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jmhwritesstuff · 5 years

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(Wanted to share a piece of what I’m currently working on. This story follows Lexi as she returns home after three years of university to face her past. This is a rewrite and still quite rough around the edges, but it took me a while to get this first chapter down so I’m a little proud of it regardless. If you read it, thanks for taking the time to do so!)

Freefall: Chapter 1

Present Day

I had been standing on the edge – that much I could remember. One of those moments where your toes are no longer on the ledge and you’re staring down, and you can feel yourself tipping forward and then – nothing. You don’t fall no matter how long you wait for it. No matter how close you get. But you swear you could. Oh, you swear with every damn shallow breath in your battered lungs you could. But you don’t. You never do. I don’t know what pulled me back, but something tugged at the edges, stopping me from going over completely. I remember I couldn’t wait to hit the bottom; I remember the gaping hole in my chest at realising I would live another day. The bottom never came – it eluded me – and a part of me forever claws and screams for answers. Why? Why couldn’t I reach it? Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t supposed to. And maybe that’s why it’s okay to come back. To come home. A home that isn’t really a home at all – it’s just a place now. Has been for a long time.

I drummed my hands on the wheel, waiting at a red light. I glanced at the half-burnt cigarette between my fingers, watching as the smoke swirled up and out the window before finally deciding to toss it. Smelling of smoke wasn’t going to help me today, and no amount of nicotine could calm the nerves in my stomach anyway. The light changed to green, I geared the car forward, and rounded the corner onto the familiar street of my childhood. The sun blared down onto the pavement from above, but the warm glow didn’t deceive me. If only everyone knew the stories; if only they had seen even a glimpse of the life I had lived here. I tell myself it could have been worse – much worse – but three years away still didn’t seem long enough. If I had it my way, I never would have come back at all. I scanned the houses as I drove, peacefully nestled together with pristine gardens. The street was empty, quiet – probably no kids here since I left – and then I slowed as I spied my parent’s house. I carefully parked up behind my father’s blue truck and switched off the engine. I slid my sunglasses onto the top of my head, eyes sweeping over the view of the home I had left three years earlier. The flower baskets, now empty, still hung either side of the blue front door, the silver doorknocker still intact. The garden was clean, the grass freshly cut, the stone path near-immaculate. On the surface, nothing had changed. The anxiety took a moment to settle, a wave of nostalgia briefly washing over me – interrupted by the front door swinging open to reveal my mother. A beaming smile plastered on her face, ash-blonde bob bouncing on her shoulders, she was almost skipping towards the front gate as she stepped into the sunlight. “Lexi!” I ducked my head, dropping the sunglasses over my eyes so she couldn’t see me rolling them, and forced myself out of the car. She pulled the gate open and threw her arms around me with a squeeze. Much to my detriment, the tiniest pang of guilt crept in as I returned the hug. I had avoided coming home since I first started university a whole other town away, trying to separate myself from everything I knew here. But she was my mother, and I was her daughter, and I suppose cutting myself off from her wasn’t entirely fair. I had my reasons. Those reasons didn’t disappear when I did. She held me at arm’s length. “I thought you were going to be late.” I glimpsed at my watch and shrugged. “Nope. Right on time, just like I said.” As far as first digs went, it could have been worse. Taking my hand, she led me back up to the house, bustling me inside and shutting the door behind us. “Where is everyone?” “Your dad is in the back garden,” she replied, still smiling as she veered left into the kitchen. “Charlie is at work for another hour yet. But he’s coming straight home – he can’t wait to see you.” I brushed my fingers through my hair and leant against the doorframe, stifling a snort of disbelief. I hadn’t heard from my brother in three years. Somehow, the prospect of Charlie missing me seemed incredibly unlikely. Removing my sunglasses again, I watched my mother pull bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer, laying them out on the kitchen counter – still smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen her this way. She certainly hadn’t been this happy before I left; so much had happened all that time ago and I could still picture the way she used to look at me. The disappointment. The exasperation whenever she didn’t know what to do or what to say to me. Neither of my parents had been particularly proud of me back then. They were probably relieved to see the back of me for a while – maybe it even helped. It made me wonder how my father and Charlie would look at me now, too. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my faded jeans, unsure what to do. “Is Charlie still working at the gym?” She didn’t look at me as she said, “You would know if you bothered to pick up the phone once in a while.” Her tone was airy and light, a tiny laugh in her throat. But the accusation didn’t go unnoticed. It may have been three years, but the low gut-punch was as familiar as ever. I knew that tone – a few years away wouldn’t change that. I ignored it, kept my voice bored as I said, “University keeps you busy.” She turned to face me this time. “You could have spared five minutes, Lexi. You had five minutes, didn’t you?” I met her blue eyes for the first time since arriving. My jaw clenched. Her smile was gone. We levelled our stare until, finally, she turned her attention back to the cutting board. I listened to the knife dice through carrots. I knew I’d have to endure at least a little scolding my first day home, so like the good daughter I always should have been, I kept my mouth firmly shut. I pushed off the doorframe, turning to take in the hallway. The wooden floorboards had been replaced – they were darker now, more cedar than birch – and the dark red wallpaper had been stripped in favour of mulberry paint. Family photos, just as I had remembered them, adorned the wall leading up the staircase, framed in silver filigree. I angled my neck to look at them. The first, my parent’s wedding day, followed by a professionally taken photograph of them holding baby Charlie only a few years later. There had never been a baby photo of me for as long as I had lived in this house, but there was one of the four of us together. I was six at the time, Charlie nine, and my parents stood with tight-lipped smiles on their faces – proud, forced. Posed. Charlie was the same, but I was beaming, all white teeth and squinty green eyes. I grinned to myself. I had always been the odd one out. Unruly and bright, adventurous and curious about the world. Oh, how things had changed. The last photo, at the very top of the stairs, was Charlie adorned in his graduation gown and cap, diploma in hand. And as I averted my eyes to the table by the door, where the bowl with my father’s car keys lived, there were two smaller frames that held yet more pictures of my brother. One was from the day he completed a cycling marathon when he was twenty-one, not long before I left, shaking hands with the event organiser handing him a certificate. The other, a candid photo, when he was just a kid fixing the front wheel of his bike for the first time by himself. Oil stained his hands, a smudge of it on his cheek. Charlie. Perfect Charlie. He was blonde, like our mother, with the same blue eyes and slight up-tilt of the nose. I used to believe it meant I was more like our father, but it turned out the only thing I got from him was my dark hair. Truth was, in the end, I was nothing like any of them. “There she is!” I scrunched my nose up with a smile as I turned to my father emerging from the living room. He wrapped his arms around me, briefly, and planted a quick kiss on the top of my head. Then he held me at arm’s length as he said, “It’s nice to have you home.” I stifled the urge to say otherwise and looking up at him I could see there were more grey hairs than before, deeper lines around the corners of his eyes. “Only for a week,” I said. A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, a tell-tale sign that my mother hadn’t told him as such. “Oh? How long do you have left at university?” “Three weeks.” “And then you’re coming back for good?” He headed into the kitchen where my mother was still chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a pan. I took my place against the doorframe again and crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s the plan.” For now. There was a week’s break at the university, no classes, and I’d had no reason to stay behind. Much to my dismay, everyone else had returned home, too, and most of my work was complete for the semester. So, when my mother called, and I finally picked up, I had no choice but to give in to her persistence. Since I would be returning home after three weeks anyway, it made sense to at last show my face. I would have to move back home for a while to plan my next steps, but I had no intention of sticking around – and I had no idea how to tell them. It wasn’t that I thought they would be disappointed to see me leave again. On the contrary, it seemed ludicrous to imagine living at home forever, especially with a family that felt as taut as ours. But I didn’t know what I was going to do next, once university was over, and it wasn’t a conversation I really wanted to have with them. “So, how’s my room looking?” I asked. “Is there enough space in there for a person?” My father chuckled, taking a seat at the dining table and unfolding a newspaper. “Your room is untouched. No one has been in there since you left.” I blinked. “At all? Dad, it’s been three years. Are you telling me that you haven’t moved anything in there while I’ve been gone?” “Why would we do that?” I opened my mouth, shrugged. “Spare room. Extra space. I don’t know, it kind of makes sense to use it for storage.” My mother clicked her tongue. “It’s always been your room, Lexi, you haven’t moved out entirely just yet.” The hairs on my arms rose – I hated the way she used my name. “Sit down.” My father gestured to the chair opposite himself. “No need to stand, this is your house, too.” The urge not to react surfaced once again – it was like second nature, an old habit impossible to break. I clenched the car keys in my hand and made my way to the table, but as I sat down, it was immediately uncomfortable – unnatural. This wasn’t home. It was just a place. And no matter how much I had tried to change that feeling, it had always remained true. I couldn’t recall a time when it wasn’t. I waited a few minutes, flitting my gaze between my mother preparing dinner and my father nose-deep in the newspaper. She was stubborn, and he was oblivious. It didn’t make for great conversation. I blew out a sigh between my lips, jangled the car keys between my fingers. Finally, I stood again. “I’ll be upstairs.” I took a few slow steps at first, giving them a chance to acknowledge my leaving, but still no one said a word. So I left the kitchen and ascended the stairs, two steps at a time. At the top, I paused – the hall looked longer than I remembered, my bedroom door at the very end, closed and … small. My throat felt thick. My stomach rolled. No. I wasn’t ready. I turned around and headed back down. I’d have to face it eventually, but there was no rush. Instead, I spent the better part of the next hour inspecting the rest of the house. For the most part, everything was the same, with just a few new licks of paint. And everywhere I looked, every place I stood, was filled with the memories I had tried so hard to forget. It was why I hadn’t come back – why I couldn’t. Too much had happened here in this house and in this town, and there were faces of people I once knew that I was afraid to see again. And some faces that I never would. Sometimes, that felt worse. I was standing outside the open patio doors, watching the clouds roll by overhead and lost deep in reverie, when voices drifted through the house. My parents were talking, laughing – and Charlie had at last arrived from work. The moment their voices fell into a hush, I knew they were telling him I was home. It was how they always used to talk about me, and it was how I always knew that I didn’t belong. Well, I wasn’t going to make the first move. I’d let Charlie decide how he wanted to approach me after all this time. It didn’t take long. “Hey, sis.” I turned to look at him over my shoulder as he stepped tentatively to my side. Calling me ‘sis’, or ‘sister’, was something he had always done; always referring to me as what I am to him. If he ever used my name it meant he was being serious. Maybe this meant he was going to be civil. I tried to smile, but it was weak. “It’s been a while.” He nodded, hands in his pockets. He was still wearing his work uniform – a black tracksuit with baby blue stripes down the sleeves of his jacket, and a shiny nametag attached to the left pocket. And there was stubble, which was unusual for Charlie. He was the poster-child for pristine, but there seemed to be something … relaxed about him. I poked his chin. “What happened here?” He grinned and dragged his fingers down his cheeks. “Trying something new.” “Being a man?” He rolled his eyes, but he still laughed a little. “I just wanted to see if I could pull off a beard.” “They take a while to grow, you know.” He shrugged. “It’s only been a week.” I turned my eyes back to the sky and we fell into silence. He shifted and sighed and continued to glance at me from the corner of his eye. I wondered if he was ever going to say what was really on his mind – something he used to avoid doing with me when we were younger. Until things got bad, anyway. “You look good,” he said. “Better.” I chewed the inside of my lip. I turned to face him, and I saw his wall shoot up. But I held my tongue. That wall – we both had one. It was how we could tell when the other was on the defence, when things were about to get sour. It was a way to tell when we had said something we shouldn’t have; a way to prepare for biting our tongues before we said something regrettable. Perhaps we had both learnt to finally back down from a fight, because as much as it caused an odd twinge in my chest, he wasn’t wrong. I did look better, and rather than make an unnecessary snarky comment, I offered a small nod instead. He seemed to relax at the gesture, then turned back into the house. With not much else to do, I followed. Dinner was almost ready; the smell of boiled vegetables and minted lamb drifted through the rooms. I taught myself to cook while I was away, so that I didn’t have to face the horrors of living on packet noodles or mac and cheese, but my mother’s cooking reminded me that I wasn’t anywhere near her level yet. Home-cooked meals had become a distant memory, and to say I hadn’t hungered for them would be a terrible lie. We each took a place at the dining table – exactly the same as before – while my mother laid out all the food. Dad tucked in first, pulling a few slices of lamb onto his plate, followed by a large portion of cabbage and sprouts. And those damn diced carrots. Then Charlie did the same as we waited for the roasted potatoes to come out of the oven. I waited until everyone else began to eat before filling my own plate and, as I predicted, there were more potatoes and gravy left over than vegetables. I took one small scoop of sprouts, then shovelled the potatoes onto the side of the plate before drenching them in gravy. I used to do this when I lived here – I missed it. Just for good measure, I took a few extra slices of meat, too. They chatted as we ate, and I sat back and listened. And it was while my eyes searched their faces as they spoke that I saw how happy they were. They were content, talking about work, laughing at inside jokes about colleagues. Laughing at each other’s stories in general. I garnered a few quick glances from Dad and Charlie – but my mother avoided eye contact throughout dinner. It was fine: I wasn’t waiting for her to notice me, I was too busy taking in this life, this family, that wasn’t mine. Somewhere, deep down, I ached.

#freefall #wip: freefall #contemporary #drama #teen drama #writing #writer #original story #ya #young adult #jmhwriter #portfolio #other wips

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atomicpizzaandoneshots · 6 years

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Violet Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone - The Vanishing Glass Pt. 2

Summary: Violet Potter, the girl who lived, is going off to Hogwarts this year. Being something she never thought she’d be… Free. Follow Violet as she discovers what the wizarding world has to offer her and her new friends. Rating: TV-17 ish Word Count: 2553 Warnings: abuse Notes: This story is posted on FanFiction.net as well! I’ll be posting on both platforms. There is a “read more” cut off after the second paragraph.

Part One || Part Three

CHAPTER TWO

THE VANISHING GLASS

Nearly ten years had passed since the fall of Voldemort and Violet Potter had found herself living in the broom closet under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive. As the sun rose, the light wafted over the painfully neat rose garden in the front of the home before moving upwards to the steps leading up to the door. Soon the half open window blinds would be create shapes in the pristine living room of the Dursleys' home. You wouldn't have known a child lived there if it wasn't for the photos of a rather plump rosy cheeked boy that sat on the fireplace mantel. You definitely wouldn't know another child lived there within the home. You especially wouldn't know if you asked any of the other three occupants of the home.

Into the front door and past the first step of the stairs is a door. A door with the lock on the outside and a sliding plate near the top. Inside the door on a makeshift cot was a girl with bright fiery hair laying on her side sound asleep, but not for long. Violet Potter's Aunt Petunia was awake and the shrill of her voice was the first voice heard that morning.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Violets Aunt pounded on the door to the cupboard harshley before screaming another "Up!" at the girl. Violet bolted upwards her heart pounding. She didn't remember what she was dreaming about, only the sound of a motorcycle ringing back in her head when Violet thought what it might've been about. She felt groggy but knew that if she didn't get up now she'd regret not doing so later. The punishment for not doing as told when told was enough to scare the girl out of her sleepy haze.

The kitchen, just further down the hall outside Violets door, the scrape and clack of a frying pan could be heard as metal hit metal on the stove top.

Her aunt back outside of the door rapping her knuckles on the wood. Violet wasn't she how her aunt hadn't bruised them yet.

"Are you up yet?"

"Almost, Aunt Petunia."

"Well hurry it up, girl. I want you to look after the bacon. And don't let it burn this time. You know everything has to be perfect for Dudley's' birthday."

Violet sighed and rugged her forehead.

"What was that?" Her aunt demanded.

"Nothing. I was just putting my hair up."

Dudley's birthday - Violet wondered how she could have forgotten. It was only talked about the entire week leading up to it. Violet slowly moved about trying to find a pair of socks. Upon finding two mismatched mens socks she had been given as a birthday present two years ago, Violet pulled a spider off of one and proceeded to get ready. The spiders didn't really bother her. The cupboard under the stairs were full of spiders and their webs and the cupboard was where Violet lived. That and Violet would like to think they had a small understanding for shared space.

After pulling on a pair of shoes, Violet made her way into the kitchen. The dining table was full, nearly overflowing, from Dudley's presents this year. Games, a computer, a racing bike, and much more sat on or around the table. Violet couldn't help but be a bit jealous since all she ever got as presents were old hole riddled sticky clothes from Dudley. It could be worse, Violet pondered. I could have no clothes.

Grabbing a stool and pushing it up against the oven, Violet climbed up and grabbed the pair of prongs used for turning the bacon. Violet watched the meat carefully.

By the time Dudley made his way down the stairs the bacon was done and set aside on a plate so Violet could fry the eggs next. Five eggs in the pan. One for Aunt Petunia, two for Uncle Vernon, two for Dudley. Whatever else was sat on the table - or what could be sat on the table - was divided up and eaten by the three. Violet wasn't allowed food and she knew that if she tried to sneak any she'd be punished. She had found that out quickly and hardly. She knew that she was only allowed to eat when the food was handed to her.

Dudley came clambering into the kitchen stopping right behind Violet. Grabbing a fist full of her hair he gave a big tug.

"Ouch!" She yelled out. Violet grabbed her head and whipped around to glare at the boy. Dudley was already onto something else. Uncle Vernon looked up from the paper he sat reading at the table.

"Don't burn the eggs girl. You know what'll happen."

"Yes sir." She mumbled.

Violet platted the eggs and grabbed the bacon plate taking them both to the table. Finding a place to put was hard as there wasn't much space. Dudley stood there counting his presents. His face fell and brow furrowed.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his parents. Violet knew where this was going to go and turned around to start cleaning the breakfast mess.

"But you didn't count this one, love." She heard her Aunt Pentina say. "It's from Auntie Marge."

"Alright, thirty-seven then." Dudley said in an upset tone. Violet, and as it seemed, Aunt Pentina sensed danger but each dealt with it differently. Violet started to scrub faster in an attempt to leave the kitchen quicker. Aunt Pentina tried to talk him down.

"Well what if we buy you two more presents while we out today, hm? How's that sound, popkin? Two more presents?"

"That'll make thirty… thirty-"

"Thirty-nine." Violet muttered.

"Thirty-nine?" Dudley looked to his mother to confirm. She nodded and said, "How does that sound sweetums? Thirty-nine presents?"

"Oh." Dudley said dumbly before sitting heavenly down onto his chair and grabbed the nearest present to rip into.

"Little tyke is just wanting his moneys worth!" Uncle Vernon nearly yelled out. "'Atta boy, Dudders! Just like your father." The larger man let out a deep belly laugh.

At that moment the phone rang. Aunt Pentina sprung up from her seat at the table to run answer it. Dudley continued to rip into his presents as Violet finished drying the now clean frying pan.

"Bad news," Aunt Pentina announced as she stepped back into the kitchen, one hand on her hip. "Mrs. Frigg's broken her leg. Can't take the girl today." She jerked her head towards her.

Dudley's mouth dropped in horror as Violet's heart leaped in hope. Every years Dudley's parents would take him and one friend out for the day may it be a theme park, the movies, the arcade, or where ever else Dudley wanted to go. And every year Violet was left with Mrs. Frigg, the mad old lady up the street who owned far too many cats in Violet's opinion. She was a nice old lady but Violet wanted to do things too.

"We could phone Marge?" Vernon prompted. Violet almost felt her heart jump out of skin in fear.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, you know Marge hates the girl. I don't fancy another hospital bill because she gets too carried away in her beatings."

"You know she deserved it, Pentina."

"Yes, I do, but the girl hasn't a job. Just like her parents. Which means no money to pay for hospital bills."

"Fine, fine, very well," Vernon agreged and nodded his head. "Maybe we could phone that friend of yours, the one you're always on the with, Yvonne?"

"Yvonne is on vacation, Vernon! You knew that, I told you so!"

"You could just leave me here," Violet spoke up hopefully. Maybe she could sneak some food quietly this time with no one around to tattle.

"And destroy my home? I think not!" Pentina shouted, almost offend by the idea of leaving her here alone and by herself.

"I won't destroy the house. I could clean if you wanted me to!"

Pentinua looked away from, "I suppose we could take her to the zoo," her aunt spoke slowly, "... and leave her in the car."

"That car is brand new! I won't be leaving her in it to destroy it as well!" Vernon declared.

Dudley began to tear up. "I-I-I-I don't w-w-want her t-t-t-to come!" He wailed out. "She a-a-always sp-spoils e-everything!" His mother took him into her arms. Dudley shot a grin from between his mother's arms indicating that he was doing just what Violet thought he was doing - faking it.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Oh, dear Lord, it's them!" Petunia screeched. Them being Dudley's friend, Piers, and his parents. Piers wanted to be Dudleys best friends, and they were in a way. Piers would hurt Violet in some way causing Dudley to laugh. Anyone that hurt Violet, Dudley thought was a friend to him. Especially if she reacted.

As her aunt and cousin ran to meet the people at the door her uncle jabbed a large fat finger into her face. He lent in closely, "I'm warning you," he growled, "one toe out of line and you'll be in the cupboard for a week. No meals. No nothing." His face seemed to become a darker shade of purple as her uncle kept talking.

"I won't do anything," Violet leaned back some, "Honestly…"

The only problem was, was that strange things often happen around Violet. She doesn't mean for them to somethings they just happen. Like that one time in third grade her teacher's hair turned bright pink while yelling at Violet for not putting her name on her homework. Or that other time in fourth grade when she wanted nothing more than to be out of the classroom and outside on the swings and then, in a split second, Violet was outside. Still sitting in at her desk staring forward only this time it was at the swings not the teacher. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always got so angry when weird things happened around Violet. Uncle Vernon especially. He'd always hit Violet when she was sent on with a note from school or something happened there at home.

When the five arrived at the zoo Violet was given yet another warning of the repercussions if Violet stepped a toe out of line today. And nothing happened until after lunch, in which she was actually allowed to eat and was even given Dudleys dessert, in the reptile house. Dudley and Piers ran around the building tapping and banging their hands on the glass and pressing their faces against it. Violet feared that, under the weight of the boys, would fall in.

Dudley and Piers soon were found pressing their faces in the glass of the largest snake in the building. It could have easily have eaten both Dudley and Piers and possibly have room for more after! Violet hoped the snake would do just that. Maybe she wouldn't a bald spot if it would.

"Make it move!" Uncle Vernon stepped up behind his son. Vernon, wanting nothing more to please his son, rapped his fingers rougly on the glass. The snake, who looked fast asleep, did nothing.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Vernon compiled but again the snake did nothing and continued to cash in some z's.

"This is boring!" Dudley moaned and walked away. Vernon and Petunia followed their boy and his friend as they terrorized other reptiles.

Violet moved to stand in front of the tank to finally get a better look at the snake. It had brain skin that almost glittered in the faux light of his tanks. Suddenly the beady eyes of the snake snapped opened. Slowly, very very slowly, the snake raised its head and body until the he and Violet were eye to eye.

The snake winked.

Violet staired. Did a snake just wink at her? She looked around the reptile house to see if anyone was looking at her. They weren't. Violet looked back the snake to find it still in the same position. The snake then jerked its head over the where Vernon, Dudley, and Piers stood harassing other animals and then moved its eyes up to the ceiling. The look plainly said, "I get it all the time."

"I know," Violet said quietly even though she was sure the snake couldn't hear her through the glass. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Violet asked.

The snake jerked its head to the right of her. A sign on the wall read, Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The snake jerked its head over to the sign again.

"Oh." Violet said has she read the sign. Born in captivity, it read.

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like. To live somewhere knowing you have a home elsewhere but can't seem to get out. I wish I could help."

The snake lowered its head as if trying to say sorry.

Suddenly Piers ran over screaming about the snake and calling Dudley over. He waddled over as fastly as he could.

"Move over you." He punched Violet in the ribs and shoved her to the ground. The concrete scraped into her hands and knees. Violet knew she'd be bleeding now.

Violet sat up and gasped. The glass was gone! Dudley and Piers fell through the open space and into the tank. The snake, knowing now was his time, slithered as quickly as he could out. People started screaming as the snake ran by them and for a moment Violet was sure the snake had spoken to her.

Violet stood all the way back up now looking at the glass that now separates her from Dudley and his friend.

As soon as they were back at Privet Drive Vernon turned the car off and slung open he grabbed Violet by the nape of her neck and dragged her inside. Violet wasn't sure what to expect this time. A beating no doubt.

"I warned you!" He shouted. "I warned you if you had a single toe out of line and now this?" He dragged her into the kitchen and slammed the door behind them. Vernon threw Violet to the floor. She watched as he unbuckled his belt from his wait and folded it so one end was meeting the other.

Violet tried to cower away or at least hide her face as the blows began. Uncle Vernon swiftly and harshly brought down the leather belt on to Violet over and over and over. Not once did Violet scream or move. She laid there and wished for it all to be over.

The belt snapped against her skin again this time hitting the skin of her hands that protected the side of her face. The belt snapped again on her arm then her side. Her arm again. Vernon was blindly hitting her, taking his anger out onto him.

Several more hits and insults later Violet was hauled off the floor and then locked into her cupboard.

"No meals for the next week!" And with that, Violet was left to cry alone and in pain.

Thoughts? Opinions? I know this last scene wasn't up to par but I wasn't sure how to write it. Any pointers on these kinds of scenes would be great.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter story #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #severus snape #Ron Weasley #hermione granger #the marauders #charlie weasley #bill weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley #goerge weasley

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welcometophu · 6 years

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Not Your Love Song: Chapter 5

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 5

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Rory expects the van, but Thorne shows up with their mother’s car, a small blue thing that looks like someone shrank an SUV.

“It’s supposed to snow,” Thorne says when Rory asks. “This has all wheel drive. The van… skates like it’s trying to win the Olympics.”

Stormy shrugs. “He has a point. If we don’t have the van filled with equipment, the rear wheel drive sucks in the snow.”

Rory can’t argue any of that, even if his mom’s car is tiny and somewhat uncomfortable. They pack it full of good food to bring to the party, and yarn and new dyes for Alaric. Rory manages to convince Gram to loan him a few of the books, and those are in a carefully sealed plastic tote, to keep out any risk of moisture.

At least the drive is only three hours, and Rory has the passenger seat pushed back far enough that Stormy sits behind Thorne instead. When she starts tapping out a rhythm against Thorne’s headrest, Rory is relieved that it’s not him.

“Is the annoying pushy Clan girl going to be back for this?” Stormy asks idly as they pull into Unity.

Thorne winds through the streets, slowing down as he approaches his apartment, looking for a decent place to park. “Dayton?”

“She went home after the whole conclave gather thing was over,” Rory says, staring at his phone. I am tired of being in cars, Alaric had sent, and Rory gets that. Even as used to traveling as he is, it’s exhausting to be on the road constantly. “Alaric’s at SigPsiE helping them set up. The girls said that since it’s both Alaric and Drea’s birthdays, they want to host this time.”

Rory doesn’t really care where it is, as long as there’s somewhere for him to retreat when he needs to. And he trusts this group more than he does any open party. He may not know everyone from either OPT or SigPsiE, but enough of them know him and know not to overwhelm him.

Thorne pulls into the spot right in front of his apartment, crowing happily that it’s open and available. Thick, fat snowflakes are just starting to fall, melting on the hood of the car and the sidewalk, but sticking to blades of brown grass on the small lawn in front of the building. Rory ducks his head, tries to keep the snow from his eyes as he grabs his bag out of the trunk and follows Thorne in.

He drops his bag by the couch, glances warily at the closed door to Casey’s room. “Are they—?”

Thorne tilts his head, shrugs. “I don’t know. They weren’t here for the new year, but it’s possible that Casey and Prim came back. I know Mike’s coming back Sunday because he’s working for the next two weeks, and Del said something about a job back home, so he probably won’t be back until classes start. You could steal one of their rooms.”

“I’m taking Del’s room.” Stormy stows her things, closes Delwin’s door. “He is the only one of you that keeps his room neat, and I’m not sharing a room with you, Thorne.”

“Whatever.” Thorne heads for the kitchen.

Rory’s phone chimes, and he glances at Alaric’s message, nodding to himself. He gives another wary glance to Casey’s door, then winces as music starts, loud and shaking the floor.

“They’re here,” Stormy says, as if they didn’t all know that.

I’m coming over, Rory sends back. “Yeah, and I’m not staying. Alaric’s at SigPsiE, so I’m heading there. You coming?” He raises his voice enough for Thorne to hear over the music.

“I’ll be there later,” Thorne calls back. “Go. Get started. Borrow Trish’s guitar or something.”

Stormy’s brow furrows and she leans close to Rory. “Have I met Trish?”

“Not yet. Wait. Maybe. Before Christmas?” Rory’s lost track of whose met who at which show around here by now. “I don’t know. You can meet her again if she’s here.”

“You are going to introduce me to everyone.” Stormy shrugs into her jacket again, pulls open the door and motions for Rory to head out. “We didn’t even have time to take our shoes off, so let’s go before Casey gets loud.” As they go down the stairs, Stormy asks, “Is there anyone there you wouldn’t want to be your soulmate?”

“Um.” Rory stops on the step, pulls a hat down because it’s gotten cold with the snow coming in. It’s starting to stick on the sidewalk now, too, just a thin layer of slush atop the asphalt. “I’m not sure exactly who’ll be there tonight, but I don’t think there’s anyone I really want to be my soulmate. Definitely none of the sisters. I can’t remember a brother that I’d think of like that.”

“That’s not the question I asked.” Stormy strides along the sidewalk like she knows where she’s going, and since it’s the right direction for now, Rory lets her lead. “I’m not sure you’ve met anyone you want to be your soulmate. I’m asking if you’d hate any of them.”

“Why?” Rory asks warily.

Stormy waves her phone.

The spreadsheet, right. Yeah, he didn’t want to know.

“No,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched. He takes a few steps faster than Stormy so he can get ahead, and she lets him stalk in silence until they reach PHU, moving from town streets into the quiet roads on campus.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “There won’t be many people here. It’s a controlled environment, you can cross people off your list. It’ll help. And it’ll give you a list of people you can feel safe with.”

Rory understands that it’s a fair point. That it makes sense. But no matter how many times she suggests it, it still just doesn’t feel right.

She catches up to him when he hesitates before turning onto the road to Townhouse Row. For a step, she rocks closer to him, rubbing shoulders. “I’m not going to force you, but I’m willing to help you narrow it down. They have to be out there.”

“And what happens when I find them?”

SigPsiE is obvious from this direction, with Trish’s orange motorcycle out front, and several people gathered on the lawn. Trish straddles the bike with it slightly tipped, her helmet already on. Alaric is pulling a helmet over his own head before taking the spot behind her on the seat. He glances up, waves as Rory approaches.

“Well, if it’s a fairy tale, you live happily ever after,” Stormy says.

Rory gives her a dark look. “The only kind of fairy tale we’ve had lately is Grimm,” he mutters. If his life is that kind of fairy tale, he’s more likely to be kidnapped by shadows and eaten as dessert, rather than finding his prince. He huffs as Trish starts the bike, revving the engine. “We can do it. I probably know everyone here anyway.” And if he doesn’t know them well, he knows them in passing. “But it’s up to you to take notes.”

“It means I will stick to you like glue and scare off the scary people for you,” Stormy says with a grin. “Two birds with one stone, right?”

“Don’t get anything wet that the girls don’t want wet,” Rory mutters, realizing exactly how that sounds when Stormy snickers in response. He gives up then, because anything else he says is going to dig the hole deeper.

Trish takes off, Alaric clinging to her on the back of the bike. Rory wonders if that’s safe, with the roads just starting to get slick, but he figures Trish is the one who knows her own skill, not him. And Alaric’s been dying to get on that bike forever, so it’s a perfect birthday gift.

“Hey!” A slap to his back, then Corbin wraps around him, patting his arm. “Glad you could make it.”

“Like you’re the host.” Drea tugs Corbin away, holds out her arms, and this time Rory goes willingly, holding on for a long moment. “Ric’ll be back soon. He wasn’t passing on that chance, and I think Trish just wanted to get out and ride. She and a bunch of others came up after spending the new year with TJ down in the city.”

“More people I haven’t met,” Stormy says, gripping Rory’s hand. She turns it quietly, and Rory knows she’s sneaking a look. “C’mon, Rory, introduce me to everyone.”

“You met Corbin and Drea.”

Stormy tugs him toward the door. “Everyone else,” she insists, as they go in.

It’s casual on the inside, a birthday banner hanging from only one side as if someone got distracted in the middle of decorating. Mac has two sets of streamers, one roll in each hand. She lifts one, then the other, then abruptly tosses them both to Chris. Paper trails out in bright purple and red, and Chris only manages to catch the red one. Rory tries not to step on the purple as it rolls by on the floor.

Food already lines a set of tables in the dining room to the right, and Nate and Serina work side by side to open boxes and set out plates of sandwiches, crêpes, and scones and other desserts. Dax and Jackson walk in, carrying pots of tea, and Stormy stops mid-step to look them over.

“Seriously?” Rory asks her.

“Are we having a tea party?” Stormy asks, her gaze still on Jackson and Dax.

Nate picks up a scone, holds it out for her to take. “Teas Please generously catered for a minor amount of the price, and we’re not arguing that. They are thankful to the brothers of OPT and sisters of SigPsiE for their healthy appetites and consistent patronage, and I appreciate their tips. Therefore, yes, we’re having a tea party.”

Rory elbows Stormy and she stumbles a step forward, takes the scone. “Oh. Okay.” Her gaze drifts back to the others, and she tilts her head.

“No,” Rory says, as gently as he can, because he can see what will happen next. Stormy will say something to Dax, Cass will appear out of the woodwork, and there will be a big blowup of an argument. He’s not in the mood to deal.

Stormy clears her throat, and Rory realizes he’s falling down on his part of the process. He reels off names quickly, managing to somehow touch each one as he does so. Mac gives him a curious look at it, but allows it. When Cass arrives, she furrows her brow in a deepening glare and he decides that touching her is better left undone.

He finds Chris in the living room with Sera, and TJ introduces them to his sister, Bets, as well. There are more sorority girls than Rory recognizes, and for a moment he flounders until Mac comes through to rescue him by introducing Stormy to all the girls. In the end, the only one he remembers is Carolyn, Drea’s big.

“My brother’s around here somewhere,” Carolyn says. “But I don’t think he’s staying long. Crowds aren’t his thing.”

Rory snorts. “I don’t blame him. They aren’t mine, but it’s Alaric’s birthday, so.” He shrugs. “Probably ironic that Alaric doesn’t like parties, either.”

“It’ll be quieter than one of OPT’s parties,” Carolyn says.

Mac has a hand on Rory’s shoulder, nudging him toward the couch. “Caro’s going to try to convince you that we’re all sedate, quiet girls. Which is a lie,” she whispers, laughing. “We’re fighters. I can drink Lewis under the table if I feel like it. We’re just really good at pretending to be the good house.” She motions, and Carolyn joins them, pulling up her feet to curl up on the other end of the couch, with Rory between them.

He’d be more worried about the position, but they’ve both given him space, as well as blocking anyone else from getting too close. Rory appreciates Mac’s forethought as Stormy settles in on the floor in front of him, cross-legged, her head leaning back against his knee.

A guy sinks into the chair across from them, slouching down, arms crossed, hair falling slightly across his face. He reaches up, pushes it back, and offers a small wave hello.

“My brother Kit, who is using this party as an excuse to get away from home for a weekend, but doesn’t plan on staying,” Carolyn says dryly.

“Do you blame me?” Kit retorts. “I’m an independent for a reason. And as much as I like your little, she’s not my little, so I’m not sticking around for this. I’m just waiting until she’s around so I can wish her a happy birthday and duck out.”

“It’s Alaric’s birthday, too,” Mac points out, and Kit rolls his eyes.

“And I don’t actually know Alaric, so while I get the whole twin birthday thing, I’m not worried about whether I offend him or not.”

Stormy gets her phone out, starts tapping on it. She chews on her lower lip, and when Rory glances down, he sees names going into a spreadsheet.

Kit shifts in his seat, cranes his head.

“Drea was outside with Corbin,” Rory offers. Kit blinks at him, and Rory nods at the door. It’s obvious Kit’s uncomfortable, and Rory sympathizes with that. He’s pretty sure Kit could manage to combine offering birthday wishes with escaping and do both at the same time.

“Yeah, I’ll try to catch her there.” Kit pushes to his feet, and Carolyn meets him, hugging him quickly. It looks like she whispers something in his ear; Kit makes a face in response. That close to each other, it’s clear that they’re twins and far more alike than Drea and Alaric. They’re almost the same height, and very similar facial features. If Carolyn cut her hair short, Rory imagines she’d look even more like Kit than she already does.

When Kit heads out, Alaric is on his way in. Things shift around again, as people get drinks and rearrange on the furniture. Carolyn disappears long enough to get a bowl of chips that goes on the coffee table, and while she’s gone, Stormy steals her seat on the couch. Alaric appears with a red plastic cup and a bottle of his homebrew, and takes over the seat that Kit vacated.

People start to squeeze in. Carolyn slides in next to Stormy, pushing her closer to Rory. Chris leans on the arm of the couch next to Mac, while Thorne ends up on the floor, leaning back between Mac’s and Rory’s legs. Sera, Trish, TJ, and Jackson squeeze in on the other couch. Rory has no idea where Drea is, but there’s noise everywhere in the house, so he figures she’s good wherever.

And this is fine. The music’s loud without being overbearing. Some people are drinking, some aren’t. At some point Stormy grabs the bowl of chips and keeps it in her lap, in easy reach, and Rory doesn’t mind since it distracts her from taking notes on her phone.

There’s a melody somewhere in the back of his mind, and when Rory starts humming under his breath, Stormy elbows him. He blinks at her, smiles slightly, and this time takes out his own phone to make notes.

When it’s all noise and chaos

You’re there to bring the silence

You’re there to calm the storm

Inside my mind

Stormy puts a hand on his arm, catches him before he puts his phone away. She nods, smirks, and he elbows her in return which makes her outright laugh.

Someone dims the lights, and people drift away. Rory blinks, and the other couch is empty. Thorne stands like he’s going to move there, but he pats Rory’s knee and heads into the kitchen instead. There’s a loud thump of bass from below, and Rory suspects the party has moved into the large rooms underneath this end of Townhouse Row, where it connects to the rest of the houses.

Chris does take the other couch, and Mac moves to sit with him there, giving Rory more room. Carolyn and Stormy are still on the couch, and Alaric sprawls in the chair, but that’s it. Aside from Carolyn, it’s all people Rory knows well enough to be comfortable with.

Stormy bumps Rory and hands him her phone, unlocked and open to a spreadsheet. “You managed to touch almost everyone,” she says. “Anything?”

Rory’s aware of the way Carolyn’s brow furrows, curious. He turns his wrist up, shows the smudged ink. “Nothing.”

Carolyn hisses softly. “I heard about that. But—”

Stormy pats Carolyn’s knee. “Details are not important right now. Ritual. Fucked up. Hit more than the intended targets. Trying to figure out what it means.”

“What are you looking for in a guy?” Chris asks.

Alaric grunts, motions with his hand, silently echoing the question.

Rory hates being put on the spot. He hates the way they all look at him, and it becomes a little easier when Mac touches Chris’s arm and he turns away, and Carolyn looks down at something on her phone. He closes the document on Stormy’s phone, hands it back to her. “Um. Music,” he says, because that’s definite.

“Playing? Listening?” Stormy asks.

“Good taste,” Rory replies, and Alaric laughs. “Seriously, music is my life. I want someone I can talk to about it. Someone who’s interested in what I do, and someone who isn’t going to freak out when I start composing in my head and miss half the conversation.”

“He does that,” Alaric agrees. “Same when he’s working on a ritual.”

“Magic’s a lot like music. I grew up in it,” Rory points out. “Someone who’s vegetarian would be nice. Decent sense of humor. Doesn’t want to get between me and my family. Or me and the band.”

“Aww.” Stormy leans into him, and he pats the top of her head as she rests against him.

“Someone who likes who I am and doesn’t want to change that,” Rory says softly. This is almost like family, but not quite, and he’s not willing to say someone who doesn’t want sex with Carolyn sitting right there. “Tall would be nice, but it’s not a deal breaker. I just want someone who gets me.”

“I think you’ve just stated the universal need for everyone who’s looking for a relationship,” Mac says quietly. “And probably the definition of soulmate.”

There’s the creak of hinges and a cheerful yell from the kitchen. Alaric cocks his head, pushes to his feet. “Drea’s getting the cake out and I think Corbin’s planning to light things on fire.”

“If Thorne doesn’t get to it first.” Rory will take the change of subject and the chance to get attention off of him. When he stretches his legs, Stormy bounces to her feet, offering a hand to bring him with her. She wraps her arms around his center in a quick hug.

They move as a group, and Mac slips into the space next to Rory. She squeezes his shoulder, speaks quietly as the others chatter over her. “You’ll find him,” she says.

He wonders what makes her so sure.

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