#mums yer boys are cryin

[waveofahand]

"Mums, Yer Boys" reaches 10,000 reads!

10,000 reads for "Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin'" which is a terrible title but a sweet story from 'way back when I first started writing fanfics -- this one was meant to be a one-shot, like everything else I'd written up til then, but somehow the story of the teenaged Paul searching for John after Julia's death turned into a second chapter where he takes control (and care) of both John and a dour, miserable Mimi and that turned into a chapter about how empty and lonely their lives feel and then suddenly it seemed like I had absolutely no control over the story of these two young characters: There is 17 year old John Lennon -- wild in grief, angry, lashing out and desperate to find a place where he belongs, desperate to figure out HOW to find a life he can stand to live, in a world where he can never fit in to. With Julia's death he is pretty much convinced he has nothing, is nothing in this miserable post-war Liverpool world. He is mean; he is funny; he is profane; he is needy. John can't see or identify his targets but he sprays his anger like a machine gun, not caring where it hits.

There's is 16 year-old Paul McCartney, precisely the opposite -- self-contained, private, all tucked in on himself and watchful. He is constantly on the lookout to see how he can control what is going on around him. He carries his own anger -- both at Liverpool and the world around him -- but it's entirely focused, better-directed, and dangerously quiet. He is kind; he is watchful; he is bossy; he is anxious; he is forgiving. If John is a machine gun, Paul is a suicide bomber who keeps resetting his timer. Together, both of them find a safe place to put their heartache, and the first stirrings of a longing that neither of them fully understand yet, but are tentatively ready to explore.

There is Mimi Smith, cold, snobby, snippy, unable to show herself (or the depths of her love) to her troubled nephew, and repeatedly thrown off her guard by the sheep-eyed, common boy who never lets her off the hook.

There is Julia, present only in death -- at her laying out, where John falls apart; at her funeral, which Paul attends while all in his head. There is Jim McCartney, stern, too quick with his hands, but capable of compassion, and even to admit his own failings, in time. There is George Harrison. A bit grubby. Always hungry, easily called out but a sure friend.

There is even Auntie Jin and her bowlful of "Irish witchery..." I've always been very grateful that people like this story, which probably could use some editing but I've never touched it. It just kind of tumbled from my keyboard and has always felt "true" to me in a way I can't explain, so I've just let it be. THANK YOU for reading it, and for some really wonderful, encouraging comments. You can read the whole story at A03.

And truly, thank you for reading this story and keeping it alive. Some it helped to build "Carry that Weight." This talented artist created this image several years ago. Not for the story but ... it really is perfectly suited to the final chapter.

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi! Thank you so much for sharing your fic recs with us, I have discovered so many amazing works because of you. Hope you don't mind me requesting some more - favorite hurt/comfort fic(s)?

You're welcome! I also want to say (in case you don't already know) that @whenyourbirdisbroken has great fic recs: the pinned post on their blog (sorted by category! I'm in awe) is a great way to start. If you're ever looking for more reading material!

Here are some hurt/comfort fics I love. I tried to keep the overlap with whenyourbird's recs to a minimum. ;-)

Above Us Only Sky (candle_beck): Early years J/P. The hurt isn't so much Paul being bruised and sick, it's the violence of Paul falling in love with John, whose personality scares and overpowers him. And the comfort is in brief moments and words of tenderness. Contains the unforgettable sentence John will pretend not to know him tomorrow, but he’ll take care of him tonight.

two of us (burning matches) (@scurator): Also early years J/P (synonymous with hurt/comfort?!). John gets into a fight on behalf of Paul; Paul takes care of him. Again, the true violence is in their feelings breaking through the surface, their desire, and also, damn, the general painful intensity of growing up and being different.

my turn to resurrect (@backbenttulips): John survives the shooting, but his body and soul are scarred and starved. Paul invites him to stay with him in London, and nourishes him back to full health. I love the slow-burning sensual descriptions, for instance of Paul in the garden...soil on hands, etc. Not to mention delicious food...!

see what love has done (@monkberries): The Night We Cried. This is about the four Beatles as well as the individual relationships between them. A story that takes place in the bathroom and a single bed (no sex, but lots of love). I thought this was very much in character, and I enjoyed the deft crosshatching of the different types of hurt and comfort. I love John's POV in this one.

Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin' (@waveofahand): Another young J/P one. John and Paul grieve their mothers and fall in love, slowly and sweetly. Paul is also beaten up and John takes care of him—in this story, they are good for each other.

Thanks again for asking, and of anyone has more recommendations, please feel free to add them! <3

[waveofahand]

I am not sure who the artist is but I love this. For anyone who ever read "Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin'" this seems like it's right out of the scene from the final chapter, "I'd love to kiss ya, but..." I'd love to know if the artist ever read the story...fab drawing!

[melissa-kenobi]

Just a lil bit tipsy

[Arthur Morgan x Reader]

***

The whole gang was throwing one of their famous parties and guess who was right at the center of it all?

Arthur fuckin' Morgan.

Now he wasn't a fan of parties or getting drunk, but today your husband was refusing not to participate. He was completely drunk off his head, swaying round and round with the women while holding a bottle of rum in his hands. His moves were making you and Hosea laugh as he grabbed Lenny's hand and jumped up and down on the spot before taking a swig of his drink.

"In all my years Arthur and I have been married, I've never seen him this relaxed or carefree." You mused, watching as he pulled Tilly up and danced with her, or well stomped over her feet making you let out a giggle.

Hosea laughed beside you, agreeing. "He's always carried the weight of others on him. But you've taught him otherwise." He grabbed you hand squeezing it in thanks. "Without you, he'd never have let go. He'd still be that stoic young boy I've known since he was 15."

Hosea's words made a lump form in your throat and you could feel yourself tearing up. Pulling Hosea in a hug you silently thanked him, knowing that you'd made a difference for Arthur made you happy.

"Hey! Whatchu 'ink your doin' with ma wife?" Arthur slurred as he squinted his eyes at you and Hosea hugging.

"Uh oh." Hosea commented laughing as he pulled away. "I think-

"Darling, I think you've had a little too much to drink." You commented.

"Hey, 'm not drunk. Just a lil' bit tipsy..." He mumbled more to himself as he took a chug of his drink.

Arthur had already made his way closer and was standing in front of you two, offering Hosea a drink to supposedly drive you away from his wife. "C'mere sweetheart.." He pulled you up and dragged you to the middle where Dutch's gramophone was playing loudly and offered you a sip of his drink.

"I'm good sweetie." You gestured to your stomach to which Arthur 'oh' ed at and let a smile grace his face. You watched as he bent down, stumbling on the way down but managed to hold himself on one knee. "Arthur what are y-

"Shhh darlin'... I needa talk to my babies." He mumbled as he pressed an ear to your protruding belly. Your eyes widened at his use of word 'babies'. You were pretty sure that you were having just the one. "Hey little ones, i- 'm gonna make sure we gots a lil' house fer me, yer mum and you little ones."

Your eyes darted around as Arthur whispered, well loudly whispered what be wanted for you and his kids- sorry kid. Hosea and Susan was watching with gentle and adoring eyes, while the others were shocked that Arthur was talking aloud about his plans.

"Arthur-

"I know mama- just a little longer." He looked up at your with loving eyes. "I hope you know, I'm gonna take such good care of ya. Me and yer mama love ya both so much."

Your eyes began to fill up with tears at his words. "Hey, 'm finished now. Sweethear', why yer cryin'?"

Giggling, you wiped your tears pulling Arthur up and pulling him into a hug. "I'm fine darlin', I'm fine, I promise."

Arthur pulled back, a huge smile on his face as he grabbed one hand and raised it to the air. "Dance with me?"

"Arthur! I-I don't- I can't- I don't know how to!" You stuttered, looking around at everyone watching. The music had died down and everyone was now watching you two.

"Dutch! Play some something louder! I wanna dance with ma wife!" Arthur called out as Dutch laughed and played something more to Arthur's tune. "That's more like it!"

Hand still clasped together in the air, he started dancing around you, before Arthur pulled you towards him, his other hand holding your back. You let out a little squeal as the gang let out a loud cheer and whoop. "Arthur!"

"Waheey, looks like the old man still got 'em moves!" Sean hollered as he let out a wolf whistle.

He spun you around before slowly dipping you and kissing you on the lips before pulling you back up. "I love ya Mrs Morgan."

"And I love you more than anything Mr Morgan."

Hosea watched as the music slowed down, changing to the slower romantic tone as the two of them swayed with the music. Arthur watching his wife with a lovesick look on his face, while you watched with the same look. They surely were two fools in love. Hosea knew they were two peas in a pod and that he'd help help get the happy ending they needed.

***

[johns-prince]

If you like fanfics, try "Mums, Yer Boys Are Cryin'". To me it is one of the best teddy boy years McLennon.

Oh my goodness, I was worried it wasn’t finished when I looked at the chapters, but thank God it was complete. Such magnificent writing! I could only work so hard to write like that one day. 

So good, 11/10, would read and cry over again.

[mclennon-ao3-feed]

"Mums, Yer Boys Are Cryin'": Another Lennon/McCartney Original

by waveofahand

Julia is dead, mowed down by an off-duty cop who'd been drinking. John has run off, and no one knows where. Paul has to find him, but his Jim McCartney is giving him a hard time about even leaving the house and for the first time ever, Paul defies his father:

“God, will you listen, Da? Will you listen?” He lifted his chin in his first conscious defiance of his father. “You’ll not keep me. I must find John.” His voice broke at his friend’s name, and Paul stopped, gulping hugely at Jim McCartney before he could choke out the words. “His ma’s dead, Julia.” Paul could hear Mike gasp from across the room.

This is entirely a work of fiction. I do not own the Beatles, and all of this grew out of me own head, except for the part where Mimi told Paul he had "sheep eyes" and didn't mean it as a compliment. I know I saw that quote somewhere, and am still looking for it!

Words: 4615, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Beatles (Band), McLennon - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Louise Harrison, Jim McCartney, Mike McCartney, Mimi Smith, Julia Lennon Baird

Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon & Paul McCartney

Additional Tags: John Lennon's mother has died and John has run off, Paul is looking for him, Paul uses the F word at his father, Paul finds John and there is crying and everything hurts, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Paul mimics Mimi because he is a bold one, One angry smack happens, But Jim is quickly sorry

[fearless2ndmate]

"Whot's takin'so long?" Diren hissed, reclining in a chair and crossing one leg over the other as he glared down at the boy. "Shoulda gotten a response by now; unless that goddamn postman-"

"Patience Diren. They might just need encouragement." Vessie hummed, walking over to Link.

The blond kept his eyes down as the woman approached him, not wishing to anger her; she unsheathed her blade to tilt his head up with the tip. The months of abuse has shown in the boy's eyes now; the utter emptiness behind dull, emerald orbs shown to all as his body slouched in defeat.

"Aw, 'ow are ye sweetheart~?" Vessie asked, her tone light and playful.

"Well." Link replied flatly, his stare going through her rather than focusing on her.

"Are ye sure? Lookin a bit green behind th'gills."

"I am..fine.."

The captain smiled, kneeling to the boy as she put the weapon away to grip his jaw with her hand instead. "Miss yer family n friends..~?"

Previous questions left the boy unphased...of course until the last one. She had teased him on his well being before but...never bothered to poke at this wound. Link's eyes fell shut as his breath stopped as if to compare himself.

He didn't want to answer.

"Don'cha hear me? Answer yer mum."

"Y...yes--" came a strained response before she snickered.

"How come? They don't seem t'care; they offered a reward yet yer still here. Whot does that mean t'ya? It's loik I've told ya before, yer completely unlovable. Yer disappearance musta been a blessin from th'goddesses t'them."

Hot tears streaked down the hero's cheeks as he stared blankly. He didn't want to believe her but...he had no hope to hold onto anymore. They...probably...did...want him gone--

No they...still loved him right...?

He can't tell--

"If he starts cryin', I think we should send his tongue next. Huh, jr?" The father spoke up, gripping one of Link's shoulders. "It might make them come. Maybe." He snickered, pulling on one of the kid's ripped ears making Link wince and bite his tongue.

"Ah, things have been much more fun with you 'round, kid." Diren chuckled, ruffling his hair.

Meanwhile, the hero continued to simply space out; his mind suffocating him with his mother's words.

[salt-moon]

The Catte In The Bucket

( @bexyamalaryssia​ was kind enough to host a wee story-telling get together yesterday, and Corwynn had a story to tell.  Hold onto your drawers, kiddos.)

Corwynn stood and headed for the stage with a little grin on his face as his friend Raven said a silent and rare prayer to Halone. Corwynn had access to so many stories he'd prefer remained mysteries. 

"Right.  So.  This ain't no inspirational tale or nunna that.  No nice poem or fairy tale.  Just a dumb little story about me.  And why?  I'll tells ya why.  Cause 'at one over there..."  He pointed at Raven.  "...He's always gettin' the brunt of my story tellin."  A grin from the dark haired Elezen in the corner.

Corwynn chuckled softly.  "We spend a lotta time together so we know a lot of embarrassing stories about each other, yeah?  And so when I tell fings to people, offentimes they's about Raven, and not so flatterin'".

From across the room, one Zandros Bastion, a writer himself, offered up, "Pain shared is pain lessened".  The moon catte agreed instantly.  "See??  That's what I say too, mate!"  Raven pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh gods."

A shake of that blonde head, and his ears flickered happily.  "Nah, but really, I give him too much shit.  The other day he was talkin' to some girl and when he introduced us, I was like ‘Oi, ain't that the one you said had her toes too long for you to even think about datin'?’ He turned about six shades of red.” 

"But anyway.  The point is that today I ain't gonna tell a story about him.  I'm gonna tell a story about me, a right embarrassin' one, to boot.  And!  One he ain't never heard."

He cleared his throat and his tail swished lazily along the wooden floor.  "I was a right young thing, maybe... 2 or three cycles, right?  Now, I was adopted when I was new-born, so I lived with all kinds of races, and was brought up in Gridania.  I fink at that point I'd just been toilet trained, right?  Seems about the right age."

"I didn't know nothin' about peein' in the woods or doin’ your business where you had to.  I always used a toilet, of course."  Corwynn tilted his head a little bit in thought.  "Hm, maybe I was a bit older.  Anyroad..."  He licked his lips and sighed, but then grinned.

"Me dad was out in front of the house.  We'd just come home from a trip to the markets, and I had to go real bad, like.  So I was tuggin' on his pants leg sayin' "Dad, dad, unlock the house, I gotta go!" 

"He was talkin' to one of his mates who'd gone with us, and you know parents, right?  Adults is gonna talk whenever they feel like it and for as long as they feel like it.  So I kept on tugging, and he kept on sayin' ‘You can hold it, just wait!  You're a big boy, right?’

Corwynn snorted.  "Nah, mate, I couldn't hold it.  I'd had like free or four chocolate eft milks that morning, they wasn't no holdin' it.  Not to mention... I had to go number two as well."  He gives a little side eye.  "I fink maybe I was a little... milk-intolerant or sommat." 

"So finally me dad says like, just jokin', right?  ‘Go on 'round back, they's a bucket out there you can use.’  Now... me bein' a little kid, right, I don't know what sarcasm is."  Corwynn shrugged.  "I had to go, so 'round the house I went." 

Across the room, Raven widened his eyes and barely contained a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand.  "Oh no.”  Zandros commented all too accurately, "Poor bucket," and Corwynn couldn’t help but snort and look over at him.  "Mate.  You got no idea."  He grinned back at the crowd then.

 "I mean... it's like a toilet, right?  You can sit on it!  And like I said, I was a little kid, so I didn't know no better.  Me own favvur said to me ‘go and poop in this bucket’.  Well, mate, so that's what I did.  I found that bucket and yanked my shorts down and sat on it and did my business."

By this point everyone was laughing...  Bexy, Adelle, Shay... even Dacien in the corner gave in to a little snicker.  Gods, was he smiling?

Raven sank his head into his hands.  “You didn’t.”

Corwynn just grinned.  “Oh I assure you I did.”

"Aaaaanyroad, a little while later me dad hears me screamin' bloody murder, right?  Just waaaaaiiilin' my fool head off.  Him and his friend, not to mention three of my sisters and my mum, come runnin' 'round the back of the house.  What you reckon' they saw?"

Bexy murmured as she listened.  "...Twelve."

"Go on then, Raven, what you reckon they saw?" Corwynn asked.  He knew Raven was enjoying this.

"Ahhh," he managed to reply, fighting the tears.  "I'm going to guess...a cat stuck in a bucket."

“Yer too fuckin’ right.”  Corwynn grinned at his bestie.  "A cat stuck in a fuckin' bucket.  I was sunk down in it too, ass first, all the way to me knees, mate.  Red faced as the day I was born, cryin' my eyes out.  Sandwiched like a damn fold-out bed!"

Adellenne burst out lauging, Raven tried in vain to be silent, his face red from the effort and tears in his eyes.  Dacien covered his mouth and stifled a chuckle.

Corwynn sighed and shook his head.  "Oi.  Me dad is angry, me sisters is laughin', and the only one who would help me out was me ma, who yelled at me dad for bein' a smart-ass.  Needless to say, I needed a hosin' off after that, and dad didn't tell me to shit in buckets no more."

"Oh gods...." Raven managed, while regaining his composure. "Do remind me to mind my phrasing from now on." 

“I think no one realizes how literal children are," Adelle offered, beaming.

Zandros grinned so hard that a tear ran down his face, scribbling something down. "Inherited sharp wit."

Corwynn gave in then and chuckled.  "Anyroad.  I just wanted to give ya'll a bit of a laugh and show Raven I can make a fool out of myself just as good as I can make a fool outta him."  He grinned over at Zandros.  "Oi, you gonna put that in a book?  Get ya a good laugh, I bet.  You welcome to."  He winked and hopped down off the stage.

"Some fine Gridanian storytellin' for ya."

( I had so much fun.  Thanks to everyone who came, and to @bexyamalaryssia​ for hosting!  @adellennehocoleux​ @neoma-eltanin​ @ffxivtribehydrae​ @housealderscorn​ @quills-and-curiosities​ @moengeim​ @wardensgaze​ @mugishalffull​ )

[mclennunf]

In My Life - Part Five

Dr. McCartney

I had stayed at the hospital 16 hours after John left. There was a meeting called by Dr. Epstein for all the attendings and residents to explain to us what had happened and how he didn't expect John to come back anytime soon. He told us we needed to be there for his patients, and for him when the time came. The halls seemed dim without John yelling at someone. 

"I'm heading out, Sade." I told Sadie as I placed my patients charts on the counter of the nurses station. "The bags under your eyes are ridiculous." Sadie chuckled. "Thanks love. Hey uh- you heard from John?" I asked quietly. Sadie pulled out her phone, examined the screen and shook her head. "Nothing. Take my number, we can keep in touch. I want to know if you hear from him." Sadie said as she snatched my phone out of my white coat pocket, dialling her number in. I nodded as I took my phone back. "I'm worried." I said even quieter. "Me too, Paul. I've never seen him like that. I'm gonna stop by his place on my way home.. I've gotta get out of here. 36 hours is a long shift." Sadie told me as she swung her jacket around her slim shoulders. "Thanks Sadie. Let me know how it goes." I tried to smile, walking toward the doctors lounge to gather my things and head out to my car. Paul: Jane.. absolutely horrible shift. I'm going home to rest, but we should meet for a pint tonight. Jane: I'd love to, hun, but I have to cover a shift tonight. Short staffed here. I'm sorry, feel better. I sighed and threw my phone in the passenger seat. I started the car, and stared down at my hands for a few moments. The blood of those patients was on my hands just as much as John's, and it made me sick. I had never experienced something like that before, and evidently, neither had John. I finally put the car into gear, and made my way back to my small flat. As I drove passed John's, I noticed his car was in the drive, Sadie's was behind it. Hopefully he had let her in. Hopefully he was okay. I made my way inside my cold house and threw on a thick jumper, track pants and slippers. I couldn't afford the heating bill that month, instead I had to make my car payment. Being a doctor hadn't been so glamorous. After all the hard work I'd done in high school and in med school, you'd think I would be living an amazing life as a doctor. It was a life of poverty at this point. I lived in a small flat that felt like an icebox, I had high car payments on an old piece of shit car, and I watched people die for a living. I lied down on my couch, finally being able to relax my mind for a few moments before I felt my phone vibrate. Sadie: I've never seen him like this before Paul. He's absolutely knackered and telling me he's ready to work. Paul: Not a fan of the whole drinking and doctoring thing. He best stay put at home. Sadie: He definitely doesn't want to listen to me. Would you come see him? He's been talking about you, and I need rest. Paul: Be there soon. I rolled my eyes at her last text. I knew Sadie did need to go home and sleep, after all, she had worked a 36 hour shift. I just did not want to deal with a drunk John. I barely knew him, let alone knew how he would be handling this situation. I put on a pair of trousers and a black turtle neck jumper. I decided I would walk, considering how close John's house was to mine. When I arrived, Sadie was walking out to her car, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sadie!" I called as I approached her, touching her shoulder sympathetically. "He's a fucking mess, Paul. He just finished screaming at me." She said as she wiped the tears out from under her eyes. "Why was he screaming at you?!" I asked, immediately concerned for what his reaction of me coming to his home would be. "That he didn't need my help, that I need to help myself." Sadie choked up. "Go get some rest. We'll pull him out of this." I hugged her. "Thanks, Paul." She smiled and I watched her get into her car and roll away. I took a deep breath and opened his front door. "John?" I called as I kicked off my shoes. No reply. I took another deep breath and made my way into what I assumed was his living room. John was sitting on the couch in a pair of track pants, flashing those damn collar bones at me again. "Want a drink? I know you're off tomorrow." John said as he stood up, walking over to his mini bar and pouring a glass of scotch for me. "You seem like an on the rocks kind of lad." John smiled as he handed me the drink. I sat down next to him and sipped at the strong drink. "You're a bloody mess." I said, stating the obvious. "I'm not." John argued as he slammed the large glass he had been sipping on, proceeding to pour himself another. "How much have you had to drink?" I asked, crossing my legs and resting the glass on my lap. "Well, McCartney. I don't think that matters, does it?" John said as he turned around. My eyes quickly found their way to his toned body. He sat down next to me and I managed to pry my eyes away. I just look up to him, I want to be like him, I tried to convince myself. "We should talk about this, John," I tried to say before he interrupted me. "Just get fuckin' hammered with me tonight and we'll talk about it tomorrow when we're both hung to the bloody tits. Can ye do that for me?" John asked, crossing his legs on the couch and facing me almost uncomfortably close. "I suppose so." I nodded and looked to my drink, taking a larger swig. "Loosen up, Paul. C'mon," John held out his class. I clinked my glass against his and watched him finish the scotch. "Go on, now!" John gestured toward my glass. I took a deep breath and slammed the scotch in my glass, naming a scrunched up face because of the burn in my mouth and down my throat. "Atta boy! You have to listen to your teacher, y'know." John winked as he snatched my glass and poured us both another. "So, tell me about yourself." John said with slurred speech, handing me the glass back. "I already have, John." I chuckled, referring to our night at the pub. "Nah that's horse shit. Tell me everything." John smiled softly and rested his chin in one hand. "Well, I was born here in Liverpool. I have a brother, Mike. He's a school teacher. Me Mum, Mary, passed away when I was 14. Breast cancer. That's why I decided to become a doctor, so kids like Mike and I didn't have to deal with that. But, anyway. I already told ye about school, and now I'm here. Tryin' to help my attending out of a bloody rut." I explained, before taking a swig of the scotch to repress the familiar pain of my Mother's passing. "My Mum died too. Hit by a car." John became quiet, a rasp in his voice. "Sorry mate." I said quietly too. "It's all over now, cryin' ain't gonna bring them back now is it?" John tried to perk himself back up, not losing the drunken tone of his voice. "Other than yer Mum, any important birds in yer life?" John asked, leaning in a little closer to make himself comfortable. His hand brushed my hip, causing me to jump from that odd feeling shooting through my body again.   "Nah, dated a girl in high school for about a month. Got too into havin' good grades after that." I admitted, John's eyebrows raising at the statement. "Bloody hell. No sex then?" John chuckled. "Jesus Christ John!" I laughed. "Well!" He shoved my shoulder lightly. "Course I've had soddin' sex." I guzzled the rest of my scotch and stood up for another, feeling the alcohol in my shaky knees. "I've had lots of birds, but never found the right one. I think I might be destined to be alone the rest of me life." John said when I turned my back to pour my drink. I knew he was serious, but I didn't know how to react. "Bit depressin', isn't it?" I tried to chuckle as I spun around with a full glass. "S'true mate. Nobody can love the arse hole doctor who spends way too much soddin' time at the hospital, and kills three patients in one day." There it was. I sat down next to him again, looking over at the doctor I had been so intimidated by, who now looked like a lonely lost little boy. "John, you made the right call." I told him, expecting him to scream at me. "I didn't, Paul." He said, I heard the words get caught in his throat. It must have been the scotch giving me the courage, but I put my hand on his knee. "I would've made the same call. We needed organs or those people were going to die regardless." I squeezed lightly on his knee. He pulled his attention away from his glass of scotch and his eyes found mine. Those beautiful light brown bastards. "I killed them, Paul." He muttered, taking a sip of his scotch but not prying his eyes away from mine. "Anybody would've made the call you made. We were desperate for organs, and we got them. It was a team effort, you me and Richard." I told him, noticing my hand was still on his knee and pulling away. Before I could, he grabbed my hand, holding it where it was. He stared down at them for a few moments before finding my eyes again. "Nobody could've seen that coming. I mean, rabies? There was only one reported case last year, John." I kept trying to reassure him. John only nodded, rubbing his thumb against my hand. "You're right." He said quietly. "I'm always right, John." I smiled at him. He shoved my hand away with a smile. "Don't be cheeky, I may be absolutely knackered but I'm still your superior." He laughed and chugged his scotch again. I did the same. "Fuckin' hell, how long have I been here? I'm already knackered meself." I giggled, hiding the uncomfortable tension between us. "What is it about you, Paul?" John asked, getting up off the couch to pour us another drink. This time he forgot the ice. "What do you mean?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and allowing my bottom lip to hang open slightly. "Dunno, mate. There's just somethin' about you. I could look at you for hours." John laughed, not turning to face me. "Gone soft?" I laughed too. "Oh bugger off. I'm just comfortable with you. Doesn't make much sense, last mate I made was fuckin' Sadie five years ago and I just screamed at her." John turned around, serious now. He sat back down on the edge of the couch. "She'll be fine, John. She loves you, you know." I reassured him, touching his bare back for a moment. "I push everybody away, Paul. Everybody." John looked into his glass as he spoke. It was almost scary how much this man could drink. "Well, ye haven't pushed me away yet." I observed, shifting my body so I wasn't so close to him. Every tiny touch sent shivers down my bloody back. John mumbled something I couldn't quite understand. "Pardon?" I asked, taking a small swig of my drink. "I said, fuck it." John looked at me, setting his glass down on the coffee table. I was confused, but that didn't last long. John lunged himself at me in slow motion and all at once, his lips came crashing onto mine. It was sloppy at first, but when I began kissing him back, it felt right. It felt perfect. It felt like whatever void there had been in my life had just been filled. John grabbed my collar with both hands, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck. When the kiss broke oh-too soon, John was smiling. "I'm sorry," He chuckled as he finished his drink. "Don't be." I said nervously, taking a large gulp of mine. "Maybe you should go, Paul." John said, still smiling. "I don't think so. I think I'm gonna stay." I said sternly, putting my hand back on his knee. "Thank god." John leaned in and kissed my cheek, lingering over it for a few moments after as if to take in my scent. "Another drink?" John offered into my ear, causing that familiar shiver to go shooting down my spine. "Yes please." I handed him my glass, nervous for what was to come next.

[warrioroflondonbelow]

( @ericbrandonrp )

The day went by quicker than expected. All day Eric and Richard played their usual games of pretend, but the angel did so with a heavy heart, yet he tried to hide it. However, he was pretty sure Richard was curious to why he was so uncharacteristically wistful, at times.-- It was impossible not to be. Before Eric knew it Richard was fast asleep and he was sitting on the edge of the boy’s bed, brushing off a tuft of tousled hair from the nine year old’s forehead. This wasn’t fair. Not to him and especially not to Richard. Why did he have to do this? After all both of them were happy together. Why couldn’t the other angels just leave them be? And to top it all off, Richard had just turned ten a week ago. ‘Why do they have to be so heartless? For pity’s sake.’ Didn’t they know what it was like to have a family? Somebody to call your own?

“Mm.. Eric?” yawned the boy, as he began to try and rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Eric’s heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to wake up now? “Ey, Rich. Sorry, did I wake you?” he smiled down at him.

“Are you a’right?” Richard cocked his head. “A-are you... Are you cryin’?” The boy frowned. Were Eric’s eyes poofy? Why was his cheek wet? He knew something was up and Eric wasn’t telling him. He hated it when Eric hid things from him. “Eric, what’s wrong.”

“N-Nothing’s wrong-...”

“And don’t say ‘nothin’s wrong’ because I know it’s not a nothin’.” Richard’s brows folded together as he sat up in bed and looked into Eric’s eyes, defiantly. The angel just shot the boy a saddened smile. “Eric, you have to tell me what’s wrong.” 

A tight-lipped smile curved on the angel’s lips. “Yer’ so brave, Rich. You’ve become so brave,” muttered Eric, before brushing another tuft of hair off Richard’s face. When did he become so grown-up?

“E-Eric yer’ scarin’ me. What’s goin’ on? Why were you actin’ funny today? A-Are you feelin’ sick? I can make you soup if you want.”

“Rich, I have to go.”

“But you’ll be back tomorrow, right?” asked the boy, blue eyes glimmering with some hope in them. Yet, Richard knew it was a farfetched question. Something told him Eric’s answer wasn’t exactly going to be something he wanted to hear. It was the same feeling in his gut that he got whenever he asked his father wether he’d be home later, to which the answer was always a sugarcoated, ‘We’ll see.’

“No,” frowned Eric. “I���m ‘fraid, not.”

“The day after that?”

He shook his head before placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Richard,” Eric began slowly, as his melancholy gaze clasped onto the boy’s. “-I won’t be comin’ back then either. In fact, I won’t be comin’ back for a while now.” “I have to go, Richard,” continued the angel, after a brief pause. It felt as if somebody were physically squeezing his chest. His stomach tied in knots. He could only imagine what Richard was feeling.

“But, why?” asked Richard. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? Are you mad at me?”

Eric shook his head. “I’m not mad,” he replied, gently. “I’m sorry, Rich. It’s better this way.”

“I-I don’t understand... Why do you want to leave me? I-I thought... I thought we were friends.”

“We are, Rich!” Trust me, I didn’t have to go I wouldn’t. “Yer’ old enough to look after yer’self. 

“No I’m not!”

“-You don’t need yer’ guardian angel anymore.”

“That’s not true!” sobbed the nine year old, as his lip began to quiver. 

“Ah, Rich. C’mon, don’t cry. Please? Everything’s gonna be, okay. Everything’s gonna-..”

“Don’t go, Eric!” cried the boy as he pulled his guardian angel into a tight embrace, letting his fingers dig into the fabric of the other’s shirt. Richard didn’t care if he was squeezing too hard. Anything to prevent Eric from disappearing for good. “Don’t go!”

“I have to. I-I’m sorry... It’s better for everybody this way.”

“No, it’s not! Yer’ lyin’! Yer’ a liar!”

“I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t like this joke anymore! Yer’ not bein’ funny!”

“Listen, Rich, you’ll be with yer’ mum and dad, Rich. They’ll look after ye’.”

Richard shook his head, as he continued to let his forehead rest upon the angel’s chest, letting his tears stain the other’s shirt. “I don’t want them! I want you!” he wailed.  That’s when it hit him. It cemented itself upon Eric. It killed him to admit it, but the other angels were right. Angels weren’t even supposed to befriend mortals. Eric had already crossed the line when he decided to stick with Richard, but this?-- This was crossing the line. Eric was in too deep.

Gently, the angel somehow managed to pry Richard away from his secure embrace. His throat tightened. Eric was on the verge of tears, but he braved the best smile he could at the moment for Richard. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of the boy. Not now. Eric didn’t want Richard’s final image of his ‘imaginary friend’ to be Eric painted in his true colours- a broken soul.  “Look at me, Richard. ‘Eyy. Look at me,” breathed the angel, as he placed his hands upon the boy’s wet cheeks, doing his best to wipe away the coming tears from the boy he saw as his son’s face. “I need you to do me a favour, a’right, Rich? I need you to be strong. Be brave for me, okay? I need you to stay brave. Yer’ already doin’ so well.” Suddenly, Eric noticed his hands fading away. It was time...

“No!” Richard bawled.

“Try and remember what I taught you.”

“No!”

“Be good.”

“No! Don’t go, Eric! Don’t go!!” Richard could have probably come up with a hundred arguments to why Eric should stay, and a hundred more to why he needed the angel, but he couldn’t conjure any of them up that night. The boy’s mind was too marred with the type of sadness that muddles up your thoughts until its nothing but one big ball of tangled up words and phrases, leaving you sputtering out voice-cracking pleads of desperation;half of them you have no idea even what you’re saying. Maybe if Richard refused enough- rejected the painful reality being presented to him- then this would all turn out as some bad dream.

“Yer’ so grown up now, Richard. Why didn’t you tell me you had grown so much?” faltered Eric. His body was beginning to feel lighter. The angel knew it would only take seconds till he was nothing.

Richard shook his head. His face was crumpled as he tried to pull in greedy gasps of air through his suffocating tears. “I don’t wanna grow up! I want to stay with you!! I don’t want you to go, Eric!”

Time was running out. “I’m sorry about this, Rich.” Eric gently tapped his index finger against the young boy’s forehead, rendering Richard into a deep sleep. And just like that, the angel dematerialised, leaving Richard all alone for good.

Angel-less, Richard Mayhew found himself plagued with sleepless and tear-marked nights. Clara Mayhew would open the door to find the young boy sobbing, and much to her dismay it would take a long while to ebb Richard’s outbursts. “I want Eric! I don’t want you, I want Eric!” is all that the nine year old would say. And in the morning, his schoolmates would usually find Richard sulking; teachers would constantly have to call his attention back to the lesson- he looked as if he were a hundred miles away. Never had Richard hated and needed Eric so much. Yet, as time does naturally, days soon grew into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years. The nine year old wasn’t a nine year old anymore. Throughout the years, Richard managed to find friends, part-time jobs, have his heartbroken more than once only to have it filled by another girl in time-- All this and so much more. Richard Mayhew grew up, leaving the night Eric left him far behind. In fact, the angel was practically non-existent within the annals of Richard’s memory.

-------------------------------------

“Thanks for helpin’ me unpack, Jess,” offered Richard, as he began to unwrap his bowls from their newspaper casing.

“It’s Jessica, Richard; and honestly, how long have you been living in this flat? Two months now?” muttered the slender brunette, who was busy helping sort out boxes of knick-knacks.

“Ah, c’mon, y’know me,” shrugged the dark-haired Scot. “Work’s a killer and I’m hopeless when it comes to unpackin’ and decoratin’ and all that shite.”

“It’s a good thing I’m here then. Maybe once we’re done with the kitchen we can clear all that rubbish of your sofa and have... a little lie down,” offered Jessica Bartram, with a cheeky twinkle in her eye. It was enough to make Richard’s cheeks go red.  “Oh! Richard, look at this!”

“Hm? What is it? You found my troll-doll collection?”

“What!? No, silly. It’s a picture that you drew, I think.”

“Really!? Hang on, let me see.” 

“I found it at the top of one of the boxes. Amazing how it didn’t get crumpled up,” explained Jessica as she handed Richard the piece of paper. On it was a clumsily made drawing, undoubtedly by the hands of a child: From the gawkily drawn background with trees that were too scrawny to look like trees, and of course the two shoddily sketched figures in the centre; one small and one tall. The smaller figure had the word ‘mee’ written atop of it, while the taller one had, what looked like the misaligned word, ‘E r i c’ floating above it. “It’s adorable!” squeaked the wavy haired brunette. “Did you do that, Richard?”

He shook his head. “No.. Err... or at least I don’t think so. Maybe it was one of Andy’s drawings?”

“How did it get mixed into your stuff?”

“No idea. Just a wee bit of a mix-up,” said Richard, rather half-heartedly. His brows pinched together as he examined the doodle. He looked like he was trying to solve some mind-breaking riddle. Richard didn’t know what it was but there was just something about that drawing that seemed so familiar, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it. It felt like that feeling after you had woken up from a deep sleep. The fringes of your dream from said sleep were still there, but the more you tried to remember the more it seemed to fade away.

“Who’s Eric? A friend of yours?” hummed Jessica, as she rested her chin upon her fiance’s shoulder. “Family member?”

“No idea. Probably one of Andy’s old mates from elementary school,” smiled Richard as he crumpled up the drawing and tossed it into the nearby bin. “Sooo, what do you say you and I take a wee break and sort out the couch, eh?”

[casualcatchycookie]

Harry potter Book 1 Chapter 4

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

“Where’s the cannon?” he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands – now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

“Who’s there?” he shouted. “I warn you — I’m armed!”

There was a pause. Then —

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey. . . ”

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

“Budge up, yeh great lump,” said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

“An’ here’s Harry!” said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby,” said the giant. “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mom’s eyes. ”

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

“I demand that you leave at once, sir!” he said. “You are breaking and entering!”

“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon’s hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

“Anyway — Harry,” said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, “a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right. ”

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, “Who are you?”

The giant chuckled.

“True, I haven’t introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. ”

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry’s whole arm.

“What about that tea then, eh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind. ”

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn’t see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he’d sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, “Don’t touch anything he gives you, Dudley. ”

The giant chuckled darkly.

“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ anymore, Dursley, don’ worry. ”

He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are. ”

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Call me Hagrid,” he said, “everyone does. An’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.

“Er — no,” said Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly.

“Sorry ?” barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. “It’s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”

“All what?” asked Harry.

���ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!”

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

“Do you mean ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin’ abou’ — about ANYTHING?”

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren’t bad.

“I know some things,” he said. “I can, you know, do math and stuff. ”

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents’ world. ”

“What world?”

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

“DURSLEY!” he boomed.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like “Mimblewimble. ” Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.

“But yeh must know about yer mom and dad,” he said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous. ”

“What? My — my mom and dad weren’t famous, were they?”

“Yeh don’ know. . . yeh don’ know. . . ” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

“Yeh don’ know what yeh are ?” he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

“Stop!” he commanded. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!”

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

“You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ you’ve kept it from him all these years?”

“Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly.

“STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry — yer a wizard. ”

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

“I’m a what ?” gasped Harry.

“A wizard, o’ course,” said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, “an’ a thumpin’ good ‘un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An’ I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letter. ”

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. , Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry’s head like fireworks and he couldn’t decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, “What does it mean, they await my owl?”

“Gallopin’ Gorgons, that reminds me,” said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry his letter.

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

“Where was I?” said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

“He’s not going,” he said.

Hagrid grunted.

“I’d like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him,” he said.

“A what?” said Harry, interested.

“A Muggle,” said Hagrid, “it’s what we call nonmagic folk like them. An’ it’s your bad luck you grew up in a family o’ the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on. ”

“We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon, “swore we’d stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!”

“You knew ?” said Harry. “You knew I’m a — a wizard?”

“Knew!” shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. “Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!”

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

“Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just the same, just as strange, just as — as — abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!”

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, “Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!”

“CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. “How could a car crash kill Lily an’ James Potter? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin’ his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!”

“But why? What happened?” Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid’s face. He looked suddenly anxious.

“I never expected this,” he said, in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, Harry, I don’ know if I’m the right person ter tell yeh — but someone’s gotta — yeh can’t go off ter Hogwarts not knowin’. ”

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

“Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it. . . ”

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, “It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it’s incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows–”

“Who?”

“Well — I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does. ”

“Why not?”

“Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went. . . bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was. . . ”

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

“Could you write it down?” Harry suggested.

“Nah — can’t spell it. All right — Voldemort. ” Hagrid shuddered. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches. . . terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ‘Course, some stood up to him — an’ he killed ’em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.

“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side before. . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.

“Maybe he thought he could persuade ’em. . . maybe he just wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ — an’–”

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s that sad — knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find — anyway. . .

“You-Know-Who killed ’em. An’ then — an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That���s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived. ”

Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Hagrid’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot. . . ”

“Load of old tosh,” said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

“Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled, “I accept there’s something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they’d come to a sticky end–”

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, “I’m warning you, Dursley — I’m warning you — one more word. . . ”

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon’s courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

“That’s better,” said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

“But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?”

“Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see. . . he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful — why’d he go?

“Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of ’em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back.

“Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ‘Cause somethin’ about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right. ”

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He’d spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn’t they been turned into warty toads every time they’d tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he’d once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard. ”

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

“Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?”

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it. . . every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry. . . chased by Dudley’s gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach. . . dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he’d managed to make it grow back. . . and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn’t he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn’t he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at him.

“See?” said Hagrid. “Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you’ll be right famous at Hogwarts. ”

But Uncle Vernon wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

“Haven’t I told you he’s not going?” he hissed. “He’s going to Stonewall High and he’ll be grateful for it. I’ve read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and–”

“If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won’t stop him,” growled Hagrid. “Stop Lily an’ James Potter’s son goin’ ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name’s been down ever since he was born. He’s off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won’t know himself. He’ll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an’ he’ll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled–”

“I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!” yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, “NEVER — ” he thundered, ” — INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!”

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

“Shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he said ruefully, “but it didn’t work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn’t much left ter do. ”

He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.

“Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an’ get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff — one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job. ”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.

“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore. ”

“Why were you expelled?”

“It’s gettin’ late and we’ve got lots ter do tomorrow,” said Hagrid loudly. “Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an’ that. ”

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.

“You can kip under that,” he said. “Don’ mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o’ doormice in one o’ the pockets. ”

[readbookywooks]

THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS

BOOM. 

They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.　　There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands -- now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.　　

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you -- I'm armed!"　　

There was a pause. Then --　　

SMASH!　　

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.　　

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.　　

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.　　

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."　　

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.　　

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.　　

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.　　

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.　　

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.　　

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."　　

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.　　

“I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"　　

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.　　

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.　　

"Anyway -- Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here -- I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."　

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.　　

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"　　The giant chuckled.　　

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."　　

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.　　

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."　　

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.　　

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."　　

The giant chuckled darkly.　　

"Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."　　

He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."　　

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.　　

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts -- yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.　　

"Er -- no," said Harry.　　

Hagrid looked shocked.　　

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.　　

"Sony?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"　　

"All what?" asked Harry.　　

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"　　

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.　　

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy -- this boy! -- knows nothin' abou' -- about ANYTHING?"　　

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad.　　

"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."　　"What world?"　　

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.　　

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.　　

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.　　

"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."　　

"What? My -- my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"　　

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.　　

"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.　　

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.　　

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"　　

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.　　

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"　　

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly.　　

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.　　

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.　　

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry -- yet a wizard."　　

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.　　

"-- a what?" gasped Harry.　　

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."　　

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:　　

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY　　

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE　　

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)　　

Dear Mr. Potter,　　

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.　　

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,　　

Minerva McGonagall,　　

Deputy Headmistress　　

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"　　

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl -- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl -- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could read upside down:　　

Dear Professor Dumbledore,　　

Given Harry his letter.　　

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.　　

Weather's horrible. Hope you're Well.　　

Hagrid　　

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.　　

Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.　　

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.　　

"He's not going," he said.　　

Hagrid grunted.　　

"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.　　

"A what?" said Harry, interested.　　

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."　　

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"　　

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm a -- a wizard?"　　

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"　　

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.　　

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as -- as -- abnormal -- and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"　　

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"　　

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!" "But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.　　

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.　　

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh -- but someone 3 s gotta -- yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."　　

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.　　

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it...."　　

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows --"　　

"Who? "　　

"Well -- I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."　　

"Why not?"　　

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."　　

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.　　

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.　　

"Nah -can't spell it. All right -- Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this -- this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him -- an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.”　　

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.　　

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' -- an' --"　　

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.　　

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad -- knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find -- anyway..."　　

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then -- an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing -- he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh -- took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even -- but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age -- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts -- an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."　　

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before -- and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.　　

Hagrid was watching him sadly.　　

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."　　

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.　　

"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured -- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion -- asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types -- just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end --"　　

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you -- one more word... "　　

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.　　

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.　　Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.　　

"But what happened to Vol--, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"　　

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful -- why'd he go?　　

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.　　

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on -- I dunno what it was, no one does -- but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."　　

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?　　

"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."　　

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.　　

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"　　

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back... and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?　　

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at him.　　

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard -- you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."　　

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.　　

"Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish -- spell books and wands and --"　　

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter' s son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled--"　　

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL To TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.　　

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"　　

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley -- there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.　　

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.　　Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.　　

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."　　

He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.　　

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm -- er -- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff -- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job　　

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.　　

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." "Why were you expelled?"　　

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."　　

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.　　

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

[elafranco2024]

That's great! But why my baby looks so sad?!

The most beautiful boy. The most baby of all times🌹🌹🌹🌹

“I’m a lad who appreciates a nice flower.”

I’ve always loved that Paul McCartney showed up at the St. Peter’s fete wearing a pink carnation. The lad’s walking through Liverpool with a flower on his chest and not caring what anyone thought. And I love that that carried on in him. If he felt like wearing a flower he just did. So, he shows up at the Alfie premiere with Jane Asher, no flower. Then, at the after-party, the tie (unusually) comes down, and he’s found a fat carnation to put on to his lapel. Again at Chiswick, filming for Paperback Writer, he finds a flower, and puts it on, and screw what anyone thinks of it. I love that. 

Golly, I just love the kid.  His love for flowers shows up in a couple places in one of my fanfics, i.e.,:

As they headed to the door Paul stopped at a vase in the small hallway. With a wink at John, he snapped a pink carnation from its stem, slipping it into an open buttonhole of his own shirt. “And just what are you doing, molesting my bouquet,” came Mimi’s voice. “What can I say, lady? I’m a lad who appreciates a nice flower.” “And you’re going out like that?” Mimi repeated Paul’s words back to him. “What,” he challenged her, echoing John, with one eyebrow raised. “Parading all around Liverpool with a flower in your shirt, like a Republican signaling a riot.” “Leave ‘im alone, Mimi, he’s fine,” John defended him as he opened the door. “C’mon, Macca, let’s get a move on, already.” “Ta for breakfast, Mimi,” Paul called out as they left. “You’re welcome,” she replied with a fondness that she was having difficulty hiding. “You repellent, tedious, maddening boy.” 

– From Chapter 9 of Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin’ – found at AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182481/chapters/46704061

[waveofahand]

Different fics for different folks

Someone suggested that I should make a post describing some of the different sorts of stories and series I've written, all involving the Beatles in different ways, some funny, some very dramatic. And I thought, why not?

"Yes," they say, "Why not?" So, in no particular order or plan... ROMANTIC: Sweet:

"The French Kiss"

"Bed Wresting & Secrets of Spun Glass"

"Time to Put Paulie to Bed"

"Paul, Not Strong, Leans on John"

"I really, really wanna hold your hand!" Tragic and Sad:

"Angel Eyes Comes for John Lennon"

"Paul just wants to hold John's hand"

MCLENNON HEAVY ANGST:

"Carry That Weight"

"Hello, Goodbye: Carry That Weight Part II"

"Here, There & Everywhere (Part III, still in progress)

FUNNY STUFF: "Paul is Dead, or He Soon Will Be"

"John and Paul Introduce the McSeamus to your Mum"

"Paul's Got John's Thigh, and He's Not Letting Go"

"Herr McCartney, about that piano you broke..."

"Now, look Paul, I'm not taking 'no' for an answer!"

MCLENNON FIGHTING:

"I"m taking you home, John!"

MCLENNON IN YOUTH:

"Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin'"

"Bunny McCartney, Secret Subversive"

JOHN IS HELPLESS ABOUT PAUL:

"Killing me Softly, With His Cuteness"

"John has no discretion and even less self-control"

"Help, Paul is Teasing Me!"

"I Promise, I won't let you down!"

"John and Paul discern a surprising new year!"

"John says 'yes'" FUNNY GENDER-NEUTRAL READER INSERTS: "You Know His Name & He's Got Your Number"

"Adventures in Lockdown: Paul Finds Bananas!"

"Waking up with Paul, in Lockdown"

"Temporary Secretary"

JOHN IS INSUFFERABLE:

"Hocus Focus: John Offers Paul Up to a Hypnotist"

"There's a line, and John has come right up to it"

"John takes his vengeance upon Paul"

FRIENDSHIP:

Paul and Ringo: "Life is Short but Scars are Forever." RANDOM ONE-SHOTS: With Jane Asher: "Paulie Nibbles Has Left the Building"

With Ciggies: Beatles and Butts: What the Ciggie Carton Saw!

Sad reader insert: "Macca, the Stranger on the Train"

RIngo: "Ringo, always the grown up!"

There's more but... that's enough! As ever, I thank you for reading anything!

[waveofahand]

6,500 Hits for Crying Boys! Thank You!

“Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin’“ is a terrible title (I’m bad with titles). It’s one of my earliest fanfics, and my first multi-chapter fanfiction -- as usual for the McLennon Fandom -- and I just realized that even though it never got much attention in this blog, it’s still attracting readers, for which I am very grateful. Thank you.

I had meant it to be a simple one-shot story of Paul giving Jim McCartney some lip and then tearing off to find John, who has gone missing upon the death of Julia. When he finally does find him, John’s grief is to raw that it opens up the repressed, unexpressed sorrow Paul has been carrying about his own mother’s death. Once John asked Paul to stay with him at Mimi’s for a few days, though, well.... then I had to write a chapter with Mimi, didn’t I, with Paul very politely but firmly bossing everyone around while he makes scrambled eggs and whiskey and once more finds his own refuge in controlling others. And.... it just went on from there: two grieving, fighting, teasing, kissing, competing, wondering teenaged boys, for 13 chapters. Lots of crying and a bit of brawling -- John gives Paulie a shiner right before Julia’s casket -- but a lot of laughs, too, surprisingly. Young George Harrison, especially, was fun to write.  Anyway, since I see it getting some attention again, I thought I’d bring it to yours. You can read the whole story at A03. Hope you like it!  

[waveofahand]

Two Princes: “John, tell me a story...”

After Julia’s funeral, John has used Paul’s kindness against him, unleashing the fast and cruel vitriol of his tongue to diminish and embarrass his best mate before all their friends. He knows he needs to apologize, but the words won’t come, until Paul gives him the means to do it. (Excerpted from Chapter 8 of “Mums, Yer Boys are Cryin’”)

***

Wherever he’d meant to go, John found himself stalled again as he noticed the shiner near Paul’s eye and winced at his earlier thought (the punch, the bruise, kissed...). All he could feel in the moment was self-doubt. He could see Paul’s expression growing thoughtful as he licked his dry lips and looked steady on at John.

“Johnny,” Paul said, holding his gaze, “Just tell me a story.”

John lowered his eyes. “I can’t. I don’t know any good ones.”

“Tell me a bad one, then. I'm trying to let you off the hook, but I need to hear a story from you, Johnny. Either way. I need you to tell me something.”

Lennon gave a little gasp. Paul had never admitted to needing anything from John. Not anything. Ever. He had to do it.

“Okay…” he closed his eyes and began. “Once upon a time…”

“When?”

“A long, long time ago that happened forever and today.”

“Okay.” Paul tilted John’s chin up, until their eyes were level.  "Look at me, John.”

John opened his eyes and stared into Paul’s.

"It's not a confessional," Paul said softly, the smallest of smiles on his face, meant to encourage him. "It's just story-time, okay?"

Lennon took a deep breath and nodded.

“There were two princes,” he started again.

Read the rest of Chapter 8 HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182481/chapters/46350604