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sokkathebluewolf · 4 years ago

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I am chickened out from gladiator because it is this long and it keeps getting longer is it worth my time to read it ??

... Uh, well. I can’t help but wonder if you’re aware this blog is run by the actual author of the story in question? I don’t know if you expect me to give you a non-biased answer when I’ve considered the story was worth 8 years of my life xD as far as I’m concerned, it absolutely has been worth it, but I can’t speak for the whole wide world when it comes to that. If you want the opinions of readers, there’s probably other blogs run by people who have read the story and who might have critical opinions about it... that may be what you were looking for. If, however, you were deliberately hoping to get my opinion on my own story... well, yes, for me it’s clearly worth it xD Otherwise, I would’ve quit ages ago.

The story is indeed very long and it keeps getting longer, and it will keep getting longer because we’re not done yet and won’t be for a while :’D if you’re the type of reader who can’t stand it when they catch up to stories and have to wait for updates, well, feel free to give it a shot when I’m done writing it, I guess? It’ll be a while until then, but it’s up to you. If you don’t like reading really long stories, then it’s probably better for you if you don’t force yourself to read this one, I know not everyone is ready to dedicate that much time to reading something, especially if they have lots of things to do. Hence, if the length daunts you, that’s alright, it daunts me too and I’m responsible for it xD it’s fine if that deters you from reading it.

But as the way you phrased your question almost sounded like you’re challenging me to give you some sort of sales pitch to catch your attention, let’s see if I can pull it off:

Gladiator is a massive ATLA AU, not only in terms of story length but also scope: it’s a complete rewrite of the entirety of ATLA in a more mature setting, starting chapter 1 with the characters 5 years older than they were in canon. Aang’s adventures in saving the world did not take place here because of a simple enough reason: Katara didn’t accompany Sokka on his boat on the fateful day when they were meant to find Aang, which means the story as we’ve known it simply doesn’t take place. I’ve taken liberties here and there, added some changes from canon when I needed to do so, in order to ensure the story works, but the gist of the story is to set a stage where the Fire Nation marched onwards, practically unopposed, and conquered the Earth Kingdom with the power of Sozin’s Comet (just in case it needs to be clarified, without certain technological developments, Ozai’s wild plan to incinerate the whole world wouldn’t happen, and if Team Avatar isn’t assembled before the Comet shows up, said technological developments simply wouldn’t exist... :’D). I’ve had to figure out how many details would change, how much of the original story would or wouldn’t happen without Team Avatar’s involvement, I think most my choices have been solid, but it’ll be up to you to decide if you think they are or not if you read the story.

The worldbuilding of Gladiator, then, is preeeetty huge and complicated because of that starting point. There’s a lot of elements that are completely new (such as the Gladiator League and all its derivates), some OCs, some lore expansion, so you can definitely say it’s an ambitious project. In a sense, I’ve reset canon to zero, and at the same time I haven’t, which makes things complicated but, for me, really fun to develop. If you’re interested in seeing more of the Avatarverse explored, characters repurposed, with new dynamics and relationships, Gladiator may just be what you’ve been looking for :D

In my experience, the main reason why most people stumble into this fic (other than by sorting FF.net’s ATLA stories by review count and drawing blanks upon glimpsing a Sokkla story on the first page xD) is because they’ve been drawn into Sokkla, or they’re looking for stories centered around Azula or Sokka. Gladiator, evidently, features all three such elements because, obviously, those two are the protagonists and their relationship is the beating heart of the whole tale. I’ve been asked in the past who’s the real protagonist and I honestly still have no idea xD but anyways, if you’re interested in reading a story with a toooooon of Azula character development, even if it takes place across a long, long time, this story may just do the trick. I’ve done the best I could to keep her character as true to what I believed a young adult Azula might become, within the circumstances of this story. She has grown a LOT in 200 chapters, goes without saying (if she hadn’t, I’d be one heck of a failure of an author x’D), so if you’re interested in seeing a slow but effective growth arc for Azula, you’ll certainly find that in Gladiator. Same is true for Sokka, but I think most people who come to this fic for Sokka are interested in seeing him being a badass, which we have plenty of as well xD still, it’s also a long and slow process for Sokka to grow into a powerful warrior, neither him nor Azula start out in the story with all the answers, and they both bump into many hurdles as they navigate their complicated lives.

There’s a lot of humor in Gladiator, perhaps more than expected with a story that has that sort of dark premise, but it’s, on great measure, because Sokka and Azula are inevitably given to banter xD if you want to read a lot of banter between those two, well, you may not be bored in 200 chapters because, while the nature of their exchanges does vary as they both develop, their conversations are usually pretty spirited and they love trying to outsmart each other all the time.

If you are already a Sokkla shipper and the main reason you’re here is because you want more Sokkla goodness in your life... I’ll just say Gladiator has become a bit of a dream come true for me as a Sokkla shipper as well, because it’s the perfect space for me to work with virtually every idea I’ve ever had for these two. Yes, there’s drama and conflict here and there, if you’re not too given to angst there’s a few parts of the story that won’t sit so well with you, though if you love angst you’ll probably enjoy them plenty... yet what I’m most proud of, with this story, is having developed their relationship not only as best I could, but I’ve also attempted to defy typical storytelling structures for romance stories, where the lead couple can’t seem to have a stable relationship because “that would be boring”. Screw that, man: these two have been in a serious relationship together in-story by now for well over half the published chapters, and I’ve had the time of my life writing their dynamics as a couple while the plot continues to develop around them. This, however, is not everyone’s cup of tea, so if you aren’t all that given to seeing such traditional romance storytelling structures dismissed because I wanted to write my favorite ship dealing with all their external struggles while finding strength in the bond they share, Gladiator may not hold your attention long enough for you to devote yourself to reading it beyond chapter 100-ish. On the other hand, if this subversion of romance structure is what you’ve been looking for all your life, or if it’s what you always wanted and never knew you wanted it, or if you’re simply curious as to whether it works or not, Gladiator may suit your interests fairly well. Again, Sokkla is the absolute center of this story, both together and independently, so if you want to see a rewrite of ATLA with them at the core of just... everything? xD that’s absolutely what you’ll find here.

That being said, there’s things I guess you should mind about Gladiator: I have some relatively controversial takes about certain things, including interpretations of fan-favorite characters that some people have been known to take offense over. I, personally, believe my interpretations of those characters don’t deviate that much from canon or that, when they do, the setting itself explains why the deviation works as it does, but due to the fact that I work with a protagonist who was in a villainous role back in ATLA, her relationships with some characters can be more complicated than a lot of people seem to believe they should be. Hence, if you’re not particularly adverse to reading content that brings up big questions about the motivations of certain characters, or how they’d react if the story from ATLA hadn’t happened exactly as it did, you’ll have enough fun in Gladiator. If, however, you don’t particularly care to see anything that shows beloved characters in a not-so-flattering light, this story may not be for you (though, if you’re willing to humor me and allow my story to question your perception of those characters, feel free to try the story as well).

There’s also a variety of dark themes and situations in Gladiator, something that any reader should be warned about in this day and age: I am 100% against violence for the sake of violence, to name one such subject, and I generally try to portray it with as much nuance as possible, but even if I feature my own characters criticizing their violent world and wanting to put an end to the strife caused by the Fire Nation, some of the violence in Gladiator may be a little too much for the readers who prefer the tone of the original ATLA. Hence, if that’s how it is for you, it’s another reason to approach the story with caution. I won’t pretend I’ve handled every theme and subject perfectly, but I’ve never wanted the darker moments to feel gratuitous in any way, so if you’re open to reading a darker take on the Avatarverse, this may work for you after all.

Alas! If you want to see Azula growing out of the toxic Fire Nation indoctrination, if you want to see Sokka gaining confidence and strength as a man and warrior, if you want to see a fleshed-out but still very much villainous Ozai, if you want to see Toph fulfilling her dreams of joining an all-out fighting league where she can beat people up for a living, if you want to see a myriad of secondary ATLA characters (like Song, or Shoji!) given new lives and even genuine protagonism, if you want to see Zuko discovering he’s allowed to just... be happy? xD Gladiator may prove interesting enough for you.

Furthermore, if you want to see Azula being true friends with Mai and Ty Lee, discovering a dragon, developing new firebending styles, confronting her misplaced beliefs about herself, rebelling subtly (and lately, not so subtly) against her father, growing into a great leader who could change the Fire Nation’s nefarious direction... aaand if you want to see Sokka fighting creatively (sometimes with TWO swords!), navigating the dangerous waters of interacting with Fire Lord Ozai, staying true to his beliefs while also learning that the world is not as black-and-white as he was raised to think it was, understanding himself better and making the most of his potential as a quick learner, writing embarrassing haiku and being an unapologetic rebel who goes toe-to-toe with Heads of State just because he can... yep. Probably read it? xD

Lastly... if you want to see Sokka and Azula grow through their mistakes, learning to understand each other, fighting side by side, training together, dancing to no music, learning the underrated pleasure of proper communication in a relationship, sassing each other left and right, flirting in ridiculous ways, taunting each other in many regards, laughing at each other’s terrible jokes, protecting each other fiercely, challenging each other to a spicy ramen eating contest, discovering indirect bending, being highly inappropriate at times and places where they shouldn’t be, making long, dangerous yet fun journeys together, sneaking around to meet up when they’re not supposed to, standing by each other in their darkest moments, watching over the other when they’re sick/injured, being ready to sacrifice virtually anything for each other, and even defying and defeating even death to save each other...? Well, I don’t know if there’s any other stories where you might find all of this, but I can guarantee you’ll find it in Gladiator :)

If none of this is convincing enough... that’s a shame, but I understand. If it convinced you to give it a shot, however... I guess I’ll just hope you enjoy it enough to stick around! :) thanks for taking my story into consideration regardless of whatever you decide. Have a nice day!

#anon #ask #gladiator #self-promotion I guess?

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nayialovecat · 4 years ago

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Hi :) Could you rank the characters of SATIM, from the one you like the most to the one you like the least and tell us why? I love lists :p

My first list! Yay!

Gosh... it's very hard question. I don't like telling kids that one of them is less liked than the other, lol. I'm not able to choose which of the two very liked characters I like more, but I can certainly group them all collectively into several groups with different levels of liking…

The order in these groups will be rather random…

I don't know what determinant should be to assign them... Because there is a difference between the characters I like and the characters that I consider successful making. I think I'll bet on the former, so don't be surprised what categories the characters I'm really proud of end up in.

First category: Beloved characters!

Sammy is definitely here, I don't need to explain why? I omit the fact that his character is quite modeled on myself (and it is quite common that the creator secretly loves to adore himself). But seriously. I love almost every Sammy I meet. This love has no rational explanation, it just exists.

Jack will definitely be in this category too - I love this warm dumpling, his character and the way he combines his pacifist, introverted nature with being Sammy's friend.

I will surprise you, but I'll also assign Bertrum to this category. It's so much fun that when I first saw him in gameplay I had such a "wtf, what is it, what kind of bullshit, why they screwed up the game so much by adding some carousel with a human face". Currently, I cry when I have to go through Chapter 4 and fight him :c He's one of my favorite BATIM characters, along with Sammy - and that's why in the SATIM version he’s simply brilliant! You will love him! Unfortunately, he'll not appear until the second series...

Probably no one will be surprised that Jose Klondike will land my beloved characters - I love the guy, although you don't know why yet. But you'll find out. You'll find out quickly, ‘cause the number of strips with him grows and grows, so I'll be putting them here and there. I am proud of this OC - his history, his determination, his character and approach to life. As if I was in the Workshop as an inky being - I would like to be exactly that character...

Bernard - you don't know him, but he is high in my heart. It’s my way of showing that weaker doesn't always mean weak ;)

After much thought, I decided that Bendy also belongs to this category. I have too much weakness for tragic characters - and Bendy is even a model tragic character (as you will see at the beginning of the second series, when there will be a little more of his backstory).

Gosh, how could I forget to put my favorite three descendants of Sammy and Bendy in this category? This trio is delightful together and separately. I'm so crazy about them lately! Sammy Jr, Henry Jr and Bendy Jr are my favourites :)

Second category: I like these guys very much!

Here will be most of my OC with Cleaner in the lead. It's amazing how the character that arose as an explanation for my laziness/lacks quickly evolved into one of the more liked by me (though still has, and likely will have, relatively little airtime).

Barman must also be here. This guy stole my heart - and it was at the design stage, which is why he got such a unique design (I spent a lot of time on him). I like a stereotypical barman - that's why I just had to throw such a character into SATIM as soon as it turned out that they had a bar there.

All Strikers also land in this category - as the only species of members of the Butcher Gang. Well, how can you not love this cutie? In the SATIM version, most Strikers are sensitive, polite, have a strong sense of justice and, above all, tend to be innocent despite being horrific, murderous abomination. And they are the most sociable of the three.

Movie Club as a whole will also be included in this category, although I don't like all of its members equally. However, as a group character - I like them a lot, my favourite is Sara (probably that's why she got the most time in drawn stripes so far) and Simon (you don't know him yet, that's the one that was dead on the previous strip with this group), also Wallace (first one you met in comic). I like them, although their early appearance upsets my plans for Bendy a bit... but whatever.

Surprisingly - Twisted Alice will also land here. I did not expect that the character I didn't like in game, which I reluctantly drew and who was supposed to be in the comic as little as possible, 'cause I didn't want her in my story - will turn out to be so interesting and quite... cool. I mean, she's a cold, murderous bitch, yes - but I like her backstory, present character and behavior so much (I'm talking about SATIM - in the game she is still an annoying, cold bitch that I hate).

Third category: I just like these.

Here is Brody. Yes. Just here. He is my first OC and I'm really proud of him. Very, very proud. He’s the most polished, I like him - but at the same time (identifying with Sammy) I don’t approve of some of his behaviors and beliefs. Which does not allow me to like him as much as, for example, Barman.

John Dot will land here as well. I like this guy. For someone who was not meant to have any major role, he has grown to become Sammy's religious advisor and is generally quite a funny character.

Fisher, who is my least liked member of the Butcher Gang in the game, ends up in second place here - thanks to the past of one of them (the whole two-piece strip will be about that). The Fishers in SATIM are the "brains" of the Gang. They are the smartest, most cunning and insidious.

Wally Franks - he is and for a long time he will be one of the most enigmatic characters of this comic, but from these narrow premises and traces of its operation it can be seen that he is at least interesting. There will be more about him in the second series, and he will play a more important role at the turn of the third and fourth series. You'll see.

Tom ends up here instead of in the next category only because of his complicated relationship with Sammy, which I would describe in one word as "frenemies". And I really like the idea of communicating with writing board like Wile E. Coyote.

I have a problem with Elena. When I came up with her, she seemed like a great character to me, with the passage of time (and the creation of other OCs) she began to seem a bit... dull. I think I'll have to think about her a bit and maybe change her - maybe not. She doesn't appear until the last series, so I have a lot of time. But I still like the way she speaks to people and her strange relationship with Sammy (she's sort of like his apprentice, only the object of fanaticism has a different one).

Fourth category: Not liked, but not disliked.

Sorry, Henry. In my opinion, Henry is a well-written character, his nature fits so much to him, etc. But somehow I don't know how to liked him. In places it irritates me as much as Sammy. What I like the most about him is that he doesn't cause any problems with colouring and strips with more of him mean less work for me.

Boris - you don't know him yet (he has appeared in the background of one frame throughout the comic so far), so I have no way to relate, but let me put it this way... Boris is the perfect Boris, that super-copy Joey dreamed of. He is friendly, obliging, somewhat cowardly, but overall a great buddy. And like any ideal character - he's boring. Just boring. I prefer dramatic characters, with a past, with problems or at least an interesting, aggressive or funny character.

Allison lands here too. I don't like her in the game and maybe that's why in my comic she came out like this... I won't say that she lacks character or claw, but... not intriguing. This may change, but for the moment she is a character whose role is to be a "strong independent woman" and she has no other role. I think many people will like her because of that. Me not very much. I just don't like this type of character.

I almost forgot about poor Piper. This is a character that leaves me cold. In every Gang, he is more of a taunt object or a servant at everyone's beck and call (in Polish we say: "przynieś, podaj pozamiataj" - I think it should be translate as "bring, serve, sweep"). But for consolation I made Pipers the most various (different hairstyles, clothes, length of the wooden prosthesis).

Fifth category: I hate this one.

Joey. I created a motherfucker that I hate. But I must admit, this motherfucker is well done, you will see...

I guess I haven't overlooked anyone, and even included a few characters that have yet to appear. However, if I missed someone, please ask :)

#asknayia #SATIM #BATIM #spoilers?...#please don't make me tagging all the characters XD #Sammy and the Ink Machine #Bendy and the Ink Machine #my first list

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 4 years ago

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Rain Song- Chapter 1

So here is Chapter 1! This is super long. Almost 10K words. I’m not even sorry. lol I did want to get through this as it is mostly background information on who Hope is.

I’m taking liberties here. So if something isn’t factually correct...it is what it is. Since this is an OC story cannon will variate.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! I also write for TVD, Supernatural & The Avengers. You can view each masterlist list at the top of my page.

Also- does anyone do character art/ digital portraits? I’d love for someone to put one together of Hope for me.

Series Masterlist

12 Years Later

Hope slowly stretched her arms out in front of her. She felt the release of the tension she hadn’t realized she had been holding onto. She pulled the earphones off of her head and cracked her neck. She felt a slight smile come to her face. Her Uncle Remus couldn’t understand her obsession with Muggle music. Yet whenever she spoke of the genius that was Freddy Mercury or her obsession with The Beatles he got a far away look in his eyes. There were things from his past that he outright refused to discuss. She stopped pushing for answers a long time ago. She couldn’t bear to cause him any pain. All she knew was that on Halloween when she was just shy of 2 years old her mother sacrificed her life to save Hope’s as her Uncle carried her to safety. Her father, was in Azkaban for life after he sided with Voldemort. Her Uncle was one of the rare few who would speak Voldemort's name. Her Uncle wouldn’t let her fear his name. She had seen to many shudder at the mere thought of the Dark Wizard. Remus wanted her to be strong. With Remus' strength and bravery, also came a sense of fear. She knew he was afraid his former supporters would someday come after her, so they stayed hidden away on their beach cottage. He tutored her in her magical studies when she became old enough. She loved her Uncle beyond measure and he was a brilliant teacher; but Hope craved more. She longed to have peers that understood her. Sure, she had made friends with the Muggle Children that came to the beach for holidays and the few that lived near year 'round, but it wasn’t the same. The only contact she had with other magical children were The Weasley family. She saw them on the rare occasion that Andromeda couldn’t stay with her when her Uncle’s condition kept him from her. Her cousin Nymphadora was much older than she, and while she adored her, she still couldn't relate. All Hope wanted was a couple of really good friends.

Hope had been sitting on the beach sketching for hours. What she was drawing, she wasn’t quite sure yet. That was how she controlled the visions that plagued her, she put them down on paper. Drawing and painting calmed her mind. The music pounding into her ears quieted the other noises. Lately, her visions had quite literally taken a dark turn. She had a persistent dull headache that would sometimes push her into a migraine for the day. Everything was black. That’s all she could draw was black. Black shapes, black lines and sometimes she filled the page with shadings of black. She could see the concern in her Uncle's eyes when he would peek at her drawings, but he said nothing. She hadn’t quite figured out how to piece her visions together yet, everything was still very jumbled. Often times they would make sense after the event occured, she was hoping to use those experiences to learn how to read them. She was still young. Remus was impressed with how far she had come on her own. He had tried to find someone to help her, but hadn't had any luck. From what he had told Hope, the Divinations teacher at Hogwarts would not be able to assist her. The one thing she had learned to control was pulling images from others. She figured out how to touch others without being overwhelmed with their thoughts. On a rare occasion where she wasn’t prepared did it happen. It always overwhelmed her and she hated invading anyone else’s privacy. Remus had shown her memories of her mother that way, when he couldn’t find the correct words. His memories were muted though. There was something he was trying to shield her from.

Hope leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the sun radiate light into the darkness that was swirling inside. Today was her favorite kind of day. The sun was hot and the water was clear. The breeze was blowing to keep her cool. Her wild blonde curls were piled on top of her head, the wind causing wisps to come free and blow around her face. She wanted every day to be like this, warmness and Led Zepplin pulsing through her veins. Yet the persistent pinch in her forehead was making it impossible to completely enjoy the day. Hope looked down at her watch and cursed. She had been gone an hour longer than she had anticipated. She quickly threw her sketch book, pencils and her disc man into her bag. She brushed the sand off her denim cut offs as she stood and threw her t-shirt back on over her bathing suit. Quickly she donned her flip flops and made the half mile walk back to the beach cottage she resided in with her beloved Uncle.

As she approached the house, something felt different. There was a tense energy in the air that caused a chill to go down her spine. She just wanted a day where she didn’t feel anxiety or cold. She wanted one day where the needling in her brain gave her peace. It had been far too long since she had a day like that. Something in her world was changing, she could feel it. She feared it was something that would color her whole world black, not just the pictures she had stashed in her bag. She saw a figure standing in the kitchen with her Uncle. By the way he was standing, she could see tension spilling from his every muscle. She quietly snuck in to try and overhear what they were saying.

“Remus it’s time. You can no longer keep her sequestered away. While I'm sure you are teaching her everything she needs to know, she needs to be around children her own age. She has lived almost as much of a muggle existence as young Harry. She will be safer at Hogwarts. Every manner of protection will be used for the school.” The voice was kind, grandfatherly almost. Hope’s ears perked up at the mention of Hogwarts. How she had longed to attend. To learn magic, make real friends, create an extended family beyond her and Remus. Hope was so lonely. Her thoughts of loneliness always made her feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Her uncle had given up his entire young life for her, he should be enough for her. It made her feel incredibly selfish.

“Albus- there are still things she does not know. Things I can’t even begin to tell her-“ Dumbledore held his hand up to stop Remus from continuing.

“Hello Hope.” The gentle voice called out her name and she froze. She had barely stepped two feet into the house and she had been discovered, so much for sneaking in and eavesdropping. She set her bag down and slowly stepped into the kitchen. Her Uncle seemed more agitated than she had ever seen him. Uncle Remus almost never got angry or irritated, he always had an abundance of patience for her.

Her attention was quickly drawn to the tall man who had called her name. He had long silver hair and silver beard. His crooked nose reminded her of Billy Berkshire’s after she had punched him in the face for teasing another girl she had befriended one summer. Resting on his nose were half moon spectacles that allowed a clear view of his kind blue eyes. He donned the most magnificent purple robes she had ever seen. He was oddly wonderful. She just hoped none of the neighborhood kids saw him, she’d have some explaining to do. She knew the man before her was Albus Dumbledore, she never expected he would ever be standing in her kitchen.

“Hello.” Hope’s voice was filled with trepidation. Why would she need to be protected? She knew her Uncle was keeping secrets, but to hear him admit it to someone else was jarring.

“Come darling, sit.” She nodded and made her way to the table. Dumbledore also took a seat.

“I’m sorry for being late. I lost track of time.” Dumbledore was staring at her with an odd expression.

“It’s quite alright. Hope, this is-“

“Albus Dumbledore.” She finished the sentence before he could. She felt ill at ease as the blue eyes studied her. She wasn’t used to being studied quite so intently.

“Well I see my reputation has proceeded me. I hope your Uncle shared only the good things.” He gave her a kind smile that calmed her nerves. “I apologize for staring. It just, you are so very much like your mother. I wasn’t expecting it.” It was something Hope heard often. She would catch her Uncle staring at her, a sad look on his face, but only when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Andromeda had said many times how much Hope resembled her mother. As far as Hope could tell, the only thing she got from her father were her eyes.

“Why am I in danger?” Hope wasn’t interested in beating around the bush. She watched as her Uncle rolled his jaw.

“Your father has escaped from Azkaban.” Remus finally spoke. Hope felt like she had been slapped. Her father- the man she had wondered about for her whole life. The man her uncle could barely spoke of. She had only seen a few pictures, but his handsome and wild features were forever etched into her brain. All Hope knew was that Sirius Black had been best friends with her Uncle, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He fell in love with her mother while she was in her 4th year and Sirius was in his 6th at Hogwarts. They married shortly after Nora’s graduation. Remus had always stressed how much her father had loved her and loved her mother. It had been discovered that he was a Death Eater and after Voldemort’s fall he was sentenced to Azkaban. Remus would provide no other details, regardless of how hard she pressed. The idea of meeting her father was exhilarating. Only he could provide the answers she most craved. Yet she was terrified of him. What if he came to their home and hurt Remus to get to her. She had read all about the Dementors of Azkaban. She knew what they did to their inhabitants. Her father had spent 12 years there.

“That’s why you’ve been so tense this past week. Why I haven’t seen a single page of The Daily Prophet. Remus nodded.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.” He admitted. He reached behind him and pulled a news paper out of one of the cupboards and handed it to her. The man on the front page was not the man she had seen pictures of. He was gaunt and had a waxy appearance to his skin. His once beautifully groomed hair was long and matted. She felt her eyes well up. She should be horrified, but yet she felt her heart break. How could she feel that for a man that caused so much terror?

“We are afraid he will come looking for you. We don’t know what kind of state he is in. But 12 years in Azkaban would have made an impact on his mental state.” Dumbledore was trying to be as sensitive as possible. “We think it’s time for you to join your classmates at Hogwarts. You would be under intense protection and would have the best magical education. Not to say that you haven’t done a splendid job, Remus.”

“We?” Hope looked to her Uncle. It didn’t matter how badly she wanted to go, she would never leave without his blessing. Remus ran his hand down his face. He took Hope’s hand in his as he had done many times, knowing it would ground her.

“Yes. We. Professor Dumbledore is right, as always. Hogwarts can offer you protection that I cannot. And it’s time for you to be around witches and wizards of your own age. I should have sent you two years ago. It was my own fear that stopped me.” Hope felt a jolt of excitement. That gave Remus peace of mind. Yet as quickly as he saw her stormy eyes light up, it died just as quickly.

“But yo- you’ll be alone. And if he comes here, will you be safe? What, what would happen to me if something happened to you?” Remus could see the panic setting in.

“As it so happens-“ Dumbledore interjected “It seems I am in need of a Defense Against The Arts teacher yet again. I was hoping Remus that you would consent to returning to Hogwarts with Hope.” Dumbledore watched Hope’s body relax as she looked expectantly at her Uncle.

“Albus, are you sure? My condition-“

“Is managed by your Wolfsbane potion. You’ve managed to raise an exceptional young lady. I assume you can handle teaching a few classes.” There was no way Remus could say no, not with how his niece was staring at him expectantly.

“If you’re sure Albus, I would be delighted.”

“Now, Hope, Hogwarts doesn’t normally have a student start midway through their education. Your peers have much more knowledge on the school than you will. I think it will be best to have you come a few weeks prior to the other students. I would like to get you sorted into your house and settled before they return.”

“But that’s around the time of the full moon, Uncle Remus won’t be able to bring me.”

“Hope- you will have to go without me and I will meet you there in September 1st.”

“Professor McGonagall will be there to get you acquainted with the school.” Hope sat for a moment with her thoughts. She didn’t like the idea of being away from her Uncle for that long, but this had been what she always wanted.

“Okay.” She agreed.

“Splendid. Remus, I trust you can get Hope to Diagon Alley for her books and supplies. I will send an owl with her list.” Hope had so many questions for Dumbledore but didn’t know where to even start. He was already standing and she couldn’t get her thoughts together. “I will see you both very soon.” Then, with a crack, Albus Dumbledore was gone.

“Go get washed up darling. I’ll start dinner.” Her uncle stood to go and prepare them something to eat. She knew the question portion of the evening had ended. She would get no further information from him that night.

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

A week and a half later Hope was pacing her room. She had 3 days before she was to arrive at Hogwarts. She had gotten no further information from her Uncle. They had just gotten home from having dinner with what Hope thought was her only other family. Except Nymphadora had come home for dinner to see Hope. It had been a long time since she had seen her. Her Auror training kept her quite busy.

“Hopefully that little prat Malfoy doesn’t give you a hard time. I hate admitting that he’s our cousin.” After she said it, Hope knew she realized she let something slip.

“I’m sure everything will be fine!” Ted had exclaimed.

“Hope you will love Hogwarts. It is beautiful.” Hope glanced at her Uncle out of the corner of her eye and he was carefully avoiding her gaze. She picked at her food as the four of them talked fondly of Hogwarts. Hope stewed in her own anger instead.

Hope felt rage building within her. She wasn’t a baby anymore. She’d be 14 soon. Granted she wasn’t an adult, she could handle a lot more than Remus had given her credit for. He had led her to believe that himself and The Tonks were her only remaining family. That was clearly a lie. He had been careful to not provide any information on the rest of her Father’s family.

Remus knew what was coming. The other trait Hope inherited from Sirius was her temper. While she held it together much better than Sirius ever did, when she hit her breaking point, she was explosive. She was like a hurricane and he was approaching the eye of the storm. Remus had never been on the receiving end of her anger. He knew tonight would be the night. He knew he would have to give her answers. He could not believe he didn’t consider Draco Malfoy knowing of his relation to Hope.

But what could he tell her to ease her mind? What could he tell her to make her feel better. Any information he had to give her on her father and he wretched family would only hurt her. He knew that hurt all to well. All he wanted to do was shield her from the pain that he knew Sirius had carried with him. He was being idealistic. Wasn’t it better that it came from him and not someone else?

He winced as her bedroom door slammed. He took a deep breath and approached her room. A teenage Hope was something he was ill prepared for. The older she got, the more she became her mother which included Nora’s deep sarcasm and sass, that coupled with anger would mean a most unpleasant experience.

“Hope- please open the door.” Remus sighed leaning against the wall. “You do realize I can just use my wand to open in.” He could picture her face as she considered his words and he braved himself. As anticipated her door whipped open. “We need to talk.” She gave him a withering look.

“Now you want to talk? You’ve had 12 years to talk.”

“Hope-“

“No! Don't 'Hope' Me! I have family! I have a cousin my own age! AND YOU KEPT ME FROM THEM! FOR 12 years all you have done is LIE to me!” Remus had expected anger, but the bitterness that was pouring from her took him by surprise. He heard it so often from Sirius. He felt right then that he had failed Hope. He wanted to save her from this. “I have no friends that actually know me. They think I’m a little weird and that I’m sick because I have these headaches all of the time. They don’t understand me because they’re muggles! I’m alone.” Her last two words were spoken as a sob. Remus realizes the magnitude of his mistake. He felt like an outcast for most of his life. His condition made it hard to really connect with anyone. Everyone thought he was just ill. It wasn’t until James, Sirius and Peter that he felt truly accepted. He at least had his sister before that. Hope had no siblings. Remus pulled his niece into an embrace and she struggled against him for a moment. She finally gave in and let him hold her as she cried. Once she settled down he led her to their living room to sit on the couch.

“Hope, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to isolate you. I didn’t even realize how alone you felt. All I have wanted, all I have ever wanted is to keep you safe. But, I kept you away from your living relatives because it was what your mother wanted.” Hope looked up at her Uncle in utter confusion. Her tear filled face almost broke him. Her silence urged him to continue. “Your father comes from a long line of Pureblood Wizards. The entire Black family are blood purists. Your father and Andromeda were the only ones to push against that. In fact, your father being sorted into Gryffindor was a huge scandal. He ended up being disowned and moved in with James. His parents welcomed him like he was their own. That is why your middle name is Euphemia. It was James’ mother’s name. Sirius’ mother loathed YOUR mother for being a half-blood. When Nora died, the Black family tried to take you from me. Your mother wanted you no where near their hateful rhetoric. They also had no leg to stand on in getting custody of you. So I kept you away from the magical community as much as I could so they couldn’t try to get their hands on you. I just didn’t realize how damaging it was to you. The majority of that family were Death Eaters. They were responsible for your mother’s death. As for Draco Malfoy being your cousin, his mother Narcissa is Andromeda’s sister. Her husband, Lucius Malfoy was among the top of the Death Eater food chain. He also escaped Azkaban by claiming he was under the imperius curse. He continues to believe in blood purity and has unfortunately ingrained that ideal into his son. Hope, I promise you that if anyone other than Andromeda had been a good person I wouldn’t have kept you away.”

“If my father was so against everything that his family stood for, how is it that he ended up being a Death Eater? Did HE kill my mother? What did Voldemort want with her?” Remus could see you spiraling. He took a deep breath and continued.

“Darling I honestly don’t know why your father sis what he did. I do know he loved you and my sister very much. I’m not sure what caused him to switch sides. I can tell you that I am sure he is not the one that hurt your mother. That is unimaginable to me. He started pulling away from me before that. Your mother trusted him implicitly. I wish I had more information for you Hope. As for why Voldemort wanted your mother, it was her Seer abilities. He could have done so much more damage if he had someone like her on his side. That was another reason to keep you away from Sirius’ family. If they were to get their hooks into as a child, they could have corrupted you and manipulated you into doing their bidding.” Hope was silent for a few moments.

“Hope, I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you. I know what it is like to feel like an outcast. To feel so alone and that no one will ever understand you. I should have know. I am so sorry.” He felt Hope lean back into him and he wrapped his arms around her. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you that your father was the reason that James and Lily Potter were dead. That would have been a horrific blow. His mind drifted to the small vault at Gringott’s that held Hope’s name. Inside was the money that Sirius and Nora had amassed from the inheritance Sirius got from his Uncle. Remus made sure to use it carefully to take care of his niece, never using any of it on himself. What really stuck in his mind were the few journals and vials that Nora had left for her daughter. Keeping those from her was something he had struggled with for years. But she were still too young. He was not going to burden her any further. Perhaps in a year or so when Hope came into her own he would bring them to herS There was too much darkness for her young mind. He needed to preserve Hope’s innocence for as long as he could.

“Does Harry Potter know who I am?” Nora knew of Harry. How he had somehow stopped Voldemort. How the two had played together as children. When his parents died he was brought to live with his Muggle family. Hope had overheard Remus and Andromeda mention the Sorcerers Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. It seemed that Harry had a knack for getting into trouble. Hope had tried to catch more details, but the adults in her life were always careful to not share too much information.

“I don’t think that he does. His muggle family doesn’t look kindly on the magical community. From what Dumbledore told me, he didn't even know he was a Wizard until Hagrid had to personally deliver his Hogwarts letter. Apparently his Aunt and Uncle were determined to keep him away from magic and wouldn't give him his letter. He hasn’t been around many people that know of the history that links the two of you. The Weasley children wouldn’t know to mention you. I doubt Molly or Arthur would tell them any personal details without speaking with me first. Dumbledore and the other professors wouldn’t say anything. But you will meet him soon enough.” Hope was itching to meet Harry Potter. Not because he was famous, but because he was a connection the past you so desperately wanted to know. Remus studied your face for a moment, watching you process what he was saying. "You and Harry have quite a bit in common. I have a feeling that you will be good friends. James and Lily would have wanted that, as would your mother."

“Will I ever understand what happened?" How did a loving father and husband turn into a mass murderer? Hope couldn't reconcile the two people that encompassed who her father was.

"Perhaps someday, when you're older you'll be able to reach a level of peace." That didn't really answer her question. Hope still felt like he was holding back, but this was more than they had ever discussed before.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you." Hope looked down, deeply ashamed. She had gotten better at controlling her temper, but occasionally she lost control. She had never behaved this way towards her uncle..

"Oh darling, it's alright. I'm sure this wont be the only go you have at me. You are after all your mother's daughter. She was never afraid to give me a piece of her mind." Hope was grateful for his never ending patience with her.

"I think I'm going to go to bed. I love you, Uncle Remus, very much." She felt his facial hair tickle the side of her head as he gave her a quick kiss.

"I love you too, get some rest." Hope retreated to her bedroom. The polarized descriptions of her father running through her head. What if she was also polarized. The way her Uncle had raised her was the exact opposite of what the Black family believed. But if the entire half of her family were comprised of Dark Wizards, did she have that capability too? In the end, her father had turned that way. Maybe that was why all she could see was black. She too, would turn bad in the end as well.

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

Hope sat staring into the fire. All of her things had been sent to Hogwarts and were waiting for her arrival. She had spent the morning on her beloved beach. She knew she would miss the briny smell of the air, the way the water would bite at her toes. She wanted to give the Ocean a proper goodbye. It had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. Now the only thing left to do was take the Floo into Professor McGonagall’s office. All of the excitement she had felt had turned into nerves. She had never been apart from her Uncle for more than a few days. Two weeks seemed like an eternity to be with strangers. She knew she was being silly, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she waited for her Uncle to see her off. She looked down at the wand in her hand. 10 1/2 inches of birch wood with a Phoenix core. She had always loved the black and white of birch trees. How the black bark bled into the white leaving shades of gray. The Phoenix feather core gave her a little bit of trouble at first. Remus had reassured her that her wand just needed to get to know her. Phoenix cores were known to be powerful, yet took a while to gain control. In the end, he had been right. She slid her wand into the small bag at her feet and looked back at the fire.

Her visions and dreams had taken a strange form. She felt surges of anger, desperation and an intense sadness. A melancholy so deep she thought she would drown in it. It was affecting her moods more than it every had before. Shades of black and muted grey. But always black. She was starting to loath the color. It was so strange, all she was seeing was the color black, nothing concrete for the past month and a half up until a few nights prior. There had been a flash of purple and a set of green eyes staring back at her. Who they belonged to, she had no idea. Though she assumed she would soon enough. At this point, she only had visions of people she was connected to or came into contact with. Her mother had progressed far beyond that point by the time of her death. Hope didn't know if she would welcome that.

“Ready Darling?” Remus clapped his hands together, smiling at Hope. He too had felt a sinking feeling of being away from Hope for an extended period of time. When he saw the emotion swirling in her eyes he made sure to stuff his back down. “It’s alright. It’s only two weeks.”

“I know.” Hope’s voice felt like sandpaper as it exited her throat. “I’m just nervous.”

“I know. But it will go by quickly. Professor McGonagall will get you acquainted with the school and you’ll meet with your teachers briefly to get to know them. Remember what we talked about.”

“I know. I know. I’m Hope Lupin. I don’t think introducing myself as a member of the Black family will curry me any friends anyway.” Hope scoffed. Remus tried to hide a smile. “No one but Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall know about my abilities so it’s best to keep it quiet for now.”

It had been confirmed that Draco Malfoy knew nothing of their relation. The Minister of Magic himself had instructed Lucius to not breath a word of it and to make sure his wife kept it to herself as well. Hope had no idea why the Minister was so keen on keeping her lineage a secret. It didn’t matter to Hope. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than coming to Hogwarts in the middle of her education would draw. Incidentally, the Weasley children were in the dark about who her father was as well. All they knew was that Hope was the niece of a friend of their Arthur and Molly’s and that she had lost her parents in the war. Remus had never took Hope to The Burrow himself. He had always met up with Arthur. It had been years since they had seen Hope. She always felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of boys in the house. Hope was more inclined to stay with Andromeda and Ted as she got older.

“Just until you’ve found some people that you trust to tell them. Now, Arthur promised me that he spoke to the Fred, George and Ron. They’ll be looking for you when they arrive.”

“What if I’m not in their house?”

“Hope you are brilliant, funny and talented. Regardless of what house you land in, you will make friends. You will find your niche. The same way I did.”

“What if-“ Hope could feel all of her fears that had been festering about to tumble out. “What if I’m a Slytherin? What if I end up just as awful as everyone I’m related to? I mean, my father was wonderful when you were in school and then he turned. What if that is my destiny? What if that is why all I can see is black?” Hope had stood and was pacing. She always paced when she was coming undone. Remus had noticed it had been happening more frequently. He was counting on being at Hogwarts to be a distraction to keep her grounded. Remus stopped her and grabbed her by her shoulders.

“Hope, darling, stop. First of all, all members of Slytherin house are NOT dark wizards. Each house has produced its fair share. If you happen to end up in Slytherin then you will make them proud. You are not destined to go bad. You are not destined to be evil. That’s not how the world works.” He felt her relax. “This is why I’ve always avoided talking to you about them. You are better than that. When you forget that, think of Andeomeda.” Hope nodded her head.

“Okay.” Hope wrapped her arms around her Uncle’s torso and he hugged her tightly.

“Albus and Minerva are there for you while I am not there. But if you need me, all you need to do is send me an owl and I’ll write back immediately.” Hope let go and looked up at her Uncle and forced a smile.

“I’m ready.” He kisses her forehead.

“Remember, it’s only two weeks.” Hope nodded and approached the fireplace. She reached her hand into the bucket and pulled out the floo powder. After taking a deep breath she threw it into the flames.

“Hogwarts!”

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

Hope stepped out of the large fireplace and brushed the soot off her her clothing. She really hated traveling by Floo. She looked around the small office. To her left was a large window where she could see the Quidditch pitch and what must have been the training grounds. She had expected a more grandiose office for a Hogwarts Deputy Mistress, but the smallness of it made Hope feel safe. Standing next to the desk was a very tall and stern looking woman. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore the most beautiful shade of emerald green robes. Her sternness melted away when she smiled at Hope.

“Welcome Ms. Lupin. I am Professor McGonagall." Hope smiled back.

"Hello Professor."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but I have so looked forward to meeting you. I enjoyed teaching your mother and Uncle very much." Hope had been expecting the "you look so much like your mother" speech. She was grateful Minerva McGonagall kept those thoughts to herself, though Hope could see it in her eyes.

“Well I do hope you'll share some stories about my mother with me. Uncle Remus has obviously told me so much, everyday. But it would be nice to hear about her from another person's perspective."

“I would be delighted. I look forward to getting to know you over these next few weeks. First thing we must do is get you sorted." As soon as the words hit the air, there was a knock at the door. "Enter!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. Hope grinned as Professor Dumbledore entered with a dilapidated looking hat. He was so eccentric and wonderfully odd. He radiated calmness which put Hope at ease.

“It's very good to see you again Hope. We are very happy to have you here."

"I wont lie professor, I was a little nervous leaving my Uncle but I do feel better now that I am here."

"I'm very pleased to hear that. I'm sure you'll find all of the staff at Hogwarts will be very willing to help you get settled. Now, we must get you sorted so we can get you set up in a dorm room." Professor McGonagall conjured a chair and motioned for Hope to take a seat. Her Uncle hadn't told her how they would choose her house. She watched wide eyed as Dumbledore approached and put the filthy looking hat on her curly blonde head. After a moment the hat came to life and it made Hope jump. She watched as McGonagall tried to contain a smirk.

“Well, well....what an interesting mind you have brought for me today.I was wondering when the youngest Black member would be joining us. This one will prove to be very difficult, very difficult indeed. I see that you have a long history of Slytherin blood in your veins, but cunning you are not. An ocean worth of talents much like your parents. Hard working and Loyal would make you an excellent Hufflepuff. But what is this? Bravery and courage, a little stubbornness. There it is...the nerve of your father. Let's make it- Gryffindor!" Hope felt her body relax, not realizing how tense she had been. She at least would have some people she knew in her house and hoped she would be able to call them friends.

“Wonderful Ms. Lupin. I will be your Head of House. You will share your room with Ms. Granger, Ms. Brown & Ms. Patil. I'm sure all 3 girls will be most welcoming. I will have your belongings brought to your room. For now, I will take you around to meet your professors."

At the end of the week, Hope was sitting in the common room of Gryffindor House. She ran her eyes across all of the plush arm chairs and couches that she loved to sink into already. Tables adorned the room near the furniture and there was a large bulletin board, while empty now, she was sure it would start filling up come September. She enjoyed the shades of red and gold around the room. It brightened her day and helped push the blackness back into her mind. She loved the extensive windows that looked out over the beautiful grounds of the school. She was drawn to the scarlet tapestries that depicted witches, wizards and various magical animals. They spoke to the artist within her. Though her favorite part was the extensive book collection on the shelves.

She had sent an owl to her Uncle letting him know she had been placed in the house that her and her mother had resided. Also told him off a bit for not warning her about The Sorting Hat. She hadn’t left out what the hat had said. “There it is, the nerve of your father.” had been swirling in Hope’s brain ever since.

Hope looked up as a hooting stirred her from her thoughts. Perched on the Griffyndor window sill was a Tiny Owl. Not often found in Britain, it had her curious. She was pure black and was hopping around the windowsill with a letter tied to her foot. Hope stood from the squishy arm chair she had planted herself in. As soon as she approached, the owl started nipping at her fingers affectionately. She recognized her Uncle's neat hand writing immediately. With a grin she gave the owl a quick pet and ripped open the letter.

Hope-

I'm sorry for not warning you about the Sorting Hat. But really...the surprise is the best part. Mostly for Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore. I didn't want to deprive them of that. I'm glad you're relieved that you're in Gryffindor. I do hope it is because you know the Weasley family and not because you're still worried about going bad. Your house does not determine whether you are good or bad. Yes, your father did have quite a lot of nerve. If I'm being honest, I see a lot of him in your personality. From his younger and more carefree days. The way your eyes smile when you’re happy. The sound of your laugh. You most certainly have his eyes. Hope, I know that many people compare you to your mother quite often and ignore the traits of Sirius. There was a good person there at one point. The good in him radiates from you. However, you are so much more than the parts of her and the parts of your father that can be seen within you. You are your own person. Please don't forget that. I've attached this letter to a beautiful Tiny Owl I found at Diagon Alley. She is yours. I wanted to get you something special for the start of school. Her black nature is rare, but I wanted you to see that black things can be beautiful. That darkness doesn't always have to be bad. Remember, even when you feel that you are in the deepest and most dark parts of your self, there is a light within you that will outshine it. I can't wait to hear what you name her. I'm starting to feel very worn down, but I look forward to seeing you soon. I heard you've impressed both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick with both your charms and transfiguration abilities. I'm sure Professor Snape will be equally impressed with you, though he may not be willing to show it.

All of my love

-R

Remus always knew the right thing to say. He was right, she needed to push the idea that she would turn bad out of her mind. It was ridiculous. She knew that rationally she was being absurd. She should be excited. She wanted to attend Hogwarts for her entire life. The nerves she felt down were more from excitement than dread. She had already proven herself advanced in Transfiguration and Charms. She knew her Magical History. And while she was horrible in herbology, she hoped that learning with other students would help. She was also confident in potion making, though she was terrified of meeting Professor Snape. The side comments from the other professors lead her to the impression that he was not easily won over. Her Uncle had never mentioned him in a disparaging way, just that he would be a tough teacher. She looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost time to meet with Professor Snape. She hurried to the portrait hole in the wall that swung open and climbed out of the common room, straightening her school uniform as she walked. The uniform would take some getting used to. She was used to jeans, t-shirts and comfortable dresses. Hope quickly made her way through the castle corridors and headed to the Potions Classroom in the Dungeon.

Once she reached the door, she paused for a moment and took a breath. She felt her nerves bubbling to the surface again. She made sure to steel herself and then pushed the door open. The room was rather large. She suspected it had to be to hold a full class of students and all of their potions equipment. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin hit the floor. While the rest of the castle radiated warmth and light, the Potions classroom seemed dark and cold. "How I've felt on the inside." was all Hope could think. There were pickled animals in jars along the wall that gave Hope pause. She had a feeling this would be her least favorite class if she had to look at those. There was a supply cupboard and in the corner of the classroom a basin where the water poured from the mouth of a gargoyle. The room as a whole was intimidating, just not as intimidating as the man stationed near the blackboard. Severus Snape had long black flowing robes adorned to his thin frame. His sallow skin reminded her of the photograph of her father in The Daily Prophet. His black hair was in sheets and framed his face. His dark eyes appeared to have never seen happiness a day in their lives. They both stood silently, sizing each other up. Hope could see recognition in his eyes, he must have known her mother. After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke.

“Good Evening Ms. Lupin. I am Professor Snape. Tonight we will see how adept you are at your potion making. I do hope you've kept up with your studies, I will not tolerate you falling behind." Hope simply nodded. "Tonight you will brew a Sleeping Draught. Standard for any 2nd year student."

"Yes Professor." Hope didn't even try to hold a conversation with Severus Snape. She knew it would be futile.

"Off you go." Hope saw a cauldron waiting. She quickly went to the the supply cupboard and pulled out the Lavender, Flobberworm Mucus, Valerian Sprigs and a large amount of their "standard ingredients". Once she got to her table, she flipped open the book and looked over the instructions. She added 4 springs of lavender and 2 measures of Standard Ingredient into the motar and crushed them into a creamy paste. She then added 2 blobs of Flobber Worm Mucus to her cauldron along with 2 more measures of Standard Ingredient into the cauldron and heated it for 30 seconds. She added the crushed mixture as directed and waved her wand. Time seemed to drag as she waited for the potion to brew. She could feel Snape's dark eyes on her but she didn't dare look up. She hoped this would be a more pleasant experience when the room was filled with classmates. Finally, the potion was ready for trhe next steps. She added the rest of the ingredients in, careful to follow the directions precisely on how to chop and stir. She made the final wave of her wand she saw the dark luscious potion bubbling back at her.

“I’m done Professor.” Snape slowly sauntered to her work station. He looked around and noticed that while she had been waiting for her potion to brew she had cleaned up her station.

“Perhaps you can give your fellow housemates some pointers on organization.” He murmured. He studied her potion, stirring it slightly. After a few agonizing moments. “This is...passable. I was concerned when I found out your Uncle had been educating you.” Hope narrowed her eyes at him. He looked at her smugly, challenging her to contradict him. I’m her mind she was telling him off. Her Uncle was blood brilliant and her potion was perfect. She swallows any remark she wanted to make. When he was satisfied she wasn’t going to mouth off he waved his wand and the potion she made vanished. “You may go.”

“Thank you Professor. Have a good night.” She turned on her heel and quickly left the dungeon, feeling his dark eyes watch her as she fled. As she was rushing back to the Gryffindor Common room she felt the familiar twinge in between her eyes. She knew she was in for a rough night.

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

Hope had a difficult time settling down for the night. She piercing in her skull had been gaining intensity. For the first time since she had been there she regretted coming without her Uncle. He always knew how to help her feel better. Whether they spent the night talking or he would just sit with her as she struggled so she wasn't alone. He took care of her, he always took care of her. She spent the night tossing and turning, her mind turning against her. Black liquid was flooding her brain. The same pair of green eyes were starring back at her. They would go from a state of shock and morph into eyes of confusion. The feeling of melancholy worked its way back into her soul and it was stifling her. Never before did she ever think that her own mind would suffocate her. She was all alone and there was no one there to wake her from the prison of her mind.

As daybreak hit, Hope found herself in the bathroom with her head over the toilet. The piercing agony in her head was beyond anything she had ever felt before. It was as if someone were driving a hot poker from the fireplace directly into her brain. Tears poured down her face as the last wave of nausea finally passed. She needed help, but she was too weak to get up and go to Professor McGonagall. Instead, Hope laid her head down on the cold hard floor for some brief relief. Cold always helped ease her pain before, but this pain was beyond measure. She needed to at least get back to bed, but she didn't have the strength to pull herself off of the floor. Eventually she slipped into a deep sleep with her face pressed against the floor. After what seemed like only moments later a voice woke Hope up with a start. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it as the piercing pain returned.

“Hope...my dear are you alright?” Professor McGonagall’s frantic voice filled her ears like hot lava heading to her brain. Everything was too loud. Hope squinted as the brightness burned her eyes and looked up to her Head of House.

“What time is it?” Hope saw sunlight streaming into the room. It had been barely light out when she was last conscious. Confusion flooded her exhausted mind.

“It’s after 2pm. I was informed that you missed your flying lesson with Madame Hooch. I thought perhaps you had mixed up the time as we've kept you very busy this past week. I went to check the great hall to see if you were eating lunch and the house elves informed me that you hadn’t been down to eat.”

“I’m so sorry Professor. I- I had a bad night." Hope groaned and clutched the side of her head. "My headache was so horrible it made me sick. I've never had one this bad. I couldn't get up to go for help. I must have fallen asleep here. I didn’t mean to miss a flying lesson.“ Minerva helped Hope to her feet.

“I remember your mother having some nasty spells like this. Do not worry about missing your lesson. There is plenty of time for you to learn how to fly on a broom. That isn't what is important. Let’s get you down to Madam Pomfrey. She used to make your mother feel better.” Hope looked down at her baggy sweatpants and your loose V-Neck t-shirt and felt embarrassment flood her face.

“Don’t worry about how you are dressed. No one will see you. Come Hope.” Professor McGonagall wrapped a firm arm around Hope's body and led her down the stairs and out of the Common Room through the portrait hole. If it hadn't been for the professor's strong grip, Hope was certain she would have fainted. The walk to the hospital wing had Hope feeling dizzy. As soon as they walked into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey made a fuss over Hope and got her into one of the beds. Hope heard her tell Professor McGonagall that she would keep her updated. Hope felt a cool compress on her head that was soothing and the room darkened.

Unbeknownst to Hope, she spent the next 4 and a half days in and out of consciousness in the hospital wing. It wasn’t surprising that the healing potions Madam Pomfrey had tried were ineffective, they had never worked well before. The would sometimes take the edge off of the pain so that Hope could function, but this pain was incessant. One evening as Hope slipped briefly into consciousness she heard Professor Dumbledore’s calming voice.

“Remus said she’s never had a spell that has lasted this long. As the full moon is about to hit, he cannot come to the castle. I have precautions prepared for subsequent full moons, but I was unable to get them ready so quickly. He is beside himself with worry and his condition makes him more agitated now than he normally is. I promised to send him updates." Hope felt a pang of guilt. It was bad enough Remus had to deal with the full moon, he shouldn't have to worry about her too. Another set of footsteps approached. Hope was in too much pain and far too exhausted to let them know you were awake. "Oh Severus good." Dumbledore continued speaking. "Do you have it? And you had no problems brewing it?” Hope felt the pain overwhelm her again and she slipped back into the darkness before she could hear Snape's response..

Whatever Severus Snape had brought to Dumbledore was helping. The pain was very slowly dissipating. It also must have been keeping her asleep as she hadn't been awake since the last time she heard Dumbledore's voice. Her dreams had begun to change. Instead of inky black and green eyes, her dreams were of being a little girl and her Uncle walking her on the beach and in hand. He had a youthful glow about him, but a deep sadness in his eyes. She heard his laugh as he spun her around. They built sand castles and she watched as he helped her paint her first picture. As difficult as it had been for the both of them, Remus had given her a wonderful life.

It was two more days of pleasant dreams and memories before Hope slowly opened her eyes. For the first time in almost a week, the pain was gone. Three pairs of eyes peered down at her, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. She was surprised to see that Snape seemed just as concerned as the other two. Hope blinked her eyes to adjust.

“How are you feeling Hope?” Professor Dumbledore gave her a comforting smile.

“I- better- I think. Yes, definitely better. How long have I been here?”

“All week. You gave us all quite a scare. I must say your Uncle is beside himself. He will be arriving tomorrow. I’m sure he will be thrilled to know that you’re on the mend.”

“A week? It’s never been that bad.” Hope looked at Professor Snape. She wasn’t sure if he knew her situation. She wanted to be careful about what she said. Dumbledore must have sensed her apprehension.

“Remus agreed that it was essential to bring in Professor Snape into the fold. We needed his potions expertise. None of the remedies that used to work for your mother were helping you. He was able to brew something up that seemed to help. Though it is not something you can take frequently.”

“Wh- What was it?”

“Oh a very complicated potion. We can discuss that at another time. For now, we will leave you in Madam Pomfrey’s capable hands. I wish for you to stay for the rest of the day just to make sure you are truly okay. You can return to your dormitory tomorrow morning if all goes well. I will stop back and check on you this evening.” McGonagall gave Hope a smile that was filled with relief, where as Snape still looked worried. Without another word, all 3 professors were retreating. When Hope looked to the side table, there sat her sketch book and pencils and smiled. Even from far away, her Uncle was making sure she was getting what she needed.

She spent the day being fawned over by Madam Pomfrey and being fed by House Elves. Hope was obsessed with all things chocolate, a love she and Remus had in common. The chocolate cake from the Hogwarts Kitchen was divine. In between it all, she sketched. She sketched the only thing that had been on her mind for almost two weeks. The pair of emerald green eyes surrounded by a fluid black background. They were quite nice, whoever they belonged too. Hope had just finished adding the color to her drawing when Dumbledore walked in. He had something in his hands.

“Good Evening Hope. I’m informed you’re doing quite well. I'm happy that Remus wont have to storm the castle to get to the hospital wing to get to you. I see you found your sketch book I had left for you. Remus said it helps clear your mind. May I?” He gestured her book. Hope slowly handed it to him. He studied the eyes staring back at him and it was like a light of recognition went off in his mind, though he didn’t say why. “May I ask what made you draw this?” She sighed. She always had a hard time explaining what you were seeing.

“For a month, all I have seen is darkness, blackness, despair and longing. Then suddenly these eyes started popping into my dreams.”

“When?”

“Not long before I came here. Maybe 2 1/2 weeks ago.” He nodded, but didn’t give anything away. He clearly had an opinion and no plans to share it.

“I brought these for you. I thought you might like them.” He handed her two photos. One was of a much younger Remus and her mother. Remus had his arm around her and they donned their Hogwarts uniforms, they were both grinning madly. When Hope pulled out the picture behind it, she gasped. There she was, sitting on the lap of a beautiful red headed woman and next to her, on her mother’s lap was a little boy with dark hair and a bright smile. Standing behind Lily was a tall man, with messy dark hair and wire rimmed glasses. Finally, standing next to him and behind her mother was the most handsome man she had ever seen. A man whose face she had only seen a few times, her father.

“Is that...” Hope’s voice trailed off and she covered her mouth holding in a sob.

“Yes Hope. You’re sitting with Lily. And Harry is with your mother. James and your father are behind you.” Seeing her mother so happy and laughing made tears fill her eyes. She couldn’t have been alive much longer after this was taken. Hope wondered if she knew this was one of the last times they would all be together? She could barely look at her father without her heart breaking. He and James were so joyful and carefree. Harry was turned towards Hope and gripped in his hand was hers. Both children were laughing along with their parents. “Had fate been kinder, you and Harry would have led much different lives. You would have grown up together. I think you will find a very good friend in Harry Potter.”

“Professor, thank you. I-“ Hope couldn’t say anything more.

“You are most welcome. Now don’t get too upset or you’ll get me in trouble.” You laughed slightly as Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparkled down at you. “Now get some sleep. I will see you tomorrow.” Dumbledore smiled once more and headed back from where he came.

Hope spent the rest of the evening staring at the pictures Dumbledore gave her. She wasn’t sure why he had them, but she didn’t much care. She stared at the picture until she fell asleep, dreaming of the family that she longed to have. What would it have been like to grow up with both of her parents or even just one of them? She loved Remus so much, but she couldn’t help wanting what she couldn’t have. Snape's potion must have still been working because for the first time that Hope could remember, she had a dreamless sleep. She slept in the following morning and ate the breakfast that the house elves brought her. When she was done, Madam Pomfrey wished her well and sent her on her way.

When Hope got back to her room she hid the pictures from Dumbledore into the bottom of her trunk. She wasn't quite ready to share that part of her with anyone. She couldn't imagine the reaction to Sirius Black being her father would be a good. one. It was best to keep that photo for just herself, for now. She pulled out a clean uniform and robes and laid them out for later. She dug out some clean lounge clothes and proceeded to take the longest, hottest shower she had ever taken. She ate lunch in the common room while looking through more of the books on the shelves. She lost herself in a copy of "Household Stories from the Collection of the Brothers Grimm" .

When she realized that her classmates would be arriving any moment. She cleaned up her mess and ran quickly to her room to get changed. Once she was dressed she tried to smooth out her hair, which was pointless. There was no taming the curly blonde locks that adorned her head. She really hoped one of the Gryffindor girls knew a spell to help her straighten her hair. She excitedly bound out of her room and through the portrait hole. She wanted to get to The Great Hall and see her Uncle before the feast started. She rushed through the hall as students started piling in. As she weaved through the mass of students she smacked directly into another student.

She stumbled back and they grabbed her both of her arms with strong hands to steady her. She looked up to see a boy with unruly dark hair, a bit of a scar on his forehead peaked out below his hair. He wore wired rimmed glasses. Behind the glasses stared the eyes that had been haunting her for weeks. The brilliant emerald green eyes belonged to Harry Potter.

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years ago

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Summons in the Shadows

For Day Two of DMCWeek2020, the prompt filled this time is Demon!

WARNING! This fic contains the following trigger warnings: implied animal cruelty, animal sacrifice, and blood! If you are not comfortable with any of it, do not read!

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/OC, OC, Mundus Tags: @furyeclipse @nimnox @astral-space-dragon @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: While Cassandra slumbers with Vergil, Vergil gets a sense that something...wrong is happening. Meanwhile, far away, Draco Kinniaird makes a pact with the echo of Mundus for the power he desires to force Cassandra to bend the knee to him.

It was a warm spring night in Red Grave City. A perfect night, all things considered. A half-moon hung high in the sky, it’s moonlight gently illuminating the bedroom Vergil shared with Cassandra. Tomorrow was going to have warm weather, perfect for an afternoon outing with his beloved rose, Cassandra. Dante wasn’t going to bother him tomorrow with an inane request for pizza or sundaes, he was snuggled up to Cassandra, and he was...happy. Happier than he had been in a very long time.

But, for Vergil, something still kept him awake. Something nagged at him in the back of his mind. The memories of Nelo Angelo had long faded, lost with his familiars that were now inked into Cassandra’s skin. Were they regrets? Perhaps. There were many things he regretted in his life, chief among them missing out on Nero’s childhood. If he had not fallen, if he had just set aside his pride, perhaps he would have found the son he never knew he had.

But this sense of unease inside him, it did not come from his dark thoughts. It seemed to be something external, as if he could sense an old enemy rising again. There was only one such enemy, one demon that he could think of, that he didn’t want to think of: Mundus, the Prince of Darkness.

No, impossible. Dante defeated him and Mallet Island was sunk into the sea. He couldn’t come back. His arms squeezed tighter around Cassandra, earning a soft noise from her.

“Vergil?”

“Go back to sleep.” He murmured. Cassandra rolled over, coming face to face with him.

“Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Vergil let out a low hum, lowering his head. “Vergil…”

“My thoughts are prone to wander, Cassandra.” He admitted. “And they wander to the possibilities of a life where I knew about Nero.” It was a lie, she needn’t worry about a demon he knew was dead. Cassandra seemed to accept this lie.

“Don’t worry about what could’ve happened. You should worry about the here and now.” She leaned up to peck his lips. “And right now, you should get some sleep.” He hummed quietly. “Would tea help you?”

“I would like that.” Vergil murmured, slowly sitting up. Cassandra followed him up before sliding out of bed. He watched as she left the bedroom, wearing an old t-shirt that he presumed Dante had given her as a sort of gag gift. Perhaps he was just overthinking this unease deep in his soul.

---

Meanwhile...

Eternis Brillia was bathed in starlight. The moon was hidden by the clouds gathered in the distance. The grounds of the Cathedral of Saint Deirdre were empty, kept perfectly immaculate. The cathedral was the image of serenity, the city peacefully asleep in the midnight dark.

Except for one man, his blond hair fluttering with the wind as he walked with purpose to the cathedral. In his blue eyes were brimming hatred, a hunger for a certain type of power that the Maidens, the long revered protectors of Eternis Brillia, could not give. In his bag were old grimoires and large bottles of animal blood. In his hands was a box, containing the heart of a horse. Who knew that Cassandra’s old Clydesdale, Alasdair, had so much to give?

Well, the horse was his now, since she ran away all those years ago. Key word being was. It was inevitable that the horse was going to die (although he wasn’t sure if he would have it killed for this purpose back then. What would his younger self think of him now?).

Pushing open the grand doors, a serene quiet greeted him. The cathedral was empty, unguarded. Nobody in Eternis Brillia would, in their right mind, dare try and rob the cathedral. Not even him, although that was not his intention right now. No, he was doing something far worse to the cathedral. Golden idols of the Earthfaith could be replaced, reforged by the goldsmiths and silversmiths. Defiling the cathedral, on the other hand, was a far more heinous crime.

A crime that was worth it. Cassandra had to bow to him, at any costs. His heart still burned with hatred for her just leaving the city. He never found out how she did it but the fact that, by morning light, she was just gone, still made his blood boil. How dare she abandon him, abandon her duty as an heiress to the legacy of House Sagefire, abandon everything about the city!?

He could not handle it.

Walking up to the altar, he set his bag down on one of the nearby pews. He opened the bag, pulling out the grimoire. It was old, perhaps as old as the Earthfaith itself, but kept in perfect condition by the very fell magic he was going to use to do something no noble of Eternis Brillia had ever done. No one in their right mind would ever attempt this.

No one except him.

He opened the grimoire to the summoning circle he was going to use. Pulling out the bottles of animal blood, he carefully began to draw the circle. It had to be perfect for whom he was going to summon, a demon so powerful it felled the Dark Knight Sparda years before his birth: the Prince of Darkness, Mundus.

He murmured the ancient words on the grimoire, continuing his careful drawing of the circle. He could feel something stare at him, perhaps the demon prince himself? He couldn’t tell, he only had to do the final act: cementing the circle by stabbing the heart of the sacrifice (Alasdair’s heart, the best he could do). As the final bit of the circle was drawn on the stone ground, he could feel demonic power emanate from the circle. He smiled at the sensation, reaching over to the box and pulling out Alasdair’s heart. It was still cold (a side effect of preserving the animal’s heart) but still tender, still perfect for stabbing. He took the dagger he had taped to the underside of the lid of the box into his hand, taking a deep breath. He set the horse heart in the center of the circle.

“By innocent heart and innocent blood, I call upon you, prince of darkness.” Draco breathed, holding the dagger aloft. “Answer my summons, give me what I seek!” He slammed the dagger through the horse’s heart, blood splattering all over his front. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the circle bloomed with purple and gold light. Draco stepped back, watching as the light coalesced into three red eyes. He could feel the gaze of something powerful rest on him.

“Why have you called upon me, pitiful human?” The Prince of Darkness growled. The eyes looked around, as if assessing the place that the demon prince had been summoned to, before returning his gaze onto Draco. “I see…”

“I demand power, O prince of darkness! The power to make a woman bend the knee to me, as she rightfully should.” Draco said clearly.

“And you would defile the holiest place of the Earthfaith?” Mundus mused, the sound of a king mulling over the benefits and costs of this information. “Your commitment to this...woman is impressive…” Draco knew that it wasn’t a compliment.

“She is Deirdre’s direct ancestor, O prince.” The eyes shuddered visibly with wrath.

“Very well.” The demon prince growled. The dagger suddenly lifted into the air, glowing brightly. After a few minutes, it warped into something more wicked. “When the time comes, offer your blood to me. I will give you the power you seek.” He paused. Draco could feel his gaze was intense on his form. “Do not fail me. And make her suffer.”

“Of course not, O prince.” With that, the demonic presence disappeared. Draco stared at the dagger, still faintly glowing with the blessing of the demon prince. Draco immediately began to put everything away, leaving the circle and bloodied stabbed heart remaining there. Once he had everything, he ran as fast as he could out of the cathedral.

He did not notice the woman who was standing behind the pillar, the woman who had watched him summon the Prince of Darkness and defile the cathedral of the Earthfaith. She stepped out of the shadows, cold teal eyes watching as he fled the cathedral into the night. She looked to the circle, to the stabbed horse heart, and then to the defiled altar.

“Idiotic fool.” She huffed, summoning her javelin and shield. Tapping the circle, she had it slowly burned and sealed the crack between the demon world and the human world. She sent the horse's heart to the spirit world, leaving him to wander alone in a strange land (not that she particularly cared for the former steed of a traitor). Slamming down the pole end of the weapon into the stone floor, the cathedral purified itself with the clear pure ringing of bells. "No matter, the plan is running smoothly. If they do not bow to the light, they will fall to my weapon instead. Then this...stain of demonic blasphemy will finally be removed off Eternis Brillia's beautiful tapestry." Taking out her pocket watch she checked the time. "Oh, it’s time for tea with the Minister of Medicine." With that she turned on her heel, leaving the cathedral to move forward with her next step: did the child of darkness live and had it allied itself with the line of Sparda? Either way, both would fall to her javelin. As for Cassandra...she would make her personally suffer for betraying the Earthfaith and her heritage.

#dmcweek2020 #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry mundus #devil may cry oc #tw: implied animal cruelty #tw: animal sacrifice #tw: blood

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ears-like-eyes · 4 years ago

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Day 5: Beloved.

Prompt for @oc-growth-and-development

OCs used/mentioned: Macaw(Dustin), 808(Adder), Dog(Theo), Zack(side character that's mentioned throughout their main story).

---

-This is more so a collection of his thoughts rather than anything else.-

Macaw laid there on his worn out blanket confused. Stretched out staring at the ceiling. Not sure what he was feeling. Just that he didn't understand it.

Why was she so drawn to him? Why was he so fond of her? He didn't get attached to people, they all come and go. Dog has been the only stable person in his life over the past 10 years. But why was she different to him? If she left, it actually would hurt to see her go.

Macaw couldn't remember fully what it was like not to have her around, at least in the way his mood went. Sure, he still wasn't that optimistic of a person. But now he felt like things were going to be okay, no matter what happened. That's how she made him feel. Maybe it was just her own upbeat personality that was rubbing off on him. A happy face is one to cherish in an environment like their own.

It was a warm feeling her presence gave him, one that would make him smile and relax in the moment. God knows he needed to relax once in awhile. When had he truly felt comfortable with himself around another person?

Even with Zack, Dog's passed older brother, he still felt ever so slightly guarded around him. Not to many's knowledge, Zack was Macaw's first and only intimate relationship with someone.

In ways being around 808 felt like being with Zack again. It was a familiar feeling he didn't think he'd ever have back. The touching little moments that might seem mundane to others. The awkward smiles exchanged in brief. The comforting acts when they're needed most. The unfading acceptance of one's whole being. Just a small group of things to name that had their similarities. It was all there, and maybe more? Maybe not more, but different in its own right.

For 808 has seen the sides he was always afraid to let Zack see. It's not that Macaw didn't think Zack would see him any less, he just didn't want him to know the mess he truly was. He was "strong". He didn't want to be perceived as anything less. Not to Zack, not to anyone. Yet, she's seen him at his low points when the years of his past catch up and drag him down. The frustration he keeps bottled and only lets out in private away from the others, and his fears about the world around them. She's seen his flaws in full and rough actions he's committed, and she still chooses to be close. He didn't understand.

She kissed him for the first time tonight.

He didn't understand it.

She loves him.

He doesn't understand why.

And, he loves her.

And, he doesn't even understand that.

---

I know. The cheese is real here. My boy deserves something good, and he's confused over it. A life of being made out to being the "bad guy" starts to make you think you actually are the bad guy. It would be confusing to you too if all this time you thought you were this terrible horrible person only to have someone see you as "good".

(Macaw is a morally grey character. Depending on how you look at him, he can sit on either side of the fence.)

---

Sorry for any errors or typos, my screen is cracked and I can't quite read everything I've typed. Thank you for reading!

#oc tober #eyes talks #oc #original character #original story #drabble #writing prompt #writing challenge #social throwaways #oc growth and development

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Choice ― II.ii. Behold, the Dawn

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The armies of the faithful purge the catacombs with fire. Serafine uses that light to discover the darkness hidden at the heart of their community.

[READ IT ON AO3]

This the chaotic dance with which he is all too familiar. This the slaughter of his kind — his kind, but not his people. They will never be his people. This the bloodshed that has consumed him, fueled him, ignited the flames of war at his heels ever since the Crusades.

All around him motions of life, motions of death; that he cannot even stand the briefest moment to appreciate the beauty of it is beautiful in itself.

Behind him; rusted metal coiling tight, creaking wood struggling to hold together, the sheen of sharpened blades scraping against one another as the bolt is drawn—loaded—fired.

Cynbel waits until the last possible second to catch the bolt before it sinks home in his heart. He would kiss it for luck had he the inkling — but he doesn’t need luck.

Metal-tipped crossbow bolts; fashioned tough and as tempestuous as to whom they belong. Designed to puncture even the finest of armors — meant for the enemy.

Because he wants to savor in the first of his victories for the night Cynbel makes sure to rip off the breastplate first. Casts it aside no better than maiden’s veils in what good it does the knight; in how effective it is in stopping his adversary from spearing him through with his own weapon.

The helmet goes next. Young eyes wide in panic and young lips stained with blood and spittle yet he feels nothing for this child on the cusp of manhood. Why would he? The butcher does not feel for his supper.

Cynbel smears his tongue flat and wet across the young man’s chin. Tastes the salt and fear in his blood brimming near to a boil and it makes him hard.

Though most of it is wasted — spills on flagstones beside the slick shine of oil. The color, though, is a welcome accent on his damned finery.

Victory runs red along his teeth and he pulls his hand free from the bled meat. Lets him collapse to the floor to join his blood. Unlikely that he’ll live unless the Knights have discovered a miraculous way to shove ones organs back inside their bellies.

But they are only as fun as they are alive. So he moves on to the next. The crossbow yields, splinters apart underfoot.

A high-pitched cry sounds to his right — Cynbel turns just in time to see the youngling from earlier, Marcel, launch himself with bared fangs and eyes that match the blood staining his coat at another Knight.

The Knight braces for a light impact, perhaps even to catch him mid-flight. But what collides is much heavier than they anticipated and the pair go flying across the ballroom.

The chaos is stifling. The smoke clinging to the Gothic ceilings is, too. A sign of fires raging somewhere in the distance and, knowing the Holy Knights, growing closer. Meant not to choke them but to burn them alive; to trap them in with the rest of the dead here.

Beautiful, rapturous carnage.

And it means nothing without them at his side.

Cynbel doesn’t have to call for them — his heart leads him bound and chained to where it belongs. To his lovers; to the reason all this has come to pass.

To Isseya — who rips a head clean from its neck helmet and all. Who stands in perfection among a growing pile of bodies of the dead and dying without a stain on her.

To Valdas — the thrill of the hunt ignited like the burning catacombs despite all of his past protests. Whose nails and frilled sleeves drip ichor where two hearts beat their last in his unyielding clutches.

The distance between them all ceases to exist when the Trinity look up — when they find one another in the fray. Fascinating; how the look of a lover can bend the very laws of reality like that.

As glorious as they look naked, he’s starting to prefer them drenched in the blood of their enemies. As if he didn’t already.

But any hope of union is quickly dashed at the echo of battle cries on hollow bones. As many Knights as have already been dealt with there are more on the way. More than he accounted for — but hindsight meant nothing to the dead.

Masques scatter the floor, the ashes of their owners kicked up in the frenzy. Cling to boot heels and skirt hems and catch on their tongues. The last wish of the fallen to be carried with the victors into battle.

No rest for the wicked — a new wave of clanging iron erupts and Knights pour in from all sides. Faceless foot soldiers frantic for fame. For the glory that comes with their oh-so-noble purpose of ridding the world of vampire kind one by one.

The Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn have come ready for war.

And war they shall receive.

Isseya dances aside, the breeze of a blade missing her just so. And hellion that she is the vampiress grabs the sword by the opposite end and wrenches it from its owner’s grasp — returns it to them generously and all the way to the hilt.

She kicks the fleshy sheath astray, shouts “Cynbel!” with barely restrained delight, and tosses him the weapon. Caught with the ease of a master of both the blade and her love given with it.

He decapitates the nearest Knight with his back turned.

It is a dance the guests know as well as—if not better than—the Prestige Waltz. One that consumed many of their mortal lives — and their mortality with it. And one that follows them now in death. With the collective experience and knowledge of the battlefield in this room alone how could the Knights even imagine victory?

“Seal the West! Let none flee!”

There was fleeing? Who would be foolish enough to flee from such decadent bloodshed?

Only when the words finally ring in his ears as more than another wail of death does Cynbel turn and see a huddle of vampires being led to safety by none other than Serafine herself.

Though blood has saturated the oil spilled it still ignites when a Knight tosses their torch to the ground. A towering blaze alighted that races in winding tendrils from one end of the hall to the other and claims two of the doorways.

He can feel the heat licking at his skin even from a distance. Watches the cries of shock, anguish; agony when those unfortunate souls trapped in the midst of escape are consumed in the threshold. The rest forced back.

Well that’s a new development.

By the time they realize the Knights plan to corral them inside the ballroom like a tomb it’s too late. It’s already happening.

Serafine directs those left to staunch the flames as best they can. Capes and cloaks and skirts torn carelessly to smother what they can. But that leaves them open — vulnerable. Three felled by one Knight alone in a cloud of ash.

And with no time to savor the victory; not when the Godmaker tears the human in two with his bare hands.

“Monsters! All of you!”

The sight is stunning enough to still Cynbel, momentarily taken aback, before a crack and the clatter of armor sends him staggering backwards to avoid being toppled by the dead Knight.

Valdas, glare now too close for comfort; something that makes him feel like a scolded child, joins him in standing over the fresh corpse.

“You seem to have underestimated your adversary, darling.” Says his god through gritted teeth.

“What,” so cocky, so certain, “not having any fun?”

He knows the anger is not for those who have been lost but for the overwhelming number surrounding them. For two of their exits blocked by fire and their chances of escaping before the fight is done now all but dashed.

With a grunt Valdas pulls them together; the kiss as nourishing as it is reassuring. Tongues tangled, tasting the blood of their enemies in each other’s mouths until only pleasure is left.

“I forbid you from dying tonight. Forbid you from denying me the satisfaction of punishing you for your arrogance.”

Oh the things that voice does to him. “Yes, divine one.”

“You choose now to fuck, of all times?!”

Both heads turn as Isseya spits a chunk of the enemy’s throat to her feet. Cynbel erupts in laughter, staggers when Valdas pushes him back and has to quickly gain balance before he trips over another body.

“Jealousy does not match your dress, beloved!”

“Nor desperation, yours!”

Even in the fray she is as sharp of tongue as she is of wit. In times like this it feels like the old days; where bloodshed and war are as common as regalia and waltzes.

Easier, then, to forget that they are not alone.

“We must retreat!”

“One step back, Westbrook, and I will take your head myself.”

“My love…”

“I will not abandon our people!”

A trio of their own; the Godmaker, his Bloodqueen, and the soldier. That they could even consider retreating in the middle of all this sours the blood on Cynbel’s tongue. But even he would be fool to deny this… this is more than he expected from the Knights.

Perhaps he may have miscalculated a bit.

“Gaius, mon cher! Everyone! Allez, viens!”

The sacrifices of the lessers have not been in vain. Flames staunched by cloak and foot, Serafine calls from the blackened doorway with soot in dark stains across her face and blood dripping from her red lips — the body fresh at her feet still twitching in vain.

A hand closes tight around his upper arm, makes Cynbel look back to see the stern face of his Maker resolute.

“If we run now, they win! This could all have been for nothing!”

“If we stay, it surely will be.”

But the decision is already made for him as Isseya speeds to their side and takes each of them in bloody hands. The look she gives him nothing less than frustrated desperation.

The memories it brings back haunt him still; nightmares like reliving the terrible past over and over again.

Ash grinds like glass against their foreheads come together; tastes harsh on her lips in the bruising intensity of her kiss. “You cannot control everything,” she echoes, far more important now than in the innocence of mere hours ago, “but you can control this.”

This. Their escape.

“Rragh!” He whips the sword in hand with blind fury. Watches it lodge itself in the stone and sink deep.

They comfort him because they know his choice. They know him; his mind for strategy, his acute sense for war. And they know he would never risk their lives for the sake of his war.

They already have him spirited away from the center of the carnage by the time he realizes his feet are moving.

A look back—only the bodies of the enemy remain before they, too, are consumed too bright in fire. Flames leaping from table to table, catching on long tapestries woven in recognition of a victory they assumed with naivete.

The ashes of their fallen mingle with burned wood. He watches until he can no longer; sees the dark shapes of those still left to pursue them begin to amass at the other end of the hall.

His victory — gone up in flames.

“We can lose them in the labyrinth!” cries Serafine from up ahead, where the voices of the desperate meet her; their shepherd.

They will have to. The rattling sound of armor-clad footsteps grows louder with every wasted moment. The acrid smell of burning oil curls his lips back.

Even in the flames Cynbel had nothing to fear. Not with his beloveds in his eye and at his side. But when the chaos becomes too much, when he feels their hands slip from his grasp, fear takes her opportunity and slips into the dual voids left behind.

No. No no nonono—

“Valdas! Valdas! Isseya!”

“Cynbel?!”

“Cynbel!”

The threat of breaking his neck — head whipping back and forth to see them hoarded down different passages — means nothing. Let it snap. Let him pass through this terrible loss unconscious; unaware.

Bring them back to him. Bring them back!

His height; a blessing and a curse — keeps them in his sights but he can do nothing through the throng of panicking survivors as they are each pushed in different directions. As they become just another movement in the mass of darkness.

Smoke burns at his eyes but he keeps them open for as long as he can. Knows the tears are not for his own pain but for the pain that comes when the cord that keeps them as one strains, frays, and threatens to snap.

“—sieur! Monsieur!”

High-pitched panic breaks through the thundering of his three hearts. Draws Cynbel down with a small pale hand to the face of a cherubim’s devil.

“Monsieur!” The child Marcel cries again, this time it works to bring him from his own pit of despair.

They are not dead yet.

“I cannot find him!” he wails, “I cannot find Banner!”

“Wh-Who?”

Tear-tracks break through the soot on his round cheeks and really, really he does not have the time for this. Yet as he looks around they are nearly alone — left behind in his panic to rip himself in two and carry each part of him to where his lovers now wander.

They will endure. They have always endured.

And should his pride, his hubris be the reason they are taken from him in this life then he would not hesitate to seek them swiftly in the next.

“Marcel, petit!” A familiar voice calls from the other end of the skull-lined corridor; turns both heads to where Serafine beckons them from around the curved path.

At the sight of her the young vampire’s eyes alight, a cry of “Serafine!” leaving wet on his lips as he rushes to her. Tugs Cynbel along with.

There is no ignoring the suspicion that clouds the woman’s face when they meet. Darkness in her eyes, on the downturn of her lips where blood dries and flakes around her mouth.

He doesn’t have to ask what makes her so. Their brief moments leading up to the climax of the night still hanging, unfinished, between them over the child’s head.

A thousand questions, accusations unspoken. Pushed aside by the urgency of the hour.

“They mean to seal us off in the crypts. We must find a place to surface.”

“Banner—Kamilah—Serafine I cannot find them!”

She gently pries his grip from her skirts and cradles the boy’s cheeks. “No doubt Gaius protects them both, petit. Come, we must go now.”

Were the boy not between them Cynbel isn’t certain Serafine would not have left him behind. Yet with both of their hands in his he now leads the charge with fervor.

The farther they run from the grand hall the less they should smell the blood and smoke. Or so reason would dictate.

But this is not a reasonable time for anyone trapped beneath Paris; alive or undead.

With every turn the smoke chokes them harder; grows blacker and more like a disease than the omens before it. The gaping eyes of the skulls that witness their escape seem to bear down on them larger and larger with every step. We see you, they say, we welcome you — whether you want it or not.

But this—this flight of theirs—goes against his very nature. He can only succumb to it for so long. And when they catch sight of gleaming silver armor at the end of the corridor, when Serafine pushes Marcel behind her with a cry for him to double back, to change their direction, it is no longer a nature he can deny.

“Go,” he snarls, and does not rush to meet them, “get him to safety. Yourself, as well.”

“As much as I am growing to desire your true death…”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Martyrdom does not suit you, Monsieur D’or.”

“I find too much pleasure in survival to be a suitable martyr.” He throws a look back her way; sees the resisted smile on her lips. Offers up one of his own…

“Go.”

They both know he hears the falter in her footsteps at the end of the passage. The rustle of her skirts as she turns to watch the collision between them. But there is no savoring this victory without them at his side — he can’t imagine even the thought of it.

The way he tears into them is animal. Cracks and crumbles the skeletal walls and leaves their bodies to rot, decay, and soon bloom new skulls to join them. Save the one he takes in hand and crushes with a wet noise between his palms.

What did she expect to see?

“You tackle them as one with experience.”

He blows a strand of hair from his eyes. “Mademoiselle, may you learn this lesson soon; experience is the only thing that separates the likes of us from those already dead.”

But even as he shoves her back the way they had come, he can feel the burn of her gaze. “The Knights and I have tangled before, yes. Their order changes names, locations, ranks; but they are always the same. Always with the same holy doctrine.”

He follows her turn — the scent of their companion caught but waning fast.

“The eradication of our kind.”

“Most ardently. Their resources are vast, those who line their coffers may not even know to what end their gold meets. I assume you know of the oh-so-charming King Coppernose.”

Serafine’s eyes widen. “Truly?”

“There was a reason he chose such a… publicly gruesome execution for dear Queen Boleyn.”

His left hand closes tight on instinct. Craven for the beloved that is not there. But just because he cannot see Isseya does not mean she is back beneath the sword. And only because it is here — only because she has seen his weakness firsthand, Cynbel allows himself a shuddering exhale. “The influence of the Knights at the height of their control of England. Though his death led to a division of funds and they turned their sights to Spain shortly after.”

Weak are they who gossip like follies in the midst of the chase. The silence that follows stretches out — but only their rustling footsteps fill their ears.

“You speak as if they have come close to —”

“Once —” —the acrid air burns through his nostrils; pain a startlingly useful motivator— “— and never again.”

With as much as humanity has changed in the past centuries it’s not unlikely someone of the Lady Dupont’s age has come across their persistent enemies. Maybe not in name, maybe not en masse, but somewhere along the line surely.

Cynbel, however, refuses to lie in wait for their inevitable collision. He seeks them out; has done to the protests of his beloveds for decades now. In England — now here in Paris.

“I would hardly be surprised if there was not an alliance among them—those feeble rulers. They’re so easily frightened of anything that might protest their power. Power they claim is theirs by divine right — the arrogance…

“And our very nature calls that divinity into question, does it not?” He waits for an answer but none comes. Fine with him. Valdas and Isseya — they’ve grown bored with his constant complaints of the Knights and their machinations. Fresh ears to help pass the time.

“And in that fear… came the numbers to bolster their forces. Masses desperate for something to believe in. For answers to reach out to them; a light in their dark, pitiful years.”

“A congregation for your sermon then…” she mutters under her breath, but luckily such things are easily ignored.

“What we lack in numbers our kind makes up for in strength. You saw the ballroom — you partook in it! Glorious battle, victory against the multitudes of dispensable faithful.”

“What victory is there in the losses we suffered?”

“No doubt their losses were far greater in number.”

“So callous, your regard for life.”

“Why would I care about a few meager vampires?” Cynbel’s grin is wry. “Especially those who were so easily struck down.”

The shape and breath of their masques meant nothing. They were always insignificant. Would always be so. Extinguished wicks in comparison to the holy flames of his god and beloved.

Serafine; only under his protection for the consequences possible. Proving herself less and less the more she fixates on the means rather than the end.

“I just don’t understand how they could have known…” says she eventually, and he sees the way the wheel turns in her mind even through the darkness of the smoke. “Do you think the Knights have one of our own held imprisoned?”

“Does it matter?”

“How else can we ensure this never happens again?”

“We leave as many bodies as we can. That tends to send a message.”

“Even to those as vengeful as the Knights?”

Cynbel doesn’t answer right away. A grave mistake on his part — one that skids Serafine to a halt. He continues—stops only because she is obviously familiar with Kamilah, because the Godmaker might find some way to punish his lovers should she perish.

“Unless your intention is to turn back and clear the rest of the righteous horde I suggest we keep moving.” Regarding the now soot-stained skulls near the ceiling with disdain; “Who knows how many of these passages have been sealed off — they’re learning.”

But she and he are of a similar ilk; Turned in those years when doing so was a rare honor, not the desperate means of procreation it had become. Such power did not underestimate easily, surely. One look at the blazing wit behind her eyes and he, too, would have been taken with the mere potential of her.

In another life perhaps.

“I am well-versed in the depths of the depravity of Les Trois Amants… but this…”

Which makes him have to choke back gagging on the guilt she tries to push at him in torrents. How could he do anything else? How could he have thought she would understand?

“Is now really the moment for this?”

“No — and the fault lies with you for it.”

“Your point?”

Her eyes widen. “Those dead — and those yet to die — they were unnecessary.”

“War is not war without casualty.”

“This so-called war is none but your o—!”

Her words end in breathless lungs and chipped bone fragments falling and catching in the finer embellishments of her dress. Such things tend to happen when one is shoved against a wall.

Fury brims forth — Cynbel’s strength holds her firm but there is no denying the tension coiling in the muscles of a huntress.

The crossbow bolt hisses through the smoggy air and sinks home in a different kind of dead; straight through the eye socket. Were he not facing her he isn’t sure he would have seen it coming, seen the glint of light reflecting on dirtied armor.

Utterly silent — but how?

Wordlessly the vampires agree for a stalemate in favor of their mutual enemies. They charge like a wall, crossbows cast aside for close-range swords and daggers. Yet they are fools — children playing with toys. Their feeble minds unable to comprehend the sheer number of years between their foes combined… how small they are in the grand design.

Their fall is nothing like their arrival. Noisy and impossible to ignore how they pile upon one another in the corridor’s confines. The dirt beneath their feet has seen too much blood already and refuses to take more; splatters their heels as the vampires continue their flight.

It is not enough to discuss war lest one forget the war never ends.

At the end of the passage they come upon a metal rod dug and rooted into the ground. A lantern hangs from a rusted hook; the candle inside dim and near close to consuming itself — no wick left to sustain it.

He watches as Serafine unlatches the lantern with interest. Sees the silent words on her lips as she runs her fingertips over the waxy bottom until they find whatever she was looking for. A set of grooves dug into the metal.

“Rue de la Mortellerie,” she says finally, as though it’s supposed to mean something to him, but her relief is explanation enough; “up ahead — no more than a hundred paces. Enfin, la liberté…”

Yet even with the tears brimming in her eyes—relief given form—there’s no mistaking the way she looks Cynbel up and down. Saving her life has, apparently, meant nothing. Thoughts once thought cannot be removed from the mind.

And were he in her position, were the tables turned and it was he mere strides from freedom with a dead weight behind…

No; there’s no question. He would strike her down without a second thought.

But perhaps he is lucky the lady is not as selfish as himself. That she waves him to follow with a rasped “Allez!” and gathers her skirts with dried blood flaking from underneath her nails and leads the way to freedom.

The least he can do is take the first steps from the lowly chapel basement into the freedom of the night to ensure the Knights aren’t there to meet them.

But the streets of Paris still slumber, still dream. When a noise sounds distant he stills, blends himself into the shadows and watches the lumbering journey of a mule and her master none the wiser that the world is burning beneath their very feet.

Cynbel ducks his head back inside. “All is clear.” And watches her as Serafine takes great care in sealing the entrance to their secret court with an entire coffin as guise.

As far as he is concerned their alliance ends there. Is already well into the fresh night, getting his bearings on the unfamiliar part of town she has led him to when she notices he no longer stands at her back.

“Arrêtez!”

Her cry stills him though likely not as she intends. His eyes flicking this way and that to reassure himself they are still alone.

“Louder, perhaps,” he snarls low, “I fear the remaining Knights may not have heard you, since you mean to lead them to us!”

“Such is not an unreasonable course of action, as I am quickly beginning to learn.”

If her intention is to get his full attention—it works. “What did you just say to me?”

“I am no fool.”

“A fool’s proclamation.”

“Remorseless even now…” He would be lying if he said this was the first time he has been looked upon with such disgust as Serafine does now. It drips from her every word, from the blood that stains her chin. “But you said so yourself. You take this as a victory — even in the wake of all that has been lost.”

The river must be close, he can hear the lapping of the current against the banks. Foul and putrid as ever but with it, faint but very much there, the smell of burning flesh.

Likely it will cling to Paris; her streets, her people, her dead, for years to come.

With a single step Cynbel crosses the distance he had tried to put between them. Cups her face in broad hands and tilts her up to the light of the nearest lantern. Beautiful now even more than below; the blood-red dress splattered on her cheeks and throat… lingering in her eyes…

“Let us dispense with these games Mademoiselle Dupont,” he croons close, breathes against her lips with a lover’s intimacy, “I abhor them so. I see it there—you think it hidden in your eyes but not as well as you would hope.

“You have a question as I have an answer. But… you cannot have one without the other.”

The same performance on a different stage. Still surrounded by the dead as they were in the crypts like no time had passed. Fulfilling, almost.

And with the knowledge that should she even attempt to wrench herself away the woman would only succeed in snapping her own neck.

But her hesitation is an insult. Cynbel tightens his hold; feels the scraping grind of her jawbones together like music to his ears.

“Paris is my home, my love; my life. Were the ranks of the faithful closing in on our people… I—I would have known.” Though it sounds awfully like she’s trying to remind herself rather than tell him. “I would have known if the Knights knew of the catacombs. I would have known.”

“Apparently not.”

“You brought them down upon us.”

“I did.”

“Upon your own kind.”

“A debate of philosophy for another time.”

And when she finally—finally—asks it is broken, strangled. The strength of her swept out in a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Why?”

“Because he loves us as much as we love him.”

Serafine takes advantage of his immediate relief; pulls herself free. Maybe even means to flee, to find other survivors and maybe even the Godmaker himself to announce his deeds with violent condemnation.

But however fast she is Isseya is faster. Strikes down their hostess with the back of her hand and rides the high of conquest (that he gave her, though he doesn’t expect to hear thanks any time soon) with a well-placed foot.

Crack. Her lower leg shatters within. Her screams fill the air loud enough to wake — well, the dead.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter shut when he feels the familiar permanence at his back. Turns his head unbidden and offers his neck into the vice of Valdas’ grasp. Feels the familiar shape of Isseya’s body molding against his side and feels complete with it.

Serafine looks up at them through grit fangs and bloody spittle. Her eyes a torch ablaze on a stormy night; the passion—rage—fierce but flickering near-dead.

“You risked…” blood dribbling down her chin, “all our lives… Lives you do not know—the very existence of our kind here…”

“True enough.”

Everything — every death a debt paid, every fight a test — was worth it. For this.

For them.

“But your lives are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

#bloodbound #bloodbound fic #kamilah sayeed #gaius augustine #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: isseya #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years ago

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A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 1

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait... how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.

Word count: 1.5k

>>> Part 2

MASTERLIST

Today was blood donation day, the Red Cross invested one of the faculty’s buildings this morning, turning it into a momentary blood bank. About half the student body decided to do the right thing and donate, and so the line was longer than the meet’n’greet line at the San Diego Comic Con Peter attended last year.

And he couldn’t even donate his blood! Unless he wanted to have a Spider-Sidekick turn up one day, Tony had strongly advised him to stay clear of needles outside of his lab. No, Peter Parker stood in this endless line to keep company to Ned, who was afraid of needles but wanted to donate still because he had told a girl he liked that he would.

Peter was half convinced they would still be standing there tomorrow. He should have brought a tent and something to eat. A least something to do. Luckily Ned nervous-babbled to keep his mind busy, or Peter might have fallen asleep while standing – last night’s mission had lasted longer than planned and he hadn’t had as much sleep as a college student would hope for.

“Hey, it’s my turn next,” Ned told him, nudging him in the ribs and waking Peter from his little snooze.

And sure enough, they stood right next to the doctor’s little desk. Five doctors had set up their desks behind large panels as if those guaranteed any intimacy at all. Peter recognized the girl sitting in the chair at the nearest desk as one of his fellow classmates. He only knew her first name, or rather, her nickname. She didn’t look like she had any close friends, but most people called her Em. So, Emily, or Emma, he guessed.

He briefly wondered why this girl always kept to herself. She was always well put together, he had never heard her say something off, she didn’t smell weird, and he had no reason to think she wasn’t intelligent. Then again, she must have her reasons, and whatever they were, they were none of his business.

Okay, so, maybe he did notice her because he thought she was pretty, but that was it, and it still didn’t make it his business.

A part of him knew it wasn’t nice to eavesdrop, but Peter was bored out of his mind and he had no ill intention, it was just plain curiosity. Ned had finally stopped talking his ears off, therefore nothing stopped him from listening.

“Name and date of birth please,” the doctor asked, his voice as toneless as expected after a day of saying the same thing over and over again.

“Emmeline Gerard, April 1st 1996,” she answered just as flatly.

Not Emily or Emma then, well… Peter didn’t think too hard about it, but the doctor seemed to pause and the young woman momentarily gained his full attention as his eyes switched between her and the application form in his hand.

“Yes, I’m his daughter,” she snapped, clearly having been there and done that before.

The doctor hadn’t even asked anything, but Peter guessed the question was obvious – the man must know her father, whoever he was. A fellow practitioner maybe? He didn’t even know why he cared, but this was the most thrilling interaction he had witnessed today.

The doctor shook his head and resumed his questions.

“Did you eat and drink something before coming? Do you feel ready to donate blood?”

Peter’s attention dwindled from then on, until she was almost done.

“Any medical history in your family?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met them,” she quipped, sending the old man a clipped smile that showed nothing but restrained annoyance. “I’m adopted.”

Upon hearing that, Peter turned cherry red. He shouldn’t have been listening in on that doctor-patient conversation. Yet, he felt oddly drawn to her after hearing that she was an orphan like him. Sure, she had been adopted and her father was apparently someone of importance, but still, it tugged at Peter’s heartstrings.

Her one on one with the doctor quickly came to an end, but he didn’t let her go without a final word.

“Please tell your father I wish him the best of luck for the election to come!” he called just as the young woman grabbed her bag and stood up to leave.

She froze, put her bag on her shoulder, clutching at the strap so hard Peter thought she must have been picturing the doctor’s neck in its stead, and she smiled. The smile was wrong, it had something off.

“I will. Good day, doctor.”

Peter knew, by the sound of her voice and the way her smile immediately dropped when she turned around, that she would never, not even in a million years, tell her father. She walked around the panel and nearly bumped right into him.

“Oh, sorry, I-“ Peter started, feeling as though he had been caught red handed doing something bad. This was the first time he even opened his mouth in her presence.

“Oh great! You heard everything, now didn’t you?!” she snapped, clearly mad though he wasn’t convinced it was entirely his fault. That conversation must have rubbed her the wrong way. “God fucking dammit,” she cursed. “Well, go on, it’s your turn!”

She stood slightly aside to tell him in so she could walk out but Peter only stood there awkwardly, hands in his pockets.

“I-I’m not donating, I’m just here with-“ He had barely gestured towards Ned, who now watched the two, before she cut him off.

“Even better! Out of my way, then.”

She pushed him aside, elbowing her way out of the little crowd that had formed around the door so she could go to the next stall where she’d finally make that donation, now that all the formalities were over.

“Who was that?” Ned asked Peter, watching the enraged girl stride away, her angry vibes making people step out of her way.

“Emmeline Gerard,” Peter answered offhandedly, eyes not leaving her form until she was out of sight. Ned simply frowned because her name meant nothing to him, but he didn’t get the time to ask any further questions.

“Next!” the doctor called, and Ned stepped in, leaving Peter to stand in the hallway with the hundred other people waiting there.

He made a mental note to look her up tonight.

“Can you believe this? I can’t even talk to a doctor without hearing about my father!” she ranted, making angry hand gestures while Bella watched on, titling her head to the left. “You’d think a doctor would be a little more professional than that! Bringing politics into a medical consultation, ugh!” she groaned, finally seeming to calm down a little.

She had been chewing on her tongue all day, biting off harsh remarks whenever somebody dared look her way. That poor boy she lashed out on this morning! He looked vaguely familiar; she must have a class with him – she would have to apologize if she saw him then.

“I just-“ she started, glancing at Bella who walked beside her. “I’m so sick of only being somebody’s daughter.”

Bella’s ears perked up and she looked up at Emmeline, her big brown eyes full of questions.

“Of course, you don’t understand my problems, do you?” She knelt down and scratched Bella’s ears, watching her tail wag now that she had her owner’s full attention. “Your only concern in life is when you’ll next have to go to the vet.”

The sun was setting now, the last orange rays filtering between New York City’s buildings. Her walks in Central Park with Bella were supposed to be a moment of relaxation – not a moment to scare the kids hanging there with her grumbling. Most must think her crazy for ranting at her dog.

But Bella didn’t mind – at least Emmeline thought so – and she couldn’t give less of a crap what people thought of her. Her father would; in fact, her father gave many craps what people thought of him and, by extension, his family. Emmeline had never liked the word family, it just never made sense to her. She was born and immediately abandoned and then she was placed into the arms of another set of parents whose love never left right.

“Thank you for listening, Bel,” she told the happy dog who waited for her to unhook the leash so she could run around for a bit.

Pitbulls were considered dangerous dogs and Bella had to wear a muzzle every time they went out – it broke Emmeline’s heart but it was the law. She couldn’t play fetch with her like this, but at least she could play with other dogs in the park. A lot of them already knew each other, and Emmeline waved at an old lady who walked her labradoodle, Sir Henry.

She watched them run in circles for a while.

“I can’t speak about this with anyone else,” she muttered to herself, eyes never leaving her dog. “Who would pity the beloved mayor of New York’s daughter? I’m supposed to be the luckiest girl in the city.”

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tenroseforeverandever · 7 years ago

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Dear Father Christmas... Chapter 22: December 24, 2037

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane; Tianza; the TARDIS

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: As much as Rose loves her Doctor, sometimes his fears, preconceptions, and prejudices result in a stubborn and obstinate attitude, but when Wilfred presents him with an extraordinary Christmas gift, the Doctor is given the chance to face his greatest fear head-on.

Notes: Wow! This chapter turned out to be super loooooong. I played around quite a bit with the concepts of Gallifrey and TARDISes. I tried to do some research, and develop a world that made sense given the circumstances I’ve envisioned for this universe. In the end, it is my (only partially informed) imagination that is to blame… for better or for worse. I hope you like where my muse took me.

***Trigger Warning for a near drowning early on in the chapter.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci: you talked through my visions and concepts with me at length and helped me flesh them out, and you were always there when I called on you in a panic. I hope we managed to create something unique and magical, and that I was able to do it justice. I can’t thank you enough, my dear friends, for your creativity, talent, and patience.

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Lights.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2037

Dear Father Christmas,

What a year! It’s been equal parts frustrating and wonderful! And all because my bloody, thick-headed, obstinate, lovable idiot has a lot of trouble getting past his long-standing fears, preconceptions, and prejudices.

It didn’t start out so bad. Me and the Doctor, in the TARDIS (with Snowflake), just as it should be. We’ve had so many brilliant adventures. We did some ambassadorial jobs for Torchwood, but mostly, it’s just been us flying by the seats of our pants all through time and space, finding trouble and doing our best to fix it wherever we go!

We have company sometimes, though. Hope and Gray are settling into their positions on Lunar Base Shepard, and loving it (no real surprise that Gray decided to get a position there, too.) But on their days off, they sometimes join us on our jaunts in the TARDIS. Gray’s quickly learned the ropes. He’s even picked up a few words of Gallifreyan from listening to the Doctor and Hope natter on. I was certainly impressed, even if the Doctor wasn’t. I’ve tried for years to speak and write it. The Doctor started teaching me back in the Prime Universe, and I love the songs; sing them all the time (my own special remixes which irk the Doctor no end!) But I’ve never been fluent. Not properly. The kids all speak it though. The Doctor spoke Gallifreyan to each of them whilst they were still in the womb, and he kept on with it after they were born. He’s so proud of them, and I can feel him positively gushing contentment and joy over our bond, all because he’s able to communicate with his children (and, of course, listen to his wife sing!) in his native language.

But, he didn’t feel that way toward Gray at first, even when the poor boy had just spoken a full sentence in Gallifreyan and managed to optimize some TARDIS manifold or other. Nope! That’s when protective-Dad syndrome kicked in with a vengeance, and all he could think about was “Jack Harkness’ brother” corrupting his daughter. Now admittedly, as much as he’s become a dear friend, Javic Thane is every bit as erm… sexually unrestrained as his counterpart in the Prime Universe. But I have to say, his brother is a very different creature: not at all a flirt (in fact, a bit too serious if I was to find any faults) and any idiot (with the exception of the Biggest Idiot of All…) could see that he’s utterly devoted to Hope. Devoted!

We all just had to ride out Oncoming Daddy-Storm for a few months until we visited Prebvok X-wani. That’s where a certain dafter-on-the-inside mindset had a complete makeover! Hope had requested we go there to collect certain medicinal herbs that grow at the edges of the swamps in the rainy season. I had stayed in the TARDIS because, bloody hell, the rain was bucketing down and it was flipping cold (kinda like Prime-London winters but with more swamps), and I figured I could stay warm and dry and make a nice hot stew for the intrepid adventurers. Gray had happily joined Hope, and so of course the Doctor just had to tag along as well. Blimey, I could feel his possessiveness absolutely bristling in my mind.

Anyway, not half an hour later, our bond went on full Mauve alert: pure panic from the Doctor. It was an agonizing 8.35 minutes (when you’re bonded to someone with time sense it rubs off on you after a while) before the calming green of relief started to trickle through my mind, and at least another ten before they all burst back through the TARDIS doors, covered in muck, and Gray carrying Hope bridal style, following the Doctor into the infirmary.

After making sure Hope’s airway was clear and after doing some dermal regeneration on her ankle, the Doctor looked at Gray and his gratitude practically glowed. He held out his hand to Gray to shake, but ended up pulling him into a full-on Doctor-hug.

I finally heard the whole story as we all sat eating supper in front of the fire, after everyone had cleaned up and changed into cosy jimjams. Hope had jogged on ahead, looking for her herbs, and had tripped on a vine across the path, twisting her ankle, and sending her headfirst into the swamp. It had been a sort of quicksandy material and having basically dived in, however unintentionally, she had disappeared below the surface almost instantaneously. The Doctor had had some rope in his pockets (never leave home without it, Rose Tyler; and thank God for that!) and without hesitation, Gray had tied it around himself while the Doctor tied the other end to a tree. Gray dove straight in there after Hope. It had taken three separate tries to find her, but he finally latched onto her fingertips and then her arm and then he’d signaled the Doctor to pull them up.

“Just goes to show,” (here goes my Doctor impersonation again), “all you need to get across this universe is a hand to hold… weeell, that and a good length of rope. Good man, Gray! Good man!” And with that, one bit of the Doctor’s pig-headedness had been swapped for something much more rational.

But, Santa, the year was young… Turns out, this year was ripe with opportunities for the Doctor to dig his heels in and act a bit thick. And, as I’ve come to realize (not for the first time) the apple sometimes doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Here’s an example…

So, Hope and Gray weren’t the only ones who travelled with us from time to time. Wilfred was around quite a bit. Javic started to drop by on a regular basis, usually timing it to skive a few hours off work here and there, and filling our days with laughter at his tall tales of his (usually naked) adventures with the Time Agency.

Therin was also a regular visitor, especially over the summer before he started graduate school, and he never failed to be there if he knew Charlie was visiting. The poor baby; he wore his heart on his sleeve, and Charlie (Daddy’s little girl in so many ways for all that she looked like me) was completely oblivious. She sometimes flirted and held his hand, but she never once let on that Therin was anything more to her than her best mate. And I don’t think she had any clue he felt any differently. Oblivious! And oh, Santa, my heart broke for that boy. I knew everything he was feeling: desperate for more but never truly believing their friendship could ever develop into romance, and yet just so pathetically grateful to be a tiny speck of importance in Charlie’s brilliant, manic mind.

I tried to hide my thoughts about Therin and Charlie from the Doctor. I love that man more than life itself, and I didn’t want him feeling guilty about something that had happened ages ago, but those thoughts were so interwoven with other thoughts, it was difficult to keep them all separated and contained.

“You were never just a speck of anything, Rose Tyler.”

He’d caught me completely by surprise as I watched Charlie, Therin, and Wilfred from my place on the picnic blanket as they all tried out the new Wing-Gliders Charlie had developed. I’d been caught out and felt my face burning. Somehow I managed to tear my eyes from the kids cavorting in the sky overhead to look at my husband. His eyes were so sad, Santa.

“And you were never in any way pathetic.”

I knew I had to be honest and opened my thoughts to him, sharing all those old insecurities. I’d often wondered, especially in recent years now that my hair is peppered with grey, how it would have worked out had the Metacrisis never happened and I’d stayed on with the Time Lord Doctor. Would he ever have been able to slow down for me? Would he have eventually drawn away, unable to bear to watch me wither? Would he have resented me? Would he have dropped me off for my safety, for his sanity?

“I always loved you. I would have cherished every moment with you. I’d gotten past all of that awkwardness, but then I came along… and when Pete’s World presented itself, it was so easy to… weeell…”

He filled my thoughts with his love for me, past and present, and I snuggled against him. He was an idiot sometimes, but he was my very own idiot. It seemed, however, he’d passed the idiot gene on to Charlie.

“She’ll be all right.” He’d nodded at Charlie.

“Not her I’m worried about, is it? She doesn’t understand how she affects those around her. Once you have a taste of that… charisma, that allure, you can’t ever go back. Trust me.”

He just chuckled at me and booped my nose. “Oh, I know, my precious girl.”

“Shut up…”

“Now Wilfred… that’s who I’m concerned about. There’s something going on with him, I just don’t know what.”

The Doctor was quite right. There was something Wilfred was keeping from us. I’d thought so too. He’d always been a bit secretive, happy to quietly puzzle things out, but he also loved a great adventure and was never happy to be sitting still for too long. Now that he was out of our daily lives, travelling the world, it was difficult to figure out just what he was up to. Until we did, all we could do was keep our ears to the ground and wait to see what happened.

--ooOoo--

Santa, over the years, we’ve travelled to many wonderful places and the adventures never seemed to end, whether we were having a quiet day to ourselves or whether we had our entire extended family along for the ride. But, in all that time, there was one place the Doctor refused to even entertain trying to visit: Gallifrey. He wouldn’t even speak of it. To be quite honest, in all our travels, on any of our adventures, the name never even came up in rumours and stories, and for all we knew, it didn’t exist in this universe.

Whether it did or not, was irrelevant. The subject was taboo. I knew it, and the kids all knew it, so I nearly fainted when Wilfred brought it up at supper one day, a few months ago.

He’d been travelling with us for several weeks, tinkering in his own little workshop and learning as much as he could about the workings of the TARDIS, quantum mechanics, relativity, and the structure of space-time. He was most definitely up to something, but what it was, we still had been unable to determine. At least he was home with us for the time being.

Javic had dropped ‘round for a visit and was staying for supper that day. Wilfred always really enjoyed Javic’s company, peppering him with questions about time travel and his vortex manipulator. But none of us were prepared for the question that carelessly slipped out just as we were starting on our pudding.

“Hey, Javic, just a thought…” (oh, so casual-like) “…have you ever heard of a planet called Gallifrey on any of your travels?”

I literally felt faint, though it was probably as much to do with the Doctor’s instant panic and anger hammering over our bond as it was the shock of the subject matter.

Javic, not ever having been briefed on our planet-who-shall-not-be-named situation, of course answered in his usual laid-back way, totally missing the electric mood around the table. “Can’t say as I have… but I could do some invest−”

Oh. My. God, Santa! The Doctor completely lost his trolley. Exploded it, more like. Pounded on the table; shouted; completely lost it! The Oncoming Supernova! He was properly frightening, demanding that Javic not do any investigating and that if he heard about anything to the contrary…

Well, you get the idea: threats were made.

I was trying to reach him over the bond, but the force of his emotions was preventing me from making contact. All I could do was keep trying and hope he would calm down, but then he turned on Wilfred, raging like something possessed. And my poor, stupid baby, despite being nearly as tall as his dad and sporting some wispy facial hair, suddenly seemed very small and vulnerable, you know? He took off to his room in a panic and slammed the door.

The Doctor’s mental walls finally crashed into place (saving me from the psychic fallout, thank God! My head was pounding with the mental barrage I’d been enduring!) and he stomped off into the bowels of the TARDIS. Like father, like son.

“Well, it’s been a slice,” Javic broke the silence, “but I think that’s my cue to vamoose.”

I was suddenly babbling and apologizing for the Doctor’s outburst and for not warning Javic beforehand, assuring him that it was a sensitive subject and things would smooth over in no time. (I hoped I was telling the truth.)

He gave me a hug. “I get it. Don’t worry, Rosie. I should be getting back to work anyway. I’ll check back in in a few weeks. You mind dropping me at these coordinates?” He showed me the display on his vortex manipulator.

I made him promise it was somewhere safe and told him to enter them himself. A few seconds later, he was stepping out the TARDIS doors onto a rowdy, seedy street. “Perfect!”

“You call this safe?”

“I call this a good time! Best hypervodka in the universe right through those doors, not to mention the servers…” He gave me a cheeky wink. “A bit of a pick-me-up before I head back to my current assignment.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll just bet you get picked up!” I waved goodbye, and heard him calling out, “That’s the plan!” just as I was closing the TARDIS doors. I immediately sent us back into the Vortex.

--ooOoo--

I was furious at both my boys. Wilfred… well I don’t know what had gotten into his head, but he knew the rule, blatantly broken it, and had paid for it. The Doctor though… I was going to give that one a piece of my mind, treating friends and family like that. This situation had gone too far. Absolutely ridiculous! It was time we had a proper talk about Gallifrey. And to be honest, I was gutted he felt he couldn’t confide in me and trust me. I mean, he’d been completely excluding me on this for years… forever!

I decided to clear away the dishes, giving my lads a bit of space before I went to talk to them, and giving myself some time to work things out in my mind. Wilfred was brooding in his room, head buried in some gadgets on his desk. I didn’t say much to him. He knew why he was in trouble; no need to add salt to his wounds. So, I just gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and assured him that his father still loved him very much. I did quietly suggest he apologize.

I found the Doctor much later. The great plonker was hiding, faffing about deep in the workings of the TARDIS, among the mysterious glowing orbs and curtains of cables that dangled from the branches of the beautiful coral tree. I couldn’t imagine anything really needed repaired; he was likely just skulking. Anyroad, he never bothered to look up when I came in, just offered a gruff, “What do you want?”

“Oi!” I was stunned, and I hope I sounded as pissed off as I really was. “You don’t get to speak to me like that! I deserve better. Me and Javic… and Wilfred.”

“Wilf was out of−”

Oh, he was not going there! I wouldn’t let him. “He’s seventeen years old, for God’s sake! He’s curious about his heritage… your heritage. Don’t you dare put your hang-ups on his shoulders. You had no right to treat him like that!”

He growled at me. (I had to bite my tongue, Santa. He actually growled.) Then he muttered something about how I didn’t know anything about it. (Seriously? And whose fault was that?)

“Time you filled me in then, yeah?” I held my temper. It took every ounce of control I could muster, but I did it. I told him to meet me in the library in ten minutes, and to leave his attitude behind. So I walked out, and went to make us a cuppa and a couple of plates of the pudding we’d never managed to get to because of his tantrum. I reckoned he’d be much more approachable with loads of good ol’ free radicals, tannins, and a good dose of sugar in his system.

I hope you don’t think I was just being flippant or insensitive. I really wasn’t. I won’t say I completely understood why this affected him so deeply; he’d refused to speak about it for so long so there was no way to know for sure. But I know that man, and I had my suspicions. What was clear was that he needed to talk about this. It wasn’t healthy or safe for him to have kept all of this bottled up inside for so long. I love him so much. I’m his wife, his bondmate: I shouldn’t have had to stage an intervention for him to speak to me about this, and yet, there I was, doing just that.

--ooOoo--

Just over an hour later, he’d finally collapsed into sleep. We were sitting in front of the fire; me with my toes stretched toward the flames and my back against the sofa, and him curled into a foetal position next to me with his head cradled in my lap. I ran my fingers through the soft, lush mess of his hair, the rich brown shot through with wild sparks of silver. The stain of tears on his cheeks darkened his freckles, and I brushed a remaining droplet from the corner of his eye. He was so beautiful and vulnerable… my precious man.

He’d come into the library as I’d requested, looking all guilty and not meeting my eyes. He looked almost physically ill, with his fringe hanging over his pale face. I stood to meet him, and he threw his arms around me, clutching to me as though I might disappear. He was in a right state, sobbing and apologizing, and all I could do was hold him. Eventually, I drew him over to the sofa and got some hot tea into him, and gradually he became more coherent.

He’d never gotten over the Time War. Of course he hadn’t. How could anyone ever accept the fact that they had to destroy billions of lives, including all their own people, even if it was for the greater good, the salvation of the universe? Even after all these years, there were still nights when he would awake drenched in sweat, crying out in despair, after something during the day had triggered the memories to resurface. He told me he’d always felt at peace with me holding him, and so that’s what I would do in those times, for as long as he needed me.

Now in this universe, still unable to face the scars of his past, he was running from what-ifs and maybes. “I can’t sense the Time Lords,” he told me, clutching at his temples. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not there, it just means… I can’t sense them. Different universe of origin; not a full Time Lord… loads of factors. Maybe I just don’t want to sense them.”

What it all came down to was the Doctor did not cope well with loss, he never had, and just the thought of getting his hopes up only to have them shattered again was unbearable. He’d already seen too much sorrow associated with that planet: friends and family lost forever; memories and emotions, darkness, rage, and guilt, kept under lock and key deep in a fortress in his mind.

He couldn’t stomach the idea that the ruins of Gallifrey might be out there somewhere, the remnants of another Time War where everyone had perished, history unfolding the same way as it had in the Prime Universe. But equally, he admitted, he was terrified the Time Lords were actually alive and thriving, lording it over the rest of the universe, power misused through anger and pretensions.

At one point during our talk he’d snatched my hand in his and held my gaze. We’d moved to the floor by that time to be closer to the fire, hoping to find comfort in its warmth. “If the Time Lords are alive,” he confessed to me, tears pouring over his cheeks, “there’s a possibility there could be transdimensional travel again. You could… you could… maybe you’d want to… to go back to him. Me. Him, now. Different experiences. We’ve been different people from the moment I was created. But we started off pretty much the−”

“Stop!” I insisted, ending what was sure to be a long, self-deprecating babble. I locked my eyes on his (I was crying too, a right mess), so he would know how sincere I was. “I’m not going anywhere.” I felt so guilty for not realizing he thought I could ever consider abandoning him. “Forever. I promised you… I love you, you muppet, and I’m never gonna leave you.”

--ooOoo--

The Doctor was much more settled after that night. Gallifrey wasn’t exactly on his top ten list of conversation topics, but he no longer flew into a rage at the mere mention of the name. Nightmares woke him often, but I was always there to hold him close to me, and they gradually dwindled away, becoming fewer and less intense as time went on. He apologized to Javic the next time he dropped by, and although things were a bit awkward between him and Wilfred, they were family and loved one another, and any grudges were shoved aside to make room for happier memories.

After another week or so, Wilfred returned to travelling on his own, and although other friends and family joined us on the TARDIS, we didn’t see him again until today when he, quite literally, blinked back into our lives.

We were back home in our little blue house, and I was sitting by the Christmas tree, wrapping gifts, when I felt a strange change in the air pressure near me. There was a whooshing sound, and a distortion in the air. I sensed something… something infinite. All that is; all that was; all that ever could be. The words were like a whisper in my mind. A memory? Perhaps…

And then, suddenly, Wilfred stumbled out of the distortion, beaming away like he had just walked through the front door. “Fantastic! Hey, Mum! Happy Christmas!”

“What the bloody hell was that?” The Doctor came thundering down the stairs, sonic drawn, ready to do battle. He stopped short at the sight of Wilfred. “When did you get in?” He didn’t wait for a response before he activated the sonic, whirring it all around the space in front of the Christmas tree.

I managed to stammer out some incoherent response. Then Wilfred piped up: “Hello, Dad. Don’t worry. Jus’ me!”

“What? What? WHAT?” The Doctor swept around Wilfred, sonic humming, then paused to examine his findings. “Local distortions in the Time Vortex… not just any distortions, not randomized. These are specific… programmed. What the hell is that on your wrist?”

My eyes snapped to Wilfred’s wrist where there sat something that looked suspiciously like a Vortex manipulator. Well, that cleared up a few of my questions. Generated a few more… but, yeah, what else could I expect when my child just popped out of the Vortex, directly into our living room.

“Been travelling, me! ‘S a Vortex manipulator.”

The Doctor pinched his nose, collecting himself. As for me, the initial shock of my son suddenly appearing in front of me dissipated rather quickly and I just slipped into my standard roll-with-it mode I usually applied in situations involving my children (and/or husband) doing something, erm… unexpected. “So how long have you been travelling… this way?”

“Since I saw you last, really. It took a little getting used to, travelling without the TARDIS shell to protect me…”

“Riiiight…” (What every mother wants to hear.)

“…but I made some adjustments to my original design…”

“Your design?” (Definitely our child.)

“Yeah! So, I made adjustments to the shield harmonics and I adapted the Chrononplasm flow regulators ever so slightly, and bam! Just like that, a fifty-seven percent increase in stabilization and a one hundred eighty-two percent increase in overall shielding!”

“Impressive…” (I had no idea to be honest, but it sounded pretty good.)

“Sort of, yeah. Aaaand it can transport a mass of up to a tonne now… that’s about six humans, give or take. The design the Time Agency uses can only take three people… and then only in a pinch. Not recommended. I’m hoping to get a patent on my design and sell it to them.”

The Doctor had been uncharacteristically silent throughout this exchange, which boded ill, so I went straight over to him and took his hand in one of mine and stroked his sleeve with the other. I soothed him over our bond, and he glowered at me, knowing exactly what I was trying to do. And it was working!

Wilfred watched our silent exchange, and I could sense the tension growing in him.

Just hear him out. Nothing we say is going to change anything. He’s smart. And he’s a good kid. And right now, he’s safe. I’d like to keep him that way.

The Doctor grumbled at me, and I just arched my eyebrow at him.

Nothing’s going to be solved with shouting and driving him away.

This time he huffed out a great sigh. (Victory!)

He’s so much like you.

I assume that’s meant to be a compliment. He nudged me with his shoulder, and threw me a cheeky smirk.

Always, love.

--ooOoo--

December 25, 2037

Oh Santa, since Christmas Eve so much has happened! I didn’t get to finish this letter because I’ve been so busy.

After the Doctor had agreed to call a truce with Wilfred, he was full of questions and the two of them disappeared into the Doctor’s workshop to tinker with the Vortex manipulator until it was time for our traditional Christmas Eve supper. Tony and Noah arrived with their arms full of my brand new (adopted) niece, Abby; and Mum, Dad, and Therin dropped by too. Mum couldn’t keep her hands off the baby all night, which gave Abby’s Dads a welcome break by the look of the dark circles under their eyes. (I remember those bittersweet days!) The girls and Gray were set to arrive tomorrow, which meant Charlie was going to be able to kick off the Festive Feast for the first time in quite a few years. We’d have the whole family together for Christmas! It had been so long! Even Javic said he’d try to make it.

I was thrilled!

But Christmas was only going to get better for us this year. Wilfred had a surprise gift for his father, which he wanted to give us once everyone had left after Christmas Eve supper.

He bustled us onto the TARDIS. He’d offered to use his manipulator, but he admitted with a fond stroke of the TARDIS’ walls, he thought she would enjoy this trip too. (I was, honestly, relieved. I didn’t much like the sound of travel by Vortex manipulator!) He pushed the Doctor away from the console. “Let me enter the coordinates, Dad. This is a surprise! You just can’t stand it, can you?”

The Doctor was glaring at him. “I don’t want to go.”

“Daaaad…”

“What the hell do you mean, you don’t want to go?” I wasn’t honestly surprised by his reaction. I’m pretty sure we both knew where Wilfred was taking us, and the Doctor was being bloody-minded and obstinate. Mind you, with perfectly good reason. His emotional distress over his home world had been festering for years, maybe all his life, and he’d only recently managed to get it back under some semblance of control.

“I mean, I don’t want to go! Full stop! Kaput! Fertig! Klaar! And just NOPE!” He fixed me with that I’m-not-compromising-so forget-it look of his.

I gave Wilfred a kiss on the cheek, stopping what was likely to be an outburst he would regret, and told him to give us a minute, maybe longer... maybe a lot longer. Then I went to the Doctor, and took him down to our bedroom. “How about a kip, yeah. It’s been a long day. It’s well past bedtime.” I tossed him his jimjams, and we got ready for bed.

A few minutes later, I snuggled up to him under the covers.

“I’m not going.”

“I know, love.” We lay there, just cuddling for a few minutes, and a memory of a previous Christmas drifted into my mind. “Hey, do you remember that Christmas when Wilfred gave you the transparency setting for wood? He was so proud. He’d been planning the reveal all day.”

The Doctor chuckled.

“He’s always so thoughtful, yeah. What a great Christmas that was! We all bundled out there with hot chocolate and ended up spending the whole evening stargazing and telling stories.” I felt his body relax. “I was so shocked when you pointed up to the sky and told us that’s where Gallifrey was supposed to be.”

“Weeell…”

“And then you even told that story about running through the grass, flying your little kite.”

“It got stuck in a Cadonwood. A gust of wind just took it off course.”

“But you got it down. You flew that little kite again.”

“I know what you’re doing.” He always knew… and I wasn’t being terribly subtle.

“Yeah? Is it working.”

“Absolutely not.” But he rolled his eyes and gave me a long, lingering kiss.

“Just sleep on it for a bit. That’s all I’m asking.” I stroked the stubble on his cheek and tucked my head under his chin and we gradually dozed off.

A few hours later, he was dressed, stubble-free, and back in the console room with a brand new attitude. “All right, son. It’s time I faced my demons…”

Wilfred grinned. “You’ll love it, I promise. Ready?”

The Doctor nodded and with that, Wilfred threw the last lever in the dematerialization sequence. The landing was gentle, and with a flourish of his hand he directed the Doctor to the doors. “Happy Christmas, Dad.”

I saw the Doctor hesitate as he moved to go out, and sensed he was going to turn back. I couldn’t let that happen. This was something he needed to do. Whatever he found on the other side of those doors, it would no longer be a product of his tortured imagination. It would be real, something he could deal with head on. Together, love, I suggested over our bond, and I took his hand. He was shaking. I did my best to reassure him. Love, he would never have brought you here if he thought it would be a bad thing. Come on. I tugged on his hand and we stepped up to the doors. “Together!”

With that, we pulled the doors open.

The Doctor gasped and squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. His emotions rushed over me as he took in the vista before him: apprehension, joy, sadness… and a lot of hope. I nudged him over the threshold, and we stepped out onto the soil of Gallifrey. We were on a little rise in the middle of a field of beautiful, long grass… and such a deep, rich, gorgeous red… spread out before us. Here and there were little groves of slender trees (the kite-snatching Cadonwoods, I guessed) with silver leaves, flickering in the breeze. And beyond all that… mountains. I can’t describe them properly: rugged and capped with snow, and all sorts of colours… purples and browns. The sky was amber, but as we stood there, everything began to grow brighter, and the sky began to turn more blue. Birds (I think they were birds or something like them) started chattering in the trees.

“The second sun rising in the south…” The Doctor whispered the words, and I when I looked up at his face, Santa, it was more beautiful than any of that scenery. Tears sparkled on his cheeks, but his expression… I’ve only ever seen that expression a few times before, and that was when he’d held each of our children for the very first time. It was wonder and disbelief and joy all mixed together.

He looked at me and beamed, his grip on my hand tightening again. “RUN!” And suddenly he was dragging me down the little hill, leaping and bounding through the grass like a puppy, and I couldn’t help laughing at him, even as I tried to catch my breath. He was so happy! He dropped my hand and danced around me, whooping and cheering. After a few minutes, he bounced his way back to the TARDIS, me tagging along behind, and Wilfred stepped forward to greet him. He handed him a kite, a simple diamond design.

“You once told us the story of how you would run through the red grass, flying your kite. (Just what me and the Doctor had talked about before our nap!) I thought you might like to give it another go.”

“Oh, yes! Oh, Wilfred! This is…” He pulled him into a hug, then gratefully took the kite and waved it at me. “C’mon, Rose Tyler, help me fly it!” I skipped over to him, and he handed me the kite as he let out a length of string. “You hold it up and I’ll run ahead! You know when to let go!”

Yes, I did. The Doctor loved to fly kites and we had done this a thousand times if we had done it once. In seconds, he was tearing across the field again, his exhilaration bursting like fireworks in my mind, and I was holding tight to the kite and stumbling along behind him until I felt the wind catch and tug at my fingers.

And then I released it, and watched it soar into the air, the words “Welcome Home” emblazoned in Circular Gallifreyan onto the kite’s wings.

I suddenly realized I was releasing him too, and a cold dread settled in my gut: I closed my emotions to him as I panicked and selfishly felt the need to keep him right beside me, as though if I didn’t he might abandon me and disappear into this world, into Gallifrey, never to return. That scared the hell out of me.

But how could I deny him this? Even if he left me, just knowing he was happy… that would be enough. I forced back my tears and watched him wading through the grass, gazing up at the dancing kite as it went higher and higher into the brightening sky. I don’t know if I’d ever seen him so alive. Oh, I love him so much; I know I’ve said it a lot, but I do, I really do!

Eventually, he reeled in the kite and jogged back to the TARDIS where Wilfred and me were waiting. He was beaming and his hair was wilder than ever and his eyes were glowing. “I can’t believe it’s here! Gallifrey!” He picked me up and whirled me around. “And I can feel them… the people… in my mind, their voices in my mind!”

Oh god, Santa, my jealousy just flared at the thought of anyone else in his mind. I felt horrible but I couldn’t help it, and I bolstered the mental shields I’d thrown up earlier. “I thought you were touch telepaths?”

“Oh, we are… were…, but there’s a sort of a telepathic field, nothing specific, just like distant chatter, background noise I suppose you could call it. I’m aware of them, but not of who they are or what they’re thinking. Just that they’re there. And the Time Lords… weeell, we were all telepathically linked, like a sort of hive mind when it was needed, but that was stronger, and deliberate. This isn’t anything like that. This is just innocent whispers, nothing meant for power or manipulation.”

“Like the TARDIS in my mind?”

“Weeell… yes and no… not so specific. Not so intimate or intense.” I hoped he couldn’t feel my sense of relief at hearing that. I was desperately trying to push all my negative emotions aside and just enjoy the adventure. I certainly didn’t want to ruin this experience for him. And yet here I was doing just that…

“What are you doing with your shields up?” He touched my face, concern chasing away his joy. I felt like such a cow, worrying him like that, when all he wanted to do was share this experience with me. “Actually, you should be able to sense them as well. You’ve become quite a strong telepath. But first, you need to let them in.”

“I’ll try,” I wanted to reassure him so I relaxed my mental walls a bit, tucking my jealousies and fears behind a doorway in my mind, and opened myself to welcome the Gallifreyan voices. It was like a choir singing very faintly, very far away, just on the edge of my awareness. It’s lovely… I told him truthfully. It was, but he’d noticed my tight smile and I knew he sensed something in the turn of my thoughts. I couldn’t really hide my feelings from him, such an experienced telepath.

He didn’t say anything, just drew me into a hug and kissed my forehead and made me feel so incredibly loved.

“Oi! Yuck, you two! Break it up!” Wilfred’s voice cut into our intimate little moment, and we pulled out of the hug, chuckling.

Wilfred pointed out the footpath that meandered through the field and suggested we walk into town. He told us there was a small community at the end of the path where we could stop to get a bite to eat and meet some people.

“Allons-y!” The Doctor snatched up my hand in his again, and grinning from ear to ear, pulled me along the path. I couldn’t help laughing, my fears dissipating, knowing he wanted me with him. Besides, the prospect of an adventure with my two boys… what could be better?

As we walked, Wilfred admitted to having travelled here several times, often staying for long periods. He told us some of what he had learned about this Gallifrey. First off, there were no Time Lords, and the Gallifreyans had no active time sense that he could discern. (The Doctor seemed especially interested in this fact, and immediately began taking readings with his sonic.) They were an intelligent, hard-working, and thoughtful people from all walks of life. Regardless of their profession, everyone was encouraged to continue to learn and challenge their mind throughout their life. Many attended schools of higher learning in the major cities, like Arcadia.

They were a philosophical people who were very open to offworlders visiting, and welcomed new opportunities for learning with open arms, but only a very few ever sought to leave Gallifrey. And it was no wonder. They had turned it into a virtual paradise. Through ingenious methods, they extracted water from the atmosphere, creating oases of civilization even in the driest parts of this dry planet, beautiful, lush communities where life thrived. They nurtured their world and it nurtured them.

They were quite long-lived, living about 250 Earth years on average, though they didn’t have the extended life span the Time Lords had enjoyed, even without the ability to regenerate.

“But why not? Why didn’t they evolve into Time Lords?” The Doctor was muttering happily to himself, thrilled to have a mystery to solve along with his enjoyment at just being able to experience this version of his home planet again. It seemed without those Time Lords, Gallifrey was a much kinder, gentler place, and he was truly quite delighted by that fact.

His obsessive questioning suddenly transformed to awe when we arrived at our destination, a little town called Flanx. The grassy plains morphed into farmland around the town. Flanx itself was… I want to say quaint, but I don’t think that’s quite the word. It was clean and modern, highly efficient. But it was also a comfortable, welcoming place. It was so pretty, flowers everywhere, and fruit trees and vegetables growing in every garden. There was nothing outlandish or snobby about it, nothing like the stories I’d heard from the Doctor about the Gallifrey he once knew.

The main street was quite busy with people going about their business, and a huge, colourful, open air market was set up in the town square. I was drawn by a vendor selling some of the gorgeous tunic dresses worn by the locals. The fabrics were exquisite: soft and durable, and dyed in beautiful colours and designs.

“They recognize UCS [that means Universal Credit Sticks, Santa] as currency,” Wilfred whispered in my ear, giving me a nudge.

The Doctor came up behind me, placing a hand on my lower back, stroking. He nodded to a tunic I had been eyeing: flowing and knee length, soft blue with a gauzy amber overlay. It looked like the dawn sky. Stretchy mid-calf leggings came with it. “Would you like it, love?”

I bit my lower lip, a habit I had never outgrown, and nodded. “But you need one too…” I smirked at him, “to blend in. Not that I mind the jeans and jumper, but it’s just that these tunics look so comfortable, and if I’m going to go native, you are too!”

The Doctor pursed his lips. I could sense his annoyance… mild annoyance. He hadn’t expected me to turn the tables on him like that, but I have to admit, it was nice to know I could still pull one over on him once in a while. I watched as he perused the selection available.

“Weeell, as long as it doesn’t come with a ridiculous headdress I suppose… Ah-ha!”

I followed his eyes and burst into gales of laughter. I couldn’t believe it. He’d found one in brown fabric with a dark blue pinstripe running through it. Soft brown trousers were worn underneath. “Oh my God! You have to buy it!”

“Oh, yes!” And with that, the Doctor spoke in Gallifreyan to the woman at the stall, and purchased all our items, including some sandals for me. He insisted on sticking with his trusty Chucks. I wrapped my arms around him and planted a kiss of thanks at the corner of his mouth.

We wandered through the market some more. The Doctor insisting on buying me a circlet for my hair (they seemed to be all the fashion): a simple design of silver metal, woven into infinity knots. I suddenly felt shy and self-conscious, worrying about how ridiculous it would be to waste it on my greying hair. “I should probably listen to Mum and go blonde again, yeah.”

“Don’t you dare! I love the silver in your hair, and this circlet will complement it perfectly. My precious girl…” He placed it on my head, and leaned in to give me a rather wonderful kiss.

“All right, love birds!” Wilfred had an annoying habit of interrupting us when we were having lovely, romantic moments. “How about we grab a bite to eat. I know a fantastic little restaurant just down the street…”

True to his word, the restaurant was fantastic and the meal was delicious. I had a sort of stew made with some mildly spiced, succulent meat, marinated in Ulanda fruit sauce and served with a wonderful flatbread, perfect for mopping up the last bits from the plate. The Doctor went completely mental when he saw the dessert menu, though. “Oh, oh, oh, Rose! They have Karmine pudding! You have to try it! This fruit! There’s nothing better in the universe! I used to have it all the time when I was a child.”

“What? There’s a fruit in the universe better than bananas?”

“Rose Tyler! Karmine is more bananas than bananas!”

“You’re bananas!” Wilfred muttered, and I laughed. I admit, I’d been thinking the same thing.

“Karmine is the original banana! Sweeter, richer… more banana-esque. Where do you think bananas came from, Rose?”

I shrugged. What else could I do? But it turned out he was right; the pudding was gorgeous!

As we stepped out of the restaurant, I sighed. I reminded them that Christmas was tomorrow… erm, today. We needed to get home. It was already nearly six in the morning, our time.

The Doctor’s face fell. “Oh, well all right then… allons-y!” he said, trying to be upbeat, and failing miserably.

My heart broke, and when Wilfred groaned, “Muuuuum! I have something really special to show you! Time it, Mum! Just this once! Time it!” I found myself questioning when I had become such a “rules” sort of person. I always used to be the first one to break them: go wandering off to find an adventure, or leap into a stranger’s “London Hopper” without a second thought for those I was leaving behind. I reckon that’s one of the ways being a parent changes your life.

“Well, I suppose…” I was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of this tiny rebellion. “And this way, I get to say Merry Christmas to you twice,” I crooned into the Doctor’s ear.

“Blimey, Mum! Child present!”

--ooOoo--

We camped out that night under the stars. After snuggling into sleeping bags from the TARDIS, the Doctor regaled us with the names of all of the constellations we could see. I eventually fell asleep to the sound of his voice and the familiar thud of his heartbeat against my cheek. I don’t think he slept at all, himself. He was far too excited.

Wilfred was excited too, barely able to contain himself the next morning. He was dying to show us the “really special” place he had mentioned the previous day. He didn’t want to give too much away so it would be a surprise, but he did mention we’d have to take the TARDIS to get there. It was much too far to walk.

We dressed in our new Gallifreyan tunics, and when the TARDIS landed, the Doctor flung open the doors and stepped out, open-mouthed. I came out behind him and found myself in the middle of a spectacular mountain vista. We stood in the foothills by the banks of a rushing river. Everything was lush and covered with all kinds of plants with leaves in purples, reds, and golds.

“Where did you say we came out?” the Doctor asked Wilfred as he joined us.

“We’re right at the edge of the mountain range, in the valley between the mountains Solace and Solitude. The view is spectac−”

“It’s gone!” The Doctor staggered forward, clutching at his hair, and my heart just leaped into my throat. “Completely and utterly… gone!” He was projecting an aura of what I could only describe as emptiness.

I asked him, as gently as I could what he meant, and when he turned to me his eyes were wild. “It’s gone. It was right here… weeell, I suppose it was never here. Not in this universe…”

“What wasn’t, love? What did you expect to see?” I turned to look at Wilfred, who was just as concerned as me, by the looks of him.

“The Citadel… the Capitol… beautiful city, majestic. Enclosed in a mighty glass dome, the entire city. And it’s just not here...”

I wrapped my arms around him from behind, my cheek pressed against his shoulder, and I tried to let him know how sorry I was, how sad.

He told me he wasn’t sad, not really. Just shocked. “Completely floored, to be honest!” The city had been a symbol of power and dominance, beautiful, yes, but full of corruption. It had been built on the bones of the original Capitol, and below that were the Vaults and Cloisters where the Time Lords guarded some of their darkest secrets. “But I think the saddest thing of all was deep in the Vaults, an Undercroft. It was a huge natural cave, reworked and modified by the Time Lords…” A single tear rolled down his cheek, and I felt how his heart ached. He gulped back a sob. “They sent TARDISes there to die. Discarded. When it was deemed they had outlived their usefulness.”

Our TARDIS hummed a melancholy little sound, and I could feel her stroking the Doctor’s mind, desperate to reassure him, bolstering my attempts to do the same.

“Maybe just as well it isn’t here. A pretty bauble to look at, but…”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know…”

“Not your fault. And yes, I can’t help but think this world, this universe is better off for the absence of the Time Lords. They were sworn never to interfere, only to watch. But they couldn’t resist the temptation of power in the end. The Time War itself was the ultimate evidence of that, the ultimate interference, and coupled with their disdain for “lower” lifeforms, weeell…”

“What I brought you here to see,” Wilfred said softly, “I think will make you feel better about all of that. It’s beautiful too, but in a natural way. You’ll see. C’mon, it’s up this way a bit.” He gestured upstream. We hiked up the river bank along a faint foot path until we reached a cabin that peeked out from a little grove of Cadonwoods. Wilfred explained that there was someone he wanted us to meet, a guide who would be able to take us further. He stepped up onto the little porch of the cabin and knocked on the door.

A young woman opened the door, and after a brief hesitation, threw her arms around Wilfred’s neck. “Wilfred! You returned!” Me and the Doctor just looked at each other, stunned.

“Course I did. Said I would, didn’t I?”

“And these must be your parents…” She pulled away from Wilfred and stepped toward us. She was petite, with dark, caramel skin and long, straight black hair, and her eyes were an extraordinary, piercing blue.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah…” My poor baby. I think he’d almost forgotten we were there, but I could hardly fault him for that. The girl was beautiful. “Erm,” he stammered in Gallifreyan, “this is my mum, Rose Tyler, and my dad, the Doctor. This,” he nodded at the girl, “is Tianza.”

“Tianzadruxdomdivaradamas,” (obviously her full name) “but you can call me Tianza. Nice to meet you.”

“Well, I see some things haven’t changed,” the Doctor piped up, even as he took Tianza’s hand to shake. “You lot still have ridiculously long names.”

I elbowed him in the ribs and admonished him over our bond: Rude! To Tianza, I spoke aloud using the best Gallifreyan I could manage in an effort to be polite, even though the TARDIS was happily translating for me (the Doctor had long since made sure Gallifreyan was included in her translation matrix.) “Sorry about him. Nice to meet you Tianza.”

She just laughed and invited us in, and offered us some fruity biscuits and cold spring water for a snack. “So you want to see the Chanting Caverns of Consolation, is that right?”

For a second there, I thought maybe the TARDIS had mistranslated what she had said, but Wilfred quickly agreed with her. The Chanting Caverns it was then. Soon we were off hiking again, with Tianza leading the way. We climbed higher into the foothills, continuing upstream along the river. As we walked, she told us a little about herself. She was a student at the Advanced Biological Academy in Arcadia, and was stationed here to study and protect the flora and fauna in the Chanting Caverns of Consolation. I couldn’t help but notice how Wilfred hung on her every word. Besotted. She seemed quite fond of him too, but whether she was as taken with him as he was with her, I rather doubted. Still, I reckon she seemed like a nice enough girl.

We stopped to eat lunch at a spot where we could no longer follow the river. It flowed out from below ground at this point. Underneath us were enormous caverns and a great underground lake, fed by the river from further up the mountain. This was to be our destination.

“Just wait, Dad! You’ve never seen anything like this!” Wilfred was practically vibrating in anticipation.

An hour later we were standing at the large entrance of a cave. A soft droning sound drifted up to us, a melodic humming, so familiar, but so wild and strange at the same time. I felt a gentle prickle at the edges of my mind, someone, something attempting to make contact. Me and the Doctor found one another’s hands. “Is it safe? The telepathic field?” I blurted out, feeling silly. Nothing about this felt hostile, but I’d experienced enough deception in my life to know to proceed with caution.

“You can sense them?” Tianza sounded impressed. “They’re curious about strangers, that’s all. Purely emotional communication. Very safe.”

We descended into the cave, the narrow passage sloping gradually down to the underground lake. We could hear the humming better as we got closer. It wasn’t loud but it trembled, almost like voices in vibrato, not high pitched, though, but not deep either, lots of songs all at once… chanting… the Chanting Caverns. It was… I can’t think of a word to properly describe to you how beautiful the songs were, Santa, but combined with the telepathic field, they were just so powerful and wonderful and gave such a feeling of wellbeing. The Chanting Caverns of Consolation.

As we drew closer, I could hear the lake water sloshing against the shore, giving rhythm to the chorus of humming voices, and I realized I was able to see quite well even though we were deep underground.

“Do you have lights set up down there?” the Doctor asked.

“No, that’s just… them.”

“Who? Who or what is down here?” I could feel his nervous energy, held tightly under control, his imagination running wild with endless questions.

“Just wait, Dad,” Wilfred said. “Just around this corner and…”

“The Shimmering Coral Forest.” As Tianza spoke those words, the passage opened up and before us was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. All along the shores of the lake were lovely, little coral trees, draped with glowing fruit that dangled from their branches on long vines. Some were just little saplings with tiny bioluminescent buds, while others were strong, fully-grown corals. No matter their shape or size, I recognized them instantly.

“Those… those are…” The Doctor was stammering, at a loss for words. “But that’s impossible. I never considered…” Tears rolled freely down his cheeks and I held fast to his hand, leaning against him, and just took in the marvels of the Shimmering Coral Forest. “They’re TARDIS corals…”

“TARDIS? What word is this?” Tianza asked.

“Now that, that is a long story…”

“I’d like to hear it sometime, if you are willing to tell it, but we know these entities as the Consolation Corals. We believe they are unique to these caves. To date, they have not been found anywhere else on Gallifrey.”

I asked if we could walk among them, touch them, make contact. Tianza gave her permission, and hand in hand, me and the Doctor moved forward to meet these beings, who were so reminiscent of the entity who was our beloved TARDIS. I was drawn to them, and as I reached out to touch one, they seemed to bend toward me, and connect with my mind in a much more intimate way. Touch telepaths of sorts. It all felt so familiar, so much like how I communicated with the TARDIS, but less intense, less precise.

The Doctor felt it too. “These are the same caves where the TARDISes were sent to die. And look, here they are in their natural state, brim-full of life, Rose! These brilliant beings!” He pondered how they, like the Gallifreyan people, were so similar to those in the Prime Universe, yet they had evolved no sensitivity to time.

We spent hours wandering among them, marvelling at the beauty of the bioluminescent lights reflecting on the ripples of the water and listening to the peaceful songs that surrounded us. Wilfred helped Tianza collect data for her studies and then the two of them left us to explore alone. We sat down at the base of a large coral, deep in the centre of the forest, and felt its strength fill us.

As comfortable as we were, eventually we had to leave the Shimmering Coral Forest, but Tianza invited us to come back any time. On our return trip to the cabin, we told her the far-fetched tale of our lives in a different universe and the fate of the corals and the people there. And we told her about our TARDIS.

She came back with us to meet the TARDIS, and I thought she handled the shock of experiencing the bigger-on-the-inside business very well indeed. She was intrigued that she could communicate on a rudimentary level with the TARDIS, and how familiar it felt to her. We asked her to supper and after pudding took her to see our very own Consolation Coral deep under the central console. She expressed understandable concern about the way the TARDIS was all wired up, how she was (as she saw it) enslaved to this life of being a space and time vessel, but we explained how much love there was between us and our beautiful girl, how we considered her family, a partner, and how we trusted her to keep us safe, and we did our best to protect her as well.

The Doctor did admit that not all TARDISes had been treated with the same respect we had for ours, and that “slavery” was probably not too far off the mark in many cases. He was just so happy that this Gallifrey had evolved so differently, though he still had to discover why that was the case. He asked Tianza about the Untempered Schism, and she had just looked confused. She’d never heard of it.

The next day we took her on a trip to see her planet from space. She and Wilfred sat in the doorway, with their feet dangling, watching the rusty orange planet spin before them. I didn’t miss Wilfred covering her hand with his, and the way she leaned her head against his shoulder. Maybe she was fonder of him than I’d previously realized. I couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. It was a romantic location, that doorway. Me and the Doctor had spent many an hour there, taking in the sights, both in this universe and the other.

The Doctor took the opportunity of being in space to perform a proper scan of Gallifrey using the TARDIS’ scanners. It showed him what he had suspected all along: the massive rift in space and time, known as the Untempered Schism, had never formed on Gallifrey. Without prolonged exposure to the naked Vortex, Gallifreyans had never evolved into Time Lords and the corals had never developed the potential to manipulate time and space.

Later, we took the TARDIS into the Chanting Caverns to meet her kindred. She warbled and hummed with the corals, and we could feel her joy and contentment absolutely bubbling over our bond. Me and the Doctor looked at one another and we knew what we had to do, what was only right to do. She could have friends of her own kind now, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that we offered to let her stay here, if that was what she wanted, to allow her the freedom she deserved for the rest of her days. It made my heart ache and brought to the forefront of my mind how I’d been feeling about the Doctor, losing him to this world, too. If I was to lose them both…

But the TARDIS enveloped our minds in what could only be described as a hug. We were her family, her life. Her freedom was exploring all of space and time with us, and she intended to spend her life looking after us and our family. Forever, she hummed.

We said goodbye to Tianza (Wilfred did too, though I suspected he would be visiting her a lot with his Vortex manipulator), and we ended up spending another entire week exploring Gallifrey: the universities and academies; Arcadia; the mountains; and many of the smaller communities around the planet.

I often took my easel and paints with me and let my muse run mad. There was inspiration everywhere, from scenes of everyday life to spectacular vistas. My favourite of my paintings, though, is of a little boy, running through an immense field of long, red grass, dragging a ragged little kite in his wake. I’ve managed to keep that one a secret from the Doctor. I still have a bit of work to do on it, but I hope to give it to him as a gift one day.

One night over supper, the Doctor sadly declared he thought it was well past time we return to our own timeline and celebrate Christmas with our family. This had been a brilliant, life-changing Christmas gift, one he would enjoy for many years, but for now, it was time to go home.

As we curled up to sleep under the Gallifreyan stars, I knew it was time to face my fears once and for all. Just as we had done for the TARDIS, I had to set the Doctor free, to give him that choice. “Are you sure? You’re certain you want to go back? You don’t have to feel obliged, you know…”

He gave me an odd look and arched his eyebrow at me. “What are you on about, eh?” He probed over our bond, and found the unfamiliar door in my mind where I had hidden all my feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and my fear of losing him on our first day on Gallifrey, and every day since, to be honest. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind, hmmm? May I look?”

I felt so guilty for having any feelings at all that would make it seem I didn’t want him to be happy I couldn’t look him in the eye, but I nodded and allowed him access to that room behind the door. The second he opened it, all my repressed fears and emotions came rushing out at once, before I was able to rein them in.

I couldn’t hold the tears back any more than I’d been able to hold back that rush of emotions, and within moments I was blubbing away like a big baby. “When I saw the words on the kite Wilfred gave you when we first got here… welcome home… it made me think, yeah. I was just so afraid I’d lose you to this planet. I mean, it’s your home. I’m so sorry! You’re having the most brilliant experience of your life, and here I’m being such a cow. But, honestly, I just want you to be happy, even if it means having to lose you; I don’t care what the cost. I mean it, I really do.”

He was crying too, now, and holding me so tight, rocking me and repeating like a mantra, “You are my home.” Finally, our tears had calmed a bit, and he said, “I thought you knew that.”

“I did. I do. I guess I’ve just never had to compete with an entire planet before.”

“There was never any competition, love. Gallifrey was where I grew up, and I have some very fond memories of it, but it never really felt like home, no matter how hard I tried to make it that way. It’s why I ran away. The TARDIS and all my friends were the closest things I had to that. Then you came into my life. You gave me a future and a reason to live. You gave me the one adventure I always thought I could never have. And, yes, I do want to come back and have more adventures here, on this Gallifrey, but only if I have you by my side every step of the way. You’re it for me, Rose Tyler. My home. Forever.”

Santa, I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve him. Yes, there are certainly times he’s so bloody thick-headed he makes me want to pull my hair out, but honestly, I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s my home, too.

I hope you found your way back to your home safely this year, Santa, and that it was filled with love. Give my love to Mrs. Claus, the elves, and all the reindeer.

Love, Rose.

#doctorroseprompts #kid fic #tentoo x rose #angst #hurt/comfort #christmas fic #fluff #love #family #romance #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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nico-nightingale · 5 years ago

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Summary: Following an accident that involved her beloved younger sister, the crown princess of Arendelle grew to believe she was born cursed. At her eleventh birthday, however, she receives the visit of a man in strange robes, who invites her to study at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This story follows Elsa’s life in Hogwarts as she discovers that magic is no curse and starts learning how to love herself.

Characters: Elsa of Arendelle, Nymphadora Tonks, Arcadia Green (OC), Adam Howard (OC)

Rating: T (ages 13 and up)

Also found on: ff.net, ao3, wattpad

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Frozen belongs to Disney. The cover photo belongs to nico benedickt and the font belongs to naharstd.

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Chapter IV: Screaming Complexion

In the end, a big part of the Herbology lesson was introductory as Professor Sprout introduced herself and the course. They only started studying the actual subject about one hour into class beginning, which Elsa realized she actually enjoyed as long as she remembered that the teacher would be able to heal any plants she accidentally hurt.

Finally, when they heard a bell ring announcing the end of the class, Elsa was so absorbed taking notes that Tonks had to poke her in order to call her attention, which made the princess' gloves turn suddenly rigid while it contained the ice she conjured. “You want to head out with us? I've heard it's kind of easy to get lost in the castle, so it would be nice to have an extra pair of eyes,” the pink-haired girl suggested after quickly retreating her hand, once again showing her empathy.

For a reason she couldn't grasp, Elsa trusted the pink-haired girl and felt safe in her company. It was unreasonable since she didn't change how dangerous her powers were or how painful it would be to be separated from or rejected by the others once her magic was discovered or she was withdrawn from the school. Still, emotions—and the fear of getting lost on her own in that big and confusing castle—were stronger than her desire to be left alone and she saw herself agreeing. “I— okay,” Elsa offered Tonks a nervous smile.

Worried about making the others be late for the next class, the princess turned her attention to her supplies still spread on the table and quickly moved them back to her backpack. Meanwhile, Adam placed her fountain pen back in front of her, “thank you, that was amazing! I might even save my allowance to buy one.” With a big smile on his face and too excited to remain still, the boy got on his feet as he started gathering his own supplies.

Elsa offered him a sincere smile. Han er søt! The thought surprised her as she had never thought of anyone beside her sister as cute, but it warmed her heart, awakening her protective nature. The girl felt dumb, however, when realized that there was nothing dangerous within the castle's grounds that she was more suited than her teachers to protect the others from.

A few seconds later, though, an idea popped into her mind. There was one thing she was the most apt person to deal with: herself. The warmth vanished at once and she lowered her head to focus on her current task to hide the sadness spreading through her face. If the others noticed, they ignored; but Elsa deemed it to be too late to back out.

Finally, when they were all set to leave, the group headed out under the warmth gaze of their teacher. Elsa tried not to look toward her, but was forced to when she heard the woman's voice as they passed in front of her desk: “have a nice first day, dears.” Although the others offered her an enthusiastic “farewell”, Elsa just nodded shyly and looked away.

“She seems really nice, doesn't she?” Tonks said once they passed through the castle's front door. “Dad says she's a good teacher too, although neither he or mum took Herbology during their N.E.W.T. years.” Elsa had to make an effort to remain in silence. She was certain that it was the first time she had heard of such a thing as a “newt” year. Perhaps, the word meant something different than salamander; something the girl wasn't aware of.

“What do you mean by newt year?” Adam asked with a mix of curiosity and impatience that brought a smile to Elsa's lips. Although she wasn't as eager to know as the boy, she was glad that she would have the question answered. Also, if he didn't know what that was, perhaps it wasn't a language distinction as much as it was a difference between the muggle and the wizarding worlds.

Since Tonks was too busy giggling at Adam's impatience, it was up to Adie to try and to come up with an answer. “Well, it's kind of about the classes' level, right? In the fifth year, we will take the O.W.L. test— that's short of Ordinary Wizarding Level— and, if we pass a subject and decide to keep studying it during the sixth and seventh years, we start taking the N.E.W.T.s classes.”

“Exactly,” Tonks interfered with a smile once Adie finished her explanation. “My mum and my dad didn't take Herbology during their last couple of years in Hogwarts. I suspect dad didn't pass his O.W.L.s, anyways. He's never been very good at keeping plants alive and mum says she wouldn't give him a chance to kill me or our owl Ferdinand under his care.” The pink-haired girl giggled at her family's inside joke, paying no mind to the fact that she was the only one who understood it properly.

Elsa was certain that she wouldn't be staying in the British wizarding world for even enough time to complete her O.W.L.s, so, she paid no mind to the conversation when her companions started discussing the impact of the exams in their future and, later on, what career they had been thinking of following once they finished their studies. The topic wasn't uninteresting, for sure, but it made her feel even more alienated since, even if her parents forced her to remain in Hogwarts, her future had been drawn for her even before her birth.

Instead, Elsa focused on the map in her hands, trying to figure out the best way to reach their next class. She considered herself lucky that the classroom was on the first floor since, although the corridors and large numbers of rooms on their way were somewhat confusing, they wouldn't have to face the moving stairs just yet.

After a few minutes, Adam leaned closer to Elsa to look at her map. “Do you know where we are?” The boy didn't seem to be worried, despite the confused expression on his face. Since pulling away would be rude and the English words escaped from her mind as the fear of being accidently touched rose, the princess merely pointed their location with her trembling finger.

Adam smiled at her reaction and, much to her relief, pulled away to walk beside her at a safe enough distance so they wouldn't touch each other accidently. “You don't talk much, do you? That's okay, I don't mind,” the boy hurried to speak as Elsa's face grew uncomfortable. “Tonks and Adie say you're from another place, must be hard to have to speak an entire new language and all. You can talk if you want, but, so you know, it's fine if you don't want to— the girls— and I, I suppose— we can talk enough to cover for you.”

Not only his ramblings, but also the way his dark red hair covered his expectant green eyes and the playful smile on his lips reminded Elsa of her sister once again. His colors weren't the same as Anna's, but the smile brought enough similarity between them to cause one of her own. “It is difficult,” the princess replied, unsure of what else to say to fill the silence that followed. Adam, however, seemed to be pleased with the response he received and pulled his schedule from his cloak's pocket to consult the map in it.

“Let's see—” he said, thoughtful, scratching his chin with his free hand. Elsa turned her own focus to the paper in her hands, noticing they were approaching their goal at a good pace and would be in the classroom with some time to spare. Considering that she had been raised to never be late—tardiness being considered very rude—, the princess was happy with the realization.

Nearly five minutes later, the four crossed a door to find some of their Hufflepuff classmates but no professor. Adie seemed to have had the same line of thought of Elsa's, as she looked around before speaking, “where's the professor?” Adam and Tonks, who had been talking between themselves and had stopped by the two blondes at the entrance, also searched the teacher with their eyes, finding no one.

“Perhaps he's invisible—” the pink-haired girl suggested, much to Elsa's surprise. If the teachers were able to turn invisible at will— well, that was a terrifying notion that the princess didn't feel like entertaining. If professors could be invisible, how would they know if they weren't spying on their students? Not that she planned on doing something wrong, but with her powers, one never knew. What if she lost control in the halls? They were forbidden to use magic there.

“I mean, perhaps,” agreed Adie calmly. Looking at Adam, she realized he looked interested but not at all concerned. Why was she the only one who was horrified by the idea? Adie's eyes traveled between her classmates until they focused on Elsa; realizing the princess' terrified expression, the girl offered an explanation, “professor Binns is a ghost, Elsa. But he's harmless, don't worry.”

“Harmless— unless you can die of boredom, you mean,” Tonks giggled happily. “There aren't many things my mum and dad agree about the classes in Hogwarts, but both of them are adamant on how boring Binns' classes are.” A ghost as a teacher? Sure, Elsa had seen many ghosts in the castle and even spoke to the one that resided in the Hufflepuff common room, Fat Friar. But a teacher?

Why would his classes be boring, though? Having a History teacher who was himself historical should be nothing but interesting. Despite Tonks' statement, Elsa was hopeful that professor Binns could be the right person to ask about her powers since there must have been people like her before. He could at least be able to send her in the right direction.

Ignoring Tonks' warnings and with a confidence she hadn't felt since Dumbledore's visit, Elsa headed to the front of the classroom and sat right in front of the teacher's desk. Why, she wondered, professor Binns would need a desk if he was himself a ghost? Was he capable of sitting? Did he get tired at all? Although she was rather curious, however, those were the sort of questions the princess knew she shouldn't ask as they would probably be considered rude.

Elsa was surprised when she heard someone sitting beside her and turned to see that it was Adam. “You know, it's not because I'm hoping you could lend that pen of yours again, really,” the boy said with a playful smile. “I really used to like studying History at my old school. Hopefully, professor Binns isn't so bad, right? But it would be really nice if I had that pen for another period.”

He looked at her with pleading eyes full of expectancy, although she could see he was joking and wouldn't be mad if she didn't lend the pen. Hopefully. Wouldn't he, though? He looked rather calm and playful, but one could never know. “I— sure,” at that, Elsa placed her backpack on the desk and started searching for it.

“Oi, I was kidding!” He placed a hand on his backpack to call her attention, once again seeming very aware of the fact that she didn't like to be touched. Yes, Tonks and Adie were definitely responsible for that, and Elsa couldn't thank them enough. “I mean, the pen is awesome and I wouldn't mind if you were willing to lend it to me, but it's your pen and you should use it if that's what you want.”

The boy giggled and shook his head when, having found the pen, Elsa placed it on the desk in front of him, trying a smile to reassure him that it was okay. “Oh, thank you! Here, let me do something for you in return.” To the princess' surprise, he opened his backpack and fished a few paper sheets, placing them in front of her. “I noticed you don't like writing on parchment and I mean— it is kind of thick and rough. I brought paper for drawing, though; you can have some if you want.”

At first, Elsa thought about declining, but it was a gentle gesture repaying her own consideration: a gift that had come as an expression of gratitude. It was something royals had to deal with often, her mother had warned her, and had to always go along with, since refusing such presents would be either rude or offensive. Instead, then, the girl smiled and nodded, “thank you.”

It was when she finished placing a pen and her book on her desk, noticing that Tonks and Adie had sat on the desk right behind them, that professor Binns slid into the classroom through the blackboard. She saw some students jump and one of them even yelled, but, having been warned about him, Elsa was unfazed. The teacher, as well, seemed to be unperturbed by such welcome from the students.

Looking around, Elsa realized that there were only Hufflepuff students in the room since it was a rather small one. Why, she wondered, they had chosen such a small classroom when there were probably thousands of big ones in that large castle. It didn't make sense, but there was an advantage: as the shock at seeing that their teacher would be a ghost slowly fade, it only took a few seconds before the class grew silent.

Professor Binns, however, took no notice of his students as he was too busy gesturing his wand toward the blackboard, making words appear there. He didn't ask them to write on their books and parchments, but the princess quickly recognized the notes as of similar content to the first chapter of History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot, and started copying.

Her curiosity regarding his behavior was great, though. Was it normal for teachers to ignore their students so bluntly? All her former tutors greeted her at the moment they walked into the room, but she was their princess. Although the teachers were allowed to reprimand and discipline her, not only a level of respect was required from them, but they were also well aware that she would, one day, be their Queen. Therefore, she didn't suppose she had much to compare to.

By some of her classmates' response to professor Binns' evasive behavior as well as his monotone, continuous, and unperturbed speech throughout the entire lecture, however, it became clear that his methods were far from ordinary. Within minutes, the attention of the other children mingled. As minutes passed, Elsa could hear some conversation and even snoring.

Used to having to sit through massively uninteresting discussions and classes regarding unpractical themes such as philosophy and psychology, though, Elsa had no problem following the teacher's speech. Indeed, the lecture had been quite interesting in comparison to those since she had been eager to know reports of people who had a similar magic to hers.

Although, in the end, the teacher didn't say anything about such types of wizards and witches, he approached the topic of discussion, witchcraft in pre-historical times, through a different optic than the book's and explored further points. Therefore, the princess got past the boring speech by writing down every single word he was dictating in order to keep her mind going.

Elsa had no complaints regarding the lecture, but the professor's refusal to acknowledge the students put her off about asking questions after class. Indeed, even if she had gathered the courage to approach him, it took him no more than a few seconds to vanish the notes on the blackboard before disappearing right in front of the students' eyes.

Beside her, Adam was stretching his arms, seeming to have been waking up from a deep slumber. Even though she thought he should have made a bigger effort to pay attention, Elsa chose to make no comment as she gathered her things. It wasn't her place to say what was right or wrong; and, even if it was, the princess knew she was ignorant on how regular students should behave in a classroom.

“You have some skills, Elsa, to be able to listen to Binns for to the entire bloody class,” Tonks said when Elsa turned to her side to once again pack her supplies. The girl was scratching her head in frustration, making her spiky pink hair look even more messy. Meanwhile, Adie was yawning soundly as she stood up to get the bag she had left beside of her chair.

Elsa had to take a few seconds to figure out how to say what she wanted without sounding judgmental or dumb. “I have never gone to a school. I thought— my mamma told me I should følg med— I mean—” she sighed in frustration, feeling herself starting to flush. What was the word in English? Unable to remember in time, she changed her approach on the phrase: “she said I need to focus on what the teachers say.” Tonks watched her as she struggled and, after a few seconds, she felt the eyes of the entire class on her. Too scared to check if they were actually paying attention, however, she looked at her feet. “I am sorry.”

Much to Elsa's relief, no one commented on her accent during the few seconds before Tonks replied to her. “Look, your mother isn't exactly here to check, is she? You can do whatever you want and it's not like she's going to find out. Unless you do something so bad that Dumbledore would feel obligated to owl people a few countries away,” the pink-haired girl was giggling between words and had to stop herself to crack into a laughter. She took many seconds to recover and continue, “but if you really want to pay attention, it's brilliant! That way you can teach everyone else.”

“I mean, considering that you can't be worse than Binns, I bet the entire class will want to learn from you. Can't say I've seen anyone else paying attention,” Adie had started giggling with Tonks, although she was surprisingly more restrained. What Elsa couldn't understand was why they had been laughing. Was it her accent? Was it what she had said about her mother? Or, perhaps, both? De tror jeg er dum.

The embarrassment and sadness Elsa felt at the realization didn't last much since, soon enough, she noticed the ice covering her skirt around her hand. Terrified, the princess closed her backpack in a hurry and rushed as fast as she could out of the classroom and as far away as possible from the place where most of the students seemed to be heading to: the Great Hall.

All thoughts of lunch were forgotten as Elsa looked for a place to hide, a place where she could unleash the powers threatening to overflow from her body without hurting anyone. Finally, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold it anymore, the princess walked into the nearest empty, windowless classroom and shut the door.

As her magic was released from her body in a whirlwind, the relief was so enormous that Elsa could sense nothing else for a long time. Unaware of the fact that she was surrounding herself with snow and ice, the princess stood in the middle of the classroom, her backpack forgotten on her back, her hair loosened by the strong winds produced by her powers.

Elsa didn't notice, either, the passage of time; she didn't worry about her hunger or the fact that, at some point, the teachers would start looking for her. Alone behind a door that she had unintentionally barricaded with wind, ice, and snow; even long after her magic calmed down, safe within her body, the princess felt freedom.

Alone, that was the only way she and the others could ever be safe. Alone, that was how she could be free.

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Softness and confusion were the only things in Elsa's mind when she slowly started regaining consciousness. She seemed to be laying on a comfortable surface, covered by cozy, heavy blankets. They felt odd, however, different from the ones she had at her bedroom and there were voices speaking strange words in a different language. Where was she?

Suddenly, she was taken by the remembrance of Hogwarts, the other children laughing at her and her control slipping away. In the locked classroom, after releasing her magic, the princess had felt a little better for a while. By herself, she pretended that Anna was there and they were playing their favorite games, going as far as building Olaf for the first time in many years.

As she grew hungry and tired, Elsa realized she would have to leave that sanctuary to find food and a bed, she would be required to meet and talk to people. Still, each time she thought about it, the memory of how painful and tiresome the last two days was discouraging to her. If the girl had known the way, she could have gone straight to professor Dumbledore and asked him to take her home.

Unsure of the passage of time, not knowing how to reach the Headmaster or the teachers, and unwilling to interact with more people than it was necessary, Elsa remained undecided until she finally passed out of exhaustion on the ground of an empty classroom, surrounded by the ice and snow she had conjured and hugging Anna's favorite ice dolls, watched by Olaf.

Now, she couldn't feel the dolls against her palms or the thickness in the air caused by her magic outbursts. The soft light of candles around her, Elsa realized as she opened her eyes, indicated that it was night. Sitting up and looking around, the princess noticed she was in white large room unlike any she had ever been before. The beds, nightstands and walls were empty and plain. Hvor er jeg?

“I see you are awake, Miss Kyrre,” following the voice coming from a corner that she hadn't had the time to examine yet, Elsa found the stern face of the tall professor who had guided her through the Great Hall for the very first time and read her name right before she was selected to Hufflepuff. Studying McGonagall, the princess realized that, although serious, the transfiguration professor was rather calm.

Beside her, there was a shorter grey-haired woman dressed as a nurse—that was the moment Elsa realized she was at the hospital or, most likely, at a hospital room in Hogwarts. The woman had a concerned look on her face that the princess always associated with her mother and the royal doctors when she was sick, “how are you feeling, dear?”

As she approached, Elsa recoiled, clenching her hands in front of her chest only to realize they were uncovered. “Hvor er hanskene mine?!” The girl asked in despair as she searched with her eyes for her gloves, already aware that the air around them was growing colder at every passing second. Finally, she located her gloves lying on the nightstand beside her bed and rushed to put them on.

When Elsa turned again to face the nurse, she was surprised to see that the woman was crossing the entrance of the room, leaving the princess alone with the transfiguration professor. McGonagall only moved when the door was closed, drawing her wand and making a series of movements at the same time that a tray of food appeared right in front of the girl. “You should eat, Miss Kyrre.”

Much to her surprise, the tray was composed with hot fish soup, bread and a glass of what seemed to be juice. It wasn't the exact same type of food she ate at home, but it was closer than anything she had found at the train or the Great Hall. “Usually, the students prefer something of more substance after a full day, but Madam Pomfrey suggested you should start with some lighter food since you skipped lunch and supper. Now, go ahead and eat.”

Although the teacher was calm—gentle, even—, Elsa recognized the no-nonsensical inflection on professor McGonagall's voice that left no room for argument. Not that the princess was willing to argue, anyway, since she was starting to realize that she was hungrier than she recalled ever being and eager to eat much more than just one soup dish.

Since she didn't know if she would be allowed to repeat, however, Elsa made an effort to eat slowly. It didn't take long before she finished, however, “can I— may I have more, Frøker?” The princess had no idea if that was the right way to address the teacher as she was usually on first-name basis with her tutors, but she was too tired and eager at that moment to care. “Please?”

As she turned to send a pleading look towards McGonagall, Elsa noticed she was now sitting on a chair beside her, although far enough for the girl to feel safe. The teacher watched for a second, undisturbed by the surprise in the princess' expression, before shaking her head, “as I said before, you should start slowly after so long without eating.” Elsa sighed in defeat, which brought the corners of the woman's mouth upwards. “There are some things we should discuss first. Then, if you still want to, I will fill your dish again.”

The notion that a professor wanted to talk to her was scary, especially considering that she had skipped her class earlier that day. Was she going to be reprimanded? Punished, even? How did they punish bad students at a school such as Hogwarts? What about her magic? Was the teacher mad at her for losing control? Professor Dumbledore assured her that he would warn the teachers about her powers and she wouldn't be punished for accidentally releasing them, but had skipped a class that would, according to the Headmaster, would help her to learn how to deal with her magic.

“I see,” looking down at her lap, Elsa realized her bed was now covered by snowflakes—once again, she was losing control. Calming herself by breathing slowly and closing her eyes, the snow started decreasing. Before she could apologize, however, McGonagall moved her wand and the snow on the bed evaporated. “I understand that neither professor Dumbledore nor professor Sprout had any success convincing you that we have means to protect you and your friends from possible side effects of your magic.”

Elsa lowered her head when she felt her cheeks burning in embarrassment. Although the professor's voice wasn't harsh, it was sober, which made her feel like she was being reprimanded. “I do not like magic, Frøker. I want to go home. Hogwarts are not a place for me,” it was a statement that Elsa knew would call McGonagall's attention, a bait to deviate the topic in discussion. A lazy, coward approach that would have made her father scold her.

“Well,” the teacher's voice was unreadable, but Elsa couldn't force herself to look up to try and read her face. “If you want to go home, nobody can or will force you to stay in Hogwarts. But pray tell me, Miss Kyrre: what do you know about magic? How much do you know about your own magic?”

Elsa didn't know how to respond to such an unexpecting question. She had, of course, figured that the professor would want to inquire further about her decision, refusing to let her withdraw from Hogwarts without a good explanation. Her knowledge about magic was, however, the type of question the princess wouldn't be able to answer honestly without contradicting herself since the truth was: she didn't know much about it at all.

“I thought so—” McGonagall's voice was rather severe and somewhat tense at that point. Even without looking at her, Elsa could sense a deep disapproval from the woman. “Well, miss Kyrre, I understand the source of your fears. However, if what professor Dumbledore told me about your intellect is true, you should have no trouble to understand how knowledge can be a powerful weapon against fear.”

McGonagall was right, Elsa was able to grasp on how knowledge could help people surpassing their fears. Yet, to acquire that level of insight, she would have to practice magic and, despite everyone's reassurance of the contrary, put others in danger. “Frøker, I do not wish to— do magic. If I could just learn the— theory— apart from the others,” the girl had a little trouble figuring out the right words to use. How could she learn when even the most basic interaction was so exhausting?

“That is not the way to study magic such as yours. Theory can only take you so far,” the teacher made a long pause as if waiting for Elsa to reply. The girl, however, couldn't figure what to say. All she knew was that magic had hurt Anna, the person she loved the most, and that was, in her opinion, a reason good enough for her aversion toward her powers.

“As for doing it on your own, we won't make an exception just because you are scared, Miss Kyrre. Not when the fears are so irrational. Allow me to give you an example,” McGonagall made a small pause as if she was trying to come up with one good enough to convince the girl. “Well, a few decades ago, a Basilisk— that is a giant snake capable of killing people who stare into its eyes— was released in Hogwarts. Although some were hurt, we were able to salvage the situation with one single casualty. Our staff is prepared to deal with most magical accidents, do not underestimate us.”

“I am not!” Elsa exclaimed, exasperated, and turned to look at the annoyed face of her teacher. “But you haven't had other students with powers like mine. Frøker Dumbledore told me I was different.” It was strictly the truth. The headmaster was actually answering her mother's question when he said they had no record of a student capable of working with one exclusive sort of magic from the moment they were born.

While the great majority would start at the age of 7, however, there were rare cases of children who had been born with a rare gift and were talented in one way or another. Even those, however, would be seen performing other types of magic by the age of 11. Not only Elsa was part of the second group, but she had only displayed a talent to perform one type of magic: something Dumbledore hadn't heard of since he had started his teaching career at Hogwarts.

For a reason, McGonagall was clearly surprised by Elsa's outburst, her eagerness to explain herself. It took the girl a little while before she realized that the reaction didn't match the passive way she had been behaving since she first set her feet in Hogwarts. The teacher recovered fast, however. “While your magic is something we know very little about, we have heard of injuries such as your sister's. It is unfortunate that nobody from our world became aware of what happened since it is rather simple to be cured.”

Elsa shook her head, she had trouble believing what McGonagall was saying. If the context of her magic was so non-ordinary, it was reasonable to think that it was somewhat unpredictable. The professor was having none of it, however. “Dropping out of school for such am irrational reason is beneath you, miss Kyrre,” was, finally, her irritated response to the girl's request to go home.

“While I believe it's counterproductive to keep you here without your consent, your parents were adamant about your presence here and, believe me, it was difficult enough for professor Dumbledore and them to deal with the political implications. For now, I advise you to give us a chance and trust that we are aware of your magic and prepared to deal with the consequences of freezing spells if you lose control.”

Again, Elsa had no words to respond to the teacher, knowing that she was being severe but honest. Her parents demanded her presence in the school since it was an opportunity to give her the control necessary for her to be able to be a stable queen in the future. As the princess was at that point, scared and eager to isolate herself, it would be impossible for her to reign. The girl lowered her head to hide the tears that had started flooding her eyes. They were pointless and a waste of time, she knew, since her future was determined for her. There was nothing to be done about it.

“Madam Pomfrey has agreed to let you stay here for the night, but you are awaited in your classes tomorrow and the presence in the dorms is mandatory to all the students from nine at night to five in the morning. I expect no less than a perfect attendance from now on, Miss Kyrre, and advise you to stick to the friends you are making, companionship is an important part of your education in this school.”

Although Elsa didn't turn to look at her, she heard the professor getting up. “Your plate and glass will be filled every time you empty them, but I advise you to take it easy. Once you finish, leave the trail on your nightstand and Madam Pomfrey will take care of it by the morning.”

McGonagall paused after a few seconds, seeming to consider her next words: “it's not the end of the world. You already made quite a good impression on your classmates and Head of the House, Professor Flitwick has expressed his desire to work on your magic with, and Professor Sinistra has heard of your perfect scores in mathematics and physics. From where I stand, it looks like you fit very well at Hogwarts. I only hope you realize it soon.”

Again, Elsa made no commentary. Not only she didn't know what to say, the tears were also keeping her from finding her voice and her mind was too clouded for her to come up with the right words in English. “Now, try eating with moderation and getting some sleep, will you?” At that, McGonagall got up and left the princess alone with her own thoughts. And, indeed, she had many of those.

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Notes:

The translations to the expressions in Norwegian.

"Han er søt!" means "He is cute!". "De tror jeg er dum" means "They think I'm stupid". "Hvor er jeg?" means "Where am I?". "Hvor er hanskene mine?!" means "where are my gloves?!". "Frøker" means "Professor".

Thanks to all who read it :)

#frozen fic #harry potter fic #elsa of arendelle #nymphadora tonks #arcadia green #adam howard #minerva mcgonagall #harry potter au #frozen au #the others #my fanfics

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