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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: You definitely won’t trust now, but I hope to see y’all in two weeks anyway, please don’t hate me -Danny

Words: 5,048

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Book 5

Listen to: I Only Wanna Talk To You -by The Maine

Chapter Thirty-Seven: A New Vow.

Many things changed as the school year came to an end, none of them was good.

Students would avoid her in the halls, they would stare at her and Harry carelessly, some frowning, some just plain scared. That wasn't new and it didn't hurt her anymore.

What hurt her was the way Harry grew distant out of the blue. He wouldn't touch her, not even sit beside her on accident. He would talk to her as if nothing had happened but she could see it in his eyes, some kind of distress, she had the ugly feeling that he resented her.

Mel was talking to Erick one morning in the courtyard, where they used to hang out during her first year. She was there to deliver Dumbledore's message and to thank him, it was their first time talking since the first task.

"I don't know what I would've done without the watch... it saved us."

Erick shook his head. "I merely confirmed his suspicions, Dumbledore was already looking for you when I got to him."

"You got him when I fainted during the task, you stood guard outside the tent while we were inside and I was..." She didn't know what to call it, her first thought was always directed to the word 'dying' but she knew now that those weren't her feelings, it was Harry who'd been dying, not her.

"You looked possessed. I thought you were... that you had..."

"That I was crazy," Mel sighed.

"...How's Harry?"

"We don't talk about that," Mel frowned, not wanting to go there. "Dumbledore has a message for you."

"Tell me."

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"He said you could be of help," She replied carefully. "That if you're willing, you could join us."

"For what?" Erick asked in puzzlement.

"He didn't explain... said you could search for rogues."

After ten seconds, Erick spoke timidly. "Rogues like me?"

"I think so..."

"He wants me to dig around, see if any other Slytherin shares my... views."

"He kept saying how we have to stick together," Mel shook her head. "I think he's expecting us to try harder next year, unite the houses while we can..."

"I..." Erick started to stress. "It's too dangerous for me, you know that. Half of my friends come from Death Eaters or you-know-who's supporters. It's like walking on thin ice."

"You don't have to do it," Mel said promptly. "I know how your parents feel about this, and if they catch you doing something like that, trying to speak in Dumbledore's favour... I know that in comparison to me, you're on your own. I can't make you risk your well being like this."

Erick stared at her, he remained silent for a while, Mel didn't know what to do.

"Did you know, Miss," He finally uttered, "that Rapunzel isn't saved by a prince?"

She tilted her head and waited for him to finish.

"Found her way out of the mess, rebuilt her life on her own," Erick continued calmly. "I believe we'll do too."

"Bin havin' a cuppa with Olympe," Hagrid said as they settled around his table. "She's jus' left."

"Who?" said Ron curiously.

"Madame Maxime, o' course!" said Hagrid.

"You two made up, have you?" said Ron.

"Dunno what yeh're talkin' about," said Hagrid. When he had made tea and offered around a plate of doughy cookies, he leaned back in his chair and examined Harry and Mel closely. "You all righ'?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"All right," Mel smiled.

"No, yeh're not," said Hagrid. " 'Course yeh're not. But yeh will be. Knew he was goin' ter come back. Known it fer years, Harry. Knew he was out there, bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's Dumbledore's plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we've got him, I'm not too worried."

Mel looked down to her cup, frowning.

"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," He said, patting her shoulder gently. "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Yeh did as much as yer fathers would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

They smiled, the very first glimpse of their old self coming to the surface.

"What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him — that night."

"Got a little job fer me over the summer– Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou' it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe — Madame Maxime ter you — might be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."

"Is it to do with Voldemort?" "Migh' be," Hagrid grimaced. "Now... who'd like ter come an'visit the las' skrewt with me? I was jokin' — jokin'!"

Mel's eyes found Harry's and he quickly averted his gaze. She frowned, a resolution already forming in her mind that she would clear things out with her best friend before they were back home.

She walked into his room when she knew he'd be alone packing up his things.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He said, gaze fixed on his trunk.

"I want to talk to you. You're the only one I want to talk to, but you keep avoiding me..."

"What d'you mean?"

"Can you at least look at me for just a second?" She frowned.

Harry did as told, his face remaining neutral as Mel approached. She looked into his eyes and pulled him in for a hug.

"I'm sorry," She mumbled against his shoulder. "Whatever I did– Please don't be mad. I swear all I wanted was to help you–"

Harry stepped away from her, not returning the hug.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about! You don't... you won't–"

"I'm not mad at you!" Harry said exasperated. "Don't you see this is all my fault?"

Mel blinked.

"What?"

"I saw the bruises... What happened to you during the time Voldemort got me– you could've died!"

"Harry," She looked at him in disbelief. "You could've died."

"This is about you," He replied firmly. "It's my fault. I've dragged you to all of my mistakes and you end up hurt–"

"Those were my choices–"

"It was never your idea," He stated. "Dumbledore said that we're too close..."

"No! That's not... I did all that because I need you to be–"

"This was a mistake," Harry was breathing heavily, he was in distress. "What we did was a mistake."

"What, exactly?" She said in a shaky whisper, knowing where this was going.

"You know," His eyes hardened.

"That's rubbish!" It felt like holding sand, desperately trying not to let him slip away from her fingers. "This is not the solution–!"

"I don't think I ever liked you for real," He blurted out, "it wasn't my choice..."

"What?"

"I... I mean it," He turned around, hastily packing the last bits of clothing. "I think it might be the lifeline stuff... didn't like that you were getting close to other people– It sounds selfish, but it makes sense... some kind of instinct– doesn't mean it was real..."

"Harry, don't be stu–"

"I don't want you," He insisted. "I can't have you."

"Glasses–"

"My name is Harry!" He yelled, turning to face her. "Stop calling me that! I hate it! I hate the stupid nickname and I don't like you!"

Mel felt cornered, Harry had never spoken to her like that before. He turned back and slammed down the lid of his trunk.

"Just leave me alone." He said, abandoning the conversation as well as the room.

She stumbled back to his bed, falling heavily on it. Without being able to control herself, she burst into tears.

Mel avoided him for the rest of the term, spending most of her free time with the twins like the old times. It was good for her spirit, they knew how to make her laugh. During the feast she was seated between them, Dumbledore stood up to give his farewell speech and they fell silent.

"The end of another year. There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, fixing his eyes on the Hufflepuff table, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here, enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

And so they did. Every student in the room.

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house. He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about... Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

George looked down at her and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory. There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter."

She refused to look for him and kept her gaze on the old man ahead.

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him."

She lifted her goblet and said his name, but found herself saying it with a new resentment that had never been there before. It didn't feel right.

"The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened — of Lord Voldemort's return — such ties are more important than ever before. Every guest in this Hall, will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again — in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst."

Her fists were closed tightly, there was still a faint greenish shadow were the bruise on her forearm had been days before.

"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

" 'Arry!" Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps, Joseph was beside her. "We will see each uzzer again, I 'ope. I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish."

"It's very good already," said Ron clumsily.

Mel had her attention on Joseph.

"It was nice," Mel smiled fondly. "You're ten times funnier than your cousin."

Joseph laughed.

"Don't judge him too hard, it's the way he's been brought up. He used to be a lousy kid, very loving too... people grow out of it, unfortunately."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe," He smiled sweetly at her. "Take care, will you?"

"Yes."

"Will you watch after my cousin too?"

"Not like I have a choice..."

He chuckled. "See you, Mel."

"Good-bye, 'Arry," said Fleur, turning to go with Joseph. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you!"

As Mel watched them leave, she had the reassuring feeling that maybe Erick wasn't entirely on his own after all.

"Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back," said Ron. "D'you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff did not steer. He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork." Krum said behind them. He looked at Hermione. "Could I have a vord?"

"Oh... yes... all right," said Hermione.

"You'd better hurry up!" Ron called loudly after her. "The carriages'll be here in a minute!"

"Oh shut up, Ron," Mel scolded. "Let her have one moment in private with him."

"What, is not like she'll be missing him lots, they didn't even date."

"You don't need to date someone in order to miss them," She snapped. "Or like them, for that matter..." She felt Harry purposefully look away as she spoke. When Krum returned, he talked to them.

"I liked Diggory. He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang — with Karkaroff."

"Have you got a new headmaster yet?" Harry asked.

Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry's hand, and then Ron's. Ron looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Ron burst out, "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

The trip back was good enough, even if Mel and Harry couldn't look at each other in the eye. Dumbledore's speech had given them energies, and just like he'd said before, they still had to remain together, for the greater good.

"There's nothing in there," Hermione signalled to the Daily Prophet Harry was staring at. "You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"Of course he is," Mel scoffed, "he's an idiot, but not that kind of idiot."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," said Harry. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione delightedly. "As a matter of fact, Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione.

"Oh, right!" Mel said. "What was that about?"

"How was she doing it?" said Harry.

"How did you find out?" said Ron.

"Well, it was you and Mel who gave me the idea, Harry."

"What? How?"

"Bugging," said Hermione happily.

"But you said they didn't work —"

"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see... Rita Skeeter" — Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph — "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —" Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. "— into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "You haven't... she's not..."

"Oh yes she is," said Hermione.

"Holy Godric," Mel laughed loudly for the first time in days.

"That's never — you're kidding —" Ron mumbled, examining the jar.

"No, I'm not. I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry exclaimed.

"When you fainted there was a beetle in the curtain as well," Mel replied, her eyes fixed on the tiny creature. "And when I talked to Cedric before the first task..."

"Exactly. And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

"When we saw Malfoy under that tree..."

"He was talking to her, in his hand. He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid. I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London. I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."

"Hermione, I love you," Mel grinned.

The door of the compartment slid open.

"Very clever, Granger," Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there. "So, you caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favourite boy again. Big deal." He stared at them with bright eyes. "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," Harry tensed.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well — second — Diggory was the f —"

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all on the ground and they were on their feet, all four of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred entering their compartment.

"Interesting effect," said George, examining Crabbe. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"Me," said Harry.

"Odd– I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor."

Ron, Harry, and George pushed them out into the corridor, when they straighten up, Ron turned his head slightly towards her.

"Er... Mel?"

She walked out of the compartment and found Erick standing there, looking down at the three Slytherins.

"Oh," She smiled. "Hello. Don't worry boys, I got this."

Erick had a sort of exasperated look on his face.

"Why don't you turn around and forget you saw this," George ignored her. "We promise not to hurt you if you do."

"You promise not to hurt me?" Erick let out a dry laugh. "Right..."

"He's not here to report us," Ron said, pushing his brother back into the compartment. "Listen to Mel..."

"Don't annoy her, the year's over and so is the committee," George insisted.

"George," Mel sighed. "It's okay."

"Listen, we can clear all doubts in a moment, but can I talk to her first?" Erick frowned. "In private."

The boys entered the compartment reluctantly, they had just closed the door when he spoke.

"I'll do it. Whatever Dumbledore wants me to do."

Mel was taken by surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"What he said during the speech... he's right," He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's time to make a choice."

"But your parents–"

"Don't have to know. If there's any chance that there are more people like me... if I can convince them... it'll be worth it, right?"

Before she could stop herself, she held his hand.

"Come."

"What?"

"Come in for a second, meet the Weasleys."

"So they can kill me? No thanks–"

"They won't," She dragged him inside. Everyone stared at them. "Erick won't report us."

"Good for him," Ron replied in disinterest.

"I think it's time we clear things up," She continued with determination. "Erick and I are good friends. He doesn't need to prove his loyalty to anyone, but he wants to help my uncle, so it'd be brilliant if you could, you know, be nice to him."

"No need to look so outraged," Erick said, staring at the twins' faces. "Being a Slytherin doesn't equal being a monster. I could've reported you to Professor McGonagall thousands of times during the school year but I kept my mouth shut. Why?"

"Because you knew we could've kicked your arse?"

"Very classy," He rolled his eyes. "I did it out of consideration for Mel. Now Dumbledore asked for my help and that's what I'll give. All I want is for you to stay out of my way and stop acting like I'm the danger. I assure you, Mel's the bad influence here. All I care about is being of use."

A heavy silence surrounded them as the boys processed the news.

"All right then, be of use," George shrugged. "Close the door and sit down, we've had enough visitors for today."

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards. "Be of use, Flint, open the window before you sit."

"I'm going to regret this..." Erick groaned, doing as asked.

She purposely seated Erick between her and Harry for the rest of the trip.

"You going to tell us, then?" Harry said to George after a while. "Who you were blackmailing?"

"What?" Erick looked around in confusion.

"Long story," Hermione said over her book.

"It doesn't matter," said Fred. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," said George, shrugging.

"Come on!"

Harry, Hermione, Ron and her insisted so much that Fred lost his patience.

"All right, all right, if you really want to know... it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman? Are you saying he was involved in —"

"Nah. Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, what, then?"

"You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?"

"Yeah."

"Well," He glanced at Mel, "The git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

"So?"

"So," said Fred, "it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone!"

"So I guess, you could say I told you so, Lady," George scowled. "We were idiots."

"But — it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," said Fred. "Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything."

"So we asked for our money back."

"He didn't refuse!" gasped Hermione.

"Right in one," said Fred.

"But that was all your savings!"

"Tell me about it," George scoffed. "'Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn't enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He's lost everything gambling. Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?"

"He put a bet on you, mate," said Fred. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"I knew it!" Mel exclaimed.

"So that's why he kept trying to help me win! Well — I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!"

"Nope– The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task."

"My Grandad's a big fan of Zonko's," Erick mentioned casually, placing his cards on the table. "And he relishes on supporting young inventors, reminds him of the old days. If you send me samples I'll show them to him and he might help you... What? Don't look at me like that, it's not dirty money!"

"Sorry," Fred said, raising a brow. "It's weird to see you acting like... well, like a good person."

"Unexpected, you mean," George suggested. "You have the looks of a conceited prat."

"Give it time," Mel muttered.

"Shut it," Erick nudged her arm. "Anyway, I better leave and finish my rounds before we arrive... I'll write if anything comes up, Mel."

They waved him goodbye, the twins looked at her with their eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," Fred smirked. "Bad influence you are then, aren't you?"

"You've corrupted Slytherin's Prince!"

"Careful Harry," Fred teased. "Don't let him get too comfortable or he'll think he's got a chance!"

"Shut up," Mel interrupted harshly. "Erick doesn't like me that way..."

"Sure thing, and Krum's nothing but a good mate to Hermione," George grinned.

"Fred — George — wait a moment."

She heard Harry said after leaving the compartment. She froze, curiosity winning over her.

"Take it," He said, and she could hear the distinct sound of coins inside a sack falling onto someone's hands.

"What?" said one of the twins.

"Take it. I don't want it."

"You're mental–"

"No, I'm not. You take it and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."

"He is mental."

"Listen, if you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

He was giving them the tournament's money. Her heart did that odd flip it hadn't done in days.

"Harry," she kept hearing, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah, think how many Canary Creams that is– Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it..."

"Harry–"

"Look, take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favour, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you."

Harry left the compartment and faced her. There was a moment where she caught a glimpse of something, for a second he looked like he wanted to speak. It disappeared right away though, taking all her hopes with it. He scowled and walked past her without uttering a word.

"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"'Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Harry — thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car.

As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did.

Mel entered her mother's car in silence, she was still trying to understand how things had gone to the dogs between her and Harry so quickly. There was something pressing on her chest and she wasn't sure she wanted to plug it out.

Her mother spoke for the first time in the day.

"We're not staying at Privet Drive this summer."

"What?" Mel asked absently.

"We'll go there to get your clothes, then we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning to Remus' place," Her mother explained quickly. "I know you want to stay and make sure Harry's fine, but I have things to do and you can't be left alone–"

"Okay."

Her mother stared at her.

"What?"

"I know Harry's going to be safe, surrounded by muggles and all," She tried to keep her voice neutral. "If we're of use somewhere else, I want to go."

Emily knew right away that something was wrong, but whether if she thought it was about Harry or not, she didn't comment on it.

"All right. It'll be a long summer, this one..."

"Yeah," Mel looked out the window as the car left their parking spot.

The girl felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she'd been dreading to go back and have no one to talk to but Harry. Not that he'd be visiting her house at all, but at least now she had an excuse to stay away from him. To leave him alone, just as he'd requested.

Mel thought, very bitterly, that her biggest dream and worst nightmare had come true at the same time. She made a vow not to wish for anything ever again.

Next Part —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #hp fanfic #WITT fic

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mol-icious · 7 years

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Because when you like 2 different fandoms...JAM THEM TOGETHER UNTIL THEY FIT

#danny phantom #harry potter #harry potter quotes #yer a wizard harry #thekindashitinmybrain

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ravenclaw-craftsgirl · 4 years

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Lilian - Year One

Part 1 Part 2 Rating: G Foreword: This story uses the fanmade idea of Rowan Khanna being the name of Two Twins (The Twin Khannas) Using their middle names to distinguish themselves. Research has been done ahead of time, with certain instances purposely being different.

I will pre-translate all of Lilian’s french for Mobile users!

Enjoy! Here’s the original Google Doc Link for those who enjoy proper formatting

The morning was warm over London’s suburbs. The sun shone over the road as a young girl surrounded by several children in a house’s driveway. Each were chatting individually while two stood nearby with a timer as they watched. “Come on, Lil, ya got it!”

“Ye can do it!” they cried as the young brunette quickly reassembled a bikes assembly from scratch after having just polished them. Within a minute, she was done. “Woah, that’s thirty seconds faster!” The boy holding the stopwatch exclaimed, while the girl watching merely shouted in celebratory victory for her friend. The two helped the other up as a group of girls walked past and started laughing. “Oh look, La Rude is in the dirt plating with the boys again. Guess she didn’t get the memo that Girls don’t do that.” The leader of the group shouted, as the others laughed and chided in their obnoxiously high voices. “<It is rather rude to deny my talents. Only an idiot would degrade someone for doing something she likes.>” Lilian Le’Reau replied with a smirk. Several of the girls simply looked among themselves, confused and worried at what Lilian had just said. The leader simply frowned and stuck her tongue out before snapping her fingers, signalling for the others to continue wherever they were trying to go. “I don’t know why you put up with her, Lilian. She’s always such a jerk.” Lilian simply shrugged, pulled the hair tie out from her ponytail and shook her head. She grinned as her hair fell past her shoulders “Because I know I can make fun of her in french without her tattling.” With that sentiment, the kids all boarded their bikes and rode down to the nearest Football field to play a game.

It wasn’t until much later that day when Lilian finally rode home. The sun was barely touching the horizon as Lilian was riding. Suddenly a flash of black as an Owl suddenly appeared on Lilian’s handlebars. “<WHAT THE HECK>!” Was all she could say before she jerked the front wheel to the side out of reaction, causing her to crash into her yard. Covered in sweat and dirt, Lilian sat up and groaned as she looked at the bent front axle of the bike she had bought. “Mama is going to kill me. And what was… that.” The owl simply turned to her and spun it’s head around, almost in a form of acknowledging the wreck that had just happened. Even more curious than the owl itself was the letter in its beak. Addressed to her home… with her name… Lilian carefully reached out to the owl to take the letter, careful to not potentially spook the creature. Thankfully she didn’t have a problem, with the owl only flying away once Lilian had the letter. “ ‘From the office of Hogwarts’ Huh? <What are you>?” She then stood up and hissed with pain as she saw her shin, scrapped and bloody from the crash. Thankfully she didn’t have to walk far as she took her bike into the garage before walking into the house.

Once inside, and after treating her injury, Lilian sat in the living room with her pet cat Eleanor as she opened the letter. The letter itself looked old, yet she opened it anyway and pulled out the letter inside. “ ‘Dear Mrs. Le’Reau, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’? <What is that>?”

Lilian continued reading through the letter, not noticing until she was nearly tackled by her cousin that the front door had opened. “Whatcha got there, Lil? Some love letter o’ some blighter lookin ta court ye?” Abbigail Mckinley said, big grin on her freckled face. Lilian smiled, rolling her eyes as the back of her hand smacked Abby on the arm. “<Stop that>, Abby. It’s some letter for some place called-” “Hogwarts school o’ Witchcraft an Wizardry. Glad ta see you finally got the letter. Was startin ta wonder if they sent it through the Post.”

Lilian looked up to see her uncle Rorick standing with his hat and coat alongside her father, Daniel Le’Reau. “Well, It would seem you were right, Rorick. Glad I didn’t bet anything on that.”

“Bah, I won in spirit, Danny. Ye just don wanna admit it.” Rorick said with a nudge of his elbow. “Wait, what is Hogwarts? Why did I get this letter?” Lilian asked, perplexed by her father’s casual acceptance of this… Wizard letter?

“Ah ye see love… This is a letter for you to learn how ta be a witch like Abby here. Learn how to use your magical talent. Like yer normal school now, but with all the fairytale happenin’s ye’re so fond of.” Rorick said as he took a seat. Lilian simply stared at the letter, dumbfounded by this revelation and everything else that Rorick had to explain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilian walked through the sliding brick wall, mesmerized and afraid at the same time. It was only a month ago in July that she had learned about Magic from her uncle and cousin, let alone seeing it in action. How else was she supposed to be taking this kind of information? Just accept that her favorite childhood stories could be real? That Eragon could possibly have existed in some way shape or form? That Lord of the Rings could have actually been a real battle covered up?

“Lil? Oi, cous, ye’er me?”

Lilian snapped back to reality, hearing her cousin’s voice. “<Excuse me>, it’s just...So much to deal with, Abby…” Abbigail simply grinned, pulling Lilian along. “Come on now, we’ve only jus started!”

The two went about, purchasing whatever they needed for school with Rorick nearby. The Auror simply smiled, following behind the two as he put all of their supplies in his bag. Thankfully, and mercifully, it was enchanted with an undetectable extension charm. He simply smiled as they went around with some money, buying what all they needed while he went to buy the rest of their school supplies that they would need.

Abby and Lilian continued walking around for a while, Abby finally letting go of her arm, when she bumped into someone causing them both to spill. “<I am really sorry! I should have watched where I was going!>” Lilian started speaking as she quickly scrambled to pick up the books and other supplies before they were ruined by the streets. Lilian had nearly picked up all of the books when she noticed the other girl simply staring, wide eyed with wonder at her. Lilian suddenly wished she didn’t have her hair in a ponytail, feeling very self conscious of herself until she heard the girl speak. “That… That was French! Oh my goodness you’re so fluent! I wish I'd be able to learn french! Oh uh, Sorry if I didn’t understand it though. I’m good with books, but not people. Sorry for bumping into you!” The odd girl with round glasses smiled as she stood up with Lilian and took back her books. “I’m Rowan Hubei Khanna! Pleasure to meet you…?”

“Aye, Tha’s me cousin Lilian, an I’m Abby McKinley!” Abby said with a big grin as Lilian stood by her side and nodded, smiling slightly to be polite. “<H-hello>…” Abby turned to Lilian confused and then realized. “Oh right, ya switch ta French when yer nervous. Sorry fer that, Rowan. Ya shoppin for Hogwarts too?” As if to answer Abby��s question, the three see a young man, his complexion and demeanor almost the same as Rowan’s. “Hubei, little help! I’m tipping I’m tipping!” He cried as he tripped on a loose stone, toppling his books and a couple of other boxes over the trio. The boy sat up and rubbed his head before readjusting his glasses. “Oh, are we making introductions? I’m Rowan Harrow Khanna! Just call me Harrow!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So ya two grew up on a tree farm? Seems a tad of a bore.” Abby said as the four children sat down at a nearby bench as they talked together.

“It’s really not that bad. Lots of reading and interesting stories!” Harrow said, followed by Hubei nodding enthusiastically. “It’s true! We get quite a lot of various people at the farm. Mom and Dad always say that we’re getting the entire world coming to buy their wand and broom wood.”

Lilian smiled. “That seems interesting. I’ve never heard of a tree farm for brooms and wands specifically. It must be exciting.”

The twins looked at each other and frowned. “Not really. More often than not, it’s kind of boring. Trees aren’t the fastest growing things.” “Yeah, for the most part we stayed inside to read and play wizard chess against each other. Harrow tried climbing a tree once. He was stung by so many Bowtruckles.”

Harrow’s face turned bright red as he turned to Hubei. “Did not! That was just the branches not being trimmed in a while…”

“Right, that’s why you screamed like a little girl. Haha dad had to levitate Harrow out of the tree!”

Lilian smiled at the two’s bickering when she noticed Abby looking down. She had forgotten how her cousin had lost her brother a while ago. She didn’t know how, but all she knew was that Abby’s big brother, Jacob McKinley, had run away and was never seen again.

Lilian put a hand on Abby’s shoulder, silently nodded and smiled. “You’ll find him, Abby. I know it.”

The two Khanna’s stopped their bickering and fell silent. Harrow was the first to speak “I’m sorry, we forgot about you being a McKinley…”

Abby shook her head. “Nah, ‘S fine. Jus comes with the territory. Come on, Lil. We should probably find Da an head home. Who knows what Hunin an Munin are doin right now.” Lilian nodded, bidding farewell to the Khanna siblings. As the two found Rorick, Lilian couldn’t help but hug them both. “<Thank you>, for everything you two are doing.”

Rorick chuckled. “Lass, we’re a family. We stick together, through the thick of it. Now then, how about we spoil yer appetite a bit a’fore we head on home, Eh?” Lilian and Abby grinned to each other, following Rorick’s lead to a nearby candy shop.

#part 1 #Lilian Le'Reau #Abbigail McKinley #Rowan Hubei Khanna #Rowan Harrow Khanna #Twin Khanna #Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery #HPHM #hphm mc

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1ester-moved · 7 years

Photo

yer a wizard danny

#dan #daniel howell #danielhowell #gifs #my gifs #mine #phan gifs

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fykangdaniel · 7 years

Note

Theory; He changed his name to Daniel because the actor who played Harry Potter was named Daniel 👀

Yer a wizard Danny poTE

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shesahandsomewoman · 7 years

Photo

@fatima-luna-howlter submitted

Yer a wizard danny

edit: I’m a wot.

#submission

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davebowlin · 6 years

Text

Old Debts

I remember when the first body washed up on the beach. How could I forget? I almost stepped on the bloated little thing before I realized what it was. The foggy darkness combined with my alcohol-induced daze had put a veil deep enough over my eyes to hide a passing elephant herd.

This night had started like any other of a thousand nights, with me sitting in my car after a long, futile day at work, wondering where I could go besides home.

As usual, I ended up at Larry’s, an ill-lighted little pub about two miles from work and – more importantly – in exactly the opposite direction of my house. I had an enormous round of drinks with my best friend of the past four years, Mr. Jack Daniels. Straight, with a slice of lemon, another for a chaser. My usual. Larry, the owner, began pouring them as soon as I walked in, and didn’t stop until I had sixteen of them down my throat. He always knows how many I’ll have, which is always sixteen. No special reason for this, its just enough to make things simple for me and Larry, and equally enough to make sure that I will sleep through the night without the dreams. Well, usually.

On this night particular night, I had left Larry’s in the usual way, which is pretty drunk and out the front door. This time, however, my car wasn’t there waiting on me. Hmmm, should’ve paid the collection of parking tickets I had managed to collect over the past few years.

I thought about calling my wife. She’d give me a ride home. She had done it more than once, but she really didn’t deserve this again. I thought about waiting for a cab, figured I would just get sick in the back seat, and end up paying for a good cleaning along with the inflated cab fee, and so decided that the night air and a long walk was probably what I really needed after all.

I stumbled behind Larry’s shack and into the foggy gloom beyond. The tide was higher than usual tonight, a testament of the recent storms that we’d had. Almost immediately slimy seaweed coated my shoes, soaked into my feet. Larry’s Pub wasn’t the classiest place in town, but you sure couldn’t get any closer to the water without getting wet.

The moon was surrounded by a cushy halo of fog and clouds, and it gave an eerie glow to the waves crashing violently against the beach. With each thunderous crash of the waves, the ocean greedily sucked the water and sand back into its thirsty, greedy self. Crash, slam, crash… suuuuck. Crash, slam, crash… suuuuck. Crash, slam…

You’d think I would get used to that sound after living here all my life, but I swear I never will. The ocean is alive, a living, breathing demon that is forever trying to pull us into its gaping maw, eating away at our safety zone, our dry land, inch by inch. You can almost feel the hatred and hunger it gives off. If you don’t believe me, go for a walk along the water’s edge at night, alone. You’ll hear what I mean, and you’ll agree with me. No, not in the open, but in your soul you’ll agree. The ocean is forever hungry, and after it eats its prey, sometimes it throws the leftovers back up, just to make sure we get the picture.

Like it did this time.

Like I said, I almost stepped on the body before I saw it. My mind was about sixteen thousand miles away, somewhere in the mountains of Fiji, in a dark, dry cave with a small fire and a cooler full of any type of eighty-proof alcoholic beverage and a good book. It would be raining there outside my humble cave, thunder smashing the clouds into the ground, the lightning tormenting the sky with its electric fingers. My escape, my fantasy. Huh, maybe I’d even write a book myself.

I stumbled over a piece of driftwood that was half in, half out of the water, managed to get my balance, and looked down just in time to sidestep away from what I thought was another piece of the storm’s fury making its way back to the dry land. I cursed, started to kick the rotted ol’ thing out of my way, and saw two wide white eyes staring at me.

God, nothing will sober a drunken man faster than a ghost from the past come to collect on old debts.

I knew the face that was staring up at me, knew it better than I knew my own. Daniel Stevens. Little nine-year-old Daniel Stevens. His dark hair was matted to his round, brown face, his mouth open and full of water. His almost-naked body had chunks of flesh missing from it in some places, bloated in others, but his face was perfectly intact. Not a hair was missing, I’d swear to it. One arm was gone from the elbow down, the other stripped of all flesh down to the bone, his stomach ripped to shreds, but his face, my god, his face was perfect, angelic, sickly beautiful.

I don’t know how long I stood there with my leg cocked back, ready to kick what at I first thought was driftwood, but when I was able to breathe again, I turned, took three steps back toward Larry’s, and passed out, landing face first in my own vomit.

I came to seconds later, weakly looked back over my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t dreamed or imagined little Danny Stevens, and as quickly as I could I crawled up the beach to Larry’s Pub, praying to God and cursing Him at the same time.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that the patrons of Larry’s has seen me on all fours more than once in the past few years, but as I stumbled through the door on hands and knees this time every head turned, every chair emptied, and twenty pairs of legs ran straight toward me.

I guess I must have looked worse than I felt, if that was possible. Either way, a few strong men carried me the rest of the way inside, and managed to lay me across the bar, wiping the tears, vomit and sweat from my face with their own shirtsleeves.

“Brian, dear God, what happened?” The voice of Pete Tomble, seeming to come from somewhere around Oz, hey how’s the wizard doin’, seen Toto lately?

“That ain’t no reg’lar drunk sickness, y’all,” whined Bret Cravens, looking anxiously around the room, then back at me. “Git a doctor in here, Larry. Man’s bad, he’s bad sick. Maybe he gonna die, you think?”

The room was suddenly too crowded, too hot. I tried to rip my shirt open, to kick off my waterlogged shoes, and the faithful patrons of Larry’s Pub mistook all this for a convulsion. Pete grabbed my head, shoved his face against mine, and blew stinking onion-and-ham infested breath into my mouth, making me immediately cough and gag. I stopped trying to get my shoes off, and had the sudden urge to just leave my shirt just the way it was.

“Beach,” I wheezed, coughing and gagging on the last of Pete’s roadkill breath. “Beach, oh god…” I doubled over, remembering the way those perfect little eyes stared up at me, accusingly, knowingly.

The tears were streaming down my face again, but this time I wasn’t sure if it was from fear and shock, or the horrid taste of partially digested onions and ham still burning in my lungs.

Larry shoved his way through the crowd of quiet onlookers, using his massively powerful arms to effectively displace anyone who was foolish enough not to move fast enough.

“What about the beach, Brian? You get hurt on the beach? Someone smash yer face out back?”

Immediately the rumors started to fly through the room. “Brian got mugged on the beach!” “Hey didja hear that, someone robbed Brian out back, jus’ took his money and beat his face in!”

With a roar that sounded like Gabriel’s trumpet on the Last Day, Larry returned the bar to the silence of a crypt. “Shut up, you fools!”

He leaned over me once again, and, incredibly, whispered. “Brian, what happened? Tell me what happened. You need a doctor?”

“Oh god, Larry, oh god.” I hung my head over the bar and emptied the last of the liquor and lemons on Larry’s spotless hardwood floor. I began shaking involuntarily, and felt Larry’s massive arms fold around me. After a minute or more, I was able to talk again without my teeth chattering.

“The b-beach, oh god, he’s there on the beach. Down by the t-t-track. Dead. God, oh god he’s dead, he’s dead.”

With these words, the bar emptied out, everyone heading down to the little spot of pavement close to the beach that we locals call the track, but which the maps say is the beginning of Route 9.

I was left alone, a grown man lying on a mahogany bar, crying, bleeding and shaking, soiled underwear and all.

Later that night the coroner positively, albeit hesitantly, identified the bloated, half-rotted corpse that had washed up on the beach to be that of nine-year-old Daniel Wayne Stevens.

Daniel’s parents were horrified, the full weight of their loss instantly returning, the pain an avalanche, devastating the thin masquerade of normal life that they had tried so hard to create since the death and disappearance of their only son four years ago. In the twenty minutes that Mrs. Stevens stared and screamed into her dead son’s face she aged at least ten years.

No one in the coroner’s office looked me in the eyes, and not a soul spoke of how ironic it was that it was I, the person who had caused the death of this and fifteen other children, should be the one to find the body four years later. No one had to; I could read it on all their faces.

The sheriff took my official statement, patted me on the shoulder, and quietly led Mr. and Mrs. Stevens out, not allowing them to look back at the stinking, sea stained remains of their only child.

I rode home with my wife, her driving and me leaning against the Buick’s big door, the glass blessedly cool to my face, neither of us speaking the whole way. After all, what was there to say?

The news of death spreads quick in a small town, and the only thing that spreads faster than the news of death is the news of a four-year-missing corpse turning up on the beach.

The day after little Daniel Stevens body unexpectedly made its sudden, sodden appearance the beach was crowded with tourists and townspeople alike, waiting to see if another dead child would float up and ask for directions to the nearest Dairy Treat.

With all the alcohol purged from my system the night before, I didn’t sleep at all. Joanne called the office for me to let them know I wouldn’t be in for a few days, but they had already heard the news, and were not expecting me.

Jo went on to work, opening her little antique shop on Fifth Street right on schedule at nine. A quick kiss on the cheek, and she was out the door. She didn’t speak, didn’t say I love you, nothing at all. Of course, I hadn’t heard those words in four years, not since the day of the worst tragedy in our town’s history, the last day that I was truly alive.

Sixteen kids had died, and though everyone says differently, it was my fault.

It was my fault, and I have to live with it every day, knowing that some day, some day I’ll have to pay for their blood, the innocent blood of children. No matter what the cost, I just wish it was over, god, how I wish I could just sleep one night without depending on alcohol to suppress the tormenting, nightmarish screams of drowning children, children being eaten alive by the ocean.

At eleven o’clock Joanne called to check on me, and even asked if I wanted to have lunch with her down at Al’s Deli. She sounded worried about me, genuinely worried, which surprised me. I politely refused, hung up the phone, and stretched out on the sofa once more, not daring to close my eyes for fear of seeing little Danny staring up at me from his waterlogged head.

No sooner had I unexpectedly faded off to sleep than the phone rang again. My heart pumping at least four hundred beats per minute, I jumped up and grabbed it, breathing so hard that I couldn’t even say hello.

“Brian? Brian, its Sheriff Dawson.”

“H, h, hi, Sheriff. What can I d-do for you?”

The sheriff coughed into the phone, clearing his throat and buying some time. “Well, we got another one, Brian. Another body on the beach, about three hundred yards from the track where you found the Stevens kid. Uh, Brian, umm, this one is Betty Taylor’s girl. You know, the little redheaded kid used to call you her sweetheart all the time?”

Oh god. Oh sweet god, no.

The phone hit the carpet, and so did my knees. Dear god, please no, please please please no, I can’t take it, I can’t. Not her. God, if you’re there, please please not her.

From the phone: “Brian? You there, Brian? Hey, Brian, you alright? Tom, get to Brian’s house, he’s a-passed out’r something! Hurry!”

The line went dead, and in the sudden silence the buzzing of the open phone line filled my world, taking on meaning and understanding. This was what being dead was, yeah, I was in Hell, somehow I had died, and this was Hell. Ha! And they said it would be hot in Hell! I’d never felt so cold in my life.

Of course, the body that was discovered on the beach did turn out to be Annie Taylor, the prettiest little redhead in the world, and I turned out not to be in Hell after all. Not yet, anyway.

Though her hair was no longer red, there was no mistaking that the thing with the torn flesh and seaweed-tangled body was Annie. Her face was as unmarked and clear as Daniel Stevens’ had been.

Dear god, its like the ocean allowed all the creatures of the sea to feast and explore each part of the small delicacies it had captured except for the face. Take whatever you want, the ocean must have said, but don’t touch the faces. Brian needs to see the faces of the kids he murdered.

Did it hurt to look at little Annie lying there in the coroner’s office? Honestly, I’m not sure. I think I was in too much shock to feel pain. What I do remember feeling, however, was a deep, deep loss. Not exactly like losing a loved one or a friend to death, but like losing your soul. As Annie stared up at me with those dead-yet-alive eyes, eyes so green they were almost emerald, I knew my soul was damned, forever lost.

The body was wrapped in a small bag, zipped up, and placed in a sliding drawer in the wall, waiting on a full autopsy. Betty, Annie’s mom, didn’t make it to the coroner’s office; she had collapsed outside the door of her home when the sheriff and her minister had told her that her long lost daughter had been found, dead of course, mutilated and molested by the sea. Therefore, it was my duty, my solemn duty as Annie’s godfather to positively identify her.

If there is a god above that I shall someday meet, I will only have one question to ask: How dare You?

Jo and I attended the formal funeral ceremonies of both Daniel and Annie, along with eight other kids who washed up, mangled and shredded, on the beach out by the track over the next five days. I went to every funeral, but not one tear fell from my eyes. I wish I could explain why, but I can’t; all I can say is that when you lose your soul, I guess you also lose your tears.

It hurt, oh god it hurt to see those ruined little bodies lying in those white, blue, pink, and golden little caskets, hurt worse than ever I thought it could, but somehow I survived. Somehow, I didn’t lose my mind. Or at least I don’t think I did. Its hard to tell these days.

I watched as each of those ten kids was placed, belatedly, into the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. With each beautiful, innocent child that was given to Mother Earth at last a part of me went with them, down into the utter blackness of death and the grave. There isn’t much left; mostly just a walking corpse, a damned soul searching for the perfect dark blackness of oblivion, the grave.

When news came around that yet another body washed up on the beach, with another right behind it, I knew then what I would have to do. I knew how I would have to pay for the death of these kids. The ocean was hungry, but it needed bigger prey.

It hungered for the blood of the damned.

It has been nine days since the last of the kids washed up on the beach, three at once on that last day, washed up right in the middle of the day and all but leaped onto the dry shore. I heard the screams from the beachgoers all the way here at my house, locked in my small, until now unused study. I didn’t have to go out to see which kids had washed up. There is only one that hasn’t, and she never will.

She wanted a boat party, just a simple boat ride for her and all her friends for her birthday, and of course I had said yes. My little angel loved the water, and even at eight she was by far a better swimmer than either me or her mother. She spent all her time in the water, and had always dreamed of winning a gold medal in the Olympics.

“Gonna give it to you, Dad, gonna win a gold medal for you, ‘cause you’re my best friend!” God, the times I have heard her say that! Each time I would hug her oh so tight, kiss the top of her head until we both toppled over and laughed and fought and wrestled until we were both worn out.

God. Never in all my life have I missed my little Samantha like I do now. Its almost time, I can feel it. Its almost time.

On her eighth birthday all her friends had come over, fifteen kids that she had known from school and church all her life, fifteen kids who lived close to us, most of them on the same street. Kids that I had watched grow up, even coaching pee-wee league baseball for most of them that whole summer.

I took them out on the boat, the parents all gathered around the grill and picnic tables with Jo on the beach. Sixteen kids and me headed out to sea, cruising slowly, being careful not to run against the waves.

Soon enough the kids started yelling for me to “Go faster, uncle Brian, go faster! Jump the waves!” And, after a few unhearty “no’s”, we did. The kids were delighted, ecstatic even, when the waves would crash over the front of the boat, drenching all of us to the bone. Round and round we went, causing the waves to get higher and higher, splashing, laughing and holding on, having a great time. My little Samantha standing right beside me, helping me steer the boat.

“Again, Daddy, faster!”

I smashed the accelerator all the way forward, and the waves were really pouring into the boat this time, causing the kids to laugh harder, cheer louder than ever.

Just as I was about to bring the accelerator back down and head for the shore, the boat came down from an extremely high wave, seemingly straight down. I saw the log in the water half a second before we hit, didn’t even have time to yell at the kids to hold on.

The bow of the boat struck the half-submerged log head on, and the boat flipped straight over, end over end, and came crashing down on top of us all. We were all trapped under the upside down boat, kids popping up all around me for seconds at a time, but the waves, the waves were just too much. The boat banged against us, flipped back over, and started to float away, going with the current, out to sea.

Kids were screaming, and at first I thought that it was just the fright from the crash – God knew it scared me bad enough to scream. Then I saw: the life jackets were keeping the kids afloat, but the undercurrent combined with the waves was taking them out to sea, and faster than should have been possible.

Screams, god the screams of those kids! I didn’t have a life vest on, and I tried, god believe me, I tried to swim to them, but I couldn’t seem to get any speed. It felt as if something had hold of both my legs, pulling me back, dragging me back away from the kids. God, I kicked harder and harder, but the more I struggled to get to the screaming, panic-stricken kids, the further away they seemed to get.

My feet got tangled around something slimy, and I knew at once I was in serious trouble. Seaweed. I was tangled up in patch of seaweed, and the more I pulled, the tighter it got. I dove under the surface to try and get myself untangled, and for just a second I saw Samantha’s face, her shocked, breathless face under the water, saw her silently scream for me, and then there was nothing but blackness.

I’m not sure what happened immediately after this, but the people on the beach saw the accident, and wasted no time in getting into boats and some just flat-out running into the water, trying desperately to get to the kids. Each of them later swore, swore to the God they serve and worship each Sunday morning that the kids just went under the surface, went under all at once. Of course people dove in to look for them, but not a trace was ever found. No clothing, no shoes, no bodies, not even a life vest. Nothing, that is, until two weeks ago when little Daniel Stephens drifted ashore to accuse me of killing him.

Of the sixteen kids that died that day, all but one has now reappeared, bright, shining eyes, mangled bodies with perfect, unhurt little angel faces and all. All but one.

Samantha is waiting on me down there, just under the surface of the water, about a hundred yards north of the track, right behind our house.

She’s there, waiting on her daddy, on her best friend to come and join her, because sooner or later we have to pay our old debts, and sometimes we have to pay with our souls.

I’m going out the back door soon, just as soon as I finish writing this confession, this testament, call it what you will. Out the back door, my bare feet sliding silkily through the sand, into the waiting, thirsty mouth of the ocean.

I know Samantha is there waiting on me, that she will be with me as the ocean starts tearing the flesh from my body, devouring every part of me, even my face. She will hold my hand, and kiss my cheek as I feel the first deathly claw of the sea stab into my flesh, trying to reach my soul.

And for this I am thankful. My little angel, my Samantha waited on me out there, waited on me. She sent the others to let me know that its time, and that it has to be this way. She waited on me.

Daddy’s girl. [end]

#fiction #short story

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