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allthephils · 6 years ago

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Autofocus

Word count: 2140

Rated T for language

It’s just a fluffy little first meeting story in an au where Dan works at an amusement park photo kiosk and Phil likes to ride roller coasters.

Read on AO3

Written for @phanfichallenge photography challenge

Hate is a strong word. Dan doesn’t hate his job, not exactly. He knows it could be worse. He could be cleaning toilets or scraping food off of dishes. He knows that people do real manual labor, dangerous labor, for less money than he’s making to mostly sit on his ass. It’s just that he hates wearing this stupid green polo shirt and he hates going outside during the day. And he really hates dealing with cargo short clad vacation dads that look just like the guys that tried to shove Dan into his locker every day of his high school career. The only difference is these guys are balding and have beer guts and come with tiny little monstrous versions of themselves.

Luckily, poor customer service is a skill that Dan has carefully honed to near perfection. In most cases, he can complete an entire transaction without looking up from his phone. There is one perk to working here though, tit patrol. Tit patrol is the creative title the crew uses to refer to the person who sits at a computer and watches as newly taken photos page by, looking for obscene gestures, exposed arses, and of course tits. These photos get sent to a folder for deletion before they can slip by and show up on the big screen at the back of the kiosk. It’s a coveted position, though the show is far from tantalizing. Quick flashes of all kinds of flesh are more awkward than arousing and they’re interspersed with hundreds of terrified faces and awful shots of vomit flying. Dan loves being on tit patrol because, well because its hilarious, and because it means he doesn’t have to talk to people.

His shift started at 11 AM. Dan walked in at 11:10, iced coffee in hand. He pulled his hideous green polo shirt out and shoved his bag into his cubby. Everyday, he grumbles that he should be aloud to wear black since the kiosk sells photos of riders on a roller coaster called the Vampire. Everyday, his coworkers roll their eyes and ignore him. With his official employee shirt on, collar popped, sleeves rolled up, black t-shirt peeking out at the neck, he took his place behind the counter and began scrolling through Tumblr. It was mostly families with little kids before noon which meant this particular kiosk was dead. The Vampire is way too fast and way too scary for little kids.

The first customer of Dan’s day slides his ticket across the counter. In his usual way, Dan punches the number into his keyboard and the photo appears on both his screen and the one facing the customer.

“Oh wow. So much for my ultra masculine reputation.” The customer giggles a bit, looking at the photo of himself, hand thrown over his eyes, mouth open in a scream of fear, as the coaster sped downhill through a dark and foreboding cave.

Dan looks briefly at the photo and says, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

The customer just stares at Dan who hasn’t so much as glanced at him. “One for 10 or two for twenty? Wait, but that’s not…”

Dan huffs and repeats himself, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

“Okay,” the customer says, resigned, “I’ll take one please. I’ll put it up on my bathroom mirror to keep me humble.”

Dan just sort of grunts as he hits print. He slides the photo into an envelope and hands it over.

His voice is utterly devoid of joy as he issues the standard closing. “Thank you for riding the Vampire, we hope you had a bloody good time.”

A surprised laugh bubbles from the customer as he walks away.

As they move into afternoon, business picks up and a line forms. Dan is on autopilot. Take the ticket, enter the numbers, take the money, print the photo. Take the ticket, enter the numbers, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

“Thought I’d stick with the theme, since I’m clearly a scaredy cat. Get it, scaredy cat?” Dan knows that voice. It’s the customer from earlier. “I’ll pass on the photo though, thanks.”

Dan looks to his screen. This time the man’s face isn’t covered by his hands and it’s a good face. He wears a big smile and his tongue pokes through his front teeth just the smallest bit. He had drawn on a black cat’s nose and whiskers but they don’t hide how strangely good looking he is. Even on this cut rate monitor screen, his eyes look impossibly blue. It’s all framed by a perfect black fringe, not much different than Dan’s own hair. It occurs to Dan that he could be looking right into those eyes and he snaps his gaze to look up at the customer. All he catches is two seriously long legs and a very cute booty walking away in black skinny jeans.

Dan pouts. He never gets to talk to hot boys and now he’d let one slip away. His eyes fall back to the photo on the screen and he sighs.

“Hey, are you working here or what?” Dan curls his lip in disgust at the sharp contrast between the obnoxious American dad in front of him and the ethereal being he saw on the screen. Ok, maybe ethereal is a bit much, but he seems funny and nice and he’s so pretty.

Dan mopes until he’s minutes away from his lunch break. His last customer hands him their ticket and Dan gasps when the photo appears. It’s him! His scaredy cat! The whiskers are gone. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth curled into a proud grin. He holds a small stuffed toy lion aloft, à la Circle of Life. Dan laughs, something he doesn’t do very often at work and the customer in front of him laughs with him.

“That boy.” Such a sweet, maternal tone. “I’ll take two copies please.” Her accent is decidedly northern, even more so than the scaredy cat’s had been. This must be his mum. He’s here with his family. So much for tracking him down and snogging him in the employee locker room. Dan carefully tucks the photos into an envelope and hands them to the nice woman.

He flashes his most parent pleasing smile. “Thank you for riding the Vampire. We hope you had a bloody good time!” He actually sounds sincere.

“Oh! Oh dear.” The woman laughs and shakes her head.

“Pardon the language miss.”

“Miss? Young man, I’m likely older than your mother! And believe me these ears have heard far worse than that!” She laughs with Dan and gives him a £20 note. “Phil is going to be tickled pink when he sees how these turned out. You have a lovely day!”

Dan waves as she walks away, standing up to try and catch a glimpse of who she might be headed toward. It’s no use, the crowds are too dense. Phil though, his name is Phil. Dan eats his amusement park pizza outside in the hot sun in the hopes that Phil might walk by but it doesn’t happen. He’s probably gone home. He’d been Dan’s first customer of the day after all. And who in their right mind rides a rickety old Vampire themed rollercoaster three times in one day? Dan daydreams blue eyes and goofy smirks till his half hour was up.

After lunch, he’s on tit patrol so Dan plops down in the back of the kiosk with a giant slushee, trigger finger hovering over the F9 key. The system only gives you a few seconds to make a judgement and send the offender packing before the photo goes up on the big screen for the whole world to see. Any distraction could mean 4 seconds of scandal, angry parents and angrier middle management. More than once, Dan had let a notification on his phone take his attention and had let a middle finger slip by. Not today though, today his eyes are glued to the screen, hoping Phil will ride one more time. He’d see the photo go by and trade with one of the guys at the front and this time, he’d talk to him. He wouldn’t be too edgy to notice and he wouldn’t chicken out.

There were two bras flashed, one simulated blow job, and a whole coaster car full of naked bums, but no Phil. His two hours of tit patrol are up and he reluctantly relinquishes his post. Back on the front lines, he falls into his pattern and soon his shift is nearly up. When he finds himself without a customer in front of him for the first time in an hour, Dan sits up, stretching and rolling his neck. As if put there by the hand of fate, Phil walks past the kiosk. He’s chatting excitedly with a man that looks a lot like him and a gorgeous woman with fiery hair. His parents trail behind, holding hands.

Just as the group gets far enough away that Dan would look like a psycho for running after them or calling Phil’s name, Phil turns and looks right at Dan. He doesn’t stop, he just turns in place like a model on a catwalk. He doesn’t smile, just catches Dan’s eyes with own and goes on his way. Dan swallows and groans out loud, letting his head thunk down on the the counter.

Accustomed to Dan’s flair for the dramatic, his co-workers chuckle and ignore him. Dan pulls off his ugly green polo and begins to gather his stuff to go home.

“Shit! Shit.” Dan’s co-worker, Jack was on tit patrol and it sounds like he let something by. “Personal info. Fuck. Oh well. Who holds up their phone number on a roller coaster? It’s not even like a proposal or whatever.”

The big screen fills Dan’s vision and he bolts upright. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

Dan is jumping around and shouting to the disapproving looks of dozens of tourists and he couldn’t care less. Phil looks out at him from the big screen, a smirk better than the one Dan had imagined on his lips. He holds a sign that says, I hope you’re paying attention. And underneath that, a phone number.

Jack says, “Oh hello, he’s hot” and holds up his phone to capture the image. Another co-worker, Ellie, picks up a pen and starts to scribble down the number.

“Don’t you dare.” Dan snarls at Jack, pointing a finger menacingly. Jack lowers his phone and puts his hands up in surrender. Dan walks to Ellie and snatches the number from her hand.

She frowns, “How do you know it’s for you? It could be for any of us!”

“Oh, it’s for me.” Dan grins, his dimples digging in deep, “HE is for me.” He turns up his nose and spins on his heel for the most theatrical exit he can muster, then walks out of the kiosk to a chorus of giggles and grumbles.

Once he’s out of the park, he sits down on a bench at the edge of the parking lot and enters the number into his phone. He types in the name, Phil, bouncing in his seat like a giddy child after too much cotton candy. His hands shake as he types out a message, praying to no one that he hadn’t read that look wrong.

Hi Phil, It’s Dan from the Kiosk.

He hits send, his knee bouncing with nerves and as he’s returning the phone to his pocket, it vibrates.

Dan? You’re the one with the green hair, right?

Is he kidding? He must be kidding. He didn’t even talk to Jack. Another vibration. Dan holds his breath.

Dan? I’m kidding, of course! What follows is a string of emojis, a dinosaur, a warthog, some fireworks, and a cry laughing emoji. I know who you are. You’re the one with the chocolatey eyes and incredible dimples. Nice to meet you, Dan.

Dan exhales and a flutter moves through his belly, up past his heart, and down to his fingertips. Phil laid it on thick and it was working.

Nice to meet you too, Phil.

So Dan, I’ve got a pretty wild Friday night planned.

Oh yeah? Dan replies.

Yeah, it includes pizza, Ribena, and…

Dan breathes a laugh to himself and types, drumroll...

JURASSIC PARK!!!

Gasp! Pizza and Jeff Goldblum?!! I don’t know Phil, sounds intense. You’re easily frightened. You sure you can handle it?

Maybe if I had someone here to help me through it, someone strong and brave. You know anyone like that?

Yeah, but I think Jack’s busy tonight. Dan typed but stood and began his walk to the bus stop. He wasn’t wasting any more time.

I guess you’ll have to do then, Dan.

END

#phanfic #phanfiction #oneshot #fluff #phanfichallenge #myfic

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sensationalscenarios · 7 years ago

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Sleeping Dogs: Chapter II

AU: Based on my SF9 as Mafia au found here

Chapter Two TWs include: blood, death.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated!

+ admin L

Prologue | I | III

ii. noir

“Have you seen the gift I left for you?”

“Gift? What gift? Who is this?”

“In Dosan Park. I worked very hard on that body, which I’m sure you will see on the news soon. The police already suspects you and your brothers are the killers, as if you all could ever create such a masterpiece.”

Everyone startles at the man’s words, and Inseong wastes no time in pulling up the news feed on another monitor. It’s muted, and they can’t hear what the reporter is saying, but the image that appears of the body for a nanosecond is all they needed to see. There’s something familiar about the victim, Inseong notes, but he can’t say anything, not while whoever it is on the other line thinks they’re talking to Youngbin only.

“Who are you and what do you fucking want?!” Youngbin is angry to say the least. Word of the dead body is going to spread quickly, both through the general public and the Underground, and that’s going to create a whole lot of problems for them. Problems that Youngbin really didn’t need at the moment.

“Tsk. Be patient. That’s only the first of many gifts to come, unless you join my game and win of course.”

“And why would I?”

“Simple. I highly doubt you’ll let someone else die, though I suggest you act quickly because if not another body will be delivered to your territory in three days and I can promise you that it will be worse than this one. Maybe it will be someone you know.”

The last sentence strikes a chord in Youngbin, and the blood in his veins boil as the anger spreads throughout his body. Though the man doesn’t specify, Youngbin knows it’s a threat directed at his brothers, because his brothers are all he knows, and Youngbin will not tolerate some shit head trying to come for his family.

“Listen you fucker, I swear to-”

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

Youngbin stops, and he stares at the faces around him, all sharing the same look of determination. A subtle nod from each of the boys is enough to change Youngbin’s mind. He knows they’ll catch the guy so for now, he’ll play along.

“Fine. I’ll play this stupid game of yours.”

“Excellent! It is quite the honor having the Red Dragons play.”

“So what now huh?”

“Now? Now it’s your move Kim Youngbin. Who’s going to die next?”

The line cuts before Youngbin has the chance to respond, his grip tightening on the device. How dare this asshole? Who does he think he is? Youngbin sets his phone down before he can break it and turns towards Inseong. “Anything?”

“It was a disposable phone. I was able to trace the signal to the nearest cell tower it bounced off of and it looks like he’s somewhere northeast of Dosan Park, right along the Han River but I can’t get much more than that. He probably busted the thing as soon as he hung up and trashed it.” Inseong frowned. He hated it when things like this happened, when he couldn’t get the information he wanted even though it should be so easy to. “I’ll bring up footage from any cameras in the area, see if I can maybe find some shady looking guy in the park. For now, we gotta look at the news.”

Inseong turns the volume on and they all lean closer as he plays back the news. The reporter is talking about the discovery of the body at the park, and how the police have little information to give to the public at the moment. The brief glimpse of the body wasn’t enough, so Inseong taps away until he’s successfully in the Agency’s database. The Seoul Metropolitan Police really need to encrypt their stuff better, he thinks as he waits for the images to come through. Sure enough, within minutes, photos of the crime scene have already been scanned into the system and Inseong enlarges them, the corpse on full display for all of them to see.

A young woman, most likely in her early twenties, stares up into the sky with a blank expression, her eyes dull. Clean lines were made at her throat and wrists, though no blood flowed. It was almost as if the blood had been drained prior to her body being disposed there. There were several open wounds on her head, as if she had suffered multiple blows from a blunt object, yet even those wounds had been carefully cleaned. The corpse itself still looked presentable, with little signs of decomposition.

Inseong is frowning again, and then it finally clicks, why there’s something so familiar about the girl. He jerks in his chair, startling everyone around him. He frantically searches his desk, pushing aside papers and various knick knacks that he collects. He’d just had the folder in his hands, and curses at himself for losing it in such a short time period.

“Shit Inseong what is it?” Dawon is the first to recover from the shock of Inseong’s sudden behavior.

“The victim. She’s the missing gi-this girl.” Inseong finally finds the folder Youngbin had given him earlier and opens it for everyone to see. “The missing persons case Youngbin wanted me to look into tonight just so happens to be the murder victim our mystery man left us as a ‘gift’. That can’t be just a coincidence. There’s no way.”

Youngbin frowns, displeased with the direction this was going. “Rowoon how did you get a hold of this case from the Agency?”

“I went to go see my dad as per usual to get updates. He’s still clueless as ever by the way.” Rowoon assures them. Even though Rowoon had decided to leave the academy, he still managed to convince his father to allow him to assist on cases under the pretense that he was ‘thinking about coming back’ when in reality, Rowoon was purely interested in obtaining police information on the Red Dragons and the other gangs. He was also still trying to find a way to connect his father to the death of Zuho’s father, though that was proving to be difficult. “Anyways he sent me to the files room to put away a case that was recently closed and while I was walking to the room I overheard two detectives talking about a girl that went missing on our turf. Naturally they thought it was us so as soon as I put the file away I was going to try to eavesdrop on them some more.”

Rowoon stops, frowning as he recalls the events from earlier that day. “It was kind of weird, now that I think about it. As I was leaving the room I noticed a file on the table by the door. Everyone uses that table to read files so I thought maybe someone left it there by accident. I was going to put it back in one of the boxes but when I opened it I saw her. That folder is labeled as a copy so it’s not the original one. Figured it was okay to take it and have you look at it.”

“So you mean to tell me that this specific folder just so happened to be sitting on top of a table where you would see it at the exact moment you did, and that this girl in this folder, turns out to be the dead girl that guy leaves for us? Dude that’s some scary shit.” Dawon shudders.

“No kidding…” Hwiyoung says in response.

Moments pass as each of the boys take their own time in comprehending the situation. Though no one spoke, each wondered what exactly would happen in three days. Would another body be dumped? They agreed to play the game but where do they go from here? There were too many unknown variables, too many questions without answers. Chani was the first to break the silence.

“The guy said that another body would show up in three days, and that it could be someone we know. Do you guys think it’s going to be one of us?” Chani nearly whispers, arms hugging himself as he looks up at them. His eyes cloud over as an all too painful memory flashes through his mind.

A single gunshot echoed throughout the house, followed by the sound of his mother’s sobs as she called out his father’s name. There was no response, and Chani felt his chest tighten as tears formed in his eyes. A second gunshot followed, and suddenly Chani couldn’t hear his mother’s voice anymore.

“Search the house for the kid.” A man orders and Chani squeezed his eyes shut, hugging his knees to his chest as he rocked back and forth slowly. Someone’s whimpering, and Chani realizes it’s coming from him, but he can’t bring himself to stop. It hurts. Everything hurts. His parents are either dead or are bleeding to death and he’s sitting here in his closet like a fucking coward.

Hwiyoung.

He needs Hwiyoung.

His hands are shaking as he unlocks his phone, and it takes him several tries before he can successfully dial Hwiyoung’s number. He turns down the volume even though Hwiyoung is a quiet speaker, because he’s so afraid of being heard. He peaks through the tiny gap between his closet doors, eyes locked on the door on the opposite side of the room. He can hear footsteps outside as the strangers search his home. After a few rings Hwiyoung finally answers.

“Chani! I was about to call you actually. I’m on my way over now with that video game you wanted.” Hwiyoung happily answers.

“Hwi-Hwiyoung.” Chani whimpers, his tears falling freely at the sound of Hwiyoung’s voice.

“Chani what’s wrong.” Hwiyoung’s tone changes as he tells the driver to hurry.

“There’s-there’s people here Hwi. They shot my parents and they’re looking for me.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes, just stay on the phone with me.”

“Why is this happening to me?” Chani presses himself further against the back wall of his closet as the footsteps get louder. “Hwiyoung they’re coming into my room!”

“Stay quiet. I’m almost there I promise.”

Chani jerks in his spot as the door burst open, three men piling into his room. They immediately search the room, one man checking under the bed as another goes through the contents of his desk. The third man is eyeing the closet and Chani is praying to whatever power exists above for the man to ignore it. He covers his mouth with his hand, trying to control his breathing as the man steps towards him. His phone is still pressed against his ear, and Chani thinks he hears the sound of a car door opening and closing, but he’s far too focused on the man who is now standing right in front of his closet.

“Well look who we have we here boys.”

Chani yelps as the man pulls open the doors and he fights, he fights so hard as the man forcefully drags him out, an iron grip on his arm. He knows he can’t take on all three but he has to try. He doesn’t know what they want, but as they drag him out of his room Chani is horrified by the possibility that they want him alive for some reason he can’t fathom.

They’re in the living room now, and the smell of blood hits him full force. His eyes are stuck on the corpses of his parents, their lifeless eyes staring up at him. Chani doesn’t move; he can’t. It’s like his body is rooted to the ground where he stands, and he knows the men are shouting at him, pushing him, but his eyes remained fixed on the bodies. The single gunshot to each of their heads: execution style, the blood pooling on the floor.

Chani stares for what seems like an eternity. He doesn’t notice when the men stop pushing, nor does he notice his front door swinging open as Hwiyoung enters his house. He doesn’t hear the shouting, or the cursing, but he hears the gunshots, and just like that Chani is on the floor, hands pressed tightly against his ears and he screams. He screams over and over, eyes shut tight as he begs for his parents to wake up even though he knows they won’t. A pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and he thrashes about, this time screaming out Hwiyoung’s name as he struggles against the person.

“Chani! Chani stop it’s me! It’s Hwiyoung! They can’t hurt you anymore!” Hwiyoung maneuvers his body so that he’s facing Chani, and he cups the other’s face in his hands. “Chani look at me!”

Chani is having a hard time breathing as he slowly opens his eyes, blinking through his tears as he looks at the one person he needed the most staring back at him. There’s specks of blood on his face and shirt and Chani panics as he grips Hwiyoung’s arms. “Hwi the blood-”

“It’s not mine.” Hwiyoung answers quickly, and he holds Chani’s face firmly in place when the other attempts to move. “Don’t look. Let’s just go.”

“Go where?”

“Someplace safe. I’ll-I’ll call Taeyang.” Hwiyoung helps the younger boy stand, and guides him out of the house carefully, trying his best to block the other’s view so he wouldn’t have to see anymore dead bodies. As they step through the door, one of the men coughs as he spits out his last words.

“We will find you Chanhee. We’ll come back, and we’ll find you.”

“Chani? Chani!” Hwiyoung stares at his friend in concern, knowing what must be going through the other’s mind. He puts his arm around the other, wishing more than anything that he could make Chani forget what he saw that day, or that he could somehow bear his burden instead. He hates seeing Chani like this, he hates that he hadn’t gotten to his house sooner.

“Huh? Oh sorry. I was just thinking about you know...that.”

“Chanhee.” Youngbin’s voice is firm as he speaks. “I promise you that nothing is going to happen to you, or any of us. I’m not going to let some asshole get anywhere near you, do you understand?”

“But what if it’s them? What if they finally figured out I’m hiding here with you guys? You could all get hurt too I-”

“Even if it is them, I’d like to see them try and get past me.” Youngbin cuts the young boy off, stepping forward to rest his hands on the other’s shoulders. “You’re family, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe and alive. You know what? I hope it’s the same people who killed your parents, so I can make them suffer and feel the pain they made you feel years ago. I’m going to make them wish they had never heard of your name to begin with.”

There’s a fire in Youngbin’s eyes and Chani knows that beneath the surface his anger is bubbling, ready to break through. He takes a deep breath and nods slowly, before diving forward and embracing the elder in a hug. Youngbin is surprised, since the younger was never one to initiate skinship, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the hug when he notices how badly Chani is shaking.

“Oi, Youngbin.” Dawon speaks up. “Don’t keep all the fun to yourself. I’d like to throw in a punch or two, or twenty.”

“Get in line Dawon.” Hwiyoung says. “I’ve got unfinished business with them.”

“I’m pretty sure we all do.” Jaeyoon adds, and everyone agrees. To come for one of them means to come for all of them, and everyone knows the Red Dragons don’t take too kindly to threats directed at their own. Silence settles around them as Youngbin continues to comfort Chani. It had taken a long time before Chani had opened up and told them all what happened that day, and since then they’ve all been wary, waiting, wondering if and when those men would come back. They’d all spoken one night when the youngest had fallen asleep early, agreeing to do whatever was necessary to protect him.

“Let’s get some sleep everyone.” Youngbin finally says once Chani has stopped shaking. “I want all of us to be well rested for tomorrow. We’re going to find the asshole and end his game.”

There’s murmurs of agreement and everyone moves into the living room. Tonight Youngbin decides it’s best if they all camp out in the living room instead of their rooms and no one disagrees. There’s a mass of blankets and pillows everywhere, with Inseong on one couch and Youngbin on the adjacent one. The others are curled up on the floor, with Chani in the middle as they all settle down to sleep. Youngbin doesn’t miss the pistol that Dawon slips under his pillow, or the switchblade that Rowoon slides under his. He doesn’t miss how Zuho is getting ready to sleep with brass knuckles on his right hand or how Taeyang has his bat above his pillow, easily within arms’ reach. Youngbin has his own gun by his side, ready for the worst.

He raises an eyebrow when he notices Inseong opening his laptop. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m keeping watch.”

“Then I’m keeping watch with you. What kind of second in command would I be if I left you awake by yourself?” Inseong flashes a small smile at the other, before turning back to his laptop. “Besides I want to see if I can find out anything else about that girl. Maybe there’s something new in the police files that might give me a lead on that guy.”

There’s no response from the other and Inseong looks up from his screen, half expecting to see Youngbin asleep. Instead the latter is focused on the entangled mess of bodies on the floor, from which soft snores could be heard. More specifically, he’s looking at Chani, who is curled up between Jaeyoon and Hwiyoung. The youngest is frowning in his sleep and Inseong figures it must be from the memories that have resurfaced.

“It’s starting again. He’s doing the hand holding thing.” Youngbin says.

“It took him so long to forget.” Inseong murmurs. When Hwiyoung and Chani had first arrived at their home, led in by Taeyang, the youngest had been shaking so badly. Inseong had initially planned on scolding Taeyang for bringing kids to their home of all places, but one look at the two boys, one who had blood on his clothes and the other who clung onto him like a lifeline, and Inseong knew he couldn’t turn them away. He’d gotten Youngbin immediately of course, and the two of them discussed at length what to do about the situation.

Taeyang had told them what he knew about the two, and begged Youngbin to help them. Inseong knew though, that Youngbin’s heart and mind had already come to a decision. Youngbin had sent Taeyang out to gather the others while he and Inseong remained at home to watch over them. Inseong still remembers that first night, and he doubts he’ll ever forget it.

“Inseong they’re kids. They need our help.”

“I know Youngbin, but do you really want them to be a part of this kind of life? Our life?”

“If we turn them away, if we put them back out there against whoever it was that did that to them, are we no better than the monsters we claim to kill?”

“I know you’re right but...I just don’t want this to be their only option. I don’t want this to be all that they have left. Involving them in our business might put them in more danger, hell it might even expose them to the assholes who hurt them in the first place!”

“This happened to us because of ‘business’.” A soft, yet firm voice had interrupted the two, and Youngbin did not hesitate to pull out his pistol and shove Inseong behind him. “Wait stop please!”

It was the boy with the blood on his shirt, his hands raised in the air. “Please no guns. Chani-Chani’s going to freak out if he sees one right now.”

“What’s your name kid and what did you mean by ‘business’?” Youngbin asked, lowering his weapon as Inseong stepped forward.

“Hwiyoung, and I’m talking about gangs or the mafia or whatever it is you call it. I-I did business with one and I think it’s my fault this happened.” Hwiyoung clears his throat after speaking, and Inseong knows it’s to fight back the sobs that want to come out.

“Do you remember which gang?” Inseong questions.

“I-no I don’t. They never really gave me the name of their group. I’d rather not talk about this right now, please. I just want to help Chani.”

“Kid we can’t help you unless you tell us everything. I could have Inseong here look you up in the system, but I doubt you want us to see your whole life.”

“I didn’t want to work for this gang okay? It just sort of happened. They...blackmailed me into doing stuff, and the one time I didn’t do a job Chani gets hurt the day after? It can’t be a coincidence right?”

“We’ll look into it, but tell us what happened.” Youngbin demands.

“Chani’s parents are dead.” Hwiyoung looks up at them, and Inseong sees just how broken the young boy is. “Please don’t make me say anything else. Just, not right now.”

Youngbin opened his mouth to respond, but a scream from the living room had them all running. The other boy, Chani, was sitting up on the couch, eyes wide and teary as he looked around. Upon seeing Hwiyoung he all but jumped on the other. “Hwi I thought you were gone too.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I just went to talk to these guys for a little bit. They’re Taeyang’s friends so they’re nice I promise.”

“Hey, Chani right?” Youngbin’s voice is softer now as he looks at the boy in front of him. “I’m Youngbin, and this is Inseong. Taeyang told us something bad happened, but you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. You and Hwiyoung can stay with us until we can make sure it’s safe for the two of you to go home.”

“Mister?” Chani’s own voice is a whisper. “What if I don’t have a home anymore?”

“Then this can be your new home. For both of you.”

Inseong recalls how, the first year after that night, Chani would always wake up screaming from his nightmares, and Hwiyoung would be the only one who could calm him down. It’d gotten to the point where Hwiyoung would sleep in the same bed as the younger, and hold his hand to reassure him that he’d be there when Chani woke up. Gradually, as time passed, Chani told them everything and began his own recovery. He hasn’t had a nightmare in almost three years, nor has he had to hold Hwiyoung’s hand in just as long, yet this one phone call from some douche had been enough to set him back to square one. A small whine escapes Chani’s lips as he frowns even more, his hand subconsciously squeezing Hwiyoung’s.

“Inseong.”

“Yeah?” Inseong looks away from the boys, and takes a deep breath to recollect himself as he turns towards Youngbin.

“We need to end this tonight, for Chani and Hwiyoung. Clear out any jobs the others were supposed to have today. We’re all going to Octagon tonight.”

“What for?” Inseong asks, even though part of him already knew what the answer would be.

“To meet with Seven Star.”

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hannahmatthewswestminster · 4 years ago

Photo

google data

going through my 40gb of data from google has been a very interesting insight into exactly what kind of information these large corporations have on you. it’s weird firstly going through the ‘google photos’ section, in which half of the files are filled with JSON files that are full of code. this code insinuates an image or video. in between these code are files, actual images and videos of me, the people around me, interests i have screenshot, the inside of houses, pets etc. it’s scary to see exactly how much they know about me solely from my images. they have a folder called ‘profile photo’ which has one image of me... a selfie that i took about 4 years ago. it’s strange that this is now most likely the image they use to identify my face within this data. images of the faces of my family and friends are notably stored. this got me thinking about physical surveillance and how these devices have now become surveillance cameras, within the comfort of your own home. aside from the invisible surveillance going on behind the scenes, these corporations are actually storing physical images and videos that help them to learn about you, identify you and identify others that surround you. these devices are physical surveillance mechanisms as well as invisible

the majority of my data appears to be images, which shows photography’s contribution to a mass surveillance society. it makes you feel very vulnerable, as google knows how i see and notice the world through my own eyes, they know the intricacy of how i view my environment through the images i take and they know exactly what my reality is, compared to that of others. its a harsh insight into the lack of privacy & compassion towards you as a human being. they see you as a number, a way to make money, rather than a living & breathing individual who values themselves and their freedom and their right to live out of the constant gaze of greedy, detrimental corporations. this is the world we are living in

what confuses me is how they have been able to retrieve my images, as i haven’t had the ‘google photos’ app on this device, where as i had it on my last one. so i haven’t granted them permission to use my images as i once did, maybe theres a loop hole in the terms & conditions that are too long for anyone to read. it’s scary they have access to this when i have an apple phone, using the apple photos app, with no google photos app in sight, not even google chrome. very questionable

within the ‘google maps’ section they clearly state in code what my home address is, they therefore know exactly where i live, identifying who i live with through their data and through the images they have stored. they also store every search i make on google maps, pinpointing it so they can determine where i am, where i am going/planning to go and where i have been

google have additionally stored everything i search for on the internet on google chrome (luckily i don’t use it too much so it is lacking on this front, it is clear where i decided to stop using it because the data is minimal whereas before it was full) it has also stored exactly what ads i have interacted with, which ones have caught my attention enough to open them, allowing them to learn & continuously get more effective at capturing my attention for their own financial gain. they have additionally stored all of my youtube searches

it’s true when they say that these companies know more about you than you do yourself. most of the interactions within this data file i don’t remember doing, i guess they definitely know more about me than i do myself, as these systems don’t suffer from memory loss, it seem theirs is unlimited. this leads to unlimited data, i wonder how big the infrastructure for its storage will get as we continue down this dark path of dataveillance

#6IMAG001.W #FMP #dataveillance #google data privacy #google data #surveillance

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ink-splotch · 8 years ago

Note

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

–

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

–

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

–

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

Keep Reading (Ao3)

When Harry was eleven years old, his Hogwarts letter came by owl. He’d been accidentally blowing windows open and lighting cauliflower on fire for years. James took Harry to go get his wand at Ollivanders, and Lily took Dudley to the Owl Emporium where he tried to convince her they should build an aviary in the backyard. They came home with a fat black cat who hissed at everyone. Dudley named him Spooks, and Lily called him Monster.

“Did you have to?” said James. “That is the meanest beast I’ve ever met, and I’ve known Remus unmedicated on full moons and a pubescent Sirius thwarted in love.”

Lily, who had ink on her cheek and a ballpoint pen stuck behind her ear, waved vaguely at the living room without looking up from her arrest report. Dudley was asleep in an armchair. The cat sprawled across his lap. Both its front paws were wrapped around Dudley’s arm as it cleaned his wrist with aggressive fondness.

“Alright,” said James. “Yeah, you had to.”

When Ginny Weasley ran shouting after the train carrying her littlest big brother away to his first year of school, her arms waving madly, her heart desperate to go along, there was a pudgy, pink-cheeked boy racing next to her. Ginny’s arms were little twigs compared to Dudley’s and they waved and waved, bumping elbows and giggling as their shouts grew competitively louder.

“Send me letters!”

“Send me a real Snitch!”

“Send me a hippogriff!”

“We’ll send you a toilet seat!” Fred hollered back over the rumble and shriek of the train, and Dudley giggled so hard he had to sit down.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Ginny Weasley.”

“Dudley Dursley,” he said and took the hand she offered.

Every visible speck of her was freckly, her hair in a bushy red tail down her back. Dudley liked her immediately. “I’m so mad,” Ginny said cheerfully, while Dudley dusted off his backside. “I want on that train.”

Dudley didn’t say “me, too,” but he did bounce back to where their parents–his guardians–had clustered together to see if they could all get some ice cream.

It was the first year the boys wouldn’t be home together, getting homeschooled by James and taken on educational adventures. Harry wrote home about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, about trolls, feasts, and a Professor Snape. For the first, they shipped him his broom. For the last, Lily charged down to the school to yell at someone named Severus.

Dudley and James did homeschool most mornings, scribbling at the kitchen table or with James conjuring presentations and scrawling light into the air of the backyard. Dudley’s afternoons he split between Little League Quidditch practice or frowning over his homework either on the grass sidelines near one of James’s flying lessons or some spare spot in the Ministry. Sometimes he went on field trips with Uncle Remus, who tried very hard to get Dudley to call Harry’s dad Uncle Jimmy.

Lily had a bit of extra desk space in her cubicle, but her papers tended to spread everywhere, even when they weren’t flying enchanted memos. Dudley would sit in the cafe in the atrium (where people chewed on soggy sandwiches and burnt coffee), or in the spare keys room when Miss Higgins was on shift (her daughter was off at Hogwarts now, and she said she missed the company), or down in the dark quiet of the archives (on days when the noises felt noisier and the lights felt harsher and every time someone slurped a coffee just wrong Dudley wanted to hit something, but instead he had to read limericks).

On weekends (or particularly glorious weekdays), the Weasley’s battered family owl would swoop through the Potters’ open kitchen window because Ginny required a playmate.

She’d gone shy for a week after figuring out Dudley’s cousin was The Harry Potter, but his uncle’s spare brooms and Harry and Dudley’s set of Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch was really too much to resist. James would bring Dudley and their trunk of Quidditch supplies over and sit with Mrs. Weasley until their kids stumbled in, sweaty and beaming, looking for sweets and soft surfaces to collapse on.

If Dudley finished his homework early when he was at work with Lily, he’d help the cafe staff count the sacks of coffee beans in the pantry, or run spare keys places for Miss Higgins, or go down and lug file boxes around for Ms. Gorbachek, who ruled the archives with a steely squint and gravelly voice.

The day Mrs. Gorbachek let him do some sorting not just carrying he skipped all the way up the stairs to Lily’s desk to tell her. Lily wrapped her scarf around her neck, shaking her head. “Got your pop’s eye for boring detail, I guess,” Lily said.

But she smiled and kissed him on top of the head, so Dudley pushed out his chest proudly and said, “Yep.”

Harry came home that summer with stories of a third floor corridor, a magic stone, a man with two faces. Lily and James had worried little discussions in the kitchen and some talks with Harry about Common Sense and Not Dying Young.

They spent a good half the summer at the Burrow, or with redheads filling the Godric’s Hollow house with noise. Harry and Ron bumped elbows while Dudley circled and nibbled on his thumbnails, considering this new Best Friend of his cousin’s. “He’s alright?” he asked Ginny and Ginny shrugged.

“For a big brother,” she said. But then Harry turned their way so she went bright red and vanished to help her mother with the dishes.

Fred and George were loud, but alright. They taught Dudley some tricks with the Bludger that he absorbed with a furrowed brow. Percy seemed like he might be fun to talk about boring detail things with, but he didn’t seem to care about the Ministry archiving system when Dudley tried to bring it up.

Dudley also met Hermione Granger that summer, when she came to visit. She talked too fast and had more impressive hair than Lily even. “We fought off a mountain troll together,” said Harry. “And a three-headed dog!”

“What,” said Dudley. “Can we get one? Harry, ask your mum. AUNT LILY CAN WE GET A THREE HEADED DOG PLEASE.”

“I don’t think Monster would approve,” Lily said without looking up from her paperwork. James flipped pancakes on the stove while Hermione chattered happily at him about the culinary anthropology of the dish.

“Oh, yeah,” said Dudley, and went to go give Monster some head scritches in apology. The cat purred loud enough shake the walls and hissed when Harry came over to say hello.

–

It was a full moon, and with a bellyful of potion Remus was sleeping harmless on their hearth. Dudley had his head pillowed on Remus’s shaggy belly and Lily could hear her sister whispering freak.

Lily got a blanket to cover them, and then she sat in the crackling firelight and spoke to her ghosts.

I don’t know what you would have wanted, Petunia. I don’t know if you would’ve hated me for this, but you’re not here and we are.

Dudley has got me and James and Harry and Remus. He’s got a terrible monster cat that loves him to pieces. He can fly– and maybe you would have hated that I gave him a broomstick, but I saw you break your own heart, once, and I think it was my fault.

I would’ve made you flowers from leaves every morning, Tuney. I would’ve walked you up and down Diagon Alley every Sunday, looked in the windows, taught you how to feed the owls out of the palm of your hand. James would have snuck you into Hogwarts and we could have sat out by the lake and watched the water.

Would that have helped?

–

Ginny went off to Hogwarts, too, the next year. Dudley moped around for months, even though Mrs. Weasley had him and James over for tea on the regular. Ginny’s letters grew weird, and then stopped coming. Dudley figured it was probably something he had written. The government testers who came by now and then to check on his homeschooling said he was below grade level average for writing, but he was trying.

The homeschooled wizards on his youth Quidditch team said they had magical school authorities coming to test them (Dudley had Muggle ones), but James had registered Dudley with the Ministry as a squib (lacking other useful options) so they didn’t bother. Dudley was grateful about not having to go through two rounds of testing, but something still sat weird on his stomach about it all. The homeschooled squibs on Dudley’s team shrugged and said no one bothered to come grade them at all.

That year, they made it to the semi-finals before they got kicked out. Lily took afternoons out of office to see them play. She sat in the stands and thought look, Tuney.

Dudley noticed the Bludgers were getting cleverer, so he spent more time in the backyard after James helped him change the settings on his practice Bludger. The youth Cup that year went to a fierce little team from a cottage schoolhouse in one of the wizarding villages. James and Dudley watched the final match and talked smugly about how Harry was a better Seeker, and scornfully about their Beaters’ lacks of good form.

Harry came home for Christmas as always, with little packets for each of them. “There’s a Muggleborn photographer at school,” Harry said, as Dudley scrabbled with his gift’s wrapping paper. “This first-year. He’s been turning his Muggle photos into moving ones all year, so I asked him how. He made me sign some stuff.

The gift ripped open in Dudley’s lap and a book of photos fells open in his lap– moving pictures, like every picture he knew except (until now) the ones that held these two faces. Petunia and Vernon squinted up at their son and Dudley stared. Harry smiled.

At the end of the school year, Dudley learned why Ginny had gone quiet. Harry came home with stories again (Lily and James had more stressed conferences in the kitchen), and with a sinking stomach Dudley listened to him talk about basilisks and diaries and blood-red writing on the wall. There was a lot of stomach to sink. Even with weekly Quidditch and file boxes to lug about, Dudley was growing up and out. He had big meaty hands and a few spare hairs coming in on his chin, while Harry was still small and bony, grinning and shoving his hair out of his eyes.

Dudley tugged on James’s sleeve, after Harry’s welcome home dinner. "Can we go visit the Burrow tomorrow?”

“If they’re up for company,” James said.

Dudley brought all their Quidditch equipment– the balls, the bats, the brooms. Mrs. Weasley fussed around the kitchen, seeming unable to keep still. Ginny didn’t touch her tea but she could be tempted out by a good broom and a blue sky.

“You wanna talk about it?” said Dudley, when they were getting the Quaffle out of a tree it had gotten stuck in.

Ginny shifted laterally through the air, thighs clamped tight around the broom. The brisk breeze tossed the tree’s heavy limbs and threw her hair about. “No,” she said.

“I’m not very good at talking anyway,” he said.

“You’re fine, Duds.”

He came back all that summer, sometimes with Harry and sometimes without. They played Quidditch out in the orchard, or walked out to the edges of the fields, swordfighting with long stalks of grass, or Dudley studied at the Weasley kitchen table, trying to wrap his mind around subordinate clauses and bezoars.

There were no dementors at Hogwarts in Harry’s third year, but on a visit to his mother’s office he and Dudley got lost in the lowest courtroom levels– well, Dudley let Harry lead and grinningly watched him get lost. A pair of dementors were part of the escort of an Azkaban prisoner there for a deposition, and when Harry passed them by he dropped limp onto the floor. Cold sank ugly fingers into Dudley’s stomach, but he hauled his skinny cousin up by the armpits and ran for the stairs.

“I heard Uncle Sirius,” Harry said on the couch later, wrapped in blankets. Lily broke off another chocolate square for him and Dudley hovered. “When the dementors were– I heard the night he died, I think. Dudley crying, and Sirius cursing. He curses just like Mum.”

“He ought to,” Lily said. “I taught him everything he knew.”

She broke off a few more chocolate squares; one went to James. “I’ll go start dinner,” James said, but when Dudley went to follow, Lily wrapped a warm hand around his wrist.

“Sit with Harry, okay? Thank you, sweetheart.”

James went out flying that night, so late that Lily couldn’t wait up. When he came back to bed, his skin was cold from high, thin air but she wrapped herself all around him anyway. They slept in a tangle of long limbs and when they woke in the morning they were both warm.

Harry told his Uncle Remus the same story, leading up to asking about Patronus lessons at school. Remus said, “Yes, he did. Curse, you know,” and then asked Harry to come back later. He had to find a boggart for their lessons. He had to sit, quiet, and watch the trees shake outside the window.

Thirteen was the year when Lily gave Dudley his own sack of Floo powder and taught him how to use it. “It’s magical all by itself,” said Lily. “So you don’t have to be.”

Dudley nodded seriously. “Uncle James taught me about it’s occultochemical properties last year.”

“Leaving me to teach you the useful bits, of course,” Lily said (James, in the next room, laughed).

Even with Ginny at school, Dudley used his newfound Floo freedoms to go visit the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley patted his cheeks (survivable), offered him whatever food they had on hand (ideal), and showed him the photographs of dragons, tombs, and baklava that Charlie and Bill sent with their letters (excellent).

“Uncle James says my dad liked cars,” said Dudley around a mouthful of treacle. “Harry says you have one?”

“Oh, yes,” Molly said blackly, but Arthur beamed at Dudley as though unaware of the look his wife was giving him.

“Here, yes,” said Arthur. “Out in the shed, up, c'mon.”

“Finish your tea first!”

He and Harry coordinated to meet up in Hogsmeade during Hogwarts’s day trips there. They sampled their way through Honeydukes, poked through the joke shop, and threw snow balls in the streets. Harry went up the hill to roll his eyes at the Shrieking Shack with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, but Dudley ducked out and waited for him in the Three Broomsticks instead, nursing a butterbeer and glaring at his homework.

Everyone always recognized Harry– when the kid knocked the doors open and stamped snow off his boots, Dudley could see strangers watching his cousin. The only people who recognized Dudley were the ones who sometimes brought signs to his Quidditch games that made James go tight around his mouth. Dudley spun his mug slowly on the wood, trying to watch it and not to watch Harry make his way through a sea of stares and smiles.

–

“Field trip,” said James. “Up, up, up and at ‘em, kiddo.”

Dudley pulled himself up to sitting, among his heavy blankets and soft comforter. “Wha?”

“There’s some friends of mine I’d like you to meet,” James said, stretching his grin and waggling his eyebrows in a way the boys had tried to mimic back as children. Harry could almost do it. Dudley wiggled his eyebrows now in pale approximation and James said, “Misters Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Prongs.”

They went out to Hogsmeade, which Dudley knew rather well now. While James gave distracted storytelling and explanation Dudley gathered up all the fragments he was going to have to tell Harry later– “They came up with fancy nicknames for themselves, Harry, like dweebs,” he scripted in his head. “Also Uncle James can turn into a giant deer.”

They went down into the cellar of Honeydukes under the Invisibility Cloak and then down the long hidden passage to the school. “Are we supposed to be here?” said Dudley. The stones in the walls were getting bigger, like the castle knew it was important and wanted to let you know as you approached. He could feel the Anti-Anti-Muggle-ward-wards Aunt Lily had gotten for him shifting under new weight.

“What’s supposed to?” said James. “C'mon, pop quiz time. Let’s be responsible members of an educational system. When was Hogwarts founded?”

“Um, around 990 C.E. The castle was conjured and created, rather than built, and maintains a degree of personality and,” Dudley gulped, eyeing the shadows, “life.”

Every moment of life Dudley could remember had been lived in a magical world. He’d scrubbed at Molly Weasley’s kitchen counter while dishes washed themselves in the sink. He’d napped in the great black belly of the Ministry, where sometimes the walls whispered, where memos flew and wizards carried sparking boxes that were bigger on the inside and also full of dragons.

But he stepped out into Hogwarts and his heart almost stopped under the heavy velvet of the Cloak.

“I’ll show you how to break into the kitchens,” James said. “We can say hi to the House Elves, and then we’ll go surprise Harry on his free period.”

Dudley followed him silently down the hallways, past paintings and ghosts and suits of armor. He thought about Ginny on the train platform saying, “I’m so mad.” He thought about Ginny sleeping warm and high in the Gryffindor Tower now, which he had only read about. He wasn’t mad–he didn’t think he was mad–but his stomach rolled and rolled. He tried to swallow it down. He tried to smile when Harry startled out of his seat when they found him. He went home and practiced with his bat and the Bludger until it got dark.

–

In the late fall of Harry’s third year at Hogwarts, Auror Lily Potter came across a report of a sighting of a unregistered rat Animagus in Scotland. Between rookie trainings and other cases, she pored over the reports and Apparated out to conduct interviews. Ignoring proper protocol, she told her husband about it over Christmas dinner, when her son and that year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had come home to visit.

Peter had stood behind Sirius and Remus, the day Lily married James. He’d given a speech. She’d seen him tagging at James’s heels, always– back in the days when she’d hated them all; during the war when they’d all gotten quieter and quieter except for Sirius, who had started bursting and burning at the seams; and all those days between.

In the early spring, she found him. Peter was laid out in a meadow behind a little stone church, his eyes open to the sky. The body was unmarked. Lily stood in the cold morning air, breathing out curls of mist, and thought about what it meant to do the unforgivable.

When they came home from Petunia’s funeral, the doors of their house had been open to the night. Muggle children had been playing trick or treat at the unhidden houses on the street. They had come home, Lily tucked under James’s arm, to that door, to two twin wails pouring down the stairs. They were supposed to be hidden, supposed to be safe, supposed to be a secret kept in a friend’s pocket. They had hit the stairs at a run, wands out. Sirius had been laid out on the polka dot rug of the nursery, eyes open. The body had been unmarked. Two days after Lily buried her sister, James had buried his brother.

Lily called the scene in from the little meadow while the morning dew sank into the hems of her robes.

A few days later, she heard from Harry’s letters that Remus had been out sick for a week, locked up in his rooms, quiet, quiet, quiet, too sick to open the door to anyone. “Tell him to rest up,” she wrote, and let the Pettigrew case report slip beneath the other papers on her desk.

–

The Quidditch World Cup was a massive deal. Dudley’s Quidditch team kept nearly falling off their brooms from excitement at summer practice. Several of the kids showed up with their faces painted green all week long. Their Seeker and Seeker sub both showed up with red-painted faces soon after and when asked why just took turns repeating “Krum, Krum. Krum.”

The Weasleys and the Potters got nosebleed seats together, sharing a massive tent between themselves and Hermione. Either she had learned to speak slower, or Dudley was able to catch more of it. When she heard he’d been helping the Ministry archivists on odd afternoons, she dragged him off for an interrogation that turned gleeful on both sides.

But in the night, the Death Eaters came. James had been taking Dudley through wizarding history lessons for years, both modern and ancient. He recognized the sign that lit up the sky. He recognized the masks and hoods. They sent a family of unconscious Muggles spiraling through the air and Dudley stared up at them even as James dragged him through the crowd.

Dudley had been seeing Charlie’s postcards for ages at Mrs. Weasley’s table. He had heard about Norbert the illegal dragon baby from Harry, squashed under a blanket on the sofa during a summer rainstorm. So while his guardians had stressed conferences in the kitchen about the Triwizard tournament Harry was nominally too young to have even entered, Dudley sat petting Monster’s fur excitedly in the wrong direction because Mr. Weasley had said Charlie was coming to help with the first task.

When they met Charlie after the first task (Harry had outflown a dragon, Aunt Lily had cursed the air around her blue in the spectator stands, etc), he didn’t disappoint. “You’re Ginny’s friend!” he said and shook Dudley’s hand enthusiastically. “Want to meet some dragons?” He did, in fact.

I wish you could see how he’s grown up, Tune, Lily said while Dudley burned bacon at breakfast with Monster wailing distressed counterpoint at his feet.

I wish you were here, Lily said, watching Dudley wobble through the archive stacks with his arms piled high with file boxes, muttering shelving shorthand to himself. She passed Mrs. Gorbachek a set of returned files across the polished wood of her desk. I wish you had gotten to know him.

Lily oversaw autopsies and Quidditch matches, planned birthday parties and stings, stood in line at the butcher’s shop and at the stand in the courts on the lowest floor of the Ministry.

I wish you weren’t dead, Tune.

Dudley turned fourteen, and Harry did the same five weeks later. They baked him a big squishy molasses cake and sent it up to Hogwarts by stasis spell and owl. For Dudley they made a big chocolate cake and had it for breakfast for a week.

I wish, I wish, I wish.

That year, Dudley’s Quidditch team took second in the national league. Harry got third in the second Triwizard task, while Dudley and the Potters and the Weasleys all watched from shore. Dudley watched Lily and James hug Harry, ruffle his hair, call him brave– he tried not to, but he watched, and the hugs looked just the same as when he had landed on the green field, gripping his bat, knowing he’d fought his hardest. He punched Harry lightly in the arm and said, “Who knew you could swim.”

Dudley dreamed of the World Cup, the green light twisting in the sky, a Muggle woman’s floral print dress and her slack face a lethal distance from the ground

When he woke sweaty and wheezing under the blanket Ms. Gorbachek had quilted for him, he padded out to make himself some warm milk. He told himself Aunt Lily didn’t wear floral dresses, and she wasn’t a Muggle anyway. Monster circled his ankles and he told himself that Uncle James was asleep upstairs, and he’d been right at Dudley’s elbow all through that panicked, crushed rush back to the Portkey. He sipped his hot milk and thought about those circling, limp bodies, and the hate marching and singing below. He thought it wasn’t them, it couldn’t have been them. He thought but it could’ve been me, and then he went back to bed with Monster grumbling at his heels.

When Harry came back that summer, he was quieter. Dudley found him in the kitchen some nights, when he padded out to make hot milk. Harry nibbled at the giant pile of chocolate Uncle Remus had carted over at the start of June, and Dudley made two mugs of milk. Dudley asked who Cedric was, because the wall between their rooms was thin. If they sat long enough and quiet enough, Monster would even come out and rub up against Harry’s shins.

With the next year came Dolores Umbridge.

Lily went up the the school to shout, and James went to give Harry some chocolate and also the Invisibility Cloak and the Map. And then they both went up to the Ministry to shout some more, and Dudley went down to the archive level to read about eighty years of educational policies. Ginny wrote him scathing letters about Professor Toadface and gave vague indifferent mentions to the detentions and punishments. Harry wrote about Quidditch, no matter what questions Dudley sent his way. Dudley sent back first aid kits that Miss Higgins at the spare keys room helped him put together, and gingersnaps Remus helped him bake. Lily had already gotten a restraining order from Rita Skeeter during the Tournament the previous year, or she’d have camped outside her office. As it was, she just sent weekly Howlers.

The night Harry dreamed of Uncle Remus writhing in the Department of Mysteries, the night they left Umbridge to the centaurs and Grawp, the night the beating heart of the DA flew thestrals over London, the night one of the last two Marauders died, Dudley slept well.

The hedge outside the window tapped familiarly on the glass. He didn’t wake when Kingsley Shacklebolt’s Patronus woke Lily and James, when they activated the wards over the house, or when their Apparations cracked the silence of the night. He rolled over in his heavy blankets and Monster paced the boundaries of his room, glaring at shadows.

Lily and James brought Harry home. He’d go back to Hogwarts in a week to finish out the remains of the year, but when Dudley woke up sandy-eyed in the morning his cousin was out on the sofa, wrapped up in a quilt, with Monster purring uproariously in his skinny lap. James and Lily were in the kitchen, bent over the empty table. Silence sat heavy in the air. They were all still in pajamas, but James had dirt on his knees as though he’d fallen.

“What happened?” said Dudley. The syllables dropped off his tongue like pebbles and he wished he was better at this, whatever this was.

They buried Remus in the same dirt as Sirius, the Potter family plot. It was an empty casket, but it was the thought that counted, surely.

You horrendous, angry boys, thought Lily to her ghosts. Sirius, you loved James too much to like me, until I fought my way in. You selfish, arrogant prick, that was never your call, but you figured it out eventually.

We don’t laugh as much, with you gone. We try, but you’re not here. You lost boy, you brave, brave man, you died for my children, thank you. But that had been so long ago.

Remus, she thought, and squeezed James’s hand so hard it must hurt. Remus, I don’t know how we’re going to do this without you.

James squeezed back and they ached there, in the cold, until the sun had almost gone. Then they went home. Harry and Dudley knocked out good nights on their shared bedroom wall in a way they hadn’t in years. Lily and James slept in a tangled pile, once they got to sleep at all. They woke up warm but it didn’t mean much. They stayed wrapped up in each other until they heard their children banging about downstairs.

Harry burnt the bacon, and Dudley burnt the toast, and James tasted the tea with exaggerated trepidation. “Even we can’t burn water,” Harry said.

“But I have so much faith in you, my son,” James said.

Harry had been quiet the previous summer, but this summer he was angry. It was less quiet. James turned the settings on the Bludger up as high as they would go and sent Harry out back with Dudley’s bat to work things out.

When Dudley went with Lily to the Ministry next, he didn’t head straight down to the archives after he left her at her desk, which was creaking under the weight of documents. He took the stairs slowly, past the squawking and smells of the magical creatures division, the Quidditch posters on the next floor, the flying memos and the swelling roll of workplace chatter.

The fountain in the atrium was flowing clean, over the gilded statues of witch, wizard, and creature. Dudley walked by it and got a doughy brownie from the dinky little cafe. Over midnights and warm milk, Harry had told him about Remus, about cold intent crawling in through his veins, about a voice behind his eyes that had twisted him all over this floor.

Chewing on his brownie, Dudley climbed down further, to the Department of Mysteries. Its operatives came down to the archives, sometimes, to pick up old dusty fileboxes and only sometimes to bring them back. He stood outside their unobtrusive doors and thought about sleeping sound in his bed. He thought about his family in dirty pajamas on a morning that should have been unremarkable. He thought about pebbles falling from his tongue, the ripples they made, and then he took the elevator to the archive room and buried the rest of his day into something that made sense.

James broke down crying over a bowl of Remus’s gingersnap dough. Dudley broke his nose in Quidditch practice and Harry healed it up with a spell he’d learned from his mother. Lily got a commendation from the Auror’s Office and Harry went back to school.

James had tea with Molly while Arthur and Dudley fiddled with the Ford Angola. Dudley fell asleep at the table, narrowly missing a plateful of spaghetti, and Lily heard her sister whisper you got everything.

Lily got up and took the dishes to the sink. She turned on the hot water and watched the steam rise. There were spells for this, but she had grown up burying her hands in scalding water and suds.

I buried you, she told her ghosts. I loved you and I screamed at you and I buried you and I raised your child. I took him in, and I buried you.

She woke Dudley gently and pointed him toward bed. James wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her temple.

Go away, Petunia, she thought. Go to sleep. Leave me be. I’m not strong enough to think of all the ways you might have hated me for this.

I buried my sister. I buried my brothers. My sons are here, and that is where I need to live.

She pressed her cheek into James’s sleeping shoulder that night and told herself, you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.

Harry wrote home about Horcruxes and Lily marched down to Hogwarts to have some Words with Dumbledore. Severus Snape, now the DADA teacher, tried to catch her attention in the hallways, but she snapped, “I hear you made Neville Longbottom cry in class again, Sev. Bad form,” and kept walking.

She came home with balled fists and told James, “We’ve got some extracurriculars. Dudley, baby, you might have to do some more independent study this year.”

“Mrs. Gorbachek wants to re-do the east archives into a new organizational scheme,” Dudley said. “It’s gonna be a lot of my time anyway.”

Lily and James had a quiet conference in the kitchen, talking about snakes and cups and lockets. Dudley spent the next afternoon with Miss Higgins, putting together new first aid kits. Lily worked the very barest number of hours for the Aurors– “Grief,” she told them, batting damp eyelashes, when they asked after her performance– and Dudley spent a lot of nights alone in the house. The ward spells buzzed at the windows and he and Monster sat up late, waiting for a pair of cracks to sound in the back yard.

They got the news of Harry and Ginny’s new joint romantic adventure by owl post– several owls. Ron wrote, and Hermione, and Fred and George though they weren’t even in Hogwarts anymore, and a weird little snide note from Snape that Lily threw away. Harry and Ginny wrote, too, of course, and Dudley sat and chewed his cereal and thought. He was pretty sure someone was owed a protective older-brother-style speech here, but he wasn’t sure who.

Dudley had never met the Hogwarts headmaster, but Harry came home gaunt after Dumbledore died. Dudley pried the story out of him over warm milk and excess chocolate, in the quiet before noisy dawns. “Hm,” said Dudley finally. “I think you’ve seen enough people die in front of you, goodness gracious,” Dudley said, and Harry choked on a laugh.

Dudley pushed some more chocolate at him. “I always wanted to go to Hogwarts,” he said. “I wanted to be– like you. Not just,” he hesitated, “looking in, I guess.”

“Duds, I’m sorry,” said Harry. “I–”

Dudley crinkled the candy wrapper. “Not your fault. I figured that one out– I’m not dumb.”

“I know you’re not.”

“And anyway,” said Dudley. “Your life kind of sucks. So I’m okay being me, I guess.”

Lily sent in her resignation before the fading Ministry could fire her, or fall. They boarded up Godric’s Hollow and went to Grimmauld Place, which Sirius had left to Remus, and which Remus had left to them.

The Weasleys came, and some of James’s fellow homeschooling families, the remains of the Order of the Phoenix and half the DA.

Lily and Harry had a terrible row in a dusty sitting room, shaking cobwebs from the rafters, when Harry told her he was going after the last Horcruxes. Molly straightened couch cushions and made little approving noises whenever Lily said something effective. Dudley bumped elbows with James, and they all listened to the shouting.

“I’m seventeen–”

“I’m a trained fucking Auror, and I am scared of what may come to us, and you are a schoolkid. I’m not sending you out to–”

“How old were you?” Harry demanded. Lily threw her hands up in the air.

“There’s only so much loss I can take,” said James, very softly, and that shut them both up for a short moment.

“I’m sorry, dad,” said Harry, sounding like he might need to catch his breath. “But I’m in this fight, whether you can take it or not.”

“Harry–”

“We’re all in this,” said Dudley and the room went quiet again.

“Dudley,” Molly said, wringing her skirts. “But you’re a– well, dear–”

“I’m a Potter,” he said. “Or close enough,” he said and Lily’s face crumpled briefly. “I can’t sit this out.”

“Yes, you can, baby,” said Lily.

Dudley shook his head. All his words felt like stones and he didn’t know how to spit them out without bruising someone. “I won’t,” he said.

“Me, either,” said Ginny, and that set off a whole other round of shouting.

When Bill and Fleur’s wedding was broken up by bad news, Harry grabbed Hermione who grabbed Ron. Fred grabbed George who grabbed Ginny who grabbed Dudley, and the world puckered around them.

Dudley threw up in the bushes beside the little road they’d Apparated onto. Fred pat his back and said, “Us Beaters better stick together, eh?” George conjured him a wet cloth to clean his face and Ginny stood ready for a fight.

“Oh calm down, tiny,” Fred said, flicking at a strand of her hair. “Like we’re going to try to stop you. C'mon, Lee’s got a scheme.”

Lily and James had gotten the sword and the cup from Bellatrix’s vault the previous year. Dumbledore had destroyed the ring, and Harry had unknowingly gotten to the diary when he was twelve years old (When Lily had heard more details of that night and that fight, from Dumbledore, she had nearly lit his old beard on fire).

While Dudley flew secrets, objects, and personnel among the operative of Lee Jordan’s radio, Harry, Hermione, and Ron broke into Dolores Umbridge’s office in the Ministry. Miss Higgins from the spare key desk got them in, and out, a tarnished locket tight in Hermione’s fist.

Ron listened for Fred and George’s voices on the radio, during those long cold days. Harry listened for Dudley, who brought reports and news back from his flights. He went out armed with a Beater’s bat, normally paired up with Viktor Krum, who’d come over from the continent, and Ginny.

When they discovered the diadem was in Hogwarts, Hermione sent out the call. Dudley grabbed Krum and Ginny, Fred and George and Lee, and went for the passage in Honeydukes’s cellar that James had shown him once.

Ron and Hermione got the basilisk fangs from the Chamber. Dudley swung his bat while Ginny sniped from over his shoulder, like they’d been doing all year. Neville reached into a Hat, and pulled out a sword, and killed a snake.

When the fighting died down there were bodies, and Dudley knew them mostly from letters– Lavender, who Ginny had penned so many jokes about during the Ron Debacle. Colin, who had showed Harry how to make Muggle photos move.

But as they stepped back into the Great Hall, where the living gathered, where the injured were laid out, where the bodies were laid out– Dudley felt Ginny go still.

Molly Weasley was crying, and Dudley thought he would have liked to go his whole life without having to see her face crumple and break like that. “Fred,” said Ginny, and she had been still like this all summer after her first year and Dudley hadn’t known what to do then either. Ginny moved across the floor to her brother’s body and Dudley stood by the edge of the milling room, trying to remember how to breathe.

He tried to guess the names that went to the faces around him. He looked at the long tables that had been shoved up against the walls– Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw. Harry had gotten his letters and packages here in this room, eaten his eggs, and studied last minutes for tests, written Dudley exasperated notes about Ron and Hermione fighting again– and there Harry was now, in the battered street clothes he’d arrived in, slipping out a side door.

Dudley gathered up all he could of his breath, his wits, and followed. He caught him a few turns down a small corridor, following his cousin’s hunched shoulders and quick steps as they moved away from the light.

“Where are you going?” said Dudley, too loud, and Harry stopped. When he turned around he shrugged, a little helpless with it.

“Just because you go doesn’t mean they’ll let us be,” Dudley said. “Do you really think you can kill him alone?”

“I know I can’t,” said Harry.

“Then why,” said Dudley, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Harry told him about Horcruxes, and Snape dying, and the ugly things that lived in him–that would die in him. “Remember how you said my life kind of sucks?”

Dudley thought about being nine years old in the back yard with a brand new set of Quidditch equipment. Harry had taken off after the Snitch, and Dudley had wrapped his plump fingers around a Beater’s bat and guarded his back.

“I have to, Duds.”

Dudley wanted to put milk on the stove to heat. He wanted to get the quilt from the back of the chair and put Monster in Harry’s lap. He wanted to be home with the hedge tapping at the window.

He wanted this to be just another midnight talk, Harry telling stories he’d already won, enemies he’d already escaped, his cousin woken up from nightmares that haunted him but left him breathing– Harry could gasp, or cry, or break out some of Lily’s curses, be a smug brat, be cagey and stare out windows, make Dudley worry like hell, that was alright, but he needed to be breathing. He needed to wake up and pad out to the kitchen so Dudley could give him warm milk and find the chocolate in the cabinet.

“I could go with you,” said Dudley.

“No, you can’t,” said Harry.

Dudley dug his thick fingers into his thicker arms.

Harry took a shaky breath and said, “Tell Ginny I’m sorry, okay? Take care of mum and dad.”

Dudley nodded. Harry hugged him tight around the neck for just one moment and then he was gone.

Dudley went back through the corridors, their fallen rubble and askew doorways. He had his bat, and his eyes open, but no one was there.

He had come here at thirteen, though back passages, invisible. When he had stepped out onto this stone, his heart had almost stopped beating. It was massive and magical, big and beautiful and brave, and not for him. He had known that at thirteen, and he knew it now. He thought maybe that made him angry. He didn’t want to be angry. He wanted to be home.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, but he was here. He was here, and Harry was walking out to die, and that wasn’t supposed to be, either. Ginny wasn’t supposed to be holding onto her mother’s elbow, every freckle stark on her pale face. Fred wasn’t supposed to be lying on the cold floor at their feet, sightless eyes looking up, but he was.

He wondered if he should wait, to tell Ginny that Harry was sorry. He wondered if he should have gone after him anyway. A beater’s bat. A meat shield. A distraction.

Lily looked up from where she’d been bent to speak with Percy. He didn’t know what she saw, but she said, “Where’s your cousin? Dudley? Where’s Harry?”

James heard the tone in her voice and turned toward them, straightening.

“He’s a Horcrux,” said Dudley. “He had to.”

“That’s not a where,” said Lily but her breath was stopping in her chest. “Dudley. I– did he leave? Did you see him leave?”

Dudley nodded. “He went,” he managed. He thought he might be crying.

James sat down where he stood. Lily went for the doors of the Great Hall but by the time she hit the courtyard they were already coming. Dudley stumbled in her wake, feeling too big, feeling so very small in his skin.

Hagrid carried Harry’s body in his arms and Voldemort was smiling.

You-Know-Who might have been sneering something about chosen, about thrice-defied, but no one heard him over Lily’s shriek. Later Dudley would realize she’d said, “Not my son,” but in the moment all he saw was the green streak out of her wand.

What is unforgivable?

Voldemort slumped to the ground, a heap of dead flesh, and Lily clung to Dudley’s arm to stay standing.

The rest of the gathered crowd broke free of the silence, then. Curses flew, multi-hued and shouted, and Dudley stood in the middle of it with his aunt weeping on his shoulder. He twisted his hands in the back of her robe. Around them, light flew and people fell and cried out, and Dudley pressed his face into the top of Lily’s head. “It’s done,” he wanted to say, but he was choking on it. It was done. A man was dead, but so was Harry. They’d bury him with Remus, with Sirius, and they’d go back to a quieter house.

“Mum!”

Dudley lifted his head. His cousin stood, swimming in his blurred vision. The fight was dying down beyond him, the Death Eaters fleeing. James was striding towards them.

“Hey,” said Harry. “It’s okay. Mum.”

James thudded into Harry without even quite stopping, lifting him up and wrapping his arms around him. Lily had lifted her head. Dudley wasn’t sure which of them was holding the other one up, so he took a stumbling step forward, dragging her with him. Harry reached out–James wasn’t letting go any time soon–and pulled them in, and the Potters stood there for a long time, holding on, holding tight.

After they let go, after the cleanup, after Harry kissed Ginny but before he washed all the dirt off his face, they went out to the Lake.

“Is there really a giant squid in it?” said Dudley.

“Almost ate James once,” said Lily, and patted the grass next to her for Dudley to sit.

Harry sat down slowly, like he’d forgotten what grass felt like, like he hadn’t expected to get this again– to sit with his family and to look out at dark water. Dudley tried to watch the lake, but mostly he just watched Harry.

He’d tell Dudley, later, over hot milk long after midnight, about talking to the faded conjurings of Remus and Sirius in the forest. He’d tell him about a train station and Dudley would say, “I would have been so angry if you didn’t come back.”

But for that moment, no one said anything. James wrapped his arms around Lily’s shoulders and kissed her gently on the temple. The trees shook in a quiet wind. The grass was soft under them. They sat, and watched the light on the water.

And Lily heard her sister whisper you got everything.

A breeze blew down, through the castle, over the grass, out across the Lake and past the four figures sitting at its shore.

Maybe I did, thought Lily, because she could still feel James’s arm warm around her, could hear Dudley breathing and Harry picking strands of grass to fiddle with. But I won’t apologize for it. Not to you.

You’re dead, Petunia, and he’s here. He needs a mother and you’re not here. I am. I will be here for them, as long as I can.

Did you hate magic for all the reasons you said, Tune? Because it was weird and gross and ugly and freakish. Or did you hate it because you couldn’t touch it? Because if you had let yourself love it, you’d have hurt forever.

You were bitter and angry and I missed you so much. Why couldn’t you listen? Why didn’t you try– try harder? Didn’t you love me enough not to hate me? Why did you lock this all away, and was it enough, what you had left? Were you happy– He’s happy, Tune.

Lily opened her eyes. There was light on the water, and ripples from a quiet wind, and her heart was aching. Her hands were warm, and held.

I gave him everything I could. Your son. He will always be yours, Tuney, but he has grown in my house. And maybe it wasn’t enough, what we tried to do, what we tried to be, but we love him, and he loves us, Tuney.

I didn’t steal anything from you. I gave it. I would’ve given you everything I had, if you had just let me. I gave him everything I had. That is what you do, when a little boy comes into your life with nothing but himself. You give him a home.

I didn’t steal anything. He gave it, because he’s got a heart big enough to level mountains. I like to think you would’ve known that, if you’d lived, if you’d known him. This isn’t a fight, it’s a family.

What would you think of me, now, Tune? What would you have done, if it was my son?

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bookishandbionic-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Current Project: Moxley’s Playlist, excerpt 1

"What do I have to be afraid of? What did I have to lose? Everything."

Prologue

Moxley

Journal Entry: September 23, 2016

For the record this blows, but Dr. Grey thinks writing this stuff out will help. What does getting it out do? What does crying or screaming do? I’ll tell you what it does, nothing. It does jack squat. I don’t want to get it out; I want to get out! So, I guess if that means that I have to suck it up and write to get away then I will. I’m just making sure that whoever reads this knows I hated doing it. I hate going over it. I hate this stupid journal as much as I hate needles, even as much as I hate the dark. That’s saying something because darkness is what I hate the most. Darkness is what I remember the best.

She was out of money again, her and Georgie, that pot-bellied loser. So, of course, I had to foot the bill. Again. Her dealer, Davey, was over at the house with another guy I hadn’t seen before. I remember her not being so willing to hand me over this time when Davey started to put the needle in my neck. My guess is that she was dumb enough to think she could get his top shelf Skag by charging for the other guy too instead of the Tar he threw her way when she couldn’t pay up. She started to yell at him about it, this “wasn’t fair”, I shouldn’t be getting better stuff than her. Idiot. Then he started to yell back, I can’t remember what he said but she tried to rush him. It was the one solid she’d ever done me in my entire life. That was when I ran for it. It didn’t hurt but I could feel blood from where the needle had been yanked out, the Skag was starting to make me feel hazy and I was so sleepy. I couldn’t make it to the door, but I could get to the closet.

My closet was normally supposed to be my punishment, but it looked like Heaven right then. I could see the glow of Georgie’s phone sliding my way. The struggle just seemed to get louder and uglier the more I tried to crawl for my closet. I might have been floating, but I had enough of myself left to know as I felt the closet slam shut behind me that this was going to end badly, but I had at least gotten the phone. Maybe it was the drugs, but for the first time I did what I wasn’t supposed to do, I snitched. I called 911.The last thing I remember is telling the guy on the other end to help me. That was when I blacked out, balled up in the closet, the darkness came.

They say you see a bright white light when you die, it’s true I did. I also saw some blue flashing ones too. No, I didn’t see the face of God, but he did get an honorable mention. In fact, it was the last thing I heard before I blacked out again.

“Oh my God…”

Anywho, when I woke up the nurse said I had an overdose and they kept me out to let me detox, she was nice, I liked her. The next day Veronica came with Ms. Sandy and Dr. Grey, they broke the news that she was dead. Her and Georgie both, Davey knocked them off right before the cops put him down. What should I feel, because right now I’ve got nothing? I feel like she got what was coming to her, all three of them did. Is that bad?

All of the kids in my group have some nice fuzzy moment with their mom or dad; they had something that gave them hope. I didn’t have that with her, the truth is that she had no love for me and I didn’t have any for her. Hell, I still don’t. She never hid what she thought of me, the worst choice she’d ever made. One time she even said she should have thrown me in the dumpster when she had the chance. If there was some problem in her life she always found a way to blame me. Did the electricity get cut off because she spent the money on booze or Skag? My fault, kids are just so damn expensive. My father was her favorite subject when it came to things that I did wrong. Somehow when she had a bad ride or things were rough he came up. He was gone because of me. She loved him and he left so I owed her, and I paid. I paid and paid.

The next week, they shipped me off to Saint Monica’s; it’s not a bad place. It’s weird to be in a place where everyone is nice, but the truth is I’d rather be left alone. I’m not a fan of people, but some of the kids in my group are cool. I guess I was getting used to it here until Sandy paid me a visit yesterday during group; it was a nice treat to get away. We normally didn’t get a visit from her unless it was something major though so part of me was freaked out, and sure enough she dropped the bomb.

“Moxley, honey, we’ve found your father. He’ll be coming in about a week or so, you’ll be going home to live with him.”

It wasn’t just a bomb it was a super atomic nuclear warhead of doom, my father? This had to be some really messed up joke, no way, but she showed me the papers. This was real and he was coming. Sandy went into this big speech about it “being scary” and “big changes”, but I don’t think she realized that I had nothing to be afraid of. It’s hard to be afraid when I have nothing to lose

Well, that was what I was thinking last week. I wasn’t sitting here staring at an old picture of him and waiting for him to show up, if he even shows up. What do I have to be afraid of? What did I have to lose? Everything.

"I found out that for once Misty had been telling the truth. I had a daughter."

Chapter 1:

Dritan

I sat in the parking lot of Saint Monica’s Safe Haven for Children, it looked just like the pictures I had seen online. A big brick main building with a cobblestone walkway and perfectly trimmed bushes with matching red brick and iron fences surrounding the place, a lot of land, it was a good place for kids. I was glad she could come here instead of going straight into the system. I still couldn’t believe I was sitting here staring at it, or even the reason I was here. It seemed like days instead of weeks ago that I had been in San Juan celebrating my latest win in the cage. It was one more step towards the highest achievement a guy in the biggest company in my line of work could attain. It was the brass ring we all chased. I was sitting in the hotel room waiting for my girlfriend, Camden, to finish getting ready to go out when I actually hauled off and checked my now full Voicemail inbox. It would be a choice that shifted the course of my entire night.

“Mr. Clay, this is Veronica Howard with Pennsylvania Social Services. If you could please return this call at your earliest convenience, my number is 215-852-5719. Thank you.”

Yea, Pennsylvania fucking Social Services, I could only imagine what Veronica Howard had to tell me. Little did I know, no form of preparation could possibly get me ready for what I found out? It all started eight years ago with Misty Michaels, she was one in a long line of crazy exes. Turns out, after we split she got a little surprise in the form of a baby girl and my name just happened to end up on the birth certificate. She wasn’t even woman enough to come tell me she was knocked up. When Veronica first told me, my reaction was to laugh. Like hell this kid was mine! In fact, I was so sure; the state even obliged me with a paternity test.

After my mouth had been swabbed with plenty of files and pictures thrown my way, I found out that for once Misty had been telling the truth. I had a daughter; I could try to ignore the fact that the little girl in the pictures was my spitting image with bright blue eyes and thick sandy hair. In fact, there was a voice in the back of my head that still wanted to deny it, saying these things meant nothing. I couldn’t ignore that test though, it was right there in black and white. This little girl, Moxley Grace, was my own flesh and blood.

That was when Social Services gave me my options: I could sign away my parental rights, making her a ward of the state and head home kid free or I could take custody of her. It was how I ended up in a concrete colored office with a foam cup of stale coffee and two file folders in front of me. Each one held an option, the paperwork that would make each choice official. Veronica and an advocate named Sandra Morgan from the center that had temporary custody of Moxley sat across from me. I took a sip of the crappy coffee, trying to ignore the awkwardness as I stared at each file. However, Sandra wasn’t having it and slid me a third folder.

“Mr. Clay, this is Moxley’s file.” Sandra explained with a soft smile

I was beginning to tense up in frustration, I’d seen so many files over the last few days, I was sick of it! I’d already seen her picture; I know she’s mine, moving on!

“She truly is an astounding little girl,” She continued pushing the file closer to me “While speech is a constant struggle, non-verbal tests show that she is in the top ninety-seventh percentile for children her age. She shows a mental age of eleven with reading and math scores that are off the charts. Moxley is by definition gifted, possibly beyond.”

“Gifted,” I answered with a snort “You sure she’s my kid?”

This got me an irritated noise from Sandra.

“Mr. Clay,” She said in a tone that seemed like it was holding a forced calm “In twenty-three years, I have seen many different forms of abuse. However, what this little girl has suffered is on a level of brutality that I can’t even begin to put into words. This is not a time to joke.”

“Abuse?” I choked the word out as best I could, unable to look at the two women. No one said a damn thing about abuse!

“Sandra, please.” Veronica interjected “This is already a lot for him to take in already.”

Sandra, once again, wasn’t having it.

“Yes, Saint Monica’s is a shelter and rehabilitation center for children who suffered domestic and sexual abuse. That file contains everything that has lead Moxley there, what we know about her, and how she is being treated for what she has suffered.” Sandra clarified with knitted brows “were you made aware of anything about her, anything at all?”

“No,” I answered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, it was like one of those movie scenes where time slows and everything moves to the sound of a heartbeat.

“Mr. Clay, I’m about to say what we are not supposed to say,” Sandra hissed placing her palms flat on the table and narrowing her eyes at me “I’ve seen so many cases like this one come through our center, through this system. Fathers and relatives like you that walk into this office knowing absolutely nothing about who the child or children in question are or what they have been through and stare at this paperwork as if it means something. I suggest you read that file, and while you are at it think like a parent. You need to be a parent to her even if it is just this once because as much as this may inconvenience your life; her life is depending on you.”

I knew grown men that didn’t have the balls to talk to me like that, Mama Bear had guts. I had to respect it.

“Drita…” I trailed off, opening the file “My name is Dritan…”

The file started with the basics:

Moxley Grace Michaels, Age: 7, Date of Birth: July 29, 2009

It started with a lot of test scores, most of which I couldn’t understand. From what it said though, Sandra was right she was pretty amazing. She looked a little healthier in the picture attached to the folder than the other ones I had seen, her lips were turned up in a small smile. I ran my thumb over the little wallet sized photo, she had my dimples. She showed solitary behavior and seemed to prefer outdoor activities and animals. I was the same way, maybe I could teach her to fish. She ate books up and loved crafts; she was a good student too. My guts clenched when I saw that she didn’t speak, “undetermined if related to trauma or social anxiety”. She was in group counseling for Post Traumatic Stress, but “practices a variety of non-verbal cues in order to actively participate in group discussion”.

The file went further into detail about her life with Misty, it was information gathered over time. She had been picked up for prostitution a couple of times, and was supposedly shacked up with her boyfriend, still turning tricks and chasing the dragon with Moxley in the house. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing my eyes as I read on. Every word was like history repeating itself until I saw what came next.

If I thought that reading what had become of Trina had been bad, the next part of the file should have come with a damn warning label. It was what they found when they brought her in, I’m a grown man and I nearly puked right there in the office. Every word popping off the page at me was turning my insides into pulp as my eyes moved down the page.

“Patient treated for Heroin overdose upon admission…”

“Dark upraised scars along veins located on arms and neck, as well as fresh upraised points in various stages of healing…”

“Scar tissue due to severe vaginal and rectal tearing…”

I could only make it through a few more lines before I nearly lost my shit. I must have scared both the women when my palm hit the table, slamming the file shut because both of them were staring at me with wide eyes. Call it paternal instinct or whatever you will, but without thinking I slid the file holding the unsigned parental rights papers to Veronica and placed the second file on top of what I had just read. Swallowing hard I fought for the words.

“So where do we go from here?” I rasped thickly.

“Well Dritan, we’ll walk you through the steps.” Sandra said with a reverent nod.

In that moment, I had no idea how, but I was going to do right by her. The question was, how in the hell was I going to pull it off?

It was the same question I was asking myself as I walked up the cobblestone sidewalk. I was silently thanking whatever deity that would still listen to my prayers for Camden and my best friend Joe, those two had been with me through the phone calls, paperwork, and constant arrangements with tutors and counselors. They offered to come with me, but this was something I had to do on my own. Joe even gave me the new dad crash course before I left; it was how I ended up bringing her a stuffed rabbit. I adjusted the pink ribbon one more time before I entered the main office. I hoped Joe’s firm belief that deep down all little girls loved stuffed animals was true and she wouldn’t think I was lame right off the bat. Not long after I made it to the reception desk I was met by Veronica, Sandra, and a small older woman who was introduced as Dr. Grey. We had spoken a lot over the phone for the last few weeks; she had referred me to a counselor with a group session and helped me enroll Moxley into a gifted kid’s homeschooling program. I figured we could enroll her in school soon, but home might be better for now. Dr. Grey said so long as we can keep structure on the road, she could even travel with me.

I tried to keep Camden and Joe’s words of support in my head as I moved through the brightly colored halls. While Dr. Grey and I went over Moxley’s treatment and schedules one last time. I tried to keep focused on how Dr. Grey had complimented what I had done instead of my nerves, but Sandra pulled me out of it quick, fast, and in a hurry.

“Are you ready, Jon?” Sandra asked gently as we stood in front of a large window that looked in on what looked like an art covered play area.

“As I’ll ever be,” I croaked drumming my fingers up against the belly of her rabbit and shifting my weight back and forth on my boots.

With a small nod of understanding and a small smile Sandra and Veronica entered the room. I looked in and it didn’t take me long to spot her she was the little girl in the corner, flipping through a book with a pair of ancient looking headphones placed firmly over her ears. She had a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and in a moment I knew I was right. Her head popped up slowly when she felt the vibration of Sandra tapping the table she was sitting at. With a short nod she pulled off her headphones, picked up a beyond banged up looking backpack, and stood. She looked so small in a charcoal colored sweatshirt that swallowed her up and a baggy pair of jeans that looked like they had fit her at one point or another; she looked like her shoes had seen better days too. I felt my heart drop from my throat to my stomach as the two older women lead her outside and guided her in front of me.

“Moxley, honey, there is someone I’d like you to meet” Sandra began as she moved to stand beside her “This is the man I told you about, this is Dritan, your father.”

That was when she looked up at me; her bright blue eyes were blank. They weren’t cold, but guarded. Her little hands were fisted and her jaw clenched, like she was ready to run at any given moment. I knew that was my cue to at least try, so I got down on her level like Dr. Grey instructed me to. “Its okay, Squirt. I’m scared too, scared shitless.”

“Uh, hey Moxley, it’s nice to meet you,” I greeted with a deep breathe.

She lifted her chin, lightly pursed her lips, and gave me a firm nod. She had the most expressive little face; it was like I could see the little thought bubble above her head saying “Likewise,”

I swallowed hard and extended the rabbit to her “I ,uh, I got this for you. I wasn’t sure if you liked rabbits or not, but I hope you like it.” I’m so lame…

I tried to ignore the background noise coming from the women and caught myself holding my breath when she took the rabbit with shaking hands. Finally, I deflated when she held the rabbit to her chest and gave me a small smile, showing me her dimples. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear Joe saying “I told you so”. The first round was on me when I got home, I could feel it. Like an ass, I was so wrapped up in the fact that I scored points with a stuffed animal that I forgot what Dr. Grey had told me. Moxley wasn’t a fan of touching, but extended my fist to her anyways. Her brows began to knit together as she stared at it for second and locked eyes with me once again. I could see her little thought bubble coming back to say “Are you serious?” She surprised me though when she took a deep breath, covered her fist with her sweatshirt, and touched her knuckles to mine. With a deep exhale, she gave me a firm nod and looked back at Sandra with eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I’ll take it you’re ready then, Moxley?” Sandra asked with a soft smile to which Moxley answered with a thumb up and a couple of soft nods “Well then, I think it’s time we got you on your way…”

Leaving Saint Monica’s consisted of about fifteen minutes of good-byes and discharge paperwork. Considering the last few weeks it was almost a relief to know that her birth certificate now read Moxley Grace Good. There was no more bureaucracy or social workers, but more importantly there was nothing tying her to them anymore. We were both free.

Finally, we were sitting in the Jeep. Her backpack was sitting in the passenger seat next to the slim accordion file folder holding the paperwork that marked a fresh start. I looked over at Moxley sitting shotgun, it wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be but I could tell she was nervous again. She was looking straight ahead, her rabbit was clenched in her little fists, and sitting ramrod straight. This didn’t surprise me, Dr. Grey had already warned me. It was just her and me now; I tapped the wheel with my thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath. What the hell do I do now?

“Hey, Moxley” I began shifting my weight to face her, after a moment she followed suit “So, I was thinking we could grab some food.”

She looked cautious; I couldn’t say I blamed her. She pulled her rabbit close, staring at me with her wide guarded eyes. I’d been fighting long enough to pick up that she had shifted herself in a way that would allow her to start kicking me in the face if I tried something. I felt pride mix with my rage, in spite of it all she was a scrapper. Even what I had seen in those files hadn’t killed the fight inside of her, her spirit. This little spark helped guide me, Dr. Grey said to give choices and options, okay.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” I said lamely trying again, keeping my hands on the wheel. “Are you hungry too? We could get a sandwhich or pizza.”

If she was anything like me, this would be a no-brainer. She held her rabbit a little tighter and pursed her lips before giving me a few small but firm nods.

“Does a cheeseburger sound good?” I asked giving her a small smile; this earned me a smile in return and a few more confident nods.

“Good, I know a little place in the city. You’re in for a big treat.” I chuckled as I hit the ignition. We were finally on our way, because nothing broke the ice better than bonding over food. Progress right?

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