#there's bram stoker knocking again

[andy-clutterbuck]

2x08 | Nebraska

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

The Purple Sign. Part XI

Self-Aware! Bram Stoker x GN! Reader

Description: There is a Purple Sign on your door. Part XI

Fluff. Bram pampering.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

You almost entered your bedroom, when Aya run in your room right before you. She was holding The Purple Sign in her hands. Girl turned her head and hold the sign towards you. You smiled.

"Got it, Aya. So, what do you want to do first?"

But girl shook her head.

"It's not for me. It's for Bra-chan."

You raise an eyebrow. Bram has never used The Purple Sign before.

“Did Bram asked you to do it? To bring The Purple Sign on his behalf?” you felt a need to clarify.

Aya’s smile disappeared. Now she looked like she was caught stealing candy.

“Kind of…”

“Kind of.” Your voice sounded flat. Aya looked away, embarrassed.

“He looked sad. I thought that he needs it.” Girl became quiet.

You leaned towards Aya and softly asked.

“Are you sure? You sure? That Bram needs and wants it?”

She knew that there was one rule about The Purple Sign, which you could never break.

Consent.

Purple Sign was not just a chance to spend time together.

It was a permission for you to “get into” BSD Cast’s personal space, mind and thoughts.

It was their chance to be vulnerable.

You did not accuse Aya of anything right now. You were letting her explain/

Aya stepped from one leg to another and nervously looked at you.

“Last week he was silent. Too silent.” Girl looked at The Purple Sigh. “It wasn’t his normal silence. It was silence from that world… Back in our previous world… He was quiet. Like he didn’t care that he is… was…” you nodded, showing, that you knew, what she wanted to say. Aya looked at you with gratitude. She continue.

“All of us felt broken at least once back there. However, Bra-chan... I just thought… He needs to talk about it. He will not tell me anything. He didn’t want to burden me.”

You closed your eyes. Aya’s sadness looked genuine. She was worried.

Bram became her guardian. Her father.

Oda did his best to look after kids (and teens). But you can’t just treat him as the babysitter.

You took the Purple Sigh from her hands.

“I will go and talk to him”

_______

Basement was dry. It was not cold, but chilly.

You were standing before Bram’s door. On your back, you had your backpack with Purple Sig, your laptop, phone and few pairs of headphones.

You raise your hand and knock.

Silence.

You knocked again. And called.

“Bram, it’s me, [Y/N]!”

Silence. Few soft steps.

And Bram Stocker opened the door.

“Little Bat? Nice to see you.”

Bram’s voice was calm and emotionless (slightly). If you did not knew him, you would assume that he was sarcastic. However, you have knew him for many month. He was happy to see you. His eyes soften for a bit. He slightly lean forward and corners of his lips twitched up.

You wave at him.

“Hey, Bram, got a minute?”

Vampire Lord/Ability User nodded.

“Yes. Do you need something?”

Without second thought, you took off your backpack and take away The Purple Sign. Wooden ���accessory” on a neat chain dangled in your hold. Bram raise an eyebrow.

“Aya came to me with this earlier. She said that you need it.”

Bram’s posture changed. He looked more nervous. Not angry. More like someone, who didn’t want to have their secrets revealed.

“Where did she get this idea?” Bram asked. You mentally cheered. It seems that you can make Bram open up a little.

“She told me, that you were silent. As silent as back there… And Neither Aya or I could let our friend feel blue or lost.”

Bram looked away. He looked troubled.

“I am sorry for worrying you two. It was not my intention.”

You sigh quietly. No one wanted to worry anyone. By doing that, they boiled in their sadness. Nevertheless, you loved everyone from BSD Cast.

“I know. Bram, if you want to talk, I am here.”

Bram shift his gaze to the Purple Sigh.

“Or we can simply hang out. You don’t need to open up, if you don’t want to. Just remember, that I am here.”

Vampire took the Sign from your hand and put it on his door.

“Come in, Little Bat.”

_________

Bram was a heating pad. Kind off. He did not breathe, was surprisingly warm for a vampire and his body was softer, than you would expect from a vampire.

You sighed and closed your eyes. You were laying on his chest, while Bram himself was laying in his coffin. Coffin,of course, was open.

Bram was talking.

“I didn’t care about being fictional.” Bram’s chest moved up and down. “I promise, I am not mad about it. But, I am mad, because I remembered about my family.”

You silently nuzzle Bram’s shoulder. You choose to remain silent.

Bram’s long fingers ran through your hair.

“I was alone. A talking head. Do you want to know, why I did not ask Fukuchi to remove the sword?” Bram answered his own question, without letting you speak. “I did not want to go on a rampage.”

Bram chucked. The laugh was bitter.

“And you knew what? I am still dangerous. I still can kill everyone. I am not human!”

Bram looked at you. He whispered.

“Why you are not afraid of me. Little Bat?”

You tilt your head. After few minutes of silence, you spoke.

“I trust you. Our looks or dietary habits didn’t make us human. Our minds, hearts, souls, personality… That is what we called humanity. We change ourselves. We can became better or worse. And you… You are a good person. You are a good father, Bram. And a great friend.”

For a few moments, everything was silent.

Then Bram hug you tighter. He took your hand and lightly kissed your knuckles.

“I needed it, Little Bat. Thank you”

You smile softly.

“You are welcome, Bram”

_________

It was the middle of the night.

You were laying on Bram’s chest.

Your eyes were closed.

.Both of you had headphones on. With help of duel headphone jack, you were listening to music. Together.

Two real persons enjoying mu

sic together. As it should be.

You almost entered your bedroom, when Aya run in your room right before you. She was holding The Purple Sign in her hands. Girl turned her head and hold the sign towards you. You smiled.

"Got it, Aya. So, what do you want to do first?"

But girl shook her head.

"It's not for me. It's for Bra-chan."

You raise an eyebrow. Bram has never used The Purple Sign before.

“Did Bram asked you to do it? To bring The Purple Sign on his behalf?” you felt a need to clarify.

Aya’s smile disappeared. Now she looked like she was caught stealing candy.

“Kind of…”

“Kind of.” Your voice sounded flat. Aya looked away, embarrassed.

“He looked sad. I thought that he needs it.” Girl became quiet.

You leaned towards Aya and softly asked.

“Are you sure? You sure? That Bram needs and wants it?”

She knew that there was one rule about The Purple Sign, which you could never break.

Consent.

Purple Sign was not just a chance to spend time together.

It was a permission for you to “get into” BSD Cast’s personal space, mind and thoughts.

It was their chance to be vulnerable.

You did not accuse Aya of anything right now. You were letting her explain/

Aya stepped from one leg to another and nervously looked at you.

“Last week he was silent. Too silent.” Girl looked at The Purple Sign. “It wasn’t his normal silence. It was silence from that world… Back in our previous world… He was quiet. Like he didn’t care that he is… was…” you nodded, showing, that you knew, what she wanted to say. Aya looked at you with gratitude. She continue.

“All of us felt broken at least once back there. However, Bra-chan... I just thought… He needs to talk about it. He will not tell me anything. He didn’t want to burden me.”

You closed your eyes. Aya’s sadness looked genuine. She was worried.

Bram became her guardian. Her father.

Oda did his best to look after kids (and teens). But you can’t just treat him as the babysitter.

You took the Purple Sign from her hands.

“I will go and talk to him”

_______

Basement was dry. It was not cold, but chilly.

You were standing before Bram’s door. On your back, you had your backpack with Purple Sign, your laptop, phone and few pairs of headphones.

You raise your hand and knock.

Silence.

You knocked again. And called.

“Bram, it’s me, [Y/N]!”

Silence. Few soft steps.

And Bram Stocker opened the door.

“Little Bat? Nice to see you.”

Bram’s voice was calm and emotionless (slightly). If you did not knew him, you would assume that he was sarcastic. However, you have knew him for many month. He was happy to see you. His eyes soften for a bit. He slightly lean forward and corners of his lips twitched up.

You wave at him.

“Hey, Bram, got a minute?”

Vampire Lord/Ability User nodded.

“Yes. Do you need something?”

Without second thought, you took off your backpack and take away The Purple Sign. Wooden “accessory” on a neat chain dangled in your hold. Bram raise an eyebrow.

“Aya came to me with this earlier. She said that you need it.”

Bram’s posture changed. He looked more nervous. Not angry. More like someone, who didn’t want to have their secrets revealed.

“Where did she get this idea?” Bram asked. You mentally cheered. It seems that you can make Bram open up a little.

“She told me, that you were silent. As silent as back there… And Neither Aya or I could let our friend feel blue or lost.”

Bram looked away. He looked troubled.

“I am sorry for worrying you two. It was not my intention.”

You sigh quietly. No one wanted to worry anyone. By doing that, they boiled in their sadness. Nevertheless, you loved everyone from BSD Cast.

“I know. Bram, if you want to talk, I am here.”

Bram shift his gaze to the Purple Sign.

“Or we can simply hang out. You don’t need to open up, if you don’t want to. Just remember, that I am here.”

Vampire took the Sign from your hand and put it on his door.

“Come in, Little Bat.”

_________

Bram was a heating pad. Kind off. He did not breathe, was surprisingly warm for a vampire and his body was softer, than you would expect from a vampire.

You sighed and closed your eyes. You were laying on his chest, while Bram himself was laying in his coffin. Coffin,of course, was open.

Bram was talking.

“I didn’t care about being fictional.” Bram’s chest moved up and down. “I promise, I am not mad about it. But, I am mad, because I remembered about my family.”

You silently nuzzle Bram’s shoulder. You choose to remain silent.

Bram’s long fingers ran through your hair.

“I was alone. A talking head. Do you want to know, why I did not ask Fukuchi to remove the sword?” Bram answered his own question, without letting you speak. “I did not want to go on a rampage.”

Bram chucked. The laugh was bitter.

“And you knew what? I am still dangerous. I still can kill everyone. I am not human!”

Bram looked at you. He whispered.

“Why you are not afraid of me. Little Bat?”

You tilt your head. After few minutes of silence, you spoke.

“I trust you. Our looks or dietary habits didn’t make us human. Our minds, hearts, souls, personality… That is what we called humanity. We change ourselves. We can became better or worse. And you… You are a good person. You are a good father, Bram. And a great friend.”

For a few moments, everything was silent.

Then Bram hug you tighter. He took your hand and lightly kissed your knuckles.

“I needed it, Little Bat. Thank you.”

You smile softly.

“You are welcome, Bram”

_________

It was the middle of the night.

You were laying on Bram’s chest.

Your eyes were closed.

Both of you had headphones on. With help of duel headphone jack, you were listening to music. Together.

Two real persons enjoying music together. As it should be.

[kjcreed]

The Jewel of Seven Stars | Chapter 3

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Series Masterlist Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Warnings: profanity; illegal transportation (again); shotgun

Pronouns: they/them

Summary: The year is 1954. 9 years after the Second World War ended. Most people in the blooming city of New York should be living pretty peacefully by now. And most of them really are... Well, except for you... And your brother Tony for that matter. Your father was an archaeologist working to uncover the truth about the legend of Queen Nefret and the prophecy that has been engraved on the walls of her tomb which your father discovered with his team. The only problem is that he went missing and now it's your job to find him. But what if you unintentionally become a part of said prophecy? And what if you meet a persistent librarian and her extravagant brother along the way?

Disclaimer: This story is inspired by the 1999 film The Mummy, partly inspired by the book The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker and a little by the life of Queen Hatshepsut.

-

“So… do we know what the first thing we’re going after is?” You heard the voice of the younger twin beside you and when you looked towards her, you watched as she matched her step with yours as the four of you walked through the streets of the port city on the small island.

“Tony and I think it’s probably a talisman of some sort.” You shrugged your shoulders a little. “You do know about the legend of Queen Nefret, right?” You inquired as you glanced at the woman beside you again. She looked strangely enchanting with the colours of the sunset reflecting on her skin. For some reason, you felt like you never wanted to take your eyes off of her.

“Yes… yes, I do.” She nodded in confirmation and looked back up at you. She really wasn’t bad to look at at all. “Well, I think that the talisman could actually be a tyet amulet…” You continue explaining your theory as you look at Pietro and Tony walking in front of you, talking about god knows what.

“The knot of Isis?” Wanda asked and you smiled to yourself at the fact that she actually knew what you meant. When you tried to explain your theory to Tony, he looked at you as if you were crazy for thinking he knew what a tyet amulet was and why it was even relevant.

“Yeah… According to the legend, Nefret was a sorceress. It would make sense for her to use objects associated with Isis… or Aset, if we want to be culturally accurate…” You trail off and look at the girl again. She looked like she was thinking about what you were saying and you could notice the exact moment it clicked for her and you couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Because Isis is the goddess of magic, amongst other things.” Wanda said with a proud smile and you nodded in confirmation. “Exactly.” You and Wanda looked at each other for a moment and it reminded you of the first time that you met. You got lost in your own thoughts as you looked at the girl and for Wanda, it was the same.

She felt very intrigued by you. Ever since you almost knocked her over the railing of the ship you were trespassing on. For some unknown reason, she was dying to get to know you better. She knew she was looking at you for too long now, but so were you.

She didn’t want to look away. Something about the mischief in your eyes and your unpredictable behaviour pulled her in. It was only when her brother wrapped his arm around her shoulders with a hearty laugh that she snapped out of her haze.

“Are you two nerdy nerds done nerding? Because Tony and I just found us a boat.” The blonde man said with a grin on his face, motioning to the pier you suddenly appeared to be in front of.

Both you and Wanda look away from each other to look ahead towards the sea but before you do, you think you notice something resembling a blush on the girl’s cheeks.

You notice Tony talking to an older guy who had a tobacco pipe hanging from his lips loosely. You watch them for a little while and decide to walk over to them when you see the man get irritated by what your brother is saying.

“No passengers!” You hear the man exclaim when you walk up to them. You pat your brother on his back when the man makes a shooing motion at the both of you and you drag Tony back to where you were standing with Pietro and Wanda. “What happened?” You turn to your brother with an amused smile.

“He was already heading there anyway so I asked him if he could take us with him but he basically told me to fuck off.” Tony threw his arms up in frustration making you laugh a little which earned you a punch in the arm and a glare.

“Well… You know what that means…” A mischievous grin spreads across your face and Tony shoots you a warning look. “No. No way. I’m not doing that again.” He protested, shaking his head dismissively. “What are they talking about?” Wanda asked your brother with her eyebrows furrowed. “They want to sneak onto the ship.” Tony sighed and Wanda raised her eyebrows at you for confirmation and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Oh, because that worked out so well for you the last time.” Wanda commented sarcastically as she put her hands on her hips just like when you got kicked out of the inn. You couldn’t help but find her attempt at being firm rather amusing. “We made it here, did we not?” You snark back a reply with that stupid smile on your face making Wanda scoff in return.

“I dunno… It could be fun.” Pietro shrugged his shoulders and went to stand next to you, making you nudge him with your elbow as a sign of appreciation for being on your side. Wanda, however, gave him an unamused look.

“No. We’re not doing this.” Tony stood his ground and to be honest, you couldn’t really blame him. It’s not every day that you’re being shot at while swimming for your life towards an unfamiliar island.

You also knew that you didn’t have any other option. While you were walking towards Tony and the man you noticed that his ship was the only one on your side of the port and to your luck he was already headed where you needed to go.

“And what else do you want us to do, Tony?” You cross your arms over your chest and give your brother an irritated look. “I don’t know! Wait for another ship or something?”

You shook your head at your brother’s words. “We can’t waste any more time. Did you forget that our father is missing?” The determined look on your face told Tony that there was no way he would convince you otherwise so he just sighed in defeat. “Fine.” He also knew you were kind of right, but he would never admit that to your face.

“What?!” Wanda looked at the three of you bewildered that this was actually going to be your plan. “You cannot be serious-” “Sorry, Wands. Three against one.” Pietro interrupted his sister’s protests and Wanda shot you a glare in return. You gave her a playful smile before focusing your attention on her brother who leaned towards you. “So... how are we gonna do this?”

-

“Woah. What was that?” Wanda gripped her brother's clothes as the wooden floor under your feet shook a little. “That means we’re off.” You say with an excited smile and look around the small storage room you managed to sneak into while the owner wasn’t around.

You waited there for about an hour before the man finally set sail and now the four of you were crammed inside what you were sure to be the smallest room on the ship. If you could even call the man’s vehicle a ship. It was something between a ship and a boat really…

“Get comfortable because this is going to take a couple of hours…” You say, the smile not leaving your face and Wanda and Tony let out small groans of dissatisfaction.

Earlier when you got to the storage room, it was pitch black in there. Luckily you managed to find two small candles and Tony always carried a lighter in his pocket. It wasn’t much, but the dim light that illuminated the room just added to the atmosphere.

The four of you sat on the ground, surrounding the only source of light you had. You used the time you had to get to know each other a little bit better. You found out that Pietro and Wanda were originally from a small country in Central Europe called Sokovia but moved to America with their parents when they were little kids. You and Tony told them about your father and his research along with a few anecdotes from your childhood.

Tony and Pietro were engaged in a conversation about Tony’s projects and how he was working to be an electronic engineer and you were just pondering about the journey ahead of you when Wanda sat a little closer to you and pulled your dad’s book out of her satchel.

“I forgot to give you this back…” She handed you the book and you looked at it before looking back up at her. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?” Your teasing smile made Wanda annoyed a little bit but she still had to hold in a giggle threatening to escape her lips.

“I am…” She replied but you could see in her eyes that she didn’t really mean it. Annoyed? Yes. But mad? Very unlikely. “But I’m not a thief.” She tilted her chin upwards a little and you were amused, to say the least. You looked at the book before pushing it slightly away from you.

“You can hold onto it if you want.” You say and give her a more sincere smile this time. She was a little taken aback by your offer but accepted it nonetheless. “Thank you.” Her voice was quieter than before and she looked away from you a small smile grazing her lips.

You noticed she had a really nice smile. The girl was very pretty overall but her smile might be your favourite feature of hers yet. You got lost in the way the light from the candle reflected in her greenish eyes and it took you a moment to reply to her. “It’s no problem. I have the whole thing pretty much memorised…” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “Wow… I didn’t know you were such a nerd about dad’s stuff.” You heard the teasing voice of your brother making you groan a little.

“I’m not! I was just bored in the house sometimes…” You tried to defend yourself even though you knew your brother wasn’t really buying it. “Oh dad would’ve loved to see this.” Tony nudges you and you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Tony.” Your cheeks were starting to have a faint red tint to them and you could feel it. That’s why you tried to change the subject as quickly as you could. Wanda thought it was amusing and kind of adorable.

“Can I look at the map from the book real quick?” The fond smile that was playing on Wanda’s lips fell as soon as those words left your mouth. You notice the girl exchange a worried look with her brother and it makes you furrow your eyebrows while you look between the two of them. “What?” You quirked your eyebrow at the twins.

“Well… Uh… We…” Pietro’s stammering induced an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach. “We… kinda burned it.” You and Tony looked at each other with wide eyes before you turned to the twins with unbelieving looks. “You what?!” Your voice was a couple of octaves higher than normal and you stood up from your spot on the ground.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. The only thing that could actually lead you to your lost father was gone. Burned to a crisp. Just like that. Sure… You somewhat remembered the locations that were marked on the map… But what if you’re wrong? And this whole thing goes to shit?

“Y/N… You need to calm down…” The voice of your brother stopped you from spiralling for a moment. “Calm down?” You snap back at your brother and Wanda and Pietro exchange worried glances. “Just sit down before-” Your brother was cut off by the sound of the door opening and a shotgun being loaded. You froze in place and slowly turned around only to be faced with the owner of the boat pointing a shotgun at your stomach. “Fuck…”

-

“Easy there, cowboy.” You say with your hands up as the man shoves you forward with his shotgun. “You want to get shot in head?” He said with a foreign accent, probably Spanish if you had to guess, as he raised the weapon at you.

You feel someone step on your foot making you wince and when you look to your side you see Tony giving you a pointed look. “Sorry, sorry.” You tell the man quickly and look back at him.

“I say no passengers. You not speak English?” You and your companions were huddled together with your arms raised, the man holding you at gunpoint on the deck of his ship.

“We’re really sorry, but we needed to get to Isla de Los Despiertos. We’re looking for my father and we had no other choice.” You explain. Your voice is a little shaky from nervousness since you could be shot dead any second.

The man slowly lowers his weapon and tilts his head at you. “So you not tourists?” He inquires. You and your companions exchange confused glances at the question. When you don’t reply, the man raises the shotgun again, making you become alarmed once again. “No! No, no. We’re not tourists!” You respond quickly and the man squints his eyes at the four of you, scanning you from head to toe.

You breathe out a sigh of relief when the man lowers his gun with a grumble. “I hate tourists.” Wanda and Pietro look at each other in amusement as they hear him exclaim. The man puts his gun down and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at you again.

“Why you want to go to Isla de Los Despiertos?” He quirked an eyebrow at the four of you. It was Wanda who spoke up this time. “We are searching for an amulet… it should be somewhere in the ruins of Amfazar.” She explained, remembering the name on that little piece of the burned map. You were a little surprised by how confident her tone of voice was. You liked this side of her.

The man stared at her for a long moment before he suddenly burst out laughing. And it lasted for a while. He only stopped once he noticed that the rest of you weren’t as amused as he was. He looked back at you and his eyes widened slightly.

“Oh… You serious?”

-

Author's Note

Heyo! Back at it again with another chapter I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for the likes, reblogs and positive comments on this series, dear reader! Isla de Los Despiertos is supposed to translate to Isle of The Awakened from Spanish, just to clear things up... You'll hopefully find out what that means in the next chapter :)

Thank you for reading and see you again soon!

Series Masterlist Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

[wavyhairedvixen]

fandom: (heavily inspired by) Bram Stoker’s Dracula

tags: smut, vampire, adult content, f/m relationship, readerxDracula, shortstory

Contains 18+ content

Holiday gone awry

Chapter 1

As you peered out of the window of the cab you could see the outlines of what seemed to be a castle on top of a nearby hill. The moon was full and the trees cast eerie shadows along the road leading up the hill. A howl could be heard in the distance sending shivers down your spine.

“What was that?” You asked the taxi driver.

“Nothing you should be concerned about, Miss,” answered the scruffy looking cabby in a bored tone.

Suddenly everything went dark as a cloud obscured the moon and the howling became louder. Your blood froze in your veins when you heard the panting and growling of the creatures of the forest. You peeked out of the window again and saw hundreds of red eyes glowing in the dark creeping closer to the vehicle.

Suddenly as the cloud passed and the moonlight illuminated the land once again the frightening sight was gone just like the howls and growls of the hounds of hell.

“What were those creatures?” You asked with a trembling voice.

The pale skinned man exchanged a quick look with you and shrugged, turning his stoic gaze back to the road.

The car came to a halt as it reached the main entrance of the castle. You quickly hopped out of the vehicle and hurried to the wooden porch of the gothic mansion. The chilly air carried the smell of earth and damp leaves. You knocked on the monstrous ironbound door a few times before it opened with a creaking sound. To your surprise there was a tall shadow leaning onto the doorframe. For a brief moment, you forgot all the horrors you had encountered along your journey and just stood there, admiring the man in front of you. He was around six feet tall, wearing a black turtleneck sweater that complemented his icy blue eyes, pale skin and slicked-back raven hair. He greeted you with a genuine smile and a flicker of mischief in his gaze.

“Good evening, Miss y/n! Please come in, and let Pierre take care of your luggage.”

He stepped aside, motioning toward the hall of the building. As soon as you stepped over the treshold, the heavy oak door closed with a loud thud. The butler didn’t even bother to look at you as he took your bags.

“Good evening! You must be Mr. Awry, it’s nice to meet you!” You smiled and held out a hand to the man.

The man took your hand and planted a kiss on your knuckle. „It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss y/n!” he greeted you and gently assisted in taking off your coat. „I will show you to your room after dinner,” explained the tall man. “Now, please follow me! I assume you must be tired after the long trip from the city to my residence,” he went on as he led you into a spacious room. The walls were covered with crimson-colored tapestry and Persian rugs were scattered all over the floor.

There was a fireplace at the far end of the room , with a large wooden dining table stretching in front of it. Paintings adorned the walls, some of them depicting mythological tales. You recognized the one closest to you which showed the Abduction of Persephone. In the middle of the picture stood a strong man – Hades - holding the graceful body of Persephone, whom the god of the underworld kidnapped and took to the realm of the dead. Due to the gloomy atmosphere of the room you couldn’t make out the rest of the paintings covering the walls between the pieces of mahogany furniture. Cabinets were filled with different types of relics - daggers, vials, armor, and jewelry. You followed your host to the dining table which was already set for two.

“Please, take a seat!” said the man as he pulled out a chair for you.

“This place is beautiful!” you marveled at your surroundings while taking a seat. “Your home is a work of art, Mr. Awry!”

The count’s lips curled into a smile at your remark as he opened a bottle of red wine.

“Tell me, what lives in the forest? On my way here I think I saw something…unusual,” you frowned.

“Oh, those were just wild boars, my dear. You don’t have to worry about them!” the count reassured you with an amused smile.

He poured a glass of wine for you as he feasted his eyes on you for a moment before taking a seat across from you. You were bewitching, like a temptress with your long wavy ginger hair that appeared golden in the dim candlelight. You were practically starving, so you dug into your dinner and didn’t pay much attention to the man’s hungry gaze. As you took a sip of wine to wash down the food, you glanced at your host. He was intimidating, with his broad shoulders, strong arms, and eyes sparkling with curiosity. Even though you had just met this stranger, you felt somehow drawn to him.

“I heard you write books, Miss y/n,” remarked the man. His voice was deep and calming, having a soothing effect on your nerves. “And I also heard that your books are… rather exciting,” the count went on, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked at you with such an intense stare that you felt like the man could read your thoughts. “Could you tell me about your next novel?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and circling the edge of his glass with his middle finger.

You blushed a deep shade of red and took another sip from your wine. You didn’t expect your host to be so well-informed about your passion of writing.

“Well I have some ideas for my next book. It’s going to be a crime story. The main reason I came here is because I need to spend some time alone so I can focus on what I love doing the most. It is only a hobby, but it means so much to me,” you rambled with enthusiasm. “Oh, and thank you for the dinner, Mr. Awry. It was delicious! And the wine too!” You stopped, being suddenly aware of your host’s hungry gaze on you.

The man stood up and walked over to you with the bottle of wine in his hand. He poured you another glass and sat down next to you. He was so close that you could smell his intoxicating cologne. You fiddled with the napkin in your lap as you stared at the elaborate details on the piece of cloth.

“You’re welcome Miss y/n! It is my pleasure to have such a beautiful and intelligent company as you are,” Mr. Awry said on a soft tone and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you would like, I would gladly show you the land surrounding my property tomorrow,” the count offered as he took one of your tiny hands in his big ones.

“I would appreciate that Mr. Awry,” you muttered the words with a smile and felt your face heat up again.

“Please, call me James,” said the man and stroked your hand with his thumb gently.

“I think it’s time for me to get some rest. Could you show me to my room, please?” you asked, pulling your hand away from the count. You were so confused – you felt a burning desire towards this handsome stranger; however, you weren’t sure if he could be trusted. As you got up from your seat you clumsily knocked over your glass with your hand. It fell off the table, shattering on the wooden floor into tiny pieces. You bent down to collect the shards from the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” You apologized.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!” the count insisted as he crouched down next to you.

“Damn it!” You cursed through clenched teeth as a sharp piece of glass cut into the palm of your hand.

“Are you all right?” asked the count and grabbed your hand to inspect the wound. He pecked a kiss on your palm where the glass had cut it and then licked away the blood. He kept his hungry eyes locked with yours for a moment before snapping out of his feral state.

"There’s no need to rush, little one…" the count whispered, his eyes locked onto yours as he released your hand.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, and you were torn between the urge to run out the door and the desire to stay with this alluring and probably unhinged man. As you weighed your options he got up and wallked to a cabinet, which he opened to pour himself a glass of ruby-colored beverage. After quickly downing it, he turned around and grabbed the edge of the table keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Is everything all right?" Your voice barely above a whisper, taking a cautious step towards him.

The count lifted his chin to meet your gaze, his eyes bloodshot – no, not bloodshot, rather glowing red, just like the eyes of those creatures you encountered in the forest – from whatever he had consumed. He placed one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling you towards him, and pressed his lips to yours in a deep and passionate kiss. You parted your lips so the count’s tongue could enter your mouth and caress yours. As you devoured each other with long, sensual strokes, the count grabbed your bottom with both hands and gave it a firm squeeze. A small moan escaped your lips as he pressed you against the bulge in his pants. You passionately tugged on the man’s lower lip earning a growl from him. The count pulled away from you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of his sharp fangs. Your eyes widened in shock as you finally put the pieces together. You swallowed nervously, heart pounding in your chest.

"Do not fret y/n, I won’t hurt you…" He murmured and wrapped one hand around your throat.

Your breath hitched as you felt a strange mix of fear and excitement wash over you. He kissed you, this time more ferociously. You sucked on the count’s tongue in response, earning a growl from him.

“You‘ve got potential I must admit…” He chuckled as he brushed his lips along your neck.

He stopped just above your collarbone, and planted a soft kiss on your smooth skin, then tenderly grazed his teeth over the same spot. He planted a few more kisses along your neck, before whispering in your ear, “Your body is exquisite. I wonder what you taste like…” As he whispered the words, his hands travelled to your waist, relishing every inch of your figure.

Then he pulled the strap of your dress down your shoulder, baring one of your breasts. He bent down to wrap his mouth around your nipple, sucking on your sensitive bud. With one skillful hand he pulled up your skirt and stroked over your mound with his dexterous fingers, then cupped it, squeezing it gently.

“So wet already…” He sighed and his nostrils flared as he noticed the sign of your arousal.

You could smell the sweet scent of musk mixed with leather, and a hint of oak on him, which made your core heat up with desire. You felt as if he had put a spell on you.

Suddenly the tall man lifted you and carried you to a nearby sofa next to the fireplace, positioning you so that your hips hung slightly off the edge. He tore the front of the delicate fabric of your dress so that your body was completely exposed. He got rid of your underwear in a quick manner and threw it aside. Then he swiftly put your thighs around his strong shoulders as he got on his knees. He kissed his way down your belly slowly before he buried his face into your cunt. He started to eat you out relentlessly — he pushed his stiff tongue against your clit and licked it with quick and vigorous laps.

“You taste so bloody delicious darling,” Grumbled the count as he placed one palm over your stomach just below your navel to put a little pressure on it.

The vibrations of his deep voice almost sent you over the edge. He licked up the juices leaking from your entrance then licked over your clit again, occasionally sucking, and nibbling on it. You arched your back, pushing your pussy into the man’s face. In response he grabbed your waist with both hands, squeezing it tightly while keeping you in place. As you got closer to your climax the count pushed one finger into your pussy.

“Oh, you’re so tight… Your cunny is perfect.” He groaned as he pushed in a second finger and started to slowly move them in and out curling his fingers while doing so.

You moaned and thrashed around in the his strong grip as you felt your orgasm approaching — pussy so swollen and throbbing that it was almost painful now. The earl felt that you were close to your climax, so he stopped licking your bud and instead started to pepper kisses along the insides of your thighs.

“Please, let me cum!” you whimpered and thrusted your hips toward the man. “Don’t torture me…please!” you pleaded.

The earl smiled and brushed his fingertips along the outside of your thighs as he started to lick your clit again with long lazy laps. You bit your lip as you felt your orgasm building up anew. He pushed two of his fingers into you again and started massaging your sweet spot while lapping at your swollen bud. You grabbed his hair, lightly scraping his scalp with your nails as you felt utter bliss flush through your body. Your walls clenched around his fingers as your muscles contracted, while juice started oozing out of your pussy, dripping down the count’s hand. Like a starved man he drank up every ounce of your arousal and licked his fingers clean.

Your pussy was still oversensitive, and you were extremely turned on. You wanted to feel his cock inside you. As you propped yourself up on your elbows the man unbuckled his belt with one hand and took off his pants. You lunged forward and pulled down his underwear, letting his manhood spring free. He was well-endowed — precum dripping from the tip of his long and thick cock. You pulled back the skin with one hand and put the tip in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head of the penis and sucked on it, relishing his taste then started to bob your head back and forth. He combed through your hair with his long fingers, grabbing the back of your head tenderly, guiding you to take him deeper. You obeyed and let him slide into your throat, moaning around his shaft. You tried to relax but you couldn’t keep yourself from gagging. As the muscles in your throat squeezed his cock he let out a shaky breath.

“You’re doing amazing, my little vixen,” he murmured peering down at you.

He thrusted into your mouth a few times before he pulled out.

“I want to cum in that tight pussy of yours. Now get on your back and spread your legs,” he commanded, and as soon as you were on your back, he wedged himself between your thighs.

He slid his cock in, and begun thrusting his hips. In this position the tip of his penis was rubbing right against your sweet spot. As he picked up the pace you felt another orgasm building in your belly, however this time the sensation was much more intense than anything you had ever experienced. The count grunted as he thrusted into you, and he was so hot. His strong and hairy chest and broad shoulders gave him a statuesque appearrance, not to mention his pale skin that glistened like marble in the dim lighting.

As he kept fucking you, you started to feel the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm approaching. And then you came, your walls spasming around his cock, squeezing it repeatedly as you reached your high. However it didn’t stop there, you kept coming as he fucked you roughly. You felt orgasm rushing through your body over and over sending you straight to heaven - you felt like floating, your pussy and belly quivering with each orgasm. When the count couldn’t hold back any longer, he came as well, and you felt his hot seed spill into you. After he filled you with his cum he bent down to plant a kiss on your neck. He nibbled gently on the soft skin, then grazed his sharp fangs over the mark he left.

You were still in your post orgasmic haze when the man pulled himself out of you, and scooped you up into his arms, carrying you up the stairs into his bedroom. He lay you down onto a bed and tucked you in. Then he lied next to you and ran his fingers through your hair as he kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight my sweet y/n…” he whispered in your ear while stroking your shoulder.

You snuggled up to him and let out a sigh as you drifted off to sleep.

[keanusteddy]

༺ Characters I am currently creating bots for:

·:*¨ Keanu himself

·:*¨ Tommy Warnecki - Flying (1986)

·:*¨ Matt - River’s Edge (1986)

·:*¨ Michael Riley - Young Again (1986)

·:*¨ Jack Fenton/Jack-be-Nimble - Babes in Toyland (1986)

·:*¨ Winston Connelly - The Night Before (1988)

·:*¨ Rupert Marshetta - The Prince of Pennsylvania (1988)

·:*¨ Ted Theodore Logan - Bill & Ted (1, 2, 3)

·:*¨ Tod Higgins - Parenthood (1989)

·:*¨ Marlon James - I Love You to Death (1990)

·:*¨ Johnny Utah - Point Break (1991)

·:*¨ Scott Favor - My Own Private Idaho (1991)

·:*¨ Johnathan Harker - Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)

·:*¨ Don John - Much Ado About Nothing (1993)

·:*¨ Jack Traven - Speed (1994)

·:*¨ Paul Sutton - A Walk in the Clouds (1995)

·:*¨ Eddie Kasalivich - Chain Reaction (1996)

·:*¨ Kevin Lomax - The Devil’s Advocate (1997)

·:*¨ Thomas Anderson/Neo - The Matrix (1, 2, 3, 4)

·:*¨ Shane Falco - The Replacements (2000)

·:*¨ David Allen Griffin - The Watcher (2000)

·:*¨ Donnie Barksdale - The Gift (2000)

·:*¨ Conor O’Neill - Hardball (2001)

·:*¨ Julian Mercer - Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

·:*¨ John Constantine - Constantine (2005)

·:*¨ Alex Wyler - The Lake House (2006)

·:*¨ Tom Ludlow - Street Kings (2008)

·:*¨ John Wall - Generation Um… (2013)

·:*¨ Donaka Mark - Man of Tai Chi (2013)

·:*¨ John Wick (1, 2, 3, 4)

·:*¨ Evan Webber - Knock Knock (2015)

·:*¨ Hank - The Neon Demon (2016)

·:*¨ The Dream - The Bad Batch (2016)

·:*¨ Tex Johnson - Swedish Dicks (2016 - 2018)

·:*¨ Frank - Destination Wedding (2018)

࿐ If there's a Keanu character that you'd like to request a bot for but do not see them on this list, don't worry! I may get more ideas for other Keanu character bots from his other movies while I rewatch them/continue to watch ones I have not seen!

[gardensandtaverns]

When Players Commit to the Bit

My last post talked a little about player buy-in, and its impact. Again, as far as game design goes, my experience is limited to personal experience playing games and the experience I have as a Game Master for tabletop RPGs, but especially in those varieties of fiction, player buy-in matters. I'm going to address two particular games where this made all the difference.

To start with a group of players that has really knocked my socks off, I'll tell this first story from the players' perspective, as I was one in this rare occurrence. Any D&D5e veteran knows that the system was built for medieval power fantasy; the existence of the spell fireball is enough justification on its own, but should you need a few additional examples from a DM's perspective:

The 1st-level spell heroism completely negates the frightened condition, regardless of its source, and is available to any divine caster at 1st level. At higher levels this is the solution to fear effects from creatures like dragons, who often have DCs that creatures lacking the appropriate save proficiency could never succeed on.

The game itself has a terrible exploration and social interaction system, just look at the memes. There's a reason the homebrew community is so strong when it comes to additional or revamped mechanics.

The game also has a terrible inability to run Battle of Helm's Deep-esque situations because it is precariously balanced in the system of action economy - assuming that players will always be up against enemy groups of similar size and strength to their own.

This problem is further exhausted when specific genres, like horror or survival, come up. That's because, again, the game is balanced in the player's favor by default. Nothing should be scary until it is a definite loss for the party. Not to mention numerous background features and low-level spells immediately negate the concern of finding food, water, or medicine - as well as treating diseases and poisons.

So, dear reader, you may find it interesting when I say that my favorite experience as a player was in a modified version of the Curse of Strahd module. Curse of Strahd is a survival and gothic horror module that was heavily influenced by Bram Stoker's Dracula, for those unfamiliar. As I've already stated, the system of D&D5e is not well-suited to these types of challenges without using tactics that severely cripple players and their abilities. However, in a combination of excellence on the Game Master's part and the buy-in of all of the players, this game has been one hell of an experience.

Not only did every player come to the table with a self-motivated and layered, perhaps even somewhat corrupted, motivation - but those motives and characters have been well-played by the players in response to the appropriate types and levels of pressure applied by the DM, both on the characters in fiction but also on the players at the table. Every session ends in a cliffhanger, which only helps preserve the mindset from week to week of being in the game.

We also are tolerant, as a group, to making less-than-ideal decisions. Our characters may flee, even if nothing mechanically compels them to do so. They may make hasty decisions, or even evil things, and the characters themselves may create and relieve tensions throughout the group. Curse of Strahd has become gothic horror done right in D&D with this group because we as players let ourselves be afraid, be invested in our character's survival, and follow a narrative that is always changing and reacting.

Not quite in contrast, but certainly from another angle, I have had my best experiences and pride in my work as a DM when my players truly invest themselves in the world and connect with it. In my most recent, and possibly last ever, 5e campaign I had built a world that was embroiled in a continental war, specifically over the use of magic. At the outset of the game, I informed my players that this conflict had gone on for quite a long time, with many tenuous peace treaties over the decades, so the nation of origin for these characters would vastly influence how they perceived the world, due to various levels of propaganda, so they would have to choose together what nation they were loyal to, though that loyalty could change over the course of the campaign. The final composition of the party was a cloistered cleric, who would have had little opinion were it not for a raid on their church; a soldier, who deserted after being hunted for breaking laws regarding the use of magic in an attempt to save their ill father; a commoner, who knew little of the outside world but had grown up in a nation where the use of magic was free and unrestricted; and an ex-assassin, who had served in the interests of that same nation of free use of magic until they fell in love with a political target of a rival nation.

Now, they did not find their loyalties to change over the course of the campaign, but the beauty in this story was that none of the characters died (except for the time the wizard decided against the clear indication that this was a death wish to proceed). The players themselves asked for death to be uncommon and meaningful, and I was happy to comply. What this required me to do as a Game Master, however, was to find other means of motivating the party to action, as few of them had a moral or personal obligation to take any side in this war. For this, I used two strategies:

Threats to Security. I used the proximity of their home to contested territories to motivate their actions to protect their sense of security. Not only were some missions mandatory service, assigned by the local legislature, but there were also night raids from across the border that directly threatened the characters, and those they wished to protect. Which brings us to

Exploiting Relationships. I also used the NPCs the party cared about, most famously the two children of their patron, to drive direction and urgency in the narrative. In retrospect I used kids in general a lot to pull at heartstrings, but so does UNICEF and a number of other relief organizations.

To the players' credit, they went all-in and there were not only excellent inter-party relationships, but various party members had differing opinions on the societal needs in the future that were derived from their experiences and the NPCs they were most involved with by the end of the campaign.

I can't say I have a great way to close this one other than saying that sure, this is my experience and ymmv, but player buy-in can make a massive difference in gameplay and the options available to a designer to make a truly immersive and memorable experience.

[thenightling]

The worst Dark Shadows role playing game I was ever a part of

The year was 2011 or early 2012 and Tim Burton’s Dark Shadows had just been announced, stirring old loves and fandoms in regard to Dark Shadows.

One night I was delighted to discover someone named Nicole had a Dark Shadows themed role playing game on IMVU.   When I entered the setting though it was really weird.   The person’s best friend (who was not a real Dark Shadows fan) had a character who created an Ancient Egyptian themed cult so for some reason there were these small Pyramids (about the size of suburban houses) scattered around Collinsport.

And let me just say this friend was the worst role player I ever encountered.   When first meeting her she insisted that I, the player, not see or hear any game activity that my character was not directly present for.  She had never heard of “Keep secrets from the character, not the player.” And was convinced that if I knew this or that, I’d feed the information to my character.  As I kind of love to play characters that take a long time to figure out what’s going on, that never happens.   Then when the friend did interact with me she played this knock-off Renfield character.  She even quoted the line “On the contrary, they’re actually perfectly nutritious” from the Bram Stoker’s Dracula movie.  She didn’t like it when my character didn’t react the way she wanted and instead contradicted the statement by pointing out that modern roaches and even mosquitos carry various diseases and contaminants unless raised in captivity on insect farms (which are an actual thing). The friend even tried to allow another person to heal my character of scarring against my will.  The character I was playing had a badly scarred hand and her friend tried to auto-hit / heal the scarring (which was a scar from a magical fire, by the way).  And when I OOCly told the other player to please not do that she said “Too late, I’m a level eleven Flesh mage in VtM!”  But this wasn’t VtM.  It was TBL chat room based Dark Shadows RP.

The friend (again, accountable for the random pyramids) didn't want me to play an occultist or alchemist unless I proved I knew about alchemy and occultism (And she was insisting Hermetic (or Kemetic as she called it with her Egyptian obsession as she believed all things arcane started in Egypt) occultism was the only real occultism. I had graduated from Stratford with a diploma in Parapsychology / Astrology. Anyway, this person essentially demanded I write an essay revealing what I know about alchemy and the occult and I had to name five real occultists and alchemists. I humored them and wrote the list and included rock star David Bowie for his dabbling in occultism. She publicly told the GM that I had copied and pasted everything from Wikipedia. I was furious and pointed out that there's no Wikipedia page listing David Bowie as an occultist. So apparently that was the "only part" I didn't copy and paste. Yeah, okay, with a diploma in parapsychology / astrology you really think I'd copy and paste any occult knowledge from Wikipedia? I love babbling about that sort of thing. But this was Nicole’s "Best friend" and I came to realize I couldn't stand the condescending and pretentious person who assumed she was the only one who ever studied the occult.

She even tried to change Nicole’s rules so that no mortal could ever win against a vampire even if the mortal knew all the vampire’s weaknesses.  Thankfully when I pointed that one out Nicole deleted the “rule” that her friend had added, with the feeble excuse that her friend wasn’t familiar with Dark Shadows and didn’t realize Barnabas had repeatedly been captured by or harmed by mortals.  But even without having watched Dark Shadows, I don’t know of any vampire themed role playing game where someone makes it a rule that mortals can never win.  It was sadly the only Dark Shadows RP on IMVU and to this date, probably the most obnoxious one in existence... at least I hope there’s none worse.

As far as I know they may still be on IMVU with their Dark Shadows RP that somehow is mostly about an Egyptian cult in Collinsport by someone ironically unaware of the Leviathan storyline from the TV show matching up to what she was doing with her Egyptian cult.

[cicidarkarts]

Blood Defied - 13: Anne (& 14 + 15)

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Credence heaved the reins around Ellis’ haunches. Ellis stuck her head high into the air and tapped her front hooves. 

“Been feeling a little cooped up, huh, girl?” asked Credence.

She patted the thestral on the neck then turned to rein Knight, too. Knight nibbled on her winter coat as she ensured everything was taut but comfortable. Jane galloped up to her parents and nuzzled against Ellis. 

“Don't worry,” said Credence when Jane gave her a mournful look. “They'll be back. Besides, you have Uncle Umbra to keep you company. You'll be fine.”

Ashes trotted close behind and nudged Jane's flank to play. Jane gazed at Credence for a moment longer before shaking off and hopping away. Ashes followed, bucking and huffing in excitement. Credence led Knight and Ellis toward the carriage waiting for them by the North gate. As they went, Credence tried to keep any negative thoughts about Ominis and Anne out of her mind. She thought for sure she'd blab and say something humiliating and stupid on the ride there. That's why she brought her enchanted satchel: to ensure she'd have a book to occupy her mind if she needed it.

Sebastian and Ominis waited by the carriage, chatting with the older driver. When Sebastian saw her, he grinned and waved so vigorously that he almost knocked off his patchwork scarf. She and the driver hooked the thestrals up to the cart.

“You did great with that new foal,” said the driver, smiling behind his bushy grey mustache. “She's healthy as any other now.” Credence smiled. “Thanks, it was my pleasure. And Ellis helped, being as patient as she was.” Ellis snorted and lifted her head toward the sky.

Once the thestrals were in place, Sebastian boarded the carriage first. Then Ominis held Credence's waist and helped her on. She took his hand and led him up and onto one of the hay seats. 

“Feldcroft you said?” asked the driver. “Yes!” said Sebastian, bouncing in his seat and beaming like he'd struck oil.

Then they were off through the North gates. Ominis pulled the collar of his dark winter coat a bit higher. It wasn't too cold, but the chill was worse by the speed of the carriage. Still, they all needed a pair of gloves to stay warm, especially given Sebastian gesticulated as he spoke.

“I didn't even tell her you guys are coming,” he said. “She'll be so happy!” “It'll be wonderful to see her again,” said Ominis.

Credence cuddled closer to him. His body blocked the frozen winter wind and his regal black coat had the most pleasing soft tweed texture. She and Sebastian were ever the function over form types, with patchwork jackets. Sebastian's forest green coat looked well-loved from the years, with a few unidentifiable stains dotting the front and a poorly sewn tear running down the side that Sebastian had to constantly stop himself from playing with. Hers had a few rips as well, being a hand me down from Kameron that she refused to sew back up.

While the boys talked about times they had playing and chatting with Anne, and about a place Ominis called The Undercroft, Credence reached into her satchel. She retrieved Dracula by Bram Stoker, a new Gothic horror she'd been wanting to read anyway. It was better than having to see Ominis’ face light up from talk of Anne.

She buried her face in the text and loudly enunciated each word in her head. It took her a few minutes to get through just the first two pages, and she had no idea what she just read. All she remembered was the force of trying to retain the words and her guilt over ignoring Anne-related stories from the boys. She started over, repositioning herself against Ominis to remind herself that, yes, he still had his arm wrapped about her waist.

“Cree!” called Sebastian. “Look!”

She looked up and he was pointing at the sky. At the same time, shadows grazed the carriage. A herd of hippogriffs flew overhead. Her mouth fell open, chest swelling with glee. They were heading into the forest. She put her book down absently to scramble to her feet and watch. Her hands rested upon Ominis’ shoulders as she used him to stay upright. The gorgeous feathers of the hippogriffs glinted in the sunlight. The charcoal grey one gave a cry and a massive flap of his wings.

“He's beautiful,” said Credence. Knight snorted.

One of the feathers floated down. Sebastian aimed his wand. 

“Accio!” The moment the feather was in his hand, he held it out to Credence. “Here, Cree.” “Thank you, Sebastian!”

She took the feather and admired it. She could've kissed him. The feather was long and rigid with dark grey plumage; bits of black and white flecked the barbs and it ended in a shimmery black. It gleamed in the sun.

“This is so gorgeous,” she said. “It's one of the hippogriff's flight feathers! A remex—from his wing. These are exceedingly rare to get a hold of. They don't molt very often. The lower barbs on this feather are so soft and downy, but pretty sparse since this is from his summer plumage. Judging by the damage to the shaft and the vane here, and some missing bits of feather at the top, I’d think he’s the lead stallion, or another strong member of the herd.” “Okay, Ms. Encyclopedia,” said Sebastian.  “I can’t help it, it’s so pretty. I think it could make a really nice quill.” “Quill?” asked Ominis. “Don’t you always use a fountain pen?” “Well sure, but I’d make an exception for this.”

Her grin waned a bit when she saw Ominis’ face stiffen. He didn't seem interested in the feather so she stashed it away and dropped the subject for now. When she cuddled up beside him again, his tense body loosened and he put his arm around her.

Despite that small setback, Credence felt a bit lighter. She engaged in conversation with them and wound up putting Dracula away for now. She laughed when Sebastian reminisced about one of Anne's hijinks. And even though Ominis also laughed, Credence’s spirits were higher than her jealousy.

They soon came upon Feldcroft; a quaint little hamlet, simple in its beauty. Leafless trees abound, encircling the short cobble fences and single-story homes, many of which had gardens out back. The small homes looked rather cozy with their thatched roofs and cottage windows. Some of the houses had plumes of smoke puffing out of their chimneys. 

After the valleys and plains, the hamlet warmed her chilly bones. The people who lived there went about their days. A witch in her back garden swiped her wand through the air, cutting stems of her final harvest of the year and floating the food into her basket. The carriage stopped at the stables where a couple of highland cows snacked on clumps of hay while being milked.

“It's beautiful here,” said Credence. “Very,” said Sebastian as he leapt out of the carriage. “And peaceful,” said Ominis.

When he got out of the carriage, he turned toward her and held out his hand. She took it and hopped out.

“C'mon,” urged Sebastian. “Let's hurry!” “Let me help stable the thestrals first,” said Credence. Sebastian groaned, hands dramatically running down his face as if the thought of waiting had him in great turmoil. “Don't worry, Credence,” said the driver. “I've got them.” “You sure?” she asked.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat and smiling.

She tugged Ominis over to the thestrals and gave Knight and Ellis a pat.

“You guys did great,” she said. “Try to get some rest.” Ellis blew through her nose and Knight just barely missed a goodbye nip.

With a wave to the thestrals, Credence and Ominis followed Sebastian toward his house. It was in the midst of the town, hidden behind a couple of thick evergreens that grew near the town square. A large man had his back to the walkway, crouched and working on the wilting garden. Sebastian paid him no mind as he jogged into the house.

Inside, sitting at the round dining room table, was a woman with her hair in a messy braided bun. She faced away from them, taking deep breaths of some sort of small pouch. Sebastian silently put his finger to his lips at Credence before tip-toeing up behind them. Credence assumed by the twinkle in Sebastian's eyes that this was his sister.

He stayed low behind her and tapped on one of her shoulders. He ducked out of sight before she looked then poked his head above her other shoulder. She smiled when he tapped her again. Just as she turned to look, Sebastian went to her opposite shoulder and was caught in her fake-out. They laughed and Anne shot up to throw her arms around Sebastian's shoulders.

“Seb, you're back!” said Anne. He held her tight. “And I've got great news, too.”

He pulled away and motioned at the door where she and Ominis stood. Anne's freckled face beamed when she saw Ominis. 

“Ominis! I can't believe you're here!” She slammed into him so hard that he grunted like he'd been punched in the gut.  He hugged her. “Glad to be here.” Anne turned her ecstatic sights onto Credence. “And you must be that American I've heard about!” “Yeah, I'm Cre—”

She also grunted hard when Anne smashed their bodies together like sparring graphorns. Anne pulled back and looked her over with sparkling chestnut eyes.

“Oh my God, you're gorgeous! Ominis, you lucky dog!”

Credence tittered, avoiding Anne's gaze and fiddling with her scarf. Her face felt so hot. Before anything else could be exchanged, heavy plodding feet came up the walkway. Ominis, being the one mostly in the door, moved out of the way as the large man from outside entered the house. He was somehow even taller than Sebastian who was already nearly half a head taller than Ominis.

“Ominis,” said the man in a curt greeting. “Afternoon, sir.” “Good to see you again, Sebastian,” said the man.  “Hey, Uncle Solomon.”

Credence shifted and resettled her body. The whole aura of the house tensed up and her muscles went with it. 

“Uncle Solomon!” said Anne. “This is that American Sebastian wrote about!”

Solomon looked Credence over. His harsh brown eyes were softer now. Whether it was a lack of history or her being a woman or something else entirely, she didn't know. But a small smile creased Solomon's rugged skin, wrinkling even behind his black mane of a beard and brow. He held a large hand out to Credence.

“It's good to meet you. I'm Solomon Sallow. My nephew has told us about you.” She took his hand and firmly shook it. “Credence Painter. All good things, I hope.”  “Mostly,” he replied with a deep chuckle. “I hear you've got a witty mouth.” “She's a Ravenclaw,” said Anne, grinning like that made Credence a celebrity. “I'd expect nothing less!” “Anne's always wanted to be a Ravenclaw,” clarified Ominis. “She’s obsessed.” “Oh, stop! I just think they're cool. And so smart!” “Not me,” said Credence. “I'm the dumbest Ravenclaw.”

If Ominis found that funny (which he did, given his ill-suppressed laugh), then Anne thought she was the funniest person alive. Anne cackled so hard that Credence was shocked she didn't pop a blood vessel. Sebastian’s laugh rose with every second Anne carried on.

But that all halted when Anne coughed. Then she hacked and sputtered. She grasped at her stomach and hunched over. Sebastian put his arm around her and led her to a chair as she rode out her coughing fit. Ominis went to her side and rubbed her back as Sebastian ensured she didn't fall over. Solomon retrieved that opened pouch off the kitchen table and wafted the contents under Anne's nose. All the while, Credence stood there, staring and fidgeting. She wasn't sure if she should try to help or just let the others handle it.

“I'm sorry, Anne,” she said. Anne waved at her and tried to smile under her easing coughs. Once she caught her breath, she said, “Don't worry,” in a haggard voice. She sniffled a bit and wiped her messy dark hair off her face.

“All right,” she said, nudging the guys away. “You're crowding me.” Solomon tied the pouch up. “Are you all right?” “I'm fine, Uncle Solomon. Really.”

The room calmed, though the air hung heavy on Credence's chest. She shuffled a little closer to Ominis for comfort as everyone came down from the anxiety and worry. Anne was the first to smile it away. 

“Well, let's not sit around feeling sorry for me! You guys came all the way from Hogwarts to have fun!” Sebastian smiled, small and uneasy. “That's right. Anything you wanna do, Anne.” Anne cupped her chin, letting out a dramatic, “Hmmm.” Then she snapped her fingers in a faux eureka moment. “I know! Let's head out for some fresh air.” Solomon furrowed his brow, ruffling the hair like a dog's hackles. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” “Please?” asked Anne, hands pleadingly together. “Just around the neighborhood for a little while. I think it'll do me some good.”

Solomon eyed Sebastian, which was a little more subtle given he stood next to Anne. But his gaze very obviously turned to Ominis. It seemed Ominis realized eyes were upon him as his hand met Credence's lower back, wand pressing into her skin as he stroked her. With a sigh, Solomon capitulated.

“All right. But don't wander off. Stay in the village.” “Thank you, Uncle Solomon!”

After giving Solomon a hug, Anne snagged her coat off the rack by the door. She led everyone outside into the brisk air. She took a deep breath (well, deep in comparison to some of her other breaths) then shuddered and pulled her coat shut.

“Nippy out here,” she said. “Christmas is around the corner,” said Sebastian as they walked along the path through town. “You'll have to tell me what you want!” Anne whirled around toward Credence. “There's that cute guy in Ravenclaw. Duncan. Maybe Credence could get me a date with him!” Sebastian scoffed dramatically. “That git?” “He's an utter coward,” agreed Ominis. “Afraid of puffskeins, isn't he?” “But he's a weirdo,” said Sebastian. “And Anne loves weirdos.” Anne nudged him, giggling. “Shut up!” “Well,” started Credence, looking more at the ground, “I'm not so good at talking to people so I probably couldn't get you that date.” “Damn.” Anne frowned and slumped, a dramatic gesture that reminded Credence so much of Sebastian. “Cree is a Ravenclaw, Anne,” reminded Sebastian. “That means she's good with books, not people.” “I can't even be mad,” said Credence. “I was just reading on the way here.” Anne perked up. “What were you reading?” “A book that just came out this year. Dracula. My mom got it for me—” “Wait, a muggle book?” Anne's lips pulled into a huge grin.  “Yeah, it's a muggle book.” “She has loads of them,” said Ominis.  Anne bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Really!?” “I've got Sherlock Holmes, The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, Frankenstein, Moby—” Anne moved closer to her, eyes shimmering. “That's so cool! What are they like?” “Um… Well, they're a lot of Gothic horror and mystery. Maybe I can let you borrow one sometime and you can see—” Anne gasped with glee. “You'd really do that for me!? Thank you, Credence!”

As they continued walking and Credence went to wave at the thestrals, she realized they were heading quite a ways off from the center of town. Ominis picked up on this, too. 

“Just around the neighborhood, huh?” he said. Anne smirked at him. “I never specified what that meant.”

Sebastian's smirk grew as well. Side by side, the twins looked near identical.

“You sure that's a good idea?” asked Ominis.  “Oh, come off it, Dad,” scoffed Anne, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. “Haven't goblins been taking up residence in that old fort nearby? I'm sure there will be—” “I've been wanting to go down to the beach for ages,” complained Anne. “Now's my only chance.” “Hell yes, let's go!” said Sebastian.

Credence shook her head as the twins hurried off down the path leading away from the village. They giggled together like mischievous school children. Ominis held her hand tighter.

“They're both idiots,” he said as they followed after them. “I can't really blame her. I mean, being cooped up all the time doesn't seem her style.” “No, it isn't. And I wouldn't mind letting her loose. I'm not afraid of goblins; I'm sure we could handle them. But Solomon already doesn't like me much. Imagine what he'll think when he realizes Anne wandered off only after I stopped by for a visit. And if things go south…” “Why doesn't he like you?” “He's an ex-Auror. He's dealt with many a dark wizard over the years, including some Gaunts. Aurors are pretty black-and-white. They see a pattern and think every one of us is like that. Doesn't matter what we tell him or what I do. I'll always be a potential criminal to him.” She put her head on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Ominis. Maybe we'll get out of this unscathed.” “With those two at the helm? I doubt it.”

They caught up to the twins who waited for them at the fork in the road. The hilly landscape dipped down between two cliffs, where the yellowed grassy pathway disappeared under piles of slippery leaves. They traveled down the valley. Anne took a running start and slid along the leaves, shouting in joy as she did. Sebastian followed suit, sliding just a bit less than Anne. Ominis rolled his eyes as they encouraged him and Credence to try. 

Credence bit her lip. She eyed up the leaf piles, trying to decide which looked the slickest and fullest. One pile had mushy bits of blackened leaves all throughout it. A rock sat before it—not too tall and at just the perfect angle. She took a breath and ran toward it. One foot bounded off the rock for extra height and she hit the leaf pile at the wettest spot. Underneath it must've been a layer of ice as it sent her flying down the pathway. 

“Woo!” shouted Anne. “Go, Credence!”

Credence stopped not long after and turned to the others. They were a couple of yards away. Anne backed up and tried her technique. She jumped a little too far, though, and hit the less slippery half of the pile. Still, she beamed and laughed as she rode it out. 

“You girls are crazy,” said Sebastian. “Thank you,” said Anne with a sarcastic curtsy.

Within a few more steps, the group came upon a sandy beach. Parts of the shore were lined with short grey rocks where the waves deposited seaweed and shells between them. Anne was the first to climb upon the rocks and look in between them. Credence was going to rejoin Ominis for a walk along the beach, but he went with Anne to find whatever they could in the crevices.

Credence looked away, instead focusing on the long beach that stretched down the horizon. Some spaces opened to the ocean, inviting her to sit near the calm ebb and flow of the tide. 

“Look!” called Anne. “A cute little hermit crab!” “Don't let Cree see it,” said Sebastian. “She'll be able to tell you its entire life story.” He adopted a higher pitched voice. “Oh dear, there's a small crack in his shell. This is a Crackus Crab, and I'd surmise he's head crab of his little crab kingdom.” Anne cackled. “Haha,” said Credence, “I'll have you know Crackus Crab isn't even a species of hermit crab.”

Anne laughed harder, leaving Ominis to hold the poor hermit crab so she didn't accidentally crush it.

Credence smiled uneasily as she strolled down the beach. She knelt out of reach of the tide, the sand beneath her dry and soft, and watched the waves. The brine in the air encouraged her to breathe deeply. Despite the sunny sky, things looked dark to her. Grey. Eerie. She couldn't put her finger on why, though. Was it just Anne and Ominis laughing together? Standing so close, talking softly to one another. She didn't want to think she was that petty or jealous.

Sebastian sat beside her. “You all right?” She stole a glance at Ominis and Anne again—so brief she hardly noticed she’d done it. Then she stared out across the water. “I’m okay.”

She watched Sebastian out of the corner of her eye. He observed her, then looked toward Ominis and Anne. He smiled and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “Worry? About what?” she asked, gripping her arm. He nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, don’t even pretend. You’re jealous. But you shouldn’t be. Ominis and Anne are just friends.” “I mean, I know.” She hunched down. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it?” “It’s not stupid. You think Ominis never gets jealous over us?”

Her eyes shot toward him, prying his expression for signs he was kidding. But his gentle chestnut eyes gazed at her, as earnest as his smile.

“Really?” she asked. “Yes, really, you big nob. I think he got a little jealous over that feather thing. I wasn't trying to upset him.” She squirmed, remembering Ominis’ soured expression. “Oh. I wasn't sure if—... I didn't mean to upset him, either. Great, now I feel extra stupid.” Sebastian gripped her shoulder. “Don't. I'm the one who started it anyway. But just like how there's nothing going on between us, there's nothing going on between them, either. Ominis has been like part of our family for years now, since he doesn’t feel like he has a real family. Besides, Anne is downright terrified of the Gaunts. She'd never tell Ominis, though.” “I won't tell him that,” said Credence.  His hand squeezed her shoulder again, that gentle grin not leaving his face. “Anne thinks you're brilliant for not letting the Gaunts scare you.”

The heat rose to Credence's cheeks. She looked down at the sand and smiled, immersing herself in the golden rocks while she mulled over Sebastian’s words. If nothing else, Credence tried to take solace in knowing Ominis had people who cared about him. Especially someone as peppy and affectionate as Anne.

Sebastian's grip on her shoulder suddenly stiffened. She looked toward him. Before she could ask what was wrong, a chill shuddered up her spine. Ominis stood taller upon the rocks, his wand already out. Anne put the hermit crab in the safety of the rocks before she stood to attention, too. 

“Well, well,” came a thickly accented voice. 

Several smoky shadows burst to life on the beach. Within each, a stout goblin in spiked armor appeared. Their cold eyes and bared jagged teeth made Credence's stomach lurch. They were out for blood.

Ominis nudged Anne behind him. Credence and Sebastian shot to their feet, hands upon their wands. The dark clad goblins looked them over. That accented voice spoke again from the middle goblin.

“Looks like we got some nosy rotten kids skulkin’ around our beach.” “Your beach?” said Sebastian. “This has been our beach for years. We weren't looking for trouble.” “Ah, but it seems ya've found it anyway, haven't ya?”

Anne groaned in agony and gripped her stomach. Ominis flinched toward her but had to hold his ground and keep his wand ready. The head goblin's lips split into a malicious, jagged grin.

“Ah, I see one among yas has already been infected by one of our curses. A powerful one at that. Poor thing won't last much longer.” “You bastard,” spat Sebastian. “Tell me what you've done to my sister!” “Sentenced her to death.”

Chapter 14: Dragon Attack

“Confringo!”

Sebastian's incantation came out as an enraged growl. The fiery curse exploded between the group of goblins. Two went flying; the other two teleported out of the way. The head goblin rushed at Credence with his sword raised. A swipe caught her automatic Protego, flinging his arm back. 

From the other side, she heard Ominis engaging the other two goblins. His wind charm blasted one of the goblins into the rocky cliffs. Despite Anne's pain, she pushed through and cast a strong Bombarda. Sebastian's Descendo took two goblins to the ground at once. One recovered so fast that he was a blur of dark colors. His sword sliced Sebastian, cutting through his jacket.

Sebastian didn't even wince as blood stained his clothes. He fired back with a blazing Incendio. Credence took aim at the head goblin before he could recover and hit him with an Arresto Momentum. Sebastian threw the other goblin into his leader's frozen body.

Ominis easily deflected one of the swords with his perfect Protego. He used the energy to cast a Stunner at the second, who had gotten a bit too close to Anne. Anne hit the first with a frigid Glacius just as he regained his footing from the Protego knockback.

Credence and the others drew closer, their wands at the ready. The goblins were gritting their teeth and breathing heavily.

“Tell me how to heal Anne,” demanded Sebastian. “Or I swear to God—” “Foolish boy. Even if there was a cure, you think I'd tell you?”

Credence's heart sunk. But Sebastian's fury rose. He fired another Confringo at the goblins. They teleported in a puff of smoke, scattering along the beach. Sebastian followed the head goblin and summoned him forward. The goblin muttered the counterspell and dropped to the ground.

Credence cast Levioso on her opponent, watching Ominis and Anne from the corner of her vision. One of their goblin opponents teleported behind Ominis. The other was already taking aim. Ominis wouldn't be able to turn in time. The goblin behind him raised his sword. Credence launched her opponent at him. Both goblins hit the ocean, dropping beneath the waves in a large splash.

The leader reached into his pocket and produced a small, black whistle with a row of ridges down its back. Sebastian took aim as the goblin blew the whistle. The piercing screech that filled the air was stopped short by Sebastian's slicing attack. The goblin staggered upon his feet, huffing and panting. His cold eyes met Sebastian's.

“Good luck. You'll need it.”

With that, four plumes of smoke took the goblins away. 

Anne screamed and howled in excruciating pain. She doubled over, clutching her stomach and chest. Ominis held onto her.

“Anne!” He grabbed her shoulders, but then he gazed skyward, his wide eyes wavering in terror. “Something's coming!”

They paused. Credence listened hard but couldn’t hear anything. Ominis tried to drag Anne to her feet and off the rocks.

“We need to get out of here,” said Sebastian.

The moment he took a step, a thunderous clap assaulted Credence’s ears. Then a vicious roar rumbled through the sky. She faced the noise as a shadow engulfed them. An enormous figure blotted out the sun, its wings outstretched. The beast tore toward them with unparalleled speeds. A stream of fire spewed from its maw.

Sebastian and Credence used their Protego to hold the flames off. Lava-like lashes whipped and flickered along the sides of their shield. The heat burned her dominant hand.

“Get Anne out of here!” screamed Sebastian. He struggled against the wall of fire, heels digging into the ground as the force threatened to shove them down.

The shields were at their limit, searing and thick with magic. Not even Protego Maxima could hold the fire back. But when the monster's feet hit the sand and shook the earth beneath them, its flame stopped. The overwhelming power within their shields burst with mighty Stunners. But each bounced off the scales of the ferocious beast like pebbles.

Before them, a black dragon stood poised for attack. It stretched its serpentine neck toward the sky and roared. There was a collar upon it, thick and black like the goblin armor, radiating a sanguine magic. Anne could barely move. Credence heard Ominis urging her to get up, but all Anne could do was cough and moan in agony.

“Bombarda!” called Sebastian, casting at the collar.

Bombarda exploded but neither the collar nor the dragon flinched. It lurched forward, teeth gnashing, jaws snapping. Credence flourished and cast Glacius to freeze the inside of its mouth. It flinched back, pawing at its face with a gigantic wing. At the same time, it swung its tail like a battering ram.

Sebastian snagged Credence around the back of the neck and took her to the ground. The tail boomed overhead like a gunshot and a rush of air forced them deeper into the sand. The dragon whirled around, sloshing through the water. It stopped, eyes upon Anne as Ominis finally got her to her feet. When it saw Anne, it scrambled toward her, screeching and snarling.

“No!” cried Sebastian. He swiped his wand through the air and cast, “Diffindo!”

Three slashes raced toward the dragon and clawed at its sensitive wing. But it barely slowed down. 

Credence and Ominis cried, “Confringo!”

Ominis’ hit the dragon in the throat and hers hit just under the wing. It was enough to make the dragon recoil and stagger. Sebastian rushed to Anne. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her toward the valley leading back to town.

The dragon swiped a massive wing at them. Ominis was knocked face-first into the sand with a loud thud. Sebastian shoved Anne out of the way. The wing connected with his torso, sending him flying into the cliff. He gripped the bloody slash mark on his stomach as more blood spewed across his hand. He grit his teeth and failed to swallow down an agonized moan.

Credence tried to use something— anything! But all of her attacks were useless: Confringo, Depulso, even Galinn Glacius did nothing to stop the dragon. It still stared at Anne, bloodlust filling its gaze, set upon her like a rabid beast. Sebastian and Ominis had gotten to their feet. Their spells exploded off the dragon’s scales, doing nothing but infuriating it.

The dragon reared back, gulping down air, preparing to erupt once again. Sebastian stood with his wand raised against the unstoppable beast. Ominis stayed in front of Anne, protecting her as she coughed and sputtered and cried in pain upon the ground. Neither of them were a match for a dragon but both stood strong, ready to face death.

Credence knew there was one thing she hadn't tried yet. One thing that would work, that could save her bleeding and battered friends. Her racing heart slowed as she prepared her transfiguration. She wouldn't let them die, even if that meant they would see her as the monster she is.

In the blink of an eye, her body contorted and twisted—elongating, growing. She hissed at the dragon who halted its attack. The gem on her head flashed, entrancing the beast. She swayed, leading it toward her while her coils tugged her friends together. Her body protected them, pushing against their clothes and skin, Sebastian's blood trickling down her scales. Anne called her name, weak and frail between coughs. Credence nudged them toward the path.

“Run!” she hissed. “Credence…?” said Sebastian, a shock and muteness in his voice like she'd never heard from him.  “Run!” Ominis reiterated. “She wants us to run!”

Just as they made a break for it, the dragon snapped out of its momentary trance. When its eyes locked onto her friends, Credence lunged for its throat. Its long neck slithered out of the way. Needle-like teeth jabbed into the back of her neck. She couldn't hold onto her hissing yelp of pain.

She looked to Ominis and the others, ensuring they were out of the way. Sebastian was dragging Ominis up the valley. Their faces were contorted in fear—pale, clenched teeth, wide and glossy eyes. Fear directed at the dragon, not at her, unlike—

Her mind's eye flashed Anaba's wide, horrified stare; gazing as though she were a great evil prepared to kill in an instant. Those striking hazel eyes filled with terror churned her stomach. But that was not Ominis; not Sebastian nor Anne.

Credence wrapped her coils around the dragon and squeezed as hard as she could. Spines dug into her stomach. With a crack, the beast let her go. She whirled her head around and snagged the dragon's wing in her mouth. Her fangs tore through its hard scales and she forced acrid venom into the limb.

The dragon ripped at her with its back claws, slicing open her flesh. She fell, briefly bashing into the sand before shooting back up. The dragon seemed hellbent on attacking her friends—on going after Anne and the familiar dark magic within her. It staggered up the path, scraping its useless wing along the ground. 

Credence struck at its back but her teeth couldn't penetrate. The dragon's tail whipped her face. She snagged it in her mouth and bit down, injecting more venom. Flames inundated her as the dragon tried to free itself. Her magic-resistant scales shielded her from the intense heat, making it feel like the Wyoming summer sun bore down on her. 

“Credence!” Anaba called, smiling bright in her mind. “You're a muggle-born? That's so awesome, so am I!”

Then another memory assaulted her, filling her ears with a young Anaba's sobs. A white boy stood over her, mocking her for being lowbred, a muggle spawn, a mistake, an Indian.

Credence stepped in even then, as her child voice yelled, “Leave her alone!”

Anaba gave as good as she got, defending Credence against prejudiced attacks. “An eye for an eye,” she’d teased, her brilliant smile gleaming. “We get enough crap in the muggle world, don't you think?”

Credence pinned the dragon to the cliffside with her horns and it thrashed and snapped at them. One solid kick threw Credence into the ocean waters, splashing the salty water up the shoreline, dyeing the sand crimson.

The dragon rushed up the path, carving through dirt and rocks in its clumsy wake, that wing and tail dragging heavy behind. Credence slithered after it, shooting streams of venom at the beast. It didn't slow it down. The venom that lay upon its back couldn't get through those tough, keeled scales.

It was going to reach Feldcroft soon. Credence  darted toward it, charging with speeds that burned her unblinking eyes. She latched onto the dragon's throat. It roared skyward as a coppery flavor seeped into Credence’s mouth. Spells were shot in their direction, hitting the dragon and her as she instinctively coiled around it to squeeze out its life. Fire and ice and lightning seared her flesh. She injected venom into the dragon. It retaliated by whirling its serpentine neck around and clamping down on her chest. Its fangs pierced deep into her sensitive underbelly.

She cried out, releasing the dragon and trying to tear away from the assault. But the dragon had her tight. With half of its body useless, it refused to relinquish its only method of defense. Spells peppered her body in tandem, blasting her underbelly and sending shocks of pain throughout her. 

“Don't hurt her!” Anne's distant voice screamed through terror and tears. “Confringo!” came both of the boys’ attacks.

They hit the dragon in the face, one fiery explosion in each eye. It released her. Blood cascaded down her chest, hot and wet, thick as it spattered the ground. So many punctures leaked down her front. She writhed and her coils unraveled from the dragon's collapsing body. Her muscles gave out. Frigid wind rushed past her head as she fell backwards. She couldn't move, couldn't stop her descent.

She hit a body of water, then a gravely bottom. Pond water streaked skywards. As her animagus form failed her, transfiguring her back to small human Credence, the icy water fell upon her in heavy raindrops. It covered her up to the ears, dulling the sounds of the dragon being subdued by the town.

Through the ice, Credence felt something hot burning her flesh. Her chest and stomach were on fire. A trembling, heavy hand reached for her wounds, dousing her frozen fingers in boiling hot liquid. Her heart was so tired it couldn't react when she saw her pale hand dripping crimson.

She was going to die. Whether it was true or not, her mind resigned her to it. She would die here in this pond. But at least her friends were safe. At least Ominis was safe. Thudding footsteps reached her muffled ears.

“Credence!” called Ominis’ voice. The sound graced her ears and flooded her with ecstasy.

Water sloshed as he ran up to her. He drenched his knees when he knelt beside her. She could barely see his face, blurry eyes struggling to make sense of blonde, peach, and striking blue. She focused on the dark brown beauty marks flecking his face, allowing his bleary features to come into view.

“Credence, oh my God,” he called, voice shaking and body trembling. 

His hand touched her chest, then he ripped it away. As his face came into focus, she saw the color leave his cheeks. Her blood dripped off his hand. His blue eyes were wide in panic. He grabbed her again, lifting her head from the frozen pond.

“Ominis,” she groaned, weak and dull. “I'm so glad you're here.” “Y-you're going to be okay,” he said desperately, quivering and sweating.

She tried to take in all the details of his face. Time stopped for her, allowing her to absorb him—his thick brow, his incredible jawline, his high cheekbones. She counted his beauty marks and admired his pink lips. He was so regal. Credence thought back to his stunning smiles, his quick wit, his gentle touches. She longed to marvel at his kindness and his soft-spoken voice, and treasure him for the rest of her life. She reached up with her leaden, exhausted hand. Her fingers touched his clammy face, hot in comparison to her frozen body.

“You're the most gorgeous man I've ever met,” she said. His hand laid upon hers, fingers grasping her and keeping her close. “Credence. I won't let you die. Please. Please—”

She didn't hear him anymore. His lips kept moving but no sound reached her ears. Everything was so cold. Her vision went black.

Chapter 15: Anaba

“Leave her alone!”

Credence put herself between the young boy and the girl crying on the floor. He sneered at her, blue eyes darkening.

“Mind your business, muggle spawn,” he said. “This is my business.” “Okay,” said the boy, sneer turning upwards into a malicious smile. “Let's make it your business, then.”

He had Credence by the shirt, battering her with his fist. When she hit the ground, heavy hits bashed her stomach and chest. Rather than clutch her wounds, she grabbed onto his foot and shoved it into the air. He staggered and thudded against the ground. She clambered on top of him, adrenaline surging, numbing her to pain. She sat on him and punched him in the face, staining her knuckles and his sandy blonde hair with blood. Other kids yanked her off; little shouting voices threw the entire scene into chaos. But it all stopped when she turned back to check on the bullied girl.

The girl stifled her tears as Credence held her hand out to help. Striking hazel eyes met her gaze, sending a shudder down Credence’s spine. Younger Anaba flickered into the older version of herself as she stood upright, her hand clasped with Credence’s. Dirt and blood caked older Anaba's dull, muted face. Younger Anaba took her place, smiling through bloodshot vision.

“We have to stick together,” said Anaba. 

Weakness overcame Credence’s legs. She fell back into her chair after a long day of studies. She'd be going home soon, but Anaba had something special planned. Another little girl kept making fun of Credence for being muggle-born and Anaba wasn’t going to let it slide.

“See, we just hide this in her desk,” said Anaba, grinning as she held a rancid bag. “And— BOOM! It’ll explode once she lifts the lid!” “Anaba,” said Credence, smiling. Her voice wasn't that of her child self. The mature tone was her present day voice. “I’ve always admired your penchant for trouble.” Little Anaba beamed.

Credence studied enchantments as they were the most useful for pranks, but also for helping animals. Enchanting packs to catch injured animals, enchanting reins to make them easier to pull, enchanting lighter luggage for beasts of burden in the muggle world…

Anaba hissed, “C'mon, Red Cloud! We don’t have time to make the damn thing more comfortable!” “I'm almost done!” Credence snapped back.

Darkness consumed the road. The cart was going to take off any moment. But Credence couldn’t just leave the donkey languishing. His fur was supposed to be white, but years of toil had yellowed him. Muck and mire stuck to his hooves. He watched them with murky, despondent eyes.

Credence swept her wand along the cart's haul, enchanting the load to be featherlight. Anaba had transfigured the ropes into rotted rubber bands. Any turbulence down the road would snap the bands, then the crates of weapons would rise into the air from Credence’s hover charm. They hoped the weapons would be lost forever.

A light beamed down as a man rounded on Credence and Anaba. “Hey!”

Anaba darted, screaming for them to run. Credence shot up to follow but something dragged her to the ground. Her limbs moved like they were weighed down in sludge. The more she struggled, the more her lungs constricted and the less her body cooperated. Anaba kept running, not looking back even as Credence reached out for her, calling her name. Credence’s voice was muffled. She strained and screamed and her throat tightened with great effort, but the sound refused to come out.

The light grew, burning at her flesh, the lantern hot and flickering. As she fell face first in dirt, the ground faded, leaving only a fiery red. In the distance, she heard Anaba’s voice.

“Credence, we should become animagi! I’ve been reading about it. They’ll never catch us then!” Her own disembodied voice answered. “I don’t know about this, Anaba.”

The spot-light beneath her opened up, revealing a chaotic scene. Men pummeled and beat each other, smoke coiled from gun barrels, arrows tore by. Dead men slumped all along the crimson-drenched ground, grasses dead and yellow beneath, malnourished with their blood. Credence watched from above, unnoticed, floating like a specter. When her eyes gazed upon a man, something quickly struck him down. An arrow through the chest. A knife to the back. A rock to the head. She slammed shut her eyes, praying it would end.

“We have to do something!” said Anaba from behind.

She whirled around, facing Anaba in the darkness. When she blinked, she found herself sitting upon her dormitory bed with teen Anaba in front of her. Everything was dark and peaceful. The full moon shone through her window, illuminating the mandrake leaves in their hands. Anaba’s striking hazel eyes and hopeful smile melted away her previous memories. They locked arms.

“Bottoms up,” they said.

The stiff foliage crumpled the moment it hit her tongue, suddenly bitter and decomposing. Her throat convulsed and her stomach writhed. When she swallowed the oozing wet decay, acrid waters ran down her throat, filling her stomach like a hot knife. She winced and clamped her eyes shut. When she tried to yelp, what came out was a loud, cutting hiss.

She opened her eyes again, several stories in the air now, looking down at her dull green and yellow scales. Anaba’s golden eagle form stood before her. Small. Helpless. Weak. If she bent down to swipe the bird into her mouth—

“Credence…”

Kameron’s voice called. She froze. Everything else around her faded, forcing her to turn and face him. She gaped down at his haggard form—dirt caked his strawberry-blonde hair and black circles bagged his murky, despondent eyes. He stared back at her.

“Why couldn’t you help me?” he asked. “Do you want Dad to have died for nothing?” Her weak voice muttered, “No.” “Then get out of my way, Credence.”

Out of nowhere, his body jerked forward. A spear jutted from between his ribs. He fell back, driving the spear deeper. Around her, men from the battlefields attacked, beating her thick scales, stabbing her in vain. Some spells exploded off her armor. But she felt none of it. Kameron’s face burrowed into her mind, dead eyes staring up at the sky. The man she’d killed took Kameron’s place, his black horse galloping away from the scene.

When the horse whinnied, it heralded a blinding spell. She hissed in distress, head straining as the light burned at her unblinking eyes. She needed to close them. She needed to blink. Her stiff eyes refused and that horrid light poured into them. She pulled and tensed and thrashed.

Her eyes shut. When she opened them, that light was still there; not quite as blinding, but pale and overwhelming.

She took a step forward. Then another and another as she hurried through this tunnel. Things around her faded into view, building up until her school hallway was before her. She recognized the classroom of her old Alchemy teacher as she passed its open door. Faceless teenagers wandered around her, some whose voices she recognized, many as strangers. She paused. Down the way, through the crowd, Anaba watched her. She motioned with her head for Credence to follow.

Credence sped up. As she drew nearer, Anaba walked out of sight. Credence darted around the corner, gripping her book—she remembered as Carmilla—under her arm. Anaba disappeared beyond another corner and Credence chased after.

Anaba broke out into the courtyard, walking but somehow still faster than Credence could jog. The sunlight lay heavily upon the grounds, blotting out most of the forest and the wildflowers around them. Credence’s footfalls tapped along the flagstone that surrounded the large tree in the center. Anaba slid onto the cobble wall that encircled the tree. Credence caught up and sat beside her.

“Anaba,” she said, “I’m so sorry about what happened, the—the war was right in my backyard, I didn’t know what to—”

Anaba threw her arms around Credence. Her body shuddered as she drew Credence in close. She was so warm, so soft.

“Credence,” she whimpered. “You idiot, I’m glad you made it out of there alive. When I heard what happened, I was terrified that you were gone.”

Credence returned her embrace and the book fell forgotten to the ground. It had been so long since Anaba last showed her any affection that she held Anaba for as long as allowed. Anaba’s dark hair tickled her face. She grinned, bigger and bigger.

When she pulled back, Credence observed Anaba’s glistening eyes. She admired them, tearful as she gazed at Anaba’s small smile. Credence focused on her lips. The sunlight grew brighter, blocking out everything else. This girl who had both caused great joy and great hurt. This girl with her striking hazel eyes.

Credence pressed their lips together. Her heart raced, her eyes slammed tight as she prayed that Anaba would return her affection. In those moments, with Anaba’s lips upon her own, sweet and inviting, she felt a peace that had evaded her ever since war spilled onto their laps.

Anaba tore away and shoved Credence, who staggered to keep her balance—heart sinking and adrenaline pulsing. Anaba stood before her with her face contorted in revulsion.

“Credence!” she snapped. “I-I’m sorry, Anaba, I thought—” “You thought wrong! Don’t you realize what you are?” spat Anaba, standing as the only color amid all the blinding pale nothing. “You're a bad omen, a harbinger of death. Did you actually think—” Her visage flickered to Ominis with his familiar, gentle voice. “—I’d want anything to do with you? You’d break every part of me. You’d poison me.”

Their features flicked rapidly back and forth, dizzying and disorienting, voices a cacophony. Her head spun as they drowned her in the very venom that gushed upon her own tongue. “Just leave me alone, Credence. I don’t want you around. I hate you. You’re a monster, you’re disgusting, you're worthless, you’re stupid—”

Their repulsed faces returned to Anaba, scowling and horrified by her. “And you mean nothing to me.”

Credence reached out to her. Anaba’s unmoving form withdrew, farther and farther into the pale light. Hot tears streaked down Credence’s face. She desperately tried to imagine Anaba taking her hands.

But Anaba’s distance grew. She imagined Anaba returning to her. Credence longed to feel her warmth, her comforting arms.

But Anaba’s distance grew. She imagined Anaba holding her close and stroking her hair. Credence collapsed to her knees as she cried and begged and pleaded until her throat strained.

But Anaba’s distance grew.

Credence’s eyes shot open. Flickering candlelight kept the dark room shrouded in swirling shadows. She still saw Anaba, that scowl, her awful words that should've never come from such a beautiful voice. Her eyes burned with tears that she pushed away. She tried to remember where she was, what happened—anything.

Right… They went to visit Anne. Then those goblins attacked them on the beach. Then… Then…

She turned her head to figure out where she was. The slight rustling of sheets made Ominis jerk to attention. He sat upon a chair beside her. His head had been drooping with exhaustion before she’d moved and stirred him. He blinked away his sleep and sat upright, listening intently. Credence figured she must’ve been out for a while, fidgeting and twitching to the point he wasn’t sure if she was actually awake or still dreaming.

When she saw his face, a flash of his wide, panicked eyes hit her, skin pale with fear, melding with the grey skies in the background. Sanguine dripped harsh upon his hand. But it was only a flash.

“Ominis?” she asked, throat rasping.

He got to his feet so fast that his chair nearly fell over. He hurried toward the bed and leaned over her, a hand grasping for hers.

“Credence,” he said, breathless, groping the sheets for her hand. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake, darling.” She took his hand. “Where am I?” “We’re in Solomon’s house in Sebastian’s room.” His fingers trailed up her arm. He caressed her cheek and spoke softly. “How are you feeling?” “Exhausted.” When she tried to move, pain radiated along her torso like hot daggers under her flesh. She had no strength to push down her agonized moan. “Don’t move, darling,” he said quickly. “Please. Just try to relax. The healer says you’ll be okay if you rest.”

She had to force her balled fists to release her bedsheets. Her heart pounded from the intense reminder that she had indeed fought a dragon. And everyone had seen her animagus form. Her breaths came in quivering bursts.

“Don’t you realize—?”

Anaba’s voice faded just as fast. Her real memories haunted her now, though. “If you knew about that thing you are.” She reached out to Ominis, holding his face. His skin grounded her and took Anaba’s words away from her mind. He leaned into her touch and held her hand.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “I don’t want you to leave,” she said pathetically, fighting against her desiccated throat. “Please don’t leave.” His brow knitted and he bent down to nuzzle her cheek. “Everything’s okay, Cree. I'm not going to leave you.” “They hate me,” she whimpered, holding him and pushing through the pain it caused. “I’m a monster, they all saw it.” “That’s not true. No one hates you; certainly neither Anne nor Sebastian. Try to calm down, my love, I’m here with you.”

Her shuddering body tried to bask in his warmth. He kept himself off her, his hands upon the mattress, but she tugged him down harder. He put his arms around her, knees against the side of the mattress, and avoiding her stomach where he could. His weight upon her wounds made her want to cry out but she couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go.

She shivered, freezing cold from the winter chill that crept into Solomon’s cottage. Her throat stuck together. She tried to swallow but had nothing. He pulled back enough to kiss her cheek. 

“Would you like me to get you anything?” he asked again. “At least a glass of water.” 

Her arms had him held tight. But his weight pressing on her wounds knotted her stomach. Quivering, she slowly released him.

“Okay,” she said. “Don't worry.” He stroked her cheek and smiled. “I'll be right back.”

She stared as he moved away from her. Her heart raced again. When he turned his back on her, she thought the illness burning her stomach was going to come up. Every step felt like the ticking of a timer. Ten, nine, eight— Her fear rose, dreading what would happen when he reached zero. Tears trickled along her temple as she watched. 

Five, four— His hand was on the door. He turned the knob and the mechanisms clicked like the cocking of a gun. 

“Anaba,” she muttered, breathing heavily.  Ominis stopped. “I didn’t mean to. Please don't go,” she muttered more. “No.” “Cree,” he called softly.

“You're a bad omen, a harbinger of death,” said Anaba from somewhere in her panicking mind. “Do not—tell—anyone!"

No amount of breaths reached her lungs. They constricted harder and harder. The room spun. She reached out to Ominis, pain searing her guts. Both his and Anaba’s voices clanged in her head.

“Just leave me alone, Credence. I don’t want you around. I hate you.”

“Ominis!” she begged. “Please don’t go! I’m sorry!”

She threw herself over the edge of the bed, trying to reach him before he walked out and never came back. He caught her before she fell, clumsy and uncertain, her face in his arm, but caught her nonetheless. She moaned in pain and heaved for air as he got her back into her bed. Tears streamed down her face as she quivered and shook.

The door burst open.

“What’s happening in here?” came Sebastian’s sleep-filled voice. “Credence,” Ominis said, running his hands along her arms. She only then noticed how cold her flesh had become. “I'm here. I'm not going to leave you.”

She tried to speak but found her body could only tremble. Her mind couldn't form a coherent thought. Everything was interrupted by dreamstate Anaba, made worse when she transformed into Ominis. Those words from his voice stabbed her nauseated guts over and over. She stared into his pale eyes, trying to see the real him rather than his venom-spitting counterpart.

“You're worthless to me,” rang his voice in her mind. 

But the real Ominis in front of her stayed true to himself: knitted brow that showed his concern, hands holding her bare arms, and eyes that showed confusion yet understanding. She'd always admired his perception and compassion.

“Is everything okay in here?” Sebastian asked, voice thick with sleep.  “Would you get us some water, please?” Ominis asked. “Sure.”

“Are you okay, Cree?” “I… I think. I didn't mean to—...” “Don't worry about it,” he said, a tender smile pushing through his worry. “You're safe now.”

She leaned into him, desperate for his warmth and scent—her quivering body's only salvation. No other words could pass her lips as her stomach roiled with nausea. Ominis sat in bed beside her, never straying for the rest of the night.

[nonchalantnightowlsworld]

31 prompts for October:Horror

Day 31: Halloween

The Trick or Treaters

It was Halloween night and the streets were filled with children in costumes, going from house to house to collect candy. Among them were four friends: Jake, Mia, Sam and Lily. They had decided to go trick or treating in the old neighborhood, where the houses were bigger and the candy was better.

They knocked on the door of a large mansion, decorated with cobwebs, pumpkins and skeletons. A man opened the door, wearing a black cloak and a mask that looked like a skull. He smiled and said, “Welcome, welcome. I have a special treat for you. Come in, come in.”

The four friends hesitated, but their curiosity got the better of them. They followed the man into the mansion, which was dark and spooky. The man led them to a room with a large table, covered with bowls of candy. He said, “Help yourselves, my children. Take as much as you want.”

The four friends grabbed handfuls of candy and stuffed them into their bags. They thanked the man and turned to leave, but he stopped them. He said, “Wait, wait. There is one more thing. You have to play a game with me. A game of life and death.”

The four friends looked at each other nervously. They asked, “What kind of game?”

The man said, “A simple game. I will ask you each a question. If you answer correctly, you can go. If you answer wrong, you will die.”

The four friends gasped. They tried to run, but the door was locked. The man laughed and said, “Don’t be afraid. It will be fun. Let’s start with you, Jake.”

He pointed at Jake, who was dressed as a pirate. He asked, “What is the name of the pirate who buried his treasure on an island in the Caribbean?”

Jake thought hard. He said, “Is it… Blackbeard?”

The man shook his head. He said, “Wrong. The correct answer is Captain Kidd. Sorry, Jake.”

He pressed a button and a trapdoor opened under Jake’s feet. Jake screamed as he fell into a pit of spikes.

The man said, “Next, Mia.”

He pointed at Mia, who was dressed as a witch. He asked, “What is the name of the witch who was burned at the stake in Salem in 1692?”

Mia shivered. She said, “Is it… Tituba?”

The man nodded. He said, “Correct. You can go.”

He pressed another button and the door unlocked. Mia ran out of the room, crying.

The man said, “Next, Sam.”

He pointed at Sam, who was dressed as a vampire. He asked, “What is the name of the vampire who wrote a famous novel about his life in 1897?”

Sam gulped. He said, “Is it… Dracula?”

The man smiled. He said, “Wrong. The correct answer is Bram Stoker. Sorry, Sam.”

He pressed another button and a blade swung down from the ceiling. Sam ducked, but it was too late. The blade sliced his head off.

The man said, “Next, Lily.”

He pointed at Lily, who was dressed as a fairy. He asked, “What is the name of the fairy who grants wishes to children in Neverland?”

Lily trembled. She said, “Is it… Tinkerbell?”

The man clapped his hands. He said, “Correct! You can go.”

He pressed another button and the door unlocked again. Lily ran out of the room, sobbing.

The man said, “Well done, Lily. You are very smart.”

He followed her out of the room and closed the door behind him.

He said to himself,

“I love Halloween.”

[fearsmagazine]

KNOCK AT THE CABIN - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Universal Pictures

SYNOPSIS:  While vacationing at a remote cabin, a young girl and her parents are taken hostage by four armed strangers who demand that the family make an unthinkable choice to avert the apocalypse. With limited access to the outside world, the family must decide what they believe before all is lost.

REVIEW: Paul Tremblay’s Horror Writers Association's Bram Stoker Award for Novel “The Cabin at the End of the World” is the perfect source material for a M. Night Shyamalan film. The adaptation boil’s down the 304 page story into a 100 minute film that maintains many of the elements that made the novel an excellent read.

The screenplay is a collaboration between Shyamalan, Steve Desmond, and Michael Sherman. The background to the family (Andrew, Eric and Wren) are told through a series of flashbacks. In contrast, we learn about the four strangers from what they tell the family. The format allows the viewer to empathize for the family while creating an air of mystery and suspense about the strangers. Andrew and Eric are very different people. I think the flashbacks give the fewer a clearer sense of who Andrew is, while getting a vague sense of who Eric is. Likewise, we are presented with fragments of Wren's story in the flashbacks, all of which presents a modern family we can empathize with. I felt the writers did a solid job of staying true to the novel as they picked up the pacing to deliver a tense and compelling story. The film’s biggest deviation is in the second day and the climax. The restructuring feels more like a Shyamalan film, more optimistic than Tremblay’s novel, and possibly a result of his maturity and fatherhood. Given the different paths the film and the novel take I appreciate both given the different story structures.

The film has a wonderful ensemble cast. Jonathan Groff and Ben Aldridge are convincing as the gay couple caught in this nightmare. Groff is exceptionally convincing as the victimized lawyer who is driven by his anger. Kristen Cui is charming as Wren. She presents this childhood innocence but presents this “wise beyond her years” look in her eyes. The actors who play the four strangers are fascinating as you can feel that they are these normal people who are driven by their visions, but are not selfless. They are horrified by what will happen if they are unable to convince Eric or Andrew to surrender their life to save the world. It’s a very different role for  Dave Bautista as Leonard and he does a fantastic job with it. He presents this gentle giant who is uncomfortable with what he has to do. He adds credibility to the character that demonstrates the diversity of his range.

Shyamalan brings a style and tone to the film that is reminiscent of his work we’ve seen in films like “The Sixth Sense,” “The Happening,” and “The Visit.” The film’s pacing and style begins with a sense of childhood wonder and evolves into darker territory as it maintains that “Twilight Zone” feel. The editing creates a nice pace, the flashbacks slow it down a bit, but it picks back up again when returned to the present. Given the themes of the film I appreciated how he chose to shoot the more violent moments and not show the gore. He’s a master of creating tension and terror, as he is at keeping you guessing to what is coming right up to when the credits roll.

At the end of the screening I attended  someone said to their friend, “And now you don’t need to read the book.” I beg to differ. A movie is not a novel and vice versa. There is a point where the film diverges from the novel and becomes Shyamalan’s film. I believe each raises different questions and concerns, and both deserve their own encounter. I do believe that a film based on source material needs to instill in the viewer the curiosity to seek it out. Even if they go to a bookshop, read the dust jacket, maybe a few pages, and decide to buy or not buy it, then it's done its job. After All there must be something about the material that inspired the filmmaker to adapt it. KNOCK AT THE CABIN is a well crafted, thought provoking adaptation of the novel. But different in the storytellers’ resolution.

Lastly, and I apologize as it is just my pet peeve, Shyamalan does his Hitchcock thing and makes a cameo in the film. If you don’t know what he looks like you will not notice, but if you do you might find it as distracting as I do. It’s not as intrusive as it is in some of his other films, but it just pulls me out of the film.

CAST: Dave Bautista, Jonathan Groff, Ben Aldridge, Nikki Amuka-Bird, Rupert Grint, Abby Quinn, and Kristen Cui. CREW: Director/Screenplay/Producer - M. Night Shyamalan; Screenplay - Steve Desmond & Michael Sherman; Based on the book "The Cabin at the End of the World" by Paul Tremblay; Producers - Marc Bienstock & Ashwin Rajan; Cinematographers - Jarin Blaschke & Lowell A. Meyer; Score - Herdís Stefánsdóttir; Editor - Noemi Katharina Preiswerk; Production Designer - Naaman Marshall; Costume Designer - Caroline Duncan; Visual Effects Supervisors - David Lebensfeld & Grant Miller; Visual Effects Company - FuseFX & EVP Film: Ingenuity Studios. OFFICIAL: www.knockatthecabin.com FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/knockatthecabin/ TWITTER: twitter.com/KnockAtTheCabin TRAILER: https://youtu.be/gv_QhoUy-xc RELEASE DATE: In theaters February 3rd, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay),  or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[andy-clutterbuck]

𝟦𝓍𝟢𝟧 | 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉

[ahomeboylives]

it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again

[text ID: And words, little words, not really/ soothing but soothing nonetheless./ Words too small for any hope or promise. /end ID]

[image ID: a woman’s hand rests on the chest of a man. the focus of the image is the small cross necklace that the man is wearing. /end ID]

[text ID: I was very young when I was cracked open.// Some things you should let go of/ Others you shouldn’t/ views differ as to which/ I kept hold of everything, just in case /end ID]

[text ID: All I want is nothing more/ To hear you knocking at my door/ 'Cause if I could see your face once more/ I could die a happy man, I'm sure /end ID]

[text ID: I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air. /end ID]

And I have this dream where I'm screaming underwater While my friends are waving from the shore And I don't need you to tell me what that means I don't believe in that stuff anymore

[text ID: Why do people go to these places, these places that are not for them?/ It must be that they believe in their night vision. They believe themselves able to draw images up out of the dark./ But black wells only yield black water. /end ID]

[text ID: [Bridge]/ I hope that you see me, because I'm staring at you/ But when you look over, you look right through/ Then you lean and kiss her on the head/ And I never felt so alive, and so dead /end ID]

Your presence somewhere else is the sad warm thing blowing around my room.

[image ID: a dark photo of tumultuous sea. /end ID]

[text ID: You speak to me. I trust your voice/ because it has lumps of hard pain in it/ the way real honey/ has lumps of wax from the honeycomb /end ID]

[text ID: HANNIBAL And now? WILL GRAHAM Now my inner voice sounds like you. I can’t get you out of my head. /end ID]

[image ID: wei wuxian attempts to reach out to jiang yanli, but she is just a hallucination fading away. /end ID

[text ID: where do the words go/ when we have said them? /end ID]

And was it really how you sing it dear? Oh I remember worse than blood and tears And did you love me like the way you wrote? Well I'm afraid so, I'm afraid so

mitski, two slow dancers / richard siken,_ the torn-up road_ / the x-files, 3 / emily berry / kodaline, _all i want / bram stoker, dracula / phoebe bridgers, funeral song / helen oyeyemi, white is for witching / florence + the machine, hurricane drunk / joshua beckman, s_omething i expected to be different / elsa bleda / yehuda amichai (translated by chana bloch), inside the apple / hannibal, kaiseki / the untamed, episode 32 / margaret atwood, the small cabin / keaton henson, old lovers in dressing rooms

irma and lyanna. lyanna and irma. they had never been apart, not really. not until now. and nobody knew how to console irma in the midst of her grief, because nobody was practiced in grieving. her mother was helpless; royalty doesn’t often grieve, even the exiled ones. her father was stumped; his latest grief was distant, a cousin he hadn’t seen since childhood. her brothers were too young, and the one that wasn’t was too preoccupied with his new wife. the girl sat, oscillating between wailing and numbness, staring at the shop’s inventory of panflutes, when she heard barely a whisper, lyanna’s whisper. “irma?”

[bellshells]

Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you. 

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need.  Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

  George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

  “Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

  “I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.”   “From me?”   “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed.   “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap.   “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.”   “Where will you go?”   “A friends.”

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

  Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

  You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END  written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

  You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

  You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.  

  You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

  (Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

  You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

  The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill.   “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

  You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

  You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

  You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it.   “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

  You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing.  No, no more.

******

  You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery.   “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug.   “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.”   “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked.   “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty.   “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully.   “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know.   “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing.   “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?”   “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one?   “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

  Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath.   “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor.   “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused.   “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.”   “I’m late.”   “What do you mean?”   “My period’s late.”

  Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days.   “How long?”   “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.”   “Shit.”   “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed.   “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head.   “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.”    “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully.   “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?”   “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed.   “Only?” You prompted.   “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.”   “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair.   “Unless…”   “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient.   “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.”   “Which is?”

******

  You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

  You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be-   “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd.   “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you.   “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side.   “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.”   “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek.   “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.”   “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-”   “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult.   “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her.   “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.   “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself.   “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

  You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

  Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face.   “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

  You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

  You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

  Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

  You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

  A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open.   “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster.   “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood.   “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

  In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face.   “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.”   “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle.   “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head.   “No, you can’t-”   “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain.   “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new.   “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin.   “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head.   “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.  

  You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

  You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

  “Sleep well?”

  You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour.   “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him.   “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?”   “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

  You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

  He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle.   “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes.   “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell.   “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know.  “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed.   “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head.   “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.”   “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze.   “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands.   “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

  The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines.   “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs.   “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed.     “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you.   “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself.   “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his.   “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly.   “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see.   “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?”   “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.   “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion.   “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought.   “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron.  “Who shall I give it to?”   “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again.   “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned.   “Obviously.”

*******

  You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar.   “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile.   “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?”   “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?”   “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?”   “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look.   “Is this from…”   “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt.   “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before.   “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?”   “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.”   “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand.   “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

  You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer.     “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly.   “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were.   “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

  Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point.   “You okay, Freddie?”   “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things.   “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.”   “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right.   “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

  Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave.   “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you.   “Nobody.”   “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man.   “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you.   “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.”   “You’re vile.”     “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.”   “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly.   “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting.   “Yes, actually. For me anyway.”     “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

    You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study.   “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady.   “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled.   “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand.   “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled.   “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?”   “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.”   “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other.   “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason.   “Okay, what do I do?”   “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.  

  “Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.”   “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes.   “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss.   “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?”   “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-”   “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?”   “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

  You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it.   “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you.   “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back.   “Have you looked?”   “Yes.”   “What is it?”   “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black.   “It’s-”   “Black.” He answered with a smile.   “I’m-”   “Not. Pregnant.”

  You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise.   “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks.   “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?”   “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied.   “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.”   “Of course he did.”   “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.”   “So he paid you to spy on me?”   “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed.   “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good.   “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek.   “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered.   “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

  A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow.   “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it.   “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette.   “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle.   “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip.   “No, I did this for you.”   “Why should I believe you?”   “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

  You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve?   “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard.   “And?”   “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak.   “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation.   “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.”   “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze.   “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes.   “I shall try.”   “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips.   “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.”   “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night.   “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side.   “You want me to go?”   “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed.   “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him.   “No thank you, I prefer my own company.”   “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?”   “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.”   “Are you sure?”   “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

  It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug.   “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly.   “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.”   “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek.   “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed.   “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips.   “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged;   “It’s not wet, just cold.”   “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss.   “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”   “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

  He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched.   “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.”   “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists.   “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?”   “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?”   “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”   “I’ll take it.”

  When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses.   “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.”   “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

  He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out;   “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm.   “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim.   “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”   “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low.   “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

  Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled.   “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap.   “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house.   “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness.   “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn.   “Love you too.”

  George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs.   “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat.     “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

 “So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it.   “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

  You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George.   “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him.   “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

  At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes.   “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern.   “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck.   “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes.   “Me too.”

**********

  “No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room.   “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder.   “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot.   “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite.   “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge.   “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug.   “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder.  “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily.   “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically.    “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you.   “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach.   “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed.   “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.”   “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We’re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug.   “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you.   “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully.   “Not a chance.”   “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.”   “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase.   “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs.   “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee.   “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.”   “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much.   “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile.   “Not exactly.”

**********

  The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.   “You okay?”   “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited.   “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left.   “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind.   “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest.   “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand.   “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded.   “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.”   “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.”   “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages.   “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps.   “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.”   “Are you cooking?”   “No, George is.”   “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

  You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories.   “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch.   “Fifteen minutes.”   “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear.   “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

[masnakakabaliwako]

THE STRANGE TALES OF THE DOCTOR

disclaimer: None of these are historically accurate and I'm not trying to be, Im just doing it for fun ^^ So if you have any criticism just be easy on me, im not that serious about this lol

You know, there is a lot of disadvantages of being a vampire. Quite a lot. Of course, one should expect that, since vampires aren't human and well, they don't need human resources! Like Sunlight or Foods that don't contain an ounce of blood.

They also don't need friendships, because time, and time and time again, they all die. If you're a vampire who has been cursed, here is my advice for you; Never fall in love. Especially to a human. Most especially to other vampires! You see, if you're cursed, you're not just any blood-sucking fiend, you're special, but not the good kind. Because you, my friend,

Can't Die.

And this is where we differentiate "To Live Forever" and "To Never Die".

"To Live Forever" Means you get to be alive forever, until the end of time! Or until someone stabs you with a wooden stake--That is how regular vampires are.

"To Never Die", on the other hand, means no matter how many times and how many ways you might expect for Thanatos to come knocking at your door, he never,

ever,

comes.

But more on that later, why don't we focus on the more important subject:

ME!!!

My name is Dr. Doctor Doktor Dawk Tor Doch Torr- Dok Turr, and this autobiography means nothing to you!

Well, maybe it does, but whose to say! This novel is a contractual obligation and I'm forced to write it because I owe someone, but that's not the point.

Okay, listen, I'm the only true vampire. Those regular vampires that cry when there's garlic and squeal at a splinter? Those are puny little men. They do not know the true meaning of being a vampire.

I, on the other hand, was the first and last, 'Special Vampire', as I like to call it, because the other name for it is too long and hard to write.

I was also Dracula! (My name got lost in translation, something about France and Ireland) and It reached Bram Stoker! and in the next few decades, they made a movie about me, too!

While I'll never be as handsome as Bela Lugosi, I can certainly approve their take on me, I just hope they kept my name and profession--You never get enough doctors as protagonists these days.

I'm getting carried away again, woopsie daisies!

So how did I become a vampire? Well, it's a long story, way back in 1794 of Arras, France, and I was a student of science.

I mean, I *wanted* to be a student of science and biology, but I was forced into studying law instead.

I didn't care too much about the law. There were far more competent people out there fit for where I was back then, so I constantly was absent, time and time again in my classes because they didn't interest me as much as my fascination for the macabre.

Those hours I spent skipping classes were spent on spying on the Doctor classes they were teaching at school, and everything was so...fascinating. The science behind it all, how everything was connected in ways we didn't even know they could, how everything functions as it should, it was mesmerizing to say the least.

Atoms to atoms, molecules to molecules, organs to organs, doesn't it just bring a smile to your face?

And of course, many adventures come to an end, and my adventures of leaving a class and joining the other ended much sooner than I'd like when one of the teachers caught me and reported to my reasonably upset parents.

So , I went back to studying law, and I kept failing. Over, and over again, I just can't keep all of these words and phrases and decrees all in one place inside my head, it was literally impossible! My parents noticed, and I lamented to them with all my might. I gave it all my best tears and sweat from shovelling horse shit as a punishment for failing, and finally,

Mother was able to budge and transfer my classes to Biology!

Oh, How fun it was! We got to do little surgeries on these frogs, and even on real people! can you believe it? Though, as a transferee, I wasn't able to touch a person. Yet. But I was willing to learn and wait there, to figure out how to be the best doctor.

Seems like dreams were about to come true for young me, until one june morning.

~~~

There was sudden knocking at my door, it was as the sun was rising, so I was quite irritated when I went over to carefully open the door. As it creaked open, I was greeted by my younger sister , Augé.

But something was wrong-- Her eyes were as red as her face, which was wet from her tears. A string of sobs and words jumbled out of her mouth as she clung to me, and I could only comfort her with a stiff embrace. I was confused on why she broke down like this, but as I strung the words together, the horror fell on my face;

"Mére and pére, their carriage-!"

My parents were on a trip to Reims a week ago. Turns out , the horses holding their carriage went loose as the reins weren't tied properly. The stallions bucked in fear as an animal crossed the road, causing for then to kick the carriage, and it went tumbling down, and down, and down, and...

The funeral was held the next day. They never left any money for me and my sister, so...I was in charge.

And all of it was infuriating to me- Through my tears I glared at their graves-- How could they?

I wasn't angry that they died. I was angry that we didn't inherit any of the money we needed to survive.

Our money diminished fast. I had to let go of the servants who served us for more than a decade. I had to sell the house , all to feed my sister.

The two of us were the only ones left, and I remember the day that we had to leave our house for the orphanage, Augé gripped my hands as her eyes focused so hard on the front porch, like she could burn it with only her stare.

"Alastair, do you think...Do you think things will get better?" She asks, and I gave her an unsure gaze. I don't know, and things seem to be growing worst by the minute. I only want for her to survive, even if I can't.

"Of course," I lied, "I promise you that we'll survive. I'll study hard and become a doctor for you."

"We'll never be apart?"

"Never." I gripped her hand back, and climbed on the carriage to go to the orphanage. I stared at the looming house as it became smaller and smaller, until it was gone. Just like my hopes and dreams.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter - Sunday, December 12

Cut to Faith's motel room. There is a knock at the door. Faith opens it, stake raised and ready. She is surprised to see Gwendolyn standing there. She lowers the stake as Mrs. Post enters. Gwendolyn: A word of advice? Vampires rarely knock. Especially in daylight. Faith: Oh, right. Gwendolyn: So... this is your home. Faith: Yeah. The decorator actually just left. Gwendolyn: Faith, do you know who the Spartans were? Faith: Wild stab: a bunch of guys from Spart? Gwendolyn: They were the fiercest warriors known to Ancient Greece. And they lived in quarters very much like these. Do you know why? Because a true fighter needs nothing else. I'm going to be very hard on you, Faith. I will not brook insolence or laziness. And I will not allow blunders like last night's attack. You will probably hate me a great deal of the time. Faith: You think? Gwendolyn: But I will make you a better Slayer, and that will keep you alive. You have to trust that I am right. God only knows what Mr. Giles has been filling your head with. Faith: Giles is okay. Gwendolyn: His methods are unfathomable to me. I find him entirely confounding. But that is not important. Let him have his games and secret meetings. Faith: What meetings? Gwendolyn: Oh, I don't know. Something with Buffy and her friends. Faith: Oh, right. I guess that doesn't include me. Gwendolyn: And why does he let her socialize so much? It hardly seems... No matter. Would you like to do some training? Faith: Training? As in kicking and punching and stabbing? Gwendolyn: Yes, that's the idea. Faith: I'm your girl.

~~Revelations~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Gone From Here (CSI crossover, Buffy, T)  by cELouise_Moore

Regina California (Buffy/Spike, G)  by Hannah

The Writer (Spike/Reader, NR)  by charliedawn

[Chaptered Fiction]

but i never thought i'd live to see it break Chapter 8 (Jenny/Giles, T)  by titleoftheperaltiagosextape

Buffy's Father Chapters 53 & 54 (Stargate SG-1 crossover, Joyce/Daniel Jackson, T)  by Vidicon666

Transylvanian Concubine Chapter 2 (Drusilla/Reader, M)  by thosebloodyroses (paythepiper)

What You Do Afterwards: Season Five Chapter 37 (Doyle/Cordelia, M)  by myheadsgonenumb

Gray Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, M)  by Dusty87

The Tiger is Out Chapter 52 (Buffy/Spike, M)  by Hannah

The Gift Series Complete (Buffy/Angel, T)  by obisgirl

Here We Go Again Chapter 23 (Faith/Buffy, E)  by Echo126

Closure Complete (Bram Stoker's Dracula crossover, Buffy, M)  by obisgirl

Adaptations Chapter 18 (Faith/Buffy, E)  by Echo126

Someone's Underground Chapter 8 (HP crossover, Buffy, M)  by apckrfan

Fragments of Faith Chapter 20 (Faith/Buffy, M)  by scaetterling

two roads diverged (and that has made all the difference) Chapter 10 (Buffy/Spike, T)  by RoseyPoseyPie

Chain of Ascension Chapter 5 (Buffy/Xander, E)  by GraeFoxx

Rest Stop Chapter 7 (Faith/Buffy, E)  by SheaMcK

These Endless Days Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, PG13)  by violettathepiratequeen

It Travels With Redheads Chapter 5 (Willow, FR15)  by Traszgo

You’re Going to Need MoreThan a Drink Chapter 3 (Multiple crossovers, FR21)  by ShadowMaster

The Real Me Chapter 5 (Young Justice crossover, FR18)  by BKain

[Images, Audio & Video]

Graphics: TV show Folder Icon  by Appleseed79

Graphics: one single thread of gold tied me to you (Buffy/Spike)  by 147days

Artwork: I put Buffy The Vampire Slayer into that app that makes AI...  by firemanwhenthefloodsrollback

Artwork: Unfinished doodles (Spuffy)  by glitzbtvs

Artwork: Dead Things (Spuffy)  by glitzbtvs

Gifs: Believe me, I know (Spike & Angel)  by disco-tea

How Spike Should've died  by AngryEyes

[Reviews & Recaps]

Buffy the Last Slayer's Villain Isn't a Vampire… (Spoilers for Buffy the Last Vampire Slayer #1)  by CBR.com

btvs season 3 episodes ranked  by fallingtowers

Buffy The Vampire Slayer (S01E05)  by rainbowwlsparroww

Once more with feeling-4x1 The Freshman  by Nerd Subculture

Analysing Buffy Guide | Buffy The Last Vampire Slayer Issue 1  by What the Pop

Slayer Sunday-Season 1 Wrap Up  by Jane Talks Reel

[Fandom Discussions]

Discussion of ‘Buffy The Last Vampire Slayer’ 1  by Angel6

If Spike’s love for Buffy wasn’t real…  by multiple authors

Episode battle: Ground State vs. Players  by BtVS Fan and Stoney

Episode battle: Shadow vs. Listening to Fear  by Multiple authors

How would the Empty Places (7x19) confrontation have ended if Faith backed Buffy up...  by natasharost0va

Why was Drusilla so underutilized?  by JeanGreyStan143

I think Angel would've killed spike at the end of his original five episode run  by docsharkboy

Faith and Angel  by Heavy-Ambition1161

Was just watching Same Time Same Place, suddenly it seemed to make a lot of sense that maybe Amy...  by gimmesomespace

I know everybody loves Wesley post-Sleep Tight, but I much prefer him in the early seasons  by demureduchess

RIP Anne Rice  by Born_Curve_8227

Most outdated special effect  by 30rockplaza

I know I might get flak for this but i prefer seasons 4-7 over the first three seasons.  by DrJackShephardlost

Your AtS opinion that gets you a reaction like this?  by TigerJean

I would’ve loved to see Dawn flashbacks  by Lizcatherine

What would have happened if Dawn had died during one of her many misadventures?  by zanybelle

The way Willow and Xander stopped cheating post Lover’s Walk...  by confusedguytoo

fav thing about “she plays the triangle”...  by lqvewillow

...Buffy is on some government watchlist  by sunnydalebimbo

Wow. Season 6 promo Spike is just going through it  (Video) by disco-tea

guys i think the fact that spuffy has three "first" kisses and infinite first dates is pretty sexy  by chasingfictions

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[anncanta]

The imagery of BBC ‘Dracula’: mythology, alchemy, literature. Part 3

Part 1.

Part 2.

Alchemy

Consideration and analysis of alchemical images in any modern text always encounter the same problem: unlike mythological or literary images and symbols, alchemical ones do not have their own ‘vocabulary’ which authority the researcher can rely on. Simply because the meaning and significance of alchemical texts were deliberately obscured by their authors in order to make complex and potentially dangerous knowledge inaccessible to the layman. However, some key elements of alchemical philosophy and theory – thanks to C.G. Jung and his school – can still be tried to be seen and analyzed. According to the Jungian theory, alchemy is primarily about transformation, change, as well as the connection between the external and the internal, the spiritual and the physical, the ordinary and the magical.

Based on these ideas, I chose among the many alchemical images used in Dracula, those that I want to talk about in this article.

It is color, blood, and metamorphosis.

Color

The symbolism of color in alchemy is complex and diverse, but the most important for it is the visual ‘orchestration’ of the main alchemical process – the creation of the philosopher's stone, or the Great Work.

Based on the logic of the study of Jungian philosophers and psychologists, I propose to consider it here as a metaphor for the development of the spiritual principle and the passage of a person on the path of self-improvement.

Black

The first color that we encounter in the story of Dracula is not red, as one might expect. Anyway, that's how it happens in the BBC film. In the same Bram Stoker's Dracula by F.F. Coppola, the Count initially appears before us in the first scene in red, not to mention the red skies and the spill of scarlet blood in the prologue. In BBC Dracula, at the beginning of the first episode, there is practically no red. But quite a lot of black.

In the alchemical tradition, the black color is associated with the original matter that has not undergone a transformation, the very basic material from which everything comes, a universal dough that can take any form when touched by the spirit. In the alchemical narrative, this is a matter before purification, primitive chaos.

I would say – psychological infancy.

What does Dracula look like appearing on the stairs in front of Jonathan Harker the first time they meet?

This is one of the most interesting things about the BBC film. Contrary to the expectations of the audience, taught by ‘vampire’ stories and tuned in to the perception of a certain aesthetics, Dracula's clothes are not black.

No black cloak, no raised collar, no grim Gothic aristocrat. Before Jonathan appears a nondescript old man in a dress of either gray or brown. Strictly speaking, it is hardly possible to determine the shade of his clothes at all (there is a hint – surprisingly, the printed fabric of Dracula's robe resembles the color and texture of the stone walls of the castle, forcing the viewer to ask himself at the beginning what is hiding behind this hardened shell?). This uncertainty is all the more interesting because the more time passes, the more not only the face and figure of the Count will change, but also the color and style of his clothes.

For the first time, black appears at dinner, during which already pretty shabby and emaciated Jonathan asks Dracula if there are living people in the castle besides them. In this episode, the Count is completely dressed in black – the only bright spot in his suit is a white collar, reminiscent of a colorata. Dracula casts a mocking glance at Johnny and replies, ‘No, Jonathan, there is no living here.’

And this is absolutely true. At the level of the plot, because Dracula is not alive, but at the symbolic level – because he is at the stage of ‘black earth’, completely belonging to mortal matter, not spiritualized and undeveloped. It does not even have a voice yet and it does not realize that it needs transformation.

After several episodes and dramatic moments, in which darkness and blackness from different sides show the nature of what is happening in the castle and with the Count himself, after Harker, exhausted, almost drunk down and destined for destruction, comes to his senses in the basement, finally appears the cloak.

This is a new form of manifestation of black – because it is no longer an amorphous color that appears here and there (among the many moments of black color appearance, the cloak also flickers, but as the robe of a dead man rising from the grave, and neither Jonathan's attention nor the viewer's one lingers on it), but the attribute of the object with which the hero interacts, the object that is this hero`s distinctive feature.

Even more. Pay attention to how Dracula puts on the cloak. In addition to the Count's inherent desire to show off and produce a stunning effect on the trembling victim, in this movement – a cloak thrown over his shoulders, fluttering like wings – there is a hint and a premonition of black not as chaos, but as the beginning and the dark night of the soul.

In the meantime, it is a cloak that covers the secret of something that has already arisen and is slowly ripening inside. This is confirmed by the red joined to the black – the lining of the cloak, symbolizing both blood and the next stage of the Work, called by the alchemists rubedo.

But this is still a long way off.

First, you need to put the original matter in the crucible and let it heat up.

This process has already begun in the castle. The interaction between Dracula and Jonathan, which we considered earlier, can also be considered from the point of view of the alchemical Work – the result will be the same. There is evidence that the combination and mutual influence of these two ‘substances’ have done their job in the color scheme of the same scene on the roof. First, Dracula, putting Jonathan on the sunlit part of the roof, lies down next to Harker, spreading his cloak – with the red lining up, and then, surrounded by golden rays (not yet reaching for Dracula), they engage in a dialogue about the sun, which at this time of year, according to Dracula, sets behind the second highest mountain peak and should be quite red.

Everything is ready for the next stage of transformation, which takes place in the convent.

We will not delve into the symbolism of the monastery, just note that it represents two key things for alchemical metaphor: the hermetic space (crucible) and since in this case, there is a nunnery, the habitat of the anima.

What happens when Dracula appears in the monastery?

According to the alchemical tradition, in order to begin the process of transmutation, it is necessary to put the primordial substance (dark matter) into the fire.

Remember what Dracula does when Agatha invites him to ‘step out of the shadows’?

He knocks over the lamp. After that, a man covered in red appears from the black skin of the wolf.

Red

Since the moment Dracula entered the monastery, a lot of blood appears in the film. For comparison – during the entire stay of Jonathan in the castle, there was almost no blood on the screen. Despite the fact that then the Count was actively feeding on Harker and was clearly experimenting with ‘brides’ in the basement. And only when the story went beyond Dracula's inner world, and (to use the same alchemical terminology) Dracula's ‘shell’ cracked, the streams of blood literally filled the visual plane of the text.

This continues throughout the second episode, and here it is important to pay attention to the fact that in parallel with the ‘blazing’ of red in the guise of Dracula, white begins to appear over and over again (a white shirt in combination with a black vest in interaction with Agatha – by the way, in contrast to a tightly buttoned black cape or a tuxedo in communication with the passengers of Demeter in reality) until it ends with the visual dominance of a white blouse before the hero`s being confined in a sealed box for the further process.

The white color symbolizes the albedo stage – the last before the appearance of the magisterium, the philosopher's stone. We'll come back to white later, but for now, let's continue with red.

After the awakening of Dracula in the twenty-first century, red becomes the main color, and at first glance (as, indeed, in the second episode), it seems that this is due to the desire of the creators to portray the hero as a bloody killer. At a certain level, this is true. At the plot level, red is associated with Dracula's attack on victims and blood. But on a symbolic one, everything is more complicated.

This is best illustrated in the scene at Bob's house. From the point of view of storytelling, it is difficult to imagine an episode in which the inner content would be conveyed so accurately, succinctly, and voluminously using different, complementary tools.

Look. When Dracula enters the house, both the hallway and Kathleen's bedroom are immersed in deep red. At the level of the plot, it, of course, means the predatory nature of Dracula and his desire to devour Kathleen the same way he devoured her husband. At the same time, note that there is a lot of red at the beginning of the scene, but it does not dominate, does not absorb all other colors. There are gold, blue, gray, navy blue mixed with it. A bit black, there is white and others. But as Dracula first conducts a conversation with Kathleen, and then switches to Zoe who came after him, red becomes more and more, and when Zoe enters the house, there are simply no other shades left.

And here is the most interesting thing. Dracula bites Zoe, and she ends up in his head, in his ‘mind palace’. Speaking about this scene, it is usually indicated that the image of Dracula's ‘mind palace’ is presented in a deliberately ‘vampire’ aesthetics, which emphasizes, again, his predatory nature. But if we look at this scene from the point of view of the alchemical metaphor, we see a lot of red and an almost complete absence of black.

Black, chaotic, primitive matter almost receded, practically disappeared, remaining in the background as dark spots and tree trunks – ‘rods’ (the very frame, without which incarnation is generally impossible), and everything else is red. Looking down, Zoe sees a red liquid, and the first thought that arises when we are looking at it: it's blood. Well, it is, indeed. But it is also a visually shown onset of a new stage of the Work, the rubedo stage, at which the old solutions no longer work, and new ones have to be looked for.

Part 4.