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kulaykape · 4 years

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5 Reasons to Wife Her: Ina x MC

Part 2 of another mini-series, since I have no idea how to end the 5 Love Languages one :P

Hope you enjoy! 😊

Tags (wth I'm just gonna tag all the Ina stans I know):

@sakaily @samanthadalton @domakir @astrangeandunusualgirl @jenxespinoza

•••

Reason 2: Family

Ina knew that Aliyah was a good woman, a damn good woman. She didn't know how the hell she had the energy (nor the time) to raise her little brother, teach younger kids music, and function as Ina's superhero in disguise as her TA, but she always did.

Ina had known she was all of those things and all of those roles for a while. But what really made her stop was when a small child was placed in Aliyah's arms.

She was the last damn person anyone would've thought to be giving birth any time soon, but Aliyah's aunt had recently popped out her first. But reconstruction surgery was necessary (if Aliyah had heard correctly, she wasn't really listening), and Aliyah's other aunt had to rush back to work.

And so the responsibility of a very tiny, very much newborn baby was left in Aliyah's presumably capable hands.

"If you drop him, I'm dropping you off of the Empire State Building," Charlie had said as she was taken away for her surgery. Aliyah would've felt more threatened if Charlie wasn't being rolled away in a wheelchair as she said that.

But on the other hand Aunt Jordan, who was family by blood, was quicker to instill faith in her.

"You'll be fine, I know how you are with kids," she'd said, a hand on Aliyah's shoulder, "…But if I get my baby back and something's weird with him, it's your ass at stake, kiddo."

Ah, affection in the Diaz family swung like a teenager's moods.

The newly-made parents were too nervous about leaving Avery in the nursery, so Aliyah wasn't just made to watch him through the glass window. The nurses had handed him carefully to her, instructing her on how to properly hold a baby.

Aliyah knew they were just doing their jobs, but she wondered how incompetent they thought she was to think she didn't know how to hold a baby. But they'd left soon after they'd realized she'd be well off.

Avery was light as a feather in Aliyah's arms. She missed when Leon was this tiny, it'd made 16 year-old Aliyah feel swole as hell to be able to so easily hold a human being. One thing she certainly didn't miss was how fussy and prone to crying Leon had been, though. Avery, thankfully, was no such thing. Aliyah was so going to rub that in her little brother's face.

"Huh… weird, you've got Aunt Jordan's eyes," Aliyah made a face, "But didn't they use Charlie's-? Are your genes confused, dude?"

For a second, Aliyah actually expected a response. She had a habit of talking to kids like they were her age sometimes.

Avery blinked curiously up at her. His eyes were that light hazel that was so prevalent in the Diaz family, even when his blood was none of the sort.

Maybe it came from his dad, Aliyah thought, Whoever he is.

Aliyah blinked back in the same manner, and chuckled at the inscrutable look that passed over Avery's face. She booped his nose- very carefully, babies are fragile and squishy- with a grin.

"Boop."

Avery opened his mouth as if to say something, but babbling wasn't in the picture yet. Aliyah laughed again, and then began to pace around the hospital room. She looked out the window, lips quirking up at the apparent view. Of course Charlie had ensured the room had got a nice view. New York's nighttime skyline looked good as always.

Aliyah gently moved Avery into one arm so she could check her watch. She'd left Leon with Lilian for the night, but she still felt bad that little bro had yet to meet his even littler cuzzo.

"Guess you two will just have to wait, kiddo," Aliyah said, smiling apologetically at Avery, "Your other cousin's gonna love you just as much as me though, don't worry."

A knock on the door caused Aliyah's head to snap up. Instinctively, her body moved to shield Avery, but she soon relaxed as the door opened.

"Ina!" Her face widened into a grin as her girlfriend opened and then closed the door softly behind her.

"Sweetheart," Ina replied with a much tamer smile. She cupped Aliyah's cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then looked down at the bundle in her arms.

Avery stared curiously up at the newcomer. He liked her face a lot.

"So this is the newest Diaz," Ina said. She wiped her hand gently over his forehead, smiling at the healthy tuft of hair he already had.

Avery continued to stare at Ina, seeming positively starstruck. "Hey, she's taken, young player," Aliyah said, booping his nose again. Ina laughed, before guiding Aliyah to sit down by the window.

The two (or three, if you wanna get technical) of them sat in comfortable silence for a long moment. Ina resting a hand on Aliyah's back, and Aliyah hunched over the littlest Diaz.

There was a look in Aliyah's eyes that Ina caught. The kind she got whenever she was looking at Leon, or those kids at the community center she taught music. It was a small and quiet look. But Ina knew what was really behind it.

"He'll have someone very good to look up to growing up," Ina said. Aliyah looked up at her, and returned her smile.

She chuckled bashfully. "Yeah. His moms are pretty great." And scary.

Ina laughed, ruffling Aliyah's hair. "I'm not talking about his parents. I'm talking about his brilliant, kindhearted, and beautiful older cousin," she corrected. Aliyah pursed her lips, eyes glistening. She looked up at Ina, gaze hesitant.

"Do you really think so? I mean, sometimes I look at Leon and I think…" Aliyah bit her lip, "I don't know, maybe I could've done a better job."

Inconceivable! Ina was nearly offended by Aliyah's disbelief. "Aliyah, you're one of the most caring people I know," Ina insisted, wrapping an arm around Aliyah's waist and pulling her into her chest, "If not also one of the most tiring, but my point still stands." Aliyah clicked her tongue, and Ina pressed a kiss to her cheek apologetically.

"How did you feel when Charlotte was born?" Aliyah asked offhandedly, as she dangled her finger over Avery's face. She smiled as Avery slowly took a weak hold of it.

Ina hummed thoughtfully. "Elated. Excited. Nervous. Also very, very angry."

Aliyah looked over her shoulder, cocking a brow. "At Lilian?"

"No," Ina shook her head, "At Trent. Charlotte's father. Or as I like to call him, Charlotte's sperm donor." She often avoided saying that in front of Lilian, lest she wanted to get slapped in the face.

Aliyah laughed mirthlessly. Sperm donor. She was rubbing off on Ina too much.

"I remember showing up at his apartment after Charlotte had just been born, demanding he go see his damn daughter," Ina mused as calmly as she could manage, "…And I walked in on him. I almost went to jail that day."

Imagining 5'4", kindhearted, skirt and high heels-wearing, Ina busting into a man's apartment and nearly committing murder would've been less feasible to Aliyah if the whole Benji situation hadn't happened.

"I don't know if your loyalty to your family is cute or sexy," Aliyah quipped. Ina often ignited that kind of confusion in her.

Ina chuckled as she gazed down at Avery, who'd been staring at her for the past five minutes. "I was also angry with our parents," her gaze turned regretful, "Lilian was only in her junior year of college when she got pregnant, and she was still living at home. We tried to keep it a secret, but when she started showing…"

The two of them sat in silence, as Aliyah was never good with comforting words (not where family was concerned, at least). She simply wrapped an arm around Ina's waist and rested her head on her shoulder, all while her gaze stayed on Avery.

And Avery's gaze stayed on Ina, curious as to why the pretty woman was frowning like that, and why her eyes looked so glassy.

Ina turned her head and inhaled Aliyah slowly. Like some kind of incense, it steadily calmed her down, bringing her back into a much lighter state of mind.

"You're an awesome big sister and aunt," Aliyah murmured, "I hope you know that."

Ina hummed. "I find myself in awe of you and Lilian sometimes, though," she replied, "The strength it must have taken you both to raise little humans while you were barely adults yourselves…"

Aliyah could only shrug. She doubted she and Lilian were the only people dealt that kind of hand. And as she always told herself, there were worse things.

Aliyah propped her chin up on Ina's shoulder and smiled. Ina smiled back, leaning down to peck her lips. Then she leaned down to kiss Avery's forehead, and Aliyah felt her insides turn mushy.

Not only would the baby boy have his own family surrounding him, but the Kingsley's as well. Aliyah couldn't think of anyone better to fall back on.

Aliyah nuzzled into the crook of Ina's neck, eliciting a chuckle from Ina as she stroked her hair in reply.

"Just for record, I'm totally having your children, Ina Kingsley," Aliyah said softly, but her quiet confidence ever present.

Ina froze for a moment, but only a moment. Slowly, her hand shifted down to hold Aliyah's. She hoped Aliyah wouldn't look up at her, lest she'd see the tears rolling freely down her face.

"There's no one else I'd rather have them with."

~end~

#ina kingsley #professor kingsley #queen b #ina x mc

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weasleydream · 4 years

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His new weapon

Hey guys! Hope you’re okay! Here is the Charlie imagine I had mentioned before! I feel like maybe I should do a part 2 but I don’t have any idea... Let me know what you guys think!

As usual, feel free to give your opinion, and enjoy!

Masterlist

“Molly, can I help you with that?”

The atmosphere in the living-room was unbearable. A dozen of persons was here but a heavy silence had taken place. Seeing Molly almost dropping the plate she was holding, I quickly untangled myself from Charlie’s arms and followed her in the kitchen. Molly’s skin was pale as ever. Tonight, six members of her family would put their lives in danger to bring Harry Potter to the Burrow.

“Don’t you want to stay with Charlie?” Her voice was as shaky as I had imagined it.

“I can’t stand it… The silence. I would prefer hearing Fred and George’s jokes.”

“I know, dear…”

Molly hurriedly turned her back to me and made an unnecessary noise with her pan. Understanding she was trying to hide her tears, I slowly made my way toward her and gently grabbed her hands.

“It’s going to be okay.” I whispered. She bravely nodded, sighed, and patted my cheek.

I knew Molly for as long as I knew Charlie, and I had met him on my very first time in the Hogwarts Express. My parents happened to know Arthur from the Ministry, and they had recognized Molly on the platform. I was annoyed by their discussion and had seen this boy, clenching nervously the end of his sleeve and throwing envious looks at another boy with ginger hair. When I had joked with him about our parents, I hadn’t realized how important this boy would become in my life, but Charlie had been since this day the person who I was the closest to. My parents had warned me they would be abroad for Christmas, but in Charlie’s mind, it was absolutely impossible to let me alone during his favourite festivity. I remembered him almost dragging me in the train and holding firmly my hand on the platform to make sure I wouldn’t run away. Not that I didn’t want to spend the holidays with my best friend, I was just afraid to intrude a family reunion. I couldn’t have been more wrong because Molly had been like a second mother since this day.

That’s probably why, tonight, I felt like I had to reassure her.

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. Arthur got up and prudently opened. The unmistakable silhouette of Mad-Eye Moody appeared, his prosthesis making a regular noise with each step. He was followed by Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mundungus Fletcher and Hagrid, who struggled to pass the door. Everyone was gathered and the plan would soon begin. Ron hurriedly grabbed the two big bags containing the clothes and accessories that would help us impersonating Harry and gave them to Mad-Eye.

No one really said it, but Molly understood it was time for her to let her family go. Ginny would be the only one not putting her life in danger tonight, but it had required a lot of arguments. Molly threw her arms around her husband’s neck while begging him to be careful. She made her way to all of her children, and much to my surprise, she hugged me firmly too.

When she let me go, another pair of arms enveloped my in a bone-crushing hug. Charlie pulled me tightly against him and I stuck my head in the crook of his neck. We didn’t say anything, only listening to the other’s breath and silently praying to come back here alive. We didn’t even kiss; it would have felt too bitter, as if it was a goodbye, as if it was the last time. None of us could do that.

Long story short, we had taken the brooms and the thestrals (it was strange because I knew they were here but I couldn’t see them) and we had joined Privet Drive. Harry wasn’t delighted with the plan Mad-Eye had explained to him but we hadn’t let him the choice. I had drunk the Polyjuice, it was Charlie’s condition. We both knew the Potters would be in less danger than the protectors, even if it was for a brief moment.

We were now ready to go. I was next to Charlie, and we both had our brooms with us. We waited anxiously for Mad-Eye signal and when it came, we looked at each other before rising in the air. We were in July, but the atmosphere was freezing up there. Charlie yelled to me to stay next to him, and I placed myself closer. I was beginning to hope no one was waiting for us when a green flash of light passed above Charlie’s head. Without thinking, I cast a stunning charm behind me, apparently hitting a Death Eater. Two other ones arrived instantaneously, both trying to hit us. I heard Charlie cursing and saw him accelerate. I followed him, still trying to get rid of our enemies. Suddenly, I heard one of them yelling I was the one. I saw Charlie tensing and I started to panic. Why would they think I was Harry? I knew it could happen but seeing a dozen of Death Eater rushing toward me was simply terrifying. I felt my owl fussing in its cage and I understood. It was very similar to Hedwig, and the others had false owls. Fuck.

Suddenly, a white lightening bolt passed above my head. I yelled to Charlie to tell him there was a storm and I just had the time to think we would die struck down before a spell hit me and everything went black.

I couldn’t see anything, but I felt myself falling. I heard the deafening noise of the wind in my ears, and above this, I heard Charlie screaming. Something grabbed firmly my wrist, and I prayed to Merlin it was my boyfriend. The man pulled me against him, somehow managing to pass one of my leg above the broom so that I was in a normal position. My head was resting against him shoulder and I could finally say it was Charlie. I heard tons of spells being cast, and I was too busy hoping we would be okay to feel the pain in my body.

It was a burning sensation present in every fiber of my body. I couldn’t move, scream or even open my eyes. I was like a prisoner who was being tortured.

Third POV

Without knowing how he had done it, Charlie had managed to keep Y/N on his broom. He was skilful enough to control it with only one hand, his other arm being firmly wrapped around her. She was unconscious, but he couldn’t do anything, the little detail of the Death Eaters behind him preventing him from helping her. After this strange white lightning bolt had hit Y/N, Charlie had dived as fast as possible and he had managed to grab her wrist. He had pulled her against him and as soon as she was secure against his chest, he had summoned her wand which was falling and had liberated all his broom’s power.

However, after a few minutes, the Death Eaters had simply given up and disappeared in the night. Charlie hadn’t slow down, though, he was terrified of what would happen to Y/N if she wasn’t healed quickly. Plus, he was worried for his family, all his brothers and his father having been in danger too. A huge sigh of relief escaped his mouth when he eventually saw the Burrow. He felt the exact moment he passed the magical barrier and landed clumsily. He had tried to keep Y/N against him but hadn’t seen a hole in the ground. He fell on his unconscious girlfriend, vainly trying to push her aside. They were immediately surrounded by several persons, the closest to Charlie being Bill.

“Charlie, what happened?” asked his brother. “Is she -”

“She’s just unconscious.” interrupted Charlie. “It was a spell I had never seen before.”

Bill helped Charlie getting up and the youngest carefully carried Y/N in the Burrow. His heart sank when he saw George sitting on one of the couches, his face tightly bandaged. However, he was laughing with Fred, so he seemed to be okay.

“Charlie you’re- Y/N! Merlin, what happened?”

Molly ran toward her son and urged him toward the other couch. Charlie delicately laid his girlfriend and kneeled next to her. Molly fussed around her, trying to find why she was unconscious.

“Charlie, you’ve got to describe us the spell.” said Bill.

Charlie felt all the eyes turning toward him.

“I haven’t heard any formula. The spell… It didn’t produce flashes of light but lightning bolts. They were white. The first one passed right above her head and she thought it was a storm, but the second hit her and she fell from her broom.”

No one said anything, trying desperately to understand what kind of spell it could be. Charlie scanned quickly the room and noticed Mad-Eye and Mundungus were missing. Ron shook his head, letting Charlie know they wouldn’t come back. He gripped Y/N’s hand tighter, slowly understanding how close to death they had been too.

“They thought she was Harry.” he whispered. He noticed Harry flinching.

“So that’s a treatment they reserved for him.” stated Remus.

“But why didn’t they attack him with it then?” asked Arthur.

Molly put an hand on her son’s shoulder and murmured in his ear they should install Y/N in a quieter place. Charlie carried her upstairs, reaching his childhood bedroom, and laid her in the bed.

“What does she have?” asked Charlie, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t know, dear. All we can do is wait for her to wake up.”

Molly hugged tightly his son and left the room. Charlie pulled a chair and sat next to the bed, decided to stay awake until he could see her bright Y/E/C eyes once more. The room was dark, the only light being the one coming from the corridor, but he could see how pale Y/N’s face was. Her forehead was covered in tiny drops of sweat and her eyes were constantly moving underneath her eyelids. Charlie tried to hold tighter her hands, he whispered in her ear, kissed her cheeks and her lips, but nothing worked. She was just here, seeming to be in the grip of a fitful sleep, a sleep that wouldn’t let her go no matter how hard Charlie tried to wake her up. Eventually, he resigned himself: she couldn’t feel him.

Little did he know how wrong he was. Y/N could feel everything; she was completely aware of his rough hands holding hers, she had felt each kiss Charlie had laid on her skin, she had felt her warm breath, and she had heard all his supplications. She just couldn’t move, or react in any way. The burning was still here, more and more painful with each second that passed, and she felt like she was dying. Her muscles had betrayed her, she couldn’t even lift the little finger to let him know she was okay. The last thing she had now was her mind, and it wasn’t a great consolation, because the only thing she could focus on was the feeling that something inside her was changing.

Your POV

I knew something was missing, and it took a few seconds for me to realize the burning sensation had disappeared. Each part of my body was sore, each of my muscles was contracted, but it was nothing compared to the torture I had endured during… How many time? I didn’t know how many time it had been since the mission. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t heard anything in a long time. Maybe it was now the morning, maybe Charlie was asleep somewhere along with everyone in the house. Yes, probably.

I slowly opened my eyes but closed them immediately because of the bright light. The window was in front of me and, according to the light I had just seen, we were currently in the middle of the afternoon. I slightly groaned and regretted one second after: now, I felt like someone was hitting the inside of my head with a hammer. The sound of the door being slammed open didn’t really help, nor did Charlie’s voice screaming right in my ears.

“Y/N, are you awake?”

I tried to open my mouth but felt the soreness in my throat. Instead, I decided to groan once more.

“Mum! Mum she’s awake!”

I winced because of the infernal noise and tried to tell him to shut up. However, the sound that escaped my mouth didn’t sound like any known word, and Charlie delicately grabbed my hand. Fortunately for me, he didn’t say anything and only kissed my forehead. Suddenly, I realized I didn’t know how he was. I felt the urge to make sure he was unharmed. I decided to ignore the light and opened once more my eyes, my first words being:

“Screw this…Charlie, how are you?”

Talking was painful, but even if I had wanted to add something, it would have been simply impossible because Charlie crashed his lips on mine. I gladly melted into the kiss, weakly putting an hand in his soft hair. When he finally pulled away, I saw how worried he had been, and how relieved he was. I could see it in his blue eyes, now darker than usual.

Molly barged in the room at this very moment, making me remember my headache with her cheerful exclamation.

“Y/N, dear, you’re finally awake!”

“It’s only been a night…” I mumbled. In fact, I was quite embarrassed they were worrying for me like this.

“A night?” Charlie repeated in disbelief. “Love, it’s almost been a week. We thought… We thought you would never wake up.”

His voice broke and he kneeled next to me, extending an hand so that he could stroke my hair. I couldn’t process what he had just told me. A week? It had been a week? How was it possible?

“We didn’t bring you to St-Mungo’s because we were afraid something could happen to you.” said Molly. I turned my head and saw she was holding a vial with a pink potion. “I did what I could to help you, and Remus, Tonks and Kingsley have been doing researches about the spell you’ve been hit with.”

I tried to answer, but a coughing fit I thought would bring my guts up interrupted me. Molly rushed to my side and made me drink half of the pink potion. The soreness in my throat immediately disappeared, along with my headache, and Charlie helped me sitting. I rested my back against the wall behind me.

“What spell?” I asked.

“The lightning bolts.” answered Charlie. “It wasn’t a storm, it was a spell. And one of them hit you.”

Now that he told me, I remembered the lightning bolts in the dark sky.

“But we haven’t heard any formula.” I objected. “They didn’t bother to stay that silent with the other spells. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Love, you need to understand that the spell that hit you is totally unknown.” said Charlie. “We don’t have a clue of what it is.”

I stayed silent and completely confused. The silence was broken by my stomach, who decided to make everyone understand I was starving. Charlie laughed lightly - it was the sort of laugh I heard only when he had been under a great amount of stress and had just been reassured - and he grabbed firmly my hand. I got up, barely standing on my trembling legs, and I arrived downstairs alive only because my boyfriend had hold me tightly against him. He led me in the kitchen, where the twins were babbling about their shop with Tonks. I was slightly confused until Charlie murmured in my ear today was Harry’s birthday.

Aware of my arrival, the three persons present in the kitchen greeted me with big grins, but all I could do was gasping pathetically, I had to admit it, when I saw George’s missing ear.

“Yeah, we’re both survivors!” he winked at me.

Charlie hurriedly pulled a chair for me to sit. He had noticed I was slightly unsteady on my feet. My head was spinning, and I was feeling like I would throw up whatever was in my stomach - mostly soup, it was the only thing Molly had managed to make me eat. However, I didn’t say anything, not wanting to worry Charlie more than he already was. I caught a glimpse of Tonks leaving the kitchen to get Molly before hiding my head in my arms.

“Don’t worry, I just need my head to stop spinning…” I muttered to Charlie.

A few minutes later, the unpleasant sensation stopped and I looked up to see the kitchen crowded. As expected, Charlie and Molly were next to me and Tonks was next to the twins, but they had been joined by Remus, Bill, Harry and Ginny.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

He flinched uncomfortably before thanking me and asking me how I was doing.

“Great, I’m just starving.”

Molly immediately put in front of me a plate full of chocolate cakes.

“It’s the only thing ready right now.” she apologised.

Her cakes were my absolutely favourite and I found it particularly hard not to eat everything, but I didn’t want to be sick. By the time I was finally satiated, Fred, George, Harry and Ginny were gone, and Arthur had joined us. I knew what would come.

“Do you feel something different, Y/N?” softly asked Arthur. “Do you even remember anything?”

I shivered, thinking about this awful sensation. I felt Charlie’s hand slowly stroking my back and sighed.

“In fact, yes, I feel like something is missing, but I can’t say what. I’ve this impression since… Well, I think it’s approximately since we arrived here.” A bunch of confused looks followed. “I was conscious of what surrounded me, at the beginning anyway. I felt like… like my body was burning. It was everywhere and… I remember clearly thinking that something was changing in me. It’s the last thing I remember.”

No one said anything. Slowly, they left, probably going for researches, or for the preparation of Harry’s birthday along with the wedding’s ones. Charlie and I were now alone, and he proposed me to install in the living-room. I followed him. I was feeling way better, and I could walk alone. That didn’t prevented Charlie from letting his hand resting in my back. He sat in the couch and I cuddled close to him. He surrounded my shoulders with his arms and rested his head on mine. This position was my favourite, I could stay all my life like this, against Charlie, feeling his warm breath on my hair and his strong arm on me.

“What did you feel?” His voice was a whisper and filled with worry. “Did you… Did you hear me?”

“Yes, love, I heard you and I felt you. If you knew how hard I’ve tried to wake up… I’ve put all my will but I just couldn’t, it was awful…”

Without me realizing it, tears made their way on my cheeks and eventually soaked his shirt. Charlie immediately pulled me on his lap, constantly murmuring me it was okay, it would get better, and that he loved me.

Everyone tried to figure out what kind of spell had hit me, and why I had been the only one hit. Remus reiterated his hypothesis, namely that the spell was for Harry. But they had told me what had happened with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had found the true Harry. Why not casting him this spell, then?

“Maybe there’s only one wizard able to cast it.” proposed Charlie. “Maybe he was on our tail, and when he understood he had made a mistake, he tried to join Harry but was too late.”

“It’s an eventuality.” replied Remus. “But why wouldn’t You-Know-Who know the spell?”

“Maybe it was a test.” suggested Tonks. “It’s obviously a new spell. Maybe they have just worked it out and they wanted to try it on someone. They thought Y/N was the true Harry and they have taken the opportunity.”

“Yes, and they weren’t sure of the effect, so they preferred using good old killing spells for the rest of us.” added Bill.

Despite all our questions and our attempts to bring them an answer, we were unable to think of something concluant. This evening, we celebrated Harry’s birthday, but there was an undeniable tension. I didn’t see it all, because I found myself exhausted quite early and Charlie had helped me going back to the room. I laid in the bed and grabbed his hand to let him know I wanted him close to me. With a chuckle, he slipped under the thin blanket and spooned me.

We found the true effect of the spell the next day. I wanted to get out of bed and help Molly: the poor woman was running everywhere and I had seen how stressed she was when she had brought us the breakfast in bed, scolding Charlie because he was still sleeping at this hour. He had groaned, muttering the sun wasn’t even risen, and I had elbowed him while assuring Molly I would help her.

“No way! No, Y/N, you’re lovely, dear, but you stay in bed. You need to rest. Charlie, you better be downstairs in twenty minutes!”

And she had left, managing to slam the door, mutter she was late and scream something to Fred and George all at once.

“Why is she so stressed? She can use magic, I don’t see where is the difficulty…” sighed Charlie while cuddling against me.

I was on the verge of telling him he had to help her when something clicked in my head.

“My wand!”

I had almost screamed, making Charlie jumped under the blanket.

“Don’t scream like that love, you scared me. Don’t worry, I’ve summoned it when you fell off your broom, it’s there.”

He extended an arm and put my wand out of the pocket of his jacket. I gladly took it and thanked him. I felt like something was strange, different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. We ate the breakfast and I noticed the pancakes were slightly burnt, which had never happened in the history of the pancakes I had eaten here. I felt bad for not helping Molly, and, as Charlie was slipping into his trousers, I decided to go downstairs anyway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Charlie when he saw me putting on a shirt and grabbing my wand.

“I’ll help Molly. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” I hurriedly added when I saw he was on the verge of protesting.

I grabbed the plate Molly had brought us and made my way toward the door. Suddenly, Crookshank ran between my legs, making me stumble and drop the plate, which broke as soon as it touched the floor. Charlie rushed behind me and helped me standing up while cursing the cat.

“Calm down, I thought you loved animals!” I laughed. Charlie looked for his wand to repair the plate but I was quicker. “Let me do this.” I waved my wand while murmuring “Reparo.”

Nothing happened. I frowned and said once more the formula, but there was no use, I was unable to cast the spell. Charlie kneeled beside me, looking concerned. He watched me a few seconds waving my wand in all directions and getting more and more frustrated before gently grabbing my hand.

“Calm down, love. You see it doesn’t work.”

“But why? What’s happening Charlie? Why doesn’t it work?”

“Maybe you’re still too tired.” He replied a bit too fast, and he seemed suddenly very interested in the the crack in the floor.

“Charlie, what is it?”

He stayed silent, but at least he looked at me in the eyes. I saw how worried he was, and I slowly understood what he thought before he confirmed my fear.

“What if it’s the effect of the spell? What if it deprives you from your magic?”

To say I panicked would be an understatement. In fact, I completely freaked out. And as in every situation in which I freaked out, I froze before hyperventilating and I began to scream some words not very kind. Arthur, who happened to be looking for Charlie, arrived and asked us what was happening. I started to expose him the problem in the least comprehensible way possible, pesting against the cat and blubbering because I was now nothing more than a muggle. However, he seemed to understand the essential because he turned toward Charlie.

“Do you really think it’s possible?” Asked my boyfriend. “That a single spell could just… erase her magic?”

“I don’t know.” murmured his father. “I guess blocking it is possible, it would work like a silencing charm, you know? But erasing it… I don’t know. We should ask Remus or Kingsley, maybe they will know something… I have to warn Molly. Charlie, bring her back to bed, and -”

“No!” I exclaimed. Both men turned toward me, slightly shocked as if they had forgotten I was here. I had regained my composure. “Molly doesn’t need to know for today. It can wait tomorrow. But I’ll gladly go back to bed, maybe I’ll eventually wake up from this nightmare.” I muttered.

I did so, and Charlie woke me up a few hours later. He was gently stroking my hair and murmuring sweet words in my ear and, for a few seconds, I felt so secure, so far from any bad thing in this world that I forgot what had happened earlier. But as soon as I opened my eyes and saw my wand on the nightstand, I remembered everything. My face had to decompose, because Charlie immediately hugged me.

“Mum doesn’t know, just like you wanted.” He murmured, his voice muffled by my hair. “But if you don’t feel like assisting to the wedding, I’ll come back to you as soon as the ceremony end.”

I weakly shook my head.

“No, I want to go. It’ll be okay.”

I didn’t know who I was trying to reassure. I joined Hermione and Ginny in the latter’s room, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, they asked me how I was doing. They had probably heard me screaming earlier. I told them I was okay and they seemed to relax. We slipped in our dresses, did our hair, and went downstairs where Charlie was anxiously waiting for me.

I had never assisted to a wedding before, and despite of all that was going on, it was one of my best days in months. I couldn’t help but become a bit emotional and shed a few tears. Charlie was standing next to the happy couple, being Bill’s witness, but the look he sent me when Bill and Fleur exchanged their alliances was clear enough for me smile and cry at the same time. It was a look full of love, one that said One day, it will be our wedding.

The party after the ceremony was in full swing. I had managed to forget everything by dancing to death, with Charlie, of course, but also with Arthur, Bill, Fred, George, Ron and Harry, who spent five minutes constantly apologizing. After what felt like the millionth dance in one night, I dragged myself to an empty table. I spotted Charlie in the crowd of dancers, accompanied by Fleur. I smiled softly, daydreaming about the day we would get married. I was still lost in my thoughts when it happened.

A shining lynx appeared in the middle of the dancers. Everyone froze at the moment, and despite the music that was still playing, I perfectly heard Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming!”

Panic immediately spread in the crowd, and everyone began to run in all directions. I was shocked, and didn’t move until the first Death Eater arrived. I jumped on my feet, instinctively trying to get my wand in order to help Remus and Tonks, who were in front of me and casting shield charms. I froze when I remembered I was defenseless, and tried to spot Charlie. Finding him in the bustle was impossible, and the fact that half of the persons present were Weasley with the significant ginger hair didn’t help. I desperately yelled his name while trying to get out of here. The Death Eaters were now several, and flashes of light were seen everywhere. The guests still present were pushing me without giving a damn, only thinking about their life. The exit of this hell seemed too far for me to reach it, and my panic increased until it exploded in me when I came face to face with a Death Eater. Their silhouette indicated me it was a man, and even if his face was masked, I could see the burning glare in his eyes. I quickly turned the heels and tried to escape, but another was behind me and pushed me. I was now trapped.

“Protego!”

It was Bill’s voice and I immediately felt Charlie pulling me toward him. The two Death Eaters hadn’t seen them coming from the terrified crowd, and to be honest, I hadn’t seen them either. Charlie put firmly an arm around my shoulder and kept me against him while he made us a way through the guests. We finally escaped this hell, but we didn’t slow down and ran until the door of the Burrow was in front of us. Once in the living-room, where George, Ginny and Fleur were anxiously waiting, I allowed myself to breath. It came shakier than I thought and Charlie understood how distraught I was. He kissed me passionately before engulfing me in a bear hug, murmuring how sorry he was. We stayed like this, unaware of Charlie’s family who was coming back, until Bill’s voice echoed in the room.

“Why didn’t you defend yourself, Y/N?”

All eyes turned toward me, even Charlie and Arthur’s ones, and I felt an horrible guilt creeping inside me. If only I had told them I couldn’t use magic anymore, maybe Bill wouldn’t have had to let Fleur alone to protect me, and Charlie wouldn’t have been in danger. I felt the tears stinging my eyes, but fortunately for me, Arthur intervened.

“We have a lot to talk about, but right now, the important is to make sure everyone is okay.”

I felt Charlie tense behind me.

“Dad, where’s Ron? Where are Harry and Hermione?”

“They are gone.” answered darkly Molly. “The Death Eaters were here for Harry, they couldn’t stay.”

“Is it over?” asked Ginny.

“Yes, the Order made them flee.”

After a brief check, everyone happened to be unharmed. Shocked, but unharmed. We installed in the living-room and Ginny and Molly made some tea. I knew Arthur and Bill were looking at me, and I knew Molly was suspicious of something, because she patted my cheek longer than needed when she gave me a cup of tea. I decided to take the initiative and to speak first.

“The spell I’ve been hit with…” Everyone looked at me. “It… I can’t use magic anymore.”

Molly gasped and turned her head to Charlie, as if she wanted a confirmation.

“This morning she has tried to repair a plate she had broken, but it never worked.”

“You should have told us, Y/N.” Bill wasn’t angry, as I first thought, but worried. “You could have died tonight.”

“What would have changed?” I asked, aware that my tone was a bit harsh. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t say anything because I thought it could wait for tomorrow. I didn’t want to worry Molly more than she was and I didn’t want to ruin everything, that’s all.”

“Dear, I appreciate, but we’re talking about your health.” replied Molly. “You should have told us something was wrong.”

The rest of the night was a blur. I think everyone stayed a part of the night in the living-room, trying to figure out what had happened, how the Ministry could have fallen, how we could give me back my magic. I fell asleep at some point and the next time I opened my eyes, I was alone in Charlie’s room. Bill and Fleur had taken Percy’s old one, letting us borrow this room. But Charlie was nowhere to be seen. We would usually cuddle in his old bed, snuggled one against the other to have enough place. He was always so warm, even in the middle of the winter - I swear, this guy was a true heater. I used to tease him by saying he had stolen some dragon’s fire. However, I was freaking cold right now, even if we were in the middle of the summer. I grabbed my wand and murmured Lumos before remembering it was useless. Instead, I carefully woke up and checked Bill’s bed; empty. I didn’t know where Charlie was, nor did I know why he wasn’t with me. The rational part of my mind told me he had probably gone to the bathroom, but after some time that felt like ten minutes, my fear took over. What if he didn’t want me anymore? I was nothing more than a muggle now, I couldn’t protect myself in the war ongoing, and he probably didn’t want to risk his life for me. It was comprehensible, after all. No, it was wrong. Of course it was wrong. I trusted Charlie more than anyone else in the world, I loved him with all my heart and I knew it was the same for him.

I decided to make my way downstairs, I needed some fresh air. But as soon as I reached the last step, I heard two voices in the kitchen and I stopped to listen was what said. I immediately recognized the first voice, even if it was husky: it was Charlie’s. The second one could only be Molly’s. As it seemed, she had just arrived and had found her son here.

“Charlie, dear, why are you up? You should sleep.” Her voice was sleepy.

“It’s nothing Mum, go back to sleep.” He murmured. It was so low I had to listen more carefully.

“Is it Y/N?” I heard her steps as she got closer to Charlie. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

“No, don’t worry.” I heard something like a sob barely contained in his voice. “Mum, what if we can’t heal her?”

“Listen to me, Charlie: we will find a way to heal her, I promise.” Molly seemed confident, or maybe it was just her mother power to make sure he believed her.

“But if we can’t?” He insisted. “With the war, how could I know that she’s safe if she can’t defend herself? They will want to know if their spell has worked, what if they come back and take her? What if she dies, Mum? What if she dies because I couldn’t protect her?”

Charlie broke down and cried. Molly rushed toward him - nudging a chair while doing so - and comforted him.

“Don’t think that, honey. Do you really think we would let her alone if we couldn’t heal her? Do you really think we would let her die? She’s family, Charlie. She’s the love of your life, I know it as well as you do. We will all be here for her. Don’t think one second we could give up on her, dear.”

I was shaken, but I didn’t want them to know I had eavesdropped. I quickly went back to bed and it was my turn to broke down. I hid my face in the pillow to prevent myself from waking everyone up, but it wasn’t enough to hide my desperation from Charlie when he came back. He immediately understood why I was crying, and he didn’t say anything, except he loved me. We both cried ourselves to sleep.

The week after the wedding had been the strangest in my life. We regularly saw Remus and Tonks, who had been warned of my condition by Arthur, and with each visit, they brought back more books about forgotten spells. Everyone was looking for anything in these books, but the more implicated was Charlie. He had never told me himself anything about what he had said to Molly, but he made it clear he would do anything for me by making a point of reading every single book. I would have gladly helped them if I wasn’t always that tired. It was worse with each day that came, and after one week, I was barely able to stay awake more than three hours in a row. I could tell it was worrying everyone, and soon, I heard them saying they feared for my health, but the good point of always sleeping is that I didn’t have enough time to worry myself.

The first really worrying event happened after this first week. I was in the kitchen, eating the diner with the Weasley family, Remus and Tonks, when I felt nauseous. I didn’t want to make a scene about it and I thought I would just grit my teeth, but soon, black dots had invaded my sight and I felt my eyelids closing by themselves. I tried to murmure to Charlie I didn’t feel good when Ginny, who was in front of me, screamed something I couldn’t hear and I fell from the chair.

I woke up what felt like an instant later in Charlie’s room. My boyfriend was softly snoring on the floor next to me, but he wasn’t the only one. Someone else was in the room, and according to the snores, I could tell it was a man and he was sleeping in Bill’s bed. I suddenly felt like my throat was lined with sand. I tried to get up but an awful headache made me whine. The two boys immediately woke up, and Charlie put his hands on my shoulders. He began to murmur that it was okay, it would get better in a way that made me think he had done it plenty of times before. He was probably still half asleep and didn’t realize I wasn’t sleeping anymore.

“It would be better if you gave me some water…” I managed to say.

He froze, and so did Bill behind him, who had a vial in the hand. When they finally realized I was awake, the oldest brother ran out of the room and Charlie hugged me tightly.

“Y/N, oh Y/N, I thought… Merlin, I’ve been so terrified… You were always… Oh Y/N…”

It was like a litany, a very painful one to hear because his voice was filled with tears maybe he hadn’t allowed himself to shed. After a while, Bill came back with a carafe and a glass, followed by Molly and Arthur, both in their bathrobe. Bill handed me a glass of water and I quickly drank it, almost begging him for another, and another. When I finally felt comfortable, with a throat which wasn’t sore anymore and wrapped in Charlie’s arms, and when Molly sat on the chair in front of us while Bill and Arthur were standing behind her, they finally told me what had happened.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Y/N?” asked Arthur.

I searched my memories, and a vague image of Ginny popped in my mind.

“Yes, it was during the diner. You’ve become as white as a ghost, and you’ve fallen from your chair.” began Arthur. “At first, we’ve thought you just fell asleep, and Charlie has brought you in this room, but a few minutes later, he was crying for help. You were…” He made a pause. “You were convulsing. You had fever and you seemed to be in pain. We didn’t know what to do and the only thing we could do was waiting. It has happened again, and each time it was worse -”

“Each time?” I interrupted. “How long has it been?”

Charlie tensed behind me, and I saw his parents and his brother exchanging glances with him.

“It’s been almost ten days.” He murmured.

“Ten days? It’s been… Ten days?” I repeated in disbelief.

“We couldn’t come to a decision.” said Molly with a low voice. “We were terrified, Y/N, but we didn’t know what would happen to you if we brought you to St-Mungo’s. We can’t be sure there aren’t Death Eaters and if they see you… If they understand what made you this, we were afraid they would…”

She didn’t finish, but I didn’t need her to. I perfectly knew what was implied. I wanted to tell her not to worry, that now I was fine, but a lump in my throat prevented me from saying anything.

“Remus has found something interesting in one of his books.” said Bill. “Not about the spell, but about what’s happening to you. It said that your body is… Well, it’s made for magic, somehow, it needs magic to run in your blood to stay healthy, you understand? Now that the spell has blocked your magic, you can’t use it anymore. We think that it’s why you’re always so tired, and why you… Well, that would explain your blackout.”

“We didn’t know how to slow this down.” resumed Arthur. “Tonks came up with a potion that slow down your organism activity enough to block your health deterioration. It makes you fall asleep very deeply, but it only does last a few hours.”

“That’s why we’re always two staying with you.” said Bill. “We need someone to give you the potion while Charlie is holding you when you start shaking.”

I stayed silent a few seconds.

“It means that it will only get worse?”

They didn’t answer, but Charlie tightened his grip around me. He stuck his head in my hair, and I desperately grabbed his arms.

“I won’t let it happen, Y/N.” he suddenly said. “I swear to Merlin it won’t get worse. Now that we know what we know, we’ll do anything in our power to unblock your magic. I promise.”

Charlie seemed more than determined to keep his promise, because when I finally woke up in the middle of the following afternoon, I found him begging Bill to try something.

“Come on, you have to know a spell, anything!”

“I’m sorry Charlie, if I knew something I would have tried.” Answered Bill. “But we do all we can. It’s gonna be okay.”

I decided to show myself and went directly to hug Charlie. My boyfriend was terribly worried, and I felt guilty about putting him through this. From this day, he spent all his time the nose in old books, trying to find a trace let by any spell similar to the one I had been hit with. He ate less and less, only accepting coffee or tea, and whatever anyone said didn’t change anything. The only one he didn’t blow off immediately was me, but only because he was concerned about my well-being. I could beg him, even kneel in front of him (I had tried once, and he had only said I was being too dramatic) but he wouldn’t stop neglecting himself. I began to worry about him, and so was his family.

During the following weeks, nothing like the blackout happened. I spent most part of everyday sleeping, along with nights, of course, and after Charlie passed out from exhaustion, everyone made sure he didn’t touch a book, me include. We spent the few hours I didn’t sleep together, cuddled in the little bed and I listened to Charlie while he told me stories about dragons. They were wonderful tales, and he had a true gift when it came to telling stories. I felt like I was part of it, and I would usually fall asleep to the sound if his voice and the sensation of his hands on me.

The first of september arrived way too soon, and Molly and Arthur reluctantly brought Ginny to the Hogwarts Express. They were worried sick, but their daughter herself had told them it would be too suspicious if she didn’t go back to Hogwarts.

“We can’t let them become more suspicious with us, we have too much to lose.” She had said.

We were also worried about Ron, Harry and Hermione. The three of them had disappeared since the wedding and no one had news. However our worry didn’t last because we learnt the next day where they were.

It was the end of the afternoon. The sky was slowly colouring in red and the air became slightly colder. I was talking with Molly in the kitchen when someone barged in the house. We both froze when we heard unknown voices shouting orders. I immediately got up and rushed in the living-room to see a dozen of men invading the Burrow. Arthur wasn’t here, nor were Fred, George, Bill and Fleur (Molly had insisted for them to stay at the Burrow for now), they weren’t back from work yet. Charlie immediately arrived and placed himself in front of Molly and I.

“Who are you?” He shouted. “Why are you here?”

“We will ask you questions, and you will answer them.” Replied the man in the front. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his wand was pointed on Charlie.

“We’ll start with the man of the house.”

Two men came from behind him and dragged him in the kitchen. I vainly tried to follow them but two others grabbed my arms and pushed me on the sofa, next to Molly. I was completely panicked, and it worsened when shouts and screams echoed from the kitchen. Molly was trembling next to me, her eyes fixed on her magical clock, where Charlie’s hand was on “Mortal Peril”. I extended an arm and put it around her shoulders.

The interrogation seemed to last hours, and when the tall man came back, we thought it was finally over. However, Charlie wasn’t with him, and instead of saying they would leave, the guy gestured those who were watching us and they dragged us both, Molly and I, in the kitchen.

Charlie was laying on the ground. His face was bloodied and his breath was jerky.

“Charlie!” cried Molly.

She threw herself next to her son and I did the same. Charlie groaned, saying he was okay, and struggled to get back on his feet. I passed on of his arms around my shoulders so that he could use me to keep his balance.

The man grabbed Molly’s wrist and pulled her violently toward him. Charlie tensed, ready to jump on the guy who threatened his mother, but I stopped him. I sent him a pleading look, and he understood what it meant: If you do that, we’re all dead, Molly first.

“Where is Harry Potter? .”

Molly stayed incredibly calm despite the situation. I knew she could easily get carried away by her emotions, but I also knew the terror she showed was perfectly controlled. But I saw it because I knew her; a stranger would just see a terribly worried mother.

“I don’t know… I haven’t seen him in weeks…” Her voice was shaky.

“I won’t repeat myself. Tell me where he is hiding. He was in the Ministry this morning, and we have good reasons to think one of your sons is with him. Tell us where they are or you’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

This time, Molly’s gasp wasn’t false. Annoyed by Molly’s lack of cooperation, the man waved his wand toward Charlie and another cut appeared on his cheek. Molly squealed, repeating she didn’t know anything, and the man began to get angry. His voice covered for a few seconds the noise coming from the living-room. However, he eventually heard like Charlie and I the characteristic noises of a fight. Arthur’s voice echoed, he was calling for us. I caught myself hoping he would save us when I saw the man pointing his wand toward Molly once more. His face was twisted by the hatred, and I knew this time his spell would be worse.

I didn’t really thought, I grabbed my wand - I still had the habit to keep it with me - and screamed Stupefy! in the same time as Charlie. I didn’t know if it was because the effect of the spell had vanished, or if my will had won the fight, but a bright red flash of light escaped my wand and hit the man in the head. He fell backward, struck down by two stupefying charms. Charlie pushed me toward his mother while telling me to stay here, and he left in the living-room to help Arthur. Molly hugged me, thanking me for saving her and also maybe because she was relieved I could now use magic, but I wasn’t really sure because everything went black.

When I woke up, I was laying on the couch and surrounded by Charlie, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Fred and George.

“Merlin, are you done scaring me like this?” whispered Charlie before engulfing me in a hug.

I chuckled weakly.

“I can’t promise anything…” I replied. “Charlie, can you give me -”

He handed me my wand with a small smile.

“Be careful, love.”

I nodded.

“Accio chocolate cake!”

A little chocolate cake flew toward me and landed in my hands. Everyone around me laughed.

The next day, we decided it was best to leave the Burrow and hide somewhere else. Bill and Fleur went back to the Shell Cottage and the rest of the family hid at Aunt Muriel’s. We had good reasons to think Ron, Harry and Hermione were okay, and we were okay too.

But a new threat was planning above us: what if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used his new weapon on a much larger scale, just before the final battle? How could we survive?

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x yn

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theprodigypenguin · 5 years

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Lupin Family Rant

Teddy absolutely adores both of his parents, but growing up he spends the most time with Remus. Tonks has a full time job as an Auror (and gets even busier when Kingsley promotes her to Head Auror a few years after the war) so for most of his infant and toddler years he spends enormous amounts of time with just his father. Teddy never minded and probably didn't even notice. Remus encouraged Tonks to keep her job because she really loved it, and she keeps it because she's doing good work and protecting her family by hunting dark wizards, so she doesn't mind either (though she misses Teddy to death whenever she's gone).

For the first couple of years after the war Remus is exclusively a stay at home dad, which he's totally fine with, but he happily accepts the job offer when McGonagall re-hires him as the DADA Professor (around the same time Neville starts working there, or a little after maybe). From then on he normally brings Teddy to work with him (although he also goes to work with Tonks when Remus is especially busy or needs a break, in which case Tonks looks after him with some additional help from Harry, probably Ron, and Kingsley, who fucking loves Teddy).

He also gets babysat by Andromeda or Lyall when both his parents are too busy or need a break, Harry takes care of him sometimes but normally Teddy stays within the family (I also imagine Draco babysitting per Andromeda and Narcissa's request "it would be good for you Draco he's your baby cousin". Astoria absolutely loves Teddy). Teddy actually has a lot of babysitter offers because his parents friends are always more than happy to look after him (he's a really good baby). Charlie isn't allowed to babysit unsupervised anymore though, because of a little "incident" involving a baby dragon ("it seemed like a good pet idea at the time, Dora, can't blame me").

Most of the time though, he doesn't need a babysitter, because his parents are super involved and attentive (and overprotective, especially Remus). Even when Remus takes Teddy to Hogwarts with him he just keeps him close, normally sitting at Remus' desk coloring or reading a book. A lot of kids are jealous of him because he got to go to Hogwarts before he turned eleven.

He had the run of the castle long before other kids would even be told it existed. The professors don't even mind, because they all love Remus so they all love Teddy. McGonagall especially adores him. So does Flitwick, who let's Teddy sit in on lessons even though toddler Teddy has absolutely no idea what's going on. He seems to enjoy watching students practice charms though.

Even Mrs. Norris and Filch like him, which is unheard of! But when Teddy was very small and just learning to walk regularly, Remus would let him practice toddling down the hallways by himself (keeping a watchful eye on him) and Mrs. Norris would trot alongside him like a good kitty protector! Teddy would give her treats and mice, so she absolutely loves him, and not even Filch can hate a baby as cheerful and happy as Teddy! And Teddy is a hugger, always has been always will be, so whenever he sees people he likes, he of course runs up to give them a hug. That includes hugging Filch, which lowkey terrifies the other students because who the hell is this kid who hugs the freaky Squib janitor?

When Teddy starts school for himself, Neville is the one calling students up to the sorting hat, and Teddy is absolutely vibrating with excitement. Everyone who knows him isn't at all surprised when he's sorted into Hufflepuff, and when he hops up from the chair he hugs Neville then makes a beeline for the Professor's table so he can hug Remus, who praises and congratulates him, then waves him away to take a seat at the Hufflepuff table.

From then on out, before every meal Teddy will clamber up to the professors table to hug Remus before taking a seat for himself. After every meal he'll do the same thing, climb up to the table and hug his dad. After the evening meal before he goes to bed he'll hug Remus goodnight, every day, every year, even when he's seventeen he never misses a single chance to hug his dad. He takes special care to give him gentle hugs around the full moon.

Every full moon, Teddy will stay awake all night, worried about his dad, and is out of his room the instant the sun is up to hike down and make sure his dad is resting comfortably. He'll leave breakfast next to Remus' bed as well as some medicine from Madam Pomfrey, then goes straight to breakfast. He's incredibly attentive after a full moon, working doubly hard at his homework so Remus doesn't worry or feel the need to nag him.

The day before Remus comes back to class, Teddy will go around and collect snacks and get well soon letters from students and teachers, then make a big gift basket and leave it on Remus' desk for him to find before his first class.

Teddy always takes time to have tea with Remus at least once a day, and has a tendency to spend many of his free periods lounging in Remus' office, lying out on the couch there like he belongs there and reading from Remus' collection of books. He has friends of course, but nothing beats sneaking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors office just to chill out and have tea with him. No matter how old Teddy gets, he's never too old for his dad.

And he's never, EVER too old to tell Remus he loves him. He'll kiss his mum on the cheek, or kiss his dad on the cheek, and if people laugh at him for it he just feels sorry for them, because "it's sad you don't feel secure enough to kiss your parents and tell them you love them, maybe you need family counseling ✌😔" and people lowkey hate him for it but hey he doesn't give a shit because he has the best parents in the world.

Remus and Tonks raise him into a confident man who doesn't mind crying in front of people, or hugging people, or kissing his parents hello or goodbye, he's gentle and loving and strong and probably one of the toughest kids ever because he knows how powerful love is.

He hugs literally everyone he knows, mostly the professors and his friends, including McGonagall, and the other students of course think he's insane, but the professors always hug him back because why wouldn't they Teddy is precious.

When he learns the Patronus charm he's one of the first to manage a corporeal form, and when it comes out as a wolf he gets so excited he jump-hugs Remus.

When he faces a Boggart for the first time his greatest fear is revealed to be both his parents dead and he starts crying so hard he can't cast the Riddikulus charm and Remus has to cancel the rest of class to calm him down.

When Teddy was still really small, like between birth and at least nine years old, he would trace the scars on Remus’ face and arms. He grows out of it when he gets older, but at the same time the older he gets the tighter he seems to hug Remus, because he deserves it.

Teddy loves changing his hair color like Tonks does, but that’s pretty much the only thing he ever changes, because he really loves how he looks, and loves that he looks so much like his father.

He has a similar personality and humor to his mother, very excitable and happy, seems to see the light in absolutely everything. He’s also cunning, wildly intelligent, and as sarcastic as Remus, literally the perfect blend of both. He definitely pulls his share of pranks, but he never gets caught red handed. Although admittedly he’s probably the only one Filch won’t bust, and Remus will scold him but he’s grinning the entire time (luckily Teddy doesn’t pull anything too dangerous, because putting himself in danger for the sake of a joke is the one thing Remus will not tolerate, and Teddy WILL be yelled at and grounded, but Remus just doesn’t want him to get hurt).

Teddy goes through a phase where he has very vivid night terrors and will wake up in a cold sweat, and the one thing that calms him down is being able to talk to Remus, so he’ll get out of bed and go down to Remus’ room (Remus stays at the school when class is in session to be close to Teddy, though he goes home on the weekends, and sometimes Tonks stays overnight to spend time with her boys).

Filch has caught him on occasion after one of his nightmares, but seeing how scared Teddy looks, and noting his white hair, he’ll just mutter and escort Teddy to Remus’ room before leaving them alone (this is what happens when you’re fucking nice to people, including Filch).

Remus cries the hardest when Teddy graduates, but so does Teddy (and all the other professors cry too). He and Tonks are proud as FUCK when Teddy joins the Aurors and is eventually recruited into the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable, which is considered a HUGE honor. Teddy still stops by to have tea with Remus, and only agrees to move out when the Ministry agrees to attach his fireplace to the floo network so he can floo to and from his parents home (of course he can also apparate any time he wants). His long term goal is to get a house as close to his parents as he can get, because no matter how old he gets he’s still extremely attached to them both, and they want him close too because he’s their only child and they will forever be overprotective.

And I’m gonna stop here because this has gotten ridiculously long but hey I love the Lupin family who are all alive and well and happy together. Teddy is 21 this year and is spending time with his family as we speak, probably eating dinner and telling his parents all about his day oh no I’m sad QwQ...... I love them so much.

#lupin family #remus lupin #teddy lupin #nymphadora tonks #edward remus lupin #nymphadora lupin #remus john lupin #this is mostly me ranting about how cute remus would have been with teddy #wait what am i talking about there is no would have been because remus is alive and well and is the best dad ever #long post #longpost

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dialux · 4 years

Text

dawn is coming, open your eyes

Inspired by this picset, from ages and ages ago.

But where, exactly, this story comes from is very strange. It’s... a very long and very winding story into a Percy Weasley after the war, figuring out his demons and fighting past them and learning to be happy in his own skin, which... might or might not hold some personal demons.

Warnings for familial issues! Death also features prominently because it’s immediately post-war! And politics, as per the usual, because this is My BrandTM. Hope y’all enjoy!

...

there is a kind of love so filled with rage that i can’t even look at your face even as it exists in my mind.

...

“Hello Percy,” says Luna.

Your eyes are red. Your cheeks are raw from scrubbing hard enough to scrape away the top layer of skin. Your hands shake, when you think too much; they don’t shake at all when you forget, and somehow that’s worse.

Fred is gone.

It’s not your first thought in the morning when you get up, and that feels like a terrible kind of sacrilege.

“Hello Luna,” you say, and sit down besides her.

...

It isn’t-

It isn’t like that.

But you’re mourning, and you’re learning that you aren’t a quiet mourner. Things tend to explode if you stay still long enough to remember that Fred is- not here. As if he’s passed his love for explosions onto you with his last breath.

Nobody seems to understand, though. Everyone walks around you on eggshells, until you take your wand and a cloak and walk out of the Burrow one morning, skin itching something fierce. You walk and walk, feet blistering in your boots, hands sweating on your wand, eyes streaming with something other than tears.

“Hello Percy,” Luna says, slipping beside you as if nothing were amiss. “How are you today?”

You’d always ignored Luna, more than anything else. It felt kinder than to shout at her for her strangeness.

“Fine,” you grunt. “I’m just- fine.”

“Good,” Luna says, and lifts her wand, reaching out to you. “Because I have a job for you.”

You twist through a tiny, airless tube for endless moments, and finally land on a cold, dreary island before you can say anything more. It takes you a beat to realize, and then you do: it’s Azkaban. Horror clutches at your heart.

“You sent people here,” Luna says, softly, when it’s clear you’re unable to speak. “You-”

“I know what I did.”

“Then you’ll fight back.” She looks harder, brighter, than any Luna that you’ve ever known. You remember, suddenly- she’s lost a father where you’ve lost your brother, but Luna has no other family to hold her, or grieve beside her. “There are cells the Death Eaters sealed, here. Someone has to unseal them.”

“Sealed-” You break off. It’s been weeks since the end of the war; if they sealed them off to only outside influence the people inside might have had a week, at most, what with the lack of water and food. If the Death Eaters also sealed off the air, as most wards tend to do...

“The people inside must be-”

Luna nods. “Dead.”

Then why? You want to ask, before she smiles, sad and small.

“They deserve burials,” she tells you. “Burials in better places than this.” Luna swallows, and there’s a brief glimpse of a girl with sunlight hair in that motion; a girl whom you hadn’t ever loved, a girl you miss, suddenly, with a fierceness that surprises even you. “Flowers and tombstones and grass. Warmth. Wands.”

Oh. Oh, if their wands were taken- they must be-

“Muggleborns,” you whisper.

“Dead,” she repeats. “And you helped send them there.”

Ginny would have flung accusations at you, eyes shining like a hundred swords. Ron would have glared until you gave in, and then acted sanctimonious for all of a few minutes before forgiving you. Fred- he’d have probably painted your face with some week-old blood, trying to make his point and horrify you as always.

Luna doesn’t say anything more, but the undercurrent is clear to you: you can go back home, you can wallow in self-loathing and misery and continue to blow things up whenever someone startles you. Or you can try to fix what you’ve done. You can be of use, and it looks like no one else wants to do this job so it’s not like you’ll have to talk to many people.

You’re a Gryffindor at heart anyway.

“Let’s go,” you say, through gritted teeth.

...

That’s how it starts.

Luna asks, and you accept, and it hurts like you’ve got a splinter the size of a fist digging into your chest; but it feels good, too, in it’s own way.

There are a hundred people in Azkaban whose cells were warded properly when the Death Eaters fled. It was a mix of panic- the Battle of Hogwarts happened so quickly- and idiocy and bureaucratic mix-ups, but of the almost six hundred muggleborns that were locked up in Azkaban over the course of the year, more than five hundred escaped. Those who didn’t were the old, the weak, the quiet; from what you’ve been able to deduce, some people even sacrificed themselves to keep holes in the wards open long enough for others to flee.

It’s not like you’re the best warder Luna could have gotten. Hell, Bill’s better than you by a long shot; this is his actual job- but your mother’s always depended most on Bill and she actually needs him, now, what with- Fred. Charlie’d flunked Ancient Runes in his third year and taken up Divination instead; George might be better than you, now, but he’s too... something.

Broken, you think, and the thought burns inside of you, enough that you hiss out, flick your wand at an innocent bit of stone and watch it explode. Like a clock.

A hand settles on your forearm. “The nimbopaths tend to be stronger here,” she says. “Maybe we should drink some tea?”

“Just- thoughts,” you say, quietly. Nevermind that neither of you have brought tea with you; what’s important is that her hand feels very warm, and there’s something scarily like guilt rising up your throat. “I’ll finish this ward myself, don’t worry. There’s another one in the left hallway, if you want to map it out.”

Luna leaves. You knead your forehead and get back to work, carving runes with both wand and knife, carefully cracking the barrier until you can get to the gaunt corpse behind it.

You don’t scream when you see the bodies.

(You haven’t screamed since you saw Fred die.)

...

Nobody asks where you go, which surprises you more than you’d think. But they just accept that you disappear- even George, who’s been spending the most time with you. It’s regular, at least, insofar as that you leave at dawn and return only past midnight. The only people who see you are Harry and Ron and Hermione, and the three of them are strange enough that they don’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary in your wrinkled clothes or shabby appearance.

Finally, a week- or two, or three- later, Charlie sits you down.

“You need to rest,” he says, quietly. “You’re running yourself into the ground. Kingsley wouldn’t want that.”

I don’t give a damn about Kingsley, is on the tip of your tongue. I’ll run myself into the ground if I want to, is marching right behind it. I deserve this, is what echoes behind it all.

“There’s things I have to do,” you say instead.

Luna’s found a spell that keeps the bodies from decomposing. There’s a long line of them, now, arranged in one of the better-aired corridors of Azkaban; corpses in stasis that you both need to find graves for, names for, wands for. One of them had hair the color of a sunrise, streaked with a dye that sits next to your shaving cream in the store in Diagon Alley. You’d almost broken down three days ago, when you saw that purple box.

When you left that store, there was a box with Wott’s Ever-Changing Dye, Spec. Ed: SUNRISE! emblazoned on it, hidden with your daily supplies.

Maybe in a few months you’ll stop dreaming about your sins.

“I never even see you,” Charlie says. “You’re gone before I wake up, you come back after I fall asleep, you’re looking like a ghost. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, Perce, but you’d best stop before you break down. Mum can’t handle you going off your rocker, alright?”

You jerk away. “I’m sorry,” you say, precisely, each word crisp as the apples that grow in fresh spring, new and green and tart enough to draw tears to the eye, “that I am inconveniencing you.”

“Shit,” you hear him mutter, before Charlie launches himself forwards; but it’s too late.

You cross the kitchen’s threshold, and there- sitting, like a fucking mosaic of pieces that, through your tears, looks almost like Fred- is George. George and your mother and your father and the rest of your family, but Fred isn’t there, he isn’t there, he’ll never be there to tease you or frighten you or love you, not anymore.

“I’m fine,” you say, and it’s not a lie, though you can see that nobody believes you. “I’m fine,” you repeat, and Charlie’s behind you and he puts his hand on your shoulder and it’s not fine, but you’re fine, you’re fine and it’s the world that’s not fine at all.

Fred’s gone, and you’ve got a list of sins that you’ll spend the rest of your life scrubbing.

I’m not even twenty-five, you think, and I’ll never do anything great.

“I am,” you say, and this time it is defiant, as foolishly defiant as ever Fred had been, “fine.”

A shrug of your shoulders, and before Charlie can catch you, before anyone can believe that you’re going to do this again, the son who had loved rules more than he’d ever loved family- you’re gone.

...

The cliffside is cold, and you don’t have a cloak or the will to perform a warming charm.

You don’t cry, but when it rains, you don’t wipe your face either.

Your eyes are red.

...

“You haven’t told them?” Luna asks you the next day, when you show up in sodden clothes and hair as tangled as Potter’s on a bad day.

“Three more cells,” you reply. “We’re almost done.”

You reach for the doorknob, but it clicks shut with a finality that makes you whirl back to Luna. She looks back at you with a look in her eyes that makes you want to wince, her wand held high and stiff between you two. It feels like someone’s made you swallow ice.

“And after that we need to find names, and ground to bury them, and wands.” Her lips, already thin, depress further. “This will not end, Percy. Every day there will be something more, and you have to-”

“You don’t get to tell me what I have to do,” you whisper.

It’s nothing but the truth. Luna brought you here, but it’s your decision to actually do something instead of mourn. Your guilt is your own; no one, not Charlie, not George, not Luna- not a single person in the world gets to tell you that this guilt is lessened by coming here. They don’t get to do this to you. And if you want to spend the rest of your life righting the wrongs of a war that you were on the wrong side of, then there is nothing that will stop you.

“You need to tell them what’s happening,” Luna says, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “They’re going to worry. Percy- Fred wouldn’t want you to do this.”

You step away, and slash your wand down, once, twice, thrice. The door falls into pieces, stripped wood, and you step out into the corridor. The wind catches at your cloak and hair, still soaked through. You don’t shiver.

“I signed forty-three documents,” you say softly, watching her, waiting for the inevitable horror, revulsion, hatred. “Did you know that? I signed away forty-three people’s lives. Fred’s the least of my sins.” A breath, and wood crunches under your feet as if they were bones, dried and dead. “You can tell my parents that, if you want to.” The ice in your throat spreads to your arms, to your fingers, to your heart. “But I’m going to break Azkaban’s wards today, and tomorrow I’ll find a burial ground for the dead, and the day after that I’ll find out how to make wands, and you can help me bury these people if you want to but I’m not going to stop, do you hear me?”

...

You’ve always been good with charms. Penelope’s always been good with potions.

The summer of ‘96, you have a long, explosive fight with her. You hadn’t been living together, not exactly; you’re both too independent for that. But you have an extra towel and toothbrush in your bathroom and the particular brand of rough-grain bread that Penelope likes in your kitchen, and it’s the closest you’ve come to sharing your life with anyone else.

She’s afraid.

You’re not just a Gryffindor, she says, blue eyes shining, face earnest, please, come with me- there’s other places you can succeed. It doesn’t have to be here, you-

I’m not going anywhere, you say, and you’re terrified, of course you are, you’re angry and grieving and alone and-

And you have done a lot wrong, in your life, but you haven’t run. At least in some small, aching way, you belong to Gryffindor for reasons other than your blood.

Penelope doesn’t say goodbye.

You find a thin vial resting on your bed that night- black and glittering, like the night sky ground into a liquid. You recognize it, of course. By all rights, you should turn it into the Ministry. By all rights, you should put her name on a list of criminals, for brewing one of the most dangerous potions in the world.

You pocket the vial instead.

...

(Your best subject had been charms.

But you’re even better at paperwork. It’s why Crouch takes you on- they mock you, your brothers, your family, but he took you on and he kept you on because you were good at what you did.

Forty-three people suffer for that.)

...

Azkaban surrenders the last of its sealed cells quietly, and you levitate the last body to the corridor where the rest have been lying for the past fortnight. Luna is there- her hair looks like moonlight-purified water, colorless and pure in the dull darkness.

She has a new wand, one that Ollivander made for her after the Malfoys took hers. It’s too temperamental for your taste; it reacts more to Luna’s emotions than to her words, and the results can be unpredictable. The day after you both uncovered one of the younger victims, it had only released saltwater for the full day, no matter what else Luna tried.

But it also matches Luna’s personality. Like right now: there’s a glittering charm bracelet that she’s woven out of light and some old metal scraps lying on the floor, and it shines around almost twenty people’s wrists and throats, pale blue or sparking purple or glowing yellow, like a strange string of faery lights.

"The stasis spell goes from darkness to darkness,” she says, folding one boy’s fingers open slowly, massaging the cold flesh.

You bite back the first words you think of, the acid bite of your previous meeting still concentrated. “What does that mean?”

“You have another three weeks,” replies Luna, softly. “Then the graves will rise up and swallow them once more.”

The stasis spell will fall, you realize. That’s what she’s trying to say. The spell will last from new moon to new moon, and it will fall soon and the bodies will rot, and that means-

“Graves,” you say. “Wands. We’ll need-”

“No,” says Luna. “Not us.”

You.

It had slipped your mind, but- yes, now you remember, Luna and Ron and Ginny and Ron’s friends- they’re all heading back to Hogwarts. Another week and they’re going to leave, and you’re going to have to do this alone.

Alone.

You know how that feels. You have it scored straight into your bones.

“I’ll handle it,” you say.

...

The Ministry is silent when you enter it.

It’s too early in the morning; fog still lines London’s streets, and the streetlights are still lighting up the city. The tips of your robes are damp. Your footsteps echo on the marble stone.

(The last time you were here, you killed sixteen men.

Yaxley had asked for tea, and you’d felt some shift in the air- you’d nodded docilely, you’d made the tea with careful, even hands, and then, when they were ignoring you, while they were casually discussing some crime on humanity, you’d poured Penny’s black, shining poison straight into the dark liquid.

You’d waited patiently, calmly, as they dropped.

Thirteen men like that- and then you left, quietly, and sealed the door shut. Three more men had chased you, up and down the hallways, and you’d killed two with quick wandwork but the last- the last you’d captured and carved, slowly, with your careful, even wandwork, and you hadn’t stopped until he sputtered out the truth of Hogwarts’ siege.

Nobody knows, of course. You couldn’t stand it if they did. But when you apparated to Hogwarts, it was with the blood of sixteen men on your hands.)

Kingsley’s in his office. It’s not the room where you tortured a man, not even on the same floor, but your hands tremble all the same.

“Minister,” you say, as you enter.

Kingsley looks- drawn. His bones are sharp under his skin, but he burns brighter than you remember from before, as if the pared flesh has revealed some of the fierceness beneath. When he waves you to a seat, it’s a sort of kindness.

“Percy,” he says. “I wondered when I’d see you in here.”

“Ah. I’m...” you think, for a dizzy moment, that you’ll just accept, that you’ll take the opening Kingsley offered and slide back into your old position as if nothing has changed. The nausea that rises with the dizziness clears your head, firms your voice. “I’m afraid I’m not here for the reason you think.”

“Oh?”

You swallow. “Do you know about Azkaban?”

“I read a report on it a few days ago, yes,” says Kingsley, spreading his hand on one of the stacks of papers currently crowding his desk.

I could file that, you think, abruptly seized by a desire for it. I could sort out this mess. I’d be good at it. I could-

You could. You’d reshape the nation. And you’d be scrupulously fair, viciously, steadily, fair. You’d know it, because you’d have all of it in the palm of your hand, you’d be the one doing it.

But there are other ways of doing good.

You know that now.

“Someone from Hogwarts is working on clearing it,” says Kingsley. “It’s going well, according to- ah, yes, I think it was Xeno’s daughter- a good girl, with her head in the air, perhaps, but- she’s smart, and got through a stint in Azkaban herself without breaking. Is there a problem with it?”

“No, no problem,” you reply. “But I’ve been working with her on clearing it.”

The world doesn’t stop turning when you say it out loud.

So you continue.

“We’ve recovered forty bodies. Muggleborn bodies. We’ll need place to bury them, before the stasis spell we’ve put on them starts to breakdown.”

Kingsley pauses. “Ah. I’d wondered- I thought you’d be here the day I entered, you know? But then I remembered your brother. When was his funeral?”

“Months ago,” you say, through clenched teeth, desperately trying to keep yourself from twitching. “A month after the Hogwarts- battle.”

“You’ve been excavating Azkaban all along, Percy?”

The kindness drags along your nerves. You don’t want kindness. You want professionalism, and crisp agreements, and not this- this stupid hurting rage.

“Not for very long,” you say, though, because Kingsley’s being kind while still remaining within the bounds of professionalism. “It’s going faster than I’d expected. But the stasis spell works only from new moon to new moon.”

“Did you have any particular rituals in mind?”

“I had some ideas.” You swallow. “There’s- I think, sunlight. That’s something they deserve.”

“Not something we have a lot of here,” says Kingsley mildly.

“There’s charms for that,” you reply. “And I thought- think- there’s an island. Off of Azkaban. It comes near enough to the anti-muggle wards that we won’t need to do anything complex. It’s abandoned, and...”

Perfect, you think, but don’t say. Nothing’s perfect, is what you’ve learned. It’s all just piece-meal attempts at cobbling together a vision that might, if one squints, look vaguely acceptable. But you’ve visited the island and it’s small and rough and scarred and still: perfect.

“I’ll see what I can do,” says Kingsley.

You force yourself to nod back to him.

“Percy,” he says, when you’ve gathered your coat and almost managed to leave, “your office remains empty. I look forward to seeing it filled soon.”

You freeze. You force air into your lungs. You say, without turning, “I’ll offer you a list of meritorious candidates when I get some time, Minister.”

“I need help,” says Kingsley, and his hand closes on your shoulder. You shudder. “You’re one of the few people from the old Ministry who hasn’t been arrested, you know, and we need the experience.” He pauses. “And you look like you could use the work.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically. Then, slower, “And I cannot help you, Minister. I would be far greater a burden than an aid.”

“Percy-”

You shy away from the contact. Pull your robes around you. Nod, grimly, politely, and grind out, laboriously: “I thank you for the opportunity, Minister. But I... there are some things that cannot be- undone. Sometimes, people- people cannot be trusted. Not after they’ve- not after what they’ve done.”

“I know where your loyalty lies, son,” says Kingsley, but he doesn’t try to touch your shoulder once more. “We know where you fought when it mattered.”

Your lips twist in a facsimile of a smile. “All of you keep saying that,” you say, in a voice too low for addressing the Minister, but you don’t care. You don’t care. You are not off the rails completely, but you can taste that wildness and it is heady as much as it is frightening. “As if this war’s lasted for all of one battle. There has been a war in our country for three years, Minister Shacklebolt, and there has been a battle waged in every wizarding home within our borders. I know where I stood for too long- and I know that there are things that cannot be forgiven, no matter what else is done after the fact.”

Kingsley looks- old. His face is set in taut, narrow lines, and his eyes shine in the morning light, almost-gold. “I know this war, Percy.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you say recklessly, before drawing yourself up. Breathing in. This, at least, you can offer. Advice, if not the work of your hands. “Children died, Minister. Muggleborns. Halfbloods. Purebloods. We all bled for a madman, and the answer that our government has for us is to sit tight. Is it any wonder people sit in their homes and ask when the next Dark Lord will rise?”

“Voldemort is gone.”

“Albus Dumbledore kept secrets,” you say. “And now, so does Harry Potter. History is set to repeat itself, Minister- and it is set to become as we once were, led by Lords and Ladies. Where do we, the common man, lie then? The chattel between lords at best. The victims, at worst. What we lost when we elected to turn our heads and bite our tongues and let a one year old boy become our savior...”

You trail off. Your hands are shaking, now, and your head is aching. There’s a small crowd surrounding the Minister, just a little ways off, but you can see the flash of a pink string quickly moving out of sight. Extendable Ears.

So now your political stance is solidified.

Nausea builds in your gut. You look at Kingsley, and regret swims before you. That he was caught even listening to your near-treasonous words might spell the end to his brief tenure as Minister. It’s quite a shame- you rather like him, even if he’s too willing to return to the status quo.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, and turn, and flee as quick as you can without actually running.

...

After, you get drunk. Roaringly drunk. As you’ve never done before in your life.

Impotent anger and bitter hatred and caustic self-loathing. It all melts underneath the touch of the- whatever- that the bartender gives you. At least you’d had the knowledge to go into muggle London, where there’s nobody who’ll report you to your mother; otherwise you’d be waking tomorrow to a howler from your mother and a quick, apologetic Hangover Relief from your father.

Only that’s how it might have been, once, for Charlie and Bill.

Now. You doubt your mother would even notice your absence. Even if she did, why would she care about one son drinking away his night when another’s buried six feet under the earth? So. No howler from your mother. No potion from your father either, though, and that’s a shame. Thank Merlin you probably have one stored away in your potions cupboard, just in case.

“One more,” you say to the bartender.

He shakes his head. Anger flashes through you, so hot it hurts. It reminds you of when you were a kid- your accidental magic had only ever come out when you wanted the twins to be silent. Once, you’d managed to silence the entire Burrow for a glorious three hours.

Fred and George had gotten you back for that, with interest; but you hadn’t cared.

“C’mon,” you say, levering yourself up those last few feet. “C’mon, you know I’m good for it, I need-”

The bartender shakes his head one last time, final, and the fragile bridge holding you to- sanity, or normalcy, or maybe just that land of reason that you’ve clutched onto your whole life- shatters. You lunge forwards and drag the bartender closer to you, and something is glowing at your feet so when you look down you realize that it’s not something but it’s you, and that glowing thing is coming from your fingers which are dripping fire.

Then there’s hands around your shoulders, dragging you away from the bartender. Hands that remain firm and tight all the way until you push through the door, and you’re stumbling, you’re choking on all the air you need but aren’t getting.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hear from what must be the man who’s holding you, “can’t say I’ve ever seen-”

His voice wavers in and out, like a bad connection on the Floo. You vaguely register that it’s familiar; you don’t pay much attention to anything other than the blessedly cold air in your lungs and the rough stone beneath your shins. You feel sick.

“Weasley,” you hear, and it makes your chest want to shrivel up. “Weasley, hey, the fuck’s your name- it was- Percy, yeah, Percy, you hearing me? Up, Merlin, get up, would you? Obliviators’re on the way. Best if we aren’t caught here- Percy, hey- Percy!”

The world goes dark, and you don’t even regret it.

...

You do regret it when you come to the next morning.

Sunlight’s spearing through the butter-yellow curtains straight into your eyes. You make a mush-mouthed sound and flap your hand at it ineffectually. But trying to turn over hurts your head even more; you just flop backwards in the end, and close your eyes.

“Weasley?” you hear from a distant corner.

“Hnngh,” you say.

“Weasley,” sighs the man, entering your line of sight. It’s a man you vaguely remember- you’ve seen him around, though you think he was a Ravenclaw back in Hogwarts. A prefect, you’re fairly certain, below you. His hair’s damp and he’s wearing a loose tracksuit and he looks... unfairly put together for the misery you’re currently feeling. “D’you remember what happened last night?”

“Mmph.” Painfully, you swallow. Then, still aching, you lever yourself upright. Like hell’re you going to speak to a Hogwarts prefect lying down like an invalid. “Kind of. Fire?”

“You were dripping it,” agrees Prefect. “It was a miracle you didn’t burn the pub down.”

You wince. “I. It. I thought.” Then you pause, take in the entirety of your situation- you’ve just crashed on a stranger’s couch because you were too drunk the previous night after spending a full day getting wasted in a muggle pub and trying to burn it down, all because you chewed out the Minister for something that isn’t even his fault. There’s really only one thing you can say. “I was stupid.”

Monumentally stupid.

Unfathomably stupid.

“Mm,” agrees Prefect. He walks away, then comes back with two things: a copy of the paper, and a fizzing blue mug. “Drink that first. And- you are Percy, right? Percy Weasley?”

“Yes,” you agree slowly.

“You’ll want to read that paper, then.” Prefect’s eyes are sharp on your face. “You don’t remember me?”

“Prefect, right? Ravenclaw?” You shrug. “Don’t remember your name.”

“Roger Davies.” Davies nods to the paper. “Read it. And- Weasley?”

“Yeah?”

“Not all of us liked your brothers,” he says evenly. “Not all of us made the right decisions. A lot of us were- not brave. But we survived.” He pauses, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to swallow- something bright, and fragile, and perhaps brighter for its fragility. “A leader should know that.”

“‘m no leader,” you say, sighing as you sip the hangover relief. It blazes down the back of your throat. A good hurt, though, so you barely even grimace.

Then you look up, and Davies is frowning at you.

“Shame, that,” is all he says. “Think you’d do a good job at it. Always did.”

“Thanks for the relief,” you tell him, before you rise to your feet.

You shake his hand as firmly as you can manage. Stumble to the fireplace, mumble your address and manage three steps into your home before you collapse from the dizziness. When you open your eyes again, the paper’s crumpled tight in your fists. You let go. Smooth it out.

Your breath is snatched right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You don’t like to swear, but there isn’t any other way to treat this. “Fucking fuck. Oh my fucking god!”

Hungover or not, you have to go home. You have to make sure your parents know-

Know what?

That you’re not a traitor? That you’re not the radical revolutionary the paper paints you as? That with a two minute speech to the Minister, you’re suddenly not the poster child for change from the top to the dregs of society?

Percy Weasley: Radical or Traditional?

You steel yourself. Get in the shower. Shave. Pick out some crisply folded robes. Comb your hair back. By the end of it, you’ve made your decision. Then you stand in front of your fireplace for a good five minutes, dithering, before you call out, “Roger Davies’ home!”

You don’t walk back into his home, just call and allow him the ability to pick up or decline. He does, after a pause so long your knees start to ache.

“Yeah?” he asks, wandering into view. “Forget something, Weasley?”

“My manners,” you say wryly.

“You said thanks already.”

“I know.” You swallow. You can still back out. But if you say the words, if you give them a voice... you can’t take them back. You can never take them back. “But I told you that I’m no leader. I’m not, you know, not a general. Not a Lord. I’m the normal one.”

“Yeah, I got that,” says Davies.

You tilt your head at him. “I don’t know if I’m the best for this. But... I think I can help you.”

...

You don’t return to the Ministry. But nobody stops you when you start clearing shrubbery to make a proper burial service, so you don’t stop either. You’ve told the Minister your plans, anyhow, and if someone has the temerity enough to attempt to stop you you’ve got his name ready to drop with a flatly insincere smile.

Luna comes to your flat two days later, Ollivander twitchy but at her side. She doesn’t mention the Prophet article, which you’re grateful enough for that you forgive her interference with your family.

(It’s not like you don’t understand, you soothe yourself. Everybody wants a happy ending, all the hurts smoothed away. And for Luna, who’s an only child, who has been such a source of strength to her father- it must seem even stranger, even crueler, for you not to desire with all your body and mind to return to them. Have the Weasleys not suffered enough? Why are you so fucking incapable of kindness?

But war has pared something away in you- worn down those pieces that wanted things with hard desperation, cut away those parts that made you want love or approval or appreciation.

What is left of you now?)

Ollivander hems and haws and looks increasingly insulted at your desire to bury wands with the Azkaban muggleborns; it’s very rare to lose wands like that, and usually done only for people who have nobody else in the world. No family, no friends. Nobody who’ll take or remember these people.

You don’t care.

These people had wands, but they were yanked out of their fists. There’s no way to track that down, now, and the injustice of it bubbles in your chest every time you feel exhaustion dog at your heels.

“The- the waste- it’s unconscionable- how can I-”

“Waste?” you ask mildly.

Luna leans back, starlight-hair glittering. She doesn’t look away from you, eyes level and warm. You straighten your spine and dig out the boy who’d bargained with pureblood supremacists, words cajoling; gaze unflinching.

“Their old wands will sit in some old pureblood vault for decades,” you tell Ollivander. “We cannot retrieve them; those records have been destroyed, or perhaps never maintained in the first place. If ever they see light of day, they will be in the hands of the very people who took them away.” You lean forwards, and take no joy in the subtle flinch of Ollivander’s shoulders. “We are burying wizards and witches, Mr. Ollivander, and they shall be marked as such. They will be given that dignity.”

His pale, silver eyes say everything he’s too polite to say.

Traitor, radical, fool.

Too angry to be any use. Too stupid to be quiet. Too cruel to be part of the Light.

Well, that’s fine. What use have labels been to you anyways?

Why do you care so much? sneers Ollivander, silent, wordless.

And you do not answer: Because I could have blown up the Ministry if I was pushed, and I don’t know why I didn’t push myself. Because I let the war pass me by and my family is made up of people who cannot forget that, even if they will forgive me. Because I am here, and I can, and so I will.

“I cannot make wands for people I do not know,” says Ollivander finally.

“I have their profiles arranged,” you reply, hand resting heavily on a stack of parchment. “Take your best guess.”

“I have not made wands in- months. The process- I cannot- the speed will be too low to-”

“Then I will help you,” you say lowly, and watch the flash of irritable defiance in Ollivander’s face flare and fade out. “Forty wands. We’ll get this done before the month is out.”

It’s going to be a challenge, of course, but you have never shrunk from honest, hard work before, and you won’t start now. Youngest aide to an official in the history of Britain; sharpest Weasley in a family that you had to claw distinction out of; the face of a burgeoning radicalist movement through the nation. You’ve done it all before, and you’ve done it well, and you’ll do this too, properly.

Beautifully.

#hp fic #percy weasley #luna lovegood #my writing #a VERY strange fic for entry into december!

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arbeaone · 5 years

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The Skinny Magazine Published on May 01, 2017

[ View larger version here ] Text from the article can be read below. (There may be some errors.)

The Mighty Barratt

Beloved curmudgeonly comic Julian Barratt makes a jump to the big screen with the endearingly silly Mindhorn, in which he plays a washed-up actor caught up in a murder plot. He talks about the pomposity of actors and a possible return of The Mighty Boosh

Interview: Jamie Dunn

Movie actors are a funny old lot. Essentially they're big kids who've been paid handsomely to raid the dressing up box, but to hear them talk you'd think they were curing cancer. Comedian, musician, writer and actor Julian Barratt finds his fellow thespians' self-importance endlessly hilarious. "It’s so hard to not sound like an arse when you talk about acting,” he says down the phone from London. “So it's a very rich territory for comedy.” You can see this self-seriousness at work on shows like Inside the Actors Studio and those round table discussions The Hollywood Reporter do around the time of the Oscars. “Oh, those round tables are just great,” Barratt chuckles. “They're full of people trying to make out they don't care about acting and it’s just a job. ‘We're just like plumbers, but working with different materials; the plumber works with pipes, I work with human emotions.' Or when you talk about how privileged you are to work with whoever - even that comes across as annoying."

Barratt channels some of this pomposity into Richard Thorncroft, the protagonist of Mindhorn, his inspired new comedy, which he co-wrote with Simon Farnaby. At the start of the film we discover Thorncroft enjoyed some low-level fame in the 80s as the title star of Mindhorn, a cheesy detective show in which the titular sleuth uses his bionic eye to literally see the truth; his ocular gift helped him interrogate bad guys, but it also came in handy while seducing women. We see snippets of the show - which comes across like a mashup of Bergerac and The Six Million Dollar Man - throughout this feature-length comedy, but the majority of the action takes place in the modern day, where Thorncroft has become a grotesque has-been; overweight and toupeed, he reaches a career nadir when he loses his latest gig, a TV ad for orthopaedic socks, to John Nettles (of Bergerac fame).

Thorncroft is a joke, but Barratt can certainly empathise. “He is very much a version of me after a couple of bad decisions,” laughs Barratt. He reckons at actors are a few poor choices away from Thorncroft’s predicament. "I don't think it takes much: make the wrong career move here and there, and a couple of bad relationships, and suddenly you're on your own and you're grasping at straws.”

Barratt is being modest, surely. The 48-year-old has been a key player in some of the 21st century's most feverishly adored British comedies. With Noel Fielding he created the wildly surreal The Mighty Boosh, in which he played “jazz maverick” Howard Moon, a character even more pompous than Richard Thorncroft. Then there’s Dan Ashcroft, the self-loathing journalist who finds himself inside a maelstrom of idiocy in East London's hipster scene as depicted in Chris Morris and Charlie Brooker’s prescient sitcom Nathan Barley. He also had a recurring role in spoof supernatural medical drama Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. And that’s not to mention Will Sharpe's brilliant Channel 4 show Flowers, from last year, in which Barratt gave his darkest- and finest- performance yet as a suicidal children’s book author.

Despite this success, Barratt insists a Richard Thorncroft-style fall from grace is a real worry. “Sure, I've made shows that have connected and that I'm very proud of, but you're always trying to think of the next thing you're going to do. You have to keep asking, 'Do I still have it in me to do another thing that people want?' I have friends who never got into show business at all, and they have proper jobs - they do their job and they're not constantly thinking, 'What can I do next?' 'How can I make it valid?’ ‘Is this going to work?’ 'Are people going to be interested?’ They just do a job and then at the end of the week they turn off and go out. I sometimes envy them that sort of life.”

We're glad he's stuck with comedy, as Mindhorn contains some of Barratt's most gut-bustingly funny material. With his career in the toilet, Richard Thorncroft is given a reprieve. When a deranged serial killer on the Isle of Man tells the police he’ll negotiate, but only with Mindhorn, whom he believes to be a real detective, Thorncroft is given a cushy gig resurrecting his old character to try and solve the murders. Files the film with ¡Three Amigos!, Galaxy Quest and Tropic Thunder, the other great comedies about actors being mistaken for their characters and pulled into real-life peril. The initial idea came from Barratt’s friend and co-star Simon Farnaby. “Really nerdy fans of The Mighty Boosh will know that Mindhorn is the name of a half-man, half-fish creature that appears in one of the Boosh's songs,” Farnaby explains when we meet him in Glasgow ahead of the film’s Scottish premiere at Glasgow Film Festival. “He's very obscure, he appears in one of the songs from the radio show, I think. Julian had given me the CD and I heard the name Mindhorn and I just wrote it down because it sounded like an 80s detective show, you know, these one word shows like Wycliffe or Spender.”

The pair clearly love this very particular genre; you have to love something to satirise it as well as Barratt and Farnaby do in Mindhorn. But the film isn't simply a nostalgic piss-take in the mould of, say, MacGruber, Will Forte’s hilariously crude parody of MacGyver, the action-adventure American equivalent of the shows Mindhorn send up. Barratt came up with the twist that the films should be about the actor who used to be in Mindhorn, and Richard Thorncroft was born. This was over a decade ago. "Originally Julian thought he was too young to play Thorncroft,” says Farnaby. “Whoever played the character had to be old enough to be believable as an aging has-been. We thought: let's get someone like Ben Kingsley to do it!” But so slow was the writing process that Barratt soon found he was approaching the perfect vintage to take on the role. “He likes to tell people he put on weight for the part,” chuckles Farnaby, “but he didn't, he just carried on doing what he normally does.”

Barratt is far more complimentary about his writing partner: "Simon is great because he's very pragmatic. He's great at just getting to the end of things. I'll get really caught up with the problems and the details, agonise over them a lot, so we were a good team." How does he feel about writing on his own?” "I can’t stand it to be honest. I'll do it. I mean, I like to write with someone and then go off and write a bit on my own and bring it back. But writing on your own is lonely, it’s bloody awful."

Talking of writing partnerships, Barratt is still best known for his wildly inventive stage show and BBC sitcom The Mighty Boosh, which he co-wrote and co-starred in with Noel Fielding. It was a classic chalk and cheese double act: Fielding's Vince Noir was a glam rock dadaist with a child-like spirit of adventure while Barratt’s Howard Moon was a curmudgeonly jazz-enthusiast and the butt of almost every joke. Rumours of a revival, or even a feature-length project, have been floating around since the pair's last official Boosh performance in 2009.

Barratt sounds open to the idea. "I don’t want to start any rumours, but we never finished with the Boosh," he says. "We parked it essentially. So it's like a crazy old car that we drove around in, and it’s still there. We could get it out, we could look at it, try and get the engine going again, give it a new coat of paint. Sometimes you think it’s best just to leave something where it was and not try and recreate that magic, but who knows?" He gives a long pause and chuckles. 'We'll probably run out of money at some point and you'll see us doing it.”

#Julian Barratt #Simon Farnaby #Mindhorn #The Skinny #The Skinny Magazine #`❦

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sassy-cissa · 5 years

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Wishing the happiest of days to the amazing @llap115!! You’re a wonderful friend, cheerleader and awesome mod. This one’s for you, darling:

Author: sassy_cissa (me!)

Word Count: 1900

Rating: PG

Content: fluff, established relationship, misunderstanding

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Summary: "...What's the one thing you've always wanted to do, Draco?"

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783733

Do You Remember?

Harry sat at the breakfast table, staring blearily into his cup of tea.

"You're a brilliant conversationalist this morning," Draco teased. "Anyone would think you'd not had enough sleep last night."

"Oh you're a barrel of laughs, Healer I'm getting in at three am so I think I'll wake my spouse for a shag," Harry stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "And now you're going back to bed and I have a full day of work."

"You weren't complaining last night," Draco hid his smirk, badly, in his mug.

Harry snorted a laugh. "It seemed bad form to complain when you wake up to someone sucking your dick."

"Smart man." Draco waved his wand and sent the dishes to the sink. He stretched and yawned. "I think I actually will head back to bed. I'm off today, so I'll put something together for dinner."

Harry gave a low growl, but tempered it with a smile. "So you'll Owl-order dinner?"

Draco leaned back and blinked, in what Harry knew was his attempt at looking affronted. "I never said I'd make dinner, I said I'd put something together. I suppose I could just let it go." He started to flounce out of the room, but Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto his lap.

"I want prawn crackers and crispy aubergine bao from Ping Pong." Harry kissed the pout from Draco's lips. "If you're nice, I'll let you have some of the aubergine bao."

"If you don't share it, you'll end up the size of Goyle. It's a sharing dish, Potter," Draco laughed and smacked Harry's shoulder. "Now let me up."

When Draco stood, he turned when he heard a knock on the window. "Now who in the name of Merlin's pants is Owling us at half seven in the morning?"

Harry looked over, recognizing the owl and stifled a groan. "No clue, must be work. I'll get it." He hurried to the window and took the note before the tawny owl even came inside, stuffing it into his pocket without a giving it a glance. Harry grabbed a treat from the bowl near the window and gave it to the bird before practically shoving the exhausted creature back out the window.

"You're in a hurry to get rid of that bird." Draco pointed to Harry's pocket and the crumpled parchment. "Are you going to even look at it? It could be important."

"It's uh…probably just from Kingsley's temp." Harry gave a laugh he hoped didn't sound as nervous as he was. "His secretary is on holiday and the bint that's filling in seems to think every correspondence out of Kingsley's office is urgent. I'll have a word with him when I get into the office."

Draco nodded, but the purse of Draco's mouth left Harry worried he wasn't really convinced.

"You go on up to bed," Harry went on quickly. "I'll just finish getting ready and head on out." He kissed Draco absently on the cheek as he hurried him up the stairs.

Once Harry was sure Draco had gone on into their room, he knelt at the hearth and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames. "Charlie Weasley, Dragon compound, Romania," Harry said as softly as he could.

A moment later Charlie's head popped into the flames. "You absolute arse," Harry hissed. "Didn't I tell you not to send any correspondence to the flat? What if Draco had gotten this?" Harry pulled the parchment from his pocket and shook it towards the fire.

Charlie groaned. "Sorry, got a bit excited and forgot. How much trouble are you in?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Lucky for you I was still here and grabbed it before Draco. Now for the love of Merlin, I'll talk to you when I'm at the office and don't send any more notes here, you berk!"

Harry closed the Floo connection on Charlie's apology, unaware Draco had heard the last bit of the conversation from the top of the stairs.

**@@**

At the Ministry, Harry hurried to his office and closed the door. Moving to the fireplace, he knelt and called out Charlie Weasley's address.

Harry began shouting before Charlie'd even said hello. "Are you completely insane? At this rate, the surprise will be over before it even happens! Now what was so damn important that you sent an Owl to my house?"

"And good morning to you, Harry." Charlie grinned. "Give a man a break here. I thought your Healer husband would be gone already." He held up his hands in supplication. "Sorry! Did you at least read the note before you called twice to rip me a new one?"

Harry sat back on his heels. "No, sorry. I was so worried about Draco finding out, I didn't even look." He winced and scratched his head. "Well, are you going to tell me or are you seriously going to make me pull it out and read it?"

Charlie gave a deep, belly-laugh. "Oh that's what I love about you, little brother. Cut right to the chase." He paused, giving Harry a long look. "I really should make you read it, but I won't. Everything is set. I've cleared it with the owner of the compound and we've got it all set."

Harry whooped out a laugh. "That's perfect, Charlie. Is this Saturday still good? I'm not sure I can keep it a secret longer than a day."

Charlie nodded. "Sure is. I'll send a Portkey out tomorrow. And yes, I'll remember to send it to the office. Unless something changes, I'll see you Saturday."

"Thanks again for everything, Charlie." Harry grinned and closed the connection.

He was so excited he could barely keep his mind on his work. The day dragged and Harry had to force himself to not bolt out the door before quitting time.

**@@**

Back in their flat, Draco paced. He'd spent the better part of the day pacing. After overhearing Harry's conversation, he'd tried to get some sleep. Tried being the key word. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd hear Harry laughing with some unidentified man. After tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, Draco rose. And paced.

When the Floo flared and Harry stepped out, Draco was leaning back stiffly in one of their wing-backed chairs, arms crossed on his chest, foot jiggling.

Harry sniffed the air. "I don't smell crispy prawns. Dinner not here yet?"

Draco didn't move or respond.

Harry tilted his head and looked at Draco. "Everything okay?" A sneaking suspicion began to grow in his chest.

When Draco still didn't more or respond, Harry walked over and sat on the foot stool in front of Draco's chair. "Draco," Harry said, placing a hand on Draco's knee, "you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

"Why don't you tell me, Mister you're lucky I got the Owl before Draco did."

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, cursing Charlie under his breath. "You heard."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Draco's voice was low and tense. "How about 'I'm sorry I'm a wanker' or maybe 'I have something to tell you'? Want to try either of those?" He pushed Harry's hand off his knee.

"You don't understand," Harry said quickly. "Draco, listen."

"I don't understand. You're damn right I don't understand," Draco's voice wavered as he fought for control. "What happened to I'll always love you, Draco?"

"Of course I love you," Harry protested. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh I don't know," Draco growled. "Maybe the fact you're getting mysterious Owls I'm not allowed to see. Or perhaps the fact you're having a clandestine affair with some wizard." He stood and started to leave the room.

Harry grabbed Draco by the arm. "You complete idiot. Sit down."

Draco refused, shoving Harry's hand away, crossing his arms again.

"Please," Harry asked quietly. When Draco didn't move, Harry sighed.

"Fine, we'll do this standing. First of all, there is no clandestine affair. Who uses that word anyway?" Harry shook his head. "I'd ask you if you trust me, but I'm pretty sure I know what the answer would be right now."

Draco glared. "You think you're entitled to my trust right now?"

"You're going to feel like a right tit in a minute here." Draco's eyes narrowed and Harry shook his head. "Fine. What's the one thing you've always wanted to do, Draco?"

"That's an asinine question." Draco threw his hands in the air. "Seriously? Fine. When I was five, I wanted to be Master and Ruler of the Universe, what's that got to do with anything?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"Not even close." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled parchment. He handed it to Draco. "Take it," he said, "I've nothing to hide."

Draco took the paper with a trembling hand. He opened it and read. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Draco said, finally lifting his eyes to Harry's and blinking at tears.

Harry shrugged. "Nope, not kidding. Saturday you and I will Portkey to Romania where Charlie has arranged for you to ride on a Norwegian Ridgeback." He took the parchment from Draco's hand, dropping it to the floor and pulled him in close. "I'd never hurt you, Draco, and I'd never cheat on you." Harry kissed Draco's cheek. "Happy birthday, by the way."

Draco looked into Harry's eyes, still visibly stunned. "I can't believe you. How could you possibly know I've always wanted to ride a dragon."

Harry grinned. "Now who's kidding? You're the one who told me."

Draco's brow furrowed. "I never. I…I've never told anyone."

"You did. Years ago. Might have been one of the first times we slept together. Remember? We talked half the night away. You were nearly asleep and you curled against me and whispered that you'd always been jealous that I'd ridden a dragon…twice. That you'd always wanted to do that." He pressed his hand against Draco's cheek. "Now do you remember?"

"I thought you were asleep. I'd never have admitted it if I'd known you were awake. Plus, that was years ago. How can you even remember that?"

Harry smiled at the red that dotted Draco's cheeks. "I remember everything you've ever told me, Draco. The good stuff and the bad. I knew that night that one day I'd make your dream come true. It took some serious wrangling to do it, not to mention tossing my name around a bit, but there you are."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, pressing his cheek to Harry's. "I knew there was good reason I kept you around all these years." He tried to sound flippant but wasn't at all successful in hiding the true emotion from his voice.

Harry gave wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him tight. "Are you kidding? You were ready to hex me when I got home tonight."

Draco huffed. When he leaned back, he seemed to have his wayward emotions under control. "Don't kid yourself, Potter. If I'd been really angry, your clothes would have been on fire in the middle of the sitting room floor." He pretended thoughtfulness for a moment. "Although, considering the state of your wardrobe, I should burn them on principle alone."

Harry rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around Draco's waist and pulling him back in against his chest. "Oh, shut up." He grinned. "And order me my crispy prawns."

#drarry fic #gift for llap115 #happy birthday #draco x harry #flangst #drarry fic mine #gift fic #draco malfoy #harry potter

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ladyknightleyisundercover · 6 years

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Hello! I love the way you write the Weasley dynamic, your family fics really are so lovely, so thank you for writing them! I'll read anything you write but I'd really love it if you were to write something about Arthur and Percy, post-war, like them reconciling? It's such an interesting relationship and I'd love to see your interpretation of it :)

Thank you so much, you’re very kind :) I hope this nonsense meets with your approval! [read on AO3]

“Who’sthat coming now?”

It’s sortof a rhetorical question: everyone they’re expecting for Sunday lunch hasalready arrived, barring Percy and Audrey. And, given that The Burrow hassecurity wards which prevent anyone who isn’t on a pre-approved list crossingthe boundary (courtesy of some family connections to the Auror Department), itcould only really be the two of them.

Well,three, technically. Audrey is carrying baby Molly, who is wrapped up in ahand-knitted blanket (courtesy of her namesake), and beams at them as she walksup the garden path. She looks the picture of maternal bliss, even more so whenshe’s implored to take a seat, no, honestly, right there, and would she like adrink? Something to snack on? Would she like to put her feet up, rest a while?Everyone else will look after her gorgeous daughter for her, it’s fine (clearlythe namesake wins this battle, taking baby Molly from her and immediatelysnuggling her into her arms with a long-practised sigh of contentment).

“I said, who’s that?” George repeats, undeterredby the lack of enthusiasm for his set up. “Is it Percy, or is it a packhorse?”

If hiswife’s load is simply the baby, Percy has: two enormous, overstuffed bags, outof the top of one is flowing several spare babygrows; a carrycot; two towels; achanging mat; a packet of nappies; three stuffed animals; two rattles; whatappears to be some kind of mobile, which he’s slung around his neck like it’s apiece of avant-garde jewellery; another handknitted blanket; a muslin clothover his shoulder, and Audrey’s handbag.

Red facedand sweating, he deposits all of this on the kitchen table. It takes a while,and his brothers watch in grave silence as he does it. When everything is linedup, he nods in satisfaction and turns back to them. “Ah, Harry!” he says,spotting him among the sea of gingers. “Just the man. Did you manage to getthat report to Kingsley on Friday?”

“You’ve…um…you’vegot…” Harry gestures to his own left shoulder, and Percy mirrors him.

“Ah, yes,”he says, the pink flush on his cheeks intensifying. “I was wondering where thatone had got to.” He removes the muslin cloth and sets it down on top of one ofthe overstuffed bags, which immediately topples over, spilling its entirecontents of baby paraphernalia all over the kitchen floor. There’s a cough, whichmight be a laugh, from Charlie, and Percy mutters something which just might bea curse word very quietly.

He flickshis wand at it, and everything flies back inside—neatly folded—and the bagrights itself. “So, Harry,” he says, dusting down his trousers. “That report?Only, the Minister wanted to be able to give a full and frank report to thePeruvian embassy by Tuesday, which will only be possible if—”

“I’msorry, are you planning on moving in?” Ron asks, staring at the pile now coveringthe kitchen table in horrified fascination.

“Of coursenot,” Percy says stiffly. “I just like to be prepared. As I was saying, by Tuesday,and then he wants to arrange a meeting with—”

“For what,the apocalypse?” asks George.

Percytakes a deep breath. “For any eventuality,” he says, teeth clearly gritted.“Now, the report must—”

“Yes, Igot it to him,” Harry says quickly. “Everything’s all sorted, don’t you worry. So…anyonesee the match yesterday? How ’bout them Tornados?!”

Whateveranyone might have thought about the Tornados is lost as one of the bags—the onethat hadn’t fallen on the floor—suddenly starts moving from side to side, withwhat sounds like muffled groaning coming from within. “Uh…guys…” says Charlie,who was closest. “Anyone checked on the Ghoul lately?”

“Bagsie Iget to use the highly trained Auror as a shield!” George says, pushing Ron infront of him.

“Oi, Harry’sone as well, you know!” he says indignantly.

“You’re onyour own there, mate,” says Harry, eying the bag—which is slowly moving itselfto the edge of the table—with some alarm.

“Yes, andbesides, I’m less scared of what Hermione’d do to me if I injured you in theline of duty than what Ginny’d do if I injured him in the line of duty,” explainsGeorge.

“That’s…prettyreasonable,” puts in Charlie, eying the two of them (and looking like he’sgetting ready to dive into the pantry if the bag does start heading in hisdirection).

Percy digsinside the bag, extracts what is apparently some musical, moving toy (“Who didthey get to do the singing, Auntie Muriel?” asks George) and switches it off. Hisbrothers silently watch as he stuffs it back inside the bag (along with threeextra babygrows and two books on raising a newborn which had to come out tomake room for it).

That done,he dusts off his hands, and turns back to Harry. “So. The Peruvian delegation. The Minister and I have discussedthis, and we agree that—”

“That’sit,” Bill says, finally getting to his feet. “We’re staging an intervention.”

“Excellentidea,” says Ron, and he and Charlie grab one of Percy’s arms each and push himinto the chair Bill has just vacated.

“Percy,old chap,” says Bill. “Look.” Hegestures to the small mountain of stuff Percy has placed on the table. “Really look at all of this.”

“Yes,”Percy says, with as much dignity as a man can muster when two of his brothersare pinning him down in a chair. “I see. There are one or two things there. However,as a father yourself, I’m sure you of all people understand that it isnecessary to always be prepared for any eventuality, especially when—”

“Get himup, lads,” Bill says, then gestures for Ron and Charlie to frogmarch him overto the window. “Look.”

Out in thegarden, the Weasley women are still sitting with Audrey and baby Molly. “Lookat my wife,” Bill continues. He has his back to George, but still manages tosense that he has opened his mouth at this. “Don’t. Now, on her lap you will see a child. Our child.” Fleurdoes, it is true, have a firm grip on Victoire, who is absolutely fascinated bythe new toy that is her baby cousin. “You will note that, by her feet, there isa bag.” This, too, is true. “A bag that is at least half the size of that onethere.”

“A third,I’d say,” Ron puts in.

“In thatbag,” Bill says, “there is one spare of everything our daughter wearing.”

“And Mr Flamey,”adds Charlie.

“Who?”asks George.

“Dragon,”says Charlie. “She was showing me, before you got here.”

“Ah.”

“And MrFlamey the stuffed dragon,” Bill allows. “Now, that is more than I would’vecarried around in my young, unwed days, to be sure. It is not, however, halfthe contents of our house. We have a toddler: she is capable of running veryfast when she wants to, usually into enormous messes. Molly, delightful as she is,cannot even sit up on her own accord. We are all here for Sunday lunch. Atmost, we will be here for four hours. Why is it, therefore, that you need tobring so much stuff that you could feasibly survive for six months on the moonwith no other human contact?”

Percy glares.“Each item has a specific purpose!”

“And theyare?”

“Would youlike me to go alphabetically, or strategically?”

They’reinterrupted, then, by the arrival of Arthur.

“Ah, helloboys,” he says, surveying the scene. “What’s going on here, then?” His cheerfultone is unchanging, but his sons start shifting around awkwardly anyway.

“We’restaging an intervention,” says George as Ron and Charlie quickly drop Percy’s arms.

“Anintervention! Excellent. Into what?” their father asks, smiling politely.

“This!”say at least four voices, gesturing at the kitchen table.

“Oh, Isee,” he says, affecting to have only just seen the enormous pile. “What isthis all for then?”

Percyturns puce. Harry makes himself recite the Aurors Code of Practise, backwards,to keep his face poker straight, but Percy’s brothers are not that kind, andlaughter rings out through the kitchen.

“Seriously, Perce,” says George. “Havesome faith in yourself. At most, you’d only get through three babygrows in anhour, and that’s if we have a repeat of The Incident.”

“What’sThe Incident?”

“The onewhere I was babysitting Vic when she was six months old, and I had to changeher, only there wasn’t any spare clothes I could find, so I had to wrap her in myshirt, but then—”

“I really don’tthink we need to hear this story again, especially when we’re going to beeating in about half an hour.”

“How come I haven’t heard this story?! I’m herfather!”

“Okay, butdid Audrey ask you to bring all of this?”

“No,really, what’s The Incident? I think I have a right to know”

“…becausewhen she came to Victoire’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago, I saw her—shehad a bag smaller than the one Fleur’s got now, and I don’t think—”

“TheIncident, guys!”

“Fatherhood,”Percy shouts, “is a very important job and I am going to do it right! And if that means beingoverprepared, then it means being overprepared! If I say we need all of this,we need all of this! And you can all…be quiet!”

Everyoneis immediately quiet. This allows for Audrey’s voice to drift through thewindow, talking about how happy and lucky she feels that, so far, everythinghas been so straightforward, and that Molly is such a good, easy baby.

Arthur looksat the dark circles under his son’s eyes. He sees his jumper, with itssuspicious stain on the left side. He recalls how, at work, Percy’s once plain,totally unadorned office now has photos of baby Molly on every possible surface.And he takes in the mountain of stuffthat is currently all over his kitchen table.

“Boys,” hesays, “go out there and ask your mother if she needs anything done for dinner. Ithink we must be nearly ready to think about serving up.” His tone is cheerfuland upbeat still, but there is a firmness to it which makes everyone obey, andthey shuffle out of the kitchen.

“Not you, Percy,” he adds quietly. “Come on,”he says, once they’re gone. He picks up two of the bags and tries not to winceat their weight. “Pick this lot up and follow me.” Even with his father’s help,Percy’s still staggering under all the items, but he dutifully follows hisfather round the side of the garden to his shed.

“Come on,”Arthur says, seeing Percy hesitate. He pushes open the door and gestures to himto follow him inside.

The shedhas always been Dad’s space, all of the Weasley children knew that almost frombirth. You did not go inside without express permission—and once you were inside,no matter how tempted you were, you did not touch anything. As far back as any of them could remember, every singleshelf was covered with incredibly tempting stuff—mostlymuggle items, a few of them useful, many of them not. From his prized possession(a working car battery) to the tiniest trinkets, everything had its place.

And it wasn’tjust Dad’s junk, either—genuinely useful things (the toilet plunger, forty-sixdifferent screwdrivers, instruction manuals for devices long broken, theChristmas decorations) were kept in there, but woe betide anyone who went ineven in the most genuine emergency to get something without permission. Theshed was overstuffed (magic, Percy allowed, probably helped here) and everysurface was always covered with something, but Dad could always lay his hands onthe most esoteric items in a heartbeat.

Today isno different, except for the fact that one shelf, on the far wall, iscompletely empty. In this always packed room, it stands out like a sore thumb. “Nowthen,” says Dad, “I’ve cleared a space.” He nods towards the empty shelf as thoughit’s perfectly normal, and not the first time in Percy’s life he’s seen the barewood.

“What for?”

“I assumeyou have doubles of everything at home?” Dad asks, gesturing towards Percy’s manybags.

He nods.

“Excellent,”Dad says, smiling. “So, what I suggest is that you leave everything here. Thatway, whenever you come here, you don’t have to worry about packing everythingup, you can just bring the baby and go. You don’t need to worry about bringing thekitchen sink, eh? All your bits and bobs already here, and a load of your mind,yes?”

“But…”

“Come on,look, I’ve cleared you a shelf! Let’s see, if we put that carrycot at the farend, then we can stack some of the smaller items inside of it. How does thatsound?”

“Thatsounds…good,” Percy says. He gives his father a tentative smile. “And…andmaybe just three changes of outfit will be enough to keep here. I’ll take therest back with me.”

“Bettermake it four, just to be on the safe side,” Dad says cheerfully.

They setto, getting everything stacked up on the shelf and leaving a small pile over bythe door for Percy to take back home with him. It’s the work of mere moments,and everything is neatly placed almost before he realises. The shelf is fullagain, only this time with baby things, and not hardware.

“Excellent,”Dad says, slapping him on the back. “All done. Now, d’you reckon we can go andchivvy the others into producing some food? I’m quite hungry after all that.”

“Okaythen,” Percy says. “Wait…Dad…the shelf…how did…?”

“Oh, Icleared it off when I say you coming,” says Dad. “I thought you might need aspace for little Molly’s stuff, so I got it ready for you. What was it yousaid? Being a good father is about being prepared, right?”

“Dad…”Percy says, sounding a little choked up. “You don’t need to take lessons from anyone on being a good father, least ofall me.”

“Who saidanything about any lessons?” Dad says mildly. “It’s just being practical. Andprepared.”

“Two keyDad skills,” Percy acknowledges.

“Well,yes,” says Arthur. “And ones you have in spades! Isn’t little Molly lucky?”

Percygrins. “She is,” he says. He steers his Dad towards the door. “Me, too.”

#hpfic #weasley family #weasleys galore #my writing #idk how to tag this #idk if its any good either but i wanted to distract myself this afternoon and i had this lovely prompt from ages back so thank you thank you #and this seemed appropriate given that it's father's day #and i challenge anyone to come up with a greater fictional dad than arthur weasley

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romionesecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Not the Christmas He Expected

This one’s for you, @vondrakenhof. It was my first time writing these two, but I had a fun time doing it. Hope you enjoy!

—x—

This wasn’t how Ron imagined his Christmas break going.

For starters, Ron hadn’t thought he would get a Christmas break at all. As a trainee in the Auror Academy, he knew was just about as low as you could go on the totem poll. He would have been happy to get Christmas dinner off–would have considered himself lucky if he got all of Christmas Day off. Instead, Kingsley had insisted that all of the trainees fresh from Hogwarts get the week from Christmas Day to New Year’s Day off. Something about paying back a little of the innocence was stolen from them.

Normally, Ron would turn up his freckled nose at such blatant special treatment. But this was special treatment that he deserved. He had actually earned this privilege, and the scars that wound across his pale skin proved it. This wasn’t some consolation prize or a “bonus” of being a friend of Harry Potter.

In the end, neither Harry nor Ron had protested much. Their classmates deserved this break, too, and they didn’t want to ruin it for them. And, as the duo reminded Kingsley on their way out, should any of the remaining Death Eaters show their ugly faces, he knew where to reach them.

So, by all rights, Ron should have been ecstatic.

It was a certain wild-maned brunette in his life that had thrown him off kilter.

Everyone had been gathered in the living room, sipping on tea and hot chocolate and just enjoying having the whole family gathered. It was late that Christmas evening. Presents had been long since opened and dinner had been put away. But it had also been years since the last all the Weasley siblings had made it to Christmas. Both Bill and Charlie had been abroad while Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had been in Hogwarts. Then Percy had to go be an absolute arse. And then last year…well. It was good to have everyone here now.

Then, without warning, Hermione had appeared, trunk and Crookshanks in tow, in the fireplace. There were a tense few seconds where everyone’s hands went to their wands, but it passed soon enough as everyone recognized their late night guest.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” she greeted them. Crookshanks leapt out of her arms and vanished to wherever it was the blasted beast liked to go when he was here. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I really did mean to get here sooner, but I just couldn’t find a good opening to leave my family.”

Ron and Harry immediately shared a glance. Translation: her parents didn’t want her to leave at all, and she had only just won the argument. The Grangers had been more reluctant than ever to let their daughter slip back into the magical world since their return from Australia. It had been a constant source of tension in their relationship lately, but Ron had thought that everything had been settled when Hermione left for Hogwarts this year.

Apparently not.

“Anyway, I know it’s late, but I have all of your Christmas gifts!” With a swish of her wand, said pile of book-shaped gifts sailed out of Hermione’s trunk and towards their expected recipients.

“Wonder what this could be,” Harry drawled, having been the first to catch his. “Hey, Ron, wanna bet we’ve all gotten a copy of Hogwarts: A History?”

“Nah, mate. It’s a new hat for sure. Hermione had so much fun knitting during her fourth year that she decided she wanted to join Mum in the yearly tradition,” Ron shot back. He set his mug of cocoa down on the mantel so he could hold his present and draw Hermione in for a hug. She immediately tucked herself under his chin and squeezed him hard. “Your presents are under the tree, too. Mum and Dad headed up to bed a couple hours ago, but we were all planning to be down here for a while yet. Yeah, guys?”

Varying levels of agreement rang out, and everybody settled down once more to open presents. Of course, everyone had gotten books, but they were–thankfully–not copies Hogwarts: A History, signed or otherwise. Both Bill and Fleur had gotten curse-breaking themed books, for example. Ginny had grinned when she peeled off her wrapping to reveal Women in Quidditch with Gwenog Jones and a woman he suspected had been the Irish keeper at one point decorating the cover. Ron himself was now a proud owner of a The Semi-Closed Openings in Action, a muggle chess book. A large bag of Honeyduke’s finest milk chocolate had also found its way into his lap while everyone was busy opening their presents–another form of special attention that Ron was perfectly okay with.

With presents opened once more, no one made any indication of leaving. Instead warming charms were cast on abandoned drinks, and the discussion of everyone’s first interaction with a Weasley Wizard Wheezes’ product picked back up again. Very few people had heard Hermione’s story about the punching telescope, it turned out, and even Percy chuckled at the retelling.

After a while, it became clear that Hermione’s mind was elsewhere. For one, she had pretty much stopped participating in the conversation. She was even silent when everyone was describing their first impressions of Trelawney. When everyone else laughed Hermione would follow along, but that’s all it was. As if she was reacting to the sound of laughter itself instead of the cause. The most tell-tale sign that something was wrong, however, was that she was she was running her fingers up and down the vine-like patterns on her wand. It was a habit that had started after her wand was finally returned to her–one that only surfaced when she was particularly anxious.

Harry had started sending worried glances to him sometime earlier, but by now even Ginny looked concerned. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

“I never got you a drink, ‘Mione!” Ron interjected the moment there was a break in the conversation. He stood and helped a slightly bewildered Hermione to her feet. “Blimey, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come look at Mum’s tea collection with me, and I’ll get you taken care of.”

He knew Hermione would have asked for a simple black tea with one sugar and a splash of milk. More importantly, Hermione knew that Ron knew. The confusion lifted from her brow, and she followed him towards the kitchen, saying, “Actually that sounds delightful, Ron, thank you.”

Once they were safely tucked out of sight, Ron cast a Muffliato in the general direction of the living room. He leaned up against counter, still holding one of Hermione’s hands, and began to stroke the back of it with his thumb.

“All right, Hermione, spill. What’s going on?”

“I haven’t done any of my extra assignments!” she wailed immediately. Ron blinked, and she pulled her hand from his grasp so she could begin stroking the sides of her wand once more, “I promised Professor Flitwick and Professor Tiananmen and Prof-Headmistress McGonagall are giving me extra lessons, and I had revision work that I was to complete over the break, and now we’ve only a week left and I haven’t even started!”

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your break, Hermione,” Ron began. Merlin’s left sock, a Hermione that was worked up about her studies was not going to be easy to calm down. “Harry and I put our homework off every summer, and we always got it done in time.”

“No, Ronald, I haven’t been procrastinating, I haven’t been allowed to do my revisions!” Hermione snapped. Sparks shot from the tip of her wand, mirroring her agitation. “I thought if I just didn’t do any magic in front of them, they would relax, but anytime I so much as picked up one of my textbooks Mum would leave the room and Dad would just shake his head at me like he was disappointed and I-I just..oh Ron is it going to be like this forever?”

Ron’s stomach dropped. Wordlessly he opened his arms, and Hermione didn’t hesitate before collapsing on his chest. This was much worse than he thought it was. This was almost at a Dursley level of problematic. He rubbed circles on her back as he considered the best way to help. The Grangers probably wouldn’t take well to another eighteen year old telling them how to live their lives, but perhaps if his parents had lunch with them of something? He suggested this to Hermione who shrugged.

Well, there wasn’t much they could do on that front right now, anyway.

“How about I take you to Harry and I’s apartment so you can work in peace and quiet?” Ron suggested, still rubbing comforting circles up and down Hermione’s back. “I think this lot will be up for a while yet.”

Hermione pulled back from Ron’s chest and swiped at her eyes. She took a couple of calming breaths and then nodded. “That would be good. I think I’ll feel better if I could at least outline them all.”

“That’s settled then,” Ron said, “Let’s get your trunk and head over.”

—x—

It hadn’t taken Hermione long to set to work. She summoned the books she needed, grabbed her quill, ink, and parchment, and then plopped down on the loveseat. Since he had no homework to do–a fact he was forever thankful for–Ron had cracked open his new book to read beside Hermione instead. It was pretty good. There were definitely a couple of suggestions that he would be using in his next match.

And while Ron might have imagined a more romantic Christmas evening with Hermione, there was something enjoyable about this, too. It was probably the familiarity of it. More evenings than he could count had passed with he, Harry, and Hermione quietly pouring over books together. Whether they were looking for a forbidden potion, the description of the philosopher’s stone, or Hermione had actually convinced them to drag out their textbooks for a change, it didn’t matter. So his evening might have passed without any enchanted mistletoe, but Hermione was snuggled up under his arm as he read which was a win in his book.

He took the moment to observe his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. There was a perfectly good coffee table in front of them, but Hermione had pulled her essay into her lap to write instead. She’d pulled her feet up under her instead of letting them dangle over the edge, which he found cute for a reason he couldn’t identify. An ink pot hung in the air just to her right, ready for use at a moment’s notice. Her usually wild mane was pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, and she worried her lip as she wrote.

None of it was a particularly rare sight, but it still…Ron’s chest just felt too full looking at her. Like his lungs simply wouldn’t expand enough, couldn’t draw in enough air. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling by any means. He just felt content.

Ron peaked over Hermione’s shoulder to the essay she was scribbling frantically to see how she was doing. She had quickly moved from “outlining” her essays to full out writing them, and her first page was almost full. He scanned it quickly, recognizing enough spells and names to realize that it was a Defense Against the Dark Arts paper. Just as he was about to return to his own reading, a sentence made him frown.

“In situations when one is outnumbered, quick-paced reaction times might benefit the user more than a shield charm as there are several hexes a simple Protego will be unable to deflect. The unforgivable curses are, of course, a prime example.”

Well, that was true enough, Ron supposed. But that was more of a delay tactic. Dodging spells for eternity would never work without an exit strategy. It had mostly worked for them because even though they were outnumbered, they were surrounded by enough chaos that…actually there was a lot wrong with Hermione’s argument. Should he say something? There was a good chance that Hermione’s textbook hadn’t covered all that he had learned in the first bit of Auror training. But Ron knew that Hermione hated making a claim without a textual source to back it up.

My Auror texts! Ron realized, only just curbing the urge to do a victorious fist-pump. They weren’t her class textbook, but maybe if Hermione could see the points that he was making came from a book..? He started to disentangle himself from Hermione and stand up. Before he could take a step towards his bedroom, a small hand shot out and wrapped around his. Startled, Ron half-thought Hermione wouldn’t even notice that he’d gotten up, he looked back to see his girlfriend staring at him with a heart-wrenching expression on her face.

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I know I’m being terrible company, and a terrible girlfriend, and-and I really do want to spend time with you, really! But it’s just–I have so much work to do, and it’s my NEWT year. And, and even if I have to study, I feel much more relaxed when you’re next to me. So, if it’s not too much trouble could you–would you…?”

“Woah, woah there, ‘Mione.” Ron carefully sat back down on the edge of the couch as to not get sucked back in. “I was just reading over your essay, and thought that I have a book that might help in my room.”

Hermione’s lips rounded into a small “o” of surprise, then she blushed so red she could almost put him to shame. Ron chucked quietly, and pulled her into a side hug so as to not crush the parchment between them.

“So no more of that ‘being a terrible girlfriend’ nonsense, alright? You were one of my best mates when you were upset that end of year exams were canceled. I fancied you even when you were nagging me about study schedules. I’ll still love you when you when you study now. S’not even a question.” Ron pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. “‘Kay?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed quietly. She had burrowed her face into Ron’s chest in what he guessed was a move to hide her blushing face. Cute. He kissed her head again for good measure and stood up.

“Be right back.”

As Ron had promised, he was back in no time at all with several of the beginner texts that he had received. Hermione’s eyes scanned the spines of the books he carried as he approached–eyebrows raising slightly with each title scanned: Practical Defense, Defense as an Offense, The Defensive Properties of a Single Poppy (and 1000 other common objects), and Defense for Two.

“So,” Ron began, somewhat unsure how to go about this. He sat down once more and stacked the books on the coffee table in front of them to buy some time. “I, um, I noticed that you mentioned that a shield spell was ineffective against some curses–”

“Which it is,” Hermione interrupted. Her eyes were narrowed as she considered him, not angrily, but as if she was trying to figure out where he was going with this.

“Which it is,” Ron agreed. Grabbing the thickest text, he scanned the table of contents before flipping to the designated page, “But there are–there are other defensive options.” He indicated the title of the chapter he had opened to before continuing. “Transfiguration, for one, is a good bet. Protego won’t defend against Avada Kedavra, but a transfigure a rock into a literal shield? That could work.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “And I’m guessing you have a reason that physically dodging won’t work.”

“I mean, dodging does work. We know it does from experience,” Ron grabbed Practical Defense and flipped it to a dog eared page. A single line on the page was italicized and Ron himself had underlined it twice, “ ‘Do not allow your defensive tactic to become your downfall.’ Basically it’s saying there’s no one-size fits all defensive strategy. Being outnumbered in an open field is completely different from being outnumbered in an alley.”

“So dodging spells in an open field? Totally feasible in most situations. In an alley there’s only so many spaces you can go. If you’re really outnumbered you’re going to get hit eventually, so the first priority really needs to be getting the fuck out of there or–or blasting a wall open to get some space and create a distraction or something like that.”

“And when you’re outnumbered with a teammate? What if you and your partner both dodge spells right into each other? What if you manage to dodge spell and then it blindsides your partner because you move?”

“Um, so really there are several alternatives to a shield spell, but I wouldn’t suggest physical dodging as an only alternative,” Ron finished.

Which was what Hermione’s entire essay had been based off of so far. If Hermione’s pursed lips meant anything, she had probably come to the same conclusion herself. Damn. Ron had wanted to help her out, and instead made more work for her. Job well fucking done.

But maybe…

“If you want, I can maybe correct your paper? Add some suggestions like you used to?” Rewrite was more like it. “ ‘Bout time I returned the favor. And I promise to to only write what I can back up with a text book. What do you say, Hermione?”

“You’re offering to write my Defense Against the Dark Arts paper?” she asked, incredulous.

“It wouldn’t be completely rewritt–” A shrewd look from Hermione stopped that sentence in its tracks, causing Ron to shrug sheepishly instead. “Yeah. I mean you might have to touch it up a bit later, but I figure it should be easier if the bulk of the content is there.”

Ron had approximately no notice before Hermione had launched herself at him in a manner very reminiscent of their first kiss. Unlike then, however, there was no battle that required their attention.

All thoughts of tactics and strategy slid out of his mind as Hermione’s tongue slid into his mouth. Fuck Ron had missed this. He had missed being able to slide his hands into her hair to pull her closer. He had missed the way it felt when he took her bottom lip into his mouth, and he had really missed the noise she always made when he did.

Since Hermione had to straddle him to reach his mouth as he sat, Ron knew the second that Hermione started to twirl her hips in tight little circles above his dick, drastically reducing the amount of blood flowing to his head. With that, any chance of slowing down and returning to their studies flew out the window. It had been too long. Their lips slid against each other with renewed fervor as their pent-up desire began to overwhelm them.

Hermione pulled back for air, and Ron took the opportunity to latch onto the skin just beneath her jawline. A breathy moan escaped her as he continued his attentions, and Ron felt her nails digging into his shoulder through his new maroon sweater. The amount of blood flowing to his brain had been drastically reduced, and if Hermione’s heady pants were anything to go by she was feeling a little light-headed as well.

He needed to feel more of her skin against him, he decided. Much, much more skin and much, much less clothing. Kissing a path back up from her neck to her mouth, Ron disentangled his hands from Hermione’s hair to slide down the sides of her sweater. His fingers had just

“Heading home to study my ass.” Harry’s voice sounded from the fireplace. “Ugh, guys, this is not what I wanted to come home to.”

Hermione scrambled off of him as quickly as physically possible, almost falling off the couch in the process. Ron threw his head against the arm of the couch and groaned. The mood had been lost and he knew it. His dick didn’t unfortunately, and there would probably be several uncomfortable minutes before he had calmed down.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Ron called to his roommate’s retreating back.

“You could have gone to your room!” Harry called right back. The sound of his door slamming rather pointedly informed them that Harry had disappeared inside his room where he couldn’t see what they got up to any longer.

Too little too late. Ron groaned again, rubbing his face discontentedly. Fuck Harry. They sat like that, on opposite sides of the couch, for several minutes. When he looked up, Hermione’s cheeks were still bright red.

“If you couldn’t tell,” she said quietly, “I would really appreciate your help with my essay.”

And even though he was frustrated, a small smile played on the corner of his lips. Ron sat up with a sigh, and placed a chaste kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“Might as well. S’not like I’m going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon, anyway.”

Hermione’s blush returned with a vengeance.

—x—

“I think I’m done with homework for the night,” Hermione announced as he was putting the final touches on her closing paragraph.

Three previously blank pieces of parchment rested in front of Ron’s still moving hand. He had bolstered Hermione’s argument quite well, if he did say so himself. Hermione, who always had been a faster writer than him, had filled four pieces of parchment for for her Transfiguration essay. Ron placed his last period with a bit more force than necessary and dropped his quill triumphantly. He rubbed the web between his thumb and pointer finger as he stood, certain that this was one of the best essays he had ever written.

“Yeah, I think this is a good place to stop,” Ron agreed as he stretched his back. He was too tall to be hunched over the table for that long comfortably, “You finish your transfiguration essay?”

“Just about,” she replied. There was a slight droop to her eyelids that spoke to the late–er–early hour, but she no longer resembled a tightly coiled spring. “I just have to flesh out a few rebuttal paragraphs, and then it should be done.”

“That’ll be easy enough to wrap up,” he said, before yawning. Yep, it was definitely time to turn in. “Well, it might be better if you camped out here for the night. Ginny’s probably already sound asleep in her room, and it would be a bit of a hassle to set up the cot without waking her up. I can transfigure a mean mattress, though, so you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Hermione considered this quietly. She looked between Ron and the couch a few times then drew her lip into her mouth and begin to worry it with her teeth.

“Can’t I, um, I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you if you wouldn’t,” she finally said, looking determinedly at the the ground.

Ron blinked, certain he had misheard her. “With me, are you sure?”

“Only if you’re okay with it!” she insisted.

Like he would have argued. There were very few things Ron could think of that were better than sharing a bed with Hermione. “Alright. Let me just grab an extra pillow.”

Once again, Hermione’s hand clasped around his, preventing him from going anywhere.

“We don’t have to go to sleep right away,” Hermione suggested quietly, “And I can transfigure something if I need it later.”

So, it wasn’t the Christmas Ron expected. They hadn’t gone for a stroll in the snow, and he had ended up writing an essay of all things. But as Ron looked down at Hermione’s blushing face, he decided it had still ended up being a pretty good one.

#romione #romionesecretsanta #gifts17 #fic #vondrakenhof

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ourtown-rp-blog · 7 years

Photo

ALL THANKSGIVING TRIPS ARE OFFICIALLY CANCELED! ALL CURRENT INTERACTIONS SHOULD STOP NOW!

This is an emergency alert! Cotton Plant, Arkansas is officially on lockdown. A massive storm has just swept through the town, and everyone must stay put, exactly where they are until further notice. Strong winds have knocked over a near by cell tower, so you’ll notice that your cell phone is not currently working, but don’t worry, no matter where you are, there is an emergency supply kit.

Supply kits include, sleeping bags, pillows, blankets, water bottles, first aid kits, flashlights, and enough food to last until the lockdown is over. When the storm hit, residence of the town ran to the closest building to take shelter, so if your character is in a place they would not normally go, that’s okay. There will be no leaving these locations until further stated.

This post applies to all players. Everyone will be involved in this plot, other than those who are currently on full hiatus, and will remain on full hiatus for the entirety of the event. Please note, all acceptances have been paused until the event is over, this includes fc/family changes.

Below you will find groups, please look through the groups to find your character(s) this is where they are located for the start of the event. The people in the group with them are the ONLY people they can interact with during THE START of the event. Paras, FTFs and dash convos with the people in your group are the only form of communication allowed during the start of this event.

Please be aware that there are over 100 characters in this group, we attempted to match people up in order to create an opportunity for new connections. If your character was left off the list (unless they are on hiatus), or two of your characters are in a group together, please let us know, otherwise, these groups are final. Any trips that were planned for Thanksgiving or during this time will need to take place after the lockdown is lifted. Stay tuned throughout the week for updates.

Please find your group(s) below, and make sure that any posts you make throughout the event have the tag that is included next to the location. Each location has power, but no cell service, no wifi, no phones. All locations also have an ample amount of food and water to last until the lockdown is lifted.

Please note: We know that many characters have pets, but for the purpose of this event please disregard pets, we don’t want characters to worry about their pet. The only exception is service animals which should be with the character, assume they have food and water, and can go outside a few times a day to use the bathroom.

WHEN YOU HAVE READ AND UNDERSTOOD THIS, PLEASE REPLY WITH YOUR CHARACTER’S GROUP NUMBER TO LET US KNOW!

Library - #ourtown1

nathaniel

margaret

kalika

zacheriah

layla

Shear Heaven - #ourtown2

tony

kyle

charity

raven

alexander

Gas Station - #ourtown3

juliette

mercedes

maya

luisa

darby

Community Center - #ourtown4

karalana

max

thyme

ryder

patrick

Thyme Piece - #ourtown5

riley

arianna

ashley

jimmy

antonia

marisol

Dom’s Garage - #ourtown6

eva

rachel

kenzie

lux

anastasia

jett

Grocery Store - #ourtown7

Chandler

james

quinten

juniper

oliver

Hotel Bistro - #ourtown8

scott

kalissa

avery

charlie

daxton

Juniper Berry - #ourtown9

kurt

jagger

tyler

artie

avia

Pourhouse Cafe - #ourtown10

kendall

spencer

lincoln

scarlett

evelyn

Cotton Plant Public - #ourtown11

aliyana

brenton

rowan

robin

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quentinblack · 4 years

Photo

Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 2.5K words

Chapter 12 - Percy I: Andalusian Marmalade (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Percy Weasley & George Weasley

“Come on Perce, at least stay for one more,” George jibed, as ‘Merlin’s Mutiny’ by The Weird Sisters began playing on the Wizarding Wireless.

It was a little louder than Percy would’ve liked, especially as he was by no means a fan of said band, but he managed to resist the urge to implore his brother to turn the volume down to a more acceptable level.

He thought perhaps George needed the volume that bit louder to compensate for just having one ear, but he could’ve sworn it was significantly quieter earlier and he suspected the volume had only risen as George’s mood had become more boisterous.

“I really shouldn’t,” Percy replied meekly. “My portkey leaves the Ministry at 9AM and I still need to double-check that I haven’t forgotten to pack anythi-

“Accio Heineken,” George uttered, with a flick of his wand – and the green bottle zoomed into his spare left hand. “Aperio!” he muttered, which sent the bottle’s cap flying up into the air. Percy’s little brother then handed him the beer with a sympathetic smile on his face.

Percy huffed slightly.

He could hardly turn him down.

If he left George’s now he would make it home for 11. His own one bedroom apartment was only a short walk down the road, it was so close it was barely even worth apparating or using the Floo Network to get there.

He didn’t particularly want to stay any later, in-fact he would’ve liked to have left a few hours ago when the others had, but he still harboured a terrible amount of guilt for Fred’s death and felt he ought to do as much as he could to placate George’s loss and fill the void left behind.

“Fine. But this really has to be the last one,” he insisted, as George let out a loud sarcastic cheer and raised his own bottle of beer to a toast.

Percy was no longer sure how many beers they had got actually through.

George had certainly been drinking at a much faster rate, which had caused him to break his seal and take frequent trips to the toilet, during which Percy had been secretly drinking large amounts of water to keep himself as sober as possible.

“And to think…we always used to call you boring, Perce! Look at you now… me and you… the last one’s standing!” George joked, as he began draining the rest of his bottle.

George had happily hosted what had winded up being Percy’s official send-off before he embarked on his diplomatic mission for the Ministry. Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Ginny had all popped by to wish Percy well on his trip, with the four of them retiring about an hour ago.

Ron hadn’t made an appearance due to disappearing off on his own international adventure with Hermione, whilst his Mother and Father had been busy at St Mungo’s visiting Aunt Muriel, who was still recovering from the nasty fall she’d had a few days prior.

“You found out who they’re sending you with yet?” George asked eagerly.

“No,” Percy replied. “But I’m almost certain it will be Newt Scamander. I mentioned it to Father the other day and he didn’t confirm it either way, but judging by the look on his face he might as well have done.”

George laughed comically as he took another swig from his bottle.

“I’m telling you Perce – it’s gonna be Fudge. I’d put money on it!” he said emphatically.

“I’ll find out in the morning either way,” Percy replied, taking a meagre sip from his bottle before grimacing slightly at the hopsy taste.

“Where is it you’re off to first? Germany?” George asked.

“Prague,” Percy said matter-of-factly.

“That is Germany, isn’t it?” George replied in a slightly confused tone.

“Not quite, no. It’s in the Czech Republic, although only a few years ago it was still Czechoslovakia. It caused quite the constitutional crisis for the Czechoslovakian Ministry. It’s actually quite interesting really, as technically the International Confederation of Wizards recommends that wizarding governments split with their muggle counterpart, but of course the Germany Ministry never bothered when they split that up into West and East-

“Alright, alright, Perce I think I get the picture,” George rudely butted in.

“But do you not find it utterly fascinating how muggle policy decisions, wars or independence movements can have such a big effect on our governments and way of life?” Percy asked in bewilderment.

“Not really, no.”

Percy sighed in dismay at his brother’s lack of interest in wizarding politics and international relations.

“Do you know what I do find fascinating, Perce?” George said, as a dangerous, drunk grin emerged on his face.

“No… but by all means, enlighten me,” Percy replied, indulging his younger brother.

“Do you reckon little Ronnikins is gonna finally lose his V-plates out in Australia?”

“Pardon? His V-plates?” Percy said in a confused tone, unfamiliar with the expression.

“Oh come on Perce. You know what I mean. Do you think they’re gonna bang?!” George jibed back, which caused Percy to almost choke on his drink.

“Merlin’s beard,” Percy exclaimed, as he finally realized what he meant. “I don’t even want to think about that,” he added indignantly, as his younger brother chuckled loudly.

“The way Dad tells it old Kingsley’s got them a right romantic room at the hotel they’re staying at. They’ve got a Hot tub and a private pool and everything! I bet it will be bloody baking out there the whole time too. Young lovers, exposed skin, bit of booze flowing… oh I bet they’ll be at it like a pair of wild Encantados!” George exclaimed, as he did his best impression of the seductive South American sea-creatures.

“You’re truly repulsive when you’re drunk,” Percy groaned. “And besides… I don’t imagine it will be too hot out there at this time of year anyway… and they’ve gone out there so Hermione can be reunited with her parents… I dare say they’ll scarcely have time for such extra-curricular activities.”

“Trust you to put a dampener on it,” George interjected. “Extra-curricular activities… bloody hell, who calls it that?! Even you had a girlfriend once, Perce! Whatever happened to old Penny Clearwater anyway?”

Percy felt a lump in his throat at the mere mention of her name.

“She- we – well… she moved abroad just before it all, you know… when Mister Scrimgeour was forcibly removed from…

“Oh right,” George said with a grimace. “Suppose she was muggle-born, wasn’t she? Probably the safest thing for her given how it all turned out.”

“Yes well she didn’t much want to leave, of course, but Hestia Jones eventually talked her into it. We talked about, you know, breaking up… but we both wanted to stay together, even with her moving to another country. We were both working so much that we didn’t see each other an awful lot at the time anyway, so I thought that we’d be able to make it last long distance.”

This wasn’t strictly speaking true.

Percy had feared that their relationship was doomed as soon as Penelope had left.

It had seemed inevitable that she would tire of him and, true to form, after a short while, her letters back had become much more infrequent – until they eventually stopped altogether.

“And you didn’t? What happened?! You’ve never mentioned this before!” George demanded.

It was true.

Percy hadn’t – and for good reason!

Of course he’d only been reunited with his family for less than a month - and his love-life had hardly been a hot topic of conversation given everything that had happened, but even before that, he’d never spoken of this to a single soul before.

He worried that perhaps the water hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped and he actually was drunk after all.

“We’d write to each other every week to begin with, although given her role in a foreign Ministry it became very difficult to talk about anything too substantial once You Know Who properly took over,” Percy sighed.

“What Ministry was it she was working for?”

“MACUSA. Although she was spending a few days a week at the Munroe Hills Mind Cen-

“Wait. Wait. Wait!” George yelled, as he excitedly slammed his bottle on the table, causing it to fizz up a bit.

“She’s working in New York for the MACUSA?!”

Percy thought he could see where this was going.

“Well yes, err, unless she’s transferred in the last few-

“But Perce! That’s one of your stops isn’t it?!” his brother cackled, with a maniacal laugh on his face.

“Yes but-

“Of course! That’s why you were so keen to volunteer for this mission. It all makes sense now!” George beamed.

Percy could not lie – the prospect of seeing Penelope again had certainly made the mission reasonably appealing for him.

It was not his sole reason for going, but he would not have held the same enthusiasm for it had she not been part of the overall package.

“Here we were thinking it was just typical Percy, keen to impress and get his teeth stuck into some work, but all along, it was all for lurveee!” George sneered.

Percy felt his cheeks reddening with embarrassment, which of course, his brother noticed instantly, causing him to grin even further.

In years gone by Percy may have lashed out, but seeing such a broad smile on George’s face brought him enough solace that he allowed his brother to have this small victory.

“I’m really only going to be there on business though. I won’t let my personal feelings cloud our overall mission. And besides, it’s been such a long time that I doubt that she would even want to get back with me-

“No!” George barked, as he slammed his bottle onto the table and gave Percy a fiercely serious stare.

“Look, I jest and take the piss Perce, but given everything that’s happened… I think… no I know… I know that you should go for it. Win her back. Why not? Life’s too short! You never know what could be round the corner and-

The radio suddenly broke from the song it was playing and a loud newscast began to play, which caused them both to look over in slight worry.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WE’RE TERRIBLY SORRY TO INTERUPT TONIGHT’S RAMBUNCTIOUS WIZARD ROCK SHOW, BUT WE HAVE SOME HUGE INTERNATIONAL SPORTING NEWS THAT IS BREAKING TONIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT…

Percy and George shared a sigh of relief at that last bit.

The war was still fresh enough in the memory that hearing an announcement like that made Percy fear the worst. Any sports-related news seemed very trivial compared to the possibility of one of the escaped Death Eaters causing some trouble.

THIS IS A SCANDAL THAT’S SET TO ROCK THE QUIDDITCH WORLD TO ITS VERY CORE, YES THAT’S RIGHT… WE’RE TALKING ABOUT A GLOBAL MATCH-FIXING RING THAT GOES RIGHT TO THE VERY TOP!

THE MOST HIGH-PROFILE OF THE MATCHES BEING INVESTIGATED IS THE 1994 QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP FINAL, HOSTED HERE IN BRITAIN, WHICH OF COURSE WAS INFAMOUSLY OVERSHADOWED BY THE CASTING OF THE DARK MARK BY FOLLOWERS OF THE RECENTLY DEFEATED YOU KNOW WHO IN THE AFTERMATH.

Percy noticed that his brother seemed to be smiling guiltily at something – and he couldn’t quite work out what it could possibly be.

INTERNATIONAL QUIDDITCH ICON, VIKTOR KRUM, CAPTAIN OF THE BULGARIAN NATIONAL SIDE, IS AT THE CENTRE OF THIS CONTROVERSY, AS IT IS REPORTED THAT HE DELIBERATELY CAUGHT THE SNITCH AT SUCH A TIME THAT HE KNEW HIS SIDE WOULD STILL LOSE THE MATCH…

“That’s absolutely disgraceful,” Percy mumbled. “And to think it’s taken this long for it to come to light!”

“Oh yeah absolutely…” George added. “Truly shocking!”

EVIDENCE HAS NOW EMERGED THAT PECULIAR BETTING ACTIVITY WAS RAMPANT PRIOR TO THE FINAL, WITH LARGE SUMS OF MONEY BEING PLACED ON AN IRELAND VICTORY AND FOR KRUM TO CATCH THE SNITCH. IT IS THOUGHT THAT WHILST THE MAJORITY OF THE BETTING ACTIVITY ORIGINATED FROM THE BALKAN NATIONS… THERE WAS ALSO SIGNIFIANT ACTIVITY IN IRELAND… AND IT IS WIDELY BELIEVED THAT THE IRISH NATIONAL TEAM WERE IN ON IT TOO…

VIKTOR KRUM HAS TONIGHT BEEN ARRESTED, ALONGSIDE OTHER BULGARIAN STARS LIKE IVAN VOLKOV, PYOTR VULCHANOV AND THE RECENTLY RETIRED KEEPER, LEV ZOGRAF.

AN INTERNATIONAL ARREST WARRANT HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR A NUMBER OF THE IRISH SIDE FROM THAT TOURNAMENT, MOST NOTABLY FOR THEIR DISGRACED CAPTAIN, AIDAN LYNCH, WHO TRANSFERRED FROM THE FALMOUTH FALCONS TO THE PHOENIX THUNDERBIRDS IN LAST YEAR’S SUMMER TRANSFER WINDOW, WHICH OF COURSE SAW THE VAST MAJORITY OF THE BRITISH AND IRISH LEAGUE’S STAR PLAYERS LEAVE FOR EUROPEAN, NORTH AMERICAN AND ASIAN TEAMS AMID THE UNCOMFORTABLE PROSPECT OF WAR IN THE COUNTRY.

WE WILL HAVE MORE ON THIS SENSATIONAL STORY LATER DURING OUR MIDNIGHT MESSAGE BEFORE BROADCASTING CEASES FOR THE EVENING…. BUT NOW WE RETURN TO OUR ORIGINALLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING…

“What are you laughing for?” Percy demanded. “Match-fixing is a very serious crime. I fail to see the funny side myself.”

“Well it’s like you said Perce. I just find it funny that it’s taken it this long to come to light,” George replied devilishly. “It was the talk of the Irish tents in the campsite at that World Cup… any old Tom, Dick and Harry with an Extendable Ear prototype knew about this years ago.”

Percy spent the next quarter of an hour heavily reprimanding his younger brother for the inconceivably heinous crime of betting, albeit unofficially, on a Quidditch match that he had known to be rigged – and of course, for the even worse crime of not reporting it to a Ministry official.

George eventually wriggled his way out of it by jokingly blaming the entire scheme on his late twin brother, which alas, left Percy defeated. The two shared an emotional toast to Fred, before Percy finished his drink and finally excused himself to go home and finish packing for his big adventure abroad.

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