#quite interesting but my attention span is nonexistent unfortunately
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naiad-lagoon · 4 months ago
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getting through my reading for humanities by playing L’s theme in the background and pretending the two philosophers talking are L and light debating
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noxiousaffection · 3 years ago
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dol school love interests + wren and alex and what i think their favorite childhood series would have been
Robin: Magic Tree House
A Series of Unfortunate Events was a good contender, but it just hit too close to home. Don’t get them wrong, the books were good, but if they wanted to read about a miserable orphan coping with a shitty caretaker, they’d just write an autobiography.
Thoroughly read through every single book in the series, not just once or twice, but eight times. They could probably recite whole passages from memory. Orphans, especially under Bailey’s care, aren’t afforded entertainment, thus find ways to dissociate from their miserable existence busy their minds. Robin would have lost it years ago without these books.
It was pure chance that they discovered this particular series. Specifically, they selected a book at random from their middle school library, which also just so happensd to be the first of the series.
Whitney: Harry Potter
Now this may come to as a surprise, but Whitney is a diehard Harry Potter fan. I can feel it in my bones. However, let’s make one thing clear, this is not, nor will ever be, common knowledge. Even juvenile Whitney had a reputation to uphold, even if that reputation was just of him being an insufferable, half-pint delinquent.
Owns an abundance of merch, none of which they openly display. As if they’re into that bippity boppity boo bullshit, they’re not a nerd. Shut up before they make you. Now, if you were to somehow find your way into their closet, you may that it stores anything but clothes.
Vehemently loathes the golden trio, Harry Potter himself more specifically. Any clown foolish enough to express fondness for that assfuck orphan, his brain dead dog, and the know-it-all bitch within Whitney’s ear shot shall find themself befallen a great travesty.
Kylar: Warrior Cats
Talk about a fanatic; this is no mere phase, it’s a life long commitment. When you enter a relationship with Kylar, you also enter a non-negotiable relationship with their precious books. Has been attached to this series since primary school and will continue to be for the foreseeable future.
Randomly makes various cat noises. (i.e. hisses at people who get too close to you, meows for your attention, purrs when you give them affection, etc.) Do it back. Seriously, do it. Instantly turns them on.
Unironically calls you their mate.
Please roleplay with them. Please.
Somehow always got a hold of every book before release. Their parents aren’t afraid to abuse their power for their precious baby.
Has not and will not ever read a single page of Erin Hunter’s spin-off series Survivor. Canines are the enemy; they’re no traitor.
Sydney: Dear America
Honestly, I remember very little about these books, but if what little memory remains stand to be true, then I just know little Sydney was obsessed. Outside of the temple, their passion for these historical works of fiction remains unparalleled even to this day.
For as long as they’ve been a library assistant, the series never seems to be available to be checked out. Sydney denies all allegations.
Owns a hardback copy of every single book, spin-offs included.
Wren: Goosebumps
In truth, Wren isn’t much of a reader (never having finished even a single book outside of school), but these books hold a special place in their heart.
Each book is the perfect length for this young smuggler’s near nonexistent attention span; a reliable source for those short bursts of dopamine they crave.
It’s not that they don’t like reading, per say, just that they’re dyslexic. Reading becomes a chore when you’re chasing words down on a page.
Their favorite books of all time would have to be Go Eat Worms and The Egg Monster From Mars. I have no good explanations for these, just vibes and a dash of projection.
Alex: Captain Underpants
I’m not quite sure how they first got a hold of the series, but they were hooked almost instantaneously. Their parents were more than happy to fund their latest fascination.
They hate reading, but they can get behind comics. They much prefer pictures to words and comics are chock-full of pictures.
If given the chance, I imagine they would have enjoyed Diary of A Wimpy Kid just as much.
Nowadays, the only thing Alex reads is the shampoo bottle label when they’re taking a shit.
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jayeray-hq · 4 years ago
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He’s My Best Friend: Aone Takanobu
Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!
Warnings: fluff and very, very slight implied NSFW and innuendo
Choose your own ending platonic or romantic!
He’s My Best Friend Masterlist - Character Masterlist
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Thank you as ever to the wonderful and talented Tay @deathcab4daddy​, thank you for beta reading for me! I don’t know what I’d do without you!
The Past: How You Met
           You’d met Aone Takanobu the day you’d started school for the very first time. It had been an exciting day for you, one you’d been looking forward to for a long time. You distinctly remembered putting on your fancy new uniform, admiring your reflection in the mirror. You’d almost missed out on breakfast because you ignored the calls for you to join in, you’d been so caught up in how grown up you looked and fantasizing about how amazing school was going to be.
When the time had come for you to be dropped off, you’d pranced happily out of the car without fear, and entered your classroom with your head held high. The teacher had greeted you warmly and helped you find your desk, and you’d immediately set about trying to befriend the people next to you eagerly chatting away.
             The desk mate on your right, whose name you’d long forgotten, had been all too happy to speak with you at the time, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get the boy to your left to talk. He’d look at you, and he seemed to be listening to what you said to him, but no matter what questions you asked, no matter what you said or did, he didn’t respond to you, not even when you asked his name.
             In the end, your short attention span meant you’d given up on talking to the quiet white-haired boy, and instead interacted with the others around you. It had been an incredibly enjoyable morning, and it only got better when you were invited outside for recess after lunch. You and some of the girls you’d befriended over the course of the morning had all plopped down together so you could show them how to make flower crowns. It was a skill you were rather proud of at the time, one that your next-door neighbor, who you’d thought was the coolest girl ever- a middle schooler, and clearly knowledgeable about all the best things, had taught you.
             It had all been going extremely well, right up until you’d heard a ruckus on the other side of the playground. You’d looked up from the crown you were making to see a bunch of boys all gathered around the white-haired boy who’d refused to speak to you. Looking at them all grouped together you’d realized rather abruptly that he was really big, standing at least a head taller than the tallest of the other boys and rather broad too.
             Curious you’d tuned into what the other boys were saying to him. You’d gotten the shock of your young life when you realized they were making fun of a boy who looked like he could easily take them all on if he wanted to. Bloodthirsty little thing that you were, you’d watched on eagerly, sure that the boys were about to get beat down, as they called the white-haired boy all sorts of mean names, insinuating he was stupid and slow.
             However, you’d gotten another shock when you realized he wasn’t doing anything. Instead, he just stood there, taking their words, head down and unmoving, not bothering to protest or stand up for himself. It had confused you quite a bit, as you couldn’t fathom why he didn’t try to make them stop one way or another.
             The taunts had increased in fervor a couple seconds later, calling the white-haired boy a cry baby of all things. Concerned and nosy, you’d gotten to your feet and edged closer to the group of boys trying to get a better look. Up close you could see the boy really was crying, though he still wasn’t making any noise, fat tears were running down his pale cheeks. It was a sight pitiful enough to tug your heartstrings, so you’d decided in all your five-year-old glory, that you couldn’t allow it to continue.
             Like the warrior of truth and justice that you’d thought you were at that age, you’d launched yourself at the group of boys, small fists swinging, doling out sharp kicks to the shins and telling them off for being mean. You’d taken them all by surprise, and between that and the fact that you threatened them very fervently with cooties if they didn’t leave you and the white-haired boy alone, they scattered.
             You’d then rounded on the boy, who flinched but still didn’t move, staring at you with wide brown eyes. He’d looked so scared at that moment, clearly afraid that you were about to be just as bad or worse than the boys you’d scared off. Instead, you’d grabbed one of his hands and dragged the confused stumbling boy after you, back to the nice patch of grass where you’d been making flower crowns.
             You’d pulled him down onto the grass next to you, and started back on your work again. As your fingers moved to piece the crown together, you’d lectured him firmly about letting those other boys push him around, and then showed him how to make a proper flower crown. You’d then plopped the one you’d just finished on to his head, and admired your work, extremely pleased with yourself.
             Aone had gazed at you for several long minutes, clearly bewildered, but then had finally spoken to you in a slow, stuttering voice, introducing himself as Aone Takanobu. It turned out the reason he didn’t speak very much was because he had a bit of a speech impediment that made him stutter. It was the reason the boys had been making fun of him earlier, which you thought was just silly.
             You’d told him firmly that it didn’t bother you at all, because you’d given him a flower crown, which meant the two of you were friends for life now. Aone had stared, wide-eyed and clearly astonished, a faint blush on his pale cheeks, but had apparently accepted your declaration at face value. By the end of that recess, you’d had a flower crown of your own in your hair, messy and clumsy but made with care, and the two of you had been best friends ever since.
 The Present: Your High School Days
             Frustrated beyond belief, you slowly beat your head against the table, hoping that you could somehow beat the information into your brain since nothing else seemed to be working. Fortunately, before you could give yourself a concussion on the table, a large warm palm slipped beneath your head.
             You turned your face, keeping your cheek pressed to the hand underneath your head, and looked up at your best friend who was peering at you with clear concern on his face. Seeing his apprehension, you heaved a long sigh and lifted your face up, not wanting to make him worry. Though most didn’t realize, because they judged him solely by his appearance, Aone was an enormous worrywart and would fret himself into anxiety, especially when it came to his friends.
             Despite growing taller, broader, and more muscular, Aone was the same sweet teddy bear of a guy, with a heart made entirely of marshmallow fluff, as he had been when you’d met way back when you were five. The only difference was that these days he was no longer picked on, both because he was too intimidating for most to try, and because you and his other best friend had done your best to encourage him to stand up for himself.
             Futakuchi had been an interesting addition to your group. He’d apparently taken one look at Aone, and much like the other people you met, assumed just because he was big he would have the attitude to match. However, unlike other people, he’d simply thought it was cool and had wanted to befriend him because he thought they’d enjoy the same things.
             He’d been just as stubborn and persistent as you had back when you’d first befriended Aone, coming around all the time and acting like an enormous pest. He’d followed Aone around everywhere, and as his one and only best friend at the time, it had seriously irritated you. It angered you to the point where you and Futakuchi got into petty squabbles almost every day. He thought Aone should stop hanging out with you because you were a girl and obviously lame, while you thought Aone should stop hanging out with him because he was a jerk.
             Things probably would’ve continued like that, except one day both of you had been caught up in squabbling, and suddenly Aone had once again been approached by others looking to bully him. Unfortunately for them, both you and Futakuchi were entirely wound up from fighting with one another, but when presented with other, easier prey had rounded on them. The two of you working together had been enough to bring them to tears, the group of boys running away with their tails between their legs.
             After both you and Futakuchi had gained a grudging respect for one another. Futakuchi had realized that you could be just as vicious as he was in defense of Aone, and you realized that he was willing to stand up for your friend who you were incredibly protective of.
             Things had been easier after that, though the smart-mouthed brunette was still closer to Aone than he was to you, you still got along fairly well. It helped that after Futakuchi had dragged him into volleyball, a place where Aone’s height and size were something to be praised rather than something to make fun of, Aone had gotten much more confident. These days, if your bickering with Futakuchi got out of hand, Aone was right there in the middle of the two of you, pushing you apart, and giving you both scolding looks.
             A gentle hand resting on your head pulled you from your thoughts and you refocused on your friend, who was looking even more worried than he’d been before. His brow was furrowed with concern, his face close enough to yours that you could actually see the pale hairs of his eyebrows that tended to look nonexistent from a distance because of how light they were.
             “I’m alright,” you assured him, pulled back to the present by the gentle weight of hi hand as he set it atop your head, clearly trying to regain your attention, quickly explaining, “Just struggling with math as usual.”
             “Do you need help?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, the words coming out confidently.
             Aone had managed, with the help of some speech therapy and budding confidence, to get his stutter mostly under control. It rarely ever appeared these days, and never in your presence. He still had to think over what he wanted to say before he said it, which made him a little slow to respond sometimes. However, as long as you waited patiently, he would never leave you hanging, even if he still didn’t talk much around others for fear the stutter would come back.
             “If you don’t mind?” you asked him, giving him the most pitiful look you could muster, earning an amused huff from your friend who knew exactly what you were doing.
             “Show me,” he agreed, taking a seat beside you.
             You did as asked, sliding your work toward him and watching him work through it patiently. You probably should’ve continued to focus on work, but you’d had something on your mind for a while now.
             “Hey, Aone?” you asked, hesitantly.
             The tone of your voice must’ve tipped him off that you had something serious on your mind, because he instantly looked up, all his attention on you. He waited patiently for you to put together the words, not rushing you, simply waiting to hear whatever you had to say.
             “Are you alright?” you managed finally, peering at him worriedly, “I mean, with the third years leaving and Futakuchi being named captain.”
             The words ‘instead of you’ hung between the two of you, unsaid but clearly heard. Honestly, you’d been more than a little shocked that Futakuchi had been named captain, with his oftentimes caustic personality you weren’t sure he had the disposition for it. In your own personal, and likely highly biased opinion, Aone would’ve been much better. He had the patience for it, along with the admiration of his kouhai, and was the best player on their team. It just didn’t make sense to you that he’d been passed over in favor of Futakuchi.
             “I will miss the third years,” Aone told you, after a moment of contemplation, “But their decisions are their own. We will simply have to do our best to make them proud, though they are still coming to practice fairly regularly.”
             You couldn’t help the small smile that flitted across your face at that. You’d known despite their decision to leave that the third years were going to have a bit of a hard time letting go. You’d gotten to know them fairly well, having come to as many games and practices as you could manage in support of your friend, who’d done the same for you.
             You’d honestly really liked Moniwa, and had hoped the captain would stick around a bit longer. He’d been really good both to and for Aone. He was also an incredibly sweet guy, and you’d admired that he was able to deal with both Futakuchi and Kamasaki who was like an older and only slightly mature version of him.
             “Futakuchi will be a good captain,” Aone expressed, quiet but resolute, without any form of regret in his gaze, as he answered your other question, “I trust him to make the right decisions for the team, and will do my best to support him as vice-captain. We’re going to go to nationals next year.”
             That was honestly just like him. Aone was probably one of the most supportive people you’d ever met and a fantastic friend. He wasn’t upset at all and had instead chosen to instead be happy for Futakuchi and focus on what he felt was most important.
             “I’ll be right there, cheering you on,” you told him with a smile, because if he was happy, you were happy.
             He smiled at you, small but sincere as he gently rested his hand on top of your head in thanks, before indicating that you should get back to work. You sighed, but went along with it, glad that he was so willing to help you. You didn’t know what you would’ve done without him.
 The Future: Platonic
             “What are you doing?” the deep voice of your best friend asked, his words startling you enough that the nails you’d been holding in your mouth dropped to the floor with a clatter. You turned to look at Aone, who was standing in the doorway, a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.
             “Fixing it?” you replied, the words coming out more like a question than the statement you’d intended.
             The look he gave you for that was one more judgmental than you’d ever thought your sweet, teddy bear of a friend would ever be able to manage. It made you both simultaneously proud, and a little irked knowing the credit for that lay almost entirely at the feet of you and Futakuchi. You’d never thought it would be turned on you in quite this manner though.
             Aone strode forward and began to thoroughly inspect your work. His hands handled the bookcase parts with care as he gently turned them over seemingly without effort despite the fact that you’d struggled to lift them on your own. The stupid thing had broken after one too many books had been stacked on it, which you’d found rather infuriating. Still, you hadn’t wanted to get rid of it, and so had been trying to fix it yourself. Judging from the look on his face, you hadn’t been doing nearly as well at it as you’d hoped.
             “Well, Mr. Construction worker? What’s the verdict?” you asked curiously, “Is it salvageable?”
             “Maybe,” he told you, completely noncommittal as he held out his hands for the hammer you’d been using. Reluctantly you passed it over to him, knowing full well it would be much safer in his hands than in yours.
             Gently he caught one of your hands with his before you had the chance to pull them back, as quick as ever despite only playing volleyball recreationally these days. He tutted audibly over the state of them, clear disapproval and accusation in his gaze that had you wilting in shame.
             “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked as he gently tugged you to your feet, pulling you toward the bathroom where your first aid supplies were kept.
             “I didn’t want to bug you, you’re a busy man these days, and I totally had it under control,” you told him, even as you hopped up on to the bathroom counter, well used to Aone behaving like a mother hen by now, holding out your hands when he asked for them.
             “Next time, call,” he scolded firmly, the words making you smile despite the fact that he was telling you off. He’d come a long way from the shy little boy you’d met at recess all those years ago. Back then he never would’ve dared to scold you, now he did so without a second thought.
             Being vice-captain of the volleyball team had been good for him, and he’d really come into his own, helping Futakuchi lead them to nationals during interhigh that last year and retiring shortly after. You’d actually been a little surprised he retired, especially since you’d fully believed he had the talent to go pro, a belief backed by several offers from different places for a sports scholarship. However, Aone had confided that while he loved volleyball, life in the spotlight simply wasn’t for him. All he wanted was something peaceful where he didn’t have to talk too much and could work with his hands.
             He’d certainly found that in construction, and was slowly but surely working his way up the ladder. The maturity and assuredness he’d found through volleyball had really helped him become independent and strong, so much so that at times you wondered if he really needed you anymore.
             However, the moment intrusive thoughts like that flitted across your mind Aone was suddenly there, with his quiet but insistent presence, assuring you he would never, ever leave you alone. The two of you were best friends for life, and you knew it, though it was nice to see just how far the two of you had come together.
             At times you found it almost ironic, the one who’d needed looking after, and become the one who did all the looking after, your dynamic flipped. Not that you minded. You found it sweet how he fussed over you still despite both of you having other people in your life nowadays. Speaking of which…
             “How did you know I was trying to fix something on my own again anyways?” you asked, more than a bit suspicious.
             The look he gave you in turn spoke volumes. You were going to kill Futakuchi, that little jerk, he was such a tattletale. It was no matter though, you’d just have to remind him once again, that Aone loved you most.
             The clear exasperation in your friend’s eyes told you he knew exactly what you were thinking, and you couldn’t help the joyful laugh that escaped your lips. Honestly, dragging Aone away to make flower crowns that day was probably the best decision you’d made in your whole life.
 The Future: Romantic
             You would’ve thought that of the two of you, it would be you who would initiate a romantic relationship with Aone, that you would jump into it just as fearlessly as you had jumped into being his friend. However, despite the feelings that had slowly but surely grown over the years, you hadn’t been able to take that last step. Something always held you back.
             A part of you desperately wanted it, so badly you could almost taste it. You knew the two of you could be good together, your years of friendship over two decades now, had certainly proved it. However, you were afraid. Back then, Aone had accepted your friendship in part because he simply hadn’t been able to say no. He’d been too shy and unsure to do so even if you both thought that it had worked out for the best in the end.
             He’d grown a lot since those early days, and you liked to think he was much more assertive about getting what he truly wanted these days. However, you’d noticed very early on that Aone never, ever, said no to you. It didn’t matter how much it might inconvenience him or how much he might dislike doing whatever it was you requested. He would quite literally bend over backward for you.
             It meant you’d had to be very, very careful about how you framed your requests, doing your best to be extra considerate of him and his feelings. It also meant that you were now too afraid to confess, afraid he would say yes to you just because it was what you wanted and not what he actually desired. Accidentally forcing a relationship on your friend because he was too sweet to say no to you would be the absolute worst, which meant you were stuck.
             Futakuchi, who’d noticed and teased you rather relentlessly over your feelings, had tried to insist that the only reason Aone never said no to you was because he was head over heels in love with you. However, you were pretty sure he was just being a jerk to you again, and you had done your best to adamantly ignore everything he said, much to his mounting frustration.
             You’d convinced yourself that it was for the best, that if you just waited you would get over your silly one-sided crush. Unfortunately, said crush had lasted over a decade and was showing no signs of fading any time soon. In fact, a part of you knew it was far beyond a crush at this point, but you were absolutely adamant about keeping silent, sure that you were doing what was best, not just for Aone, but for you as well. Because getting into a relationship with him, only to discover later that he’d only ever loved you platonically was a blow you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to recover from.
             Thus, you’d allowed yourself to stay firmly in denial, and didn’t suspect a single thing when Aone came by to pick you up from work that day. The two of you had planned to hang out together, and you were more than a bit excited, especially since he’d said he had a surprise for you.
             You’d noticed as you walked that he was dressed rather nicely, in dark jeans and a plaid button down rolled to the elbows to show off muscular forearms. It was actually a bit unusual for your friend who seemed to prefer comfy clothes in his off time, usually sticking to t-shirts and sweats, or athletic wear when he could. You’d hastily shoved the thought as far down as it would go the second it occurred to you though, locking it up with all the other non-platonic things you’d thought about your friend over the years.
             Instead, you’d focused on pestering him, trying to figure out what this surprise he had planned for you was. However, as to be expected, he was incredibly tight lipped about it, simply offering you amused, indulgent smiles that let you know he knew exactly what you were trying to do, and wouldn’t cave in.
             To your surprise, he’d driven you to a beautiful park, one filled with beautiful fields of flower. You’d been utterly ecstatic about it, practically bouncing as he showed you the picnic basket he’d brought along. The two of you had set up in a nice spot and hung out for a while.
             You’d been so preoccupied with the food and talking to him that you hadn’t noticed that he’d been doing something with his hands, right up until he carefully plopped a neatly formed flower crown on top of your head. You stared up at him in shock, fingers gently brushing the petals of the flowers set among your hair, confused but feeling a surge of warmth at the nostalgia of it all as you peered up at him.
             “No matter what, we are friends for life,” he told you, his voice serious as he held your eyes, the words making your heart squeeze painfully as conflicting emotions warred in your chest. The nostalgia and love you had for him, fighting with the fact that you wanted so much more with him.
             “Futakuchi has told me that I haven’t been obvious enough with my feelings,” he continued solemnly, the name of your nemesis helping to jolt you out of your internal conflict.
             You stared at him wide eyed as he gently took your face in one of his large hands, cradling your cheek as he stared down at you intently and told you, “I’m in love with you, bunny, and would like to be romantically involved with you.”
             It took a moment for the words to process, especially since you got caught up in his nickname for you, a byproduct of an unfortunate incident with marshmallows, Futakuchi, and the fact you were smaller than him. However, once what he said finally reached you, you immediately reached out to pinch your thigh, wincing slightly at the sharp burst of pain. You apparently weren’t dreaming.
             “Are you sure?” you asked him, unable to help your worry or your disbelief that this might actually be happening. Your hands were clenched tightly in your laps, nails digging into your palms as you tried to fight the rising hope, “This isn’t because Futakuchi told you I’m in love with you is it? Because you have to be sure, and if he did tell you I swear to all the kami I…!”
             Your torrent of babble was cut off by a gentle finger on your lips, one that instantly made you fall silent and stare up at your friend in confusion. However, seconds later the finger was replaced with gentle lips, sweet and surprisingly soft against your own, the feel of them enough to make your heart race as your eyes fluttered shut.
             You savored the feeling of his mouth on yours until he pulled back. You blinked your eyes open to find him watching you with the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, full of affection and care.
             “Futakuchi did nothing but encourage me to confess my own feelings,” he assured you, gravely, then reiterated, “I am in love with you.”
             “I love you too,” you confessed, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered, your heart racing, giddy joy flooding through you as you realized this was actually happening.
             “Good,” he affirmed, leaning forward to kiss you again.
             You reached for him eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and basking in the euphoria of knowing your feelings were returned, noting that you probably owed that idiot Futakuchi a gift basket or something. For now, you were just going to savor the feeling of his lips, and enjoy the fact that you were absolutely and irrevocably in love with your best friend.
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ohsomanylovelywords · 5 years ago
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(Neville/Hannah) Something More - Chapter 3: Not as Planned
A/N: The long-awaited (mostly just by me) third chapter is finally here. It has literally been almost 7 years (!) since I updated this story. I'm unfortunately plagued with two of the worst writer qualities: I'm a huge procrastinator and a total perfectionist. But I'm trying to get back into writing, so I can move on to the next chapter (of this fanfic and the next chapter in my writing).
I also want to extend a special thank you to whoever wrote my first passive-aggressive comment on FF.net (or at least that's what I like to call it) back in 2013 and in response to your question: I'm not stopping yet. This was the first fanfic I ever wrote and I'm still incredibly proud of it.
I think the unfinished business of it all was keeping me from moving forward, but I still have so many more words I want to write. For July NaNoWriMo, I'm trying to finish and post some of my drafts and write some new stories, too.
You could probably read this chapter as the beginning of the story because this is where the conflict starts, but I also wrote two chapters before this, which could serve as a prologue, introducing you to the minds of the two main characters and the personalities of the side characters.
Ideally, I would love to write at least 3 more chapters spanning from 4th to 7th year, one more for 4th, one combining 5th and 6th, and then one for 7th, but maybe an epilogue, too.
As always, I'm incredibly grateful for every read, favorite, kudos, review, and follow.
Disclaimer: Definitely not J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing her characters for my own enjoyment (and hopefully yours).
Link: Read the story from the beginning on Ao3.
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Hannah was seated on the other side of the greenhouse, her chair edged up against the window and her face illuminated by the morning light.
Neville started at the sound of his name. "Mr. Longbottom." Scanning her list again, Professor Sprout smiled before adding, "and Miss Abbott." Extending an appreciative nod toward her top two students, she continued down the list of partners.
Neville's eyes instinctively returned to Hannah's seat by the window. Catching his eye, she grinned and raised her hand, quill in tow. He only managed a quick nod in response before her attention shifted elsewhere (or more specifically, to Ernie Macmillan). Shaking his head, to dispel wandering thoughts, and wandering eyes, Neville attended to his practically nonexistent notes by hastily copying the instructions from the board.
"Working with Hannah, huh?" Seamus commented, with a meaningful nudge in his side. Neville's ears burned at the reminder of his crush. Admitting he fancied Hannah Abbott may have been a mistake.
Dean, sitting close enough to overhear, rolled his eyes at Seamus' waggling eyebrows. Regardless, he grinned and slapped Neville on the back, offering whispered words of encouragement: "Go get her, Neville."
Neville only gulped in response. He was still working on getting her smile out of his system. After four years, they had yet to have a proper conversation.
In his short-lived fame their first year, Hannah had congratulated him on winning the final ten House points, pushing Gryffindor past Slytherin in the House Cup for the first time in years. In his haste, he stuttered out, "You're wel—thanks, um." Hannah just smiled. Then, she ran off to join the other students who had whooped and cheered when Dumbledore awarded Neville. Beyond offering her a quill or confirming an assignment due date, he hadn't actually talked with her since first year.
Neville distractedly collected his materials while searching his mind for conversation topics. Herbology? He definitely knew a thing or two about plants, but that might be a bit redundant. Quidditch? Though, to be honest, he didn't follow the sport all too closely. The Triwizard Tournament? Or maybe—
He looked up from his plant to see Hannah smiling down at him. The words hitched in his throat.
Instinctively, he pulled the plant a few inches closer. Just a little more oxygen. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Hey, partner," she offered, unperturbed by his shyness.
"H-hey," he managed.
As she sat down, he racked his brain for something more substantial. "So, uh, the Triwizard Tournament. Should be exciting, yeah?"
Hannah tensed. Oblivious to her discomfort, Neville continued. "The two other schools seem interesting, to say the least. Durmstrang are a right bit intimidating, especially that Viktor Krum. And the Beauxbaton lot are quite good-loo— er, graceful."
He coughed awkwardly, not catching her eye. Though, her mind was elsewhere. "And then, of course, there's Harry being in it and all. Poor bloke."
Hannah's silence finally broke.
---
Harry Potter. The fourth champion.
The would-be applause was replaced by stunned silence, the spell unbroken until Dumbledore spoke.
"Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"*
Every eye followed Dumbledore's calm gaze. Harry, no longer hidden by Ron Weasley's lanky frame, rose to his feet. Seemingly in a daze, he walked forward. Incessant muttering followed him.
Colin Creevey attempted a late slow-clap but was quickly silenced by Ron and Hermione. The latter, frantically shaking her head and the former, glaring.
Ravenclaw rationalized Harry was either extraordinarily intelligent or dangerously stupid.
Slytherin had already written off the Triwizard Tournament. None of their house had been chosen after all.
Gryffindor was shocked. And mostly divided.
Their initial jubilation marred, Hufflepuff stubbornly refused to welcome the additional Hogwarts champion.
---
"Poor bloke?" Hannah echoed hollowly.
Neville faltered. "Well, yeah, I mean, who'd want to be in a tournament likely to cause their premature death?"
"Hmph. Well, it's certainly convenient. Not the first time he's risked death to play the hero."
Neville only stared. He had never heard Hannah talk badly of Harry—or anyone else, for that matter.
"That's an— interesting take on it," Neville acquiesced.
"What's interesting is Harry Potter, of all people, found a way into the Triwizard Tournament." She calmly pulled on her gloves as she said this, as if it were a completely natural statement, an undeniable frustration.
Hannah's voice never grew above a whisper, but with each new word, she became increasingly agitated. "It's incredibly interesting the "Boy Who Lived" couldn't stand to let someone else have the glory for once in his life—and Cedric worked his arse off for seven years to deserve a place in the tournament but Harry manages to cheat his way in an—"
"Wait, what? You can't really think that, can you?" Neville remarked incredulously, and loudly.
Sensing a possible commotion, Professor Sprout shot them a puzzled look, quietly cautioning them to get back to work. Neville nodded apologetically.
He wanted to shoot Hannah an equally perplexed look, but she was decidedly ignoring him, pretending to pore over her notes. Taking her lead, he focused on the familiar lavender flowers sprouting from the plant in front of them. Aconite, more commonly referred to as wolfsbane.
Neville's mind automatically returned to that first day of Defence Against the Dark Arts last year. His professor's warm smile. And the hearty laughter that had escaped from his own lips. That day Professor Lupin had awoken his then-dormant self-esteem.
His "unfortunate condition" revealed, Lupin was forced to resign. Neville found himself trying a little harder than usual in Potions. Maybe he could find a way to use this plant's properties to make a stronger, more effective potion. If only he could help Lupin conquer his fears the way the professor had helped Neville conquer his.
The boggart in the cupboard. Even before it took shape, Neville knew what it would be, who it would be. Professor Snape had taunted and abused him mercilessly over the years. According to Snape, he was a pathetic imbecile, barely playing at being a wizard.
"Riddikulus!" With a snap, Snape stumbled across the room in Gran's clothes, the oversized vulture hat teetering on his head. The whole classroom erupted with laughter. And Lupin's warm smile lit up his face, and for the first time, he looked young again. For once, Neville was able to make Snape look stupid, instead of the other way around. For one brilliant moment, Neville was in control.
Pulling himself back to the task at hand, Neville realized he needed to face his fears again. "Riddikulus," he whispered.
"What?" Hannah remarked sharply.
"Oh, no, that was just—," but Neville surprised them both when he said, "Ridiculous. What you said. Harry would never do that. Did you get all that from Ernie Macmillan?"
Hannah's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, whether from raw anger or embarrassment that Neville had called her out for her close relationship with Ernie Macmillan, though Neville vaguely hoped for the former.
---
"I just don't get why people think Harry is so great," Ernie continued. "He's always trying to be the hero and we all have to suffer for it. He literally almost caused Justin to die when the Chamber of Secrets opened our second year."
"Ernie," Susan warned him gently, glancing at Justin.
Justin shrugged off the concern. "I'm fine. It's not like Harry personally petrified me. It wasn't really his fault that time."
"Yeah, whatever. My point remains; he always needs to be the center of attention. Right, Hannah?"
Her mouth stuffed with food, Hannah nodded aggressively in support of her best friend.
"See? This is why Hannah's the perfect girl. She's always loyal, a Hufflepuff through and through." Ernie directed a bright smile at Hannah before returning to his food.
Turning sharply to face her, Megan's nose ring glinted even brighter in the Great Hall's candlelight.
Hannah had first glimpsed it in the sports section of the Daily Prophet. The photo showed her sister, Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, triumphantly raising the team's trophy from a summer tournament win. Similarly, Megan lifted her head to show off her shiny, new trophy of rebellion, their mother smiling tensely at her side.
"Forget to mention something?" The short line of parchment was delivered via owl, alongside the article clipping, ripped from that day's Daily Prophet.
Megan responded only a few hours later:
Thanks for the note, Han. Hope you're having a nice summer, too. Mine's been simply lovely. I'm spending lots of quality time with my family.
Just kidding, I'll get to the point. (It actually has been pretty all right, though.) Basically, I woke up one morning, decided to explore Muggle London, walked past a tattoo shop, and you can probably figure out the rest. (Disclaimer: I did not get a tattoo. Yet. I wanted something a bit more immediately visible.) What can I say? Impulsive decisions are kind of my thing, you know? Regrets? None.
By the way, your reaction was significantly less harsh than Susan's. She sent me a Howler, shocked surprise followed by mostly compliments, but still.
Unsurprisingly, mum threw a fit. I'm pretty sure she was close to bribing me into never leaving my room, but dad reminded her that similar threats had never stopped me before.
Promise to tell you more soon! See you in Diagon Alley in a few days (that is if I'm ever allowed out of the house again)
P.S. Mum is currently arguing with a reporter in the fireplace. Apparently, she is willing to pay a very large sum of money to prevent Witches Weekly from releasing an exclusive statement from her clearly unwell daughter ("Fuck Quidditch.")
Hannah knew her mother's tight-lipped smile came with an air of practiced grace. "She's just going through a phase," she assured herself and anyone else who cared to listen (or more likely, happened to make a passing remark about her youngest daughter). If that were the case, Megan had been going through a phase for quite some time, at least since she had arrived at Hogwarts.
P.P.S. I expect to hear more news about you two love birds once we can finally talk in-person.
Now, Megan gave her a meaningful look. She had been teasing her mercilessly since Hannah told her Ernie almost kissed her goodbye before leaving for his family holiday. In the moment, she hugged him, instead. They parted awkwardly after that. She still wasn't sure what to think about it. Neither acknowledged it when they reunited on the train, and they immediately returned to their typical, friendly banter. It had been more than 2 months since the almost-kiss, and they still hadn't talked about it. Hannah was admittedly relieved by that fact.
Refusing to answer Neville's question, Hannah fumed silently, attacking the wolfsbane with her shears and hacking off whole chunks of the stem in her frustration.
"Miss Abbott!" Professor Sprout let out in a shocked cry. Yet again, she was surprised to see the seemingly perfect partnership failing so miserably. "What in heavens do you think you are doing to that poor plant? The stems are the most valuable part!"
Hannah stared at the mess before her and shrugged sheepishly. Professor Sprout hummed her disapproval and shifted to observe Neville's work.
"Miss Abbott, I suggest you ask your partner," she emphasized the word with a pointed look at both students, "how to shear wolfsbane properly—Good work, Mr. Longbottom, but this should be a team effort."
Neville nodded twice, glancing at his partner with a wary expression. Setting her own plant down, Hannah begrudgingly observed Neville's technique.
Grasping the flower firmly with one gloved hand, he gently peeled away the branches, his hands gliding effortlessly across the plant's stem. She had to admit it was impressive and strangely soothing to watch.
Hannah started when Neville looked up. His eyes barely catching hers, she immediately turned away with a haughty, "Hmph." He sighed and continued working. She attempted to replicate his work, but once again, caught herself staring at his hands. They were more calloused than she would have imagined.
Professor Sprout asked Neville and Hannah to stay after class. She offered them the usually vague rebukes, then reminded them to at least review each other's notes before the next class. However, as soon as the professor walked away, Hannah quickly turned to leave.
Neville ran after her. Grabbing her arm with a loose, yet surprisingly firm, hold, Neville entreated her to wait. Not daring to look him in the face, she instead kept her gaze on his hand.
Lowering his voice, Neville insisted, "Harry would never willingly join the tournament. He'd have to be positively out of his mind."
The possible truth behind that statement pulled at the corners of her mind, but Hannah pursed her lips and ignored it. She was a Hufflepuff through and through, loyal to her house and to her friends. Cedric deserved this. And Harry had taken it away from him. Neville couldn't possibly understand.
Shaking her head, Hannah released her arm from Neville's loose grasp. She walked out of the classroom without another word.
---
Out of breath by the encounter, Neville sighed, releasing the breath he was unaware he had been holding. That did not go as planned.
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