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thatsneakymedic · 1 year ago

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October Writing Challenge Day 7 Ghost

"These flowers are perfect for the shrine, don't you think?" Kabuto said as he kneels down to see the violet cornflower, growing on the grass among the fields of other flowers.

"Do you know anything about flower meanings? Because I don't want you to get something that has a different message instead of love." Urushi replied as he looks at the eye catching flower.

"I mean, I don't see why we can't pick it. Corn flowers are hardy plants that can grow almost everywhere. But then again, another name for them is "bachelor buttons". And as far as we know. Mother Nonou was a nun who may or may not practiced celibacy that comes with taking on the robes." Kabuto thinks as he leaves the flower alone to get a daisy flower that was next to it.

Daisies mean innocence... right? While Nonou wasn't entirely "that" innocent. She was indeed a pure soul who gave her life trying to save one child.

Kabuto himself.

"Urushi, how about I go ahead and buy flowers from the flower shop. That way, perhaps I could also buy a book about flower meanings or at least have Mrs. Yamanaka teach me a few things as well?" Kabuto stands up as he wipes the stray loose grass that was around his legs.

Urushi just shrugs, "You'll waste money that way. Plus I doubt that she would want you to use your hard earned money for her sake when it should be used for the children. But if you have plenty to spare, you can. Just don't go about spending a lot on a bouquet when at least one or two flowers would do."

Kabuto could only smile at Urushi's advice as he prepares to leave to Konoha to buy some flowers from the flower shop. "I'm heading out, I'll even buy a book for next time. Take care of the place, I won't take long." Long after Kabuto arrived and when he left, he was the most closest "son" to Nonou than Kabuto himself and would know more about her personality than he did. He even witnessed how Nonou cried when Kabuto left with Danzo to join ROOT. She knew full well his reasons why and Urushi was the one who witnessed it all. The last thing his mother told him before she left was to "wait for me or Kabuto. Because we're coming home together."

At the Yamanaka flower shop...

The bell above the door rings and Kabuto heads inside and he looks around the store. It seemed to be just only him a cloaked woman wearing a hood with light brown hair falling on her sides. Seemingly unfazed or unbothered by the crying of the baby in the store. But despite her unassuming appearance, something... felt familiar with her as she stares at the flowers. And if he looked carefully, the shiny rim of her glasses can be seen peeking out from under the edge of the hood.

"Hey there Kabuto! Just one moment, while I put little Inojin back on the baby bouncer." Ino cheerfully greeted him while Inojin whimpered and cried loudly in her arms. When she tried to put him down on the bouncer, he could cling onto her shirt and refused to let go, screaming more louder than before.

"... Then again. Can you give me a moment? Inojin has been really fussy and clingy all morning and he has been in my arms for a while now. He's not sick, his diaper is fully changed, and he's well fed. He's just wants to be around me 24/7." Ino almost wanted to sound like she's whining but even she knew how it was going to be when it comes to raising a baby on her own.

"Not at all, I can wait. Your son comes first after all. Besides, it will give me plenty of time to look over the flowers. Kabuto smiled but he could easily tell how tired Ino is looking despite her cheerful and optimistic words.

While she heads to the back of the store to try to calm her son, Kabuto looks over at the variety of flowers before him. Some costing a bit too much, while others while pretty came in bundles even though he planned on buying 2 or 4 flowers.

Kabuto looks over at the roses and he contemplates on getting it but the woman approaches him and looks at the flowers with him. "Are you in love with someone? White flowers are always the best when it comes to pure love and innocence." Kabuto after realizing the rose's meaning, decides to not get it after all.

"No, miss. I'm just looking for some flowers for my mother. But I don't know anything about flower meanings so I'm just trying to find out which ones would be suited for her." He then thinks for a moment.

"Do you know anything about flowers? If you do, can you help me?" Kabuto asked rather humbly, since he knew that he shouldn't bother another customer, but considering how fussy the baby is. It might take Ino awhile to calm him down.

The woman doesn't turn to him, but she does point at the carnations and white lilies on the stores. "If I had a son who would bring me flowers, I would love it if he brought me at least one of those. Pink carnations represent motherhood and undying love, white lilies mean purity and rememberance though they're also a funeral flower as well. But I do love tulips too. No need for any significant meanings as any flower would be appreciated. It's the thought that counts after all."

Kabuto listens to the woman and his strong intuition tells him to pick the tulips so he takes at least two pink ones. The price didn't matter to him, but they do seem like they would fit with the shrine. The woman from under the hood smiles, "Those would be perfect for your mother, I hope that she appreciates them. Even one would be good enough."

As a sign of appreciation, he takes out a 3rd flower and he presents it to her, "For you. Consider this as me repaying you for helping me." The woman's smile brightens as her pale hand comes out from the sleeve of her robe and she reaches over to take it from his hand, as her hood slowly pulls back to almost reveal her entire face. Including the glass on her circular frames.

Till the sound of the door to the back of the store opens and Kabuto turns his attention to the door to see Ino coming out.

The baby's crying has calmed down a bit and Ino wraps the store apron around her waist, "Phew! Thank god that he at least stopped crying. Is there anything I can help you?"

Kabuto's eyes turn to the hooded woman in front of him but she was nowhere to be seen. The flower was still in his hand but if she left the store, the door bell wouldn't let them both know. He looked around the store for her but she was gone. "Ino, there was a woman here. Didn't you see her? She was wearing a dark cloak with a hood, her hair was light brown, and she looked pretty young too."

"What woman? You're the only customer in this store that I had here today. No one stayed here to window shop or anything like that. I even have cameras to prove it. Besides, no one in that description has showed up either." Ino tilted her head as she looked around the store.

Kabuto just quietly stares at the spot where she was as he puts back the third flower into the vase where the tulips were while taking the ones that he's going to buy to the counter. "... I guess I'm just imagining things. I had an exhausting day, since the change of weather is making everyone feel tired or sick."

Ino rings him up and puts the two flowers into a makeshift bag with water tapped around the stems so that it can still be "fresh" while Kabuto heads back to the orphanage. "Tell me about it. I'm doing my best to keep Inojin from getting sick, but at the same time. I think that I might get sick from exhaustion myself if I'm not careful. I just want Sai to come home tonight to take care of Inojin so that I can get some rest."

Kabuto takes the flowers carefully as he gives a worrying smile at Ino, "I do hope that he does, otherwise. Little Inojin might scare your customers away, but then again. He's so cute so maybe he can also promote business to remind everyone that this is a family business. Take care Ino."

Before he heads out, a sudden chill passes him from the exit of the door and when he turned around. For a moment, he saw the woman's reflection on the door's glass for a few seconds. Though her face was still obscured, her glasses were reflecting back so not even her eyes could be seen. But her mysterious kind smile was burned into Kabuto's memory as he tried to recall where he has seen that smile.

When the door's reflection changed as the door closed.

She was gone again.

@lunyraartistry (here you go! a rather nice story!)

#october writing challenge #this one is wholesome #since anything mother related is always sad #sorry for stalling #I had a bad day yesterday #O_o

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sweet-s0rr0w · 1 year ago

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Did NO-ONE NOTICE that I wrote 'E' for rating? It's obviously like a habit - sorry to anyone who was expecting smut...

Microfic: I Must Be Lonely

A late birthday microfic, written for the wonderful @getawayfox (look, it balances out @wolfpants' gift which was a couple of weeks early, alright? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Happy happy birthday to fandom's loveliest quadruple threat (writer, artist, reccer, beta/cheerreader). I hope you had a brilliant day! <3

T, 1.8k, no warnings. @drarrymicrofic prompt Simple. Thanks to @tackytigerfic for Irish picking and usual brilliance. This one is also for everyone else who hates night shifts!

Another night shift at the Ministry security desk. If boredom doesn’t get you, the vampires probably will, Draco thinks, sourly. That’s at least half exaggeration, though: Sanguini and his colleagues are always impeccably behaved, hurrying between meetings with barely a glint of incisor on show. But the boredom: now that part’s no joke. Nothing much happens in the Ministry after hours – by midnight, even the most dedicated workaholics have reluctantly ducked into the Floo, leaving Draco to his books, or his fantasy Quidditch, or (briefly and unsuccessfully) his crochet. Sometimes he gets lucky – a disaster necessitating the presence of the on-call Mishaps and Maladies team at the Ministry, perhaps, or an international visitor who’s messed up the time difference – but for the most part it’s lonely work.

Every night, Draco watches as two of the house elves work their slow, methodical way across the Atrium floor from either end, mopping and polishing and casting anti-slip charms until they meet just in front of his desk, some time around five o’clock. Things always get better after that, with the sun rising in the charmed windows and the slow downhill slide until six-thirty, that blessed hour when Draco mumbles his greetings to the day staff, pulling the hood of his robes up to cover his tired eyes, and slopes off towards the Floos.

Midnight until five, then, that’s the difficult time. That’s the hungry but nauseous time, the clammy but shivery time, the grumpy, gloomy, desperately weary time. Helpfully, it’s often the time the morons from the DMLE show up, high on adrenaline and testosterone and god knows what department-approved stimulants, and often, inexplicably, looking to chat utter rubbish.

“Hey! Everyone, look, it’s Malfoy!” bellows Finnigan, his voice rattling through Draco’s skull after three hours of total silence. He marches up to Draco’s desk, at the head of a group of what might appear, at first glance, to be drunken teenagers, but which Draco knows is actually made up of fairly senior Aurors. “How’re things, Malfoy? Ministry treating you well, I hope?”

Draco straightens his robes, shoving his folded up copy of the Prophet out of sight.

“It’s been a good day, Malfoy,” Finnigan continues, clearly not interested in waiting for Draco’s response. “A bloody good day, you know?” His grin is wide and toothy as he thumps his clenched fist against his chest and flings his head back. “Another victory in the fight for truth and justice, and all that’s―”

“Alright, Seamus,” says a voice from the back of the crowd. “Leave him alone, yeah?”

“Hey! Harry! Here’s the hero of the hour! C’mere.” Finnigan tucks a firm arm around Potter’s neck, pulling him forwards, until he’s shoved up against the front of the reception desk, smiling apologetically. “See,” says Finnigan, and his pupils are barely visible when he leans closer, “another bunch of Muggle-hating scumbags behind bars, and it’s all thanks to Hazza here. Good triumphs over evil again, and the world—”

“—hang on Seamus, isn’t that stuff classified?” cuts in Longbottom – who, as far as Draco can tell, is still every bit as much fun as he’d been at school.

“Oh, give over, Neville,” Finnigan spits, mercifully turning away from Draco, “I didn’t say who it was, did I? Classified would be if I’d said oi, Malfoy, d’you know they’re running a Muggle fighting ring out the back of the Reaper’s Arms—?” There’s a collective groan. “What?”

“You’re such a twat, Seamus,” says a short-haired witch next to Neville, folding her arms.

“Oh, I’m a twat, am I?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Then someone else starts up, voices crowding over each other in an unbearable racket. Draco rests back in his chair, closing his eyes, his tired mind picturing the little yapping Crups that Mother’s friend Verity used to bring over; the ones Mother pretended to coo over even while they left puddles of piss on the Persian carpet.

A shadow falls across his desk: it’s Potter, leaning forwards, blocking out the harsh glare of Lumos off the wall tiles. When Draco blinks and looks up, he finds that Potter’s shivering a little, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. “Sorry about that lot,” he says, softly. “You know how they can get.”

“It’s fine,” Draco says, tightly. “Nice work on the, er, Muggle fighting stuff. Sounds pretty impressive.”

“Oh, cheers,” says Potter, with a shrug. “Just doing my job, you know how it is.”

Draco looks down at his desk: the bonsai yew that reminds him of home, his stupid cheap silver-plated letter-opener-cum-emergency-vampire-repellent, the battered copy of Birdsong he’s been slogging through for two months straight. “Not really,” he replies, shrugging.

“Ah, you’re not missing much. Five minutes of excitement, tops; I’d take a good Seeker’s game over that any day. But, you know—” he glances back over his shoulder, “—truth, and freedom, and all that rousing stuff from the superhero films Seamus watches. How’s your shift going, anyway?”

“Not bad,” Draco says, sitting up taller, sliding the Prophet back into view. “By the way, who’ve you got down for third Chaser? I’m stuck between Lyons and Campos.”

“You should go with Beni, definitely. Ollie’s been raving about his form all summer.” Potter leans over even further into Draco’s space, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he squints down at the page. “You got Chang down for Keeper?”

“McFarlane.”

“McFarlane?” Potter laughs, incredulously. “Seriously? Bloody Magpies fans. Completely deluded, the lot of you.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Well, Potter, I guess we’ll see.”

There’s a scuffle in the background, followed by cheers. “Coming, Harry?” Finnigan calls, wiping blood from his lip. “Hey, Malfoy, we’re heading out after this. It’s House night at XPulso; they’ve got three for ones on Rusty Nails, and we’re going to get Harry here laid.”

Harry stiffens, his eyes widening. “Er—”

“Yeah, I’ve got your back, mate. Maybe we can sort Neville out too, if anyone’ll have him.”

“I’m married, you knob!”

“You should really come along, Malfoy. It’ll be a laugh.”

Potter, still with his back to Finnigan, makes a faint choking sound.

“Sadly, Finnigan,” says Draco, trying to avoid Potter’s eyes, “I’m afraid I’m stuck at this desk for the foreseeable. But you lot have a great time. It sounds… memorable.”

Finnigan just shrugs. “Ah, your loss. C’mon then, boys.”

“Boys?”

“It’s just an expression, Davis, what d’you—”

They’re off, finally, all backslaps and hooting laughter, and no-one’s looking at Draco anymore, which is a small mercy. Potter reaches down to steal a crisp from the unopened packet at the back of the desk. “Anyway,” he says, mouth full, breath salt-and-vinegar scented, “’s been good to see you, Dra – Malfoy.”

“Yeah,” says Draco, glumly, and he hates himself for envying them all. “You too.”

***

Draco tries not to think about Potter, he really does. It’s hard, though, not to wonder what he’s doing – who he’s dancing with, where he’s sleeping – when all you’ve got for the night’s entertainment is Miffy and Jinks, a dodgy alarm on Level Five, and yesterday’s Prophet. He dithers for a while over his Fantasy Quidditch choices, trying to pretend he doesn’t care what Potter thinks, then Diffindos the completed page carefully out of the newspaper and tucks it into his pocket. Both house elves make it across the floor without incident. Through the window behind his desk, Draco watches the sun begin to rise over Salisbury Plain, as slowly, grudgingly, night gives way to day.

“You off?”

It’s his replacement; showered and shaven and far too bright. Draco nods grimly at him.

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing.” He gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders and renewing the Protego on his tree, grateful, as always, for the speed and convenience of the Floo. Five minutes from desk to bed, via blackout charms and a good Silencio; that’s the way to do it.

Something’s off today, though – Draco can tell, as soon as he lands, drained and unsteady, on his hearth. The heating’s already on, for one – he can’t see his breath in the air, which is a welcome change – and hang on… is that the smell of bacon? His nausea evaporates, instantly, as he follows his nose, half in a dream, only to find—

“Morning.”

Potter’s standing by the hob, grinning, and the flat’s a little more smoky than usual, but there’s eggs frying, and sausages on the grill, and just then the toast pops up and, well, Draco could just about kiss him right now.

So he does.

“Oh my god,” he says, when Potter pulls away, popping a crispy bit of bacon into Draco’s mouth instead.

“Good?”

“Oh my god,” Draco says again, salt flooding his mouth. “But what – what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was up all night too. You’re sleeping today, I’m sleeping today – I thought, well, this way at least we get to sleep together properly for once. And I know how hungry you get after night shifts. Here.”

Dizzy with tiredness, or the cooking fumes, or possibly something else entirely, Draco takes the ketchup over to the table, then slumps down hard into a chair. Potter brings over the plates, pulls his own chair in close.

They eat in comfortable silence, and it’s only once Draco’s blissfully full of sausages and buttered toast and beautifully seasoned egg, that he finally works up the courage to speak. “So Seamus’ efforts failed, I take it?” he says, lightly.

Potter snorts. “Shut up,” he mumbles, through a mouthful of beans. “Seamus passed out after the second round of shots. The rest of my night was spent escorting him back to his brother’s house on the Knight Bus. Why,” he says, grinning, “were you actually worried?

“Of course not,” Draco replies, too quickly, then sips his orange juice to try and disguise the lie.

“That’s good. Because I want to tell them, Draco.”

Draco freezes, glass in hand.

“No, I mean it,” Potter says, dropping his knife to take hold of Draco’s forearm. The Mark aches like a bruise, but beneath Potter’s fingers, the pain’s almost sweet. “Look, you know what those shifts are like; you know how they make you feel. The raid, and then getting everything wrapped up, and then seeing you at that bloody desk – the last thing I wanted was other people’s hands on me, Draco. All I could think about was how sick I am of acting the part, of pretending I’m interested, when what I’m really interested in is…” He gestures at the room, at their plates, then, finally, at Draco. “This. You.”

“I—” Draco begins, and if his voice is a bit wobbly, well, he can blame that on the tiredness, can’t he? Beside him, Potter's resumed blithely eating his bacon, eyes heavy-lidded, as though nothing he’s said was at all out of the ordinary. Draco swallows. “They’ll say you’ve lost your mind,” he says, pressing his socked foot against the knob of Potter’s ankle.

Potter nudges him back. “Well, maybe I have. Working nights will do that, after all.”

#drarry #this one is wholesome

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