#(and that's why they consistently end up under poppy's healing wing)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Frank! fantasy flavor!

rambles:

i really wanted to blend that monk-class inspiration w/ Frank's personal vibe... i like to think that i Succeeded!

i turned his tie into a sort of brooch since, yk. bowties aren't all that Fantastical. they miss the style. also i think they'd be more comfortable with something smaller since he's very active and needs a wide range of maneuverability

i bet Eddie or someone wheedled them into adding the leather shoulder pauldrons - leather to keep it a bit more flexy, and also. it just looks Cool!

figuring out what would replace his vest was tough. i didn't want them to be entirely unprotected, but i couldn't give him straight armor. though i will admit! a sort of tight-fitting crop top was Considered! but i landed on a gambeson vest as the best fit - comfortable, flexible, a Vest, while providing some level of protection! also, gambesons are quilted, which fits Frank's diamond-checkered vest!

ive already mentioned that one of my favorite outfit things is Flowy Pants Tucked Into Boots, so... that choice wasn't very character driven. except the boots are a tall ankle wrap - for that extra stability and strength! their shoes are pretty flexible and are only a few steps away from being slippers.

and the half-skirt - open skirt? - thing (still don't know what its called) is purely some self indulgence. i think Frank looks great in skirts!! also imagining him Throwing Down w/ the added flair of the skirt... damn. it'd probably help confuse enemies too - what're they gonna do next? who knows! the skirt is in the way and adding extra Movement!

i like to think that his knife is either in a sheath attached to the back of the belt, or they have it on their thigh (under the skirt) like Wally's bag. he probably never uses it... punching is the way to go for Frank methinks. it's probably reserved for cutting ropes and fruit

speaking of punching.... wrist wraps! inspired by boxing gauze! pads his knuckles, keeps his wrist compressed, its the best choice for physical combat. though the wrapped knuckles probably always have blood showing through anyway... or no yeah it's mostly other people's blood...

as for scars - Frank probably has quite the collection! i imagine that they've been picking fights since a young age, and in such a dangerous world he probably got hit a Lot until they learned how to hit back. and hit back Well. still, i wanted to give him a cool face scar with a very lame backstory - a book with a crisp, sharp spine corner fell off a high shelf and bonked them in the face at juuuust the right angle <3 he probably stays very fucking quiet about it which makes everyone think there's some intense traumatic backstory behind it. there isn't. Frank's just embarrassed.

closing note: i imagine that Frank has zero magic. literally none. cannot wield it for shit cannot utilize it. he's just like Howdy fr

#im Very happy with this outfit ngl #they probably know a bunch of different fighting styles... #and then stitches them all together into a Frankenstyle #get it? frankenstein's monster + frank + style - yeah yeah i know im hilarious #he probably stresses everyone tf out with how gung-ho they are in a fight Without Much Protection #like yeah gambesons can cushion blows and depending on the quality can lessen or even stop arrows / stabs #but frank's is a Vest. yeah it covers his vital organ area but like. their face? arms? legs? its free target practice #everytime eddie sees frank throw himself at an enemy w/ magic or Much Bigger Than Frank #he has about 100 heart attacks #catch him sprinting to cover's franks ass. they need it #frank Will look at someone way above his pay grade and go 'yeah i can take em' #(and that's why they consistently end up under poppy's healing wing) #julie unfortunately is on the same bullshit as frank #so if frank takes on someone he cant handle - so will she. without blinking! #though when she (or anyone else) tries it that's when frank goes 'are you crazy?! dont fight them they'll kill you' #frank has common sense when it comes to other people <3 not themself <3 #scribble salad #wh fantasy au #ah yes and the tiny knife... the glorified cheese knife... #even sally has a nice dagger and she's got some Powerful magic on her side #meanwhile frank is bringing fists to a gunfight smh #tryin ta think of a backstory for him for this au... #im thinking... he was either an orphan or his parents straight up Ditched him as a kid... #and he was taken in by a... fuck im missing the word. monastery? or something? #whatever it was it was run by somewhat spiritual people that raised & trained highly skilled/disciplined fighters #with the intent of 'you will fight for good blah blah blah' #maybe frank would sneak out and thats how he met julie? and he taught her some combat skills maybe... #& then he wound up running away w/ her or somethn #or he completed his training and went out to be a Soldier For Good but wound up following his own path & moral compass... idk

[mrsren]

👀👀👀

First chapter of a multi-chapter Jamione/but am considering a triad with James/Hermione/Sirius. I apologize for how long this post is, but I can’t put a line break in until I’m on desktop.

At first, there was screaming, the sounds of the killing curse ricocheting around the courtyard of what was her home. Harry had fallen, they said. She’d seen his lifeless body, cradled close to Hagrid’s chest as the giant’s eyes filled with tears. At first, there was heartbreak all around them.

Remus, Tonks, Fred—countless others that she could not begin to name.

There was a thought from the beginning of the war, that if it got bad enough, she would be willing to risk how far they had come. It was what led her into Professor McGonagall’s office at the end of the term, breaking into the older witch’s office, to steal the time turner from her third year. She had carried it in her beaded bag, and now it was a heavy weight around her neck.

Ron’s hand was tight in hers, and he was looking at her as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. “Mione, I—”

She blinked back her tears, swallowing hard, and shaking her head. “Don’t, just tell me when I get back.” Hermione cleared her throat, offering a grim smile. “Tell me when all of this is over and we can look at this place again.”

Of course, he didn’t understand. Ron’s eyes widened as she reached into her collar, pinching the dainty chain between her thumb and index finger and bringing it out. She’d charmed it at the beginning of the war so she could go back to Halloween of 1981. It was the last plan, and at the moment, she wondered if it should have been her first.

His jaw fell slack. “Don’t,” he began.

A shrill voice pierced the air. “The mudblood!” Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked.

The small mechanism of the time turner had been set to decades for months. Two spins and three-quarters of another would do the trick. Ron yelled her name as the killing curse crossed the courtyard. Just as there was a familiar tugging at her navel.

And then there was absolute silence.

oOoOoOoOoOo

She thought she was dead when her back connected with the cobblestone of the courtyard, pain shooting up her spine as she whimpered. Logically, if she was in pain, she was alive. Still, there was no standing on her own; the attempts were futile. Her vine wand was gripped tightly in her right hand, the time turner burning in a spot against her chest.

Hermione was gasping for air, blood pooling in her mouth and that was how she was found.

The voice was male, laced with worry as she heard footsteps pad toward her. “Granger? Merlin’s bollocks, you’re alive?” A figure came into focus as he kneeled over her. “Hey, can you hear me?” There was a soft touch against her bared forearm. Had her jumper ripped? There was a sharp intake of breath as a warm touch hovered just over the cursed wound. “What happened to you?”

She recognized the hair, and her lips twisted into what she hoped was a smile, but she knew it was a grimace. Her body felt as if it were twisted, as if her bones had been reduced to dust. “Harry?” Granted, his eyes weren’t green, but this was only a dream. Lingering between the veil and reality, she was bound to muddy up the details. “Where are your glasses?” she murmured, lifting an arm to brush her fingers against his jawline.

“What? I’ve never worn glasses, Granger. Do you know how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Hermione shook her head, her head falling to the side.

And then her body began to seize.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione was tired of drifting. Everything around her was dark, and she could still hear the voices of those around her. She was a bright witch; she realized she was lingering in her own mind, waiting for her body to comply with her mind. Still, if only she could wake up.

“Mr Potter, I can’t allow you to stay here.” came the stern voice of Madam Pomfrey. Hermione imagined her eyes were drawn together like they always were when she took that tone. “You’ll have to return to the tower until the morning. If you would still like to check on Ms Granger, you’ll receive no arguments from me. Now, off you go.” she dismissed Harry.

The bed below Hermione dipped as the matron fluffed her pillow, and she applied dittany to the cursed wound of her forearm. If she was awake, fully anyway, Hermione would have told her it was no use. She’d tried it while she was on the run with —

The war. Why — how could she be in the Hogwarts hospital wing when there was —

Waking up felt like her soul had been ripped from her body.

oOoOoOoOoOo

She screamed, sitting straight up so quickly that she slammed her forehead against Madam Pomfrey’s. Instantly, Hermione held out her hand and hissed, “Accio wand.” The familiarity of her wand did little to calm her as she stared at her legs, hidden beneath the white linen sheets. “Where are my clothes, Madam Pomfrey?”

This wasn’t right. Pomfrey should have been in thle Great Hall, tending to the ones that were still fighting, still hanging on by what little determination they had left. And Hermione, she was supposed to be in Godric’s Hollow, barreling into Potter Cottage before a snake-faced bastard could tear the world of her best friend apart.

“My dear,” she began quietly, her eyes wide and her brows nearly shooting into her hairline. “You need to lay down.”

Hermione’s hand shot out, her wand digging into the throat of the familiar face from over the years. “Where are my clothes?” she repeated not in kind. Surely, she was in an amount of pain that she could not feel at the moment, not with the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“Miss Granger, I am not the witch you want to hold a wand to.”

It wasn’t like her, not at all, but Hermione laughed low under her breath. “I assure you that I am not the witch you should test, Madam Pomfrey. There is a war, and I need to,” she broke off, her head aching. Hermione leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I need — I need to go right now.” Hermione gasped.

“My dear, you need to rest.” her kind voice was quiet as she brushed hair over Hermione’s shoulder. “It’s clear that you need to rest, Hermione. You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal.”

Hermione stared around the room, her shoulders trembling as she took in the bottles of potions, the iron caging over the windows. The castle was familiar, but something was terribly off. “What’s the date?’ she asked, letting her wand fall to the bed. She laced her fingers together so she wouldn’t have to watch her fingers tremble.

She wasn’t afraid. There was too much left to be done.

“It’s December 15th, 1998.”

Hermione stared at her, her lips parting before she schooled her features. “Who is the headmaster?” she croaked, feeling her pulse quicken as she pressed two fingers to her wrist.

She didn’t have to wait long for a response. The door swung open, and as fed up as she was with fainting, what was one to do when their murdered headmaster appeared before them?

Madam Pomfrey took one last glance at the girl who was tucked beneath the covers before closing the curtain around her. Leaving her wand to rest on the table beside the bed, Poppy quietly motioned the headmaster into her office. “Albus..” she trailed off, casting a dark look toward the door. “She’s been tortured.”

He nodded, running his fingers through his beard. “No doubt at the hands of whoever took her at the beginning of the term.” Dumbledore murmured. “Mr Potter flew into my office after shouting every password it could possibly be. It was fizzing whizbees, by the way.”

“Unregretfully, I don’t care, Albus.” she replied dryly, sinking into her chair. “She’s not out of her mind. Make no mistake, she was subjected to the Cruciatus, but it didn’t scramble her mind. To your knowledge, was Miss Granger skilled in Occulmency?”

He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, but she’s always furthered herself with independent study. Word gets around, she did spend a lot of time in a study group with Mr Snape, Miss Evans, and Mr Lupin. It’s possible they learned it together.”

Poppy frowned. There would be no need for Mr Lupin to learn the skill; lycanthropy prevented anyone from breaking into his mind, they would be unable to get past the wolf. From the looks of it, Albus didn’t believe his own theory. “Well,” she sighed, dusting her skirt. “I think you should track the three of them down so you can learn if that is the case. As it is, when I tried to view her mind, she fought back. It was unlike anything a student should be able to master already.”

“Miss Granger has always been exceptionally bright.”

She waved her hand, half tempted to shoot him a vulgar motion instead. “That’s utter hogwash. When James Potter carried her in, I thought she was already dead. Nearly every bone was broken, Albus. I can heal her physical wounds, but her mind...we have no way of discovering the damage until she wakes.”

He dipped his head. “I will wake her study group then, but I fear she has more secrets locked up in her head now that we will need.”

She gritted her teeth, not that he could see it. “Albus, I have respected you a great deal for many years, so I do not say this lightly. She is not a pawn in your war; don’t treat her like one.”

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hermione was sitting in the bed when Madam Pomfrey checked on her the next morning. “Good morning.” Hermione greeted quietly, leaning forward as the matron lifted her left arm. “There is no healing it. I’ve tried already; don’t worry yourself with trying again. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s permanent.”

Pomfrey’s face fell and she gave a curt nod. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Hermione’s face scrunched in pain as she attempted to move her leg. “Like I fell off a broom stick without a cushioning charm.”

Pomfrey nodded. “Well, that would be consistent with your injuries. Clearly you remember Hogwarts, and myself, is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Hermione glanced at her, and she picked up each leg and moved it so the matron would have a place to sit. “I don’t remember ever being here,” she said weakly. “I can’t explain everything to you, but I don’t want to tell Headmaster Dumbledore. I can’t tell you why.” It was true. All she knew was that there had been a shiver running up her spine when she saw him.

She probably hadn’t forgiven him for not giving Harry the entire truth the first time around.

“Then don’t tell him.” Madam Pomfrey said, the bed dipping below her. “I know. I shouldn’t be telling you to hide anything, but you’re a conundrum, and I’m not sure he needs to know everything that happened.” she paused. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Would you like to tell me?”

It was as close as she could get to saying she had no idea, and luckily, the woman caught onto it. She winked as the doors swung open. “Never fear, Miss Granger, I’m quite bright myself.” Madam Pomfrey rose from the bed, smoothing her clothes. “Mr Potter. I thought you would be by. I must inform you though, that Miss Granger is experiencing a terrible case of amnesia. She won’t remember you.”

Hermione took a good look at the boy who wasn’t her best friend at all. There was a cocky look about him, a sharp jawline that she remembered - with flushed cheeks - that she’d traced the night earlier. He slid his hands into his denims, a muggle pair from the looks of it, and tilted his head to the side. “You’ve forgotten me, Granger? Here I thought I had left you with an impression.”

She blinked as he neared the bed, a Defense Against the Dark Arts book in his hand and he took a seat beside her. “You scared the shite out of me.”

No, this wasn’t her best friend. This was his father.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, crossing her legs beneath the blanket. “Why did you bring that?” Hermione nodded to the book in his hands, flipped open partway. “I’m sorry, could you remind me of your name?” It could be a coincidence, she reminded herself, but she had to know.

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. “James,” he replied. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant by saying this, but I’m surprised you don’t remember me because I frequently annoyed you.”

She snorted. “Well, amnesia is a tricky thing. I remember when you found me last night. Thank you.”

He nodded, dark strands of hair slipping into his face. “I thought you were dead.”

Hermione bunched the sheets in her hands. “I did too.” Her voice fell flat as he stared at her, hands curling into fists. “What?” Over his shoulder, Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office with a short wave over her shoulder.

“How can you talk about it as if it’s nothing? Granger, you were twisted like..” James pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re talking about how you were found as if you expected it, as if it was nothing. What the fuck happened while you were missing?”

If it were possible for her heart to stop in her chest, she was positive that’s what the useless organ would have done. “I was missing?” She swayed and his hand shot out to steady her. “I apologize, really, but I can’t remember.”

His gaze dropped to her forearm that was now covered with bandages. “You’ve been missing since Halloween,” James muttered, setting the textbook on the bed beside her feet. “We were patrolling Hogsmeade together, and I —”

The guilt-stricken look that flitted over his face was recognizable. It was the same one Harry often wore. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault.” Hermione shrugged. “Knowing me, I got myself in over my head. I saw something I shouldn’t have most likely. I’ve never been able to keep out of anyone’s business.”

Fondly, she was reminded of the Firebolt that was a gift from Sirius Black before they learned he wasn’t a mad man. Yet this was different. Whoever had taken the Hermione Granger that had been here landed much higher on the spectrum of dangerous.

“You were a terror that night,” James said. “We were meant to be patrolling Hogsmeade, fellow Heads, and I fucked everything up.”

She reached for his hand, hooking her finger through the space between his as it was all she could do with the strain on her lower back. “Hey, I’m telling you not to feel guilty.” she whispered.

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t even remember it. I left you to flirt with Evans, and I knew some of the Slytherins had been watching you. When I saw your arm, after I left here, I went straight to the head dorm to vomit.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her eyes beginning to water. Wanting nothing more than to tell him he had no bearing on her wounds, she changed the subject before she could do just that. “Did it work?”

“What?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You said you left me to flirt with Evans. Did it work at least?” she asked, twirling her wand between her fingers. “You’ve fancied her a long while, haven’t you?” Surely even though she had ended up somewhere that wasn’t home, that was still true.

“Is this a joke to you?” he growled, eyes narrowing. “I’m attempting to apologize to you, and you’re —”

“Don’t yell at me,” Hermione said, her voice flat, and her wand now poised steadily in her fingers. “If you feel the need to apologize to me, you were already forgiven because you didn’t cause anything to happen to me.”

James didn’t spare her another look before leaving the hospital wing.

She heaved a sigh, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She needed a library.

#sneak peek #james potter #hermione granger #not your typical time travel fic #mrsren