#more to tell on all the black witchcraft she’s been doing on our entire family she would cut me to make me bled while I slept & for my own

[fuzzyunicorn]

Me @ my “mom” after she killed my first body in her womb so I wouldn’t b born into our family & god orchestrated me 2 b born to another but baby swapped at birth back into my family ha ha ha

[mychemicalimagines]

Black Flame Candle-Max Dennison-Chapter 1

Summary: Max Dennison is the new kid in Salem, Massachusetts. On Halloween, his life takes a dramatic turn when his parents force him to take his little sister, Dani, trick-or-treating. He, his crush, Casey Blackstone, and his sister are in for a ride when Max lights the Black Flame Candle.

Series Warnings: Slight Language, Fluff, Flirting, Angst, Supernatural, Paranormal, Canon Deaths, Bullying. This series is a little more adult than the Disney movie.

Words: 3,446

Tag List: Reblogged

A/N: Here it is! Our secret Halloween Story!! We worked so hard to get this out to you for the month of October!! Divider belongs to firefly-graphics. Do you guys like the gifs? Let Me know if you want them to be continued. 

Comments are always welcome! They give me motivation to post!

If you would liked to be tagged, Message Me, Comment, Submit an Ask or Tag Yourself in My Bio!!

Third Person POV

‘It’s all just a bunch of Hocus Pocus.’

Salem, Massachusetts has always been known for its witchcraft allegations as well as for how they handled each case, calling them the Salem Witch Trials. Three centuries ago, hundreds of people were accused, but only a mere thirty were found guilty. Nineteen were hanged due to the false accusations placed upon them, while others died in jail or were pressed to death.  

Thackery Binx found his sister being whisked away by three actual witches, The Sanderson sisters, who needed her for a spell to stay young and beautiful. The same night his sister had passed away, and his disappearance, the three witches were hanged for their witchcraft, but vowed they’d be back. 

Now every Halloween, the entire town goes all out for the festivities. Casey Blackstone has lived in Salem all her life and loves the holiday. It’s the one time of year she can eat as much candy as she wants and no one will bat an eye, well except for her dentist father. She also loves wearing costumes, being someone else besides herself for a night.

Since her family, as well as her friend Allison’s, thinks they are too old to be trick or treating, they are forced to give out candy this year while Allison’s family has a party. Her parents wanted to go to the party at Town Hall but they got sick so they’re staying home. Her costume is already at the Watt’s house, waiting to be put on later that night. 

Sighing to herself as she fixes her hair in the mirror, Casey turns to her black cat that is sitting on her bed watching her.

Due to the holiday and the history they are taught every year, she felt there was only one name fitting for a black cat such as the one she found almost eleven years ago.

“What do you think of today’s outfit, Binx?” She throws her hands out, showing off her purple low-cut shirt as well as her slightly ripped jeans.

Binx meows his response before stepping toward her to rub his face against her hip, causing his collar to clink against the bell she forces him to wear. 

“I like it too.” She smiles and pets his head as she kneels down next to her bed. “Alright, I got to go to school. Remember, don’t bring mice into the house. If you’re going to bring female cats home, make sure it’s not in my room. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re my best friend and I love you.”

She kisses the top of his head before picking up her bookbag and walking out of the room, not noticing him climbing out of her window as soon as she closes her door a smidge. She wasn’t lying. Her cat was her best friend and she makes sure to tell him everyday, despite him probably not knowing what the hell she’s saying. 

She had found him in her backyard one day, eating a mouse with no collar. It was clear that he belonged to no one, that he was on his own. She knew she had to take him in, after asking her parents of course. Ever since, she’s been feeding him, playing with him and letting him sleep on her bed, cuddled up next to her. 

She even lets him roam free, knowing he’ll come right back home. He’s literally her best friend and she wouldn’t trade him for the world, even if he leaves her surprises on the back porch. After slipping on her shoes and red jacket, she walks out the front door, ready to take on the day.

Max Dennison has only been in town for about a week and a half and he already hates it. He misses the sunny days of California. He misses his friends. Hell, he misses his old house. To him, Salem, Massachusetts is a horrible place to live. It’s gloomy, rainy and far too obsessed with this witchy, Halloween stuff.

It was never his favorite holiday to begin with so moving to a town that is all for it irritates him. He can’t wait to move once he turns eighteen next year. The only thing good about this town is this one girl. On Max’s first day of school earlier this week, he caught sight of a beautiful girl. Blonde hair. These crystal blue eyes that remind him of the ocean back home. 

He’s never even spoken a word to her and he’s already hooked. He rubs his eyes as he walks to his final class of the day. History. The third class he has with the girl he has his eyes on. Seeing her will make this boring class worth it. He sits down in his assigned seat and pulls out his notebook, unsure of what they will be learning today. 

As he opens his notebook, he glances up at a soft giggle that enters his ears. There she is. The purple shirt she’s wearing really brings out her eyes, and he’s really trying hard not to look down a smidge. As she walks by him, he quickly looks down at his notebook, not wanting to be caught watching her.

 Since she sits in the row next to him, but one seat behind, he can easily get caught by the teacher, or hell, another student! Maybe today, he’ll finally talk to her…yeah, probably not going to happen. As class starts, their teacher, Miss Olin who is dressed as a witch, begins telling the legend of the Sanderson Sisters. 

The very legend that Casey got her cat's name from. Even though she knows every bit of the legend, she’s listening closely, hoping to hear something different but she never does. Max, however, is doodling in his notebook, not believing one ounce of the story. 

“Poor Thackery Binx. Neither his father, his mother, nor anyone else ever knew what became of him…those 300 years ago.” Miss Olin says, walking up an aisle before stopping in front of the classroom. “And so the Sanderson Sisters were hanged by the Salem townsfolk. Now, there are those who say that on Halloween night…a black cat still guards the old Sanderson house, warning off any who might make the witches…come back to life!”

She then throws a black ribbon attached to her hand at a girl’s face causing the teenage girl to scream in fright. The rest of the students in the room, besides Max, laugh at her scream. Max shakes his head in disbelief as he doodles.

“Give me a break.” He mumbles, moving his pen along the letters he drew.

“Aha, we seem to have a skeptic in our midst.” Miss Olin raises an eyebrow as she steps toward his desk. “Mr. Dennison, would you care to share your California, laid-back, tie-dyed point of view?”

The room erupted into laughter again at her sarcasm. He looks up at her after glancing around the room and smirks, gaining some courage. 

“Okay. Granted that, uh, you guys here in Salem are all into these, uh, black cats and witches and stuff…”

Miss Olin cuts him off with a scoff while the rest of the room let him know that his words were unneeded by their tones of displeasure. 

“Stuff?”

“Fine. But everyone here knows that Halloween was invented by the candy companies. It’s a conspiracy.” He finishes, smirking at his teacher. 

 A voice speaks up, capturing Max’s attention. He turns toward the voice and his cheeks redden a bit at who is talking. It’s her…

“It just so happens that Halloween is based on the ancient feast called All Hallows Eve. It’s the one night of the year where the spirits of the dead can return to earth.” She explains, giving the teenager her own smirk. 

The class breaks out into cheers and claps at her comment, happy to prove the new kid wrong with his non-beliefs and crappy theories. He turns back to his notebook and flips to a new paper, quickly jotting something down, a small smile on his face as he keeps his courage. 

“Well said, Casey.” Miss Olin says, smiling widely at her, clapping herself.

She grins to herself and high fives Allison who is sitting right behind the non-believer. Max stands up from his chair as his classmates talk around him. He takes a few steps toward her desk, capturing her attention. 

“Well, in case Jimi Hendrix shows up tonight, here’s my number.” He says, holding out the piece of paper.

She raises an eyebrow, ignoring her classmates groans, and takes the single sheet before opening it up. ‘Max Dennison 555-9142’ it reads. The bell rings and Casey stands up from her chair, giving the boy a small smirk as she puts the number in her pocket. He smiles at her actions before watching her walk away.

“Max.” A boy that sat behind her captures his attention. “Fat chance.”

The new kid just rolls his eyes and gathers his stuff up, ready to go home. Casey quickly stops at her locker, making sure to grab her jacket while sticking all her books in the metal container. Since Halloween is such a big holiday in Salem, the school doesn’t give out homework if it lands on a weekend such as today. 

As she puts her notebook away, she notices a pen sitting on the top shelf. Smirking to herself, she pulls out Max’s number and rips the paper, jotting something down on one half. Shoving one piece into her jeans pocket and the other, along with the pen, into her jacket pocket, she hangs her bookbag on the hook and closes the door. 

Casey then jogs out to the front doors, meeting up with Allison as she glances around the parking lot. 

“So did he really give you his number?” Allison asks, fixing her bag that rests on her shoulder as they walk down the sidewalk. 

“He did.” She nods, smiling softly to herself as she plays with the paper in her jacket pocket.

“And are you going to call him?” Her friend raises an eyebrow.

“If I do, it won't be till…”

“Casey!” 

The blonde turns around and sees the new kid on his bike, riding toward her. She looks at her best friend and gestures down the road.

“I’ll catch up.”

Allison raises an eyebrow at the brunette haired boy before nodding at her friend. Casey turns back around and watches as Max stops his bike beside her, panting very softly as he straddles his seat. 

“Hi.” She says, smiling slightly at him. 

“Hi. Look, uhh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in class.” He says, regretting his actions. 

He thought about it on his way to his bike. He shouldn’t have done that. What if she hates him now? What if she never wants to see him again? He practically humiliated her in front of their entire class. 

“You didn’t.” She shrugs, not caring one bit about the awkward exchange that happened. 

If anything, she’s the one that embarrassed him in front of the entire class by proving him wrong. He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say so he lets go of his handlebars and holds his hand out to her. 

“My name is Max Dennison.” He says, despite having practically told her through his note.

“Yeah, I know.” She says, shaking his hand. “You just moved here, huh?”

“Yeah, last week.” He says, not wanting to think about how soft her hands were compared to his. 

“Must be a big change for you.” She says, letting go of his hand to put her own back into her jacket pocket. 

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” He says, scoffing slightly, gripping his handlebars again.

“You don’t like it here?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, the leaves are great…” He says, gesturing around them. “But - I - I don’t know. Just all this Halloween shit.”

“You don’t believe in it?” She asks, pushing her hip out slightly as she rests most of her body weight on one leg, not caring about his language.

“What? Do you mean, like The Sanderson Sisters?” He shakes his head with a light chuckle escaping his lips. “No way.”

“Not even on Halloween?” She asks, biting her lip softly, trying to hide her amusement.

“Especially not on Halloween.” He says, putting emphasis on the beginning of his sentence with a smile.

Casey licks the inside of her cheek before reaching into her pocket. Holding up two fingers with a piece of paper sitting between them, she gently pulls Max’s left hand off his handlebars. He opens his hand, watching her movements, praying that his cheeks aren’t turning red at her actions. She presses the piece of paper into his hand, smiling as she looks up at him as she closes his hand around it. 

“Trick or treat.”

Letting his hand go, she turns around and starts walking toward where Allison is waiting, talking to another friend of theirs. Max’s eyes watch her before looking down at the folded paper. His heart is pounding in his chest as he moves to open the paper.

“Max!” He hears her call out for him, causing his head to snap up. “Call me Cas.”

Not knowing what to say, he nods at her words, watching her walk away again. This time, she turns around and puts up her red hood, making it look like she was wearing a witch’s pointed hat. He bites his lip and looks back down at the piece of paper. Swallowing the small amount of spit in his mouth, he unfolds the paper. 

The first thing that caught his eye was that the top half was ripped off, meaning…she kept his number! He smiles softly before looking at the words written. ‘Casey Blackstone. 555-????. No tricks, Max. Earn your treat.’ with a smiley face. The smile drops from his face for a moment before it shows up again. 

She didn’t give him her full number, but by the way she wrote this note, she might plan on giving it to him later! Hell, if she did keep his number, is she going to call him later? He looks back up toward the direction his blonde crush was walking to see her in the distance, walking with her friend. He bites the inside of his lip before putting the note into his pocket.

“What was that about?” Allison asks, glancing over her shoulder to see Max pedaling away on his bike.

“Oh, nothing.” Casey grins as she walks. “Just apologizing for embarrassing me in class.”

“Oh!” She nods before squealing softly. “Anyway! My mom said your costume will go great with ours.”

“Do I really have to be a peasant while your whole family, as well as their friends, are wearing  Masquerade outfits?” She groans slightly.

“She said there were only two dresses so she had to get you something else.” Allison says, shrugging.

“I knew I should have gotten the bunny costume when I had the chance.” Casey mumbles, walking down the road.

Max is ready to go back home to California. Today has been one of the worst days of his entire life. First, he embarrasses his crush in class. She said he didn’t, but he knows he did. Then he was stopped at the graveyard by two wanna-be rapper bullies, Jay and Ernie. Sorry, Ice - not Ernie. Lastly, they took his brand new shoes! 

His shoes! What jerks take someone else’s shoes? He had to pedal all the way back home in just his socks. It was so humiliating. He parks his bike next to the house and practically stomps up the stairs to the back door. Slamming the screen door open, he opens the wooden door that leads to the kitchen to see his mom and dad putting away items from their move. 

“Hey, Max!” His mom says, smiling at him. “Hey, how was school?”

“It fucking sucked.” He says, leaving the door open as he makes his way through the room. 

“Hey, hey, hey, watch your language.” His dad says, standing up from the floor.

He ignores him and starts walking up the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. 

“I can’t believe you made me move here!” He calls down before walking to his door. 

He slams his head against the wood, next to his name plate that he put there, causing his hat to bunch up. He sighs and smacks the door with the side of his fist. Taking a second to himself, he opens the door and throws his book bag onto the floor near to his drum set. He rips his hat off his head and throws it against the stairs in his room that leads to the window seat above. 

He shakes off his jacket as he walks and tosses it to the ground behind him. Trying to calm himself down, he sighs deeply as he looks out the window before glancing down at the fish tank he has beside his bed. He picks up their container of food.

“Hey, guys.” He says, leaning down to sprinkle some into the water. 

He puts the flakes down before sitting on his bed, laying back into the pillows. There was one good thing about today, though. She talked to him! He rolls away from his fish tank and grabs one of his extra pillows, cuddling it to his chest. He grins to himself as he thinks about her. Her voice. Her hair. Her smile…

“Oh, Cas.” He mumbles, smiling as he closes his eyes, imaging her right beside him. “You’re so soft. I just wanna hug…”

His closet doors slam open as a child's voice is heard.

“Boo!”

He jumps slightly, looking over his shoulder as he lets his pillow go. 

“Dani!” He snaps at his little sister who was hiding in his room. 

She laughs and squeals in victory as she claps, knowing she scared him. She runs toward him, still laughing and jumps over him to lay down. He sits up, raising an eyebrow at her as all his anger from the day comes back. 

“I scared you, I scared you!” She leans up so she’s close to his face. “Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Ha!”

He shakes his head but before he can speak, she lays back and throws her arms out, a smile still on her face.

“I’m Cas! Cas! Kiss me, I’m Cas!”

Embarrassed that his sister caught him daydreaming about his crush, he stands up and looks at her. 

“Mom and dad told you to stay out of my room!”

“Don’t be such a crab.” She says, standing up on his mattress before jumping up and down. “Guess what. You’re taking me trick-or-treating.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Not this year, Dani.”

“Mom said you have to.” Dani says, jumping off his bed, landing on her feet beside him. 

“Well, she can take you.” He says, turning to walk away. 

She grabs him by his sleeve and pulls him back.

“She and dad are going to a party at Town Hall.”

“Well, you’re eight! Go by yourself.” He says, pulling his shirt from her hand and walking to his drum set. 

He sits down as he grabs his sticks and immediately begins to play a beat, ignoring his sister as he closes his eyes. She sighs with a determined look on her face and walks over to him. 

“No way! This is my first time! I’ll get lost! Besides, it’s a full moon outside! The weirdos are out!” Noticing he isn’t backing down, Dani walks around the drum set to wrap her arms around her older brother’s shoulders forcing him to stop playing. “Come on, Max. Couldn’t you forget about being a cool teenager just for one night? Please…Come on. We used to have so much fun together trick-or-treating. Remember? It’ll be like old times.”

He shrugs her off and shakes his head. If he was going to willingly take her, that just ruined her chances.

“No. The old days are dead.” He says, beginning to play the same beat again. 

Dani puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. 

“It doesn’t matter what you say. You’re taking me!”

He instantly stops and looks at her, the same glare on his own face. 

“Wanna bet?”

He drops his sticks onto the Floor Tom drum and jumps up from his seat. He runs up the small flight of stairs, skipping a few steps and sits at the top, near the window seat, crossing his arms on his knees. His little sister stomps toward the stairs before putting her hands on her hips again. 

“MOM!!!!” She screams loudly.

[antagonizedjordan]

I don’t really know what to say here, but I feel I need to say something.

My family was among the first to lose power in Austin, Texas, during the so-called “rolling blackouts” that turned out to be a controlled, intentional shut-off for select citizens for an undetermined amount of time.  A lie that resulted in massive suffering, a lack of preparedness, death of pets and plants, and yes, death to families across Texas, including children. Devastating property damage is still bursting through the state, apartments and homes flooding out, freezing, and catching fire.  Whatever the media is telling you about what’s going on in Texas, it’s worse.  And those pictures with the completely lit skylines and the blacked-out neighborhoods you’ve seen? They aren’t exaggerating.  I could see the empty high rises from our home, stuck in total darkness, with hotels keeping on their landscaping lights, and empty office buildings lit all the way up.  When I tell you the racial and class divide of who had power (electricity) and who didn’t was real, I mean it was REAL.  East of I-35 was left to suffer.  

After 2 days of our home’s interior at 30 degrees, and with no water or fireplace to help, we made the decision to evacuate.  I.e., decided it was more worth it to risk the roads (which were some of the most hazardous driving conditions I’ve ever experienced, and I grew up on the East Coast), than freeze.  Our neighborhood was without heat for more than 50 hours straight in single digit weather, in homes NOT designed for cold temperatures.  Some people are STILL without power, and it is day 6 (this is now due to storm damage, not controlled outages).    

And we had to make this decision with little to no information, due to both a horrific lack of communication from all city entities, and completely shit phone service (on a phone with 5% battery).  

At one point, we lost control on a downhill over a bridge, and I seriously thought we were going to die. I just reached over and held my wife’s hand and told her I loved her over and over as she held our cats in the passenger seat.  It may sound silly, melodramatic, or what have you, but it was a devastatingly calm moment of acceptance and I’m still shook.  The drive to our safe home was harrowing – cars abandoned along the entire way, all in varying states.  Some destroyed, some just left there, lodged in snow.  

Ambulances were all over the place and I know I saw at least one dead body on that drive.  Our homeless population was so, so vulnerable, and resources weren’t set up in time.    

We were one of the lucky ones who had a family willing to take us in – an immunocompromised family who took in FOUR families, despite the risks of the pandemic.  They housed us, shared their food, and kept their home warm despite the price gouging of electricity.  For those who got into a hotel in time, they are also suffering from gross price gouging, if they could afford it in the first place.  

Now, a week later, most of the city still doesn’t have water, and those who do have little to no pressure and are on a boil notice.  Grocery stores are emptied out with delays on deliveries.  Yes, FEMA is here, but it’s slower than you’d think, and the warming centers were set up after the driving conditions became insanely dangerous.  It is still a disaster down here – a humanitarian crisis.  

We arrived home yesterday, and I don’t know what witchcraft kept our home safe, but our pipes did not burst. Our neighbors cannot say the same, and the damage is unnerving.  We came home to shelter, but we also came home to destroyed gardens, birds frozen in our driveway, and trauma.  

Texas’s abandonment of her people has been traumatic, and people will be recovering from this physically, emotionally, and financially for years.  Ted Cruz leaving for Cancun through it all?  Hysterically hypocritical and gold for memes, but a final punch to the gut on how abandoned Texans really were.  

If you know someone in Texas, send them your love.  It’s been a dark, dark week.

I’m thankful for HEB, our local grocery store who let customers walk out the door without paying when they lost their power, and Beto, the man who SHOULD be in charge, organizing aid for senior citizens in need.  I’m thankful for all the families who opened up their homes, and I’m thankful for the technicians who worked through horrific weather to restore power.  I’m thankful for the ambulance who drove on iced over back roads to rescue my wife’s father from his rural home, bringing him into the hospital after 3 days bedridden with a temperature of 92 degrees.  He’s alive and recovering from hypothermia.

To my art community who reached out and offered my family aid, you sent us a warmth you cannot fathom – your kindness has kept us afloat.  I tried to draw something today for the first time, but stared at a blank canvas for an hour before I finally made this.  Fanart, to make me smile, referenced from my own house, and the experience of coming home and taking a deep breath because, somehow, our home was still there.  

Love to you all,

A xo

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / Part 18 Here! < This is Part 19!>

Donate to Move to Higher Ground HERE!

Song Here- (X)

Big thanks to @imdoingathingmom​ and @bbibbisan​ for doing a sensitivity read! 

* This could be worse, you remind yourself as you feed your deer

* Much, much worse

* “How much am I supposed to give them?” The tall, ebony colored man says from beside you, his bright red eyes seem to glow under the pale moonlight

* “Um.. for that one, you can feed it as much kale as you want, but be careful James, he’s kinda insatiable. He’ll eat your clothes if you give him the chance”

* James nods, tearing the kale in careful ribbons.

* He smiles when the deer eats right out of his palm.

* You’re not going to lie, you were 100% surprised when the blond turned out to be Laurent and the black guy was James

* You were even more surprised when he asked if he could help you feed your animals

* You watch him smile as he gives the deer a gentle pat, feeding it more kale

* Yeah, you’re having a hard time believing the teddy bear in front of you is some psychopath tracker

* The story went that while you and Edward were out, the coven decided to play some baseball up in the mountains, and the sound caught their attention as they were passing through

* Apparently this was a fast friends situation, because Carlisle and Laurent have been reminiscing about their geezer pre-colonialism days

* You look to the house, you can see Edward’s inside from the window, his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small smile

* Well that seems hopeful

* “I used to take animals before I turned” James’s deep voice calls you back to the situation at hand

* “Oh were you a farm hand?” You’re peeling an orange, which Henrietta the third is already licking at impatiently

* “Um, not quite, I was a slave”

* You stop peeling the orange

* James tells you his story- he was a third generation slave, fathered from the master, his mother passed away shortly after his birth

* “I was lucky- in a sense, the master -my father- he was a superstitious man, and my mother- she had a reputation”

* His mother was a slave in name only, was what he told you. She was more of a mistress or a concubine.

* “At least that’s what they said, Though I’m not sure how much of that is true, I’m fairly certain she didn’t enjoy being with him. She was just trying to survive”

* His mother had been ostracized, even amongst others like them, but not because of her social position in the household

* “They thought she was a witch,” he admitted. “Bad things happened to people who wronged her, and good things happened to those who helped her”

* That sounds like Alec and Jane

* “When she was on her death bed, she laid a “curse” on the owner of the plantation, that if I wasn’t taken care of she would haunt him and bring misfortune on the entire family for several generations”

* And so, James became the unfavorable third son of the Pickett family.

* “I had many opportunities from her sacrifice, I learned to read and write, but I was more or less shunned from the house- both by my family and by the other slaves”

* It was lonely, almost painful.

* “But there was one thing, a ray of light-“ his eyes flit towards the window, and you follow his gaze to the red haired woman in the green chair

* “Victoria, she was my eldest brothers fiancé”

* The youngest daughter of the wealthiest man in town, from the outside she was a blossoming socialite

* The most beautiful girl in town

* But behind closed doors...

* Victoria was the product of an affair, a mistresses child, reluctantly brought into the household when her mother passed

* “She had big dreams, she loved to read, she yearned to study, to educate herself, to use her mind”

* And so, two lost souls found each other

* “Our family would never have allowed it. So we decided to run away together” he smiles, but it’s bitter.

* They claimed he had abducted her, perhaps to save face, and sent slave catchers to find them.

* “I’m not quite sure what happened-I remember being shot and telling Victoria to go in without me- all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.”

* This is heartbreaking

* “When I woke up, Laurent was there, and my throat burned”

* So Laurent had been with them for all that time, he was their creator

* “Afterwards the three of us worked in ‘the underground railroad’ helping slaves to the north where they could be free”

* “I’m thankful to him, for saving us, we wouldn’t have been able to be in a world where we could be together if it weren’t for him-“

* “But you wonder what the trade off is” you finish and he nods

* No longer human

* Purpose only lasts so long in this life, after all human life only has meaning because you know one day it will end

* “I found a penchant for tracking, it turns out what they said about my mother might have held some truth”

* James calls it “extreme luck”, there’s no other word for his gift.

* If he’s looking for something - or someone- it’ll inevitably find him through pure luck. Like the world bends to his will

* But it only works with finding things

* “These days we work as bounty hunters, and we only feed from people beyond redemption”

* Murder and rapists it sounds like

* “I didn’t know there was another way”

* “That’s understandable, I didn’t know either until I met Carlisle” he looks at you with kind eyes, and so with a deep breath you tell him your story

* About the Volturi, your parents, Alec and Jane-

* “I think you would like them, they’re a little off putting at first, but they warm up pretty fast”

* “Like cats” he says

* “Like cats” you agree

* You tell him about meeting Carlisle, how he saved you,

* how Eleazer gave you a home and a family,

* and about Edward, who gave you a chance to live

* Not just to survive, but to truly live

* “We’re not so different you and I” James says with a smile, and you mirror his expression

* “No we aren’t”

* Though of course you wouldn’t compare the relatively privileged life you had to his

* But the loneliness you both experienced is not all that different

* The tie that binds you all

* And then you do something you’ve never done before

* “You know, I don’t belong to this coven, not really” it’s the first time you’ve admitted it to anyone

* ���Oh?”

* “My coven is in Denali, they have a permanent settlement there, and they follow the er... same alternative lifestyle”

* He laughs

* “I’m sure they would love two or three more, we’ve got like thirteen spare rooms in that house”

* You still remember the antiquated scooby Doo mansion-esque hallways filled with armor and swords

* He looks at you for a long time, but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable

* “I won’t follow another leader”

* You nod, that’s understandable.

* Laurent created them, and it seems he’s happy with their current lifestyle, they won’t betray him

* “Not unless it’s you”

* ........

* What?!?!

* “M-me?” You sputter, your orange peel filled hand clutching your chest

* “Why would you want to follow me? I’m only nineteen years old- I don’t even have a high school degree yet!”

* He laughs at your panicked expression

* “You know that doesn’t matter to our kind,” his eyes twinkle as he looks at you.

* “Call it witchcraft if you like, but you’re going to accomplish great things, I can feel it deep in my bones”

* Garrett had said the same thing, but the way James says it-

* You really believe it.

* He doesn’t want anything from you you, not a kiss or a date-

* He just wants to be your friend, to be apart of your vision

* Whatever it may be

* “Here’s my card-“

* He holds out his business card to you, unlike Garett’s it’s a cheap cardboard white with his profession and number on the front

* “If you ever find yourself in need of someone to help with your animals, let me know”

* You nod, taking his card in your hands

* “Um there’s one more thing I could use your help with-“

* He points to the large window, right at Alice

* “I know that girl but she doesn’t seem to know me.”

* “Well how does that work”

* He tells you how many years ago, a woman was looking for her sister.

* “It was a bit of a Cinderella story”

* The woman’s father had remarried quickly after his wife’s death, and the step mother had sent his children away. The younger sibling, his client, was lucky and was sent to a relative.

* But the older, who had suspected something amiss had happened to her mother, was sent to a mental asylum

* “You know me, I find things, it’s my gift.”

* But when he found the girl, she was no longer human. Already turned.

* “I tried to approach her, but she didn’t seem to remember anything”

* “Alice doesn’t have any of her memories from before she turned, she woke up in the woods all alone”

* The only thing guiding her were her visions.

* James nods solemnly

* “Should I...should I tell her?”

* You look to Alice.

* She’s smiling at something Victoria said.

* How many nights has she spent wondering who she really was, feeling so happy she had a family and a partner, but wondering if she left someone behind

* How would she feel when she found out?

* “I think you should tell her.”

* If it was you, even if it hurt, you would want to know

* James nods

* “Okay”

* You walk inside together, and immediately look to Edward

* Your own personal vampire lie detector

* “He did lie about one thing-“ Edward tells you once James pulls Alice aside.

* Was he actually tracking Alice to hunt her?

* Your heart drops at the thought

* “His mother didn’t die from natural causes, she committed suicide because she knew it would secure his future” Edward tells you with a somber expression.

* “He just didn’t want you to feel bad”

* You smile and nod.

* What a strong person, you can’t even imagine

* Edward pulls you into his arms, placing a soft kiss in your hair

* You feel bitter sweet about the whole thing

* Especially as you watch them leave in the morning, right before you’re going to head off to school

* Jasper is holding Alice who seems vulnerable, but relieved

* They’re leaving so soon, you didn’t even get a chance to get to talk to Victoria or Laurent

* You watch James stand next to Victoria, they’re talking to Carlisle.

* They’re not even touching, but you can feel the intimacy radiate off of them

* You wonder if maybe you and Edward might get to be that close one day

* James meets your gaze and smiles

* “I’ll see you around sometime leader!” He calls out, earning confused looks from your coven and his

* You smile back and give him a nod

* You’re still not sure what your future holds

* But you know you wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for the kindness of others

* You want to make them proud

* And then in a gust of wind, he’s gone

* They all are

* “See, I didn’t commit murder or anything, I told you things were different” Edward says with a teasing smile

* You roll your eyes and lightly shove him while he just laughs

* He’s right though, that was different

* “Enough flirting kids, you’re going to be late for school, and I really don’t want to deal with that dick in the front office acting all high and mighty because they think I can’t control my children” Esme yells

* School?

* Oh sh*t you didn’t do your homework

* “Edward-“

* “I’ll drive and tell you the answers on the way there” he says catching the keys you toss to him

* “It’s the-“

* “The Trig homework, I know. It’s your worst subject”

* Well you do struggle with trig quite a bit

* “Though to be fair you’re pretty terrible at all of them”

* He barks laughing when you shove him before getting into the car through the passenger side

* Carlisle and Esme watch you from the doorstep

* “They’re so good together-“ Esme starts

* “I know, I never thought our Edward would look at anyone like that”

* Carlisle and Esme exchange a look

* Before you came around-

* Well it wasn’t bad, but he certainly didn’t look like that.

* And he never smiled like that either

* Immortality had hardened him, made him into a man

* But with you-

* Well, with you he looks just like a boy

* A boy in love for the first time

* “I wonder what kind of children they might have had” Esme wonders with a small grin

* Him, with his ability to read minds, and you with that positively monstrous power of yours

* Any number of possibilities is possible

* “Best not to think of such things” Carlisle murmurs

* Though you two may be together for eternity, with the endless options, you’ll never have that.

* Esme nods

* “I’m late to get to the hospital, surgery this morning” he mumbles kissing her on the cheek before walking to the car

* She watches him go, his sleek white Volvo disappearing down the road before looking up to the sky

* “What a shame, I would have liked a cute grandchild or two running around” she mumbles to herself before turning to go inside

* “Entertaining always leaves me exhausted, guess I’ll give my employees the day off”

Tags:  @moonlights27​ @thebluetint​ @the100thtwilight​ @awesomebooklover17​ @oneofthepotterheads​ @smileygirl08​ @imdoingathingmom​ @iconicgguk​ @yrawn​ @alyciaswhore​ @little-horror-show​ @wicked-watering-can​ @lazydreamers​ @ xxxmuxxx @ideas-for-you-to-adopt​​​ @poisoinedhope @maryleigh8796​​ @moose-squirrel-asstiel​​ @hotmessgoodness​ @jaimewho​ @corabmarie​ @what-am-i-doing10​ @alluring-venus​ @imdoingathingmom @anotheryooniverse​ @im-tired-not-sleepy​ @emmettcullenisahimbo​ @my-super-musical-life​ @smolvampiregirl​ @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​ @mihikaahujaaa @werewolflover3252​ @teenagezombiekryptonite @shynz​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @monkeyluver4546 @wonhomarshmallow​ @bwbatta​

[waywardrose13]

Night and Day

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4263

Warnings: Language, witch!reader, mentions and implicaitons of sex, angst, some fluff, not enough editing to satisfy me

Summary: You hid the fact that you were a witch from the Winchester brothers for years. After a run in with an old mentor of yours causes your secret to be revealed, the brothers find out that not only are you a witch, but one of the most powerful in the world. When Dean is given the task to kill you in exchange for his brother’s life, you must face the fact you lied to the man you loved- the same man who hates witches with a burning passion.

A/N: My tags haven’t been working lately. I’m going to put my tags in a reblog. Comment or shoot me an ask letting me know if you got a notification or not. Oh, and also- surprise!

“Dean, I’m serious. We gotta get up.”

You gently nudged at your boyfriend. A smile played on your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you. He whined and let out a long sigh.

“Five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty mintues ago,” you scoffed, smirking down at him. He groaned and lifted his head to look at you.

“You’re a joy killer,” he said. 

“A joy killer?” You asked. You raised a brow as your smirk grew. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said.

“Right. Okay big boy, up and attem, let’s go. We’ve got that case in Ozark.”

Dean groaned again. “We just got back from a case two days ago.”

“Comes with the job description, honey,” you said. You swung your legs out of bed, placing your feet onto the floor. As you stood up, Dean suddenly wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you back down onto the bed. You squealed as he squeezed your sides, his lips latching onto your throat.

“Wanna stay here with you,” Dean said. He raised his head to kiss your lips. You ran your hand through his hair, his fingers running up your side, raising to cup your breast beneath your shirt.

“Dean, we don’t have time for this,” you said. He peppered kisses along your throat and collarbone, settling on the pulse point below your ear. “As much as I love doing this, we really need to get up.”

Dean halted his movements and lifted his head to scowl at you. He pushed himself up and off you, walking over to the dresser.

“Alright, fine,” he huffed. “Joy killer.”

***

“Of course, it has to be fucking witches.”

You winced at his words. You had been in Ozark for nearly a day now. After interviewing two of the victims who survived the attacks, you had also spoken to the detectives on the case before investigating the victims’ homes. The victims claimed to have been attacked by a shadow figure. The other three victims had been slaughtered in their homes, while the two survivors suffered severe lacerations and what seemed to be burns. You and the brothers were stumped for a while, until you found a hex bag hidden in a vase in one of the homes, and another hex bag stuffed in a couch cushion in the other.

You always hated witch cases. Not only were they dangerous, but they were also conflicting. You were a natural born witch, coming from a long line of witches on your mother’s side of the family. You had the gift of sight, also known as psychic abilities, and you had practiced witchcraft since you were thirteen.

When you had met Dean Winchester, it had been on a ghoul hunt. In those three days, you instantly felt an attraction to him that you couldn’t describe. You never thought he would be interested in you. You saw the women he’d frequent, and you weren’t like them. You were in shape, hunting keeping you fit, however you had some stretch marks, love handles, and thicker thighs than you would’ve liked. You also weren’t the prettiest woman in your opinion. You weren’t ugly, but you were always self conscious of the way you looked. You were sarcastic, cursed like a sailor, and reserved. You had always kept a wall around yourself ever since you were younger, sprouting at early ages due to things you had experienced and seen. You were twenty-four, a virgin, and a bit awkward at times.

Not at all Dean Winchester’s type.

But after meeting up with the Winchesters a few more times, you and Dean slowly became closer, until one night after a hunt, Dean had confessed his feelings for you. He was hesitant at first due to the ten year age difference, but your relationship had quickly blossomed. He was your first real relationship, the first person to ever be with you entirely, the first person to ever hold your heart.

Which is why you never told him about yourself.

Dean hated witches. It was a fact everyone knew. If you were to tell him that you were, in fact, a witch, he’d not only break up with you, but you were afraid he’d hunt you. Although you had never used your abilities for anything other than good, you weren’t entirely sure Dean would be able to trust you after you kept it from him for so long.

You were one of the most powerful witches in the world. Numerous covens have tried to recruit you, but you turned them all down. You were nomadic by nature, a free spirit, and you didn’t want to use your abilities to do someone else’s bidding. So you stuck to yourself. You kept off the radar and hoped your protective hex bags shield sigil tattoos worked. When Dean asked about the tattoos, you had simply told him they were more sigils for protection- like the anti possession tattoo. He believed you without a second thought.

“Okay, so now that we know what we’re dealing with,” Sam began. “We need to find out who. After doing some digging, I found that all of the victims attended the same addiction recovery group.”

“So you think the group is somehow linked to the murders?” Dean asked.

“It makes sense,” you said. “They all had this one thing in common. That’s what we always look for, right?”

“Right. There are only three people left in the group who have not been attacked. Since it’s a support group, anonymity is a requirement. But luckily for us, we have fake badges,” Sam said. “Marcus Wainwright, Brienne Tarly, and Astrid Waters are the only people who haven’t been attacked.”

You froze at Astrid’s name. You knew that name. She was the leader of a coven who tried to recruit you years ago. You turned them down because of the craft which they practiced.

“Who’s the leader of the group?” You asked.

“Uh…” Sam looked at the files. “Astrid.”

“I think it’s her,” you said. The brothers looked at you in question. You mentallykicked yourself. You said it before you could think. “She’s the leader, right?” You tried to cover yourself. “What if she used this group as a way to make sacrifices to whatever that shadow is?”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Sam said. “Carla, one of the victims I talked to today, said that Astrid would always try to get the group attendants to recruit more people. Apparently Astrid was always trying to bring more people into the group. Almost like she was obsessed with it.”

“She was trying to get more people to sacrifice,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” you said.

“Okay, let’s find this bitch.”

***

Astrid still lived in the same cottage as she did all those years ago when she tried to recruit you. Cobblestone walls covered in climbing ivy. Black shutters hung off the gothic windows. Various leafy plants grew around the sides of the house. The broken path led to a great wood door. The negative energy rolling off the house made you nauseous, and it took everything in you not to pass out.

You were only sixteen when you met Astrid, only just beginning to truly tap into your true potential when other witches began to feel your energy.

“You’re strong,” she had told you. “Stronger than me. You would be a valuable asset to any coven. A threat to witches below your strength. Others will want to harvest that power for themselves. We can keep you safe. I can keep you safe.”

You could feel her energy was dark. Her aura was an ominous black, a stark contrast from your pure white. You knew she was lying immediately. You threatened her. You were stronger than Astrid, and that pissed her off.

“I can fend for myself, thanks,” you had said.

Astrid had simply smirked at you, patting your hand gently. “We’ll see about that, my dear.”

You never thought you’d run across her again. You had hoped that you wouldn’t run into her again. Not only was she incredibly dangerous to you, but there was a high chance she would spill your secret, and you would not only lose Dean forever, but you would lose your life.

Swallowing back your fear, you trudged through the woods alongside the brothers. You knew you needed to do this. Innocent people were dying. If this was your last night on Earth, you wanted to be able to save them at least.

The three of you ducked below one of the windows. Dean peeked inside, trying his best to stay as hidden as possible.

“She’s in there,” he whispered. “She’s… at an altar. She’s chanting something.”

“Guess we found our witch,” Sam muttered. “Nice, Y/N.”

You gave him a weak smile.

Dean got up in front of the door, gun in hand. You and Sam waited for his call.

“Okay, on three,” he said.

“One… two…”

“Three!”

A new voice echoed around you, the door of the cottage violently swinging open, a gust of wind knocking Dean off his feet. Astrid’s cackle filled the air, and suddenly you began to feel woozy. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, Sam falling down next to you. You knew it was Astrid, and you tried to fight it off, but soon succumbed to her power as well, your world going dark.

***

“How exciting!”

Head pounding, you awoke to the sound of a female’s voice. Trying to move, you soon found yourself unable to. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your limbs felt numb.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling of the cottage. Astrid’s silver head was bent over you, bright emerald eyes staring into yours, a crooked, elated smile on her face.

“My oh my, I never thought the day would come,” she muttered to herself. A long nailed finger stroked your cheek, and you flinched away.

“Don’t touch her, you bitch!” You turned your head at the sound of Dean’s voice. You smiled weakly immediately at the sight of him, finding yourself incredibly tired.

You felt drained.

You tried to move your hands, finding them strapped to the table you were currently laid out on. Your flannel had been removed, as were your jeans, leaving you in only a tank top and panties. You shivered in the cool air. You hated being exposed like this in front of anyone that wasn’t Dean.

“What are you doing?” You asked weakly. “Let me go.”

Astrid laughed. “Please. You fall right into my hands and you think I’m going to let you go?” She asked. “You’re smarter than that, little fox.”

 “Why are you doing this?” Sam asked. “Why did you kill all those people? Why did you sacrifice them?”

Astrid looked surprised. “Oh my, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” She smiled at Sam, holding a mortar and pestle up over you. She crushed something inside, muttering a few incantations.

“The shadow makes me stronger. The more it's fed, the stronger I become,” Astrid said smoothly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong witch. Stronger than your average natural born, much stronger. However, there are only two people in the world who are stronger than me.”

Astrid gave you a pointed look. 

“The shadow makes me stronger, as I said, but without the power of the other two witches, I will never be the strongest. If I were to siphon their energies from their souls, I would be the strongest witch there ever was and will ever be.”

“Pretty egotistical, eh there, granny?” Dean said. Astrid sneered at him.

“You’ll be the first one to die once I’m done with her, honey,” Astrid said.

“That is if I don’t kill you first, sweetheart.”

“If you only knew what I would be capable of,” Astrid snapped. “One witch has kept herself hidden. The Scottish bitch never can be found.”

“Rowena,” Sam said. 

“Oh, you know her?” Astrid said. “Yes, Rowena. Now, the other witch. Well, I met her years ago. She was just a wee lass of sixteen at the time, but she was already so strong. I knew she was going to be a problem for me. I tried to recruit her to my coven, but she was smart. Too smart. I’ve been trying to track her down for years, and I’ve never been able to find her.”

Astrid let out a dreamy sigh. “And then, by the grace of God, she fell right into my hands.”

“If you’ve already killed her, why take the souls of innocents?” Dean asked.

Astrid scoffed. “Oh no, dear. I haven’t killed her yet.”

“Well what’s the hold up? One less witch to worry about. You’ll stop killing innocent people.”

Astrid laughed. She looked down at you. “No idea how you’ve been with the man as long as you did. If I heard that, I’d run for the hills. Or stab him in his sleep.”

“Don’t touch him,” you hissed. Astrid grinned.

“There’s that fire,” she said. She smeared the green paste she made over your chest. You let out a small cry as it burned your skin. She painted a pentacle on you, muttering more incantations.

“Unfortunately, to siphon all of a witch's power, the siphoner cannot kill the siphonee,” Astrid said. “Someone else has to do it after I prepare her, then I could siphon it.”

“Well let’s make you a deal,” Dean said. Your lip wobbled. “If I kill the bitch, letting you siphon her power, you will never kill another person.”

Astrid smiled wickedly. “Really?”

“Sure. One less witch and we save some people.”

Astrid laughed. “Oh that’s too good. I’ll make a blood vow. If I break it, I die.”

“Fine.” Dean nodded at her.

“Give me your word, hunter,” Astrid said.

“I give you my word.”

“That no matter what, you follow through,” Astrid continued.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, fine.”

“Dean,” you said softly. A tear leaked from your eye. “Please.”

He looked at you curiously. Astrid cut his bindings, letting him free.

“He’s not the brightest bulb, is he?” She asked you, laughing.

“Where do I find her?” Dean asked.

Astrid handed Dean a knife. It had a curled handle, various sigils carved into it. She stepped back, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Go ahead.”

“You deaf?” Dean asked. “Where do I find the bitch?”

Astrid smirked, running her tongue over her lips.

“Right in front of you.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face. Tears streamed from your eyes now, leaking down your temples onto the wood beneath you. Astrid killing you was one thing. Dean killing you? There was nothing worse you could think of.

“Y/N?” He said. “No fucking way. She’s not a witch.”

“Isn’t she?” Astrid asked. “Go on, Y/N. Show us a little trick.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing this was all a dream. Wishing that you would wake up and you’d be back at the bunker in Dean’s arms.

But when you opened your eyes, Dean still stood there, that curved knife in his hand, Astrid’s evil grin plastered on her face, a shocked Sam watching from his confinement on the wall.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“If you don’t show him-” she walked over to Sam, hand on his head- “I blow his brain apart.”

You took in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on the windows. Suddenly, your eyes glowed purple, and the windows shattered. The glass floated up into the air, spinning around and around, wind whipping everyone’s hair. It only lasted a few moments, and when the glass stopped spinning, a heart floated six feet off the ground. It slowly moved towards Dean, and once it reached him, you blinked, eyes going back to their normal E/C, the heart falling to the ground, glass shattering once more, mimicking your own heart.

Dean looked up at you in shock.

“You did that?”

“It’s her best party trick,” Astrid said. “Y/N here is an artist. Unless, of course, she’s blowing a werewolf to pieces with a simple flick of her wrist, or growing a thirty foot tree with the blink of an eye.”

“No,” Dean said lowly. “You lied to me.”

“I was afraid,” you said. “You hate witches. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“You fucking kept this giant ass secret from me!” He yelled. “You lied to me for years! All that time we’ve been together, you’ve been fucking

“Dean, please-”

“How do I know anything you said was true?”

“It all is! You know everything about me, Dean! I just never told you this!” You urged. “Please, Dean. You know me. You know I’m a good person.”

“I don’t know shit,” he hissed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“What?” You asked.

“Have you ever killed someone?” He snapped.

“No! I’ve never-”

“Eh, eh, eh,” Astrid said. “Don’t lie to the poor man anymore, Y/N.”

You let out a sob. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Astrid exclaimed. “Bursting a man into flames was an accident? Killing a father of four was an accident?”

“Yes!” You said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know how to control myself, I-”

A sharp pain suddenly seared inside your head. You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. Astrid grinned.

“Punishing her,” she answered calmly. You screamed as the pain became so intense, white flashed behind your eyes and your whole body went rigid.

“Stop!” Dean yelled.

The pain was gone instantly. You panted, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, sweat mixing with your tears.

“Slit her wrists, Dean,” Astrid whispered. “You swore.”

Dean took the few steps he needed to be right next to you. He looked at the knife, then at your wrist, then at your face.

“Won’t she just heal herself?” He asked.

“Those cuffs around her wrists contain sigils that will prevent any self healing or harm to another person,” Astrid said. “It limits her power. It’s why she hasn’t broken out yet.”

Dean swallowed thickly. He looked at you, eyes searing deeply into your own. An anger burned behind the green you loved so much. It scared you. That anger had never been directed towards you before. 

But there was something else as well. Despair. Dean was torn. You were a witch, a powerful one, and you had lied about it for years. On the other hand, Dean was in love with you. He loved you so much, it scared him.

“Do it,” Astrid said. “Do it, or I kill him.”

She was bent down beside Sam now, lips near his ear, eyes burning purple. Dean looked between you and his brother. You knew he’d never choose you over Sam.

“Do it,” you whispered. You nodded at him, giving him a soft smile. “It’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll find my way back to you someday,” you told him. “If not, I’ll simply wait for you.”

Dean bit his lip. “I wish you had told me.”

“I thought you were going to kill me,” you admitted. He shook his head, leaning against the table. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“Baby, you’re a good person,” he said. “Sure, I hate witches.”

You winced.

“But I could never hate you.”

You blinked a few times. “Even though I’m-”

He pressed his lips softly to yours. His eyes were misty, brows pulled together. 

“I could never hate you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Do it, Dean!” Astrid urged. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Dean, don’t do it,” Sam said. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ll wait for you, my love.”

Dean shook his head.

“Five seconds,” Astrid warned.

“I love you, Dean. It’s okay,” you whispered. 

Dean looked down at the knife in his hands. He caressed your wrist, bringing the knife down against your skin.

“Three seconds!”

He gave you one last look, moving the knife back-

“Two-”

He jerked the knife-

“One!”

You expected the sting of the blade, but only felt the release of the cuff. 

“Man, you should have had some sort of spell on that shit,” Dean said. He smiled darkly at you, giving you a wink. Using your other hand, you flashed your eyes purple, burning the other cuff off.

“No!” Astrid yelled. “What have you done?”

With a simple flick of your wrist, Astrid was flung away from Sam. She crashed into the opposite wall. You slipped off the table, bare feet hitting the cold floor. A wind blew through the cottage, blowing your hair back from your face. You stalked towards her, all the while a smirk grew on your lips, your fingers tingling.

“I haven’t let myself go in so long,” you said. You lifted your hands, seeing the purple glow in your palms and beneath your fingertips. You cocked your head. “All this pent up energy…”

“Y/N-”

“It’s almost like snapping a rubber band,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Dean said slowly. 

Using a blast of power, you forced Astrid’s arms against the wall. Keeping them there, you raised her up until her feet dangled off the floor. You did the same to her ankles, the strain causing her skin to bruise immediately.

“Y/N, wait-”

You forced her head back, a sickening crunch resonating inside the cottage.

“So much power… can be dangerous,” Astrid gasped. Blood dribbled from her mouth and nose, pouring out of her eyes like tears. You forced more pressure upon her, crushing her further. “I was your mentor once… don’t let it consume you… keep your soul pure…”

You crushed her further, your brow raising slightly. You smiled wickedly at Astrid, a dark chuckle leaving your lips. “Rich coming from you,” you said.

“I let it consume me,” Astrid told you. “Don’t… follow in my footsteps.”

You hadn’t used your power like this in years, not since Astrid was your mentor. It sizzled in your veins and made you feel more rushed than ever. It was almost euphoric, the way your body burned with power, power that came from the Earth beneath your feet. 

You missed that feeling.

What you didn’t miss, however, was the creeping feeling of darkness. It would intrude your thoughts and darken your mind. The risk of using that much power was the potential that it could consume you, and you would flip darkside.

Like Astrid did.

“See you in hell.”

Using once last surge of power, Astrid let out a guttural scream as her whole body turned an odd shade of red, eyes nearly popping from their sockets, blood streaming from any open source, before she stopped moving.

Letting your power retract, she slumped to the floor.

Dead.

You blinked, letting your eyes return to their natural colour, turning to face Dean.

“You gonna kill me now?” You asked.

Dean swallowed thickly, giving you a small smile.

“No.”

“Why not?” You said. “I’m a monster, right? You hate witches. I am witch. Pretty self explanatory.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean said.

“You can’t pick and choose the monsters you kill and don’t kill,” you said. “You came here to kill a witch. I killed her, now it’s your turn.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean repeated.

You gritted your teeth, sighing deeply. “Fine.”

You walked over to Sam, looking over your shoulder at Dean. With a simple flick of your wrist, Sam was released from his bindings.

“Do it, Sam.”

“Why?” He asked.

“I haven’t let myself go like that in a long time,” you said. “I forgot how tempting it is to give in. I want to do it, Dean. You need to kill me before I do.”

“No,” he said.

“Do it!” You yelled. “Do you really want me to flip? You want me to become like her?” You pointed to the woman you had just killed.

“You won’t,” Dean said. “You’re not like her.”

“Yes,” you whispered. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “I am. I killed that man when I was sixteen because I almost let it win. Who knows what else I could have done if I did.”

“Then we lock you up in the dungeon,” Dean said. “And we bring you back. But you’re good, Y/N. I know you better than anyone.”

Your lip wobbled. 

“You still love me?” You murmured. “Even after finding out?”

Dean smiled warmly at you. He took your hands in his, massaging the backs of yours. “Sure, I was pissed you didn’t tell me. Still am, quite frankly. But you’re my girl,” he said. “I know you. I know the kind of person you are.”

“You hate witches,” you pointed out.

“Eh, maybe they’re not so bad,” Dean said, giving you a lopsided shrug. “I mean, I know this one witch. She’s pretty hot, really good in bed-”

“Dean!” You exclaimed, slapping his chest playfully. He laughed, kissing your forehead, bringing you into his chest.

“What can I say? What you did was pretty badass. Not my fault I’m into that.”

You shook your head. “Okay, big boy. If you’re not gonna kill me, let’s go home.”

Dean took a deep breath, leaning down to pick you up bridal style. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“Come on, Sabrina,” he said. You gave him a bitch face, making Sam laugh.

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, I’ve got more,” he said. “Do you have a pointy hat? Or a broomstick? Were you always this color, or were you born green?”

“Yeah, this is gonna be a long ride home,” Sam muttered.

Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Send me an ask with your thoughts! Feedback is loved and greatly appreciated:)

Want to support my work? Go here.

Want to commision a fic? Go here.

[always-on-tatooine]

MaulxReader part 8: The Escape

Finally getting to this part of the story (this has been rolling around in my head since winter break). At the same time, I’m happy I gave this story the time it’s needed to develop. Also, I’m so happy for all the friends I’ve met on here so far. I really appreciate everyone’s support.

Unfortunately, school is really ramping up so big sections like this will be coming out much slowly. I’ll still be working on this story but until break I will probably only be posting small blurbs. Also, I’m thinking of trying some other side projects too. (yes, most of them will consist of our favorite grumpy red Zabrack)

Also thinking of making an ao3 account too. I’ll keep you all updates if I do so.

Warning: Mentions of violence/wounds to reader, action sense, explosions, and strong emotions. As always, let me know if I missed anything

Masterlist link: https://always-on-tatooine.tumblr.com/post/640968824459526144/shooting-stars-maulxreader-masterlist

3.8k word count. Enjoy :)

@justalittlecloud @a-dorin @hornystarwarsbisexual @mother-0f-monsters @lovelyzabrak-meadow @pinkiemme @maulieber @joslynuniverse @dollar-tree-witchcraft @lalalandbutbetter @zabrak-show @secretmaul @jedi-bitch @helloladyvanilla @enchantress666

            Waves of questions and confusion were overwhelming, as (y/n) took in her surroundings. In what was less than a minute of holding her head down, the room once full of mob guards was now littered with dead bodies. The only one left standing held a strange glowing red weapon as it plummeted into the man who almost killed her. Who was the single survivor of this outmatched battle? She knew his name was Maul, and that she had provided housing for him over this past week. Yet here and now, (y/n) realized how little she knew about the man who just saved her life.

             One of the glowing beams of Maul’s weapon retracted, releasing its hold on Lysscol’s body. Leaving the former mob boss motionless on his throne, Maul walked over to (y/n). “Hold still,” his command was soft as one swoop of the remaining end of his weapon cut through her cuffs. Reaching a black gloved hand towards the freed captive he asked, “Are you ok?” (Y/n) did not know how to respond. So many questions ran through her head, yet none were able to find their way out, “What…? How…?”

            Helping her off the ground Maul looked her over, “Are you able to move on your own?” (Y/n) looked deeply into his tattooed face. Who was this man? “Yes, but…”

            Maul retracted the other end of his weapon, “Then we have to hurry. We may have killed their leader, but they will still come for us.” Pulling his hood back over his head, he grabbed (y/n)’s hand and led her out of the throne room.

            In the hallways, more guards laid on the floor. Rushing past them, the farmer was only able to get a glimpse of their condition; large slash wounds had cut though the guards chest plates, inflicting a deadly blow. Before, (y/n) could process the scene, the two were already past the alley way and rushing into the streets.

             The pair moved fast, yet stayed within the crowd, maneuvering through the groups of people as not to be seen. Still holding Maul’s hand, she did her best to keep up with him as he led her though the streets. Finally gaining the nerves, (y/n) asked, “How did you know where to find me?”

            “Only an organized syndicate would be able to push the number of weapons you were selling. So, I looked for their usual hiding places until I found the right one.”

            His remark did not satisfy (y/n)’s scrutiny. Remembering back, Victor Lysscol had seemed so familiar with Maul. As if they knew each other.  “You said you had given them orders. Are you a part of the syndicate?”

            “Something like that…”

            “Then what was that weapon you killed him with? Those blades you were using. I thought those were Jedi swords.” She could feel his hand tighten at the name of the legendary space monks. “Jedi are not the only ones who know how to use a lightsaber…” the words rolled off his lips with anger, yet his unpleasant facial expression would be left to the imagination as it was hidden by his hood.

            “Then how did you…?” (y/n) wanted to continue her interrogations, but Maul cut her off. “I will answer your question later. Right now, we need to get out of this town. You are now marked by the Crymorah’s. That means if they ever see you again, then they will kill you without a second thought.” The tone of urgency in his voice was enough to make her stop.  Taking her saviors advice, she focused on keeping up with him as they headed back to the shop.

            Quick on their feet, the two arrived back to the shop shortly after their conversation ended. Madam Rekstall now stood under the awning of the vegetable stand, as she had agreed to watch the shop while Maul had gone to retrieve (y/n). “Thank the maker you’re ok,” the psychic embraced her old friend in a big embrace, “I told you I foresaw one of your deals going wrong if you kept doing business with those mobsters.” Brushing some hair out of the farmer’s hair, she could see the bruise that was forming, gifted on her cheek by the late Lysscol, “It looks like they did a number on you, but it could have been a lot worse…”

            (Y/n) ignored the pain on her face. Still in shock, she was trying to piece everything together. “Is that how Maul knew to find me? You saw it in one of your visions?” Madam Rekstall shook her head, “Oh no my dear, he was quite capable of sensing your danger without my help. I just simply took over the shop when he ran over to go save you.” (Y/n) looked over at her savior, who was now starting to pack what few vegetable crates were left. He was the once who sensed she was in danger? But how?

            Still holding the farmer in her arms, the psychic began to speak again. Yet her words would fall on deaf ears as (y/n) was still compartmentalizing everything she had just witnessed. She watched as her old friend’s mouth moved, yet she could not hear a sound. Even the sounds of Maul hastily gathering the shop, the bustle coming from the open road beside her, and all the other overwhelming sounds of the city, all became an incoherent hum. Out of all the noses that surrounded her, the only thing she could make out was the sound of a radio. Specifically, a small radio that sat on the counter of another nearby shop stand. Looking over, she could see two men standing under the awning, listening to the broadcast as well.

            ‘We're here to interrupt this program with breaking news. The war is over now! The Separatists have all been defeated by the Republic Army. Counselor Palpatine, who’s leadership has recently been extended under jurisdiction of war, has announced that with the war over, The Council will now declare a new kind of republic. One that will unite the entire galaxy under one Empire.’

            “Did you hear that?” (y/n) hear the man standing behind the shop counter ask, “the war is over now!” “Thank the maker,” the other man chimed in, “maybe this new empire will do something to clean up this slum planet.”

            Watching the scene unfold, (y/n) wanted to join the men in their enthusiasm. The end of this drawn-out war between the Republic and the Separatists should be a good thing, right? Despite how good it sounded, something inside said otherwise. She could feel her insides start to twist as shivers ran down her spine. Something deep inside told her this was wrong. Then she remembered what Victor Lysscol had said in the throne room. ‘New governments mean new business,’ could this have been what he was referring to? Either way, the unsettlement she felt within was enough to tell her the end of this war would not bring anything good…

            (Y/n) was only broken by this strange state she found herself in, by the feeling of Maul’s hand on her shoulder. During her trance-like state, Madam Rekstall must have walked away, as her hooded friend was the only one standing near her now. How long was she out?

             “We can’t stay any longer. If we do not leave this town, it will only be a matter of time until they find us.” The sharpness in his voice reminded her of the paramount of the situation they were in. Grounding back into reality, she realized he was right. Nodding her head in agreement to the Zabrak, (y/n) headed over to the wagon to help pack what was left.

            Madam Rekstall now watched as the two quickly finished gathering their things. Folding one of her sets of arms, she started, “Do you have a plan on how to defend yourselves if they come for you out there on the plains?” (Y/n) was already mounting her jumper, getting ready to make their escape. Shaking off the eerie feeling of what she just experienced, she tried to compose back to her usual self.

            “You know I have one of the best security systems on this planet. Lysscol’s men know it too. If they even have the Reek balls to try to take us on, then they won’t make it back in one peace.” Rekstall rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Maul who had taken his place among the few crates that were left in the wagon. “Please take care of her out there. I haven’t seen any harm coming your guy’s way. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

            Maul looked over at (y/n) who was now starting the jumper. She would have died if he had not interfered. Yet now that the Crymorah Syndicate knew that she was connected to him, their grievance with the young farmer may only get worse. It was clear to him now, that in his current situation, he would be incapable of controlling the different crime families. If they were willing to betray him and disobey his orders, then his association with (y/n) meant they would stop at nothing to kill them both. ‘It’s her fault for getting herself into this mess,’ he thought to himself. Yet despite how much he tried to pass on the responsibility in his head, he could not deny the fact that she had been the only person to help him since he crashed on this planet. The causation to the state they found themselves seemed irrelevant as he felt it was his duty to protect her now. Over the sounds of the jumper engine starting, he insured, “I promise, no harm will come to her.”

            The farmer pulled the jumper and attached wagon out of their parking space. Looking over at the psychic, (y/n) called over, “Thank you for watching over the shop! I owe you one.” As the jumper began to pull away, Madam Rekstall called back, “Just be safe out there,” she waved an arm, “and may the force be with you!”

            The force? Her bike was already too far away to ask why her old friend had given her such a strange farewell. Weaving through the populated streets, (y/n) made her way out of the city. After some much careful driving between the hordes people, the pair had made it out. As tall clay buildings turned into flat grasslands, (y/n) felt that they had made their getaway. With the city behind them, she was able to pick up some speed on the open road. With fewer crates than they had that morning, they were able to move faster than before. It would not be long until the two would be home, and safe.

            Unknown to (y/n) and Maul, only moments after they left, two men on speeders arrived at the shop stand they had been selling at. They wore mixed armor like the guards in the throne den had, yet more time had been put into their garb to attempt to make it look coherent. They did not say for long; once it was obvious that their targets had escaped, they got back on their bikes and headed toward the city outskirts. Madam Rekstall could only watch the scene unfold without gaining the attention of the armed men. Sitting in her fabricated chair, she smoked her pipe, attempting to not show interest in the guard’s inquisition. Only after the men left, did the psychic feel that it was safe to mutter to herself, “May the force keep them safe.”

**************

            Only when they were out in the fields of grasslands was (y/n) able to gather herself. As long blades of pale blue grass were pushed away from the velocity of her speeder, the last hour that had unfolded replayed in her mind. The farmer understood that arms dealing with the Orkaron Mafia was a dangerous job. Just getting her hands on the various bits of blasters and armor had almost cost her life a few times. Yet out on a small planet such as this one, she could only sell as many vegetables as there were mouths to feed. She was always just one bad growing season from not being able to make a sustainable income.  Her immoral and hazardous situation was not blind to her, but the need to eat and stay warm at night was overwhelming on a planet such as this.

             Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Maul was alert as he sat in the back of the wagon. ‘Strange’ has been a term she had used to describe her new housemate over this past week. Now she was now beginning to see there was much more to him. It felt almost haunting now, to have had someone stay with her for a week and know so little about them. Yet right when she was about to be executed, he came in and took on a whole syndicate base, all by himself.

             Executed… it really was a close call. Too close to (y/n)’s liking. It had been a long time since she had been in a situation where she had so little control. Danger was something she was used to. Yet each encounter she had out on this lawless planet, she always managed to have the upper hand. Yet today she was rendered powerless and was almost put down like an old Fathier. Helpless, it made her feel helpless. Tears that formed in her eyes were pushed to the sides of her face by the air that brushed against her vehicle. She had built this life of independence so that she would not need anyone’s help. Yet she would be dead now if it were not for Maul. It was not that she wasn't grateful to him, she just hated the feeling. ‘Helpless,’ the word repeated in her head again. A dreadful feeling, she had not felt in a long time. Not since she…

             “Incoming,” Maul roared, waking her out of her thoughts. Over her shoulders, (y/n) could see two speeders behind them and getting closer by the second. The wagon was already slowing them down enough as it was, but as the bikes got rapidly closer, it became apparent that their speeders had been altered, allowing them to move even faster for occasions such as this. Once they were in firing distance, blaster shots started flying past the escaping pair, nearly hitting.

            Maul was now standing in the back of the wagon, red sabers in hand he deflected the blasts as they came towards them. His deflections were flawless, yet the riders exhibited their maneuvering abilities; dodging each bullet that flew back. As they moved out of the way of the returning shots, Maul took the opportunity and turned to warn (y/n), “They're gaining on us! If we don’t do something soon, they may get close enough to crash the speeder!”

             (Y/n) looked around the empty lands. There had to be something that could help them. That is when she saw it, off in the distance she could see her farm coming into view. They were almost to safety, she just had to make it there before their new ‘friends’ could catch them. “Hang on!” she called, as she pushed full throttle toward the hut.

             The sounds of an overworked engine filled the space around them. With a slight jerk, the speeder gained speed, using all its power to carry their weight and the wagon with it. Despite their increase in speed, the riders managed to still get closer. Maul kept his balance as he continued to block the basters coming at them. “(Y/n), we need to do something fast! It’s too easy for them to overpower us at this rate!”

             (Y/n) called back to them between shots, “Can your saber cut though the wagon hitch?” “Of course!” Maul called back. “Good, I need you to get on the back of my bake, and when I tell you, cut the wagon.”

             In between the breaks of defecting shots, Maul took a glance towards the front of the speeder. The farm he had come to know was now in view. A few kilometers in front of it, he could see the familiar blinking lights hidden in the grass. (Y/n)’s plan was starting to make sense. Without hesitation he made his way to the speeder.

             If Maul were anything like the legendary Jedi she had heard about, she figured that he would have no problem getting from the wagon to the attached speeder at these speeds. What she did not expect was for Maul to do so while still managing to stand. Just as he did in the wagon, he was now balancing on the back seat of the speeder, waving both ends of his saber around as he continued to block blast as they came their way.

             There was no time to question how he was capable of any of this. The faint blinking posts were coming close at a rapid speed. (Y/n) knuckles grew lighter over the throttle as every bit of energy the engine could handle was headed right to it. It was only a few meters away when she changed her trajectory. Dropping all speed, she took a hard turn to the left. As the speeder spun around, she now faced the riders, who used to be right behind them, coming at them at full speed.

             “Now!” she called. Just as effortless as Maul had cut her cuffs back in the throne room, it only took one sweep to release the wagon from its confines. As (y/n) continued to spin, the velocity sent the wagon flying in off in a distance, away from the chaos. Free from the weight of the wagon, the speeder had almost completed a full spin.

            In sync with (y/n)’s unspoken plan, Maul maneuvered himself to a sitting position for what was about to happen next. With full speed, (y/n) now took off to the right, as the riders were almost in grabbing distance from them. Yet at their speed, they were unable to recorrect in time to follow. As their speeders continued to drive forward, the two grads went straight into the mine fields.

            The last that would be seen of the riders was a series of explosions that only consumed a small section of the vast planes. Dust and flames filled the area where they had detonated one of the many hidden landmines. Even on hovering speeders, the pressure from the anti-gravity converters was enough to set them off. (Y/n) stopped and turned the bike so they could watch the spectacle. Though Maul was used to this kind of excitement, here on this humble planet, it seemed so out of place. As for (y/n), she was just relieved that her home security came in handy when they needed it.

            When the flames died down, (y/n) drove over to the control pad she had used earlier that morning. Stopping the bike, the farmer got off the speeder and hit the switch. Buurrrrr the sound rang around them. Maul took the opportunity to stand up and address the young woman after such an encounter. “Very impressive strategy,” Maul complemented, “these traps really are excellently placed. I can now see how you’ve been able to take on so many…”

            (Y/n) was faced away from him, but Maul could sense something was wrong. “(Y/n)?” The young farmer turned towards him; arms wrapped around herself as she was beginning to cry. Maul was shocked. Usually, she was so composed. So cocky. Yet here in this moment she was… vulnerable. Had today been too much for her?

            Too much it was indeed. Waves of emotions flowed over (y/n) like an overwhelming sea. She did everything in her power to keep herself together, but after everything that had happened today. Being captured, almost dying, Maul saving her, and now this chase; it became too much to contain as tears began to fall from her face.

            She did not want to be seen like this, especially not by Maul. He had already seen her chained to the floor and beaten, and then this? Clenching her eyes shut, she wanted to disappear into the tall grasses. ‘Helpless,’ the words flooded her mind as the dreaded feeling crept in again.

            Yet, before the feeling could travel in her any farther, a warm sensation surrounded her. Opening her eyes, black cloth surrounded her as Maul began to hold her in his arms. His body felt slightly awkward, as if he had never given anyone a hug before. However, his arms around her were enough to make her start to cry even more. Barring herself further into the layers of black fabric, she released the feelings that had been overflowing inside.

            With everything that had happened, one thing in particular came to mind. Something that, for unknown reasons, (y/n) felt crucial to tell Maul. Between sobs she spoke, “In the market… there was a radio broadcast…” Maul pulled his head back a bit so that he could look at (y/n). Her face was a mess, as her (y/hc) was glued to her face and her (y/ec) eyes shimmered behind tears. “On the station. They said the war was over… that the counselor was declaring an empire…”

            Maul’s facial expressions showed how shocked he was by her statement. As much as she wanted to enquiry on his thoughts on the matter, her feelings only continued to come out even more. Crying harder now, she continued, “I don’t know why, but when I heard the news… with everything else happening… it’s supposed to be good news, but all I can feel is fear and dread when…”

            (Y/n)’s words became more incoherent as she began to cry more. ‘The force must be very strong with her,’ Maul though, ‘if she was able to see through Sidiou’s plans; even if she did not understand what she was sensing.’ The young farmer was now uncontrollably weeping in his arms. Maul was honestly a little envious at (y/n). He could feel how difficult this was for her, but to openly cry the way she was, took a kind of strength he felt he did not have.

            Seeing as she was barely able to hold herself up, Maul picked up the smaller woman and carried her in his arms towards the farm. If she wanted to fight him on the matter, but she was too exhausted to do so. As he continued to carry her, (y/n) tears started to subside as she was starting to fall asleep in his arms. “Rest,” Maul gave the gentle command. The sun was beginning to set in the horizon, revealing the two moons that were now hovering over the farm he walked towards. “Close your eyes for now, for there is so much for you to learn.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.23}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

This one hour turned out to be way longer than the previous ones together. Admittedly, Robin did enjoy the youthful silliness of her friends, but for the most part she could only listen and offer her ever-too-grown-up take on matters on the few occasions when she was asked for her opinion. It was fun though, a bit like spending time with younger siblings. Not that Robin knew much about that, and when she dared to voice the thought, Simon and Michael –who had grown up with two and three little siblings respectively– only laughed in her face. Oh well, just fun it was then, but perhaps not like siblings after all. Just a group of unlikely friends.

At the end of the given hour, Robin wished her little group a good rest of the night and told them to meet her in the entrance hall half an hour past midnight. Before either of the confused people could ask about her enigmatic and sudden statement, Snape came to her rescue just as planned. He didn't say a word when he held his hand out to her, and she didn't say a word in return when she took it and let him pull her up to her feet. It was all in the eyes, in the words that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. The last Robin heard of her friends while Snape led her off towards the dancefloor was Cas saying something along the lines of 'and that's how you ask a girl to dance!' to the rest of the group. She couldn't help but silently smirk to herself in agreement.

The dance that followed was as much a delight as the previous one had been, as every single one of their dances had been, and once it ended all too soon as ever, neither of them could bear to stop just yet. So they did what most couples did, they stayed, and they danced to the next three pieces of song the musicians gifted them with as well. It left Robin quite breathless, but smiling more widely than she probably ever had in public. Who cares… she was just 'that insane girl', after all. This was the last ball she would be here for, and perhaps also the last time she got to dance with Snape. Even though she very much hoped that the latter wasn't truly the case.

When they finally decided that it had been quite enough exercise for the moment, a decision majorly influenced by the change in musical tone from sophisticated to what Robin graciously called 'jolly', they made their way off the dancefloor with slightly heaving chests and in purest contentment. That was, until no other than Damion Morgan stepped into their way, as if he had sensed that Robin's night was going too well. And he obviously had every intention to change that now. Not only did his eyes rake up and down Robin's form with an almost hungry look, but with an equal amount of scarily sweet smiles plastered onto his lips as well.

"Go on now, don't be shy, darling. Just ask me out." He finally spoke up with one of his flashiest grins, and his eyes locked with Robin's as he got way too close to her for anyone's comfort.

"Alright. Would you be so kind to get out of my sight?" Robin returned an exaggeratedly sweet smile that was dripping with sarcasm, and she was only glad that, hidden away under the billowing sleeves or her dress, Snape was still holding onto her hand.

"Ah, always sporting such a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind... that's how you seduce me, dear." Morgan chuckled, a brightly ringing sound that gave Robin chills of the uncomfortable kind. How could the man be so ridiculously positive, clear as crystal and bright as the sun, while yet he was the scariest person she had ever known to exist?

"Your advances are shameful at best, Damion, if not outright pathetic." Snape replied in a condescending and cold drawl, and his words were more in line with Robin's thoughts than anything she could have worded herself.

Morgan's head snapped around, and he glared at Snape with sharp shards of ice in his eyes. "Oh, and you think you are doing so much better than that? Is that why she hasn't even noticed how badly you are pining for her?"

Now Snape's eyes narrowed at the man in front of them in an unspoken threat as well. "You haven't the slightest idea what you are speaking of."

"Actually I know very well what I'm speaking of, Severus." Morgan quipped in radiant imagined superiority. "As it is, I also happen to know that you are absolutely right in your assessment of the circumstances; you really are entirely out of your league."

Robin didn't waste time thinking about the lunatic's words of hostility and instead caught his attention by speaking up calmly and with the subtlest touch of mocking sweetness. "If we are so far below you, then perhaps we shouldn't bother you any longer with our lowliness. It must be quite painful for you to dwell in such poor company, and we wouldn't want to hurt you now, would we?"

With that, Robin simply turned to leave without waiting for an answer, and she didn't even have to pull Snape along with her, for he mirrored her movement precisely in an instant. They got exactly two steps further down the hall before Morgan caught Robin by her free arm once again. His grip, as ever, more demand than inquiry.

"Dance with me." He said, without smiles, without brightness, and certainly without room for refusal.

"No." Was what Robin replied nonetheless, and this finally brought a new smile to Morgan's lips, a different one. A smile that made Robin's blood freeze over.

"That wasn't a question, darling. Dance with me, or I will see to it that you won't live to deny me again."

Robin's guarded expression kept her jaw from dropping and her eyes from growing wide, but the sheer panic that spread inside her mind and body still must've found a way to the surface. Her eyes moved from Morgan to Snape, in a silent plea for him to do something, anything, but going by his own expression, it was either killing Morgan right on the spot or letting things unfold. Robin couldn't blame him for having a similar reaction as she had herself, there was little else to do about such a display of dramaticism and insanity.

Gulping down the lump in her throat, Robin let go of Snape's hand and took the one Morgan was offering instead, even though every single cell in her body screamed in protest. As ridiculous as the threat was, she didn't doubt Morgan anymore. The lengths to which he would go to see her suffer still lay in darkness ahead of her, and she was more than reasonably reluctant to shed any light onto them now. So she let the man lead her back to the dancefloor, much like last year, while she was still aware of and very much thankful for Snape's eyes lingering on her. He wouldn't let Morgan harm her if he could prevent it, she knew that. And Snape's serious concern worried her quite a bit more than the actual prospect of getting injured. But no time to think about it now. The music started, and Morgan swirled her through the room alongside the oblivious students, professors and guests.

"You are hurting me." She finally spoke up in a quiet hiss, when his fingers dug uncomfortably into the skin of her back even through the layers of thick black fabric.

"Did it ever occur to you that you are hurting me, too?" He sighed in return, as if speaking to a child reluctant to understand. "With all those edges and corners of your wild personality… You make it ridiculously hard for me to put my mark on you. Perhaps, a little pain shall be the way to tame you after all."

A mere second later, when he moved his hand across her back oh so subtly, a sharp pain, a stinging and burning followed in the wake of his fingers at once, and Robin gasped before biting her lip to refrain from crying out. How the actual hell had he done that?! The pain dimmed down quickly enough, and nobody was paying them much attention, so it can't have been anything too serious, right? Right?! Robin released a shivering breath, then glared up at her dance partner in utmost hostility.

"If you think you can break me like some fragile plaything, you are utterly mistaken." She hissed, but it only served to make the man above her smirk. Robin wanted to slap that expression off his face, but all she could do was glare at him even more threateningly. "I can see way beneath those smiles and charming words. When I look at you, I see nothing but a monster."

"When I look at you, I see a beautiful masquerade covering the hollow darkness of inevitable death. Because that's ultimately what you are, and what you are ever going to be. A broken creature of ash and dust, and a mirror of shattered vanity." His reply came quickly and in a striking factuality, a seriousness that was unlikely for him. It left Robin short of an adequate answer for a moment, while his words cut a little deeper than she would've liked. And yet, when he spoke on, his tone was filled with bitter amusement. "It's rather ironic, isn't it? To see you clinging so desperately onto the one man who is the very essence of brokenness. Tell me, are you trying to heal him or do you merely reap what is left in the ashes? I cannot tell from what I see. But I shouldn't be the one to judge... I too desire you despite your darkness."

"You are wrong. Again, as always." She huffed in spite. "I don't like him despite the way he is, but for that very reason. He might have been broken once, but he put his pieces back together in his own way, and that makes him more appealing than anyone who has never known the courage it takes to go on after you shatter. Or the strength it takes to be better than before."

"You really are quite pathetically in love, aren't you?" Morgan sighed, sounding condescending and indifferent in a way that made Robin wish she hadn't said anything at all. But this damned man just had a way of getting to her and making her speak against her better judgement. "Ironic that it had to be Severus you are so willing to suffer for. Say, would you die for him, little songbird? I bet you would, wouldn't you? As I said; Ironic."

"If I'm pathetic for loving, you are just loving to be pathetic. Ironic indeed." She scoffed, and he squeezed the hurting spot on her back in return, making her yelp under her breath. The sound made him smirk. Bloody bastard…

When the music came to an end and the people to a halt, Robin feared that Morgan would keep her right where she was for another dance. It was a bit after eleven at this point, and even if there was still some time until midnight, she was both exhausted and desperate to get away from the man who was keeping a strong hold of her even now that the dance had ended. But to her surprise, he started leading her off the dancefloor before she even had to voice a protest or question.

"I better return you to poor Severus before he gives in to the urge to murder me, huh? Merlin's beard, that man loves you more than is good for him." Morgan chuckled quietly, but Robin honestly didn't care for his words now as long as he left her alone as soon as possible. It didn't even matter that he had fallen victim to the same delusions as everyone else. So when Morgan finally released Robin from his grasp and even had the audacity to give her a little push towards Snape, there was no time for her wounded pride when she was just lucky to be escaping his presence in the first place. Only once Robin was safely tucked into Snape's side two seconds later, she finally felt like she could breathe again.

"Thank you for the dance, my dear. Your divine company is always my highest pleasure." Morgan gave Robin another of his signature smiles. "I'm looking forward to all that is yet to come." His words couldn't have been more enigmatic and unsettling, but at least he bowed slightly and then disappeared into the crowd. Just like last year.

Robin let out a long breath to regain her composure, then looked up at Snape right at her side. He was undoubtedly angry and concerned in equal measure, as always when it came to her interactions with Morgan, and thus she offered him a small smile of reassurance.

"I'm alright, don't worry. The idiot hurt my back, but it's less painful than any of the times he slammed me into a wall in class, so it's nothing new really. It's okay."

"I let him hurt you, it is not okay."

"Do we need to be having this conversation again?" Robin gave him a look that was both pleading and defeated. "There is nothing you could've done and we both know that. All we can do is to start looking more thoroughly into what his problem with me is after the break is over."

"You are most likely right about that. Obviously." Snape sighed, then placed a gentle hand on the small of her back with a questioning gaze down at her. "May I?"

"Certainly." The smile that came to her lips now was genuine, affectionate almost, and she didn't bother hiding it from him. They both could use some calm and comfort now. "Perhaps… we could get away from the crowds for a bit?"

"Certainly." He mirrored with a not-smirk, and Robin shook her head with a chuckle. He really had a way of cheering her up even in the worst of situations, and that was something nobody else had ever been able to do.

Without waiting for a better opportunity that wouldn't come anyway, they soon made their way through the hall while pushing through various groups of people who weren't accustomed to the unspoken rule that it was better to stay out of their way. Robin had never taken much notice of it before just now, actually, but she usually never had to squeeze through somewhere. People usually stepped out of her way quite willingly and let her pass without effort. The same way they did with Snape. In a way, now that people did stay standing in her path, she found herself equally amused and irritated by that fact. Perhaps being the insane girl everyone feared based on a reputation alone really wasn't all that bad after all.

They reached the entrance hall soon enough, and in an unspoken question and likewise answer, they decided against winter robes and for a heating charm instead. It wouldn't be toasty, that was for sure, but it could keep the cold away at least, even if that left the wind to live with. Now that the snow had been replaced by rain for the majority of the previous week, it wasn't as harsh outside as it had been half a month ago, and this they could very well feel when they stepped outside into the nightly courtyard side by side. With the charm wrapping around them, the temperature was almost truly comfortable here, but then again, there was no wind inside these walls, so that wasn't too much of a surprise.

It again went wordlessly that they sauntered through the arcades and to the other end of the open space, out into the night and away from the busyness of the castle at long last. Away from the people, away from Morgan. His words still sounded as a dull echo in Robin's mind, now that everything else was silent. Not all of his nonsense had lingered of course, just… that one thing he had said wouldn't stop nagging at her. What he saw when he looked at her. The hollow darkness of inevitable death. It probably was just his overly dramatic way of being hostile and threatening, but then again, perhaps what he saw was the same thing that made everyone else scared of her as well. And as all things inevitable, it drew closer and closer to the surface, where everyone could see. Maybe that's why her reputation had grown exponentially more sinister over the years… Maybe that's why Morgan's words threatened to suffocate her now. Because she really was just a hollow darkness to the people around her.

"Talk to me, Robin…" Snape's voice drew her out of her mind as it did so often these days. They were sauntering down the hill now, almost having reached the shore of the lake… and she hadn't even noticed. "You are getting lost again, and by the look on your face I can tell that it isn't a nice place you are vanishing into. Will you just tell me what is bothering you for once, or do I have to ask on?"

"It's… just something Morgan said." She sighed deeply, and tried for a half smile when she looked up at Snape. "I really should know better by now than to let him get to me like that every single time, huh?"

"He has a way of getting under people's skin regardless of how hard they try to resist. It happens to the best."

"To you?"

"Obviously."

Robin let out a small amused huff in reply, but then stopped in her saunter and turned to face Snape when he did the same. "Can I ask you something odd?"

"Don't you always?" The returned question was more encouragement than tease for once, and Robin honestly felt glad for that. 

She knew she had to ask, but in the end she would also need the courage to bear the answer as well. Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes fixed on his and finally brought up the courage to speak the words that had been threatening to break past her lips anyway. "When you look at me... what do you see?"

"Everything." His reply came in such a calm sincerity, such genuine and complete certainty that Robin forgot how to breathe for a moment. She even forgot why she had asked in the first place, with an answer that told her so much more than the question demanded. A shiver of sheer and utter delight ran over her skin; she couldn't remember how to speak with words. So all the questions and answers of the world lay in her gaze alone. She wanted to be everything to him more than she had ever wanted anything else.

"Why do you ask?" Snape finally inquired, just as calmly as before, and the fact that his previous answer obviously was just another given to him almost made Robin laugh despite the newly arising hope. Perhaps she wasn't a token of death to everyone… to the one person that mattered she obviously was quite a bit more than that. And wasn't that by far enough?

"Morgan said that all he sees in me is a beautiful masquerade that covers the hollow darkness of inevitable death." She finally sighed with a shrug, then sauntered on towards the shore with Snape following right by her side. "But then again he also said that the sharp edges of my personality make it difficult for him to put his mark on me, so I guess I shouldn't try to find truth where there is only insanity."

"A wise decision I wholeheartedly support." He replied, just when they left the muddy path behind and crossed over onto the pebbled edge of the lake that lay in front of them as a black mirror now, reflecting only the blanket of stars above their heads. A beautiful sight that made Robin sigh as much as Snape's question that came a mere second later. "Was there anything else he said that might be disconcerting?"

"Just the usual things he keeps saying to me from time to time… How much he hates that I 'desperately cling onto you', for example. Or that you love me too much." She said before her brain had the time to fully process how stupid of a move that was. Maybe it was the hope gaining the upper hand again… but the idea that perhaps she could be everything to him indeed was burning her up from the inside now. Her hope had turned into a wildfire.

"Dumbledore really should have Morgan gagged, if he already refuses to dispose of him entirely." Snape grumbled under his breath, and Robin's heart fell a little. That wasn't the reaction she hadn't technically allowed herself to hope for but had hoped for nonetheless. Of course it would upset him to hear these accusations… what had she been expecting? Ridiculous.

"Oh, you'd have to gag quite a few more people than him if it's just about these remarks." She finally replied with a sad chuckle, then with a silent sigh. "Too many people have been insinuating things like that recently. You know… about you and me. Us."

"Ah." His voice dropped down an octave, and the deep frown on his falling features was suddenly accompanied by a tinge of rising bitterness in his tone, a shadow of sincere sadness in his eyes. Then it was all apathy again before the fleeting emotions could be grasped. "I can see why that thought would be repelling to you."

And for once, encouraged by the shadowy ghosts of expressions she had seen on his face, Robin let her heart speak instead of her mind. "Actually, it just makes me wish quite desperately that it was true."

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles @istrugglewithphilosophy @meghan-maria @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @darkestacademiaaa @nizem8 @girilimoni

General Tags:

@wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @lemonmochitea

[shirtlesssammy]

5x12: Swap Meat

At a bar, a woman sits alone, enjoying her margarita, when one Sam Fucking Winchester wanders over and asks the barkeep ---NOT at all awkwardly--for a banana daiquiri. He’s either deep undercover or something is seriously hinky. There’s a lot of sugar in banana daiquiris, Sam. Crystal introduces herself and Sam introduces himself as Gary! She then propositions him, much to his cluelessness. 

The poor dumb boy puts it together and “would love to have the sex with [her].” We then pan over to see Sam REALLY isn’t Sam at all.

Housatonic, Massachusetts

36 Hours Earlier

Sam and Dean visit Donna, an old babysitter --well, she was a maid at a motel they’d stay at while John went hunting. She looked out for them. It seems that her family house has a poltergeist problem. Bumps and broken items have led to the thing attacking their daughter, Katie. 

Katie lifts her shirt to reveal “Murderd Chylde” carved into her abdomen. I'd get some serious vaseline on those wounds if you don’t want scarring, Katie. Yeesh. Sam and Dean tell the family to skedaddle while they take care of things. 

They stop at a diner for food next. Dean picks up their order from the counter from Banana Daiquiri Gary! He’s not impressed with Sam’s salad shake, and neither is Dean (but when is he ever?) 

They talk about Donna and how she’s got a good thing going. Dean asks Sam if he’d want to settle down at all and have a family, and Sam answers, “no.” Dean looks contemplative about it. 

Sam finds lore on the house. A Samuel Pickett owned the house in the 1700s and hung a woman, Maggie Briggs, there for witchcraft. As the brothers talk, we watch Gary hyperfixate on Sam. 

Sam goes to check out the town’s archives for where Maggie Briggs was buried. As he’s walking back to the motel, he hears a noise and then gets shot in the neck with a dart. Lights out, Sammy. 

He comes to later, wearing Gary’s work uniform. He starts walking but the cops pick him up claiming his family is worried about him. “My brother called you?” Sam asks, incredulous. 

No. The cops take him to a suburban house where a worried couple pops out and hugs Sam in relief. He asks who they are and in return they want to know if he’s drunk. 

They keep calling him Gary. It’s then that Sam looks in the window of the cop car --and sees his reflection. He looks like Gary!

Meanwhile, Gary is checking out his hot new bod. Dean shows up and wonders where he’s been. Gary placates him with food. He also tells Dean that the maid saw all their weapons and they better get out of there. While Dean uses the restroom, Gary gets rid of all Dean’s phones. 

THEN he has the NERVE to ask to drive. He doesn’t get far. And quite frankly, Dean’s spidey sense should be spiking through the ceiling at this point. 

Sam keeps trying to reach his brother, with no luck. He calls the motel to learn that the two dudes in room 102 left in the middle of the night. So, Sam starts digging through Gary’s stuff and discovers items of witchcraft. Before he can dig too much further though, he’s called to the family breakfast. 

His “dad” starts grilling him about getting drunk the night before. Sam’s got better things to worry about than placating some dude he doesn’t know. He also needs to learn more about Gary, so he starts interviewing the family about what they've noticed in him lately. 

The dad wants to know if Sam’s “smoking drugs”. Sam then asks if they’ve ever seen him with a black book recently. His sister, Sydney, reacts to that question. The mom reacts to him eating toast --his allergy to wheat gluten!! 

Sydney later reveals to Sam that there IS a book.

Gary and Dean are still working the case. Dean informs Gary that they have to search graves for Maggie’s body. Nerd of Nerd’s Gary knows exactly where Maggie Briggs is buried: Isiah Pickett’s basement. He also reveals that he murdered her and her unborn child before burying them in the basement. Dean connects the ‘murderd chylde’ clue. 

Once in the car, Bob Seger starts blasting, and Gary tells Dean to turn it up. 

Sam continues to leave messages for Dean. He ALSO has to navigate the tortures of high school again. Sam meets two of Gary’s friends and asks where his locker is (he’s still drunk, after all). 

For This is a Look TM Science:

(And let’s pause for a moment to enjoy Sam’s striped hoodie. Definitely one of the top 5 wardrobe choices on this show.) 

He finds the book in the back of Gary’s locker. 

Gary and Dean find the grave in the basement of the Pickett house. Dean gets to digging while Gary aims his gun at Dean. Before he can shoot, the ghost comes out to play. It starts beating up the both of them but Gary’s able to burn the bones.

Gary’s extremely nosy friends follow Sam out of the school. While it looks like we’re gearing up for some good ol’ Ferris Bueller shenanigans, Trevor shoots Sam in the throat (GAH) with a sedative dart. 

Meanwhile, at a bar, Dean orders a burger with extra bacon and a fried egg on top. Excuse me...I need to go eat an entire branchbouquet of kale in retaliation. Mysteriously, Sam orders the same thing. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Dean asks. But it’s just a lighthearted comment and they raise a toast to a successful hunt.

Gary’s over the moon overabout the day he just had. His joy makes Dean suspicious the way nothing else has. Oh, you sweet sad sunflowers. Gary lays out Sam Winchester’s happiness list: 1) gun 2) getting drunk 3) looks like Sam Winchester.

“You ever feel like your whole future is being decided for you?” Gary asks. OH YES, Dean tells him. I forget for a minute that I’m watching a season 5 episode as the Dean-Winchester-feels-trapped-in-the-narrative-sorrow threatens to overwhelm me. But there areis no time for FEELINGS when the narrative must go on! Cut to later in the night, when Gary gets picked up by the woman in the bar from the cold open. Dean puts his thinking face on while Gary ecstatically leaves the bar. 

Back at Kid Kidnapperz clubhouse, Sam’s tied up. Trevor calls Gary and asks him if he’s killed Dean yet. “I’m working up to it,” Gary replies while sitting shirtless under a leopard print bedspread in the cougar’s lair. (Just...no on SO MANY LEVELS.) Sam listens to this with great alarm.

Sam demands to know how these rando teenagers know Dean. “Everybody knows Dean. He’s Hell’s most wanted,” Trevor retorts. Sam puts two and two together and comes up with a coupla dumb kids who took a deep dive into witchcraft and started talking to demons. 

“You’re just kids,” Sam laments. Trevor and Nora fill in more blanks. They were messing around with a Moste Dark Booke of Witchcraftery, as one does, and suddenly Gary went into a trance and drew a fairly decent picture of Dean. Gary also heard a voice - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network.

Gary heard a voice in his head - it was setting a bounty on Dean’s head, and apparently broadcast through the witch trance network. Nora now has second thoughts, so Trevor ups his stupidity game and starts to summon a demon. 

That night, Gary creeps into the motel room and grabs Dean’s gun up from a nearby chair. He cocks the pistol. . He aims it at the shape under the covers...and Dean grabs him from behind and demands to know who he really is. (Silly Gary, Dean stopped sleeping under covers after he got back from Hell.)

Back in Trevor’s basement, he finishes the demon summoning. Nora looks up with black eyes.

She’s very interested to learn that they’ve got Dean Winchester in their sights. Trevor tells her where Dean is immediately. She absorbs this and swings her attention to Sam. She realizes it’s Sam “Boy King of Hell” Winchester sitting there and is suddenly VERY interested. Trevor asks her where his reward is, and when he pushes for it she first taunts, then kills him. (All the while Sam is in the background GRINDING HIS TEETH.)

Gary weeps, tied up in the motel room while Dean listens to voicemail after voicemail from Sam. Gary babbles about Sam’s whereabouts but it’s too late. Demon!Nora saunters in and lobs Dean across the room. Wherps. She offers Gary a powerful future but first he’s got to meet “the boss.” All he has to do is say “Yes” and they can have a nice chat together! Very sneaky! Dean attacks her while she’s cooking up her big plan and then Gary and Dean tag team an exorcism, freeing Nora of the demon. Later, Gary performs the incantation to swap bodies with Sam again. (I shake my head yet again that THIS is the ONLY body swap episode we got in the whole fifteen season run. What a goddamn waste of comedy potential.

With Sam restored to normal (or as normal as a Winchester can get), Dean confronts Gary. He tells him that if he were just a little older, he’d be dead right now. With those comforting parting words, they bring Gary and Nora back to their lives. Sam tells Gary to quit his whining about his life. It’s possible to rebel in a “healthy, non-satanic way.” Furthermore, he tells Gary that he wishes he had his life. Once the kids are out of earshot, Dean comments on Sam’s kind words. “Totally lied. Kid’s life sucked ass.” The apple-pie family crap is stressful, Sam decides. 

Maybe they just don’t know what they’re missing, Dean rejoins, and I calmly tie an anvil around my ankle and drop it off a cliff into a dramatically large canyon. 

They head out into the rainy night...to fight another day!

Doppelquöter:

You ever think that you'd want something like that? Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?

No matter how much you fight it, you can't stop the plan. The stupid, stupid plan

Um, I wouldn't exactly call praying to our dark overlord “goofing around”

 Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[simplyswooningk]

Fanfiction Teaser: The Strategist| Coming April 2021 to FF.net and A03 | Chapter One, “The Professor & The Madman”

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ron and Hermione

Premise: Begins Post Half-Blood Prince. “Wars are not for children,” Arthur said with a deep sigh. 

“It’s a good thing I’m not a kid anymore, isn’t it, Dad?” 

                                                     The Strategist  

“War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”-J.R.R Tolkien

“The Minstrel-Boy to the War has gone! In the ranks of death, you will find him. His father’s sword he hath girded on and his wild harp slung behind him. ‘Land of song,’ said the warrior-bard, ‘Though all the world betrays thee. One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard. One faithful harp shall praise thee.’”-Thomas Moore

                                                    One:

                          The Professor & The Madman

Ronald Weasley had never seen Hogwarts so silent. The place seemed frozen, stuck, dead. He shuddered at his train of thought. It had been barely an hour since Albus Dumbledore, largely regarded as the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ever known, had been laid to rest.

His murderer, Professor Snape, was gone, had left like the ruddy coward he was along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Snape had never been anywhere near Ron’s favorite teacher, but he never could have imagined anything like this. To make matters worse, Dumbledore had trusted Snape. That mistake had cost him everything.

Ron found himself sitting on the Quidditch Pitch. It was empty, no one had a thought for Quidditch. The days of worrying about his Keeper abilities and how to pass his N.E.W.T.S seemed as far away as his life before Hogwarts.  

His parents were catching up with old friends, but they had announced that they would be leaving in two hours, his mother was especially was eager for him and Ginny to be at home. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t be staying long.

Dumbledore had given Harry Potter a mission. You Know Who had a secret, several of them it seemed, and they had to find them all and destroy them. Horcruxes.  

He, Harry and Hermione Granger were setting off a mission to find and destroy each of those Horcruxes. Seven of them. Two had already been dispensed. And one would only be gone when He Who Must Not Be Named popped his clogs for good.

 Apparently, they could be anything. One they knew about. It was the locket of Slytherin. But who knew where they would find that?  

And then there was this mysterious R.A.B character who had somehow stolen the locket.  No one had the foggiest idea who he was. So, they were heading headlong into disaster without a clue as to what to do.

He honestly shouldn’t have been surprised. After his first year at Hogwarts, having to deal with a giant, living chess set and then a murderous diary, a violent tree and a killer snake in his second had pretty much taught him to be prepared for anything.  

There was a part of him that wanted to just go home. A part of him that wanted spend a quiet summer at home, go to Hogwarts for his seventh year and start life in the real world.

But he knew he was kidding himself. With Dumbledore gone and You-Know-Who gaining ground every second, if they didn’t end it, there wouldn’t be a real world. So, he would fight. There was nothing to do but fight. He knew Hermione felt the same way, but if he could’ve kept her away from it all, he would. More than anything, he wanted to keep her safe.  

Harry had disappeared somewhere off with Ginny, and although he had had his reservations about their relationship, there were far worse guys for his only sister to date. Although she couldn’t have picked a more troublesome bloke.  

Then again, Ginny had always liked trouble. She'd be coming back to school next year. Ron couldn’t imagine what Hogwarts would be like without Dumbledore.  

He looked up to the window where the old Headmaster’s office had been. It was hard to imagine anyone else ever being there.  

Hs eyes fell to the window where Potions class was. Snape had taught there, pretending that he wasn’t a Death Eater, pretending that he could be trusted. The whole thing made him want to vomit and then punch something.  

And then he thought of Slughorn. He apparently had written a fucking book for Voldemort: How To Make A Horcrux: A Guide for Fucking Demented Psychopaths. His mother had often told him that not all Slytherins were evil, but the whole lot of them seemed to be nothing but trouble.  

But then again, if he’d wrote the book, he might have the answers. 

He made his way back into the castle, grabbed the Marauder's Map from Harry’s trunk and searched for Slughorn’s name. He was in a part of the castle Ron had never ventured. But there was no time for trepidation now.

He made his way to the Teacher’s Wing. He found himself outside Slughorn’s quarters. He knocked, but there was no answer. Normally, he would’ve turned away, but it was no time to waste on civilities.

He walked in. “Professor? Professor Slughorn?”  

He heard some shuffling about and he instantly reached for his wand. These days, no one could be too careful.

“Oh, Mr. Wemby!” Ron fought the urge not to roll his eyes. This man literally had taught generations of his entire fucking family and he couldn’t remember his last name. It wasn’t as if they all bore a strong family resemblance and had the same hair color.  

Oh, wait a second, it was.

What made it worse was that he’d nearly died because of Slughorn and a box of Love Potion-tainted chocolate cauldrons.  

“How are you, my boy? Avoiding more poisonings, I hope?”

“Doing my best, sir,” Ron said with a smile. “If I might have a word?”

“Certainly, my boy,” said the aged professor and Ron noted that he took a rather pointed look at his hourglass. “Although I am in quite of a hurry.”

“You’re leaving Hogwarts?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t dare. Now, with everything that’s happened. You-Know-Who will come for this place, I guarantee you. Someone will have to help watch over the students. No, I was just heading down to the greenhouses. With Death Eaters knocking on every corner, there’s a couple of plants that I should like to have on hand.”

Ron nodded and squared his shoulders. “Well, I won’t take up too much of your time, sir. Sir, I’m aware of what you gave Harry about...You-Know-Who.”

Ron watched the professor’s face go white. “Sir, believe, I’m not here to give you a hard time about it,” he said quickly. “I just want your help with something.”

Professor Slughorn’s back straightened. "I've already given Harry everything.” His voice was stiff and dismissive, but Ron didn’t have time to get upset.

“I know. But I was just wondering, is there anything else you know that might be helpful. You see, Harry’s going to try and destroy all of the Horcruxes. That’s right, he did make Horcruxes, sir. Six of them, apparently.  I'm going with Harry. Me and Ms. Granger. Is there anything you know that may be able to help us? Anything about Horcruxes, anything about You-Know-Who. Dumbledore said you were his favorite teacher.”  

The professor scoffed. “Ah yes, my claim to fame. The favorite teacher of the Darkest Wizard our world has ever known. What a nice epithet that will be, I’m sure. Of course, Harry would go for the Horcruxes. He’s Dumbledore’s man through and through.” Slughorn turned thoughtful for a moment. “That may not always be a good thing, mind you. Sit down, Weatherby.”  

Ron did as he was told.  

“I really shouldn’t tell you much,” the professor began. “It would be quite... well, I suppose none of that will even matter.” He sighed and Ron thought he was looking at a man who was clearly at war with himself.  

“I’ve often thought about that night, the night I told him about some of the darkest magic known to Wizarding kind. I believed his curiosity natural, admirable. How wrong I was. The first thing you ought to know is that none of the items will be insignificant. They'll be things that were important to him.  But they’ll also be things considered magically significant. He likes power, he like things connected with the past. Dumbledore—,” his voice caught briefly as he mentioned the old Headmaster, “may have told you as much. And his favorite place is this school. It is the only place he ever felt at home.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Do you think one of the objects is here, sir?”  

“Well, there could be no better hiding place, could there?”  

“Sir, do you know how to destroy one?”

Slughorn sighed. “I have never learned the spell to create one. But a good wizard is curious about such things. But only curious. What I can tell you is that making horcruxes is not an easy business, my boy. Destroying them is far, far worse. There's only a couple of things in the world that can do so and most of them will kill a wizard just as easily. Basilisk venom, for one. I don’t think I need to tell how hard that is to come by. And no, I haven’t got any. If I did, I'd give it to you. There’s also Fiendfyre. It’ll destroy the Horcrux but if you’re not careful, it’ll take you right out with it. And then there is a Potion.”

“A Potion?”

Slughorn nodded. “Horcruxes, my boy, can be anything. Including flesh and blood. Now normally, you’d just kill the living thing and the Horcrux inside it right along with it. But, if for some reason, you want to remove the Horcrux without killing the host, there is a potion for that.”  

Slughorn got up from his chair and walked back to a cupboard, shuffling about for a moment before picking out a small vial with a reddish-black liquid. He brought it back to the table and handed it to Ron.

“This is Actuscaria. It's one of the rarest potions in the world. It's incredibly tricky to make and it has about a thousand different uses, one of them is destroying Horcruxes inside of living things.”

Ron looked at the potion, fascinated, more fascinated than he’d ever been by a potion before. “How does it do that, sir?”

“Actuscaria can only be made by love.”

Ron looked at the professor, blue eyes clouded with confusion.

“As in the act of love.” Ron still looked perplexed. “As in making it, Mr. Weasley.” 

Understanding dawned in Ron’s eyes, he turned bright red and eyed the bottle curiously. He was so fascinated that he didn’t realize that Slughorn finally got his blasted name right.

“But not just any act of love Mr. Weasley, the first act of love. To put it into frankly, the potion is made from the blood of a virgin witch.” Ron turned even redder, but if Slughorn noticed, he didn’t let on.  

“The blood that is shed during the act of deflowering.” Ron blushed again, this time the color of a ripe tomato. “Also, the blood has to be combined with the seed of the wizard who has deflowered her. Given that she has been deflowered, this combination happens rather naturally. Also, you need the entire fingernail of each of their left hands. Combine that with three drops of phoenix tears, brewed in a cauldron made from dragon’s eggs and the fire lit only with elm wood for eight days and seven nights. But the most important part of this is that the witch and wizard must be in love. Not some childish, silly infatuation, but truthfully, truly in love or it will not work. Horcruxes are formed by murder, a violation against nature. But the act of love, true love at its purest is the very affirmation of nature. It’s Old Magic, you see, nothing more powerful. Guard it, Mr. Weasley, with your life. Even if you never have cause to use it, it’s worth five times its weight in gold.”

Ron reached out a slightly trembling hand to grasp the potion. It seemed so unremarkable, so ordinary. It didn’t look revolting like Polyjuice or deadly like Night of the Living Death.

“Thank you, Professor...for everything,” Ron said, standing up. “I’ll need to finish packing.”

Professor Slughorn nodded and Ron began to walk away. Right before, he reached the door, he turned around.

“Professor, is there anything, anything else at all that you can tell me?”

The aged potions master looked up from his desk. “Yes. Godspeed, my boy. Godspeed.”  

Ron nodded. That wasn’t terribly helpful but he knew he meant well. Which considering the circumstances, was probably the most anyone could do.

“Mr. Weasley,” the professor called out before Ron had reached the back of the classroom. “Before you go, if you have a moment, feel free to take whatever you’d like from the Potions Storeroom. If you’re going to try and stop...him, you never know what you may need.”

Ron nodded and with one final farewell, he left the Good Professor to ponder that one fateful conversation. Ron had learned this year how much damage one action could cause.

As he headed back to Gryffindor Tower, he thought of everything the Professor had told him. Was it possible He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had hidden a Horcrux at Hogwarts? He didn’t pretend to know how the psycho thought, he left that up to Harry.  

But if you were going to hide something you never wanted anyone to find, where else would you hide it?  

He arrived in the Gryffindor common room, which was all but deserted. Hermione was sitting on the couch her legs propped up on her trunk, clearly deep in thought.

 He was supposed to meet his parents and Ginny in the Great Hall in a hour and a half. Hermione would be coming with them and then taking the Floo Network back to her house.  

She looked sad, she looked worried. She looked beautiful. All he wanted to do was hold her.

It hadn’t been the best year for their friendship. Theirs had always been a friendship of push and pull. But the past year, there wasn’t any pushing, only pulling away.  

He honestly didn’t know where it had all gone wrong. Okay, so he did.  

Jealousy, immaturity, insecurity, Ginny’s goading, Lavender’s sudden attention, Quidditch fears and Quidditch glory; it had been a toxic cocktail.

They were back on good terms finally. Near death experiences tended to make people forget pettiness.  It was nice to know that they could never really be angry with each other. He never doubted her being there when it counted. He hoped she thought the same.

But that was part of the problem...he didn’t know what she thought...of him. He could read her moods like the back of his hand, could tell when she was angry, moody, stressed. He knew how to piss her off like nobody else. But he hadn’t quite worked out how to make her happy.  

He had just begun to realize that was what he wanted to do, possibly, probably, definitely more than he wanted anything else.  

Denial had long been his picked poison when it came to his feelings for Hermione, but now, now he didn’t want to hide them anymore. But there were a million reasons he had to.

There were a lot of things unsaid. It didn’t make sense to say them now, not when the whole world was at stake. If they lived, there would be time to say it all. But of course, that was a very big if.  

“Hey,” she said with the smallest of smiles. He returned her smile and came to sit beside her.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asked. “Mum and Dad are going to be in Hogsmeade in an hour.”

“She’s down at Hagrid’s...with Harry. I think she wants to spend as much time with as she can.”

Ron nodded and then shook his, not needing that particular image in his head. Harry had been his best friend for the better part of six years, but still there were just some things one didn’t want to imagine about their little sister.

“How are you?” he asked. “I mean, really?”

Hermione shrugged. “Fair,” she responded. “It’s a lot to do. A lot to plan. I’ll be coming to the Burrow next week.”  

“So soon?” he asked. Not that he minded. But Hermione usually didn’t come to the Burrow until the last week of summer.  

“Yes,” she said rather quickly and he got the distinct feeling that there was something she wasn’t saying. “Is that all right?” she asked, brown eyes searching his.

He turned red. “Of course. Of course, it’s all right. I just thought that maybe with everything that’s going on, you’d want to spend more time at home...with your folks.”

Hermione shrugged. “With everything that’s going on, I'd love to never leave home. But that’s not really an option, is it? No use in prolonging the inevitable.”

“Have you thought of what you’re going to tell them?”  

Hermione didn’t answer for a long moment and then just shook her head. “I don’t know how to have that conversation. But in any event, have you thought of what you’re going to tell Mrs. Weasley? That's the real dangerous one, isn’t it?”  

Ron, despite his worry and trepidation, laughed. “You’re right about that one,” he said with a grin. She grinned back and for a moment, everything was okay.  

“We’ll be okay, Hermione,” he told her with confidence he couldn’t quite justify.

She scoffed slightly. “You sound certain.”  

“Well, you’re coming, aren’t you?”  

She smiled, the first one he could remember seeing that reached her eyes in a long while. Then he remembered his conversation with Slughorn.

“I went to speak to Slughorn,” he said. “To see if he knew anything that could help us.”

Hermione frowned at that. “Ron, we’re not supposed to tell anyone! You could put him in danger.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, for Merlin’s sake, Harry already told him something. And in case you didn’t notice, all of us are already in fucking danger.”

Hermione bit her lower lip and exhaled loudly, the way she always did when he was correct and she didn’t want to admit it. “Well, what did he say?” she asked finally a long pause.

Ron proceeded to say tell her the gist of his conversation with Slughorn. Although, he left out the part of the instructions for Actuscaria. There were some things he just didn’t feel comfortable talking about. Not with her.  

Besides, Hermione being Hermione, she would, at some point, look up the recipe anyway.

“Basilisk venom,” she said once Ron had finished his story. “Where on earth are we going to find Basilisk venom?”  

Ron thought for a moment. “I know where. Come on,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. They had no time to waste.

He dismissed the way his heart was beating as nerves and anticipation and not having anything to do with the way her hand felt in his. No, that had nothing to do with it at all.  

They stood there for the briefest of seconds, hand-in-hand, eyes searching into another and for a second, the never-ending fast-fowarding tape that had been their experience at Hogwarts seemed to pause.

But that moment, like all moments akin to it, ended too quickly.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Ron said blinking rapidly, breaking the intensity of their eye contact.  

“You mind telling me where we’re going?” Hermione asked as they raced down the steps of Gryffindor Tower.

“Girls’ lavatory on the second floor.”

“What?” Hermione asked as she ran beside him, their hands still tightly clasped. 

“Chamber of Secrets,” he said in a hushed whisper though the halls were nearly deserted.

They got there in record time. Ron had never known it to be so easy to sneak around Hogwarts. Without Dumbledore’s presence, nothing felt safe.

He didn’t like that feeling. Hogwarts’ had been his family’s home from home for centuries. Despite everything he had been through in his six years there, he had never felt truly, truly at risk.

Of course, the Ministry would do everything they could to keep everyone safe. But if he was going to judge by the stories Bill had told him about the early days of the First War, he wasn’t exactly filled with confidence.

But now wasn’t the time for his fears to get the better of him.

He gripped her hand tighter as they entered into the bathroom and found themselves facing the row of sinks.  

He felt for the Snake-shaped clasp hidden since Tom Riddle had walked these halls. It felt weird doing this without Harry, he had to admit. But he had a feeling had things were going to get dicey, Harry would need all the help he could get.  

“How do we get in?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Parseltongue,” Ron said as he thought back to the last time he’d been there. Parseltongue always sounded creepy and disturbing to him, but Harry mumbled it a lot in his sleep. Ron had only picked up on it subconsciously, but he hoped he had enough not to botch it.

The whispery, slithery words felt unnatural and harsh on his tongue, but it worked. The tap began to move and Hermione gasped in awe.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered as the tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets opened.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to jump,” Ron told her. “You may want to hold on.”

Hermione peered down the tunnel, eyes wide. “Hold on to what?” her voice was highly confused.

“To me,” he said motioning to his shoulders.  

“Oh,” a blush crept across her face and Ron pretended he didn’t notice as he fought his own burning cheeks. Her arms wrapped around the top of his chest and he prayed that she couldn’t feel his heart beating, though he knew it was pounding.

Her little hands clasped around him, delicate and dainty but he knew what damage those hands could do. The contrast simultaneously amused and aroused him. But he shook himself of those thoughts. Focus, focus, she’s only a girl.

But of course, even as they jumped down the tunnel, he knew he was kidding himself. She was The Girl. The Girl He Wanted, The Girl He Needed, The Girl He Loved. Love?  

It seemed so foreign, yet as they whooshed down the tunnel, he could think of no reason to dispel it. He loved her. When the fuck had that happened?

It was unsettling to be with the notion of love as they were sliding down a dark, creepy dangerous tunnel in preparation of an even more dangerous mission where the best-case scenario was if they won, they most likely be dead as a result.

They slid down the tunnel and Hermione rapped his shoulders tighter as their speed increased.

Ron cast a silent Cushioning Charm because the memory of barreling into hundred thousand mouse skeletons was far from his favorite thing.

They landed with a thud and Hermione’s hands instantly left Ron’s shoulders. He was surprised by how instantly he felt the loss of her touch and how much he longed for it again.

“Oh, my God,” Hermione said as she looked around. There was rubble, dust and ash everywhere.

“We’ll have to bombard our way through,” Ron told her pulling out his wand. “Three tons of rock dropped last time, so let’s be careful.”  

Hermione nodded and pulled out her own wand. “I’m right behind you,” agreed with a grin.  

He took her hand in his. “If we need to make a quick exit, Side-Long Apparation?”  

She nodded and they pressed forward until they reached the Chamber Door.

Another round of Parseltongue from Ron later, the door opened and they found themselves in a room which they had only heard about secondhand from Harry and Ginny.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Hermione asked as they entered the Chamber.

Ron pulled a look. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Yes, I've spent my free learning the secret language of psychos.”

“Not all Slytherins are evil, Ronald.”  

“Name one you like.”

He had her there. She gave no answer and merely shrugged.

They both paused when their eyes fell upon the basilisk skeleton.

“Bloody hell,” whistled Hermione as she took the whole thing in.

“Hey don’t sweat it. It's dead. We’ve got living monsters to worry about. What's that Shakespeare quote you always say, ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here’?”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. “I said that once three years ago. You remember that?”

Ron colored slightly and shrugged in reply. “I guess. Let’s get the fangs.”  

He started to kneel down, reaching to grab a fang.

“Ron, wait! We should remove those with magic. What if you accidentally scratched yourself?”

Ron had jumped back at her words. “Oh, right. Brilliant, you are.”  

She smiled at that and pulled out her wand. They carefully magically removed twelve basilisk fangs from the remains of the vicious snake. Hermione conjured up a backpack for them to place them in.

“You know, Ron,” Hermione said as she zipped up the backpack. “This is going to be really dangerous what we’re doing.”

He nodded, as she rose to stand right in front of him. “Have you thought about it, if we don’t make it?”  

She nodded and then shrugged, though he thought he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I have. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? What matter is—,”

“Harry,” he finished for her. “Harry has to make it through. That's what the prophecy said.”

Hermione sniffled. “Harry,” she agreed. “God, if I had known that we may not be coming back next here, that we may not be coming back at all, I would’ve done so much so differently.”

He looked at her for a long moment, wondering if she was talking about what he thought.  

He looked down at his shoes. “Me too,” he began rather meekly. He lifted his face to meet hers again and smiled. “I think about all that time I spent worrying about Quidditch. Like that matters now.”

“Ron, I’m sorry about the birds, if I never apologized for that before.”  

He grinned. He hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “Thanks,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry about...everything.” Although, he couldn’t remember what he apologizing for. But he figured it was best to cover the bases.

She chuckled lightly. “You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”  

He shook his head, amused by her ability to see right through him. “Not really, no. But I figured it couldn’t hurt. I'm sorry about Lavender.”  

She shook her head. “Don’t apologize,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault she fancied you. I just overreacted...a bit.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A bit?”

“All right, a lot. I just I can’t believe you fancied her.”

“Well, I didn’t...I mean not really.”

“Ronald, that’s horrible.”  

“I know,” he said somewhat guiltily. “It’s just she fancied me, and I guess I fancied that and before I knew it, it had gotten out of hand. Then you weren’t speaking to me—,”  

Hermione scoffed. “Oh, so you were trying to stick it to me by snogging her? Real mature, that is.”

Ron found his ire rising. “Oh, and just what the fucking hell were you doing with McClaggen, then? Research into the mind of right arrogant pricks?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t!”

“Well, I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t....” he trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

But Hermione was having none of that. “If I hadn’t what, Ronald?” she folded her arms and waited and he knew she would wait. Because the only person more stubborn that him was her.  

He knew he wasn’t about to admit to rational behavior, which is why he did not want to admit it.

“Ginnyutoldmeukissedkrum,” he said quickly and primarily to the floor.  

“What?”

He sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation. But maybe, just maybe, now wasn’t the time to leave things unsaid.  

“Ginny told me you kissed Krum.”

Hermione blinked very fast for a few moments, the way she always did when she was thinking. She looked confused, then she looked agitated, then she looked annoyed. Very annoyed. At him.  

“You mean two years ago?” she asked her voice dripping with derision.  

His eyes looked at the floor again. “Well...yeah.”

“Let me get this straight: you started snogging Lavender because Ginny told you about me and Viktor?”

“Well, I started snogging Lavender because she started snogging me, but I can’t say that didn’t have something to do with it.”

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. She raked a hand through her hair. “This is all so silly. You could’ve talked to me about that, you know?”

“I can’t talk to you about him,” he said honestly. “It makes me crazy.”

“Why?!” she exploded. “Why does it drive you so mad?”

“Because,” he snapped, just as heated. “Because,” he said somewhat more calmly once he saw the look in her eyes. “I just...it’s the thought of him with you...instead...instead of me.”

He hoped he didn’t look as crestfallen or as foolish as he thought he sounded. But he was sure he saw pity in her expression.

“Oh, Ron,” she said softly. She shook her head again and he knew she was thinking that he was an idiot. “You didn’t even know I was a girl back then.”  

He colored. “I did. I knew you were a girl. I just didn’t know back then that you meant something to me...as a girl, you know, not just a friend.”  

She blinked and her face lifted in kind of a smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

“You do?” he said, surprised.

She nodded. “I go red with rage when I think about you and Lav-Lav.”

“I noticed,” he said wryly thinking of birds pecking his flesh.  

“You know, all this could’ve been avoided if we had only spoken to one another,” she said with a resigned sigh.

He nodded. “You’re right. You're always right.”

“Not always.” She looked  

“You know if I had known if we weren’t coming back here next year, if we might not be coming back at all...I would’ve asked you to the Yule Ball. I would've gone to Slughorn’s Christmas Do. But in my defense, I didn’t know you were asking me out.”  

She raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond.

“I mean maybe I thought or maybe I hoped but it doesn’t matter. The point is if I had known how high the stakes were going to get, I would’ve done a lot of things.” He took a breath, not wanting the moment to pass. “Most of all, I would’ve done this.”  

He leaned forward, way, way, way forward, since compared to him, she was practically house-elf sized. He waited for her to stop him, waited for her to push him away or flee from the expanding closeness between them.

In the back of his mind, he didn’t know if he had the right to do this, after all, no admissions of feelings had passed between them. Then again, maybe when you knew each other as well as they did, words were a little less necessary.  

He kept leaning until their faces were inches apart. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding dramatically.

His lips brushed against hers, softly, slowly asking a question. He thought he felt her gasp or shiver or something he couldn’t quite name. Her lips were soft and they tasted like honey. He pressed his against her lips harder, asking the question again.

She answered, her lips playing over his in return. God, he was kissing Hermione. And she was kissing him back. It was nothing like those lung-collapsing snog marathons with Lavender. It was soft and sweet and...intimate.  

He dared himself to be bold, there was no point in turning back now. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She felt small and frail against him and a wave of protectiveness ran through his veins, barely reined in by his desire to keep kissing her.  

Her mouth opened and suddenly her taste was everywhere, on his tongue, in his mind, in his heart. Her hands clasped around his shoulders, bringing him deeper and he heard her moan slightly.  

That one, little breathy exhalation went straight to his cock. All the things he wanted to do to her rushed through his brain in a series of flashes. Suddenly his lips were on her neck, chasing the sound that fell from her lips. Her skin was feather-soft against his lips and all he wanted to do was mark it, claim it as his own.

His lips lingered on a spot underneath her chin which caused another raspy moan, louder than the one before to fall from her lips.

Ron felt himself harden, and they were close enough where he knew she could feel it. Something in the back of his mind told him to stop, but he couldn’t. He was addicted to having her in his arms, on his skin, and the sounds and shudders she made as he touched her. His lips sought hers again for another deep, nearly bruising kiss.

His hands began to roam up her waist, she shifted closer to him, her foot kicking the backpack. One of the basilisk fangs fell out and clattered to the ground.

That one sound snapped Hermione back into reality. She pulled her lips away abruptly. Her hands left his shoulders and she moved an inch away.  

Ron’s eyes shut open, afraid that he had gone too far, pushed past the limit. He waited for to say something. Waited for the inevitable heartbreak he knew was coming.  

“We can’t do this,” she said softly.

He instantly deflated but tried to hide it. “You’re right,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound shaky. “I’m sorry, I should have never. I didn’t mean to...take advantage of you and I can’t blame you if you want to slap me or hex me or send more birds but I've still got scabs from that so if you could lay off—,”  

“Ron, what are you talking about?” She looked up at him, confused. “You didn’t take advantage of me.”

They both blushed as the weight of their action sunk in.

“Soooo,” Ron tested the waters. “You don’t want to hex me?”

She laughed softly. “No, no, quite the opposite actually.”

He couldn’t help but beam at that. She placed a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. “We can’t do this...not now,” she quickly amended. “Right now, we don’t matter. The only thing that matters is—,”

“Harry,” interjected Ron. “The only thing that matters right now is Harry. Harry has to make it through.”

She dropped her hand from his face and matching sad, resigned smiles crossed their faces.  

“We could die,” Ron said briefly. He wasn’t sad, or even upset about it. He knew it was a fact.  

Hermione nodded. “We could. But that really doesn’t matter either, does it?” She shook her, frustration clouding her features. “You know, this year was a waste. When I think that we could’ve just...”

“Spent all year snogging,” Ron suggested for her. No use in beating around the bush anymore  

She rolled her eyes. “You did spend half the year snogging.”

Ron shrugged sheepishly. “Well, yeah, but she wasn’t you.” He enjoyed the smile on her face at his words.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not of dying. I’m more scared of what’ll happen if we don’t win. But I was scared of dying before I lived.”

“You’re not anymore?” she seemed surprised.

“Nope,” he said with a rakish grin. “I’ll get to remember the last five minutes for as long as I live. So, if You-Know-Who pops my clogs tomorrow, that’d be all right.”  

She laughed. “You’re impossible.”

Ron grinned. “Yes, and you love me.” He had meant it as a joke, it was supposed to be a joke. But she didn’t laugh. She just stared into his eyes for a long pause.

When she did speak, her was clear and earnest. “I do.”  

He felt like he’d gotten hit with a Stunning jinx. But then she was staring up at him with her huge brown eyes, a hint of fear at the edges and he realized she was waiting for him to say something.  

“I do too,” he said quickly. She smiled and reached for his hand again, their fingers intertwined.

A long, sincere beat passed between the two of them. But it ended all too soon. “So, if we win and we don’t die,” she said an edge of humor. “Can I get one of your Weasley sweaters?”  

He laughed. “You can have them all.”

“And your Quidditch jersey?”  

“Let’s not get carried away,” he said, mockingly scandalized.  

They stared at each other again and All Ron wanted to do was kiss her again. He thought she was thinking the same thing too, but she looked away.

“We’ve got to go. Your parents will be ready to leave soon.”

He nodded. She was right. “Yeah, yeah, we should. Oh, I totally forgot. Slughorn said we should go to the Storeroom, pick out whatever we think we may need.”

Hermione went straight into Hermione mode. “Ronald, why didn’t you say so? We haven’t got all day, have we? Let's go!”  

She picked up the backpack, shrunk it down and stuck it in her pocket.  

“Ronald, come on!” she beckoned him forward and out of the Chamber.

Despite everything, the danger they were in, the uncertainty of the future, and the deranged, powerful psychopath who wanted to destroy everything he held dear, all he could think of was if and when he’d ever kiss her again.

[carewyncromwell]

[HPHM] Carewyn Cromwell and Orion Amari Cinderella AU Moodboard

x~x~x~x

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms at war -- the land of Royaume with rolling valleys and mountain ranges, and the land of Florence by the southeastern sea. Their conflict had started fifty years ago, rooted in a territory dispute that blew up in an assassination and full-scale war. Since then, the royal family of Royaume, including the young Prince Henri, was kept under very tight house-arrest. It also resulted in many families gaining status and power in the two nation’s governments through investing in war.

One of those such families in the nation of Royaume were the Cromwells, led by the cold and ruthless Lord Charles Cromwell. The Cromwells put in a lot of their own money investing in the War, and those investments only came back to them tenfold, making them incredibly wealthy and very well-regarded among Royaume’s royal court. The King of Royaume needed all of the financial assistance he could get -- especially since he’d spent a lot of money to hire a mercenary from an outside country to assassinate the Crown Prince of Florence in an attempt to end the War, only for the War to go on unabated when the King of Florence coughed up a replacement heir. And as luxurious as the Royaumanian palace and many of its country estates looked, a lot of the lower classes weren’t getting their fair share, around paying for the soldiers at war. There were rumors that Florence was better-off, since they simply used black magic to make money and food appear out of fat air, but that was widely considered to be unfounded rumors. Royaumanians were very distrustful of magic and those who practiced it, and Florence’s harboring of witches and wizards didn’t do much to endear the common man to their enemy country.

This was why, one day at the local market in Royaume’s capital, there was a lot of fuss made when one of the street vendors -- an old miser named Argus Filch --  suspected a strange man of buying ingredients for a potion.

“I’m not stupid, boy,” said Mr. Filch, looking over the stranger with suspicion. “You think those things you’ve been picking up like a crow look like anything other than some kind of black magic recipe?”

The stranger in question -- a young, tanned, black-eyed man with a beard and slightly-too-long dark hair -- responded with remarkable calm.

“I assure you, sir, black magic is certainly not my intention,” he said quietly.

“Oh yeah?” challenged Mr. Filch. “What’s all this for, then?”

“A friend,” the young man answered.

“A friend, eh? Some nasty old witch in the forest, I’m sure -- thinking of mixing up some poison potion -- ”

“Is there a problem here?”

Both men looked up, very startled.

A young lady astride a white horse had just come to a stop beside them. She was dressed in a light yellow gown with green sleeves and her ginger hair was done up in netting decked with pearls. It was a peculiar sight, to see so well-dressed a woman riding her own horse through the market rather than riding in a carriage, even if she did ride side-saddle.

The ginger-haired lady glanced at the dark-haired stranger out the side of her almond-shaped blue eye. Although her face was as stoic as a marble statue’s, there was something about her gaze that caught his attention. It was discerning, and yet...not cold. Not condescending.

The lady then turned to Mr. Filch.

“Good sir,” she said, “why do you harangue my escort?”

The dark-haired stranger blinked, but otherwise kept the surprise from his face. Mr. Filch himself blinked several times in rapid succession.

“Y-your escort?” he sputtered. “Then...you’re who he was shopping for?”

“That I am,” said the lady very coolly. “Is there a problem with my purchases?”

“W-well, yes, in fact!” Mr. Filch stammered, his suspicion returning even though he was clearly intimidated. “What could a fine lady such as yourself want with this sort of...pagan nonsense?”

The lady raised her eyebrows dryly. “‘Pagan nonsense?’”

“Yes!” said Mr. Filch, his voice becoming a bit louder in his defensiveness. “Rosemary, henbane -- ”

“I require rosemary for the kitchen staff, to season our meals,” said the lady at once. “And henbane makes for pleasant incense -- we use it to stifle the smell of cigar smoke, after large parties.”

Filch looked a bit abashed.

“...And what about the absinthe? That stuff’s pretty strong...and the catswort...”

“My uncle brews drinks with absinthe, as a palette cleanser after large meals....and surely you yourself know of how much house cats enjoy catswort? I believe I see cat fur on your coat.”

“Well, yes, but...but what about the Mandrakes?” challenged Filch. “That is pretty occult, if I’ve ever -- ”

“The Mandragora plant has some of the prettiest flowers I’ve ever seen,” the lady said, and her blue eyes grew a little narrower. “Now have I satisfactorily nullified your concerns? I’m afraid I have an urgent appointment at the palace, and I know my grandfather Lord Cromwell would be very displeased if I was late for it because someone suspected his family of aligning themselves with witchcraft.”

Mr. Filch suddenly went very, very white. “L-Lord Cromwell!? Y-you’re related to -- ?!”

He abruptly prostrated himself before her. “My lady!”

The display actually seemed to make the young Lady Cromwell look incredibly uncomfortable -- as if she hadn’t intended for the threat to make the vendor react with quite so much anxiety.

“Rise, please,” she said, and her voice seemed oddly remorseful. “That’s not necessary. Just be on your way and leave this man be, please.”

“Yes, my lady!” said Mr. Filch very quickly, looking no less anxious. “O-of course, my lady...”

With that, he slunk away, back down the street toward his stall.

Lady Cromwell looked down at the dark-haired stranger again. His sparkling black eyes had not left her face for almost the entire exchange and were very difficult to read.

“Have you bought everything you need?” she asked under her breath.

The stranger inclined his head in a single nod. “Yes.”

Lady Cromwell nodded in return, a very small smile touching the corners of her red lips. “Good. Walk beside my horse for a block or so. I’ll escort you out of the market, so you can head home.”

She flicked the reins and started her horse off at a leisurely trot. The dark-haired man hesitated briefly, before adjusting the basket under his arm so that the handle hung on his shoulder and following her.

“That was some very clever thinking on your part,” he said quietly.

Lady Cromwell raised her eyebrows.

“You seem surprised,” she said dryly. “Have you never encountered a clever woman before?”

“On the contrary,” the man replied, “I’m fortunate to count several as my friends. But I must confess, I did not expect such kindness from someone in your position.”

“And pray, what ‘position’ is that?”

The man inclined his head respectfully. “A lady of the Cromwell estate, of course. After all, as you yourself said...your grandfather most assuredly would be offended if someone associated him and his family with witchcraft.”

Lady Cromwell shot a quick glance at him out the side of her eye. Then she faced forward again.

“...I suppose I...have never been that much like the rest of my family,” she said softly. “Excluding my brother.”

“The young Lord Tristan Cromwell?” asked the man.

“No -- Jacob Cromwell,” she replied. “He’s at the war front.”

The man’s dark eyes flickered with a strange, sad glint.

“I see...”

The lady brought her horse to a stop and faced the man more fully.

“Well then, this is where I leave you. I’m sorry if it requires more of a walk for you to return home, but I must be off to the castle -- I’m already running behind.”

“It’s no problem at all,” said the dark-haired stranger. “It truly is not so far of a walk for me.”

Lady Cromwell nodded politely. “Very well. Farewell, then, Mr...?”

“With respect, my lady,” said the man with a slight wry smile, “perhaps it’s best that we not share our identities.”

The red-haired lady cocked her eyebrows sardonically. “Seems rather rude of you, considering you already know mine.”

“Ah, but I don’t, truly,” said the stranger, and his black eyes sparked with something almost mischievous. “I know your family name, yes, but that’s not who you are, is it? And truthfully even who you are now isn’t really that important. I’d say who you wish to be is far more telling than who you are at the present moment.”

Lady Cromwell raised an eyebrow, intrigued a bit despite herself. “Really? And who do you wish to be, sir?”

His black eyes twinkled a bit more, making them resemble two miniature night skies with hundreds of tiny pinprick stars.

“...A free man.”

Lady Cromwell’s eyes actually softened a bit, almost sympathetically.

“...Well, I hope you achieve that dream, Mr. Freeman,” she said in an unusually kind voice.

She flicked the reins of her horse.

“Farewell!” she called behind her.

Despite himself, the dark-haired stranger felt his face breaking into a broad smile as he watched her gallop away.

“Farewell,” he murmured, “Lady Cromwell.”

Not long after she was out of sight, a familiar black carriage appeared around a corner, and the door cracked open so that one could enter it. With an airy sigh, the dark-haired man climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind him, before the carriage rode off.

Not long after, the woman who’d been called “Lady Cromwell” arrived at the Royaumanian palace. She received a lot of attention from the castle staff for her mother’s old dress and formal hair and make-up -- and when she approached the thrones of the King and Queen, she startled everyone with her greeting.

“Your Majesties,” she said lowly, her blue eyes downcast to the floor to obscure the faint nerves she felt, “my name is Carewyn. Lord Cromwell sent me, so that I may serve his Highness, the Prince.”

The King looked very startled. “Lord Cromwell? Then...”

His face suddenly burst into an incredulous smile.

“...Why then, you’re the new maidservant! Lord Cromwell’s serving girl! My, but you have cleaned up -- I never would have guessed!”

“Clearly Lord Cromwell treats his servants well, if even they look the part of a courtier,” said the Queen, and she couldn’t help but giggle behind her hand.

Carewyn successfully resisted the urge to scoff. Charles most certainly had not told her to come dressed in her mother’s old dress or doll herself up quite this much -- he wanted Carewyn to be eyes and ears for their family, not to draw attention away from her cousins vying for the Prince’s hand. But Carewyn had her own reasons for wanting to make a good first impression.

“Come nearer to me, child,” said the Queen.

Carewyn obeyed politely. She still had some trouble meeting the King and Queen’s eyes, but she kept her composure as best she could.

“Turn for me.”

Faintly confused, Carewyn nonetheless did so. The Queen looked very pleased.

“Oh, she’s just like a little china doll!” she said through a simpering smile. “Prince Henri is going to have such fun with her, wouldn’t you say, dear?”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” said the King with a chortle. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Carewyn, but my son has quite a knack for -- ”

“Father!”

Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from turning around in surprise as the man who had to be Prince Henri strode up the hall.

He certainly was dressed the part, that was for certain. He wore a doublet made of gold-trimmed purple velvet complete with a brocaded cape and a matching hat and breeches with white stockings and gold-buckled black shoes.

“Henri, how good of you to join us,” said the Queen brightly. “Carewyn -- this is Henri Lancelot-Yves Andre -- Crown Prince of Royaume.”

Carewyn curtsied politely. “It’s an honor, your Highness.”

The dark-skinned prince Henri gave a bright white grin. “Ah, then you’re the new maidservant! I think I can see why you were sent over -- your fashion is on point, despite your dress being of an older style...”

He offered a hand politely to her.

“Come -- we must get you fitted appropriately!”

With faint hesitance, Carewyn rested her hand on top of the prince’s and followed him out.

“Fitted, Your Highness?” she asked. “I thought I merely would receive a uniform, once I arrived.”

“Oh, you will,” said the Prince brightly, “but no member of the castle staff is going to wear a uniform that doesn’t fit her properly -- I’ll need to tailor it. And please...call me Andre.”

Meanwhile, the dark-haired stranger called “Freeman” was getting an earful from the man in the carriage.

“Orion, you can’t keep running off every time you’re able to sidestep your attendants,” said the blond-haired man in the carriage. His arms were crossed, and although his expression was grave, it wasn’t particularly strict or reproachful. “There’s a lot of military strategy to discuss.”

“I learn a lot more about our enemy here on the streets than I ever could in a tower, McNully,” said Orion serenely. Once he’d finished organizing his basket of herbs, he lay it down on the seat across from him. “Don’t let me forget to deliver that to Miss Haywood, for the wounded.”

“You could stand to learn about your enemy in both places,” said McNully, “and you could also stand to think a bit more critically before disguising yourself and wandering across the border. Do you know what the Royaumanians would do, if they caught you?”

Orion considered this. “Hmm...perhaps that would make a good strategy. Cleopatra herself apparently smuggled herself inside a rug, so as to parley with Julius Caesar -- ”

“Yes, but Cleopatra’s older half-brother hadn’t been killed on Caesar’s orders beforehand,” McNully cut him off a bit more forcefully.

He sighed heavily.

“Orion...I understand you never asked for any of this. I mean, of all the people I could’ve seen becoming heir to the throne of Florence, I’d have said you only had a 3% chance of being picked.”

“Much obliged,” said Orion with a rather placid smile.

His face then grew a bit more serious.

“Even so,” he said quietly, “it’s my responsibility. And so is ending this war, preferably in such a way that balance is restored.”

“Kind of hard to do, when Royaume seem more interested in killing off royal family members than negotiating,” said McNully. “At this rate, I’d say the odds are slim they’ll accept peace over all-out surrender -- 10%, tops.

Orion shook his head. “Its leaders, maybe, but not its people. There is goodness among them. Patience, tenacity, loyalty, and fire. A desire for peace and stability, in place of war and loss.”

“And an irrational hatred of us, bred out of a fear of everyone and anyone even slightly associated with magic,” McNully pointed out.

“Not all of them feel that way.”

“A good 98% do.”

Orion glanced out the window at the large wall that marked the border of Royaume and Florence. Positioned in the distance were a battalion of Royaumanian soldiers shooting their guns and yelling -- no doubt they were being distracted just long enough for their carriage to slip through unnoticed.

“However slim the number,” said Orion quietly, “there are those here who don’t fear the unknown and mysterious -- whose kindness gives them courage...”

The face of the ginger-haired lady he’d met in the market rippled over the Florentine Prince’s mind again, and his lips curled up in a small smile.

“That’s something we can count as a blessing and use to our advantage.” 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

The Order

Request: Could I please get a Sirius Black (golden era) imagine? Where the reader is a professor at Hogwarts and wants to join the order and help them fight, but her and Sirius get off on the wrong foot but eventually fall for each other?

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @obsessedwithrandomthings. I hope you like it and I hope I have done your request justice. I really enjoyed writing it! To the other requests in my inbox, I am getting there with them. I know that it’s frustrating but I am working on them. 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, some angst? Sirius is a bit of a tit tbh

Word count: 3.2k+

Teaching was a rewarding profession. Teaching at Hogwarts, however, was beyond rewarding – it used to be joked that in teaching, you would never smile until Christmas. At Hogwarts, that simply wasn’t true. A smile graced your face every single day for every single class because teaching brought you this much joy. There were tough days, of course there was, especially after the rise of Voldemort; but still, you smiled for the students and tried to vanquish as many worries as you could. More and more time in your lessons was becoming dedicated to quashing any worries as the number of students coming to you for advice increased. After all, the students saw you more than they did their own parents as a result of the boarding aspect of the school.

It was this thought that spurred you to accost Dumbledore in his office one evening after the beginning of the school year.

“I want to help, Professor.” You stated.

“How would you do that?” He asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I will not let one child in this school feel unsafe, Dumbledore. They spend more time here than they do at home. Help me help them feel safe.” You implored the Headmaster – an attempt to appeal to the professor that still lingered within, that still could care for his student body.

Something sparkles in Dumbledore’s eyes, “Come to this address on Saturday, there’s a meeting taking place at 2pm. You might be the person we need.”

You nodded, taking the piece of parchment from him, “I’ll be there.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday rolls around quickly, the nerves have already settled in your stomach, your breakfast threatening to make an appearance as you floo from your respective home at Hogwarts to the address written on the parchment given to you by Dumbledore.

Confusion sets in quickly as you take in your surroundings: a residential street in a London borough – how could this help defeat the Dark Lord?

Then the buildings start to move; a house appearing as if from nowhere. You can’t help but admire the craftmanship that went into conjuring this concealment spell.

Taking a deep breath, you walk up to the front door, knocking twice. Your nerves are raging now, your stomach feeling as if it has been taken over by butterflies.

A lady answers the door; she’s small with fading ginger hair but her face is welcoming and warm as she ushers you into the entryway.

“You must be (Y/N). I’m Molly Weasley.”

You smile at her, “I am. It’s very nice to meet you Mrs Weasley.”

She bats her hand at you, “Please, call me Molly. You must be who Dumbledore told us about, not that he tells us very much, mind.”

You nod, at both of her statements.

She sighs, “No point delaying the inevitable. Come on then, we’re all in the kitchen. Would you like anything to eat? To drink?”

“A cup of tea would be marvellous, if it’s not too much trouble.” You say, as you follow her to the kitchen.

“It’s no trouble at all.” She says, already heading towards the kettle.

You stand in the doorway to the kitchen, unsure of whether you should sit down or ask someone for help. Your eyes rake over the set up in the kitchen; a large dining table taking up most of the space where it is clear where this meeting would happen. Many men and women are already here, talking quietly amongst themselves and you can’t help but feel as if you’ve intruded on something you shouldn’t have.

That is, until you recognise a face.

“Remus?” You ask.

He looks up at the sound of his name, towards where you’re stood in the doorway. A smile breaks out across his face once he recognises you, “(Y/N)?”

You nod, a smile making its way across your face, “How are you?”

He ducks his head, “I’m good. How are you? What are you doing here?”

Molly answers before you can, pressing a hot mug of tea into your hands, “(Y/N), here, is our latest recruit from Dumbledore.”

The man stood next to Remus looks at you as if you have two heads and snakes for hair, “Why?”

You frown at him, “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why are you our latest recruit from Dumbledore? Did he even explain what this is?” He asks, gesturing the room, to the people sat around the large dining table.

“Sirius.” Remus chides.

Your eyes widen as you finally recognise the man stood in front of you, questioning your very motivations for being here. Sirius Black. He looked healthier than the last time you saw him – emaciated from malnutrition.

Sirius frowns as he realises you’ve recognised him. “Why are you here?”

You take a seat at the dining table, “I approached Dumbledore, and he gave me this address. I have no clue as to what this is. Would you care to explain to me?”

Remus sighs as he sits down across from you, “This is the Order of the Phoenix.”

“The Order of the what?”

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Sirius snaps, “Founded by Dumbledore to fight the Dark Lord when he first rose to power. Now we’re here to fight him and any remaining Death Eaters.”

You lean back in your chair; this is news. When you approached Dumbledore in his office, you didn’t think he would ask you to join a secret organisation to fight against the Dark Lord. You thought Dumbledore would set up counselling sessions for students struggling with issues surrounding the Dark Lord’s revival.

“I didn’t expect this, if I’m honest.”

“Why are you here then?” Sirius asks, anger slowly rising.

You meet his eyes, saying with conviction, “I am a Professor at Hogwarts and I am terrified for my students. For a lot of those students, they see me more than they see their own parents. They need help because they’re absolutely terrified of what could happen to them or to their families, and I refuse to sit idly by. I didn’t think I would be asked to join this though.”

Remus looks at you, tears shining in his eyes. He understood exactly what you meant; for that year he taught at Hogwarts, he felt fiercely protective of the students. They were innocent in all of this; no harm should come to them for the simple fact of being children.

Sirius watches you with a wary gaze. It’s a combination of the paranoia from the last wizarding war against the Dark Lord then twelve years in Azkaban as well as growing resentment for the current Headmaster of the school for witchcraft and wizardry for trapping him in this hellhole of a house. For Dumbledore to bring in a new member practically announced to Sirius that he wouldn’t be leaving Grimmauld Place any time soon.

Remus coughs, bringing Sirius’ attention back to the room just as Remus asks you “Are you happy to join the Order of the Phoenix?”

You nod, “Yes. Anything to protect my students.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes a while for the routine to settle with you; teaching all week before flooing to Grimmauld Place on Friday evening to discuss missions and manoeuvres. However, you settle quickly within the Order – reigniting your friendship with Remus with his introduction to Nymphadora Tonks who looked at Remus as if he had all the answers in the world. You and Molly had also grown close through your time in the Order; helping her cook meals whenever you could.

Sirius remained indifferent and cold towards you, however. On countless occasions, you had attempted conversation with him, trying to get to know him better. He either ignored you or walked off. It had gotten to the point where you stopped trying with him. Remus squeezed your shoulder after each attempt, and repeatedly told you that it would take a while for him to warm up to you, but he would eventually.

You scoff at the thought.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Order start you out with simple missions; track and report. That’s all you had to do.

As you lean against the railing of the front-door steps, you feel foolish for your task had been simple and you had managed to get injured. The pain increases with every step to the front door; you place your hand across your abdomen and start to cry when it comes away stained with blood.

The door opens silently and for that, you are grateful. You can hear talking in the kitchen, knowing Sirius’s voice anywhere.

It would have to be him; the others were either asleep or away on missions. Gritting your teeth, you head to the kitchen.

“Sirius?” You whisper.

His head whips towards you; his eyes widening at your state, at the blood on your hands that was slowly staining your shirt. All you could do was pray he wouldn’t walk away from you in this moment.

He doesn’t. Instead, he instructs Harry to go to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit there. Sirius tells Harry to take Hermione and Ron with him; they don’t need to see their professor in this state.

You silently agree with him as Sirius guides you to the table in the centre of the room.

“This is going to hurt, but I need you to sit and lie back on the table so I can get a better look at you.”

You grit your teeth at the pain, but you manage to get on the table. Harry comes back with the first aid kit then, casting a worried look at you. You try to smile at him, knowing that it looks more like a grimace.

“I didn’t know you were in the Order, Professor.” Harry states, an attempt to distract you from the pain as Sirius lays out what he needs from the first aid kit.

You nod, but Sirius answers for you, “She’s been a member since the school year started and saw how hisreturn was affecting the students at Hogwarts. She’s doing brilliantly if I say so myself.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised to hear praise coming from him. He catches your eye with a smirk before he turns to Harry asking him to leave as you would need to remove your shirt for the next bit.

Harry stutters as he leaves, blush staining his cheeks. Class would definitely be awkward if he stayed for that.

The minute the kitchen door swings shut, you start to unbutton your shirt, but struggle with the pain, your vision slowly becoming blotchy.

“Sirius,” You murmur, “Will you help me with my shirt?”

“Of course.”

With his help, your shirt came off faster where it became clear of the damage done. It was a nasty wound, but not fatal.

“I’m going to need you to lay back now so I can clean the wound and fix it up. It’s going to sting though. Are you okay?”

You nod, “I’m good.”

You grit your teeth as Sirius cleans the wound and your stomach. His touch is gentle which surprises you. Sirius gave the impression that he was constantly burning with emotion that needed to be released through whatever medium was available to him. It was a nice surprise to find that he could be gentle when he needed to be.

“Time for the dittany.”

You nod as you stare at the ceiling; the feeling of foolishness creeping back over you as Sirius finishes applying the dittany. Your wound is healed within moments but the wooziness from the blood loss would remain for the next day or so.

Sirius helps you sit up. When he asks you what’s wrong, that’s when you realise that you’re silently crying.

You wipe at your eyes, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Thank you, Sirius. Truly.”

“You’re very welcome, (Y/N).”

You hop down from the table, using a nearby chair to stabilise yourself from the dizzy spell that falls over you.

Sirius wraps an arm around your waist, “It’s okay. Dizziness is expected after the amount of blood you lost.”

The dizziness fades just as fast as it came and you’re soon stepping away from Sirius. “I better get back.”

His eyes widen, “You aren’t flooing back to Hogwarts in this state are you?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Yes? I live there?”

“(Y/N), you’ve just lost a lot of blood, you can’t floo back in this state. And you don’t have a shirt, yours is covered in blood. You can’t show up to school like that.”

“Where am I going to stay?”

Now it was Sirius’s turn to furrow his eyebrows, “Here? There’s plenty of room, I’m sure Harry, Ron and Hermione won’t mind setting up a room for you. Wait here.”

He leaves the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen. Goosebumps breaking their way across your torso the longer you go without a shirt.

Sirius returns with an old t-shirt that you swiftly pull over your head. You glance down at the shirt; a hair metal band from the 80s covers the front, and you’re sure there’s tour dates on the back.

“Harry, Ron and Hermione are setting a room up for you. Stay here for the weekend, recover from the blood loss. You’re welcome to stay here any time.”

You rub a hand over your face, “Thank you, Sirius.”

Walking past him, you squeeze his shoulder before heading to your now ready room. You smile your thanks to Harry, Ron and Hermione as they wish you a goodnight.

As you fall asleep, you sniff the too-large shirt now covering your torso. Cloves, cinnamon and sweet orange surround you; you smile at the scent that distinctly defines Sirius. You frown then, chalking your smile and smell to the blood loss from the events of tonight.

You knew deep down though, that something was blooming inside you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From that moment, something changed in the relationship between you and Sirius. It wasn’t hard to notice – he would now take time for you, sit next you in meetings placing an arm around your shoulder or your waist, telling you to be careful before any mission.

Each time he caught you both, a shit-eating grin would break out across Remus’ face as if he knew what was happening between the two of you. However, a swift elbow to his ribs from Tonks had the smile slipping from Remus’ face fast.

Even you had to admit that you liked the change in your relationship with Sirius. What you didn’t expect was the feelings that had quickly bloomed for him. However, once you had accepted your feelings for him, they felt completely natural as if every choice you had made in your life had led straight to him.

You spent your week teaching at Hogwarts, and your weekends at Grimmauld Place even if you didn’t need to be there. You wanted to be near Sirius; to talk to him, to see his face light up when you walk into the house he once called home.

Your evenings were spent talking quietly to Sirius as he nursed a whisky and you a mug of tea or hot chocolate. These evenings swiftly became your favourite part of the week – other than teaching your classes. On these evenings, Sirius let his guard down with you more and would talk about anything. You knew deep within you that these evenings were doing more harm than good for your feelings for the man now sat across from you, staring into the fire as he reminisces of friends he would never see again save for Remus but you couldn’t bring yourself to care – you were happy enough to spend time with the man you had fallen in love with.

“You wouldn’t remember me from Hogwarts. I started in your fourth year and I wasn’t in Gryffindor. I did know you, however. I knew of all the Marauders; the boys in my year idolised you all.” You say, in an attempt to bring him out of his reverie.

His chest puffs out at that and he chuckles, “I don’t blame them. We were worth idolising.”

You laugh quietly. There wasn’t anyone at Hogwarts who didn’t know about the Marauders and what they were capable of. The group was made up of the smartest wizards to grace Hogwarts in a long time – if they managed to become animagi by their fifth year, then they were capable of absolutely anything.

“I miss them.” He whispers.

You grab his hand in yours where he swiftly twines your fingers together. “I know you do.”

Your conversations often centred around Lily, James and what happened to them.

Sirius pulls your hand to his lips where he presses a light kiss to the back of it. “Thank you for being here.”

“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.” You admit, always honest with him.

His hand tightens on yours. His eyes never leave yours as he murmurs, “I need to apologise for my behaviour when you first arrived.”

“You already have, Sirius.” And he had, multiple times. And you had forgiven him, multiple times.

“I am sorry though. I placed no trust in you and I should have. I knew you were more than able from the very moment you stood up for reasons for joining. And I’ve seen how capable you are, and just how fiercely you’ll protect your students.”

You know he’s referring to the battle in the Department of Mysteries where he nearly lost his life; his thoughts through those moments revolved around getting Harry to safety and getting to you to make sure you weren’t harmed. He had never seen someone so determined to protect children as you were that night when you realised Harry and his friends had gone to get the prophecy. Upon returning to Grimmauld Place that night, Sirius had promptly taken you into his arms and you had sobbed into his chest. Sobbed for your students but sobbed for the fact that you almost lost him, and he would never know. He would never know how you felt. You sat that little bit closer to him the morning after, and he had let you.

Sirius’ thumb rubbing across your hand brings your attention back to the room. He’s looking at you with a strange expression on his face; as if he wants to confess something but doesn’t know how to phrase it.

You smile at him, “Sirius, you don’t need to apologise. I’ve forgiven you, and I’d say what we have is pretty great now.”

He hums, “I need to tell you something though.”

“What is it?”

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The breath is knocked out of you, “You are?”

He nods, “I love you.”

You smile widely at him, “I love you too.”

“You do?” He asks, his eyes wide as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“I do. I love you, Sirius Black.”

He places his hands on either side of your face before leaning in to kiss you. He pauses just before his lips touch yours, silently asking permission. You answer by turning your face up, so your lips finally meet. The tension leaves your body and your arms wrap themselves around his neck, keeping him pressed close to you, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed against yours, of his lips on yours.

Through this war, you have fought religiously for your students. But as Sirius pulls away from you just enough to ask if you wanted to go to bed with him, you found another reason to keep fighting.

[royalynx]

(   *  💀  /  daniel ezra, cis male, he/him  )  —  is that kingsley shacklebolt i just saw rushing down the corridor? i hear they’re a twenty two year old gryffindor, returning for their seventh school year, but their friends would tell you that they are grounded & commanding as well as opinionated & strong-willed. if you want to know more about them, i guess i could tell you that they’re pureblood, and from what i hear, they’re currently allying with the order. when our divination professor looks into their crystal ball, they see: the calming presence in the back of the room, muggle records hidden in drawers, steaming mugs of tea, the warmth of a hug, the burn of quiet fury.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Luke Cage (Jessica Jones), Kingsley Shacklebolt (Books: Order of the Phoenix through Deathly Hallows), Jake Reilly (Private Practice), Terry Jeffords (Brooklyn Nine-Nine), Alphonso ‘Mack’ Mackenzie (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Matt Simmons (Criminal Minds), Odafin Tutuola (Law and Order: SVU), Spencer James (All American).

TRIGGER WARNINGS: ???

LINKS: Pinterest (Coming Soon). Playlist (Coming Soon).

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

I N T R O

full name ➵ Kingsley Akiel Shacklebolt

nicknames ➵ King; Kings; Kas; Shack; Shacklebolt; Royal

pronouns ➵ he/him/his

orientation ➵ bisexual biromantic

birthdate / age ➵ May 8th, 1957, 15:32 am / 22 years old

birthplace ➵ Birmingham, England

childhood home ➵ Birmingham, England

current residence ➵ Hogwarts, Scotland

religion ➵ atheist

occupation ➵ full - time student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

P H Y S I C A L

height ➵ 5 feet, 10 1/2 inches / 179 cm

weight ➵ 78 kg / 171lb

body type ➵ mesomorph ( athletic; generally hard body; well defined muscles; rectangular shaped body; strong; gains muscle easily; gains fat easily )

hair ➵ black, shaved/cropped 

eye color ➵ dark brown

dominant hand ➵ ambidextrous

FC ➵ Daniel Ezra

voice ➵ Daniel Ezra

special characteristics ➵

tattoo of a lion on the back of his neck that roars when danger is near

acne scars on cheeks

perfect posture

smells of ➵

broom wax

toothpaste

lavender, anise, basil, bergamot and lemon; geranium, ylang-ylang and jasmine; oakmoss, vetiver, tonka bean, patchouli, vanilla and sandalwood - Brut by Faberge

E M O T I O N A L

zodiac ➵ taurus sun (x); virgo rising; virgo moon

MBTI ➵ ISTJ (“The Logistician”)

positive traits ➵  grounded; commanding; courageous; considerate; observant; dedicated; forbearing to an almost mind-boggling degree; put-together; knowledgeable; self-reliant.

neutral traits ➵ fearless; calming; stolid; diplomatic; paternalistic.

negative traits ➵ opinionated; strong-willed; quiet; stubborn; high-minded; aloof to some; reticent; stoic; overcritical; has very high expectations of himself & others.

likes ➵ playing Quidditch; freshly baked bread; playing Gobstones at 3am; a warm bed; muggle record players; purple; watching the sea; forehead kisses; DADA; organized notes; wearing rings; honeycakes; David Bowie; dragonhide boots; chocolate frogs; firedrakes; Charms; Firewhiskey; watching the fire in the Gryffindor common room; twenty; red wine; laughing with Frank and Alastor; Transfiguration; The Beatles; his sister

dislikes ➵ legilimency; bigotry; raisins in chocolate; Divination; messy desks; foggy London; Sacred 28; people flaking on him; his team losing Quidditch matches; pumpkin juice; using school brooms; sushi; magic quills; pixies; History of Magic; the treatment of squibs by wizarding society; muddy orange; gigglewater; the texture of mushrooms; feeling unsettled; licorice; rollercoasters; toads; the word mudblood; Turkish delight

amortentia ➵

freshly cut grass

roast chicken dinner

aftershave

sandalwood

M A G I C

blood status ➵ pureblood

wand ➵ Alder wood with cherry trailed over the front like the path of a river, or a lightning bolt, White River Monster spine core, 14 and a 1/4 inches, solid

whilst Alder makes for an unyielding wood, its ideal owner is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable. Whereas most wand woods seek similarity in the characters of those they will best serve, alder is unusual in that it seems to desire a nature that is, if not precisely opposite to its own, then certainly of a markedly different type. When an alder wand is happily placed, it becomes a magnificent, loyal helpmate. Of all wand types, alder is best suited to non-verbal spell work, whence comes its reputation for being suitable only for the most advanced witches and wizards. (Cherry, a very rare wand wood creates a wand of strange power, most highly prized by the wizarding students of the school of Mahoutokoro in Japan, where those who own cherry wands have special prestige. The Western wand-purchaser should dispel from their minds any notion that the pink blossom of the living tree makes for a frivolous or merely ornamental wand, for cherry wood often makes a wand that possesses truly lethal power, whatever the core, but if teamed with dragon heartstring, the wand ought never to be teamed with a wizard without exceptional self-control and strength of mind.) The use of a  White River Monster spine produced spells of force and elegance. 

patronus ➵ Lynx

E D U C A T I O N

Hogwarts class ➵ Gryffindor, 1981

extracurriculars ➵

Gryffindor Prefect / September 1980 - June 1981

Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team / September 1979 - June 1981

Gryffindor Chaser / October 1975 - June 1981

Charms Club / September 1975 - June 1981

Toothill Duelling Club / September 1978 - June 1981

Slug Club / December 1977 - June 1981

courses & exams ➵

Ancient Runes - O

Charms - O

Defense Against the Dark Arts - O

Herbology - O

Arithmancy - O

Muggle Studies - O

Potions - O

Transfiguration - O

Care of Magical Creatures - O

now studying Alchemy ( predicted an O )

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

health ➵

strawberry allergy

pets ➵ 

Archimedes; the family owl ( great horned owl )

handwriting ➵ Sebastian Bobby

F A M I L Y

Ora Shacklebolt (nee Kayoude) ➵ paternal grandmother; socialite; alive

Kingsley Shacklebolt I ➵ grandfather; Wizengamot member; alive

Yara Audley (nee Idowu) ➵ maternal grandmother; homeschooled; apothecary worker; alive

Akiel Audley ➵ maternal grandfather; homeschooled; Quidditch supply store owner; alive

Alaric Shacklebolt I ➵ father; Gryffindor; Senior Auror for the DMLE; alive

Meera Shacklebolt ➵ mother; homeschooled (opted out of attending Ilvermorny / Hogwarts); apothecary worker; alive

Eralia Audley ➵ maternal aunt; homeschooled; Senior Assistant to the Jamaican Minister of Magic; alive

Gabrielle Shacklebolt ➵ paternal aunt; Hufflepuff; Ministry employee; alive

Edward Shacklebolt (took wife’s name) ➵ paternal uncle; Hufflepuff; job; alive

Khenan Shacklebolt ➵ paternal uncle; Ravenclaw; curse breaker for Gringotts; alive

Kingsley Akiel Shacklebolt (II) ➵ self; Gryffindor; Future Senior Auror for the DMLE; alive

Bianca Omnira Shacklebolt ➵ sister; fifth year Ravenclaw; unknown future; alive

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌

his parents used to say he was born for diplomacy. that’s what they’d drilled into him since he was born: fight the good fight, be honest and good and stay calm, always. they can only catch you off guard when you aren’t. he’d always been somewhat of a natural diplomat — the oldest child, expectations hung from his shoulders as if they were coats and he, a coat rack. he’d always been a quiet child, somewhat unassuming, almost shy, content to play and be alone, often found even as a baby, simply amusing himself with his fist over crying, wailing for attention. when they attended the galas and balls befitting of a family part of the sacred 28, little changed. in fact, he was praised for it — how level-headed he was, even when all he wanted to do was scream and shout and set fire to the curtains by the window to stop them yammering on about the importance of blood purity and their precious, precious privilege, how he smiled politely and shook hands and never, ever made a scene. he hated them. he hated every last one of them. their fake smiles and empty eyes, how they hated for no reason and believed themselves to be superior — a kernel of a fallacy that kingsley, even as a child, could never subscribe to.

but kingsley was nothing if not a good man, and a good son, and so, he stayed silent — at least, to everyone who never crossed the boundaries of their home. to them, kingsley was a young wizard who showed particular promise in their circle, but to those who saw him at home, his internal torture over it was obvious. he had muggle neighbours, even muggle friends, people who made him laugh and gave his parents presents when his beloved baby sister was born, and he could not abide the dual life his parents were living. when they were home, they were tolerant — amused, even, by the muggles they surrounded themselves with, something his mother always said was to keep them grounded, because she’d already lost one sibling to pureblood mania and refused to lose herself, or her husband, or either of her children. when they were at the galas, they were cold, a little aloof, they laughed along with jokes at muggles expenses, they shook hands, ate appetisers, danced and never seemed to show any remorse for the roles they had to play those nights, though he knew they had to feel guilty (he hoped they felt guilty.) he knew they felt they had to do it to survive — to thrive, even, in a world in which they weren’t always welcome, but he hates it.

he loves his family. kingsley loves them with every part of him, loves his younger sister with his entire heart, is never not seen at home without her practically hanging off his ankles, and then his knees, and then his hips, until she’s too tall and too old for that, he loves his mother and relishes her hugs and the way she always knows what to say to make him feel better, he loves his father and that deep, slow river of calm that seems to run through him, the same river kingsley has always felt took root in him, but he hates their legacy. he hates their part in the sacred twenty eight. he hates every part of it. he hates that they agreed to this — to what feels like a mortal lock, an unbreakable vow, tying themselves to this until the end of time. he hates that he understands why — their blood runs pure, he knows, in other wizards standards, but knowing what the sacred twenty eight stands for? what it really represents? kingsley thinks that their blood is the blood that’s dirty, that they’re the ones who ought to be ashamed of themselves for their existence, that they’re the ones who value opulence and power over people’s lives and that makes them wrong and evil and undeserving of their magic. it’s the first time — the only time — his parents have ever seen him truly angry — he remembers it well, being fourteen and all uncontrolled fury for the first time, how the quiet anger had burned and swelled under his skin until he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and how he’d made all the glass windows in the dining room shatter, the glass raining like sand when his father waved it away with a swish of his wand, kingsley’s chest heaving as he yells, raging against their indifference, feeling oddly soothed when his mother pulls him into his arms and whispers that she’s sorry. she’s sorry. she knows, she knows. he wishes that were enough — that apology, that acknowledgement that they were — are — hypocrites.

even still, his love for his family, flaws and all, remains, though he’s slowly pulled back from any engagement with the pureblood world over the years. he’s very proud to be his father’s son — the son of an auror, recipient of the order of merlin second class — and his mother’s. he’s proud to be his sister’s big brother, her protector. he’s even more proud when he gets his letter to hogwarts, confirming what they all already knew — magic is strong in the shacklebolt family. he picks up the family wand, purchased in america in the early 1920s — alder with cherry trailed over the front like the path of a river, or a lightning bolt, white river monster spine core, fourteen and a quarter inches, solid — and he feels a piece of himself slots firmly into place. hogwarts is where his father went, where his father’s father went (over ilvermorny), and though he can no longer pretend to be complacent to their every whim in regards to the sacred twenty eight (something which both his parents have since begun to shun), he knows getting sorted into gryffindor would make them both proud, and that’s what he wants, so that’s what be did — the bat barely touched his head before declaring him a gryffindor. even now, as a twenty two year old seventh year on the brink of graduating into a fully fledged war, he wants to make them proud. he wants to be a pillar of strength, safety, tolerance, love, support, he wants to be the friendly face ushering people to safety, he wants to be the one raining hellfire down on the prejudiced idiots who think that they’re any different to anyone else, with magic or without, on this planet, that they’re superior in any way because of their blood.

[mst3kproject]

The Naked Witch

According to Wikipedia, this is the movie that launched Larry Buchanan’s career.  Considering that Buchanan is best-known for shitty colour re-makes of black and white monster movies that weren’t very good to begin with, I don’t know if ‘launch’ is the right word.  That kind of thing doesn’t so much ‘launch’ as it does slide into the water and immediately capsize, like the SS Daphne.

A graduate student arrives at a small German village in central Texas, hoping to learn more about the superstitions and religious beliefs these people brought with them from the Old Country.  Nobody really wants to talk to him until he meets a young woman called Kirska, who gives him a book about the town’s history. This tells the tale of a woman who was executed for witchcraft a century earlier.  The student is able to locate the witch’s grave and, for some reason he never shares with the audience, digs her up.  When he removes the stake that was driven through her black heart, she resurrects and sets out to take revenge on the descendants of the people who condemned her, including the beautiful Kirska herself!

You know, I’ve watched a lot of bad movies in my life.  This became my hobby twenty-five years ago, when some friends and I decided to rent a video and ended up with the MST3K movie.  I’ve been through the show’s entire catalogue and quite a few of the Brains’ side projects, not to mention the films I’ve dug up for this blog.  You’d think that by now I would have seen it all… but every so often I still encounter something that absolutely floors me with how awful it is, and The Naked Witch managed it several times.

Right, first question, and the one that would have been foremost in the minds of Tom and Crow: is the witch actually naked?  Technically, the answer is yes… she rises from the grave without clothes, though her hair is nicely curled and she’s got mascara and red lipstick on.  A few minutes later she’s found something to wear, and in the meantime she’s always behind props or only in the shot from the shoulders up or knees down.  Later there’s maybe a few seconds of nipple during a scene when she takes a swim in a pond, but MST3K could have cut that without losing anything.  The title is merely a trap for those hoping to see some titties.

So if no boobs, what do we get to see?  The answer is almost nothing.  The Naked Witch never shows us anything if it can tell us, and it is terrible at telling.  We begin with a punishingly long preamble about the history of witchcraft from some guy with a bad case of 50’s Radio Announcer Voice, over selections from the works of Bruegel and Bosch.  This segment is some eight minutes long in a fifty-nine minute movie and accomplishes nothing except to make us hope we’ll see somebody have sex with Satan in the upcoming film – which we will not.

Then we get another long-ass voiceover, this one from the student who has come to central Texas to study the cultural traditions of German families who immigrated there in the 19th century.  This one provides a little bit of background to what we’ll be seeing but most of it is just filling time and now I’m craving Maultaschen.  By the time we get to the plot we have wasted a fifth of the movie on just listening to these guys talk.

Our supposed protagonist (for want of a better word), the grad student, is a complete nonentity.  He narrates most of the movie without any sign of interest or excitement.  He never even has a name.  He never introduces himself, nobody ever addresses him, and even the credits just call him ‘the student’.  Almost every time something interesting ought to be happening in the movie, what we see is people standing around and talking while he tells us about it.  He narrates running out of gas and walking into town.  He narrates meeting Kirska and her grandfather and great uncle, the last remaining members of their family.

Later, he narrates digging up the dead witch and pulling the stake out of her heart, although he never tells us why he does either of these things… he doesn’t even bother to say something like I don’t know why I did it, I felt weirdly compelled, which would have implied black magic manipulating him. This was an option, since he later says he’s under some kind of spell that prevents him telling anybody who’s responsible for the murders the witch commits.  He narrates the process of finding her new lair and narrates being enchanted by her.  I found myself thinking of The Creeping Terror and wondering if the backstory were similar… maybe they’d somehow lost or broken their sound equipment after only filming a few scenes, and just had to make do.  The Internet has no answers for me.

On the rare occasions when the movie does show us something, it’s not something that’s very interesting to see. We do get to see the student flirt briefly with Kirska, but I don’t know if they’re supposed to have Fallen In Love because their relationship is never developed… the threat to Kirska is what enables him to shake off the witch’s spell, so… maybe?  We get a flashback that shows us the witch in life, condemned by her lover who blames her for his wife’s illness, but this is one scene of the two arguing just before her arrest, in the same bedroom set where the Student is reading his book in the 20th century.  We see the witch rise nude from the grave and steal some clothes.  We see the boring and poorly-shot murders.  And we watch at great length as the witch swims in the pond, casts a spell on the student, and then makes out with him.

All this time could have been spent so much better. How about the student trying to ask various townsfolk questions about their history and being turned away? That would have been far more effective than hearing him talk about it!  How about a torch-and-pitchfork mob coming to tear down the innkeeper’s doors to get at the witch?  This would have cemented the impression we get that he turned her in so as to save his own skin.  What about showing us how Kirska is dealing with the deaths of her family members and the looming knowledge that she, too, is on the witch’s hit list?  How about having her turn to the student for comfort, only to start suspecting he’s responsible… but the spell on him makes him unable to tell her, almost ending their love story before it can begin?  How about giving the main characters some fucking names?!

There’s so much to hate in The Naked Witch, so much they did wrong… but one thing that stood out to me is the way the movie handles the witch herself and the whole idea of witchcraft. The opening narration talks about witches as a real phenomenon, a scourge of medieval Europe that had to be stamped out.  It’s rare to find a fictional interpretation of the age of witch hunting that paints the inquisition as the good guys, even in worlds where witchcraft does exist – think of The Touch of Satan – but here’s one!  When the student tells Kirska about his academic work, however, he explains that witch-hunting is a manifestation of social stress and misogyny.  In times of plague, famine, war, and general upheaval, people need somebody to blame and witches were the scapegoat of choice.

This seems to be upheld by the flashback scene with the witch and her lover.  She wants him to abandon his sick wife and marry her, but he doesn’t want to ruin his reputation or to leave town and start anew.  An epidemic in the area has already got people suspecting witchcraft, so he throws his mistress to the mob and gets out of trouble for cheating on his wife by claiming he was under a spell.

All that makes sense all right… except that it just doesn’t square with the narrated opening, which was all about how witches are totally real and totally evil.  So… what, exactly, gives here?  When all I had was the opening narration versus the student’s opinion, I got worried that the movie was saying sheltered ivory tower academics may handwave it all away but the truth is that women really are evil. Then that was shot down by the scene with the witch and her boyfriend, which seems to tell us pretty plainly (in fact, she literally says it in so many words) that she is not a witch and there are probably no such things.

But… but then the witch actually does come back from the dead, kill people, and enchant the student, just as she promised when she was put to the torch.  I guess she could have been lying when she insisted she wasn’t a witch – she’s not just gonna admit it to the mob who wants to burn her, after all – but the flashback scene went to such trouble to paint her as innocent and her boyfriend as the asshole, it doesn’t seem likely.  Maybe she’s less a witch than she is a zombie, a corpse animated by the need for revenge like Tony from Zombie Nightmare.  But if so, why is she able to cast an actual spell on the student?  Did the writers even know?

They abso-fucking-lutely did not.  At the end of the movie the student observes that he’ll never know if she were actually a witch or just a victim.  There are movies in which this kind of thing would work, but they have to walk a fine line of ambiguity in order to do so.  The Naked Witch fails miserably to strike that balance.  It just shows us (or, more often, tells us) a set of mutually contradictory things and never even imply that they are reconcilable.  So yeah, for Larry Buchanan’s so-called career, The Naked Witch truly was a sign of things to come.  Even at the very beginning, he just didn’t care!

[serararku]

Back from the Black

Giggles whispered in the wind. Soft voices mumbled amongst each other. In the hot dark Era felt things touching her face, but she was powerless to stop it; her arms and legs were bound, and she was drifting, spinning, spiraling onward into the void again. Not that it mattered to her anymore… all she wanted was to be in his arms again, to feel his breath on her neck, to hear him tell her everything was going to be okay. But he was gone. They all were. Lost their lives in the sacking of Ul’dah, their peaceful eternal slumber cut short by the will of a necromancer. “I will avenge you all…” She thought, writhing and wiggling in her invisible cocoon. “I will kill that creature and put you all back to-”

Era opened her eyes to sudden blinding sunlight and three pairs of big bright eyes. “EEP!” The kittens shrieked, leaping a dozen ilms off the ground as their stubby tails bristled. Yuun suddenly snapped awake as well, rising from her seat with fury burning in her eyes.

“You little brats! I told you not to touch her!” Her mother grabbed the closest thing she could- a makeshift broom, and gave the fleeing children beatings they wouldn’t soon forget. Era winced at the glare of the sun, but when she tried to roll over, she found herself swaddled tightly in blankets- just like she was when she was still a misbehaving kitten. “Era honey… are you okay?!”

“Euugh…” Was all she could manage. Her head ached, her mouth was dry, and she was sore from teeth to tail; but something about the concern in her mother’s face and the soothing warmth of the sun helped convince this was real. 

“Don’t try to move… here.” She sat down beside her and pulled her head into her lap. Era’s ears perked when ice cold water touched her lips. Gulp… gulp… gulp… “Slowly, Era… I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

“Guhh… a… again…?” She repeated, trying to catch her breath with lungs that weren’t ruptured in a body that wasn’t torn apart by wolves.

Yuun closed her eyes and slowly nodded. “I thought I knew them. The Elders… they’re supposed to be the bridge between Azeyma and her children. But once that accursed cave was discovered a few moons ago, they’ve done nothing but devour strange foods and hallucinate, and they’re taking more and more of our tribe down with them. When I heard the Elders had summoned you, I thought… I would lose you.” She opened her eyes and began wiping away the ‘art’ those three kittens were drawing on Era’s face. “The next time Grandmother puts her vile hands on you will be the last time she has hands.”

Now that she had birthed five daughters, one for each astral moon in accordance to Azeyma, Yuun was officially recognized as a Matron when her last daughter and final kitten was born two years ago, and therefore was under no obligation to mate with Vahli or any other Tia that would eventually take his place in the years to come. Following closely behind the spiritual leadership of the Elders, and the military prowess of the Nunh, the Matrons represented the third pillar of the Zu Tribe, providing guidance to the kittens and new mothers alike. Thanks to the combined tragedies of the drought eight years ago and the addicts in that ‘sacred’ cave, Yuun was now the only Matron left. And she took this responsibility very seriously.

“Ahem…” Vahli cleared his throat loudly outside the tent, making his presence known long before he revealed himself. “Yuun, good morning. May I speak with Era alone?”

“Of course.” Her mother planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before pulling a corner of her blanket out of its knot, unraveling Era and setting her free from her prison. Their Nunh took her offered hand when she rose to her feet, and lightly kissed her knuckles on her way out. Era remained quiet, awkwardly laying on her back, waiting for him to say something. For a long time he simply stared off in the distance, before crossing his arms and sitting down beside her. “I’m sorry for sending you to the Elders.” Vahli was reluctant to speak; apologies must be a rarity for such a proud and accomplished man. “They told me they could help you. I should have asked for details.”

“It’s not your fault.” Era assured him. “I planned on speaking with them the day I decided to return to the tribe. Though… now knowing what happened... and what the search party had to do to me...”

“It was for your own protection.” He explained, finally glancing down to meet her gaze. “Your mother demanded I stop the Elders from influencing you. Once I formed a party to storm the caves, you were already gone. It took us… a lot of time and effort to comb the surrounding lands.”

Era didn’t like how vague he insisted on being. “How long was I missing?!”

“Three days.” 

That knocked the wind out of her lungs. She felt like she had been trapped in that hellscape for almost a full year, but to know she was hallucinating for just over half of a week…

Vahli wasn’t finished. “We found you out in the wastes, completely naked and covered in blood that wasn’t yours, dancing alone in the middle of nowhere... laughing, crying and screaming. We thought you were possessed by an evil spirit, or worse… suffering from the salivating sickness. Everyone feared you would need to be put down… myself included. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Era didn’t want to think about that nightmare any longer than she had to- that trip was not something she would ever endure again. “So I’ve snapped out of it… what’s next?”

Her Nunh leaned against a post and furrowed his brow. “Some of our youngest are scratching at themselves enough to remove hair. Others aren’t able to hold solid food down for long. The mothers insist they’re sick and they don’t feel safe with the Elders treating them. I’m at my wits end.” Slowly he rose back up to his feet, and began pacing nervously. “I know the tribeless cities may have the solution we need. Can I count on you to be our emissary?”

“Yes…!” Era answered quickly, jumping at the chance to be with Zevi again. “I know just the woman who can help them! I won’t let you down!”

Vahli pursed his lips disapprovingly at her sudden enthusiasm. “I’ve heard of the tribeless cities and their… vices. Make sure anyone you bring back to our lands is dependable… and willing to adhere to our way of life.” He paused for a moment before adding, “No witchcraft. Thanalan suffers enough already.”

“I understand…”

“Do you?” Vahli began to pace back and forth. “My instincts are telling me to keep you here. That sending you off to those havens of heresy is a grave mistake. But… our kittens need your help. I need your help.” He stopped near the entrance and placed his hand on the drape. “Come back to us. I know you’ve spent a lot of time out there… but your place is here. With me.” Era’s ears drooped as she slowly nodded. When she rose to her feet, and her blanket slipped from her body, Vahli couldn’t help but stare at her scars again.

Unable to stand this awkward staring contest anymore, Era scooped the spare change of clothes waiting for her in the corner to cover herself and assuredly muttered, “I won’t abandon my family. Not now… not ever.”

“Good.” Once her body was covered and her scars were out of sight, her Nunh blinked away his stupor and left without another word. Era was left alone to put her clothes on in silence.

The intense Thanalan sunlight began its ruthless beating the moment she stepped out of her tent. The glare from the morning was not doing Era’s headache any favors- it was difficult to focus on just about anything, and she was still disoriented and uncharacteristically clumsy. That bitter soup the Elders gave her had surely run through her system by now; if any one of these side effects became permanent, she could kiss her training goodbye. Hopefully Zevi wouldn’t mind shouldering their financial burdens if she was left unfit for wor-

"BLOOD SPEAKS TO ME!"

"BWAH!" Era leapt a full three fulms into the air before she was snatched up and pulled into a strong hug; the side of her face was smashed against the coarse beak of a zu skull, and her blood ran cold. There was only one woman in the entire tribe that would even wear a skull outside of an actual battle. 

Yhaba the Undying. The leader of the Zu Tribe’s warrior clowder, and top contender for the most deranged and bloodthirsty Miqo’te in Thanalan. To call this woman a lunatic would be an understatement. She was as unpredictable as she was ferocious, and amidst the chaos of battle, she had no equal. Drenched in the blood of her tribe’s enemies was perhaps the only time she ever felt truly home. She had lost her tail ages ago along with most of her fingers and toes, but she could eviscerate and disembowel a fully grown goobbue patriarch in a matter of seconds. If she wasn’t so good at killing, she would have likely died a long time ago.

"Yhaba…! Unnf! You're c-crushing me…!" Era squeaked out, before being suddenly released and dropped into the dirt. She stopped herself from gazing up into that skull, clutching at her pounding heart while gasping for breath. Only a fool with a deathwish would provoke Yhaba’s malignant barbarism; as a result, no one truly knows what she even looks like under her bone helmet anymore. No one that lived to tell about it at least. 

"Mountains watch us. Wait for us to die." Yhaba mumbled, scratching at the scabs on her arm. "The green speaks of buckets filled with tongues. Don’t open your mouth if you see them."

"R-right… I'll be careful…" Era slowly rose to her feet, more than eager to give this psychopath a wide berth before her mere presence set her off.

Yhaba watched her turn and leave in an unsettling silence before she opened her beak and said, “You hear the ringing? Feel the seething sickness? The voice telling you to paint with blood?”

Era stopped dead in her tracks but she didn’t turn around. “How do you know this…?” She demanded indignantly. “How could you know?!”

“I hear them too.” Yhaba pulled an ear from her necklace and held it to her temple, as if she was listening to something. “Silence loves to talk. Don’t answer when they call your name. Fly away little bird. Go where the mountains can’t watch you.” She took a few long strides toward Era and grabbed her by the wrist; she then pushed a small linen sack into her hand, and refused to let go until she closed her fingers around it.

“What is this…?” Era meekly asked, fearing it was a small bag of ears.

“Eat when the ringing returns.” Yhaba began slinking back toward a shady nook in between two tents. “Then you will never die. Spite the mountains.”

Then she was left alone, standing under the pummeling sun with more questions than answers. Era slowly opened her palm and hesitantly opened the small sack- the substance closely resembled fine red sand, or perhaps even cinnamon. A cautious sniff revealed nothing, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to taste it; that would make it the third time she ate something given to her that she shouldn’t have. Instead the woman tucked it into her pocket for safe keeping, and aptly decided to put this strange encounter behind her. 

The fastest way back was the same route she took reaching the heart of her tribe’s territory; through the air. Nossk took her up into the sky to soar high above the barren wastes again, only this time she did it by herself. With the wind in her hair and the sun tanning her skin, all she could think about was leaping into Zevi’s arms again. A relief washed over her when she saw Ul’dah emerging through the brown dusty haze, glad everything was going better than she expected; one slip up and she would have had to choose between her lover and her family. She wasn’t exactly out of the woods yet, but the hardest part was behind her. Now she could just lean back, close her eyes, and let the wind pass across her face as this giant zu cut down her return trip by over half of a day.

It was evening by the time she felt safe enough to fly over the city. Using the cover of night, Era remained far and above, partially hidden between the sparse clouds, before identifying the Goblet and diving earthbound. Nossk opened his wings last minute, swooping down through the canyon along the border of the residential district to avoid startling any guards. As silent as the grave it soared below, slipping beneath two bridges before spreading its tail feathers and tilting up toward the ledge; his long curved talons easily shattered the stone railing, crumbling it into dust beneath his weight. 

“Crap…!” Era squeaked, hoping no one heard that. She slipped from his back and wrapped her arms around his jagged beak to press her lips atop his head. “Go home, Nossk…! I’ll see you soon, okay?” The bird clicked his tongue against his beak a few times before spreading his wings wide. Era made the horrible mistake of stepping back to let him take off, thinking he would follow the same path they took to get here.

He didn’t.

Nossk launched himself high into the air with a single flap of his mighty wings, and almost scraped against a nearby tower as he made a bee-line back toward Valhaas Barrow to the southeast. Era’s ears flattened when she heard the startled screams of Lalafellin residents having heart attacks at the sheer size of Nossk soaring above their heads. He was certainly fast enough to escape before the Immortal Flames could organize a task force to shoot him down… hopefully he doesn’t stop on the way home to snack on any fleeing citizens. Instead of waiting around for a passing guard to start asking questions as to why and how that railing got destroyed, Era slipped through the main gate of the estate and quickly stepped inside.

She heard familiar voices singing an unfamiliar song. Hurrying down the steps, and through the large sliding doors of iron, and across the metal grated rafters, Era finally reached the last flight of stairs that led into the basement bar.

“Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog! The bog down in the valley-o! Ho, ro, the rattlin’ bog! The bog down in the valley-o!” K’thalen still had his pipes, with his boisterous singing echoing off the walls and carrying far throughout the whole of the estate. Mizuna was sitting on the piano bench with her back turned to the expensive instrument, clapping in unison with the rhythm and singing along in her own shy way. A Lalafell she didn’t recognize was doing a hearty jig in the middle of the group, his tiny legs kicking and twisting faster than she expected; the room was fairly crowded with faces she didn’t recognize, in fact. But sitting alone on the opposite side of the room, invested in the party but barely involved, sat her best friend and lover. R’zevi was nodding his head to K’thalen’s catchy song and half-heartedly clapping his hands together to the tune, but he looked like he was struggling to stay awake.

That is until he locked eyes with S’era, and his face lit up like a Starlight fireworks show.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[writingmyselfout]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter Five

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5: This Is My Now

Summary: Sorting Ceremony

THE ride to the castle is not as eventful as Draco predicted, despite the slight delay caused when Ron Weasley loudly complains that Draco took his spot and Hagrid, realizing that all other boats already have four students, redirects him to be the fifth in the next boat over. Harry is too busy admiring the sight of the giant castle before them, with what looks like every visible window lit up against the night sky, to pay Weasley much mind. He understands now what someone means when they say something is breathtaking, because he’s sure he stopped breathing for a moment when he first saw it, and isn’t sure he’s quite managed to catch his breath as the boats take off across the lake.  

   He’s not the only one fascinated. There is silence except for the sound of water lapping against the magically propelled boats as their journey starts, with whispers only starting up when they’re about halfway across. Their boat is in the lead, but the fleet of boats--which Hagrid informs them is nineteen out of the school’s total of thirty-six--are close enough that the voices of one carry over to the occupants of those closest. Granted, Harry thinks, it’s possible that it only seems that way because Ron Weasley, in the boat just behind theirs on the left, is loudly complaining about Draco Malfoy having shoved him out of the way when he was going to sit with Harry Potter. A blatant lie that Draco scoffs at, but doesn’t deem to try to refute from this distance.

    When they disembark on the other side of the lake, they are on a landing stage slightly sheltered by rock formations. Hagrid looks them over, making Draco smile at Harry knowingly when he picks Neville’s frog up from their boat and hands the animal back to him, reminding him to hold onto it this time. Then, when he’s sure that no student has been lost, he leads them up some stone steps. Harry thinks this must have been a cave at some point, rocky walls closing in slightly on either side with lanterns alternating from one side to the other to light their way, and he thinks it’s a good thing he’s not claustrophobic as the shadows they cast on the ceiling make it almost look like it’s moving down closer to them.

    At the top of the stairs is a stone landing, similar to the one below they’d stood on after getting out of the boats, but the bright lanterns on either side of the door make the design on it clearly visible. The stones are gray, with a darker one used to create a capital letter H. The door before them, a large, sturdy-looking wooden door with metal bands across it and a small little hatch in the door. When Hagrid pounds his fist heavily against the wood, Harry expects it to open and a face to peer out, but instead the door opens completely, light flooding out from inside, and standing there is none other than the dark-haired witch, Professor McGonagall, in emerald green robes.

    “Evenin’, Professor,” Hagrid greets. “Got yer first years here, all seventy-seven of ‘em.”

    “Thank you, Hagrid. Come along then.”

    They shuffle in after her and find themselves now in a brightly lit room. There’s a large rug covering most of the stone floor, and directly across the door they come in through is a large fireplace, with an equally large fire lit and blazing within. It makes the room pleasantly warm after the cool air they were just in. There are two long tapestries on either side of the fireplace, totaling four, each of them in different colors and with an animal displayed prominently in its center around a letter. To the left are some benches along the way, and some portraits of landscapes above them. To the right is a door, which is where McGonagall walks to as she waits for them to all come into the room.

    Harry goes over in her direction after a brief glance around the room. “Hello, Professor,” he greets, a little shy. He’s never really been close to a teacher before, but while he doesn’t want his new classmates to think he’s a teacher’s pet, he rather likes the woman who helped ensure he could attend school.

    “Mr. Potter.” She addresses him formally, but she gives him a small smile, which negates her stern tone and her previously stern demeanor. “I see you made it onto the train all right.”

    Harry nods, and almost goes on to tell her about being moved into the smallest bedroom upstairs, but Hagrid closes the door then, signaling that all the students are inside. The big man makes his way around the students and out of the room through the door they are near, and Harry realizes this conversation will have to wait as the older witch clears her throat to draw the attention of all the students. Once all eyes are on her, she speaks.

    “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she begins. “The term officially begins with a start-of-term banquet attended by the entire school, which you will be joining shortly over in the Great Hall. Before you can take your seats, however, you will be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts houses.” She gestures over towards the tapestries hanging on the wall by the fireplace.

    The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are students here, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will sleep in your house dormitory, study and spend free time in your house common room, and most, if not all, of your classes will be with the rest of your housemates. You will also work together with your house to earn points for your house. Your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose your house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to your house, whichever it may be.

    “Now, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the whole school, so I suggest you all smarten yourselves up while you wait.” She runs a critical eye over them, pausing here and there on specific students. “Now wait quietly while I check to see if they are ready yet.”

    Without another word, she leaves through the same door Hagrid left, and voices erupt in her wake. Students asking each other what house they think they’ll join, and what the Sorting might entail.

    “Harry.” He turns to see Draco just off to the side with a group that seems to already know each other, waving him over. Harry goes over to the group, which consists of two girls and three boys besides Draco, assuming that these are the friends he previously mentioned. Sure enough, once he’s reached them, Draco says, “These are the friends I mentioned earlier. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabb, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Millicent Bulstrode. Guys, this is Harry Potter.”

    Others nearby hear the name and there’s a ripple effect through the room as it’s whispered back and forth. Harry tries to ignore it as he greets Draco’s friends. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

    Theodore Nott replies in kind, but he’s the only one. Pansy Parkinson leans into Millicent, saying in a loud whisper, “ The Harry Potter, huh? Somehow not as impressive as the stories would have us believe.”

    Harry feels his face grow warm while Draco scowls at her, but before either can respond, there’s a collection of gasps and a few screams. Looking around, they see what has startled some of the others, as a group of almost two dozen ghosts have come streaming through one wall. They’re just far enough that Harry can’t make out any conversations until a ghost in tights and ruff notices the students below them and asks what they’re all doing.

    “New students!” The answer comes from the ghost the first had been speaking with, a pleasant looking, chubby man dressed in a long corded tunic robe of some sort. Harry isn’t sure what it’s called, but he’s certain the man is a friar of some sort. “I believe they’re waiting to be Sorted, yes?”

    Various students nod. Harry looks over at Draco, and he hopes this isn’t a stupid question because it didn’t occur to him until now, but he wants to ask before McGonagall comes back. “How are they going to sort us?”

    “Honestly? Don’t know,” Draco admits with a shrug. “Mother and Father wouldn’t say. It’s tradition to go in not knowing.”

    “My brother Fred said it hurts.” They turn to see Ron Weasley, who’s clearly been eavesdropping.

    “H-Hurts?” Neville Longbottom, using one hand to try to fix his robe which is fastened under one ear, stares at Ron wide-eyed. His grip on his toad goes slack and he almost loses it before Hermione Granger nudges him.

    “I doubt it,” she responds once Nevile has regained hold on the toad. “It is a school, after all. They aren’t going to let us get hurt .”

    “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, what do you think it is?” Ron grumbles at her, glaring. “Since you know more than me.”

    She frowns at him. “I am just saying, it is highly unlikely that a school is going to purposely allow students to get hurt for, what, dorm assignments?” Neville next to her visibly relaxes, and there are a few murmurs of agreement. Ron’s face goes a little pink. “Now it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History what the Sorting entails, but I imagine it’s more likely a test of some sort.”

    “Oh, ‘it doesn’t say in Hogwarts, A History ’,” he mocks, pitching his voice higher and causing a few kids to snicker. “That’s not even one of our textbooks. What kind of nerd does extra reading before school?”

    Her darker skin doesn’t visibly change colors, but the way Hermione presses her lips together and crosses her arms reads to Harry clear as day as if she’s embarrassed. She doesn’t respond though, and Harry is annoyed with Ron Weasley all over again. He thinks of all the times he was bullied by Dudley in front of other students just before teachers came back, or in front of his aunt and uncle, leaving Harry unable to defend himself or talk back, and he decides he’s not putting up with it here. Even if the bullying isn’t directed at himself.

    “Just because you can’t read doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy it.” Both Hermione and Ron look over at him in surprise, though Ron’s face turns a shade of red that almost matches his hair.

    Then, to avoid getting caught in a confrontation on the first day by Professor McGonagall and because Neville was struggling one handed to fix his robe before he froze to watch the back and forth between Hermione and Ron, he goes over to him. “Want me to hold Trevor while you fix your robe?”

    “Oh, yes, please. Thank you.”

    Neville hands the toad over and adjusts his robes, just in time for McGonagall to return. She calls for them to get in a line and follow her, turning to lead them out. Hermione hurries to do as she’s told, very clearly trying to put distance between herself and Ron Weasley. Neville takes his toad back with another muttered thank you, hurrying to get in line as well. Harry follows suit so that Neville is in front of him, with Draco at his rear. They’re led across the large Entrance Hall, so big that he’s certain the entirety of the Dursleys’ house could fit in there, and the ceiling so far above that he can’t make it out despite the many flaming torches lighting up the room. They pass massive double doors to their right and a grand marble staircase to the left, towards another set of double doors.

    There’s the dull roar of hundreds of voices on the other side of those doors, which grows steadily louder as they approach, and Harry swallows nervously as his mouth suddenly goes dry. What if it is a test? He read through the books, but it’s not as if he could practice any of the spells, and he’s never been good at instantly memorizing stuff. He’s always been a hand on learner, needing to put whatever was being taught to him into practice to really grasp it. How embarrassing if he fails out of the school before he’s even started?

    The doors are thrown open and the voices die down to a silence as all eyes turn to look at the line of students being led inside. They walk between the center two out of four long tables, that start a few feet from the entrance and down across the large room almost towards the other end, from what Harry can see. He tries to not make eye contact with the students on either side of him, so instead he draws his attention up to the floating candles and the night sky above, half listening as Hermione explains to Neville that she’d read it’s enchanted to look like the sky outside. He thinks maybe he read that, but isn’t sure, and is tempted to ask how many times she’d read her books or if, unlike him, she has the kind of memory that allows her to read something once and just remember it.

    “What is that ?”

    Draco’s question makes Harry look down, and he sees that they’re approaching a platform that is shaped in a half circle. There’s a single step to get up onto the platform, and then there’s a stool set in the center, with a battered looking witches’ hat. Behind that is another two steps leading up onto a slightly higher platform where a table runs from Harry’s left to his right. There, a long line of adults are seated, and he realizes these must be the school’s teachers and staff. Before he can find Professor Snape to wave, he finds a pair of twinkling blue eyes staring at him, and he recognizes the face from his Chocolate Frog Cards. The headmaster is literally watching him.

    Unintendedly, he stops in the spot as he’s overwhelmed with the most powerful feeling of mistrust he’s ever felt, and a voice seems to scream in his mind, Do not trust Albus Dumbledore!

    Then Draco walks into him, not having noticed what he’d stopped, and they almost fall over. Harry quickly apologizes, face red, and hurries forward as McGonagall directs them all to line up between the professors’ table and the stool so they’re facing the rest of the school. Once they’re all lined up, they stand there for a moment, nothing happening until the hat suddenly begins to sing.

    Harry’s eyes go wide and he is able to momentarily forget the headmaster behind him, astonished at this turn of events. Getting Sorted by a magic hat is better than anything else he’d imagined, and he’s immensely relieved. He claps along with everyone else when it finishes, and then listens as the first couple of names are called and students begin being sorted into the different houses. It isn’t until after each house has received one student that Harry remembers that he and Draco might not be in the same houses.

    “Draco,” he whispers, turning to the other boy. Draco looks over at where McGonagall is standing, holding a long roll of parchment from which she is reading students’ names, and then back at Harry, a single eyebrow raised in question. “Remember, if we’re in different houses, we’ll still be friends, right?”

    Draco blinks at him surprised. Hadn’t Harry asked him that right after they met, when they were first discussing the houses? Draco still isn’t convinced that it’s possible for them to stay friends, but he figures it won’t hurt for them to try at least. So he nods. “Sure, but don’t be mad when my house gets more points than yours.”

    Harry just grins in response, looking back at the students being sorted in time to see Hermione Granger is still sitting on the stool. He wonders if it’s normal for it to take this longer before she finally gets sorted into Gryffindor. His parents’ house. It would be nice, he thinks for what must be the hundredth time, to be in the house they were in, and get to see some of the places they once spent time in. There probably weren’t any traces of them or anything, but it’d be one more thing he would have in common with them. Plus, he would already know his Head of House with Professor McGonagall, whom he already knew he could trust. The only other professor he felt that way about right now was Professor Snape. Granted, if he ended up in Snape’s house, Slytherin, that might not be so bad either. Draco was sure he’d be in that house, so at least he’d have a friend there.

    Neville Longbottom also ends up in Gryffindor house after slightly longer with the hat than most other students, and he grins happily as he goes to join them. When it is Draco’s turn, the hat is set on his head and there is a few seconds of silence before he is, as he’d predicted, announced as the next Slytherin. Harry is happy for him, knowing that is the house Draco wanted, though it’s tinged with a bit of disappointment that he wasn’t last minute put in Gryffindor, like he himself hopes to be. Then he waits for his own turn to come. He tries to ignore the irrational fear that he won’t be Sorted at all, thinking it is just his nerves, but it isn’t easy. He still thinks it’s been too many good things after another, so surely the other shoe will drop soon.

    When Professor McGonagall finally calls, “Harry Potter,” the room is overtaken by a deafening silence. He’s actually tempted to stick a finger in his ear to see if something is suddenly blocking all sound, because it’s such a drastic change. Instead, he takes a few slow steps forward, hoping he doesn’t do something embarrassing like fall flat on his face as he’s acutely aware of every eye in the room being directed in his direction.

    He’s actually a little relieved to finally reach the stool and have the hat placed on his head, as it falls down and covers his eyes so he can no longer see all those faces staring at him.

    Well, well, what do we have here? Harry startles, although after the singing, he’s not sure why the hat speaking comes as a surprise. Strange…

    Suddenly, Harry’s certain the hat is going to tell him he doesn’t belong, and he feels his heart drop. Great , he thinks. I really don’t belong here.

    Oh, but you do , the hat contradicts, surprising Harry again because of course it can read his mind. Plenty of talent here, good head on your shoulders, and quite a bit of courage, with such a thirst to prove yourself. Yes, no question, you belong here.

    Then what is strange? Harry asks, curious now that the hat has assuaged his fears.

    The hat is quiet for a moment, as if it’s searching or perhaps deciding how to explain. Then, it says, There is magic here unlike any I have seen in all my time, and I’m quite old. Yes, strange, varying magics are at work in you. How very intriguing you are, Mr. Potter. Harry wants to ask more, try to understand what the hat is telling him, but the hat moves on, asking, So where shall I put you?

    Harry frowns in response, wondering that question himself. He has no real feelings towards being put in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Based on the hat’s song, he thinks he’s loyal enough for the former and maybe not smart enough for the latter, but he’s indifferent to either. He hasn’t met anyone interested in either, or made friends among those already sorted into it yet, so it’s hard to muster any enthusiasm besides it meaning he will remain at Hogwarts so long as he’s sorted somewhere . Gryffindor, though, has most of the few people he’s met and liked thus far, besides his emotional connection to it. But Draco is now in Slytherin.

    So Gryffindor or Slytherin, eh? Any of the Hogwarts houses could help you on your way to greatness, I’m sure, but these two especially.

    Then where are you putting me?

    I’m rather partial to Slytherin for you, but where would you like to be ? The hat counters.

    If those watching could see his face, they’d see Harry blinking in confusion and surprise. Instead, he blinks at the inside of the hat, not having expected the question. I’m not sure. I mean, Gryffindor, I think? It’s just, I’ve a friend in Slytherin. He said those houses are rivals.

    Hm . The hat is quiet for only a moment, before it says, Their founders Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were rivals and friends, you know. For a very long time.

    Oh . If the founders themselves could be both rivals and friends, surely Harry and Draco could manage that too, right? Gryffindor then .

    You’re certain? Won’t have any regrets? Then off you go, to “GRYFFINDOR!”

    Professor McGonagall removes the hat, and Harry blinks at the brightness of the room as he stands. The table on the far left has erupted into cheers, with many of them standing and clapping, and the Weasley twins chanting, “We got Potter!” repeatedly.

    Harry makes his way over, noticing as he does that the rest of the hall is staring at him still as the next student is called to be Sorted. His face warms, and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to the attention as a boy with a badge comes over to shake his hand. His red hair is such a distinctive, familiar shade that he’s not at all surprised to learn this is another Weasley, and in fact the one he’d heard speaking with the woman at the station.

    “Harry Potter! Welcome to Gryffindor. I’m Percy Weasley, one of the Gryffindor prefects. Such a pleasure to have you join our house!”

    “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

    Percy lets out a long suffering sigh before he turns and hisses at the twins, “Stop it! Do you want us to be the first to lose house points?” He shakes his head, then motions for Harry to follow him back to where he’d been sitting.

    Harry sits to Percy’s right, returning Neville’s shy smile and wave with a nod. Hermione is sitting on Percy’s other side, shaking her head at the twins who were still chanting a few seats further down, although they’d brought their volume down. Presumably to avoid notice from the teachers.

    “I wish people would stop staring,” Harry mutters, noting as he takes a seat that people are still looking over in his direction.

    Neville, sitting across from him, replies, “Well, y-you’re Harry Potter . You’re famous, you know.”

    “Well, that, and you’re the first hatstall in years,” Percy adds, taking a seat to Harry’s left.

    “A what?”

    “Hatstall. It’s what it’s called when the hat takes a while to place you.” Percy motions towards the hat where someone is almost instantly sorted into Ravenclaw. “Most people only take a minute or two. You three,” he motions to Harry, Neville, and Hermione, “took longer than most, but it’s only a hatstall if it’s more than five minutes.”

    “Was it really that long?” Harry asks, surprised.

    “It doesn’t feel that long in the moment,” Hermione muses. Neville nods his head in agreement.

    They watch the rest of the students get sorted, cheering whenever another Gryffindor is added to their ranks. If Harry’s cheering is a little less enthusiastic when the youngest Weasley also becomes a Gryffindor, he doubts anyone notices over the brothers’ loud cheers. Percy gets up again specifically to congratulate him and then comes back, his brother in tow. Harry, seeing that the free seats are on either side of where he currently is, moves to his left to take the one Percy had previously been occupying. Hopefully, the older boy won’t think anything of it except that Harry is trying to be considerate, and not hoping to avoid sitting next to his younger brother.

    Luck is with him in that although he doesn’t know what Percy thinks about the switch, not only does he not bring it up, but he takes Harry’s previous seat, leaving Ron to take the second one on his other side, so at least they’re separated. It has the added bonus, Harry thinks, to put him farther away from Hermione, who Harry thinks likely doesn’t want to risk another confrontation over dinner.

    The room quieted as the old headmaster stood up to welcome them all, saying a few gibberish words and sitting back down to applause and cheers. Harry doesn’t pretend to join in this time, frowning at the old headmaster. He doesn’t see Draco across the hall giving him the same raised eyebrow he had on the train, curiosity piqued.

    In any case, soon his and all the other students’ attention is drawn down to the tables as the golden place settings magically fill with food. He’s astonished, having never seen so much food in one place in all his life. Best of all, for only the second time in his life, he could eat to his heart’s content and no one would stop him or take the best for themselves, as his cousin often had. He filled his food with some of nearly everything on offer, and Harry is sure after a few bites that he has never had anything so good before.

    While they eat, talk revolves around questions from younger students to the older regarding classes or when the first Quidditch match will take place. Some discuss how happy or surprised their parents will be about their Sorting, which draws attention to the three seated near each out who had taken the longest to be Sorted.

    “What took the Sorting Hat so long to place you?” Ron asked, leaning around Percy to address Harry.

    He shrugs but Neville responds with another question himself. “Was the hat trying to convince you too? Thought I’d end up in Hufflepuff, but it insisted. Gran will be really happy about it.”

    “It was between here and Ravenclaw for me,” Hermione informs them, though she doesn’t look over in Ron’s direction as she answers.

    “What about you, Harry?” Neville asks.

    “Slytherin.”

    Percy looks at him in surprise. “ Slytherin ? That, uh, well a bit of a surprise, really.”

    “How come?” Harry asks.

    “ You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, s’why,” Ron offers, mouth full of food. “So were a bunch of his followers.” Ron looks directly at Harry. “Including Malfoy’s dad.”

    “He was found to be innocent and under the Imperius Curse,” Percy reminds his brother.

    Ron gives him an incredulous look. “ Dad thinks that’s a lie.”

    “Yes, well, the Ministry doesn’t,” Percy rebutts, mouth a thin line of disapproval. “So you would do well not to spread rumors about the Malfoys."

    Harry puts away this bit of information, but refuses to give Ron the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he pointedly ignores him, turning back to his food. He’ll think about what he’s just learned and decide what, if any of it, to bring up with Draco later.

    Talk then turns to their families. Neville tells them all to laughter about his uncle trying to get him to do magic, although Hermione gasps when he tells them he was dropped out of a window. Seamus Finnegan takes over then, causing more laughter when he explains the shock his father received the first time his son performed accidental magic, as it led to finding out his wife had secretly been a witch the whole time. Many others have parents who are both witches and wizards, so they’d expected coming to Hogwarts, while others had been caught completely off-guard like Hermione, whose parents were both Muggle. Harry admits he was raised with Muggles himself, and therefore hadn’t a clue about being a wizard, much less famous, prior to receiving his Hogwarts letters.

    Many are surprised by this new and Harry, realizing he doesn’t want to answer any additional questions about his Muggle relatives or the parents he doesn’t remember, turns to Percy and asks about what they might expect from their first day. Percy is more than happy to tell them all about the things they’ll learn first year, his enthusiasm matched only by Hermione, so that Harry is drawn into talk of classes and schoolwork. It effectively makes everyone else lose interest in being a part of Harry’s conversation for the moment, and although he’s not nearly as keen on what Percy is telling them as Hermione clearly is, he nevertheless finds himself looking forward to getting to learn real magic for himself.

    It is while Percy is telling them about starting off small in Transfiguration with their Head of House, Professor McGonagall, that Harry happens to glance over towards the High Table. At some point, the stool and the Sorting Hat were removed. On the closest end is Hagrid, drinking from a goblet, with Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore speaking to each other somewhere around the middle. Further down he sees Professor Snape, speaking with a man wearing a purple turban, whose back is currently to Harry. He wonders if it might be the same turbaned gentleman from Diagon Alley he’d seen Snape speaking to, but he isn’t sure just how common turbans are in the wizarding world to say how likely that might be.

    Just then, Snape looks over and catches his eye. He nods his head towards Harry, who lifts a hand to wave when there’s a sudden pain in his forehead.

    “Ouch!” He presses his hand against his forehead, surprised.

    “Are you all right?” Percy asks while Hermione tilts her head to peer at Harry’s face.

    “Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Harry assures them, the pain in his scar already fading.

    “Is it your scar? Does it often hurt?” Hermione’s gaze is curious as it runs over his forehead.

    “No, actually. Never,” Harry admits. Which is true. It’s never once, in all his life, bothered him. “Say Percy, who is that speaking with Professor Snape?”

    “You know Snape, do you? Let’s see.” Percy runs his gaze along the High Table until he spots the purple turban, just as the man turns allowing them to better see his face. “Ah, that man would be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell.”

    The desserts disappear from the table then, and the room quiets as Professor Dumbledore stands up. He addresses the room to inform them of a few start-of-term notices, of which were included the information that the forests on the ground as well as the right side of the third floor corridor were forbidden to students, the latter coming with the warning of a gruesome death for any who did not heed the warning. Percy mutters about this being news to him, noting that the prefects should have been informed, just as the headmaster has them all sing the school song to whatever tune pleases them.

    At no point does the man ever directly look at him, as far as Harry can tell, but somehow, he’s sure that the man is still watching him. It’s an unnerving feeling, and he’s glad when the Weasley twins finally finish their funeral dirge version of the school song and they’re dismissed to go to their houses.

    Already, Harry has so much to think about, and classes haven’t even started yet. He thinks he’ll definitely need to get some sleep if he’s to be prepared for what tomorrow will bring.

Story Notes:

Chapter title is a Jordan Sparks song.

[anotherharrypotterimagineblog]

Can you please make a story about Sirius, James and Remus meeting the next gen?

I didn’t know when you wanted this so I am going to do a time-travel story (James, Albus, lily, rose , hugo and teddy timetravel) in 1979. James (the next gen one) is of age (17), Albus and rose are15 and hugo and lily are 13. Teddy is 23.They come from 2021.

Also, this is NOT wolfstar. As much as I love the ship, it would be kind of awkward because of teddy.

Warning: swearing

In the kitchen of a house in Godric’s Hollow were seated three young men. One had messy black hair, hazel eyes and glasses. Another had sandy-brownish hair and a lot of scars on his face. The third one, like the first, had black hair. But this man’s hair was longer and a lot less messy, it reached his shoulders, and he didn’t have glasses. His eyes were gray-blue. Their names were James Potter, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. They were 20 years old.

The men were laughing about something, though it sounded a bit forced. You see, they were in the middle of a war. And not just any war, it was the wizarding war against the dark lord that went by the name of Lord Voldemort. No-one dared to say that name out loud, fearing he might show up and kill the fool and his family.

But now, they were recounting stories of their years at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sirius, the man with hair that reached his shoulders, was telling a story Remus thought was amusing, but James didn’t.

“and that was when Prongs jumped of the table, right in front of Lily. And you know what he said? He said “I guess you could say I’ve vallen for you.” And Lily just walked away!”

“I nearly broke my arm doing so! That is  not funny!” James tried to argue.

“wasn’t that when you tried to befriend the Giant Squid?” Remus said “you wanted to know his secret, why Lily’d rather go out with him then with you.”

Sirius snorted and opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly they heard a loud ‘bang’.

A bunch of children appeared, six of them. The oldest, who wasn’t really a child anymore, looked to be in his early twenties with turqoise hair with a streak of bubblegum pink. He looked a bit like Remus. THen there were two boys who looked a lot like james, but with a few differences. Both didn’t have glasses, and one of them had the green eyes the three recognised to be James’ wife, Lily. The other had lighter hair. The last boy in the group had red hair and brown eyes. Then, there were two girls. One of them had fiery red hair and brown eyes and the other thick brown curls and blue eyes.

The girl with the red hair yelled at the james-copy with light hair “Siriously James! Mum and dad told us to not go there! Hell even aunt Hermione told us to not go there! Now whe are Merlin-knows-where Merlin-knows-when!” At this point the boy with the red hair saw the three men and told the girl to shut up. The oldest boy saw them too now, and looked as if he was about to faint.

By this point, James spoke up. “I don’t know who you are or how the hell you got in here, but I suggest you give your wands here and no-one will get hurt.” The strangers quickly got their wands and gave them to James. Then the blue haired one said: “I swear on my life and magic we aren’t deatheaters and we mean no harm.”

The three man looked slightly more relaxed and an awkward silence came over the room.

“What are your names?” Remus and blue-hair said at the same time. Sirius grinned “Well, I am Sirius Black, the one with the glasses there is James Potter, and that one there is Remus Lupin.”

The strangers now looked as if they had seen a ghost. The girl with the brown hair asked “What year is it?” James and Remus shared a look before saying “1979”

“Well shit” James copy with lighter hair said.

“We come from 2021” The red-haired boy said after that.

Now it was James, Sirius and Remus’ turn to be shocked. Remus recovered the quickest and asked again “What are your names?” The blue-haired boy looked slightly uncomfortable at this, but James copy with light hair smirked and stepped forward.

“Well you asked for it. I am James Sirius Potter, prankster, best chaser Gryffindor has seen since my mom and eldest son of Ginny and Harry Potter.”

James and Sirius grinned and Remus asked “Is this Harry James’ kid?” The kids nodded. “I would love to hear a bit about your pranks but I would like to know the others first”

The brown-haired girl spoke up “I am Rose Granger-Weasley. Cousin of James here and Ravenclaw keeper. My parents are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley? As in Molly and Arthur?” Sirius asked. “They are our grandparents” James II answered.

The other girl now decided to introduce herself “Hi I’m Lily Luna Potter. I am a Gryffindor, and unfortunately that idiot over there” she pointed to James II “is my brother. I am seeker on the Gryffindor quidditch team. It is a pleasure to meet you.” James II looked at her, offended “excuse me? I am the idiot? We all know Al is the idiot.” He gestured towards the other James-copy.

“Guys, stop bickering please” Remus came between. ‘Al’ looked relieved and opened his mouth to speak. “Thanks, I am Albus Potter, Slytherin” at this, Sirius dropped his wand and Lily and Rose glared at him. This shut him up. “yeah I am the first potter to ever be sorted in Slytherin. I am horrible in most classes.”

The red-haired boy then spoke up. “I am Hugo, brother of Rose here. I am a Hufflepuff beater and my favourite class is Astronomy.”

The last stranger had been strangely quiet throughout the entire conversation. James looked at him and asked “and what is your name?”

“well” the answer was “I am Teddy. Teddy Lupin. Actually Edward, but I will kill you if you ever dare to use that name. I am 23 years old, and I used to be the Hufflepuff keeper. I am the godbrother of these three.” He gestured to the Potters. Remus had become really pale at this. Sirius and James just looked at each other and grinned “so you are Moony’s kid?” Teddy nodded. “Are you a werewolf?” Remus turned even more pale at this question. Teddy was quick to answer “no, don’t worry. I am a methamorpmagus though.”

Just as Sirius was about to say something again, another man popped in. He looked worried and a bit angry, and exactly like James. The strange man spoke up. “get your wands. James, we are talking about this.”

He then turned to James, Sirius and Remus, and his expression turned into one of sadness. He pointed his wand at them and said “obliviate” before popping out with the children.

In the kitchen of a house in Godric’s Hollow, three men told eachother stories, completely unaware of what just had happened.

  Sooooo… I guess I do this kind of story now to? Hope you like it!