#which is why Poppy still addresses him as sir

[daneesoro]

Sets up a rule about not barging in on him when he's "working" (doesnt last cause Poppy needs to constantly barge in on him to get work done)

[felixfeliciswriterblog]

Snapetober 2020 - Day 5: Sick/Fever

This was inspired by my main Snape x OFC Severitus fic, but you don’t need to read it to understand it or enjoy it ;)

Warnings: Snape throws up? Idk if that can bother someone. I don’t really describe it in depth or anything XD

Length: 2053 words.

THE PERKS OF BEING CURSED

During Potions class, Professor Snape normally walked from desk to desk, sneered at some so-called dunderheads for being incapable of following the instructions in the blackboard, and generally made sure as few accidents as possible occurred, especially when Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan were involved. He had started off the Erumpent Potion class that way. Fifteen minutes later, he had begun to lean on the desks and walk too slowly. By mid-class, he had given up altogether and sat at his desk, pretending to correct essays even if his quill kept slipping through his trembling fingers. Draco had been stealing glances at his teacher through it all.

“Make sure Crabbe and Goyle don’t spoil the potion,” Draco whispered to Blaise, getting off his stool.

“Where are you going?” wondered Pansy, the one in charge of noting down all the changes the unfinished potion underwent.

“To the loo.”

Both Blaise and Pansy eyed him suspiciously but still gave him a nod. Without wasting time, Draco approached his professor.

“Sir?”

This close, Draco noticed two things. First, Snape’s forehead, usually knitted into a scowl, was now glinting with sweat. Second, Snape’s face was pallid, more so than usual.

“The instructions are clear, Mr. Malfoy. Read them carefully before interrupting me,” he advised, keeping his black eyes on the parchment with barely legible handwriting.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It isn’t about the potion. I need to go to the toilet. It’s an emergency.”

There was a brief pause in which Draco held his breath.

“You may go. Do be quick, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

Draco walked along the corridors, went past the boys’ toilets, climbed up the stairs, and reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The desks formed a U-shape inside of which the first-year students produced jets of red sparks from their wands, some more successful than others. As soon as he spotted Professor Skyrah, closely observing her students and taking notes to later grade their performance, Draco called her. That caught the attention not only of his teacher but also of a few students, now staring at him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. Professor Snape’s got a message for you. A private one.”

Immediately, she beckoned Draco to approach her desk and cast a muffliato charm.

“Nobody can hear us now,” she assured him. “You may speak.”

“Did Professor Snape meet with the Dark Lord last night? He was crucioed, wasn’t he?”

With squinting eyes, she inquired, “Why are you asking?”

“Did he drink some potion against the cruciatus curse after-effects?” Her lips remained pursed. “I’ve been observing Professor Snape in class. He looks… dizzy. He can’t stand, is sweating, slightly shaking. I’m not a healer, but my father’s gone through that once or twice after drinking that potion. I’d say they’re side-effects.”

“Severus only had a bit of a headache this morning.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I didn’t risk lying to my Head of House just for his wife to think I’m making this up.”

“You lied to my husband?”

“I asked for permission to go to the toilet, but I came here instead.”

“You never go to the toilet mid-lesson… He must be truly sick if he didn’t catch that you were up to something.” She closed her eyes, took a big breath and smiled – it wasn’t the reaction Draco had expected from her. Everything fell into place when she drew circles with her wand and pronounced, “Expecto Patronum!”

The same crow he had met during his first Defence class with her flapped its wings in front of them. The students who had taken notice of Draco earlier were now gasping in awe. Draco couldn’t help but admire the crow with bitter jealousy; what he’d give to invoke a corporeal patronus someday, and maybe prove his aunt Bellatrix wrong and show her Malfoys were also capable of that.

“Argus, it’s Skyrah. Please, come to my classroom. I need you to watch over the students for me. It’s important.”

The crow flew away to deliver the message.

“I should get going, or Professor Snape will realize I’ve lied to him,” said Draco.

“He’ll realize anyway. There’s no other way I could have found out about his… state.”

“...Will you cover me up?”

“Should I?”

“I should receive House points. I may have just avoided a potions accident by telling you. The erumpent potion is quite dangerous.”

She smirked at his cheekiness. “Must I forget that you lied to your Potions teacher?”

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him that he looks like a ghost?”

“That wouldn’t have ended well,” she agreed, grinning lopsidedly. “Why didn’t you go to Poppy?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea if Madam Pomfrey knows anything about the cruciatus curse treatment. I figured that you, on the other hand…”

“Would have some experience,” she finished for him, not confirming it nor denying it.

With a swish of her wand, the muffliato charm was removed. She targeted a silver service bell on the teacher’s desk and pressed it with an uttered sonorus. The ringing noise was loud enough to command the attention of the entire class.

“Training time is over. I’m afraid my presence is required elsewhere,” she informed, standing up. A bunch of students made sounds of protest which became louder when they caught sight of the inseparable duo of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Skyrah gave the caretaker a thankful nod and addressed the students once again. “Next day we will discuss how to defend ourselves against gytrashes. For us to succeed, we first need to understand how the dark creature acts. Therefore, you ought to start reading on them right now, chapter five, and write down questions in case you have them. Argus will supervise the class. If you don't behave yourselves, I’ll know, and you won’t like the consequences.”

She shot a meaningful glance to the quartet of troublemakers of the class and left the classroom, Draco close behind her. He had to match his strides to her quick pace and fight the urge to roll his eyes at the portraits’ whines. Apparently, the click-clacking of her shoes had disrupted the sleep of those that were too lazy to do something other than napping. It was the same sound that alerted Draco’s classmates. When they saw it was Professor Skyrah, accompanied by Draco, whispers filled the potions classroom. Severus didn’t react until Skyrah and Draco were standing right in front of his desk. Even then, he raised his head slowly, grimacing.

“Mr. Malfoy, I see your supposedly short trip to the toilet has become an expedition of sorts. Ten points from Sl–”

“If you deduct points, I’ll give them back.” She paused to cast the muffliato charm again and have a private conversation, even if they were the center of attention. “You look horrible.”

“You’re the very definition of ‘flatterer’.”

“It isn’t the time to be sarcastic, Severus. You can’t teach in this state, much less a highly explosive potion. It is a matter of safety. Draco did well by telling me you’re sick.”

“I’ve kept the class safe. There haven’t been any incidents.”

“Pure luck.”

Sick as he felt, it didn’t escape his notice how Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

“Did you come to scold me in front of our students?” asked Severus.

She gave him a mischievous smile and turned to face the class after canceling the effects of the muffliato charm. 

“Class dismissed.”

“But we’ve almost fi–”

She cut Pansy off, “I won’t repeat it.”

Pansy and a few students – including Hermione – pouted and sighed. The majority were happy to tidy up and go, though. Draco was part of the latter group and left as soon as Skyrah thanked him. In contrast, Harry locked eyes with Skyrah, concerned, but did as the rest of his classmates after receiving a reassuring nod. The Snapes didn’t doubt that they’d be getting a visit from him after classes.

“I don’t think you have a fever,” she said, putting her hand on Severus’s forehead. He responded by leaning into her hand. Now that no students remained in the classroom, a moment of weakness was permitted, or so he told himself. “Draco mentioned you can't stand. I’ll levitate you and bring you to the Hospital Wing, all right?”

“Don’t. My stomach… I can’t handle it.”

She slithered her palm from his forehead to his cheek. The caresses were as gentle as her voice when she said, “Why did you tell me you only had a headache this morning?”

“I didn’t feel so unwell.”

“Yet when that changed, you continued with the class.”

“Interrupting it wasn’t wise. The ingredients are expensive. Now the money plus the potions the students were brewing have gone to waste. Albus won’t be pleased.”

“You’re right. He won’t be pleased to know you prioritize money over your health. You can resume the lesson another day, Severus. Lean on me now. I’ll take you to our chambers; they’re closer than the Hospital Wing.”

Along the way, he grunted and almost fell when he tried to prove he was fine enough to walk on his own. The only reason he didn’t was that he had miraculously grabbed the arm of one of the suits of armor that decorated the corridors. Thank Merlin no students were nearby... nor Minerva. His reputation as the bat of the dungeons would have suffered. Finally, she whispered the password and the door opened for them. 

“Hang on, Severus. I’ll help you get into bed.”

“No. Not yet. I think I’m going to vomit.”

She would have kissed his temple if it weren’t for the urgency in his tone.  Even if clumsily, they made it to the bathroom. She helped him kneel by the toilet and rubbed his back soothingly, holding his hair for him until his stomach was empty.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathing harshly and refusing to look at her.

“For what?”

“This has been excruciatingly embarrassing and disgusting.”

“You’ve done this for me countless times, Severus. It’s okay for the roles to be reversed now and then.” By his tense shoulders, he was thinking about the miscarriage. So was she, for her voice had shaken and her hand had drifted to the place they used to feel their unborn daughter. “Can you brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll send Poppy a message. She shouldn’t take long.”

“There’s nothing she can do. I’ve been through this before. It’ll go away after getting some sleep. The potion must have reacted poorly to my breakfast, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly, her wand ready to invoke her patronus once more.

“Absolutely.”

“All right… Do you need anything?”

“Some water, perhaps.”

So while he brushed his teeth, she summoned a glass from their kitchen and filled it with a simple aguamenti. Severus drank its water and left the glass by the sink. 

Soon, he was under the silky bedsheets, surrounded by the pillows she had adjusted for him after contacting the headmaster via the school floo network to explain the situation and advise him to seek a substitute for the upcoming lessons.

“How are you feeling?” she wondered, running her hands through his bare chest. She was lying by his side, with her head on his shoulder.

“Not fine yet, but better.” Skyrah nuzzled her head into him and hooked her leg around him. “You shouldn’t get comfortable. You’ve got a class to teach.”

“I’ve got a stubborn husband to take care of.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Too bad. I won’t move until you start snoring.”

He groaned, exasperated, though his grip on her became just a tiny bit firmer. Skyrah missed his feeble grin, too busy playing with his chest hair and kissing his scarred skin.

“I may not need you to take care of me, but I don’t dislike it.”

“I know, my snarky Potions Master,” she said, chuckling softly. If he went as far as confessing that, it could only mean he was so exhausted he could no longer control what went past his lips. “Rest now.”

He complied, thinking he owed Draco. Vomiting in front of his students would have been a fate worse than cuddling with his wife. That was a fact.

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

A/N: I probably wouldn’t have been able to post this on time if it had been betaed, so I apologize for any possible mistakes you may have encountered. I did my best.

If you liked it, you can read the main fic here: AO3, FFN. 

Have a nice day, y’all! And thanks for taking the time to read this little fic :) If you’re feeling sick, remember to take care of yourself <3

[minervacasterly]

~QUEEN ELIZABETH'S FINAL YEARS~

"Towards the end of Elizabeth I’s reign, her face and body ravaged by time, sickness and toxic cosmetics, she was obliged to undergo an increasingly elaborate ritual to preserve the so-called ‘mask of youth’. When she emerged, triumphant, in front of the public court, she was Gloriana once more, bedecked in dazzling gowns, bejewelled wigs and thick layers of white make-up, and could just about fool her adoring subjects that she was still the most desirable woman in Europe. A visitor to her court in 1599 was amazed to see the queen, now well into her sixties, looking ‘very youthful still in appearance, seeming no more than twenty years of age.’

Only in the privacy of her ‘secret lodgings’ at court was Elizabeth’s true self revealed to the handful of trusted ladies who were permitted to attend her.

... the queen was not willing to relinquish the battle for sexual supremacy quite yet. She appeared at court bedecked in increasingly lavish and brightly coloured gowns, but ordered her ladies to wear only black or white. Not all of them were prepared to acquiesce. Lady Mary Howard was one of the most audacious and disrespectful members of the queen’s entourage. One day she appeared at court dressed in an ostentatious gown made from a rich velvet and ‘powdered with gold and pearl’. An associate of Sir John Harington recalled the envious looks that were cast her way, not least from the queen, who realised the gown ‘exceeded her own’. Intent upon revenge, a few days later the queen ordered a servant to steal the dress from Lady Mary’s chamber and bring it to her. Elizabeth was considerably taller than Lady Mary, so the gown was far too short for her. Undeterred, she paraded in it before her ladies, demanding to know ‘How they liked her new-fancied suit?’ When nobody answered, the queen addressed the question to Lady Mary herself, who resentfully snapped that it was ‘too short and ill becoming’. ‘Why then,’ Elizabeth retorted, ‘if it become not me, as being too short, I am minded it shall never become thee, as being too fine; so it fitteth neither well.’

... In the later years of Elizabeth’s reign, her ladies were obliged to spend ever more time applying her makeup and other adornments in order to conceal the marks of age. Although the queen had originally worn wigs that matched her own colouring, these now concealed a head of thinning, grey hair. There is some evidence to suggest that her hair might have started to turn grey when she was still young. A lock of greying red hair preserved at Wilton House is reputed to have been given by Elizabeth to Philip Sidney in 1572, when she was thirty-nine, although another source dates the gift to 1582. Certainly, by 1596, when Elizabeth was in her mid-fifties, her famous copper tresses had faded to grey

...increasingly thick layers of makeup were applied to maintain the so-called ‘mask of youth’, as well as to keep up with Italian fashions. Educated as a humanist princess, Elizabeth had always embraced Italian ideals and influences, and it had not taken long for the fresh-faced beauty that typified her early reign to be replaced by the highly painted visage favoured by Italian ladies. As ever, the fashions at court had been quickly replicated by those lower down the social scale. It was ‘a rare face if it be not painted’, according to a satirical broadside of the period, which poked fun at the lengths that the women of London would go to in their quest for everlasting beauty:

Waters she hath to make her face to shine,

Confections, eke, to clarify her skin;

Lip salve and cloths of a rich scarlet dye . . .

Ointment, wherewith she sprinkles o’er her face,

And lustrifies her beauty’s dying grace . . .

Storax and spikenard, she burns in her chamber,

And daubs herself with civet, musk, and amber.

The queen tried to keep her forehead wrinkle-free by having it regularly pasted with curd skimmed off posset, a creamy drink made from milk mixed with sugar, wine or ale. She also used a cleansing lotion made from two newly laid eggs and their shells, burnt alum, powdered sugar, borax and poppy seeds ground with water. It was believed to whiten, smooth and soften the skin. Once Elizabeth’s skin had been cleansed and treated, her entire face, neck and hands were painted with ceruse (a mixture of white lead and vinegar) in order to achieve the palest possible complexion. This was the ideal for well-born ladies because it proved that they lived a life of genteel leisure, as opposed to the women whose skin was coloured by the sun from many hours of working outdoors. To create a dramatic contrast to her pale skin, Elizabeth’s lips and cheeks were coloured with a red paste made from beeswax, cochineal and plant dye, and her eyes were lined with kohl. Although they helped to conceal the ravages of time, some of these concoctions were so toxic that they did more damage to the skin than ageing ever could.

...In the queen’s favour was the fact she remained in good health, despite the occasional bout of illness – such as during de Maisse’s visit in 1597, when she claimed to have been ‘very ill with a gathering on the right side of her face’. She assured the ambassador that ‘she did not remember ever to have been so ill before’. He suspected that this was merely an excuse for not seeing him earlier, however, and observed: ‘I should never have thought [it] seeing her eyes and face.’ De Maisse was right to be suspicious. Even now, in what was considered old age, Elizabeth was physically agile and still had some of the restless energy that had characterised her youth. A visiting ambassador from Württemberg in March 1595 was amazed that during one of his audiences with the queen, ‘She stood for longer than a full hour by the clock conversing with me, which is astonishing for a Queen of such eminence and of such great age.’ In 1599, when she was in her mid-sixties, Elizabeth surprised the Spanish ambassador with her sprightliness at the dance. ‘The head of the Church of England and Ireland was to be seen in her old age dancing three or four galliards,’ he reported. The galliard was a particularly energetic dance, requiring frequent leaps, jumps and hops, so it was impressive that Elizabeth could carry it off with such aplomb. She was still performing it in 1602, at the age of almost seventy, when she honoured the Duke of Nevers by dancing it twice with him. That same year, another foreign visitor saw the queen walking in her garden at Oatlands and was astonished by her agility. ‘Her Royal Majesty passed us several times,’ he recalled, ‘walking as freely as if she had been only eighteen years old.’ For all her physical agility, there are hints that Elizabeth had started to lose her formidable mental capacity. Like her father, she became increasingly paranoid as age and infirmity overtook her. Even though it had been easily defeated by the royal forces, the Earl of Essex’s rebellion in 1601 had seriously destabilised her and more than ever she sought sanctuary in her private apartments. ‘These troubles waste her much,’ reported Sir John Harington. ‘Every new message from the city doth disturb her . . . the many evil plots and designs have overcome all her Highness’ sweet temper.’

Although weakened by stress and lack of food, the restless energy that the queen had displayed throughout her life still remained. Harington described how she ‘walked fastly to and fro’ when in a fury against Essex, and reported: ‘She walks much in her privy chamber, and stamps with her feet at ill news, and thrusts her rusty sword at times into the arras in great rage . . . the dangers are over, and yet she always keeps a sword by her table.’

Another (perhaps more truthful) account describes the ageing monarch as ‘very feeble and tottering on account of her illness,’ but the author admits that she was nevertheless ‘adorned and bedecked right royally’.

'The court was very much neglected, and in effect the people were generally weary of an old woman’s government,’ reported another courtier. In ever greater numbers, her subjects flocked north to James VI, King of Scotland, anxious to ingratiate themselves with the queen’s likely successor. As Camden noted: ‘They adored him as the sun rising, and neglected her as now ready to set.’ Elizabeth was well aware of this and was tormented that ‘the question of the succession every day rudely sounded in their ears’.

The loss of her subjects’ love hastened Elizabeth’s decline..."

AT DEATH's DOOR

In January 1603, the queen left the court in Whitehall on the advice of her trusted old astrologer John Dee, and moved to her favourite palace of Richmond, to which she could ‘best trust her sickly old age’.

... As the days passed, she continued to slip into a steady decline. Ever mistress of her fate, the queen refused to lie down in her bed or to take any food for three days and nights, instead ‘holding her finger almost continually in her mouth, with her eyes open and fixed upon the ground, where she sat on cushions without rising or resting herself, and was greatly emaciated by her long watching and fasting.’ She angrily dismissed the ministrations of her physicians, and those around her began to suspect that she had simply decided to die. ‘The Queen grew worse, because she would be so, none about her being able to persuade her to go to bed,’ recalled an exasperated Sir Robert Carey. ‘It seems she might have lived if she would have used means,’ another visitor concurred, ‘but she would not be persuaded, and princes must not be forced.’

... In her grief, Elizabeth sought even greater privacy: ‘The Queen for many days has not left her chamber . . . they say that the reason for this is her sorrow for the death of the Countess,’ observed Scaramelli.

Racked by sorrow and weakened by lack of food and sleep, the queen presented a sorrowful sight to the few courtiers who were permitted to visit her. Among them was the Countess of Nottingham’s widower, Charles Howard, the Lord High Admiral. Perhaps softened by pity, Elizabeth heeded his entreaties that she must retire to her bed. As soon as she did so, her life slipped rapidly away. The corridors of the palace echoed with ‘great weeping and lamentation’ as the queen’s ladies ‘passed to and fro, and perceived there was no hope that Her Majesty should escape.’

Shortly after taking to her bed, Elizabeth was seized by a ‘defluxion in the throat’, which left her unable to speak and ‘like a dead person’. The glands of her neck were enlarged and her breathing became laboured. Modern medical analysis suggests that she was suffering from bronchopneumonia, which, in a weakened or aged person, is rapidly followed by pneumonia and often proves fatal. Four days later, Scaramelli reported: ‘Her Majesty’s life is absolutely despaired of, even if she be not already dead.’

On 23 March, however, Elizabeth suddenly rallied. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she exhorted her ministers to care for the peace of the realm.

When the Lord High Admiral asked her if the King of Scots should be her heir, she lifted her thin, wasted hand up to her head and slowly drew a circle around it to indicate a crown. That evening, everyone but the queen’s ladies departed. They watched over her as she drifted between waking and sleeping. Between two and three o’clock the following morning, their royal mistress breathed her last, slipping from life ‘easily like a ripe apple from the tree’."

-The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Bormam

[laughing-with-god]

BTS Reaction #4- Love At First Sight

HOSEOK-  “I’ll be out in a second!”  You called out to the front of the shop as you heard the bell ring that told you a new costumer just entered.  

  You eyed the pot in front of you and nodded to yourself.  It looked like enough soil, so you smiled and took off your gardening gloves.  You headed to the front counter, where a smaller yet older lady stood by, eyeing the place with a secretive grin on her face.  

  “How may I help you ma’am?”  You asked politely.  She smiled at you and gestured to all the flowers by the huge bay window.

  “Do you offer flower delivery?”  She asked.  

  “Of course.  Most of our flowers are delivered with a note though.  Do you have one with you?”  You told her.

  “Well, my son’s birthday is next week and I have the card.  I just don’t know what kind of flowers I should send with it.”  She hummed thoughtfully as she gazed around the shop.

  “Roses seem to be a costumer favorite, however poppies are in season and we have a few out back.”  You answered blandly.  Your boss was always telling you to push the roses and poppies, since they were the most expensive.  Personally, you thought they were over-rated.

  “Hmm...what do you think?”  

  “If you don’t mind me suggesting, I would think our white and yellow daisy bouquet would be nice.  White is for purity and innocent love, while the yellow stands for luck and good health.”  You advised her carefully while eyeing the flowers.  

  She seemed to think about this for a bit, before nodding and handing you a birthday card.  

“So how much will that be?”

.....

  It has been four days since the lady came in for the bouquet of flowers for her son.  Today was the day that the flowers would be delivered and you quietly made sure the arrangement was in order, cutting off any last minute thorns.  

 “Hey, (y/n)!”  You boss yelled out from his office.  You stalked forward ended up at his doorway.  

  “Yes Sir?”

  “The delivery man just broke his ankle.  I’m going to need you to due all the deliveries today.”  You let out a deep sigh as you noticed the weather outside get gloomier and gloomier.  

  “Okay sir.”

....

  You ended up in front of a factory like place.  The address you got lead you here and you wondered if this son worked as a factory worker.  You hurriedly skipped to the entrance as you felt rain began to trickle down from the sky.

  The factory was empty and instead filled with many people running around with lights, cameras, makeup and outfits.    Suddenly, a lady holding seven cups of coffee bumped into you.  

  “Um, excuse me, where can I find a Hoseok?”  You asked.

  “He should be done with his photo shoot right about now.”  She gestured over to a corner of the factory that held a table with food. Photo shoot?  You followed her direction and saw a tall man standing by it, stuffing a rice cake into his mouth.  You guesses this was Hoseok, as there was no one else there.

“Umm...Happy Birthday?”

He turned around and looked at you with wide and glossy eyes.  In shock of you, his jaw dropped as a rice cake fell from his mouth.  

  Years later, Hoseok would swear to god he thought an angel was delivering him flowers that day.

JIMIN- You huffed loudly, annoyed.  You weren’t sure why you signed up for this.  Sure you loved makeup and trained hard to get where you have gotten.  However, you were more into special effects or maybe even some avant-garde makeup for model art.  Never before would you have thought that you would be doing some arragont kpop idol’s makeup.  Plus the job wasn’t challenging at all, pop on some eyeliner, smokey eye, TONS of BB cream, highlighter and sometimes blush.  Nothing too crazy.  However bills needed to be paid and you were told a makeup artist working for a certain popular kpop group all of a sudden got really sick, so they put you to work immediately. You showed up to the backstage of some music show, where a stylist informed you of the concept and implied certain aspects that should be brought out on your idol’s face.  You were taken to your vanity and was left with the promise of a man named ‘Jimin’ arriving shortly.

You quietly sorted out your own makeup along with some of the supplies that was previously laid out for your use.  Silently, you prayed that this Jimin guy wasn’t rude or a high class diva.  Yet, as usual your logical side took over and you began to ponder.

This group is supposedly VERY popular, you’re at a very famous music show and from the looks of it; this backstage dressing room that this group got was very nice and filled with attentive staff members all rushing to do something. 

You sighed.  

This guy was probably one of the most well-known idols in Korea. And fame is very hard not to get to your head.  You mentally prepared yourself for a Diva...or divo, rather.

Suddenly, you felt movement beside you and you realised someone had sat in the seat.  You slapped a brave face on and took out the primer and a foundation brush, you were still looked down and you wanted a quick peek of who this guy was sat down and ready for your appliance, while reaching over for a blender your eyes gazed up so you can see this mans face through the mirror.

He was already looking at you through the mirror’s reflection.  Staring rather...

His puffy eyelids and under-eyes practically smothered his own eyeballs, however you could tell that he was -without a doubt- staring at you.  You realised he may not be informed of why you (someone he’s never seen before) are now doing his makeup so you smiled, bowed and introduced yourself before continuing. 

“Hello, I’m (y/n) and I’ll be doing your makeup until your artist gets back.  Please take care of me.”

His seemingly stunned face was now curled up in a cute, childish grin.  You watched very amazed as his shoulers shrugged up to look smaller, his eyes completely dissapear behind the aeygo bags and and a gummy smile took over, revealing some pearly whites that a colgate commercial would be glad to have.  You kinda wanted to squeal but got ahold of yourself since you had to be proffesional.

“So your my new makeup artist?”  Suprisingly a thick and raspy voice came out of his pouty lips that held a strong busan accent.  You shook your head and reminded him that you said you were just here until the other one got back.  To which his smile dropped to a cute pout and his whole face scrunched up in what you can only describe as determination.  While you began your first steps of his face, you would’ve sworn you heard him mumble; “We’ll see about that.” 

At the end of the day, a representative from Bighit called and offered you a permanent position as Jimin’s makeup artist.  You attempted to decline, but they seemed oddly persistent that you take the offer...

(gif is when you tell him you aren’t his new makeup artist)

TAEHYUNG-You were a huge fan of BTS.  And like most Army, you found yourself growing a soft spot for one particular member.  Yours’ was Taehyung. You just saw alot of yourself in him.  Both of you are really weird and quirky but funny and caring people notheless.  Sometimes misunderstood but more intillegent than what people gave you credit for.  You loved the alien boy because you were an alien yourself.

You were so over-flowing with love that you decided to make a fan-account/blog for him.  You gained hundreds of followers because they loved how funny and unique you are, you also were really friendly and decided to chat with other fans openly on there.  You excitedly annouced that you were going to a bts fanmeet in your city, to which your followers all liked and commented how jealous they were and how lucky you were.  Some demanded you take pictures and video, which obviously you were gonna.  

You got an ask notification the night before the event.  It read, ‘OMG (y/n) I’m so happy you get to see them in person.  I hope that taehyung recongizes you.  Lol, wouldn’t it be funny if he jumped up after you tell him that your followers also call you alien and yell “THERE YOU ARE, MY LONG-LOST ALIEN SOULMATE!  Which planet are you from?!”  Anyway good luck tommorow~’  

You laughed while reading this and typed back a sassy but odd reply before going to bed.  

The next day you arrived at the fan meeting and although you were extremely nervous, a weird sense of calm hit you when you were about to go up to the table. You said hello to the first members, letting them know how wonderful they are and how much their music meant to you when suddenly you were face to face with your bias.

“Hey Tae oppa. You’re my favorite member and idea type and I just want you to know that I understand your antics very well given I’m labeled as weird too by some people.”

He looked up from signing your abulm but stopped in his tracts when he made eye contact.

“What’s your name?” He said, oddly still and not at all like the goof ball persona he had on when meeting other fans. You got scared for a second. Had you offended him or something?

“Y/n” you had said. He nodded in thought for a moment before continuing his signature and asking you some weird questions. Like how many kids you wanted or would you rather stay in or go out for a date. Before long you were shooed onto the next member, not before receiving a long and thoughtful stare from your bias.

At the end of day you were still thinking about the strange encounter you had with the man. You wondered if there was something about you that caused him to act more reserved or if he was just having a bad day? You thought about posting your experience to your followers to gain some insight but then thought against it. After all, idols are human too and the last thing you would want is to stir him up into a controversy.

You received a private message from your blog and when you went to open it, you were left confused.

‘I’m from Saturn. How about you? Love the blog btw, you weren’t kidding when you said you were odd too’

What followed after that was a selfie of Taehyung that you knew for sure was not recycled from the internet. Meaning he had to have taken that as he was speaking to you. He was even wearing the same outfit he had on during the fan signing.

He found your blog and was set on making your ‘alien couple’ fantasy into a reality.

JUNGKOOK- Being a college student was really hard. Constant stress and lack of funds caused you to suffer some mild anxiety. Like right now for example. You were currently looking at the list of books you’d need for the upcoming semester when your heart stopped beating from sheer shock. How in the devil’s butthole were you gonna find a way to pay for this?

“You know, I know a local bookstore that has a lot of university books for like a third of the price if your interested. You won’t have to pay like hundreds of dollars.” Your friend told you, trying to calm you down from the sheer panic attack that was about to hit you. She wrote down the address and told you to find it. With that, you bounced to find yourself some cheap books that won’t cost as much as a couple months’ worth of rent.

You found the shop and found the things you were needing. All except one. You just had one more book to buy but unluckily for you, it was super hard to find. You skimmed the shelves of this cute little shop, humming to the music they were playing in the background.

And then there it was.

The book you were in desperate need for in order to understand your class and pass.

But....it was in the hands of another.

A very good looking guy whom wore a white shirt, beanie and some timbs. You recognized him, given that many students at your school were fans of him and his group. But in this moment did you care at all that he was famous???

No.

If anything it made you more vengeful.

You were barely able to pay for food, and an idol who has everything at his finger tips was gonna steal a deal from you? Yeah, you were gonna let that happen.

“Yah! I need that book! You see unlike you, I am a broke student who REALLy needs that discounted book for a class! As an idol, I’m sure you could afford to buy it at full price!” You screeched in his face.

He looked up and was about to retort when he went silent and his big doe eyes got a glossy look. You continued to rant, somewhat blowing off steam on this innocent guy but little did you know, he wasn’t hearing a word. Lost in space (more like your face), all he could hear was the distant sound of wedding bells and angels singing. It was hard to see who was more insane in this scenario, the person who freaked out at a stranger for grabbing the book you wanted due to panicked stress and possibly the beginnings of a mental breakdown. Or the guy who sat there, let himself get berated bc he was too focused on planning his future wedding with this seemingly crazy person.

(Later he did buy you the book, after you swore to go to dinner with him.)

(GIF of him just staring at how gorgeous you are)

[eccentrillectual]

T-Rats of K-County

So again I confront another. This time a candidate for Sheriff of my home county. This time once again the crickets were chosen as spokesmen to provide a nonanswer... A page surfaced with an anonymous person asserting claims of the acting Sheriff being granted immunity in the trial of the treasonous Sheriff preceding him. Half the department was present to say this was a lie, so I jumped into the conversation. The latter half of this article is the original inquiry to a candidate seeking position of Sheriff   in the  following election. Well,, I'll be dipped in shit, what have we here?  Maybe ,maybe not, but if the question may have arose in anyone's mind I can assure you, this page is not mine nor do I have part in it. I have no problem with anyone seeing my face or knowing my name.  I am not familiar with or recall Mr. Goshert's relationship to the Rovenstine case. I do not know , so DID  Mr. Goshert recieve immunity or did he not? If in fact he did, then yes, that does raise the valid question as to what exactly did he need immunity from?  Since we are here, I have some questions of my own regarding several issues that cannot be denied. Why did not a single deputy step down in refusal to serve a corrupt sheriff?  Does not the department's jail division employ a former officer who also fell into felony charges for an armed and drunken rampage in which he threatened to kill the chief of police?  75℅ of the jail population is victimless crimes. Who in the hell would want this man holding the key to his cell?     This last line of questions was actually addressed to one of the candidates presently seeking position as sheriff. As of yet they remain unanswered but stand to anyone within the department who holds police authority..._____  ~With all due respect Sir, Alot of times I get mistaken for being against or disliking law enforcement. What I am against and dislike are law enforcement,with a stronger note on elected positions, who take up positions in law enforcement to then in turn spit in the face of the people to whom they have sworn the oath. The oath also sworn to and before the true granter of peoples' rights being our Creator.  What a certain Sheriff recently did which got him ejected with nothing more than a scolding, would have gotten him hanged back in the day. Was he not in fact in a race with another certain sworn officer in  both spying on the other to expose the other before being exposed himself? That fact alone exposes the fact that there is probable cause to believe there is  yet another sworn officer operating at large in breach of his oath.  Also, is it not the DUTY of a patriot to resist unjust laws imposed upon the people? Which leads to my next round of inquiry.   Why do you , like the majority of local law, put so much emphasis on crimes which carry no victim being the never progressing war on drugs? A drug is a drug no matter of who is selling it, in what form, or for what purpose, and if that drug is illegal it is illegal. Will you allow doctors to continue selling meth to children under the guise of adhd medicine? Adhd meds and meth of the very same substance,Methamphetamine. How about Opiate based medicines made from the same Opium and Heroin producing Turkish poppy? The highest percentage of that poppy population being found in Afghanistan. We no longer live in a time of limited communications capabilities where a nation can be brought to believe that a man walked on the moon,we now live in the age of information. Information communicable in real time anywhere on Earth. It is widely seen and now known by many, except by many Americans another bit of information. The Heroin trade was at record low productivity with Taliban nearly having those poppy fields eradicated just prior to U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. Afghans may not be up to par with our technological availabilities, but there are still many and plenty of people on the ground with devices with which to show the world who has now taken control of the Heroin industry and skyrocketed it to never before seen record high levels of productivity.If you really want to keep this Heroin off our local streets, are you in fact willing to go after the real criminals responsible, or stick to skimming and generating wealth from it by waiting until it is in the hands of the end buyer whose life is now endangered in that Heroin being permitted to reach his hands?   Pot is illegal because oil companies wanted competition to their own profits quelled.  40 + years now, has the war on drugs made an inch of progress? No it has not. Why? A ponzi scheme of perpetual revenue production for the provider of the problem so as to provide a percieved money bilking solution.

[weneedtherooks]

War Letters AU: Introductions

Wow, this one is my longest yet!

Okay, so this is an AU in which Clara never actually got sent back in time. Here, she’s still April Hughes. It’s the year 2000 and she’s 17 years old.  With this AU comes some new tags! I’ll still be using #my ocs and #shitty dialogue, but in this case you’ll see #april and friedrich as well as #april hughes. I’ll also be tagging this as #war letters au.

Since they aren’t actually speaking, this is just the conversation in German. Thinking to themselves is still the same. 

“April Hughes: World War One, Germany.”

April blinked a couple times. “Germany…? Really? So I have to write to the bad guys?”

The teacher got a chuckle out of that. “Well, it’s not often that someone in this class is able to handle a second language. And, as it just so happens, you’re that person.” April shrugged. “Alrighty then. Well, I hope they’re ready to get the best letter EVER.”

Ever since the Voyager Project started, tons of people had been writing letters to people in the past. They still weren’t super comfortable with the idea of sending whole groups back, but letters and presents seemed to be okay. April’s school just happened to be one of the lucky picks for a special program they were doing: War Letters. A few schools were given a different war and a side with which to write to. Apparently, they managed to convince each country that they had a special delivery system approved by the government so that they could send letters back and forth every day, if they chose. April scoffed to herself quietly. Government approved. What kind of money do you gotta have to pull off just saying “government approved”?

“So, what’re you gonna write?”

April looked over to see the overly curious face of her best friend, Nancy Rogers. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure some soldier in 1916 Germany wants to be talking to a random seventeen year old kid. Nancy rolled her eyes. “Well, then write something that will make them want to! You’re a creative kid, and if anyone can pull it off…”

She sighed. “Alright, lemme see what I can do…”

“Here. Letter for you.”

The soldier sat up, bunching his eyebrows in confusion. “I have not sent any letters. How could I possibly have one addressed to me?” “It is not addressed to anyone, sir. They simply said to give it to you.”

He sighed. Of course. Why not give it to me? I have nothing better to do but answer some anonymous…

He opened the letter.

“Hello,

I was wondering if maybe you and I could write to each other? After all, I am sure a little friendly conversation will help to pass the time! How are you doing? Are the days very difficult for you right now? I hope you are doing well, even under the current circumstances.

I am looking forward to your reply,

A. H.”

“A. H.?” he muttered out loud. He scratched the back of his neck. Oh, why not? He grabbed his writing supplies. “Let us see what sort of person you are, A. H.” 

“I’m fine. I don’t see how small talk could hurt. If you want to continue, please send me a clipping of your hair, what color lipstick you wear, and whatever else you feel like. Just to get to know you, of course. Signed, F.R.” April stared at the reply letter. What the hell kind of response is that?

“He has to be joking, right?” Nancy asked, looking somewhat annoyed at the written request. April tapped the table she was sitting at, contemplating.

Alright then. I’ll play along.

“Nancy, I need you to come with me!” Her friend stuttered. “Where are we going?” “Cafeteria! I need to use the shop for some things!”

Inside the cafeteria was a small shop of sorts. It could get you whatever little odds and ends you wanted, no matter what time period you asked for. Even pictures, should you need or want one...and April was in need of one.

“I want to take a picture with you! And I’ll also need to grab a couple of my flowers from Mrs. Baker’s classroom...and I need you to cut my hair a bit.” Nancy looked at her, a little shocked. “You’re really gonna go through with it?” April put her hands on her hips. “Who says I’m not gonna ask for the same in return?”

After running about the school for ten minutes, she scribbled down a reply and put the items she’d gathered into the envelope. Okay, F.R. Your move. 

He chuckled, holding the lock of wavy blonde hair in front of him. She actually did it…

“Dear F. R.,

I do not like wearing lipstick all that much, and I hope his lock of hair is to your satisfaction. The flowers inside are clover and lilac. They are my favorites! I also left a paint smear on this, in case you wanted to know my favorite color was purple-like the lilacs. I like Hershey’s chocolate kisses and Chiclets! I enjoy listening to the rain and running outside with no shoes on!

What about you? Do you think you could send me a few things in return?

Signed,

April Hughes, age 17”

“April, huh…?” He smiled. Such a simple girl. He called one of the other soldiers over. Well, let’s give the young lady what she asked for. 

She took the letter from her teacher, walking over to her desk. It seemed a little bulky...Did he really send me stuff as well? When she opened the envelope, she noticed the lock of dirty blond hair sitting at the bottom. There was also a dirt-covered playing card, a couple small poppies, and a single bullet casing.

“Miss April Hughes, age 17,

Thank you for the items in your previous letter. They did brighten my day a bit. I was not expecting you to actually send me your hair, so I applaud you for that. It only seems fair that I send my own, if you can pardon how dirty it is. It is nice to see flowers other than the poppies, but I imagined you would like to see them, so I sent a couple. I do not have any kind of paint with me, but I rather like the color copper. You had asked how my days were a couple letters back, and the only way I could describe that was to send the casing. It is dull usually, an endless loop of cleaning guns and shooting them. I do not really like candies, but I am fond of desserts. Rote grütze is a particular favorite. I enjoy listening to the rain as well, but in my position, it is better to keep my footwear on.

Until your next letter,

Friedrich Rosenthal, age 20”

April smiled. Nancy scooted her chair closer, peeking at the letter. “So, his name is Friedrich, huh? Sounds pretty interesting. You gonna keep writing to him?”

“You know...I think I will.”

[ecotone99]

Spun Golden [MF]

Spun Golden

Rupert waited in his squad car on the top of the mountain. The night was dark and the fog was so thick he could barely see the large rancher he had been staking out the week prior. He felt cramped and restless waiting for his backup.

The HEAT wagon pulled up behind him and the team got out in an ordered frenzy. They went up to the door of the rancher and knocked. The lead commanding orders for the door to be opened only to be met by silence. The HEAT lead kicked in the door, breaking into two. The team hurried in and Rupert could see flashlights through the darkened windows that pierced through the fog.

“All clear, you should come in and investigate,” said a female voice over the CB Radio.

“What’s the M.O.?” asked Rupert.

“Looks like another O.D., we also found a grow room but not more n’ that, looks like the house is trashed too, an ambulance was called, should be here shortly.”

Rupert looked around the house for evidence, the inside of the rancher was filthy. The rancher had stacks of newspapers since the seventies gathering dust, containers of half-eaten food, rotting, and gathering mold in the sink. He walked carefully to the backyard, which was grown over with weeds, grass growing up to his knees, which wasn’t saying much considering Rupert’s height. In the middle of the yard was a greenhouse, which looked to be surprisingly well kept compared to the rest of the house.

He opened the thin mesh door to the greenhouse and found rows upon rows of grow boxes. The grow boxes were full of straw, out of this straw grew a flower that resembled a poppy, but instead of red, it was a deep golden color. He was struck by the heady perfumed fragrance that lingered in the air, small trails started to form in his vision, and he felt drowsy. He left immediately letting the fresh, humid air hit his lungs and clear out his senses.

“That is certainly another grow operation for Spun,” Said Rupert.

The officer shook his head, “It seems like every time we find one, two more crop up in its place.”

“I know, but we have to keep fighting the good fight,” Rupert sighed as he massaged his temples.

Spun was short for Spun Golden, a genetically modified plant. The plant had hallucinogenic and addictive qualities, and it was ravaging small towns along the I81 corridor. The plant was an opioid, a poppy that had been crossed with the hallucinogenic properties of belladonna. It grew best out of the soil that was aerated by straw.

Senior Special Agent Rupert Stiltskin of D.C. area DEA was assigned with finding the kingpin of drug ring for Spun, but every time he got a lead, by the time they could legally throw a raid, the suspects were either dead or long gone, this was another dead end.

Frustrated Rupert drove down the mountain a few hours later, the fog turning into clouds as the road wound down into Castle, Pennsylvania, the nearest town. His ears popped and his head was pounding, no doubt from with withdrawal of Spun. He was in his mid-forties, balding with a hooked nose, he had a small potbelly from too many donuts. Although his body was past its prime, his mind remained sharp, at least he hoped it would be sharper in the morning when the fog cleared away. He got to his home and his wife, Norma, greeted him.

“You look awful, hon,” she said.

“It’s this case, every time I get close, it just slips away from me, I’m trying everything I can.” “Shh,” she kissed him. “I made you a casserole, it’s in the oven, why don’t you have dinner and a beer and meet me in bed?”

“I don’t think beer is the best idea right now, but thank you, I don’t know how I’d remain sane without you.”

“Never you mind, hon.” She gave him another hug and headed off the small bedroom in their modest house.

After dinner he peeped into the door next to his room, his son, Caleb, was now nearly thirteen. He was long and lanky and snoring soundly. Rupert thought about all the time he lost, he was out looking for drug dealers while Norma took him to recitals for school plays, he made a note that he was going to take a day off for the next show, and quietly shut the door.

He curled next to Norma and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep

Rupert got up at 5 am in the morning to the sound of his neighbors’ rooster. He walked out of bed quietly and took a quick shower. He saw Caleb in the kitchen next to the coffee pot.

“You’re up early,” said Rupert.

“School starts early, Pa,” said Caleb. “I made you some coffee.”

Caleb fixed him a large thermos of blonde coffee. “I can make you some oatmeal if you like, Pa, I learned a magic trick with cards, look, I can show you,” said Caleb.

“I wish I had time, but I have to be at the station early, DEA stuff; look, Caleb, when this is over, I promise, well I won’t promise, but I’ll try to be there for you, I know you have a game next Tuesday.”

“It’s all right,” said Caleb, “you’re out there catching the bad guys, and trying to catch whoever is making Spun Golden, one of my friend’s brother died from an O.D.”

“Hang on there, what was your friend’s name?”

“Paul Willeck.”

“His brother would be Tom Willeck Jr.”

“Yes sir,” said Caleb.

“Dad, just don’t tell them I told you, ok?”

Rupert frowned. “I understand” Rupert kissed his son on the cheek and grabbed his coffee and a donut from the box on the counter.

He made his way down a winding mountain road into the town of Castle. The mountains divided Pennsylvania from Maryland. Criminals would often get away by crossing through using Ball Road as a way to jump the state line before being caught. The federal government called in the Washington Division of the DEA to cover this case in the tri-state area. Rupert started as a deputy in Castle and applied to be a DEA agent when he saw the small mountain towns being torn asunder by the opioid crises, many of the drugs legally prescribed by doctors and being sold by the patients on the black market. Spun Gold only exacerbated this existing problem.

The thick green trees and winding roads cleared to farmhouses, then to shopping centers, then to the colonial row houses, brick and pavement of the town proper. He made his way downtown to the Sheriff’s office, parked his car in the small lot, and entered the building.

Ralston was manning the front desk. Ralston was a young African American man of a wiry disposition. He had left his precinct from Baltimore to live in peace and quiet, only to be landed in the middle of a drug epidemic. In Baltimore, he had to deal with gang war fair, in Castle, and the land outside of it, it was more grow houses and vicious rednecks. Families that hoarded guns and prepped for the end of the world. Men who hated him for his skin color and would call their hounds on him in a moment’s second. They thought of themselves as nobility, and why not, a drug Barron was still a Barron and turf was still turf city or county. Ralston resolved that people sucked everywhere, city or country and he had enough of it all.

“How you doin’ Rupert?” asked Ralston.

“Doin’ ok, Rawls, here to see the boss, I got a lead.”

“On the Spun case?”

“Yeah, back at the middle and high school.”

“Damn, kids, that’s a shame, they get them hooked young they have a customer for life.”

“Sad but true, but I got a tip of an overdose from Dalton High School.”

“Yeah, the Willeck case?” asked Ralston.

“Exactly, that might be the lead that we need to investigate.”

Rupert went to the back office and grabbed some over-brewed coffee in a Styrofoam cup. He waited for Chief Ellis at his desk. Chief Ellis was in his 50s with salt and pepper hair, an athletic build, and a gruff disposition.

“Stiltskin, you’re on your last legs with this investigation, the raid last night was a fiasco, another grow house but no one left alive and no leads to the source of Spun.”

“I found another lead, Sir, Tom Willeck overdosed on Spun a week ago.”

“And we investigated, sent moles into the High school, no one’s talkin’.”

“I have a lead, my son, he was friends with his little brother, Paul, I can interview his family, as a family man myself.”

Cheif Ellis shook his head and sighed, “Go ahead, if we can just find a good lead, we have plenty of evidence from the grow rooms but not a lead on how it’s getting from the houses to the community, the growers all OD before we can ask them anything.”

“I think we might be able to find something from Willeck’s, I’ll interview them as soon as I can.”

Rupert looked up the address for the Willeck house before he left the station. He went to the local flower shop and bought a bouquet of white roses with a card that read: “Our condolences.” He drove from downtown to a newer housing development on the outside of Castle. It was upon a small hill that overlooked the town. The Willeck’s lived in a gray two-story house with white shutters, the house was in a cul-de-sac near the woods. He remembered how Caleb would talk of how he and Paul had built a fort in the woods and how Tom would sometimes have paintball gun battles with them, much to Norma’s chagrin.

Rupert nervously rang the doorbell and a middle-aged woman answered. She had blonde hair cut at bob and was wearing leggings and a long tee-shirt. She looked very tired.

“Hi, I’m Rupert Stiltskin, an investigator with the DEA’s office,” he said.

“I’ve already spoken with the DEA, I’ve told them everything I know,” sighed the woman.

“Ma’am, I understand, I’m also a parent myself, I’m Caleb’s father, he’s friends with Paul. If you don’t want to talk, I get it. I just thought I’d leave you these before I left.” He gave Mrs. Willeck the bouquet.

“Come in,” she said wearily, “can I get you some coffee?”

“No ma’am, the stuff from the station already burnt the hair off my tongue.”

“Caleb is a good kid, he got Paul to get off his computer and leave the house. Those two would play in the woods for hours, king of the hill, capture the flag.”

“Paintball?”

“That too, I’m Sharon, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, when… when we lost Tom that hit Paul hard, if I can do anything to help catch whoever gave him this poison I’ll help, but I’ve already said everything.”

“That’s alright, the boys, they played a lot out back, Caleb said that there was a fort back there.”

“Yeah,” said Sharon, “and a treehouse, you know, they never thought to search there.”

“May I?”

“Of course, anything to help, I’ll go with you and show you where it is.”

Rupert followed Sharon on a footpath through the woods. About a quarter-mile back there was a wooden structure and above that a small treehouse with a rope ladder. Rupert gingerly climbed the ladder followed by Sharron. On one of the walls, there was a heart carved into the wood. It read Tom + Mazzy surrounded by a heart.

“Did Tom have a girlfriend?”

Sharron touched the heart, “Not one that I knew of, I never met Mazzy, the police are still going through his cell phone records, they might have found something.”

“I’ll check back with them and see if I can find anything, do you remember his behavior changing suddenly.”

“A couple of weeks ago he became more distant, more withdrawn. He was away from the house more, I thought he was going to work.”

“Where did he work?”

“Just at the local barbeque place, Up in Smoke, at the other side of town.”

“Great place,” said Rupert, his stomach growling at the prospect of ribs, “I might have enough to go on here. You’ve been a great help.”

“Thank you,” said Sharon.

Rupert left the house and went back to the station to Ellis’ office.

“I need to have Tom Willeck’s phone records, we may have found a lead, he had a girlfriend.”

“Lots of teenage boys have girlfriends, doesn’t mean it’s a lead.”

“His family didn’t know anything about her, he had no reason to keep a relationship secret.”

“Maybe the kid just wanted privacy.”

“If I could just look at the records, I might be able to find out, his parents signed over permission.”

“Fair point, Ralston, take him to the evidence room.”

Rupert had to sign some paperwork and found the phone in the evidence locker, it was barely charged, he plugged it in and opened it. He checked the photos there was girl with bright pink hair and heavy makeup next to him in most of them. Under the photo was the name Mazzy.

He then checked the high school yearbook and found a similar picture; the name underneath was Chrystal Miller.

Chief Ellis had already had a mole sent out to Dalton High school to look for Chrystal Miller, she had stopped attendance nearly a week ago, they checked with her father, Silas Miller, and he said that she had run away from home.

Rupert was familiar with Silas Miller, when he was deputy police for Castle, he was called out on separate occurrences of domestic abuse. His wife, Ruby Miller, eventually had the courage to leave and was somewhere in upstate New York. They had two daughters, Chrystal and Goldie.

Goldie had been accepted with a full scholarship into the University of West Virginia, Morgantown, as a biology major and had not been seen in Castle for the last couple of years. Chrystal was still in high school, and had instances of truancy, drinking underage and shoplifting. She had spent six months in Abraxis detention center. She had missed her last parole hearing and had disappeared two weeks ago; the same time frame Tom Willeck had overdosed on Spun.

Rupert searched further into Chrystal Miller’s case; they found her parked car by a lookout near the Appellation Trail. Her cell phone was in the car but wiped clean and after a few footsteps on the trail, all traces of her were gone. He decided to drive up to the lookout and do another brief investigation.

He drove up the winding road to the lookout and it was dusk by the time he got there. There were a few hikers perched on a large flat Cliffside. They were eating their trail mix and enjoying the sunset. Among the hikers, he saw a slight young woman with piercings, magenta hair, and a stocking cap. She was wearing jeans and a gray W.V. State sweatshirt. She was quietly watching the sunset but sat by herself, away from the other hikers. Rupert sat by the young woman.

“Chrystal Miller?” He asked.

“I don’t know who you’re referring to,” she said, “did you lose your hiking party?”

“Would it be better if I called you Mazzy then?”

“I think it would be best if you stop asking questions,” she replied warily.

Rupert took out his badge, “I think you owe us some information.” Mazzy started to tremble and tears poured from her jade green eyes, “Please sir, don’t make me go back there, don’t make me go back home, he’ll kill me or worse, I can’t go back!”

“Shhh,” said Rupert calmly. “It’s all right, who are you in danger from?”

“I can’t say, I really can’t, please, can I just go.”

“Look, I just need to ask you a few questions about Tom Willeck.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about Tom.”

“Look, you can go with me and ask a few questions, if you work with us we might even be able to get you some safety or I can bring you in on a parole violation.”

Her shoulders slumped and she started crying but obliged. Her face looked thin and she was shivering as she entered the back of the squad car. Rupert decided not to cuff her and on the way down he stopped by Up In Smoke.

“They’ll see me here!” She said.

“I’m just going for the drive-through.”

He pulled the squad car through the drive-through and Mazzy shrank up into a ball to avoid being noticed. He ordered two pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw and two large cups of cherry coke. He then rode back to the station. He brought Mazzy back to a room with a long table and gave her the coke and sandwich. She ate it ravenously and her shivering stopped.

“Are you feeling better Miss Miller?’

“Is this some good cop bad cop act?”

“There’s no bad cop here unless you count the Chief, but even he’s not so bad, just a hard ass. Look, I’m DEA, an older investigator, not really into the raids and stuff. I’m just trying to find a lead on the Spun Gold case, if you have any information that lead to Tom’s death it would help greatly, I could even work a deal with the courts and have your parole violation mitigated. Hell, if you fear for your safety, I might even work out a deal to get you into a group home. You might even be old enough to qualify as an emancipated minor.”

“The only way I’ll say anything to you is if I can be put in the witness protection program, they’ll find me and kill me and make it look like an accident.”

“Who will find you?”

She started shivering and crying again. Rupert removed the badge in his pocket and draped his jacket over Mazzy. She was only a few years older than Caleb and clearly afraid for her safety, he wondered how far down the rabbit hole this young woman was.

“My father, Silas, he’s a grower for the Kingpin, look he has my sister and my nephew, I can’t have you putting them in trouble.”

“So, he has your sister, Goldie, he took him from your father and is holding her for ransom?”

Mazzy started sobbing, “No sir, my daddy sold my sister to him. She was checking in on him after the divorce, the king took her son when she last visited and is holding him ransom so Goldie works for him. She was going to school for science or some stuff, she knows about genetic coding, CRISPER technology, she invented Spun to get her son back.”

“Do you know who the Kingpin is?”

Mazzy shook her head. “Daddy never talked about him in name.”

“How did your father come into contact with him.”

“Promise you’ll help me, not let anybody know that I’m here?”

“I’ll do what I can, but you’ll have to work with me.”

“My daddy is a Proud Boy, I don’t believe in that stuff, never did, part of the reason I left, but that’s how he met him,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “they met online, the kingpin was running guns, my daddy said that Goldie knew science was really good with plants. She was into Four H and horticulture growing up, that stuff. Anyway, dad said that he was really upset with mom and he just wanted to see Goldie and his grandson. Goldie knows where mom is, she told me when I got out of Abraxis that we could all go there and be safe, then dad found the conversation between us. He gave Goldie’s son to the kingpin and sold her to him, I thought he was going to make her do things, like sell her body,” she broke down and started sobbing, “but Goldie is smart, real smart, instead of her body she offered her mind, said she could create something that would make them all rich if she could just have her son and leave, but she’s still there, she’s been there nearly a year.”

Rupert gently patted her shoulder, “what you told me was very brave, and I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you stay safe. Do you know where the kingpin is?”

“Daddy wanted to take me up there to party with the king, I told him I had a boyfriend and I wasn’t that kind of girl. He found out who Tom was and now he’s gone, it’s my fault Tom’s dead, I should have just left and not said anything.” “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault that bad people take advantage of kids, what’s important is you told us this now, we have a lead to catch the bad people. You sit tight, we’ll find a place for you to go.”

Rupert left the room and went to the back room on the other side of the glass. Chief Ellis was sitting there with a note pad.

“Poor kid, but I think we have enough information to get a stakeout, if the stakeout works, we’ll get a warrant,” said Ellis.

“What about the girl?” asked Rupert.

“Well, Stiltskin, I can work with juvenile services to make sure she stays safe if she agrees to testify. There’s a retreat called Mountain Manor that can keep her safe until it’s all over, then she can stay with her mother and older sister.”

“Mountain Manor is a psychiatric facility.”

“She’ll be safe, and get the treatment she needs, I’m sure the petty crimes were from stress. It’s an optional choice, but it’s safe and they treat their patients well there.”

“We should leave the choice to her.”

“True, but she’ll take the Manor given the choice, it’s a safe place until this all blows over, anyway it’s “Girl Interrupted” not Trans -Allegheny asylum. She’ll be well cared for, have talk therapy, treatment for PTSD, hell they even have horseback riding and camping trips for the less troubled patients. She hangs out for a few weeks, sings Kumbaya around a campfire, we raid, get the kingpin she and Goldie to testify in court and bam, no more Spun issue.”

“Is the state at least going to take care of the bill?”

“It’ll be part of the witness protection program; she won’t have anything to worry about.”

Chief Ellis went into the room and Rupert to could see him talking to her. Instead of the intimidating police chief, he seemed gentle, even fatherly toward Mazzy. Rupert saw the girl nodding profusely and even hug him. A few hours of paperwork later a car with a middle-aged woman came and took the girl away.

Chief Ellis then assigned both Ralston and Stiltskin to run a stakeout of Silas Miller’s house.

“Chief,” said Ralston, “Silas Miller is a Proud Boy, a White Supremacist, do really think it’s the best idea to put me on surveillance detail?” “It’s a stakeout, you just have to observe and remain inconspicuous.”

“In all due respect Chief, it’s not exactly easy to remain inconspicuous when you’re a brother heading up the Grand Dragon’s house.”

“We’ll have a mole from Dalton High School, his name is Carson, he was caught dealing on campus a few weeks ago, we cut him a deal if with the court if he would help us out.”

Rupert remembered Carson as the source of the raid a few nights ago, he was surprised the kid was still alive at this point.

“We need you to start at 2100 tonight,” said Chief Ellis.

“All I ask is that I go home to my family and get some shut-eye, it’s gone to be a long night.”

Rupert came home and held Norma close, he apologized for not calling and explained the incident with Mazzy, he trusted that Norma would not say a word to anyone.

“I was just worried about you, hon, these are dangerous people.”

“I understand, I’ll try to keep in touch more.”

“And the girl, is she going to be all right, she’s not much older than Caleb.”

“She’s going to be just fine, she’s in good hands.” He kissed her, “after this is over I’ll spend more time with you and Caleb, I have some leave I can take.”

“Caleb’s school is premiering Frankenstein vs the Horrendous Goo, Caleb got the part of the chemistry teacher. He’d be happy if you could come and see it.”

“I think we might be raising the next James Dean.”

“More like Jack Black, “Norma chucked, “He’s very funny, you’d see if you were around more, still thinks fart jokes are hilarious though.”

“Boys never grow out of that,” said Rupert, “just fair warning.” He kissed Norma and went to his bed. If crude humor was the worse that they’d have to worry about from Caleb, then he and Norma seemed to be doing pretty good.

At eight in the evening, he met Ralston and Carson at the station. Carson was wearing blue jeans a plain black tee-shirt and a beige jacket. He had long dark hair and was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt with a red and green marijuana plant printed on the front. Carson was on probation but smelled faintly of weed.

“You know marijuana isn’t legal in West Virginia, right kid?” said Rupert.

“Dude, relax, I’m going to go in and get the little golden flowers for you man, then you’ll have evidence to bring this asshole down. Marijuana never killed anyone, not like Spun man.”

“Kid has a point,” said Ralston, “in the city, I’ve seen deaths from Smack, Coke, Meth and all manner of street drugs cut with rat poison, I never really had an issue with pot. It’s been decriminalized in states around and will probably be legal eventually. We just need to pick our battles. Now you were caught selling pot and mushrooms at Dalton, and you knew Tom Willeck.”

“I knew him, and yeah, I sold some shrooms and pot, but nothing like that Golden shit, dude, I only sell natural stuff, nothing from a lab man.”

“Spun Gold is a plant,” said Rupert.

“Yeah, but like some GMO genetically hybridized bullshit, not anything that grows naturally.”

“Spun Gold is a poppy that was genetically modified to have the properties of Belladonna, making it hallucinogenic and extremely deadly. But both Belladonna and Poppies are plants that grow out of the ground, hell cyanide comes from peach pits,” said Rupert.

“Dude, I just want people to be relaxed and happy, I don’t want them to die or some shit, you’re not a good salesman if you kill your customers, man.”

Rupert shook his head.

“Anyway, are we about to run this?” said Ralston irritably. “I’ll be the driver, you get the evidence and Stiltskin will make the report and call the Calvary when we need it.”

“Sounds like a plan, dude,” said Carson as he got into the back seat. They were in Rawlston’s Black Range Rover. It was dark enough to remain undercover at night but nimble enough to keep up with suspects on winding mountain roads. Ralston drove out of town and to a field by the side of the mountain. He turned off on a dirt road and drove down sloping hills past an old red barn and cow pasture.

They then saw a mobile home the color of dust with small windows. On the front door hung a Rebel Flag. Ralston parked the Rover about a quarter-mile from the home, thankful for the cover of night.

“All right Carson, you know the drill,” said Rupert. He gave a small microphone to Carson, Carson then put the bug into one of his many pants pockets. “Now this is a dangerous person, give us a yell if you feel you’re in danger.”

“Dude, relax, I called Silas ahead of time and arranged a hangout, I would sell weed here all the time, yeah, he’s a crazy asshole but if you keep your mouth shut and just sell or buy from him he won’t cause trouble.”

“All I know is I ain’t going up there,” said Ralston.

“Probably for the best my dude. Guy’s a racist asshole and one of those preppers for the zombie apocalypse, he has all these crazy theories,” said Carson, rolling his eyes.

Carson then opened the back door and rolled out of the back seat. He walked down the dirt road into the darkness. Through the microphone, they heard dogs barking and a man yelling “Go on, git.”

“Do y’all have the stuff?” asked Silas.

“Yeah, I have a pound of Purple Kush man, will that work for two ounces of Spun?”

Rupert wondered where Carson had kept the pound of weed, probably in one of the hundred ding dang pockets on his pants.

“All right, let’s keep this quick,” said Silas, “there’s a lot of talk about how the feds are on this, you can’t be too careful, especially after Tom got himself killed.”

“Totally bro.”

There was a rustling sound and then the dogs started to act up again.

“I said, git!”

Then there was a sound of a gate slamming and then silence.

Ten minutes later the back door opened to the Rover and Carson piled in. He fished through his pockets and found a small bag of yellow powder.

“I stashed the bug in the house, Silas was a little too jumpy to notice,” said Carson.

“It looks like we got the evidence,” said Rupert, “now we just have to wait.”

And wait they did, Rupert and Ralston kept an eye on the house for any sort of activity but not much happened the rest of the night. During the next morning, they saw Silas feeding the chickens in the yard and yelling at the dogs under the porch, they were in a wooded area on top of the hill, enough to hide the Rover out of sight.

Over the radio, they heard various snoring and news broadcast. Closer to evening they heard a WWE match on the television. Rupert pulled some binoculars.

“Look there in the distance,” he said.

Ralston took the binoculars from Rupert and saw an old trans AM pulling on the dirt road toward Silas’ house. The door opened and a large bald man in a suit got out and went into the mobile house. There were several loud knocks.

“What in the hell do y’all want?” yelled Silas.

“Is that any way to address your boss?” asked a low, smooth voice on the other side.

“Sorry sir, be right there.”

Silas opened the door, he was a man with a potbelly, a mustache, and a red ball cap.

“Come on in,” said Silas.

“I’d rather not, have you found your other daughter, Crystal?”

“She’s out running around somewhere; she’ll be heading back sometime soon.”

“We can’t afford to have witnesses; we need to find her and employ her.”

“She’s not smart, not like Goldie.”

“There are other uses for her.”

“Look, she ran out, she probably headed to her mom’s house. She doesn’t have any friends and we took care of her little boyfriend; I will find my ex-wife and take care of them both.”

The bald man sighed, “the King needs you at the base, it’s about distribution into the area, we need to discuss expanding our market into I 81, down into D.C.”

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s turf, there’s a bunch of gangs down there that I don’t want to deal with, that and Baltimore, no thank you.”

“We’re missing on a huge market share, and the King wants bigger business Silas, if you’re considered a block to the market he will remove from the equation,” the bald man purred.

“All right, I’ll go, just let git my truck.”

The Grand AM took off, followed by an old F-150. Ralston waited a good minute or so and took off after. They followed them down a dirt road into the mountains, the dirt then turned into gravel and the road was pitted and uneven. They followed the F-150 up winding roads and steep inclines, the trucks stopped by a yellow gate and parked. Ralston parked the rover back towards the bottom of the hill undercover.

“I’ll get out here,” said Rupert. “You and Carson head back toward the station and present the evidence, I’ll follow on foot and report back.”

“You sure Ru?” asked Ralston. “It’s dangerous, really dangerous.”

“I grew up in these woods all my life, I know enough to stay out of the way. By the way, don’t call me Ru, it’s Rupert or Mr. Stiltskin, now I need y’all to call the Calvary, I’m going to try to find Goldie and make sure she’s safe.”

“Be careful my dude,” said Carson.

“You too, my dude, and stay out of trouble,” said Rupert.

Rupert got out of the rover and waited until the Silas and the bald man got out. Rupert followed behind enough to just see the silhouettes in the night. He walked softly trying to avoid making too much noise. A tree branch broke under his foot and he froze in fear. The two men in front looked behind and Rupert held his breath.

“It’s only a deer, they’re everywhere out here,” said Silas.

A light shone back and Rupert ducked behind a bush and stayed very still.

“I suppose you’re right.”

Rupert let out his breath as the two men started to walk forward again. He followed for about an hour when he saw an oblong house out of the side of the mountain. It was large and mostly windows, the floors cascaded under one another down the side of the mountain, and a large swimming pool was tiered over a large garage. The two men took off toward the mansion and Rupert gingerly followed them, they made their way to a gate in a large stone wall.

Rupert sighed and went further back into the woods, when he was out of earshot he called on his phone, the signal was very spotty and the call cut off. He managed to send a text to Ralson, stating the place was large, rich and had security. He looked around and saw cameras placed every few feet along the walls. In order to get a better vantage, he decided to climb a tree to see into the yard. Now it had been several years since he had climbed trees with Caleb in boy scouts, but not so long ago he forgot how.

He found a sturdy walnut tree and pulled his heft onto the larger branches. Catching his breath, he was now high up enough to see into the yard. There were cameras everywhere, except for one corner, in this corner was a large greenhouse, probably where the Spun Gold was grown. He climbed down off the walnut tree and looked for another tree closer to where the greenhouse would be. He found a maple, not quite as strong as the walnut but he would have to take his chances. He huffed and puffed but managed to find purchase on the lower branches. He pulled slowly climbed toward the higher branches when he heard a snap. He quickly found purchase on another branch and it slowly bent over the wall. He let go and tumbled the remaining five feet. He felt the ground skin his knee but that was the only damage he had, thank God.

He opened the door to the greenhouse and the pollen hit him immediately. He got out before the head rush would come. He then saw a woman with blonde curls and a gasmask holding him at gunpoint.

Rupert held his hands up.

“Goldie Miller?” The woman didn’t respond and still trained her gun on him. “I’m here to help, but only if you let me.”

The woman took off her gas mask, she had a pretty face, similar to Mazzy’s and jade green eyes.

“You a cop?” she asked.

“DEA,” said Rupert.

“You don’t have a warrant, or you wouldn’t be climbing trees to get in here.”

“Look, I’m here to help, I saw your sister, Mazzy, or Chrystal, she said you’re being held here against your will, I’m here to help.”

The woman lowered her gun. “You’re right, I’m Goldie, you saw Chrystal? Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s someplace safe, they can’t hurt her.”

“Thank God!”

“Look, she told me they have your son.”

Goldie looked tired and nodded. “Yeah, his names Bobby, he’s only two.” A tear left her eye. They said I could have him back when I filled this room with flowers. Of course, they told me that after I filled the first two. They keep asking for more and more and the houses they just keep getting bigger. They’re asking me to work with CRISPR and come up with other combinations to get people high. He’s working on designing GMO drugs to take over the market.” She was near sobbing.

“Who is this person?”

“The King, that’s all I know about him, my father had a debt to him and he wanted me and Chrystal to pay for it. I’m just glad she’s safe.”

Rupert texted on the phone that he found Goldie. A few minutes later a helicopter flew overhead and squad cars moved up and surrounded the mansion. Flash grenades went off blowing in the windows and agents dressed in black raided the mansion. There was the sound of gunfire exchanged when the King came out with a small blond boy as a sheild.

“No!” yelled Goldie.

The King was just an average looking middle-aged man in a suit, nothing remarkable. The large bald man stood beside him; a semi-automatic aimed at the troops.

“Come out with your hands up!” Chief Ellis’ voice boomed over a megaphone.

“One step closer and I’ll kill the boy,” said the King.

“Enough is enough, you ain’t killin’ my grandson,” said Silas.

“I own you and your family, Silas,” said the King.

Suddenly Ralston came behind Silas, he was wearing full tactical gear, he gave Silas a hard shove.

“Never forget I was the man that saved your sorry redneck ass!” said Ralston.

Ralston then pulled the pin on a flash grenade and threw it towards the King rolling back with the toddler in arms. The flash grenade went off, setting the King ablaze along with the straw in the greenhouse, burning it all down to the ground.

Rupert, Ralston, Goldie, and the child ran away from the chaos and made it to a nearby ambulance. An EMT took her and the child as well as looked over Rupert. He had some minor burns but would survive. The squad took both Silas, the bald man, and several goons out in zip ties, stuffed them in a large, black police van, and took off.

News of the raid traveled through the town of Castle quickly. The King was actually named Albert Kingston and was a former engineer for a chemical plant until he got involved in the drug trade, he made his living through the opioid crisis and managed to stay hidden, most of his sales came from rural areas and he used white supremacist groups as his lackeys and guard dogs. In his memoirs, he said, “hate makes men easy to control.” Silas got sentenced thirty years to federal prison but was knocked down to fifteen when he crowed like a stool pigeon on the trade.

Goldie Miller was let free by the courts as she was held under duress. She retrieved custody of her son Bobby and went back to Morgantown University. She married a professor a year later, presumably Bobby’s father, and later became the head of the biology department.

Mazzy aka Crystal Miller testified by the courts and received full treatment at Mountain Manor, she recovered and graduated high school, after which she moved to Hilton New York to live with her mother, Ruby Miller.

Ralston decided to become a federal agent and travel, seeing everywhere he went there was always going to be some sort of drama, so he might as well go everywhere.

Carson moved to Colorado and was doing quite well working for a legal dispensary.

Rupert Stiltskin took leave after the paperwork and court hearings were done with. He and Norma went to the theater of Dalton Middle school to see Frankenstein vs the Horrendous Goo, featuring Caleb Stiltskin, and it was the greatest show he ever did see.

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[sleeplesspensieve]

Remedy For Guilt - XXIX

Summary: The daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange is a Healer who finds herself not only haunted by her past but also questioning her choice in career. When Lyra Lestrange’s old headmaster offers her a position as Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher she finds herself thrown into an adventure involving a secret affair with a colleague, discovering the cure for a disease and dealing with students cursing themselves. Who knew that being a Hogwarts Professor was such a rollercoaster?

Set in the school year of 1990-1991 with the prospect of a sequel, or two, on the horizon.

Rated: E for graphic sex scenes in THIS and later chapters. Over 18′s only please.

Word Count: 2443

Multichapter Fic (Expected to be around 30-35 chapters with a planned sequel which will take place during the Harry Potter Books)

Chapter Twenty Nine - Conversations

“I’m pregnant.”

Lyra sat on the edge of a bed in the hospital wing, her eyes focused on the ground. She couldn’t bare to look at Poppy, knowing her eyes would be full of judgement or pity. She didn’t want either. Her head was already swirling with images of her uncle and Severus, their looks of disappointment and disbelief over the situation. She could already imagine what they would say and her head began to spin. Trains of thought would roll by but she couldn’t climb onboard, another would pass and she was just standing there, watching them all drive by.

“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on it sooner, being a healer and all,” Poppy said, “I had a feeling when you were falling asleep during dinner.”

Poppy felt sympathy for the girl. She had seen several students enter the hospital wing in similar situations but this was different. She knew Lyra. She had spent an enormous amount of time with her. She had trained her and seen her grow. She knew all about her family and the pressures she had.

Lyra was a talented witch, there was no doubt about it and in Poppy’s mind adding a child to her life would no doubt hinder her potential. There was also the very likely possibility it was Severus’. She wondered how he would feel and whether he would step up to the plate. He didn’t seem to be one who wanted a child but Lyra had changed him. She had shone this enormous light on his life and you could just tell that things were better by the way he carried himself day to day.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

Lyra didn’t know how to answer she just sat there blankly, feeling completely detached from everything that was occuring. It was almost as though she had separated from her body and was watching the scene unfold from nearby.

“We can take care of it if you want.”

Lyra understood the implication under those words.

God.

She was going to be sick again.

Whether it was stimulated from the pregnancy or her mind’s aversion to the prospect of ending her pregnancy, she tilted her head down and threw up. Poppy was already prepared, quickly summoning a bucket and shoving it into her lap.

God.

It felt so disgusting.

“We can talk about it,” Poppy offered, “How do you feel?”

Lyra still avoided eye contact. Her shoulders moved up as if to shrug but instead a staggered breath came out of her. She felt as though she needed to cry. She just wanted to lie in bed and cry but she knew she couldn’t do that.

“You’re overwhelmed,” the Matron said, rubbing her back. “It’s ok, everything’s going to be ok.”

But it wasn’t.

Lyra knew it wasn’t. There were so many variables. So many things to address. So many things that could and would go wrong.

“Is there anyone you could talk to?”

No. She didn’t feel as though she could talk to anyone. No one would understand the gravity of her situation.

“Your family?”

Laughable. God, imagine Lucius and Narcissa. Their disappointment. The shame. If they found out. If they knew. She’d have no choice in the matter. The child would be ripped from her womb in a matter of seconds, be it from a potion snuck into a drink or with a knife.

“The father?”

She swallowed hard at that suggestion.

Severus.

Precious Severus.

Her love. Her light.

The man whom she loved with all of her heart.

He wouldn’t accept it. If he knew the deal she made with Lucius, gods, this made it even worse. Even more complicated.

Severus didn’t want kids anyway, he had made that clear and she wasn’t going to try and twist him into fatherhood if he didn’t want it. That would be selfish.

It was almost as though the decision had been made for her already. Her family wouldn’t want a mudblood tarnishing the line. Her lover didn’t want to be a father. Then why should she keep it?

Why did she want to keep it?

“You know there are options,” Poppy said in her most detached and professional voice.

“I want it,” Lyra said, “I want to keep it.”

She looked up at the matron who gave her a sympathetic smile and nod. Lyra swallowed before speaking once more, “I just don’t know logistics.”

Poppy exhaled a laugh, “Look, if you’re worried about your career perhaps speak to Albus. He’d be able to give you some wisdom regarding it. I’m sure we can find a place for you, even if you worked here in the hospital wing. We’ll support you, ok?” She placed a hand on Lyra’s shoulder and gave her a reaffirming squeeze, “You don’t have to decide today. In fact, I encourage you not to but know that there are options.”

Lyra nodded, “Thank you.”

Poppy insisted that Lyra stay for a while to rest and process things instead of sneaking off back to her room. She knew if she did so she would’ve run into Severus and it just wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have yet. There were still so many things that Lyra needed to figure out.

The deal. Severus. A baby.

How were they all going to fit together smoothly?

No matter how she looked at it, it just wouldn’t work. She spent hours staring at the ceiling trying to just figure it out. She was obligated to fulfil her deal with Lucius through magic. Her options were to find someone she could put up with to marry, marry someone of Lucius and Narcissa’s choosing or die. The only loophole she could think of was marrying Ilya, then she would have no obligation to love or have sex with him, she could potentially still be with Severus on the side and that baby would just be further proof to the Russian Ministry that they were a legitimate couple. Then again, Severus didn’t want a kid. Perhaps she could convince him… If not then, that was a loss she just had to take.

She feigned sleep when Severus came by to check on her during the day’s lunch break. Poppy had insisted it was just a stomach bug that would pass and she just needed to rest. He did take a peak to ensure she was ok but Poppy shooed him away.

Severus cared. Severus loved her. Perhaps he would be willing to compromise. She knew it would be forcing his hand but she just wanted it to work.

When classes resumed Lyra decided to take a stroll around Hogwarts to get her blood circulating, hoping it would give her a new perspective. It didn’t but her feet carried her to the Headmaster’s Tower. She stood, staring at the gargoyle for a few moments, trying to gather her nerve. It reminded her of when she was younger, when Severus had revealed her name, when she stood outside with tears spilling down her cheeks and her fists clenched in anger.

She had matured from that time, being six years older but her family’s opinion as well as the whole world’s still weighed heavy on her mind. She just needed someone to talk to. Someone to rationalise what she was thinking and she hoped that somehow Albus would guide her in the right direction.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and slow breath out before she said, “Jelly slugs.”

The gargoyle sprang to life and began to spin, making its ascent up the Headmaster’s tower. Lyra quickly stepped onto the staircase, joining it on its journey up to the office.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts sat hunched over his desk. He looked up through his half moon spectacles and smiled at the sight of the young witch. “Lyra,” he said, addressing the girl. “I heard you had taken ill. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, as she approached the desk. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

He nodded, gesturing towards the seat in front of his desk. “Firstly,” he said, “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Pumpkin Juice?”

“Tea is good,” she replied as she sat in the armchair.

“Herbal? Black? Green?”

“Black with a splash of milk.”

He nodded and flicked his wand at the china cabinet that stood against the wall. The kettle and tea began to make itself, quickly coming to boil and brewing before floating over to Lyra and Albus.

“Thanks,” she said as she plucked it from the air. She took a seat before placing it down on the desk.

“Now, how can I help you?”

She paused and for a moment contemplated in the best way to address the situation. She wanted to be delicate but she decided to just outright say it. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh,” he said, slightly startled. He placed his tea down and his lips thinned for a brief moment, “I’m unsure as to what to say as it seems as this may not be a welcome surprise. It is Severus’ no doubt?”

She nodded.

“Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Do you have a plan?” he sensed the discomfort of Lyra as her eyes avoided his, “Or is that why you’ve come here?”

“It’s a complicated situation,” she frowned but looked at him.

“No doubt about that,” he replied, “I’m afraid you would not like my opinion on the matter.”

“Why not?” Her head tilted slightly and her eyes narrowed.

“Lyra, it’s no secret that I believe that Voldemort will return again.”

Lyra winced at the use of the name, fear growing in her heart.

“Tell me, if he did, where would you stand?”

Lyra’s eyes looked to the table once more.

“What would happen if you had a child?”

“Sir, it’s been ten years and there has been no sign,” she argued.

“There have been,” he insisted, “You have just been blind. You do not wish to believe it therefore you will not see it. I know when the time comes you will have no choice but to join them or face a tortuous death. I cannot imagine what it would be like if you had a child, particularly if the father is a traitor of the Death Eaters. Therefore I implore you not to carry out this pregnancy.”

Lyra’s heart broke. She could see the truth in his words and she couldn’t deny it. She didn’t know what to say.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to keep it,” she said in a soft voice.

“Lyra, it is dangerous-”

“I know!” she said, her voice desperate. Emotion overtook her as she began to ramble, “Don’t you think I know? Do you think my family would accept this child if they knew it was Severus’? They have been wanting our relationship to end since the start. You know in order to reverse the curse on Fred I had to make a deal with Lucius to quit Hogwarts and marry a pureblood. I don’t want to have to sacrifice my child as well.”

Albus closed his eyes and sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from, Lyra, but I have my reservations. You care for Severus, don’t you?”

“Albus, I love him,” she insisted, “If I had my way I would be with him but I know that it’s not possible.”

“Lyra, there is a reason why I don’t want you to have this child. You know it will be a weakness for not only you but Severus as well. Don’t you think that Voldemort would prey upon your son or daughter and torture them in order to keep you doing his bidding? You know what it was like growing up in the presence of the Dark Lord with his most loyal followers. Your child would be twisted in the ways of the Dark Arts, if not they would lead a life of suffering. Don’t you wish for them to have a better life than you did?”

Lyra’s jaw tensed and she looked away, swallowing hard. “So you’re saying I should terminate my pregnancy on the slim chance that the Dark Lord will return?”

“I guarantee he will return and when that time comes I require Severus to return to his service so he can spy on him and the Death Eaters for the Order.”

“That’s a death sentence,” she said, tears threatening to form in her eyes, “If he got caught-”

“It is a sacrifice he is willing to make for the greater good,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed, “But it’s not a sacrifice you’re sure he’ll make if he has a child.”

“I am only telling you this because I know you care for him, he has been training you in occlumency for a reason and I can see how good you are. Even now the only thing I can read off you are your emotions, you thoughts and memories are still heavily guarded.”

A twisted smile appeared on Lyra’s face as she realised Albus’ plan. “You want me to protect him when he comes back. It wasn’t just to hide our relationship but to get me on board too.”

“I know you don’t believe in what Voldemort wishes to achieve, I know you would only join out of loyalty to your family. I know your values align with the Order’s and I wish for you to join.”

“I don’t take kindly to manipulation, Albus.”

“Forgive me,” he said, bowing his head slightly, “I had to ensure that you were trustworthy.”

“Was Severus privy to this plan or did you manipulate him as well?”

“He knew pieces.”

“And what are his views on the matter?”

“He loves you, Lyra,” he said with a frown, his eyes downcast for a moment. “He wanted you on our side, he always did but he had his doubts. He knows that you value the opinions of your family too much, he was afraid that when it came down to it that you would choose them over him.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she said.

“Did he know of the deal you made with Lucius?”

She shook her head, “I thought I’d try to figure out a way out of it before telling him. I have a friend who could benefit from a marriage to me and I’m sure I could convince him but I haven’t spoken to Severus about anything.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said, “He doesn’t need to know any of this.”

“You want me to lie to him?”

“For his protection, Lyra. For your child.”