jealousy/insecurity, more classism from draco

word count: 5.9k

INSATIABLE MASTERLIST⋆˙⟡

There was no possible way for us to get back to The Burrow that same night, with Amos Diggory having taken the last available Portkey, so we stayed in our tent for the remaining hours until we could use our originally intended Portkey that was scheduled for the morning. 

We laid in our bunks in silence, not being able to sleep— after everything that happened, and then packed what was left of our things to head back home. 

We soon found ourselves walking back through Ottery St. Catchpole and arrived at The Burrow by early morning. 

We talked very little considering how exhausted we were, and were hoping Mrs.Weasley prepared us some breakfast. 

As soon as we cornered the village and walked closer to the Weasley's home, we heard a cry and Molly was running towards us with open arms.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!" she sobbed. 

She was still wearing her bedroom slippers and had a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

 "Arthur— I've been so worried! So, so worried!"

She hugged Mr. Weasley tightly, and the newspaper fell on the ground. 

Harry picked it up and we leaned in to read the headline.

   SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP

There was a black and white moving picture right under it of the Dark Mark over the treetops. 

It looked sinister and my stomach turned when thinking that whoever cast it was only a couple of feet away from us when they did. 

"You're alright," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, looking around us with red eyes. 

We took our turns hugging her tightly. 

"You're alive... Oh, boys... " Molly seized the twins and pulled them down to her height in such a tight hug that their heads banged together. 

"Mum—"

"— you're strangling us—"

 "I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley starting to sob again. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't good grades on your exams? Oh, Fred... George..." 

Arthur dragged Molly away, to the twins' relief, and we entered the house. 

We were soon all crammed into the tiny kitchen and I rushed over to make tea for everyone. 

Mrs.Weasley insisted that I poured a bit of Firewhisky in her cup.

Arthur caught Molly up on everything that happened at the World Cup. 

We drank our tea in silence as we listened to him recount the events.

"Mrs. Weasley— Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?" Harry asked her, his green eyes looking at Molly hopefully. 

I told him to write a letter to Sirius and I assumed he was now waiting for his answer.

"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley absentmindedly. "No...no, there hasn't been any post at all. "

Harry sighed and I frowned at him. 

Ron and Hermione looked between the both of us curiously and we all excused ourselves to go upstairs so we could talk. 

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked the moment we had closed the door of Ron's room.

 I laid on Ron's bed, my hair sprawling around me like a halo. 

Ron looked at me in awe and gulped nervously.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry told Hermione. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again." 

Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning several book references, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. 

"I was dreaming about Voldemort, too... him and Peter— you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill... someone."

"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but was it, though?" asked Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it?.... My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't. Say. His. Name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. 

I rolled my eyes at Ron and sat up from the bed, standing to be by Harry's side. 

Harry's eyes were searching the clouds as if expecting to see Hedwig there and I could tell his mind was running.

"Don't overthink it. Sirius will get back to us soon and maybe he'll know what to do. We'll figure everything out then, alright?" I murmured to Harry, hugging him from behind and resting my chin on his shoulder. 

He nodded and leaned back to the hug.

"You wrote to Sirius?" Hermione asked, and Harry nodded, turning to face her.

"Well, he might be really far away and Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days, so it might take a while," Hermione said reasonably. 

"Yeah, I know..." 

To get Harry's mind off everything, Ron suggested they play a game of Quidditch out in the garden with the rest of the Weasley brothers with the exception of Percy.

Hermione, Ginny, and I laid on the lawn lazily and watched the game. 

Seeing them play only reminded me of the last time I was in the exact spot on the grass watching the Quidditch match the day that Cedric joined.

It was a perfect evening and it wasn't that long ago, even though it felt like it. 

"What are you thinking about, (Y/N)?" asked Hermione, looking up from her book. 

I laughed softly at how easily my friend could read me.

"Just about how Cedric was here playing Quidditch with the boys a few weeks ago... It was quite weird— the way Amos ran off with him last night, wasn't it? And I haven't heard from Cedric since..."

"Well... I don't think the Diggory's have ever been through something as intense as last night. We're kind of desensitized to everything..." Hermione replied, thoroughly thinking over her words as she spoke.

"Yeah, well... we didn't expect the Death Eaters to come and start wreaking havoc, did we?" I argued.

"We didn't... but you can't deny that we always find ourselves in these situations. Like, what are the chances that the person who cast the Dark Mark wasn't too far away from us? We almost got Stupefied because of it! We've been through worse which is why we don't think it's a big deal but it might've been too much for Amos Diggory... he probably doesn't want Cedric around anything like that anymore..."

I thought over what Hermione was saying and started panicking. 

"So, you think that Cedric's dad doesn't like me? He probably told Cedric to stay away... that's why he hasn't come over... Shit..." I started putting everything together in my head. 

My eyebrows were pulled together and I was frowning at the thought that I might've just lost my chance with Cedric because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Hermione..." Ginny scolded at her after I was visibly freaking out. 

Ginny then sat up and put her hand on my shoulder gently.

"I wouldn't worry about it, (Y/N). Cedric likes you a lot. If this is really the case, I'm sure he won't let his dad interfere..." she soothed, reassuring me. 

Hermione nodded, smiling at me weakly. 

I could tell she felt guilty for sending me into a spiral so I nodded at them both, showing them that I was fine, and pushed all thoughts away. 

For the following week, Mr. Weasley nor Percy have been home much. 

They would leave for the Ministry before we would wake up and return after dinner. 

I made it a habit to look out of the window anxiously every day, expecting to see a 6'1 brunette looking back at me with his warm, grey eyes that usually lit up every time he saw me— but he never was there. 

So instead, I focused on making the best out of the few days that we had left at The Burrow.

Rain was lashing against the living room window. 

Hermione and I were looking over our books for our fourth year that Mrs. Weasley purchased for us at Diagon Alley the past week. 

Harry was polishing his Firebolt, Ron was playing Wizard's Chess with Bill, and the twins were in the corner, whispering to each other as they bent over a piece of parchment. 

"What are you two up to?" asked Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins. 

"Homework," replied Fred airly.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," agreed George vaguely.

 "You're not, by any chance, writing out a new order form, are you? You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"

"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her with a disappointed expression on his face. 

The corners of my lips tugged upward at seeing this, noticing how much he looked like his father right then.

"If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

We all laughed loudly, even Mrs. Weasley.

They seemed to still be poking fun of their mother's relief when seeing them arrive from the World Cup. 

Every night after dinner, we made it a habit to go up to Ron's room to talk until it was time to go to bed. 

Recently, it became quite awkward for me because Ron has been asking if Cedric and I weren't seeing each other anymore, not even bothering to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

One morning, I even overheard Bill and Charlie giving Ron advice about me. 

'Just tell her how you feel.'

'You'll regret it if you don't.'

I've been wary about spending time with Ron because of this— afraid that he might confess his feelings, if we found ourselves alone.

I knew I should've let him know how I felt sooner rather than later, but I couldn't help but fear that it would put a strain on our friendship that would affect our friendship with Harry and Hermione, too.

It was just last year that The Golden Trio's friendship almost ended, after all, and that was due solely to a broomstick and the feud between Crookshanks and Scabbers. 

I couldn't imagine the aftermath of me rejecting Ron. 

The rain sounded even louder as we all headed up to Ron's room at the top of the house. 

There were loud whistlings and moans of the wind which caused Ron's owl, Pidwidgeon, to twitter around frenziedly in his cage

"Throw him some Owl Treats, it might shut him up," said Ron, throwing the packet over to Harry. 

Hermione and I watched as Harry poked a few treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon's cage, giggling at the sight of the small owl stuffing his face. 

"Look, here's more of the stuff Mum got youse from Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold out of your vault for you..." Ron passed a pile of parcels over to Harry, Hermione, and me. 

We got our books directly from Molly, earlier, but now we each had new quills, dozen rolls of parchment, refills on our potions for Snape's class, and our money bags were filled again. 

We were looking through our things and got distracted by Ron making a noise of disgust.

"What?" I asked him alarmingly. 

"What is this supposed to be?" he was holding up something that looked like a long, maroon velvet dress. 

It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes. 

"Here you kids are," she said, sorting them into four piles. "Now, mind you pack them properly so they don't crease. "

"Mum, you've given me Ginny's dress," said Ron, handing it out to her. 

"Of course I haven't. That's for you. Dress robes."

"What?" asked Ron, looking horror-struck. 

Hermione and I bit down on our lips instantly, trying to suppress a laugh.

"Dress robes!" repeated Mrs. Weasley. "It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year... robes for formal occasions."

"You've got to be kidding!" yelled Ron in disbelief. "I'm not wearing that, no way."

"Everyone wears them, Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley crossly. "They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!"

"I'll go nude before I put that on," said Ron stubbornly. 

Hermione and I made the mistake of looking at each other and broke into a fit of giggles which only made Ron more frustrated.

"Don't be so silly," said Mrs. Weasley over us. "You've got to have dress robes, they're on your list! I got some for Harry too... show him, Harry..."

We all looked at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to pull out something as hideous as Ron's dress robes, but his were actually decent. 

They didn't have any frills or lace anywhere and were a dark green. It looked like a tux. 

"I thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear," said Mrs. Weasley fondly. 

"Well, they're okay!" said Ron angrily, looking at Harry's robes. "Why couldn't I have some like that?"

"Well, ...I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choices..." said Mrs. Weasley, her face turning bright pink. 

Harry and I looked away. 

I knew that he would've done the same thing I would and paid for new Dress Robes for Ron. 

In fact, I  would give the Weasleys half my money— if I could, but they would never accept it.

 "I'm never wearing them. Never." Ron shook his head, his mouth pressing to a line as he tossed the Dress Robes aside.

"Fine," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "Go naked. And, (Y/N), make sure you get a picture of him with that camera of yours. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."

She then left the room, slamming the door behind her. 

༻✦༺

September 1st, 1994

There was a sadness in the air on the morning that we woke up to get everything ready to head to the Hogwarts Express. 

Our summer was over and the heavy rain outside didn't waste any time reminding us about it. 

We got dressed in sweatshirts and jeans, put our robes to the front of our trunks to change into when we were on the train, and hauled our luggage downstairs. 

"I'd better hurry... you have a good term, kids. Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?" Mr. Weasley asked and  frantically rummaged around the kitchen. 

He barely looked at us twice when saying goodbye and I knew he was to leave for the Ministry with Percy at any given moment. 

"Of course I will," Molly called from somewhere upstairs. 

As soon as he heard this, Arthur was gone. 

"What's all this?" I asked the room as I approached a box of clothes by the foot of the door. 

"We're throwing our clothes away— too small," responded Fred, looking up from his breakfast.

"Isn't it Ron's turn to wear these, then?" I looked over at Ron skeptically and he blushed. 

Ron still had a bit to grow, and I figured he would probably be Fred and George's size in a year or so. They were just a bit taller than he was. 

"Ickle Ronnikins here put his foot down and demanded that he gets some new clothes, haven't you?" George mocked his younger brother in a babyish voice as he ruffled his hair. 

This just made Ron redden even more. 

I looked through the oversized shirts and sweaters, and I knew that judging by the boys' height, most of this stuff would fit me like dresses. 

I ran my hands over the comfortable fabrics, and with a shrug, I opened my luggage and started stuffing the boys' clothes inside. 

I then disappeared into the bathroom to strip myself off from the sweater I was wearing and replaced it with one of the twin's sweaters.

I returned to the Weasleys with a grin, flapping the humungous sleeves around— making them laugh.

"You're getting lost under that, (Y/L/N)" chortled George.

"I don't mind. It's comfy! Thanks for the new clothes," I beamed at the twins, rolling the sleeves up as much as I could.

"You're welcome... you look good. You definitely suit it better than this prat ever could." Fred said gesturing to Ron. 

Fred's eyes traveled down my figure, making me feel shy so I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously and sat down for breakfast. 

Bill and Charlie bounded down the stairs a few moments later to share a last meal together before we left for the station.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,"  said Charlie, smiling through a mouthful of porridge. 

"Why?" asked Fred keenly. 

"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it...it's 'classified information, until the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all. "

"Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, chewing on his toast and he had a wistful look in his eyes.

"Why?" George asked impatiently. 

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it. "

"A bit of what?" asked Ron. 

"You'll see."

"Mum! Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Ron demanded to his mother as she came rushing down the stairs. "What rules are they changing?"

"You two can't keep your bloody mouths shut, can you?" Molly shot a quick glare at her eldest sons. 

This only piqued our interest even more but we didn't get any  more information than that. 

After breakfast, Molly called the Ottery St. Catchpole's post office and ordered us Muggle taxis to take us to London. 

While we waited, I took the opportunity to call my mother to tell her I was heading to the castle, and that I'd be calling her from there from now on.

Platform Nine and Three quarters didn't intimidate me this time around as it did last year. 

I walked into the barrier after Harry did and came face to face with the gleaming, scarlet train that was the Hogwarts Express. 

We set off to find a compartment to store our luggage in and hopped back down onto the platform to say goodbye to Molly.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," I thanked her sweetly as I went to hug her tightly. 

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. 

"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," Molly cooed with a teary smile. "I'd invite you over for Christmas, but... well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, with... one thing and another."

"Mum!" complained Ron irritably. "What d'you know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting—mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules—"

"What rules?" we all asked together exasperatedly.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you... Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

The twins agreed with a grumble and we boarded the train. 

The pistons hissed loudly and the Hogwarts Express soon began to move. 

Mrs. Weasley smiled and waved at us until the train had rounded the corner,  and she disappeared from view. 

We went back to our compartment and settled down for the long ride. 

It was pouring so heavily outside that we couldn't see a thing past the thick rain that was splattering down. 

"We almost found out what's happening at Hogwarts " Ron suddenly said grumpily. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what it is?"

"I don't know, but the whole Ministry is in on it, too. Your dad, Percy, Crouch, and Bagman all knew..." Harry added, counting the names off with his fingers.

"Amos Diggory also mentioned that he was working on something related to it when I visited for lunch," I commented and we all frowned, looking at each other in frustration as we racked our brains to try and figure out what could be happening at our school. 

Just then, I heard a familiar voice next to our compartment. 

Ron was about to speak up but I shushed him, pressing my finger to my lips as I tried to listen.

  "... Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster there. Well, you know his opinion on Dumbledore— the man's such a Mudblood-lover, and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of bullshit. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense idiocy we do... "

My mouth dropped as I heard Draco snide off to his friends, and I started getting up to argue with him for calling Dumbledore a Mudblood-lover but Hermione pulled me down and Ron got up to shut the door to our compartment so we couldn't hear Draco anymore.

 "So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" I seethed angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with that motherfucker."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry asked Hermione. 

"Yes," replied Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," said Ron. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they? There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets. But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far North. Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms..." said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron interjected dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident... Shame his mother likes him..."

The corners of my lips tugged to a smile. 

Only Ron could bring me down from blinding anger and once he noticed, we shared a laugh at what he said.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" The trolley lady asked, poking her head in our compartment. 

I scooped up my money bag and approached the cart. 

There were various of sweets and snacks for the ride, that I didn't know which to choose. 

"A packet of Drooble's... a Licorice Wand..." Ron started ordering as he stood up to pay, counting the coins in his hand, and then his face fell. 

"On second thought, just the Drooble's..."

"I can get it—" Both Harry and I started offering but Ron shook his head, putting the Licorice Wand back into the cart and paid quickly. 

"Just the Drooble's. Thanks." He sighed and sat back down. 

"Four Cauldron Cakes, and two Licorice Wands, please," I asked the lady sweetly.

"(Y/N), you didn't have to do that..." Ron mumbled, embarrassed.

"I know, but I did." I smiled at Ron and passed him the sweet he wanted. 

I handed each of my friends a Cauldron Cake and as I was paying, I noticed that Harry tensed right next to me. 

I glanced up and my heart sank when I saw what he was looking at. 

Walking towards us in the corridor was Cedric and Cho, deep in conversation— just as amicably as I've seen them talk before when they were seeing each other. 

By the looks of it, Cedric was saying something that was apparently really fucking funny because Cho was laughing gleefully. 

As they approached us, Cedric finally locked eyes with me and I swear Cho seemed smug. 

"Two Pumpkin Pasties, please. Oh, hi Harry." Cho greeted Harry flirtly. 

I sighed softly and turned around to enter my compartment.

"He's with Cho again!?" Hermione whispered to me once I sat down by her side again. 

I silently shrugged and dug around my bag, desperately looking for my Discman.

"(Y/N)..." I heard my name being called from the doorway and I looked up to see Cedric. 

The trolley lady had gone, and behind him, Cho and Harry were talking. 

"Can we talk? Please?" He urged me. His grey eyes looked at me pleadingly and he looked so painfully beautiful that I had to remind myself to breathe. 

Ron and Hermione were looking between the both of us skeptically and I figured that if we were to speak, it'd be best we do it away from them so I nodded and followed him out to the corridor. 

We walked past the other compartments who were getting louder as we walked by. 

Heads were sticking out to look at me and I heard a few jeers and wolf-whistling as some boys I didn't know cat-called me. 

I glowered at them and got ready to defend myself but Cedric beat me to it.

"Shut up! Get back in your compartment!" He spat and flicked his wand, slamming their door shut. 

My eyes widened, never having seen Cedric yell at anyone before. 

It was wildly attractive. 

Prefect duties suited him well.

We finally got to a compartment that looked fancier than the others. 

It had a dark, wooden table in the middle and the seats were made out of red velvet. 

"I haven't heard from you in weeks," I said to him as I took a seat. 

He remained standing, staring at me intently and my eyes didn't break away from his.

"I know... I'm sorry. I wanted to visit you, I really did. But I got in a discussion with my father and I didn't want to push any limits. He was really worried after that night."

Hermione was right. 

Even though I already expected this to be the reason for his absence— my heart was still in my throat. 

I took a deep breath, my gaze flickering down to look at my hands as I tried to hide any trace of sadness in my face. 

"So... your dad doesn't like me now?" 

"I didn't say that." Cedric shook his head, crouching in front of me so I could look him in the eye and he cupped my hands in his. "(Y/N), I didn't say that." 

"What else could the discussion be about, then, if you couldn't talk to me after the night of the Quidditch Final?" 

"What happened that night wasn't... normal. There's always trouble surrounding Harry Potter. You're too good of a friend to realize that and it's going to get you into bigger conflicts just for being involved with him. You ended up in the hospital wing last year! Harry has gotten his friends involved in reckless and dangerous situations that they shouldn't have been in ever since he arrived at Hogwarts. My father doesn't think you should be mixed up in those—"

"And Harry deserves to go through all that?" I scoffed a humorless laugh and stood up from my seat, yanking my hands away from his.

 "What you and your father don't understand is that Harry doesn't go looking for trouble. He's quite literally been damned since birth and I'm not stupid, Cedric. I'm aware that there is probably so much more shit ahead of us but I don't care! I choose to be there for my friend! He doesn't make me do anything! Listen, I can't do this right now—" I sighed exasperatedly and reached for the door to leave. 

Cedric beat me to it and shut the compartment door, huffing frustratedly as he pulled me closer to him. 

"Is it so wrong for me to want you to be safe?" he murmured gently, "to not want anything bad to happen to you?" 

His thumb caressed my cheek softly and I forgot what we were talking about for a moment. 

Our faces were the closest they have ever been, so much so that I could feel his warm, minty breath on my face and it distracted me. 

"I can take care of myself, Diggory..." I smiled at him coyly. "So what now? You gonna stop talking to me because I won't keep away from Harry?" I spoke just above a whisper, challenging him as I arched my eyebrow. 

He seemed just as dazed as I was to be this close. His pearly grey eyes flickering down to my lips as I spoke. 

"Even Amos wouldn't be able to keep me away from you," he breathed out, and I immediately started grinning. 

I wanted nothing more than to kiss him and he seemed to be having the same idea in mind, putting his hand on the small of my back and pulling me forward. 

I wrapped my hands around the nape of his neck and got on the tip of my toes to be able to meet his lips but then the door to the compartment swung open, making us pull away. 

"Oh! Hi, (Y/N)!" Cho called from the doorway. 

There was a big group of giggling Ravenclaw girls behind her, craning their neck to take a look at us.

"Cho just became a Prefect." Cedric murmured to me and I noticed that she was wearing a gleaming Prefect pin on her robes that was similar to Cedric's. 

"Congratulations." I smiled at her politely. 

My heart was still beating fast at the near-kiss I shared with Cedric and I frankly couldn't care less about Cho becoming a Prefect at the moment.

"Thanks... Cedric has been such a great help." Cho gushed, smirking a bit. 

I looked at Cedric and saw him staring back at her blankly, and quickly understood that Cho was probably just trying to get under my skin. 

"I bet he has." I squeezed Cedric's hand reassuringly, letting him know that I wasn't bothered. 

"I'll see you later?" I whispered to him and he nodded. 

We shared a lingering smile as I slipped out of the Prefect compartment and headed back to my friends. 

Once walking in, I noticed that Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom have joined our compartment to talk to Harry and Ron. 

Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette from the World Cup. Neville listened jealously to the boys' conversation as they relived the Cup match.

"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounds like it was amazing though." 

"Hi, guys!" I greeted them brightly and Dean, Neville, and Seamus all stared at me with stunned expressions as I sat down next to Hermione. 

"It was," said Ron, frowning at how distracted the boys got once I walked in. 

He snapped his fingers in front of their faces and regained their attention. 

I felt great appreciation for Ron. 

I noticed that this year the boys were reacting to me a bit more. 

It was getting to a point where it was borderline disrespectful, so I made a mental note to mention it to Professor McGonagall, since she offered to help me last year. 

 "Look at this, Neville... " Ron rummaged in his trunk and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum that he purchased.

"Oh wow," said Neville enviously as he took the Krum figurine in his hand and watched him walk around.

 "We saw him right up close, as well!" exclaimed Ron. "We were in the Top Box—"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley." Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway. 

Behind him stood Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and a few other of his Slytherin friends that I didn't recognize. 

They were all staring at us smugly behind Draco. 

Evidently, they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which had been left ajar.

"Gods, help me," I murmured out, hoping I had the patience for this bullshit. 

I already burned so much of my energy in the mild discussion with Cedric.

I wanted nothing more but to get to the feast in the Great Hall and go straight to bed afterwards. 

 "Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry boredly. 

"Weasley... what is that?" asked Malfoy, ignoring Harry and pointing at Ron's dress robes that were draped over Pigwidgeon's cage.

Ron tried to swiftly stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him, seizing one of the sleeves and pulling it towards him.

"Look at this!" cried Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing his friends, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean— they were very probably fashionable in the 1890s..."

"Eat shit, Malfoy" said Ron. His face the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. 

Malfoy howled with derisive laughter, his friends chorusing stupidly.

"So... you going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name?There's money involved as well, you know... you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won... "

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron. 

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or fuck off," I finally spoke up to him, my voice coming out cold. 

Draco smirked once his eyes met with mine. 

They raked down my body and a sly smile spread across his pale face.

"Or maybe you'd want to enter, love? Don't tell me carrothead over here hasn't told you what's going on at Hogwarts? Hmm?" 

He looked at Ron with an incredulous smile. 

"You've got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don't know what's happening? Merlin, my father told me about it ages ago... But then again, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry... Maybe your father's too insignificant to know about it, Weasley... yeah, that's probably it... they don't talk about important stuff in front of him... "

Ron's face was boiling and I couldn't take it anymore so I stood up and shoved Draco past the doorway and slammed our compartment door shut. 

I heard the Slytherin's laughter outside as they headed back to their seats.

"Making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled. "'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry'... Dad could've gotten a promotion any time! He just likes working where he is!"

"Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron..." I said to him quietly, sitting by his side.

"He hasn't gotten to me," muttered Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp. 

His bad mood caused Dean, Seamus, and Neville to leave our compartment and he remained moody for the rest of the journey. 

He didn't talk much as we changed into our school robes and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. 

The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over our heads. 

 "Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform. 

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

A hundred of horseless carriages stood waiting for us outside the station. 

We were relieved when climbing inside, shutting the door behind us with a snap. 

A few moments later, all the carriages lurched in motion as it lead us up the pathway towards the Hogwarts Castle.

✩ next chapter: the triwizard tournament ✩

[beastsovrevelation]

I don't know whether I'll ever actually write Yellowjackets fanfiction (I might have to though), so here's an idea I had... It's weird.

Note 1.: This isn't an actual fic, just a plot of a longfic I've dreamed up, along with some musings.

Note 2.: At the point of posting this, I've seen 3.08, not beyond, so anything beyond doesn't matter.

Note 3.: Yes, I'm quite aware certain details aren't from actual Greek mythology, I'm a damn Classical student, and I'm taking all the creative license I fancy.

-���-

Basically, when Jackie has sex with Travis, the resident deity possesses him, to impregnate her. The deity is in fact Artemis, so... Of course a Greek goddess would pull something like that, you know how Greek gods are.

The frenzied girls bust into the attic during the process, and Lottie sees Artemis' beast form on top of Jackie. The beast form is an all white peryton by the way, with silver antlers and hooves (yes, antlers, even though she's female), the wings of a buzzard, the tongue of a serpent, and the teeth of a dog.

Jackie and Shauna have their fallout, but Lottie forbids Jackie from leaving the cabin, literally bodyblocking the door. Following Lottie's lead, everyone starts protecting and worshipping Jackie, since in their eyes, she's now a Mary-like figure. They give her the warmest clothes, the most comfortable bed, and the most food. She resists, she's still depressed, and creeped out, but the others don't listen, they objectify her as much as they venerate her. Shauna she stays away from the newfound cult, and the others are irate, but Jackie orders them to leave her be. Jackie's made the official leader, except everyone still mostly obeys Lottie.

So, Jackie and Shauna are pregnant at the same time. There's a gaping rift between them of course, they don't speak to each other. Like Nat, Jackie's frustrated with Lottie for giving Travis false hope about Javi being alive. Deep down, she knows "the Wilderness" is real, and that she's pregnant by "it", yet she refuses to accept it. She grows rather close to Nat, after all, Nat still treats her like a normal person. Jackie's denial is shattered when Artemis visits her in a dream - instead, it's replaced by (very understandable) anger, at the goddess, and about the pregnancy. Artemis keeps reaching out to her via dreams and visions, which she pointedly ignores. She only shares what's going on with Nat, who remains skeptical, but is very supportive. Lottie, who knows about Artemis' efforts despite Jackie keeping away from her, encourages her to embrace "the Wilderness", which causes her to snap. Her rejection of Lottie wavers when sleepwalking Tai locates Javi, and she reluctantly begins attending the meditation meetings, telling herself it's not wise to remain out of touch, though of course, her distrust persists.

When Shauna goes into labor, Jackie prays to Artemis out of despair, promising to do whatever she wants, if she saves Shauna. Artemis grants her wish, however, the baby boy dies. Later, after Jackie retreats outside for a breath, Artemis appears to her. Jackie is furious at her about the baby's death, but so she has to keep her end of the deal, since she did ask for Shauna's survival only. Artemis tells Jackie the baby was never meant to live, and the sacrifice will give their child strength, but instead of comforting her, it does the opposite. Jackie stays away from Shauna, and the chasm between them only grows wider, due to the weight of what Jackie knows, and Shauna's boiling resentment. When Shauna lashes out, Lottie steps in, fearing Shauna may hurt Jackie. Lottie's sacrifice makes Jackie feel extreme guilt, so she cares for Lottie's injuries. In fear of losing the prophet, the others decide on the draw; Artemis warns Jackie not to stop them - Lottie's injuries are too dire for her death to be prevented, her soul may only be replaced by another. When Nat draws the Queen of Hearts, Jackie pleads Artemis to pick someone else. The goddess complies, fond enough of her anointed champion, and causes Javi to perish during the hunt for Nat. Jackie is heartbroken about Javi's death, yet relieved it's him instead of Nat. When Lottie finds out about the hunt and is upset, Jackie informs her there was no other choice, as the group needs her. At last strong enough to rise from her sickbed, Lottie insists she's not the one to rely on anymore - everyone must heed Jackie. To Jackie's dismay, everyone complies this time. Of course, unbeknownst to the group, her authority will only succeed to a point, for it's outmatched by the influence of "the Wilderness".

The fire happens. Artemis asks Persephone for help (the group won't survive in winter without shelter; space in the caves is too tight for that many people, besides, it's not time for Ben to die yet). Persephone ushers in spring, but later appears to Jackie, warning her it won't last forever, and that Artemis craves blood. Jackie asks her about the souls of those who died, and Persephone informs her the mountains does not let go of those they claims. Jackie at last settles into her role as leader, with Nat as her right hand, both of them trying to make the small community prosper to the best of their abilities. Being pregnant slowly grows on Jackie, and she realizes she loves the baby; Shauna can tell, and it infuriates her, since that's exactly what she experienced, except her baby died. Lottie withdraws, no longer feeling a connection to divinity. She desperately looks for a new oracle, at first thinking it's Travis, who insists it's Akilah instead. Jackie and Nat are aware Ben's alive, but keep the knowledge under wraps, until Shauna and Mari's conflict puts an end to the secret. Everyone insists on hunting Ben down. Jackie tries to dissuade them, but fails, as while she believes Ben's harmless, and had nothing to do with the fire, neither she nor Nat can prove it; divinity is of no help, and Lottie, while she stays behind with Jackie and Travis, admits she doesn't know what's right. After Ben's brought back, Akilah informs Jackie and Lottie of a vision she, Van and Shauna had in the caves.

Jackie and Nat insist on a trial for Ben, at the end of which Shauna strong-arms everyone to voting him guilty, largely to spite Jackie. The group decides on execution via firing squad. Jackie employs Akilah, Lottie and Travis to go back to the caves, where Akilah has a vision about Ben being a bridge. Ben is spared, but after he's shut back in the animal coop, Shauna and Melissa sneak in, to cut his Achilles tendon. When the group confronts them, Shauna and Melissa claim it's so Ben doesn't run away. Jackie is angry, but can't bring herself to punish Shauna, instead warning her that if she goes rogue again, she'll face severe consequences. Ben remains in the coop for weeks, begging for death, and going on a hunger strike; in the end, Nat kills him out of mercy. The group, led by Shauna, is furious - thinking on her feet, Lottie claims it's the will of "the Wilderness". Jackie joins in, insisting they will honour "the Wilderness", and that Natalie will prepare the feast as a punishment. The decision appeases the group, and it's up to Shauna to teach Nat how to properly butcher a body. Meanwhile, Lottie wanders back to the caves, begging "the Wilderness" to speak to her. Jackie begins to feel cramps, but decides to ignore them. During the feast, Artemis influences Lottie's vulnerable and desperate psyche, prompting her to start a feral rave, which catches the attention of the researchers. Still possessed, Lottie kills Edwin with an axe; Hannah and Kodi flee, most of the group at their heels. Only Mari, Gen, injured Melissa, and Lottie stay behind - Jackie's helpless to stop anyone, as she goes into labour. Gen cares for Melissa, while Mari takes Jackie to her shelter, terrified, but aware she needs help; Lottie remains whispering to Edwin's corpse. Artemis appears, and with her (and shellshocked Mari) as a midwife, Jackie delivers a baby girl, whom she and Artemis name Aradia. The sweet moment of Jackie holding her daughter for the first time is interrupted by the others bringing Hannah back to the camp. Jackie begs Artemis to let everyone go home, but she claims they now belong to the wilderness, and vanishes. Misty helps the group track down Akilah, Travis and Kodi, via the trail of clues Akilah had left, after Travis reveals to her he had made up the vision of her being the chosen oracle.

Everyone's excited to go home, but Artemis' words weigh heavy on Jackie. Akilah has a vision of dead animals in the coop, which only convinces Jackie and Lottie "the Wilderness" demand they stay. When the group is about to leave, Jackie insists they can't, supported by Lottie. Jackie and Nat fight, which causes a schism in the group, Akilah, Mari, Shauna (to whom, Artemis had sent a vision of a dull future), and Taissa (influenced by her connection to the wilderness, and unwilling to give up the freedom she had experienced within it) deciding to stay behind. When the rest of the group attempts to leave, a giant white moose charges at them out of nowhere, injuring Kodi - Nat and Travis instinctively shoot at it, which does little damage (but a bolt from the crossbow does make the animal wail in pain). The group is forced to turn back, and while Misty tries to nurse Kodi, he dies from his injuries (at one point, the possibility of a draw is suggested, but Jackie points out they'll be asking the same god they wish to abandon for help). With no more hope of rescue, everyone settles back into life in the wilderness. Hannah, of course, is horrified when Kodi is butchered, and Lottie warns her she'll soon understand (they dig Edwin back up, but his flesh is already rotting, so they only keep the bones for broth). Lottie isn't wrong, as animals seem to have vanished from the forest around them, while the ones in the coop don't last for long. When winter comes, the group is forced to resort back to the draw, growing more sadistic and eager with each hunt. It breaks Jackie's heart, especially when Mari, Akilah and Hannah (with whom she bonded, because Hannah was naturally drawn to a confused teenage mother and her baby) are chosen, yet she wears the crown of antlers, and a necklace of teeth, and lets the others bring the spoils to her feet, despite her burning guilt (she's excluded, as she's deemed the bride of "the Wilderness", her baby it's avatar) - she has to think of her daughter's survival after all, whom she cradles under her white cloak. At one point, Shauna is determined to kill Jackie and Aradia, but a pack of white wolves confronts her, tearing her to shreds - while it proves a hallucination, it convinces her to back off.

One night, Jackie has a dream of a rescue team approaching. She understands it's a premonition, and begs Artemis to let the survivors go. Artemis agrees, if Jackie and their daughter join her on Olympus (a divine realm, not the mountain in Greece). When Jackie sneaks out with Aradia, Nat and Lottie hear her, and follow her. Jackie tells Nat that a rescue team is coming. When Nat asks Jackie what about her, Artemis appears in her beast form, to take Jackie and the baby away (back in civilization, at least for a while, both Nat and Lottie will convince themselves it was a mirage, and that Jackie ran off into the woods, bringing her baby along).

I'm not sure what might prompt Artemis to go and terrorize the survivors 25 years later, maybe she's simply bored. Jackie has lived in Artemis' domain ever since. Upon arrival, she was elated to discover Mari, Akilah and Hannah already there - while Artemis is horrible, she's not heartless, and understood her bride would be happy to see her friends (their souls belong to the mountains, but the mountains are Artemis' hunting grounds). Between the survivors' teen timeline and adult timeline, Jackie has become good friends with Persephone; no, they haven't slept together, Persephone and Hades are monogamous, but Jackie probably has slept with Aphrodite. Also yes, in the adult timeline, Artemis actually does reject Travis, since he stopped believing in her, he wounded her that one time, and he's male.

I feel like, Aradia and Callie should meet in the survivors' adult timeline. Maybe, even become romantically involved... Aradia's older, yes, and the consort of Apollo (her uncle indeed, it's nothing strange in Greek mythology), but they probably have an open marriage, not to mention, whatever goes on between her and Callie, would be ten times more healthy than what happens between Aradia's she-father and her mother. Because, in the end, this story is about a teenage girl abused, and used by a cruel, bloodthirsty deity, a teenager girl who sacrifices herself in desperation to ease the fate of others. She ends up among the immortal, yes, but her heart still hurts, even in eternal spring. Her daughter and her friends are the only balm to it (I suppose Mari, Akilah and Hannah are something like her handmaidens).

Artemis' faceclaim is Anya Taylor Joy, Aradia's is Grace Van Dien. Both of their hair is white like the Moon.

[princelysnape]

Hey! Hope your doing well.

I'm thinking of starting to write a fanfic. I've only written down the basic plot line of the story, but not gone into much detail. It is a Severus × fem OC fanfic, where the OC is supposed to be a Professor at Hogwarts, befriends Snape and holds a key power to save Severus (coz my man deserves better than being killed off, he needs a happy ending more than anyone else in the ho universe) and many other people who are supposed to die in the Battle of Hogwarts. (Ps. She's a seer and has healing magic, so you can connect the dots. And, yes the OC names are inspired from ASOIAF coz I just find those names really unique and pretty, just like the OC.)

Basic info:

"Freya Visenya Vaelarian, known as 'Rey' to those closest to her, is a Ravenclaw prodigy who formally worked at St.Mungo's as a Healer, returns to Hogwarts as the second youngest professor of the newly introduced elective, Healing Magic and Healing Potions. With silvery-white hair and piercing violet eyes (she basically albino), she’s as mysterious as she is brilliant—witty, loyal, disarmingly wise and a total badass. Alongside her twin brother, Rhaegar, and adopted son, Jacaerys, Rey hides a powerful secret: they are gifted Seers, burdened with glimpses of the future. Though kind and brave, she walks a delicate path between prophecy and secrecy, cloaked in quiet mystery because some truths too dangerous for the world to know."

Any thoughts or inputs? I'd love to know your opinion.

Love,

An anonymous friend ♡

hello👋🏾

hey so, i actually love your idea. i mean, i'm probably biased because i'm obsessed with the concept of seers, prophets and precognition in general. i even have a seer oc myself (though she's made for another fandom), and while the specific seers of the harry potter universe aren't my favorites, i think there's a lot of untaped potential you can explore here

as you probably know, the wizarding world understands seers as witches and wizards who can predict prophecies using their "inner eye". they were persecuted all throughout wizarding history, and maybe that's why they're also very rare, extremely so. in sybill trelawney's family alone, this ability skipped three generations and she supposedly came from a very long lineage of powerful seers—so your twins are truly something special, magically and genetically speaking. it makes sense they would hide this, least they end up attracting the attention of the noseless bastard

right now, what i think you need to do is defining exactly what type of seer rey is. look at trelawney, for example: she only had two real prophecies to her name and they both came true, but she doesn't remember either of them. they're also vocalized, she didn't actually saw them. which is already different from gellert grindwald's visions. he could remember them, not all of them necessarily came true, but he was actually seeing stuff. from this alone we can presume that precognition (or divination, i suppose) in the harry potter series isn't something with clear rules or a phenomenon that occurs exactly the same way for everyone. and yeah, this could totally be a plot hole joanne didn't notice, but it gives you a lot of room for moviment and creativity

whatever you decide, i would suggest that you make it clear that her ability has real-life consequences for rey herself and the people around her. and i don't mean only psychologically. like, does she have physical symptoms? headaches, nosebleeds or fainting spells? is her ability invasive to people's privacy? think alice cullen from twilight—she has a decision based type of precognition, so the second someone decides to do something she knows. you see what i mean? it needs to have downsides

also, how young was she when she first came into her powers? this sounds like the type of thing that would influence someone's whole personality. so her being secretive and mysterious makes total sense to me. i mean, people don't always take kindly to being reminded of things outside of their control. perhaps she keeps her visions a secret as to avoid putting the timeline she wants in jeopardy. and since she's in a position to literally know better than others, maybe she's a little condescending at times or detached from the present. maybe in her eagerness to make sure everything turns out well, she comes off as manipulative etc. some flaws go a long way to build depth in a character

i'm intrigued by her past as a healer in st. mungo's and her healing powers. the new elective sounds delightful too. god knows those students are going to need her lmao. and it gives her a lot to talk about with severus, which is great. it can also be a good opportunity to explore her personal struggles. why did dumbledore hired her specifically? if she's supposed to be a prodigy, what is it she can do that others can't and how that relates to her abilities as a seer? does it take a physical toll, more so than regular magic?

and her being a single mother (for now *wink wink*) sounds rough. what is the story behind her son's adoption? do they have a good mother/son relationship? what does he think of severus? what does severus think of him? is he old enough to go to hogwarts, and if so, does she teach her own son? is he treated well during potions class? i think this could be a good opportunity for conflict if rey is a protective mom and decides severus is too harsh on her baby boy. could be an opportunity for character growth for sev or maybe a reality check for rey to realize her child is only special for her. kudos if they're already dating during this lol

i would advise against falling into old stereotypes about albinism too. admittedly, i'm also not the best informed about those, but i do know they exist. there are a few reddit posts and threads about it worth reading when in doubt

all in all, i like where this is going already. your oc sounds like someone who could totally attract sev's attention and respect, which is the base of any successful relationship with him

i hope this helped, tell me if there's anything else you would like to know or ask❣️

love,

your prince

[qxmwrites]

A New Monster.

And there he stands. One hand upon his reptilian flesh which had become his new home. The other scaly hand pressed against the mirror, his reflection glaring him down with a stringent certainty. There was no denying the change. Limey eyes drowned in a lavender pool, darted about under the weight of those sagging tri-folds, and though unnoticeable to the untrained eye, there was a grimace. Upper lip scarred with the remnants of his human form, while the lower gave revealed parts of the beast.

Only the masterful observer could infer the abundance hiding below such a simple micro expression. Only the masterful eye could see the whirlwind of emotions ripping through the depths of his soul. For he had sacrificed it all. While his contemporaries danced with the spirits of lust into the sunset, this man of experiments was locked in his quarters. While the sounds of ecstasy echoed through the stoned hallways, man upon woman, woman upon man; all upon all manner of creations; this scientist kept to his experiments.

Tinkering away and scribbling out barely legible formulas, some of which never made it to the testing phase. In his moment of extroversion, upon the crimson carpeted ballroom of the Academy of Scientific Research, he employed what oratorical abilities he had.To regale them with the potentials of his vision. In his human form, he possessed a lanky build but his deficiency in physical gravitas was supplemented by a rather melodic voice and animated gesticulations; as if the spirit of Demosthenes had possessed him.

And yet, with the great orator at his command, he still could not sway the stubborn minds of old. Instead, they viewed him as a minstrel. An entertaining preamble to real scientists of high repute. So the upturned noses and the sly, disbelieving smirks would find its way into his memory. They said he would never develop anything viable; such was the soundtrack in his mind as he stands before himself. White lab coat ripped beyond recognition, each torn piece exposing more of his monstrous build.

He cried but there was no feeling. The tears fell but his skin had become so rough that he nerves were desensitized. But the pain remained, and he lowered his head in shame. It is usually in the mind of the human to abominate his current suffering without taking a thorough look at the wondrous picture now before them. For in this moment intermittent sobs and lamentations, a new thought possessed his mind. The scientist shot his head up, looked into the mirror once more. His reptilian hands wiped what moisture remained.

Misfortune only falls upon the man who views it as a misfortune, but this… this is fortuitous indeed! I shall not curse the gods for my plight but smile with gratitude; I shall the accept the gift given to me. Oh, I was blind at first, but with new eyes, I see. Think of the possibilities! The scientist locked each bolt on his dock, securing himself in his chambers for good, and he tossed all the failed formulas aside. He scribbled in his notebook, new formulas, only able to write with his index and thumb; the only human form of his hand.

In the early hours of the morning, the homely servant hobbled his way to the scientist’s chambers only to be instructed to leave his breakfast at the door. He was promptly turned away with a voice of annoyance and exuberance. The servant could not tell and his bewildered face was evident in his retreat. Days had gone by with numerous servants being instructed in the same manner, until gossip grew around his peculiar behavior.

From the apprentice to the elderly stateman, rumors slithered through the ears of all willing to lend them. What was met with an arrogant dismissal by his contemporaries soon became a lingering curiosity. Surely this man has not stumbled upon some genius innovation? His fellow scientists mused.

But the doubts did nothing to assuage the passion set upon the reptilian hybrid. Each formula jotted with the clarity of a prophet delivering a prophetic word. Each pen mark perfected as if the gods were guiding his hand. One will never know if that ambitious scientist ever achieved whatever he set out to achieve, but one does know the passion gifted to him through his misfortune. Such a gift, I would say, is priceless.

[themarshmallownerd]

Onward to Eternal Day

Summary: Several months after their rescue from the Wilderness, Natalie still struggles with feeling human again. In an effort to reconnect with someone who understands, she goes looking for her fellow surviving Yellowjackets. In true teen-prophet fashion, Lottie sees her coming.

Relationship(s): Lottie Matthews/Natalie Scatorccio; Lottie Matthews & Natalie Scatorccio; minor Lottie Matthews & Laura Lee

Ratings: Teen+

Link: Onward to Eternal Day (AO3)

A/N: Slight story behind this story: this was actually the first piece I wrote for Yellowjackets. Really, just an exercise in trying to find a writing voice for Lottie and Nat. It was originally going to be my induction into the fandom before my Razia's Shadow AU suddenly possessed me. At the time, this was already at a solid 51 pages, so I couldn't just scrap it. LottieNat Week on Tumblr felt like a good time to revisit it, and so here we are!

Preview: "She shifts in her seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how hard and unforgiving the cold metal is. It’s uncomfortable, but grounding in that way. She holds onto that feeling, keeping herself in this moment. Tethering herself to her new purpose, even if it’s something as simple as visiting Lottie.

“How, um…how long have you been here?”

Lottie’s brow furrows again. Her glazed eyes look around them, searching for the clues to her answer along the walls. There’s a certain hesitance to it as she goes to answer, like she isn’t sure if she’s allowed to say. Or even to remember.

“For…a while,” is what she settles on eventually.

“OK,” is Nat’s equally vague response to that.

Now, she’s the one looking around the room. Searching for whatever Lottie is looking for. All she sees, however, are the same frost-white walls. It stirs that earlier sense of unease through her blood again, and she ultimately has to look away from it.

She tethers herself to Lottie again, instead. Lottie, who still sits there quietly, looking just as dazed and lost as the day they were brought home. Lottie, who also hasn’t changed her hair since that day, leaving it long and frizzy where it falls on either side of her chest. Lottie, who still has the pale outline of a little arch-shaped scar in the center of her forehead. Her third eye, as she and Tai would sometimes call it under their breaths in condescension.

Lottie…

Lottie, who has bruises.

She notices the first one when Lottie begins idly rubbing her arm, bringing one hand into view over the surface of the table. A patch of discoloration marks her wrist, peeking out from the long sleeve of her cardigan.

“Lottie?” slips out of Nat in alarm. That previously dormant provider role she’d had in the Wilderness rouses again, straightening her spine to get a better look at the markings on her teammate’s skin. “Did you get hurt in here?”

Lottie follows her gaze down to her wrist. She turns it over once, twice, inspecting it like it’s the first time she’s noticed it. Then she half-heartedly tugs on her sleeve to cover it (not because it bothers her, but because Natalie seems so upset by it; a martyr’s habits die hard apparently). As she does so, Natalie sees the matching one on her opposite wrist.

One abrasion could’ve been accidental. Multiple feels familiar to Natalie in a way that makes her fingers itch for the shotgun on her dad’s side of the closet.

Weren’t places like this supposed to keep the patients safe? Even from themselves? If they couldn’t manage that, then—

“What the hell are they doing to you in here?”

It’s the first question to make Lottie palpably uncomfortable. She looks at the table between them, rubbing her arm some more. She doesn’t notice—or perhaps just doesn’t care—that the friction of her sleeves against each other causes the fabric to writhe up, exposing the ring of bruises again.

“There’s…” she starts to say, sounding confused by her own answer as it rotates in her mind. “It’s just to…until they can fix me.”

“What does that mean?” Natalie demands, untrusting of that particular phrasing.

“I’m not…” Lottie struggles some more, cinching her eyes shut with a minute shake of her head. “I have to…”

She cut herself off with a distressed catch of breath. Her eyes open, and for the briefest of moments, she looks fully human again. Not just present in the moment, but capable of genuine emotion. Granted, it’s a frustrated emotion right now, bordering on tears, but still.

She looks like Lottie again.

It would be a relief if she didn’t look so miserable at the same time.

“I still hear it,” she says at last, quiet and somber. It comes out like a confession of sin, although it’s far from the worst thing either of the girls have seen or heard. “At night. Sometimes, I can still hear…It.”

Round brown eyes bore into Nat, imploring her to understand.

She does. Maybe not in the same way Lottie does, but she definitely feels It lingering in her bones. It’s what brought her out here, after all, searching for camaraderie in warding it off.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, now ducking her own gaze to the surface of the table between them. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you really?”

Natalie winces a little at the hopeful tinge painting Lottie’s question. She was never good at that; handling other people’s hope.

Ironically, that had been more of Lottie’s thing.

Natalie had always envied it, just as much as she’d secretly wished she could receive it. That she could accept it when it was offered.

Now, Lottie fills in the silence where Nat struggles to. “I, um…try not to listen. They say it won’t help. But sometimes I…”

Natalie looks up just as Lottie trails off. Her stomach twists with helplessness as she watches her former teammate’s eyes glaze over again, staring right through her.

“Lottie?” she tries, opting to physically reach out to the other girl. To ground her. However, as she stretches across the surface of the table, she hesitates to actually put a hand on Lottie’s body.

Logically, she knows there’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like Lottie is made out of glass, or that touching her—potentially pulling her out of her trance—would cause her to shatter. Then again, Lottie did always have a way of defying logic."

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

14th April >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Third Sunday of Easter 

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: B(II))

First Reading Acts of the Apostles 3:13-15,17-19 You killed the prince of life: God, however, raised him from the dead.

Peter said to the people: ‘You are Israelites, and it is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of our ancestors, who has glorified his servant Jesus, the same Jesus you handed over and then disowned in the presence of Pilate after Pilate had decided to release him. It was you who accused the Holy One, the Just One, you who demanded the reprieve of a murderer while you killed the prince of life. God, however, raised him from the dead, and to that fact we are the witnesses.

‘Now I know, brothers, that neither you nor your leaders had any idea what you were really doing; this was the way God carried out what he had foretold, when he said through all his prophets that his Christ would suffer. Now you must repent and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out.’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 4:2,4,7,9

R/ Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord. or R/ Alleluia!

When I call, answer me, O God of justice; from anguish you released me, have mercy and hear me!

R/ Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord.

or R/ Alleluia!

It is the Lord who grants favours to those whom he loves; the Lord hears me whenever I call him.

R/ Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord. or R/ Alleluia!

‘What can bring us happiness?’ many say. Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord.

R/ Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord. or R/ Alleluia!

I will lie down in peace and sleep comes at once for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.

R/ Lift up the light of your face on us, O Lord. or R/ Alleluia!

Second Reading 1 John 2:1-5 Jesus Christ is the sacrifice that takes our sins away, and the world's.

I am writing this, my children, to stop you sinning; but if anyone should sin, we have our advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ, who is just; he is the sacrifice that takes our sins away, and not only ours, but the whole world’s.

We can be sure that we know God only by keeping his commandments. Anyone who says, ‘I know him’, and does not keep his commandments, is a liar, refusing to admit the truth. But when anyone does obey what he has said, God’s love comes to perfection in him.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation cf. Luke 24:32

Alleluia, alleluia!

Lord Jesus, explain the Scriptures to us. Make our hearts burn within us as you talk to us.

Alleluia!

Gospel Luke 24:35-48 It is written that the Christ would suffer and on the third day rise from the dead.

The disciples told their story of what had happened on the road and how they had recognised Jesus at the breaking of bread.

They were still talking about all this when Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you!’ In a state of alarm and fright, they thought they were seeing a ghost. But he said, ‘Why are you so agitated, and why are these doubts rising in your hearts? Look at my hands and feet; yes, it is I indeed. Touch me and see for yourselves; a ghost has no flesh and bones as you can see I have.’ And as he said this he showed them his hands and feet. Their joy was so great that they still could not believe it, and they stood there dumbfounded; so he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ And they offered him a piece of grilled fish, which he took and ate before their eyes.

Then he told them, ‘This is what I meant when I said, while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses, in the Prophets and in the Psalms has to be fulfilled.’ He then opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, ‘So you see how it is written that the Christ would suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that, in his name, repentance for the forgiveness of sins would be preached to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses to this.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[almaqead]

"The Noble of You." From Surah 49, Al Hujarat, "The Rooms."

After I completed my homework on the Asmaul Husna I made some suggestions for the study of the Quran. One included the Quran itself, which surprisingly had not yet been done. My recommendations were accepted, and I was on top of the world. Someone somewhere in the Muslim College believed in me and offered me a great privilege.

Due to this unusual occurence and a few others including a 5th Gospel and a legal document requring the people of Israel to build the Third Temple, and the fact I was a kind of activist who was attempting to get President Trump arrested for cheating in the 2016 election and his party closed down permanently for it, religious fanatics from around the world began trying to assassinate me. The Mormons have been the worst. They cited my book and its references to the Quran when they invaded the US Capitol on January 6, 2021, with the full support of Donald Trump.

These persons, like many think the Quran is a curse, a problem we must overcome. I have proven them wrong. Their response has been brutal. They killed my mother, my grandmother, an aunt, raped my son, my ex partner, and me of course, try as I might, I could not make them stop, and then Jan 6 happened. Then the same persons attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, and tried to lay the blame at Muhammad's door. You can see them walking the streets of Gaza along with their pretty white kids covered in spray tan, playing the world like a violin for the sake of their ambitions.

My life has not been easy, enjoyable, nor too passable as much of a life these days, but nonetheless, I write about the Quran every day. I know socializing the Quran for the sake of the well being of the human race is worth every bit of fight I have left in me. The danger persists, but I will not pause my attempts to free the world from stupidity.

Our planet is under assault by superstitious bigots who do not know God and as a result cannot be of value to this world. We must know God, we must read the Quran and heed the messages He gave the many others who came before Muhammad and apply all they have taught us, or the fiends in Washington DC, Moscow, Tehran and other places will undo everything God has made.

The fight as Muhammad explains in Hujarat is not done out in the open it is done inside one's chest, it is one fraught with loss and heartbreak. If the heart cannot break, it cannot know God. So long as we mend it by following the Prophet to his Miraj, we must be willing to do it or we cannot learn what God wants us to learn.

The Surah goes on to say we must maintain full awareness of who we are and what we intend ourselves to be and God's will can be done.

49: 13-14:

"O humanity! Indeed, We created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may ˹get to˺ know one another. Surely the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous among you. Allah is truly All-Knowing, All-Aware.1 

˹Some of˺ the nomadic Arabs say, “We believe.” Say, ˹O Prophet,˺ “You have not believed. But say, ‘We have submitted,’ for faith has not yet entered your hearts.1 But if you obey Allah and His Messenger ˹wholeheartedly˺, He will not discount anything from ˹the reward of˺ your deeds. Allah is truly All-Forgiving, Most Merciful.”

Commentary:

Faith without a discount is the way to the Huja, proof the Verses are correct. This ruthless planet must be called to account for its brutality and lack of decency. Persons of the best moral character who are willing to follow the Quran and lead the rest are the ones Muhammad said will be enumerated among the great, the most noble and sit beside God in the end. The Surah says:

“Indeed, it is a noble Qur’an.” (Surah Al-Waqi’ah 56:77)

“And indeed, you are of a great moral character.” (Surah Al-Qalam 68:4)

"Whatsoever is in the heavens and the earth glorifies Allâh, and He is the All-Mighty, All-Wise. His is the kingdom of the heavens and the earth, It is He Who gives life and causes death; and He is Able to do all things. He is the First (nothing is before Him) and the Last (nothing is after Him), the Most High (nothing is above Him) and the Most Near (nothing is nearer than Him). And He is the All-Knower of every thing."

[higher-noon]

I ealized that i don't follow christianity for the same reason I don't follow Marvel.

Hear me out

Originally, I was very interested in the Christian canon. I grew up in Utah, almost everyone I knew had some sort of connection to the church. Everyone knew each other from there, everyone had events and connections and stories that I never did coming from a more Celtic family. It was isolating in a very real way to be the only non-mormon kid in a classroom. I went to church several times and even had one on one lessons with missionaries for a fee months before giving up.

It's not that I don't like a lot of the concepts in Christianity- a lot of the imagery is very powerful and at its base a lot of the story has genuinely interesting structures, even if the actual wording is pedantic and dull.

(Its at this point I tell you that I was never at any point interested in Christianity as a religion, I just wanted context for what was going on in the world around me. I view the Bible and basically any other holy texts as fundamentally no different than the illiad or Romeo and Juliet- an old book that a lot of people have really complicated feelings about, removed from its original context but telling some sort of narrative that is still valid in the current cultural zeitgeist.)

That said, at some point so many people had so many different opinions that different authors (scribes, prophets, whatever) started writing their own versions of each of the texts, retconning characterizations and events and entire fundamental mechanics of the story that in some ways it became completely unrecognizable. Then, at some point down the line, someone decided to try and "reset" the canon, taking all of the most popular versions of the story and condensing it down to the least common denominator, creating "non-offensive", white bread characters to avoid telling anyone they are wrong. They stripped the story down from some breathing, beating thing and made a cardboard cutout of the original, and THEN stuffed it with enough propaganda that it nearly collapsed under its own weight.

And Marvel comics do the exact same thing, almost word for word.

And I hate it. I hate seeing something get so big because it resonates with an audience in a way that it wriggled into their very being, changing the way people define themselves and how they see the world around them, only for that success to trap it in an inescapable web of manipulation and greed that changes it irreparably.

I felt like I had something more poignant to say, but despite living over 20 years in the Mormon state, I never actually managed to learn that much about the religion itself, so anything else I say can't really be backed up... Still, for something that I can't go more than 20 minutes without being dumped in, Christianity is very boring and sterile.

[gabriel-seths-pr-assistant]

Lucoryphus is a Night Lords Raptor who is subtly influenced by Nurgle. He is described as vulture-like (in-universe likened to a Nostraman condor) and mostly walks quadrupedally due to his mutated feet.

Since he's usually crouching on all four, he likes to perch on things when talking to other Astartes, such as tables, to be of the same height, or to hang upside down from the ceiling. His jump pack is described as looking like folded wings.

This is the first mention of him in Blood Reaver by Aaron Dembski-Bowden:

Lucoryphus entered the chamber in a bestial stalk, prowling on all fours. His feet, sheathed in ceramite boots, were warped into armoured claws: curling, multi-jointed and wickedly bladed, no different from a hawk’s talons. Walking had been a bane to Lucoryphus for centuries – even this ungainly crawl was difficult – and the sloping thrusters mounted upon the warrior’s back spoke of denied flight, a Legionary caged by the confines of these corridors. His eyes bled, and from this curse he took his name. Upon the white faceplate, twin scarlet tear trails ran from the slanted eye lenses. Lucoryphus of the Bleeding Eyes, with his avian helm twisted into a daemon’s visage mouthing a silent scream, watched with a predator’s eyes. Machine-growls sounded in his cabled neck joints as the warrior’s muscles tensed with unintentional tics. He regarded each of the gathered Night Lords in turn, the avian helm snapping left and right with an eye for prey. He’d been like them once. Oh, yes. Just like them. His armour bore little evidence of allegiance to his Legion or bloodline. Each of his warriors displayed their bond the same way: each bore the red tears of their leader reflected on their own faceplates. The Bleeding Eyes were a cult unto themselves first, and sons of the Eighth Legion second.

He prefers not to take off his helmet around other people; the one time another character sees his bare face, it's remarked that he looks like "a drowned corpse" – he's not quite a Plague Marine and there's no indication that he actively worships Nurgle, but he's definitely warp-afflicted.

A Red Corsairs apothecary notes in Void Stalker:

‘You are aware, Lucoryphus, that such degrees of livor mortis and bacterial decomposition on your face and throat would simply not manifest on a living being? Your biology is in a stage of autolysis. Your cells are eating themselves. Does the feasting on fraternal flesh regenerate the process?’ Lucoryphus didn’t reply. Variel continued nevertheless. ‘How then do you live? Are you dead, yet still alive? Or has the warp played a greater game with you?’ ‘I no longer know what I am. I haven’t known for centuries.’

So gargoylish and vulture-like!

As for Decimus, we never get a proper description of him since he only shows up briefly in the epilogue of Void Stalker.

We know he's young at the end of the trilogy, barely just put on a power armour. It's implied [SPOILERS!] that he's the son of Septimus/Coreth, a serf of the Night Lords, and Octavia/Eurydice, a Navigator, which is why I like to write him as having green eyes like Septimus and either blond hair (Septimus) or chestnut brown (Octavia).

His armour is notable for being made from parts inherited from every member of First Claw:

The prophet leaned on the central table, red eye lenses panning across them all. His armour was a scavenged mesh of conflicting marks, each ceramite plate showing carved Nostraman runes. His breastplate bore the image of an aquila, its spread wings ritually broken by hammer blows. Over one shoulder was a sweep of pale age-browned flesh, flayed into a cloak with thick black stitches. Skulls and Imperial Space Marine helms hung on bronze chains from his belt and pauldrons, while two weapons were sheathed at his hips: the first was a double-barrelled bolter, inscribed with ancient writings and depicting the name Malcharion; the second was a relic blade stolen from the Blood Angels Chapter a forgotten number of centuries ago. Its once-golden length was discoloured silver, evidence of a recent reforging. The prophet’s helm was a studded, brutal affair with a skull-painted faceplate, and sweeping ceremonial Legion wings rising up in an elegant crest. The skull’s eyes wept black lightning bolts, as if the bone itself was cracked. In the centre of its forehead, a single Nostraman rune gleamed black against the bone white. He removed the helmet slowly, making no sudden moves, and regarded them all with a youthful, unscarred face. Dark eyes glinted in the chamber’s low light, drifting from warrior to warrior.

I hope this helps!

Does anyone have a reference quote for what Lucoryphus and Decimus look like I feel like illustrating a fanfic for a book i haven't yet read

[shadowydreamlandwonderland]

The Rulers who Bargained with Death - CHAPTER 17

The moment he stepped into the entrance hall Albus heard a familiar voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife; speaking in a shout from the second floor. Gellert was always shouting at someone, these days. "No, he writes too damn badly! Rosier can do it - where the hell is she?"

"But why can't you-"

"Because I don't have time - how many times do I have to say it? I'm meeting the Minister in less than four hours! Find Rosier and bring her to my office."

In the next moment, Gellerts' loud steps echoed through the silence as he stomped down the stairs, and for a second Albus considered rushing back into the rain and hiding. But there was no time, for then the boy appeared in his field of vision; tall and beautiful and radiating anger. His curls were wild and untamed, falling before his corpse-white face, and for the first time since meeting him there were traces of stubble under his lower lip and down to his chin. He was wearing a shirt with stains of what looked like blood on its sleeve, the black waistcoat was wrinkled and missing one of its silver buttons.

It was all so very unlike him, so far from Gellert Grindelwald's usual, physically perfect state, but it did not matter how imperfect he was in this moment. Seeing him still had the same, usual effect on Albus Dumbledore. He felt his mouth go dry as a desert, felt his heart tighten in his chest and his legs begin to turn to water, and when their gazes met he was not even able to move. Gellert froze as well; froze as soon as he reached the staircase landing and caught sight of him, eyes widening slightly. There was something very different about those eyes, Albus realized. Not only were all traces of happiness gone, but so were the intriguing, mismatched color of them. His eyes were now clear blue - almost entirely the same color as Albus' own, and the color they had been the first time he met him - and though they were pretty, they were not beautiful in the way his natural ones were.

They were just not right, not him.

But this was not the time to reflect over Gellerts' eye color, Albus had to remind himself, and he no longer had the right to convince him to keep and cherish his unique eyes. Not now, not after what he had done, and not after everything that had transpired between them.

For several seconds the two boys just stood there; frozen in time and looking into each other's eyes. But then, suddenly, the breathless moment was shattered as Gellert finally parted his lips and spoke, almost harshly: "Have you seen Vinda?"

"No, I only just came", Albus replied, and his voice sounded surprisingly strong. "What's going on?"

"Insurrection Juste has written about us in The Prophet again. I'm looking for someone who can write them an answer, but everyone who can write reasonably well seems to have disappeared without a trace..."

"I can do it."

He offered before he could stop the words from leaving his lips, offered even though he knew it was not a good idea; because Bathilda was probably right when she said that more work was the last thing he needed right now. Still, Albus wanted to bury himself in work; wanted to distract himself from the absolute agony of being apart from Gellert, wanted to remind him of just how ambitious and intelligent and talented he was, what he was missing out on by not being with him... Besides, Gellert was obviously terribly stressed, and he did not want to add this to the list of things he had to take care of himself.

Now, Gellerts' eyes once again made contact with his own; the expression in them hard to identify, before he slowly lowered his head in a nod. "Could you? That would be good - since you write amazingly... Very well then, I want it sent in by the day after tomorrow. Thank you."

Without saying anything else, without even looking at him Gellert walked past him into the drawing room; with swift, hasty steps, as if he wanted to run away from him. Barely registering it, unaware of what he was doing and what he was going to say, Albus hurried after him.

[sgt-mark-smith]

And now I get to write about my devout baby, my strange fish, and the current love of my life. Big time spoilers under the cut!

So obviously the first thing we need is a little eye candy!

All right, meta time, here we go!

By far my favorite character, and tied with his sister for the most interesting, Manaaki Kokiri was made in a blender to be my kryptonite. He’s got the religious conviction, the layers of guilt, the war trauma, the sincerity, the dumbassery, the ‘oddness,’ the sad eyes, he’s got it all and I love him. I’m not the only one either; he seems to have a way of winning the hearts of the white people around him without even trying.

(Unless they’re clearly being framed by the text as Bad News like Miss Violet here, of course!)

Of course I have to talk about the religiosity first, because where else would I start, right? Characters with religious convictions, especially male characters with religious convictions, are irresistible to me, and here comes Bible-totin’, Scripture-quotin’ Manaaki, on an errand from his Prophet (I’ll talk a lot more about Manaaki vis-a-vis the Prophet when I get to the speculation at the end). Like I said, I don’t know exactly where under the Christendom umbrella his religious beliefs are, but he’s got them!

And even when his life upends and he clearly can’t go back to the home where his religious self was born and nurtured, he still holds onto that religiosity because I think it’s the closest thing to ‘home’ he has left - though the pitch of that religiosity shifts, has much more gravitas by the end.

(I can’t do gifs, screengrabs are the best you’re going to get.)

And I don’t know how much of this is actually in the script and how much of it is the acting, but he’s just. he’s so. I know I can’t keep just slapping the autism label on every character I come across, but look at him! He normally takes care to be polite (when he’s not furiously trying to shame his sister) but seems to need minor social nudges - Charlie has to tell him to take off his hat inside the hotel, and both Cissy and Will Chambers call him ‘odd.’ He also has a very sincere manner - whether as a result of writing, direction, acting choices, or all three - but I find it very sweet.

And he’s a dumbass! Awa told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to go back to the compound, that she didn’t want to be tied down as some man’s broodmare, and yet the moment she showed up all wide-eyed claiming that ‘oh I said I was leaving my director and he frightened me 🥺” he totally believed her!

Also, stereotypes about violent brown men are bad and harmful, but at the same time, brown men should get to be a little feral sometimes as a treat. Awa obviously knew Manaaki had it in him, what with the way she turned him loose against Alonso, even if it did end up majorly backfiring on her. And of course that feral side came allll the way out on the war front. Such are the things that happen when we go to war, you know.

(We’ll come back to No Man’s Land, don’t you worry.)

He’s as sexist as any other of the other dudes around him, of course, to the point that he has no problem being a judgy bitch to the sister who literally raised him. He obviously thinks the best treatment you can give a woman is to lock her down into marriage and see that she’s materially provided for. He clearly doesn’t get what Bea means when she says ‘women aren’t horses,’ and even refers to Cissy as a ‘pretty mare.’ (I’m gonna say more about Manaaki and Cissy in another meta, because boy do I have a lot to say about that pairing!)

We’ve gotta talk about Harry. Oh boy have we got to talk about Harry! I’ve already made this clear in the screengrab posts, but to me Manaaki and Harry are the show’s real gay soldier ship, so much so that one of them even dies - in combat, no less! (This in contrast to the canonically gay twinks that, to the show’s credit, do both make it out of the war alive and back into each other’s arms. Like, this show purposely avoided the bury-your-gays with its actual gays ... only for Harry’s death to feel like a bury-your-gays!)

Let me just give you a few screengrabs.

Please watch the show, you really do just have to see them together. The chemistry is. Wow.

And of course a major part of the appeal is that they’re so opposite, character-wise. Harry, a gamblin’ good-for-nothing shit-stirring contrarian scalawag, and church boy Manaaki (wink at @vintonharper​). And even in the field, it’s Harry who’s running a little black market on his own while Manaaki’s out here Scripture-checking the chaplain and disobeying orders (technically) to avoid using a gun, at least the one time. And Harry gets Manaaki to drink, to accept black market ... onions, I guess, little things. You’ll never convince me they didn’t explore each other’s bodies at least once offscreen.

And I’m not going into detail about That Moment, or about what Manaaki did, because I have nothing to say. Nothing. It wrecked me, okay?

But the larger effects of the war on Manaaki are actually why I would argue that WWGTW is really his story. This is where the arc really takes shape. “Does the Bible not say it is a sin to kill?” he asks at the Smiths’ dinner table with all the certainty in the world. Then comes the death of Alonso, and the text really leaves it up to the viewer as to how much responsibility Manaaki actually bears for it, and it shakes him up; he initially goes to war desperately trying not to actively shoot anyone ... and then this moment.

There’s a breath, after the gun goes off for the first time, and then the switch happens, and he’s a sniper now. Later when the detective first comes by and he runs to Awa in distress, he calls himself a murderer - “I’ve killed many men!” - and tells Cissy that he feels like a corrupting influence. And when Detective Blaine asks him directly if he would kill again? He nods. And later he goes back to the war front.

(Now this is where the show is handicapped by how short it is, because there isn’t time for Manaaki’s church boy half and traumatized killer half to really integrate so that he can become a whole person. It feels a little rushed, watching Ghost-Harry vanish into the night during the evacuation; it doesn’t feel quite right, watching him read Cissy’s letter and smile while the framing implies that he’s going to go home and start co-parenting his son soon.)

And the way he essentially falls into the arms of the Smith family after Harry’s death can be read as slightly unhealthy, their glomming onto him as a repalcement son/brother when he’s at his most vulnerable, and yet.

That traditional greeting/farewell that Manaaki gives Bea especially, with the warm glow of the sun over their shoulders, absolutely wrecked me and I love it with all my heart. God, the feels it gave me! That ‘smith family loving manaaki for 1000 minutes’ tag exists on my blog for a reason, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Awa might prefer (or just have gotten accustomed to) a life of emotional reticence, but Manaaki doesn’t seem built for that.

(That there autism, see. Contrary to popular belief, we’re usually deeply social, we just need people in our lives who are kind to us when we’re not masking.)

Okay, time for some speculation!

I have a theory that the Prophet was a major father figure to Manaaki after the departure of the elder Mr. Kokiri. The bright-eyed reverence with which Manaaki refers to ‘my Prophet,’ the fact that the Prophet clearly knows he can deploy Manaaki to bring Awa back, the way Awa talks about how the Prophet intends to reward him - there’s a relationship there, and it didn’t happen overnight.

This relates to what I theorized about Awa and why she fled, because it sounds to me like the Prophet seized on the opportunity to groom two orphans, and Manaaki was young enough to be successfully molded where Awa wasn’t. Which also suggests that Manaaki’s growing closeness to the Prophet was a big wedge between them, and that the Prophet perhaps leveraged that closeness to get at Awa. Thus her (likely) cutting off direct contact with Manaaki after she left (“You found me, you clever bugger.”).

I don’t know how big a role the Prophet plays in Manaaki’s spirituality, though. He continues to be actively religious even after he’s lost the chance to go home. Clearly the Prophet gives himself leave to all the sex he wants, but Manaaki is pure as the driven snow when he meets Cissy, which is hardly the norm for young men who grow up with that kind of religious entitlement.

Because the Prophet clearly shaped how he views women and sexuality, Awa included; he reacts to the loss of his virginity with guilt, and yet he doesn’t seem to think less of Cissy for her clear desire for him. (Although I could be giving him too much credit, and the lack of conflict around Manaaki losing respect for Cissy could just be another result of the absurdly short runtime.)

Well, there’s more I could say and will say about Manaaki, but I think I’ve hit a lot of the highlights. He’s an amazingly layered and complex character, performed to perfection by Alex Tarrant.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 11

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - This Venerable One Wants His Family to be Happy

"Yes, it's me!" Madam Chen sobbed, "But I didn't write this spiritual tablet! How could I curse my child? I—"

"You wouldn't have written it while you were awake, but not necessarily while you were asleep."

Chu Wanning said. He raised his hand, picked up the spiritual tablet, spiritual energy pouring out of his palm. Suddenly, a distant and piercing scream erupted from the spiritual tablet, followed by a stream of blood gurgling out of it.

The sharp gleam in Chu Wanning's eyes was bitterly cold, and he harshly said: "The arrogance of this creature; it dares to make trouble!"

Because of the great spiritual power in his palm, the writing on the tablet was forced to retreat little by little amid the screams, becoming fainter until it finally disappeared completely. Chu Wanning's slender and cold white fingers clenched and the whole tablet shattered!!

The Chen family looked stunned from behind him. Not just the Chen family, even Shi Mei was stunned.

He couldn't help sighing: "That's amazing."

Mo Ran also couldn't help but sigh inside; he really was so powerful.

Chu Waning turned his handsome and clear face sideways. There was no expression on his face, only a few spots of blood splashed on the side of his cheek. He raised his hand and carefully examined the bloodstains remaining on his fingertips. He said to the Chen family: "All of you will stay in the courtyard today, don't go anywhere."

At this point, none of them dared disobey and they quickly agreed: "Okay! Okay! Whatever you say!"

Chu Wanning strode out of the temple, unconcerned with wiping away the blood on his face. He gestured at Madam Chen: "Especially you, don't fall asleep. To keep that thing out of your body, even if you get tired, you need to stay awake."

"Yes. . . yes yes!" Madam Chen replied repeatedly. With tears in her tears, she asked in disbelief, "Daoist Master, my son. . . is. . . is he alright?"

"He's fine for now."

Madam Chen was startled: "For now? Not always? Then, how can I save my son's life?"

Chu Wanning said: "Catch the demon."

Mrs. Chen was very anxious and couldn't help but be a little rude. She couldn't care less about being polite and asked urgently: "When does the Daoist master plan to catch it?"

"Immediately."

Chu Wanning said. He glanced at the Chen family and asked: "Who knows where the red coffin was dug? Come and lead the way."

The eldest son’s daughter-in-law was named Yao. Even though she was a woman, she was tall and looked somewhat good-looking Although her face was filled with fear, she was calmer than the others. She spoke up: "My late husband and I picked out the land. I know the location. I'll lead you there."

The three of them followed Chen Yao all the way north and soon arrived at the land the Chen family had bought.

Martial law had been set up there, and there are no one around. The dark hills were overgrown with trees, not a single sound of insects or birds singing.

Climbing up the mountainside, the view widened over the scene. Chen Yao said: "The three Daoist masters are here."

The place where the red coffin was dug out still had a tombstone stuck over it. Mo Ran laughed: "What's this broken stone supposed to be used for? It looks like an amateur put it there. Move it."

Chen Yao was a little flustered: "The gentleman in the town said that the evil creature is being suppressed by it and can't get out."

Mo Ran chuckled: "He must be really capable."

". . ." Chen Yao said, "Move, move, move!"

Chu Wanning remarked icily: "No need." After he said that, he raised his hand, and golden light glowed from his fingertips. Tianwen listened to his command and appeared in his palm. As soon as he flicked the willow vine, the headstone instantly shattered into pieces! Chu Wanning walked over expressionlessly. He stood on the pile of ruins, raised his palm again, and said in a deep voice: "What are you doing hiding in there? Get up!"

There was a strange noise underneath the earth, and suddenly, a 12-foot-high thick wooden coffin broke out of the ground. The sand and mud rained down and dust was flying everywhere.

Shi Mei exclaimed in surprise: "This coffin is surrounded by such evil energy!"

Chu Wanning said: "Stand back."

After that, with a backhand draw, Tianwen slashed across the welded red coffin. Golden sparks shot in all directions. After a few moments of silence, the coffin lid exploded with a bang. The billowing smoke dispersed and the thing inside it was revealed.

Lying in the coffin was a naked man with a straight nose and a handsome face. If it weren't for his pale skin, he would look like he was simply sleeping.

Mo Ran's eyes flicked down to what was under the man's waist: covering his eyes and said: "Oh, don't wear skimpy pants, you skunk."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Chen Yao cried out: "Husband!" She moved forward to rush towards the coffin. Chu Wanning stretched out his hand to stop her. He raised an eyebrow and asked: "This is your husband?"

"Yes! It's my husband!" Chen Yao was devastated. "Why would he be here? He was already buried in the ancestral grave. He was also wearing much nicer funeral clothes. How could he. . ."

Halfway through speaking, the woman began to weep, pounding her chest, "How could this happen! How tragic - so awful! Husband. . . Husband!!"

Shi Mei sighed: "Madam Chen, please keep it together."

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran didn't pay attention to the crying woman. Chu Wanning was not good at comforting people, while Mo Burning was totally compassionless. They stared at the body in the coffin.

Since Mo Ran had lived through this in a previous life, nothing unfolding was a surprise to him, but he still needed to put on an appearance, so he touched his chin thoughtfully: "Shizun, something's wrong with the corpse."

Chu Wanning: "I know."

". . ."

What he had said was exactly what Chu Wanning had said during this conversation in his previous life. In this life, he wanted to use it to shock Chu Wanning. He did well, and yet he only threw out a simple "I know" as a result.

Shouldn't a shizun encourage his disciple to speak his mind and give him praise and reward??

Mo Ran pretended that he hadn't heard him say "I know", and continued: "This corpse has no signs of decay. It's been more than half a month since the accident. Based on the current climate, it should have festered and rotted. A layer of fluids should have built up in the coffin. That's the first strange thing."

Chu Wanning gave him a cold glare with a look of "Are you done fooling around?": ". . ."

"Secondly." Mo Ran was unmoved, continuing to recite Chu Wanning's words from the previous life to solve the puzzle. "Before the coffin was opened, the evil energy around the red coffin was dense, but after it was opened, it dissipated. And there's a minimal evil aura around the corpse, which is also very abnormal."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Thirdly, did you find that from the moment the coffin was opened, there was a sweet smell in the air?"

The scent was so delicate, if you don't pay attention, you wouldn't notice it at all. When Mo Ran pointed it out, Shi Mei and Chen Yao realized that there really was a faint sweetness in the air.

Shi Mei: "Indeed."

Chen Yao's face changed when she smelled it, "This scent. . ."

Shi Mei: "Madam Chen, what's the matter?"

Chen Yao’s scared voice changed: "This scent is my mother-in-law's hundred butterfly fragrance powder!"

No one spoke for a while. The prophetic sign in the ancestral hall that read "Master Yang, Chen Sunshi" appeared in front of him again.

Shi Mei asked: ". . . Could Madam Chen really have done this?"

Mo Ran: "It doesn't look like that."

Chu Wanning: "No."

The two spoke almost at the same time and glanced at each other after speaking. Chu Wanning's face didn't waver: "You speak."

Mo Ran said nonchalantly: "As far as I know, the Chen family made a fortune and relied on the old lady's hundred butterfly fragrance powder. Although the powder's formula is a secret, the finished product isn't difficult to get. Five or six of ten girls in Caidie Town use this fragrance. Not only that, but we investigated before we came here. Mr. Chen himself seems to like his mother's butterfly fragrance powder very much, and he often mixes it in his bathwater so it’s not strange that he has this smell on his body, the strange thing is. . ."

He said, turning his head again to the naked man in the coffin.

"This person has been dead for half a month, and this fragrance smells like it was just applied. Am I right, Shizun?"

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Just praise me if I'm right."

Chu Wanning: "Mmm."

Mo Ran laughed: "What a waste of words."

He didn't have a chance to laugh again. Suddenly, his robe flew to the side, Chu Wanning pulled him back a few feet, the golden light of Tianwen in his hand was shining, dancing like flames.

"Watch out."

The smell of the butterfly fragrance powder in the air suddenly grew stronger. As the scent drifted away, a white mist appeared between the grass and trees, which began to diffuse at an alarming speed. Instantly, it turned the entire mountainside into a sea of ​​mist, and all of a sudden, he couldn't even see the hand in front of his face!

Mo Ran's heart lurched.

An illusionary world appeared.

"Ah!!!" In the thick fog, the first thing that rang out was Chen Yao's screams, "Daoist Master, help—"

Before she finished the last word, everything went silent.

Chu Wanning's fingertips lit up with a blue gleam, and he slapped a tracking spell onto Mo Ran's forehead: "Be careful, I'll check it out."

After he spoke, he followed the voice and quickly disappeared into the thick fog.

Mo Ran touched his forehead and chuckled in a low voice: "Well, even the position of the spell is exactly the same as in my previous life. Chu Wanning, you really haven't changed a bit."

The fog came quickly and dispersed just as fast. It didn't take long for the fog to disappear without a trace. However, the scene in front of him was even more surprising than the fog. Mo Ran was really shocked, at least he was in his last life.

After the fog cleared, the originally desolate and overgrown mountainside had disappeared.

Instead, there was a vast and elegant garden, pavilions, waterfalls, curved corridors, rocky gardens and jade trees, and pebble paths as far as the eye could see.

Mo Ran took a look at the surroundings and immediately wanted to roll around in joy.

This rogue hooligan spent all day thinking about this illusion. In his previous life, they were similarly lost in it. First, Mo Ran ran into Shi Mei, and under the compulsion of the illusion, he kissed the other for the first and only time in his life.

It's a pity that Shi Mei was terribly frightened when it happened. He let go of Mo Ran, turned and ran away. He wasn't given the chance to take a second bite of the swan before it was taken off his plate, which was really unfortunate.

After the illusion was broken, Shi Mei never brought it up. The kiss in the illusion was treated as if it hadn't happened, and no one mentioned it again. Sometimes when he dreamt at night, Mo Ran wondered if he was obsessing too deeply over something he imagined.

But whether he imagined it or not, Mo Ran licked his lips. He thought this time he definitely wouldn't let Shi Mei run away from him that easy! One kiss wasn't enough!

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[howelljenkins]

As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom. 

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing.  I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly. 

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold. 

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children). 

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical. 

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

[the-marsh-harrier]

Who was Orion Black? (Pt 3) Orion Black x Female!Reader

***WARNING - symptoms related to a panic attack are featured in this part just under the "Keep Reading" tab - it has been highlighted in red so if you don't want to read this part, please skip ahead***

A/N: I wanted to explore Sirius’s childhood more in a non-traditional sense and give Orion and Walburga some interesting character development. This takes place after Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. Although this is a reader insert in parts, it is not the main focus and some chapters will have little or no mention of the reader. I have also altered the year Walburga was born to be 1940 instead of 1925 as it states in cannon (this is my fanfic and I’ll do what I want with the characters that are in it). Similarly, in some of the chapters to come, I already know I will upset some people with the way I portray Sirius and Walburga’s relationship - remember everyone is entitled to portray fictional characters as they want in their fanfics and if you disagree, please write your own. JKR's bigotry and opinions are not welcome here nor supported.

Finally, I am hoping to get Part 4 out this week as well as a sorry for missing last week's post.

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 (Part 3) Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Sirius thought he knew who his parents were, but did he really? After returning to 12 Grimmauld Place after his escape from Azkaban, he uncovers secrets that he never would’ve imagined

The Elf, The Key, and The Pensieve

As the night dragged on, Walburga’s portrait eventually passed out with her face rested against the frame. The repetitive nature of her snoring droning on throughout the parlour drove Sirius out of the room. Sirius found himself lost within his drunken thoughts and questions. It was during this internal monologue that he found himself aimlessly staring down the hallway toward the front door. The more he focused on it the more the chatter and noise from the outside world seemed to grow louder, voices from the past that were encapsulated in the walls began echoing back at him, footsteps that once graced the stair of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked back to life… and then as if a song reaching its crescendo… it all stopped... nothing but silence. Pure, unadulterated silence spoke louder than it ever had to him before; and at that moment, that singular moment, Sirius realised that he was alone. He was alone. No one knew where he was, despite a very small select few but they didn’t come too often nor stay too long. They all had their lives, they had their houses full, they had their homes, they had their lives. They had a life that Sirius knew he would never be able to possess. The silence in 12 Grimmauld Place had never spoken to Sirius in this way before, so cruel and haunted; jaded with time and loneliness as everything held in within its walls became. There's a dark force that seems to suck the life from everything within its grip, so much so that even the silence could be disturbed by the house's own hideous nature.

A tightness began to take hold of Sirius’s chest as tears began to swell in his eyes. Was this all he was ever meant to be? Surely not. What sick prophet would lay out a life like this before him? The tightness in his chest only grew and Sirius found himself braced against the wall for some sense of steadiness. Pain shot through his core like a white-hot poker as all his limbs turned an odd prickly sort of numb. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Like up was down and down was up, like left was right and right was left, like the world was still and he was spinning out of control.

He found himself sliding down the wall until he hit the ground. His hands gripping opposite shoulders as his body began to rock and shake uncontrollable like his breath escaping his nose. Both of his lips were drawn into his mouth as he bit and chewed on them to achieve some level of comfort, but it didn’t come. The feeling of dread and anxiety only rose with each tear that he shed. He felt himself falling deeper and deeper into a pit of anxious thoughts until there was a new sound… it was faint at first but the more he focused on it the easier it became to breathe. It was the piano in his father’s study, a mere twenty feet away. A soft melody that was all too familiar and comforting at the same time. One of Orion’s compositions danced from the study; one composition that he had written for Sirius when he was younger titled Merci, Mon Fils in Db Major.

The song continued until Sirius could breathe and the physical pain subsided, but the tears continued to fall. It was as if a new wound ripped open within him that was patched over a long time ago. A rusted pipe that finally bursts through the layers of paint and plaster that he had used to disguise it. Flashing images of his father’s face looped through his mind; knowing he’d never hear his voice again, never watch him play the piano again, never hear him open the door to check on him at night before… before everything happened, and it got so much worse. Never hear his father’s barking laughter when Sirius got back from Hogwarts and told him about all the pranks he had pulled. As much as Sirius hated to admit it… he missed his father, he missed him more than he thought possible… twenty years of pain, resentment and mourning hit him… that was until he heard the piano again… and it was all replaced with rage.

The only living thing in this house, aside from Sirius, was that elf. How dare he play his father’s piano? How dare he manipulate a song that meant so much?

Blind, drunken anger carried Sirius toward the warm orange glow that framed the door to Orion’s study. The keys of the piano moved quicker and more furiously as Sirius got closer. Stumbling over his own feet like a crazed bull, he threw himself toward the door that was slightly ajar.

“Where are you?” Sirius hissed through gritted teeth. “How DARE you use my father’s study for your own sick amusement?”

Kreacher’s sobs could be heard emanating from under Orion’s desk. Sirius ran around the back of the desk and ripped the chair out from behind it as he bellowed “OUT HERE NOW!”

Kreacher managed to shimmy his way out from under the front panel of the desk so he could escape from his new master. “What have you been doing in here?” Sirius screamed as he watched the elf run under the piano stool. “Play me another tune! Get out and PLAY!”

“I didn’t do anything, Master! The piano played on its own. I was dusting the shelves.” Kreacher croaked from under the stool.

“Oh, yes! So believable!” Sirius’s voice was like venom. “Why that song? Huh? Kreacher! Why did you play that song?”

“I am only permitted to touch the piano to clean it, Master! Late Master Orion would not allow for anyone other than yourself to play his piano.” Kreacher justified.

“Oh, I see! I see what you’re doing! Very clever!”

“Late Master Orion cared deeply-” Kreacher was cut off by Sirius drunken screaming.

“You think the old git cared about you! You think he would save you! You think he would help you! He hated you! He hated you!” Sirius continued. “The only thing that man loved was a bottle! He never cared about you!” Sirius swept his arms across the copious shelves still filled with rows of bottles and decanters alike, so they’d shatter on the floor. He braced his arms against the shelving unit for a moment watching the broken glass roll across the floor before looking back up at the shelf when he heard a gentle clinking. The shelves were replenished as if brand new. A frustrated cry left Sirius and rebounded through the house.

Marching over the elf’s hiding spot Sirius began to interrogate Kreacher. “What is it about this room that you cling to so much? Huh?” Sirius booted the stool from over the top of the elf before crouching down and grabbing him by his cloth smock. “You hated the old git! He used to boot you round like a ball when he was drunk while I was here.” Sirius caught a glimpse of himself in Kreacher terrified eyes and what he saw made his stomach turn – the likeness was uncanny. You could think that a drunken Orion was staring right back at you and this knocked Sirius back to reality and made him drop the elf.

Kreacher retreated toward the door as Sirius seated himself on one of the plush, dark green velvet armchairs. His elbows rested on his knees; hands buried in his hair while his nails softly scraped against his scalp. Sirius began to wonder if his monologue was really about the elf or about himself. "Kreacher," Sirius called out more softly than he had ever spoken to him.

Whether it was out of duty, fear, or a mixture of the two; Kreacher's whimpers could be heard reapproaching the room but he did not enter, opting to remain in the door frame. “Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black. What do you require, Master?”

“I want you to answer my question.” Sirius exhaled before forcing his drunken eyes to focus on the elf. “Why do you cling to this room so much?”

“Late Master Orion used to play every night after Master Sirius left. Late Master Orion used to get Kreacher to sit on the stool next to him as young Master Sirius had and watch him play. Oh, how Master Orion cried for young Master Sirius when he left. Master Orion used to hug Kreacher, wishing young Master Sirius would return.”

Sirius was taken back by this but managed to whisper. “He did what?”

“Master Orion struggled greatly after you left, sir; he insisted that he couldn’t lose you, he was desperate to get you to return. The arguments between him and Mistress when you had been burnt off the tapestry were… so destructive and violent. It took Great Master Arcturus and Master Alphard to resolve the situation. Master Orion set the whole tapestry alight saying if his son was not welcome on the family tree then there should be no tapestry.”

Sirius did not know how to process this. “But the tapestry is still hung in the house, Kreacher. Do not lie to me.”

“Great Master Arcturus and Master Alphard made it anew. That is why there are so many skeletons on the tree where neither could remember the relative face. They burnt every member that was not deemed appropriate. The faces were scorn from the tree once more.” Kreacher finished. “Is there anything else you require, Master?”

“Yes, actually. There is one more thing. The tapestry doesn’t note Orion’s first wife, Y/N L/N. I wish to know why.”

Kreacher’s eyes bulged from his head. “Kreacher is forbidden to say those words.” Kreacher put forward his arm to display an unknown sequence of ancient runes. “If Kreacher does, he will die and no longer be able to serve the noble house of Black.”

“You will tell me, Kreacher!” Sirius banged his hands off the armrest and stood up making the elf flinch. Kreacher meekly entered the room, quickly darting behind the door to Orion’s coat stand and pointed toward Orion’s jacket pocket.

“Kreacher cannot speak it. However, there is another way to find the answers you are looking for.” Sirius stumbled to the jacket and felt the pockets. He felt something hard within one of them. When he reached inside, he found a small ornate silver key. “Perhaps, Master can show you himself.” Sirius turned to Kreacher to see him pointing toward one of Orion’s untouched bookcases where one solitary cigar box was placed. “As Master aged and his alcoholic affliction worsened, Master couldn’t remember his life very well, so he began to store his memories as to never forget them. Kreacher was to tend to them and ensure their safety for Master.”

Once opened, Sirius realised it was a miniature Pensieve; miniature was a stretch – the box had been charmed to hold a large number of memories from his departed father’s life. Sirius summoned the memories about Y/N L/N. This was one secret Sirius wasn’t prepared to let the Black family keep any longer. He had to know who she was and why she was so important to Orion. Why did Arcturus refuse to let anyone say her name? Why wasn’t she on the tree or at least scorched off? When did Orion marry Y/N L/N? Why did she die? How did she die? Was her death linked to the reasoning for the marriage between Orion and Walburga so rushed?

Orion’s choice of labelling was rather simple yet personal fashion, with each vial associated with the names of his work and date. For a second, it felt wrong to go through all of Orion's memories but how else would Sirius find the answers he needed?

Sirius charmed the piano to play through his father's best pieces which matched with the associated memory. “How better to get to know you, dad?” Sirius bitterly thought aloud. The piano began to play a beautiful cacophony of notes which form The First Dance in C minor.

Pouring the memory into the Pensieve, Sirius dove headfirst into his father’s life.

[kemetic-dreams]

    Trying to make African people and culture evil

                               Early Jewish interpretations

The Torah assigns no racial characteristics or rankings to Ham. Moses married a Cushite, one of the reputed descendants of Ham, according to the Book of Numbers, Chapter 12. Despite this, a number of early Jewish writers have interpreted the Biblical narrative of Ham in a racial way. The Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 108b states, "Our Rabbis taught: Three copulated in the ark, and they were all punished—the dog, the raven, and Ham. The dog was doomed to be tied, the raven expectorates, and Ham was smitten in his skin" (Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 108b). The nature of Ham's "smitten" skin is unexplained, but later commentaries described this as a darkening of skin. 

A later note to the text states that the "smitten" skin referred to the blackness of descendants, and a later comment by rabbis in the Bereshit Rabbah asserts that Ham himself emerged from the ark black-skinned. The Zohar states that Ham's son Canaan "darkened the faces of mankind."

Some Biblical scholars see the "curse of Ham" story as an early Hebrew rationalization for Israel's conquest and enslavement of the Canaanites, who were presumed to descend from Canaan.

Many pre-modern Christian sources discussed the curse of Ham in connection with race and slavery:

For the Egyptians are prone to a degenerate life and quickly sink to every slavery of the vices. Look at the origin of the race and you will discover that their father Cham, who had laughed at his father’s nakedness, deserved a judgment of this kind, that his son Chanaan should be a servant to his brothers, in which case the condition of bondage would prove the wickedness of his conduct. Not without merit, therefore, does the discolored posterity imitate the ignobility of the race [Non ergo immerito ignobilitatem decolor posteritas imitatur] (Homilies on Genesis 16.1).

The Eastern Christian work, the Cave of Treasures (fourth century), explicitly connects slavery with dark-skinned people:

When Noah awoke…he cursed him and said: "Cursed be Ham and may he be slave to his brothers" … and he became a slave, he and his lineage, namely the Egyptians, the Abyssinians, and the Indians. Indeed, Ham lost all sense of shame and he became black and was called shameless all the days of his life, forever.

Ishodad of Merv (Syrian Christian bishop of Hedhatha, ninth century):

When Noah cursed Canaan, “instantly, by the force of the curse… his face and entire body became black [ukmotha]. This is the black color which has persisted in his descendents.”

Eutychius, Alexandrian Melkite patriarch (d. 940): “Cursed be Ham and may he be a servant to his brothers… He himself and his descendants, who are the Egyptians, the Negroes, the Ethiopians and (it is said) the Barbari.”

Ibn al-Tayyib (Arabic Christian scholar, Baghdad, d. 1043): “The curse of Noah affected the posterity of Canaan who were killed by Joshua son of Nun. At the moment of the curse, Canaan’s body became black and the blackness spread out among them.”

The Syrian Christian scholar Bar Hebraeus (1226-86) writes: “‘And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father and showed [it] to his two brothers.’ That is…that Canaan was cursed and not Ham, and with the very curse he became black and the blackness was transmitted to his descendents…. And he said, ‘Cursed be Canaan! A servant of servants shall he be to his brothers.’”

According to Catholic mystic Anne Catherine Emmerich, "I saw the curse pronounced by Noah upon Ham moving toward the latter like a black cloud and obscuring him. His skin lost its whiteness, he grew darker. His sin was the sin of sacrilege, the sin of one who would forcibly enter the Ark of the Covenant. I saw a most corrupt race descend from Ham and sink deeper and deeper in darkness. I see that the black, idolatrous, stupid nations are the descendants of Ham. Their color is due, not to the rays of the sun, but to the dark source whence those degraded races sprang."

Pre-modern European interpretations

In the Middle Ages, European scholars of the Bible picked up on the Jewish Talmud idea of viewing the "sons of Ham" or Hamites as cursed, possibly "blackened" by their sins. Though early arguments to this effect were sporadic, they became increasingly common during the slave trade of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.[6] The justification of slavery itself through the sins of Ham was well suited to the ideological interests of the elite; with the emergence of the slave trade, its racialized version justified the exploitation of a ready supply of African labour. This interpretation of Scripture was never adopted by the African Coptic Churches.

The curse of Ham in the Latter-day Saint Movement (Mormon)

The first recorded indication of Joseph Smith's adoption of the doctrine of the curse of Ham is found in a parenthetical reference as early as 1831.

After the death of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, the church's second president, taught that people of African ancestry were under the curse of Ham. Young also taught that the day would come when the curse would be nullified through the saving powers of Jesus Christ.

In addition, based on his interpretation of the Book of Abraham, Young also believed that as a result of this curse, modern people of African descent were banned from receiving the Priesthood (although they were allowed to join the Church). Young believed the curse remained in people with even a single black ancestor.

However, every President of the Church from Joseph Smith Jr. to Spencer W. Kimball stated that the day would come when the Priesthood would be available to all men. In 1978, after much prayer and fasting on the matter, President Spencer W. Kimball of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints received a revelation which officially extended the Priesthood to all worthy males.

The curse of Ham in Black Hebrew Israelite and Nuwaubian teachings

The Nuwaubians, and certain Black Hebrew Israelite sects such as Yahweh Ben Yahweh, reversed the typical racial slant of the curse of Ham. In their teaching the curse was leprosy, which in its extreme form whitened the skins of the Canaanites.

Islamic interpretations

Prophets of Islam are generally considered by hadith to have kept Islamic law, even before Islam existed; the belief is that God's universal will guided them in the same way as Muhammad, and their habits simply were not accepted by others nor written down. As Islam discourages the consumption of alcohol, this means that the story could not have happened as described in the Torah, as Noah would never be drunk. Instead the story of Noah's nakedness is sometimes explained as the result of the wind blowing off his cloak. Nevertheless, the story of the curse is not part of Islamic scripture.

Early Islamic scholars debated whether or not there was a curse on Ham's descendants. Some accepted that there was, and some argued that it was visible in dark skin. According to David Goldenberg,

Just as in Jewish and Christian sources, so too in Islamic sources do we find that it was not Canaan who was cursed with slavery, but Ham instead of or in addition to Canaan. So, for example, Tabari (d. 923), quoting Ibn Isaq (d. 768), Masudi (tenth century) and Dimashqui (thirteenth century). Ham appears as the recipient of the curse so regularly that the only Arabic author Gerhard Rotter could find who specifically limits the curse to Canaan is Yaqubi (d. ca 900). In all others the descendants of Ham were enslaved.

Goldenberg argues that the "exegetical tie between Ham and servitude is commonly found in works composed in the Near East whether in Arabic by Muslims or in Syraic by Christians." He suggests that the compilation known as the Cave of Miracles (Abrégé des merveilles) may be the source. This text states that "Noah cursed Ham, praying to God that Ham's sons may be cursed and black and that they be subjected as slaves to those of Shem."

In the book, One Thousand and One Nights, there is an argument between black and white concubines about which color is better. The white concubine tells the story of the curse of Ham, saying that Ham was blackened because he ridiculed his father, but Shem was whitened because he refused to do so. The black concubine replies with the argument that whiteness is associated with death and leprosy.

[jjfics]

Room 19 ll 01

ship: Harry Potter x female!Reader

summary: Harry and the reader both work at the Ministry and are sent together on a mission. their feelings for each other start shifting as they arrive at the hotel.

author: Jane Jack aka your girl JJfics

word count: 2050

a/n: i usually like writing established relationships so this is something new to me but it is a trope i have always enjoyed so i hope you will too. i was on a phone call with my best friend while writing this and they said, and i quote, i dropped my french fry, on the couch

Dragging a suitcase full of clothes can be very exhausting when you are not allowed to do magic. While you could theoretically obliviate all the muggles that happen to see you two, it would be a waste of time. You and the oh-so-famous Harry James Potter were placed together for this mission by the Ministry of Magic, and so far it has been going great. If not talking to each other unless you had to is considered great.

You had expected him to be cockier and pretend to know everything. It’s what the Daily Prophet says anyway. But he has been very silent around you and even though you would never admit this to anyone, especially to him, you have been wondering if he is like this with everybody or if this is about you.

You were supposed to pretend to be a muggle couple who goes on vacation while investigating the activities of some suspicious wizards. Those wizards and witches you were assigned to keep an eye on live somewhere in the countryside of Scotland. No train and no bus could take you this far.

You were currently on a deserted road with Potter on your right checking a map as you did your best to not kick the suitcase that contained both of your clothes out of annoyance. You hated having agreed to take turns with it but at this point, you wanted to give up.

It has been an hour since you last turned left on this road. There was a village somewhere ahead but it seems so far away you might as well just sleep right here. Stargazing with Harry Potter did not sound like a bad story to tell your friends later, but you had to remind yourself how awkward that would turn soon as he refuses to talk to you at all.

“We should be there in about half an hour,” he said suddenly. Oh, so now he talked, good to know.

“Okay,” you sighed.

“What?” he looked up from the map in his hands to face you.

“I don’t even know… Can’t we take a break? We’ll get there eventually.”

“No, y/n. There is a perfect timing at which we have to be at the hotel. We have to arrive at the same time as the group. Is something you would have known if you actually read the instructions we were given before this trip,” he furrowed his brows and said with exasperation latched in his voice.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about this mission? Not everything is about you, Potter,” you said with a cold voice. Maybe he hasn’t been talking to you not because he doesn’t like you personally, which you would totally not even care about, never, but because he was too obsessed with himself to acknowledge anyone else.

“I never said everything is about me!” Harry shouted back at you. “I don’t even want it to be. But I do want this mission to go well, specifically.”

“Why?” you let the suitcase fall on the ground completely moved closer to him.

Potter looked over your head at the road, avoiding eye contact. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and he hated it because his voice sounded a bit unsure. “It doesn’t matter” he repeated.

You rolled your eyes and took a step even closer. “Then why do you care? I bet you didn’t even want to be placed with me, did you?” you shouted back with pain. “You think I’ll screw this up for you, don’t you, Potter?”

“No, y/n, God, just shut up!” he grabbed your arm and pulled you off the road. You were both so concentrated on getting the stress of the trip out on the other that you didn’t even hear a car coming down the street. Its speed slowed down as it approached you and the driver rolled down the window.

The man inside looked you up and down and then stuck out his hand. “Ben Nelson.” he introduced himself.

Potter shook his hand and gave him a small and awkward smile. “Harry Campbell,” he said. He nodded his head in your direction and added shortly “And y/n Campbell.”

The driver laughed stiffly and raised his eyebrows. “And what might you kids be doing here alone?”

“We were just trying to get to the village, not too far away from here,” Potter told him.

“Ah, that’s where I’m heading… yeah… well, come on, do you want me to help you put that trunk of yours in the back?” the man chuckled.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Yeah, I’m taking you there, come on.” he took his seatbelt off, but Harry held his hand up.

“Thank you, sir. We can put the suitcase ourselves.”

“Okay, but hurry up you. I don’t have all the time in the world like you young ones.”

Potter smirked at you, and you tried to hide the way you blushed by bringing your hands up to your hair to tie it back before dragging the suitcase once more and closing the trunk loudly. You and Potter got in the backseat together, just to make it clear that you were a couple, you thought; he probably wouldn’t sit next to you otherwise.

“You two have been together for long?” Nelson asks.

You are still very mad at your partner, but you have to put on an act. You are not y/n y/ln anymore. Now you are y/n Campbell. “One year,” you falsely giggle. “But it has been the best year of my life” you put your arm on Potter’s thigh, and you could swear he stopped breathing for a second.

“My wife and I have been together for 30 years. Met her when I was young like you… Good times, good times.”

You got to the hotel way faster than you had assumed at first, making your argument from earlier look stupid now. You didn’t apologize though, and neither did he. As you entered the hotel you left Potter in the hall with the suitcase and handed him your ugly muggle coat (you missed your soft travel robes a lot) and headed to a toilet.

After fixing yourself in the mirror, trying to delay having to talk to him again, you finally exited the restroom and looked for him in the cold entrance hallway. There he was in a corner, with your coat over his shoulder and his arms crossed, making you wonder how even women’s clothing looked this good on him. He had a frustrated expression on his face as if something was bothering him a great deal.

“Where are my clothes?” you asked.

“Our clothes are in room 19. A kind person offered to take them there for us while I waited for you. Let’s go.” It didn’t make sense. What was his problem now? You arrived early; everything went as planned.

He walked in front of you through the large lobby of the hotel to the stairs like he knew the way already. The woman must have shown him where the room is. He didn’t stop until you reached the second floor. There were many tall brown doors down the hall but you kept passing them. The numbers on the wall next to them kept increasing until, at last, there was 19.

Potter reached in the pocket of his pants for a small golden key to open the door. Inside it smelled like old wood and fresh air. It was truly a beautiful room that reminded you a bit of your own at home. Everything had a nostalgic feeling to it that made you feel welcome. But there was one small thing you didn’t realize at first. One small problem.

There was only one bed.

A big bed with white sheets stood in the corner with your suitcase underneath. Your tired feet begged you to jump on it and immediately fall asleep, but your brain would not let you. Because Potter must have wanted to do the same, but none of you moved.

“I will sleep on the floor,” you said quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. You have to rest.”

“Listen, Potter, I know you want to be a gentleman for once, but I’m not that tired.” Lie. “You can take the bed."

“But you carried the suitcase; you deserve this more” he scratched the back of his head. Did he believe you to be weak?

“I will sleep on the floor” you hissed and walked over to the bed to take one of the pillows.

The watch on your hand told you it was 1 am when you woke up on the hard wooden floor. Your back and feet hurt like crazy and you regretted being the brave one more and more. All you wanted now was to lay on the soft bed next to Potter. His breathing was even as his chest rose and fell back slowly. His hair was messy, his lips parted as he slept. He looked peaceful like this, almost like someone you could suffer being around.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights as you crossed the room to the bathroom. The moonlight which came through the window was enough to guide you.

You tried falling back asleep after, but woke up disappointed at 3 am again. You searched your entire memory for any Sleeping Spell but you couldn’t remember any. Perhaps Potter would not even know what had happened to you next morning when he couldn’t wake you up and worry.

You did not want him to be worried, ever, so you stopped trying. You sighed and looked over to the comfortable bed once again. He was still in the same position. Nothing was bothering his perfect sleep.

He would not mind, after all, would he? If you just got 3 hours of actual sleep and then moved back on the floor in the morning? He would not notice your presence. He did want you to take the bed, so why not do it?

You hugged your pillow close to your chest and watched him in case he woke up as you made your way next to him. Doing your best not to touch him you stood as far as possible on the bed. He rolled over and you could not tell if he was awake for his face was turned to the wall. Anxiety was flowing through your veins but only for a moment. Who cares if he woke up? He would say something if it really bothered him.

You fell asleep quite instantly. Even though it was more like a short nap it was the best sleep you had ever had in your life. So warm and comfortable. It was a refreshing dreamless night. You yawned softly before opening your eyes and you wanted to stretch your arms, but you found that you couldn’t. Something was restraining you.

And then you realized that it was a bit too sunny inside the room for it to only be 6 am as you had planned.

You opened your eyes slowly only to be met with Potter’s face very close to yours. His eyes were still closed and he looked very content with the position you two were in: cuddling with his hands around your waist and your head previously on his shoulder. You found yourself not wanting to move or disrupt him. You wanted to stay there forever. He was more than just sufferable like this.

But you did not want him to know about this, that is, if he still didn’t. So you attempted to get off the bed. It was almost painful, leaving him and the bed, but you had to get ready for the first part of the mission today. He smiled in his sleep as you sighed, wondering what he could have been dreaming about that made him happy.

He woke up 15 minutes later when you were already dressed. You made sure to return your pillow to the cold floor and hoped he didn’t realize what happened during the night. With the wands hidden in both of your coats you made your way to a cafe in the village for breakfast, where, according to the instructions from the Ministry, you should observe the group of wizards from afar.