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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

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in support of wildfire relief, @balder12 donated $20, and requested Sam/Kevin with hair play. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

Kevin feels he deserves a little better, than this. He doesn’t exactly—he wasn’t exactly used to booze, hadn’t ever really had a drink before he met the Winchesters that wasn’t the cherry schnapps his mom sometimes drank—and okay, so most of the time when he’s gotten drunk it’s been entirely on accident. But still. Whatever Dean drinks is some kind of weird dollar store swill (assuming they sell alcohol, at the dollar store, which to be fair he doesn’t know but he assumes that if they do then what Dean buys would be of that quality), and Kevin is a friggin Prophet of the friggin Lord, so if he’s going to be drinking then he should be drinking—he doesn’t know. Fine wines. Something laced with myrrh, whatever myrrh is. He was going to take Comparative Religions his first semester of college; he never got to find that out. He never got to go to college. Sam did.

Sam. That’s right. Kevin—he has a plan. He deserves better, he thinks. He’s been working on the tablet because that's his job, and he knows that he has a duty and he isn't going to shirk it. His mom had taught him better than that. Still, he thinks—as a Prophet—as a man, which he guesses he is—he shouldn’t just be… relegated to homework duty. Study session captain, providing all the notes. Even if the notes were triple-highlighted and with meticulous bullet points, and made sure that everyone in the group actually passed the exams. Or could take down heaven, or… whatever the hell the Winchesters have planned. He’s the brains behind the operation. He deserves a little something, for all the effort.

He’s pretty much finished the bottle Dean thought he’d hid. Kevin’s never had horse pee but he suspects that horse pee would be better. It’s a plastic jug, and it stings going down, but he needs some kind of courage and apparently the Winchesters are too cheap to keep myrrh-booze around. He finishes his cup and combs his hair, in front of the mirror in his room. His head feels like it’s bobbing at some long tether, past the end of where his neck should be. His lips feel numb. It’s kinda cool.

He doesn’t knock, at Sam’s room. When the door opens it’s dark and he bangs it into the wall. There’s a jolt, and in the light streaming in from the hallway he sees Sam twisted around, a gun in his hands, the blankets a mess. "What," Sam says, in that voice. Kevin smiles at him. Sam blinks. "Kevin. What?"

"Yeah," Kevin sighs, and crosses the room and crawls right up onto the bed, his limbs all heavy. Sam turns onto his back, surprised, meets him. Kevin’s in socks and sweatpants and the Harvard sweatshirt Dean had given him as a joke, except that Kevin actually loves it and wears it whenever he gets a chance, and Sam’s hands settle on his waist, gripping in through the soft fleecy crimson, holding him. Kevin sighs again, settles in. Sam’s lap, his bed. Firm as a rock, like Kevin’s, but—warm. ‘Cause Sam is there.

"Hey," Sam says, cautious, and Kevin makes a small noise and leans down, lassitude soaking through him from all that shitty shitty booze, and Sam tips his head up and meets the kiss, soft. Soft, but steady, and bracing. He’s like a colossus, Kevin thinks, distantly pleased. That was a good vocab word. The Colossus of Sam. He lips at Sam’s mouth and gets a slow breath, and Sam tipping his head so it’s in the right place, and the kiss is—easy, like that, because Sam makes it easy. His mouth, firm but yielding when Kevin asks, and he doesn’t make fun of Kevin for being shy, or for not—not really—knowing what he’s doing. His hands shift, on Kevin’s waist, slip over his back, over the Harvard sweatshirt. Under it, just the edge of his fingers, and Kevin smiles against his mouth and drops his head, the booze swirling steady and dragging as hard as gravity, pinning him into Sam’s lap, making him laugh.

"You’re in a good mood," Sam says. Smile in his voice. Sam, happy. That doesn’t happen too often. Another slow drag of hands, up his back, and Kevin sits back into them, lets Sam take his weight because he totally can. Door’s still open and there’s enough light in here that he can really see—Sam, in a black tee, his hair a little mussed from sleeping, his eyes on Kevin above him. "What's up?"

"I have a plan," Kevin says. He tries to make it sound serious but he doesn't feel all that serious. Sam's eyes narrow a little, looking at his face. "I think—"

"Are you drunk?"

"That," Kevin says, with dignity, "is not relevant."

"Wow," Sam says, "you really are," but he doesn't sound mad or anything. There's a dimple peeking, in his cheek.

They shift a little, Sam moving under his weight. Not that Sam seems to think his weight is any impediment. Kevin's knees spread on the rock-hard mattress and Sam ends up with his back firm against the headboard, his hands still laced easy around Kevin's waist, looking at him. He's an inch or two taller than Sam, sitting like this, and he laughs a little, enjoying it. The top of Sam's head is nice, who knew?

"You have a plan," Sam prompts him. The corner of his mouth keeps turning up, before he makes it go thoughtful again. "Let's hear it."

It feels distant right now. "Well," Kevin says, and drifts for a second. Sam's body is—it's not like he didn't know this, but Sam's body is—nice. Feels nice. He presses his hands against Sam's pecs and they flex, whether on purpose or not Kevin doesn't know but. Wow.

"Kevin."

"I think you should kiss me," Kevin says. Not what he meant to say.

"Is that the plan?"

He grips Sam's shirt, rolls his eyes. "I mean, it is now," and gets Sam to smile briefly before there's the lean up, a big hand between his shoulderblades to keep him balanced while Sam presses their lips together. Firm-and-yielding, and when Kevin's mouth parts on a little breath Sam tips his head and makes the kiss a little—more yielding, a little wet, enough that Kevin's belly already warm from the booze feels like someone turned it to boil.

"How's that," Sam says, when he pulls back. Soft. Smug. Shithead.

"You suck," Kevin says. Somehow his hands ended up in Sam's hair and he plays his fingers through it. It's soft. Sam showered, before he went to bed, and his hair's clean and probably conditioned and just… nice, like the rest of him. "I deserve more than this."

Sam sits still, letting Kevin tangle him up. "You do," he says.

Kevin tweaks a long wave, there at Sam's temple, focusing. The plan. "Yeah, I do," he says, like Sam was arguing. "I mean, I know I'm not like—whatever, hot or a—a stud or something, but I am a Prophet and I feel like I should get more than a kiss every once in a while. Anyway, I don't see anyone else around here that you could make out with, so you might as well—"

"Wait," Sam says, shaking his head, but Kevin does have a plan and he got drunk for this, okay, so he's not going to be interrupted.

"—and if you're like, holding back because I'm a virgin, you don't need to worry about that, all right, because I've read like a lot about it and I figured out my mom's kid-safe password for the internet when I was eleven, okay, so I know how it goes."

Sam's grip on his sides is tight and Kevin squirms. The hands go looser but Sam's staring at him. "You're—Kevin." Kevin makes a small noise. Duh, he's Kevin. Maybe Sam's drunk too. "Kevin, you're twenty."

"I'm twenty-one," he says, offended. Just because the Winchesters lose years all the time doesn't mean everyone else does. He drags his hands through Sam's hair again, sweeping it back from his face, and Sam's giving him this look that he doesn't really get. Sam looks at him a lot in ways he doesn't really get.

"Twenty-one," Sam says, after a few seconds. Kevin nods. "Sorry."

There's a pause, again. Kevin's comfortable, now he's said his piece. He plays with the ends of Sam's hair where they curl forward. It's really different to his, which pretty much just lays there unless Kevin experiments with products. Sam's got—body. Kevin glances down, where Sam's chest rises with his breath, and grins. Yeah, he's got body.

"When I—after that hunt. When I kissed you." One of Sam's hands slides to the center of his chest, right over where it says Harvard. "Was that the first time someone…?"

"I had a girlfriend," Kevin says.

"That's not an answer."

Sam's as bad as his debate coach used to be. "No," he says, exaggerating it, "it wasn't my first kiss." Might as well have been, because he and Channing hadn't been any good at it. Kissing was just wet and kinda gross, Kevin had thought, until a month ago when Sam had looked down at him with this glad proud look on his face after Kevin had given them the research they needed to figure out their hunt, and he'd said you really saved our asses, and Kevin had looked up at him and Sam's face had changed and he'd, very softly, touched Kevin's chin, and Kevin had felt like he'd lost his balance and Sam had looked back and forth between his eyes—like a movie, Kevin thought, dumb in the moment—and he'd dipped, and it had been…

Sam's hands are under his sweatshirt, now. Just holding his back, his thumbs idly stroking. "Tell me what you did with your girlfriend," he says, and it's just an easy suggestion but also it kinda sounds like Sam does sound, sometimes, when something's a suggestion but really it's an order. How he talks to Dean, when they're prepping a hunt.

Kevin's weirdly pleased to be on the other end of it. "Studied mostly," he says. It's just honest but for some reason Sam smiles. He cards his fingers through Sam's hair again. "And—well, I guess this, too." Sam raises his eyebrows, questioning, and Kevin says: "This. I used to braid her hair for her. For dance performances."

"Really," Sam says, and Kevin shrugs. He squirms closer, in Sam's lap, and loosens the fall of hair behind Sam's left ear. Yeah, there's enough. He tips Sam's chin so he has space and starts in. Sam laughs softly. "Okay. Uh—Kevin." Kevin ignores it; he's busy. "When you… did you ever want to do more? With your girlfriend? More than kissing, I mean."

Sam's hair is great to work with. He unwinds a little and restarts with a french braid, instead, since it's so smooth. Sam asked him a question, though. "Um, not really," he says. Three over two over one over two. It's a soothing pattern, very rhythmic. Like differential equations. "It felt awkward. I mean… it was Channing, you know?"

He admires the effect, curving around Sam's ear, and turns his chin again to do the other side. Sam lets him, holding still for it.

"But you want more," Sam says, while the braid forms perfectly over his right ear. "With me."

Kevin pauses. There was something—different, in Sam's voice. He plaits the last inch, finishing, and he's—aware maybe, more than he has been, of Sam's hands on his skin. They're just sitting there, low on his back, the thumbs still gently moving. "I mean," he says, and bites his lip.

With the sides braided, Sam looks like a Viking. He's big enough to be one. "Did you know that Vikings actually had a much better standard of living than most people think?" Kevin says. "They were really big into bathing."

"Yes, I knew that," Sam says. He sits up more and Kevin's weight shifts, in his lap, so that he grabs onto Sam's shoulders to balance, but of course with Sam's hands on his back he wasn't going to budge at all. Sam's hands shift to his hips and he kisses Kevin again, leaning in quick without his usual careful bend where it feels like he's asking to make sure Kevin's okay with it—Kevin sucks air, opens his mouth, and Sam's tongue is—oh, wet but it's not—not like it was, with Channing, and he makes some weird noise and has his fingers in Sam's hair again, at the back where it's so soft, gripping, trying to make sure he doesn't just float away. Sublimation, solid to gas in a second.

"You're hard," Sam says, quietly, when he pulls back. Kevin's dizzy. Oh, he is. He looks down, between them, and Sam's thumb is dragging down the waist of his sweatpants a little, and he is—yeah—bulging there, really obvious. His belly throbs.

Sam's other hand cards through Kevin's hair. It feels nice and he closes his eyes, just feeling. Sam kisses him again, shallow enough that he can still think, and Sam's thumb drags around the curve of his jaw, and Sam's other thumb slips over, to under his bellybutton, rubbing there a little. "You deserve more," Sam says—funny tone—but that's agreement at least, and Kevin's skin goes hot all over. Not drunk enough to be nervous but he…

When he opens his eyes Sam's cheeks are a little red. Kevin wonders suddenly if he's hard, too, but with Sam's eyes on his he doesn't want to look down. "Let me just take care of you," Sam says, abruptly. "You're drunk and I don't—for tonight, at least. Just let me."

Kevin has no idea what that means. "Okay," he says, because he'd probably agree to anything when Sam looks like he does, right now, when he's—feeling as much as he is, right now.

Sam's mouth turns up, on one side, and then the world tips—Kevin's on his back, his head by the footboard, and Sam's leaning over him with his hand planted on the mattress, Kevin's knees spread around his waist. He reaches up and grips into Sam's hair, the ends of the braids fraying loose. "Yeah, hold on to me," Sam says, soft, encouraging, and Kevin closes his eyes and feels the silky warmth under his fingers, and does.

#fffr #balder12 #spn fic #sam/kevin #sevin #my writing

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kiranxrys · 4 years ago

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Alone Together Episode 2 Transcript

Okay, I guess I’m going to keep doing these for now! This is a viewer-made transcript of Episode 2 ‘Sources’ of Alone Together: A DS9 Companion performed on the Sid City Social Club. Again, beneath the cut, and again, please let me know if you think there are any errors and I’ll fix them ♥

watch: one | two | three | four

read: one | three | four

ANNOUNCER (ON-SCREEN): ‘Alone Together’ – a DS9 companion, Episode 2 – ‘Sources’. Jake Sisko is forty-four years old. He is now the editor in chief for the Federation News Service and living in the apartment above Sisko’s restaurant with his wife and their two daughters. Jake has clearly matured and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders most days. Nathan took over the restaurant from Joseph when he finally realized he could no longer keep up with day-to-day operations. Nathan continues to use Joseph’s time-honored recipes, but he still forgets to stir the gumbo often enough.

Jake first moved in with his grandfather when he decided to pursue his reporting career on Earth. The great thing about Jake’s father, Benjamin Sisko, being a Bajoran Prophet is that he can always reach out to Jake, Kasidy, or their son. Today Jake’s not-so-baby brother lieutenant junior-grade Joseph Yates-Sisko is an engineer on Deep Space 9. Doctor Julian Bashir has taken on a rather paternal role with the Sisko children, as has Professor Miles O’Brien at Starfleet Academy. Miles has even been known to show up with a bottle of the good stuff from time to time. Quark even keeps in touch with Jake, usually to trade information as much as checking up on Jake. Having dated a Dabo girl, Jake became a rather proficient Dabo player. Quark gives him information and in exchange, Jake doesn’t play so much Dabo when he visits the station.

[fade to black]

RECAP: In our last episode, Garak called Doctor Bashir to Cardassia Prime under a mysterious pretense. Unable to transport to the surface or access medical records from the planetary health authority, Doctor Bashir is at an impasse starting to treat or cure the unknown illness affecting Cardassia.

JULIAN BASHIR (VOICE ONLY): Mission log stardate 73712.6. Castellan Garak has brought me up to speed on the medical situation on Cardassia. A genetically engineered virus has begun sweeping through the populace, seemingly infecting at random. The source remains a mystery. My analysis is quite preliminary at this point.

JAKE SISKO (VOICE ONLY): Julian, is that you? I can’t seem to make visual contact. Please respond.

JULIAN (ON-SCREEN): Jake? Jake, I’m reading your transmission – standby, I’m trying to clean up the signal. Computer, apply a recursive algorithm to the bandwidth filter.

COMPUTER: Working.

JULIAN: Jake! I’m not receiving this transmission under ideal circumstances. Wait- wait a minute, there we go. Is that better?

JAKE (ON-SCREEN): Julian. [laughs] Hi. I tried to contact you on the station.

JULIAN: Yes, I was called away on a priority mission. What can I do for you?

JAKE: Well, uh, Doctor Jabara told me – the medical emergency, right? Is everything okay?

JULIAN: Yes, I’ve only just arrived so there’s a lot of work to be done. It’s good to hear from you, Jake but I’ve a lot to do and I’m a team of one – what can I do for you?

JAKE: Yeah, well, when Doctor Jabara told me I tried to call Kira but she was in consultation with the Vedek Assembly.

JULIAN: Yes, the life of a Kai is a busy one, but I wasn’t called to Bajor.

JAKE: Yeah, um, any chance that this has something to do with what’s happening on Cardassia?

JULIAN: Um… where I am is classified. However it’s simply a humanitarian mission. But what do you mean, what have you heard is happening on Cardassia?

JAKE: Ah, I have my sources.

JULIAN: Jake…

JAKE (LAUGHING): I just have a few questions, Julian. Um… you know me, I won’t take too much of your time.

JULIAN: The last time you had a few questions I spent the next four hours consulting on your latest novel.

JAKE: Yeah, well today I’m contacting you in official capacity for the Federation News Service. And… I’ll make you a deal. You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you whatever it is that you think I know.

JULIAN (LAUGHING): Look, Mister Editor-In-Chief, you contacted me.

JAKE: Oh, well, you know you can’t blame a reporter for trying.

JULIAN: A doctor isn’t normally the most newsworthy source. The last time I was important to a story was when you were writing a profile of me, right before…

JAKE: Yeah, before we responded to that medical emergency on uh- Ajilon Prime, right?

JULIAN: Yes.

JAKE: I think uh- to be honest, that was the kind of diversion I was looking for for an interesting angle.

JULIAN: Interesting angle?! I’d just proposed one of the most controversial theories of my career – you didn’t think it was interesting enough?! Well no wonder you wrote about yourself! I could’ve explained the theory more clearly if you’d just told me-

JAKE: Yeah, well, you know honestly- you know this really wasn’t about Ajilon Prime and that wasn’t why I changed the story- the focus of the story, Julian. But enough about Ajilon Prime – I want to talk about Cardassia. According to my sources, it is on lockdown. I mean nobody is able to get permission to enter the place or leave the place, from what I heard. And you know Quark told me than Grand Nagus Rom said that business is horrible and he’s completely frustrated. But no one can give me a clear and solid explanation so I was hoping that maybe, you know, given your close relationship with Garak, that um… maybe you could uh- clear things up for me.

JULIAN: Well frankly I’m surprised you were able to get that much information.

JAKE: Interesting.

JULIAN: What is?

JAKE: Well, I mean a second ago when I was bringing up the topic, you know, you seemed a little bit uh- evasive. But now that you know what I know a little bit you seem that you have more that you want to tell me.

JULIAN: Not at all, Jake! I have absolutely nothing further to tell you, other than-

JAKE: Well you’re talking to the editor-in-chief of the Federation News Service, Julian – I know when people are trying to keep a secret from me so… I mean hell, you don’t know what I know!

JULIAN: You’d be surprised – and watch your language.

JAKE: I’m- I’m sorry, I- I just- I just called because I know that there’s issues on Cardassia and… you know, with you being coincidentally called to a medical emergency, and Garak being the Castellan of Cardassia… it didn’t take much for me to kind of do some dot connecting.

JULIAN: Hmm… look, Jake, I really can’t talk about it. Suffice to say, I’ve been called to a priority mission and understandably, I cannot comment on a mission that has only just begun.

JAKE: Julian, I’m not just looking for a story. I want to help. At least I- I think I can help. But I do have an obligation to the truth, and- and I will honor that.

JULIAN: Now that is interesting.

JAKE: What?

JULIAN: You just reminded me of your father for a moment. Had you said ‘looking for a damn story’, I might’ve sworn we were back in his old office.

JAKE: [laughs]

JULIAN: More importantly, how do you think you can help?

JAKE: I heard mumblings about an attempt on Garak’s life a few weeks ago. I had contacted him at his home.

JULIAN: He took your call?

JAKE: Well, you know, Garak checks in from time to time, but in this case subspace communications were a little shaky so he took a call from Bajor’s newly-appointed ambassador.

JULIAN: But you don’t even live on Bajor.

JAKE (LAUGHING): Well, wait a minute, I’m the firstborn of the Emissary so you know, all Siskos are Bajoran citizens. One word from the Kai and I, you know, I kind of landed the job.

JULIAN: [laughs] Well Garak must’ve been surprised to see you on the other side of a diplomatic communicate.

JAKE: Yeah, well, not that he let it on but he did compliment me on my resolution – I think his exact words were uh- [clears throat] ‘Truly the manouver of a Sisko’.

JULIAN: [laughs]

JAKE: Yeah, you know, I told him a source said he might be in danger and… he was alerted as rumor of a coup.

JULIAN: What did he say?

JAKE: Well, he didn’t really say much, you know how he does – he listened, he avoided my questions, he asked about my family, he complimented my last novel and he, you know, he redirected every subject change and then he got me talking about my dad so… I learned more from a rumor than I ever would’ve from Garak. I’ll give him this, though – he’s good.

JULIAN: You don’t know how good. Frankly I don’t even think I know how good he really is.

JAKE: Maybe not but… that’s where it ended, my trail was cold until about fourteen hours ago when I heard that you had left. Anyway, my sources in Cardassia had told me that-

JULIAN: You have sources on Cardassia?

JAKE: Yeah, I have sources throughout the quadrant, Julian, you know that! Anyway, multiple sources on Cardassia said that Garak was uh- hosting a diplomatic conference. He was still trying to smooth things over with the Breen and their trade agreement was developing some cracks, shall we say, along their distribution routes.

JULIAN: Cracks?

JAKE: You know, apparently some Ferengi merchants had sold a couple of Cardassian cargo haulers some second-rate transporter modules, you know, led to some major consignment issues and losses for both sides. They were crying foul, I mean it took some time to figure out who was at fault.

JULIAN: Jake- Jake, this is fascinating, but… what does it have to do with Garak?

JAKE: I thought doctors were supposed to have patience.

JULIAN: Actually, doctors make the worst patients.

JAKE: No, no I’m-

JULIAN: -oh, making a little joke.

JAKE: All right, well I- I was… where was I?

JULIAN: Lost cargo.

JAKE: Right. So the Breen, they weren’t going to get the payments because the cargo never completed the rematerialization routine and basically once they started the transporter sequence, something happened and they ended up with a bunch of organic and inorganic goo all over the place. Cardassians accused the Breen transport captain of deception and vice versa.

JULIAN: Neither race are particularly trusting of others.

JAKE: Yeah, well, that’s right. Um… Cardassians wouldn’t allow the Breen to complete their own analysis and the Breen denied any wrongdoing, so the whole thing is about to become a galactic incident, if Grand Nagus Rom hadn’t been in the middle of an audit-

JULIAN: An audit? Jake, where are you going with this? I really don’t have time.

JAKE: Yeah, yeah I’m getting there, Julian, just bear with me! So being the man that he is, you know, Grand Nagus Rom was completing his annual audit of Ferengi trade practices and discovered uh- the transporter modules were known to be faulty. They came from decaying annex-class prototypes that had been found in an abandoned shipyard. You know, the Ferengi, they came across this stuff and they started scavenging, they tweaked the old module transporter biomatter- I’m sure you’re aware that annex-class ships weren’t known for flawless transporters, and- and those were prototypes.

JULIAN: So you think the Breen tried to assassinate Garak as retribution?

JAKE: Yeah, well, that’s one of three theories that I’ve kind of come by to explain Cardassia’s apparent shutdown. But after this trade embargo, suddenly uh- I don’t know, apparently usage of all medical equipment is subject to state approval?

JULIAN: It doesn’t make sense. The Breen aren’t known for biogenic weapons, they use brute force, with rather advanced weapons technology, but I’ve never heard of any weaponized viruses.

JAKE: Hm… a virus?

JULIAN: [sighs] Jake, I really have to get back to work. If there’s nothing else you can tell me of any use-

JAKE: No, no- Well, just- just let me- bear with me… There’s two other somewhat credible theories that I have that implicate the Andorians and the Romulans.

JULIAN: Romulans?

JAKE: And Andorians.

JULIAN: The Andorians have nothing to gain from Garak’s death.

JAKE: That’s true but their beef is also with the Breen. You know, Andoria’s population and its fleet were completely decimated and they’re still recovering from the Breen assaults during the Dominion War. So, you know, icy moons are not exactly lending themselves to quick procreation.

JULIAN: Well, their colonies are also further apart due to the need for lower temperatures that still fall within the M-class conditions. Plus, Andoria is militaristic – they have great warships, but they don’t devote resources to espionage or underhand methods. Look, Jake, the last time you broke a story about Andoria, you found yourself in front of the Federation Council being threatened with extradition.

JAKE: Yeah… and my evidence convinced them to recall the ambassador before the charges were dropped. Anyways, the Andorians and the Breens may have issues, and the Breens and the Cardassians are resolving this trade dispute-

JULIAN: But the Romulans are the only species you’ve mentioned who have been known to use biogenic weapons.

JAKE: Would they have a reason to want Garak dead?

JULIAN: Well let’s just say that Garak and the Romulans have… past dealings.

JAKE: You mean his past with the embassy?

JULIAN: What are you talking about?

JAKE: Come on, Julian, we all know that he was a member of the Obsidian Order. I mean, he was working as a groundskeeper on Romulus for the Cardassian embassy. He never told you? Garak was no more a gardener than he was a tailor.

JULIAN: Actually, Garak is quite a good tailor.

JAKE: You- you know what I mean. He may be a politician now but as a spy he played many roles. I’m surprised he’s satisfied with, you know, such a quiet life.

JULIAN: World leaders hardly live quiet lives.

JAKE: Yeah, you- you know what I mean.

JULIAN: I do. Jake, listen, I appreciate your insights, at least I have a starting point. If you hear anything else, please let me know.

JAKE: Now that I know where to keep digging I’m sure we’ll be in touch.

JULIAN: Give the girls a hug from me.

JAKE: Julian, one more thing! Sorry, I’m glad you’re still there. [laughs] Before you go I want to say uh- I thought about it a little and I think I’m old enough to say hell now.

JULIAN: You’ll never be old enough to swear, you’re still thirteen! Though I may have some work for you later, I’ll be in touch.

JAKE: Work? A job? No I- I didn’t think I was any really much use at Ajilon Prime – I don’t think you would uh- have any use for me. I couldn’t do any much more than that.

JULIAN: We’ll see. Take care.

ELIM GARAK (ON-SCREEN): Uh, excuse me- are you uh- are you quite finished, Doctor?

JULIAN: Garak? Have you been monitoring us this whole time?

GARAK: Doctor, all communications in and out of Cardassia are currently under my direct control.

JULIAN: Well, we may have a lead.

GARAK: Yes, the Romulans.

JULIAN: You already suspected them?

GARAK: Oh, I’m suspicious of everyone, but- but Jake, you did confirm that specific concern of mine.

JAKE: I’m glad I could help.

GARAK: Indeed. I suspected that the Romulans could be involved. I’ve placed agents on several planets for reconnaissance – only three of the eight are still alive. Never send a boy to do a man’s work.

JAKE: Only three left?

GARAK: Now, remember, Mister Jake, remember, all of this is off the record.

JAKE: Yeah, as long as you’re in danger I’ll respect that.

GARAK: Even after my life is no longer in immediate danger, we may not be able to discuss this particular situation publicly. I’ll- I’ll let you know.

JAKE: Understood.

JULIAN: Garak, how were you able to monitor my communication with Jake? I was barely able to receive his signal at first.

GARAK: I know, I had to run his signal through the same encryption protocols we’re using – it took a moment to reconfigure our local systems to allow us to communicate outside of it. Although your recursive algorithm was a good idea, it never would’ve worked. The bandwidth filter has nothing to do with my encryption protocols.

JULIAN: Five out of eight operatives are dead?

GARAK: Yes, yes, acceptable losses – twenty percent. But this is a bit more, isn’t it? It’s a serious issue, and it requires risk.

JULIAN: Garak, Jake and I figured out in a few minutes of conversation, you really have to learn to trust.

GARAK (LAUGHING): And who would you have me trust, Doctor? An intelligence operative for an alien government and a reporter who shares his secrets as part of his job? Hardly people one should consider trustworthy.

JULIAN: But you have to trust me, Garak.

GARAK: Yes, Doctor, for better or worse, I trust you. But Captain Sisko once told me that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. We all have a weakness, and if it’s the right interrogator who discovers it, the information revealed could devastate sectors of space and destabilize entire worlds.

JULIAN: I never realized you and the Captain discussed philosophy.

GARAK: Well-

JAKE: I never realized you discussed anything with my dad. [laughs]

GARAK: The Captain and I saw each other from time to time – it’s a small station, after all. However, the uh- the good intentions paving the road to hell in this case are the secrets. Knowledge. People see secrets as being malicious little things, but they keep the peace. Secrets are both power and penalty. If everyone was honest, there’d be no need for secrets. If no one shared secrets, the galaxy would be a much happier place. But Doctor, you know the things I know, and in some cases the things we both know are the things we need to ensure that no one knows. Anarchy would reign and the order of the day would be chaos. Trust, especially for people who hold this information, is both a luxury, and a burden of truth.

JULIAN: I hate to admit it, but you’re right.

JAKE: Listen guys, uh- if you ever need to share some of that truth…

JULIAN & GARAK: [laugh]

GARAK: It isn’t, Jake, that I wouldn’t trust you with Mila’s recipes or even- even some wildly outdated intelligence data, but I know you have a hunger for information. And you also feel a great responsibility to let your people know of any threats, and thus, this virus, is a threat. Not only to Cardassians but quite possibly to off-worlders, as well.

JULIAN: Fair point, but Garak-

GARAK: You know Doctor, haven’t we wasted enough time?

JULIAN: You’re right. Jake if you’re willing to keep digging you can focus your investigations on Romulus now. I’ll do some looking myself.

JAKE: I’m on it. [leaves]

JULIAN: Garak, you said that you have holographic systems. An EMH. How sophisticated are your emitters? Could you create some scanning equipment at your location that will be tied into your equipment? By now I suspect you have a closed system like the one you’ve locked your medical professionals up in. Does it have medical databases?

GARAK: I suppose I do and I suppose it does, but… what are you getting at?

JULIAN: Well you were willing to transmit images – if I can’t do the analysis myself, if you had access to the equipment, well, I can at least analyse the results.

GARAK: You- you know Julian, that really hadn’t occurred to me.

JULIAN: Oh yes, well, you wanted the best.

GARAK: That enhanced brain of yours rarely ceases to amaze me.

JULIAN: Let’s get started. We’ll likely need standard biobed with an [uncertain] scanning interface. I need to map your cerebrum to see if we should expect any issues with reasoning. A portable retinal scanner too, will help identify any changes in blood pressure or possible sensory complications. The biobed will also monitor your cardiopulmonary system, which should give me a look at your heart. We may be able to slow the progression until we have a cure.

GARAK: It’s a good thing I had a PADD nearby, Julian – that’s quite a list. With no EMH to conduct the scans, it will take a few minutes.

JULIAN: Well contact me when you’re finished, I want to see if Jake has learned anything.

GARAK: Very well Doctor, I’ll contact you shortly. [leaves]

JULIAN: Jake? Jake?

JAKE (ON-SCREEN): Julian. Yeah, Garak had more than a few enemies on Romulus. There was a proconsul Mirok who opened- who opposed opening diplomatic relations with Cardassia at all. He was poisoned. Uh, subcommander named Ustard, who was the Chief of Staff for the Romulan ambassador. Ustard died in a transporter accident beaming to the Romulan Senate. And the ambassador, well, we all know about the ambassador.

JULIAN: We do indeed. But they’re all dead. Are you suggesting this is a vendetta from someone related to one of those people?

JAKE: Well, anything is possible. I’m more suggesting behavior.

JULIAN: I suppose. But Garak was assigned there – it’s not like he goes around killing Romulans.

JAKE: No, but it sounds more to me like he may have been ordered to kill Romulans… Did you ever meet a Senator Varak or… Vreenak on the station?

JULIAN: Should I have?

JAKE: Well, not really but, you know, Quark would sometimes sell me little tidbits of information. Now let’s just say, I take the occasion break from the uh- Dabo wheel and he would tell me things. Now one of the things he told me about was a Senator Vreenak, who apparently visited the station before the Romulans joined the Dominion War. Now Senator Vreenak… maybe- maybe he was working with my dad to have some kind of negotiation into the entry into the war… I don’t know, I’m not sure, but you know shortly after he would’ve left the station, he… he was lost in a shuttle explosion.

JULIAN: Vreenak also negotiated the non-aggression pact for the Dominion. It’s quite a chance of alliance.

JAKE: And he’s dead.

JULIAN: [sighs] I suppose it’s possible that the Romulan government, or the Tal Shiar for that matter, could be playing a rather long game.

JAKE: Garak is the leader of the world- of his world, you know, Cardassia is in a much better place now and you know, they may even someday join the Federation, who knows? We have a level of isolation to get over but-

JULIAN: Koval.

JAKE: I’m sorry, what?

JULIAN: Jake, I have to go – keep digging. If you hear anything else, let me know.

JAKE: I’ll be in touch.

JULIAN: Thank you.

[pause]

JULIAN: And Garak! If you’re listening, which I expect you are – medication, rest. I’ll contact you shortly.

[fade to black]

[CREDITS]

#ds9 #deep space nine #alone together #(i had to guess some of the names one or two times if you know a more correct spelling for anything do let me know)

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victorusolano · 3 years ago

Text

FYD Series

It was one evening of summer. Anyone's skin can be steamed when exposed to the open air of the night. There, perched like a bird on his writing desk, contemplating seriously in a small dimly lit room was - Xenon. His family was all disturbed by the climate condition, so they went out of town to some nearby beach resorts. Xenon on his volition stayed alone, in which he likely enjoyed making love with the old typewriter resting in a great silence. He thought that this is what he needs to write a story tonight and the deadline of his paper is tomorrow before the sunset.

Two weeks ago, the writing task was assigned to him, by the chief editor of the literary magazine he is working with; and till this night it had remained untouched, and unmarked, though the time left was enough to say generously to finish one short story. However, catching up the race between him, and the ongoing moments is now useless. Words and meanings ran away and went to a place nowhere to be found. I should eat a dictionary, He murmured to himself. He took a glance at the old wall clock and looked away at the open window, stared blankly across the survey of height and to the dark space outside.

When he reconciled his thoughts; he gave a sweeping look at the old pictures of the family photos and old framed certificates of academic achievements of writing contests. He nailed his attention to a class picture of his college.

It was before the day of graduation; like a dreamy shot, his recollections swirled in a throwback changing a milieu; a trance to a memory. He can even smell the old odor of the room where he was in the picture: the blackboard with the doodle half-erased drawings of impish boyhood, girls prepping up in a rush as the bell rang when the class was announced dismissed. “Wait for me at the powder room, just need to fix this” the president of the class pointed at the board trying so hard to erase the drawings. “Come on here now Xenon!” The tall pale boy invited him to take his place for picture taking along the corridor. The boys, in a disorganized choreography, set themselves like a tableau; rowdy as they were. They were teasing, joking, thumping in harsh horseplay. “It's the last day!” Declared joyfully of one of the boys.

His consciousness lurched back into reality like a warp of time; he put his palm on his face. Now, he began carelessly to at least write something. The editor will kill him flat tomorrow; I need to finish at least one tonight.

He took a glance at the old wall clock which struck exactly twelve-thirty midnight. He returned to his writing desk, wiped out apple cores and peels, and decided to transcribe anything that comes first into his mind, a short story must be short and should have a story, he said to himself. But what story should I write? desperate he was, hope suddenly became absent; tomorrow I'm dead! Misfortune has taken its form now: all he accomplished about writing have flown away, he began to think that all structures of narratives are bogus, workshops and seminars he attended are all hoaxes. No formula could teach someone how to write. He then remembered a book called Under The… What? It’s something ahm… He tried it with difficulty to remember. Suddenly, he remembered Tree - then he told himself, all writing may be divided into two groups, good writing, and bad writing; good books come out of good writing while bad writing produces failures, again and again, he scanned the line like an X-ray of that passage from a book which was a foreword by RK. A failure He exclaimed silently; not even of Montes’ Of Fish… and etcetera, What would I be writing about dogs or flies? Then he recalled Peter's Touch Move. I am no longer a kid! That conviction made him more worried there, he is now sure that a block along the streamlines of thoughts is hampering him to be productive and creative. No is now a strong resistance, to be Noel’s Games is something, and to finish a writing task today is a different thing. He remembered it all well; call me Tina or Fanny – No one calls me! He snorted.

It was almost three in the morning and no matter how hard he tried to have an idea and flood an ink in the paper, it just equated to frustration. A scrap of papers had been spilling off the bin and onto the floor, so he decided to take a walk outside for a while and jog. The objective of his motivation was like a plan, he thought that maybe he needed to activate an endorphin from his brain, in a matter of two minutes he got changed his clothes, he wore that unlaundered navy blue jersey shorts, he wore the other day; he paired it with a billowy old white cotton shirt, and put on his ash-colored rubber shoes which was a birthday gift, and went to the plaza.

He went on jogging around the track field. Quickly, it made him asphyxiated on the sixth round, but he decided to run two more and two rounds of walk to complete the set; good enough for an hour jog today he thought. Thirsty as he was, he wanted to look for water, so he went to an all-day convenience store to quench his dried throat. “Good morning!” a sweet greeting of the store staff, he smiled back and padded to the panel doors of chillers; grabbed a bottle of water, he opened it right away and in a spur-of-the-moment, he drank it all without thinking that he hadn't paid it yet; he remembered, so he went to the counter, and scanned the bottle, he grabbed some chips, and instant coffee, pay the total, and left.

At the park, He again tried to process what was going on with him. The situation of being a writer seemed to change from what he has believed for the past years; beginning from his aspiration to be a writer someday which now has been achieved. Now is a challenge against himself, am I just being lazy? He rebuked the thought hastily, laziness is a big word, he would like to think that he is more of a selective participant rather than being the word lazy… these thoughts wire loomed in his mind. He walked toward a wooden bench at the park but at that moment, an answer did not come; he decided to sit for a moment while looking at the cadastral and being engulfed by the tranquility. When suddenly an old man spoke, “What are you looking at?” the old man asked, breaking the silence. Astounded Xenon was; as he did not realize the presence of the old man sitting next to him at all before. Xenon tried to find a complete grasp of how it could happen?

“Nothing sir” he answered back at an instant without an inch of hesitation.

“Thinking?”

“No, sir”

“What exactly do you have in your mind and how would you like to describe it, before you sit here beside me?” The old man asked. “Well I am thinking of so many things, I am thinking of my article, a short story of some sort, it’s my deadline today, and I need to submit it this afternoon” Xenon responded as if caught in a corner with the question.

“Excuse me, sir - you've been here all the while?”

“Yes”

“I… did not see you’re here, I am sure of that!”

“Well I am exactly”

“Exactly? like how? I’m sorry sir!”

The old man gave him an artificial laugh before he uttered another word. “There so many things we trouble so much in this life – we don’t see now details of why we’re here or how did we get there, time runs too fast, we don’t see that - I like this place,” An eminent pause before Xenon was able to respond, “I'm sorry for the intrusion, sir!” What he wanted to mean in that is like a stop.

“Are you alone or waiting for someone? I'll just then look at another bench around.”

“No,” the old man said.

Without a second the old man said, “You can sit here, I don't own it anyway - I am the same, like you…” he turned a look to Xenon “I as well wanted to take a walk and free the mind of so many things.”

Xenon did not believe the words, like the same he tried to process the thought, it cannot be possible for two people to do something the same or thinking completely parallel at the same point of time at exactitude, and meet. He’d like to dismiss the idea with a general conviction. “Yes, I am thinking if this is appropriate to have your autograph?” The old man said, Xenon wondered very oddly. The old man was very well informed, he thought as if he was under surveillance. “Hold on a second, sir - How did you know that...? I am… ahm” He can’t find the words again. “Writer?” The old man responded so very quickly to help him grasp the words. “Yes! You've already told me, I think no less than a minute before the whole sentence that I have calculated.” - “What?” He was surprised by the old man’s precision of thoughts. “You see now my friend, It seems that you're not paying much attention to the details, you’ve just told me that; this day is your deadline of a narrative to some sort that you needed to submit later this afternoon.” He repeated it like a backmasked vinyl recording to him.

He did not answer back and noticed something which he cannot sham his feeling. he thought it was talking to some kind of a prophet; an oracle, the old man gave him a creep but it was never of fear he felt that time, when the old man said, you're not paying much attention to the details: and it provided him a connection, an impulse releasing the secret of his lingering dilemma. It seemed that the old man had known him before and was reading his mind in silence. And before he could say another word, the old man got on to his feet and walked slowly in the distance. “Where are you going, sir? I thought you wanted my autograph?” He replied instantly. “I was about to do that” he slipped his hand on the pocket of his shirt and brought out a pen. The man moved close to him and said, “maybe after you finish the story you are about to submit today – I want surprises, I love that. It sounded more of a challenge to him. “I'll just wait for it once it��s out,” the old man continued, “I'm expecting that one will be good too, like the others.” Xenon felt being seized. Then in no time delay, he asked, “Sir, may I know your name please” The old man looked away and replied with a serious note. “I never had one.”

“I grew up in a home,” the old man continued, Xenon did not understand what he meant by the word home.

“I never knew who my parents are”

“You mean you're an orphan, sir?”

He sounded that question as an inquiry, not a statement or a report; he could not completely believe when the old man said, never had one. He assumed, while the slightest of what he can accept, that someone in his infancy had given him any name at least any among the common names, like Peter or Jeff.

“Yes, may I?” The old man was demonstrating to take a seat, he snatched the opportunity, and released a deep sigh before Xenon could make his reply.

“Yes! Surely, sir”

“I would like to tell you a story – may I?” Without averseness he agreed — this is what precisely he doesn’t have at this very moment — He felt a pity to himself that the old man at least has something to tell a story. He thought resentfully. “Now, what is your nearest happy memory? – something that may be a remarkable one?” The old man asked. “Well, I can still remember my days when I was in college, you know a scholar of some sort, a nerdy bookworm student and sometimes nasty. I enjoyed the friends and their all varieties of personal attitude, the mentorship and all; that experience gave me a feeling of a second home too,” he ended his recollection with a ruminating smile.

The old man started after his last word and said, “home Oh yes! I grew up in a home too, you know. But it was different, — there are all sorts of people from all diversities you know? minor age killers, thieves, abandoned children, and those who escape from their hostile relatives and parents — there is one thing that is common among all of us resident mates. We are all looking for someone who could give us genuine love; so to every opportunity of adoption; though we don’t want to go away from home, we grab it in hope for a foster parent. On the contrary, after a week or so; most of us go back and never want to go out. The result rather turned worse, trust became more absent.”

“That must be interesting – go on please” Xenon eagerly butt in. “We didn’t have a good foundation of education there.” Xenon in his skeptics let the old man claim his privilege of a good start of his story, “though a mother staff is there to attend the everyday needs of the operation of a foster home, there is always a lacking that only a real parent could provide the never-ending emptiness lingers every day. When you were being born and grew up in a home you’ll never find a name in your birth identity, the space in the paper reads either baby boy or baby girl, or at least a consolation part is you have your last name written on your birth certificate, then at your legal age, you will then be advised and go on a series of counseling to condition your mind that you are now ready to be set free and join the outside world. On the other meaning, you will now look for your own. All years of staying there, all favors of your daily needs are all in the form of a plea and request, it’s like a nauseated chick being asked to walk or run.” Xenon, unconsciously now conceded and pondering deep to the part brimming inside him, the visual in his mind provided a still picture that speaks a thousand and more ideas to write.

He felt like hanging on a cliff and wanting more. “Go on, please!” He said. “Very well,” the old man continued. “Overwhelmed you are now huh? - There was an incident that night when everybody was all sleeping in our respective quarters; the boy’s place was on the east of a pavilion near the high walls while the girls’ was just near the lobby entrance. I never got an interest of why is that because I never asked, I am always like that timid among other orphans, I was very young then, not even that I know what an introvert means but I enjoyed my solitude; they often think that I am weird, but I have my way of covering, a defense mechanism, mostly I pretend; which always sets me in a situation turned more difficult at the end. It was an unforgettable experience that everybody there will never forget. A fire, a huge one that killed one group of orphans in quarter D at the corner pavilion, maybe fifteen or twenty souls in there burnt alive.” Xenon’s shoulders twitched at the mention of being burnt alive! But he remained silent, leaving the old man to continue.

“How did it all happen, sir?” he went on curiously. “I expected that would be your most obvious next question” As the old man continued - “The mother staff on duty that night left the door locked and she brought the keys with her and stride past for a moment to meet someone outside, but she never calculated it right that a kettle in the kitchen was also left on a stove, she enjoyed the romantic rendezvous with the guy she has been seeing for the past weeks, the next series of event happened so fast as the fire spread all the rest of the quarters, I happened to escape quickly and help the young ones to get out, well I would like to say thank you for my insomniac.” The old man paused there for a while. “Investigations went on afterward but of course, the subject of the incident died just like that; an isolated one. But the tremor lives like a resurrection and even to this moment whenever I recall the experience I can still feel the trauma.”

His feelings were automatically snatched. “Pitiful souls,” Xenon added, “true, indeed!” The old man replied. “Well just like other closed call stories, the ending was still unknown and then life just went on, I finally said goodbye to the orphanage and faced a life of my own.” The old man got up on his feet and walked away slowly. “Where are you going, sir?” xenon asked. “Home,” the word gave him a sensation like a blank white paper inked with lots of things and images of a scene scribbled in no exact direction; he imagined an abstract picture that was difficult to understand from that story.

Unexpectedly, it gave him a feeling of freedom. A unit of work that he is required to finish a story from that conversation. And the task is waiting for him now at home. “Sir, could I just at least have your name?” The sun had shone its glimpse in the sky. The illumination gave a picture of cucoloris lighting patterns of shadows of the old man’s face, like a mirror from afar. “Could you please tell me your name?” Xenon asked garishly. The old man stopped, and said, “You should fix the ending.” He tried to catch the sounds from afar. “Will you?” The picture of him was already filtered out of the blinding lights.

THE END

This is a work of FICTION. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright Statement This work is the intellectual property of the author. Permission is granted for this material to be shared for non-commercial, educational purposes, provided that this copyright statement appears on the reproduced material. To disseminate otherwise or to republish requires written from the author.

#xenon

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star-birthmark · 5 years ago

Text

Uncertainties (4taro x Deb) (Gods!AU)

Sorry it’s been a couple days since the event started (I’ve been busy with college work), but here’s my entry for @lostinthe-jojos god AU event.

CWs: blood, injury, somewhat nsfw because I have no self control.

Also I realize that my name is Deborah, but Devorah seems holier idk.

Anyway, without further ado: Uncertainties (4taro x Deb) 3.4k words

When man first began to walk the earth, there were very few certainties. There were so many variables unable to be grasped by mankind. But one thing that humans remained able to expect each day was the magnificent changes in the sky. The sky would lighten in the dawn and darken in the dusk. And born from the darkness of dusk and the light of dawn, the winds and planets arose, toppling over man and establishing dominance within the stars. Eos of the dawn and Astraeus of the dusk led their children in controlling the skies. Helios god of the sun flew across the sky during the day, Selene goddess of the moon danced across the sky at night.

Such a system produced a calming presence looming over their inferiors, making man docile, making man pure. She was entirely unknown to her fellow gods in the heavens. From such purity was born its personification, Astraea. The embodiment of peace, justice, and calm. Astraea walked among the people, a goddess among the mortal, content to guard their innocence and prevent war. But Earth comes with such uncertainty, such unrest. Mankind couldn’t rely on her for much longer.

“Who is that father?”

One day, the youngest of Eos and Astraeus’ children, Mercury, glanced down at the surface of the Earth, finding Astraea sitting withing a town square, mankind taking no notice of her, walking past and through her form.

“She’s a goddess, she would have to be.”

An observation from Mars caused young Helios to take notice. The deities watched from their high place in the clouds as Astraea kept on moving, slipping past those in her way, a peaceful calm radiating from her glowing form. She was almost ghostly… her long blond hair spilled down to her back, her unfocused green eyes failing to look ahead of her.

“It looks as if she’s doesn’t know where she’s going…”

Eos muttered worriedly, clinging to her husband’s arm. Helios watched closely, his gaze fixated on her, a large weight being placed upon his shoulders. What incredible responsibility she must have. As long as she remains on Earth, mankind will not know war or injustice. Helios soon discovered her secret.

“She walks aimlessly for peace and justice are blind to bias. She was born from man’s peace and justice, so she must be blind as well. She can’t see because she must not be persuaded. She can’t allow Man to be persuaded either.” He explained solemnly. Venus huffed.

“Pity. If she’s blind she can’t see how beautiful she is.”

The planets and winds looked amongst each other, their hearts aching for their companion’s pain and handicap. The southern wind was the first to turn her gaze back to the surface, her audible gasp causing a sharp breeze to sweep over the land.

“Look there!” She exclaimed.

Born from the initial uncertainty of the universe, a young god named Pallas arose from the Earth and began to roam. Unlike Astraea, who wandered aimlessly, Pallas moved in sharp turns, direct at his targets. His blinding complexion, his sharp teeth and the bright glint of his weapons all shown brilliantly as he made quick work of mankind, his blades unmeant to cause harm, but to instill fear and hatred into their hearts.

Helios watched closely as the mental wounds Palmas attempted to give had no effect. Mercury climbed upon his father Astraeus' shoulders.

"She won't let him do anything…"

They all watched the giant glow radiating from Astraea as she walked away from the crowd, her haze filling the ears and eyes of mankind around her, leaving them docile and kind. Helios began to panic as Pallas noticed the goddess’s presence, his very opposite. In a split second, Pallas charged his blade forward, the planets and winds crying out for him to stop. Without warning, the war god plunged his blade into Astraea's chest, knocking the blind personification of good forward and leaving her bleeding. The golden hue quickly faded and without much thought given, man soon turned on himself. Violence, unlike the Earth had ever seen sprung forth as Astraea was left in the dirt, her defective eyes scattering to find anything to cling to in the eternal darkness. She collapsed forward, Eos above her clung to her husband.

"Astraeus, we must do something!" Helios scoffed at the group's inaction.

Running to his chariot, his purple robes waving in the wind, Helios was soon ready to save the fallen.

Venus called out to him. “Helios, you can’t go! Selene has already brought in the night sky!”

“Well none of you are coming to save her are you?”

For a brief moment on Earth, the Sun shown in the dark evening sky, blinding all those that saw it. Helios dropped down near Astraea, frantically looking around for Pallas, not seeing him, Deciding to not invite trouble, he soon fled with the wounded goddess in his arms. Astraea tried desperately to cling to the Earth, fearing she would never return to her home again.

• • • • • • • •

“Come Helios, you must get ready for the daybreak.”

“Just a moment!”

It had been several hours since the wounded goddess was last awake. She laid in bed, slowly healing. At first, the planets and winds took their turns watching over her. When it was finally Helios’ turn, he found himself entranced by their guest. It was a shame she had no idea what she looked like. How badly Helios wished for her to see her own beautiful blonde waves, her vacant hazel eyes, her porcelain complexion, and delicate form. She seemed so… peaceful, in stark comparison to the Earth after her disappearance. On the surface, Pallas reigned, allowing humans to weed themselves out of the planet’s ecosystem.

“Helios! You must begin your flight this instant! Selene has returned!”

But the young titan barely heard the other’s words. He felt his heart soar as he stared down at her resting body. Such purity was rarely seen in their world. But still, it was his job to uphold his share of the world. Day had to follow after night. As he stood up from the bed, Helios felt a gentle hand grip unto his wrist.

“You’re going back to Earth aren’t you?”

He turned around, shocked at Astraea’s sudden awakening. He was sure she had been asleep only a moment ago.

“Yes, I’ll send someone to come and watch over you. Don’t worry.”

“I want to come with you Helios.”

He eyed her curiously. “How do you know my given name?”

“I’ve always known it. That’s what the humans call you, Helios, god of the sun. I always knew you were this beautiful as well.”

The god’s breath quickened. “But you can’t see me…”

“I don’t need to. I could picture you every day as you rode across the sky to bring in the dawn. I feel the warm rays of the sun on my skin and I can picture the golden chariot that you wield, as well as the golden tone of your skin. I feel the ways the sunflowers grow upwards in your direction and I picture you’re a god of tall stature. I feel the way you enrich the soil with your power and know that you have deep black hair. You reflect off the water so I know you have these deep blue eyes as well. And to hear your voice for the first time, it sounds exactly like the booming rush of energy and emotion that mankind experiences every day with the rising of the sun. Please, tell me your real name, not your given one.”

Helios listened to her intently, watching as she fidgeted with her fragile hands as if trying to feel what she used to feel when still on Earth. He turned back to her.

“It’s Jotaro…”

“Please take me back Jotaro. The people need me.”

Helios leaned in, his eyes steeling as he considered his options. He wanted so badly to do the right thing, to have her return to her place so that she may bring life where Pallas had brought death. But life has so many uncertainties, so many variables. The only reason that she wished to remain on Earth was that she didn’t have anything else. If she could only see herself as he saw her, she would stay with her kind. She should stay with him, the young god who’s quickly fallen in love with her.

“Helios you must go now!”

He was warned a third time, by the other gods. Night’s effects were soon fading. Jotaro nudged his wrist out of Astraea’s grip running quickly at the room. The blind goddess felt around for calling out.

“Jotaro wait! You don’t know my real name, only my given one!”

Helios turned around, looking at her with a softness uncharacteristic of his kind.

“Yes? What is it?”

“It’s Devorah. Named after a prophetic judge from the East.”

“Well… I’ll be back shortly Devorah. I’ll see you at nightfall.”

As Helios raced across the sky that day to bring in the dawn that Eos had left behind, he saw the horrors of the Earth before him. Mankind had lost his justice, its members killing one another in conquest and bigotry. Touching down to the ground, he walked around before spotting Pallas. Quickly concealing himself, he stared blazingly at the war god. His wine-colored robe looked as it had been stained heavily in the blood of his victims. His blond hair was nothing like Devorah’s. Instead, it was spikey, almost white, and fell to his shoulders in messy, unkempt knots. His sharp teeth shown hanging from his mouth, the chilling bone a brilliant white. Jotaro rushed to make his escape before Pallas saw him, knowing what the other is capable of. He was much stronger than the god of the sun. Soon, nighttime fell and Helios rushed back to Devorah’s side.

Weeks would pass. It wasn’t long until Astraea was fully healed. Her simple peasant robes had been destroyed in Pallas’ attack, so Eos, along with Venus and Selene, dressed her in their finest materials. Donned in a flowing gown of serene olive and gold, Devorah only managed to capture the god of sight’s attention further.

During the night, when Jotaro was free to roam the skies without responsibility, the two of them rested together in each other’s company. Shyly, Helios would coax Astraea to identify him further. Her hands would trace over his cheekbones and jaw. Over his broad neck and through his black curls. Over his arms and legs, feeling the different definitions in his fit form. Over his chest and back, her fingers finding his cape and the platinum buttons of his robe. Once, Devorah burned her fingertips on his aureole of sunshine, the rays extending out from his head like a crown. She flinched back, the stinging pain unfamiliar to her. Jotaro quickly grasped her hands in his and kissed along the burns, Devorah feeling her cheeks heat up at the contact.

“I’m sorry Jotaro. I haven’t lived amongst gods for very long. There are still so many things I need to feel and experience.”

She whispered anxiously, her hands rushing to adjust the sleeves of her gown as they fell to reveal her soft shoulders. Helios tried his best to steady himself, his whole body ready to throw itself at hers. But he mustn’t scare her.

“...May I offer one more thing for you to experience?”

Astraea nodded slowly, blushing as Helios tucked a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear, his face inching closer to hers. The straps of her dress fell once more off her shoulders, Devorah now realizing how sensitive her skin had become under Helios’ rays. Jotaro moved in closer, his hand placing down on her leg, gently nudging the fabric closer. He leaned in the last stretch, his lips crashing upon hers. Devorah’s blinded vision scattered to make sense of what was happening. Her burnt hands came up to cradle Jotaro’s head, bringing him in closer. When they broke for air, Helios lovingly began to scale his kisses down Astraea’s graceful neck, her head turned to gaze out into the sky. The young god had become entirely lost in her. Her breath quickened, her whole body trembled from the foreign feelings the god of sight was corrupting her with. Then it suddenly dawned her. This love she was feeling… it wasn’t right. The goddess began to panic. This isn’t right. Justice is meant to wander aimlessly, without bias.

Devorah began to feel the cold of night fade away and the warmth of dawn begin, her hand reaching up to grab Jotaro’s robe tightly as he had placed a kiss right at her jaw, leaving it marked as his. His hand inched higher up her leg.

“Helios… dawn is breaking.” She breathed out.

Jotaro looked up at her, confused, his eyes still hazy from her dreamy penumbra and heady perfume. She never calls him by his given name anymore, usually only Jotaro. He stared into her vacant eyes, forgetting at that moment there was no sight behind them. He then turned to the sky, huffing a little.

“Nonsense… there’s still time until I must depart, Devorah.”

He reassured her, his lips returning to hers, lowering down to kiss her shoulders as well. Astraea shuddered before stiffening. She had lost sight of what was truly important. He would be around forever, but at this rate, Man wouldn’t be around for another year. Her hand rushed to pull her lover off of her. She flinched slightly under his touch, fighting herself to not sink into his advances.

“Jotaro you must get ready I-”

“Helios. Selene just returned from her post. Go.”

Both gods looked at the doorway to Devorah’s bedroom, seeing Eos, the elder goddess having just brought in the dawn.

“We won’t have you be late again.”

Helios stood up from Astraea's bed and combed his fingers through his black hair, straightening himself out. Devorah stayed behind, readjusting her gown. Watching him leave, the young deity's plan took its final form.

Fully healed from Pallas' wound, Astraea reached the gates to the heavens and carefully descended down, her feet touching down on Earth, her peaceful energy filling the land once more. Humans across the world dropped their weapons, a distinct calm took over. Astraea felt truly at home once more. Feeling the grass she walked on, she began to wander aimlessly as she had before. A smile came to her face, soon interrupted by a sharp blade touching her throat. Devorah gulped back, stiffening herself. Pallas leaned in to whisper into her ear.

"So you've come back? The moment you step down you immediately threaten all the hard work I've done."

Devorah clenched her fist. "Dio… you can kill me, but you won't make it out alive after that. Helios has gotten stronger, and he will surely kill you if you end my life here. Especially under the gaze of the noon sun."

Pallas considered her words, soon letting her go.

"Doesn't mean I can't harm you though!"

With a diabolical laugh, Dio swung once more, slashing Devorah's arm. Man returned to violence in that split second, then back to leave as Astraea got back on her feet. Retreating, Devorah extended back up to the sky, healing herself before the evening came and Helios returned to her. She sighed in relief as Jotaro didn't notice any sort of wound on her.

A deadly cycle ensued. While Helios was busy during the day, Astraea would travel to the Earth every day, undoing the damage that Pallas had done. Mankind became a deeply troubled species; there was no longer any black or white. They had come to appreciate the blonde goddess' efforts, lusting for her freedom from useless bloodshed, but still, every noon, Pallas would leave her with another scar and she would be forced to retreat and heal herself before Helios had to return for the night.

One such night, Deborah laid lazily in Jotaro's chest, feeling the magnificent heartbeat as he calmly slept. It was during that moment that she made her decision. Slipping on her gown, she stood from the bed, giving Helios one last kiss before descending down to the sleeping Earth.

When dawn broke that morning, Jotaro awoke to find himself alone. Looking around for his love, he found her gown gone as well. A knock came to the door.

"Helios! Selene has returned to her post! Go!"

Jotaro rushed out of bed, slipping his purple robes on. On his way out, he spotted the planets and winds conversing in the garden.

“Where’s Astraea? Have you seen her?” They all looked amongst each other.

“No I haven’t,” said Venus.

“I haven’t,” said the north wind.

“Neither have I,” said Mars.

“Not a sight of her,” said the eastern wind.

“Why do you ask?” asked Saturn.

Helios gulped down his worries and rushed to his chariot to fly over Earth. Over the past few nights, he noticed the scars dawning his lover’s body, wondering if she was returning to Earth. He feared finally that she had decided to do so. Floating over the land, Jotaro finally spotted his beloved Devorah. His eyes wept at the sight before him. Kneeling in the dirt, Astraea cradled a fallen man’s head in her hands, her blind eyes sensing no life from him. Pallas had sent out his minions to corrupt the very last people that followed her and her peaceful ways, and with all of his attacks, she had only grown weaker. But Justice must remain selfless and unbiased. How badly she wanted to escape to the skies, ignore the carnage before her. But Justice is blind and she unable to ignore her duties. Or so she thought. Devorah felt a familiar hand place down on her shoulder. She let out a heavy sigh, her tears landing on the dead man’s cheek.

“Mankind isn’t worth saving, Devorah…”

Jotaro muttered, understanding her concern, but they both knew he was right. Devorah calmly stood, a wound from Pallas’ men still visible on her arm.

“You’re right. But there’s still good in them Jotaro. I can feel it. I can’t abandon them.”

“I beg you to! Please, be selfish. You’ll end up dead if you keep coming down here.”

After deep consideration, Astraea finally nodded. Taking Helios’ hand, she stood up on his chariot, about to take off. Suddenly a hand grabbed unto hers. The goddess turned, sensing a man was holding pulling her down. Another human, a woman was pressing down with all her might to keep the chariot from leaving. A third human groveled on his knees before them, D evorah could hear his whimpering.

“Please don’t go! You must be the one bringing peace to this dark world! We beg you! Don’t leave us!”

“You’re the last one left on Earth to guard us!”

“Please… we’ll die…”

Astraea felt an incredible ache in her heart, preparing herself for her harsh words. She couldn’t help them anymore, but they could help themselves.

“You don’t need me anymore. From all this violence, you now know the true meaning of peace. Now, live through it. Bring others to your side, fight against the evil of this world. Honor me and I will never be far from you.”

Letting go of the man’s hand, Astraea and Helios rose into the sky, painting it in daylight.

And mankind honored her words. She became the model of serenity she had always been. They honored her in their lust for peace. They honored her in their humanly courts. Sculptors placed statues of the young goddess near Man’s places of legal worship, a blindfold draped over the eyes of the marble figures, a scale in hand. For Justice is truly blind. And every morning, those that recalled the day Justice flew into the sky with the god of the sun, honor her for being the last deity to see the potential in mankind. The last deity to embrace mortal life, even with all its variables and uncertainties. During the nights, Helios and Astraea would hold each other, and Helios would be her eyes until the end of time.

And Justice would wander aimlessly no longer.

Anyway time for the questions.

What type of god would your f/o be? Why?

Jotaro takes the form of Helios, god of the Sun. I figured it would be a cool reference to the fact that he’s related to hamon users.

Would they become a god one day or have they always been one?

He’s always been a god.

Which part do you play in this narrative?

I play the part of Astraea, the goddess of justice, innocence, purity and precision. The last part of the fic is inspired by this painting, as she is notably the last goddess to remain on Earth, still believing in the human race. She is also blind to hark back to those statues of Lady Justice, blindfolded near court houses.

If you and your f/o were gods would you be part of the same pantheon or different ones?

We are gods from the same pantheon, different groups. Helios is born to be a god of the sky, while Astraea is born as the personification of man’s good, born on Earth.

What type of myth would you be the protagonists of?

We are the protagonists of how mankind became a morally grey species, and why they place such an important on justice and purity in their legal systems.

#jjba #jjba writing #jjba hc #lostinthe-jojos #itzel's gods!au event #4taro x deb #someone help me come up with a name for this ship lmao

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torestoreamends · 5 years ago

Text

Mine to Make: Chapter 7

Draco and Scorpius do some boring but useful economic magic, Albus reads the Daily Prophet, and Delphi announces her plans for world domination.

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done.

Read it on AO3

VII Stoppable

The kitchen door opens and Harry instantly drops his knife onto his chopping board and turns around, hope swelling inside him, the way it always does whenever someone comes home. Ginny is standing in the doorway, emerging from beneath her cloak, expression sombre. He grips the back of the chair in front of him, Albus’s chair. Already disappointment is crushing his heart, but he still has to ask, just to make sure.

“Did you find-“

She shakes her head. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”

Harry bows his head and nods, tightening his grip on the chair for support. Even after three weeks of this it’s the same torture every day. He’d thought it would get easier but it hasn’t, not even a little bit. There are still the highest highs that come with any hint of a sighting, any new bit of information. Every time someone enters the house, he still desperately hopes that it might be Albus coming home. But every hope turns out to be false, and Albus never comes home. They’re left with devastation and hopelessness that deepens with every passing day.

Ginny shrugs her cloak off and hangs it by the door, then she comes across and puts her hands on Harry’s arms. “I talked to Current Affairs and they’re running another article tomorrow, looking for any political reasons why Albus might have been taken.”

“There are plenty of those,” Harry mutters.

She rubs his arms. “Exactly. And I placed that advert we talked about too.”

Harry nods. “That’s good. That’s- Yeah. And I’ve still got teams in Yorkshire and up on the moors around here. I think we’re going to reassign the Yorkshire team over to the Lake District next week. The Scottish Minister said she’d give us some help with the areas around Hogwarts. It’s just working out where he’d be familiar with, where he’d go.”

“He’ll be right under our noses,” Ginny says softly, wrapping her arms round Harry and resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I know he will.”

“I agree,” Harry says, hugging her tightly. “That’s why I’m keeping teams down here.”

“What about Scorpius?” Ginny asks. “Do we have anyone with him? What if Albus tries to contact him?”

“We’ve had the Manor under surveillance for years,” Harry says, “and Hogwarts is closely monitored for the safety of the students. If Albus goes anywhere near Scorpius I’ll be the first to know.”

“Good,” Ginny murmurs, rubbing his back. “That’s good.”

He nods and holds onto her. She’s been his rock through so much, and right now he needs her more than ever. He doesn’t know where he’d be without her. Normally he’d turn to Ron and Hermione for help in a dire situation like this, but this time Ginny is who he needs. She understands what this is like. She feels the same pain as he does. They’re going through this together in a way that no one else can understand.

“We’ll find him,” Ginny says softly, massaging his shoulders, which he hadn’t realised were so tight and tense. “We will. Even if it takes years.”

“Course we will,” Harry agrees, injecting as much brightness and positivity into the words as he can. If he believes in them hard enough maybe they’ll come true. Magic is a bit like that. You want it and you work at it, and in the end it happens. But spells don’t exist for bringing lost boys home, at least no spell that Harry, Ginny, or even Hermione knows. They’ll just have to wait and hope because there’s nothing else they can do.

“I didn’t know you read the paper.” Delphi flicks the front page of Albus’s open newspaper, jogging it enough that he loses his place. He smiles and looks up at her.

“I don’t. I was just browsing.” Albus shuts the paper and sets it aside. He hasn’t managed to find what he was looking for. There’s no mention of the Dementor attack anywhere, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not even that far into the paper.

“What were you browsing for?” Delphi asks, plopping down next to him on the bench at the edge of the training ground.

Albus shrugs. “Nothing much. Just seeing what’s going on in the world.”

Delphi smirks. “Is this new interest in current affairs supposed to impress your boyfriend?”

Albus elbows her in the ribs. “Not everything in my life revolves around Scorpius, you know.”

“Oh,” Delphi says in mock amazement. “It doesn’t? I could have sworn otherwise.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So why have you been such a stranger then?” Delphi asks, picking up the paper and unfolding it so she can read the front page.

Albus shrugs. “It’s been a busy week. Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t seen me. After seven inseparable years can you not live without me anymore?”

Delphi pulls a face at the paper. “Utter drivel,” she mutters. “No,” she glances up at Albus. “It’s not that I can’t live without you. I’m just worried about your training. And, you know, I miss you.” She gives a little shrug.

Albus grins at her. “Aww, do you really? You’ve never said that before.”

“You’re my best friend,” she says, not glancing up at him as she turns to the next page. “Of course I miss you.”

“Well,” Albus says, patting his hands on his knees as he works out how to deal with this surprising new information. “I’m here now. I’m all yours for the day – Scorpius is at work.”

Delphi glances up at him. “At work work? Not snooping around here?”

Albus nods. “He had to go to the Ministry for a meeting.”

A tiny frown flickers across Delphi’s forehead, just a fleeting glimpse. “You saw him this morning?”

“He may have stayed over at my house last night,” Albus says, giving her a broad, shining smile.

Delphi’s eyes go wide. “You slept with him? Already? Albus Potter, you saucy little-“

Albus’s cheeks heat up and he gives her a friendly shove on the arm. “It was a difficult evening and we both needed company, so we...” He waves a hand.

“A difficult evening?” Delphi asks, brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes.

Albus nods and explains about the Dementors, while she listens with rapt attention. “That’s why I was reading the paper,” he explains. “I wanted to see if there was any mention of it in the news, but I couldn’t spot anything so far.”

“How did you two escape?” Delphi asks softly, eyes wide.

“Thankfully Scorpius managed to cast a Patronus,” Albus says, a golden swell of pride bubbling up inside him as he remembers the shape of the silver bird sweeping through the night. “A really good one too. A corporeal one.”

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Delphi says.

Albus shakes his head. “Neither did he. I knew he’d be able to get it though. He’s brilliant.”

“So,” Delphi says lightly, leaning back on her hands. “Your new boyfriend saved your life and you repaid him with sex. Not a bad arrangement.”

Albus rolls his eyes. “Anyway, enough gossip about my evening. I thought I wasn’t training enough?”

Delphi shakes herself and sits up. “No, you’re not. I was going to punish you by making you do an actual gym session for once.”

“Are you serious?” Albus groans.

She nods. “Deadly.”

He sighs and picks himself up off the bench. “You’re evil.”

She grins at him. “I know.”

“These,” Scorpius says, slapping an enormous heap of files down onto the table in the library. “Are all the league’s financial records. Knock yourself out.”

Draco eyes the pile sceptically. “Do you have any suggested starting points?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Not really. We need to go through everything.”

“And do you expect their bookkeeping to be reliable and truthful?”

Scorpius shrugs again. “Probably not but it’s worth a start.”

“Alright then.” Draco picks up the first file, pulls up a chair and sits down as he reads. “How was Potter today?”

Scorpius perches on the edge of the table and sifts through the files until he finds a bright turquoise one that he likes the colour of. “Not bad, actually. He liked my investigative work.”

“As he should. Is he going to promote you?”

Scorpius sighs. “Not yet. Probably not ever, but I’m doing my best.” He opens the file to the first page and looks down at the long strings of numbers. There are dozens of these files. They’ll be here all night. “I told him about the Dementors.”

“And?”

“He’s going to investigate. I don’t think he knew what you knew. About all the stuff going on.”

Draco smirks. “Maybe they should make me Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Then they might get something done.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “He’s not that bad. You just happen to have an unusual amount of nefarious connections.”

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” Draco says, looking exceptionally pleased.

Scorpius smiles and shakes his head. “I’ll put it on your next Father’s Day card.” He flicks to the second page of his file, eyes already blurred from the amount of numbers in front of him.

“Dad,” he says. “You know about money. Is there some sort of spell we can use to do this faster? To detect anomalies, or even look for specific names and organisations? I know there are spells you can use for book research... would they work on this too?”

“Of course,” Draco says, nodding. “There’s nothing especially easy or user friendly, but I’m sure we can work it out between us.”

“Great.” Scorpius draws his wand with a flourish. “Teach me some boring but useful economic magic.”

They end up having to get several books down from the shelves, because the spell is far more complicated than Draco recalled. They sit on the sofa, trying to memorise the long strings of Latin and testing each other on them. It’s a while since Scorpius has learned any completely new spells, and it’s a fun challenge, especially because he can tell he’s picking it up faster than his dad.

“Wrong word again,” he crows, when his dad mixes up the phrase he’s trying to repeat for the third time.

Draco sighs. “I’m too old for this. If you’ve got it memorised why don’t you do the magic?”

Scorpius frowns. “I could... but what if I get it wrong? Don’t you need to check it for me?”

His dad smiles at him. “The day has long passed when I checked all your arithmetic for you. You’re far smarter and more knowledgeable than me these days. I trust your spellwork.”

Scorpius swallows and twists his wand round in his hands. “Are you sure? No one else trusts me...”

“That,” Draco says, pointing at him, “is their fault and not yours. Go on. The world won’t end if you get this spell wrong. Give it a go.”

“Fine.” Scorpius gets to his feet and flips open the first file. He decides that hesitating and making a big deal out of this will only make it worse so he doesn’t hesitate before tapping his wand on the file and letting the long spell come rolling off his tongue.

It works immediately. He withdraws his wand with the last word and the pages riffle through, until the file lies open on an inside page with a single word, Rowle, illuminated in gold.

Scorpius blinks down at the page. He gives his wand an experimental flick to one side and the file flicks to the next result.

“It worked!” He gasps, then lets out a wild giggle and covers his mouth with his hands. “I thought it’d take a lot more tries than that.”

Draco smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “Confidence, Scorpius.”

“Right,” Scorpius says, returning the smile. “Confidence.” He flicks his wand and flips the pages back to the first result. “Well, I suppose we should get on and do some investigating.”

For the next hour and a half they pore over each and every one of the reports, jotting down notes, checking and double-checking spells and findings. Scorpius’s head aches and his throat is dry from casting the complicated spell over and over again. It doesn’t help that the reports are so mind-numbing that they alone would hurt his brain.

When they’re done with the last report he releases the spell and stumbles back to collapse onto the nearest sofa. He hunches over, rubbing his forehead, and his dad gently massages his shoulder.

“You did brilliantly,” he says. “Would you like a drink.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll live.” He rubs his eyes and lifts his head, trying to peer at the parchment in his dad’s hand. He’s been concentrating so hard he hasn’t had chance to register any of the notes they’ve been making. “What are the results?”

“There’s a very clear connection here,” Draco says, “which is a start.” He crouches down on the floor beside Scorpius and rests the parchment on the arm of Scorpius’s chair so they can read together.

“Here are all the names of the people we’ve been looking for,” Draco says, running a finger down the column. “These are some of the numbers they’re associated with, what they’ve paid in, got back, and so on. And this column, here, shows the Gringotts account numbers of all the accounts they were associated with.”

Scorpius scans the parchment, frowning, then glances up at his dad. “But... there’s only one account number there. Surely we’ve done something wrong?”

“It’s not quite the only account number,” Draco says, pointing out a couple of others in the list, odd anomalies amongst the uniformity of all the other transactions. “And you know as well as I do that your spellwork was impeccable. No, I don’t think there’s a mistake at all. I think we just happen to have found our answer.”

Scorpius rubs the very centre of his forehead and stares at the account number. “Can we find out who this belongs to? Do we already know?”

Draco shakes his head. “We haven’t got it here, but...” He brandished his wand and taps it on the front of one of the files, muttering the same spell as Scorpius had used before, but this time using the account number as their search term. Instantly, the file whips open and comes to rest on an inside page, and there, in the centre, clear as day, it says “the account belonging to Miss Delphini Black.”

Draco pulls a face. “Delphini Black? There isn’t a Delphini Black on the family tree. Who on earth is that?”

“The Blacks don’t exactly have a small family tree do they?” Scorpius asks. “Couldn’t she be some long lost cousin? Half cousin? Second cousin? Whatever?

“But Delphini,” Draco says. “I’ve never heard that name before.” He looks at Scorpius. “Is she someone who’s mentioned a lot around the league? Is she a racer? Organiser? Someone who’s in charge?”

Scorpius shakes his head slowly, trying to think. Delphini doesn’t ring any bells. He hasn’t read the name in any of his papers, or heard anyone, say it, except- “Delphi!” He gasps. “They’re all connected to Delphi.”

“And who is Delphi?” Draco asks.

“She’s Albus’s friend,” Scorpius says, sitting back in his seat, mind racing. “His best friend. She’s his manager or agent or something. I think she sort of took him under her wing when he ran away. They seem close, but I haven’t met her yet. I hope I get the chance to, but...but, anyway. That’s who she is. Our missing link. Delphini Black. Delphi.”

“Albus’s friend,” Draco says slowly and deliberately, “knows and is taking money from all these people.” He gestures to the list of names, and Scorpius reads down it.

It’s not a good list of names to be associated with, and although he thinks Rowle might be the worst, there’s nothing about it that looks positive, no redeeming features, apart from the fact that Albus is connected to her.

“If Albus trusts her,” Scorpius says, “shouldn’t we give her the benefit of the doubt at least?” He looks up at his dad. “Maybe she doesn’t know much about history. These are all rich families, maybe she just went for rich people and is ignorant of what they’ve done.”

“These aren’t the richest,” Draco says. “They’re just the ones who have money to throw at something like this. And this doesn’t look like ignorance, Scorpius. This looks like fraternisation with Death Eaters.”

Scorpius takes the parchment from his dad and studies it. “I want to go to Gringotts and get more details about her account,” he says. “I’ve got permission to get whatever I need. And maybe... maybe I should ask Albus about her?” He looks up at his dad. “They’re friends. He knows her. He’ll be able to tell me what she’s like.”

“He may also be biased,” Draco points out.

“I can ask other people too,” Scorpius says. “But he’s a good starting point.”

Draco nods. “I suppose you’re right. Be careful, though. Even around Albus.”

“But-“

Draco gives him a hard look. “Scorpius...”

Scorpius sighs and holds his hands up. “Alright. I promise.” He waves his wand to clear the files into a neat pile on the table. “I’m exhausted. I think it’s time for bed now.”

“Not quite,” his dad says. “We have things to talk about, remember?”

Scorpius’s heart sinks as the earlier encounter with his dad comes flooding back. “Dad, do we really need to-“

“Yes. We do.” His dad sits down on the sofa next to him. “Stop pulling that face at me, you look like a child.”

Scorpius sticks his tongue out at his dad, then buries his face in his hands. It’s the best he can do to hide from his dad while they’re both in the same room.

“I need to know that you’re being safe,” his dad says, in a surprisingly soft voice that makes Scorpius look up at him. “That’s all I’m concerned about here. You’ve known this boy for four days-“

“That’s not true! He’s been my best friend for over half my life.”

“And the seven year gap in the middle somewhat negates that,” Draco counters.

“Also,” Scorpius says, slumping down in his seat and folding his arms. “It’s been five days.”

His dad smiles. “Five days, then. The point still stands. You don’t know anything about his life now. He doesn’t know anything about yours. People grow up a lot in seven years. They change a lot. Clearly he’s made friends with the sort of people who would be involved in a Ministry investigation-“

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Scorpius interjects.

Draco holds a hand up. “I know. All I’m saying is to be careful... He’s the first person you’ve slept with, isn’t he?”

Scorpius’s face goes hot as Fiendfyre and he glares at his dad. “I’m not discussing this with-“

“Are you his first too?”

Scorpius glares at him a moment longer to make his point then gives a very tiny shake of his head. “No.”

“And did he look after you? Did you use all the right spells, and-“

“For your information,” Scorpius says loudly, cutting across him. “Albus Severus Potter is an excellent teacher.”

“That may be more information than I was looking for,” Draco says, and Scorpius realises the full implications of his words.

“Oh my- Dad!” He buries his face in his hands again. “That wasn’t what I meant. I meant that he’s good at the spells and the-“

“And the?” Draco asks, with just the hint of a smirk.

“I hate you,” Scorpius says, sinking as low as he possibly can in his chair.

“I know,” Draco says. “But I’m glad the two of you had a good time. And I’m glad he looked after you. I’d expect nothing less of him; of anyone my son chooses as a partner.”

“He’s a really good person, Dad,” Scorpius murmurs. “He’s perfect. And he loves me.”

“Has he said that?” Draco asks.

Scorpius nods. “I think we’ve both... we’re on the same page there. He missed me as much as I missed him.” He looks up at his dad. “I know he broke my heart. I know he left me behind. I know all that. I’ve felt it every day for seven years. But I think... I think he felt it too. He’s... He’s really scared, you know? Of coming back. Of people finding him. When he left it wasn’t because of me, it wasn’t about me, but maybe... maybe I can help him now. Maybe I can be the reason he stays.”

“Do you trust him?” Draco asks, looking him in the eye.

Scorpius meets his gaze and nods. “Yes. I do.”

Draco considers for a moment before shaking his head. “You’ve always had good judgement, I know you have. But that doesn’t make it easier...” He sighs. “Will you understand if I keep being sceptical?”

Scorpius smiles. “You’re my dad. Isn’t it your job to be sceptical?”

Draco smiles back. “I suppose it is. You learn by making mistakes and getting your heart broken, and then I’m there to say I told you so and help piece it back together again.”

Scorpius wriggles round and curls up by his dad’s side. “I don’t think I’m going to get my heart broken,” he says. “Not this time.”

His dad wraps an arm round his shoulders and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “I truly hope you’re right.”

Ginny is curled up on the bed, sitting on top of the blankets because it’s too hot to be underneath them tonight. She’s sucking on the end of her quill as she considers the letter she’s writing. Harry know she’s too absorbed in what she’s doing to have noticed him standing in the doorway, but that doesn’t matter to him. It gives him more time to think and work out how to say what he’s going to say.

“Gin,” he says finally. “Can I join you?” It‘s not even remotely what he was trying to say, and now he’s said it he realises how stupid it was.

She glances at the space on the bed next to her, tucks her legs up under her, then shoots him one of her sparkling, mischievous smiles. “It’s your bed too, Harry. You don’t have to ask me to sit down.”

“No,” he says. “I know.”

He crosses the room, twisting his hands together as he does. Even though she’s still writing, he knows she’s got an eye on him. There’s no hiding now. She knows something’s up.

“Who are you writing to?” He asks, as he sits down next to her.

She glances across at him. “Albus. I was going to ask him if he’d like to visit again, or maybe get coffee. If that goes well, I want to invite him for dinner.” She sets the quill and parchment down on the bedside table and shuffles towards him, reaching out to rub his arm. “Are you okay?”

He never knows how to answer that question. It’s been a long time – not since before Albus left – since he’s felt like he could give an unequivocal yes, but at the same time she knows that, and he doesn’t want to worry her even though the answer today is no. Thankfully she understands his silence and reaches up to gently ruffle his hair, flattening the bits of it that stick up everywhere, before dropping her hand to rest on his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

He stares down at his hands. “I had a meeting with Scorpius today.”

Ginny drops her hand from his shoulder and weaves her fingers together with his. “How is he?” She asks softly.

Harry nods. “Okay, I think. It’s always difficult to tell. He’s working as hard as ever. His investigative skills are brilliant. I think he’s better than some of my Aurors.”

Ginny smiles. “That sounds like him.”

“He’s wasted where he is,” Harry agrees. “But I still haven’t been able to persuade any of my recruiters to look past-“ He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway... He wanted to report a Dementor attack.”

Ginny’s eyes go wide. “A Dementor- But there aren’t any left here, are there?”

“Only a couple,” Harry says. “We’re observing them all though, so we know they haven’t attacked anyone. But he said that these two – a pair of them – attacked him just outside Bristol yesterday night. He fought them off, he said he cast a Patronus, but the fact that they were there...”

“That’s not good,” Ginny breathes. “That’s like when you-“

“I know,” Harry says, looking at her. “It’s definitely a concern.”

“Was he on his own when he was attacked?” Ginny asks. “Did he fight them off alone?”

Harry swallows and doesn’t manage to speak.

“Harry?” Ginny repeats, squeezing his hand.

“Albus,” Harry says finally, in a small, strained voice. “He- he was with Albus.” He looks at her, and she stares back.

“Albus... Albus was attacked?”

Harry nods. “He and Scorpius. They fought the Dementors off together.”

Ginny grips Harry’s hand so hard her fingers turn white. “Is he still in danger? Are they-?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry murmurs. “I’ve got a team on it, but we haven’t found anything yet. We haven’t even found the Dementors. There’s so much that we don’t know...” He releases Ginny’s hand runs his fingers through his hair. “Scorpius told me that Draco thinks there’s something going on. He hears things, you know? He has contacts that we don’t.”

“Do you think there’s something going on?” Ginny asks, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap as she looks at him, attentive and curious, not showing any fear even if she feels it. That solidity and courage is what has always helped to keep Harry strong too.

“I don’t know, Gin.” He reaches across and takes hold of her hand. “There are things I haven’t seen before, not in a long time. Movements, whispers, odd stuff. It could mean something, it could mean nothing. But it’s definitely something to keep an eye on. All of it, the Dementors, the strange stuff, everything. You never know when it’ll change from being just a whisper and become a real and present threat...”

Ginny kisses the back of his hand, then reaches across and hugs him. “You’ll deal with it. When it happens you’ll fight it. That’s what you do.”

He rubs her back and rests his chin on her shoulder. “I try. I wish I could do more. I wish I could protect everyone.” He sighs. “I wish I could protect Albus.”

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing him tight. “I know.”

For a moment Harry sits and holds her, then a thought occurs to him and he pulls back. “Gin... They were attacked just outside Bristol.” He looks at her. “Why would they be in Bristol?”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s a nice city? We went there on holiday once.“

Harry seizes hold of her hands. “No! It might be where Albus lives. Think about it, we know Scorpius lives at the Manor, Albus has no other connection to Bristol that we know about. Scorpius said they were on their way home. I bet Albus lives there.”

Ginny tugs on his hands. “Harry. Don’t get carried away. It’s the middle of the night, and you can’t go and knock on every door in Bristol on the off chance that Albus lives there. Even if you did, I don’t know if he’d answer.”

“I could break down his door?” Harry suggests.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that would be the best way to convince him to talk to you.”

“I don’t need him to talk to me,” Harry says. “I need to know he’s safe.”

“Well,” Ginny says, giving his hands one last squeeze before letting go of him and shuffling down on the bed. “You can go and wake up everyone in Bristol, but I’m going to sleep.”

Harry shuffles up behind her and puts a hand on her side. “Maybe tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll get an Auror to do it.”

“On a Saturday?” Ginny asks, reaching out to switch off the light.

Harry kisses her shoulder. “I’ll pay them excellent overtime for it.”

Her laugh comes bubbling out of the darkness, then she rolls over in his arms, and he can see her smiling at him through the gloom. “You’re incorrigible,” she says.

Harry kisses her on the lips, slow and lingering. When he pulls back he brushes her hair off her face and looks at her as his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Tenacious,” he says.

“Obsessed,” she counters.

“I prefer driven.”

“Are you really going to knock on every house in Bristol?” She asks.

He removes his glasses and reaches across to put them on his bedside table. “I’m thinking about it.”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

Albus is lying spread-eagled on the gym floor, too exhausted to move. It’s a very hot day, and the single tiny window that’s open doesn’t let nearly enough air into the room. His clothes are all sticking to him, and he knows the whole place reeks of sweat – it always does in here.

“Get up,” Delphi says, nudging Albus’s leg with the toe of her boot.

Albus groans. “I can’t. You’ve killed me.”

“I could do a lot worse than make you work out.” She reaches out a hand, and he grips it and drags himself into a sitting position. “You need to go home and get changed.”

He brushes sweat soaked hair out of his eyes – some of it has grown long enough to start annoying him again – and peers up at her. The sweat stings his eyes, and he has to blink hard to try and get rid of it. “Why?”

“I’m taking you out tonight,” she says, perching on the corner of the weights bench. “You don’t have plans, do you?”

Albus shakes his head. “No, not yet. Scorpius and I haven’t had time to talk.”

Delphi waves a hand. “You can see him tomorrow, or Sunday. Spend all weekend in bed with him, I don’t care. I just want one night.”

Albus folds his arms and looks up at her. “Why do you want to hang out with me?”

Delphi shrugs. “I miss you. And we’re friends! Hanging out is what friends do, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Albus gets slowly to his feet, grimacing as his legs complain at him. “Just don’t make me do anything active. I need to take a million ice baths before I can move again.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Alright,” Albus says with a shrug. “I don’t see why not.”

Delphi grins and bounces on the balls of her feet. It’s so rare to see her look properly happy that Albus smiles too.

“Is there a dress code for this evening’s activities?”

“Anything that’s not drenched in sweat,” Delphi says, pulling a disgusted face at his current clothes. “You’d better shower too.”

“I’ll do it now. Where and when are we meeting?”

Delphi thinks for a second. “Meet me at eight. Inside the gate of Regent’s Park, near the tube station.”

Albus frowns. “Is this a Muggle date or something?”

Delphi snorts. “Hardly. Just a useful place to meet. Bring a broom.”

Albus grins. “Training isn’t a pleasant evening out, Delphi.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I’m not taking you training. I thought you liked flying.”

“I know,” he says. “I was kidding. So I need to bring a broom and what else?”

“Two brooms,” Delphi says. “We’ll need two brooms. I don’t have one so I’ll need to borrow yours.”

Albus’s grin spreads right across his face. “You’re going flying? I thought you hated heights.”

“No,” Delphi says, pointing at him. “No, that’s not true. I’m perfectly fine with heights. I just think brooms are unreliable and unwieldy.”

Albus beams at her. “But you’ll get on one for me.” He claps a hand to his heart. “It must be love.”

Delphi picks his bag up from the floor and throws it hard at his chest. “Go on. Disappear. And don’t forget my broom.”

Albus catches the bag, still grinning, and swings it over his shoulder. “Oh don’t worry. I won’t.”

When Albus gets home, there’s a letter from Scorpius waiting for him. Even seeing Scorpius’s familiar handwriting – spidery and loopy, not quite elegant and just on the right side of illegible – is enough to make him grin. He tears the letter open and reads, hoping it’s not an invitation to go out tonight, because he’s not sure he can manage to turn Scorpius down.

Dear Albus,

I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for lunch/dinner tomorrow? I have to go to Gringotts in the morning for work, but after that I’ll be free all weekend.

Sorry I can’t meet up tonight. I’m doing some investigate work with my dad – it keeps him busy.

Thank you for last night. It was perfect, apart from the Dementors, but even they were vastly improved by you being there to help me.

I really hope to see you tomorrow. I also really hope you’re okay with replying to Owls, I suppose I should have checked that.

Happily yours,

Scorpius

Albus knows he’s smiling far more than he should be for such a short letter, but there’s something about Scorpius writing to him that makes his insides glow in the best possible way. Scorpius wrote to ask him out, Scorpius thanked him for last night, Scorpius joked about him being elusive, and Scorpius signed it all ‘happily yours’. Happily. Scorpius is happy, and Albus is overjoyed.

He finds a quill and parchment and starts scribbling a reply before remembering that he doesn’t actually have an owl. He’s spent so long refusing to reply to letters that now he wants to he doesn’t think he can.

With a sigh he casts around for what to do. He could Floo Scorpius, but Draco might answer, and the idea of that is terrifying. He could borrow an owl, or pay a Post Owl, but the post office will be shut by now. Maybe Delphi might have one, or-

A soft hoot from the direction of his sink catches his attention, and he spins round, blinking in surprise as he spots a familiar owl sitting on his draining board. He recognises her as Scorpius’s owl, Ariana.

“Hello,” Albus says, going over to her. “Did he tell you to wait? Your Scorpius is brilliant.”

She gives another hoot, then dips her head and starts clicking her beak under his kitchen tap. It takes him a second before he realises what she wants.

“A drink! Yes. Sorry, it’s a hot day.” He grabs a shallow bowl from his cupboard and fills it with water, then puts it on the side for her. Instantly she starts guzzling it down, and he leaves her to it while he goes and writes his note.

Scorpius,

I’m glad you enjoyed last night. I quite liked it myself. Maybe we could do it again sometime...

It’s fine that you can’t meet up tonight. Delphi’s taking me out on a ‘date’. I have no idea what we’re doing but I have to bring brooms. I think it’s a bonding thing.

If you want to meet up tomorrow you won’t keep me away. I’ll come to Diagon Alley and find you. I might not come as Albus though; I’d rather not cause a riot by having the entire universe recognise me. That might derail our date a little bit.

Have fun entertaining your dad.

See you tomorrow.

Love,

Albus

He rolls it up into a tight scroll before he can cross it all out and start again, casts a spell to seal it since he doesn’t have any wax, and takes it across to Ariana. She’s managed to upend the water bowl in her excitement and is now sitting on top of it, feathers fluffed up and mouth open, glaring at him.

“Well it’s not my fault if you’re going to cause a mess, is it?” He tells her. When he reaches for the bowl she hops off it, and he gives her another quick drink before holding the scroll out to her. “Can you take this to Scorpius for me?”

She eyes him, then snatches it out of his hand.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes. Are you going to carry that in your beak, or do you want me to-“ She takes off and soars out of the open kitchen window before he’s finished his sentence, and he sighs. “I suppose it’s not that far to Wiltshire.”

He puts his quill and parchment away and heads up to his room, where he picks out one of the neatest pairs of shorts he can find and a tank top that he barely ever wears to work out in. He showers and changes, pausing in front of the mirror to run a hand through his hair, which already needs cutting again – it’s growing far faster than it should be – then he digs out his third best broom, grabs his second best broom for himself, and Apparates to London.

Delphi is waiting just inside the park gates, bobbing from foot to foot and watching the passers by with a sharp, intense gaze. She’s so busy staring at a man wheeling a bike between the bright banks of flowers that he manages to sneak up on her and poke her in the arm. She jumps and whips her wand out. The next second it’s pressed hard to his throat, and he has to lift his chin to breathe, hands held up in surrender.

“Delphi, it’s me,” he chokes out. “Sorry. I thought it would be fun to-“

“Sneak up on me,” she says, withdrawing her wand and tucking it away in her pocket. “I could have cursed you, Albus. You should be more careful.”

“You could,” Albus says, eyeing the pocket her wand has disappeared into. “I just wanted to have a bit of- anyway. Thank you for not cursing me.” He holds one of the brooms out to her. “This is for you, as requested.”

“I almost hoped you’d forget it,” she says, taking it off him.

He grins. “Not a chance. I want to see you fly. I can give you some tips if you want.”

Delphi snorts. “I’m not taking tips.”

“Not even from the best broom racer around?” Albus hops onto his broom and looks at her. “Better while we’re on the ground than in the air.”

Delphi lifts her chin and swings her leg over her broom and grips the handle as she steadies herself. “It’s not as if I’ve never flown before.”

Albus frowns. “Have you flown before?”

“I work for a broom racing league,” Delphi says. “Of course I’ve flown before.”

She kicks off from the ground and rises a few feet. Albus can tell from the way she’s gripping the broom, hard enough for her hands to shake, that she’s far from relaxed, and it looks for a moment like the broom is considering rebelling against her. But then Albus reaches across and steadies it and it calms down under the familiar touch.

“Relax,” he tells her. “The calmer you are, the easier it’ll be. Like any magic I suppose.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, Sev,” she says, wobbling as she lifts the handle of the broom and it rises rapidly, much faster than she’d clearly meant it to.

He laughs. “No you’re not.” He glides up beside her and puts a hand over hers. “Stop holding on so tight. I promise it’ll help.”

“Won’t that make me more likely to fall off?” Delphi asks, glancing across at him and nearly slipping sideways.

Albus grabs hold of her arm and pulls her upright. “Careful.”

“I told you it’d just make me more likely to fall off,” she huffs.

Albus sighs. “Relax your hands, concentrate, don’t look at me, don’t be scared, and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh is that it?”

Despite the tetchiness in her tone, she inhales, looks straight ahead, and slowly relaxes her grip. The effect is instantaneous. The broom levels out and seems to become lighter in the air. It’s not fighting anymore, but obeying Delphi’s touch, so when she lifts the handle it rises smoothly and gradually.

“That’s it,” Albus says, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of his voice. This is the one thing in the world where he actually feels as if he knows what he’s doing. This he’s allowed to be smug about.

“I was just testing you,” Delphi mutters.

“Uh huh,” Albus says, but he doesn’t push it any further. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to that big Muggle skyscraper – the Shard,” Delphi says. “Right to the top.”

“Are you sure you can make it that high without falling off?” Albus asks, shooting a grin at her.

She raises the handle of her broom in defiance, and they both ascend together, leaving Regent’s Park behind them and skimming away across London.

“My first flying lesson at Hogwarts was a dismal failure,” he tells Delphi as they go. “Did you know that?”

She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I mean, everything at Hogwarts was a dismal failure, but that in particular was...” he sighs and shakes his head. “It was an unmitigated disaster. It wasn’t even that I’d never flown before and didn’t know what I was doing. You can’t grow up in my family without flying, it’s in our DNA. But when I got there I was so scared of getting it wrong that I couldn��t get the broom to listen to me. You can’t fly if you’re scared. Those school brooms are flighty at the best of times. They’ll only pay attention to confidence, talent, and sometimes hope. I didn’t have any of those things.”

He looks down at the city below them, at the rivers of cars flowing down the streets, at the tiny green squares, at the sparkling glass of the buildings, at the grass of the parks, drenched in the red sunset. The view is one of the things he’s grown to love most about flying. The world looks different up here. It looks more inviting. You can see how it works, how everything just happens and will continue to happen, how you don’t need to worry because things fall into place. It’s far more difficult to see that when you’re in amongst the chaos and you can’t find your place.

“That was the second time I felt like I didn’t fit in,” he continues. “And that was the worst. Once is a coincidence. Getting sorted into Slytherin... I still had some hope that things might be alright. But then the flying lesson fell apart and that was when I really knew that nothing would work. You can’t be a Potter if you can’t get a broom to obey you.”

“And now the brooms obey you,” Delphi says, “and you don’t want to be a Potter anymore.”

Albus skims his hand down the handle of his broom and bows his head. “I don’t know. For a long time I didn’t. I wanted to be anything else, any other name, any other family. But now... Now I just want to be me.”

“Sev?” Delphi asks.

Albus swallows and shakes his head. “No. Albus.”

Delphi glances in his direction for an instant, eyebrows raised, then looks straight back ahead.

“That’s not what you wanted to hear,” Albus murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not not what I wanted to hear,” Delphi says. “But it’s unexpected. I thought Albus was your past.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t know what he is. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know, Delphi.”

“How can you want to be someone you don’t know?” Delphi asks, pulling a face. “That makes no sense.”

“I know it doesn’t. But... I spent so long trying to be anyone other than Albus, and then I spent so long trying to be Sev... I don’t want to try anymore. I just want to be. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be satisfied with my existence, maybe it’s impossible, but now seems like a good time to have a go.” He shrugs. “If it doesn’t work out maybe I’ll go back to being Sev, but I won’t know that it won’t work until it all goes wrong.”

Delphi nods, carefully considering. “Well firstly, it all went wrong before, so it probably will go wrong again. Secondly, no one’s satisfied with their existence, Sev. It’s impossible. Everyone’s unhappy. That’s how life works.”

“Is it?” Albus asks.

“Absolutely,” Delphi says, and she sounds so certain about it that Albus almost reconsiders. But then he remembers Scorpius. He remembers how happy he’d been kissing him. He remembers the golden glow of joy and contentment. He remembers his stomach swooping as he flew down the gorge the other night, when everything felt glorious and easy.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I really don’t know. And just because it went wrong before doesn’t mean... I’m older now. I think I might be more determined. I’m ready to fix things.”

“It’s going to be a disaster,” Delphi says, throwing him another glance. “You’ll get your heart broken again. We’ll have to fix it all again. Nothing will be better. Take the future you’ve got as Sev and run. Quit while you’re ahead.”

“What is the future I’ve got as Sev?” Albus asks.

Delphi grins. “Yes, about that.” She takes one hand off her broom and gestures to the towering spire of the Shard in front of them. “Allow me to show you.”

They soar up over the lip of the tower, and Albus gently touches down on the flat roof right at the top, nestled between the jagged top pieces of the four glass walls. He waves Delphi in, encouraging her down, and when she gives up and hops lightly off a couple of feet off the ground, he grabs her hand to support her.

“I hate brooms,” she says, glaring at it and shuddering. “Anyway.” She gives him a dazzling smile. “Welcome, Sev, to the roof of the world.”

Albus looks around at the city spread out below them, all streams of twinkling light, fractured and segmented by the dark river and train lines. “What are we doing up here?” He asks. “This is a little bit illegal.”

Delphi tuts. “Your entire existence is illegal. Come and sit.” She takes hold of his hand and guides him to the edge, where she sits with her feet dangling over the endless drop. When Albus hesitates to join her she rolls her eyes.

“You’ll sit on that thing and fly all the way up here but you won’t hang your feet over the edge? Come on.”

“They’re two very different things,” he says, but he reluctantly sits next to her, putting his feet over the edge and doing his best not to look straight down.

“Good boy.” She pats his hand, then twists round and starts rummaging in her bag. “Here. I need a drink after that flight.” She pulls a bottle of Firewhisky and two shot glasses out and sets them down between the two of them.

“We’re getting drunk at the top of a very tall building before flying home?” Albus smiles. “It’s like you have a death wish.”

“And you don’t?” She pours him a liberal helping of Firewhisky. “Drink.”

He sighs, but there’s no real reluctance as he takes the drink and knocks it back in one. It sears the back of his throat and makes his toes curl, but it’s good. It’s delicious. Already he can feel it numbing his senses in the most perfect way, and he grins and leans back on his hands, kicking his heels against the metal beam supporting them.

“So,” he says. “Why have you brought me to,” he gestures the width of the skyline, “the roof of the world?”

“I wanted to remind you what the world looks like from above,” Delphi says, looking at him. She’s holding her own glass of Firewhisky in her hand, but hasn’t drunk any yet. “Do you remember,” she says, “when you first ran away, and that night when you were really upset, we went and sat at the top of the stadium during the race?”

Albus remembers. He remembers like it was yesterday. He hadn’t started racing yet, he was afraid of everything and feeling more inferior than he ever had. The fire all seemed so much hotter back then, before he’d truly been bitten by it. The racers all seemed faster, the crowds noisier, and every time he saw someone in blue robes he’d flinch, terrified that his dad or one of the Aurors had found him. He couldn’t race. He couldn’t do anything. He was worse than useless.

And on the day when he most wanted to go home – when his mum’s first letter to him arrived and he made the mistake of reading it, when he’d spent the whole day crying – Delphi had found him and brought him to the top of the stadium where they’d been racing. It was an old Quidditch World Cup stadium, back from when his dad had still been in school, perched out on a desolate moor side, away from the world. The sides were steep, towering up into the air, an enormous bowl shape, and when he was standing on the pitch Albus felt like an ant, tiny, inconsequential, and more than a little bit lost. But from the top they could look down on everything and everyone. The fire felt less hot up there, the noise less overwhelming, even the race looked slower. Albus relaxed and saw the beauty of it all, and Delphi talked him through it.

“This is your life now, Sev,” she said. “Embrace it. Own it.”

“The future is mine to make,” he murmured, and she nodded and wrapped an arm round him.

“You’re free, so let yourself feel free. Let go. You can do this.”

He took a breath and leaned against her. “I-I can.”

“Whenever you get scared,” she said, “imagine you’re up here. Everything is smaller than you, everything is laid out for the taking. You can do whatever you want.”

“I want to win a race,” he said. “Just one. Then I might feel like I belong.”

Delphi snorted. “You’d better win more than one. But one is a good starting point. And you can do it. I have complete faith in you.” She turned and looked at him. “Make all this yours. Believe that it’s here to let you become who you should be, and nothing will ever stop you.”

“This is your world, Sev,” Delphi says. “This is our world. We can do whatever we want, and nothing can ever stop us.” She downs her shot of Firewhisky in one, throwing her head back, so her silver ponytail swishes behind her. When she’s done, she pours two more shots and hands one to Albus. “You’ve got so grounded over the last week. I can see you forgetting all this. You’re getting weighed down by life again, by people. By Scorpius, your parents, your past. Don’t lose this,” she says, gesturing to the view. “Don’t lose your freedom. Don’t become stoppable.”

Albus braces his hands on the edge of the building and looks down at his knees. He can see the drop beyond, and it makes him feel vulnerable and queasy. “I hate it though,” he says. “This feeling that I’m floating and there’s nothing holding me down. Some days it feels like I could disappear and no one would notice. I suppose in a way I’ve already done that...”

“Sev isn’t someone who could disappear,” Delphi says, patting his hand. “Everyone knows Sev. Everyone loves Sev. Sev is a winner; a hero. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But...” Albus sighs. There’s no point explaining to her again that he doesn’t know if he wants to be Sev anymore. Clearly she doesn’t understand. How can someone like Delphi, who’s so certain and put together, possibly understand what it’s like to feel fractured, to be so many different people but no one all at once. She can’t know what it’s like to feel like he’s playing pretend, like he’s trying to be someone but failing. She knows who she is. She’s nothing but what she appears to be, and that’s the thing Albus has always envied about her most of all.

“Sev,” she murmurs, and she leans across to kiss him on the cheek. “Stop thinking.”

I can’t, Albus thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he knocks back his second shot of Firewhisky.

“Good,” Delphi says. She ruffles her fingers through his hair and pulls back to look at him. “You need to cut it again. It’s got longer.”

Albus sighs. “I know. I only cut it the other day. I quite like it this length, though. It doesn’t look too much like my dad’s, does it?”

“It’s about as scruffy as his,” Delphi says, running her fingers from his forehead all the way back to his neck, examining every inch. “If I were you I’d cut it. But I’m not you, and clearly you’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”

“Sev would want it shorter,” Albus says, tugging on a bit of his fringe to pull it into view. He looks at it for a moment, then lets it ping back into place as he pours himself another shot.

For a while after that they sit quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the bustling city below. A train rattles along the tracks below them, car horns honk as people in bumper to bumper traffic struggle to get home from wherever they’ve been all day, people shout and laugh, an aeroplane soars overhead, a stiff breeze rushes past Albus’s ears. And above it all, the moon and stars hang, utterly silent but ever watchful. They see everything.

Delphi takes two more shots, and is nursing a third between both hands when she speaks again and breaks the silence between them.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to rule over all this?”

Albus snorts and knocks back his third shot. “No. I can’t say I do. Why?”

“I do,” Delphi says. She takes her shot and picks up the bottle to pour another. “All those people out there answering directly to you, listening to your every word. You get to decide everything. You control it all. Everyone’s lives at your mercy...” She shakes her head and her eyes glint in the moonlight. “That would be... it would be incredible. All that power.” She inhales, tipping her head back like she wants to draw in as much of the sweet night air as possible.

Albus smiles and reaches across to take the Firewhisky bottle from her. “Delphi, I think you might have had enough to drink now.”

“No!” She holds the bottle away from him. “I’m fine. Just imagine it, Sev. We could have anything and everything we ever wanted. We could have palaces, fame, fortune. You could even have Scorpius if you wanted. And you would never disappear. Everyone would know your name. Everyone.”

Albus rolls his eyes and makes another grab for the bottle. “You have definitely had too much to drink. Is this what you think about in your spare time? Being supreme ruler of the universe? Because it’s a bit weird, Delphi.”

“It’s not weird,” Delphi says. “It’s ambitious. You’re a Slytherin. You understand ambition, I know you do.”

“Well yes, but-“

“Then you must have thought about this too.” She pours another shot and downs it in one before relinquishing the bottle and spreading her arms, a manic gleam in her eyes. “When you’re up here everything is laid out for the taking. You can have whatever you want. And I want everything.”

“There’s ambition,” Albus says, putting the bottle as far away from her as he can get, “and then there’s world domination. Those aren’t the same.”

“They can be if you try hard enough,” Delphi tells him, and he can tell that she’s deadly serious. “Can I have the bottle back?”

Albus shakes his head. “You may not have the bottle back. You have to fly down from here and you were bad enough sober. No more alcohol for you.”

“I don’t need the broom,” Delphi says, wrinkling her nose. “I can just jump. Jump and fly.”

Albus reaches out and takes hold of her arm. “Delphi, I’m not letting you jump off a building. We’re getting down now. Come on.”

“But-“

Albus shakes his head. “No.” He scrambles to his feet, holding the bottle well out of her reach, and tugs on her hand. “Up you get.”

Delphi groans and gets up. “You’re such a spoilsport, Albus.”

“That’s me.”

She makes another grab for the bottle, but he just about keeps it away. He fumbles in his pocket for his wand and points it at the bottle to vanish it. Even though he’s never successfully vanished anything before in his life, the bottle disappears in an instant, and he stares at his empty hand in amazement.

“Did you just vanish my Firewhisky?” Delphi asks, sounding as stunned as he feels.

“I-I think I did...” Albus says, still staring at the space where the bottle should be.

Delphi catches hold of his arm and pulls it towards her so she can examine his hand. “Albus Severus Potter. You vanished my Firewhisky. I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends.”

He laughs. “We are. I’ll get you a new bottle, once your feet are firmly back on the ground.”

“But I wanted us to get drunk while we survey our future kingdom.”

“Well,” Albus says. “You’ve succeeded in the getting drunk part. Do you want to go on the back of my broom on the way down?”

Delphi shakes her head and wraps her arms round him, holding him tight and looking at him. Her eyes are dark with her back to the moon, but they burn, hot as coals. She brushes her fingers over his cheek and down to his left shoulder onto his back, where she lets it rest right over the wing tattoo on his shoulder blade.

“Will you be in my future?” She asks softly. “Will I be in yours?”

Albus rests a hand on her back, holding her steady. “Of course. Both. You’re my best friend, Delphi.”

“Will you still think that tomorrow when you’re in bed with Scorpius?”

Albus’s face goes hot, despite the sting of the cold wind. “You saved me, Delphi. You showed me that I have a future. You brought me up here to show me the world and get me drunk on Firewhisky. You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect.” He runs a hand over her bare back, where he knows her wing tattoo is exposed. “You and Scorpius aren’t in competition. I want you both and I need you both. A future without either of you isn’t a future I’m interested in, so don’t worry about that.”

He kisses her on the cheek, and she closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Good,” she murmurs.

“But,” he says, gently tickling her side to get her attention back. “If you fall off a broom now and die then I’m going to have to live without you, which isn’t a great prospect, so I think we should get down from here now, and I think you should ride on the back of my broom.

“I can fly myself,” she protests, lifting her head.

“Can you?”

She twists round and glances at the brooms. “Okay fine. Maybe I’ll ride with you. I hate brooms.”

Albus kisses her forehead. “I know. Let’s get you home.”

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Cursed Child #Cursed Child Fic #Scorbus Fic #Scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Harry Potter #Ginny Potter #Delphini Diggory #Draco Malfoy #HPCC Fic #Keep The Secrets #My writing #Mine to Make #Mayhem to the nth degree

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gin-loves-harry · 7 years ago

Text

“Mrs. Black.”

Euphemia Potter stood in the doorway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Her crimson and gold sari making her look like a radiant poppy against the drab facade of the house. James Potter stood next to his mother, hair a mess as always, but wearing darker colors... more suited to enter The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

Walburga Black stood in the dark doorway, dressed in a beaded black gown, wearing a face of thinly veiled rage. Her nostrils were flared, her jaw was set, and her pupils had dilated in her light grey eyes. James Potter knew that face, because her oldest son had inherited that look, and that temper… not that James would ever say that out loud.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Potter?”

She was already an intimidating woman, but Mrs Black’s anger made her every word venomous. Her eyes darted between Euphemia’s kind but firm gaze, to James. He did his best to look impassive. Not afraid. Not angry.

“Mrs Black, I think you can agree that neither of us wants to have this conversation on a London street… regardless of whether anyone can see or hear us.” Her voice was deep and firm, the usual lilt in her speech was gone. She held her own in front of the taller woman’s intimidating form.

Walburga looked at them, then at the three muggle children sitting two doors over playing with a grey cat. She stepped backward sweeping her hand, which was covered in glittering heirlooms, towards the foyer.

James just barely extended his knuckles to the spot directly behind his mother. An invisible hand reached out to brush too gently, against James’s. Sirius was there, crouching to fit completely beneath the cloak, and doing his best to become fully invisible.

Euphemia stepped past Walburga, and James stayed close behind his mother-- forming a barrier between an invisible Sirius and an incredibly angry Walburga Black.

“Mrs Black, please understand we did not come here seeking an argument. We can be out of your family’s home in a manner of minutes. Please allow James to take a few things from-“

“Do NOT say that boy’s name in this house. The shame he has brought on-“

“Mrs Black.”

James couldn’t help but be impressed by his mother. She was much shorter than Walburga, her hair was more silver than black… but she was formidable.

“Let him go up and we will be gone in less than ten minutes. If you do not, we will have to further extend this whole affair and involve other parties. Let us get his things now, and we will never trouble you ever again..”

Walburga’s rage was paralyzing and her gaze shifted from Euphemia to James. He didn’t look away.

“You have seven minutes. Kreacher will see you upstairs and escort you out when your time is up.”

“Thank you, Mrs Black.” He was using the voice he reserved for professors, mostly to get out of trouble. It did nothing to calm the anger emanating from the other woman. He’d already known it wouldn’t… She hated him. The boy who’d enabled her son’s rebellion and in turn robbed her of an heir to carry on the family name. Her voice was low and dangerous,

“Goodbye Mr. Potter.”

She cast a look of warning towards Euphemia before storming out of the room, her black dress glittering in the candlelight, all while screaming for Kreacher.

James could practically feel the breath Sirius had finally let out. He reached his hand out again, and retracted it as soon as he’d felt Sirius’s touch from underneath the cloak making sure he was ready to go upstairs.

Kreacher approached, he made no effort to cover his disgust at the sight of the Potters in his mistress’s home.

“Follow me Mr Potter.”

James cast a glimpse at his mother. She looked back with her honey colored eyes, a hint of urgency. She hadn’t thought any of this was a good idea from the beginning… bringing Sirius- but James (despite his better judgement) had convinced her. Sirius knew what he needed, and where it all was. James had felt that letting him collect what remnants of his life he wanted to keep was the least they could do for him.

Euphemia gave him a small reassuring smile, risked the same glance at the space she knew Sirius stood, and then busied herself inspecting a troll-leg umbrella stand that stood in the foyer.

James followed Kreacher. He was using his full weight to climb the stairs, and each step groaned in protest. Sirius was carefully avoiding all the spots he knew made noise, grateful for the cover James was providing. He was as close to James as he could possibly be without climbing onto his back.

Kreacher walked them up to Sirius’s door. He had pulled it open, and James immediately grabbed the inside knob, spinning to face Kreacher as Sirius slipped into the room behind him.

“Thank you very much Kreacher!”

He closed the door before Kreacher could stop him. He turned towards the notebook floating over the bedside table.

“Don’t get out from under that cloak…” James hissed. He opened the top drawer of the ebony dresser he was standing by, and started shoving shirts into one of the two bottomless bags they’d brought.

“Don’t worry about the clothes-“

“Well you don’t really fit in mine. And these are right here.”

“Grab my books. And stop whispering so loud!”

James rolled his eyes as he scooped the contents of the second drawer into the bag before turning towards the bookshelf that stood by the door. He quickly emptied most of it until only two pristine divination books remained.

Sirius, from across the room where he was rifling through personal items, whispered instructions for what to grab.

‘That folder has all my notes about animagi.’ ‘Open the top drawer of the desk, the floor plans of the castle we’ve finished so far are in there.’ ‘Make sure you grab the notebook Remus gave me.’ ‘Does that look like a radio to you James?’

James moved as fast as he could, making sure they had gotten all of his most important belongings. The rest would have to stay. Time was practically up, so James bent to grab Sirius’s trunk. As he did, the door creaked open behind him. James quickly scanned the room making sure Sirius’s disembodied hands weren’t showing, before turning, expecting to see Kreacher.

“Potter...” Regulus stood in the doorway, not even halfway into the room. He stood tall, but held the door like a shield in front of him. His voice was quiet, not rough like his brother or mother’s. His expression was impossible to read.

“Oh! Hi Regulus. I’m just about finished here. Did you need something?”

It had been three days since Sirius had seen Regulus, the night of Narcissa’s wedding to Lucius Malfoy. Sirius had shown up at the Potter’s house an hour before sunrise, and he’d been living there since.

He’d known when he ran that there was no going back to Grimmauld Place. He also wouldn’t have gone back anyway, he never wanted to see any of them again.

Now here was Regulus, who had been the last person he’d locked eyes with before he had taken off running into the woods. He could still hear Bellatrix’s drunken laughter ‘Did you come to help your pathetic brother Reg?’ He was suddenly very aware of how much his body still hurt. Euphemia and Fleamont had seen to his injuries immediately, but… He had to control his breathing.

“What do you need Regulus?” James prompted again. He was getting nervous that the other boy might know that he wasn’t alone in the room.

Regulus’s eyes were on the photo Sirius had stuck to the wall of James, Remus, himself, and Peter. James looked at Regulus, trying to read the expression on his face. He was still looking at the photo on the wall, refusing to return the other boy’s gaze, but James knew the look on his face because it was the same look Sirius wore when he was avoiding his emotions.

He knew that Sirius had loved his brother. Knowing his best friend enough, he knew he still loved him. And judging by the look on the younger boy’s face, James had a feeling Regulus still loved his brother too.

“...keep him safe.”

The words were practically inaudible. If they weren’t so used to Peter’s mumbling James wouldn’t have heard him at all.

Keep him safe? That was barely a request that needed to be made. James Potter would take on Voldemort himself if it meant keeping Sirius safe.

“I always do.”

Kreacher appeared slipping past Regulus until he stood in front of James. James, however, kept his eyes on Regulus’s guarded face.

“It’s time you go, Mr. Potter.”

Kreacher and Regulus both stepped out of the doorway making room for James to pass by them with Sirius’s trunk. Sirius maneuvered his way around Regulus and Kreacher and slipped in front of James. Kreacher followed closely behind the trunk James had brought down with him.

“Thanks Kreacher...”

“Farewell, Potters.”

Euphemia moved past the black door with that silver knocker, a snake... coiled but vigilant. James reached out his hand, and let out a deep breath when he felt Sirius bump fists with him. He was safe beside him.

They could hear Walburga screaming behind a closed door further in the house. No doubt she was telling her husband exactly what she thought of the Potters, all while Orion sat reading today’s edition of the Prophet. Regulus lingered at the top of the steps, watching as Kreacher led the two Potters out of the front door.

The door closed behind them and Sirius took a much needed deep breath.

That voice, that house... Sirius was done with it.

He turned as the number 12 disappeared behind them and he realized this was be the last time he’d see that door again. It felt like, for the first time, he was finally being let out of captivity.

He’d never step foot in Grimmauld Place again.

#this has been sitting finished in google docs for like.... two months lmao #so im just gonna post it #typos and editing be damned #byeeeeeeeee #mine #my writing #james potter #euphemia potter #walburga black #sirius black #regulus black #hp fic #hp fanfic #marauders era fanfiction #hopefully there's a read more ooootherwise SORRY for the word vomit lmao

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caeliri · 6 years ago

Text

By Right of Blood

The men and women of the Council of Flames bickered.

They’d been fighting for weeks now, debating the merits of joining the fight, of who to fight, of how long to fight, of how to fight, of what to fight, and where they would go. They’d been fighting to figure out a defense, of where they would make a stand if the war came to them, who would be expected to remain, how they would pay for it. They could last the winter, true, but only if they were unhindered and their stockhouses left undisturbed. If a fight came to their doors…

Elder Vylbrike of Dustwood had the floor.

“My fellow Elders, this has gone on for two weeks now with no end in sight. Can we at least come to some kind of agreement with regards to fielding a force? At the very least, it needs to be done. Arrow Sunstalker, a veteran from many battles and campaigns, some from before a few of you were born, has already volunteered to lead them-”

“You mean the man that failed us after the Fall?! The man that let the dancing dead claim the forests of the north?” Elder Sinkela raised her voice, cutting through the venerable man’s words.

“The man that put down any attempts we made to be free from the yoke of the Redarrows? That bastard can Burn before he takes control of any army of the Ridges!” Elder Toricas sprang from his seat, fists balled.

Vylbrike’s tone raised to that of thunder, shocking in it’s sudden volume.

“Who else would you have lead?”

The room fell silent at that.

“I’ll wait until someone makes a better suggestion.”

An ethereal song shattered the tension-burdened air, burying the beat of wings that burst through the doorway.

With self-made ceremony, a bird of golden flame - wingspan wide and proud as a falcon and tail a trail of oranges and pinks that would put any peacock to shame - swept into the room, showering cinders upon the council as it circled the room, before diving into the roaring hearth at the heart of the chamber. The phoenix roosted in the fire pit as a Queen might upon her throne, proud and preening, and entirely uninterested in the prattling elves.

Assuring her feathers were orderly arranged was more important than anything these men and women had to say.

“Apologies for the interruption, esteemed Elders,” the voice that followed was burgeoning with warmth and cheer and entirely too mouse-like and youthful. “I misjudged the snowfall, and was delayed.”

The hard, short heel of her boot click-clacked against the floor, her strides made long by lanky legs, but otherwise even-paced. Her gait betrayed no rush; she would not allow herself to seem anxious or shaken or ill-fit in this half-empty room. Halfway across the room she swept back her snow-dappled hood, allowing the wealth of cinder-kissed hair that sprouted from her head to tumble free.

“I hope I have missed nothing of import,” she chirped, approaching one of the empty, high-backed chairs - a chair her Uncle should have occupied (at least, she hoped she’d gotten the right one; she had asked Anokirin six times to remind her which was the chair designated for her family, and pressed him to draw a shoddy diagram of the council room so she would not err in her approach), had he not been a prisoner of war - and gripping the seat’s edge.

The council was silent.

Below the crackle of fire footfalls echoed in Caeliri’s wake, her escorts, Anokirin and Zaerise, trailing behind her with some delay. The Witch paused at the edge of the chamber, unwilling to move in further, unwanting of the attention that might befall her, but Anokirin followed Caeliri to the raised seat she hovered by.

The Redarrow seat.

Wide-eyes and open jaws gawked at the phoenix preening in their fire, flames licking higher as they displaced around the throne Grace had claimed. Elder Vakosi was the first to move, milky eyes turning to watch the child as she debated her place.

“I’m sorry, little girl, but- Who are you?”

Little girl. Oh, that rankled - but her face did not betray the flicker of frustration in her breast. Caeliri smiled on, warm and waiting for the wave of conversation that would follow.

“And what are you doing here? This is a council meeting, and unless you have business with the council I’ll have to ask you to please-”

Elder Sinkela raised a hand, silencing her fellow.

“The better question: Who have you brought before us, Anokirin? Why do you interrupt us?” The old man smirked, a smile peeking out despite his age weather-beaten features doing their best to hide it. His look to Caeliri was near impish, like an old soldier who knew this was against protocol but knew he could get away with it.

“Why don’t you tell them why you are here, Ma’am?”

His use of the honorific raised more than a few eyebrows around the council room.

Unhooking the small, phoenix-shaped clasped that held her crimson cloak close around her shoulders, Caeliri offered the barebones council before her an effervescent smile. “Oh, that seems a touch rude, Anokirin - I had hoped for introductions before we dove straight into business.”

Tossing her cloak over the arm of the chair, Caeliri kept her eyes away from the seat itself and addressed the gathered elders. “Anokirin has kindly apprised me of your names, Elder Sinkela, Elder Vylbrike, so we’re halfway through with introductions.” Gesturing to herself, the young woman’s smile only grew, to the point that it seemed likely that her cheeks were aching. “My name is Caeliri Dawnsworn, Kin’taris of the Dawnspire, Dawnward of the Sunguard, and daughter of Tannisal Redarrow.”

A range of reactions swept through the assembled council after the initial shock of hearing this newcomer’s name. Elder Vylbrike blinked in surprise, quickly hiding it behind a warm smile. Toricas regarded her warily, fists unballing even as he narrowed his eyes at her. Elders Narab’in and Alutikal turned to murmur softly with each other from their far position across the firepit, while Elder Ruklia crossed her bracered arms over her ceremonial breastplate with a huff.

Senkila was the first to speak, now sitting with both hands stop her walking cane. “Even if he has told you our names, he knows our protocols and customs. So why did you break them, Anokirin?”

With a short bow, he took a step forward down to the floor of the chamber. “Esteemed elders, my sincerest apologies for this break in decorum. Ithranicus has been captured during his attempt to assist Lord Firestorm at Havenblaze and awaits certain execution at the hands of the Invader. I sought out the next hereditary heir, and bade her to come here.”

He made a second bow, both hands sweeping in a gesture to Caeliri, “This is her; I have verified her lineage to be true. I thought that the Council would wish to know this information as soon as possible and would desire to greet her and include on her on any decisions going forward, hence our interruption.” He stepped back up, taking a position behind her and to the left.

“Very well,” Elder Vakosi said from her position to Caeliri’s right, nodding her head in assent, “I am Elder Vakosi Everdew, of Dustwood.”

Each elder followed suit, the ritual practiced and fluid. “Elder Toricas Greenspring, Blue River.”

“Elder Zeten Dusksprinter, Hope Hill.” He seemed no older than Caeliri, fidgeting nervously.

“Field’s Landing, Narab’in Riverrun.” The fellow next to him spoke up, looking to be at least fifty years his senior. “Elder Narab’in Riverrun. Our apologies, Lady Dawnsworn, he was elected only a few months ago,” The man bowed, milk-white silk robes flowing smoothly with the motion, “I am Elder Alutikal Summerbreeze of Palehill, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The next to speak gave Alutikal an irritated sigh, critical eyes turning from the man back to Caeliri, “Elder Ruklia Yellowbirch, of Ashglen.”

At the back of the room, Zaerise shrunk into herself at the introduction of Elder Ruklia - golden eyes lowered to the wood floors below.

“Peace, Elder Ruklia,” Elder Vylbrike spoke softly, befitting a man of his age, “I am Elder Vylbrike, from Darklake. Welcome, Lady Caeliri.”

A woman in muted blues and greens spoke next, voice quiet in the cavernous space and barely audible above the crackle of the fire. “Elder Casica Keenluck, from Thin River.”

The only elder with a genuine looking smile followed her, a well-built man with a booming deep voice. “Elder Methalak Runeshade, from Green River. Yes, I know, many rivers. You’ll learn to keep them straight,”

“I should hope so,” Caeliri chirped, “it would not do for a Redarrow not to know the names of the rivers that feed her lands.” The ancestral name was heavy on her tongue, and she did not like the taste of it.

Last to speak was Elder Senkila, to Caeliri’s immediate left. “And I am Elder Senkila, of Sparrow’s Creek. We welcome you and your Flame to our fire, Caeliri of the Dawnspire.”

Each of them fell silent, the pop and snap of the fire filling the silence between them.

Caeliri did not like any of this.

This seat, this chamber, this council.

These things may have been owed to her by blood, but Caeliri did not believe in the right of blood.

She believed in what she earned, with dedication, with service, with wit, with faith, with what all the merit that she herself had mustered brought her, and she had earned none of this.

You... probably feel like you have to, huh? To make up for Redarrow being out of the fray....

Ithanar’s prophetic words had bothered her the night he spoke them, but now they wrung like cowbells in her ears.

Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but you'll do it anyway.

Her grip loosened on the edge of the seat, and she rounded the chair to stand before it. Was this what it was like for Sederis when he faced his council? Was this how Lirelle addressed her Crows?

You don't forget this.

Grace twisted in the firepit, turning one white-hot eye on her caretaker.

She was waiting. That single, starbright eye stared Caeliri down with an intensity normally reserved for a predator sighting it’s prey, but that was not the tenor of Grace’s mood - Caeliri knew the phoenix well enough to know that.

She was eager.

You don't forget any of what we've done. You can't, and that's why you do what you do.

Slowly, Caeliri eased herself into the chair, ears twitching as the leather creaked beneath her slight frame.

It felt wrong, but she would not let her face betray that.

“Forgive my massive ears, but I heard about half of what was said as I was coming up the hall. I believe you were discussing the merit of mounting a force, and who might be best to lead your armies.” Her sea-green eyes swept the room, alighting on each elder in turn. “I should still like to hear your suggestions, as well as add my own name to pool of candidates.”

A guffawing laugh came from Elder Methalak as he took his seat, trailing off into sporadic chuckling. “Oh I like her. She’s got a sense of humour. Veskar never had that, not when it came to council business. Just for that, I say give her command. You can’t fight a war if you can’t crack a smile once in a while, and she can do that.”

Caeliri turned her beaming smile on Elder Methalak, a reward for his own good humor.

A few irritated glances were thrown his way, passing quickly enough as they returned to the business at hand.

“We agree that remaining here is doing little more than waiting like sheep for the slaughter; You likely overheard that part. The finer details are…” Elder Senkila glanced around the room, giving each of her peers a tired look in kind, “eluding us. Some wish for the force to remain strictly in the south, defending the Ridges directly. They do not like the idea of these soldiers being pulled across Quel’thelas to fight in a war far away from our own borders, nor of losing their autonomy. Others have pushed for supporting the Thalassian military’s goals, realizing that alone we will fall against the numbers this upstart king-”

Anokirin interrupted from his position behind Caeliri, a hard edge to his words, “He is not a king, Elder Senkila. He is an Invader, nothing more.”

Her brow narrowed as she continued, “This Invader is a direct threat to us, and unlike some of our northern neighbors we do not have a stronghold to hide behind. We lack sturdy walls, relying on the open plains and harsh winter to be enough of a deterrent against attack.”

The silence around the room spoke to the Elder’s confidence in those defenses.

“I understand your hesitance,” Caeliri offered, holding out a hand to the flames - without missing a beat, Grace’s flaming wings unfurled, sending light and shadow waltzing through the room as she fluttered over to Caeliri’s waiting forearm. “Archon Truefeather may have won Sunsail, but his gambit ultimately failed - we did not take Sunstrider Isle, and though we dealt the Alliance forces a great blow, we lost much more than they did.”

They lost - Lirelle’s sharp, shrill laughter, and her bladed wit.

They lost - Sederis’ stalwart commitment to the cause and his enduring spirit.

They lost -- Caeliri took a breath, and calmed the quivering of her heart.

“The Thalassian military lacks the momentum to take Quel’danas, and they will have little choice but to retreat and reconsider their priorities. Here in the south, we have not only Merik Morningstar to contend with, but the Amani trolls. They may have been pushed back from the Blacksun gate, but the Lord Paramount of the Emberlight was wounded gravely in the fight, and his wife has been taken prisoner by the Alliance.”

Caeliri allowed the dreadful reality to settle over them like a funeral shroud before she continued, “Whatever else he may be, Merik Morningstar is a man, not a monster. He may have swept the south so far, but there still exists a chance that he may be maneuvered against the Amani, if tongues are bitten and time is bided. Make no mistake, I have no love for this Would-be King; he has aligned my lover’s neck with the headsman’s block as surely as he has Ithranicus’ and the Lady Blackwood’s, and any hope I may have had for acceptance of his rule has been severed.” She kept speaking, unwilling to yet cede the floor to any spark of vengeful anger, and uprising rage that she would consider even the most tenuous alliance with an invader who claimed himself a King, “It hurts my heart to suggest it, but we may also have the leverage to force Archon Truefeather to come South and assure that these lands, as well as the others, hold. He needs soldiers, he needs Commanders, and though I am oathsworn to serve him until my final breath, he has no right to forces of the Ridges. If we will it, we can force his hand. It is not a course of action I would take lightly, holding our assistance as a prize to be won, to act as if we stand only for ourselves, or to make it seem we will be fine without the aid of the Thalassian military; it is a delicate needle to thread, but I believe I have a steady enough hand to see it done, should that be our chosen course.”

“Let there be no mistake,” she was quickly running out of steam, the measured pace of her voice beginning to hasten just-so, “we must join with the main host, or ally with the smaller battalions that act under the Archon’s command - there is no reality in which we endure alone. But nothing need be as cut and dry as blind allegiance.”

Crackling fire and a cooing phoenix filled the momentary silence, broken by Elder Toricas.

“You must understand, Caeliri of the Dawnspire, we have never truly recovered from the Fall and the Burning that came after it. Vast portions of the south are still uninhabitable, and many of us hold what little we have left very close to our hearts. For some, it is all we have left. Putting our faith in your Archon, that he will keep his word and prevent us from being completely snuffed out, is a large leap of faith,” He looked to Elder Narab’in and Elder Zeten, trepidation and worry in each, “One that we do not wish to make lightly. What assurance can you give us that our people will survive?”

“The lands I govern in the North did not fully recover from the Legion’s onslaught, either, and now their fields are barren, and their half-made homes snow-laden. Many of them have retreated to the Dawnspire Citadel to seek shelter, and those who have not have conscripted themselves to service, to try and save what little they have left.”

Caeliri lifted her opposite hand to smooth over Grace’s crackling crestfeathers, seeking the warmth and assurance her companion always gave.

“You are not alone in this - your fears, your hard-won faith. All of Quel’thalas suffers together. The only assurance I can give is that we are sin’dorei; we endure. That is what we do, what we have always done. I may be too young to remember the Fall, I may not have lived through the losses that you have, esteemed Elders, but I have suffered losses of my own, and in the mire of suffering, where light was lost and hope a distant dream, all that pulled me through was the knowledge that endurance is the only true birth right of our people. But endurance does not come without effort, and right now your efforts must be put towards ensuring there lands left to live on when this war reaches its bloody end.”

“Listen to her, Elder Toricas. There are no guarantees in this,” Methalak spoke, rumbling bass voice bereft of the humour from earlier, “Just like there were no guarantees after the Fall. I’ve been in these boots before, during the Burning. There won’t be winners; just people who have lost less than others. She can’t assure you that you won’t lose more, no one can.”

A gauntleted hand was raised by Ruklia, a request to be given the floor. Methalak nodded, taking a step backwards to sit in the high-backed stone chair.

“While I take issue with the presence of the Redarrows, the girl does speak the truth. Perseverance is the only thing we truly have. You acknowledge that we need to act, Elder Toricas. Yet you wish for it to be bloodless action, action without risk. What is truly holding you back? What would be your solution to the problem?”

All eyes turned to the elder, including those that he had looked to as allies. The weight of the question, of the decision at hand, fell heavy on the room and the people within it.

“I echo the desire for bloodless action; I have already tried and failed to seek a diplomatic end to this conflict,” Caeliri offered, interjecting her thoughts where they may not have been welcome, “and I will continue to try and follow the route of peace, regardless of how untrodden or uneven that path may be. You must believe me when I say that I have no stomach for war or violence, and that I will do all that is within my power to stem the flow of blood that threatens to drown our land, but I have accepted that that hallmarks of war are not avoidable in full. I hope knowing such can bring you some measure of peace, Elder Toricas.”

The lone elder took a step backwards, hands reaching for the comforting solid stone. Like a man defeated, he sat back fully in the high-backed chair, the tension from his body gone.

“I withdraw my opposition, on one condition: My brother goes with you, Caeliri of the Dawnspire, as an advisor and as a member of the people you now represent. He can hold his own in a fight as well. Is this acceptable?”

“It is. I should very much like to have an advisor on hand - especially when I am still a stranger to your lands and long-standing traditions. He will be a great boon to me.”

Smile unwavering, Caeliri cast her eyes around the circle of elders once more. “Is there any other opposition to the mobilization of the armies of the Ridges?”

A round of shaken heads and further silence cemented that, for the first time in two weeks, they were in agreement. The fire crackled away, burning down to cooling embers.

Elder Senkila stepped forward, down to the outer ring and only a few feet from the center firepit. “Our sons and daughters are yours to lead, Caeliri of the Dawnspire and Commander Anokirin, along with the future of our people. Hold them close; Guide them well.”

“Ha hah, she’ll do fine! She has the Fire traveling with her, and myself and Elder Ruklia will make sure she is well acquainted with the elves she’ll be leading. It’ll be like fighting those Gilded folk to the north all over again, except this time they wear blue instead of that prissy purple and yellow. Remember that, Ruklia?”

Methalak stepped away from his place at the council, measured pace taking him steadily to the exit. Elder Ruklia followed shortly after him, eyes rolling and a sigh already leaving her as he spoke. In the dying firelight, her ceremonial bronzed plate seemed to dance against the darkness that lingered at the edges of the chamber. A brief glare was spared for Zaerise as she left, as if she couldn’t look away from the white-haired, diminutive woman fast enough.

“Please shut up, Methalak. We have a war to prepare for.”

[[ Caeliri Dawnsworn will be joining the Thalssian Military as a Commander on Turn 3!

Special thanks to @jonathan-nevermore-smith for writing with me, and for inviting me in to his personal story and allowing me to take part. @makotokino for her spoopy witch. @captainswingbeard for RP quotes.

@felthier | @thesunguardmg ]]

#the sunguard #the phoenix wars #the silver ridges #writing #caeliri #anokirin #zaerise #the ridges

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carpemermaidtales · 6 years ago

Note

Can we talk about Bi Harry? How does he tell Draco? Is he nervous?

ALL DAY, JANEL! ALL. DAMN. DAY.

Ok, buckle up, because I’m emotional today haha and it’s all thanks to your tags about Harry not having the words to parse what it is on this post I just reblogged from you. This ended up getting loooong, so putting it under a cut! It starts meta-ish and then quickly turns into fic. ETA: Cleaned the below up a bit and it’s also available to read on AO3 here!

So, going by that post’s hc, we know Harry grew up in a very repressed environment that Othered anyone who wasn’t exactly to the Dursley’s cookie-cutter prejudiced specifications. Being surrounded by that kind of bigotry every day for 11 years and then for the summer months already affected Harry; they already thought Harry and his kind were freaks, so coming to terms with his sexuality is a bumpy journey for him. It takes him a long time to even admit it to himself that what he feels when he looks at boys it’s not just him feeling admiration, jealousy, competitiveness, or some other mix of unnamable reactions, but attraction. It’s not something he understands at all, and because the bisexual pride flag isn’t even created until 1998 he doesn’t have a word for the odd mix of feelings around boys and girls for a long time between the repression at the Dursley household and the Hogwarts curriculum not teaching Muggle historical events. Without knowing someone else who’s also LGBT, Harry doesn’t know that there is an LGBT community out there that dates back long before his birth. Maybe if things had been different, if he’d been raised by Sirius instead of the Durlsey’s (#woflstarforever).At first, when he’s finally worked through some of his feelings after the war is over about what he’s been through, and about how his family “raised” him, he’s able to view his feelings towards boys more objectively. He can see now when he’s at dinner at the Burrow that it wasn’t just thinking Bill was cool, because his eyes linger too long on the curve of Bill’s jawline and the curve of his arms. He’s finally able to admit to himself that it’s stirrings of attraction he feels when he sees some guys. But initially this confuses him worse than when he’d been suppressing it, because if he likes guys then he must be gay, right? He considers the girls he’s liked, dated, and thinks about how most were Quidditch players. There were others, he’d managed that Yule Ball date with Parvati Patil, though he’d been too preoccupied with Cho and Cedric. If he’s admitting he likes guys now, does that mean he doesn’t like girls anymore? His eyes drift over to Ginny and Fleur and he’s so confused because he still finds them to be beautiful, too.Harry doesn’t know what any of it means until he’s out in Muggle London with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and George spilling out of a club they’d gone to just to feel something. They’d come out of the club into what looked like a riot of color for some sort of gathering or parade. Harry looked all around at the revelry, at the people sporting rainbows. He recognises that and realises it’s a pride parade. There’s a new one, though, that he sees as they walk through the crowd. Several people, both men and women, are wearing a combination of pink, purple and blue and holding up signs in big block letters: Bisexual. He sees a man sandwiched between another man and a woman, and Harry watches as he plants a kiss on both of them, and it’s then that it finally clicks for Harry. He likes both. He likes both. It’s not about one or the other, there aren’t sides, he just–he likes both.It gets easier to admit to himself, but he’s still not out to his friends. It’s enough, at first, to just know his own truth about things that have confused him–things he’s suppressed and shied away from for years. His life goes on, he helps out at George’s shop in between studying with Ron for Auror training. He dates girls from their course or that he meets at the pub. Boys catch his eye. Harry struggles with what it would mean if he were to kiss a boy, to date him, to hold his hand. He’s starting to understand what bisexuality means after going into a bookstore in London on his own to read about it. It doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly gay if he were to date a man, and straight again when dating a woman–he’s still bisexual, attracted to both, regardless of who he’s dating or if he’s dating at all. His partner has no bearing on Harry being bisexual. He’s just bisexual; he doesn’t need to be with anyone, or if he chooses a partner he’s still bi. Once that starts to sink in, Harry feels like he understands himself better. He finally admits to Hermione and Ron, nearly biting his lip red and raw, his hands trembling as he blurts out that he likes boys, too–that he’s bisexual. Ron simply claps him on the shoulder and pulls him into a strong, long-limbed hug that Hermione joins. They’re happy for him, and Harry laughs through relieved tears–he doesn’t know why he was afraid his best friends wouldn’t support him. He’s grateful for the reminder that the three of them are family, no matter what.Harry still keeps it close to the chest, since the Prophet likes to run weekly stories on him. But he finally kisses a boy. And he loves it, is giddy with the memory of it hours after it happens. They’re at a house party at Grimmauld Place for a D.A. reunion of sorts and Harry’s gone to the kitchen for more beer. Seamus follows him in to help, only they get sidetracked talking and as they’re laughing Harry leans back against the counter and doesn’t stop Seamus when he steps closer, bringing his arms up to bracket Harry as he rests his hands on the counter on either side of him; Harry welcomes it, feeling as if he’s turning towards sunlight to seek warmth. They’re paired up often at work as Junior Aurors and they’ve grown closer as friends. Harry sometimes feels brave enough to edge their conversations closer to flirting. Harry’s noticed the cut of Seamus’ robes often, and now he’s got a lopsided smile on his face with his chest brushing Harry’s, and Harry is feeling brave. Harry’s heart trips over itself in excitement like it’s his first kiss, his first time, all over again and tilts his head to meet Seamus in a kiss. Harry feels the excitement coursing through his veins when his hands grip Seamus’ biceps–they’ve become nicely shaped after time spent in the Auror training gym from sparring–and when Seamus’ strong arms slide around him Harry feels like he’s floating above the kitchen from the rush. It’s amazing and Harry is ecstatic, his emotions brimming over. When they part, Seamus winks and returns to the party. Harry knows that even if he never got to kiss another boy that he was still bi no matter what, still attracted to men and women even if he’d only been with women, and if anything the kiss with Seamus has only solidified what he knows about his sexuality.When Harry’s crossed paths with Draco Malfoy again, he’s left the Auror force after five years of service to pursue broom design. Draco is sat across from Harry in Gringott’s looking over Harry’s petition for his new business venture and Harry’s struck by the ways he looks different and the same. He thinks back to all the times in Hogwarts he’d been drawn to Draco, followed him with the excuse of suspicion and Harry suddenly wants to laugh at himself because he sees it now: He finds Draco Malfoy attractive. Harry’s too lost in the sharp angles of Draco’s face that are softer now that he’s grown up and his face has filled in more and the breadth of his shoulders when an impatient word from Draco snaps Harry out of his thoughts. Draco’s looking at him with a raised brow and Harry is flushing, caught out. His petition is approved; with a flick of his wrist Draco’s stamp is pressing into Harry’s paperwork. The first thing Harry says instead of thank you is, “Can I take you out for a drink?” Draco blinks at him, quite taken aback, but he agrees anyway.So Harry takes Draco Malfoy out for a drink. And when he can’t get him out of his head, he shows up at his office again and asks him to lunch. And then dinner when lunch runs over. At dinner they eye each other in the low lighting and Harry is captivated by the way Draco’s eyes gleam when the light catches his eye. It continues to happen until Harry begins to invite Draco over and has to spell his sketches and notes for broom designs away from his coffee table while Draco looks on, lips sliding into a ghost of a smirk. They start off at opposite ends of the sofa, but when Harry pours a third tumbler of whisky for them both he notices that they’ve shifted to the middle, thighs pressed together. The firelight’s dancing on the side of Draco’s face and Harry watches the way his throat bobs as Draco swallows a sip of his drink. Harry asks if he can kiss him and his stomach swoops when Draco’s lips slowly curl into a pleased smile. With their glasses placed on the table, Draco props his head against his hand, his arm perched on the back of the sofa and gives Harry an expectant, challenging look.“Well? I thought you wanted to kiss me, Potter,” Draco says. Harry nods, and Draco makes a sweeping gesture that says come on, then.Harry feels like time slows and suspends when he moves in, watching Draco watch him until Draco’s long lashes flutter and his eyes close; their lips meet. Harry forgets everything but the slide of his mouth against Draco’s and the electric feeling of Draco tracing his fingertips up Harry’s side to hold onto his shoulder with a strong grip, squeezing when Harry deepens the kiss.It starts like that, but Harry still doesn’t find the right time to tell Draco. They’ve been dating for months, Harry’s released his first line of brooms, and still he hasn’t come out to him. It’s nearly a year later when they’re having tea and toast on a Sunday, hair mussed from sleep and Draco’s bare feet burrowing under Harry’s thigh to steal the warmth of his flannel pyjama bottoms; Harry suddenly needs to tell him. Only a select number of people that are important to Harry know and he realises that Draco is important to him, so he has to know, too.Harry says it quick, like ripping off a plaster from a cut. Even though he’s nervous each time he tells someone, he’s no longer afraid of his label. It’s just his truth, the same as his eyes are green. Draco doesn’t miss a beat stirring his tea, as if Harry’s just told him Quidditch scores rather than something deeply personal about himself.“I’m gay. Pass me the sugar,” is all Draco says with a wry expression. It’s a different reaction than he expected, after coming out to his best friends and then Molly and Arthur. Harry hands over the sugar and Draco turns to assess him with a look. “Are you still Harry Potter?”“Yes?” Harry answers in a dazed tone.Draco shrugs and returns to his tea. “Lovely. Then you’re still the same tosser whether you like to lick fanny or dicks.”Harry opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He supposes that’s support, in Draco’s own roundabout way. He’s relieved he doesn’t have to explain that he doesn’t like men over women or women over men, that some days it changes and other days it’s alarmingly overwhelming because men and women are both attractive to him. Harry’s lips tug into a lopsided smile and he leans closer to wrap an arm around Draco’s shoulders. He pulls him closer, ignoring Draco’s squawk about not spilling his tea, and kisses Draco’s cheek.“Thanks,” Harry says. Draco turns to him and kisses him properly, tasting of tea and smelling like Harry’s sheets, like them. Harry loves the feel of Draco’s morning stubble against his cheek and he can feel toast crumbs at the corner of Draco’s mouth. He repeats his thanks when they part, leaving only enough space for their breath to pass between them in warm puffs. Draco hums in acknowledgement.Their tea is forgotten until much later, when it’s long been cold.

#hp #harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #bisexual harry potter #carpemermaid answers #goldentruth813 #carpemermaid writing #how do i always start off with a meta discussion or hc post and end up meandering my way into a ficlet lmao

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awkwardshortboy · 6 years ago

Text

(Baby)Steps in the Right Direction

Word Count: 3,814.

Prompt: Snape lives and has to work out how to fit into life post-war.

Content Warnings: mentions of depression/self-harm/alcoholism.

Brief summary:

It’s two months after the Battle of Hogwarts and the Weasleys are hosting a victory meal for ex-members of the Order and DA. Harry insists Snape is invited, but he doesn’t initially show up due to becoming a recluse after the battle to escape press attention.

2nd July 1998

Delicious smells wafted through the Burrow as people rushed around to Mrs Weasley’s orders, preparing the evening meal. A table was being placed outside and draped with the Weasleys’ finest tablecloth while Mr Weasley counted chairs with reference to a list of invitees, then conjured a few more out of thin air so that they had enough. The table being mostly set, a convoy of roast beef, ham, chicken, and pork flew through the air on platters and gently settled themselves down at regular intervals down the table, followed by Hermione Granger, brandishing her wand at them, followed closely by Ron Weasley, who sent several plates piled high with roast potatoes and pigs in blankets to the table like Hermione had just done. As the couple moved over to help Mr Weasley and George set up some Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes fireworks at the end of the garden, Bill Weasley followed out of the kitchen with platters of new potatoes and vegetables.

With the table set up to Mrs Weasley’s approval (which required several slight rearrangements), it was time for the guests to start arriving. Members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army arrived at the Burrow over the next half an hour, greeting each other enthusiastically, the first two months of peace clearly having served them well. As it reached seven o’clock, Mrs Weasley moved to motion the many guests to sit down, when Harry Potter caught her by the elbow, gave her a pointed look, and said, “not everyone’s here yet, shouldn’t we give it a few minutes,” he looked around hoping the final guest would appear so they could start.

“We’re only missing one person, Harry, and he was always unlikely to show up anyway, the keep-warm charm I placed on the food won’t last forever, if he turns up later there’s nothing stopping him joining us late.” She gestured to a few guests to sit down, causing them to take their seats one at a time, but Harry spoke again before Mrs Weasley could take her own seat.

“Can’t you give him a few more minutes? If he arrives and sees we’re already sat eating he may turn around and go home– “

“Harry, he probably didn’t get the invite, no-one’s seen him since a week after the Battle, you’ve looked everywhere you think he might be and spoken to everyone who might have the slightest idea where he is and you still haven’t found him,” she placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder as he was about to protest, “if he can disappear without trace like that, he clearly doesn’t want to be found and therefore isn’t likely to turn up to a dinner party with a group of people he’s never exactly got on well with.” Mrs Weasley turned and sat down before Harry could speak, and he dejectedly walked toward his own seat between Ginny and Ron, opposite the empty seat he had been sure to save for Severus Snape.

20th June 1998

It was another wet and windy day on the mostly deserted moors on the eastern Scottish border, giving the small, rather run-down cottage in the hollow another battering as the rain beat down on the thin windows and old roof like tiny fists trying to gain entry to the dwelling. It was just after dawn, and the heavy rain and whistling wind had woken the unwashed man lying on the old sofa surrounded by empty bottles of booze. He stirred groggily, tentatively sitting up and staggering toward a medicine cabinet in the small kitchen which adjoined the sitting room, where he took a small bottle containing a hangover cure which he downed in one gulp. It only took a few seconds for the potion to take effect, at which point Severus Snape straightened himself and observed his surroundings; the cottage, which he had bought after having to abandon his (hated) childhood home of Spinner’s End after one too many press invasions, was just as dull and dingy as it had been the night before, and (thankfully) just as isolated and free from prying eyes. In his present state, Severus matched the cottage well, having let go of the few standards he had ever had for his physical appearance, his greasier-than-ever hair, obvious stubble, and grubby grey shirt standing as testament to how his life had somehow managed to go even further downhill in the last month or so.

As he flexed his left hand, he felt a sharp, stinging sensation on his forearm, which he inspected to find a collection of random, badly-healed cuts where his Dark Mark had once been. Although the mark itself had faded once the Dark Lord had been defeated, the brand had left its mark in an unevenness to the skin on his left forearm, which was all the reminder Severus needed of his youthful folly in joining the Death Eaters. Not wanting to remove the scars in favour of the Mark, he simply conjured bandages to cover his arm until they fully healed; he thought grimly that perhaps in a week or so his left arm may match the network of scars that covered his right.

The silence of the kitchen was broken by Severus’ stomach giving a loud grumble, begging for food, and yet he didn’t feel like eating. Instead, he took a half-empty bottle of firewhisky which he’d failed to finish the night before and started on that after moving back to the sofa in the little sitting room, where he sat, bottle in hand, and listened to the weather outside, which had a calming effect on him. Exactly how long he sat there he was unsure, but the whisky had long been finished when his silent contemplation was disturbed by a hardy owl which had somehow made it through the weather tapping on his window.

Severus wasn’t entirely sure how the owl had found him, having don’t everything he could think of to keep people from being able to contact him – which had worked so far – and he was reluctant to fetch the owl in at first, fearing what its letter may hold, but in the end the fact that it had not only managed to find him, but in such weather made him let it in. The owl stuck its leg out while Severus took the small scroll from its leg, then hopped around, looking for some sort of sustenance as reward for the arduous journey, only to find none.

Moving to an old yet comfortable leather armchair adjacent to the sofa, Severus began to unroll the scroll, which said:

Dear Professor Severus Snape,

We are writing to invite you to a celebratory meal on the 2nd July to celebrate two months since Voldemort’s defeat. Please arrive by 6:30 at the Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, if you will be attending, and let us know if you won’t be there.

Hoping you are well

Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley

P.S. I hope you can make it – Harry Potter.

Severus was unsure what to make of the invitation. Why would anyone invite him to any sort of event, surely disappearing for the last six weeks after having apparently being an enemy of families like the Weasleys for the last year was enough to get him off their invite lists? And anyway, it’s not like any of the Order had actually liked him when Dumbledore was alive anyway, why would they invite him now? ‘Hoping you are well,’ indeed, he snorted at that last line, he was surprised they didn’t hope him dead, although that’s not something one would normally put in writing. Although something about the invite seemed to rise a small smile deep inside him, particularly the curious P.S., and it caused Severus to send to owl away without a polite refusal of the invite, then to walk to the kitchen and eat a solid meal for the first time in the last few days.

2nd July 1998

The guests at the Burrow were sat down and about to tuck into the meal Mrs Weasley and any other member of the large, and steadily growing, extended Weasley family whose help she had been able to enlist had spent the afternoon preparing. But before them and their assortment of guests could tuck into the meal, there was a hesitant knock at the front door, unheard by most of the company.

“Was that the door, Molly?” asked the formidable Minerva McGonagall, who was sat next to Mrs Weasley and closest to the house to hear the door.

“Was it?” She replied, “I didn’t hear anything.” She got up anyway to make her way to the door, followed by Harry and Mr Weasley. Making their way through the kitchen to the back door, they could see a dark shape through the frosted glass to the side of the door, which was opened to reveal a very awkward looking Severus Snape holding a bottle of red wine, which he awkwardly handed to Mrs Weasley claiming he’d been unsure about whether he should bring something.

“I’m glad you could make it, Professor!” Said Harry, rushing forward to shake Severus’ hand, ending the awkward encounter with the Weasleys. He then proceeded to guide a still-uncomfortable Professor Snape out into the garden, where his appearance caused the quiet conversation to fade as all eyes focused on him, causing his pale complexion to turn a light pink as he attempted to smile. Severus Snape looked much the same as he always had as he appeared in the Weasleys’ garden, with his usual sweeping black robes, radiating his usual vibes that he was not a man to be messed with; however, one difference which was noted by most guests as Harry had him sit in the opposite seat to his own between Fleur and Andromeda Tonks was that he had, for once, washed his hair in preparation for the event.

Earlier that day.

It was late-afternoon when Severus Snape returned to his isolated cottage after a brief trip into the local village. The place was mostly inhabited by muggles, but he had managed to find a copy of the Daily Prophet from a few days ago in a wizarding family’s bin, which he had taken home with him along with his shopping, which consisted more of alcohol than food. Tossing the paper to the side for now, he sat in his armchair and opened a bottle of rum while he ate a pastry he’d bought at the local supermarket.

Once the edge had been taken off his hunger, Severus picked up the paper and flicked through it, knocking a small piece of paper off the table as he did so. As with every edition of the Prophet since the Dark Lord had been defeated, it was mostly filled with articles about Order members and those who’d fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and what they were doing now; today mostly featured Kingsley Shaklebolt, who had just been made Minister of Magic permanently (rather than just acting), and Minerva McGonagall, who had been confirmed as permanent Headmistress of Hogwarts – which Severus couldn’t find fault with.

What was more interesting for him was a short article about halfway through the paper entitled: Severus Snape: Dumbledore’s or Death Eater? Harry Potter Finally Speaks Out. Curious about what they’d written about him today, he began to read.

Just under two months ago, Harry Potter made the startling announcement that Severus Snape – a man who appeared to all the world a loyal Death Eater, and perhaps Lord Voldemort’s most trusted servant, and who Potter had accused of the cold-blooded murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore the year before – had actually been a spy dedicated to the cause of bringing down You Know Who. This announcement shocked the Wizarding World, and there has been no shortage of rumour and interest in the former Hogwarts Headmaster ever since, especially when he disappeared of the face of the earth six weeks ago. But the Prophet is proud to say that Potter has finally broken his silence on the man he once hated in an exclusive interview.

The article went on to have Potter describe Severus’ actions since the Dark Lord’s return three years ago in increasingly short and exasperated answers which made him think this may not have been the gracious, exclusive interview the Prophet pretended it was. Thankfully, he had neglected to mention certain more personal motivations behind his actions, and the article was by far the most positive thing which had been published about him since the war – Severus presumed that was why it was given so little space and was buried half-way through the paper. Either way, the positive way in which Potter had talked about him, no, defended him, shocked him a little and he put the newspaper aside again, causing him to notice the piece of paper he’d knocked on the floor as he picked up the newspaper. Turning it over, he saw it was the invitation to the dinner party at the Weasleys’, which he suddenly realised was that evening. Severus stared at the invite for a few seconds, particularly Potter’s curious P.S., which along with the article he’d just read made Severus’ attitude to the part change a little; perhaps he would give the world another go if not everyone hated his guts.

He looked up at the clock on the wall, the party started in just over an hour, as he turned to leave the sitting room for his bedroom he saw his reflection in the mirror and decided he had better wash and change first.

That evening.

With all the invited guests in attendance, the meal began, with the buzz of conversation returning as the guests compared stories of what they had done in the last few months and swapping general gossip. In all of this, one man seemed to feel left out as Severus Snape had no close friends to ask after and no interesting stories of the last two months to share. As he saw the warmness on everyone else’s faces as they so clearly liked and enjoyed each other’s company, Severus felt even more left out and would have regretted leaving his cottage had the food not been so nice, particularly after going hungry for several days.

To his right, Andromeda Tonks was in an animated discussion with Harry about Teddy Lupin’s progress and how he was managing to make some small alterations to his face, as well as change his hair colour, in the last few days. Diagonally to his left, Neville Longbottom enthusiastically told Ginny any Luna that he had been offered the chance to study Herbology in Brazil next year after Professor Sprout had given him a stellar reference.

“So ‘ow are you enjoying ze food, Professor,” came the voice of Fleur Delacour – no, Weasley, Severus reminded himself – from his immediate left, forcing him to break his silence.

“Erm, yes, yes, it’s erm, very nice,” he stuttered out, surprised by the question.

“Ah, yes, my mother-in-law is an excellent cook, she makes ze best Eenglish food I have eaten (better than that at ‘Ogwarts), but it has not quite the quality of French cooking!” Severus disagreed with the latter part of this and was thankfully able to avoid responding as Mrs Weasley was going down the table asking people if they wanted seconds.

“Perhaps some more roast potatoes, Professor Snape,” she inquired, “you look like you need a good meal, or perhaps you’d like some chicken? There’s lots going spare.”

“Yes, Severus, you do look even thinner than normal, I do hope you’re eating enough,” came the concerned voice of Minerva McGonagall from the end of the table, passing the chicken down giving Severus little option but to take it and claim that he was eating, although he didn’t quite meet either women’s eye.

As Mrs Weasley moved to offer Bill and Fleur more food, Harry finally took the opportunity to speak to the former Potions Master: “So have you got any plans now the war’s over?”

“No,” Severus responded shortly, then decided he might elaborate, “nothing solid… I might travel,” he was unsure whether he should have continued.

“Ah, well I know Professor McGonagall wants to offer you the Defence post again,” Harry responded.

“I know.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“No.” Severus was not enjoying being asked about his plans or feeling pressured to return to his previous life, so he tried to signal the end of the conversation with that statement, but Hermione Granger was not satisfied that the conversation was over.

“Have you thought of doing something academic, Professor,” she began hesitantly, “I mean I saw your edited potions recipes in your book which Harry got hold of last year, you could do some very valuable work in the field – “

“Give him a break, ‘Mione,” came Ron’s voice (despite a full mouth) from Hermione’s other side, “I’m sure Professor Snape didn’t come here for careers advice.” This interruption caused Ron to receive a brief glare, but before anything came of it, people started getting up, signalling that the meal was over as George walked over to the fireworks to set them off.

Everyone now gathered towards the spectacle except Severus, who felt just as wary of joining in as he had at the start. Instead, he retreated indoors, intending on making a quiet getaway, which would have worked perfectly had Harry not turned around at the exact moment he went inside and followed him.

“Hey, Professor,” he called once inside, causing Severus to turn around.

“What do you want, Potter,” he asked, thinking on the solitude of his cottage and wishing he was still there instead of here where people either ignored him or just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“I was hoping you might stay a bit longer – “

“Why,” he hadn’t intended to cut him across so sharply, but Severus was weary from spending the evening surrounded by people and just wanted to go home. Harry saw that the Professor was starting to tire of the evening and decided to come clean about why he’d wanted him to come so much.

“I was wondering if I could ask you about my mother,” Severus sighed and twitched as if to continue leaving, not yet ready to talk, but Harry went on, “you see, everyone always tells me about my father, but never my mother. I – I don’t know that much about her and I think you might be the only one of her friends left alive, a – at least that I know of.” The almost pleading tone made Severus stop in his tracks and sit down on the sofa in the Weasley’s sitting room, where Harry tentatively sat next to him.

They sat like this for a while, with Severus finding out that he was able to talk about Lily without breaking down, and Harry finding out about his mother’s favourite music, colour, pastimes, and many other points which made her seem that bit more real to him. He learnt that she had first encouraged Severus to experiment with potions and spells, and that she had even tried to adjust a few charms herself, but never with the same success Severus had. And by the end of their conversation, both Harry and Severus learnt a new respect for each other, so that when Severus finally did leave the Burrow, Harry found a folded piece of paper on the arm of the sofa they had sat on with a scribbled address on it in the Half-Blood Prince’s handwriting as permission to visit the potions master in the future.

9th July 1998

It was a week after the party that Harry first turned up at the isolated little cottage that Severus Snape had occupied since the war finished. He has intended on visiting alone, but Hermione had insisted on coming, which had made Ron insist on tagging along, which meant the conversation lasted long enough for Mrs Weasley to overhear and she had also insisted on joining Harry because Severus had looked awfully thin last week, and she wanted to make sure he was eating well. So, the four of them appeared on top of a nearby hill which looked down on the cottage in the hollow to make their way to see Severus, Harry rather anxious that he might see the large party and turn them away.

Harry knocked on the door briskly when he got there, and it was answered about a minute later by Severus Snape, who appeared as he normally had before and during the war, that is to say, wearing his usual black robes with his hair almost back to its normal greasy state (although he had washed it more regularly since the party). Although apprehensive at the large party at the door to meet him, he allowed them to enter, and upon doing so, Mrs Weasley took it upon herself to clean up, starting with the empty booze bottles, which she thought it better to make no comment on.

This first trip to Severus’ house was awkward and consisted mostly of Ron and Severus being as awkward as each other, Mrs Weasley cleaning up after Severus’ last seven weeks of alcoholism and generally caring very little about himself, while Hermione marvelled about his book collection and Harry attempted to get him to talk once again. But over time, these trips became a weekly thing, and on most Thursday afternoons, Severus’ small cottage would become fuller than usual as Harry visited with Ron and Hermione to check up on him and ask him for help on a certain part of Harry and Ron’s Auror training (and Severus was more happy to teach them now they were more respectful), or Hermione found him to be reasonably knowledgeable about wizarding law and would ask tiresome questions to help her take SPEW more seriously – although just as many afternoons ended up with Ron playing chess against Severus. Other times, Mrs Weasley would drop in to ensure he was eating well, which over time he started to do of his own accord, which pleased both her and Madam Pomfrey – who would often visit with Minerva to keep him up to date with the goings-on at Hogwarts – very much.

In the months and years after this first encounter, Severus found that he was perhaps more able to go outside and after some therapy sessions at St Mungo’s that Hermione had found out about he even found he was able to speak publicly about his role in the war. He also found that he became a kinder person – yet still as unapologetic, sarcastic and sometimes tiresome as he had always been, but less bitter – now that kindness had been shown to him and he no longer felt the need to hate the world quite so much. Finally, after all these years, he was taking steps in the right direction, albeit baby steps.

#snapeloveposts #snape writing and drawing fest #pro snape #wdf 2018 #severus snape #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #harry potter #Ron Weasley #hermione granger #Molly Weasley #Order of the Phoenix #deathly hallows

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quranreadalong · 6 years ago

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#167, Surah 33

THE QURAN READ-ALONG: DAY 167

We’re not done with the messiness and mental images of Mo in flagrante delicto, I’m sorry to tell you. It continues on straight to the end of the surah.

33:49 is one of those ayat that doesn’t fit in either yesterday’s section or today’s, so let’s start with that. If you (“you” meaning men, so much for that one line including women yesterday) marry a woman, Allah says, but divorce her before you consummate the marriage, then there is no waiting period. If you recall, there is usually a waiting period or iddah to make sure the lady isn’t pregnant before the divorce is finalized. But no consummation means no chance of pregnancy. Fair enough.

Now then. Onto the bullshit. 33:50-51:

O Prophet! Lo! We have made lawful unto thee thy wives unto whom thou hast paid their dowries, and those whom thy right hand possesseth of those whom Allah hath given thee as spoils of war, and the daughters of thine uncle on the father's side and the daughters of thine aunts on the father's side, and the daughters of thine uncle on the mother's side and the daughters of thine aunts on the mother's side who emigrated with thee, and a believing woman if she give herself unto the Prophet and the Prophet desire to ask her in marriage - a privilege for thee only, not for the (rest of) believers - We are Aware of that which We enjoined upon them concerning their wives and those whom their right hands possess - that thou mayst be free from blame, for Allah is ever Forgiving, Merciful. Thou canst defer whom thou wilt of them and receive unto thee whom thou wilt, and whomsoever thou desirest of those whom thou hast set aside (temporarily), it is no sin for thee (to receive her again); that is better; that they may be comforted and not grieve, and may all be pleased with what thou givest them.

I would like to quote Aisha’s opinion on this verse:

It seems to me that your Lord hastens to satisfy your desire.

It sure does, Aisha. It sure the fuck does.

To summarize: Allah has given Mo various wives (including... his cousins...) and sex slaves. He doesn’t have to abide by the four-wives-maximum rule like other men, and he can marry a woman even without getting the normally-required permission from her male guardian or giving her the normally-required mahr/dower. He can also choose to carry out his “husbandly duties” however he wishes, rather than adhering to a schedule in which each wife gets the equal pleasure of sleeping with him. Mohammed, in short, can do whatever the hell he wants.

Sigh. First one is bad for saying Allah approves of sexual slavery, second one is dumb but I guess neutral. Next, Mohammed attempts to make this all a bit less appalling by imposing some restrictions upon himself:

It is not allowed thee to take (other) women henceforth, nor that thou shouldst change them for other wives even though their beauty pleased thee, save those whom thy right hand possesseth.

Mohammed can’t marry any women other than the ones he’s already married to (the ladies in All My Wives parts 1 and 2), though he can still rape his sex slaves (bad).

Of course, as we saw in the third part of All My Wives, Mo did in fact take wives after this prohibition. So what gives? Well, a hadith tells us what gives: Allah abrogated this verse and let Mo marry as many women as he wanted.

'Aishah said: "The Messenger of Allah did not die until Allah permitted him to marry whatever women he wanted."

Ah. Naturally. Allah would never inconvenience his beloved prophet by limiting him to a mere half-dozen or so wives.

So, having established that Mo can do whatever he wants, let’s talk about what Mo’s wives can do.

O Ye who believe! Enter not the dwellings of the Prophet for a meal without waiting for the proper time, unless permission be granted you. But if ye are invited, enter, and, when your meal is ended, then disperse. Linger not for conversation. Lo! that would cause annoyance to the Prophet, and he would be shy of (asking) you (to go); but Allah is not shy of the truth. And when ye ask of them (the wives of the Prophet) anything, ask it of them from behind a curtain. That is purer for your hearts and for their hearts. And it is not for you to cause annoyance to the messenger of Allah, nor that ye should ever marry his wives after him. Lo! that in Allah's sight would be an enormity.

1) Mohammed’s wives cannot remarry after he dies, ever. (And none of them did.) No one should even think about doing it, also Allah knows everyone’s thoughts etc.

2) Mo’s wives can only be addressed by men from behind a curtain, for the sake of “purity” (bad; this does not apply to women, slaves, and immediate family members, who can talk to his wives normally).

3) Okay this one is one of the (genuinely) funniest verses in the Quran so I need y’all to pay attention. Let me show you a hadith:

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) became the bridegroom of Zainab bint Jahsh whom he married at Medina. After the sun had risen high in the sky, the Prophet (ﷺ) invited the people to a meal. Allah's Apostle remained sitting and some people remained sitting with him after the other guests had left. Then Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) got up and went away, and I too, followed him till he reached the door of `Aisha's room. Then he thought that the people must have left the place by then, so he returned and I also returned with him. Behold, the people were still sitting at their places. So he went back again for the second time, and I went along with him too. When we reached the door of `Aisha's room, he returned and I also returned with him to see that the people had left. Thereupon the Prophet (ﷺ) hung a curtain between me and him and the Verse regarding the order for (veiling of women) Hijab* was revealed.

*(The ayah uses hijab in its literal sense, meaning a curtain--one that divides women and men. We’re not talking about the clothing item people call “a hijab” here. Whenever the Quran uses the word hijab, it means a curtain/divider.)

So. After Mohammed and Zaynab get married, they hold a celebratory feast in his house. Everyone is eating and laughing and having a great time. So great, in fact, that people aren’t leaving. They’re just sitting around talking to each other. Mohammed just wants to catch up on Two and a Half Men. I mean... I get it. We’ve all been there, Mo.

I like to imagine Mohammed getting increasingly annoyed by people’s inability to disperse and demonstrating his displeasure in increasingly petty ways. First, he gets up and walks away to his wives’ rooms, hoping people take the easy hint. He waits out of sight for a few minutes (followed by the annoying narrator of this hadith, Anas) and browses 9GAG on his phone. Once ten minutes have passed, he thinks it seems quieter, so he gets up and goes back... only to observe everyone huddled around a guy holding a phone, watching a Vine compilation. They burst into laughter. Mohammed sighs.

He then turns to my mother’s preferred tactic: cleaning up the place. He gets out the plastic wrap and puts away all the food. He grabs a dustpan and gets on the floor to sweep up the crumbs, and stacks everyone’s red Solo cups with intentional harshness so it makes a noise. No one seems to notice. He clears his throat and approaches one of the stragglers, Saad. “Can you move your feet so I can sweep up underneath you?”

Saad barely registers his presence. “What? Yeah, sure, whatever.”

That tactic having failed, Mohammed begins to feel desperate. He goes back to his wives’ rooms, and checks on Aisha again. Anas, who is still following him around, peers into her room: she is bored and watching anime. Mohammed glares at him and then turns back to the doorway.

“DID YOU SAY SOMETHING, AISHA?” he yells. “WHAT WAS THAT? SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU, IT’S TOO LOUD.” He turns back to Anas and adds: “WOW, IT SURE IS LOUD IN HERE, ISN’T IT?”

That finally gets the attention of a few of the stragglers, who feel ashamed and quickly pack up and leave. Now there are only a few oblivious ones left, and Mohammed has no choice but to get out the vacuum to drown out their conversation. Soon enough, they get the hint too.

But there is still a problem: goddamn Anas, who seems to think Mohammed wants him there for some reason. Nothing is getting rid of this guy. Mohammed even says he’s gonna take a nap, and Anas is still there. There is only one option left to him........ the nuclear option.

Mohammed’s eyes roll back in his head and he begins swaying side to side. “I............... I am receiving a transmission.............” he groans. Anas looks on in shock. “Yes......... yes! Allah is speaking to me................... he sayeth: ‘get the fuck out of my--I mean, the Prophet’s house right now, you huge goddamn loser. Why is everyone in this city so dense? Christ.’ Oh,” Mohammed adds, dramatically grabbing the blanket off the couch and holding it out in front of him, “And Allah addeth: ‘stop looking at the Prophet’s wives. Tell everyone else that too. It displeaseth me. Get your own hot wives to look at’. End transmission.” Mohammed passes out and Anas flees in terror.

That’s how I imagine it went down, anyway. The Greatest Book of All Time, folks.

Moving on: Allah loves Mohammed, so you have to invoke blessings and salutations upon him. For those who are not aware of this, this is why Muslims put PBUH (peace be upon him), SAW/SAWS (in Arabic), or ﷺ (the phrase in Arabic, so you don’t have to type out the whole thing) after Mohammed’s name. This gets really annoying whenever you’re reading a long Islamic work about Mohammed ﷺ, or the Prophet ﷺ or Messenger of Allah ﷺ or what have you ﷺ, because many authors put ﷺ after Mohammed’s ﷺ name every goddamn time he ﷺ is mentioned. It reminds me of that episode of Spongebob ﷺ in Rock Bottom ﷺ when the characters ﷺ punctuated every other word ﷺ with a “pfft” sound ﷺ ﷺ ﷺ ﷺ .

ANYWAY, you know what we haven’t seen in a while? A kuffar hell counter hit. Let’s rectify that situation.

those who malign Allah and His messenger, Allah hath cursed them in the world and the Hereafter, and hath prepared for them the doom of the disdained.

There we go. Kuffar hell counter: 1! The word malign up there literally means “annoy”, which makes me laugh, cuz it comes right after Mo was complaining about people annoying him because they refused to leave his house after eating a meal. Imagine ending up in hell bc you were too busy talking to your friend to notice that Mohammed wanted some peace and quiet.

Mo adds that those who annoy other Muslims without reason are also committing an offense, though he leaves off the hell part in that ayah so it’s neutral.

And that’s where we’ll leave it for today. This surah is a disaster.

NEXT TIME: The end of the surah, featuring hijab stuff and the kuffar hell counter!!!

The Quran Read-Along: Day 167

Ayat: 10

Good: 0

Neutral: 6 (33:49, 33:51, 33:54-56, 33:58)

Bad: 4 (33:50, 33:52-53, 33:57)

Kuffar hell counter: 1 (33:57)

⇚ previous day | next day ⇛

#al ahzab #surah 33 #quranreadalong

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hubbellreviews · 6 years ago

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USA Today published an article this morning that peaked my interest. An article that I will link at the bottom of this post. It was a poll that inquired amongst a diverse group of Americans of how they felt about America. The poll split the audience into three categories; Liberal, Democrat, and Independent, after asking them two interesting questions.

The USA Today poll results via USA Today

As you can expect to see, the results find that Republicans are more cheery about the state of America while their political counterpart, the Democrats feel the opposite. Independents had a troubling time it seems to conclude either or, and that to me is a sign of healthy thinking.

I occasionally see on social media a comment along the lines of “why does it have to be political?” I figure that this would be one of those cases, and so be it. I thought the poll was interesting but perhaps it was concentrated too particular on politics. There comes a time when, perhaps, the world will become too thwarted by identity politics that no progress will be made. But we are humans, and life is too enigmatic. We utilize metaphors, common vernacular, stereotypes, and assumption to alleviate some of the complexities of life; and specifically, the troubles caused by the communities we live in.

In that regard, the communities we live in might give us a transparent look into the psyche of Americans. We all have our social circles; the social media community, our family, friends and the like. We might not be able to solve everything in one sweep, but I thought it would be interesting to inquire amongst the people I know, and perhaps even the people my colleagues know more than I.

I did not intend to go too in depth on any particular subject but was curious if there was some sort of correlation between our upbringings and our perspectives on the current state of America. I did not direct the answers politically nor towards my particular bias.

It is not often I look towards people to understand a problem. I have the proclivity for reading a book, a movie, a show to find the solutions. I think I am inclined to find it an easier journey because art soothes me. I have a penchant for the artists who can carry a reader on the wheels of deep themes and motifs that chronicle the inarticulate parts of life. If I am curious about love and the tragedies thereof, I can read the works of Fitzgerald. If I want to understand the complexities of social psychology through short stories that are almost prophetic and before their time, I can read Herman Melville’s work. If these don’t work, I typically introspect and I have found this process does not work as effectively as I’ve encountered more mature problems, questions, and achievements.

I began my journey with someone I probably feel most comfortable around. I was intrigued by the possibility that he might oppose some of my views.

Cameron and his mother via Lynn Peters’ Facebook

Cameron Peters, a rather close friend of mine since middle school, although more so in our high school years, finds America to be divided. He adumbrated our political climate as something like a scenario of “you are either with us or against us.” He believes this can be attributed, at least partly, to social media; “a political leader on the left or right can tweet out a certain platform and the ‘rest of us’ usually agree(s) with and run with it no matter the side,” he said.

According to Peters though, America has its silver linings even amidst the divided political atmosphere, extant and very much growing even with our understanding of the situation. He believes there are freedoms in America.

“I describe the best of America being the freedoms that we have to not only live the way that we choose but also to have discussions about things like this that would be taboo in many countries,” he said.

As bad as I believe Trump is I believe our political structures will always be greater than any individual or group- we will bounce back like we always do and I think things will definitely get better starting with these midterms. But that’s what’s great about America in my opinion; if you don’t like something we always have a voice and a vote guaranteed to us,” Peters said.

Peters, when asked of his upbringing, expressed his expectations that I would be surprised by some details. He said he was granted many freedoms growing up, save a few punishments by way of a belt or a paddle.

“I never had bedtimes, curfews, or any of that other stuff because they knew I had the personality that I wouldn’t do anything too crazy anyway,” Peters said.

My friend continued, expressing his “very” liberal upbringing, even though his mother and father were stark in contrast politically. He also added this, in accordance with the political points he was making;

“Also I think it’s worth noting that I never talked politics with my dad or any other family member for the first 17 or 18 years of my life or so,” Peters said.

In regards to religion, his upbringing consisted of Christian values yet never settled in a particular church. His family’s evanescent behavior when it comes to picking a church, has come with some guilt. He hasn’t been to church in some time though, and in regards to that, he has this to say:

“Personally I haven’t been to Church since I left Elevation which I feel bad about but I still read the Bible and pray daily so it’s still very important to me, personally,” Peters concluded.

My friend has always brought to the table interesting points. He has a mind to do so, and if he is not in the gregarious mood, he would always have the attentiveness to care for another person’s views. I think that he, much like myself, thinks the world consists of perspective. We, of course, are vexed by that fact, because we want to focus on an issue at hand and live in the moment. I think we should live in the moment, but the world has perhaps lost a sense of what defines a moment. The political climate is too vitriolic, too black and white to define progress.

I, like my friend, was instructed to live by Christian values as a young boy. I too also had that transient Christian lifestyle; the “church hoppers,” as the community calls us. I think that my Christian values gave me a grounding of right from wrong but my life has gone beyond the religious ties which feel more like indoctrination than a healthy community. I am therefore against organized religion but am in favor of the morals and independence in taking ownership of our responsibilities Christianity and perhaps others, teaches its followers. Please do not take this as a protest against your beliefs, and heed this instead; whatever is satiable, or gives you happiness please continue that course, unless it endangers others.

I think though, our religion has a say in our perspective of politics and specifically the state of America as it is currently. I also think that the free space for youthful adventures, whatever they may be, granted for Cameron as a youth a chance to ground himself. I think this contributes to his vision of the world.

In regards to the dearth of political discussion between his father and himself growing up, I have a similar experience. I think it would be interesting to go back and see what courses my perspective on this current state of America would be if I had to discover and discuss politics earlier. I think a discussion with the ones we love, in any sort, is conducive to a mature view of the world and yourself.

I have just recently begun to discuss politics with my family, and especially my dad. My father and I, are in the same boat as my friend and his father politically. His Republican values were interesting to me, but we all hold our cards to our chest. Those cards might vary by individual but for my friend and me, it was politics. It was a charitable discussion. I disagreed with his points during some moments but denied myself of hasty characterizations.

I figured my father did not find me ignorant and gives me respect for my views, and I should follow suit. So I did, and have in the few discussions that have followed. It seems politics is a touchy subject that is a ticking bomb for many. If we separate this stigma from the truth that political discussion brings a potential for growth, even within the family, we could grow one individual, and perhaps even one family at a time.

Although that was an interesting perspective by my friend, one perspective is never enough. The journey continues.

Vanessa Nodes and my mother during a trip to the mountains this Summer. Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

Vanessa Nodes, a friend of my mothers whose amiability has been expressed a few times to me. She has always seemed like a charitable person in my mother’s life, and in that regard, it makes sense that they are so close.

Nodes sees America as a place of both diversity and opportunity, something analogous to the “Districts in Hunger Games,” as she goes on to expatiate saying; “So many who have a life of comfort while there is (a) struggle. It can be a chance for others to provide a place of safety for (a) family yet many are being killed because of our own stupidity.”

Nodes thinks that America is troubling itself over things that can be changed. She believes that America has lost a sense of perspective and pride.

“There is a loss of pride about our country and that’s because so many are looking at why their life is unfair. It reminds me of a box sitting on a broken chair. The chair is America. The box is so full it’s about to topple but the chair is going to break anyway. Things have shifted and the largest problem we face is mental illness. It’s the root of every issue,” Nodes said.

Even though Nodes believes our country is spirited with freedoms and opportunity, we aren’t taking advantage of them. The best of America is simply being obfuscated by our own doings; we are not seeing enough of the poor to appreciate the rich lives we could live. “Many can’t see this because they haven’t traveled to poor areas. This breeds entitlement and we as a society feel we are owed. It’s the land of freedom but has also become the land of ” rights” where people believe it is their right to things and beliefs and I don’t think that mindset existed 50 years ago,” Nodes said.

There is a paradox at play, according to Nodes; a place of systems in place to keep us protected from loss is a country that is increasingly more impossible to live out the potential we have.

“The best of America is the America that allows people to live, breathe, have choices, not worry about life because there will always be a system in place to help. The best of America comes from those before us that put things in place to have peace of mind….unemployment, food stamps, even Medicaid. It’s the system that allows us to not worry about our livelihood at 70 but the same system has made it impossible to live realistically,” Nodes said.

I can’t help myself in thinking that this perspective of America is originated or at least enriched by her upbringing. I thought her words were trenchant and therefore felt no reason why I should synthesize any of it, as it would be a shame for an audience to be blind to her whole story.

“My upbringing, (was) a blend of immigrant culture and Born and raised Northeastern American small town culture. I remember being very aware in the 80s my parent’s relationship was taboo. Especially in History classes, learning about protests and understanding my background and culture was root to that and vital to that became something I carried and was almost ashamed. My dad worked so hard to provide us the white picket fence, a good school, a good life but there is always this stigma. People talking and stopping mid-sentence when my parents were together. This made me very aware of how fortunate I was as an American and how lucky my dad was. He told me the story of his coming to America off the Naval ship. He was hosed down by American Soldiers. Like an animal. He being military himself ( he wasn’t part of the Viet Cong/ communist regime but the democratic military in Vietnam) it was a hard thing to process. Understanding he was in a place with so much opportunity but these are his first impressions. Nonetheless, my dad was proud to be here, blessed and always talked about America like it was the land that provided him with so much. Our home listened to the news daily, they were voters and I grew up hearing about all the good that America has to offer. This has a lot to do with the fact that most of my dads family was left behind in a poor Country. I was raised to be proud to be who I was, proud to be American and just like it was a land of opportunity for my dad it should be for others,” Nodes said.

My mother, someone who has exercised her emotional capacities and mental fortitude through the tribulations life has lent her this year, remembers her father who has recently passed. In response to the answers expressed by her friend Vanessa Nodes:

“She makes some amazing points, many I agree with. Her childhood was completely different than mine. Pop worked his ass off as he grew up poor to provide stability, opportunity, and experience for myself and my siblings,” my mother said over text message,” my mother said.

It will take me awhile to wrap my head around these points but it seems the world is a myriad of perspectives that can either choose to avoid or listen to. I think that I can do heaps more from listening than interrupting the progress that we all want to see.

I have had an interesting Summer that began with the death of my grandfather. His dog waned and eventually was put down just a few weeks ago. Even though these were insurmountably tall mountains of inscrutable fear and confusion, the troubles began much earlier for my family when a family member committed suicide and sent shockwaves just a year ago.

My cousin Chris Kellison, who ended his life a year ago is pictured here via his Facebook. I have vague memories of Chris but the best impressions I can gather of Chris’s legacy is from his family who feels his absence. He was and forever will be definitely loved.

My grandmother sits many moments during this Summer on the couch. I am spending the Summer with her but she is accompanied by many more visitors than I. She has been visited by guilt, happiness, depression, heartache. The mercurial fight of emotions continues as the memories cycle within her mind. She has many moments where she remains reticent, entrapped in her own prison of the past. I love her very much and it is terribly troubling to see the world seem so dour to someone. What I have learned from this journey through “the state of America,” and the experience with my grandmother is to listen. During his final years on this planet, my grandfather had settled his world in the unstable grounds of his own head. He listened to the depressed psyche frolicking within. I wish and wish even more every day that I had taken advantage of the time I had on this Earth with him. I did not listen enough to his words and the moments with him.

My grandmother on the far left. Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

My grandmother and grandfather, “Mimi and Pops.” Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

Perhaps it is time we all turn our ears and attention to the small to fix the big. I can listen to my grandmother as she deals with her own world of depression. I can deal with my the responsibilities that involve my work, and do it to my best ability. I can listen to my mother and father. I can give an ear to all my brothers. I can keep in contact with the people who care for me. We do not win by avoiding the problems but listening to everyone at the table and doing our part, however small or terrifyingly large.

My grandfather with his cherished dog “Lexi.” Image via Suzanne Johnson’s Facebook

USA Today link: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2018/07/02/poll-proud-american-july-4th-but-pride-america-less-so/747954002/

Featured image via Vox.com

America is slipping, or is it? A look into what people (whom I know) think and what I can gather from it. USA Today published an article this morning that peaked my interest. An article that I will link at the bottom of this post.

#america #and now #death #fight #here #investigation #listen #love #poll #usa today

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