#anyway. it’s been roughly a year and a half now since i had that dream

[digitaldiseas3]

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[lvrrgirlll]

Tolerate It (series)

Synopsis: Life as Patrick Zweig’s controversially young girlfriend should have been a dream, but it was anything but. He was a broken man. You were a girl who knew all too well. Who’s to say whether you’ve got it wrong now…

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Paring: Patrick Zweig x read

Word count: 1.4k

Content warnings: smut, p in v, age gap relationship, bit of fluff, eventual angst (there are hints so far but nothing crazy)

Notes: This is my first ever fic and I really don’t know how to feel about it so idk, take that as you will and hopefully enjoy!! :) (also this is like half proofread so forgive typos lol, I am but a lowly college student who is extremely busy 24/7)

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Part 1: Getting to know you…

2029:

Cameras flashed uncontrollably as you sat at one end of a small, round table, Patrick seated at the other. His hands were folded across the table as he hunched over. Yours were in your lap. The two of you were…distant, though not too perceptibly so to outsiders.

“Mrs. Zweig! A comment please, how do you feel about your husband’s retirement after such a long career?”

2019:

You first met Patrick in a particular stage of his life he’s not quite proud of looking back.

Patrick has matched with you!

Patrick: “Hey babe, wanna get dinner drinks tn?”

Patrick had begun to ask you to dinner, before remembering he had no money, and couldn’t afford dinner, especially on a date, since he’d be expected to pay. He sighed after sending you the message, moving to swipe on other unsuspecting victims.

Seeing his message immediately, you considered your options. As a broke college student, lonely and with endless loans to pay back…it wouldn’t be so bad to have a drink with a hot pro tennis player right about now. Closing your laptop, deciding your English paper could wait, you picked up your phone to reply right away, not caring if you seemed eager.

Y/n: “Drinks tonight…sure, when and where?”

Patrick was surprised to see a reply at all, but especially so quickly.

Patrick: “Ritz hotel lobby at 8? I can send you the address”

Y/n: “Works for me. See you then.”

Looking back, the date should have raised several red flags from the start.

Firstly, the fact that a 32-year-old professional tennis player wanted to get drinks with a barely legal college student was a surprise in and of itself. That’s completely barring the fact that, being 18, you obviously couldn’t drink legally, not that Patrick or the hotel bartender seemed to care. The entire date, Patrick eyed you like a piece of meat, his hands caressing your knee and inching up your thigh as you spoke about your major and he feigned interest. And it should have especially raised alarm when he kissed you roughly and suddenly, murmuring that you both should go back to your apartment. He was lucky you had decided to skip out on dorm life.

“‘D’you do this with every guy you meet,” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned abs.

“No…” you breathed out, catching your breath after feverish kisses while he unbuckled his belt. “You’re different. Special.” He smirked then, a wicked, boyish grin, as if he was in on something you weren’t.

“Oh honey, you don’t even know yet…I’m not special. M’nothing…not worth your time anyways, I mean…” he let out an airy whistle “look at you.” He froze then, looking you up and down as you had stripped your cute but casual dress off. You only giggled in response.

“M’gonna ruin you…” he murmured under his breath, eyes darkening as he stalked closer. When he was finally stood right in front of you, you reached up onto your tip toes to kiss him passionately, your hands exploring his unclothed torso as he reached to your back to unclasp your bra. You let him, happily helping him out and then continuing your feverish kiss, reaching for the zipper of his pants. “Someone’s eager…” he half chuckled in between kisses.

“You’re one to talk,” you quipped back, smirking up at him briefly before he moved to trail kisses down your neck and to your chest. He pushed you onto the bed gently (to his surprise —he usually wasn’t gentle with hookups like this), mouth moving to your chest as he licked and sucked at your taught nipples. “Patrick…” you whined. He smiled at the way you said his name. You looked so pretty right now…beneath him, all weak just for him…

He stood up, finally relieving himself from the constraints of his clothes, leaving only his huge erection perked up in his boxers. You were intimidated…it’s not like you hadn’t had sex before, but you didn’t know if you could handle him. “P- Pat…,” you cooed timidly, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

“What is it,” he questioned back.

“‘Dunno if it’ll fit…” you mumbled, a little embarrassed but concerned nonetheless.

“Oh, don’t worry baby. It’ll fit. We just gotta take it slow at first…I’ll make it fit.”

And he kept his word. Pulling your panties to the side, he ran one finger, then two, through your slick folds. “Already so wet for me…” he whispered, looking up at you. He brought his fingers to his mouth, then, tasting you in an ever so erotic display. “You taste good…if only I could wait tonight.” He pulled his thick cock out, pumping it in his big hands a few times before leaning over you. “You ready? You can do it, just gotta start slow.” He offered a reassuring look through the clear arousal that was taking over him. You nodded in response, which led him to tilt your chin up, making sure you held his gaze. “Gotta use your words, sweet thing.”

“I’m ready, Patrick…more than ready. I want you bad.”

After that, he wasted no time, slipping the tip in, then leaning in little by little, till you were full to the brim. He bottomed out, holding himself stagnant inside of you for a moment so you could get used to him. It was hard for him to get used to you, though. The way you were squeezing him with your warm walls had him feeling like a teenager again, about to cum in seconds. He composed himself, though.

“Gonna start moving now…is that okay?” He asked, genuineness seeping through. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different with you…

“Mhm…I can take it,” you whimpered back at him, eyebrows knitting together at the stretch to take him. He started moving, slow at first, but then he picked up the pace. “Feels so good,” you gasped, gripping the bed sheets tightly in one of your hands as you moaned. Patrick moved rhythmically between your thighs, thrusting in and out of you at a now very quick pace.

“Shit…you’re so good for me baby. You take me so well…fuck— so good for me.” Patrick muttered breathlessly as he somehow managed to quicken his pace, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier as he hit that spongy spot inside of you. You didn’t know what it was about him, but after this, you couldn’t imagine yourself with any other man…

“P- Pat -fuck- I’m gonna…gonna cum.”

His eyelids fell heavily over his eyes as he looked down at you, jaw slack and breath heavy. “Me too baby. Come on, cum for me…you can do it doll.” You felt that tightness in your stomach finally snap as you moaned loudly, cumming around him, leaving a wet, creamy ring around his cock. He continued to pump in and out of you for a few moments, still chasing his high, before his hips started stuttering, and he came without another word. He felt like he could collapse on top of you, but he didn’t want to hurt such a pretty little thing. He caught himself, just barely, propped up on the headboard before falling down next to you on the bed. “Night babe…” he mumbled, eyes closed, pecking your shoulder quickly before drifting off to sleep. That tenderness alone was enough to send you reeling, but luckily sleep took over after such a hard come down. You could worry about your feelings in the morning.

That night had been the best sex of your life. Of course, Patrick got what he had wanted all along: a warm body and a warm bed. He spent the night aiming to leave in the morning without a trace, but as he got up, you awoke.

“Hm…huh? Patrick?” You stretched, reaching to rub the sleep from your eyes. “W- were you leaving?” Your voice was earnest and gentle, a tinge of concern filtering through. Patrick felt a pang of guilt, then. He couldn’t do this to you…not yet anyways. You had been so good to him. So obedient for him. He knew he’d regret it later, but against his better judgment, he reached down, moving your hair from your forehead and offering a gentle peck.

“Just gotta get going for my match baby…I’ll call ya later. We can do something else, okay? Hm? I’ll be back, don’t worry. ‘M not going anywhere…” he reassured.

You nodded silently, smiling up at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars. He knew then when he saw that look in your eyes that this would become a problem…but like most of his other problems, he never knew when to quit.

[kradogsrats]

If Soren seems to have gotten sick when he was a toddler, do you think Lissa left shortly after Claudia was born…? Maybe that doesn’t quite line up, actually…

Okay so I saw someone ask Aaron Ehasz a similar question about the timeline of Soren's illness re: Viren's dream vs. the events presented in Puzzle House, and I cannot remember where it was but his response was something like "hm... well you should probably believe the show."

Which immediately made me go "oh my god was Soren actually dead for like three to five years and Kpp'Ar was looking for a unicorn horn to resurrect him in a manner similar to the Star magic spell that 'restores bodies to separated spirits' and then instead Viren stole Ziard's staff from him and used that??????" which is a) insane, and b) has several reasons it probably isn't the case. But it's a thought I had.

Anyway, let's look at our contrasting sources:

Puzzle House

Puzzle House establishes the following sequence of events:

Soren is ill to the point of dying

Kpp'Ar disappears

Soren gets better

Lissa leaves

It's also implied that this was all pretty recent, between King Atticus's concern for Viren and Soren's for Claudia:

So, how old are all these extremely precocious young children in Puzzle House?

Well, Sarai is... quite pregnant. She's got a pretty small frame, but I'd still put her at like 30 weeks, minimum. Ezran is pinned at 10 in the official character lineup. (In s4 he says he was "nine years old" when Harrow was killed. Given his March birthday, he is probably fudging that a bit since s1 starts mid-May so he was pretty recently 10 at the time.) Viren also puts Harrow's coronation and Sarai's death at nine years earlier, at which point I would estimate Ezran at roughly 6-8 months, given how he is portrayed.

Also given the mid-May start to s1, we also have Claudia at almost 17, and Soren at about 18 and a half. Soren is about 18 months older than Claudia. So between all of that, we can probably ballpark Puzzle House at about one year before Harrow's coronation. This puts Soren at about 8 and a half, and Claudia at almost 7. (And Callum at about to turn 5, if anyone's keeping track.)

Given the way it's spoken about, I would not put Soren's recovery at earlier than 6 months prior, and probably more like 3 or so. This roughly lines up with the estimates I had for everything before, so idk go me or whatever.

Strangers

We do also have a third source for details on Soren's illness, which is the Strangers short from Reflections. This establishes that Soren was old enough to remember details about that time:

If Soren was the age he appears in Viren's dream, then a) he probably wouldn't remember any of it, and b) Claudia would have been an infant. Now, an infant can definitely cry in their room until morning, but I do think the implication here is supposed to be that she was old enough to understand what was happening and have emotions about it.

Additionally, Soren thinks of the slow breaths practice as something he did therapeutically for a long time:

Basically, I think it's pretty clear between this and the info in Puzzle House that the Puzzle House timeline is accurate, but Soren initially developed what was actually a chronic illness much earlier.

Viren's Dream

Now, what about Viren's dream?

It's incredibly difficult to pinpoint ages of children in animation purely visually, so I'm mostly basing an estimate of 2-3 years old for Soren during Viren's dream off of his demonstrated stage of linguistic development and the fact that he's able to run. He could be delayed in one or both areas, though.

Viren dreams of Soren turning to stone, similar to how Thunder did (and how Viren does in the opening). This is interesting in that the implication is certainly death, but it also has heavy ties to dark magic and the other themes of Viren's dreaming, which I would say put it as more related to something along the lines of a "sealed fate" rather than literal death. Dreaming Viren knows what he didn't know when Soren was that age, and probably developed his first recognizable symptoms—that this illness would come close to killing him, and Viren would give up everything to save him.

There's also a possible implication there that dark magic was actually what caused Soren's illness in the first place, which could be something interesting to explore. (And I've definitely seen people explore it, before.)

Anyway, like most of Viren's dream, it's accurate but not literal.

TL;DR: Dreams are fucking weird, and Claudia was still probably between six and seven years old when Lissa left the family.

[fic-heaven]

Say my name (König x witty! reader)

Pt1/ Pt.2 Tantrum

🐥A very short part two of two requests I had

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Dreams of you tormented König every single night since that day at the armory.

His brain was like a swarm of wasps stinging at every nerve on his body every time you passed by, those gorgeus eyes of yours giving him this knowing look that spoke a thousand words, heavily implying that you have not forgotten what happend between you two. So he opted to ignore you like before. But worse. He'd avoid you now.

König was your colonel, you had to know of his orders, he was very aware of this so instead of using his walkie-talkie or inform you directly he decided to use other operators as homing pigeons and whenever they protested he'd show them one of his intimidating glares and insist with his authoritative tone. It always worked. But not with Horangi.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

If König glared any harder he'd burst a vein tainting his cerulean eyes red with blood. "Deliver the message. It is an order."

Horangi took off his sunglasses, a weird sight to see, and squinted at his colonel like he was looking up at the blinding sun. "You want me to deliver the very important message of refiling this one particular paper to (c/n)? You are aware I could do it instead, we hold the same rank." Once he was finished he slid his glasses back on.

König was stiff, eyes adverting to the side for a millisecond with a squint. "Do it anyway...?"

Horangi knew something was up, specially since one quick look at the paper reminded him that these documents were already finished weeks ago, he delivered them himself. His colonel has been quite distracted lately and that's something worrying in König judging by how hyper focused he was about everything, specially his job. The operator smiles under his facemask, he crosses his arms and tilts his head as if he had figured the most amusing thing ever.

"Problems in paradise, sir?"

König took a moment to figure what he meant, this expression was new to him, soon he frowned. "There is no 'paradise' and no problem with me. The only problem here is that you are refusing to obey a direct order from your colonel-"

"König... Come on." Horangi insists but it's clear his friend doesn't want to keep dwelling on this, so he slightly folds the useless paper, nods at his colonel and leaves his office with a low "Right away, sir." before closing the door.

The way the Austrian deflated made his long body mold to his chair. He's been quite nervous to be around you, the memories of your last (very intimate) interaction became a constant on his brain affecting his work performance, even going as far as not letting him rest properly, the image of you appearing on his very own dreams, your voice a mermaid's call encouraging König to approach and do things to your body that never failed to wake him up with a raging boner. It has been roughly a year and a half since König was promoted to colonel and he was letting a simple operator like you put his position at risk. His hands took a pencil from a red cup he used as penholder and begun writing and doodling absentmindedly on a random white paper to occupy his hands while he waited for the refilled documents to be delivered to him. The distraction was very much needed.

His hands trembled a little as König applied sole pressure on the surface. Memories of your lips moving when you said his name with that sweet voice of yours carried his mind to the moment he felt them against his skin, the delicious feeling of your soft fingertips caressing along the skin of his long neck. The sudden (but expected) erection he got caused the colonel to growl, his other unoccupied hand curled into a fist smashing the table twice before his eyes refocused looking down at the piece of paper he was drawing on. König had doodled a few realistic octopuses wearing crowns along some scribbles of his own name in different letterings and lastly, in the lower right corner of the paper under one of his scribbles was doodled something he has never done before. A human face. Your face. God knows the only thing König was able to draw was his favorite animal and little else... But the memory of your beautiful complexion, your hair, your cute nose, long lashes and scars amongst other things were so clear on his mind his hands carried the tip of the pencil in elegant strokes until he was met by your beautiful face smirking at him from the paper.

"Schau mich nicht so an." (Don't look at me like that.)

Seconds after admiring the doodle before him, the colonel couldn't help but pleasure himself using his memories and the small doodle he made of you as material. It was pathetic, it was disgusting, it was so embarrassing he couldn't help but feel compleat and utter shame and frustration, he couldn't cum... It wasn't enough, it wasn't real. But before he could dwell more on his troubles a quick knock on the door startled him. König quickly thrusted the paper inside one of his drawers, hid his aching cock in the confines of his pants and cleared his throat. "Do come in."

Horangi was back, he was quiet when he placed the paper on the table counter before he confusedly looked around König's table wondering what he was doing since his computer wasn't on and his table was well organized.

"Here uh, here it is." König thanked him with a nod, he sniffed loudly casually picking the paper handed to him, sky eyes scanning across the paper eating up the view of your beautiful calligraphy. But Horangi didn't leave, and that made König look up at him expectantly.

"Something the matter?" He asked. And oh there was plenty Horangi wanted to say and ask, but instead he simply said: "She's with someone else." It was said in a rush, as if Horangi was speaking with a stick shoved up his ass, like he was trying to tame an angry bull.

When König heard this he frowned slowly lowering the paper to his Ikea table's surface that had suffered too many slams to count. "With someone else." He repeats.

Horangi scratches his masked chin, flexes his hands and says "Probably a lover..."

"A lover." König echoes once more as if Horangi was giving him English lessons, his breaths coming a little hard making his mask inflate and deflate on the nose's area.

"Yeah, they were together in her office. Felt like I interrupted something."

König stands up pushing his chair back and leans his body forwards very slowly planting both hands on the table supporting his stance, the other operator leans back intimidated.

"Interrupted something." König blinks rapidly this time sounding demanding.

Horangi nods awkwardly.

"Something? What is 'something'?" His German accent was so pronounced it was almost difficult to understand what he was saying.

"I am not sure..." Horangi muttered nervously, König was silent waiting for him to continue clearly not buying it. "...Sex maybe...? They were sweaty, wearing baggy clothes but... In her office and standing too close. He didn't leave either. Even while she was completing the paperwork you sent-."

"Get out."

The KorTac operator turned back swiftly, rushed off and closed the door with a low thud. He didn't take one full step away before he heard a loud crash followed by a loud thud against the door, it was easy to guess what it could be what smashed the door when he looked downwards and spotted a thin wooden chair leg peeking out the splintered wood of the poor door, the tiny, black wheel at the tip was still rolling.

"Well, she's fucked." Horangi says before walking off.

[euijoosorangeslice]

Can I request teacher k and spanking please? Thank you!!1

A+

warnings: teacher-student relationship, cheating, slight non-con (power difference), age gap (reader is a uni student and k is well…a teacher. At most 7 year age gap), fingering, oral {fem recieving}, harddom!k, exbhitionism; creampie, spanking.

Your first year of college was coming to a close. You had mostly all A’s, except for in one class. In Mr. Koga’s class, you had mostly slept for the entire year. Who wants to be awake at 8am on a Monday after getting blackout drunk the night before?

But you landed yourself a D in his class. Barely, since you were only three points away from failing that class. The final exam was worth half your grade anyway, so if you could just ace it then you’d be in the clear! As soon as the test was placed in front of you, your heart dropped. Shit. You had no idea how to do anything on this paper. Okay, what the hell is a hypotenuse?

You just bubbled random answers and sat there until the testing time was up. Let’s just hope your instincts were amazing. As your teacher started instructing on what courses you’d need to take next for which credits, you found it easy to get lost in his eyes. Was it wrong to want to kiss your teacher? His lips looked pretty nice today, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad dating an older guy.

You shook the thoughts from your head when the Mr.Koga stared passing back exams. He tapped a finger on your desk, your imagination running wild with the veiny orientation of his hand. "You need to see me after class." Mr. Koga whispered, sliding your exam onto your desk. You picked up the test, and low and behold, you got a 45%. Fuck, couldn't atleast get a fifty? Now you were definitely failing his class. He finished passing out tests, going on some dumb rant about how many people passed over the failed amount, which was practically everyone but you.

Maybe you were just a dumbass. Anyway, your professor dismissed the class and you walked over to his desk, swaying your hips as your tiny little skirt hugged your ass. "Y/n, I'm quite concerned with your scores on your test." He looked up, seeing your cute boobs being pushed up by your tight little shirt. "I've never had anyone do this bad on my exams. Is everything okay at home?" He leaned back in his chair, watching as you bit on the back of your black pen.

You pouted, placing a hand on his desk. "I don't know, Mr. Koga. I think I've been having a hard time focusing. This class is fucking boring." His eyebrows furrowed roughly, scoffing. "I'm sorry? Do you think my class is a joke?" You leaned over his desk, giggling in his face. "Mr. Koga, I barely even know what class this is."

"I don't appreciate your attitude, sweetie. You need to act right or I'm gonna have to punish you." You squeezed your thighs together at his harsh tone. Fuck, that's definitely a turn on. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Suspend me?" You teased, Kei sucking his teeth. "I could do that. Or I could give you another option," Kei stood up, placing himself inches away from your face.

"You could fuck me for an A. I know you've been thinking of me like that. So I could report you, or I could fuck you. Bend you over my desk and make you a good girl just for me, hm? Is that what you want?" You could've sworn you were dreaming. You hopped over his desk, bending over into his lap. "Oh, Mr. Koga. I think I need some help making a decision."

Wasting no time, he pulled you by your hair and grabbed your waist. "Let's take these dumb panties off." He grumbled, your chest pressed against the cold wood table as he lifted your skirt. "I'm starting to think you're really a slut. Wearing a lacy thong to school? You just want me inside of you." He pulled the underwear down, looking at your wet folds. "Aw, you really want me bad. Dripping all over my floor." He slapped your ass, watching you slightly jump. "Fuck! Mister Koga." You whined, arching your back into his touch. "Call me sir."

He slid two of his fingers into your hole, caressing your ass as he slowly slid them in. Randomly spanking you as he fingered your hole. "Yes, sir!" He chuckled, unbuckling his slacks. "Where'd that attitude go baby? I thought you wanted to be a brat." He teased, roughly spanking your ass. "I'll be a good girl, promise!" He gripped your thighs, kneeling down to be facing your wetness. He buried his face into your ass, taking a long, deep breath in. "Fuck, such a pretty little girl." He spat, tonguing your clit as he put his fingers deeper inside of you. You squirmed, Kei holding you in place.

"Sir, i-it feels so good! Please, need you in me." You moaned, gripping the desk as you felt the sensation of your boobs rubbing against the wood. He pulled away from your dripping wet pussy, dropping his slacks to the floor. He picked you up, placing you onto your back. He started chuckling to himself. "Damn. I forgot to lock the door. Anyone could just walk in and see you slutting out for your teacher." He palmed his cock, grabbing it from his boxers and slowly shoving it into you without warning.

"Wait, S-sir 'm a virgin!" You squeaked in pain, Kei quickly pulling out. "Really? Shit, I'm sorry, angel. Here, I think I have lube in my bag." Kei squirted some of the cold gel onto his fingers rubbing it over his dick. "Alright, I think that's enough." He mumbled, massaging your thighs. "I'm going in now, okay?" You nodded rapidly, feeling his tip push past your entrance. "Sorry for the stretch." He whispered into your ear, holding your hip as he pushed further in. "F-fuck!" You moaned, feeling like Kei was inside of your womb. "I'm all in. You want me to keep going?"

"Yes, sir. Think I'm ready." You whispered, Kei slightly pulling out and pushing back in. He picked up his pace, lifting your leg over his shoulder. "Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Tight little girl, hm?" Your boobs bounced against your chest as he moved, your eyes rolling back. "Mm, Sir! Feels so good." You moaned loudly, Kei smirking. "Yeah? Damn, you're definitely getting an A for this. Never felt a cunt like this before baby." He spoke, accenting his words with a few hard thrusts. His hand slid down to your clit, vigorously rubbing it as he drilled his cock inside of you.

Feeling your orgasm approach, your legs began to close, but Kei forced them back open. "Don't be shy, angel. I know I'm making you feel good. Just go ahead and cum for me." Your legs crossed behind his back, forcing him to stay inside of you. "You want me to cum inside of your pretty little hole? Tryna get knocked up by your teacher, aren't you?" He sped up, chasing his own orgasm. "Yes! Fuck, please cum inside of me sir." You begged, Kei groaning in pleasure. As you reached your orgasm, you clenched around him, making him cum inside of you.

"Shit. Fuck, I-I'm going to be in so much trouble of you get knocked up." Kei mumbled, his brain starting to reason with himself. You giggled, slowly sitting up onto his desk. "I think you should be more concerned about cheating on your wife, Mr. Koga." He rolled his eyes, massaging your thighs. "Well, we need a divorce anyway." You smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek. "If you want to get remarried, I think I know a good candidate. She might be having your baby."

[rosainta]

Day 4 of Rosain Quivan’s Daily Logs

Started December 10th, 2023 at 8:24PM, Home Finished December 10th, 2023 at 10:45PM, Home Log #4

Author's Notes: Originally, I planned for this short story to be only a two-parter. However, I got so carried away with writing backstory and researching facts about the Siberian Mountains and the USSR that I ended up having enough for two more parts. I hope you don't mind, but hey, at least that means more Heavy and Medic-centred interaction in the future, heehee!

I won't say much more, but I hope you enjoy this history-compliant log, as well as all the little references sprinkled here and there!

Title: King of Hearts (Part Two) Fandom: Team Fortress 2 New Mexico, Badlands, Teufort City, The Cap Point 6:45PM, sometime during the Gravel War

"Well", Heavy begins, "it all starts when I first begin to live in Siberian Mountains with family, after escaping shoot-out in gulag."

Sniper nods, acknowledging the tough living conditions his friend had to endure to provide for his family. If he wasn't so curious about the toughened man's relationship with the team doctor, he would have diverged into another conversation entirely, mostly about survival tips. Ever since he was a child, had always dreamed of living in the mountains one day, just him and his camper van... but that is a story for another day.

"Anyway, our father had just been killed, and we had no money. We could not show face to society, or Soviets would put family back in gulag, so we head to Urals."

"Life was very hard on us, but Heavy had to protect family at all cost. We found small but safe community on far outskirt of Soviet city Magadan, where we meet with kind lady who let us settle in her late husband's house in exchange for manual work and company."

Heavy shifts in his chair and pulls a worn, leather wallet out of his pocket. Flipping through a few cards and other minuscule belongings, he eventually retrieves a small, faded picture.

"Here, this is lady", the robust Russian says softly, holding the photo out for the marksman to see and pointing at an aged figure. "Behind is woman's shoppe. If ever you visit Siberia, you must visit. Is very cozy."

The full image was of a youthful Heavy and his sisters and mother, alongside another woman wearing a red hood and light-brown coat. She seemed to be in her late 40's, but she would most likely be a lot older now, considering the aged quality of the picture. Everyone was smiling happily, with frosty snow cozily blanketing their feet. Behind them was a furnished wooden cabin, with the name "магазин джугджур", which roughly translates to "Jugjur Shop."

"Wow", the bushman half-whispered, "you must owe a lot to her if you kept a shot of her all these years."

Heavy smiles, putting the photo and the wallet back. "Yes, is true. Without her, Heavy and family would have probably frozen to death, or be captured and tortured in another city."

Sniper takes a sip of his martini. "I do have a question, though."

"Go ahead."

"How'd you make sure she wasn't a Soviet? She might'a been a secret agent and turned you in to the police, or maybe even captured you herself?"

"Ah, Heavy had same doubts too at time", he says, tipping the waitress as she brings him his drink.

"Luckily, lady was as anti-Soviet as I was. Her son, who was abroad in Moscow at time, was shot by Soviet officer during civilian massacre. It had ruined her husband, and he had committed suicide only a year after."

"The Soviets had ruined her life and her family, and she hated them with passion that is remarkable for such a nice lady. Maybe it was reason she was so eager to help us when she found out we were refugees."

"Oh. I see. I'm sorry to have brought that up, that must've been hard to recount," Sniper replies silently, slightly stunned and uncomfortable from the sudden change in mood that sprang from his question. Thankfully, Heavy senses his mood and puts his bottle of vodka down next to his martini.

"Do not worry, she is strong woman. Heavy's family takes good care of her, because she is part of us now", the giant says gently.

Sniper worried expression softens to a smile. "That's good to hear, mate."

"Anyway," Heavy continues, "family continues to live in mountains in secret for some time. We hunt bear, and... well, mostly bear, and we cut wood and help run shoppe with lady for a few years before only visiting once a month."

"Is nice, but eventually, family gets bored of seeing snow and killing bear all the time, you know?"

"Ah, yeah," the shartpshooter replies, though he doesn't quite know what to make of that, seeing as he's never done that before. Not minding, Heavy goes on.

"So, one day, Heavy takes family to go out and visit city of Magadan on mother's birthday. At time, I was blinded by boredom, and I did not consider how highly dangerous it was to bring family back to place where we could get imprisoned again."

"But, we were all hungry for something more than food, and it was special occasion after all, so we decided we would hide ourselves with thick coat hood and keep away from guards and populous area."

"At first, we were very excited to be back in a community again. We could see buildings, hear people talking everywhere, smell food that was not killed with fist. But sister Bronislava, who was still quite young at time, was most excited of us all, and she really loved being in city."

"She was always pointing at different stores we pass by, and her laughter when she heard choir boys singing near churches was infectious. However, her most favourite sight of all were boats at the port of Magadan."

"Even when she was very little, Bronislava loved travelling. She read many books on world, and her dream was to visit Paris one day and become pilot. Of course, she knew because of how Russia was at time that this dream could not be possible, but this did not stop her from dreaming."

"So," Heavy says, uncapping his vodka and pouring it into a glass "she was begging for us to go closer to port to see boat. 'Please, brother Misha, let us go on boat and sail!', she would say. But I said no- there were too many guards nearby and we would get caught for sure."

"Aw, can't let a little girl have some fun?," Sniper interrupts, teasing.

"If you don't want to be killed, then no," the towering man replies blatantly.

"Right, sorry, go on," Sniper says quickly, blushing.

"Sister Bronislava would not listen, though, no matter what Heavy or mother or sisters said to her. She would insist and insist, and we had to hold her back at one point so she would not run away herself, but she continued."

"She really wanted to go on the boats. Her whining turned to crying, and her crying turned to screaming, until it was certain a guard would catch us anyway because of how loud she was being. It was miserable and terrifying sight, and Heavy could already feel regret for having endangered and hurt family like this."

"But luckily," Heavy says with a chuckle, "her tantrum did not last very long. Just as family was about to leave and hide from inevitable imprisonment, a very interesting, travelling man tapped my shoulder from behind."

Just as Heavy utters the words, someone really does tap his shoulder. Heavy turns to meet their eyes, and immediately, he grins.

"Eavesdropping again, doktor?", he asks, pulling a chair for him to sit next to him and Sniper.

"Ooh, I simply couldn't resist! Mostly because I can still picture ze face you made when you turned around like a frightened deer", Medic exclaims, laughingly.

Heavy groans and rolls his eyes, whilst his two seatmates look at each other, both surprised and amused.

"The big, tough, scary Heavy, frightened? I'd never imagine such a thing!" Sniper chuckles, clinking his martini glass to cheers with the doctor's fizzing sparkling water.

"It was not as bad as doktor puts it, okay?", Heavy grumbles, eyes averted to their playful gazes. Still, you could tell by the way his face reddened and, again, the way his eyebrows lifted that it was, in fact, as bad as he put it.

"Whatever floats your boat, mein friend", Medic says, no pun intended. Sniper downs his martini in one go, signaling the waitress for another glass.

Wanting to change the subject, the flustered giant gets up to grab a deck of cards on a nearby table. He returns, shuffling the cards in his large, calloused hands.

"Let us continue story over game of cards, yes? I find that it will fit in well with next part."

To be continued in RQDL 5... Credits: Team Fortress 2 by Valve Image source: Team Fortress 2 Written by Rosain Quivan Cross posted on Amino ( Rosain Quivan )

[outofangband]

Morwen and Aerin scene from a longer fic (can be read without the rest though)

cw: implied/background abuse and captivity and the headspace that comes with that

Reposting with edits because im almost finished with the next part!

Follow up to this

Also thank you to @melestasflight for your kind words on my first draft

“You should keep these for yourself,” Aerin says quietly but she does not protest as Morwen finishes crushing the leaves and adds them to the steaming cup.

“I have no need of them now and these grow unrestrained in my garden,” Morwen says, “You are in pain. You do not hide it well.”

This is not strictly true. Aerin has been concealing this pain for days now and is well accustomed to hiding others. She has been using her arm normally, despite how it exacerbated the wrenching of the joint. But it seemed that when she crossed this threshold, her ability to hide her suffering left her. She pulls her shawl more tightly around her. She has not worn clothes that truly feel her own in well nigh a year. She has not felt her own for that time either.

The steam coaxes forward her tears with more urgency. The scent of it coated her nose and mouth. It was too hot to hold but she reached for the mug anyways, feeling the roughly formed clay of the Nen Lalaith beneath her burning fingers. Morwen watches her for a moment, then lays one hand atop of hers, just briefly, and she sets it back down again.

“I am sorry.”

“For what do you apologize?”

It is an exchange they have had more than once before. In her cruelest hours, Aerin could not say if the voice of Morwen held patience or indifference. Suddenly, she makes a movement between a shrug and a shoulder. Her shaking does not abate after and once more those words find her.

This will never end, not until I do.

She has thought this again and again since that day she was first brought before him but it is the closest she has yet come to saying them.

She does not, though the words are half formed. Nor does she think Morwen will have any answer. There is no answer that is both honest and kind. Aerin knows she has come closer to death lately than she has ever done before, close enough that she tries with an almost desperation not to consider that end, and which she dreads more.

She blinks away more tears. She cannot weep for this or she would not stop.

“I will stay up, if you want a few minutes. I could not sleep myself.”

Morwen looks exhausted truly but Aerin does not doubt her words. She does not want to accept but her own tiredness is weighing on her and she knows she will not have long before she has to return and when she does, she will have no sleep.

Aerin takes one of her hands and links her fingers through Morwen’s, looking at her for permission to remain like this. Morwen gives her a swift nod that almost makes her smile even if it does not.

Perhaps she does sleep. She does not dream but her world blurs in a way that lessens the sharpness of her pain and coats her sadness in something hazy, if only briefly.

She stands again before she is truly awake, the blanket that is not hers falling to the ground. She cannot speak as she walks to the door. If she does not restrain herself before she returns she will pay for it dearly. She wants to think it would be worth it. She does not know.

(Morwen watches Aerin leave, pulling the frayed edges of her shawl more tightly around her. It had not been made for warmth but anything that she might use to cover herself was welcome.)

Note: the flow is definitely a bit rushed, this is party of chapter five of with slander for a blade and it’s a bit out of the style of the previous chapters, it’s almost an interlude. Anyways it definitely needs some work still. There are a few paragraphs at the beginning I didn’t end up including because they needed more work

Second Author’s note: I have a post here that goes a bit into Aerin’s first meeting Brodda and I’m writing it in fic form but it’s been taking awhile

Third:: I hope this is ok, I’ve been feeling so bad about my content lately and unfortunately it’s made me an even worse empirical judge of it

[littlemochix17]

Epilouge

Words: 15K

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. As Hermione dragged (Y/n) from their dorm. In a matter of seconds, though, Ron was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him, (Y/n), and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich...."

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so... Bane was furious.... he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen...They must show that Voldemort's coming back... Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"Will you stop saying the name!" Ron hissed.

"Harry calm down a bit and let's think about what we're going to go about Vol- You-Know-Who" (Y/n) tried to reason with the boy to prevent Ron from screaming but her words fell on deaf ears.

"So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone,"

Harry went on feverishly, "Then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Hermione looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his Invisibility Cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case.

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox - points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion. Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Neville thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

Maybe it was because they hadn't seen what Harry had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their foreheads, but (Y/n), Ron and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying that they didn't have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds.

"It was alright I guess" (Y/n) shrugged as Hermione continued

"I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hermione always liked to go through their exam papers afterwards, but Ron said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass.

"You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet."

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

"I wish I knew what this means!" he burst out angrily.

This made his friends worried and (Y/n) caressed his shoulder gently

"Are you alright? Harry" the boy shook his head

"My scar keeps hurting - it's happened before, but never as often as this."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry.

"I think it's a warning... it means danger's coming...."

Ron couldn't get worked up, it was too hot.

"Harry, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he'd forgotten to do, something important.

When he tried to explain this, Hermione said, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but -

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron sleepily.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had turned white.

"We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope,

"The only thing I think is a bit odd right now is your mood swings" (Y/n) said which made Harry glare at her and she made a zipping motion as if she zipped her mouth shut so he continued

"That what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you talking about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off."

He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head - that's one o' the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember.

"Yeah . . . he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here. . . . He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after . . .so I told him . . . an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon . . . an' then . . . I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks. . . . Let's see . . . yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted . . . but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home. . . . So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy. . . ."

"And did he - did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Well - yeah - how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep -"

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out.

"Forget I said it! Hey - where're yeh goin'?"

Harry, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry.

"Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak - it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They looked around as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"We'll just have to -" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather bravely, Harry, Ron and (Y/n) thought.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do.

"Why?"

Harry swallowed - now what?

"It's sort of secret," he said, but he wished at once he hadn't, because Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly.

"He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's gone?" said Harry frantically.

"Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time -"

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds,

"Professor - it's about the Sorcerer's Stone -"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn't pick them up.

"How do you know - ?" she spluttered.

"Professor, I think - I know - that Sn- that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally.

"I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor -"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books.

"I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

But they didn't.

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot.

"Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we -"

Hermione gasped while (Y/n) swallowed nervously. Harry and Ron wheeled around.

Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were -" Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say and (Y/n) picked on trying not to make them look suspicious.

"Trust me, Professor," she said, addressing Snape,

"Even on a day like this, some people prefer not going outside. Plus, I will miss the school's library over the summer, so I am trying to read more books while I can." The sudden interruption surprised the other three, as the girl was usually quite reserved and avoided attracting attention from teachers.

Severus Snape, the professor in question, regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "And I think you know how me and my friends always stick together," she continued, meeting his gaze.

"I do know that a group of four friends rooming around brings nothing but trouble," Snape said coolly, causing the four kids to feel a bit nervous.

"You want to be more careful," he continued.

"Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?" The girl gave him a forced smile, trying to hide her annoyance.

"Of course not," she said, glancing at her friends.

"We were just leaving."

Harry flushed and he could tell (Y/n) was as well so he tugged her with him. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

"Be warned, Potter - any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom. Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

"Right, here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently.

"One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape - wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you'd better do that."

"Why me?"

"It's obvious," said Ron.

"You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice,

" 'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong. . . .' "

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

"And we'd better stay outside the third-floor corridor," Harry told Ron and (Y/n).

"Come on."

But that part of the plan didn't work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

"I suppose you think you're harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!" She stormed.

"Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you've come anywhere near here again, I'll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own House!"

Harry, (Y/n), and Ron went back to the common room. Harry had just said,

"At least Hermione's on Snape's tail," when the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and Hermione came in.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" she wailed.

"Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away, I don't know where Snape went."

"Well, that's it then, isn't it?" Harry said.

The other three stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first."

"You're going!?" Said (Y/n)

"You're mad!" said Ron.

"You can't!" said Hermione.

"After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"SO WHAT?" Harry shouted.

"Don't you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? D'you think he'll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor wins the House Cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there, it's only dying a bit later than I would have because I'm never going over to the Dark Side! I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you three say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?" He glared at them.

"You're right, Harry," said Hermione in a small voice.

"I'll use the Invisibility Cloak," said Harry. "It's just lucky I got it back."

"But will it cover all four of us?" said Ron.

"All - all four of us?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?"

"He's right you would an idiot to think we would just stand there and watch you throw yourself to the Dark Lord just like that" (Y/n) said

"How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful. . . ." said Hermione

"But if we get caught, you three will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," said Hermione grimly.

"Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

Harry looked at Ron

Ron cracked a joke and said,

"Do you really think I did let you get expelled and leave me with Hermione alone? I did die suffocated with the library books before I reach my fourth year." Hermione glared at him for his comment, and (Y/n), who was standing beside Hermione, raised an eyebrow and said,

"Am I that invisible to you?"

"Shh, don't ruin the moment." Hermione rolled her eyes with an amused smile while Harry couldn't help but laugh a little and looked at the (H/c) haired girl, who then looked back at him.

"What? You think I did care about being expelled?" (Y/n) said, raising her eyebrows and walking closer to him.

"Harry, we entered this magical world together, and no matter how beautiful it is, if you leave it, I will too," she said seriously, which made Harry's heart swell with happiness as he felt grateful that she wanted to stay by his side.

After dinner the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. Nobody bothered them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to Harry any more, after all. This was the first night he hadn't been upset by it.

Hermione was skimming through all her notes and (Y/n) decided to help her, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harry and Ron didn't talk much. Both of them were thinking about what they were about to do. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

"Better get the cloak," Ron muttered, as Lee Jordan finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran upstairs to their dark dormitory.

He pulled out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy - he didn't feel much like singing. He ran back down to the common room.

"We'd better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us - if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own -"

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room.

Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looked as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back. Neville stared at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," he said.

"No, no, no," said Hermione.

"No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out," said Neville,

"you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

"Neville we have to do this" (Y/n) said trying to convince the boy.

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

"I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll - I'll fight you!"

"Neville," Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot -"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville.

"I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to us," said Ron in exasperation.

"Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

He took a step forward and Neville dropped Trevor the toad, who leapt out of sight.

"Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists.

"I'm ready!"

Harry turned to Hermione.

"Do something," he said desperately.

Hermione stepped forward.

"Neville," she said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."

She raised her wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, pointing it at Neville. Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

"Hermione!" (Y/n) said running over the boy.

Hermione followed her turning him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably.

"Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.

(Y/n) sighed and stood up "Sorry Neville I promise we will tell you everything once all this is over"

"You'll understand later," said Ron as they stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor didn't feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looked like Filch, and every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them.

At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispered,

"Ron not right now!" (Y/n) Whisper yelled at him. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs Norris turned her lamp-like eyes on them but didn't do anything.

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

"Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily.

"My mistake, my mistake - I didn't see you - of course I didn't, you're invisible - forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again.

"Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

And he scooted off.

"Brilliant, Harry!" whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor - and the door was already a jar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other three.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said.

"You can take the cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"And leave you here? No thanks" said (Y/n)

"We're coming," said Hermione.

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry.

"Well, here goes . . ."

He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note, the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased - it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right." Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog's legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Nothing - just black - there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop."

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed at himself.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" said Ron. "I don't know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep."

Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds of silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Hermione began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

As he was walking to Ron, (Y/n) took hold of his hand "Wait I am coming with you" which made Harry nod.

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom. He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and (Y/n) and said,

"If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," said Ron

"See you in a minute, I hope. . . ."

And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and -

FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump, he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

"It's okay!" he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor,

"It's a soft landing, you can jump!"

"I am going" (Y/n) said jumping inside and landing in front of the boy.

Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

"What's this stuff?" were his first words.

"Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it's here to break the fall. Come on, Hermione!"

"I don't think that's why it's here Ron," said (Y/n) feeling something warp around her leg

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Hermione had already jumped. She landed on Harry's other side.

"We must be miles under the school," she said.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," said Ron.

"Lucky!" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you three!"

She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry, (Y/n), and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the others fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them.

"I know what this is - it's Devil's Snare!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

"Never thought we would give at the hands of a plant" (Y/n) said freaking out when the plant started going up her arm.

"You're not helping!" Ron shouted

"Shut up both of you, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" said Hermione.

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!" Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare . . . what did Professor Sprout say? - it likes the dark and the damp -"

"So light a fire!" Harry choked.

"Yes - of course - but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.

"Are you serious?" (Y/n) asked

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the other three felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravelled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

"Yeah," said Ron, "and lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis- 'There's no wood,' honestly." That made (Y/n) chuckle

"This way," said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon - Norbert had been bad enough . . .

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?"

"I don't know . . . sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead - I can see something moving."

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around

the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" said Ron.

"Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once . . . well, there's no other choice . . . I'll run."

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and sprinted across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched. He pulled the handle, but it was locked. The other three followed him. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn't budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora Charm.

"Now what?" said Ron.

"These birds . . . they can't be here just for decoration," said Hermione.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering - glittering?

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly.

"They're keys! Winged keys - look carefully. So that must mean . . ." he looked around the chamber while the other three squinted up at the flock of keys.

". . . yes - look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

"But there are hundreds of them!"

Ron examined the lock on the door.

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one - probably silver, like the handle."

"Maybe the oldest one of the bunch"

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

"That one!" he called to the others.

"That big one - there - no, there - with bright blue wings - the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

"Be careful!" (Y/n) warned him holding onto her own broomstick as hard as she could to prevent falling from her broom as much as possible

"We've got to close in on it!" Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing.

"Ron, you come at it from above - Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down - (Y/n), fly behind it in case it tries to turn around - and I'll try and catch it. Right, NOW!"

Ron dived, Hermione rocketed upward, while (Y/n) got behind it, and the key dodged all of them, and Harry streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, and Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Ron, Hermione, and (Y/n)'s cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned - it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked the other three, his hand on the door handle.

They nodded. He pulled the door open. The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, the light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Ron and Hermione shivered slightly - the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispered.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces, they could see another door.

"How?" said Hermione nervously.

"I think," said Ron, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

"Can't we just play instead of replacing the chess pieces?" Asked (Y/n)

"Wait let me ask"

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we - er - have to join you to get across?"

The black knight nodded.

Ron turned to the others.

"This needs thinking about. . . ." he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces. . . ."

Harry and Hermione stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally

he said, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess -"

"We're not offended," said Harry quickly. "Just tell us what to do."

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle and (Y/n) you'll be the queen so you can help if needed."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight," said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, a castle, and the queen turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving four empty squares that Harry, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione took.

"White always plays first in chess," said Ron, peering across the board. "Yes... look"

A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

"Harry - move diagonally four squares to the right."

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

"Had to let that happen," said Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on."

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry and Hermione were in danger and (Y/n) wasn't really in grave danger but if he moved one wrong piece one of his friends would most likely be taken. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly. "Let me think -let me think..."

During the game of chess, Y/n was intently observing the board when she noticed that her friend Ron was in a position to checkmate their opponent. However, she also realized that the only move she could make was to sacrifice her queen, which would divert the attention of the opponent's queen towards her. Despite the risk involved, Y/n saw that this move could give Ron a better chance to win the game. With this strategy in mind, Y/n quietly said to Ron not wanting Harry and Hermione to hear her,

"I can take the last Knight so you can checkmate."

As Ron pondered the situation at hand, he realized that there was another way out. However, he knew that his friends wouldn't agree with his plan. But he couldn't stand the thought of (Y/n) being crushed by the menacing white queen. So, he made the decision to safeguard their black queen, no matter what the cost.

"No" said Ron softly, "There's another way... I've got to be taken."

"NO!" Harry, Hermione and (Y/n) shouted.

"That's chess!" snapped Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she'll take me - that leaves one of you free to checkmate the king,"

"But -"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Ron -"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Ron called, his face pale but determined. "Here I go - now, don't hang around once you've won."

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron was hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor - Hermione screamed but stayed on her square while (Y/n) looked the other way flinching when she heard the sound of him crashing - the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet.

They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's - ?"

"He'll be all right," said Harry, trying to convince himself more than the two girls.

"What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's . . ."

(Y/n) let out a deep breath, feeling exhausted.

"All right three down and two more to go"

They had reached another door.

"All right?" Harry whispered.

"Go on."

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making the three of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs.

"Come on, I can't breathe."

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next - but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

"Great to know we will be cooked alive," (Y/n) said sarcastically, trying to make light of the situation. Harry gave her a deadpan look as if asking how she had the nerve to joke at a time like this. The temperature was soaring, and the air was thick with humidity, making it difficult to breathe. It seemed like there was no escape from the oppressive heat, and (Y/n)'s comment was a reflection of the hopeless feeling that everyone was experiencing.

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles.

Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind you,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however, slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

"Brilliant," said Hermione. "This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

"Well that's comforting"

"But so will we, won't we?"

"Of course not," said Hermione.

"Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."

"But how do we know which to drink?"

"Give me a minute."

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them.

At last, she clapped her hands.

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire - toward the Stone."

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow."

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

"Both of you drink that," said Harry as (Y/n) was about to protest.

"No, listen, get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy - go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."

"But Harry - what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well - I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."

(Y/n) stayed silent looking at the small bottle while Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

"Me!" said Hermione.

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry - be careful !"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end and shuddered.

"It's not poison?" said Harry anxiously.

"No - but it's like ice." She said giving the rest of the potion to the other girl.

"Quick, go, before it wears off."

"Good luck - take care -"

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.

Harry drew in a deep breath and turned to the other girl in the room, who had been uncharacteristically silent.

"You've been quiet," he observed, prompting her to meet his gaze.

She looked visibly concerned, her forehead creased in a frown as she contemplated the potential dangers that lay beyond the fire door.

Harry sensed her unease, understanding the unspoken desire in her eyes that begged to accompany him, even though he knew that the two of them would stand no chance against You-Know-Who. So he held her close, his arms enveloping her small frame, hoping to offer some solace and reassurance.

"You always worry about me," he whispered, feeling her embrace tighten around his shoulders. She let out a soft chuckle, her laughter echoing soothingly in his ears.

Unbeknownst to him, she muttered something under her breath and discreetly pointed her wand at the small vial he was about to drink from.

"How could I not worry?" she replied, her tone tinged with worry and affection.

"All you do is get yourself into trouble, everywhere you go. Seriously, you're going to get yourself killed one day." Harry chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, before rummaging in his robes for something. Finally, he pulled out a bright orange azalea, the very same one she had gifted him at his last Quidditch game.

He handed it to her and said,

"Here, take this."

The girl was hesitant and started to say something, but he interrupted her,

"I will come back for it. For now, it will be safer with you." He took hold of her hand and placed a small flower in her palm before closing her hand around it. She nodded and smiled at the boy. He turned to walk towards the potions and picked up the smallest bottle.

As he looked back at (Y/n) one last time, he took a deep breath and turned to face the black flames.

"Here I come," he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, and saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn't feel them - for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire - then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there - but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort.

it was Quirrell.

"You!" gasped Harry.

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.

"Me," he said calmly. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter."

"But I thought - Snape -"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp.

"Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Harry couldn't take it in. This couldn't be true, it couldn't.

"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course," said Quirrell coolly. "Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn't do it again. Funny, really . . . he needn't have bothered. I couldn't do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all that, I'm going to kill you tonight."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You let the troll in?"

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls - you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there. Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off - and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, but that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly"

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but he's in London . . . I'll be far away by the time he gets back. . . ."

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw you and Snape in the forest -" he blurted out.

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back.

"He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me - as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side. . . ."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone ...I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn't give. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"But Snape always seemed to hate me so much."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually,

"heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing - I thought Snape was threatening you"

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions - he is a great wizard and I am weak -"

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped.

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly.

"I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it. . . . Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly.

"He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me . . . decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me. . . ."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley - how could he have been so stupid? He'd seen Quirrell there that very day, shaking hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron. Quirrell cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry's mind was racing.

'What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it - which means I'll see where it's hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I'm up to?'

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without

Quirrell noticed, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight:

he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . ."

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes - Potter - come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him.

I must lie, he thought desperately.

I must look and lie about what I see, that's all.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again. He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," he invented.

"I - I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell cursed again.

"Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it? But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

"He lies . . . He lies . . ."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him . . . face-to-face. . . ."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough . . . for this. . . ."

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot. Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter . . ." it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour. . . I have form only when I can share another's body . . . but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds. . . . Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks . . . you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest. . . and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own. . . . Now . . . why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me . . . or you'll meet the same end as your parents. . . . They died begging me for mercy. . . ."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backwards at him so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching . . ." it hissed. "I always value bravery. . . . Yes, boy, your parents were brave. . . . I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight . . . but your mother needn't have died . . . she was trying to protect you. . . . Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

Harry shouted when he heard a sudden voice from behind him.

"Filipindo!"

He turned around and saw a girl with (H/c) hair, holding a wand and pointing it at Quirrell, who appeared to be stunned.

"(Y/n)! But how-"

"No time to explain, let's get out of here!" She interrupted, taking Harry's hand and running towards the fire door.

But Voldemort's voice echoed in the chamber,

"FOOLISH GIRL! SEIZE THEM!" and in the next instant, Harry felt Quirrell's hand grasp his wrist, the one that (Y/n) wasn't holding. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his scar, as if his head was about to split in two. He screamed and struggled with all his might, but surprisingly, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head subsided, and he looked around to see where Quirrell had gone. He saw him hunched in pain, staring at his fingers, which were blistering before his eyes.

Voldemort's piercing command echoed through the chamber,

"Seize them! SEIZE THEM!"

In response, Quirrell launched himself towards Harry, causing him to quickly shove the girl aside. As Quirrell tackled Harry, he fell to the ground with a heavy thud, with (Y/n) anxiously holding onto her wand, trying not to accidentally hit Harry. Her hands shook, as she struggled to aim at Quirrell, who was gripping Harry's neck, leaving Harry writhing in pain. Despite the agony in his scar, Harry could see Quirrell screaming in pain as if something was causing him intense discomfort.

"Master, I cannot hold him - my hands - my hands!" And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms - Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill him, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face-

"ARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn't touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain - his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

(Y/n) watched in shock as Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off - the pain in Harry's head was building - he couldn't see - he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying,

"Harry! Harry!"

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down . . . down . . . down . . . Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. It wasn't the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses.

How strange.

He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: "Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick -"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," said Dumbledore.

"Quirrell does not have the Stone."

"Then who does? Sir, I -"

"Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming.

"What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Your friends will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried especially Miss (L/n)."

"But sir, the Stone -"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Hermione's owl?"

"We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you -"

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late I came just as Miss (L/n) was about to pull him and helped her get you here."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the Stone much longer -"

"Not the Stone, boy, you - the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend - Nicolas Flamel -"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted.

"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it's all for the best."

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

"Sir?" said Harry. "I've been thinking . . . Sir - even if the Stone's gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who -"

"Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort's going to try other ways of coming back, isn't he? I mean, he hasn't gone, has he?"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share . . . not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time - and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry nodded but stopped quickly because it made his head hurt. Then he said, "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know if you can tell me . . . things I want to know the truth about. . . ."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed.

"It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

"Well . . . Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day . . . put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older . . . I know you hate to hear this . . . when you are ready, you will know."

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign . . . to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said,

"And the Invisibility Cloak - do you know who sent it to me?"

"Ah - your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Useful things . . . your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

"And there's something else . . ."

"Fire away."

"Quirrell said Snape -"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, him - Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?"

"Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive."

"What?"

"He saved his life."

"What?"

"Yes . . ." said Dumbledore dreamily.

"Funny, the way people's minds work, isn't it? Professor Snape couldn't bear being in your father's debt. . . . I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace. . . ."

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

"And sir, there's one more thing . . ."

"Just the one?"

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes. . . . Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them - but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth.

Then he choked and said, "Alas! Ear wax!"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let Professor Dumbledore in. . . ."

"Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest."

"I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey . . ."

"Oh, very well," she said. "But five minutes only."

And she let (Y/n), Ron, and Hermione in.

"Harry!"

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

As for (Y/n) she sat beside him looking for any injuries on the boy's body and when she found none she sighed in relief and held his hand.

"You all right?" She asked which made him nod.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to - Dumbledore was so worried -"

"The whole school's talking about it," said Ron.

"What really happened?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. As (Y/n) just stayed silent having heard and seen some of what happened Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell's turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that - what was it? - 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'"

"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

"So what happened to you two?" said Harry.

"Well, I got back all right," said Hermione. "I brought Ron round - that took a while - and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall - he already knew - he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."

He then turned to the girl who was holding his hand.

"How did you get past the fire?" He asked which made Hermione berk she have been wanting to ask the same thing.

The girl just smiled and shrugged her shoulder

"Refilling Charm although it took a while to refill it worked in time and I am glad it did on time" She explained making Hermione gasp

"Genius! How didn't I think of that!"

"D'you think he meant you to do it?" said Ron. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"

"Well," Hermione exploded, "if he did - I mean to say - that's terrible - you could have been killed."

"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully.

"He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could"

"Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker, all right," said Ron proudly.

"Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course - you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you - but the food'll be good."

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

"I want to go to the feast," he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have two visitors."

"Oh, good," said Harry. "Who is it?"

Hagrid sidled through the door with (Y/n) behind him as he spoke. As usual, when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

"It's - all - my - ruddy - fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

(Y/n) leaned in and whispered into Harry's ear, her voice barely audible above the noise around them. "I tried to calm him down," she said, her tone laced with frustration and disappointment.

"I did my best, but it was no use. He was too angry and upset at himself."

"Hagrid!" said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard.

"Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked that he stopped crying when (Y/n) started murmuring quietly about having a headache in the morning.

"I've met him and I'm calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads. . . ."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said,

"That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead - anyway, got yeh this . . ."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos . . . knew yeh didn' have any . . . d'yeh like it?

Harry couldn't speak, but Hagrid understood.

(Y/n) smiled at her friend's face.

"Hagrid was collecting them for a while now and he told me before Christmas which gave me the camera idea thought you would want to add some of your own memories here"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Harry and (Y/n) made their way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night.

Harry had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup while (Y/n) waited outside for him when he finished, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry and (Y/n) walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat beside Ron and (Y/n) sat beside Hermione at the Gryffindor table and he tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . . ."

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, has four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes"

"First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley"

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

"for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Gryffindor's cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last, there was silence again.

"Second - to Miss Hermione Granger for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves - they were a hundred points up.

"Third - to Miss (L/n) for the great use of Spells to protect and help her friends, I award Gryffindor House fifty points"

(Y/n) smiled as people from the table cheered again clapping loudly.

"Fourth - to Mr Harry Potter," said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet.

"for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had five hundred and twenty-two points - exactly the same as Slytherin. They had tied for the House Cup - if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never won so much as a point for Gryffindor before. Harry, still cheering, nudged Ron in the ribs and pointed at Malfoy, who couldn't have looked more stunned and horrified if he'd just had the Body-Bind Curse put on him.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin,

"we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry's eye and Harry knew at once that Snape's feelings toward him hadn't changed one jot. This didn't worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts. It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls . . . he would never, ever forget tonight.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years and (Y/n) came after her because of her average score in history. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn't have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was with Eleanor who was going to stay at the castle for sometime before going home. Both of them were there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station. It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

"You must come and stay this summer," said Ron,

"All of you - I'll send you an owl."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I'll need something to look forward to."

"I will make sure to come after all I promised Ginny I would" (Y/n) said

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them are called:

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

"Still famous," said Ron, grinning at him.

"Not where I'm going, I promise you," said Harry.

He, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione passed through the gateway together.

"There he is, Mom, there he is, look!"

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister, but she wasn't pointing at Ron.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed. "Look, Mom! I can see -"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Ginny pouted but soon her pout turned upside down when she saw (Y/n) and the girl greeted her happily.

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Busy year?" she said.

"Very," said Harry. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it was nothing, dear."

"Ready, are you?"

Harry was greeted by the sight of his Uncle Vernon, who was still sporting his signature purple face and bushy moustache. Harry could tell that his uncle was absolutely livid at the audacity of him carrying a caged owl through the crowded station. As he looked past Vernon, Harry noticed that Aunt Petunia and Dudley were also present. They appeared to be absolutely terrified by the sight of (Y/n), who was walking alongside Harry and had her own pet owl perched on her arm.

"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.

"In a manner of speaking," said Uncle Vernon. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." He walked away.

After bidding farewell to his friends, Harry lingered behind to exchange some final words. Meanwhile, (Y/n) received some money to hire a cab and head back home. Apparently, her grandma had refused to pick her up, and she was convinced that the Druselys would not want her around anymore.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have - er - a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

"Oh, I will," said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face.

The mischievous glint in his eye made it clear that he had some plans in mind for the summer, particularly involving his cousin Dudley.

"They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer"

Harry knew that they were not allowed to use magic at home, but that didn't stop him from planning to have some fun during the summer. (Y/n) smirked and added,

 "Hey, don't have too much fun without me!" Harry nodded in agreement, bidding a small 'see you later' before leaving.

Mrs Weasley turned to the young girl standing next to her and asked, 

"Isn't there anyone here to pick you up, dear?" The girl shook her head, causing a frown to appear on Mrs Weasley's face. 

"It's alright," said the girl, trying to reassure the older woman. "I have money to go home by myself."

Ginny, who had been listening to their conversation, tugged on the girl's sleeve excitedly.

 "Oh! Oh! Can you come back home with us right now?" she asked, turning to her mother. 

"Can she, Mum?"

Mrs Weasley smiled at her daughter before turning to the girl.

 "Of course, dear, but you have to agree first."

The girl hesitated for a moment before replying. 

"I don't mind, but sadly, my grandmother is expecting me to come home soon. However, I can come back two weeks before the next school year starts. How about that?"

Ginny looked a bit disappointed but still nodded in agreement.

As (Y/n) watched Ron bid farewell to Hermione, she overheard him saying something that caught her attention. 

"You know you can just ditch her right?" he whispered to her. 

She turned her gaze towards him, surprised at his sudden remark. 

"Oh trust me I would love to but that would just earn me an earful later on," she replied with a wry smile, knowing exactly what Ron meant. Just then, two boys approached them, and the two greeted them.

"(Y/n)! Ron!" 

(Y/n) watched as Cedric and Regulus approached them, greeting Mrs Weasley before turning to the group. Ginny's hand gripped her arm tightly, and when she looked at her, she saw that Ginny was staring at Regulus, who hadn't noticed her yet. 

"Pretty..." Ginny whispered, burying her face in (Y/n)'s arm.

Cedric gave them his usual smile and said, 

"Hey, we wanted to say goodbye to you guys, but it seems like we were a bit late."

"It's alright," (Y/n) replied, smiling warmly.

 "Just make sure to owl me. I would love to see you guys during the summer."

Ron joined the group, and they all chatted for a bit before Regulus noticed Ginny, who was still holding (Y/n)'s arm. 

"Oh hello there" Ginny blushed furiously as he talked to her with his gorgeous eyes, which she thought looked as bright as the stars. 

"Hi-i," she managed to stutter out.

(Y/n) decided to help the little girl not to embarrass herself.

"Oh, Regulus, this is Ginny. Ron's little sister," she said, introducing them.

After bidding everyone goodbye, Cedric and Regulus left to join their families, and (Y/n) decided to go home after saying her goodbyes to the Weasleys. She looked for a cab to take her home and leaned her head against the window, her eyes drifting to sleep. As she drifted off, she thought to herself, 

"What a year..."

[rosyspectraldoll]

Hi, I know nobody is watching or really caring, but I had to put this somewhere and I don't have the energy to be a chuunibyou about it right now... so yeah.

My name is Rose Euphemia P[redacted]. Or rather, my true name, since I never got the chance to be able to legally change it to this... I do wish I could though. Yes, my middle name is a Code Geass reference, and it's very, very, very important to me. My deadname, although legal, is irrelevant. And it's just a chuuni naming convention thing, because I am and was always a cis woman.

I'm not planning to be around much longer. But the chuuni-posts that I write do have some spiritual truth to them. What parts, I don't care to elaborate because I find them too personal to me to divulge... but I miss the past life I had within the stars of Cassiopeia. A lot. Whether you think I'm delusional before, during, or after my attempt to flatline myself on the worm moon is also irrelevant, I'll be doing it anyways. I just wanted to be able to live with my soulmate. He means everything to me, he's my only happiness. I worked my hardest to be able to bridge this long distance gap between us that we both are in so much pain about and have been in pain about for four years now, roughly... but the harder I tried and the more I struggled and persevered and fought my hardest, the more I realized that I did everything right and would have always still failed with all the cards stacked against me and my success to make any sort of secure living like they are in North America and have been for decades... even with me and my soulmate sharing half the bills each.

It would have been this way for anyone, but I also just couldn't handle the burnout that comes with being ASD diagnosed in this allistic hell-world and trying to find a job at all, then keep it when any entry level job was always going to chew me up and spit me out in a very unforgiving fashion.

I have dreams of owning my own business, but unfortunately, I'm a weeb whose dreams, ever since I was a child after having watched my gateway anime, Tengen Toppa Gurren Laggan, was to have an animation studio of my very own. Animation is startlingly expensive of a profession on the industry level, so starting an animation studio in this state of affairs in the world would be suicide without licensing connections or an established industry connection... You know, all those anime industry connections that exist locally in North America lmao. It's funny... My actual older brother introduced me to Gurren Lagann as a younger kid. A probably way too young for Gurren Lagann third grader introduced to Gurren Lagann and anime as a whole by my literal Big Bro. He's also kind of Kamina-esque irl, good with ideas, bad with commitment, but is a hype-man and wild older brother if nothing else. I should have been an amazing success story of beating all odds irl anime style in the name of my passion, and damn did I try. I researched everything I could about the industry, practiced animation, watched so much of my favorite shonen stuff because it was just my favorite type of anime, always was, learned how to direct something from a creative director's standpoint, and I did actually make connections in like, Sakuga Foundry on discord and on Twitter (@RosePalaceTTKE) if you really want to count my earnest efforts and persistence but barely even meager returns as anything worth noting. At least the guys in Sakuga Foundry would recognize my "GOOD MORNING MINNA-SAN!!!!!" greeting habit from a mile away, so I know somebody besides my love would mourn me. At least I was noticed, even while I failed.

I was born in the wrong time to pursue my dreams. I accept that now. But I also know that I can do one last ditch effort: rely on the fact that I very much know that I am not my body, just a soul in a body, and that I have the right to discard this mortal body whenever I wish. I'll be able to hold my soulmate for the rest of his mortal days as a ghost, and distance won't be a problem anymore since I won't be temporally locked anymore. I won't suffer failed dreams after I gave it my all and got nothing in return, not even any closer to co-owning that same anime studio with my soulmate and the love of my life. I call him Bby-kun as a nickname irl because I feel safe to be my cringe self around him. His arms are the safest place in the world, they're home to me. And a life without him at my side every morning... I can't see why that's worth living through.

I'm sorry I couldn't be your Simon, big bro. But if we're going with Gainax lineage references... I guess I'm about to be like David Martinez. That's something. I mean hey, extra points for failing to finally be able to save any money to pay for half bills with my soulmate and having "I Really Want To Stay At Your House" hit... WAY too deep for me. Especially since I could tell you so, SO much about the Gainax lineage, from the pre-history as Daicon Film to Gainax from their Wings of Honneamise era to their grand finale with Gurren Lagann all the way up to Studio Trigger, aka Neo Gainax... I looked up to that story of six nobody nerds making anime in their garage with the wrong tools for painting cels in the 80's eventually becoming titans of anime history, and I had the persistence to see it through if only the world were just a little bit kinder on me to provide me with a decent world where I had a chance of success if I just persisted on with my hard work like I was doing... if only, I guess. I'm picking the Worm Moon to do it because the Gurren Lagann movies are finally getting an English Dub after all this time and I wouldn't be caught dead without seeing that. After that, February has my Bby-kun's birthday in it and I want him to be as happy as possible, even from a distance. After that it's March, and picking a full moon to end things on is only poetic, I feel. I mean, you have that "Full Moon = Metaphor for Suicide" Gainax thing going back all the way to Neon Genesis ShitVangelion to current day with Cyberpunk:Edgerunners... At least I didn't pussy out of life before giving it everything I had. Well, whatever now. I'm glad I wrote this somewhere.

Most of my entries will be Chuunibyo until that final day, I might as well go out with style while looking cool and edgy about it, I guess.

To the dreams of those who have fallen and the hopes of those who will follow,

-R.E.P.

[sharaheartsixx]

The Library Dream

Since it's Halloween, I thought I'd share what I'd like to call my personal 'Horror Story' experience.

I've dubbed it...

The Library Dream

So... For about... 6/7 years or so I had this reoccurring dream. Honestly I would love to hear/read what people think it means because it was always the same thing. It kinda freaked me out and to this day I have no idea.

In this dream, I would always wake up in this.. warehouse like place. It would always be late evening/early night. Like between 11 to 2am. The shelves were tall like skyscrapers and were disgustingly long. At the ends of the isles, you'd look down both sides and see the shelves continue on for miles into darkness. These shelves were filled with large books. Old, hardback, thick like dictionaries and encyclopaedias. Not entirely sure what was in them though. But they looked like they'd been there for years.

I would walk down an Isle, turn into another, surrounded by an eerie silence apart from my own slow, slightly echoey footsteps as if I were wearing heels. It was.... Disturbingly empty and dimly lit from small ceiling lamps with dulling, flashing bulbs.

While looking at the books, my hand reaching out to touch the withered fabric, a hand would always grab my shoulder, cold, long and boney. I'd turn around and a tall figure with a dark hood would stand there, stare at me, then ask "Can I help you?".

Then I'd wake up. It was weird and creepy the first time I had this dream. But as said before, the fact that I kept having the same dream for over half a decade was... Strange.

The last instance of this dream, it was.... roughly half a year to just over a year since the last one. I wake up, same "library". I'm now at what looks like a 'corner' of this place. There are thin, rectangular windows near the 'ceiling', no way of actually seeing the outside but the light coming in appeared to be dawn.

The row of books curved at the corner, but the ones in the middle ended like normal bookshelves (abet ridiculously tall bookshelves).

There's an opening, with shallow steps that lead to more bookshelves at waist height that spiral in a circle. The figure from before, there were more of them, fully cloaked in dark, black to charcoal grey veil fabric. They were sitting in like groups of two or three on the bookshelves, steps and the walls. I'm now holding a large black book and I put it on the circular shelf in front of a figure who looks up and stares at me.

And thats it. I never had a dream about this 'Library' again. Weird, strange. Yet... fascinating.

But anyways there we go. This is a real story and not like a Creepypasta despite me loving those, I'm really interested in finding out what these dreams meant.

[bluelove24]

Halloween fun with the firefighter: Archie Andrews (Kj Apa) x Male Reader.

Warnings/tags: rough sex, condomless sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, talk of male pregnancy, cross dressing.

This is pure fiction and it’s not meant to be taken seriously. I don’t own the gif. I saw the gif scrolling and it gave me an idea.

Summary: Reader is Veronica’s half brother. He’s always had a big crush on Archie Andrews. What happens when after so many years they see each other on a Halloween party?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Halloween night at Riverdale and my half sister, Veronica, was throwing a party for her friends as a way to act like they did when they where in high school. I was dressed like private school girl, cliche I know, but I threw this on last minute. Among the people at the party was Archie Andrews, he and Veronica had an on and off relationship in school and I’ve always had the biggest crush on him. He was dressed like a sexy firefighter, again cliche, but on him I didn’t care. Throughout the night we’ve talked, catching up and it also gave me an excuse to openly check him out without being so obvious. The party was in full swing when Veronica asked me to get take her phone to her room since it was dead. I went up to her room and after plugging her phone in the charger I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t wearing a wig since my hair was a little long and plus I didn’t want to wear one anyway. I was fixing my skirt when I heard someone from the doorway say:

“Oh god you look so sexy in that" I heard Archie’s voice behind me. He quickly strode into my sister's bedroom ,then came up and grabbed me tightly from behind, before I felt the front of his hips grinding into my bottom which quickly turned into dry humping. And kissing my neck. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night, your ass looks so inviting in that skirt.”

His breathing became quicker the longer he kept dry humping me, he push on my back making me lean slightly more forward. With each thrust I could feel his hard dick on my ass. I’ve been having fantasies of this happening since I was in high school so I grind my ass against his crotch. I was turned on and I couldn’t wait to see what else he would do.

"Yes baby, you like this don't you, you little slut." He excitedly pant-whispered into my right ear. Almost immediately after whispering this I felt his right hand begin cupping my groin and his fingers trying find a way past the panties I had on under my skirt. Lifting my skirt he started saying. “I’ve seen you all this years, looking at me with those fuck me eyes. I didn’t do anything then since I was banging your sister but now you are mine. I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

By now I was unabashedly rocking back against his thrusting and could feel his stiffness trying to find a way into my butt, but he was never going to be able to do so because of our clothing interfering. I could feel the hardness of his dick trapped inside his costume. I felt his hand slide between us and felt the back of his hand against my ass. I then felt his fingers pulling down his zipper and with the back of his hand pushing into me harder. I soon felt something hard and blunt pushing the fabric of the panties actually into my anus.

"I’m going to fuck and breed your ass right on top of your sister’s bed." He calmly said as he stopped thrusting into me. "I know you’ve been dreaming about this moment, to be honest so have I." I look at his face in the mirror, I’m still sexually in a trance from this thrusting. I turn around, coming face to face with his face, I feel something hard and wet touch my thigh. I look down and I saw the object of my fantasy. Archie’s dick is way more perfect than what I imagined. It was 8 inches long, cut, stiff, almost angry looking with its dark red head.

"Now go lay your slutty ass down on the bed, on all fours, I want to watch my dick disappear into your slut hole." He told me, still sexually in a daze, I did just that. I couldn’t believe this was about to happen. I felt Archie roughly pull down the panties I was wearing. “I’m going to enjoy fucking your hole Y/N.” He walked towards where I was laying down on my knees, with my chest pressed on the bed.

He got behind me and grabbed my ass, spreading my cheeks open. The cold hit my hole making it quiver. I could feel his breath on my hole before he gave it a lick, then another, and another. He ate my ass for a little bit before getting up again. “I need to be quick I don’t want anyone noticing I’m gone.”

I heard some Archie spit on his dick. The head of his dick made contact with my hole. “Tell me Y/N, tell me how much you want this dick, you slut. Beg for my dick.” The feeling of his dick at the entrance of my hole was making me crazy. I want him to fuck me already.

“Please Archie, I want your big cock. Please, please fuck me! I need it.” I moaned. He started to apply more pressure to my hole.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll be feeling the effects of my dick for a couple of days.” He applied more pressure until his dick finally got inside my hole. But he didn’t let me get adjusted to him, he continued moving forward. Until the front of his legs touch the back of mine. I was in pain, I was trying to control my breathing, trying to relax. But the pain that was coming from my hole was extreme. He started to move back and I thought that he was pulling out. I felt a wave of relief. Until he pushed back in, repeating the process. He would almost pull out, spit on his dick, and then push back in. I'd been whimpering loudly the entire time he was doing this to me.

"Fuck your tight ass is better that I imagined." Said Archie with a stifled grunt. "I'm just going to go about stretching you out a bit then I'm going to fuck you senseless." He told me as I began to feel him work his cock inside my ass in slow circular patterns. After about two minutes of this, the area inside my ass where his cock was, was beginning to feel very moist and slippery. His hands grabbed each of my ass cheeks and squeezed. “Your hole feels so much better. I can’t believe I waited all this time to be inside you.” He said as if tenderly before I felt the slow and relentless push

into my depths. His cock started to slide inn and out more easily. As it did I started to groan loudly because while there was a slight amount of pain involved, it was more the sudden feeling of being filled so full.

The feel of Archie’s weight up against my ass along with the feel of his pubes told me that his cock was now inside me as far as he could possibly get. The sound of his muffled moan signifying the success before he began a constant in and out motion inside me. As he did, the thrusting became easier and easier which was also accompanied by a slight squishing sort of noise. I was starting to find the pleasure I had lost initially. Finally the pain was no longer there at all, instead Archie’s thrusting was actually exciting me probably much more than when I was jerking off all those nights alone. My thrusting back became firmer and more determined, which seemed to excite Archie just as much as it did me. The arousal inside my ass was growing while my cock rubbing against my sister's bedsheets was starting feel like I was going to shoot my load, which I really wanted to do now.

When I started to pant and whimper loudly, Archie moved his thrusting to a much higher gear and he was now pummeling my ass without worrying about there being any more pain (which there certainly wasn't from my end).

I felt the impending orgasm coming soon, the tingling in my balls and my shouting it out to Archie. "I'm going to cum!“ Archie threw all caution to the winds and was frantically

pounding my ass, he started spanking my cheeks as well as telling me to hold off until he came. I was too sexually crazed to do anything other than enjoy the wave oft orgasm, which was approaching and fast. Archie kept pounding me with all his might. The distinct sound of skin slapping was heard. He pulled me up, my still clothed back making contact with his expose chest. He started kissing my neck. That did it for me, I couldn’t hold any longer, with a loud moan I started to shoot my load all over the bedsheets. Jet after jet of cum was shooting out of my dick. My ass was clamping tight against Archie's cock which was the trigger he needed to come.

"Oh fuck yeah I'm giving you my load you nasty slut!!" He told, I could feel his dick twitch inside me depositing his big load deep inside me. “Fuck… I shot my load so deep inside you.” We both fell forward, trying to catch our breaths. The bed cover around my cock was now slimy and sticky along with my balls which had managed to become coated with my jizz. Archie kept slowly thrusting, trying to ride his high as long as possible.

Eventually he stopped thrusting into me and I actually felt his cock slide out of me. He got up from on top of me still trying his best to catch his breath. I was still laying on the bed, I started to get up when he pushed me back down. “Don’t get up just yet, hold on.” He got close to me and started looking at my hole which was slowly leaking his load. He scooped it up and pushed it inside me again. “Keep my cum inside you, I don’t want it to leak out. Who knows by the end of the party you’ll probably be pregnant with my baby.” He chuckled at his own joke. He bit my ass before standing up again. I stood up once again and tried to fix my outfit, which was stained from my cum on the bed. The bed!! I turned around looking at the bed seeing the many patches of my still wet cum on it. Shit! My sister was going to be pissed. Archie hugged me from the back, grinding his soft dick into my ass. “I need to get back to the party but let’s do this again soon, now that I’ve had a taste of your ass I can’t let it go.” He turned me around and gave me a deep kiss, leaving me breathless for the fourth time tonight. “I’ll call you.” He said after breaking our kiss. He bent down and grabbed the panties I was wearing earlier. “And I’ll keep this as trophy.” He gave me a quick pec on the lips, tucked his dick back inside his pants and left me alone in the room. I grabbed the sheets on the bed and threw them in the laundry. Walking out towards the party, without underwear and Archie’s load deep inside me.

“Y/N Lodge, you’re one lucky slut.” I said in my head as I rejoined the party.

The End…

[five-rivers]

Dentition

Here's what you need to know about ghostly dentition: For the first few years of unlife, the ghosts of humans have teeth of roughly the same size and shape as they did while alive. However, these are the ghostly equivalent of baby teeth. After a ghost has been dead for at least two years, but no more than five, their teeth will begin to change shape. Change shape, not fall out and be replaced. Ghost anatomy is much more plastic than that of a human. This process takes about one month, give or take. Additionally, if the ghost is one of the lucky few to become venomous, their venom sacs grow in at the same time. Once the process of growing the teeth and associated structures is complete, the fangs are retractable.

Here's what you need to know about half ghost dentition: Half ghosts undergo a similar process. Their human halves reflect the changes. However, they do lose their initial set of teeth to make room for their new ones.

Here's what you need to know about Danny Fenton: He is a half ghost. His luck is also incredible.

Not in a good way, of course.

.

Danny's whole mouth felt tender, and he didn't know why. The feeling had been building since yesterday morning, but, by this point, it had become almost unbearable. That, coupled with the growing desire to chew on and bite things, was slowly driving him insane.

"It almost sounds like you're teething," said Sam.

Danny grunted dubiously. He had all his adult teeth.

"I mean, it might be a ghost thing," clarified Sam.

"Or you could have burned your mouth on something without realizing it," offered Tucker. "Or you could be getting some canker sores?"

Danny shook his head. That's what he thought at first, when the pain had been limited to the roof of his mouth and a few places on his gums, but now it was everywhere.

Jazz, who was on spring break from college and driving the three of them home from school, made a face. "I hate to suggest this, but do you think Mom and Dad could have put something anti-ghost in our food?"

Danny groaned and let his head fall against the dashboard. It did him no good. In fact, jostling his face made his mouth ache even more. It would be like his parents to unintentionally and unknowingly poison him in the name of protecting him from ghosts.

"I'll cook tonight," said Jazz.

.

Despite Jazz cooking (and nothing coming to life!), Danny mostly pushed his food around his plate and avoided everyone's eyes. He wasn't sure if the pain killed his appetite, or if the idea of his food being poisoned did it. Either way, he wasn't hungry. He did, however, chew on the collar of his shirt until it was wet and disgusting.

Immediately after dinner, Danny slouched up the stairs and made a beeline for his room. He wanted to sleep this out, if at all possible.

He threw off his normal clothes, threw on his bedclothes, and collapsed, wrapping his covers around him and rolling over instead of climbing under his covers like a normal person. That was fine. He wasn't a normal person.

He went to sleep.

.

A dream about swimming ended when the thought that the water was only wet on his face crossed Danny's mind. Slowly, he pulled his eyes open, and his brain eventually processed the fact that (a) it was still dark out, and (b) his face was pressed into a truly prodigious amount of drool.

He sat up, the fabric of his pillowcase trying to stick to his face. He threw the pillow to the side, and walked to the bathroom to try and clean up a little before going back to sleep. Usually, Danny had pretty good night vision, to the point of being able to see in the dark, but his vision and brain were so fuzzy at the moment that he fumbled for the bathroom lights anyway, and hissed as the bright lights temporarily blinded him.

Finally, his eyes adjusted enough for him to look up, into the mirror, and his heart almost stopped.

He was covered in blood.

His hands flew up to cover his face as he stumbled back against the far wall. Yes, he was half-ghost and had technically died, that didn't make him immune to shock or particularly happy to see blood all over the side of his face. It hadn't been drool sticking him to the pillow. Not just drool, anyway. It had been blood.

Why was he covered in blood? Had he turned into a vampire in the night? Did he hurt someone? Were vampires based on half-ghosts? Considering Vlad's aesthetic...

No, wait. On second glance, the blood had a distinctly sparkly cast to it. He stepped closer to the mirror, and a shiver of relief work its way into his body. That shimmer was ectoplasm. It was his blood.

But why had he been bleeding? Maybe he had bitten himself.

Or, more likely, whatever the heck was going on with his mouth was reaching a new level of bad. His teeth, now that he was thinking about them and not the blood, hurt much worse than they had when he went to bed.

Hesitantly, he probed his front teeth with his fingers. They moved.

THEY MOVED.

.

Danny did not often sneak into his sister's room at night for advice, but 'not often' was a far cry from 'never.' Jazz wasn't surprised when he prodded her awake. Sleepy, yes, possibly just a little annoyed at waking up, though that vanished when she saw Danny's stricken face, but not surprised.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I think I'm losing my teeth," said he little brother, eyes wide and a touch too bright in the dark.

Alright, that was unexpected. "What?"

"I woke up, and my teeth were bleeding, and now they're all loose." His voice wobbled.

"Oh," said Jazz, still trying to kick her brain into gear. "Um. Is it a ghost thing, do you think?"

"I don't know," moaned Danny. "Nobody talks to me about anything." He sniffed. "What am I supposed to do?"

That was a good question. What kinds of options did Danny have?

"Do you have any ghost friends you could talk to?" she asked.

"Maybe," said Danny. "But they're far away, and they don't really have human teeth."

Jazz refrained from asking what kind of teeth they did have. She'd known about Danny's ghost powers for over a year, now, and she still only knew a fraction of what he got up to.

"I know you're not going to like this, but, um, what about Vlad?" Danny gave her a horrified glare. "I mean, he knows more about ghosts and half ghosts than we do, and he won't want anyone, you know, examining you. Which is what is going to happen if your teeth fall out."

Danny wilted, and put his hand to his mouth. "I guess." He shook himself. "I woke up in a puddle of my own blood and drool. Mostly blood."

"Ah," said Jazz.

"I'm going to go now."

"He might not appreciate you waking him up in the middle of the night," warned Jazz.

"Vlad doesn't sleep," said Danny.

"I'm sorry," said Jazz, "is that, like, a real thing, or some kind of joke? I'm too tired to tell."

"He's too evil to sleep."

"Danny, really. Don't antagonize him when you want his help."

Danny put his arms around his knees and looked very small. "Okay," he said. "You're right. But what should I do until then? What if- What if one of my teeth really does fall out?"

That image was more disturbing than it had any right to be. "Just go to sleep, and if your teeth do start falling out... I guess we'll deal with it. I've heard putting them in a cup of milk and spit helps preserve them? So they can be re-implanted?"

"Oh," said Danny. "I guess that's good to know."

"Get some sleep," Jazz said again. "First thing tomorrow, I'll drive you to Vlad's."

"I'll just fly."

.

The conversation with Jazz had been painful. Talking should not be so painful. It sucked. It was the worst. And he was not able to get to sleep again.

As soon as the sun was up, Danny left to harass Vlad. Which was how his brain pronounced 'ask Vlad for help.'

He could hardly believe he was doing this. It was so stupid. Vlad hated him, he wasn't going to help. Maybe he should ask Clockwork, or make the flight to the Far Frozen, even if he wouldn't be able to put up a good fight against a ghost in this state. After all, Vlad would probably try to fight him. At least random ghosts in the Ghost Zone might leave him alone.

Yeah, he didn't believe that either.

He set down right outside Vlad's front gates, invisibly, not sure if he should just phase in, or if he should press the buzzer and wait outside. Usually when he came to Vlad's he was with his parents, Vlad had dragged him there, or they were already in the middle of a fight. He wasn't sure how to... petition Vlad, and that was what he was doing.

Danny pressed the buzzer. Ancients, he hoped Vlad was here and not in Colorado or Wisconsin.

"What?" came the short, clipped, reply. Clearly, Vlad was annoyed at being bothered so early in the morning.

"It's Danny," said Danny. "I need to talk to you about something."

There was a long silence, and Danny wondered if Vlad had chosen to ignore him.

"Daniel." The smoothness of Vlad's tone was broken only by the crackle of the intercom. "What an unexpected surprise. Do come in. I am in my dining room, and I am sure you can find your way."

Given permission, Danny phased through the gates and then the walls of Vlad's mansion. The dining room was, as Vlad had intimated, easy to find, and Danny dropped his invisibility.

Vlad did not look up from his breakfast, which seemed to consist of some kind of complicated omelette. At the smell, Danny's stomach growled. He hadn't a full meal since this time yesterday.

"So," said Vlad. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Daniel?"

Danny looked up at Vlad, then away, then at Vlad again, then away. He glared at Vlad's clean, shiny floor.

"Well, I do hope you haven't come because some cat ghost stole your tongue," said Vlad, sarcastically.

"My teeth are falling out," said Danny. They were certainly looser than yesterday.

Vlad stared at Danny for several heartbeats, then started laughing. He actually slapped the table a few times. Danny glared. If he knew how to do the eye laser thing, Vlad would be on fire.

"Oh, my dear boy," said Vlad, "forgive me. Has no one told you about ghost fangs?" He suppressed a snicker with his hand.

"No," said Danny.

"Well, that's quite an oversight in your education, isn't it? If you had accepted my offer..." he trailed off suggestively, almost purring.

Danny tried to purse his lips, but winced as doing so pushed his front teeth back.

Vlad smirked, and gave him a quick rundown of how teeth developed in the recently dead. "... of course, he finished. Half-ghosts like us are different. We, unlike them, do lose our original teeth. But you'll be glad to know the whole ordeal will be over in a month."

"A month? My teeth won't grow back for a month? Vlad, I have school! I can't hide that I don't have any teeth for a month!"

"Doesn't your spring break start today?" asked Vlad patting his lips with a napkin.

"What does that matter if this will last a month?"

"Calm down, boy. Your most visible teeth should regrow themselves in a week." Vlad pushed his food aside. "Of course, those will include your fangs, and part of why this takes a month is that the last molars and the muscles and bones involved in retracting and extending the fangs are developing. Nevertheless, that shouldn't be an issue so long as you avoid talking and eating around people less oblivious than your father."

"Hey!"

"Or perhaps you could convince people that you are wearing novelty fangs. Your friend Samantha enjoys that kind of thing, correct?"

"It's Sam," grumbled Danny, resenting the fact that Vlad was giving him good advice. "What about before my front teeth grow back in?" he asked. He didn't want to refer to any of his teeth as fangs. He didn't even want to think about having fangs.

(Hair made of fire and eyes as red as fresh blood flickered in his mind's eye.)

"Well, as I said, you're on spring break. Wouldn't this be a wonderful time to take advantage of, say, an internship opportunity with your beloved godfather?"

"I'm sorry, what? My what?"

"Me, Daniel. I'm offering to let you stay with me until your teeth have grown in enough to pass muster."

"Absolutely not," said Danny.

Vlad scoffed, and leaned back in his chair. "Don't mistake me. I'm not doing this out of some misplaced sense of altruism. I don't want anyone looking too closely at your anatomy."

"Gross."

Vlad ignored the comment. "If you are found out, the best defense of my identity, that no one knows half ghosts are possible, vanishes. This is merely enlightened self-interest. Does that make you feel better?"

Oddly enough, it did.

"Good. Now," he made a little shooing motion with his hands, "go home. I will make arrangements with your parents."

.

Danny arrived on Vlad's doorstep, his father in tow, making a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to avoid playing with his now very loose front teeth.

"V-man!" exclaimed Jack, exploding through the door without bothering to knock. "It's been forever!"

"It's been two days, Jack," said Vlad, repressively. He had, wisely, been waiting at the top of the wide stairs that led to the mansion's second floor.

"But it feels like so much longer!"

"I wish," muttered Vlad.

Jack, undeterred ran up the stairs and hugged Vlad.

"Yes, yes," said Vlad, strained, "very good. Now, Jack, Daniel and I have a very busy day ahead of us. I'm afraid we must be off at once."

"Aw, already?"

"My pilot doesn't like waiting."

Danny leveled a baleful glare at Vlad. The man hadn't mentioned anything about leaving Amity Park.

Jack skipped out the door, and the GAV sped off.

"Oh, do stop looking at me like that," said Vlad. "We aren't leaving your precious town, although I'm sure it would survive just fine without you."

"Then why-?"

"Well, we certainly couldn't have your parents dropping in at all hours to check up on you, could we?" Vlad shuddered dramatically. "In any case, I have your room made up. Follow me."

Danny picked up his luggage, no longer pretending he found it heavy now that his father wasn't around to see, and trudged up the stairs after Vlad.

The room was nice. Too nice. A little too space-themed for his peace of mind as well, with the stars on the walls, spangled bed sheets, and planet-shaped lamps on the bedside tables. The game console in the corner had the effect of making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Please tell me you set up this room in the last two days."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've had this room decorated like this since I moved in. I had hoped you would come to your senses."

"My senses. Right," said Danny, trying to decide if it was too late to hide at Sam's for a week. Sadly, it probably was.

"Well, get your things put away, and meet me downstairs for brunch in half an hour. I doubt you've eaten much since we last spoke." Vlad strode out of the room, not looking back.

Danny stared after him, unsure if he should feel touched or creeped out. Both, maybe.

Finally, he sighed and heaved the suitcase up onto the bed. He had asked for this, he reminded himself. Not the bedroom. But Vlad's help.

If there had been any other friendly ghosts within flying distance...

Okay, he'd still have needed the cover, and Jazz, Sam, and Tucker could only do so much.

Danny finished unpacking in a few minutes. He hadn't brought a whole lot of stuff with him. Just enough clothing to last a week without washing, the thermos, some homework, the Spector Deflector, the collapsible version of the Boo-Staff, some Fenton Sleeping Bag Capsules, in case he had to run and spend the remainder of spring break roughing it in the woods.

Okay, he didn't think he'd have to do that, otherwise he wouldn't be trusting Vlad even this far, but it was better to be safe.

He walked downstairs, slowly, then started to look for the kitchen, vaguely worried about being ambushed. He wasn't. Point for Vlad.

Another point for Vlad - He was actually cooking.

"I doubt you want to eat anything too tough at the moment," said Vlad, "although once your new teeth grow in, you'll be gnawing on things before you know it. So, I'm making eggs. You aren't allergic to anything?"

"Not other than blood blossoms, no."

Vlad sighed and tipped the eggs he was frying onto a plate. "Shall we let bygones be bygones, little badger? At least for the duration of our little truce? For the sake of your problem, if nothing else."

Danny's lips twitched, sending a wave of pain across his face. "Yeah, okay," he said. He reached out for the eggs.

Vlad passed him the plate. "I'd like to do some scans of your teeth, when you're done."

"Why?" asked Danny.

"So suspicious," said Vlad. "Remember, you asked for my help."

"Last time you wanted to do scans of me, you were trying to clone me."

"This is different," said Vlad. "Although, I do wonder if Danielle will be losing her teeth, soon. Something for you to watch out for, hm?"

"What do you want to do the scans for, anyway?" asked Danny, picking up a fork.

"Oh, the usual. Making sure your teeth are growing in properly, checking if you'll be venomous, that kind of thing."

Danny dropped the fork. "That's an option?"

Vlad smirked. "Oh, it isn't very likely, but... You do have very odd luck, Daniel."

And didn't Danny know it.

"I'll pass on the scans."

"Really?"

"Cloning," Danny pointed out.

Vlad sighed. "I suppose you have something of a point. Let's make a deal. If I haven't done anything sinister by the middle of the week, you get those scans. It will, after all, be much harder for me to help you without them."

Danny frowned. "I didn't know that you were going to 'help' me beyond, you know. Hiding me."

"Please, Daniel. I'm trying to convince you to join me. I'm hardly going to deny you medical care while you're here. Besides, if you go back to your parents looking like a trainwreck, I'm the one who will get in trouble. Assuming they notice, of course."

Well... when he put it like that... "You're awful," said Danny.

"And yet, here we are. So, what is your decision?"

Danny sighed. "I'll think about it."

[ameliora-j]

twin flame iii // gw x reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: angst, breakup, mention of bruising, crying, angelina slander kinda (it’s just for the story i love her sm!), yn is sorta a pick me if you squint sry, cringey mediocre writing at very best

an: i used song lyrics for some of the argument and the ending :) i hope you like it besties!

part one | part two | part four

you george! i want you!

the words had been running through his mind since the night you left. he had been going over the days leading up to your explosion in his mind for weeks. your words were in his mind day and night. your pained expression, your anger, your hurt. you consumed him. more than you usually did.

george weasley knew he fucked up. he knew without anyone telling him. but they did anyway. every waking second they did. first it was fred, calling him a jerk. then ron, who called him a “bloody idiot.” then ginny, who told him it was his own fault. and then his mum. of course his mum, who said in exact words: “george fabian weasley, this is nobody’s fault but your own. quit moping around and do something to fix it! i didn’t raise you to treat women this way!”

his last straw, however, was his older brother percy. percy of all people. who looked at him with a disappointed shake of his head. receiving a disappointed head shake from percy was nothing out of the ordinary, especially for george. it was his words that stung. percy spoke ten simple words to him that truly set george off. percy spoke “you lost the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” at his sentence, george lost it.

“i know that percy! you don’t think i fucking know that i lost the best thing that ever happened to me! and fred i know i’m a jerk and ron i know i’m an idiot and ginny i know it’s my fault and mum i’m sorry okay! i know you didn’t raise me like this i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i don’t think she’s coming back!” he fell back onto the couch as he tugged frustratedly at his roots.

“george… do you love her?” molly asked him.

“yes mum,” a whimper escaped the fiery-haired boy’s throat. “i love her more than i’ve ever loved anyone before. she’s my world,” he revealed.

“then go, george. go get her,” his dad said. “for your sake and her’s,” he told him.

“and our’s!” fred called distantly from the kitchen.

“shove off fred!” george called back before apparating to your front door. he knocked three times and waited for someone to answer it. when you opened the door, he was shocked at your state.

makeup streaked down your cheeks with your shoulder bruised and your arm in a splint. your eyes were red and puffy, but they were furthermore accompanied by dark bags as if you hadn’t slept in weeks. the truth is; you hadn’t. “hi george,” you mumbled half heartedly.

“hi butterfl-“ you cut him off.

“yn. my name is yn,” you spoke sternly.

“i’ve called you butterfly since you were three…” he murmured.

“not anymore. hurts too bad to hear it. did you need something?” you quickly changed the subject.

“i want to talk to you,” he said. you nodded and walked in, telling him to follow you. george said hello to your brother and then followed you into the lounge where you two sat on the loveseat and you turned to face him.

you sat in a long silence as your eyes traced each other’s features. you memorized him. every line, every freckle, every bump, bruise, and blemish. the silence was deafening. untill he finally broke it. “what happened to your arm?” he murmured softly.

“it splinched when i apparated home. then i apparated again and made it worse,” you bit your lip softly.

“always so reckless,” he tutted softly, causing you to shrug.

“what’d you wanna talk about? know you didn’t come to talk about my arm…” you attempted to get to the point of his visit.

“right,” he murmured softly. “yn i…” he took a deep breath. “the day that i let you walk out of my life is the day that i made the worst mistake in the history of mistakes. i’ve done some stupid things in my life, but letting you walk away has by far been the stupidest. i’m so so sorry that i hurt you the way i did, i cannot express to you how sorry i am, i truly cannot. i love you, yn. with all of me i do, you have to believe me when i say that.”

“i do believe you george. i just don’t believe that you love me the way that i love you. and carrying around that pain is killing me. i mean absolutely destroying me. you live in my mind rent free. you’ve infested it,” you told him. “you with your stupid pretty smile and your god awful jokes and your ridiculous pranks that you somehow always rope me into and your perfect hair and your pretty eyes and just. you. george. stupid you. oblivious you. godric george,” you roughly shoved his chest. “i’ve loved you for years and you’ve always looked past me!” tears rimmed your bottom lash line and your voice cracked as you lashed out on him.

“for years george, i mean years! i’ve watched you fall in love with countless girls just to have your heart broken by them. i stuck by you through everything. even when you stopped being being my friend because it made angelina uncomfortable i waited for you george! and you just pushed me to the side. i did everything for you. i executed pranks for you. i planned pranks for you. i took the fall for you. i got detention for you! i did it all for you. i mean the countless amount of things i did just to be able to call you mine and i just… you didn’t care! you’ve never cared! you’ll never love me the way that i love you and that hurts. so. fucking. bad.” you wiped your eyes.

“it kills me george. it eats at me, every single day it does. i stood by your side and i took the blame with you even when i had nothing to do with the stupid shit you pulled at hogwarts because yeah i was going down, but hey, at least i was doing it with you, right? we made so much trouble and-and we used to laugh. and be happy. we were genuinely happy and i don’t know where we went wrong but we did, but i still say that i hate you with a smile on my face! i don’t get it george why don’t you love me!” a whimper tore itself from the depths of your chest as you let out a silent sob.

“now look what we’ve became…” he murmured, tears falling from your eyes.

“all the things i did just to call you mine… and… and all the things you said but… somehow, i still hope i was your favorite crime. cause merlin knows you were mine.” you sniffled as you wiped your eyes.

“you were mine. you’ll always be my favorite crime.” he leaned over and kissed your head as another silent sob racked your body. “now it’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we did,” he smiled over at you sadly. “i love you butterfly. just as much as you love me, if not more,” he whispered as he stood from his place.

you rolled your eyes water-logged eyes, but still managed to smile. “i wish you thought about that before,” you whispered.

“i do too… i guess i’ll have to just call you the one that got away then?” he asked.

“in another life georgie… i’d be your girl. and we’d keep every promise that we made,” you told him.

“and i wouldn’t have to say you were the one that got away,” you nodded as he kissed your head again. “i love you, butterfly. i always have.”

“i love you too, georgie. i always will,” you sniffled as you watched him walk out the door. you didn’t want this. you wanted to stop him. everything in your body screamed at you to stop him. but your brain wouldn’t work. your heart said no. you were scared of being hurt again.

you wanted to do something. yell at him. tell him to come back. to hug you. to never leave you. to never let you go. but your heart wouldn’t let you. you were frozen in time.

~~

it’ll all get better in time.

you’d heard the saying time and time again. especially after your parents passed away. it was people’s favorite line to use when they saw you. the truth is… you didn’t stop hurting. the pain didn’t go away. you just got used to it. but the pain you were feeling now… you didn’t know if it would ever go away. at least it didn’t feel like it.

two months. it had been two months since george walked out of your house that night. it was nobody’s fault but your own, and somehow you couldn’t help wishing he would’ve stayed.

you saw him everywhere. in the stars in the night sky. in the sunrise and the sunset. in coffee shops and store windows. even in your dreams when you slept. so logically, you decided to stop. if you didn’t sleep you couldn’t dream. and if you didn’t dream, you couldn’t see him.

you dutifully ignored the pain in your chest like an annoying bug on a picnic. you pretended that you were fine, but the reality was; you weren’t. but you played it off. and you were able to keep up your facade. untill one day… that one fateful day tucked in the corner at ninety three diagon alley. your brother asked you to pick up ten second pimple vanisher because he had a date tonight and just received a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose, causing him to look like “the muggle myth rudolph the red-nosed reindeer” as he put it.

you walked into the shop and kept your head down as you searched the aisles. it wasn’t where it usually was. you knew this shop like the back of your hand, of course you had… you’d worked there for nearly three years. you furrowed your brows as you looked around. the shop had completely transformed. nothing was in the place it usually was. that’s when your eyes landed there. on her. right at the front, behind the till at the register you worked, in the uniform you wore was angelina johnson.

you sighed deeply as you extended your neck around the corner to where the office was. you smiled triumphantly as you saw fred sitting at his desk and began your trek. you gently knocked twice on the opened door and fred called, “come in,” distractedly.

you walked in and sat on the desk, right in front of him, forcing him to look up at you. “yn!” fred exclaimed.

“hi freddie!” you smiled as a giggle escaped your lips and you returned the death-grip hug he had enveloped you in.

“what brings you by? not that i don’t love seeing your pretty face, of course,” he shot you a playfully flirtatious wink.

“ybn needs ten second pimple vanisher because he has a date tonight and he woke up with a pimple the size of jupiter on his nose,” fred laughed loudly at your remark. “i tried to look for it, but the stores completely turned around,” you pouted slightly.

“oh yeah, we changed some things up because we needed room for our new products. they’re still in the making, but george disappeared,” he hummed.

“george what?” you asked.

“you didn’t know…?” he asked you.

“no. i… i had no idea,” you stuttered.

“yeah. after the night he went to talk to you, he left a note on our kitchen counter and all his things were packed and he just… left. we haven’t seen or heard from him since. ‘s just been angie and i running the shop now. couldn’t do it alone,” fred explained as he picked up the box. “here you are l-“ before he could finish, you were halfway out the door. “YN WAIT!” he called. “YOU FORGOT YOUR PRODUCT!”

“SORRY FRED! YBN WILL BE OKAY I HAVE TO GO!” you called as you ran out the door as fast as your feet would carry you. if you knew george weasley… and you did… there was only one place he could be. and you prayed to any and every god that would listen that he was there. you prayed like your life depended on it that he was okay. you needed to fix this. to fix him. to make it alright.

in this moment you knew that he needed you. he needed you like peanut butter needs jelly. the way left needs right. like the sun needs the moon. he needed you like you needed him. you ran and ran and ran for miles untill you got to a secluded area. then you took a breath. and you apparated.

it was exactly the way you left it. a dingy old wooden box house sitting at the highest branch of a sycamore tree. you groaned softly as you began to climb the many branches. “george i swear to godric you better be in here,” you grumbled to yourself as you climbed.

it felt like hours—truly it was ten grueling minutes at most—untill you got to the door of the house. you whispered the password and it creaked open. “georgie,” you breathed when you saw him.

there he was. laying on the floor of the treehouse wrapped in blankets and a sleeping bag with a small pillow under his head. the apple to your pie. the straw to your berry. the smoke to your high. the one you knew you’d marry.

the one that got away. your twin flame.

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[outofangband]

Morwen and Aerin scene from a longer fic (can be read without the rest though)

cw: implied/background abuse and captivity

“You should keep these for yourself,” Aerin says quietly but she does not protest as Morwen finishes crushing the leaves and adds them to the steaming cup.

“I have no need of them now and these grow unrestrained in my garden,” Morwen says, “You are in pain. You do not hide it well.”

This is not strictly true. Aerin has been concealing this pain for days now and is well accustomed to hiding others. She has been using her arm normally, despite how it exacerbated the wrenching of the joint. But it seemed that when she crossed this threshold, her ability to hide her suffering left her. She pulls her shawl more tightly around her. She has not worn clothes that truly feel her own in well nigh a year. She has not felt her own for that time either.

The steam coaxes forward her tears with more urgency. The scent of it coated her nose and mouth. It was too hot to hold but she reached for the mug anyways, feeling the roughly formed clay of the Nen Lalaith beneath her burning fingers. Morwen watches her for a moment, then lays one hand atop of hers, just briefly, and she sets it back down again.

“I am sorry.”

“For what do you apologize?”

Aerin makes a movement between a shrug and a shoulder. Her shaking does not abate after and once more those words find her.

This will never end, not until I do.

She has thought this again and again since that day she was first brought before him but it is the closest she has yet come to saying them.

She does not, though the words are half formed. Nor does she think Morwen will have any answer. There is no answer that is both honest and kind. Aerin knows she has come closer to death lately than she has ever done before, close enough that she tries with an almost desperation not to consider that end, and which she dreads more.

She blinks away more tears. She cannot weep for this or she would not stop.

“I will stay up, if you want a few minutes. I could not sleep myself.”

Morwen looks exhausted truly but Aerin does not doubt her words. She does not want to accept but her own tiredness is weighing on her and she knows she will not have long before she has to return and when she does, she will have no sleep.

Aerin takes one of her hands and links her fingers through Morwen’s, looking at her for permission to remain like this. Morwen gives her a swift nod that almost makes her smile even if it does not.

Perhaps she does sleep. She does not dream but her world blurs in a way that lessens the sharpness of her pain and coats her sadness in something hazy, if only briefly.

She stands again before she is truly awake, the blanket that is not hers falling to the ground. She cannot speak as she walks to the door. If she does not restrain herself before she returns she will pay for it dearly. She wants to think it would be worth it. She does not know.

(Morwen watches Aerin leave, pulling the frayed edges of her shawl more tightly around her. It had not been made for warmth but anything that she might use to cover herself was welcome.)

Note: the flow is definitely a bit rushed, this is party of chapter five of with slander for a blade and it’s a bit out of the style of the previous chapters, it’s almost an interlude. Anyways it definitely needs some work still. There are a few paragraphs at the beginning I didn’t end up including because they needed more work

I have lots of thoughts on Morwen and herblore, I’ve been doing so much research for a few fics

Second Author’s note: I have a post here that goes a bit into Aerin’s first meeting Brodda and I’m writing it in fic form but it’s been taking awhile

Third:: I hope this is ok, I’ve been feeling so bad about my content lately and unfortunately it’s made me an even worse empirical judge of it

[seijorhi]

A Thousand Words

as promised, a Valentine’s Day fic 💕 

Oikawa Tooru x female reader, Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

TW implied dub/non-con, cheating, minor choking/abuse, nsfw(ish)

You break up with Iwaizumi two weeks before Valentine’s Day, standing in the doorway of the apartment you share with him.

And you hate that it still hurts, still tugs at the wretched, broken strings of your heart to watch that rare, beautiful smile of his fracture like glass, confusion giving way to disbelief and then finally anguish.

Iwa’s never been the best with his words, but it seems that you’ve robbed him of those too as you tell him that your relationship’s over. He just stands there, wide eyed, agonised as you shove your phone – the proof – into his face, a hoarse, strangled whisper of ‘why’ leaves his lips. 

It seems that it’s all that he’s capable of.

There’s nothing for him to say anyway. You don’t want his apologies or his excuses. The pictures are evidence enough. 

A boys weekend, he’d told you, and you’d trusted him. You loved him. He wasn’t like your ex, Iwa would never deliberately do anything to hurt you. 

He knew what fidelity meant to you.

You’d thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, but those pictures are enough to show you what a fool’s dream that was. Iwa, naked in bed, wrapped around some other woman.

Sleeping so peacefully, curled up by her side, like he’d done with you a thousand times.

And it doesn’t matter whether he was drunk or not. It doesn’t matter if he knew her or paid for her or found her at some fancy fucking bar downtown. He cheated on you, he broke your heart and he doesn’t get to watch you fall apart in front of him.

You save your tears until the door swings shut, collapsing onto the floor with a heartbroken wail as the man you love walks away.

—

Iwaizumi doesn’t remember much of that night. He’s never been a lightweight, but the drinks they were knocking back would’ve been enough to take out the best of them. And Iwa didn’t have to worry, not when he was out with friends. 

God knows they’d gotten him into so much shit when they were younger and stupider, but between the four of them they’ll stop each other from doing anything too damaging. They have careers now (most of them, anyway) and reputations to protect. And Iwa had you.

Out of everything; his career, his reputation, his livelihood, you were the one thing Iwa wouldn’t risk fucking up.

The night itself is a hazy, incomprehensible blur, but he does remember the girl. Not her name or where she came from, but he remembers her. A pretty face with a sultry smile, wearing some short, tight, shimmering dress. He remembers her sitting on Oikawa’s lap, fingers carding through his hair, red lips kissing at his jaw.

And he remembers Oikawa lounging back in his seat, barely paying the poor girl an ounce of attention, even when her hand started to run teasingly up his thigh, those same sinful lips whispering into his ear.

How the girl managed to find her way from Oikawa’s lap to his hotel bedroom is beyond him, but the pictures don’t lie. It’s his arm wrapped around her waist, her skin littered with love bites and fingerprint shaped bruises.

It was her mouth he’d woken up to, trailing a slow, teasing path up along his chest. He’d shoved her aside, snapped and snarled until the pretty thing welled up with tears and all but fled, leaving him to fall back into the sheets full of self loathing and disgust, wondering how he could possibly have fucked up this badly.

And when he threw up later, hurling until there was nothing left in his stomach, he knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.

Iwa hadn’t known that anybody knew, hadn’t thought that there was proof – not until you were shoving it in his face, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to keep your tears at bay. And what could he say? 

It was a mistake?

He was drunk?

Iwa doesn’t make excuses, you deserve more than that. You deserve more than him.

He should’ve fallen to his knees and begged – begged you through tears if he had to – for you to give him a second chance. But the words stuck in his throat, because the look of absolute, utter heartbreak on your face felt like a fist driving into his gut, and he wasn’t sure if he even deserved it.

You break up with him two weeks before Valentine’s Day, entirely unaware of the ring he’s been carrying around in his pocket for almost a month now, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

So he does the only thing he can, and calls Oikawa.

—

Moving your things out of the apartment you’d spent the last year and a half sharing with your boyfriend – your ex-boyfriend – takes less time than you think. The life you’d started to build with him, packed up in nice neat little boxes in only a few hours.  

And you’re grateful that he’s not there. He’d messaged you to tell you that he wouldn’t be, the only contact you’d had with him since breaking up. 

It’s not the pictures on the nightstand, Iwa’s strong arms wrapped around you, a dopey little grin on his face that gets to you – it’s the World’s Best Boyfriend mug he’d bought you as a joke one day, the old hoodie of yours that was actually his, the one you’d worn half to death because it was warm and smelled like him. 

It’s hard enough to do this without him hovering over you, but stupidly you’d forgotten that while Iwa had promised not to be there, he wasn’t the only one with a key to your shared apartment.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as you’re finishing up in the bedroom and for one single, split second, your heart jumps into your throat.

But the brunette that saunters in isn’t the one you’re still in love with, and you’re quick to brush away the tears on your face before he can see.

Before he can mock you for it.

Oikawa, ever the charmer, merely grins when he catches sight of you. 

“Did Iwa send you to supervise?” you say in lieu of a proper greeting, the words slightly more bitter than you intend – even for him. 

He isn’t bothered by it, his grin widening just a fraction as he turns and settles down on the bed, long legs stretched out, ankles casually crossed over. He looks entirely too comfortable there and it’s an effort not to bristle.

“Well hello to you too,” he says, his voice a teasing lilt. “Are you always this fun in the mornings?”

Your brows draw together in a frown, but just as you open your mouth to snap a retort, his palms come up in a gesture of mock surrender. “No, Iwa did not send me to supervise you. He doesn’t know I’m here, actually.”

“Then why are you here? To gloat?” you spit.

Oikawa’s eyes glitter, amusement tugging at his lips. You love Iwaizumi, and for his sake you’ve spent the past few years tolerating the constant, overbearing presence of his best and oldest friend. Oikawa, on the other hand has never made all that much of an effort to hide the fact that he doesn’t exactly approve of your relationship with his friend.

Oh, he’s never outwardly rude or hurtful. He doesn’t sit there and spew abuse at you, and as far as you know he hasn’t tried to sway Iwa into leaving you since the very early days of your relationship, but Oikawa doesn’t need to be overt to make his feelings clear.

He treats you like a one night stand that hasn’t quite gotten the hint that it’s time to fix your dress and move right along. 

You still haven’t forgotten the night you all went out to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday, how he’d slid into Iwa’s empty seat the moment he’d slipped out to get another round of drinks and spoken so casually, as if it was nothing but a friendly conversation. Small talk. 

“You know it won’t last; you and Iwa.”

And you hadn’t said a word, not wanting to be baited into fighting – into ruining Iwa’s night. You hadn’t even scowled at him, just sat there, pretending that he didn’t exist as you waited for your boyfriend to come back to you. 

“You’re cute together, I’ll give you that much,” he’d mused, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer. He’d studied you from beneath long lashes for a moment; a sharp, lingering look entirely at odds with the easy, relaxed tone of his voice. “But you two aren’t a good match. You don’t belong with him.”

You never did figure out exactly what you’d done to make him dislike you so much, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. 

Not when he’s finally proven himself to be right. 

“Please,” he says with a scoff, rolling those pretty eyes of his, “as if I’d be so immature. I’m just here to make sure you don’t steal the coffee machine – it’s so much better than the one I have at home.”

He spends the next half hour trailing you from room to room, looking entirely too delighted at your misery. It’s almost a relief when you slip into the bathroom just for a moment’s fucking peace, brushing angrily away at the tears that still haven’t left you.

You almost – almost – reach for your phone to message Iwa and tell him to call off his stupid, infuriating friend, except you’d left it lying on the kitchen bench.

—

His head hurts. An incessant pounding, throbbing ache that makes him want to hurl.

Rationally, he’d known that the cure for the monstrous hangover he’d given himself wasn’t going out for a run at five in the morning, but he didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or keep drinking, and considering it was the alcohol that had gotten him into this fucking mess in the first place…

“I need to fix this,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands, letting his fingers roughly run through the tangles of his hair. “I need to fucking fix this.”

He looks like shit, feels like shit, but he can’t bring himself to care, not even as a solid weight drops itself onto the couch beside him. 

“You need to give her space, Iwa,” Oikawa comments with a sigh, passing him a glass of water that he gratefully chugs. “Give her time to figure things out. She’s hurting, and you constantly harassing her won’t do you any favours in trying to win her back.”

He wants to see the truth in his friend’s wisdom. He knows he hurt you, he knows he fucked up, but–

You’d already moved your things out.

He’d known that, of course he had, but coming home to see every trace of you just gone was like a gut punch. He was gonna marry you, get down on one fucking knee in front of everybody and– and now you’re gone and he’s crashing in his best friend’s spare bedroom because the thought of going home without you there is too fucking painful for him to bare.

And he only has himself to blame for it. 

But you’re his future, the only one he really gives a damn about, and he’s not one to just give up and walk away. Iwa doesn’t care if it takes weeks or months, he doesn’t care if he has to spend the rest of his life making this up to you; he will. 

He can’t just let you go. 

Oikawa continues to try and talk sense beside him, but he’s barely paying attention, only offering a small grunt of acknowledgement when he feels the brunette’s eyes studying him. He knows that he’s only trying to help, but he can’t honestly remember the last time Oikawa bothered to introduce him to one of the girls hanging off his arm. He knew as well as his friend did that there wasn’t much point – they wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Fuck, he doesn’t think that Oikawa’s ever had a serious relationship in his life, so excuse him if he’s a little hesitant to take his advice as gospel.

And Oikawa doesn’t know you like Iwaizumi does. He doesn’t understand you, doesn’t see what Iwa does when he looks at you. You’re like… sunlight. There’s no other way he can describe it. It’s cheesy and stupidly sappy, he’d rather be shot than admit it out loud, but he’s never met another person so–so… radiant. You burn bright, and Iwaizumi can’t help but be drawn to you – your warmth and your softness and everything about you. You’re beautiful and caring and you’re home and he’s terrified that if he waits too long, somebody else is gonna see that and snatch you up for themselves and he won’t even be able to blame them for it.

He knows he fucked up, knows that you probably (rightfully) hate him, but he has to try. 

So he ignores the way that Oikawa huffs and rolls his eyes when he reaches for his phone, opening up your last conversation.

Please, can we talk? I know you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I’m begging you. Just ten minutes?

And his heart pounds against his ribcage so violently that he thinks he might be sick as he waits for it to send. Waits for the little ‘Read’ notification to pop up.

And waits.

And waits.

Error. Message failed to send.

He tries again, distinctly aware of the Oikawa’s watchful, curious gaze peering over his shoulder.

Error. Message failed to send.

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and in his panic, he presses the call button, bringing the phone to his ear with a sick feeling in his stomach.

It doesn’t even ring, there’s just three beeps and the line disconnects.

You’ve blocked his number.

—

You second guess yourself with every step, but you don’t stop and you don’t turn around. 

The radio silence from your ex had been a little unexpected, but you’d been the one to tell him in no uncertain terms that the two of you were done.

You were the one to make a point of moving out, keeping the few messages you’d exchanged short and to the point. Were you expecting him to fight you on it? Blow up your phone with messages and voicemails begging you to come back? Maybe show up at your door demanding that you hear him out and give him another chance. 

Were you maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed that he hadn’t? 

It wasn’t remotely fair to expect that of him, you know that, but you couldn’t help the way your heart had leapt into your throat the moment his message had come through after days of nothing.

Can we talk face to face? I need to see you. 

Two sentences, that was it. And you’d spent the better part of an hour debating whether or not you should reply.

Because you love him still, despite it all. 

The last person you’d given a second chance to had used that chance to walk all over you. He’d broken your heart, your trust, and any semblance of self worth you’d had. Iwaizumi had been the one to build you back up afterwards. 

And now he’d done the same thing. Knowing what you’d gone through before, and it gutted you.

The date on the calendar hasn’t slipped your attention. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’d spent all morning trying to forget that if things were different, you would have spent the day with Iwa. He’d been secretive about his plans, tight lipped for once in his life, and there’d been some part of you that had wondered, hoped even… but instead you’re sitting alone in a hotel room, feeling miserable for yourself. 

If you were stronger, maybe, and if today were any other day, you might have ignored the message, the way those two brief sentences made your pathetic heart ache, but–

But… perhaps you had been a little too hasty when you’d broken it off. Iwa hadn’t said a word to defend himself, but you hadn’t really given him the option, had you?

Agreeing to meet with him wasn’t agreeing to brush it all under the rug. It wasn’t a promise of forgiveness, or even really an olive branch. It just meant that you would go to hear him out, that’s all.

Just to hear him out.

Yet your stomach’s twisting into knots as you walk up the familiar steps, your heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. You love him, despite it all.

You love him, but that doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you raise a fist to knock.

The smiling face that greets you when that door swings open, however, is not the one you’re expecting.

“Hey there, cutie. You’re early.”

Oikawa.

For one single, floundering heartbeat, confusion grips you. Why was he– was Iwaizumi not coming? Had you misunderstood the message, or… or had he changed his mind, backed down at the last second and sent his friend to hammer the final nail into the coffin of your failed relationship.

You didn’t think Iwaizumi would be the type, though. He’d never been cruel, he’d never been cowardly, either.

“I don’t… understand,” you breathe, wide eyes darting around as if you’re expecting your ex to suddenly pop up behind his shoulder and shove him aside with a growl, telling him to butt out of your relationship the way he had countless times before.

Yet Oikawa offers no explanation, that same stupid, infuriating grin widening as he steps back to let you in, and you, somewhat robotically, follow him inside. Your eyes flicker from his back to the apartment around you – it’s exactly how you left it last week, not a single thing out of place. 

“Iwa said–” but your voice falls silent as you realise that no, that’s not true. 

The door to your bedroom is ajar, soft, flickering light spilling out from the crack, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the rose petals on the floor, the dulcet music playing so quietly you’d missed it entirely. 

Your brow furrows, breath catching in your throat as you stare at the scene before you, utterly frozen. You don’t register Oikawa stepping closer, nor the dark hunger brewing in his eyes. None of this makes any sense, you don’t understand–

“Iwa’s not coming.” Long, delicate fingers grip your chin, tilting your face and before you can even draw breath his lips are pressing against yours. It only lasts a second, long enough for your lagging brain to register that Oikawa is kissing you, here, in the middle of the apartment you’d shared with his best friend.

Oikawa, who hates you. Who’s cupping your cheek, gazing at you with an expression so eager and wanting, so unnervingly wrong that it makes your heart clench in fear and your blood run cold.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone,  “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And then he’s grabbing at your hand, fingers entwining with yours as he tugs you towards the bedroom, and finally the shock wears off enough for reality to kick in.

“What the fu– Oikawa, get the hell off of me!” you snap, trying to wrench yourself free. But he’s stronger than he looks, and his grip merely tightens.

“Tooru,” he calls back, glancing over his shoulder with that impish, wicked little smirk. “I want you to moan it for me tonight. You can do that for me, right cutie?”

You’re not a violent person, you’ve never been the type to lash out with fists and blows, but something inside of you just snaps at his words, and before you can stop yourself, your open palm flies towards his face. 

Quick as lightning, Oikawa spins, catching at your wrist and slamming you up against the living room wall. A small burst of pain radiates through your skull from the impact, your breath forced from your lungs in a pathetic squeak as he boxes you in. There’s not a moment for you to catch your breath, though, not with his forearm pressing down on your throat just hard enough so that you can feel it. He’s always been taller than you, but you’d never considered him to be intimidating – not until he’s looming over you, teeth bared in that feral smirk.

“Oh, baby. If you’re not going to play nice, I won’t either.” His fingers tighten on your wrist, squeezing until a choked whimper slips out and he kisses you once more. Not soft or sweet, but bruising, teeth clacking, nipping and biting and harshly sucking at your bottom lip until you return it.

And when he pulls away, there’s blood on his lips – yours – and he licks it away with a satisfied little hum. “I put effort into this, you know,” he says, his tone almost conversational if not for the slight pant, the shivering undercurrent that laces every word. Oikawa leans closer, and you can feel the outline of his cock, hardening already as he presses it against you, rutting his hips ever so slightly. “Set the bedroom up nice and romantic for our first time together.”

He kisses you again, a sweet, tender peck, smiling when you part.

“But if you want me to fuck you here first, up against the wall, all you had to do was say so.”

—

The girl had been easy enough to convince to play along, which probably should have disgusted him. 

She looked like you; a cheap imitation, of course, but close enough. Oikawa could kid himself that it was for Iwaizumi’s sake, to sow the seeds of doubt in his head, but he knows as he forces her face down into the pillow, slamming his hips against her ass like a man possessed, that that’s not the whole truth.

But she served her purpose well enough, letting him fuck her, mark up that pristine skin with the same kind he’d seen littered across your neck and collarbones, your thighs–

And she’d still tried to kiss him the moment before slipping out of her robe and climbing into his best friend’s bed. Given him that playful wink, biting her bottom lip seductively as if she were anything but a means to an end for him. 

As if he hadn’t forgotten her name the moment he’d gotten those pictures.

Oikawa knows all about your ex and how that asshole treated you, out of all the possible scenarios he could have engineered, this would be the one that’d hurt you the most. He’d thought that you would fly off the handle, kick Iwa out for a few days and leave the door open just wide enough for him to weasel his way in, but you’d gone one step further. 

You’d left him.

Broken his heart completely, the way he’d broken yours. Oikawa couldn’t have planned it better himself, and oh what he would have killed to have been there to see it. 

And it’s not that he enjoys his best friend’s pain – truly, he wants Iwa to be happy, he does.

Just not with you. Not when you’re his.

It was easy enough to bully Iwa into revealing when you’d be coming over to pick up your things. Easy enough to rile you up to the point you’d run and hide just so he wouldn’t see you shed all those pretty tears.

Leaving your phone unattended. And really, it’s your own fault for choosing such an obvious passcode – how could he possibly resist?

You were none the wiser, his poor, unsuspecting little idiot. 

Yet for all your posturing and your badly concealed hurt, he’d known that you’d show up today. You’re a romantic at heart, and you’d let yourself be walked all over again if you thought it meant that somebody loved you, wouldn’t you?

You would’ve said yes when he’d gotten down on one knee, and when he’d come back to you with tears in his eyes, drowning in regret and you saw what a mess Iwaizumi was without you, you would have forgiven him – even if it meant giving him the power to break you all over again.

Oikawa honestly doesn’t know whether he should admire or pity you for it.

It hardly matters now, he supposes. Not when you’re so beautifully wrecked, lying nestled against his bare chest with those tears he adores spilling down your flushed cheeks. Every thump of your heart echoing his. 

He wonders if he should send Iwaizumi a picture. 

[hobidreams]

may 1869.

just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 1.4k contains: someone new, something new.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 20. start from the beginning?

A balmy wind drifts through the open window of your bedchamber, making ripples upon the freshly made spread. You stand in sunlight before the mirror, tracing the faint remnant of the bruise on your collarbone, left by the king’s hungry mouth too many nights before, and wish absently that the mark will stay for at least a few hours more.

As the days grow longer, his visits have become far less frequent, though the minutes he spends indulging in your heat seem to extend ever so slightly in turn. The explanation that leaves your heart intact is that he is occupied by overseeing the administration and results of the national civil exam, the gwageo that took place a few days ago and will bring a new group of eager scholars into the palace. You try very hard not to think about the possibility of his finding his way to another woman’s bed, even though he is well within his rights to. Even though it is expected of a king to have handfuls of consorts in his court. He has, thankfully, spared you of such truths, like he continues to spare you of any details about his life. Theoretically, that makes it easier to not get so attached. Theoretically.

With an exhale, you re-adjust the collar of your blouse to hide the mark and put on your hat before stepping out into the sun, holding a book that you intend to return to the king’s library.

As you walk towards the building, you soon realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before in green scholar’s robes in front of the shuttered doors, pacing back and forth as the dark samo on his head bobs from the effort. What’s he doing? While people may pass by here, they rarely linger.

When the man spots you, his gaze seems to brighten. “Excuse me, uinyeo-nim!”

You come to a stop before him, taking in the wane of his eyes that are like friendly crescents. “Good morning. How may I help you, Scholar…?”

“Park.” He smiles. “I’m one of the newly admitted scholars.”

“Scholar Park. Congratulations on passing the exam.” You return his smile with a small one of your own though you remain on your guard, no matter how kind he seems. Most of the current scholars treat you with disdain (though they at least attempt to veil it on the king’s account, you are certain), as you are a woman and thus beneath them, no matter if the texts you’ve read could rival theirs. This Park must be brilliant though, if he passed the rigorous exam at such a young age.

“Thank you. I’m excited to begin my work! But…” He bites his lip. “The head scholar asked me to obtain a copy of Bang Si-Hyuk’s latest text, and the royal library said that only the king has a copy…” His expressive face falls and you, with a twinge of endearment, think he might be an awful liar if he ever tried. “Would you happen to know how I might borrow from the private library? Should I request an audience with the king? Are there official forms to follow? I really don’t wish to misstep.”

You stare at him quietly, contemplating whether or not you should reveal that you have such access.

He nervously seems to take your lack of answer as confusion. “Yes, I am aware that I should have asked my fellow scholars but they are all so much older than me and I’m afraid that they will take me less seriously than they already do if I cannot complete such a simple task on my own... But no one else has walked by here and I do not want to go back empty-handed and…” He trails off, giving you a look of absolute desperation that warms your heart, despite your reservations.

“Scholar Park. I can retrieve the book for you, if you promise to return it within a few days.” The king wouldn’t notice that it’s missing anyhow, not with how busy he’s been. That, and you get the feeling that the older scholars have been playing a bit of an initiation joke on this poor boy.

“Really? You will? Thank you, uinyeo-nim!” He breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, but uinyeo-nim, how do you have access to the king’s libra…”

You can practically see the moment it clicks in his mind that you are that physician, the one who’s name is irrevocably tangled up with the king’s.

It seems palace gossip is not exempt even from those who have only entered the grounds the day before. You can literally feel the turmoil going on within him as he tries to figure out how to address you, whether or not he should give you the respect of the king’s consort even though you are technically not one in the slightest. Just a lowborn, a hole, even a witch doctor that has bewitched jeonha, as those less polite than this boy have put it when they thought you were out of earshot.

“Hm?” You prompt like a masochist, wanting to see what he says. Wanting to see if it’ll hurt you some more, or if you’ve finally gone blissfully numb.

“N-Nothing, uinyeo-nim.”

You were right. He’s an awful liar.

But you get the book for him anyway, and see him off with promises to meet you back here two days later for the return. Your reality is none of his fault, after all.

That night, the king drops by with little decorum. Opens the door to your chambers and strips off his robes, like he always does. Though this time as he kneads your bare chest in his calloused fingers, pinching the peaked nipples so hard you whimper, you are filled with a need for some scrap of certainty. You want to wipe that coolness from his eyes for even one second, to stoke some intimate fire from him that says he still remembers how you used to be together. How it used to be easier than this. Closer, even though now you know how thick his cock feels as he robs you of air.

“You—ah—you’ve been busy, jeonha?” It’s been getting marginally easier to talk to him like this in the moonlight, his hands making a mess of you. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve come.”

“What, are you that needy for a fuck?” He smirks, but it’s a look more dark and dangerous than playful as he reaches down and finds you soaked. You think you feel the ghost of that word lingering around his question, but it is a small blessing that has not said it aloud since that night in April.

Your face flushes hot. “I-I was just wondering…” You shouldn’t mention it. You really should hold your tongue, but you’re sick of being trapped in your own mind, going in circles with your own insecurity. Just this once. Just this once you want to let yourself ask— “I thought… That perhaps you had taken another conso—oh!” You’re cut off by an abrupt inhale as he sinks two nimble fingers into your cunt. One smooth stroke takes him so deep, only for him to pull out to use the translucent wetness he’s gathered as lubricant along his shaft.

“You think I have time for other women?” He snaps. His stare is intense, but you can’t see a single lie in their depths. “Never have.”

Then he takes you so roughly, you think the bed might break from all the rattling. You have to blink away white spots in your vision when you come and he doesn’t say much more to you for the rest of the night, but you’re smiling almost deliriously all the way through with your nails scratching faint red down his back, the bracelet he gave you dragging over his skin from its home on your wrist. Never, your mind echoes, again and again.

Against all the odds. Against anything you would have expected. Even if he keeps you at arm’s length to the thoughts in his heart, it’s still the chance three-step skip of a grey stone across a rippling pond.

You’re the only one.

a/n: wow. drabble 20. it’s taken us half a year to get here & it honestly feels like a dream that i’ve made it this far. yet there is still so much on the line. so much further to travel together. thank you, if you’ve been here since the beginning. thank you, if you’re just picking up the series 💜 please do come let me know your thoughts on the series as we slide into the present time, with all the tension of the past lingering too closely by. i truly couldn’t have gotten here without all your support ♡