#maggie got mail!

[pinkandblueblurbs]

ok so i feel like with both glenn and maggie being older siblings (i'm not actually 100% on glenn, but for the purpose of this let's pretend) they both naturally take on protective roles. since they don't really need to protect one another, since they're both capable they love being overprotective w/ reader

they both need to feel needed and so i'm just in love with the idea of them with a softer, girly reader who they indulge and pamper and almost baby at times

yes they def love taking care of you <33 maggie loves washing your hair and putting it in a nice ponytail or braid. sees it getting in your face and says “C’mere, honey.” And takes the hair tie off her wrist to put it up for you <33

[static-radio-ao3]

RADIOWRITES MIL UR A GENIUS

RIGHT?? it has such a nice ring to it (i think it's bc of the alliteration) and i'm glad you see the vision 😌

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Peter Anderson: Hi, my name is Peter Anderson. I'm from Peter Anderson Studio and we created the title sequence to Good Omens Season Two. So this scene is quite literally a continuation from Season One.

An interesting detail with this scene is the fly. The fly is significant because it stores Gabriel's memory.

Gabriel is hidden in every scene. This is the first time we see it.

This goat is half bird, half goat, representing a mistake in a moment of transformation.

In the pickled herring barrel, we have literally red herrings sticking out.

A lot of the gravestones have hidden engravings, easter eggs, all written by Neil.

[This one says: HERE LIES THE FORMER SHELL OF BEELZEBUB referncing Beelzebub having a new face in S2 :), another ones are: EVERYDAY, JANE AUSTEN, Here lies ADAM (the Adam from Adam and Eve is meant)]

Another hidden Gabriel.

Our same character that was trying to escape Hell in Season One titles is also trying to escape here, moving in the opposite direction to the rest of the procession. Except this time he's apprehended and dragged back into the procession.

Our Hell spider from episode four makes a little appearance in the background here.

Can you tell where the bus is going? Director Douglas McKinnon selected Powell and Pressburger's Stairway to Heaven to put on the billboard.

Another thing to note here is the type is all handmade specifically for Good Omens. The Alphabet only exists within the show.

The big floating turnip is a nod to Azirafel's magic tricks.

The Ladies of Camelot poster we pulled from the show.

We added plaques to the back of the chairs and Neil chose who to honour.

[There are: A TALE OF TWO CITIES by CHARLES DICKENS, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by JANE AUSTEN, THE CROW ROAD by IAIN BANKS (twice!) and GOOD OMENS by TERRY PRATCHETT (Neil missing for some reason :) <3)]

Saraqael made an appearance from Heaven.

Our Space is back from Season One. Aziraphale and Crowley are having a little dance here. A moment of flirtation. There's a tiny planet in the middle that comes into existence at this moment.

Our Scottish tartan hills make an appearance here.

The aeroplane and the airline is a little bit of a clue here.

[THY KINGDOM AIRWAYS 👀]

It's raining love hearts in reference to Aziraphale's attempt at making Maggie and Nina fall in love.

Here are elevators to Heaven and Hell. A wee thing to spot. Here is Gabriel in the lift arriving from Heaven.

We've updated our flags to reference some of the plotlines in Season Two. For example, The Second Coming.

The movie poster artwork changes every week, representing the episode plotlines and the minisodes. We made the posters to look like the time period and in this case we've got a Good Omens version of Buddy Holly.

[The posters are:]

In the snack bar some of our popcorn is actually communion wafers.

There are specific characters from Season One in the boxes watching the movie as the procession goes by. This includes some of our original concept art from Season One.

The duck playing the accordion is from a newspaper headline that someone is reading in The Dirty Donkey from one of the episodes.

[this is also from the Good Omens book :): "Daily Mail. 'Letter From America.' Um, August the third," said Newt. "Just after the story about the woman in Worms, Nebraska, who taught her duck to play the accordion."]

Each episode is showing a new movie on the screen, each one selected by Douglas, and has clues about what's to come.

The season one phone box tumbles in the background.

The big mountain is made of all the ingredients from Season Two and a couple of remnants from Season One. We are heading towards the biggest Easter Egg, which is the lift. We're heading towards the Second Coming..

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Angel Dust: “Sweetie, babe… missy, hun-”

Vaggie: “If you’re talking to your reflection in the mirror again, I’m kicking you both out.”

Angel Dust: “I just don’t GET it!”

Vaggie: “It’d be the fourth time you talked dirty to yourself in public this week and I was sick of hearing it three times ago. What’s not to get.”  

Angel Dust: “How come ya got so many pet names for ya girlfriend, Vaggisaurus? Ya don’t seem the type.”

Vaggie: “That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Angel Dust: “I’m serious! It don’t fit ya at all!”

Vaggie: “Sure it does.”

Angel Dust: “How??”

Vaggie: “I love her. And she loves pet names.”

Angel Dust: “If she loves ‘em so much then why ain’t SHE callin’ YOU by any?”

Charlie: “Well maaaaaybe she WOULD if EVERYONE ELSE actually USED Vaggie’s name instead of saying it WRONG or turning it into a JOKE all the time! Ha ha ha! Isn't that funny???? Maybe Vaggie’s girlfriend LIKES her name and thinks it’d be SAD if no one ever SAID IT!!!”

Angel Dust: “Aw c’mon, since when does that-”

Lucifer: “Gooooooood MORNING Char-char! Good morning Maggie!”

Charlie: “Hi dad.”

Vaggie: “Good morning, sir.”

Husk: “Mail’s here. More fucking hate letters from heaven addressed to That Filth Vagina.”

Vaggie: “Great. Let Niffty burn those too.”

Niffty: “THE SACRIFICIAL TRASH RAT FIRE SHALL CONSUME IT’S VICTIMS ALONG WITH THEIR FINAL HELPLESS SCREAMS!!!”

Cherri Bomb: “Cool. Hey guys- Pentious sent a text asking for someone named ‘Vagatha’ to make sure his Egg Boi gets tucked into bed tonight and read a bedtime story from one of the death machine instruction manuals… and I’m wondering…"

Cherri Bomb: "...who the fuck is Vagatha???”

Vaggie: “His murderer, if he wasn’t already dead.”

Cherri Bomb: “What the fuck? I was that idiot’s nemesis! Whoever this Vagatha chic is, I’ve got a bomb to pick out for her!”  

Charlie: “Cherri, just…” (sigh) “Just tell Pen I’ll handle it, okay?”

Cherri Bomb: “Sure thing, but who-”

Charlie: “Don’t ask.”

Vaggie: “Thanks babe.”

Angel Dust: “…..”

Angel Dust: "Huh.

Vaggie: “...You were saying?”

Angel Dust: "Ya need a new name, Vaggietales.”

Vaggie: “I’ve got a loving girlfriend who always says it right, so I think I’m good actually.”

Angel Dust: “Toots, no one outside of a porno can say ‘Vaggie’ with a straight face.”

Charlie: “I do!”

Angel Dust: “You’re in homosexuals with her. Like, sickenin' deep in the yuri genre. It ain't straight and it don’t count.”

Vaggie: “If we're talking about dumb names don't forget I somehow call you ‘Angel’ with a straight face.”

Angel Dust: “Only ‘cause ya hate heaven an' mean it as a slur.”

Charlie: “Oh Angel Dust, you KNOW that’s not-”

Vaggie: “True.”

Angel Dust: “BITCH I KNEW IT!!”

Charlie: “Oh for... is there ANYONE here who’s normal about names???”

Alastor: “Ah-HEM~”

Charlie: “Normal in a non-serial killer kinda way.”

Alastor: (smiles) "Ah." (fades back into shadows)

[melbatron5000]

Reality is . . . off

Here's me, screaming into the void. I've got no theory, only Clues.

Reality seems to be acting strangely in Season 2 of Good Omens. Mostly around Aziraphale. My examples:

This season seems to be from Aziraphale's point of view, and all the colors and lighting seem to be very bright and vibrant.

The note from Maggie -- another post on Tumblr (damned if I can find it now) pointed out that she puts her phone down right as Aziraphale comes into her shop for the first time. She seems to be texting him, but the text message arrives to his door as a note in the mail slot because that's how he expects to receive correspondences.

Changing the Bentley into Our Car -- and in the flashback to 1941 that happens after the trip to Edinburgh in the show, the Bently is still a four-door. He changed it and then made it so it always was that way. (There's a line in the book about someone being powerful enough to change something and then make it so it always was that way -- something that's repeated about the Book of Life, too. Hmm . . .) No wonder Crowley just opens up the back door to put his plants in, it's always had a back door at that point! And please don't @ me with the Bently is not a Clue -- the change happens right in scene, on screen. That was not a "they hoped no one would notice" moment. And yes, I know they weren't able to use Mary for the second season. They got a reasonable look-alike, and then changed that car into a four-door. For why??

The Bentley following him when he parks it. People have said, "Oh, yes, the Bentley is sentient, of course!" But it hasn't done anything to show that until after Aziraphale drives it. And don't @ me with the Queen -- the gag in the book says that any album left in a car for more than a fortnight transmogrifies into The Best of Queen. It's not the Bentley doing that, it's just a fact of Queen. (Can confirm.)

Aziraphale is terrible at magic. But somehow, when he really needs to make a trick work, he does it. Oh, yeah, babe? You just put that photo right up your sleeve slick as that? Hm.

That 25 Lazarii miracle. Neither of them expected that. Yet there it was.

The whole ball. He wasn't casting miracles, reality was just -- conforming itself to what he wanted.

Now my point is . . . I don't know. My observation is that reality seems to be following Aziraphale's wishes, and I don't think he even realizes that it shouldn't be. Not entirely. Or is it that he knows reality is re-shaping itself around him, and he's enjoying it?

Reality is not warping around Crowley in the same way, and Crowley seems to be able to feel something's wrong. Coming in waves, like a hangover.

Now, I have heard it said that Neil has also pointed out that our angel and demon warp reality just by existing. Okay, actually makes sense. How could an occult and celestial being not mess with reality without even realizing they're doing it?

Am I chewing on a nothing burger?

Is Aziraphale turned up somehow?

What is going on.

[mimisempai]

You always had my undivided attention

Summary

It's raining and Crowley, who can't tend to his garden, is bored. Aziraphale, on the other hand, concentrating on his book, isn't bothered by the weather; worse, he pays no attention to the demon. Crowley will do everything in his power to change this.

Notes

Beware a demon in need of attention!

On Ao3

Rating G -  674 words

After looking out the cottage window again and seeing that it was still raining, Crowley sighed and turned over on the sofa for the third time.

"Looks like I won't be able to do any gardening this afternoon."

"Hm."

"Angel, are you listening?"

"Yes, yes."

But Crowley knew that if he asked Aziraphale what he had just said, the Angel wouldn't know, because he was very engrossed in an obscure manuscript he had received in the mail from Muriel that very morning. So, of course, the angel didn't care about the weather, since it didn't affect his activities.

Which was far from the case for Crowley, who was absolutely bored now that he'd had three naps, and he was all the more bored because the angel didn't seem to give him a single thought.

He didn't want to get up, because after all, it was up to the angel to pay attention to him, not the other way around. 

"I hear the village bakery has some new desserts."

"Hm."

"Maggie texted me to say that Nina told her she'd seen Mr. Brown and Mr. Arnold having dinner together at Justine's."

"Hm."

"Muriel sold three books."

"Hm."

Seeing that it was all for naught, Crowley began contorting himself on the sofa into all sorts of saucy positions while making faces, hoping that Aziraphale would eventually look up and notice.

But there was no success there either, and Crowley began to cramp a bit from all the fooling around. 

"I never thought a book would be more interesting than me."

"Hm."

In a childish way, the demon stuck his tongue out at the angel, and at that moment he saw the angel's shoulders twitch slightly, then all of a sudden Aziraphale broke into a loud laugh. 

The angel was laughing now and couldn't seem to stop.

Crowley sighed, "Took you long enough."

When Aziraphale finally stopped laughing, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and turned to Crowley, laughter still in his voice, "I could barely contain myself from the moment you said Muriel had sold three books."

He got another chuckle and continued, "And all those positions, I didn't know you had that in you, naughty demon."

"How could you see it, you were lost in your book."

Aziraphale moved back slightly to show him a small mirror on his desk that reflected the sofa.

Crowley pouted and muttered, "Cheeky Angel, I hope you had a good time at my expense."

Aziraphale rose and joined Crowley on the sofa, sitting next to him. Aziraphale looked serious now as he replied quietly, "I had a good time, yes, but not at your expense. I had a good time thanks to you. You've always been good at entertaining me, you know. You never have to do anything special to get my attention, though, this..." the angel patted his own head and continued, "...is always full of you."

The demon said with a pout, "Yes, but this book seemed still..."

"Then let me make it up to you."

Aziraphale leaned forward and planted a light kiss on the demon's lips before returning for a deeper kiss. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck and, falling back onto the sofa, pulled him into a lingering kiss.

His hands tugged at Aziraphale's shirt flaps, pulling them out of the angel's pants before slipping underneath to gently caress his lover's soft, warm skin.

Aziraphale responded by whispering in his ear, "You know, all those positions you took earlier..."

"Hm..."

The angel gave the demon a suggestive little nudge with his hip before glancing toward their bedroom door and continuing, "...how about we try some of them out in a more appropriate playground?"

"Let's see if I can entertain you in this playground as well."

Aziraphale got up from the sofa and held out his hand to the demon, saying playfully, "Oh, I'm sure you can, my dear."

Crowley took his hand and with quick steps they walked the distance to their room, eager to begin the experiment.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[cosmicanemoia]

Strange Encounter

Amelia Shepherd x Reader

Love Me Till You Leave Me part 1

Amelia stands up from her seat while staring at her phone and said that she's going to the bathroom. Her eyes fixated on her phone, she's reading meredith's research who claimed that they should forget everything they know about alzheimers. She had missed Meredith presenting an award for Dr. Bailey, who is on complete shock, given the fact that she wasn't even nominated.

Her eyes didn't bother to look up to see where she was, and someone who seemed to be in a rush bumped into her. Amelia almost dropped her phone, and anyone could tell that she was already pissed, but the person she bumped into catched her phone before it hit the floor. That someone said sorry and gave Amelia back her phone, and rushed out into the hallway, it looked almost like she was running. Amelia only get a glimpse of her face, so her eyes followed the girl's figure and look as she run down the hallway who didn't bother to look back to see if she was okay, her brows furrowed and she shake her head from left to right and went on to whatever it is she's supposed to do that she seems to have forgotten because of that strange encounter. She walked forward. Then she stopped on her track and turned around, and went back to the awarding ceremony instead.

************Later that night************

Amelia was lying on her bed in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling, and couldn't seem to fall asleep. She took her phone to see if there were any messages or voice mails, but there was none. She suddenly remembered that her phone almost dropped on the floor, but the girl she bumped with had fast reflexes and catched it. She try to remember what the girl look like and all she could remember was that the girl was wearing a low neckline green dress with long sleeves, and golden seams that compliment her body, and has a H/C hair tied up in a messy bun, some of it falling into her face, she also has a faint scent that she can't quite figure out what, but it piqued her. She kept replaying those moments in her head to try and remember what the girl looked like, but she didn't, or more likely, she just couldn't. She didn't notice what time it was and didn't bother to check, so she tried to empty her mind and went to sleep. By the time she's asleep; the sun is almost rising.

A few hours later, and she's still asleep, thinking about that girl all night makes her fall into a deep slumber. Even when her phone kept ringing in the morning, she's still fast asleep. It is past noon when a rapid knocking at her door and a repetition of her name being called out, wake her up. She sat up in her bed and stretched a little, and walked to open the door. When she opened it, it was maggie and meredith. She looked at the two women, bewildered, and ask "what the hell? It's so early in the morning, and you are so loud." Maggie let out a sigh, and Meredith, with a straight face, let's out a little smile.

"Thank God you're okay, I kept calling and texting you earlier, but you weren't answering. So I called Meredith, and here we are." Maggie said

"See, she's okay. She's just probably up all night with someone." Meredith stated as she raised her eyebrows at Amelia while also smirking.

"Maggie had a nightmare about you being abducted. She got very worried when you didn't answer her phone." Meredith said and turned to look at Maggie, who added "also it is not early in the morning. It is already twelve thirty in the afternoon. Who is it? Are they still there?"

"It's already past noon? I thought it's still early. Who is what? I don't know what you guys are talking about, but I wasn't up all night with someone, and nobody's here besides me." Amelia opened the door, fully signalling her sisters to come in. Maggie and Meredith checked the room, and they finally believed that nobody else was there.

They all sat beside the bed with Amelia in the middle.

Maggie: Did someone keep you up all night? It's very late, and if we didn't come knocking at your door, you probably would still be asleep by now.

Meredith: Of course, someone kept her up.

Amelia: I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat.

Amelia stands up and changed her clothes while her sisters are now sitting side by side with a wide grin on their faces.

***********At the restaurant***********

Maggie: Winston and I slept together yesterday.

Amelia almost choke on her food, but Meredith just looked at her, waiting for an elaboration.

Maggie: It just sort of happens (She widened her eyes)

Amelia: Those kinds of things don't just sort of happen (She said with an annoying smirk)

Meredith: I'm with Amelia on this one. What does this mean? Are you guys back together or what?

Maggie: No, we're not back together. I don't know. Things are way too complicated.

"I bumped into someone last night." Amelia blurted out. Maggie and Meredith looked at each other before they turned to look at Amelia. Amelia lifts her head up to see her sisters reaction and saw confusion in both their faces.

Meredith: Who is it?

Maggie: Is it someone we know?

Amelia: No, just some random person. We bumped, and I almost dropped my phone, but the woman caught it. She hands me my phone said sorry and walked away. I didn't even see her face and get her name. I forgot what I was doing in that hallway, so I just came back to the ceremony.

Maggie looks down on her food, and a smile begins to form in her mouth. Meredith looked at Amelia suspiciously and said, "so that's what kept you up all night." With a grin plastered on her face.

"What? Of course not. No, nope." Amelia denied in a high-pitched voice. Her sisters chuckles at her. "Okay, fine! But in my defense, it was a strange encounter, " she added. Maggie said, "It was not that strange." Meredith nods way too many times it seems almost like she's bopping her head. "Whatever," Amelia replies with an eye roll on the side.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

maggie any movie suggestions that give off vibes of your hotd stories? desperately need to fill the hole before you drop another banger!! 😤😤😤😤

Oh, interesting!!! I do actually have some movies/shows that I associate with my fics, I'll share them below 🥰

Martyrs: Civil War (2024), Dawn Of The Dead (2004), The Walking Dead (Seasons 1-3)

1968: Mad Men (Seasons 6-7), Rosemary's Baby (1968), Walk The Line (2005)

Napoleonville: Waitress (2007), The Crown (Season 4), You've Got Mail (1998), Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)

WTWICD: Seven Pounds (2008), The Dark Knight (2008), Gladiator (2000), Me Before You (2016)

Comet: One Direction: This Is Us (2013), Interstellar (2014)

NICIY: The Tudors (Season 1), The White Queen

NTTF: Good Will Hunting (1997), Snow Dogs (2002), I've been told that this fic is Grey's Anatomy coded and I guess I kind of see it?? (Seasons 1-2)

HYNITYID: I truly don't have any, I was possessed by a demon when I wrote this

And as a little bonus, here are some movies/shows I associate with my 💎 Mysterious New Fic 💎: The Knick (Season 1), Crimson Peak (2015), Titanic (1997), Sleeping With The Enemy (1991)

Thank you for already assuming it will be a banger 🥹🥰

[meatballlady]

Thoughts/Questions about ambiguous wording in GOS2: Looking Where the Furniture Isn't (somewhat unorganized) (also biased towards episodes I rewatch more)

PSA to not tag/ask Neil about any of this!! Metas/speculation are for the fans, not for the writers/production team.

Episode 1

"I worked very closely with upstairs on it" what/who is "upstairs"?

Why does Aziraphale have so much more knowledge than angel Crowley? Aziraphale has seen the plans and knows about the Earth and humans and Crowley doesn't at all (is this future Aziraphale with og Crowley? going back in time)

"Most of it [isn't] visible from earth" this implies there's more that Crowley knows about than we do, but does this mean anything?

Misspelling of urgency - This must mean something, otherwise why dedicate screentime to it?? Is Maggie possessed? I always get caught on this.

"I got your note" is that the same note we read?

Why aren't Maggie's internet orders not coming? What is that?

Why hasn't Maggie brought this up before? It doesn't seem urgent. Is she angling for an invitation? a welcome?

Shostakovich symphony is not 21 minutes, yet Aziraphale calls that out.

Repeated line - "i brought your mail"

"Hell doesn't care how jobs get done" "yeah I remember, they just care that somebody does them" look this whole scene is a book reference, but this line does it mean Crowley has been helping Shax out?

Crowleys "it's all rather pointless" line. It... I mean we know he thinks this already. It sounds very out of place. Is he trying to get a read on Shax's opinion? Is this a future scene? Is there a separate plotline that's hopeless that we're missing?

"Something's going down in the up" - weird wording, never addressed.

"Through your contact in the bookshop" who is the contact? Which bookshop?

Beginning of last movement is when Gabriel knocks - when is 21 minutes before that?

"Where here is and who you are and who I am" is this significant?

"I'm not saying anyone is complicit... if anyone is found helping him..." Then just says "book of life" - maybe those are two separate things?

Also! Michael never specifies Gabriel. "helping HIM" could refer to anyone.

Why tinking sound coming from Aziraphale so much? Pocket watch or something else?

No really, what is the Something Terrible?

"Terrible" and "Awful" used to mean... AWE full. like Great and Terrible. is that something?

What thing does Jimbriel have to give Aziraphale? Aziraphale only assumes it's the box but what is it?

"arms were aching because I had to carry that box for so long" 1. How long? are we missing something? 2. Is this the same box we see, or a different one?

When Aziraphale says "you aren't Gabriel" Jim responds, "then WHAT am I?" not who am I?

later he asks "what box?" and much later Aziraphale asks the same thing. Maybe they mean "which box of the ones we know about" and not "box, what do you mean, box?"

"something CLEVER you did before you pop" vs "it's nice to tell someone about the GOOD things I've done, now that I'm not reporting to Heaven" which one is it - clever or good? Does it matter?

Why isn't Aziraphale forthcoming about needing to discuss things outside of the bookshop when they're having coffee?

Why does Maggie leave her shop open when she goes to get a coffee?

Aziraphale's blinds are not closed during coffeeshop conversation, but it looks like a/c have only just walked in during next scene!!

Why is Crowley so careful to be ambiguous about talking about the execution, and then later just tells Jim? I noticed the bug (Real Gabriel) seems to be in the room with them during the e1 conversation. Maybe he and Jim are alone during the e5 conversation.

Why does Crowley get so publicly angry? Seems a bit ooc to me tbh

Why did Maggie/Nina's phones stop working?

"There is, of course, no question of replacing the surpreme archangel" Does that mean that they're definitely going to replace them or definitely not going to replace them??

"Heaven does not have a supreme archangel" ... "There is ALWAYS a Supreme Archangel" "Yes, and who is that?" oof. Yes who is the supreme archangel? why always?? they aren't in Heaven but they exist

Why didn't they think he'd gone to Earth before seeing the matchbox?

Crowley mentions Beelzebubs new face - he hasn't seen them since before they started dating Gabriel

Crowley does seem very convincing that he thinks extreme sanctions mean nothing

Crowley does do a Miracle on the traffic light

There are writing noises after Crowley comes in to apologize and says "you were right" for the first time. Also at the end of the dance there are shuffling noises.

Does Crowley really do the apology dance for trying to get away from Gabriel? A/C never specify. What was Crowley "wrong" about?

Crowley does say "let's hide him until we sort this all out"... "while we figure out what's *actually* going on"

"and now I have two friends" does Jim actually count Crowley in that or is he referring to other(s)?

We make sure nobody notices he's here while we "sort all this out"? Aziraphale is confused that he says "together"

move the miracle dials? Does this mean anything or just worldbuilding?

"short for James but people call me a lot of different things" ooh like what?

Aziraphale TOTALLY knows about Shax! Crowley's like, "you'll never guess who Shax asked about" They're 100% on the same page

Is the alarm the "awooga" noise????????!!!!?!!?

"There's a FORMER angel in this up to his bookshop owning neck"

So Mx. Anthony J'"compelled to walk on the grass instead of the path" Crowley respected the "This way up" sign for a whole week? 🙃

Episode 2

Gabriel personally witnessed Eve's birth? Does this have significance?

"absolutely I made an ass of myself" Are we missing something here? Is she just nervous? Or is.. like what??

Aziraphale gives a Look when Maggie says they were locked in the coffee shop last night. Was that significant?

"Right now I'm a bit out of miracles" - what?

There's a lack of using "bad" to mean good in hell, etc.

Love that Aziraphale implies that Maggie being his tenant has something with an obligation to be involved with her love life

Crowley also said they need to talk about last night's miracle. Why?

Aziraphale specifies the "Gabriel" miracle. idk is that something?

"we've got a problem and it's in your bookshop right now" is this the problem we know about? Crowley seems to think the love thing isn't the big deal

"amd there is an actual mystery associated with that song and That is the clue" i feel like this isnt exactly the same thing as what it actually is.? Does that mean the song is the clue or does it mean that the mystery itself is a clue? Does it matter?

"three nice people in the shop just now... they were in the shop. just now." like just now just now? like while they were in the pub??

"nah you can do better than that" has a miracle noise after??

Was Gabriel's first memory "when the morningstar sang together and all the angels shouted for joy"? or was their first memory God *saying* that? Also is it Gabriel we're talking to here?

Who are Keziah's "usual" angels?

love the detail that Job says "i loved my children" and immediately starts crying whereas sitis doesn't believe it at first. Job really does have faith.

Episode 3

Is their private discussion we see the same one Muriel is talking about?

"The miracle we seem to have accidentally performed" did they accidentally perform a large miracle, or was the miracle only "seemingly" an accident?

Do devices just bend to Aziraphale's whim like that, or is there another weird thing going on?

Aziraphale says "dr dalrymple" and Crowley corrects to Mr. Is that something?

when Aziraphale calls Crowley he says hes found "clues" plural

is it significant that Crowley hasn't done rain in a while?

"you have the advantage on me" does she? is Aziraphale humoring her?

Episode 4

Heating's knackered... girls won't go onstage because it's so cold... is this significant?

How do the zombies know to look in the bookshop? Do they think Aziraphale will be there or Crowley? Is it just that that's how they contacted him in the first place?

What's with the timeline on 1941? They're all out and about... is it a couple days later?

While demons like me... for hundreds and hundreds of millennia ???

Episode 5

Why is the big transporter out of service?

"If you're not him, then *what* are you?" Jim also says this ep 1. seems like a distinction.

The matchbox is still in Heaven.

When did Muriel meet Jim?

Jim leaves the window open after he stops jumping out the window

Crowley's test doesn't really prove much for me. If Jim was trying to get back to heaven to tell on them, death would be the fastest way

"If you aren't him, then WHAT are you?" again, what are you not who are you in reference to Gabriel.

"check in on Nina and Maggie and make sure *they* are on their way" does they refer to someone(s) else??

During the ball, where is Crowley between the Gabriel face thing and the dancing??

"I don't plan to harm you, only the humans in there with you" Why? Why isn't she threatening Aziraphale? Doesn't she want Gabriel? What is this line for??

After Jim comes back in after declaring himself to Shax, he's off screen for a long time. In a different outfit when we see him again

Aziraphale's box when Crowley starts bringing people outside. this is the same box that he leaves Nina and Maggie to fiddle with in ep6

might be a miracle blocker?? but Muriel brings back the elevator

6)

Nina's questions for posterity:

what is happening? (not simple)

why is everything so weird? (not simple)

This all started last week when the power went out, didn't it?

no, this all started a very long time ago, but also, yes.

"last week when the power went out" that's a different timeline than portrayed in the show. What's that about? It could be a cleverly hidden time skip.

Crowley knows Muriel's a 37th class scrivener?? Do they tell him when they arrest him? Or do they hang out offscreen?

Muriel catches onto the bee metaphor immediately. "you look like a murder hornet, or a snake"

"I have to tell you: You can all leave now, and no one will be hurt" Does he *have to* tell them?

clock ticking in last intro

"Where's the cardboard box?" "What box?" !!!

"Apparently if we do a miracle together it all works a bit too well" Why say this?? Also. Apparently? As in "we discovered that..." or as in "in an apparent way, but not a literal way..."

There's stuff in the cardboard box. Why?

"every day, something IS getting closer" -beez - why??

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go On Again by @spacecasewriter13

Fic Summary: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 32: The boys are home again

Chapter Summary: Maggie tries to get into the Christmas spirit but finds herself wondering about all of the what-ifs as she spends time with old friends and new.

Excerpt:

A cold chill gripped New York as December wore on, and Maggie found herself arm-in-arm with Annie Ames.  They were meeting the boys at Rockefeller Center to look at the massive Christmas tree and were admiring the widow displays decked out in Christmas finery along the way.  This was part of the double date that Daniel had planned.  She and Annie were going to meet them for dinner Saturday evening after the boys got off from work so they could enjoy some of the Christmas spirit currently overtaking the city.  It served well to get Maggie into the Christmas mood and help her prepare for her and Daniel’s visit to Norwalk before returning to Taunton for Christmas.  Both seemed a daunting task.  She was having a hard time getting ready for the holiday and was more than a little nervous about her visit to Norwalk.  So, Maggie was glad to have Annie for company on her quest to acquire the perfect Christmas gifts, as well as hopefully secure some intel prior to departure about what she could expect from her visit with Dick and Catherine in a few weeks.

Annie chatted happily about who she had to purchase for--- her list of family members and friends was lengthy.  Maggie found her own list somewhat abbreviated with a much tighter budget.  Not that she was strapped for cash, but her own childhood habits had been hard to break when it came to purchasing for Christmas.  Plus, it was difficult to purchase for her family, who seemed to never divulge what they wanted or even what they might need.  The children were easy enough, and she’d had the toys purchased and gift wrapped and mailed to Taunton before you could say Jack Robinson.  Everyone else though… that was a challenge.

To continue reading please visit Ao3

[flownwrong]

perpetuum mobile (due South fic)

Fraser/Kowalski, 5k words, tags: first kiss, post-canon, 5+1 things

Summary: Nothing's permanent.

Written for @duesouthseekritsanta as a treat for @feroxargentea. Thanks to @wicked3659 for running dSSS this year, and happy 20th birthday to the exchange!

read on ao3

1999, 22:37, Yukon

"Three bags. How is it three bags? I'm not even doing souvenirs." Ray ran his hands through his hair, said, "Ow, ow, fucking ow," as the edge of his sleeve produced a visible spark of static electricity.

Dief nosed his way under Ray's elbow and stuck his face deep into a bag. Probably the one half-full with dirty laundry, seeing as Ray had spent a truly impressive amount of time putting the packing off.

Ray grabbed Dief's muzzle firmly in two hands and gave it an impatient shake. "Hey, eyes up here. How is it three bags, Dief?"

Dief snorted with enough derision to make the cabin walls wilt and nudged his way to the fireplace.

"Right, right. I thought we borrowed most of this stuff, how did..."

He crouched down and reached up a blind hand over his shoulder. Fraser put Ray's green scarf into the waiting palm. He wanted desperately to ask Ray why he was taking his winter gear back home in the first place.

"You're welcome to store any clothing or, ah, personal items here, between your visits." The words felt as presumptuous as they did inevitable.

Ray spun quickly on his knees and squinted at him, ever good at hearing the unsaid.

Fraser's neck was itching under the collar of his flannel. Days were getting hotter fast. "I can mail them to you at your request. The postal service here is really remarkably fast, considering."

Ray fingered the little hole in the scarf where a stitch had come undone. "No, no, you hang onto them."

His mouth was downturned, but his laugh lines were clearer now than Fraser has ever seen them. Between the windburn and the sun, Ray's skin was darker, eager to reveal the expressive motions of his face. Fraser looked his fill, already missing it fiercely.

Ray ducked his head. "Shit, when I was moving out, Stella looked like she'd nuke everything I didn't carry on my back." He linked his fingers behind his neck and shivered without moving, somehow. When he looked back up, his smile was a jolt of radiance. "Imagine how much shit I'd hoard around here in another ten years."

His throat felt tight as he reached for the thick mittens Ray'd hated so much on the trail. Feel like the T-Rex, he'd said, staring at the steaming snow where his cocoa mug landed, mouth downturned and quivering like a child's. Can't do a damn thing without you.

He'd been exhausted, one of those first days out, searching desperately for something that Fraser could never seem to get into focus, like looking through a dirty lens, or maybe from too close a distance. By the time they got back and Ray held the cabin door open for Fraser, he was—serene. A Ray he hoped nobody else had gotten to see.

Fraser came back with no serenity in sight, which was confusing and bitter and made him helplessly afraid of the four walls around him, of going back into the vastness beyond.

He turned the mittens over, traced the creases where they'd molded themselves to Ray's hands with his thumb. He could feel Ray's eyes following the motion.

Ray shook his head, his mouth a tight line. "Here, gimme a hand," he said and yanked hard at the duffel's zipper, once, twice, watching it catch on the green weave.

They took Maggie's kindly offered pickup to the airstrip. It was almost summer, the terrain free of snow. Diefenbaker refused to get out, sounding torn between whining and snarling. Ray climbed halfway up the seat and leaned into the back.

"Hey, mutt, you take that back," he said, hand pressed firmly into the thick fur at Dief's nape, "sure I'm coming back. Every chance I get, and—I'm not leaving, okay?" Ray's voice dropped, raw and frantic. "I can do it. You—I can do it." Fraser watched him lower his head, hands going slack on Dief, and hoped against all hope Ray knew who he was talking to.

Halfway through dinner—the last of Ray's artless stew made in a bout of either inspiration or procrastination—he put the spoon down and picked up the mittens he'd discarded on the windowsill. Can't do a damn thing without you, he thought, and felt like his chest was breaking open.

2000, 09:07, the 2-7

Huey was on Ray's phone as he walked up to his desk, which was nothing unusual, what with him being less than ten minutes late and probably not expected for another thirty, and Frannie was practically jumping up to peek over his shoulder, gesturing wildly as he spun around and around until she was practically growling.

He snapped his fingers at Ray, mouthing Fraser, and Ray ducked under Frannie's arm, snatching the phone from his hand.

"Ray?" the receiver asked in a tinny Fraser-voice.

"Hey. Couldn't wait to get me at home?" He was smiling like a sap, so loud it was kind of embarrassing. Two days since they last spoke. A real hair-trigger.

Someone called Fraser's name faintly on the other end of the line.

"Thank you kindly, Maggie, that won't be necessary, and Ray, I'm calling to give you my new address, actually," Fraser said without pausing for breath.

"At how much AM on a Monday? Wait, Maggie's there?"

"Ah, yes, Ray. She insisted on driving me from the airport."

Frannie nudged his shoulder and swerved him bodily until he could see Welsh tapping his left wrist and motioning for Ray to shake a leg. Ray made like Dief and shook his head instead, earning himself some dizziness. "Say again?"

"Ah, I should've mentioned it sooner, but—I took a posting at Whitehorse, as of tomorrow."

"You what? Wait, wait, your cabin didn't burn down or anything? Is Maggie—what?"

Frannie sure knew an opening when she saw one, so that was when she did a solid Michael Jordan impression and snatched the phone from Ray's hands.

"Frase! It's so good to hear you! You sound really, and I mean really—oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize"—she gave Ray a major stink-eye for no apparent reason—"yeah, yeah, I'll bring your highest regards, I'm printing them out as we speak. Yes, yes, I'm doing good, just, really good, I had this great date last night—well, not so great, kind of a douche, so it's not like it's going anywhere, and, HEY!"

"This," Ray brandished the recaptured receiver over his head, "is now a pay phone. Come back with a quarter, or, you know, don't."

That got him a shrug and a seriously dangerous-looking eye roll, but that was par for the course.

"Yeah, Fraser. So, what?"

Fraser cleared his throat twice, and wow, there must've been something really awkward he was going to drop on Ray's head.

"Well, Ray, the fact of it is, I found myself somewhat... unmoored."

"Unmoored."

"Yes, Ray. Unmoored. Out of my depth."

"In the Territories?" Ray's brow was gonna fall off if he frowned any harder.

"Yes—that is, no. It occurred to me that I have grown—possibly—too accustomed to the state of being, as you would put it, 'a capella'."

Ray swallowed and nodded, then blinked and realized he'd probably do better sitting down for this conversation.

"A capella, huh." He elbowed yesterday's paperwork aside and dropped into his chair. "Fraser, you do realize you get to choose now? If you wanna hide from the world, you go, convene with the caribou. You earned it."

He could hear Fraser rubbing his brow. "I don't want to hide from the world, Ray."

Ray opened his mouth to say, yes, 'course you do, I get it, but then—Fraser probably had fifty words for lonely, like the Inuit and their thing for snow. Maybe lonely has lost some of its appeal. Maybe lonely changed meaning, hopped across the dictionary, and, in a truly bizarre way, landed near "home". Well, shit. Trust Fraser to not act in Fraser's best interests.

"Okay," he heard himself say, raising a placating hand. "That's, um, good to hear."

"You know, Ray, John Keats noted in one of his odes that solitude is easier borne where one has the freedom to be expressly and unmistakably alone with nature rather than 'among the jumbled heap of murky buildings'. My time in Chicago was certainly proof enough. But the more I return to his words, the more I look at another passage—"

Huey caught his eye and mimed something vaguely threatening.

"—poem, which—"

Ray groaned and dragged a hand over his face. "Jesus, Fraser. Now is not the time to be quoting poetry at me."

"Oh. Ray, I realise I sound somewhat maudlin—"

Ray waved his hand at the phone, annoyed at having his attention torn—never a good tactic with Fraser. "No, no, no, I don't mean it like—listen, Welsh will have my hide if I keep this up much longer. I'll get back to you when I'm home—or, um, when you're home, I guess. Gimme the number, will you?"

"Ah. Certainly, Ray."

Ray grabbed a post-it and wrote the digits down hastily.

"Be safe," Fraser said.

"Right. I will."

He dropped the handset back and stood up before he realized that, a) Fraser could easily call him after getting home, unless he planned to catch Ray with his hands tied and, b) with Fraser across the border and a zillion miles away, the murky buildings did suck massive balls.

He chewed on his thumbnail on his way to Welsh's office.

He chewed on it again after asking the kid behind the counter at the book spot near his place what the poem with the buildings was.

2003, 14:21, N. Octavia Ave

"This is ass-backwards, Fraser," Ray said, balancing seven shoeboxes between two arms and a knee, as Francesca said, "I'll nail your ass backwards to my door if you drop those pumps, bro," and Fraser said, "How so, Ray?"

"It's two weeks in Chicago. There's squat to do. What's not ass-backwards about this?"

Ray was being a hypocrite, really.

"Seeing as you have been spending much of your leave in Canada, I don't think you have a leg to stand on."

"Hell yes I don't, I'm holding shoes on my knee. Which, why are we hauling my ex-fake-sister's schmutter on our backs through the whole city on my day off?"

"It's three blocks, geez!" Francesca said.

"I'm sure you would appreciate the help were your positions reversed, Ray," Fraser added.

"Hey, casa de Ray is not going anywhere anytime soon," Ray said, defensive.

Francesca snorted and looked over her shoulder. "I bet."

Ray bared his teeth at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" He glanced longingly at a passing truck. "Jesus, Frannie, why don't you at least use those rolling rack things?"

Francesca sighed a sigh of the horribly wronged. "I'll roll your rack if—"

"I got it, I got it, you can pipe down now." Ray's hands twitched on the boxes, but he settled for a scowl, thankfully.

"Ray, it's only a short trip on foot—"

"Fraser, you're carrying dresses—"

"Yeah, Ray, and with you hogging the Fraser—"

"Me what?"

"Although, perhaps, in your condition, Francesca—"

"It's not a bug, Fraser, it's called pregnancy—"

"Me what?"

Francesca threw her hands up and stopped, turning on her heel. "Alright, alright." She closed her eyes and counted to ten under her breath, then jabbed a finger at Ray and kept talking to Fraser. "I know you came to see Ray, but it is two weeks. Forgive me for not realizing some time together that isn't yelling at each other over lasagna is too much to ask."

His hands grew cold so fast he wanted to push them against his rapidly warming face. "Francesca, I'm sorry I have given you the impression I don't enjoy my time together with you and your family."

She sighed wearily and looked skyward. "Impression. Right."

"There is a lot in this city for me to come back to," Fraser said, meeting Ray's eyes, wide and wounded.

Francesca's face softened into something like pity. Ray ducked his head and put the revered pumps down slowly.

"Hey," he said, and nudged Francesca's right boot gently with his left. "Whadda you say we get you settled and, um, you can make tea—or I can make tea, just not Fraser, I'm not drinking tree juice—and then we veg out? It's my day off. Got nowhere to be."

Francesca looked confused, primed for an explosion that never happened. Ray sent him a flash of a wink.

Ray was wrong: two weeks, even confined to city limits, was not nearly enough.

By the time Francesca let them go, it was getting dark. Ray scuffed the toe of his boot against the asphalt. "So, uh. Wanna catch a show? Or, or we could just get some grub—"

"I would love that, Ray."

Ray smiled, endearingly lopsided, then not, then snorted helplessly and started laughing, flinging an arm around Fraser's shoulders.

"Come on," he said, giving him a brief but firm shake. He piled Fraser into the GTO, put his glasses on without complaining—for once—about how he could drive just fine asleep with his hands tied, tossed him the cell phone and turned the keys in the ignition. "Chinese okay with you?"

Fraser dialed the number from memory and recited their order, which hadn't changed in years.

Ray's place was largely unchanged, too, and he felt a hot prick of shame for hoping that it was so. Ray'd swapped the television set for a newer, bigger one, and the plumbing seemed to have improved, the metallic smell of tap water less noticeable. The one toothbrush was perched precariously on the edge of the bathroom sink, near the empty cup.

The kitchen counter was still covered in junk mail. The photograph Maggie took of them, two days before Ray had to go, was pinned high on the fridge with a Leafs magnet he didn't expect to see here. He hoped Ray didn't look too hard at the picture—he thought he could see the cornered quality of his own gaze from where he was standing.

"Stay the night?" Ray said, folding back the flaps of his takeout bag and peering inside like he was waiting for something to jump out of it.

Fraser picked up the chopsticks—the nice ones Ray had bought for him and never commented on while snapping apart his own and rolling them between his palms to smooth out any splinters, every time for months and months of takeout dinners—and inhaled the fragrant steam, keeping his breathing even.

The hotel was a safety catch, as was, he supposed, the careful timing of their respective vacations so that they never overlapped fully. Ray had always held up his part of the unspoken deal. If this was a trust fall, he was willing to take it.

"Alright."

Ray's lips curved into a smile, unguarded and relieved, and Fraser's ribs felt tight.

2005, 23:49, apt. 309

Ray unbuckled the holster, his shoulder throbbing sharply.

He was slower than Elaine this time—equal parts pathetic and unnerving. Forty three was not it. He was not gonna croak at forty three, courtesy of some crook with sharp elbows. Fraser would laugh at him. Well, no, Fraser would frown at him. Dief would totally laugh at him.

He grabbed a Miller out of the fridge and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Ray," Fraser said, muffled.

"Hey yourself. Whatcha eating?"

"Oh—pizza."

"You got mushrooms on there?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do."

"Right," Ray said and looked at the mess of dishes in the sink. "Your funeral." He picked up the brush and stared at it before dropping it back into a dirty bowl and popping the beer open.

"How did the housewarming go?"

Elaine's building was nice, newer than his, a little further uptown, her apartment uncluttered but lived-in already. He'd stuck to people-watching in the corner, mostly, and wallowed in being too old to go anywhere now. It was kind of a good wallow, not sad or anything, just—content. Eight years on, he still liked his digs. Not like there was any need for a second bedroom—Fraser had always been cool with the couch.

"Uh, great, great. Got herself a good guy, Tony. A lawyer, no less. Wedding's next April."

Fraser was somehow smiling politely into his ear.

"What? What?"

"Oh, nothing, Ray. I got reminded of—that's not important."

Ray groaned. "God, Fraser. Elaine is way prettier—and sharper—than I ever was. And Tony—let's just say Stella he ain't. They'll knock it out of the park, you just wait."

"You've never not been sharp, Ray. Or, ah—eye-catching," Fraser said in this soft voice reserved for late night, before-bed calls. Ray had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second.

"Yeah, right, I'm a regular James Dean. Oh, and, speaking of—Vecchio was there. He's back, him and Stella."

"So I've heard."

There was a shrill whistle of the kettle in the background, and the clutter of Fraser putting the phone down to deal with it. Ray frowned at the mysterious stain on his sleeve and swallowed another mouthful of beer.

Stella wasn't at Elaine's, which was just as well, but Vecchio was, and they'd chatted about cars—Vecchio got zip right—and Frannie's youngest, and it was fine, none of the edgy shit Ray'd come to expect from himself.

Fraser picked up the phone with a click. "Sorry, Ray. Please go on."

"Um, yeah. We're all co-pathetic now. He's got this whole private dick deal—hey, why am I telling you this? You two must gossip like fishwives."

"Well, yes, we did talk not so long ago. But that's beside the point." There was a smile in Fraser's voice. Beside the point, huh.

Ray kind of drifted into the bedroom, shrugged out of his beat-up flannel, yanked the t-shirt up, got the phone tangled in it and gave up, flopping sideways onto the bed.

The shoulder was sore as hell. The glasses were starting to hurt, too, jammed between the phone and his ear, and he flung them onto the nightstand with a bit too much force, picked up the beer instead.

"How's the mutt?"

A gruff Dief-noise was reassuringly loud on the line. Last time he heard it there was an unpleasant wheeze tucked onto the end; not this time. He huffed back. Never let it be said he wasn't a great conversationalist. When it came to aging half-wolves who couldn't see or hear him, anyway.

"Hey, I know, I know. Took one today myself."

Dief sneezed. He knew it, he knew he'd never live it down.

"Diefenbaker, that was uncalled for." A grumble. "Are you alright, Ray?"

"Peachy. Bastard dislocated my shoulder. Elaine got him cuffed before I could whack him."

"I'm glad to hear that. You two make a good team."

"That we do, Fraser, that we do."

He got kinda lucky when Elaine made detective. He'd worked alone, mostly, a fact he knew Fraser knew and didn't seem too happy about. So when he'd finally partnered up with her, Fraser seemed to unclench, and she could hold her own, didn't chafe, didn't bring up any Fraser-memories.

Then again, his Fraser-memories were now as much snowball fights and Chicago museums he didn't even know existed and the flannel Fraser'd left on the couch that first night Ray got over himself and asked him to stay—because really, the whole hotel thing was chicken—as they were burning cars and ice crevasses and Vecchio's crappy fake mustache signaling his personal apocalypse.

"Hey," he said, as it clicked, not a hunch but a stone cold truth, "we made it."

There was a long pause, and Ray swore he could hear Fraser thinking. "Yes, Ray, so you've said."

"No, no, not me and Elaine. I meant, um, you and me." He willed Fraser to know, because he didn't have the right words to mean six years of calls and emails and goddamn visits—and here they were, off the clock and on the phone, pizza and beer, and the two zillion kilometers (zillion miles was around two zillion kilometers, he remembered) mattered fuck all.

"I suppose so, Ray," Fraser said, low, and Ray couldn't stop imagining his stupid dimples and his stupid graying temples and the passing months he'll get to see on his face, next visit, next coming back, soon, soon.

2006, 09:02, Whitehorse

He signed at the last line and set the turtle paperweight down on the forms, like a lock. Immediately thought better of it, picked the pile up and evened the edges out against the table, lengthwise first.

He was lucky to get so much—his job, the only one that mattered; his home, not a long trip away; the kindness the city has extended to him, of not having to be alone and not having to be lost. Ray, highly irregular, always coming back.

It gave him courage. Made it easier to think, I want this, even if I have to leave, I want it, and pick up the pen, the phone, the bags, start moving.

"Hi, Frase," Ray said on the phone, hoarse with sleep.

"Ray."

"Mm-hmm?"

"I'm putting in for a transfer. I thought you would appreciate a, ah, a heads-up this time."

"Oh, hey, right! The promotion—you going back up there to hug the trees, or, or, the lichens?"

Fraser knew Ray could name most of the trees and the lichens and the bird species to boot, but that was neither here nor there. He resisted the urge to straighten out his uniform, seeing as he wasn't wearing one, on a Saturday morning in his own kitchen.

"No, Ray. As a matter of fact, there is an administrative position open at the consulate." He rubbed his eyebrow. "In Chicago."

There was a rustle of sheets—Ray sitting up in bed. "Admini—what, a desk job? Oh God, a Thatcher job?"

"Well, if you mean international espionage, then, no." He thought briefly on the oxymoronic quality of them discussing something they should have had no knowledge of in the first place.

"Don't—no." Ray sighed unevenly, then was silent for a long time.

He worried at the corner of the paper right next to his signature. The whole form would probably need redoing. "It's rather more restrictive than I would prefer, given the choice—then again, my duties as a sergeant would be less than ideal concerning the time I'd spend in my office, so it wouldn't be a big change. And, while we wouldn't be able to partner on cases like we used to—"

"You want to partner up with me?" Ray sounded—dangerous.

"It's hardly news to you, Ray."

Ray was gaining momentum as he spoke, louder and faster and more desperate. "Given the choice, what, given the choice?"

He stopped abruptly. Fraser imagined him running a hand through his hair, mussed with sleep and yesterday's helping of product.

"Listen, Frase. Can't you, dunno, wait until Monday?"

"I certainly could, Ray, but—oh." He had to put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. The emptiness at his feet where Dief would curl up before still hurt acutely. "You don't want me back?" He sounded all of five years old and couldn't do a thing about it.

"No!" Ray's voice was a snarl, and it tore at Fraser's throat like it was his own. "God, Fraser, it's not back. Back is out there, back is away from that fucking desk, not Chicago."

It isn't Chicago, he wanted to say. You must know that much.

Ray's breathing came fast and uneven, like back in the GTO, when he shook apart after—and God, Fraser should have been smarter than this by now.

More rustling, the sound of Ray's open palm connecting with something solid once, twice. He wanted desperately to be standing there, to put his hand on the back of Ray's neck, rub circles against it like he didn't, hadn't dared to in that car.

"Ray—of all people, you know the most about what I can call home." It felt like a déjà vu. I don't want to hide from the world, Ray. He'd meant it more than anything, the choice of being alone where he'd been with Ray an unimaginable punishment.

There was a creak, like Ray was putting too much pressure on the receiver. "Yeah. Alright." He sniffled. "But, it's bad luck to paper shuffle on a Saturday morning, right?"

That was such a Ray non-sequitur it made him giggle recklessly. "Who said that, Ray?"

"Someone, I remember—they say it, okay? Just, go with me on this. Sleep on it. Forty-eight hours, and you do what you need to do. I have a hunch."

He opened his mouth to ask. Ray cut him off like he'd seen it.

"Uh-uh. Monday, okay? So we don't jinx it."

"So we don't jinx it," he repeated, willing to go with anything that got Ray saying sentences with the subject we.

The shrill ring of a doorbell almost knocked the phone out of Fraser's hand.

"Shit, should've left it broken," Ray mumbled. "Look, I have a, a thing here. I'll call you back, or, whatever, you know the drill. Just, forty-eight hours, okay? I'm counting."

"Forty-eight hours, Ray."

"Good."

He hung up, stared at the papers some more. Forty-eight hours had nothing on seven years.

Forty-eight hours, and Ray hadn't called, hadn't called it off, so Fraser walked into the RCMP building, up the stairs, turned left and—Ray was leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his beaten-up brown jacket, the same one he had on when he was leaving that first, most painful time. The slump of his shoulders screamed belligerent.

Ray pushed himself off the wall, jittery and graceful. "I've figured it out," he said, breathless. His hair was growing out, going half-heartedly for an unfamiliar slicked back look, and his eyes looked feverish. He looked younger than Fraser had ever known him, and older than he remembered. "I've figured it the fuck out. I quit, okay, I don't want to—" He kicked at the lone backpack at his feet. "Asked Stella to mail me what I need and nuke the rest."

Fraser couldn't take his eyes off him, three steps away, tried to think of something to say before he would inevitably move and knew the first thing out of his mouth would be a curse or a vow, no stopping it.

Ray crossed the distance and took the key from his limp hands, jammed it into the lock with too much force, said, c'mon, c'mon, and they were inside, door locked.

And then Ray was on Fraser, fists curled on his chest, forehead rubbing restlessly against his shoulder. "I figured it out, why didn't you say it, Fraser, Jesus, fucking desk job, fucking—poems, why didn't you just," and then Ray kissed him, or he kissed Ray, and someone was saying, "Fuck, I didn't know, I didn't know how, I didn't know, I swear," and they made it. They made it.

2023, 17:29, Yukon

"Ow, ow, fucking ow!"

He dropped the box and gave it a kick, and fuck, "Fuck, it better not be dishes in there."

Fraser picked the box up and stared at Ray's handwriting upside-down, frowned like he didn't get it, because of course he didn't, it was Ray's hand upside-down. "I don't believe so, Ray, if the weight and the sound are any indication."

He loaded the box into the back of the ancient pickup. If Ray was sentimental when he took it off Maggie's hands and rigged it up better than new, then it was a surprise to just about nobody.

"Good, good. I, uh, I really like Charlie's one."

Fraser hummed his agreement. "You know, she would make you another one if you asked."

"She's going to Vancouver, Frase."

"There are pottery wheels in Vancouver, Ray. In fact, Maggie said she had to argue with her for almost an hour about setting one up in the dormitory room."

Ray smiled and just knew he was gonna choke up, any second now. "Shit. Charlie's picking out prom dresses and we're—shit, Ben."

Fraser looked at him, and Ray was turned inside out not by the look itself, the same one Fraser had given him in the hallway at the ass-crack of dawn—seventeen, Jesus, years ago, the same one Fraser had given him many times before, if only Ray'd known how to—but it wasn't that, it was that they were both fucking retired and hauling their asses back into the great white only-two-of-us-here nowhere, and Fraser still had enough wonder in him, enough hesitance to look at Ray like he was an honest-to-god miracle.

Then he had the gall to look concerned. "We don't have to go, Ray. You like it here."

And, okay, that was it.

He picked the boxes up first, stacked the remaining ones neatly in the back. His back complained a little, which was okay, considering.

"C'mere," he said then, grabbed Fraser's hand impatiently and felt Fraser link their fingers together, easy as anything. Pulled some courage out of nowhere—which, hey, just how much longer would they have to do this courage thing?—and said, "Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, when to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. Or, uh, however that goes."

Fraser's head snapped up, eyebrows quirking, mouth reaching for a grin, but kind of a wobbly one.

Ray shrugged and didn't look away. "So. You say that again to me and count the fucks I give."

Fraser took a few big, heaving breaths and reached for Ray's right hand, brought it up to his cheek, soft with the beard he'd been growing out for the past few weeks.

"Hey." Ray turned their linked fingers so Fraser could see. "Look."

Fraser stared at Ray's ring finger, which, by the way, still hurt like a bitch.

"That box caught on my damn wedding band."

Fraser's crow's feet gave him away before a smile broke over his face, a bright and hopeful thing. Ray kissed the corner of it, kissed his eyelids, and his jaw, and his temple, and thought of home.

[officalroyalsofpierreland]

Wading Back in

Magdalena's letter: Dear Louis, I know this letter is coming as a bit of a shock...but Magnus mentioned that you were the one that told him to actually write me back instead of emailing and that you aren't getting any mail. So, let's consider this us...taking the temp of where we are at. I heard from Magnus that you're quite good at leading your squad. I just ask that you be careful Lou. Be safe, Maggie. Louis Reply Letter: Dear Maggie, Can I still call you Maggie? Well you were right about the shock part. Magnus may have told you about how I practically tripped over my boot laces to get it. I'm fine, just got a bit of a bump on the noggin. Glad Magnus thinks I'm doing good, I always worry that people think I'm getting a pass cause of who I am. Anyway, before I left I had heard something about a collab between Elysian Strings and that popstar Emi? Is that still a thing? If so, what's it like? Yours, Lou

Magdalena's Reply: Dear Lou. Yes you can still call me Maggie. I dunno bout you, but it'd be bizarre for me if you started calling me Magdalena. Magnus did tell me about your little tumble, and I won't lie, it had me in stiches. You should know better about tying your shoes Lou! The collab is still a thing, though I think it's still in the contract negotiation phase so nothing has come of it yet! Isn't Emi the one girl Henri used to date? Also, you work hard Lou. Its one of your best qualities. And you always would tell me: if people are gonna talk, give them somethin to talk about. I'm sure if you were really messing up, you'd be reprimanded by now. Just keep swimming. Yours, Maggie.

Louis: Dear Maggie, sometimes I feel like people won't tell me if I fuck up...you know cause of the whole future monarch thing. Luckily I'm working closely with Magnus and we've agreed that if I mess up, he'll rip into me just like anyone else, which is comforting. About, Emi...I think she was? Honestly Henri has "dated" so many people at this rate, he's reaching MA's total which is a shocker. Didn't expect it from him to be honest. Being out here has been the least busy I've been in a while. It almost feels like a vacation....I just have to work during it lol. Hope your shows are doin well! Lou

Maggie: Dear Lou, Henri dating a bunch of people is shocking? Isn't it genetic for you Valois to run wild when young lol. The shows are going well! I think we have some shows in Simerica, Lunaria, Pierreland, Scotland and the IU before we head on break which will line up with when you and Magnus should be done. It is a little weird to have a bunch of people sending me flowers all the time. Some of my bandmates tell me that I might have some secret admirers, which kinda scares me cause of well...you know. Also, please eat more. Magnus ratted you out Mister. All my love, Maggie

Louis: Dear Maggie, I should've known he'd snitch. I had a bit of a stomach thing with some of the food...some private didn't cook something all the way so a lot of us Pierrelanders have been a little warry of chow. But, it doesn't surprise me that you get flowers! From what I've heard, you guys sound amazing. If you are feeling concerned, please tell your dad. I know you don't want to but they do have the resources to look to see if the people sending them are weirdos. Also, when I get back, can we have tea? If you want that is. I think we need to talk face to face. Love, Lou

@simsroyallegacy

[mashupofmylife]

I think Dame Maggie Smith is the only celebrity I've ever actually sent fan mail to, and because I was such a nerd as a child, I wrote her a fan letter about her performance in Sister Act and not Harry Potter (and let's be real, I was a huge HP nerd as a kid). Even though my fan mail was written all about Sister Act, I got a lovely response from her assistant with an autographed photo of Minerva McGonagall. It was the most valuable thing I owned as far as I was concerned, and for years I made my parents store it in their safe deposit box at the bank because I couldn't imagine anything happening to it. I'm a little less up tight now, but no less devastated than I would have been back then when I heard that she passed today

[alittlextrathatway]

Line: "I close my eyes and the flashback starts." Location: hospital

This is not how Matt envisioned spending his first day home. He truly believed the worst was over now that he was back on Chicago’s hallowed ground. He and Sylvie made it through. They were together again and planning a life together. What could go wrong?

Everything. The answer is everything.

In all his time working for the CFD, he had never once heard of a bomb being mailed to anyone. But especially not a firehouse.

And now Sylvie is in the ER. He wasn’t at 51, he didn’t watch it happen, but he got a call from Stella afterward. She wasn’t sure of Sylvie’s condition. The scene was chaotic, she never saw her, but she knows she was loaded into an ambo and driven away.

Fear squeezes his heart like a vice. The waiting area is full of first responders, already wanting to know how to support 51. Thankfully, the bomb didn’t go off inside the firehouse or this could have been a lot worse. It’s all the comfort he can manage until he sets his eyes on Sylvie.

He storms through the waiting area and passes the double doors into the ED. Everyone else may be waiting patiently but he isn’t. His fiancée is through those doors. The mother of their newly adopted daughter is in danger. He’d take a sledge to the hospital wall to get to her if he had to. There’s no stopping him.

Maggie must have predicted he would barge in as he pleased because she’s waiting for him in front of the nurse’s station.

“Kidd said Sylvie’s—“

“She’s fine, Casey. She’s okay.”

“No offense, Maggie, but I’d like to judge that for myself.”

She points behind him to Trauma 3 and Matt hurriedly spins around. The flashback hits him with as much force as a halligan to the head. It takes him back to that day, years ago now, where she fell through the floor. The day he had to watch her cry through tears of physical pain. The day they lost Otis.

Because sitting on the hospital bed, feet dangling over the edge, is Sylvie. Her arm in a sling, her face covered in dust, and tears in her eyes. She looks small and scared but whole. Blessedly whole.

“Thank god,” Matt mutters, taking a deep breath as he steps into the small room.

“Matt!” Sylvie exclaims, throwing her good arm around him.

“Hey,” he says, pulling her as close as he can without jostling her arm. The same arm she broke in the Arnow collapse. “I’m here.” He leans back and frames her face with his hands, thumbs swiping at tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“That poor delivery driver,” she says, with a shaky inhale. She pauses to exhale, willing herself to calm down. “I don’t think it was supposed to happen that way, Matt. He picked up the package and turned to face the house and then…all of a sudden I was thrown into the back of the open ambo. My elbow slammed into the stretcher and now I’m here. God, it happened so fast I don’t even know if — oh god, how’s everyone else? Do you know? Have you talked to anyone?”

He closes his eyes, imagining all the ways today could have cost him everything, and then forces the images away. Right now, Sylvie needs him and panicking over how close he came to a life without her won’t help. He kisses her grimey forehead and then presses his against her temple, pressing her to his side.

“Just Stella. She didn’t know much either. The scene at 51 is chaos and she’s working with Boden to try and get a head count.”

Sylvie rubs her good hand across her forehead as she takes in the only new information he has. “Well,” she says meeting his eyes with a loud sniffle. “Welcome home, I guess. Some first day, huh?”

“Any day you’re with me is better than most,” he assures her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, relaxing into his arms. “God, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know if I could handle this without you.”

He’s glad he’s here too. He can’t imagine hearing about this from the other side of the country. Now, more than ever, he’s glad he came to his senses and proposed. From here on out, they’ll never have to deal with a crisis like this alone again. They’ll always figure it out. Together.

***

This is kinda based on some things I’ve seen and heard about 12x01 filming. As usual, I’m probably wrong lol.

Send me a Taylor Swift or Kelsea Ballerini lyric and location to my ask box! I’ll write you a Brettsey fic too! 💗

[in-flagrante]

Downton Abbey ‘makes shock return’ as secret revival series ‘begins filming’

Report claims that the hit period drama is returning for a seventh series, nine years after coming to a close

Louis Chilton

1 hour ago

Hit ITV period drama Downton Abbey is reportedly filming a new series, nearly a decade after coming to an end.

The series, which originally aired on ITV from 2010 to 2015, followed the lives of an aristocratic Yorkshire family in the years between 1912 and 1926.

A new report in the Daily Mail claims that a revival series began filming a few weeks ago, and is expected to arrive on screens “by the end of the year”.

The outlet quotes a source close to the production as saying: “Filming has been going on for a few weeks now, it is all very, very secret. There are people working on it who have never seen secrecy like it.

“Those working on the set have been made to sign non-disclosure agreements so that they don’t give the game away but there is a lot of excitement at the return of Downton.”

The Independent understands that the series has not been commissioned for ITV.

The original series featured an ensemble cast that included Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery, Elizabeth McGovern, Joanne Froggatt, Dan Stevens and Maggie Smith.

It was reportedly Smith’s reluctance to continue that prompted Downton to come to an end after six series in 2015, though the thespian returned for two feature film sequels, 2019’s Downton Abbey and 2022’s Downton Abbey: A New Era.

Rumours of a series comeback started surfacing back in May 2023.

In December, series creator Julian Fellowes didn’t brush off the possibility of a comeback, telling Radio Times: “I have said goodbye to Downton so many times, and I have written the last scene about six or seven times. Now I’ve got out of the habit of making permanent statements about whether it’s gone.

“It just gives me a lot of pleasure that so many people enjoyed it, so to feel that you created a show that cheers people up and they had a good time with it, I love that.”

The Independent has contacted production company Carnival Films and Fellowes for comment.

During its peak, Downton was one of the most popular series on UK TV, with its third series pulling in an average weekly audience of 11.5 million people.

In a two-star review of the latest film adaptation, The Independent’s critic Clarisse Loughrey wrote: “Downton Abbey: A New Era is whatever the opposite of a French Exit might look like. Rather than a party guest slipping out quietly, it’s the bumptious visitor making their final, sluggish turn around the room. Their pottering seems to extend for another hour or two – or another cocktail.

“The first film, released in 2019, was designed to pay a final farewell to Downton’s 47 TV episodes and five Christmas specials – an opportunity to tie up a few loose ends and resolve things with a hearty slap on its own back. A New Era manages to uncover even more threads, and makes neat little bows in the most languid way possible. It’s as much of a film as an encore to the encore can be.”

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/tv/news/downton-abbey-new-series-return-itv-b2495921.html

[littlestarabove]

One Master of Death

➼ pairing: Harry Potter x reader

➼ summary: This drabble illustrates your years with Harry and his friends all leading up to the present… and what a dark present it is.

➼ word count: 13.9k (this is too long to be considered a drabble… oops)

➼ what to expect: “I would say something witty… but my mind is blank.”

➼ additional warnings: angst, character death, deathly hallows part 1 spoilers, almost graphic injuries (if you squint, i don’t like blood either)

➼ talk to my characters!

➼ IF YOU HAVE SEEN THIS SOMEWHERE ELSE, it was posted to a different blog, also owned by ME, so it's still my original work

You never thought it would come to this.

Things didn’t turn out the way you expected them to, and certainly didn’t fall in line with your previous years at Hogwarts had gone.

All your life, being a witch had been a dream. Magic was absolutely fascinating to you. When you received your invitation to join Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you weren’t shocked, scared, or even nervous. You were ecstatic. You’d always known there was magical presence within your life, though your Muggle parents always chalked it up to your over-active imagination. You couldn’t find any other way to explain the strange occurrences when you were sad, angry, scared, or even happy. Objects levitated, valuables shattered, and other unexplainable things happened with your emotions that not even the best doctors could understand.

You could finally tell your family “I told you so,” when your letter came in the mail- well, rather by screech owl. Next thing you knew, after converting all of your allowance to galleons, you were on your way to Diagon Alley.

Now, this place was your dream. Every where you looked, magic inhabited every nook and cranny. You didn’t even know where to start. Of course, you had your list of school supplies, but you weren’t paying it any mind as your head ran ramped with thoughts about where to begin. You hadn’t even arrived at Hogwarts and you were planning out the next seven years of your academic career with extreme detail.

You were wandering aimlessly when you saw her- through the musty window The Magical Menagerie inside of a golden cage- your future companion and confidant. She was the most majestic creature you’d ever seen, and you wanted nothing more than for her to be yours.

You walked out of The Magical Menagerie with your very own screech owl, who you later decided to call Maggie. There was no particular reasoning as to why you picked that name- it just seemed fitting.

Your wand ceremony was probably something you would remember for the remainder of your life. It was one of the most magical and ethereal events you’d experienced in your entire life. The wand that settled on you was made of reed wood, 15 inches long, with a core of dragon heartstring. Mr. Ollivander specified that you were destined for a dramatic, adventured-filled life, but also warned you of the dangers that lied ahead of you.

Whatever that meant. You didn’t take him seriously. You were 11.

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You want to say you met Hermione Granger due to the fact that you’re both amazing people adept with social skills and the ability to integrate with other witches and wizards, but that would be a big, fat lie.

You met her when you both stayed in the library after hours, which resulted in the two of you being locked in for the night until someone came to open it up in the early hours of the morning.

Which wasn’t for a long time.

It was your second year at Hogwarts, and this mistake was understandable… for a first year. Had you been 11, you wouldn’t have been so hard on yourself. But, no, you were at the grand age of 12 years old, you should know better.

That’s what your tween brain thought, at least. You used to look back on this memory with Hermione and laugh.

Speak of the devil, this is how you got to know the brilliant witch, through forced socialization behind the locked doors of the dimly lit library.

“Guess we’re stuck here, huh?” you were the first to speak. Hermione looked up at you and nodded.

“Guess we are.” She pouted.

“I’m Y/N L/N.” You stuck your hand out for Hermione to shake, which she did, politely.

“I’m Hermione Granger.” She smiled brightly, to which you returned.

“So… how did you end up in here past closing?” you asked cautiously.

“I simply lost track of time, I was looking for something.” Hermione explained vaguely, the both of you seated hopelessly in front of the doors to the exit. You sighed deeply.

“I fell asleep on my book.” you admitted. Hermione giggled, which pulled a laugh of your own through your throat.

“The boys are never going to let me live this one down.” Hermione sighed with a hopeless grin. You tilted your head at her.

“The boys?” you questioned curiously. Hermione smiled sheepishly. “My friends, Harry and Ron. They’re going to tease me about this endlessly.” Hermione chuckled.

“Harry? As in, Harry Potter?” you questioned, to which Hermione confirmed with a nod. “I’ve seen him around, but never here.”

Hermione snorted and shook her head. “That’s because I don’t think they’ve ever set foot in the library.” she snickered.

“That’s a shame, I love it in here. It’s where I belong.” You joked, beaming.

“I practically live in here, how come I’ve never seen you before?” Hermione inquired with confusion. Your cheeks turned a dull shade of red as you ducked your head.

“I sit near the back, it’s quieter back there.” You explained nervously.

“Ah, that would be why. I sit near the front.” Hermione giggled.

Next thing you knew, the two of you were chatting and sharing life stories while playing with the cards with a pack that you had buried in one of your robe pockets.

“What are you actually doing stuck here, Hermione?” you raised an eyebrow as you adjusted your hand of cards. Hermione sighed in defeat.

“I guess I could tell you. I’m looking for a recipe for polyjuice potion.” she admitted as she scanned her remaining cards.

“Wow, that’s quite complicated, I hear. I’m impressed. What do you need it for?”

“We’re trying to figure out who the heir of Slytherin is, and we need the potion to sneak into their common room undetected.” Hermione explained thoroughly.

“Oh, that rumor with the horrid message written in blood on the wall? I thought it was all an elaborate prank, but then the professors began to worry, so I knew it was serious.” You clarified with a grimace.

“We think it’s Malfoy.” Hermione announced. You snorted. “Doesn’t everyone? Malfoy is the perfect git to be the heir to a Muggle hating wizard.” you grumbled.

Hermione laughed. “Ron and Harry would like you, you’re funny and you hate Malfoy. That’s two things they look for in a person.” Hermione joked with a hint of seriousness.

“I think I would like them as well.” you smiled with a polite undertone.

Hermione looked at her cards and groaned. “I fold.” She placed her cards face down. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought we were playing go-fish?”

The two of you burst into a fit a laughter. That was the night that began a lasting friendship between two extraordinary witches.

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“Hermione, why are we in such a rush?” Ron whined as he struggled to keep up with her fast pace. Hermione huffed.

“I’ve got a friend keeping the book we need safe. We’re already late meeting her there.” Hermione explained in exasperation.

The trio burst through the doors to the library and Hermione began to scan the crowd when she remembered something important.

“She sits near the back, come on.” Hermione waved urgently as she began her path to the back of the library.

She peeked into every row with the hope of finding you sitting alone with the book you’d promised to find in your free time. Much to Hermione’s surprise, you weren’t as close to the back as she had originally thought. She found you in no time.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry.” You noticed them as they came barreling down towards you, all with heavy breathing.

“Sorry. Lost track of time.” Hermione apologized. You shook your head.

“No worries. I’ve got the book here.” You shook the book in your hand to indicate your findings.

Harry and Ron stood utterly confused behind Hermione as she took a seat without hesitation.

“Who are you?” Ron asked quite bluntly. Hermione groaned.

“Must you be so direct?” Hermione gestured to you. “Harry, Ron, this is Y/N. Y/N, this Harry, and that’s Ron.” Hermione pointed to each boy respectively. You beamed widely at them.

“Pleasure to meet you both.” neither of them replied, only stared at you.

“Warm welcome.” you chuckled awkwardly. Hermione noticed your distress and hurried to confront the boys.

“Be polite. She’s helping us.” Hermione gestured violently for them to sit. They both did as they were told.

You tried your best to ignore the fact that Hermione might as well have promised that you would be well-liked by her friends. You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously as you presented Hermione with the book you’d promised her.

In the dark nook, you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled around the book entitled “Moste Potente Potions.” The spotted pages were littered with disturbing illustrations.

You flipped to your book mark and dragged your finger under the sub title.

“Here it is: ’The Polyjuice Potion. Properly brewed, the Polyjuice Potion allows the drinker to transform himself temporarily into the physical form of another’…” You read directly from the text, trailing off as you reached the end of the important information.

“You mean, Harry and I drink some of this stuff and we turn into Crabbe and Goyle?” Ron leaned forward to clarify his suspicions.

“Yes.” Hermione assured. Ron beamed widely.

“Wicked! Malfoy’ll tell us anything!” Ron exclaimed excitedly.

“Exactly. But, it’s tricky. I’ve never seen a more complicated potion. Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed. And, of course, we’ll need a bit of whoever we want to change into too.” Hermione worried her bottom lip as she read over the ingredients for the overly complicated and advanced potion.

“Hang on now. I’m drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it.” Ron grumbled with a grimace.

“How long will it take to make?” Harry leaned forward over Ron’s shoulder to take a more intricate peek at the instructions.

“It looks like a month.” you scanned over the pages carefully.

“A month? But if Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin… he could attack half the Muggle-borns in the school by then.” Harry cautioned. Hermione shivered.

“As if people like us need more reason to be targeted by Malfoy.” You placed your chin in the palm of your hand with a pout.

Hermione beamed. “You’re a Muggle-born as well? I knew we were going to be great friends.”

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Harry and Ron made their exit from their library as you and Hermione remained seated to further study the potion to better learn the ins and outs.

Ron pulled Harry aside with a worried expression. “I don’t think Y/N being in our group is a good idea. We do not need another Hermione to nag us about every little thing.” Ron was practically livid. Harry shrugged.

“I dunno. I think it would be nice to have another girl around. Someone… to keep Hermione occupied.” Harry’s lie wasn’t the most clever, but he figured it was enough to throw Ron off his scent. Quite frankly, the prospect of having another girl join their group made Harry quite flustered, especially due to the fact that you’re probably one of the prettiest 12-year-olds he’d ever seen. But, of course, it didn’t take much to convince Ron otherwise.

“You’re right. That would be a big weight off our own shoulders.” Ron agreed. Harry smiled in spite of his lie.

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Third Year

Silence. A room of shadows. While those around him slumbered, Harry lied awake, unable to sleep. Finally, he turned to his cupboard, took out the Marauder’s Map, and whispered,

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The crooked corridors and serpentine passageways of Hogwarts radiated across the parchment, then… a tiny dot caught Harry’s eye. He frowned. It read: “Peter Pettigrew.”

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Harry moved down a dark corridor, map in hand, wand aglow. In the paintings he passed, the subjects snored softly.

Harry’s and Peter’s figures on the map drew closer and closer.

Harry squinted toward the end of the corridor. Down at the map. Pettigrew moved quickly down the adjoining corridor. Twenty yards away. Ten. Only seconds away…

Wand trembling in his hand, Harry glanced from the map to the dark corridor ahead, again and again. Then… as the two dots were about to collide… he looked slowly up, turned the corner, heart in his chest… and met-

You?

“Oh! Harry!” You exclaim as you nearly rammed right into Harry.

Harry blinked, startled, then glanced down at the map. Pettigrew had moved past him, but your figure stood adjacent to his. Odd, how hadn’t he noticed that before?

“Y/N. What are you doing down here?” Harry raised an eyebrow in question. You were quick to explain yourself.

“Hermione wanted to conduct some research on werewolves… can’t imagine why… but she mentioned something about it being far too late for her, so I went instead.” You gestured to all the rolls of parchment in your arms- your diligent notes.

“I was just on my way back… hold on, what are you doing up at this hour, Harry?” you redirected the conversation onto Harry. He froze.

“Um… well…” Harry glanced down at the map, flustered, and back up to you.

“Is that the Marauder’s Map? The Weasley twins mentioned that they gave it to you.” You pointed at the map in curiosity. Harry’s expression turned confused, but, yet again, you were quick to clarify.

“I was helping them set up a prank… they needed to know the precise angle a… certain bucket had to be placed at on the top of a… certain professor’s door.” you grinned sheepishly rocking on your heels. Harry smiled softly.

“I was just… looking for someone. I think the map is mistaken… says Peter Pettigrew is heading… that way.” Harry pointed in the direction he’d come from. You follow his finger.

“Pettigrew? Hermione mentioned he was dead.” You shrugged. Harry mimicked your actions.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s follow it.” you gestured in the direction that Harry had pointed to. Confused but excited, Harry turns on his heel to follow you, casting his wand along the walls.

“Watch it there, boy!”

You and Harry jumped. But it was only an old man in a painting, scowling in the glare of Harry’s wand light. On the map, Pettigrew continued to move away. Harry made to follow, with you in tow, then stopped, hearing footsteps. The wand’s spot danced across the parchment, and found another dot. Approaching fast: Severus Snape.

“Put it away!” You hissed urgently. Harry fumbled to put the tip of his wand on the map. “Mischief managed!” He stashed the map away, extinguishing his wand, and turned… into the harsh glare of Snape’s wand.

“Potter.” Snape sneered. Snape moved his wand slightly to the left and illuminated you, grinning sheepishly.

“L/N.” He grumbled.

“What’re you two doing wandering the corridors at night?” Snape questioned.

“We were… we were sleepwalking…”

A sneer curdled the corner of Snape’s lips.

“How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter. He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. Strutting about the castle-”

“My dad didn’t strut. Nor do I. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate you lowering your wand.” Harry straightened and nodded towards Snape’s wand, aimed directly to his face and nearly blinding him.

Snape eyed Harry coldly, containing himself. He lowered his wand.

“Turn out… your pockets, the both of you.” Snape demanded.

You nor Harry moved, Harry’s eyes still boring into Snape.

“Turn out your pockets!”

Finally, the both of you obliged. You turned up with nothing but your scrolls. But, seeing the map, Snape’s eyes glittered.

“And this. What might it be?” He asked.

“Spare bit of parchment…” You came up with hastily. Your mind worked quickly when it came to confrontation, it was one of your skills.

“Really…” Snape poised his wand over the map. “Reveal your secrets!”

To both of your horror, words began to appear. Snape studied you both, a sadistic half-smile on his lips. He turned the map your way.

“Read it.” Snape ordered.

“Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs… offer their compliments to Professor Snape… and…” Harry glanced up at professor Snape after reading the rest, unsure.

“Go on.” Snape urged. You leaned over Harry’s shoulder and snorted.

“And request that he keep his abnormally large nose out of other people’s business.” You snickered, your eyes locked with Snape’s.

Snape’s smile drooped. “Why you insolent little-”

“Professor?”

Snape turned to see Professor Lupin standing in the shadows.

“Well, well. Lupin. Out for a little walk in the moonlight, are we?” Snape sneered.

“Harry? Y/N? You all right?”

“That remains to be seen. I’ve just now confiscated a rather curious artifact from Mr. Potter and Miss L/N. Take a look, Lupin. This is supposed to be your area of expertise.” Snape snatched the parchment from Harry’s grip and presented it to Lupin. Lupin took the parchment, which now displayed a rather unflattering caricature of Snape and a pair of potions.

“Clearly, it’s full of dark magic.” Snape continued.

“I seriously doubt that, Severus. it looks to me as if it merely insults anyone who tries to read it. It suspect it’s a Zonko product. Nevertheless, I shall pursue any hidden qualities it may possess. As you say, it’s my area of expertise. Come, Harry, Y/N.”

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The two of you walked aside a fuming Lupin, who gripped the map fiercely.

“I don’t know how this map came to be in your possessions, Harry, Y/N, but I’m astounded that you didn’t turn it in immediately. Especially you, Miss L/N. For all that time you spend with Granger, I would have expected her behavior to rub off on you in some way.” Lupin fumed. You hung your head. Lupin directed his next comment to Harry.

“Harry, did you ever stop to think that this- in the hands of Sirius Black- is a map to-”

Lupin stops when he realizes that he and Harry were not alone, and stops himself from going any further. Harry waved his hands in defense. “Don’t worry, Professor… she knows… about Sirius.” Harry was referring to the information Hermione had entrusted you with recently- About Harry’s relation to Sirius and the plot against him.

You nodded in confirmation. Lupin sighed with an expression of relief.

“A map to you?” he finished. Harry walked alongside silently, you hot on his heels. Lupin could barely contain his anger.

“Your father didn’t set much store by rules either. But he and your mother did give their lives to save yours. Gambling their sacrifice by walking about the castle unprotected, with a killer on the loose, strikes me as a poor way to repay them. I won’t cover for you again, Harry.”

Lupin entered his office, tossed the map on his desk, and began to sort through some papers. You and Harry lingered briefly in the doorway. You absently eyed the waxing moon that glimmered beyond the window, then stared to turn away.

“Professor. Just so you know, I don’t think the map always works. Earlier, it showed someone in the castle. Someone I know to be dead.” You directed your attention to Lupin, away from the moon.

“And who was that, Y/N?” He was only half-listening.

“Peter Pettigrew.” Harry finished.

Lupin hesitated ever-so-slightly, then returned to his papers.

“Very well. I’d like you to return to your dormitories now. Oh, and don’t take any detours.”

As you and Harry looked back, Lupin tapped the map. “If you do, I’ll know.” Lupin smirked slightly.

You and Harry rounded the corner and set on the path back to the Gryffindor common room.

The moment you’re out of sight of Lupin’s office, your burst into a fit of giggles, catching Harry by surprise.

“That was amazing. When you spend all of your time with Hermione, you never almost get caught like that! Oh, it was exhilarating.” you sighed happily, turning to Harry.

“I… never would have thought that you liked things of the sort.” Harry nervously scratched the nape of his neck as the two of you neared the common room.

“There’s a lot you’ll have to learn about me, Harry. I’ll see you later?” You murmured the password to the common room and stepped inside, Harry not far behind. You moved to disappear up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories when Harry stopped you.

“Have breakfast with us tomorrow.” he blurted. It was enough to stop you in your tracks and to make you turn to face him.

“Hm. I suppose I could. I’ll see you there, Potter.” you disappeared around the staircase.

Harry smiled to himself, his heart pitter-pattering in his chest as he stared off in the direction you disappeared in.

Oh dear, was he in trouble now.

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Fourth Year

It was almost as if your fourth year (so far) had gone by in a blur. You arrived at school, got a new, suspiciously shady professor, and all of a sudden, Harry as a contestant in the infamous Triwizard Tournament. You were worried because of what the tournament was infamous for- severe injury and competition to the death.

You, Hermione, Ron, and Harry were sat in the Great Hall, scowling at the latest addition of the Daily Prophet. Hermione had been made out to look like she was after two famous wizards- Viktor Krum and Harry. She was livid, but you all managed to distract her for a limited period of time.

“Parcel for you, Mr. Weasley.” a small boy approached the table and presented Ron with a particularly large parcel.

“Ah, thank you, Nigel.”

The boy stared in jittery awe at Harry.

“Not now, Nigel.” Ron urged Nigel off.

As Nigel stumbled off, you, Harry, and Hermione eyed Ron. He shrugged.

“I told him I’d get him Harry’s autograph. Hey look. Mum’s sent me something… Mum’s sent me a dress.”

Harry watched Ron lift a lace-trimmed gown from the box.

“Does match your eyes. Is there a bonnet? Ah- hah!” Harry pulled a matching little collar from the box and tossed it at Ron. You giggled from beside Harry, not-so-subtly drinking a sip of pumpkin juice to hide it.

“Nose down, Harry.” Ron grumbled. He moved to Ginny hopefully. “Hey, Ginny. This must be for you.”

Ginny grimaced at the manky old thing. “I’m not wearing that. It’s ghastly.” She gasped as she laid eyes on it.

Hermione, back of her hand pressed to her mouth, suppressed a laugh.

“What are you on about?” Ron grumbled.

“They’re not for Ginny. They’re for you. Dress robes.” Hermione clarified with a smile.

“Dress robes? For what?” Ron panicked.

Professor McGonagall seemed to appear out of no where, making herself known by answering Ron’s question. “The Yule Ball. Which, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to you about, Potter.”

Harry nodded as he let McGonagall pull him off to the side to speak to him privately.

“The Yule Ball, Professor?” Harry questioned as they were out of earshot from his friends.

“It’s traditional during the Triwizard Tournament for the host school to put on a Christmas ball. It is also traditional for the three Champions- or in this case four- to be the first to dance.”

Harry cocked his head, as if he had water in his ear.

“Dance? With a girl?” His voice shook slightly with the question.

“Traditionally with a young lady, yes. Why don’t you take…” McGonagall searched the area where Harry’s friends sat for a suitable date. Her eyes settled on you and she smiled.

“Miss L/N? You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with her, recently. And she’s a lovely girl. A lot like your friend, Miss Granger.” McGonagall beamed as she gestured to you.

Harry followed her line of sight as his eyes settled on you as well. You sat in your seat quietly, sipping absentmindedly on your goblet of pumpkin juice as you watch Hermione and Ron converse heatedly about the condition of his ancient dress robes.

You open your mouth and make some kind of remark, which Harry can’t hear, but it caused Hermione to laugh whole-heartedly, which Ron soon joined in reluctantly, and even Ginny snickered to herself.

Harry beamed unconsciously. “She is lovely, isn’t she?” He sighed. McGonagall’s smile widened but Harry quickly caught himself.

“Oh, um, I mean, I could… ask Y/N. As friends, of course.” He added hastily. McGonagall’s smile slightly faltered but she continued nonetheless.

“I leave that decision up to you, Potter. But know this: the House of Godric Gryffindor has a reputation as long as it is illustrious. It demands and receives the respect of the entire wizard world. No house has produced more witches and wizards of consequence. You stand upon the shoulders of giants, Potter. Shame yourself and you shame all who came before you.”

Just then, a commotion was heard. Turning, McGonagall watched Seamus pelt Dean Thomas with a custard pie.

McGonagall’s face dropped.

So much for honoring the house of Gryffindor.

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The entire rank and file of Godric Gryffindor’s current roster- girls on one side, boys on the other, stood before a fierce McGonagall in what you could only conclude as some sort of dance class.

“You have to get a grip! Your behavior barely rises to the level of the common toadstool! I WILL NOT HAVE IT!”

The students exchanged nervous glances.

“Now. To dance is to let the body…” McGonagall took a deep breath as demonstration, “… breathe. Inside every girl a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst free and take flight. Inside each boy, a lordly lion, prepared to prance.” McGonagall illustrated.

“Something may be about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don’t think it’s a swan.” Ron snickered.

“Mr. Weasley.”

“Yes?” Ron jumped and yelled his response, surprised to have been caught.

“Would you join me, please?” McGonagall glared intensely.

Ron glanced about in a panic, then slumped forward like a man heading to the gallows.

“Now then, if you will, put your left hand on my waist…”

“Where?!”

“My waist, Mr. Weasley.”

Grudgingly, Ron obeyed. As Fred and George whistle, Ron raised his right hand in a rude rejoinder when McGonagall closed her hand over his just in the nick of time.

“That’s right, extend your arm… and, Mr. Filch, if you would…”

Filch dropped the needle onto an old record player and a musty waltz filled the courtyard. Instantly, Neville smiled, bobbing his head, as if transported by the music.

“And one and two…” McGonagall kept the tempo skillfully.

“Oi!” Harry leaned back to Fred and George, who leaned forward to accommodate his height.

“Never going to let him forget this, are you?” Harry grinned. Fred and George shook their heads.

“Never. ” They replied incredibly in sync.

“Everyone! Come together…” McGonagall urged as she continued her waltz with a reluctant Ron.

The music swelled as the girls and boys nervously crossed the divide and began to pair off.

You shuffled anxiously through the crowd, watching as it seemed that every girl had a partner save for you.

You could feel your anxiety begin to spike and your self-esteem drop to an all-time low when-

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing over here all alone?”

You spun around quickly at the familiar voice and found the teasing face of Harry Potter standing before you. You sighed in relief.

“Oh, um… just observing, I guess.” You replied unconvincingly.

“Don’t observe. Come dance. I need practice.” Harry took your hand and led you to the floor.

Harry placed his his over your rib-cage while you placed your hands on his shoulder and in his other hand. You giggled.

“Harry, your hand goes on my waist, dear.” you mimicked McGonagall the best you could. Harry snorted with a faint flush dusting the apples of his cheeks in the most flattering way.

“I know.” He scoffed. You rolled your eyes and removed your hand from his shoulder to encase it over his wrist and pushed it down on to your lower waist.

“You do need practice, Potter.” you moved your feet according to the music as Harry clumsily attempted to mimic you. He did end up stepping quite harshly on your toes, however.

“Ow!” You gasped, removing your hands from him to hop on one foot.

“Sorry! I’m just… extremely uncoordinated.” Harry groaned at himself. You dusted off your now unpolished uniform shoe and waved him off assuringly.

“That’s what this class is for. Just follow my lead.” You nodded down to your feet and Harry followed your eyes.

“One, two, three… one, two, three…” You began softly as you moved slowly to accommodate Harry’s speed.

“How do you know so much about dancing?” Harry asked without taking his eyes from both of your feet.

“My parents are Muggles, I attended cotillion as a child.” you reminded with a smile. Harry looked up at you, realizing your faces were in very close proximity.

“Well… um… lucky me, I guess.” He chucked nervously. You beamed brightly at him, resulting in his heart jumping into his throat and being unable to keep himself quiet.

“Would you teach me how to dance?” He blurted instinctively. Your mind blanked for a moment as you were making sure you heard him correctly.

“I just… McGonagall told me not to embarrass Gryffindor and I thought that I should take some lessons from someone with dancing experience…” Harry avoided eye contact with you. Your heart sank into your stomach. Why on earth did you think he was going to ask you to be his date? You’re only friends.

“Oh, um… right, yeah. Sure. I’ll teach you a few things.” You tried to keep your voice from shaking, but the disappointment was clearly present.

Harry grinned half-heartedly. “Great.”

If only the both of you knew how much the other’s heart was sinking down into the depths of hopelessness.

You were beginning to think Gryffindor, known for courage, was not the house for you. You wondered what was going through the sorting hat’s mind when he placed you.

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After a few days of unsuccessfully acquiring a Yule Ball date, Harry made his way to the Owlery, which stood like a stranded scarecrow in a sea of white. Suddenly, an owl fluttered forth and Harry halted. Footsteps sounded and a figure descended the Owlery’s snow-laden stairs, flickering in and our of view. Seconds later, a girl appeared.

Cho.

“Harry.” Cho acknowledged.

“Cho.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment. Cho gestured all around. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” She questioned quietly. Harry nodded.

“Yeah, splendid.” he replied.

He glanced away, face hidden from Cho, and grimaced, mouthing ‘splendid’ in miserable mortification.

“Well, watch yourself on the stairs. A bit icy at the top.” Cho informed bashfully as she intended to make her leave.

“Okay. Thanks.” But as she smiled and turned, Harry pressed further. “Cho!”

He said this so forcefully, she nearly stumbled stopping. “Yes?”

“I just wondered if, maybe, you… wannagoballwime?”

“Sorry… I didn’t catch that?”

Harry collected himself with a deep inhale and repeated his question, “I wondered if you’d like to… to… go to the ball with me?”

Cho’s face fell grimly. “Oh. Harry. I’m sorry. But someone’s already asked me and I’ve said I’ll go. With him.”

“Oh. Well, good. I mean… okay. No problem.” Harry looked away, flexing his fingers within his mittens. Cho chewed her lip, frowning, then turned away. As she went, Harry exhaled, shaking his head, when-

“Harry?”

He looked up and saw her staring him straight in the eye.

“I really am… sorry.” She turned then, and Harry watched her dash back toward the distant castle, filling his footprints with her own.

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“Hermione! You’ll never believe what happened!” you rushed quickly to Hermione’s side the moment you entered the common room and found her in one of the comfortable arm chairs. She silently urged you to finish your statement.

“Dean Thomas asked me to the ball.” You bit your lip in excitement and Hermione beamed. “Congratulations! I knew you’d find a date in no time.” Hermione grinned.

From a distance, Harry could hear every word. His heart sank into his stomach. You were plan A, of course, but plan B ended up unfolding before he could stop himself. Now you weren’t a plan at all.

Suddenly, Ron tripped through the portrait hole, staggered across the room, and collapsed into a chair. He looked shell-shocked. Ginny, who’d accompanied him, fought hard to suppress a smile.

“What happened to you?” Harry asked curiously.

“He’s just asked out Fleur Delacour.” Ginny answered quickly.

“What?!”

“What’s she say?” Harry added before Hermione’s shock could be voiced further.

“No, of course.” Hermione guessed. But, in a pleat of doubt, “She did say no…?”

Ron shook his head.

“She said yes?!”

“Of course not! I don’t know what got into me. There she was… walking by… you know how I like it when they walk… and I couldn’t help it… it just sort of… slipped out.”

“Actually, he sort of screamed at her. It was a bit frightening.” Ginny grimaced.

“So what’d you do then?” Harry pushed.

“What else? I ran for it. I’m not cut out for this, Harry.” Ron groaned tiredly.

As they were all conversing, the Patil twins strode by, arm in arm with each other. They each glance at each other and in unison, “Hi Harry.” and they were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

Harry murmurs a half-hearted greeting before doing a double take in the direction they’d strode off in.

“Don’t worry. I think I’ve got an idea…”

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“Hello, boys.” The Patil twins greeted in unison.

Parvati and Padma, doubly delightful in shocking pink and bright turquoise respectively, waited below for their dates.

“Don’t you look… dashing.” Parvati’s eyes raked over Ron’s robes as she took Harry’s arm. Padma stared in open horror. Just then, McGonagall appeared, looking a bit flustered.

“There you are, Potter!” McGonagall called as she urgently made her way through the crowd to Harry and Ron.

“You and Miss Patil will wait here and enter with the other champions. Weasley…” she faltered, goggling at Ron’s robes, then collected herself.

“… you and Miss Patil may proceed inside, to the Great Hall.” she ushered them to the entrance.

“C'mon then.” As Ron dragged Padma off, she looked back desperately to her sister. Parvati just shook her head.

“We have a cousin who dresses like that.”

Just then, a gust of win stirred in the air and the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students filed inside. As Fleur Delacour appeared, her silk wrap flew free, fluttering like a dove into the air, leading Harry’s eye to… Cho, who arrived hand in hand with Cedric Diggory.

“Omigod. She looks… Beautiful.” Parvati mumbled in disbelief.

Harry nodded glumly, staring at Cho, then realized Parvati was looking not at Cho, but a girl in blue robes.

Her hair was twisted in an elegant but messy knot with glittering butterfly barrettes littered amongst her locks to enhance the mystical facade, swan’s neck shining. She was simply ethereal. She was…

You.

“I know I’m late! Couldn’t figure out the button on the back of my dress.” You turned to demonstrate the intricate backing of your dress.

Harry remained speechless as you turned back around to face him with a wide smile. “You look handsome, my friend.” You slightly played with the collar of his dress robe, but Harry still didn’t utter a word.

“Close your mouth, Harry. We’re not a codfish.” You quoted one of your favorite Disney movies.

When he still didn’t reply, your teasing smile faltered for a worried expression. “Seriously, Harry. What’s wrong? Is my makeup smudged?” you patted your face to ensure that nothing was wrong.

“Oh! Nothing’s wrong… you just look…” Harry was quite unable to finish his sentence and you frowned.

“Is it that bad?” You looked down at your dress with your heart thumping in your chest.

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite actually… you’re stunning.” Harry’s eyes scanned you up and down. The smile returned to your features.

“Thank you… Hermione helped, of course.” You giggled bashfully.

“Well… erm, Dean is.. waiting for me so… I better go. I’m sure you’ll be expected to dance first.” You chewed the inside of your cheek anxiously, and Harry nodded.

“Right, yeah, you go. Have fun. I’ll see you later.” Harry’s arm was taken by Parvati. You nodded as well.

“See you.” You turned to disappear into the crowd to find your date. Harry watched you go longingly. Parvati smiled to herself, but said nothing nonetheless.

A path of light spilled from the Entrance Hall, revealing a darkened hall glimmering with icicles and mistletoe. The house tables had vanished, replaced by dozens of smaller ones, each glowing with lantern light around a central dance floor. Flitwick conducted a string quartet.

As the champions entered, applause arose. Fleur led the way, on the arms of a stunned-looking Ravenclaw boy (Roger Davies), while Harry and Parvati entered last, Parvati waving like a beauty queen. Harry scanned the room for Ron and found him, staring open-mouthed at Hermione as she passed with Krum.

“Is that Hermione Granger? With Viktor Krum?” Padma Patil was in shock.

“No. Absolutely not.” Ron denied with the curt shake of his head.

As the champions reached the dance floor, Flitwick’s baton froze in mid-air- bringing the hall to a hush.

“Take my waist.” Parvati urged forcefully when Harry didn’t move.

“Huh? Oh… right.” Harry places his hand on her waist and took her hand when Flitwick’s baton dropped and the waltz began.

“Go. Now!”

More out of fear than anything else, Harry took a step and then another. The music swelled. Fleur swept past, rigid as a queen. Next was Cho, dark eyes glimmering as they briefly met Harry’s own. Finally, Hermione- adrift in Krum’s strong arms- shot Harry a goofy, excited grin.

Dumbledore led McGonagall from the Tall Table and, with a short bow, swept her onto the floor, where they danced formally, beautifully. Quickly, the remainder of the staff paired off and joined them. Even Madame Maxime yielded to Hagrid and his horrible suit, though she casted her eyes askance while in his arms. Only Moody remained on the sidelines, eye whirling madly in time to the waltz.

Finally, the students converged, led by Neville, who glided like Astaire, much to the astonishment of his date- Ginny Weasley. Lost in the crush, Harry felt less self-conscious about his own clumsy feet and actually managed to smile.

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Later in the evening, a jagged razor burn of guitars, courtesy of the Weird Sisters, shattered the calm as the dance floor was now a mosh pit, hopping with bodies.

Fred’s hand reached up and snapped off one of the icicles and slipped it down the back of Angelina’s robes and she squealed, darting after him, passing Hermione and Krum. Hermione yelled above the din.

“Her-my-oh-nee!”

“Herm… own… ninny?”

She started to correct him, then shrugged. “Close enough.”

Harry and Ron sat watching grimly from the sidelines, while Padma and Parvati sat on opposite sides of them, arms crossed in aggravation. Ron eyed Krum lethally.

“Ruddy pumpkinhead, isn’t he?” he grumbled.

Harry’s eyes shifted from yours and Dean’s gyrating figures.

“Well, I don’t think it was the books that had him going to the library.”

A handsome Durmstrang boy approached Parvati, who looked ready to put a gun to her head.

“May I haff your arm?”

“Arm. Leg. I’m yours.” Parvati exited eagerly, following the boy at his heels.

Harry watched as Hermione pulled you from the crowd and your date, both with beautiful smiles as you approached the boys. Hermione dropped into Parvati’s vacant chair, flush from dancing. You stood awfully close to Harry, causing him to tense.

“Whew! Hot, isn’t it? Viktor and Dean have gone to get drinks. Care to join us?” Hermione asked cheerfully.

“No, we would not care to join you and… Viktor.” Ron spat his name like venom, and Hermione’s smile disappeared along with your own.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Hermione seemed offended.

“He’s from Durmstrang! You’re fraternizing with the enemy!” Ron accused loudly. You scoffed.

“The enemy? Who was it wanting his autograph? Besides, the whole point of the Tournament is international magical cooperation. To make friends.” Hermione clarified angrily.

“I think he’s got a bit more than friendship in mind.” Ron grumbled to himself. Your mouth dropped open.

“What are you suggesting?” your voice had dropped an octave, indicating your aggravation.

Harry spun around to face you, and instead of voicing his jealousy, voiced his frustration.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? With Dean as well. You’re friends with Margaret Stone, aren’t you? That’s who Dean’s really after. Heard him talking about it the other day.” Harry huffed and sat back in his seat with crossed arms.

It wasn’t a total lie; Harry had heard Dean talking about Margaret Stone, but it wasn’t the other day. It was about a year ago.

You stood taken aback by Harry’s words. Not once had you heard him speak in this tone of voice, especially to you.

“W-… what do you mean?” You could feel your voice wavering as Hermione looked up at you.

“Y/N. He doesn’t mean it.” She urged. Harry stood.

“Well, of course I meant it! You’re easy enough to go out with and get closer to Stone without a second glance from anyone. Thought you were smarter than that. Aren’t you supposed to be like Hermione?” Harry’s arms remained crossed as he glared at you with fury.

But he quickly regretted his words when he watched as your eyes welled up with tears, threatening to spill over as you bit your bottom lip to keep from quivering.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Dean with two drinks in hand, looking confused between you and Harry. “What’s going on?”

You choked on a sob that threatened to rip through your throat and dashed off, brushing past Dean on your way. Hermione glared at both Ron and Harry before jumping up to chase after you. “Y/N! That’s not true!” She called after you.

Dean spared Harry and confused glance before turning off in the same direction to follow you.

“Are you going to ask me to dance or not?” Padma asked Ron as she sulked.

“No.”

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As Ron and Harry exited, after the fiasco with Hermione, Ron broke off by himself in a rage. Harry found himself alone, Parvati no where to be found, not that he cared at all where she was.

He rounded the corner out of the Great Hall and found you, leaning against a wall and dabbing under your eyes so as to keep your tears from ruining your makeup.

The two of you make eye contact and you froze.

“Y/N-”

“No, don’t touch me.” you jerked away from his grip like you’d been burnt with a ragged breath, avoiding eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I didn’t mean it like that…” Harry began slowly, gauging your reaction.

“Harry, you humiliated me in front of Ron and his date, your date, and Hermione, and might as well have embarrassed me in front of Dean.” You moved to cover your face with your hand to hide your expression.

Though Harry knows what he’d done, the thought still made his heart wrench. He’d made you cry, and he never wanted to be the cause of that, not now, not ever.

“That’s… not what I meant to do.” Harry sighed in spite of himself.

You looked away from dabbing under your eyes and up at Harry, watching as his face filled with genuine concern.

“What did you mean, then?” you sniffled, averting your eyes to the ground as you gripped your heels in your hand.

Harry was taken aback at your question. You were giving him a chance to explain himself. He wasn’t daft enough to waste this opportunity.

“I was just frustrated, and I wanted to look out for you… I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Harry’s shoulders slouched as he began to explain himself. You slowly gained the courage to glance up at him as he spoke.

You exhaled deeply, “Dean was overrated, anyway…” you sniffled again, a small smile spreading across your face.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. You sighed exaggeratedly and threw yourself at Harry and wrapped your arms around his neck, your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

Harry grunted and stumbled back from the impact, his arms wrapping themselves around your form. He let out a breath he didn’t know had been stuck in his throat at your action, but smiled nonetheless.

“This whole night has been a disaster. Take me home, Harry.” you buried your face into his robe as you let your eyes relax and your tired brain rest.

“Oh, um, okay…” Harry gave a brief stroke to your slightly more messy, but still gracefully decorated hair.

“But you’ve gotta help me out, here.” Harry chuckled as he attempted to lift you. You groaned and secured your arms more tightly around his neck and jumped, allowing Harry’s arm to fold under your legs and hoist you up, bridal style.

He managed to bring you the rest of the way to the common room, but you somehow managed to fall asleep on the journey. Harry chuckled to himself when he noticed you’d gone limp and your jaw had fallen slack.

Through that disaster of a night, Harry learned that all friends fight, but the ones who stayed true were the ones that persisted.

He only hoped that his friendship with you would be a result of persistence.

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Fifth Year

Harry quietly dismissed the weekly gathering of Dumbledore’s Army for the Christmas holiday. The progress they’d made was impeccable, incredible, and some might dare say, unfathomable.

Though, the tragic death of Cedric Diggory in the past year at Hogwarts had taken a tole on every student, especially one student in particular; Cho Chang.

She remained in the classroom, staring longingly at a cut-out clipping of Cedric’s portrait when he’d participated in the Triwizard Tournament that was taped to a musty mirror.

Harry approached her from behind, cautious so as to not startle her.

“Are you alright?” He asked carefully, keeping his voice as level as he could.

“I heard Umbridge gave you a rough time the other day.” He continued when he knew he had her attention.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Cho glanced down at her scaring hand, matching many other trouble makers in the school.

“Anyways, it was worth it.” Her gaze returned to Cedric’s, the moving picture smiled back at them as if it knew they were watching it.

“It’s just… it’s just, learning all this… makes me wonder, whether he’d known it.” Cho observed the room carefully with a longing expression. Harry was quick to assure her.

“Cedric- Cedric did know this stuff. He was really good. It’s just… Voldemort was better.” Harry decided on.

Cho cast her eyes down to the floor, then back up at Harry. “You’re a really good teacher, Harry.” In response, Harry smiled shortly.

“I’ve never been able to stun anything before.” Cho grinned cheekily

A faint rustling came from above the two, causing Cho to look up curiously. What she spotted was mistletoe, curiously growing from the ceiling above them with haste.

“Mistletoe.” Cho whispered quietly. Harry was still fascinated by the plant’s growth above them.

His eyes returned to Cho’s face, but couldn’t think of anything worth saying. “Probably full of Nargles, though.” He blurted.

“What are Nargles?” Cho asked with confusion. Harry shrugged.

“No idea.” They wasted no more time and brought themselves together to seal the silence in a tender kiss. Harry’s first, it happened to be.

“Sorry to barge in, but I forgot my-”

You stopped dead in your tracks when you found the couple snogging in the middle of the practice room. You found yourself speechless as your heart shattered into thousands of pieces at the sight.

Harry and Cho separated immediately when they both acknowledged your presence. “Oh… Y/N.” Harry scratched the nape of his neck and avoided eye contact with you.

“Dear Merlin, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” you were quick in putting up a facade of nonchalance as you frantically searched for the tie you’d recently shed when practicing spells with the group.

“It’s alright… no harm done.” Harry threw a worried glance in Cho’s direction as you find your tie.

“This was all I came for. Again, I apologize for the disturbance- I’ll be going now- Oh!” in your haste to back away, you’d knocked yourself into the wall near the entrance. You laughed nervously and rubbed the back of your head to soothe it.

“My bad, wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m leaving now.” You spun around on your heel and rounded the corner quickly, sprinting down the hallway and back to the common room as quickly as you could carry yourself.

As both Harry and Cho watched you disappear, Harry let out a long sigh. Cho turned to him. “Was that Y/N L/N?” she asked curiously. As Harry began to pack his things, he nodded.

“Yeah… it was.” Harry nodded towards the entrance as he stowed his wand away. Cho nodded grimly.

“She seemed upset.” Cho acknowledged as she watched Harry move about the room.

“Did she?” Harry questioned. Although, he had noticed your odd behavior but thought nothing of it.

“Yes, quite jealous, actually.” Cho hummed in thought.

Harry pondered that a moment. Jealous? You? Of him? Impossible.

“Yeah, right.” Harry scoffed. Though he didn’t mean anything by it, of course.

“I always thought you liked her.” Cho carefully worded her statement as she watched Harry’s back tense.

“I guess.” Harry shrugged shortly. His tone was becoming curt and short.

“Then… why are you here with me? Not going after her?” Cho gestures to the entrance to the classroom. Harry follows her gesture with his eyes and contemplated this a moment.

The next thing he knew, he’d thrown his bag over his shoulder and quickly departed with a “thank you” thrown in Cho’s direction as he hurried away.

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Sixth Year

Harry peered through ripples of an imperfect windowpane in the Weasley’s Burrow, studying the others down below. A floorboard creaked. He turned and watched you emerge into the light, in a robe, twisting your wet hair into a towel.

“Everyone gone to bed?” You asked nonchalantly as you approached Harry.

“Soon.” Harry nodded.

“I don’t sleep these days. So I wash my hair. Silly, right?” you giggled at yourself, folding the towel over your arm

Harry just stared at you, the air prickling with silence. You eyed him knowingly.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” You grinned sweetly.

Down below, Lupin continued to peer into the reeds. His pupils contracted.

“Sweetheart…” Tonks approached him.

“There’s someone out there. I can smell him. There’s more than one-”

“Suddenly, throughout the reeds, torches blazed.

Back on the second floor, the rippled window behind Harry blushed with light. Your eyes shifted from Harry to the trees beyond.

"Oh my god…”

Harry turned, his breath fogging the windowpane as, far below, flames snuck out of the reeds and slithered toward the house. Bellatrix emerged, peering up through the darkness toward Harry’s silhouette, a mad grin on her face. As she shrieked eerily, his eyes flashed with hatred.

Harry burst through the front door, wand draw, and pelted toward Bellatrix. She grinned, turned, and vanished into the reeds.

“Harry, no!” Arthur Weasley called urgently as he disappeared into the reeds.

Flames raced up the porch steps and climbed the walls of the house. Lupin drew his wand and raced after Harry.

“Remus!” Tonks called.

Ron, Fred, and George appeared and joined Arthur as he dashed toward the smoking marsh. Arthur glanced back as you emerged.

“Y/N, stay with Molly!”

Without hesitation, you raced for the reeds.

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Harry careened through the marsh, reeds flashing past, then spied Bellatrix. She grinned, looking like a crazed wood nymph, then flitted off, her laughter mocking him. As he pursued, fire snaked through the reeds toward him.

Fred, George, Ron, and Arthur fanned out, running full-out, their feet kicking up sparks as shadows splintered throughout the reeds. It was like chasing ghosts.

You raced through the reeds, (h/c) hair gleaming.

Bellatrix lead Harry on, grinning madly.

You came dashing to a halt, chest heaving as you peered into the smoking marsh. A huge figure quivered through a veil of smoke. You eyes shifted, saw Bellatrix racing forward through the reeds, then shifted back as the veil of smoke evaporated and revealed… Greyback.

Bellatrix made an odd, clicking noise, like a signal, and Greyback edged forward, sweeping away reeds in front of him and revealing…

… Harry as he pelted forward.

“No, Harry! It’s a trap!”

Harry faltered, looking toward your voice and spied Greyback. Bellatrix stopped dead, wheeled in her tracks, and seeing you, shrieked with rage. Raising her wand, she fired a bolt of red light which exploded in a shower of sparks around you. You shrieked and ducked, but fired back and wheeled away, flashing through the reeds and coming face to face with-

Greyback, sharp teeth glittering.

“Don’t you smell clean.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up at him in pure terror.

Just then, a bolt of blue burst off Greyback’s back and he turned, seeing Harry standing several yards off. As Greyback gave a chase, you pelted after, both of your breaths shortening until…

Greyback rushed into a clearing, panting, glancing about.

Just then, twin bolts of light blasted from opposite sides of the clearing and Greyback was lifted in the air and slammed to the ground. As he regained his feet, he looked into the reeds and saw you and Harry, wands poised. He grinned… when Bellatrix’s odd, clicking signal carried through the night once again. Turning away, he disappeared.

You and Harry slowly stepped out of the reeds and stared at each other wordlessly. You let out a whimper and threw yourself at Harry, wrapping your arms around his middle in relief. He immediately reciprocated, his arms flying to hold you steady and stroke through your hair. It oddly reminded you of your experience at the Yule Ball, your mind flashing back to when you threw yourself at Harry after hearing his side of the story. You breathed a shaky sigh into his chest and Harry rested his chin atop your head.

Then… Ron, Fred, George, Arthur, and Lupin came thrashing into the clearing and stopped. All around them, the reeds smoked, the flames dying. Across the marsh, Bellatrix’s cackle rose briefly on the air- then all was quiet.

“You’re lucky you two weren’t killed.”

Hermione. Who else?

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Present…

This all brings you to today.

How did you end up sitting in Xenophilius Lovegood’s home, reading a children’s tail about the Deathly Hallows in the middle of what was supposed to be your seventh year at Hogwarts? You’ll never know.

You’ve all just finished listening to Hermione read from the Tales of the Beedle Bard children’s book of wizarding fairytales.

Xenophilius Lovegood stares out out the window. The sun has nearly vanished over the lip of the hill.

“Well, there you are. Those are the Deathly Hallows.”

Harry glances around the room, still confused.

“Sorry… I still don’t really understand.” He shrugs.

Lovegood turns and, taking quill and parchment, draws a straight vertical line…

“The Elder Wand…”

… then adds a circle on top of the line…

“The Resurrection Stone.”

… then encloses both in a triangle.

“The Cloak of Invisibility. Together… they make the Deathly Hallows. Together… they make one master of Death.”

The four of you stare at the symbol in disbelief.

“Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?” You asked curiously. You noticed Ron, Harry, and Hermione staring at you in curiosity.

“That was the name of the grave with the mark on it in Godric’s Hollow. Ignotus Peverell.” You clarified with detail.

“Ignotus and his brothers Cadmus and Antioch are thought to be the original owners of the Hallows and therefore the inspiration for the story.” Lovegood’s focus abruptly wavered, sadness in his eyes, then blinks, eyeing the tea kettle.

“Ah, but your tea’s grown cold. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Lovegood heads downstairs with the tea kettle in hand.

As Lovegood exits, Ron speaks. “Let’s get out of here once he’s back. I’m not touching this stuff, hot or cold.” Ron grimaced at his cup of half-empty tea. You nodded in agreement.

“Which one would you choose if you could? Of the Deathly Hallows?” Harry asks the group, lost in thought.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Hermione glances around.

All four of your speak at once:

“The Wand.”

“The Cloak.”

“The Cloak.”

“The Stone.”

You all glance at each other, amused. You and Hermione share a look, knowingly. You’d each picked the cloak for a reason.

“You’re supposed to say the Cloak, but who wants to spend all day being invisible? Dead boring if you ask me. But an unbeatable wand!” Ron grinned.

“Its owner grew drunk with power and was murdered.” Hermione raises an eyebrow at Ron accusingly.

“Yeah, but imagine what a short wicked life you’d lead.” Ron counters.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Why the Stone, Harry?” she directs her question to Harry now.

“Well, you could bring people back, couldn’t you? Mad-Eye. Dumbledore. Sirius. Anybody.” Harry shrugged.

“But according to the story, they don’t want to come back. It’s all rubbish, anyway. There’s no such thing as the Deathly Hallows.” Hermione’s counter is gentle.

“But I have one. The Invisibility Cloak my father left me.” Harry reminds quickly.

“There have always been Cloaks-”

“Not like Harry’s. I’ve seen a fair few. Dad used to bring home the ones the Ministry confiscated from petty thieves and the like. They always got holes or tears. Harry’s is different. It’s perfect.” Ron explains before Hermione can finish.

“And I think I’ve actually held the Resurrection Stone in my hands, that night in Dumbledore’s office when he showed me the ring he’d destroyed, the Horcrux. It had a symbol on it. Now I think it was the mark of the Hallows.

The four of you stand silently when Lovegood returns.

"Mr. Lovegood. Thank you, sir-”

“You forgot the water.” Ron points to the tea kettle.

“The water?” Lovegood inquires.

“For the tea.” Ron raises an eyebrow as if it were obvious.

“Did, didn’t I? How silly of me?” Lovegood breaks out into a nervous smile.

“No matter, sir. We really ought to be go-”

“No, you mustn’t!” Lovegood panics, his hands searching for any type of purchase on any surface he can find.

“Sir?” Harry questions.

“You’re my only hope. They were angry, you see, about what I’d been writing, so they took her. They took my Luna…” Lovegood’s eyes find Harry with malicious intent. “But it’s really you they want…”

“Who took her, sir?” You try gently.

Hermione eyes the print press. A copy of the Quibbler lies stuck under a roller. She reaches out and pulls it free, the ink streaking over the cover, over Harry’s face and the blazing headline: UNDESIRABLE NUMBER #1.

“Him. Surely you call him You-Know-Who. But his real name is of course… Voldemort.”

As if on cue, instantly, out the window, figures on broomsticks appeared in the sky, getting directly toward the house. As you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hit the floor, ropes of light ricochet off the windowsill. The printing press explodes, raining Quibblers everywhere, like a flock of doves, smoking with flames. Lovegood waves madly from the window.

“Stop! I’ve got him-”

Lovegood is blasted off his feet by a stunning spell so great the chain around his neck flies across the room and settles at your feet. You glance down, watching the symbol of the Deathly Hallows dissolve like mercury, then looked up, seeing Lovegood streak out the door.

“Ron, Harry, Y/n! Take my hand!”

You, Harry, and Ron begin to crawl on your knees toward Hermione when another volley of spells ricochet about the room and- ping!- strike the Gurdyroot teapot. As Hermione watches, it flies into the air, tumbling end over end toward the Erumpent Horn. Harry’s hand closes on hers, then Ron’s, you reach out and…

… the teapot strikes the Erumpent Horn.

There is a colossal explosion. The second floor of the black cylinder ruptures. Quibblers belch into the air like confetti as Lovegood narrowly escapes and the Death Eaters are engulfed and you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione…

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡ … tumble and roll to your feet, barely visible in the darkness.

“That treacherous old bleeder! Is there no one we can trust?!” Ron grumbles as he dusts himself off.

“They’ve kidnapped Luna because he supported Harry. He was just desperate.” You explain softly.

Ron says nothing, then spits, clearing the grit from his teeth and peers toward the river. Unlike the raging force it was the last time you were here, it is a little more than a trickle now. The trees are eerily quiet.

“I’ll do the enchantments.”

Ron takes out his wand… when you raise your hand, stopping him. You eyes rise. Your breath catches. Ron, Harry, and Hermione look. Clinging to the branches of the trees above, almost as if part of the trees themselves, are…

Snatchers.

A wand blooms above and illuminates the face of Scabior. Your red scarf, now faded and filthy, dangles from his neck. He presses it to his grimy nose, inhales, and grins.

“Hello, beautiful.”

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡ The four of you dash through the trees.

You flicker through the trees, swift as the wind, as Scabior pursues you.

Harry slashes through the river, looks up, and sees a Snatcher leap across the divide from one tree to another.

Ron pounds through thick brush, over a fallen tree.

Hermione expertly avoids sticks and stones covering the forest floor, her focus unwavering.

The forest grows more dense, the shadows thicken. Spells splinter through the trees, ropes of light lace the night.

Hermione stumbles, but regains her footing and finds herself in a clearing. You come along not long after, glancing at her with panic. Another figure pelts towards the two of you: Harry.

You all freeze briefly, then the clearing explodes with light as spells ricochet. They hit the ground. You hear the snatchers closing in.

You look to Harry. The tip of your wand glows and your face blooms in the darkness, looking mildly demonic. You reach out, strip his glasses from his face, then point your wand… at him. A burst of white light strikes him in the eyes. As your wand goes dark…

… he is flying toward a fortress, gliding around the high walls, up to the topmost window of the highest tower. He passes through the window- little more than a slit- and…

…finds a skeletal figure lying beneath a ragged blanket. The figure stirs, looks up, and grins with broken teeth. It is the young man- the thief- grown old. Grindelwald.

“Ah, Tom, I thought you would come one day. But surely you must know I no longer have what you seek.”

A shadow- Voldemort’s- falls across Grindelwald.

“If not you, then who?”

“You’re so innocent, Tom. Like a schoolboy. There’s so much you don’t understand.”

“Tell me, Grindelwald. Tell me where to find it! Tell me who possesses it! The name, Grindelwald! The name!”

“Can’t you guess, Tom? It lies within him, of course. Buried within the earth. It is he who possesses it, even in death. Your old friend and mine… Dumbledore.”

Harry blinks and in a swollen blur, peers at you and whispers quickly.

“They exist. The Hallows.”

You and Hermione look at him expectantly. He nods, his face shrouded in shadow, barely visible.

“But he only wants the one, the last one. That’s what he’s been looking for.”

“What are you saying?”

“He knows where it is, You-Know-Who. He’ll have it by the end of the night. He’s found the Elder Wand.”

As you and Hermione stare in stunned disbelief, figures emerge from the trees. Ron is shoved to the ground next to them. Scabior strips you, Hermione, and Harry of your wands.

“Don’t touch her!” Harry exclaims urgently. A fist hits Harry hard. It’s Greyback.

“Stop it!” You gasp desperately.

“Your boyfriend’ll get worse than that if he doesn’t behave, lovely.” Scabior grins misshapenly.

Scabior paints your face with light then casts it on Harry. Harry peers up, his eyes swollen to slits, his face horribly misshapen.

“What happened to you, ugly?” Scabior grimaces.

Harry’s hand finds his face, feeling the lumps.

“What’s your name?”

“Dudley. Vernon Dudley.” Harry blurts quickly.

“Check the list. And you, ginger?”

“Stan Shunpike.” Ron grumbles.

“Like 'ell you are. We know skinny Stan. Try again.” Scabior scoffs.

Greyback, his boot to Ron’s neck, presses harder.

“Weasley… Barney Weasley.” Ron makes up the name on the spot.

“Weasley, eh? Wouldn’t be related to that blood traitor Arthur Weasley, would you?”

“Piss off! Arthur Weasley’s ten times the wizard you are!” Ron struggles.

“Worth ten times you if I can find him. Wasn’t you that tipped him off, was it?” Scabior growls. Ron stays mute. Scabior turns to Hermione.

“You?” He asks quickly.

“Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood.” Hermione struggles in the snatcher’s grip.

Scabior turns to you with a sickly sweet grin.

“How 'bout you, lovely? What do they call you…?”

You jerk away from his finger under your chin and glare.

“Lavender. Brown. Pure blood.” you whisper quietly.

Scabior strokes the nape of your neck, then takes your hair in hand, sniffing it. You groan at his proximity.

“You smell like vanilla, Lavender. I think you’re going to be my favorite.” He grins.

“There’s no Vernon Dudely on 'ere.” A snatcher waves a book in the air.

Reluctantly, Scabior turns from you to Harry.

“Hear that, ugly? The list says you’re lying. How come you don’t want us to know who you are? Hm?”

“The list is wrong. I told you who I am-”

Scabior puts a finger to his lips, silencing Harry, his wand probing Harry’s face more closely.

“Change of plans, boys. We won’t be taking this lot to the Ministry.”

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Scabior and the others escort you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione past the yew hedges of the Malfoy Manor. You eye the white peacock, looking like a ghostly lawn ornament. Harry whispers to you.

“What did you put on me?” He inquires.

“A Stinging Jinx.” You inform quietly.

“How long will it last?”

“Not long.”

Harry glances down and sees his glasses cupped in your palm. As he slips them into his pocket, the group suddenly slows. Up ahead, on the other side of the gate, Bellatrix, Lucius, and Narcissa approach. Scabior grabs Harry’s arm and pushes his face up to the iron bars.

Bellatrix steps close. “Show me.”

Scabior reaches out his dirty fingers and pushes Harry’s hair roughly off his forehead.

Bellatrix shines her wand. Despite the swelling, one intriguing feature can be seen: a scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Bellatrix studies it long and hard… then smiles.

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As Bellatrix leads the procession inside, she speaks to Narcissa.

“Get Draco.”

Narcissa eyes her sister briefly, warily, then strides off, toward the brightly-lit room ahead, where her husband Lucius stands, cradling a nearly-empty wine glass.

“Why Draco?” Lucius inquires. Narcissa passes her husband without a word.

“Just sit back and watch, Lucius. Hm? Pour yourself another glass of wine.” As she passes, she flicks her finger off the rim of his glass.

Bellatrix turns, eyeing you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“Where’d you find them?” She begins.

“In the North Forest.” Scabior answers.

Wormtail quietly enters the room. As Harry eyes him, Bellatrix pauses, studying his scar again.

“Lovely scarf, Scabior. Though I’m not sure it’s your color.” Bellatrix teases.

“It’s not mine.”

“You don’t say.” Her eyes slide, catching him looking to you.

“Fancy her, do you, Scabior? Can’t say I blame you. Maybe we’ll work out a little reward for you, hm? That is, assuming all is as it appears. Ah, Draco. Come here, darling.”

From the shadows at the far end of the room, Draco separates from Narcissa and steps cautiously forward.

“My friends here say they’ve got Harry Potter. Seeing as he’s an old school chum of yours, I thought you could confirm the fact for us.”

Draco stares at Harry.

“Well…?” Bellatrix urges.

“I can’t… I can’t be sure.” Draco grimaces. Lucius steps forward, wine glass sloshing.

“Look close, Draco. If we’re the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven. Do you understand-”

“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” Scabior reminds, quietly menacing.

“Of course not.” Bellatrix’s eyes harden. “Narcissa. Tend to your husband.”

Lucius staggers back nervously next to his wife.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart. Get up nice and close.” Bellatrix nudges Draco forward until he’s only inches from Harry.

“What’s wrong with his face?” Draco grimaces as he gets a closer look at Harry.

“Yes, what is wrong with his face, Scabior?” Bellatrix cranes her neck to look up at the snatchers.

“He came to us that way. I reckon he picked it up in the forest.” Scabior shrugged.

“Or ran into a Stinging Jinx.”

You feel your heart clench as you cast your eyes downward. Bellatrix notices your destress and her eyes flash, stepping up close to you.

“Was it you, dearie? Give me her wand. We’ll see what the last spell was.”

You’re alarmed as the Snatcher steps forward.

“What is that?” Bellatrix’s tone is quietly murderous. She pushes past Scabior and Greyback and steps before another Snatcher.

Your beaded purse dangles from one hand. In the other, he holds… the Sword of Gryffindor.

“It was in her bag when we searched her. Reckon it’s mine now.”

Bang! Quick as lightning, Bellatrix stuns the Snatcher and catches the sword as he drops. Scabior wheels.

“Are you mad?!” Bang! Bellatrix drops Scabior to his knees before his wand escapes his cloak. He bellows in fury.

“How dare you! Release me, woman!”

Bellatrix stares at him, eyes full of fire, then flicks her wand as he slumps forward, wincing.

“Go. GO!”

Scabior eyes her resentfully, then exits with Greyback an the others. Bellatrix turns.

“Wormtail. Put these three in the cellar. I want to have a little conversation with this one. Girl to girl.”

“No!” Hermione steps forward and covers your body with her own, staring Bellatrix down with confidence. Bellatrix merely smirks.

“Fine. Put the boys in the cellar, then. We’ll have a girl talk.”

As Wormtail jerks them away, Harry’s eyes flash with panic and meet yours. You mouth, “It’s okay.”

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Wormtail prods Harry and Ron down a steep flight of stairs and slams the door. Ron throws himself against it and turns to Harry.

“Harry! What’re we going to do? We can’t just leave them alone with her!”

“Ron…? Harry…?”

Harry peers into the small, shadow space below and senses movement.

“Luna…?” ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

Bellatrix twirls a silver dagger in her fingers.

“This sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts. How did you get it?” Bellatrix pins you to the floor as Hermione lays motionless beside you, watching helplessly.

You draw in a shaky, sobbing breath as you try to regain your composure as you cry out. “I didn’t take it!” You exclaim desperately.

“Liar!” Bellatrix moves to your arm and slices open the skin in a rhythmic fashion, carving a word out of your skin. You let out a scream in agony and struggle in her grip, shrieking as your skin burns.

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Harry eyes Ollivander cautiously, when Bellatrix’s voice echoes through the vent.

“I’m going to ask you once again: what else did you and your friends take from my vault?!”

Harry’s heart nearly shatters when he hears your sobbing response.

“I told you! I don’t know what you’re talking-” you scream in pain. Harry slams his fist against the wall and turns.

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Hermione whimpers as she watches Bellatrix’s use of the Cruciatus curse on you for answers. You let our a piercing wail of anguish as she strikes you again.

“Stop it, please.” Hermione lets out a gentle sob and whisper as she watches you struggle to keep sane.

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Quickly, cautiously, Harry and Ron, now brandishing Wormtail’s wand, pad toward the main room as Dobby, the newest arrival, slips off in another direction. As Ron steps past the lifeless Snatcher without a glance, Harry hesitates and glances down.

Something flutters weakly in the Snatcher’s pocket. The tip of a golden wing. Harry crouches and looks; it’s the Snitch.

“Sss.”

Harry looks up and sees Ron gesturing for him. Quickly, he takes the Snitch and slips it into his pocket.

Harry joins Ron as the watch Bellatrix, who comes into view, towering over Griphook, who holds the sword, studying it. You lie at Bellatrix’s feet. Seeing you, Harry begins to lurch forward. Ron restrains him.

“Well?”

“I left Gringotts employ many weeks ago, but when I was last in your vault, the sword was there.”

Hermione studies the two and then watches as a strand of Bellatrix’s hair drifts free and, as if in a dream, floats through the air…

“Perhaps it just walked out on its own then.”

“There is no place safer than Gringotts, Madam Lestrange.”

… and catches on Hermione’s shirt.

“Liar! You can’t deceive me!” Bellatrix slashes the dagger across Griphook’s cheek and a deep gash opens. He barely flinches, the hint of a smile on his lips. Bellatrix looks mildly unnerved by his reaction.

“Consider yourself lucky, Goblin. The same won’t be said for this one.” Bellatrix poises the dagger over you and pushes your limp body with her pointed heel. You whimper at the contact to your sore body and flip over at her command.

“Like hell!”

Bellatrix wheeled, seeing Harry pelting forward.

“Expelliarmus!”

Bellatrix’s dangling wand shoots free and tumbles end over end, right into Harry’s hand.

“Stupefy!”

Lucius Malfoy drops instantly, his wine glass shattering in a burgundy bloom on the hearth. Narcissa and Draco draw their wands. Jets of light spray across the room.

Hermione had been snatched up by Ron at this point, but no one was able to get to you.

“Stop or she dies!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione freeze and see you leaning limply against Bellatrix, the dagger at your throat.

“Drop your wands.” Bellatrix commands.

Harry stands rigidly, staring balefully at Bellatrix. She presses the dagger into your neck enough for a small cut.

“Ah!” you exclaim painfully.

“I said drop them!”

“All right!” Harry grunts angrily.

Ron flings away Wormtail’s wand, Harry drops Bellatrix’s.

“Pick them up, Draco. Now! Well, well, look what we have here. Harry Potter. All bright, shiny and new again. Just in time for the Dark Lord.”

Harry glances in the mirror opposite and sees that the stinging jinx is wearing off.

“Call him, Draco.”

Draco hesitates. But Lucius doesn’t, pulling up his sleeve and touching his finger to the Dark Mark on his forearm. Harry’s scar constricts and he grimaces in agony. Bellatrix cackles maniacally, her knife pressed against the tender flesh of your neck. A bead of blood bubbles on the blade and then… and grinding noise in heard. Harry glances up and sees the chandelier begin to tremble. As the tinkle of glass fills the room, Bellatrix stares directly upward, watching as…

… the chandelier bursts free of the ceiling and plummets. Bellatrix bolts and you stagger clear, falling into Harry’s arms. His arms immediately reciprocate and you fall into that familiar memory once again. Your body is sore and limp, but there’s no where you would rather be than in his arms at this moment.

Griphook grabs the sword as glass explodes in razor-sharp slivers, Draco screams and covers his bloody face. Harry wrests the blood-soaked wands from his hands after transferring you to Ron and Hermione and, wheeling, points all three at Lucius.

“Stupefy!”

Lucius flies off his feet and drops in a heap.

“You dirty little monkey! You could have killed me!”

Harry turns and sees Bellatrix raging at Dobby. The elf stands fearlessly across from her, defiant.

“Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim… or seriously injure.

"For God’s sake, Cissy, you’ve got a wand! Use it!”

Narcissa hesitates. Crack!- Dobby waves his little fist and Narcissa’s wand flies from her hand.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand! How dare you defy your masters!”

“Dobby has no master! Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

Harry tosses Ron and wand, grabs your beaded bag, and joins the others in the center of the room.

“Give the Dark Lord our regards.” You call out weakly with a cheeky smile.

Harry almost smiles back at you. You always have to have the last word.

His hand closes on Dobby’s and the drawing room begins to spin. Bellatrix’s face twists into an ugly blur. Her arm rises, dagger in hand. There is a flash of silver. Then all goes black for a long time.

Then…

… with a great WHOOSH, Harry and the others tumble onto solid earth and hear the crash of waves.

As Harry staggers to his feet as the stars whirl above him. He sees he is on a cliff overlooking a dark sea.

Ron holds Hermione gently. Tears sting her eyes.

You feel a sharp pain in your stomach and your breath hitches.

You can already begin to feel life leaving your body as you become numb to the pain.

“It’s all right, Hermione. You’re safe. We’re all safe.” Harry begins to assure as he searches for you.

She doesn’t respond, nor Ron. Then Harry realizes they are looking past him, even Dobby and Griphook, the sword hanging limply in his hand.

Harry turns.

You stand alone, a queer smile on your face, hand resting just below your chest, the hilt of Bellatrix’s dagger protruding between your fingers.

Hermione opens her mouth and lets out a blood-curdling scream at the sight of you. She covers her mouth with one hand and tears spill from her eyes as Ron holds her tightly.

“Y/N… no…”

As Harry rushes to you, you crumple in his arms, your eyes rolling up to the stars.

“It’s okay… here… just hold on, Y/N. I’ll fix you- Hermione- her bag- Essence of Dittany- something… Hermione! Help me!”

Harry is desperate now as he watches you become more and more lifeless in his arms. He can’t watch you go now, not like this. Not when they are so incredibly close.

Hermione merely stands, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Don’t worry about me, Harry.” You manage. Harry’s face contorts in a sob.

“No, but I have to worry about you! You’re dying! Please… help.” Harry searches frantically for anything.

“I would say something witty… but my mind is blank.” you manage a chuckle as you reach up to grip Harry’s arm. Harry yanks your hand and brings it up to his cheek and nuzzles himself against your palm with closed eyes.

“Hey, look at me.” You stroke his cheek the best you can manage. Harry opens his eyes and stares down into your paling eyes, his own flooding with tears.

“You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” you whisper gently.

“I never meant for you to get caught up in all of this. I promise.” Harry draws in a shaky breath and squints his eyes shut.

It has to be a dream, he’s going to wake up any moment to you shaking him awake in the tent and telling him it was just another one of his nightmares.

But when he opens his eyes, you’re still lying limp in his arms, the dagger in your body and the life leaving your eyes.

“I wanted to, Harry. It was all worth it. For you.” Your smile is sad as you watch the emotional pain that wrenches his heart.

“Please don’t leave me… I’m in love with you…” Harry sobs desperately.

You can’t tell if it’s the dagger in your chest, or if your heart palpitates from his words. That was all you ever wanted to hear. Those words from him and him alone.

“I’m in love with you too, you twat.” you giggle. Harry’s frown twitches into a sad smile for only a moment, before he regains his awareness of the weight of the situation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” he sniffles pathetically.

“Me too.” Your hand on his cheek begins to grow numb and limp, if it weren’t for Harry gripping it to his face.

You use your last burst of strength and wind your hand around his neck and tug him down to your level, pressing your lips to his in your first and final kiss. Harry wastes no time and reciprocates, only separating from you when he needs air to breathe, but keeps the proximity between your faces.

“Take care of them for me, yeah?” You whisper as your eyes become hooded.

“W-what? No! Y/N, please! We’re going to fix you, I promise, I’ll-”

But he stops himself when he notices that your eyes have fluttered shut and your hand falls limp around his neck. He’s close enough to your face to feel your breathing has stopped and your body has gone mostly cold.

“I’m so sorry.” Harry cradles your head against his neck and lets out heart-wrenching sobs unabashedly.

Hermione hides her face in Ron’s neck as she cries, and Ron sheds tears as he watches his best friend cradle your limp body.

They never thought it would come to this.