#but if a spider is involved she is shouting for Percy

[friendofflowersandfrogs]

Bold of Luke to assume that Annabeth would squish a spider if she saw one because she’s scared of spiders. If Annabeth saw a spider, that girl is evacuating the room faster than you can say dam

[cherry-pop-elf]

hiya, i was wondering if you could make a headcanon sorta thing with the weasleys and them realising they’re in love with reader

Gasp, that sounds so fluffy. I MUST!

Weasley siblings the moment they realize that they are in love

Warnings: Only really for Bill honesty. I have to make it from his werewolf wounds. So medical gore warning. Bullying as well, with some scared Ron. Because it will involve spiders.

William ‘Bill’

The moment his working eye was able to focus, he was able to see you. See you there. You were fast asleep next to him. Curled up in his side, with your arms tucked in on yourself. That way you wouldnt mess with his bandages and wounds. He was in so much pain, and could hardly breath, but you were there. He was able to see your hands were slightly red, seeming to be irritated. Thats when he noticed the bowl of water on his bedside table. Along with a bloody rag. You must have been busy with washing his fresh wounds, while he was knocked out. You were taking care of him, until you needed sleep as well. That warmed him, as he was clearly taken care of. Especially given where he was. The Wolf Ward. A place for people suffering werewolfism are stayed. People tied to beds, chained, hooked to IV's, near death, already dead, so many cases. Yet.....Here you were. You stayed. You stayed, made sure he was taken care of, and made sure he wasnt alone. You loved him. Loved him so much, despite the risks. Even as far as sleeping in the same bed as him. That was when he knew it. Knew he was in love. His breathing was able to move easier, as he wrapped his arm around you. Hurt like hell, but worth it. Worth it, as he was able to see you smile.

Charlie

"What?” He blinked, as he stared out his bedroom window. Looking down to see you there. “You heard me. I’ll cause a distraction. I know you are packed. Go on and go-!” You called, as he was jaw dropped. He had been arguing with his mother for ages about this. Molly didn’t want him to have such a dangerous job. But of course precious golden child Bill got to be a curse breaker. One would argue is even more dangerous. Despite the letters of people wanting him to work in Romania, his mother refused. Over and over again. Seems like someone had other plans. You. You knew this could be the last time you see him, but you just couldn’t let him rot away in England. So, you hatched a plan. You would distract Molly, and give him enough time to sneak into the fireplace and get to Romania. “You are bloody insane….I like that-“ Charlie had to smile, as you would run around to the front of the house. Leaving Charlie to make sure he was properly packed. While he made sure his dragon hide gloves were inside, he could hear you knocking the front door. The familiar creaks of his mother leaving her room, and heading to the front door. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, and hurried down the stairs. “Where is the floo-?” He hissed. Of course she would hide it. Making sure he couldn’t sneak off. Course, you were smart enough to think ahead. “Oh come in. I’ll fix you something. Poor thing out in the late night cold. Come on-“ The moment she stepped to the kitchen, you ran over to him. Handing him your bag of floo. “Go go-“ You whispered, as he stared into your eyes. His heart never felt so full. “Better promise to visit-“ And before you knew it, he was kissing you. Kissing you goodbye. You were dazzed, only to snap back when the flash of green of the fire place echoed. “What was that-?!” Molly called. “NOTHING-!” You squeaked, with your face flushed. Left Charlie in a sappy smile, as his new chapter begun. With you in it.

Percy

“Leave him alone!” Percy heard you shout, as he was currently being dangled from his ankle. For being a prefect, he sure did not get treated as such. Was ambushed by a gaggle of Slytherins, younger then him no less, and now he was up in the air. Unable to grab his wand, as he just did not have the core strength. Another taunt at him. “Oh? What will you do if we don’t?” A bully asked, as you kept your fists tight. Percy didn’t want you to fight for him, but you were willing to even though you knew you would lose. And lose you did. Hard. Least in the chaos, Percy was able to escape. Running off to get a teacher, and catching them red handed. Needless to say, suspension will not be to light. Now, there you two were. Sitting in the medical wing. Both sharing a bed, as you two sat together. “You didn’t have to-“ He muttered, as he fidgeted with his bandages. “Yeah I did. Someone’s gotta. Bill and Charlie were busy.” You tried to play off, before you felt his hand holding yours. “Still. Pretty stupid…” He grumbled, but you returned the hand holding. “Someone’s gotta be stupid, so you don’t have a stick up your butt.” You smiled, as he rested his head on your shoulder. Comforted, and at peace.

Fred

“Wicked-“ Fred whispered, as the two of you were huddled together. Hidden away in a corner of the Three Broom Sticks, as you two were bonding over the map. Able to just people watch so happily. George had been given detention, and Fred was able to have a reassuring comfort in seeing him on the map. Knowing he wasn’t anywhere dangerous, given what happened to Ginny. It also was comforting to be sitting with someone as well. The two of you just snuggled in the tavern, during a winters day. It was soft. Different from the normal madness he’s used to. It’s different, and he liked different. Different also meant a change in habits. Such as feeling you rest your head on his shoulder. Trying to snuggle closer, to get more warmth. He couldn’t help it, as he wrapped his arm around you. Just you cuddling, and oblivious, as you watched the map. So curious by it, as he was more fascinated by you now. Taking advantage of how distracted you were. Maybe quiet moments were nice. Couldn’t help but rest his head against yours, and take in your scent. A quiet moment. A moment to think, and he was thinking hard. Maybe he wanted more quiet moments like this. Couldn’t help his smile, as you pointed at a name on the map. Making up some speculation on why they were there at this time. Had him laugh, and just melt into the moment. Yeah. He wanted more of this.

George

“George George Georgie Georgie Georgie-!” You just wouldn’t stop shouting, as you were soon crashing into him. Right when he left the shop he was in. Having been helping his younger siblings with getting school supplies. “Hey-! Who says I’m George-?!” He joked, as you didn’t let go. “Because you are actually nice-!” You tease, as he was hugging you back. “Also you have a mole on your neck, Fred doesn’t-“ You whispered. That had him blink, as he reached to said neck. “Ha-! Made you look-!” You giggled so deviously, before he pushed you away. He was cackling though. “You got me, I won’t lie-!” He snorted, as you two were just in giggles. It was so nice. He liked to laugh, and sometimes laughter from someone who wasn’t identical to you was nice. You felt as natural to laugh with as Fred. That’s something special. You don’t come across that easy. He knew you were special, and that simple moment was nice. “George-! Help-!” Ginny called, as she struggled with her supplies. “Coming Gin Gin-!” He would hurry over, with you in toe. Instantly helping, all the same. He couldn’t stop his smile, as he watched you help Ginny out. Shit, he was in love. And he knew it.

Ron

“HELP-! PLEASE! SOMEONE-!” Ron was screaming bloody murder, as he was cowering in the corner of the stone corridor of the courtyard. A decently large spider was keeping him trapped on a bench, and trying to hide his body as much as he could in the corner. He was in tears, as he was trying to hide from the spider. Luckily, you could hear him. “IM COMING RON-!” You shouted, as you ran across the stones. Coming into view, and seeing what was distressing him. He was already expecting you to yell at him for being such a baby about it. You didn’t, but instead you focused on getting the spider away. You pulled out your wand, and remembered what Hermione taught you both. “Wingardium Leviosa-“ You called, and lifted the spider into the air. You then made sure to make as much distance from Ron as you could, and let it escape into the wild. Other side of the courtyard, and outside a window. That way it would return to the forest. Once done, you hurried back. Quick to hold Ron. “It’s ok, it was a big spider. Spiders can be pretty dangerous.” You comforted. Not teasing him, or calling him a baby. Not making fun of him, but actually took his fear seriously. The relief was in his tears, as he held you back. Holding you tightly, as you pet his hair. You understood it was a fear, and fears were serious. He was so relieved. You were his hero, and he owed you for it. His guardian Angel. “Thank you-“ He hiccuped, as you kissed his head. “You would have done the same, shush.” You tease, as you didn’t discount that he can be brave. That was the kicker that sparked something inside of him. He was smiling, as you held him. For as long as he needed. You cared about him, and he was sure caring about you.

Ginny

“Do you think I’ll ever become a Quidditch player-?” Ginny asked you, as you two were busy in class. Was History Of Magic, with Professor Binns. Boring as hell, so it wasn’t like you two were paying attention. “Yeah, doubting yourself?” You asked, as she played with her Quill. “Maybe…” She mumbled, before plopping her head on the table. Ever since that incident in the chambers, she got depressed far easier. Bill said that’s often a side effect of being involved with a long term curse, or being exposed to a Horcrux. Curse breaker stuff, so you didn’t really focus on it. Well, until Ginny needed help. She needed a cheerleader, and like hell you wouldn’t grab your Pom Pom’s and cheer. “You’ll be an amazing Qudditch player. I know it. The best even! You’ll make history.” You beam, as she watched you. Unable to really hear you, as she sighed. So, you did what you’ve seen her brothers do. You hugged her, and refused to let go. “Get off me-“ She whined, but you refused. “I shall suffocate you, until you say uncle-“ You warned, before she started to giggle at you. “Seriously, stop-“ She pleaded, but was giggling away. “Not until you say you are the best quidditch player ever. I mean it, I’m stubborn-“ You warned, as she threw her hands up in defeat. “I yield I yield. I shall be better than the likes of Viktor Krum, even-“ She spoke with sarcasm, but it’s a step. “Nope, you gotta mean it.” You refused, as she giggled again. “Eh, you’re comfy.” She retaliated, as you two ended up in a cuddle bundle. She was able to smile, and mean it. Was hard to do, since that incident. She liked it. Liked how you were able to do it so easy for her. Had her heart all a flutter. Guess that’s another thing she will need to ask her older brothers about. What to do when someone gives you butterflies?

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

             The Versatility of a Guitar String

                                       I

 Warning: Depictions of Violence.

***

           “Forget your family.”

           Flynn’s melody murmured in my dreams like the silkiest spider threads rocking a slumberer’s hammock. “You deserve to enjoy this: the start of your new life. Let yourself forget.”

           Her words cradled my mind in a tranquilizing solace. At the time, the only response I could utter was, “What other family? You’re all the family I need.”

 --Memoirs of a Talking Head[1]

 ***

         When Jack agreed to tear down the gods, he didn’t think it would involve him snorkeling in a toilet.

         It did.

         Jack thrashed and twisted, barely getting a gulp of air before being submerged again. His orange converses squeaked uselessly against the bathroom’s floor tiles.

         The girl shoving his head into the water bowl was much stronger and larger than he, despite being several years younger. Between dunkings, her and her friends’ laughter reverberated off the walls.

         This, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time someone had forced Jack to be well acquainted with the most vital part of a restroom. Last time, Ms. Daisy Blackwell, one of the prettiest girls at his church, had taken Jack behind the church after his solo at one of their concerts. She had said she wanted him to sing to her. When Tommy Higgles, her boyfriend, found out that she asked Jack to do more than sing to her, he and his friends cornered Jack in the boys’ bathroom at school.

         Last time, Tommy had emptied all of Jack’s medication into the toilet bowl. “That straightening out your memory, freak!” Tom had shouted.

         This time, the water was cleaner. Or, at least, it wouldn’t give him an overdose as he choked on it.

         Last time, Jack had no idea it was going to happen. Ms. Blackwell had heard Jack “confused” things a lot, and that he was “confused’ about her relations with Tommy. But, afterwards, Ms. Blackwell wouldn’t acknowledge him in public, or that anything had happened between the two of them, like the other boys and girls that had taken an interest in Jack at his small high school.

         This time, Luke had warned Jack that it was a Camp Half-Blood hazing ritual, one from which Luke could not spare him. Jack had to either fight off a hulking daughter of Ares or get humiliated.

         Despite the warning, Jack felt himself thinking the same thing he had before: I’m going to drown.

         The water seeped into his lungs during his squirming. Pressure mounted in his chest. There wasn’t enough time to cough. Panic made his heartbeat thud inside his head. His head smacked into the toilet bowl with each thrash.

         The worst difference surfaced as he forced his limbs to stop fighting. Last time, Jack knew he would reach eternal salvation if he died the humiliating death of a toilet warrior. This time, as Jack willed his body to give up, he wondered, Do half-bloods even have souls?

         The fingers clenching his hair pulled his head back, stretching his body in a strained arch.

         He sputtered and coughed out the water.

         Clarisse La Rue’s sneer loomed in his peripheral. “Had enough of a swim?”

         At least there was a toilet directly in front of him, so no one would have to clean up the content of his lungs and stomach. That would be rude to any godly janitorial staff. He hacked, unable to talk for a moment.

         Clarisse released him.

         Jack barely missed cracking his head against the toilet bowl. Blurrily, he searched around, trying to prop himself up on the cool, slick floor.

         The laughter echoed around the room. The massive girl stood.

         “Why?” Jack finally choked out.

         “To show you the pecking order,” Clarisse said. She and her friends got up and left the bathroom stalls.

         Jack trembled. The first time he tried to get up, his legs felt like jelly. Finally, he got to his feet and stumbled to the sinks. He turned one on and dunked his head under, reminding himself that he was in control of the water rinsing him off.

         The monsters on the Princess Andromeda had been way nicer on his first day. They at least ignored him or said he smelled good.

         Someone shook Jack’s shoulder.

         He flinched.

         “Hey, we’re not really supposed to be in the girl’s bathroom.”

         Jack tried to look through the water at his escort: a thirteen-year-old child of Apollo named Ryan. He had tan skin and an athletic build. Once he got Jack’s attention, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

         After a few more moments of feeling the water against the back of his head and his neck, Jack shut the sink off. He let his dripping bangs plaster onto his face and soak his flannel shirt. The top was already drenched. As it turned out, toilet water: not refreshing.

         “Why didn’t you help?” Jack asked. To still be there, Ryan must have stood by the entrance the whole time, watching.

         Ryan’s expression was skeptical. Like everyone else who had commented on how old Jack was, Ryan seemed disappointed by what he saw. “You think I can put a dent in a child of Ares?”

         Jack shrugged. “You could have run to get help.”

         “No one is going to help against Clarisse.”

         No wonder Luke hates Ares and his children.

         Although the room felt warm with the climate control, Jack hugged himself. It took every ounce of control not to tug at his hair and to, instead, dig his fingers deep into his ribs. He promised himself he wouldn’t mess this mission up and that meant acting as normal as possible.

Mission? Quest? Had Kronos called it a quest?

         This was the exact time Jack should be asking Ryan questions. Phil and Luke both said Jack was perfect for this type of quest, because he was so unassuming and genuinely curious when asking questions. Charming and harmless, as Ms. Blackwell had teased him.

         “Doesn’t that bother you?” Jack asked. “Were you dunked?”

         Jack tried to imagine coming in here as a young kid, before he met Flynn and knew Greek monsters were real. He would have thought this was whole place was a cruel prank or a bad dream.

         “All new people get dunked,” Ryan said. He looked impatient. “You get over it.”

         Jack felt like his tongue was four times too large. That didn’t seem right, but he doubted saying so would get him any points with Ryan.

         Only twenty-four hours, Jack reminded himself. Twenty-four hours before Luke, Lucille, Lou Ellen, and I need to get out. You can be normal for twenty-four hours.

         He hoped.    

Summer solstice was a day away. From what Luke got out of a quick Iris Message and a dream vision with Kronos, some kid named Percy Jackson should be starting some massive war with the gods. Percy should have been be dragged into Tartarus with something called the Master Bolt. Then, this camp wouldn’t be safe. It would crumble into a battlefield between the gods.

         “Just remember when Clarisse dunks you that she’ll be killed in the crossfire. I’ll make sure of it,” Luke had said.

         Jack didn’t want Clarisse and her friends to be killed in the crossfire. He just wanted her to be less mean. Seeing her in person, the former seemed much more likely.

         Ryan sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if you you’re as bad at horseback riding as you are with archery.”

         Jack shuffled forward. He guessed Ryan didn’t intend to sound so critical, but no one at camp could believe Jack had survived on his own for so long, being a son of Apollo. Although Phil immediately stated that Jack had been claimed—he hadn’t, whatever ‘claiming’ meant—whispers went around that maybe he was supposed to be in the Aphrodite cabin instead.

         “At least he’s good for the girls to look at. Don’t think he’ll do much in the coming war,” he had heard Lee Fletcher, his cabin counselor, muttering when Jack accidentally elbowed Chiron in the chest during their archery lesson.

         Jack knew he wouldn’t have survived on his own, but Luke had him under strict orders not to mention Flynn or Luke or anything about Kronos. As for that day, they didn’t know each other, which was a real shame. Jack wanted Luke to show him Thalia’s pine tree.

         The rest of the training was similar. Fortunately, his cabin mates—is that what they were called?—and Chiron were too distracted by the fights that kept breaking out between the children of Athena and Jack’s siblings. Something about Poseidon being in the right to take a stand against Zeus? Jack had only recently learned the gods and titans were real. He couldn’t keep the internal bickering straight.

         Most people were too distracted and tense to pay Jack much attention for the rest of training, which was a problem. That meant he couldn’t complete his mission either. He hoped Lucille was having more luck in the Aphrodite Cabin and Lou Ellen in the… where had Luke said she’d go?

         Luke’s words haunted him. “Either we turn them or we consider them sword fodder. Anyone on the Olympic side will need to die, so you’re doing them a favor if you can show them how corrupt the Olympians are.”

         Flynn, Jack’s girlfriend, understood immediately. That’s why Luke had sent her on a mission to a place called New Rome. Luke said that would be too difficult for Jack to tag along.

         This quest was a test for Jack, Lucille, and Lou Ellen: a way to prove they were worthy of Kronos’ next world.

         Like introducing people to Jesus, Jack mused. He remembered walking through the sterile halls of Botin’s Hill Hospital, how the sick welcomed him inside to hear him sing church songs. Pity he didn’t know any about our savor, Kronos.

Jack frowned. Luke and Phil kept saying he could heal people with his song. But, the sick people didn’t always get better when he sang. Sometimes…

         “Jake, right?”

         Jack flinched. The Apollo cabin was setting up for the campfire. He’d zoned out, watching as the Hephaestus campers stoked the flames. Everyone else referred to the cabins by numbers, but Jack couldn’t keep those numbers straight, so he tried to catalogue everyone by the few gods he did know.

         A friendly, blond nineteen-year-old stood beside him. The familiar scar made Jack grin, despite his feelings of being a failure. He shouldn’t want to talk to Luke. That would mean reporting that he’d had no luck converting any of his siblings, or even seeing if they could be converted down the road. The children of Apollo seemed to love their—his—dad wholeheartedly, though Jack hadn’t gotten any specific person’s story yet.

         Luke squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “How’s your first day going? You came in at a rough time.”

         Jack knew that Luke had to pretend they’d never met before, but the convincing, detached quality of Luke’s voice was demoralizing, especially with how he got his name wrong.

         Jack managed to nod at him. He hadn’t realized that, when he sat down on the log, he’d pulled his knees up and was rocking.

         Almost frantic, Jack straightened out his legs and stopped rocking. Normal for one day. Normal for one day. He repeated to himself. Then, he could tell Flynn that he’d done a quest, right? He could show Luke that he’d be worthwhile in his army. Besides, the campfire was all about singing. This is where Jack could shine.

         Jack gave Luke a much more confident smile.

         “Just keep it together, buddy,” Luke said, his grip on Jack’s shoulder becoming uncomfortable. “I’m sure the rest of your night will be a success—”

         Another camper, an Athena boy, raised his voice in middle of a discussion, drowning out Luke. “—maybe because someone needs to keep order in this camp—”

         “Oh, can it! You’re still pissy at Poseidon for a rivalry that you won. Get over it! There’s no reason you’d be on Zeus’ side otherwise!” one of Jack’s siblings shouted at the Athena camper.

         More shouts broke out. The campfire flickered uncomfortable, dark red. The flames looked too low on the wood to still be lit.

Jack felt like something was about to go wrong, something important.

         One of the Ares campers shoved the Athena kid—Malcolm? He stumbled, barely dodging around the fire. He slammed into another camper to keep his balance. And—

         The movement was too fast for Jack to dodge, not that he would have thought to.

         One of Jack’s siblings toppled backwards.

         Pain flared in Jack’s throat, as the kid’s—Will’s?—elbow smashed into Jack’s windpipe. Will hadn’t meant to, he’d been trying to pinwheel to keep his balance—

         Jack flopped backwards, clutching at his neck. He coughed. Each breath rasped painfully.

         Hands gripped Jack’s shoulders. They dug into his skin, dragging him away from the campfire. Another member of his cabin went to pummel Malcolm, even though the incident hadn’t been Malcolm’s fault.

         The yells were jumbled. The bodies crashed into a scuffle—they looked more like a random mob of strangers than cousins and siblings. All Jack could think was, My throat—Dear God—can I still sing?! What if they crushed it? What if they crushed my windpipe?

         A more logical part of him said that his windpipe would be fine. He needed a few minutes to recover. That would be it, right? What am I without a voice? That’s my only useful trait. Would Flynn want me anymore?

         He wheezed.

         Whoever was dragging him pulled him up onto his feet.

         The pain lessened, but the panic made Jack clutch at his neck. He tried to talk. His voice came out a squeaky rasp.

         He expected Luke to be his savor, to be chastising him for over-dramatics.

         The person beside him was a foot too short.

         “Come on. We have throat lozenges in the cabin,” Ryan said. He released Jack and started walking back towards the housing.

         Jack pointed frantically back to where the campfire had become a battle zone. The Ares and Apollo campers teamed up against Athena. A centaur already stood in the fray, pulling teenagers off each other.

         “Chiron will take care of it,” Ryan said, “We plenty outnumber Cabin Six and you’ll be in the way if you stay.” This time, the irritation in Ryan’s voice was unmistakable. “You’re really not cut out for this, are you? You had plenty of time to move.”

         Jack trembled. He reminded himself that Ryan, like other kids that had mocked him, was a child of God’s and that all God’s children were…

         Something flipped in Jack’s head. They weren’t equal, were they? And God—the gods—didn’t love them equally. Luke said that Percy Jackson—the son of Poseidon that Luke had framed for the thievery of the Master Bolt—that kid could control water. Thalia had been able to shoot lightning. These gods, the Greek gods, didn’t treat them as equal, else Thalia wouldn’t be a pine tree.

         By the time Jack got enough of his voice back to talk, they approached the golden exterior of Apollo’s empty cabin. “You seem like such a natural,” Jack said. His voice was raspy, but functional.

         A tightness squeezed Jack’s stomach when he examined his little half-brother. Throughout all the training that day, Ryan had excelled.

         Ryan sighed. Tension released from his shoulders as he opened the cabin door. He paused. After a moment, Ryan held the door open for Jack. “My mom told me I was a half-blood when I was very little. She knew Apollo was a god, so she set me up with archery lessons as soon as I could pull back a bow. She was a pediatrician and let me play with all of her college text books.” He shrugged. “The other campers think I’ll surpass Chiron with a bow one day, and I’m already a better healer than Will, but I had a head start.”

         This is was it! What Jack was supposed to be doing all day! Getting his new cabin mates to open up: about themselves, their feelings about being demigods, their opinions of their parents. For some reason, Jack didn’t feel better about the success. The tightness in his stomach squeezed until he felt his breath going short again. He wanted Ryan to shut up.

         “You knew the monsters were real,” Jack said. He hadn’t realized that would be an option. He stepped inside.

         “Well, yea, we all did,” Ryan said like it was obvious. The cabin door shut behind them. No one else was around. Ryan walked past the corner stacked with instruments to the medicine cabinet. He withdrew the lozenges and handed them to Jack.

         Jack frowned, examining the packaging: ambrosia coated. Even with simple things like pain killers, he always checked ingredients in case they conflicted with his medication. Jack popped one in his mouth and bit down hard.

         Everyone knew that you were supposed to suck on lozenges; but, Jack wanted a sharp sensation in his mouth. Cinnamon spiked his taste buds.

         Ryan gave Jack a wary look. “Listen, Jack, maybe you’d be better off at home with your mortal family,” he said. “It’s not that we don’t want you here, I just don’t know if this is the safest place for you with this war brewing. Tomorrow, Summer Solstice, this camp might be about to explode, and you’re not really trained for combat yet…”

         Ryan looked genuinely concerned. “We can loan you a weapon from the armory. Since you’ve made it so long without any help, I doubt your aura is that strong or ever will be strong enough to attract monsters. It’s not that we don’t want you here—or that Dad doesn’t want you here. I mean, he claimed you. That’s a big deal. It means he loves you and all, but—”

         Jack bit down harder on the lozenge, wanting to crush it. He hadn’t been claimed.

         “How soon were you claimed?” Jack interrupted. The twisting in his stomach kept getting tighter. He felt like he was on the cusp of something important and that something would make all the tension disappear. It had to do with what Ryan was saying, but he wanted the kid to stop talking.

         “As soon as I stepped foot into camp,” Ryan said. He rocked onto his tiptoes, like he was getting impatient to go back outside. His gaze shifted back to the door as though the eye motion could shove Jack back out.

         Jack hugged himself. “Apollo… Dad. You speak really highly of him.”

         Ryan glanced at the door again, then back at Jack. He sighed, rolling back onto his heels. “Yea… I—I owe Dad. He’s kinda awesome.”

         These campers seemed to know so much more about him. How could you say that a Dad you’ve never met was awesome? Had Ryan met him?

         At Jack’s silence, Ryan got a sad smile on his face. “I guess I can tell you about it. My mom never fell in love after him. She said it was impossible after she had a full summer with him—”

         A one night stand. A one night mistake, Jack remembered his mother assuring Steve about his conception, when Steven got nervous about the guy before him. They thought Jack hadn’t come downstairs for a nighttime snack. His Mom had never held that one night stand against Jack, had she?

         “—so I was raised with my cousins like they were my siblings. My older cousin, Cindy, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom and I prayed to Apollo every night and I sang to her every night for a week. She… she got better. Way faster than medicine by itself should have allowed—”

         The package slipped from Jack’s fingers.

         The individually wrapped lozenges scattered across the cabin floor.

         “Wow—you okay, dude? You look like you’re about to be sick,” Ryan said. The smile vanished from his face. He knelt down, plucking some lozenges from the ground.

         Jack should have apologized. He should have knelt down to help. Normal for one day, echoed in his mind. The thought couldn’t penetrate his other ones. It couldn’t stop his hands from clutching at his hair.

         What would it have been like? To grow up with a family that knew what was happening to him, to know he wasn’t crazy. Not to be medicated. Or outcast. No “you’re just confused, sweetie.” No, “All children are equal in the eyes of God.”

         In that instance, Jack realized something. People treated life like it was a living thing that chose to be fair or unfair. It wasn’t. It just existed. People were made unequal. They would be treated unequal. These gods, their gods, played favorites.

         “Ryan…” Jack whispered, trying not to hyperventilate. “You saved your cousin with your singing. Could you kill someone with your singing?”

         His vision had tunneled. All Jack could see was the smaller boy, crouched under the instrument table, gathering a lozenge from a guitar. There were spare strings on the table. When Ryan put his hand on the table for balance, he knocked them to the side.

         Then, Jack couldn’t see Ryan.

Shelby was the worst. Her body was sprawled in the middle of the hallway, on top of Charger, their German Sheppard. The other bodies—those Jack could easily pretend weren’t real. But, Shelby, had face-planted in a pool of her own vomit. The bile plastered her black hair around the wooden floor like a drowned victim’s hair splayed into a water halo… She was impossible to ignore. Jack had to carefully edge his way around her and Charger’s bodies, hoping the real one would show up and tell him to stop being silly, and terrified the real one would show up since they might increase his medication.

The day after they found his family, Jack had been too scared to tell Luke and Flynn why he thought their deaths were his fault.

He had been singing in the shower. He was thinking about how angry he was at his family while he sang. Then, they were dead, just like some of the patients at the hospital died as soon as he finished singing to them.

         Why could Ryan save people, his loved ones, with his voice, when Jack could kill?

         The pressure in Jack’s stomach made him feel like he’d throw up. That tension was wound so tightly, Jack knew it would snap. It was about to snap. He couldn’t stop—

“I guess, in theory,” Ryan said, beginning to rise from under the table, “I’ve never heard of someone—”

         There was a loud thwack.

         Jack didn’t know he’d cracked Ryan’s skull into the table. Not until the second time he did it. Ryan’s hair felt silky under his fingers. The head under his hand resisted the first time. Not so much the second.

         Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head, deafening. He didn’t hear the noises Ryan made. He didn’t feel Ryan’s head slip from his hands or how Ryan kicked backwards—how Jack’s leg gave out under the kick so Jack was level with the instrument table.

         He saw Ryan’s mouth move, to sing to heal or call for help. Some autopilot took over, shut him up. Shut. Him. Up. We’ll make the two of us equal. We’ll play favorites the way that gods do.

         A dull ache nagged at Jack’s knee, where he’d collapsed behind his little half-brother. He fumbled for something in the room to gag Ryan. His fingers snatched up something thin, metal, and pliable.

         Jack didn’t remember shoving Ryan back to the floor; he must have. The intention was to wrap the guitar cord between Ryan’s teeth. Just to soften Ryan’s screams.

Then the metal cord pinched the skin around Ryan’s neck. The small kid bucked and thrashed. Ryan’s nails dug at metal. Those fingers fumbled backwards, swatting at Jack.

         None of his attempts reached Jack. Jack’s knee now pressed into the small of Ryan’s back. The guitar cord was long enough that Jack could pull it taught at such a distance that Ryan couldn’t touch him.

         The way Ryan squirmed, Jack’s own screams, the pain in his bruised knee as Jack simultaneously kneed the back of Ryan’s spine while jerking Ryan’s neck backwards: it felt distant, muffled.

         Until someone covered Jack’s mouth.

         “Be quiet!”

         The words brought Jack back into reality. So did the hands that dragged him backwards.

         “Holy Hera!” another familiar voice said.

         There was a clop of hooves on the wooden floor.

         Until that someone removed the hands from his mouth, Jack didn’t realize what he’d been screaming over and over.

Why does Dad love you more?

         Ryan wasn’t moving.

         Dad couldn’t love him now.

         Jack trembled. He stared at his hands. Cuts lined his palms, where he had wrapped the guitar string to anchor them. Bruising would follow. His breath tightened. That tension inside him had snapped. He didn’t have any energy left. No anger. Just a sense of queer calm.

         That same autopilot took control. Guilt nagged at his consciousness the same way pain nagged at his knee.

“No,” Jack said, “No—no. I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Shut up,” Luke repeated, slapping Jack upside the head. He sounded terrified.

Jack clutched at his hair. The strands felt slick with sweat. A sob caught his throat. What was happening to him? Had he just—

“Watch it, Luke.” Someone stepped around the two of them. Phil’s furry legs blocked off Jack’s view of Ryan’s body. “Flynn isn’t going to like it if she hears you’ve been smacking around her Jackie-boy. Now, let’s see. It’s been a long time since I needed to sneak a corpse out of a cabin. You sure like to keep me young and spry, don’t you, Jak-Jak?”

Phil’s comment was light.

No answer would come from Jack’s lips, at least, not beyond a whine.

Phil turned towards Jack and knelt down. Those dark eyes glittered with something that made Jack nauseous: compassion. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Kid, I need you with us. We gotta move fast. Which blanket won’t be missed if we wrap Ryan in it?”

*****

My betatester was very angry at me for the deficit of hugs and happiness for Jak-Jak. Don’t worry. Part II is more lighthearted. Okay, PHiL says it’s more lighthearted, though that guy could probably say that at a wax clown museum.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for the last part of this short! I hope everyone had an awesome Halloween! :D

Footnote:

[1] I’m going to write this one day.

[babelrpg-blog]

below the cut, you will find admin Christine’s sample application for Billie Weasley to give you an idea of what we’re looking for in an app. applications will not be posted in full, when we post acceptances.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Christine Age: 24 Pronouns: they/them Timezone: GMT Activity: medium/high -- I’m a full time grad student but am usually on to do replies at least every other day Triggers: [redacted]

BASICS:

Character name: Billie Arthur Weasley Gender and pronouns: transgender woman, she/her Date of birth: 29 November, 1970 Occupation: Curse Breaker Former Hogwarts house: Gryffindor Boggart: muggles, she’s heard, call it claustrophobia, the sense of the entire room closing in around you, pushing in until you can’t breathe, but for her, it’s just strange, now -- when she was younger, her boggart had been a giant, oversized spider, its legs clickclacking as it moved towards her, but now... ever since she returned to England, it’s the feeling of being trapped, of not being able to breathe, of being buried alive.

PERSONALITY

A true Gryffindor at heart, Billie is courageous and a little reckless, and despite a fairly laid-back exterior, she’s always searching for some kind of new adventure. However, before all else she is principled and determined, never compromising her own morals or beliefs or desires for anyone else’s sake. She always sees the best in others, even when it means she ends up expecting too much or misjudging someone’s motivations. When she doesn’t get her way she can be incredibly obstinate and hold grudges.

HISTORY

one. She grows up surrounded by war. You wouldn’t know it, though. She’s eleven when the war ends, just starting her first year at Hogwarts, and the only influence of the entire thing on her life is a double funeral, the second-hand black dress robes her mother leaves on her bed the morning before, a dreary churchyard in Ottery St. Catchpole. She didn’t know her uncles Gideon and Fabian well -- at one point, her mother had been close to her older brothers, but the war had pulled them apart when the twins joined the Order and Molly distanced herself in order to keep her children safe.

She never thought it stuck with her; a simple fact of the world was that the world had been at war when she was young, and that then it had been over. That war happened, it ended, and things got better. She’s sheltered from it; which, she thinks now, is exactly what her parents wanted. What business does an eleven year old have, understanding the intimacies of war? Only, not every eleven year old is so lucky.

two. Hogwarts is easy, when she puts her mind to it. She likes learning, she makes friends with ease. She is the kind to set her mind to work easily, to get things done well, and she takes to magic fast, particularly adept at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Her life there is, for all intents and purposes, simple; she becomes a prefect; she becomes Head Boy. She plays quidditch, for two years, and then leaves the team after a repetitive stress injury in her shoulder  in sixth year makes catching difficult and Keeping impossible.

This is not the interesting part of her story.

She meets and exceeds the expectations before her; that’s just what is done. She is driven, but not to anything in particular. Not by anything in particular, except that she is the eldest, and she is to provide a good role model for her brothers. People -- her parents, her professors -- set expectations in front of her and she does the only thing she has ever known to do. She feels a vague discomfort, sometimes, that she doesn’t understand. She kisses a few girls. She kisses a few more boys. She is generally well-liked, generally unobjectionable. But she discovers no great passion; she feels restless, for seven years.

She looks through a list of possible post-Hogwarts jobs and the required OWLs and NEWTs to get there. She thinks Curse Breaker looks fun, looks adventurous; it’s a job with a tangible goal, and it’s very, very far away from England.

three.  Molly is... well, a bit suffocating. Even with six other siblings, Billie’s Hogwarts years are filled with the constant fretting and doting and scolding, a mother’s love, sure, but honestly, a bit much, what with the Bill, darling, don’t you think it’s time for a haircut, and we’re so proud of your OWL scores, dear, only-- don’t you think Curse Breaker is a bit... well, dangerous?

It takes moving to Egypt for three years to give her the space she needs to be anything other than the child her parents wanted, the brother her siblings looked up to. The Curse Breakers she works with are a rowdy lot -- overachievers, like she had been at Hogwarts, but mellowed by time and adrenaline and the easy skillfulness with which they navigate the cramped tombs and sidestep certain death. Young and beautiful and reckless and brilliant, they inspire her, teach her how to be a little more free than she’d ever let herself be.

One, in particular, a handsome wizard a few years her senior with hair dyed and shaved like he ought to be in a muggle punk band, takes a liking to her, and Billie Weasley falls in love for the first time. Around everything else, they spend hours lying in bed talking about the world, about their world views, and he’s a strong believer in reinventing yourself without the influence of parents who expect too much of you. She doesn’t know if she agrees that her parents expected too much of her, but she does start thinking about the places where her heart doesn’t meet their expectations of her.

four. She comes out to Charlie, first. They were always the closest, their shared drive for adventure keeping them in a lockstep through most of their childhood. She came out to him first, too, when she came out as being bisexual, at sixteen, and that feels... harder, than it is now. Harder than it is to write him a letter saying, Charlie, I’m a girl.

She doesn’t know, for a long time, how to tell the rest of her family. Charlie accepts her without question, of course he does, he’s always been the type. Fred and George couldn’t care less, tell her she’s got to make her name something that still begins with B or else all those jumpers will go to waste. Ron doesn’t seem to notice that anything is different; he’s much the same as their father, that way, adapting in a slow and halting way to pronouns and the like, harmless and well-meaning. Percy thinks it’s all daft, rolls his eyes, doesn’t speak to her much at Christmas.

Ginny, eight and lonely, is ecstatic to have a sister, insists on braiding her hair and sharing her jewelry and talking about boys late at night and all the things she’s always wished she had someone to do it with. Billie humors her, holds her close, doesn’t let her notice that when she presses her face close into her sister’s hair, there are tears in her eyes.

Molly... tries, bless her. Not hard enough. But she tries, in her own way. It’s almost enough not to hold it against her. It’s enough to pretend not to.

five. She comes back to England after three years in Egypt. Temporary leave, they call it, but what it is is a bloody desk job. She can’t be trusted to do her job anymore. No, there was a tomb, just outside of what was once called Thonis, a tomb they weren’t supposed to go into -- too dangerous, one of the senior curse breakers had said, forget about it. He’d wanted to go in anyway, asked her to come, and she’d thought: it’s not safe. And in the tomb, there was a trap he didn’t notice, a rogue curse. The Healers tell her it severed his jugular, that it likely took several minutes for him to bleed out, alone in there, before he stopped breathing.

What she hears is: if you had been in there, you could have saved him. If you hadn’t been a coward, he would be alive.

She comes back to England a shell of the person she was when she left, a hollow thing. She moves back into her bedroom at the very top of her parents’ tall, tall house. It had been Percy’s, after she left, so he could have a room to himself; she doesn’t redecorate.

It is the first time she sees what has become of Britain. The first time that she, as an adult, fully wraps her head around what her world has become. And about what she has become, in her parents’ shadow. She goes to work every day, at a little desk in a back office in Gringotts; she reads the paper, every day. Starts to see the news about executions. Adjusts without much difficulty to the presence of muggles in their formerly closed-off world (he’d been a muggleborn, showed her his Sony Walkman and a handful of CDs one of their first nights together, told her about telephones and televisions and tele-everything, and it’s all she can think of when her dad buys one of each, every gadget he can get his hands on, a brand new Macintosh Classic that costs enough that Molly swats him across the head with her Witch Weekly when he tells her how much he spent).

She drifts.

six. No one can be stagnant forever. It festers.

It turns from depression to resentment, before she realizes it. And one day, sitting silently at dinner with her parents and Ginny -- it’s September, and Ron’s eleven now, so he’s started Hogwarts, and Fred and George and Percy too, and Charlie’s still in Romania with the dragons -- she snaps. She isn’t listening to the conversation but her father says something banal about an argument he overheard at work, something about the executions and the Minister, and her mother says well you wouldn’t want to get involved in all of that, save your own skin while you can, and something inside of her breaks.

She doesn’t remember what she shouts, hands shaking, as she stands up from the table, but when she thinks about it, it sounds a lot like maybe if you stood up for anything in your bloody joke of a life and she doesn’t mean it at the time but when she finds herself sitting in a pub in Diagon Alley an hour later next to Mary MacDonald, she thinks maybe she did mean it.

She thinks maybe there’s got to be more to life than saving your own skin. There’s got to be something worth fighting for, some adventure just around the next corner if only you’re willing to stick your neck out and take a risk.

She thinks maybe, maybe, there’s a reason the hat put her in Gryffindor after all.

INTERVIEW

Describe the recurring dream you’ve been having lately.

    ‘I’m, ah. I’m in Egypt again. Merlin, this is going to sound so bloody cliché. Right, Bill, bloody buried alive, how original--’

She runs a hand through her hair, then gets fed up halfway through, extracts it, pulls an elastic off her wrist and loops it quickly through the long mass of red, missing a few strands here and there.

    ‘Right, sorry. Ah, so I’m in Egypt, headed down into one of the tombs, and the tunnels are narrower than usual, like, barely broad enough across for me to stand without scraping my shoulders on the stone of the walls, so I can’t have my wand drawn as I make my way through them. And every time I reach the end of the hallway, there’s a fork, and every time, no matter which way I turn, it’s the same bloody hallway -- I can tell, the hieroglyphics are the same. But when I focus on the hieroglyphics to see if I can read them, to see if they say anything, they’re, well, they’re not hieroglyphics. They keep changing. First they’re, dunno, cyrillic probably? Then they’re Chinese characters, then they’re English but the letters don’t make up real words. And every time, as soon as they turn to English I hear someone screaming, from down the hallway, and it’s someone I know, but I can’t run because the hallway’s too narrow, and I can’t reach them because every time I turn I’m in the same hallway, and I must just exhaust myself, running in circles like that, because every time I wake up, I’m out of breath, and I never remember who it was screaming when I try to think about it...’

She’s quiet, for a moment, then clears her throat and leans back in her chair, only just realizing that she’s moved to the edge of it, dug half moons into her palms where her nails have grown too long for that kind of nervous gripping.

    ‘Sorry, bit morbid. But, er, that’s... been once or twice a week, now, for the past couple of months.’

What’s the most convincing lie you’ve ever told yourself?

    ‘That one person can’t make a difference. My mum used to say that kind of thing a lot, you can’t change the world on your own, all that. I think maybe she felt guilty, sometimes, after her brothers died, that she hadn’t done anything to help. Or maybe it was the opposite, maybe she was still mad at them for putting themselves in danger to try to make things better when they would’ve been safer at home. I don’t... know, for sure, why she did anything she’s done, but what I decide to do matters and if I keep hiding forever because I think I don’t matter, that I’m better off saving my own skin, I’m going to end up like her.’

What has been the most beneficial aspect of the Statute of Secrecy being abolished? What about the greatest deficit?

    ‘Well, my dad’s pretty chuffed about it, isn’t he? I’ve got to admit, having some muggle things around the house have been pretty nice -- the telephone, CDs, pencils are bloody brilliant. Muggle fashion’s amazing, too, much better than robes and all that. But, in all seriousness, I think we’ve gone about things all wrong -- none of this is about trying to make two worlds that have been separate for all this time coexist. It’s about building a world that works for everyone, even if that means starting from scratch. And I don’t think it’s working, this way. I don’t think it’s enough.’

Ten years ago, where did you see yourself today? What would you tell your younger self, if you could?

    ‘Ten years ago? I was twelve, I saw myself becoming a professional quidditch star, just like every other twelve year old whose ever ridden a broom. I know that’s not the point of the question or whatever, but it’s true; didn’t exactly have a remarkable sense of self at that age. What I’d tell myself, though? That’s a better question. Would’ve been bloody convenient to have realized I’m a girl before all of that puberty business, wouldn’t it?’

EXTRAS

inspo tag

details:

    wand: maple, unicorn tail hair, 11″, sturdy

    amortentia: sun cream, cider, cinnamon

    patronus: falcon

future plot ideas:

one of the things I’m primarily interested in exploring with Billie is the idea of a blind idealist who sees a sort of heroic, dramatic way of “revolution” or “saving the world” as the only way to make a difference or do something important; there’s a tension between her and Molly -- whose existence is a much quieter, more practical thing -- that I’d love to see come to a head, and see how that affects her interactions with characters like Atticus and Mary, for whom things like revolution are unavoidably a life-or-death situation. I want to see her realize she’s not entirely right in her worldview, to be forced to see things from the points of view of some of the other characters and have to come to terms with the fact that these things she believes with her entire heart aren’t necessarily as true as she thinks they are

expanded personality:

MBTI type: ENFP, the Campaigner

The Campaigner personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party. More than just sociable people-pleasers though, Campaigners read between the lines with curiosity and energy. They tend to see life as a big, complex puzzle where everything is connected – but see it through a prism of emotion, compassion and mysticism, and are always looking for a deeper meaning. Luckily, Campaigners know how to relax, and they are perfectly capable of switching from a passionate, driven idealist in the workplace to that imaginative and enthusiastic free spirit on the dance floor, often with a suddenness that can surprise even their closest friends. Being in the mix also gives them a chance to connect emotionally with others, giving them cherished insight into what motivates their friends and colleagues.

enneagram type: type Eight, the Challenger

People of this personality type are essentially unwilling to be controlled, either by others or by their circumstances; they fully intend to be masters of their fate. Eights are strong willed, decisive, practical, tough minded and energetic. They want a lot out of life and feel fully prepared to go out and get it.

zodiac sign: Saggitarius

Your adventurous personality is accompanied by a straightforward and optimistic attitude. While others may take comfort in the familiar, you are always seeking to escape it. You are energized by new experiences, environments, and people, which explains why you are always moving towards something new. Your friends and family enjoy your adventures, but they truly appreciate your positive outlook. Your loved ones never fail to be uplifted by your ability to take the best out of any situation or person.

[authormitchel-blog]

C.O.S Part 9

            Harry told Millicent, Ron, and Hermione about it the next morning. They had different reactions.

            “What a nark!” exclaimed Ron.

“Well, we always knew Hagrid was expelled for something, we just didn’t know what,” said Harry.

            “I mean, squealing on Hagrid like that. That Riddle character sounds a lot like Percy.”

“But that thing killed someone, Ron,” said Hermione.

            “What did you do?” Millicent asked Harry.

Harry sighed. “I wanted to tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

            “He was so young, and he seemed in genuine disbelief that whatever it was had hurt that girl.”

            “Maybe we should just go to Hagrid’s hut and ask him about it,” offered Hermione.

Ron balked. “That’d be a cheerful visit. Hello, Hagrid, set anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?”

            Ultimately, they decided to keep it between them. If anything Harry wanted to keep Hagrid’s name out of the fray. He knew now why Hagrid had been so vehement in his defense in Dumbledore’s office. He didn’t want Harry to get kicked out like he had been. Harry knew then that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Hagrid.

            Let the whole world believe he was the heir of Slytherin as long as Hagrid wasn’t involved.

  &&&

            It was Huffelpuff verses Gryffindor, but Marcus still had his team gather together like it was their game day. It was only because Snape threatened Marcus and the others that they wouldn’t be able to go at all, that the team didn’t have to go in full uniform to “show force”, but Marcus did insist they sit together.

            Harry could hear Malfoy grumbling about it, even as he went back to the dorm to grab his scarf.

            Harry opened his trunk, but noticed that his cloak was on the wrong side of his trunk. Moving it, Harry checked further down where he had hidden the diary.

            It was missing.

Draco, it had to have been. Or Crabbe or Goyle, or could he really trust Nott either? Or any of his housemates? But why would they want it, no one could have known what it could do. Could they?

            Harry headed to the field, he needed to talk to Millicent.

He made it to the pitch just in time to see Professor McGonagall come half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

            Harry’s heart dropped like a stone.

“This match has been canceled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. Over the boos and shouts Oliver Wood landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

            Harry couldn’t hear what he said, but Professor McGonagall’s response was clear.

“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further instructions. As quickly as you can, please.”

            Then she lowered the megaphone, and looked directly at Harry.

“Potter, I think you’d better come with me….”

            Wondering how on Earth she could possibly suspect him for whatever it was now, Harry let her lead him to the infirmary oddly, picking up Ron and Millicent as they went.

            “Hermione” Ron groaned.

Hermione lay utterly still on the bed, her eyes open and glassy. She had been petrified.

            “She was found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose any of you would care to explain this? It was on the floor near her….”

            She was holding up a small, circular mirror.

They all shook their heads, eyes glued to Hermione. “I will escort you to your common rooms.”

  &&&

            If they were going to find out anything about Hermione then they needed to talk to Hagrid. Millicent and Harry fit well under the invisibility cloak and with a clear sky, they made it to Hagrid’s hut without any trouble. Ever since Mrs. Norris, Filch didn’t seem to have the joy in catching students that he once did.

Seconds after they had knocked on Hagrid’s door, it flung open. They found themselves face to face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind them.

“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. “What’re you two doing here?”

“What’s that for?” said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as Hagrid let them in.

“Nothin’….nothin’…” Hagrid muttered. “I’ve bin expectin’…..doesn’ matter….sit down….I’ll make tea…”

            He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He seemed frazzled and jumpy.

            “Are you okay, Hagrid?” said Harry. “Did you hear about Hermione?”

“Oh, I heard, all righ’,” said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice as he glanced nervously at the windows.

            Hagrid went to add some fruitcake to their plates when a loud knock at the door came and he dropped it to the floor.

            Harry and Millicent exchanged a panicked look as Harry threw the Cloak back over them and retreated to a corner farthest away from the door.

            Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

            “Good evening, Hagrid.”

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

            The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes, but Harry only noticed his lime green bowler hat.

            “That’s the Minister of Magic!” Millicent breathed so quietly Harry wasn’t sure she had actually spoken at all. “Cornelius Fudge.”

            “Bad business,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”

            “I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir…”

            “I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

            “Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something…the school governors have been in touch….”

            “Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.

            “Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty….”

            Millicent had to dig her nails into Harry’s arms to make him stop when he heard. “Azkaban.”

            Then she purposefully let go when Lucius Malfoy strolled into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long, black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.

            “Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good…”

“What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!”

            “My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your…er….d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. “I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”

            “Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily. “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension….you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? At this rate, they’ll be no more Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts and wouldn’t that be awful….”

            “Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed. “Dumbledore suspended, no, no, last thing we want just now….”

            “The board of governors….” Lucius started to defend.

“Yeah,” roared Hagrid. “And how many of them did you have to blackmail before they signed the thing, eh, Malfoy? Yeh can’ take Dumbledore. Take him and the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killings next!”

            “Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.

“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside….”

            “But….” Stuttered Fudge.

“No!” growled Hagrid.

            Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray eyes.

“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word. “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

            For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore looked straight at them before they all moved toward the door, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have to do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ‘em right! That’s all I’m sayin’. An’ someone’ll need to feed Fang while I’m away.”

            The door banged shut and Harry pulled off the cloak.

Millicent stood and started to pace. “We’re in trouble now,” she said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be another attack within days.”

            “I didn’t think you cared that much about Dumbledore.”

“I don’t,” Millicent said, looking at the closed door. “but we need him.”

            Fang started howling and Harry felt it in his bones.

              Five people if you count Mrs. Norris and Nearly Headless Nick, had been petrified, and Harry had to follow the spiders? “What in Salazar’s name does that mean?” asked Millicent. “Hagrid’s insane,” she continued. “I knew it! That half blood of his, has got to be banshee. They’re all nuts.”

            Blaise laughed.

“If you think Hagrid’s anything but half giant or troll then you’ve lost it.”

            Millicent threw a pillow at him.

“Regardless, what kind of an idiot would willing go spider chasing in the Forbidden Forest?”

            Harry gave her a wide smile.

“Maybe just one idiot and one loyal, mean chess player….” Millicent was already shaking her head, no. “… and a truly incredible witch.”

            “Absolutely not,” she said. “No way,” she rose from her high back chair where they were sitting in the common room. “Absolutely not. There is no way, Potter, maybe Blai….

            “Nope,” popped Blaise.

Harry put his hands together. “Please, Millicent, I need you,” Millicent bit the inside of her lip, but grudgingly shook her head.

    With Harry’s invisibility cloak and Fang in tow, Millicent and Harry headed into the Forbidden Forest. Fang scampered about their feet, the only light the moon and the tip of their wands.

            “Over there!” Millicent shouted.

Harry shined his light toward the forest floor where a line of spiders were heading deeper into the forest. Harry paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside of his little sphere of light was pitch black.

            Something wet touched Harry’s hand and he jumped back onto Millicent’s foot, but it was only an overzealous Fang. Harry looked to the low slung branches and thick wood, and could have sword he saw something moving.

            “Do you hear that?”

“Nope, not a thing,” replied Millicent, though she was looking in the direction Harry had just been. There was a strange rumbling noise then silence.

            “If I die in here, Potter, you’re going to think Myrtle is a good time.”

Then, to their right came a sudden blaze of light so bright they both had to shield their eyes. Fang yelled and tried to run, the coward, but was stopped by a tangle of thorns.

            “Mil!” Harry shouted the same time Millicent shouted, “Darn Weasleys!”

It was Mr. Weasley’s car.

            Harry thought it had been lost forever after he and Ron crashed it into the Womping Willow at the start of term. Harry blundered toward the light, Millicent and Fang following until they tipped out a moment later into a clearing.

            Mr. Weasley’s car was standing empty in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, it’s headlights ablaze.

            “It looks bewitched,” said Millicent even as the car slowly approached her like a frightened animal.

            “You think it’s been here all this time?”

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud, having been roaming the forest for weeks. Fang didn’t seem to trust it, keeping close to Harry as they moved closer.

“We need to move,” Millicent said, even as her voice started to break.

Harry didn’t even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly something long and hairy seized him around his middle, and lift him from the ground, so that he was hanging upside down. With a rustle and a shout, he looked to see Millicent’s feet swept out from underneath her, too.

He didn’t know how long he was in the creature’s clutches before he was dropped to the grass, but he knew it felt like forever. Spiders. Massive spiders had carried Harry and Millicent to this clearing where spiders of all sizes were waiting, surrounding them.

Harry looked up realizing that the spider who had dropped him was saying something. “Aragog!” it called. “Aragog!”

            And from the middle of a misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very deliberately. Pincers milky white, eyes on each side of it’s ugly head looked blank. The spider was blind.

“What is it?” he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

“Men,” clicked the spider who had caught Harry.

            “Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

“Strangers,” answered the other spider.

            “Kill them,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping….”

“We’re friends of Hagrids,” Harry shouted. His heart beating out of his throat.

            Click. Click. Click, the spiders echoed all around them.

Aragog paused.

            “Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he said slowly.   

“Hagrid’s in trouble,” said Millicent who was breathing very fast. “And we have come to seek the assistance of your highness.”

            “In trouble,” said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard the concern behind the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?”

            Harry took a breath and spoke as calmly as he could.

“They think, up at the school, that Hagrid’s been setting a….something loose on the students. They’ve taken him to Azkaban.”

            Aragog clicked his pincers rapidly and all around the hollow the other spiders did the same.

            “But, that was years ago,” said Aragog. “They made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free.”

            “And you…you didn’t come from the Chamber of Secrets?” said Harry, who could feel cold sweat dripping on his forehead.

            “I!” said Aragog, clicking angrily. “I was not born in the caslte. I am from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hid me in a cupboard in the castle, feed me from his table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me and I have lived in the forest doing the same for him ever since. He found me a wife, Mosag, and since we have grown.”

            “I have never harmed a human, out of respect for Hagrid. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up.”

            “Honored one,” Millicent offered. “Do you know what did kill that girl?”

Her words were followed by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many legs shifting angrily, large black shapes shifting all around them.

            “The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog. “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school.”

            “What is it?” said Harry urgently, regretfully.

More loud clicking and rustling, the spiders seemed to be closing in.

            “We do not speak of it!” said Aragog, fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.”

            Harry knew he was pressing his luck.

“We’ll….” He started before Millicent joined in. “Thank you, honored one, for the information. We are sorry that we entreated upon your territory.”

            “You have,” answered the spider who seemed to regard Millicent in a different way than he did Harry.

            “My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command,”

Millicent interrupted.

            “And we are sure he is grateful, most honored, and we only came to inform about your good friend Hagrid’s state because we too, care for him.”

            Millicent was looking around like she could hear something that Harry couldn’t.

The spiders seemed to be approaching, each of them waiting for Aragog to give them the go ahead. Hagrid might be safe here, but Harry was under no illusion that he and Millicent were going to be.

            Even as Harry reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no goo, there were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow.

            Mr. Weasley’s car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside, several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air like a turtle who can’t get up.

            “Get Fang!” Harry yelled at Millicent, diving into the front seat. He felt Millicent and Fang fall into the car after him. The car zoomed backward, dodging and knocking spiders this way and that, but soon Harry, Millicent, Fang and the car were in the clear.

            The car threw them out when they were in the clear. Harry and his cloak the grass while Fang licked furiously at Millicent’s face.

            “Follow the spiders, he said. Follow the spiders, I’m going to kill Hagrid,” said Millicent. “Oh, get off me you mutt.”

            “I’m over here,” answered Harry, laughing, before he got up to help Millicent to her feet.

“You are so dead, Potter,” said Millicent, slapping his hand away and getting up on her own. “After,” she clarified. “we go and see about your new girlfriend.”

            Harry paused.

“You don’t think….Myrtle?” he asked.

            She shook her head, yes. “Myrtle.”