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maddiwrites · 3 years

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Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: I’ll be honest, this isn’t my best chapter, so please don’t judge too harshly I swear it gets better!!! (: Again, forever grateful for all the kind feedback. I truly appreciate it. If you asked to be on the tag list and I accidentally forgot, please let me know!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Slight insinuation to sexual assault.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 & Chapter 4

Like I said before, I'm good at advertising. Although the cell phone towers are still down, making it harder for me to get the word out about a party in the boneyard, I still know how to get around to the other teenagers on this island.

I sneak in an hour of surfing on the beach, afterwards finding Tourons and even some Kooks. These are the best people to go to when you want word to get around. They're rich and live for gossip. They have the internet and cell phone service, which means they can text their friends and send out tweets. And that is exactly what they do when I'm finished talking to them.

Later, I go with JJ and John B to get the kegs. As they work their magic, somehow securing two, I walk around the lot where most kids who live on the Cut hang out, hoping to score cheap booze from a stranger walking into the beer and beverage store. I use to spend a lot of my weekends here when my dad first disappeared. A small part of me still wants to. It was so easy to forget about my life falling apart when I was too wasted to form a complete sentence.

I tell them about the party and tell them to tell their friends and so on.

As I expect, the empty boneyard fills up quickly. To Kie's dismay, almost every kid has a red solo cup in their hand instead of a reusable one by the time the sun sets. Music and the chants of people playing drinking games fill my ears like a bird chirping on a Sunday morning.

Beer dribbles down my chin and onto my pink v neck crop top. JJ has his arm linked around mine, also chugging his drink, trying to down his before me. However, I beat him by one gulp and slam my cup on the sand as triumph.

"Seriously, Mar?" Kie scolds. She picks up my cup and throws it away.

JJ just smiles at me, maybe even looks at me with some kind of pride. It's hard to beat JJ in any drinking match, but I'm his biggest competition. I usually lose against him, but sometimes I have my nights where I'm undefeated.

He points his finger at me, pretending to be mad without losing the smile on his face. He takes a menacing step forward and bends down to lift me over his shoulder. I squeal in surprise and laugh against his back as he swings me around in circles.

When he sets me down, I shove his shoulders playfully. "Looks like you've finally met your match." JJ just shakes his head. "Get me another beer, loser?"

"You're lucky you're cute." He winks.

You can't understand the Outer Banks without understanding the boneyard. It's kinda like a three-layer burrito. There's us and our friends, working-class derelicts. Then, there are the Kooks, the rich second-homers. They're mostly from pouncy-ass boarding schools, just rich trustfarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then, there are the Tourons. Totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks. They're usually my first pick. A night with no attachments and a more than likely chance I'll never see them again.

I walk past Kie, who's sitting on drift wood talking to someone about zodiac signs and horoscopes. And when I pass Pope, I hear him talking about dead bodies and how TV doesn't portray the biological condition of them accurately. I giggle to myself when I see who he's talking to. A really pretty girl who wasn't expecting to get an anatomy lesson from the boy next to her. I make a mental note to work on Pope's flirting tactics.

As I make my way to the back of the beach, I see Sarah Cameron leaning off a fallen lifeguard stand. Her boyfriend, Topper Thornton, is right there with her, trying to get her to come down. Sarah Cameron's known as the Kook princess. Kiara's best friend in the ninth grade, worst enemy in the tenth grade. None of us know why she started hating her all of a sudden. She doesn't like to talk about it so we don't bring it up. However, John B works on Sarah's dad's boat thanks to me.

My teeth clench together at the sight of both of them. The two of them and their friends are the worst Kooks of all. Bad memories prickle my brain like a million tiny needles and the palms of my hands sweat against my solo cup.

I walk to the back of the beach and lean against a tree that's as close to a palm tree as this island is going to see. I like being back here when the sun goes down. It gives me the perfect view of the party. Watching people laugh and have fun because of a night my friends and I put together makes me feel satisfied. Like I did something to make their day a little more enjoyable.

"Now what's the life of the party doing back here all by herself?" A voice that makes every muscle in my body turn to ice says.

I force myself not to look in his direction. My hands clench tighter around my cup until it bends and beer sloshes on my hand.

"Trying to avoid grimy wandering hands from pompous pricks," I say through clenched teeth. I'm surprised my voice isn't as shaky as I feel. "Go away, Rafe."

Rafe Cameron ignores me and moves to stand in front of me. His blonde hair is slicked back with a gel that's probably more expensive than my entire outfit. He's wearing a salmon pink button up shirt and white shorts. The sight of him makes me sick and I don't know if I want to drink more heavily or throw up and call it a night.

"Oh come on, Marleigh. Let's not pretend like you don't want to finish what we started."

I stand up straighter, feeling bile rise in my throat. "I'd rather rip both of my eyes out with a spoon." My insult wipes his stupid cocky grin off his smug face. At first I take it as a compliment, but the look in his eyes chills me to the bone. "Get out of here, Rafe. I'm not going to tell you again."

Rafe jerks forward and pushes me back into the trunk of the tree. His forearm presses against my chest, right below my collarbone. I try fighting him off but he's surprisingly strong. His eyes swing back and forth with craze, his pupils large and dilated. He's gotta be on something. Cocaine maybe. I've heard rumors.

"You think you can talk to me like that? After what my dad did for your friends?"

"Your dad only helped them in hopes to cover up the mistake that you made," I seethe, trying to push him away again. I try to keep my breathing even and my eyes unblinking. I don't want him to think I'm afraid of him. Even though I'm scared enough to vomit on his two hundred dollar shoes. "I owe you nothing." There's a pause as Rafe considers his next words carefully. So I push even harder. "You know, if you keep bringing it up, people might overhear and start to talk. I don't know if even your dad could buy the entire island's silence."

"You seriously think you can threaten me? You're nothing but a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. No one will believe the Cut's biggest whore." Rafe shakes his head. "Remember that next time you think about talking to me like that."

His words cut through me like a stab in the chest, but I try not to let him see that. I push against him, keeping my face pinched and my eyes unwavering. "I'm not the same girl I was eight months ago," I say, finally pushing him away from me.

Back then I was a messed up girl who's dad had just left after a big argument that resulted in him thinking she hated him. All I wanted to do was drown myself with drugs and alcohol in hopes to forget about him, even if that meant following Kie to a Kook party when she was trying to roll around in the Kook life. I was easy to manipulate and take advantage of...easy to hurt. But not anymore.

"You think I'm above hitting a girl?" Rafe breathes heavily, his hands clenched to his side. I struck a nerve. One more and he might actually attack me.

"No," I say honestly. "I don't think you're above anything...or anyone. Including me - a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue." I use his words against him.

Rafe jerks forward and raises his hand to hit me and I'm ready for the blow and a fight back, but someone's voice forces us to halt, stopping us like she just pressed paused on a movie screen.

Kie watches us with wide eyes and glances back and forth between us. She looks both scared and angry. Rafe doesn't even bother looking in her direction. He's more disappointed that she got in his way.

I stand up straight again and walk past him, making sure to shove him backwards with my shoulder. Kie wraps her arm around mine and pulls me in close as she guides me away from him. She looks behind us one last time to make sure Rafe isn't following us. When the coast is clear, she stops and turns to look at me with a stone cold expression.

"What the hell was that?" She says, trying to read my face. "Are you okay?"

I can barely hear her behind the screaming in my head. Dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. The Cut's biggest whore. Who would believe you?

"Fine," I shrug, feigning nonchalance. I look back to where I was just standing. Rafe's gone, but the nausea he left me with isn't.

"Marleigh."

"Seriously, Kie. I'm fine. Just some unresolved built up resentment coming out full-fledged. I can't say I'm surprised. Now that summer's started, we're probably going to see a lot more of them."

Kie sighs and looks at me sympathetically. I hate that look. "You should tell the boys."

"What? No way!" I snap.

"What if he -"

"He's not going to." I glare at her.

"Why won't you just -"

"So they can think of me as some pathetic little girl who needs protection from some self-centered Kook? Besides, John B and probably JJ will go after him and the last thing either of them need is charges pressed against them."

The noise of people yelling at one another and some cheering stops Kie from fighting back with me. We turn to look towards the water, seeing a crowd form around two people fighting. Dread creeps up my chest. If I had one hundred dollars, I'd bet it all that one of my friends is the center of attention in that crowd.

Kie and I run to them, pushing ourselves to the front. My breath hitches in my throat when I see who's involved. John B and Topper are fighting ankle deep in the ocean, each one getting a few good punches in.

"John B, stop!" I yell. I don't care who started the fight or why Topper deserves to get beaten to shit. If John B gets caught, the two of us are more than screwed with DCS.

"We're suppose to be incognito, remember?" Pope yells at my brother next to me.

"Babe!" Sarah yells at her boyfriend, jerking back and forth, trying to grab him by the shirt to pull him back. But his movements are scrappy. Sarah would just get hurt.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd around us cheer like it's a high school wrestling match and not my brother, the one that threw them this party by the way. I can't believe people find this as a source of entertainment. Half of them wouldn't even last a second if they were the one's getting beaten to a pulp.

Topper gets the upper hand and throws John B into the water. I flinch from the pain that must of caused to John B's back.

"Hey, John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, all right?" Topper says.

In that moment my vision turns red and a switch flips in my body. I picture my hands around Topper's neck and him begging for me to let him go - him taking back those words.

When I step into the water to reach him, arms wrap around my waist, stopping me from going forward. I glare at the blonde Pogue and try shoving him away from me but that only makes his grip on me tighten.

"JJ, let me go," I grunt.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Can't do that." His lips are so close that I can feel his breath.

John B tackles Topper to the ground and punches him in the face again.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"John B, let it go!" Kie screams. "Stop, you guys!"

Topper kicks John B's feet from under him and just like that, JB is back in the water. The Kook kneels next to him and punches my brother across the face before shoving his head into the water.

"Topper stop!" I yell.

"Come on John B!" Pope yells.

Topper lets John B come up for air before dunking him back in. I feel my chest tighten when I realize what Topper is going to do, whether he means to or not.

"JJ, please! He's going to kill him! JJ!" I cry against his hold.

"Come on, Man!" Topper taunts John B, keeping his head under water.

I'm going to kill him, I think. The second JJ lets go, I'm going to rip Topper apart.

"Topper, stop! No!" Sarah cries.

"Pope!" JJ says, swinging me around before pushing me into our other friend's arms. "Hold her."

"What? No!" I fight back but even Pope is stronger than I give him credit for.

JJ disappears to God knows where and I'm left watching like a stranded duck. I feel useless, like I should be doing more to help my brother. Everything I said to Rafe only minutes ago goes straight out the window. Maybe I am weak and still a girl who needs protecting.

Then the world freezes. JJ holds the gun we found in the motel to Topper's head, not only making Topper pause, but the rest of the crowd too. Pope releases his hold on me and I stumble away from him. I only watch the scene unfold in front of me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, you know what that is," JJ says, clicking the safety off the gun. "Your move, broski."

"Come on!" Pope yells. "Chill dude!"

"Stop! JJ!" Sarah cries. "Put the gun down!"

"Did you say something princess?" JJ turns towards Sarah and points his gun at the sky.

"We're good. We're good." Topper stumbles away from my brother to stand in front of his girlfriend.

The second he backs away, I'm in the water helping John B. I pull his upper back into my lap and push his hair out of his face. He coughs up a couple gulps of water before relaxing against me.

"Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please!" Sarah yells.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" JJ addresses everyone else who still watch in fear. "Get the hell off our side of the island!" He fires two bullets into the sky, causing people to shriek and cry around me.

"Are you crazy?" Kie yells at him. "Why do that?"

"I'm saving his life, okay?" JJ yells back at her.

When people begin dispersing, Pope runs into the water to help me lift John B back to shore. He's in a daze and barely able to stand on his own.

The four of them help me drag him back to the Chateau, the party long forgotten. Kie covers John B with blankets and places a glass of water on the nightstand for when he wakes up. I don't say anything as the night wraps up. I'm not mad at JJ like Pope and Kie. He did what he had to do to save John B. Topper could have killed him and the police would probably chop it up as an accident and I would be left with no family.

"You guys should go," I say.

I just want to be alone. Between Rafe and Topper, all I can think about is sleep so I can wake up to a new day. Start over and try again.

"Are you sure?" JJ asks, looking between my eyes to find any sign for him to stay.

As much as I want JJ to stay the night and let me cuddle into him like the night before, it's best if I'm alone. So I reluctantly nod.

"You can stay at mine tonight, JJ," Pope offers.

I offer a weak smile before turning around to lock myself in my room. When I hear the door to the Chateau close one last time for the night, I sigh deeply and stare up at my ceiling. I'm restless, anxious, sweaty. As much as I want sleep, sleep doesn't want me. I toss and turn hoping for a wave of darkness to hit me but it never does.

I glance at my clock. 3:04 AM. I roll my eyes and groan to myself, pushing myself up against my bed's headboard. I tip toe out of the Chateau and make my way down to the dock. I dip my toes in the water and lay back against the wooden slacks. The moon's half crescent illuminates the water, dark with a mystery glint. It's cold against the night, feeling refreshing against my skin.

Even my mind isn't tired. My head wanders with different thoughts. Rafe, Topper, Scooter, the gun...my dad. His words echo through my ears like a skipping record. The night before he disappeared he told John B and I that he might have to vanish for a bit. This only caused a major fight to brew between my father and I whereas John B only nodded and said okay. I think this is why John B still holds on to hope that he's alive somewhere.

John B was always the loyal one to my father. Although they fought almost as much as my dad and I, they were quick to move on and pretend like it wouldn't happen again. Even though it always did. He tried to help my dad keep me on track with school, friends, and other activities. Most of the time, he just joined in on my antics. Sometimes I regret not giving my dad enough credit. He was a single father to Pogue twins with the distraction of his own obsession. My last words to him haunt me every day I pass his office.

"I hate you!" I screamed. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears. I wanted him to know I was strong and that I didn't need him. I think my main intention was to hurt him like he hurt me, but I would do anything to take it back.

~ ~ ~

I wake up to the low rumble of an engine and the crunch of gravel underneath some tires. I blink away the sleep in my eyes, looking out into the marsh. The sun is above me, warming the entire island with it's summer heat so early in the morning.

My back aches as I sit myself up. I twist to find the noise that woke me up.

"Shit," I curse when I see the cop car parked in front of the Chateau.

Sheriff Peterkin sees me walking up my yard and waits for me to approach her before barging into my house. I squint against the morning light. Even though I'm not in the mood for a pop in, I actually like Peterkin. She's the only one I trust to do her job right.

"I hope you brought some coffee," I say before opening the door for her.

"This will be quick," She says. I watch her eyes scan my kitchen and living room judgmentally. "Where's your brother?"

I point to his room. Peterkin gives me a look to go first. I sigh, knocking twice on the door before letting myself in. John B is still passed out. Half of his body hangs off the bed. His left eye is officially black and blue, a mark I know Peterkin won't subtly ignore. It's the first thing she sees and gives me a sideways glance. I cross my arms and look away.

John B blinks up at us when he hears our footsteps. His brows furrow in confusion, sleep still fogging his head.

"Get decent, sweetie," Peterkin says. "We need to talk."

As we wait for JB to get dressed, I sit on the pull out couch in my living room, fumbling with my thumbs until he appears, dressed in an open button up and swim trunks. He glances between Peterkin and I for some answers but neither of us give him any.

"Sorry to break in like this," She says, pacing the floor. John B stands next to me with his arms crossed. "But DCS called. They wanted me to check on you. See how you two are doing." Neither of us answer. "So, how are you, besides -" She points to JB's shiner and I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. So far so good!

"Oh, no, I'm - I'm great," John B says, shrugging like our life is just full of rainbows and butterflies. "Yeah, fantastic. Uh... thanks for coming by."

Peterkin just smirks. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, John B, but I heard a few things that worried me. Let me see if I can remember. Oh yeah. One of the things I heard was that your Uncle Teddy, your guardian, hasn't been in the state for three months."

"Yes he has -"

Peterkin cuts me off. "You don't have to say anything. I know it's true. I called the school. They said you used to be a good student," She says, looking at John B. Then she looks at me. "You not so much. But John they say now you're failing all your classes."

"No. No, I'm only failing one and it's history. He's a dick. He's out for me - "

"I heard," Peterkin continues, not giving a damn about John B's bullshit excuses, "there was a fight on the beach yesterday, and a gun was involved."

My eyes snap up to look directly at Peterkin. I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. What else was she going to ask? Would JJ get in trouble? Are we going to jail?

"Okay, gun?" John B plays dumb. "No. Did I get in a dustup? Yeah, but was there a gun? No. No way," He scoffs.

"That's okay I know who it was. I'll get to him. All I'm worried about right now is making sure you're in a safe home."

"Yeah," I say. "Super safe."

John B knocks the table next to him. "Super sound, sturdy. You know?"

"Uncle T's coming so..." I say to get John B to stop talking. He's a lot of things but a good liar isn't one of them.

"That's what he told you?" Peterkin looks at me with a raised brow.

"Yeah."

"If he is coming," Peterkin picks up a cigarette and sniffs it. "I think you should be allowed to stay."

"Thank you."

"But if I stick my neck out for you, you have to help me. Tit for tat."

John B tilts his head in confusion. "What - what does tat mean?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and let my head fall back. I swear I'm going to buy duct tape to keep this boy's mouth shut.

Peterkin ignores him. "Let me see, how can you help me? Oh, I know. So, a body was found in the marsh yesterday. Were you in the marsh yesterday?"

"Yeah," I decide to answer. "We were fishing for some drum."

"You catch anything?"

"Nah, we were skunked."

"Strange," She says, not believing me. "Fishing's usually good after a storm. All sorts of things get stirred up. You come across a wreck yesterday?"

"No." My heart falls deeper, but I try to keep a straight face.

This makes Peterkin sigh and she glances between the two of us. "You two are skimmin' just above the surface. Now, down here is foster care, juvie," She says, dropping her hand to about knee length. "Pretty big drop for smart kids like the both of you." She moves her hand to eye level. "Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks...or foster care on the mainland." I let her threat swim in my brain. "You one inch above the surface, Routledge. If I was you, I'd start flapping my wings." She looks at us one last time, no longer wanting to play games. "Now, you sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?" She looks at John B who's more likely to blab than me.

I look up at my brother, warning him that he needs to lie.

He shrugs his shoulder, the lie sliding across his tongue like silk. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure."

Peterkin looks between John B and I and nods slowly. "It's better if you didn't, you understand? I'm gonna look the other way as long as you stay out of the marsh." She runs her finger along the wooden kitchen table and rubs the dust between her fingers. "I got dogs living better than this. You might wanna think about cleaning' up."

Peterkin lets herself out without saying goodbye. John B and I don't say anything until her car pulls out of the driveway and only then do we just share a look that says how screwed we both are.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz @jeeperky @realistic-breadstick @moniamaybank @urbinoutfiters @brebear121

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Note

HEADCANNON EXTRAVAGANZA TO BRING YOU SOME JOY

Family stuff

Vision talks to the twins while they are still in Wanda’s belly to get to know them before they are born. They aren’t as active as Florence but they still know that their daddy is there and respond in some way to his voice.

Vision always talks to his children as though they are grownups and almost never does the baby voice thing because he wants to treat them with the utmost respect. He’ll still attack them with kisses and cuddles and he’ll do the voice he does in episode three of Wandavision when he kisses Wanda’s belly. However, he’s never like, ok teeny weeny babies let’s put on our sockies and shoesies (no shame if anybody does this, I do this sometimes lol).

Wanda is super sweet on her kiddos but is not one to be fooled. Sometimes Vision can be naive but the kids have never even tried to pull a fast one on Wanda. She is a really loving mom and would never be verbally or physically abusive/ condescending/ rude but her kids know from the beginning to respect her. They also know that she will cut a bitch for them. Looking at you school bullies/ PTA moms/ homophobes.

Every week, they have family nights where everybody cuddles in the couch/ in Wanda and Vision’s bed. Because the boys are little it’s something suitable for them. When Wanda is pregnant she cries at whatever is going on in the movie and Vision holds back his laughter and puts on a supportive face. He and the boys attack (gently) her with kisses and hugs. The boys hold her face in their hands and look her right in the eyes and say “it’s ok mommy it’s just a movie don’t be sad” and give her a kiss. And she’s like “thank you mommy feels so much better now” and snuggles into Vision who rubs her belly soothingly and kisses her forehead.

When they are at the store, Wanda pushes the cart (like you said for balance) while one of the babies rides in the cart and Vision carries the other one. Billy and Wanda are singing wheels on the bus (he’s getting better with the words over time and he giggles and claps his hands). He knows not to kick his feet because his baby sister is still cooking and he doesn’t wanna hurt her. Vision is carrying Tommy in a baby bjorn and dancing with him/holding onto his hands/ singing a song from spongebob.

When they are out in public, the boys try to reach for everything and Wanda has trouble keeping up with them sometimes because she’s kind of waddle-running, so it’s Vision’s job for the most part to corral the boys. Wanda trades their cooperation for fruit snacks. By the end of a shopping trip, he’s not sure if Wanda or the boys are more tired and he knows that everybody probably needs a nap when they get home.

During Wanda’s pregnancies Vision does everything he can to make sure Wanda’s comfortable. He’s also obsessed with her so he’s always there anyway. It helps her back if she leans back against him, so they take up that position in the bath/ shower/ watching movies or TV in bed. Sometimes they just stand and away with her leaning back against him. Other times she bends over and holds onto his shoulders so she can stretch.

Wanda has fallen while adjusting to her new center of gravity during her pregnancies and Vision was terrified to leave her side after that. He wants to be there to protect her and the babies. He is worried about her falling and hurting herself or getting stuck in the tub regardless of whether or not she can use her magic to help herself.

Vision ties Wanda’s shoes during her pregnancies and when he’s getting back up he kisses her belly and her lips on the way.

Angst

Wanda has passed out from exhaustion/ dehydration when her morning sickness was especially bad. Vision was really scared when he found her laying on the bathroom/bedroom floor. Everything was ok in the end but she had to spend a couple of days in the hospital getting fluids and making sure the babies were ok. It was the most agonizing time in Vision’s life. He stayed home from missions until Wanda was well again.

Sometimes Wanda and Vision still have really bad nightmares. They get especially bad for both of them when Wanda is pregnant because things are changing and they always feel a bit helpless because they can never be 100% sure that everything is fine in the world. They take a lot of midnight showers and baths and have comfort sex to calm down. A lot of time is spent with their foreheads pressed together to ground them.

Vision has gotten kidnapped on a mission before and it took a week to get him back. He was seriously (not gravely) injured but when he woke up in a hospital bed, Wanda was asleep in a chair next to him with one hand in his and the other on her belly. When he rolled over to get a better view of her face, pain shot through him and he winced, waking Wanda up. She burst into tears and made him promise to always come back to her.

Wanda has also been kidnapped on a mission. Vision asked Pepper to watch the boys (who are a year old at this point) for a couple of days while he and the other Avengers find her. When they break into the facility where she is being held, it looks like she might be gravely injured at first. Her vitals are weak but she’s alive. When he takes her into his arms she groans but curls into him. At the hospital, she wakes up to Vision holding her hands and staring off into space. He almost looks like a broken man and when their eyes meet she can see how scared he was. They cry and kiss and revel in being together.

One time on a mission, they aren’t speaking because they’d been having an argument when they got called to headquarters. They still squeeze each other’s hands on the ride over but they are completely silent. During the fight, one of them goes down and the other is worried the last thing they said to each other was something stupid during a fight. Everyone lives and there’s some crazy hot “I thought I lost you” sex in the shower later but it was really scary.

They are both risk takers and would sacrifice themself to save others. They fight about the other one putting themself in harms way.

Wanda and Vision get very worried when the other is out on missions. When Wanda is pregnant she’s extra worried and waits at headquarters for the Quinjet to land to make sure she can see Vision step off. One time he flew separately for some reason and he saw Wanda sobbing on the landing pad and thought something was wrong with the babies. The other Avenger’s hadn’t gotten the chance to explain when Vision pulled her into his arms.

One time Wanda had to be carried off of the Quinjet and Vision staggered over to her. She gave him a pained but sly smile and teased him through her pain. Everything was ok but she needed him to stop worrying so that she could stop worrying.

Wanda’s hormones make her seriously jealous. Vision is a hot piece of ass and she’s always worrying that someone is going to try and snatch her man away. Or worse, that Vision will find someone better. She gets mad at him because she thinks the pizza delivery guy was flirting with him. He calms her and feeds her pizza and all is well.

Her jealousy has led to full fledged arguments. She demands proof of his fidelity and he is seriously hurt by the accusation and leaves the house for a couple of hours to cool off and have some time alone. She’s terrified that this will be the thing that breaks them even though he means everything to her. When he gets back, she throws herself at him and they have a long discussion about how her jealousy can get out of hand sometimes. He also takes his time explaining how in love with her he is, how there could never be anybody else for him, and makes love to her nice and slow in the shower. And then the bed. And then the bed again.

Cutesy

Wanda and Vision sing to the kiddos during bath time. Vision makes sure to sing to big bird as well when she’s cooking in Wanda’s belly.

Vision says good morning and goodnight to Wanda’s belly during her pregnancies.

In his sleep, Vision still rubs Wanda’s belly and tries to calm the baby if she’s being particularly active.

Wanda is the most adorable thing in the world to Vision. Especially when she is grumpy in the morning with bed head and waddling to the kitchen.

I hope these make you smile :)

PS: can you tell my favorite place for them to have sex is the shower???

These are fabulous and had me smiling the whole way through. Thank you for sharing them. They sound like they're pros at making shower sex super hot and I am here for it!

"Vision is a hot piece of ass" put this on my urn, please.

Ahh I loved these so so much. Again, thank you! I really am so glad to have something fun to read during these long nights of work.

#follower headcanons

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itsblissfuloblivion · 4 years

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Torch - Chapter 9: May

enjoy hinny in 10k++ 🤩😱

THE hbp chapter of all chapters! here it is, finally & we truly hope we did it justice :)

enjoy on AO3 // FFnet too

They’re on the Quidditch pitch, fighting tooth and nail for the Cup, the mighty Gryffindor lion roaring, thundering its sheer strength and power at haughty Ravenclaw. It’s 300 to 290 for Gryffindor and Harry’d rather go down spiralling, Snitch toiling underneath white knuckles, than let those feathered gits get one more Quaffle through that post.

A feeling shared by Ginny as well, it seems, if the banshee scream erupting from her throat is any indication, her face the picture of determination as she soars through the air, splitting open the horizon, red mane of hair fluttering behind her like a ripple of blood over the deep blue of the sky.

A great, deafening lioness’ roar and Ginny pelts the Quaffle so hard it bends the goal post where it hits it before scoring -

Harry’s heart sinks instantly, his eyes bulging, fixed on a limp Ginny falling fast to the ground, apparently having fainted after her spectacular throw, and he screams and dives and jumps off his broom to catch her before she hits the cold hard ground.

Everything’s fine, he’s caught her and he’s holding her close to his...naked chest? Suddenly Harry’s without half his Quidditch gear and, oh, so is Ginny. They’re both bare chested and embracing in the middle of the pitch and Harry’s mortified to hear the wolf-whistles coming from the audience, Luna Lovegood commentating the sudden turn of events like there’s nothing unusual, asking the spectators to close their eyes at once for love making requires a certain level of intimacy.

He tries his best to keep his eyes away from Ginny’s chest, but he can’t do anything about the feeling of her breasts pressed to him, her beautiful, freckled hands rumpling his hair, her lips glued to his jaw, traveling down to his pulse point as she whispers how hot, how fit she finds him. Harry nearly faints when he feels her tongue there.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Dean and Ron playing stone paper scissors to establish who gets to hit Harry first and his own mind screams at him to grab Ginny and run.

Only he can’t, he’s petrified and can’t possibly move any muscle in his body when Ginny’s hand sneaks inside the lower part of his gear and grabs his -

Harry’s eyes snap open and he’s brought back to consciousness (and, sadly, also to a Ginny-less reality) with a loud gasp. It takes him a moment to realise it’s his own hand gripping tightly inside his pajama bottoms, something wet and sticky spread everywhere inside them. Shit.

He silently curses everything from his hormone-controlled mind to his lack of a healthy dose of Gryffindor drama and recklessness when he actually needs it (how else is he going to ever tell her that he fancies her, eh?), pulls his battered old bathrobe around him as tightly as possible and, making sure the rest of the lads are still fast asleep, shuffles to the bathroom on his tippy toes.

May’s only started for a couple of hours and Harry can already predict it won’t unlock anything new for him besides probably some fresh, astounding levels of teenage embarrassment, sprinkled with a new found desire to crawl inside a hole and die.

After a long shower where Harry talks to himself more than is the norm, a few well placed Evanescos, and a perhaps ill-advised assist from Dobby, Harry thinks he’s probably in the best frame of mind possible after last night’s episode.

It’s been quite a while since he attempted the ‘Ginny’s like my sister’ method of internal browbeating - the repeated dreams and daydreams made him feel squeamish - but he’s still firmly in the ‘mind over matter’ camp. Yes he clearly fancies her, yes she’s cheeky and smart and beautiful and probably the plain coolest person he’s ever met aside from Sirius or Bill, but she’s off limits. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Most of the time.

Other times, he wonders what it would be like to just give in to it. To drum up some courage, act like he’s flying high on Felix Felicis, and...and do something that ends up with Ginny snogging the daylights out of him.

But those ideas only last so long. Usually crashing down with a confused look from Ron and a wondering question of when Harry became a ‘bleary eyed guppy’, ‘dead faced lemming’, or any other animal based insult that Ron uses to disguise how much he cares.

Which is really the problem. Harry’s not afraid of Ron in the ‘big brother is going to rip out your innards sense.’ They’ve had their share of arguments over the years and Harry’s grown fairly confident in his ability to hold his own in a fight - magic or no. Which is a level of bravado that may be hereditary, and also a good way to get his face punched in.

Nonetheless, if it were just about having it out with Ron about being a nosy git, it’s one thing, but Ron cares so much more than he wants to admit. He’s a protective, overly-invested Molly Weasley trapped in the body of a freckled gangly thing with an inability to admit actual feelings. And among those are the very real instincts that he has to keep his best mate and his kid sister from getting their hearts broken.

Not that Harry’s in any position to judge emotional constipation.

And even with the mess swirling around his crowded head, Harry feels he’s in a somewhat better mindset post-shower and even finds himself able to carry on a mildly coherent conversation with Ron and Hermione later on the way to breakfast.

Yes, he’s feeling quite chuffed with himself as he crunches into a marmalade-drenched triangle of toast until three things happen at once.

Said marmalade decides it much prefers his tie to crispy bread, Harry’s brain decides not to let any of his breakfast go to waste, and Ginny Weasley claims the seat across from him.

So his first non-dream Ginny sighting of May 1997 is a wild eyed glance while he’s sucking orange marmalade from his tie and juggling a half eaten piece of toast in his free hand.

Bloody perfect.

Of course, she’s a damn sight to see, two braids wrapping her hair into intricate patterns, freckles dark against sun-red skin, shirt only partially buttoned, and her tie dangling like a scarf around her neck.

Harry is a different sort of sight, but he earns gawking just as much. So when Ginny bites back a smirk and lifts one brow in his direction, he really can’t fault whatever comes next.

“I see you’ve had a bit of a morning, eh, Harry?”

God, she’s amazing.

“Er - yeah.”

She reaches for the dish piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs and Harry jolts to assist, his fingers brushing hers just barely. Ginny seems fine, completely unruffled, but his idiotic mind jumps right back to the last time they touched. Well - dream Harry and dream Ginny touched.

When dream Ginny’s hand was reaching for something other than eggs and her groan was for him -

Although, technically, eggs were in fact the first touch they shared, Ginny felt so real - but that’s certainly not a thought to be had early in the morning and especially not in the vicinity of older brothers and more or less the entirety of the Hogwarts student body.

She sighs and takes another bite. “If any of you repeat this I’ll deny it, but sometimes I think the elves make better eggs than Mum.”

Ron shrugs and pushes another forkful past his lips. “Dunno, eggs are eggs. ‘Cept those weird Muggle powdered ones Dad made us all eat for the educational value.”

“I can’t help but think about how our food ends up here,” Hermione says, shuffling her oatmeal around absently, “We eat from slave labor - I think that’s why I prefer home cooking,” she blushes and studiously keeps her eyes from Ron when she murmurs, “Especially Mrs. Weasley’s Beef Wellington.”

Apparently, this is quite effective at hooking Ron’s attention. Which anyone who’s known Ron for more than a day can tell you is a feat when seated at any meal. But Hermione’s a clever one to be sure, and she was bound to figure it out after six years.

Harry’s wondering if he’s willing to pass up the opportunity to tease the two of them on the off chance that Ron pulls his head out of his arse and actually makes a move before they’re thirty, when he feels someone nudge him beneath the table.

He glances up and finds Ginny watching him expectantly. “You’re awfully quiet - should I worry there’s a snitch among us?”

“I’m going to need compensation to cross Molly Weasley,” Harry answers, swallowing the last of his tea.

And in the first stroke of luck Harry’s had today, he’s managed to swallow by the time Ginny winks and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

He does choke on his tongue, which isn’t left open for comment because in a simultaneous moment of perfect and horrific timing, Ron decides to obliviously insert himself back into the conversation. “How about pay him back with a good offense against Ravenclaw? They’ve gotten too arrogant.”

Hermione snorts, but Ron misses it, already knee deep in a strategy debate with Ginny. Harry however doesn’t miss a thing. Not the affectionate glance she casts toward Ron before darting her gaze between Harry and Ginny, then lingering on Harry and giving him an obnoxiously knowing look.

She’s too smart to hang around sometimes.

Once Ron’s finished his third helping of eggs, the foursome rise from their seats and Ron begins prodding Hermione for tips on wand movements. A turn of events Harry really thinks he can’t be expected to ignore. It’s low hanging fruit and yet completely irresistible.

He’s about to cut in with some already half-formed jibe because really, wand movement tips, when Ginny sidles up beside him and threads her arm through the crook of his elbow. “This is such perfect material it almost feels too easy to be that fun.”

“Ron’s a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?” Harry says with a laugh.

“At least when it comes to Hermione.”

“Girls in general maybe,” Harry puts in as they exit the Great Hall, amongst the slow trickle of late crowd, “Lest we forget the Lavender trials.”

“Oh hell, that was a bloody nightmare.”

“At least you didn’t have to see it up close and personal,” Harry groans, “You were with - “ he clears his throat, “Busy.”

Ginny bites back a laugh, rolling her eyes when a few Ravenclaws elbow past with impatient looks. “Something like that.”

She grabs the strap of his bag and pulls them off toward the side, a little alcove where the corridor splits between upper and lower classrooms, while Ron and Hermione continue on their way, deep in conversation.

Harry props his shoulders against the stone, arms crossed over his chest and one foot kicked up while Ginny lifts one hand to straighten his tie.

“You know that feint last practice was pretty impressive - sometimes I think you could go pro if you wanted.”

“Only sometimes?” Harry asks, eyes twinkling when Ginny snickers.

“I said what I said.”

“Well, I’ve got to keep my game sharp. There’s an upstart Chaser who’s got eyes for the captainship and my spot on the team.”

Ginny toys with the end of one of her braids before blinking up at him, all innocence. “No idea who you’d mean. Everyone knows Chaser’s the best position. Seekers just want glory - Chasers are the lifeblood of the team and the game itself.”

Her hands are back at his tie, this time fiddling with the end, while Harry somehow finds him bracing his forearm against the wall, looming too close to Ginny for his sanity. Which is why it sounds a little strangled when he responds, “Oh really?”

Ginny flicks the silky fabric between her fingers and shrugs, “Yes, really. Who’d want to sit and watch a couple of skinny gits circling the pitch for hours on end, just waiting for something to happen. Chasers are in it from the beginning, making things happen, getting shit done.”

Harry somehow ends up leaning closer because Ginny Weasley is a damn magnet or a bloody lamp and he’s an idiot fly. Hell, she smells amazing. “Well, Seekers, they play the long game,” he clears his throat when she licks her lips and blinks up at him, waiting, “On the surface it’s like nothing’s happening but they, ah - always show up in the end.”

Ginny bites her lip, her voice almost a whisper when she asks, “Is that so?”

It takes three swallows before Harry’s voice becomes audible, “Mhm, true and plain as the nose on your face.”

Ginny’s response dies in her throat when Ron jogs back towards them and shouts across the now bustling hall - a development Harry’ll wonder how he missed later on - yelling something about being late for class.

Harry misses most of it because Ginny pulls on the end of his tie and winks right at him, before offering a cheeky salute. “See you at practice, Captain.”

Later, when Ron’s down for his pre-practice kip, Harry ends up with Hermione in the Common Room while she works on her outline for their final exam in Potions and Harry reads over his Transfiguration notes. It’s a half-assed attempt, to be sure, and Harry’s expecting this to be the subject of Hermione’s oncoming conversation.

Instead, as she slides a bookmark into place and sets her textbook aside, she says, “So you’ve never really had a girlfriend, right?”

Harry frowns, wondering whether the two worst dates of all time count as having a very short lived girlfriend. Hermione toys with one of the curls escaped from her bun and says, “Cho doesn’t count - neither does the Yule Ball. Cho was just a date and the other was a complete trainwreck of pre-pubescent attempts at wooing.”

“Thanks for the assessment,” Harry answers, dry.

Hermione presses her lips into a thin line, blows out a deep breath and finally seems to settle on what she’d like to say next. “Girls. Well, girls aren’t all the same, of course. I suppose I should just say people - there’s a thing called body language.”

“Hermione, I know what body language is.”

She grunts. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter if you know but do nothing about it. I’ve read a lot about it.”

“I’m shocked.”

Hermione jabs him with her quill. “I’ve read a lot about it and I can say with absolute certainty that we had some major signals being fired today at breakfast.”

“I have no doubt that’s true, Miss Let Me Tutor You In Wand Movements.”

Blushing, Hermione tosses her quill at Harry, splattering ink across his much abused tie. Hopefully Dobby is in the mood to help Harry bleach ink, butter, marmalade, and newt’s eyes out of silk.

“What I am trying to say - I want to help you,” she raises her palm when Harry tries to respond, “I want to help by telling you that all those bottled up feelings seem quite mutual.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes, and you’d be an idiot to let it go to waste.”

“The feelings?”

“The connection,” Hermione corrects, “It’s a special thing, to get each other. To know someone so intimately without even trying. Just, don’t take it for granted. We both know how easy it is to let it slip away, even just a little.”

Sighing, Harry nods and tucks his things away in his satchel. “I’ve got Quidditch.”

Hermione waves him off, “Of course - just think about it? Second chances are easier to come by than third.”

Harry’s tempted to parrot what she’d said but quickly changes tactics when he runs into Ginny, Demelza, and Katie giggling near the portrait hole, bags dangling on their shoulders. He flashes them a wide grin instead.

“Wait up, losers,” Ron hurries down the stairs before they can disappear without him, bleary eyed but somehow also ready for a brawl. “Your King is coming.”

Harry’s always respected Ron’s gameness, his ability to sniff a fight (or the possibility of one) from a distance and jump right into it, damn the torpedoes.

“Who died and made you king, Weasley?” Ginny scoffs, eyeing her brother with a pleased smirk. They were all very happy Ron no longer gave Slytherin that kind of power over him as he’d long since turned the meaning of the word ‘king’ in his favour.

“Last name basis is a no go for siblings,” Ron instructs as he hops down next to them, the entire team having congregated there over the span of the last couple of minutes.

“Why?”

“‘Cause it’s weird, now let’s shift,” Ron grins and Harry too feels pumped, his best mate’s energy infectious.

The team jostles their way through the portrait hole, earning a few choice words from the Fat Lady in her post-dinner wine haze. Harry offers her an apologetic smile and salutes when she lifts her glass in acknowledgement.

Katie saunters up to his side and throws an arm around his neck. “Got an eye for our good ol’ Fat Lady?”

Demelza bounces up and bats her eyes, grasping her chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t tell me our gallant captain is off the market.”

“I will have you doing laps, Robbins,” Harry threatens with a laugh while Ron comes up on his opposite side and nudges his jaw.

“Ickle Harry growing up? Finally going to make good on all those hormones pulsing through his scrawny little body?”

“Shove off.”

As they break out into the golden evening, Ginny joins the group jibing Harry, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she walks backwards. “Don’t tease Harry just because none of you get anywhere with the Fat Lady.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Demelza sniffs, “Well, before she had her heart set on the Boy Who Lived over here.”

“Right,” Harry drawls, “‘Cause we all know that title has gotten me loads of action.”

He slaps Ron’s hand away as it ruffles his hair while they near the changing rooms. Ron’s already stripping his outer robes when he calls out. “That’s not for lack of trying on their part - we all know you could have as much ‘action’ as you want.”

Ginny tosses her practice Quaffle at Ron - and remarkably he catches it without a thought - before she says, “Well, yeah, Ron, but who wants a simpering fool for a girlfriend?”

She leaves it at that and disappears into the opposite end of the changing room, but not before sharing a long glance with Harry. Which he assumes is an unspoken allusion to Ron’s recently ended relationship. But there was something beneath the teasing - like she looked right through him and just knew what he was, what he wanted. Even better than he did.

Shaking his head, Harry followed the rest of the team to suit up, hoping a few hours sweating on the pitch would clear his head.

In his theoretical vision of this head-clearing experience, Harry would work hard, practice some new maneuvers, and yell himself hoarse to get himself back on track.

Instead, he spends a good portion of the evening getting beat up by his own damn team. And not because they’re that good, or because of some ‘Ravenclaw will give us worse’ training technique. No, it’s his own idiotic inability to bloody focus on anything but Ginny in the air.

She’s like nothing he’s ever seen, like she’d never been tethered to the ground like everyone else but born on a broom, born to fly as high as she desires. They’re a great team, Harry’s convinced even Oliver Wood would concede the point. But Ginny’s a class above. Everything flows naturally though he knows Ginny’s expertise is far from some kind of genetic lottery. She works hardest of any of them, spends her summers stealing out into the fields behind the Burrow to toss Quaffles, dodge charmed Bludgers, and dive and swoop through self-made obstacle courses.

And it doesn’t end once she’s back at Hogwarts. Harry’s watched her from his window - in a non creepy way, clearly - many a night as she streaked across the orange sky, bent low over her broom while her hair flew behind her like the tail of a comet.

She’s winding up for another shot at Ron’s weak side when Harry suddenly finds himself airborne in the non-broom assisted way while pain blooms across his right side.

He vaguely hears swear-laden exclamations over the screaming of the wind in his ears while he fumbles for his broom or wand or something that’ll slow his plummet towards the pitch.

What is it with May and people slipping off their brooms, fantasy wise or not.

In the end, he does manage to shout a few spells that somewhat slow his descent before someone grabs his arm and stops him from splattering on the grass below. Luckily, he wasn’t at full speed when his savior stepped in because even with the lessened velocity it feels like his arm is in one place and the rest of him traveled an extra foot.

When he looks up, still too shocked to register whether anything hurts, he finds Ginny frowning at him from her broom. “Hells bells, Harry, what was that?”

“I, er - it’s hard being in the game and being Captain sometimes.”

She furrows her brow and reaches her other hand toward him while they slowly sink to the ground. “I don’t remember it being this hazardous to Angelina’s health.”

Harry winces and rolls his shoulder, glad for the movement, and maybe preening just a bit under Ginny’s attention. However mothering it may be.

Demelza drops down next to them and smirks. “Cap, you’ve got to keep your head in the game if we’re going to beat those swotty Ravenclaws.”

“Least we know it’s not dislocated,” Ron adds as he wanders over, “Charlie’s done that so many times he can pop it in and out at will.”

Katie grimaces, “Ew.”

“Mum hates when he does that,” Ginny says with a chuckle, “But she didn’t know he used it to get Percy to do his chores for him.”

Their laughter feels like a good end to practice, and if he’s honest, Harry’s arm really is a bit sore to go much longer. So seeing as they’re already all earthbound, he blows his whistle and they begin wandering toward the changing rooms.

When Ginny falls into step at his side, Harry nudges her with his elbow, “That was a pretty impressive catch, Gin.”

She startles a little but grins as she pushes stray hairs back from her face. “Thanks. Can’t have Mum coming after me for letting her favourite fall to his death for Quidditch of all things.”

Harry snorts and shoves her shoulder, because he’s a pubescent idiot who makes up reasons to touch girls he fancies like a ninny and now he winces ‘cause of course rapid movements from injured limbs bloody hurt. To keep himself somewhat sane, he begins putting up the balls and Ginny moves to help. He’s quiet a moment before he says, “Seriously though, it was almost as good as my catch first year.”

“Mhm,” Ginny nods, thoughtfully, “I guess catching you in my mouth would have been pretty impressive.”

“You wish you could get me in your mouth,” Harry shoots back, and immediately wishes for a swift death.

For her part, Ginny simply glances up at him and lifts her brows for a moment. The rest of the team’s kept moving towards the castle at this point, with Demelza quarelling with Coote and Peakes over who’s hungrier, and Harry’s stopped dead. Frozen like he’s been stunned. Ginny bites her lip, considering. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I - ”

“Oi!”

Harry jolts at Ron’s voice and they both twist to find Ron shouting from yards away. “Planning on coming back inside before end of term?”

Ginny flips Ron off while Harry summons their robes with a flick of his wand. “I don’t particularly feel like changing again, just to head upstairs.”

They begin walking toward Ron and Ginny smirks, their previous conversation lost. Which is exactly what Harry wanted, right?

“Plus, if you’ve got an excuse to head up to your dorm, you can escape Hermione’s revision schedule for the evening.”

“I like the way you think, Weasley.”

“Learned from the best,” Ginny says, easy, “Good ol’ Gred and Forge. And ha, I knew you were off by a mile when you said siblings can’t employ a last name basis. I win!”

Tales, the truthfulness of which Harry’s not quite sure, bounce back and forth between Ron and Ginny once they’ve reunited, and shared laughter carries them up to Gryffindor Tower and through the portrait hole.

He’s feeling a bit giddy with Ron’s arm tossed around his shoulder and Ginny leaning into his side for support as she doubles over,o when Dean’s withering glare falls on the trio.

Was he waiting for them? Who does that?

...Asks the boy who’s been waiting for the same person late at night, pretending to study alone in the Common Room. Same person as in Ginny, definitely not Dean.

Ginny’s the last of them to notice, and she mostly does because Ron goes still while his entire body tenses for a fight. She’s also the first to recover, offering an unimpressed glance at Dean before she winks at Harry and wishes her best for his injury.

By the time she’s disappeared into the 5th Year Girls’ Dorm, Ron’s still in some weird staring match with Dean that Harry jostles him from with a casual jab to his arm. “Let’s head up before Hermione ropes us in for more revising, eh?”

Ron startles but complies as Harry pulls him towards the dorm. They’re halfway up the stairs when Ron grumbles. “I swear next idiot that so much as looks at Ginny’ll get my fist in his face.”

Bloody buggering hell.

______

Harry’s not sure if the near-duel with a trio of macho Slytherins is a mark of continued bad luck, or simply the universe’s complete investment in torturing him. Sure, he didn’t get detention, which definitely would have happened if they’d dueled. Slytherins inevitably report to Snape and if Harry so much as breathes wrong it seems he finds himself being punished by the former Potions Master.

Sometimes, he thinks perhaps his dad had been pushed and pushed until that day by the lake. Thinks that maybe he understands getting so frustrated, so caught up in the back and forth taunts and fighting that you forget that there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

And one day, Harry fears he’ll lose sight of that line and nobody will be there to pull him back.

He’s felt the tickle of that righteous anger before, that whisper in his ear that some people just push and push and maybe -

And maybe Harry’s more like Voldemort than he’d like to accept. Dumbledore swore there was no comparison, that his fears were unfounded. And yet -

“What’s up, Mr Sad Face?”

Harry starts as Ginny drops down next to him on the grass, hair loose and blowing in the wind skirting off the Great Lake. “I can’t really argue with that description.”

Ginny nudges his leg with the toe of her shoe, stray bits of grass falling from the patent leather. “Share with the class?”

Harry’s silent for a moment, hands twisting in his lap.

“Do you think I’m - do you think I could be evil?”

For a moment, Ginny just considers him, then she lets out a loud laugh. “I thought you might be joking. But you aren’t, are you?”

“No - I just. Today with those Slytherins. Sometimes with Malfoy or Snape. I worry where I’d go if I didn’t stop.”

“Well that’s your answer right there,” Ginny says as she loosens her tie and lounges back on her palms. While the sunlight filters through the tree, Ginny lets her eyes drift shut and waits for Harry to consider what she’s said.

“Because I think about it?”

Ginny pins him with her gaze. “Do you think Voldemort or Bellatix or any of them stop to wonder whether they’ve gone too far? Or whether they’re evil?”

“I dunno. I mean probably not Voldemort but - ”

She drops her hand into the grass so the tips of her fingers brush his. “You are one of the bravest, kindest, most loving and selfless people I’ve ever known. Sometimes I worry you forgive too much. So you, Harry James, are the farthest thing from old Moldy Shorts there can be.”

Harry snorts.

“Except maybe Dobby.”

Their attention drifts to the Giant Squid, churning about in the murky waters, before Harry murmurs, “When am I going to help you out?”

Ginny laughs like he surprised it out of her. “Remember my first year? We’re good for a bit.”

Flushing, Harry rips up a handful of grass and watches the shorn blades float away on the breeze. “That doesn’t count.”

“Well, what does, then?” Ginny says, brows raised, “I can’t imagine anything much more ‘helpful.’”

“There was no choice,” Harry shrugs, “You deciding to listen to me whine about my teen angst is an ongoing project.”

“Well that’s what we are for each other - we’re,” Ginny pauses as their eyes lock and Harry almost thinks she leans towards him, like she’s thinking about the same things he dreams about too often.

But before either of them can give the idea much more consideration, the Giant Squid’s aerobics increase in forcefulness and sends a spurt of water directly into Harry’s face.

“Shit.”

Ginny laughs while he swipes at his face, glasses dangling from his fingers, but she soon lifts them from his grasp and dries them on the tail of her shirt.

“See, even the Squid’s on my side.”

He’s content to simply watch her laugh, the thought that she might’ve sought him out today quickly ghosting through his mind before he brushes it away.

________

Harry simultaneously feels like he could break something - Snape’s neck no less - and also poorly, badly, even sorry for what he did. But how could’ve he known?

He should’ve known, he should have. All the signs were there, but Harry wanted, needed to trust the Prince. And so Draco Malfoy almost bled to death after a too easily muttered spell.

He’s about as deep as he can dive down into the pit of self-loathing when Ginny unexpectedly cuts off Hermione’s snappish, smug comments, knocks her off her high horse. It doesn’t make Harry feel any better about himself, though, but it does divert his attention for a bit, his disappointment at having been somehow deceived by the Prince.

Enough to remember that he won’t play the final match, he won’t be there for his team, to cheer them and keep their spirits up. They’d have to play without him. All those hours of hard work…

Some captain he is.

He needs to scream into a pillow.

When the day finally drags along, Harry’s careful to duck his head and disappear before he can meet anyone, miserably carrying himself to Snape’s lair, hatred sizzling above the surface. He braces himself for what’s about to come, steels himself. He can do it.

Harry can’t stop himself worrying about his team, angry thoughts mixing together with hope and fear and guilt. What if Ron’s confidence flounders? And they all somehow forget the defence tactics they’d rehearsed almost obsessively? What if Katie or Demelza get hit and they’re suddenly a Chaser short?

God, what if Ginny’s injured?

Harry battles his mind, troubled as the minutes crawl their way into hours and Snape finally relents. He springs out of there before the slimy git can change his mind.

Harry’s at the portrait hole in a heartbeat, hesitating before he tries the password. If they’d lost, it’ll be his fault. If they’d let the Quidditch Cup slip, it’ll only be his slip. He’s the only one responsible, not them.

He finally summons what’s left of his Gryffindor courage and strengthens his resolve. “Quid agis?”

“You’ll see,” the Fat Lady smartly replies and Harry braces himself for whatever’s waiting for him inside. They’ve lost before, it’s not like he doesn’t know what failure tastes like. Although they’ve trained so hard this year, they were so bloody close -

Then Harry’s yanked inside by several pairs of hands gripping haphazardly at his clothes, people shouting and screaming at the sight of him and for a moment he seriously fears he’s stumbled into the middle of a public execution: his very own.

Irrational fear morphs into plain shock when he sees Ron brandishing the Cup at him, screeching numbers at him, his teammates roaring in delight, calling Harry ‘Captain’, asking him how proud he is of them all.

It’s a whirlwind of colours and sounds in Harry’s mind and at the centre of it all there’s Ginny, a hard, blazing look in her face as she comes running towards him, long ginger hair fluttering behind her, arms spread wide. She’s beautiful, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

Harry’s heart leaps violently and his mind disconnects.

Years after that day, they’d still debate who kissed who. But right then, Harry couldn’t be bothered. All he cared to know was Ginny, her mouth on his, her warm body in his arms, and that finally - ha, it was even funny to think it, but finally reality was better than his dreams.

The sound returns to Harry’s ears, the giggles and whispers and wolf-whistles buzzing against his eardrums. The monster inside his chest roars triumphantly and Harry grins madly, his eyes shining as they meet Ron’s and he nods, his heart leaping out of its cage in pure delight when he looks at Ginny and her dazzling smile.

Their hands lock as they climb through the portrait hole and Harry feels a sudden spring in his step, a toothy grin glued to his glowing face. The feel of her palm in his, so soft except for one blister blossoming right at the centre of it, ah, it makes Harry’s head spin.

He doesn’t even hesitate when they reach the top of the marble staircase towering over the Great Hall. He simply beams at Ginny and, leaning in to press his lips to hers again, sweeps her up and holds her tightly to his chest as she shrieks playfully against his mouth. The chatter and whiz of the crowded Hall stop abruptly.

“Oi, who’s got their tongue down Weasley’s throat?”

“Oh my god, that’s Potter! Potter and Weasley!”

And the chorus of voices, the general ruckus and chaos of the Great Hall envelop the castle once again and Harry doesn’t even care who spotted them and that people are pointing their fingers at Ginny and him. He’s purely content to put on a show if that means he’s able to hold her like that.

Ginny’s laughing too and she laces their fingers together again, tugging him down the stairs and quickly through the crowds of students gawking at them, out of the Castle through the ancient doors.

They run until breathing becomes hard and they stop, hands on their knees and slightly hunched over, to pant and laugh and grin madly at each other, the late spring breeze lightly whipping Ginny’s hair over her beautiful face, caressing her freckles.

“Shall we?” Ginny nudges over to a sunny patch of grass and wildflowers blooming round the bark of a giant tree. Somebody’s carved a heart and many initials of past lovers have been added inside it and around it and Harry thinks it’s all very fitting.

M.P.+A.W.

J.P.+L.E.

He drops next to her with a thud and Ginny slips her hand inside his. Harry studies her face for a moment, pushes a strand of ginger hair behind her small ear, and, like magnets, he allows his mouth to find hers again. It takes a long time before they break away.

Harry’s stomach fills with something warm when he feels her tongue dart over his lips and instantly opens his mouth for her. He’s never kissed anyone like that, not that he’s too experienced in the kissing department, but Ginny’s tongue rolling over his has his toes curling and, just like that, he’s breathless and desperate to mirror every single one of her actions.

She shifts on her knees, her arms lock around his neck and immediately grip at his hair; lightly, gently at first, then more urgent as their kiss deepens and Harry pulls her onto his lap without thinking.

“I’ve always wanted to see how your hair feels,” Ginny says, a little out of breath, her cheeks tinged pink and Harry fights hard to stifle a yelp. Instead, he concentrates on summoning all the dormant coolness he hopefully has and hasn’t been aware of till now.

“Any thoughts post-hair feel?”

Ginny flashes him a mischievous smile, fingers twirling a couple of dark locks at the back of his head. “It’s glorious.”

Harry knows there’s a new stupid grin plastered to his face and he privately thinks there won’t ever come a day when Ginny’s compliments won’t make him feel like he can suddenly float three meters above the ground.

Then a sudden, irrational panic washes over him. “This isn’t a dream, yes?”

“I’d be very annoyed if it were. You’ve been crawling your way into a ridiculous amount of mine for me to remain sane,” she tells him before dipping her head to kiss him again and Harry purrs. She’d been dreaming about him too, ha!

It’s dark outside and they’re incredibly windswept when they finally stop and realise how much time has actually passed. They’ve been completely oblivious to the chill that fell over the Scottish mountains at sunset, too busy discovering each other, too happy to feel anything else.

“I desperately need a shower, I reek,” Ginny scrunches her nose as they trot back to the Castle, hands holding tightly to each other.

“Yeah, great idea, I’ll join,” Harry chimes enthusiastically. Any day with Snape leaves him feeling filthy and in need of a long, hot shower and a good scrub.

It’s only when she stops dead in her tracks that he becomes aware of how it must’ve sounded to her. Harry blushes furiously, two seconds away from hyperventilating.

“Oh, no, no, no! Not like that - I meant separate showers for us, yeah, not together, er - I was definitely not suggesting. Oh, god. Please don’t break up with me,” he finishes lamely.

But Ginny appears to find him adorable and tells him so, rising on the soles of her Quidditch boots to cup his face and bring him down for another kiss, heated and hard, leaving him dizzy and winded.

Their cheeks are equally flushed as they climb two stairs at a time, expertly avoiding the missing ones, and stealing another couple of quick kisses in front of the Fat Lady, who hides her face, embarrassed by such shameless displays of frivolity. She swings open without requesting the password and Harry and Ginny grin at each other.

“See you in a bit, yeah?” Ginny smiles at him, her hands roaming through his hair one last time before he nods and kisses her and stands at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Girls’ Dormitories grinning stupidly.

He’s hit with an eyeful of Ron’s disgusted look when he turns around, but Harry only shrugs and heads to the showers feeling more relaxed than he’s ever been.

______

“Where have you been?” Hermione throws him a knowing look between two sips of tea and a bite of toast when Harry inserts himself between her and Ginny that morning, successfully earning a filthy glance from Ron.

“Busy coiffing his hair,” Ron mutters but Harry doesn’t balk.

Hermione disguises her giggle poorly, “Really, Harry? I’ve never seen you put any amount of effort into taming your hair.”

Harry shrugs casually, “Not taming. And I’ve been told it’s glorious.”

Ginny winks and Ron pretends to vomit in his milk and cereal.

“Honestly, is that what you’ll be like every time Harry and I are together?” Ginny’s words are clipped though her thumb rubs circles on the back of Harry’s hand under the table before she slides her palm into his, plays with his fingers. His stomach churns wildly; hearing her say they are together, Harry’s chest might actually burst with the sheer force of the happiness he’s feeling.

“Yeah, if it’ll mean you’ll be less gross.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” And Ginny swiftly grabs Harry’s face and kisses him hard on the lips to a chorus of Ron’s irritated splutter and mugs being banged on the long table as Romilda Vane marches out of the Great Hall looking very much like a cat whose tail got stubbed.

“I’m telling Mum about your indecent, well, cavorting.”

“You big baby.”

Harry simply watches in amusement as the Weasley siblings stick their tongues out of each other, brandish threats under each other’s freckly noses. Then Ginny decides she’s had enough and puts an end to the brotherly conversation by pelting a pastry in Ron’s general direction, which sadly plonks right between his bright blue eyes.

“I’m really happy for you, Harry,” Hermione smiles, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry grins, watching as Ron unsuccessfully attempts to tackle Ginny at the other end of the Great Hall, Filch at their heels with a sopping mop and a maniacal glint in his eyes as he chants the word ‘detention’.

And he means it. Nothing’s able to snuff the pure, complete happiness pumping through him. Not Snape, not the piles of homework he’s been neglecting and definitely not Dean shouldering him as Harry sits alone in the corridor, waiting for Ginny to finish Charms so they can enjoy lunch together outside.

Not even Malfoy and his dirty deeds can occupy Harry’s mind more than a millisecond. There’s not enough room for much next to Ginny, she somehow makes everything else wither.

Harry’s practically skipping towards her when she bursts through the door next to Demelza, waving at Ginny frantically when she greets him with a glowing smile and a kiss.

“Saucy,” Demelza smirks, patting both of them on the back. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it, then. Later, Captain!”

“She meant me,” Ginny teases, taking his hand in hers.

“Easy there, Gin. Power-hungry doesn’t paint a pretty colour on you,” Harry jibes good-naturedly as they walk across the Great Hall.

“Not trying to overthrow you just yet. I’m just saying, taking into account your tendency to win yourself detentions and all.”

“Oi, I’ve got a reputation to protect. Can’t break my streak now, you know.”

“Ah, so you’re not planning on doing a 180 and returning to Hogwarts for your final year as The Boy Who’s Been Tamed’?”

“Not too much hope for that I’m afraid.”

“Good,” Ginny says as they stop in front of the tree that sheltered them very nicely the day before, “I like you better when you’re bad.”

Harry lets out a lame groan, his legs having turned to absolute jelly when Ginny yanks him by the tie and he lets her snog him silly on the sun-warmed grass.

Naturally, they forget about lunch that day. And the next. And the one after that, trading food for kisses, urgent and heated, determined to make up for the time they’ve lost before they found each other.

And if Harry’s absolutely honest with himself, he can admit that studying has been getting more or less the same treatment - until Hermione puts her hands on her hips and nags him about interfering with Ginny’s OWLs revision. After that, it’s only his own studying that’s neglected, as he gladly spends his time away from Ginny thinking about her.

“Come study with me in the library?” Ginny asks on a Saturday morning, freckled fingers ruffling his hair as he lounges on the battered old couch near the hearth, head in her lap.

“Ha, I knew Hermione talked dung when she said you’d concentrate better without me.” He grins up at her, hands raising to clasp around her neck and bring her down for a short kiss.

“Actually, she’s right.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t plan on revising much today,” Ginny winks, bites her bottom lip.

“Tell me more.”

“I can’t focus anyway, some messy haired bloke keeps popping into my mind, it’s quite annoying really.”

“Is that right? And what does he say?”

Ginny’s teeth sink deeper into her lip before she leans in to whisper something into his ear that immediately results in Harry hastily reaching for a pillow, subtly planting it over his middle region. “Don’t let your brother discover you know words like that,” Harry says for want of something smarter.

Ginny scoffs. “Want me to shout ‘penis’?”

“Please don’t,” Harry shakes his head, panicked, then steals a furtive glance over at Ron hunched over a table by the window with Hermione, what looks like the entirety of Hogwarts library sprawled between them.

“Just teasing you,” she laughs, cups his cheek between two fingers. “Don’t know why you’re so careful anyway, like you’re always walking on your tiptoes round him. What’ll you do when you're be staying at the Burrow with us this summer?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ll be sharing a room, won’t we?”

“Will we?” Harry’s genuinely not thought that far ahead, content to live in the moment with her. Or probably because he’s utterly terrified of Mrs Weasley and her legendary wrath.

“Won’t we?”

There’s a beat before Ginny breaks character and, giggling, pats Harry’s cheek. “Still messing with you. Mum would probably lose it if I request we amend any of her room arrangements. Although, I will expect you to put your resourcefulness to good use for some midnight visits.”

She winks and Harry needs to press the pillow to his crotch again. The way she’s playing with his heart rate, god, he’s surprised he’s not experienced any strokes yet.

Harry clears his throat. “Weren’t we supposed to be in the library by now?”

Ginny grins.

He has absolutely no clue what books he’d stuffed inside his bag before dashing out of Gryffindor Tower, Ginny giggling behind him as they race towards the library. Harry’s aware he’s never been this enthusiastic about revising in his entire student life but then again revising never meant anything other than last minute cramming or perhaps doodling whilst pretending to read. What the both of them have in mind is much, much less boring.

They find a secluded corner and drop their book bags willy-nilly on the table, Ginny summoning various tomes at random to stack them high in front of them like walls to their citadel. Harry props his chair against the wall and, watching her intently, leans back on it, waits for her to join him.

And then she does, their fingers link together, her calf moving over his as their lips slowly slant against one another, then faster, harder, fervently.

There’s so much heat inside Harry’s body, he has to kiss, to bite, to lick, anything, or else he’ll scream, he’ll go mad. The thought of ripping his own clothes off to blow some steam quickly passes through his mind but Harry waves it away before his other brain can decide it’s a fantastic idea.

“Kiss my neck again?” Ginny asks between their snogs and Harry groans.

His mouth is at her neck, hot air blown there before he licks and grazes with his teeth, his hands in Ginny’s ginger hair, her hands pulling at his messy locks. He sucks a bit and bites and Ginny moans into his ear, tells him he’s good and brilliant and don’t stop as his tongue flicks and rolls over the bruising skin.

It’s when Ginny moves her knee between his legs that Harry finally loses balance and forgets himself. The chair he’d been sitting on bangs loudly against the wall but he doesn’t care; Ginny’s hands are at his belt.

“Who’s in there?”

They freeze, tongues in each other’s mouths, as Madam Pince’s clipped steps approach them.

“Show yourselves,” the library matron fiercely demands.

Harry presses a finger to his lips and, pointing his wand toward his bag, summoning it close enough that he can grasp the Cloak. Gently he slips it over them and slowly, carefully they wait for Pince to calm down - although she nearly faints at the sight of her beloved books stacked in forgotten piles on top of a table, crudely taken out of their respective shelves and plainly, rudely abandoned.

They manage to sneak past her, tiptoeing their way out of the library and behind a tapestry of trolls in tutus to assess the situation.

“Well, you look positively ravished,” Ginny laughs, stretching to plant a chaste peck on Harry’s cheek.

“And you look positively ravishing,” Harry winks, smug, lightly tugging at Ginny’s rumpled hair, highly pleased to notice the blush creeping up her neck, over the swollen patch of skin there.

“You’re lucky all this foreplay’s got me so hungry I could swallow a hippogriff,” she pouts sweetly and Harry feels his ears start to burn for, as far as he’s been told, the word ‘foreplay’ usually implies a following act - the actual play.

He changes balance from one foot to another to subtly arrange things in his trousers while Ginny quickly combs her fingers through her hair, smoothens the wrinkles in her clothes.

“Let’s get you fed, yeah?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

After minimal discussion, they mutually agree on the desirability of avoiding Ron’s disgust, Hermione’s reminders about OWLs, and overall the prying eyes of the Hogwarts student population. Luckily, Harry has some connections in the kitchens and Dobby is more than eager to provide a sampler of that evening’s dinner.

Even as Harry’s stomach fills with rich food, his entire being feels lighter than he can remember, his eyes tear with laughter and Ginny’s chuckles fill the cavernous room. Once they’ve thanked Dobby & co., accepted the packed snack for later on, and promised to return before the end of term, Harry and Ginny slip back out the fruit themed portrait.

Ginny leans into Harry’s chest while they wander clumsily toward Gryffindor Tower, unconcerned with whatever the fastest route might be. Like it’s meant to be there, Harry’s arm wraps around Ginny’s shoulders and he basks in her closeness.

It’s hardly been any time at all, in the grand scheme of his life, but Harry can’t seem to remember what filled his days before Ginny. The oddest part is he feels consumed by it, and yet she hasn’t completely taken over his life - simply slotted in and filled all the missing places he didn’t know existed.

Their steps slow at the moving staircases, which are currently hovering in a formation that doesn’t particularly facilitate use, and Ginny leans back to take in his expression. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Briefly, Harry wonders exactly how much of his flowery internal monologue Ginny really wants to hear, and then figures it’s easy enough to sum up. He shrugs, “I’m just. Happy.”

Her smile is brilliant as she presses it against his. “Me too.”

The second kiss is less chaste, a lingering thing. But on the third, Ginny licks into his mouth and he somehow has the presence of mind to guide them off into a shadowy corner. Ginny’s hands ruck up his hair from the roots, fingernails scratching at his scalp, while her quiet sighs send shivers up his spine.

“Gin,” Harry murmurs against her jaw, not really sure what he’ll say if she responds. Whatever thought skittered across his mind is long gone.

She holds him in place with one hand while her free fingers pop a couple of her buttons open, exposing fields of freckles swirling in patterns Harry would like to spend a week memorizing.

Just as she’s guiding his mouth back to hers, a darkening bruise blossoming still at her collar bone, a throat clears behind them in a recognizable pattern - identifying the interloper as the second worst person who could’ve happened upon them in their current state.

Harry pulls back and turns, grasping one of Ginny’s hands in his and keeping his body partially in front at least until she’s mostly buttoned up.

“Professor.”

McGonagall sniffs, unimpressed. “Potter. Weasley.”

He ruffles his hair, biting back a grimace when he notes this seems more and more likely a genetic trait by the day. “We were, uh - going to practice Quidditch.”

Ginny’s groan is his first clue that something’s not quite right - and is a bit disappointing since her latest groans, moans, and sighs have been for much more pleasant reasons. But he’s a bit slow on the uptake, so it takes McGonagall spelling out the issue for him to catch up. “Quidditch season is over, Potter. I suppose you might have forgotten, given your absence at the game.”

Shit. He’s going to be in detention until he’s forty.

Maybe he’ll get partnered with Ginny…

Professor McGonagall doesn’t mete out a punishment as quickly as usual and instead considers them for a moment in a way Harry does not find particularly comforting. After a pause she says, “You know, I am no stranger to the goings on of hormonal teenagers,” she pauses and Harry’s hands go clammy, “I used to interrupt both of your parents when they decided to…’practice Quidditch.’”

While Harry begins to feel his supper come back up, Ginny groans in disgust, “Professor, why would you say that?”

A ghost of a smile flickers at McGonagall’s pursed lips. “Whatever image you two have managed to dream up is likely worse than whatever I would do in detention.”

There’s a bit of mischief in her eyes as she shoos them towards the dorms, not that Harry thinks either of them could manage to drum up anything close to a mood for snogging at this point.

Still, all the way Ginny holds his hand and leans into his arm, like they’re meant to fit together and the creature in Harry’s chest purrs happily.

“You really are the worst liar ever, Roonil,” Ginny whispers teasingly before the Fat Lady swings.

_______

Ron’s increasing fake coughs and repeated scoffs finally irritate Harry just as much as they do Ginny. It is rather clear to Harry that he either slaps his best mate over the head or simply moves their - erm, physical activities elsewhere.

As a wise young man who values friendship and loves his friends, Harry chooses the second.

Thus he agrees to meet Ginny outside the portrait hole later that evening and find themselves a cosy place to spend a happy hour or two.

“Got your Map?” Ginny asks after he greets her with a short kiss.

Harry nods and adds, “Though we might not need to check it as often. Hermione’s promised to keep Ron busy till 11. So that gives us more or less two hours.” He finds it hard not to waggle his eyebrows or wink but manages to contain himself all the same.

“They’ve finally cracked and begun to snog, then?”

Harry shoots her an amused look. “I wish. Nah, Hermione’s got him on a strict revision schedule. Never too early to prepare for NEWTs, she says.”

Ginny laughs heartily and grips Harry’s hand, her lips pressing a kiss to his shoulder as they walk down the corridor. “I do pity him, you know.”

“I know. Me too, but it’s his own doing. Gotta be a man and come clean, ‘tell her what you’re feeling’ is my personal mantra.”

Ginny scoffs audibly.

“Oh, Harry. You make it too easy for me.”

They volley back and forth as they sneak around corridor after corridor, jumping steps, mindful of the moving staircases, eyes wide open for Prefects or Filch or Snape or all of them combined. They’re on a secret mission and time coupled with the utmost discretion are of the essence.

He’s surprised to notice Ginny’s tugged him inside the same classroom he’d been hiding in from the sickening fluff of Valentine’s Day. The same one where she found him feeling sorry for himself, sat down next to him and laid her beautiful head on his shoulder, made him feel better, cared for even.

Harry swallows hard, his heart swelling. She’d remembered.

“I thought we could spend some time here, if you want,” Ginny starts, a little shy, a little uncertain, her teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip.

Harry can’t find the words to express what he’s feeling so he decides it’s best he shows her.

Smiling, he lifts her chin slightly, enough to press his lips to hers, kissing her as he walks them both inside, stumbles to grip the door knob and close it behind them.

Ginny easily hops onto a nearby desk when she hits it with her back as they fumble their way inside, eyes closed through the ever increasing dark drenching the Castle, smudging the windows a thick black.

“Nox,” Harry murmurs and the room falls prey to nightfall.

He shuffles closer till his knees press into the hard wood of the desk, hips bracketed by Ginny’s thighs, and he discovers once again that kissing sans uniforms is something else entirely. No cumbersome robes in the way, no fumbling over meters of useless material to be able to feel that sweet closeness.

And that’s exactly what he feels when Ginny’s hands sneak inside his black shirt, nails lightly grazing at his skin as he dips them lower over the desk, palm resting at the back of her head to cushion its impact with the wood. He gasps when she continues to map his chest with the tips of her fingers, when she tickles her way to his back, grips at the muscles there. Her touch is like balm to the soreness he’d been feeling.

She pulls him over her, legs clasped around his middle, and Harry hisses audibly when their bodies meet. Her waking things up and her actually being able to feel said things waking up are two entirely different things in Harry’s mind and his first impulse is to panic and stumble away.

But Ginny drags him right back. They’ve had close to twenty days of daily practice and she’s used to his bouts of self-consciousness by now, knows how to tackle them. Harry can’t thank her enough for this.

Emboldened, Harry slants his lips across her neck, touch slipping over her chest before his mouth rests right in the middle, hands clumsily roaming at the hem of her blouse. He dares travel further when her thighs grip him harder, his front pressing into her so much, too much it hurts.

Harry privately forbids himself to let go. There won’t be any subtle, embarrassed shuffling into the showers tonight. Or not until much later, when he’s alone with his thoughts, at least.

He feels the underpart of her bra with one finger at first, then gradually brings the rest of his hand to it, slowly covering it, feeling the cotton beneath his fingertips. Ginny’s tongue slips into his mouth and his hand suddenly jolts to cup her breast sooner than he’d planned and he moans because it’s wonderful and different at the same time. He’s felt her over her robes before, light touches during their snogging sessions, and once even over her shirt. But this is exciting and different, her skin so warm and soft, oh god, it doesn’t even begin to compare.

Harry chances another squeeze, another fondle and instantly groans, ah, he’s about to combust.

Ginny’s hands are in his hair as he roams inside her bra, encouraged by her pants, her moans inside his mouth, the tight grip of her thighs, her nipples hard beneath his palms. His thumb circles one nipple, desperate to feel more, to discover more of her and Ginny calls his name.

“Harry, I -”

“Yes?” He pants, pressing into her over her clothes, drags his mouth to her jaw, behind her ear.

It takes a moment before his eyes adjust to the near darkness; he’d been squeezing them so tightly shut he’d barely realised they’ve been hooked on pure feeling, on the electrifying shocks discovering new patches of skin, new soft places to kiss and grip provided for them.

He raises his green eyes to her flushed face, her burning cheeks, the mortified look in her eyes he distinguishes through the raw black of the classroom and, oh - he understands.

“I’ll - erm,” Harry stumbles for his words and finally settles for silence. He slowly raises himself from her, focused on righting his clothes to give her a moment to recover.

When she looks more comfortable, when she’s not blushing as furiously, Harry smiles at her and gently lifts her chin to capture her lips, guessing their contour through the darkness. He may not have the right words, but he really, truly hopes she knows. Knows how he feels and how much she means to him and that he’d wait any amount of time for her. They don’t need to hurry anywhere.

He brings the back of her hand to his cheek, then to his lips before he helps her down and places a kiss at the top of her head, lingers there, high on her flowery scent.

Harry continues to hold her hand while they take their time returning to the Common Room, stealing kisses and muffling laughter on their way as the echoes of their footsteps reverberate along dark Castle halls.

#itsblissfuloblivion #itsblissfuloblivion writes torch #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #hbp missing moments #canon compliant #ron weasley #hermione granger #MAY MONTH BEST HINNY MONTH #snogs ahoy #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves

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cowtale-utau · 4 years

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I was asked about this awhile ago and I’m finally getting around to it. Yee.

I’ve touched on it here and there in notes and off hand statements, but I’ve never really gotten into why exactly, Ace, or Classic Undertale Sans, is in charge. And it all comes down to power. Of the bunch, the Classic Duo, are the most powerful. This may not make sense at a glance. The Fells have LV, etc. But as the originals, Ace and Lief have certain perks.

It really comes down to the fickle nature of the Creator. Ace and Lief are the firsts. The origin from which all others are formed. None of the others would exist were it not for them. This has afforded them some favor. They simply outclass the others. More magic, more strength, and if they were to falter, magic itself would interfere. They aren’t allowed to fail.

Ace is not the “oldest” or the most willing, and despite his power, he’s not even the most “able” to lead. He hates responsibility, hates obligation, and cares nothing for order or organization. Yet he’s still in charge. He has no choice. And despite his hatred of obligation, he feels it. He feels he has to keep everyone in line. That they’re his responsibility as variants of himself and his little brother. And while he hates responsibility, he balks at turning over full control. He gets the final say. He makes the decisions.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t shirk as much as possible however. Lief does most of the actual “running” of the camp. He keeps everyone and everything cohesive and handles and in-camp conflicts. He’s an excellent mediator, and is very good at soothing tempers without bending. Strong willed and caring, he keeps everyone on an even keel, and is sometimes the only thing keeping everything from falling apart. Whip handles most of the legal aspects. Keeps them out of jail and makes sure any paperwork they need is obtained, filled, and filed. Doc handles most of the “administrative and logistics” work. He makes sure everyone has checked in, everyone is doing their jobs, locations and camp management, supplies, etc. He keeps things running and functional. While there was originally a good bit of friction, he is fairly comfortable off loading some tasks to Whip when there is some bureaucratic/legal overlap. Cook helps with supply counts, and Chisel is the “hands on” for making sure everything is physically working correctly.

So when it comes down to it, Ace is largely a figure head. He’s really only had to show force a handful of times, and only does so when Lief can’t resolve things peacefully. While Lief is more than capable of handling any of the others in combat, he simply doesn’t have the nature or disposition to use the level of force some of the others need. And so Ace steps in, puts whoever back in their place, then crawls back into his hole. Because while many of the boys are or have been “Judges”, Ace is “The Judge”. The be all end all of the skeletons. And in many ways, monsterkind. A position he loathes, and refuses to step into. He wrangles his clan, and leaves the rest to Asgore and Toriel. Should they ever need him, he’ll be there, but that has yet to happen. Generally speaking Undyne and Alphys, and their bands of guards, are more than enough to handle Ebott.

He is backed by magic and the creator. Should he falter, or start to fail, it compensates. Ace isn’t capable of failing when it matters. It’s bullshit and everyone who knows, agrees.

Fun Fact : Ace has has several arguments with Ink over it. Ink is just like, dude, you’re powerless in this. You’re whole existence is dictated by the writing of someone else. Learn to deal with it. At least you do exist.

#Cowtale #lore #worldbuilding #Ace #world building

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namjoonchronicles · 5 years

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lumière | nj

↳ genre fluff, domestic au, namjoon being sweet

↳ words 3.3k

↳ summary all of my ‘under 5 feet’ ladies, rejoice, in this fic, we are talking about major height differences in a couple and the shits we are going through that tall lads don’t, no shade, i love you tol, but sometimes we petites gotta remember to love ourselves, as we are

↳ notes lumière [lymjɛʀ] french, meaning light or shine

↳ warning extreme self-roast *hi i’m 1.49cm tall*, loving a tol person despite all odds, terrible cuteness beyond imagination, heart fluttering-smile inducing-read, a piece written from self-induced depression to prove that bad things can be beautiful

↳ namjoonchronicles’ honorary tag list @kai-tashi @septemberalien @joon94net @yourlocalalien @snugglemejeon @yoongiseesaw @majestikblue

↳ special mentions @fangirlaholicxx this was a gift to you, and i guess, for us little people, to love someone as tall as namjoon is a far fetched dream *toss aside all our other tall biases* and you of all people know how much it bothers me, for the way i whine about the parking buttons being too high, and not able to reach the pedals without adjusting my car seat, or how things i wanted to purchase is always placed so high, complaining as to why namjoon isn’t here yet to help me; this is for you, in the midst of your exam week, thanks for being patient & being my friend :)

↳ song ed sheeran ‘Tenerife Sea’ ; that sweet-sweet part where he sang ‘lumière, darling.’

Everyone thinks having a major height different with your beau is the cutest thing in the world. Easy for you to say, if you're not the one going through it endlessly, day-by-day.

Standing at 181 cm, Namjoon is one lanky dude. That's what your cousin told you when she first met him. Several years later, he is still too tall and it's either you're getting shorter or he's getting taller. You swore by the stars in your eyes, that it's the latter.

Crumpled sheets, waking up next to him is not as romantic as the movies depicted. You'd wake up, hair frenzied, and slapping his bicep because he is hogging the blanket all over to his side. His limbs drape over you, and it feels like a tree log that falls over after a typhoon. Not to mention that it is incredibly impossible to wake up and not trip over those legs. You fall flat on your face and that's your version of a wake up call. He curls to his side and invade your side of the bed when you wake up. Almost everyday, you fall to your back on the floor at the side of the bed to give him more space.

Cute? The sore disagrees.

Not when your morning work up includes jumping in place to get that shower head down to your height and failing. Do you know how dangerous that is? Wet floor, wiggling fingers to grasp air and have it finally toppling over your head, eliciting a tiny 'Ow'.

Shoulder and neck gets treated with a warm run of the water from the shower head, tips to keep living with a long lamp post beau. It soothes the strains, those knotted capillaries relaxes at the contact of warm water. Stepping out of the shower, drying the tips of your hair that managed to get wet, only to huff tiredly at the sight of the hair dryer place on the top shelf every time Namjoon uses them. Shutting your eyes and sighing in agony, the morning workout is endless. You do what you usually do: climb over the sink counter and get the hair dryers. You walk outside, and see him seated on the bed, gathering the blankets around his waist, eyes still shut. Adorable. You pushed his bangs away and grant him a simple brush of lips on his forehead. When else can you do that if not now?

Namjoon is a makeshift ladder sometimes, for changing bulbs and cleaning ceiling fans. It is never not funny because he always hanging his mouth open to watch you clean and the dust gets eaten by him. He'll choke and stagger in his stance, then you'll drop on the couch as he gathers himself. However, the situation worsens from here on end. Because? Height difference are so much apparent in public settings.

While it is easy for other couples to take cute selfies by the park, standing up. It is almost impossible for you to be in the same frame as Namjoon is, because he was too tall.

Either you took a picture of his tummy next to your face, or he takes a picture of his face next to the top of your head, with your eyes and forehead nowhere to be seen. It's annoying when you see the pictures he had taken with that huge smile of his and the strand of your hair. One thing about being in a relationship with major height difference, is when you hold hands, to walk together but he ends up walking too fast anyways, even when he didn’t mean to. So you've given up.

There once or twice he’d lost you in the crowd, and having to result to drastic measures to find you. Because no height is too tall for you, you fit in almost any places. Namjoon had made it a rule for you to walk in front of him so it's easier and no one gets lost. What he didn't figure out is that, he'd be so endorsed to keeping you safe, that he doesn't see the tree branches you walked under to be in his exact height and slap him in the face. Smack!

Once or twice, or several times, he gets knocked over by certain ceilings that you walked under unscathed. In underground train station, he has to tip his head to the side going down the escalator because his height is above average and no one cares about him. Your warning comes in a single word: Head, and it is only declared when the ceilings are too low. Your warning often comes too late. Provided his long legs and your comfortable stroll. Even signboard are as tall as he is. Sitting by the bleachers to cater to him is common. You enjoy it sometimes, but when you see the look in his brimming eyes, your smile disappears and cooing begins. He might be a really big man, but to you, he’s just a big baby.

In the outsiders eyes, you two are quite a mismatched couple. And some call you two, adorable. There's nothing adorable having to tiptoe every time you wanted to kiss on the sidewalks. Craning your head back and puckering your lips, knowing fully well that he could just walk away in three long strides to the next block, leave you hanging. Surprise kisses are out of the window. There's no surprise kisses when he is standing. Watching yourself in the full length mirror is a pain because you look like his child. He ruffles your head with ease and his cap covers half of your face. There's nothing you can share with him, at least physically. All his clothes are yours, yes. But all your clothes, are his handkerchiefs. Literally.

Things gets worse when you both are fighting. For a couple who can only be eye-to-eye when seated or lying down, heated arguments are not welcomed.

It's easy for him to ignore you, he'll act as if you aren't there. Your height makes it impossible for him to keep a straight face. The weight of the discussion is dismissed almost every time. He'll just have to avert his eyes elsewhere when you're talking about something important to you. And it calls for drastic measures from your side. That include standing on the edge of the bed, or dragging the dining chair to where he is to get to his eye level. His jaws would twitch and his lips tug into a smile, and then your hell breaks loose.

It frustrates you to the point that you would stomp the floor, balling fists on your sides. And that leaves Namjoon no choice but to manhandle you out of arguments, against your will of course. If things took turn for the worst, like when you're sulking, or giving him the cold shoulder, he tightens all the jar overnight so you can't open them the next morning. All your mugs and cereals are magically placed on the top shelf. But you're a tough cookie, so climbing over kitchen top is your forte.

Still think it's cute? Not when you’re aging.

As a counter attack, you hide his charger in the smallest space you could find in your house and unplug his computer knowing he can't fit in the small desk without knocking everything down. It doesn't end there. You put pillow forts between him and you when you watch TV sitting on the couch, in the living room. All he have to do is swat his hand over the fragile fort to get you jumping over him and choking him. He stands up and drape his limb over your entire body, smothering you with kisses, holding you in place while you watch the program, defeated, confined in his body prison unable to do anything. Fighting over the last jelly is fruitless. Namjoon would just put them above your head and you're left hopping in place. A punch on his stomach will make him cower. It usually work, even for a kiss. The lines between pleasure and pain are a blur.

You can never reach the train handle, to fix that, Namjoon holds the train handle for you, and place your hand on his biceps. Or you could wrap your arm around his waist. His stroll at the park feels like a jog to you. To make things easier, he carries you on his back. Or get a tandem bicycle, the bicycle with two seats. He'll cycle, you'll just have to place your feet on the pedal without doing anything but eat ice cream. A lot of time the seat needed to be adjusted so you could climb on and off, with ease.

Taking pictures in standing booth is definitely a challenge. You'll get upset at the view of the screen where only half of your face is showing, so he bends his knees and carry you a bit. Your legs on each of his sides facing him, the camera captures you cupping his face as he gaze up to you with his dimple showing. You share lip lock in the fun moments and the photos printed out the sequences is almost always satisfying. Sitting on the bookstores floor, leaning your head on his as he reads to you something from Hamlet's screenplay. Turning the pages, and your head moves together, blurting out the sentence on the same page. Falling asleep on the two seats at the back of the bus, your head linking on each other.

He makes it easier. But both of you are homebodies for all the good reasons. Where you could be you, and he could be him.

Where reading books, laying your stomach over his thigh is your version of a date, too endorsed in the words to notice how uncomfortable the position is. Where working out together means you sitting on his back, counting him down with every push up and repeating certain numbers to get on his nerves. Where dancing in his t shirt and your hair down while he fake sings pretending a remote is a microphone is your kind of fun, with music blasting in the background. Prancing around, wiggling butts, making your own concert at home is your favorite past times. Napping in different positions, with the opal curtains down. Watching movies with you sitting between his legs, leaning your back on his hard chest. He passes a few kisses atop of your hair, answering your questions about the movie with muffled yeses. Feeding him cheeseballs; one for you, one for him. Him falling asleep midway through the movie, and watching him instead, until you yourself lay your head on his chest, your face in the crook of his neck and drifted as well.

It seems like the only time you can be a real couple is when one person is lying down, or at home. In the pool. Like your little secret universe. A best kept secret.

Pushing him into the pool. The first time he went to the pool with you when you started dating, he made sure the world knew he couldn’t swim when you bolted at him to fall in the pool, wailing, screaming his head off, literally crying. He only stopped when you told him to stand straight because the pool’s height was less than six feet. You checked. He was so embarrassed, he couldn’t look at you in the eye. While you float on your back in a relaxed manner. Then he got really comfortable. So comfortable with you.

Pushing you after you pushed him in the water, before joining you. Kissing underwater. Lots of kissing underwater.

Floating on the surface of the water in floats while he directs by guiding your float. Never able to sit on the float together because he is too heavy. So he takes out a larger one with a smug smile. Basking under the sun with colored sunglasses, on the floats. Him lifting you up by the waist so you could seat on the brims and hand him his drink while his face crumpled in disgust at the taste which was actually red ginseng that you put inside instead of the strawberry cordial he was asking for. Your pranks are endless. But hey, it was for his health. And stamina. He is going to need that, having a lover as small as you.

But one thing rings true: Slow-dancing is not romantic when you come at the eye level of his titties.

However it is cute when your chin touches his chest to look up at him, and he reaches down with his protruding lips before he even get there. House chores are always fun together. He takes on the outdoors, sweeping away the dried leaves and hosing down the entire balcony with water. You are vacuuming indoors, separated by only a sliding glass door. Mid way handling those tasks, Namjoon would bother you by knocking on the glass door to gain your attention. He waits for you to come near and place his large palm flat on the glass, for you to place yours. He gets contented by this. And you don’t mind playing along. It’s a form of intimacy. That most people out there don’t understand. Or care to understand. The smile he has on, right after, is always so rewarding.

Intimacy is expensive. It is priceless. It is when he thumbs your lips and pinches your chin so he could kiss you. It is when he trace his index finger on the outline of your face when you're sleeping. It is when he stares into your fluttering shut eyes, love in his heart--something he had trouble comprehending in the past. It is when he lays on his stomach, wondering what you're dreaming of and secretly hoping that it's him.

Motioning closer with his elbows digging the mattress, he presses his lips on the tip of your eyebrows and letting them linger, he prays that you know how much you meant to him. There’s so much meaning, silence could carry. And they are not always bad when you’re together. He could speak endlessly about his theories, his political views, what he thought about the galaxy, but when it comes to you, there are so little words. When words couldn’t compensate his emotions, actions takes place. More holding, more touching, more kissing. More. It baffles him how the feeling is like faith. Love, the only thing in the world science couldn’t explain. It just...exist.

He lived a life without you, and as the days goes by, he often wonder how he managed to go through that phase alone. After that glimmering, goosebump worthy moment of the first kiss you shared, Namjoon never want to go a day without it even if you’re fighting, and not speaking to each other. The little breath you took as if you’ve been waiting for him, the relief felt like the weight lift off his chest.

Kissing, touching, holding you becomes his favorite hobby.

So in love, to even realize the shortcomings you have. In the past, you begged him to leave you because you have brought so much difficulties in his life, your stern self loathe didn't scare him one bit. A full blown argument about this arises so many times than he care to count. Cornered with your own negative thoughts, hounded by the things you don't have rather than what you have. Shuddering in your sentences, and once it gets too much, he throws you over his shoulder and shut the bedroom door behind him. To simply talk. To simply sit you down in the middle of the bed while he knelt at the bed listening to you. Tears would spill mid sentence, the fragile strength is gone at the sight of Namjoon soft gaze. He thumbs your tears away, squeezing your cheeks between his hands till your lips look like a puffer fish, pulling you into a kiss. Action speaks louder than words.

Before parting to do his project, Namjoon always resorts to a sudden roll a few nights before. That involves bothering you while you work, read or in the midst of watching drama, telling you to hurry up because he is impatient and needed you there and then, in breathy voices and sloppily placed kisses. He becomes straightforward with what he wants and the reason behind that hurried lip lock is because he needed to be away in his studio, soon. That was the only way that works which guarantees that he won't be having you sulking because he got too busy. And it always gets super spicier when it has been awhile. Hungrier, wilder, sweatier.

Suddenly, height isn't such a major problem. Not when satisfaction is met. Must be your voice, or your touches, or the way you look at him; it has to be something unrelated to physical proportions because he swore on his ancestors graves that he has everything he needs in you.

In the morning when the parting comes, he made sure to whisper in your ear when he leaves. Peppering kisses down your cheek, jaws, neck and shoulder, then trailing down your arms in a hurry, promising that he won't be long as you moan tiredly in return. He says he'll call, he'll text. With the guarantee that you'll be at the receiving end because there's nothing he hates more than to be away from you and not hearing from you, as frequently as he needed to. It's not an exaggeration to say that his sanity depends on it.

One of his favorite thing to do when you're away, is to remember how he could feel your quickening pulse when his lips pressed on the skin next to your windpipe. It happens to be one of your sweet spot, as lucky as he was to find out about that. It becomes an indicator to you that he wants some time together when he kisses that area. In desperate, pressing moments, he'll add a swipe of his tongue, nibble and bite on them. Guaranteed to send you to an overdrive. He likes the thought of it and frequently imagines it when he can't be with you, due to work. It sends tingles down his spine, flutters on his lips and his brain spinning in a euphoric high that he will claim the moment he sets foot on the doorstep.

That emotional bond is so much stronger than the longest legs of the most gorgeous models on the runway he used to fantasize about. That spiritual linkage is the thing that lingers when you're not around, that keeps him wanting more. When you're not within his grasp, he gets uncomfortable and unspeakably lonely beyond words. That explains why he rushes his work so he could go home to you. To lean his back on the headboard, linking foreheads. To talk about his vulnerability without judgement in your eyes. To share a kiss that begins with a simple caress on one side of the face, to savor the taste of his lips with closed eyes and a small smile that grows long after the kiss ended for him to see just how much power you gave him.

He didn't come home to a girl his own height, didn't come home for a comfortable hug and shoulder-to-shoulder nudge; he comes home to the devotion he couldn't find anywhere else, to the small petite girl he'd give the world to, perhaps even the galaxy--if he could get his hands on them. All the songs are about you. Every words, every wild night, every touch and every tantalizing moment, are for you.

Crumpled sheets, lanky legs and bruised foreheads. Strained neck, shoulders and swollen Achilles tendons. Tummy selfies, and eyes peeping at the corner of the picture frames. Standing on chairs, and tightening jars. Cheek kisses, hand holding, gazing into each others eyes. Perhaps the only way to counter attack a major height difference, is to have major crush on each other. Constantly. Without fail.

copyright © 2019 namjoonchronicles do not repost, did you like it? did you realize that there is no dialogue at all? did you went to check again? that was all your imagination doing the story for you, all i did was spark it. have a great day love, just a nice comment is all i need in return x

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hpdabbles · 4 years

Text

Kindness and Remorse Part 6

Getting his parents to allow them to go out wasn’t as hard as one would think. In his past life, his mother would bend to any of his whims and though they do have more disagreements now, she still allowed him to get away with anything.

It seemed that now that she has something else to the direction her attention to, Petunia barely gave mind to he was up to so long as he claims to be somewhere.

She rarely, if ever questions him, and Dudley knew she didn’t double-check if he was lying. If her son said he was at the library, then that’s where he be even if the place closed at seven and he didn’t get home till ten. As far as she cared Dudley, knew when to get home and when not to.

This is why Harry and he often went on mini-adventures with the usage of the public buses. A few people raised a brow at two young boys traveling this way but no one really bothered them over it. Mostly because people didn’t go out of their way for strangers unless they saw obvious evidence of abuse before them and even then it was a tossup. Ms. Williams had taken some action after getting Dudley’s photos but she had been easily swayed by his parents' silver tongues and the playhouse they installed.

She didn’t do much else besides asked Harry and him if they felt safe at home a few times and then when they went on to the next grade no one else really checked. He thinks this is the reason no one questioned Harry’s obvious signs of abuse the first time, not just because of the lies his parents spread around about him but that people purposely turn a blind eye to them.

It’s not too hard to imagine.

Most people didn’t believe children when they said they were abused, not really. unless it was far too late. It made him sick sometimes to think about so he tries not to. It’s not a good idea to torment himself with thoughts such as those when he knows he can’t really do anything about them. It just builds up anxiety.

If Dudley really was a child, his parents' lack of care for where he was at all times of the day could be alarming. Oh, they loved him, gave him whatever he wanted (within reason that it didn’t benefit Harry) but they edged on the line of negligence.

Thankfully, the boy was a time traveler and could more than handle himself while also caring for Harry when they were left alone. A time where they weren’t at school, being babysat by Ms. Figg or at the library, they were out and about somewhere.

The pair of cousins did like their outings.

They ventured to places that were free mostly- which did limit them a little but Dudley had taken Harry to fun places too. On Harry’s eighth birthday Dudley had taken him to see his first-ever movie in a theater, Scooby-do, and the Ghoul School, and then taken him to get ice-cream. Harry had said it was the greatest day of his life, which is why he always made it a tradition afterward.

Harry Potter will always get one movie in the theater of his choosing and ice-cream cones for his birthday, Dudley swore.

Taking the public bus had always been their thing, something fun and exciting, something completely Dudley and Harry bonding. Harry usually spent most of the ride quietly talking his ear off with wild theories on where Dudley was taking them this time. His cousin has always been more on the shy side, but he never truly quiet with him.

Now, however, Harry has said nothing. He boarded the bus with a barely concealed resentment towards his cousin while clutching two envelopes that had the bus driver- A nice fellow of late forties called Mr. Jones- raising a brow. The man was not used to seeing any feud between the boys.

Dudley is slightly relieved Harry at least still takes a seat in their usual spot even if he stares out the window, and refuses to even look at him. The place is rather empty with only three other passengers beside them but being apart in any public setting could be dangerous.

“Goodmorning boys. Where you off to today?” Mr. Jones asks them while starting to move the vehicle.

“London sir.” Dudley answers.

“Why that’s quite far. About an hour's drive and out of my coverage.”

“I know sir. We’re going to grab a bite to eat and then catch eighty-nine later to make it there.”

“Alright. But be careful and remember to come home before it gets dark. I’ll waver your fee if you return by eight pm tonight but only if you get here before or at that time.” Dudley can’t help but smile at the barely concealed worry flashing across the older man’s kind eyes.

“Thank you, sir. We will.”

The conversation drifts away as Mr. Jones focuses one driving and Dudley wonders what he’s going to do to get Harry to forgive him. It’s not often he gets into arguments with children but when Daisy had been at the beginning of her puberty there had been some arguments that had Tiffiny and he climbing the walls.

If there was one thing he learned about those times, it was to allow her some space then sit her down and figure out why she was so upset. From there Dudley gave his side of the story and together they tried to work out a solution. Some arguments ended with forgiveness and others with punishment her misbehavior earn.

It was hard remaining in a calm voice without patronizing her due to her age but Dudley worked hard to make it possible for his kids to be able to come to him with any issue.

Obviously, there were bound to be things she never shared with her father, since everyone had secrets, but at least it gave her the option.

Was he perfect? No.

Did that stop him from trying to be better? Hell no.

Allowing the sway of the vehicle to calm his mind, Dudley stared ahead of himself, allowing his eyes to linger on the road and passing buildings but seeing of it all.

Going over the fight this morning he realized three very alarming things. First, Dudley hadn’t handled the situation for someone his age. Harry was the child not him. He shouldn’t have gone on the defensive.

Second, he implied that he withheld information about Harry’s mother because “he didn’t want to be left behind” which is water down excuse used by emotional manipulators. This could not only condition Harry to feel guilt when he wanted something but also train Dudley to keep doing it.

And Third, Dudley had been working with limitations all these years, acting around them but not talking about them. How did Harry feel when he obviously noticed the difference between their lives? Yes, once he said it didn’t bother him but he never actually talked deeply on the matter.

He never assured the young boy that the Dursley couple’s behavior was on them, not Harry’s fault.

It was his job as an adult to fix this.

“Harry, I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. I just want to say a few things. You don’t have to answer or forgive me but please hear me out?” Dudley starts after gathering his thoughts.

Messy dark hair didn’t turn from the window, even when the owner of said locks seemed to tense up. He was listening.

“I want to say I’m sorry. I was in the wrong. I should have given you that letter and I don’t have any excuse for not doing it. I know I said I didn’t want to be left behind and that was horrible of me.” Taking a big breath, the blond ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not about me. It never was. It’s about Auntie Lily and you, and I kept you away from that. I’m no better than my parents, maybe even worse since I tried to be someone you could trust. I know I broke that trust today. It isn’t fair, especially since it’s almost time for you to go to Hogwarts. I’ll do better now, I swear.”

He waits but when his cousin says nothing he nods his head in understanding. He doesn’t want to talk and Dudley won’t push him. They ride together in silence for the rest of the ride. Together they get off at the last stop without uttering a word though Dudley does a nod to Mr. Jones in farewell.

It’s not till they are sitting at the next bus stop, in the summer morning air that his cousin finally turns to him with watery green eyes. Dudley prepared himself for whatever words is about to be spoken.

“....You’ve been planning on sending me away.” Harry says at last. His voice is a soft whisper filled so many emotions it’s hard to identify them “All this time.”

Out of everything he was expecting that was certainly not it. “What?”

The little boy shakes his Hogwarts acceptance letter pointedly. “ You’ve been planning on sending me away Ley. Why? Have really I been so horrible?”

“To learn magic!” Dudley rushed to correct. “That’s a magic school. You going there is for education! It’s not a punishment, Harry, it’s an opportunity. You’ve never been horrible. You’re a bright and smart kid.”

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don’t think I am.” Greens eyes flicker away. Hunching his shoulders Harry looks so tiny, so breakable. It fills him with such protective rage, Dudley shakes with it.

“Fuck them!” Dudley growls making his cousin jump. “No honestly, fuck them. They’re not good people Harry. It’s not normal for them to treat you- us- like they do. There will be people who will love us and treat us better the way we both deserve someday. We can’t let the way they act ruin the idea of love.”

Harry stares at him with dropped jaw before he’s spluttering out a protest. “But they love you!”

“No. They don’t” He doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, nor so disappointed but the emotions leak into his voice. He’s supposed to be calm right now dammit it.

“You said the same thing a while ago.” Harry squints at him, mistrust and disbelief physically visible in his eyes. “ You said they won’t love you for long. What did you mean?”

Dudley closes his eyes suddenly very tired. It feels like all the energy has been ripped right out of his body. The words “I’m magic too and they hate all magic” build up in his throat, make it to the tip of his tongue but they get stuck in his mouth. He doesn’t know why. He just promised to be better.

Just say it, Daddy. Josh, his brave little boy, says in his mind. If it was any other time he would be happy to realize he remembers his voice. It’ll be okay.

“Father and Mother will only love me if I’m like they want me to be. They don’t love me for me” He starts, lips quivering. Harry stares at him then holds out his hand for Dudley.

It’s a small kind act that reminds him so much of the green-eyed boy’s older self it almost causes a chuckle to escape him. Instead, he chokes.

Daddy? Aren’t you going to say it?

“Harry the truth is...I’m...I..” Squeezing the warm hand in his Dudley blurts “I like boys.”

Why are you like this Dad? Daisy tsks around his mind as his cousin's whole face breaks into pure shock. His stomach drops as he realizes that he actually just said that. The words are there, out in the open, into the universe.

He just came out.

I wish I knew sweetie.

“Oh,” Harry says. “You’re...”

“I like girls too!” Dudley rushes to clarify. “I like both actually. I’m...bisexual. I think.”

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia won’t like that.” Harry sounds apologetic but suddenly he brings Dudley into a hug. “But I don’t care. I still love you. Thanks for telling me, Ley.”

“It’s the first time I’ve said that in this life.” He confesses returning the hug. Gosh but this kid. He adores this kid.

“Have you always known?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry says leaning back. “Okay. I forgive you.”

“No”

“No?”

“No. Look, Harry, I’m happy you aren’t mad at me anymore but this? This is an explanation, not a justification. I don’t want you thinking it’s okay for someone to hurt your feelings, to keep things from you and then forgive them after they say why.” Dudley stresses holding his cousin's arms and looking into his eyes trying to convey how important this is. “I kept a letter from your dead mom from you. I didn’t tell you about your magic. I broke your trust. I need to own up to that. You’re not allowed to forgive me until I earn the right to be forgiven. You understand me?”

Harry looks slightly awe but he nods his head. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good.” Letting go, Dudley gives him a teary eye smile. “Want to get some ice-cream?”

For the first time since this awful morning, Harry smiles. “Sure.”

The cousins still have an hour and a half before their bus arrives, so they walked down the street to an ice-cream polar Harry saw on the way. As they’re walking the tension between them disappears, the morning sun shining on them brightly, while some birds fly above.

“Ley?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I don’t think I can forgive you just yet.” He sounds nervous but it only makes Dudley smile.

“That’s okay Harry. I understand.”

“Okay good. I um, don’t want to talk about it anymore today.”

“Alright, we won’t today. But we do need to have a long talk.”

“Cool”

Dudley feels light when he buys Harry a two-scoop ice-cream. Maybe the conversation didn’t go as he planned. Maybe he still needs to come clean about being magic. Maybe being in charge of emotions is easier in theory than in person.

But this is the first step.

“You want anything else? You didn’t eat this morning.”

“Can we get Mcdonals?”

“Sure.”

Despite the fact they mostly went to places that were free- such as the park, the stores for window shopping, and public events- he didn’t need to worry too much about money during these trips. Not after Vernon started to give Dudley a weekly allowance of twenty pounds at the age of eight.

He made sure not to waste it and been putting some aside each week. Dudley used only five of the pounds at the most. He figured it would be a good idea to build some funds for them both just in case.

He only tapped into his savings over the last few years for Harry. Be it birthdays or something else special, like a treat or a little toy here and there. Nothing too obvious least his parents caught on. Just something that let Harry know Dudley loved him.

His cousin knew Vernon gave him money but luckily he never learned how much so Dudley was able to keep the illusion that he only earn five pounds. Not that he wanted to lie to Harry, but he’s cousin wasn’t the most trustworthy when it came to finical impulses especially as a child. (Who needs a solid gold cauldron? What were you trying to make? A rich man potion?)

Not to mention, Harry’s school supplies were quite costly and while he had no idea just how his cousin was able to pay for it the first time, Dudley planned on making sure he had everything he needed to be successful.

He had everything he needed in his pocket.

“We need to go to a special bank to convert our pounds into the other money before we go school shopping for you,” Dudley said after swallowing some fires. The boy across from him took a big drink of his cup before nodding. “We’re also going to check on your family account.”

Taking a bite of his burger Harry asks. “Why?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He scowls automatically before softening his face. “Just to make sure we can get everything you need. Your mom mention your dad had lots of money for the wedding so grandma didn’t have to worry about paying anything right? Where did it go when they died?”

Harry stills. “Huh. I don’t know.”

“Exactly. We have to check. It works out since we’ll be going to the bank than the postal office and spend the rest of the day buying your supplies.”

After eating the two realize they had about five minutes before the bus arrives. Running the block from Mcdonals, the two just barely make it onboard. They then sit down and talked quietly about the supplies Harry will need.

It seems his cousin really wanted to get and take a pet snake to is a magical school but Dudley had been firm with the list clearly saying that animal was not allowed. Neither boy notices the people around them taking glances at the odd boys.

Finally, after an hour's drive, the two made it to London. They walk around a little stopping to buy something to drink but taking their time. Harry starts to talk about some new ideas for some drawings he thinking about. Over the years he’s become obsessed drawing everything in sight, especially animals.

Often times Dudley found himself a model.

Suddenly a very familiar inn comes into sight.

“Where are we going, Ley?”

“There,” He can’t help but grin at the sight of the Leaky Cauldron pointing at it but stopping before a muggle store. “But first lets each buy some baseball caps.”

“Why?”

“To hide your scar”

#hpdabbles #Kindness and Remorse Au #Harry Potter #Part 6 #Trying to be a good adult #Coming out

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dicoco-dragon · 4 years

Text

Spitfire Fic's Rec -part 3

♡What is Known: TheColdestGinger

Wally knew a few things about Artemis Crock. But he didn't know that he loved her.

♡But I'm Wearing You Down: sarcat

The five times Wally and Artemis manage to find their way back to each other.

♡You'd Be North: Black Licorice Addict

Somewhere between laughing for no reason, stupid arguments, dangerous missions, long talks, random outings, and making fun of each other, it was inevitable that this happen.

♡Of Band Aids and Broken Bones: Black Licorice Addict

Sometimes band aids fixed more than scrapes, cuts, and broken bones.

♡Call It A Bloody Stalemate: bluepianos

It's that time of the month when Artemis can find herself fending off hormones, emotions and the lure of certain, red-headed Speedsters.

♡The Airborne Toxic Event: Black Licorice Addict

He was absolutely certain she was releasing some sort of toxic substance that was going to kill them all...Only, he was having a difficult time proving it...

♡Magic Fingers: Black Licorice Addict

She wanted to hate him, she really did. At least until the day she discovered he had magic fingers...

♡these small hours: shinyhappyfitsofrage

A mirror passes her on her right, and it is a shiny, fleeting reminder that there is something of her to be reflected, that she is still a physical being and not a flying, golden dream.

♡Lessons In Love: bluepianos

It took you this long to realize that you're not supposed to overanalyse love. In fact, you're not supposed to analyse it at all.

♡Our Thing: Melissa Black13

'Him picking her up and carrying her bridal style is kind of their thing.' Snapshots of Wally and Artemis's life together.

♡What is essential is invisible to the eye: knightstemplar

Wally reminiscens about the past and wonders how much Artemis remembers.

She's in the hospital and he's stuck with his thoughts.

♡Knock Knock: imaginaryvigilante

Before he can start his search for Speedy, Roy has to find a baby sitter.

♡Anything Better Than You: Awsomaniatica

Wally and Artemis are at it again. What will come to their bickering? Especially when a couple of trolls are secretly commenting on the side. Spitfire galore.

♡ The Next Great Adventure: brella

She hears his voice in there, just for a second – just in the instant between not existing and coming home. And that's when she knows, madness be damned, that he's still out there.

College AU

♡Scents Of Confidence: rach3lr0th

Because of Artemis's intense training in Archery, she needs to keep her hands super moisturized. Wally's powerful sense of smell is really distracting.

♡in the woods somewhere: bleuboxes

It starts during the graveyard shift, as all the terrible, horrible, no-good things in Artemis’s life do.

The problem, however, does not start with locating these books, which is proving easier than she anticipated. The problem starts when she runs straight into another person – another person who has a nice muscly chest, who knocks her (and the books she’s got piled in her arms) right onto the floor, who bends down to help her pick up all the books that spilled all over.

It starts with the person with the coppery red hair, with the prettiest green eyes, and with the most freckles she’s ever seen.

Simply AU

♡Yeah, the warrants on my head: sarcat

A summer at her uncle's horse ranch sounds like an eternity, but it's actually not long enough.

♡A Night on the Town: TheColdestGinger

When Wally's date stands him up Artemis saves the day.

#spitfire #dc comics #dc heroes #dcmultiverse #young justice #wally x artemis #wally west #artemis crock #artemis #kid flash #romance #otp #fanfic #fanfiction #fic's rec

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frvnklonqbottom · 5 years

Text

your blood is ancient. you were born with power in your veins. you are not ceasar, you are octavian - bound for incomparable greatness, carving marble out of stone. you inhale smoke and exhale glory. your wings are wide and they fly high, inching closer and closer to the burning sun. you must remember, boy, you are still just a child. laugh with your friends and keep that smile while you can - ceasar’s death is coming and soon it will be your time.

if you’re looking for FRANK LONGBOTTOM, you’ll probably find HIM in the GRYFFINDOR dorm with the rest of the SIXTH years. they’re the NINETEEN year old PUREBLOOD who looks kind of like JOE KEERY. they seem DEDICATED, HONOURABLE & AUDACIOUS to me, but apparently they’re also SHORT-TEMPERED, IMPULSIVE & ARGUMENTATIVE. maybe that’s why their patronus is A BUFFALO.

links: pinterest character parallels: steve harrington (stranger things), jake peralta (brooklyn nine-nine), stefan salvatore (the vampire diaries), harper (set it up), peter kavinsky (tatbilb), bellamy blake (the 100)

BACKGROUND

franklin augusta longbottom was born to franklin sr. & augusta longbottom ( née macmillan ) on the 17th of april 1958, in a time where the longbottoms were still a major part of pureblood society.

frank grew up surrounded by parties and purists, perfect little children and strict parents who had drilled certain beliefs into those frank called friend. the longbottom’s had been a prominent name in this society for generations, and augusta and frank sr. had always been far too quiet to say anything to the contrary.

behind closed doors, however, they would pull frank aside and remind him that that wasn’t the way to think. they would teach him about the importance of acceptance and recognising that some people are going to be different than you and that that’s okay.

occasionally frank would try and talk about this with his pureblood friends, but they never wanted to listen — they’d been taught something completely different and that was what they believed. that was that.

as frank grew up and tensions started to rise, it became clear to frank sr. and augusta that they couldn’t just let this slide anymore — there were sides to this debate now drawn with a clear line and they knew now what they believed. and so just two months before he was set to go to hogwarts, the longbottom’s announced their allegiance with the muggleborns and split themselves from pureblood society.

at first, frank was devastated. he was too young to really understand how serious things were getting, and all he could see was his parents pulling him away from his childhood friends and telling him not to even talk to them anymore. he protested for weeks before they finally sat him down and explained to him the gravitas of the situation.

knowing that he was about to start at hogwarts with all those he had just turned his back on, frank decided it would be best to just completely ignore them rather than acknowledge that they were now on different sides. this was helped when the sorting hat landed him in gryffindor, the complete opposite to where most of his ex-friends ended up in slytherin.

to put it simply, frank absolutely thrives at hogwarts.

with a great understanding of magic and magical society as he was taught in his younger years, other students flocked to him and he soon became one of the most popular kids in his grade.

it isn’t just that he’s intelligent, either — he is fun. he knows how to let loose and how to bend rules so that he can really enjoy his time at hogwarts to the fullest. he is definitely known to get into trouble sometimes, occasionally taking this rulebending too far and ending up in the middle of the black lake or watching as the slytherin change rooms beneath the quidditch pitch went up in flames ( an accident, he swears ) and despite the numerous detentions he has received over the years, he still proudly wears the prefect’s badge and is well on his way to receiving the title of head boy next year.

having fun doesn’t mean he isn’t one of the smartest students in his year. frank studies hard and puts effort into his classes that surprises many, and he’s a bloody talented wizard because of it. now, leading up to his final year, he is cracking down even harder because he had one goal and one goal only — to become an auror.

over the last few months, frank has been thinking — an unusual occurrence for the boy whose reputation relies on his reckless impulsiveness. but he’s been thinking. he’s been watching as the world around him changes, as the atmosphere of the wizarding world shifts to something much darker then he’s ever seen before, and something in him stirs when he goes back to hogwarts and sees all the other kids that flood the halls. they are not ready. no one is ready for this war. they are just children trying to navigate through his storm they’ve been thrown into, and the nurturing part of frank’s heart wishes they didn’t have to participate, but he knows that’s not realistic. and he’s worried. no one’s prepared — he wants to make them prepared.

over christmas break, frank spent many sleepless nights wondering if he can do something. a group. a group where, together, students who want to fight can learn how, they can learn the spells the professor’s won’t teach them and arm themselves with the knowledge that’s needed to not only survive, but to fight. it would be secret, underground, for frank is no fool — he knows where the ministry is headed these days and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they infiltrate the school and oh of course something like this would be shut down.

the idea is still in its earliest stages, but he wants to get it off the ground sooner rather than later. he wants to help, and he thinks that this is his duty — he’s just playing his part.

MISCELLANEOUS

parents & childhood

apart from the rocky periods in which they were involved in pureblood society, frank’s childhood was relatively normal. he was spoiled rotten, absolutely adored by his parents, and felt an especially tight bond with his father. frank sr. would often go out and try to teach frank quidditch in their spacious back garden, but frank would always flop — he was never set to be a quidditch player ( but he’d be damned if he wasn’t the best damn cheerleader in the stands ).

although he is now retired, frank sr. used to work as an employee at the ministry for the department of international magical cooperation. this often meant he was travelling a lot, but this never created a sever between the family. frank sr. would always make up for it, anyway, by bringing back little trinkets from all the places he visited. frank now has a collection sitting on his nightstand in his and alice’s home.

growing up, augusta was fairly soft on frank — after all, he was truly the apple of her eye, her only son and the most perfect one she could ask for. it was when he started at hogwarts that she started to get a bit strict on him. she only ever wanted what was best for him, and when it kept coming back to her that he had once again landed in detention, she sent howlers lecturing him on the importance of school. she would never reach the sort of strict harshness that she did with neville, though — that sort of treatment came out of a reaction of grief from losing her son.

frank’s full name is franklin augusta longbottom — but he will kill you if you call him franklin, and only few know that his middle name is augusta. as a kid he was incredibly embarrassed of his name, and while he now appreciates the sentiment he still is a bit resentful. i mean augusta? really?

an awful, awful smoker. smokes like a steam train. it started when he was just seventeen and he hasn’t been able to stop since. plenty of people have tried everything to get him to quit, but he’s never been too good at listening.

PERSONALITY

he is one of the most loyal people you will ever meet. he would protect his friends and family until the ends of the earth, and he is definitely known to be the dad friend of the group. he wants his friends to be happy but most of all he wants them to be safe, and he’s been known to lecture people on occasion if he thinks they’re stepping out of line.

he knows how to have fun, and is definitely the type of person that just lights up the room when he walks in. he knows how to make people happy, how to make them smile, and is nearly universally loved.

growing up surrounded by the kind that he was, however, has certainly had some lasting effects. the most obvious of these is his short-temper — if someone does him wrong, even just slightly, he blows up immediately with a rather harsh temper.

very very very impulsive. a lot of ‘do before you think’. some think this is why he’s such a brilliant wizard, others think it’s reckless and endangering. he’s never really tried to cool this one because he’s one of the few who thinks it’s a good thing, but it’s definitely put him in harms way more than once.

#epoch.intro #| ❛ hope is the only thing stronger than fear. ❜ ( character study. )

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sirius · 6 years

Text

Chaos Theory Pt. 4

Warnings: Swearing, Underaged drinking.

Word Count: 6064 (holy Heck)

A/N: omg this is sooooo late I’m sorry guys. Like, really, I am. It’s been freaking insane and I’ve been literally going out of my god damn mind. Anyway, I finally got this finished so yay. Also, I could not find a translator that could properly communicate what I was trying to say so I’m sorry for people who actually speak Latin and read this and are like ....wtf???

Summary: While staying at the Burrow, Reader has an awkward interaction with Harry, and the Trio get into an argument of sorts. She thinks that things can’t get any worse until her father makes a surprise visit.

Chapter Four:

On a good day, Adrien Arden is an award-winning journalist.

The charismatic and charming editor-and-chief of the largest source of wizarding news in the world. A clever leader adored by his colleagues and friends. A winner of several accolades for his service to the wizarding community and a personal friend of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. He’s the handsome, brooding widower with eyes that have the ability to draw you in and a smile worth more than all the gold in Gringotts. During his years at Hogwarts, he had been destined for success; a Slytherin Prefect and Head Boy and was regarded fondly by peers and professors alike.

On a bad day, Adrien Arden is a father.

A perfectionist with standards higher than a crowd of rowdy teenagers at a Weird Sisters concert. A workaholic and a ghost who drifts in and out of your life like the tide; pulling you in when he thinks it’s necessary and pushing you away when he realizes it isn’t.

Sometimes, you pity Adrien Arden.

It must be such a lonely existence; to work and work without receiving a reward. To have such ravenous ambition that has consumed every aspect of your being, pushing you further and further until you reach the edge. To realize that he’s repelled all the people who matter away, to not realize that all those galleons that sparkle and glitter in the family vault are worthless compared to the love and respect of his two children.

And it’s this pity that motivates you to keep a calm and level-head. It’s this pity that compels you to be the good little daughter for the sake of relative peace. And it’s this pity that helps you realize that family is the only way to keep your mother’s wishes alive, even though she isn’t.

Luke, however, is not so forgiving.

You don’t think there was ever a time where Luke got along with your father. Perhaps they are too similar, and for this reason, they clash. Whatever the reason is, though, it’s clear that Luke hates Adrien with every cell in his being, and if anyone ever doubts that, then all they had to do is step into the Weasley’s kitchen and glimpse at the razor-sharp glare Luke is giving your father right now.

A heavy tension blankets the room in uncomfortable warmth, grating against your skin like sandpaper, and you fiddle with your bracelet to expel the nervous energy tickling your fingertips. You can almost feel the anger igniting the air around Luke, stiffening his spine, sharpening the edges of his jaw, curling his hands into fists.

Mrs Weasley must sense it, too, because she rolls her sleeves up and flashes a dimpled smile, “I’ll let you three spend some quality time together.”

Luke scoffs but doesn’t say anything more, most likely out of respect for Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley hurries off as your father draws a carefully guarded smile across his lips. It’s polished and professional, much like he is.

“I’m so relieved that you’re all okay,” Adrien says, and for a moment you actually believe him.

“Took you a while to remember we exist,” Luke spits, indignantly. The insult bounces off Adrien’s layers like a Protego spell.

“I’ve been...busy at work,” he says, calmly, “I’m sure you can understand.”

A derisive scoff issues from the back of Luke’s throat.

“It’s okay, father,” you say, trying to keep your tone reassuring, “We know that you’re busy.”

“Too busy to be a father,” Luke mutters, darkly, not meeting his eye.

Adrien ignores the comment, “I don’t have a lot of time but I just wanted to check in and see how you’re both going. Did you have fun at the World Cup anyway?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it was nice. I mean, before all of the chaos it was actually a really lovely night.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Adrien smiles fondly.

“Oh, Mr Arden,” says a familiar voice from behind you, and a shy, blushing Hermione steps forward. Ron and Harry follow behind her.

“Hello Hermione,” Adrien flashes her a smile and nods at Ron and Harry, “Hullo boys. Good to see you three again. How are you all?”

Harry shrugs, “We’re good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, considering the night we just had we’re not exactly going to be prancing around picking flowers and shooting rainbows out of our asses,” Luke snaps, coldly, and Adrien narrows his eyes on him, working his jaw, grinding back whatever he wants to say.

A loud, obnoxious beeping startles you, and Adrien glances down at his screeching watch.

“That’s all I have time for, for now. I have to head back to the office and submit some papers.”

“Glad you could fit us into your tight schedule,” Luke scowls, “Just leave. No one wants you here anyway.”

Your father clears his throat and bends down to embrace you awkwardly. You wrap your arms lightly around his neck, wondering whether its normal for a fatherly embrace to feel like you’re hugging a pole. He pulls away quickly and straightens, moving toward Luke. Luke folds his arms across his chest and steps away, refusing to look at his father. Adrien heaves a heavy sigh.

“I’ll see you...later,” he says and he gives your friends a weary smile, “I’ll send you an owl.”

Adrien walks into the kitchen, thanks a blushing Mrs Weasley for her hospitality, and leaves. You turn to Luke.

“Well that was...” you trail off, silenced by the expression on Luke’s face. His mouth is screwed shut and his eyes are glaring daggers in the direction where your father left, “Luke?”

Luke isn’t listening, though. Instead, he charges forward, nearly knocking you aside, and strides toward the door.

“Luke!” You call out, but Luke reaches for the door knob, yanks it open and slams it shut in your face. You push it open and peek through the crack.

“Why did you really come?” Luke demands, storming up to his father, “You don’t just decide to pop in after weeks of not seeing us!”

Adrien sighs, exasperated, “It’s as I said; I really was concerned for your wellbeing. Both you and your sister.”

Luke lurches forward and for a moment, you think that he’s going to tackle Adrien to the ground in a fit of fury. Instead, he rises up to his father, spine straightened in deadly determination. “Keep my sister out of your rotten mouth.”

Adrien narrows his eyes coldly on your brother, like a sniper taking aim, “Is that a threat, boy? Because if it is, you’d better follow through with it. I did not raise a coward.”

Luke bristles, “You have no right to think of her as your daughter when I was the one who raised her. I looked after her and protected her and held her as she mourned. I was the one who took her to Diagon Alley, bought her her first wand and school robes. I did the job you were supposed to do while you wallowed in self-pity and abandoned us as though your own children were a burden, stopping you from your precious work.”

Adrien steels, a dark expression falling over his sharp features, “Lukas Adrien Arden, if you ever doubt my responsibilities as a father again, I will personally ensure that it is the last thing you do.”

Luke steps back from the looming figure of his father, “You’re up to something, I know it. And I’ll find out, I always do.”

Adrien’s entire demeanour shifts and an amused ghost of a smile teases the corners of his lips, “I don’t doubt that. You are my son after all.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Luke spits, venomously.

“Oh but you are,” Adrien clamps a hand on Luke’s shoulder. Luke struggles under Adrien’s grip, but his grasp is like a vice, locking Luke into submission, “And when the day comes that you realise you are, you’ll regret every bad word you’ve ever said to me.”

You stare as Luke jerks away from Adrien’s grip and staggers backwards. The tension is stifling, like an ominous cloud of thick fog creeping over you, and you have to physically step back from the door to remember how to breathe again.

It’s sort of distressing, seeing Luke so riled up when he’s usually so smooth and refined. He looks and acts like a completely different person like someone has hijacked Luke’s body and is puppeteering his words and actions. It’s a persona that emerges whenever your father is around, a defence mechanism Luke has carefully honed after years of loathing and disgust.

It’s...unhealthy. Unnatural. Worrying.

Stepping away from the door, you turn and start toward Luke’s room, hoping you’ll be able to chat with him later. You doubt you’ll have any luck but he needs to know that you’ll be there for him in all the ways he was for you. Before you can make it up the stairs, though, you walk into a nervous-looking Harry.

“Hey,” he says, tearing a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” you echo, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I...wanted to apologise-” Harry starts, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

“-You seem to be apologising a lot, lately,” You say, and Harry’s lips quirk into a sheepish smile. You mimic it as you continue, “I don’t know what’s going on, and if you don’t want to tell me then I respect that. I just...I want you to know that you can talk to me. I’m here for you, I always have and I always will be.”

Harry hesitates for a moment, his mouth moving around silent words, as though he’s carefully stringing them together. Laughter echoes from the backyard, ringing through the silence. You’re just about to say something when Harry beats you to it, his voice low, “Follow me.”

Intrigued and a little surprised, you watch as Harry scales the winding stairs, the sound of the floorboards groaning in protest filling the growing distance between the two of you. You start to follow him until you reach his and Rons shared room and he pushes the door open, inviting you in. You climb onto his bed and Harry closes the door behind you, fidgeting nervously with his glasses. Something in his expression seems hesitant, as though he’s debating on what to say. You wait patiently.

“It’s my scar,” he finally murmurs, “It’s been hurting lately and– I think it may be connected to the attack at the World Cup.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to swallow back the distant ache throbbing in your throat, “Oh, Harry. This is...this is serious. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I was going to tell you,” Harry says, quickly, the words flying from his lips like a practised excuse, “In the Forrest when we were looking for the Portkey. But then...then Cedric came and I didn’t get a chance to talk to you alone.”

You study Harry for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his fidgeting form. He seems unsettled, a little nervous, perhaps hesitant, like he’s trying to tackle something on his tongue back into his throat. You figure it could just be his nerves, but you can’t help but wonder if he wants to say more.

“Is that what you guys were arguing about this afternoon?” You ask and Harry nods, “Why was Luke there?”

Harry blinks at you, “What?”

“Why was Luke there?” You reiterate, calmly, “I heard him arguing with you.”

Before he can answer, there is a tentative knock at the door and a moment later, Ginny’s head pokes out from behind it. A small blush blossoms beneath her freckled cheeks when she notices Harry but then her eyes drift toward you and she raises a sharp brow.

“Mum says dinner is ready,” she says, her voice soft.

“Okay,” you and Harry blurt at the same time and Ginny nods as she closes the door.

You slide off Harry’s bed and straighten, “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

Harry chortles, his smile loose, relieved “Yeah, I could really go for some roast chicken right about now.”

You smile at Harry, “Thanks for telling me.”

Harry nods and gives a half-hearted smile, “Thanks for listening.”

As you descend the staircase, chatting lightly and smiling easily, a sense of nostalgia overcomes you like a wave of warm sepia and it almost feels like old times without all the secrecy and nervous energy. It almost feels like, for a fleeting moment, it is just you and Harry and nothing between the two of you.

Almost.

***

After a delicious dinner and a scrumptious dessert, you and Hermione sit in front of the fireplace, Hermione in the armchair and you sitting crossed-leg on the floor. Your Quidditch World Cup article sits in your lap as your eyes scan the parchment, reading and re-reading.

“Is Luke okay?” Hermione suddenly asks, not even trying to clip the worry from her voice, “He wasn’t himself at dinner.”

You look up from your work, pushing your hair off your face, “He always gets like that around my dad,” you admit with a small shrug, pretending that it doesn’t bother you, “He just needs his space.”

Hermione nods, though there is an expression of worry creeping over her face and you study her, noting her features carefully. Before you can question her, Fred sidles up to the two of you, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Hey you two,” he greets, smirking wolfishly, “We’ve got a couple bottles of booze and absolutely no regrets. Wanna join us?”

“Please tell me this isn’t a giant orgy or something,” you retort and Hermione blushes furiously.

“Nah,” Fred shakes his head with a grin, “Though I’m open for persuasion.”

You snort and shake your head, smiling, “Only in my nightmares.”

Fred clutches his chest in mock hurt, “Aw, we could have been something special.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“And what exactly are we going to do?” Hermione asks, her brows raised expectantly. Fred straightens importantly.

“Get pissed.”

“She was only asking,” you quip and Fred rolls his eyes.

“Get sloshed. Buzzed. Wasted. Inebriated. Intoxicated,” he narrows his eyes pointedly at you, “Drunk. What else are you supposed to do with fire whiskey? Bathe in it? Because we’ve tried and it’s not…good.”

“But we’re underage?” Hermione says, eying Fred suspiciously.

“So?” Fred shrugs, “You’ve already broken the law by helping a wanted fugitive escape, not to mention several hundred school rules. What’s another stupid law?”

A pale pink blush tickles the apples of her cheeks and Hermione averts her gaze, “Right.”

“Come on guys,” Fred whines, imploring you with large, pleading eyes, “You’re always putting yourselves in constant danger. Why not relax for the night?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug, turning to Hermione. She chews her bottom lip thoughtfully, giving Fred an appraising look. Finally, she glances at you and gives a small nod.

“Alright,” she says, lifting her chin slightly, more confidently, “but I’m filling my own glass. I don’t want you pouring me a drink.”

“Why? Don’t you trust us?” Fred asks, grinning wickedly.

“You don’t want me to answer that question.”

Fred shakes his head, forlornly, “All you young whipper-snappers going around and breaking an old man’s heart.”

“As (Y/N) said, ‘You’ll get over it.’”

You bark a laugh and high-five Hermione. Fred wipes an imaginary tear away and pouts exaggeratedly.

“We’re meeting at 11pm,” Fred leans in and lowers his voice to a not-so-quiet whisper, “That way, mum and dad will be asleep, and they won’t get suspicious.”

With a smirk and a wink, Fred whirls off and saunters out of the room. You watch him leave, nibbling your bottom lip, twirling and twisting your bracelet between your nimble fingers. Somehow, for some reason, you have a feeling that the night isn’t going to go as smoothly as Fred thinks.

***

At ten to eleven, you, Hermione and Ginny tip-toe out of her bedroom and make a slow start to the stairs.

The corridor looks odd like this; cloaked in darkness and completely void of sound or movement. The Burrow has always felt alive, pulsing with life as though it were a heart pumping blood through the veins of the house. Come night time, that heart seems to falter to a stop, leaving the house eerily quiet. You shiver.

“This is weird,” you whisper, “It’s so quiet. I feel like I’m walking through a graveyard.”

Ginny shudders, and in the pale light of your wand, you see her face contort into a scowl, “Thanks for the commentary. Now I feel paranoid in my own house.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione murmurs, softly, “Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley are here, too, don’t forget.”

“That makes me feel even better,” Ginny drawls, sardonically, “If a murderer doesn’t leap out and slaughter me where I stand, my mum will.”

“No one is going to kill anyone–”

A loud groan interrupts Hermione mid-speech and you all jump, spinning around to face the source of the noise. Clamping a hand over your mouth, you muffle your shriek as Hermione gasps and staggers backwards toward the railing and Ginny fumbles with her wand. It slips from between her fingers like a stick of butter and clatters on the ground. Heart racing, you raise your wand and heave a sigh of relief.

Harry and Ron both stare at the three of you, eyes wide, faces flushed and chests heaving. Harry bends down and grabs Ginny’s wand, handing it to her with a gentle smile. Ginny squeaks a breathless ‘Thank you,’ and darts back to your side. Ron gawks at you, his expression somewhere between bemusement and frustration.

“Bloody hell,” Ron curses under his breath, “It’s just us.”

“Well don’t sneak up on us!” you hiss, “You nearly scared us to death!”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, sheepishly, “Let’s just go before we get caught.”

You start toward the stairs and begin descending the creaking staircase.

Somehow, every step you make seems to amplify, ringing through the house like a blaring siren, as though the house is designed to alert Mr and Mrs Weasley that their children are sneaking out after curfew. Trying to balance on the tips of your toes, you slowly descend the never-ending staircase, contemplating whether it was such a good idea to leave the comfort of your bed in the first place.

“Luke seemed kind of off at dinner tonight,” Harry mutters leaning forward, “Is he…y’know?”

“He just hates my dad,” You whisper back, surprised that Harry noticed. You’re about to make a joke out of it but Hermione shushes you into silence from over her shoulder. As she turns back, though, she misses a step and stumbles forward.

“Hermione–!” Ron gasps from behind you and you listen for a loud thump, but it never comes. You direct your wand to the end of the staircase and find Hermione lying in someone’s arms.

“Oh, Luke,” Hermione murmurs, flustered, several shades of red rippling across her face, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he smiles softly at her and she straightens, brushing down her clothes and combing a finger through her hair.

You all reach the bottom of the staircase and playfully punch Luke in the shoulder, “Looks like she fell for you.”

To your surprise, Luke doesn’t respond to your terrible joke. He just scowls and shakes his head, moving toward the back door. You blink at him and follow.

“C’mon, really? Nothing?” you ask as he pushes the door open, “No ‘I thought you were better than corny puns?’”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Luke murmurs, stalking through the backyard and toward the tree house.

“Is he going to be okay?” Hermione asks beside you, watching him with concern in her eyes.

You chew your bottom lip nervously, “I–I don’t know…”

The tree house is actually a lot safer than it looks, which is oddly ironic since Fred and George give no consideration to safety whatsoever.

Thick planks of wood are nailed to a gap in the large tree as though they are sitting in its palm, branches stretching like fingers around it. There is a wooden railing that surrounds the platform, fairy lights intertwined around it. Alternative pop music plays on low, the sound prevented from leaving the treehouse by the silencing charm Fred had cast, containing it in a bubble of sorts. There are light bulbs, all different shapes and sizes, strung together and hanging from the branches overhead that act as a roof. Right in the centre of the ‘roof’ is a large hole that brags a beautiful view of the midnight sky, freckled with stars.

It’s actually kind of beautiful. Serene, almost.

You down the rest of the drink and raise your chin to the stars, lost in their beauty. You can almost feel the stardust raining down on you, sinking into your skin, filling you up with a beautiful, ethereal light, like there is an entire galaxy bursting to life inside of you. You’re not sure if it’s the fire whiskey humming in your veins or not but you feel like you could just step off the balcony of the treehouse and float away.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a familiar voice says from beside you, and you turn to find George Weasley gazing up at the stars with you, an expression of awe painted across his face, “Do you know who else is beautiful?”

“Please, don’t finish that sentence and ruin this beautiful moment,” you murmur and George snorts.

“You don’t like hearing compliments about yourself?”

“I don’t like cheesy pickup lines.”

George shrugs, “That’s fair. Though I was going to say that I was beautiful but never mind.”

You chortle, shaking your head and grinning broadly at him. He echoes it, lips curving into a grin you may never get tired of seeing, “You really know how to cheer a girl up, don’t you?”

“Only the ones I like,” George smiles softly, softer than anything you’ve ever seen him wear.

“Well, I’m grateful anyhow.”

George drapes an arm over your shoulders and pulls you to his side protectively, provoking a laugh to burst boisterously from your lips.

“So, are you and Cedric…?”

You flush, cheeks burning, “I–I don’t really know…”

“Well, just so you know, he talks about you a lot,” George says, “Our friend, Juniper Cross. You know Juniper?” You nod, recalling the beautiful Hufflepuff in George’s year, “Anyway, she says he talks about you like you ‘put the stars in the sky.’ His words, not mine.”

An odd, sort of airy feeling circles around you and floods you like helium, lighter than air, ascending the five layers of the atmospheres and disappearing into the universe.

The moment is broken by Fred, who yanks another bottle of fire whiskey from a crate and holds it over his head.

“Who’s up for a game of ‘Never have I Ever?”

“What’s that?” Hermione asks and Fred blinks at her.

“You’ve never played ‘Never Have I Ever?’” George asks, bewildered, “Hermione, what have you been doing with your life?”

“Never Have I Ever is a classic drinking game,” Luke says, sitting beside Hermione, “Basically, you have to say something that you’ve never done and everyone who has done said thing has to drink. For instance, if I say ‘Never have I ever… snogged a girl from France’–”

“–We would call you a liar,” Fred interjects, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“–Everyone who has snogged a girl from France would have to take a drink.”

“And we would call them liars,” George sniggers and you snort, bumping his fist with your own.

“The person with the most alcohol left in their glass wins,” Luke continues, ignoring the snickering Weasley twins.

“And if you say a ‘Never have I ever’ and no one else has done it either, you have to drink from everyone’s glass,” Fred smirks deviously, and Hermione raises her brows, her fingers finding the hem of her sleeves.

Luke studies her with benevolent eyes, his past frustration melting off his shoulders like ice in the early spring, “If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to play.”

A gentle shade of soft pink flourishes on the apples of Hermione’s cheeks and her lips quirk into an awkward smile, “No, it’s okay. I’ll play.”

“Are you sure? We’re all friends here, and we want you to be comfortable,” Luke smiles, reassuringly.

Hermione nods, and George claps a brotherly hand on Luke’s shoulder, “Ever the gentleman. If I wasn’t in an exclusive relationship with myself, I would totally date you, man. Like, put out and everything.”

Luke just gives a half-hearted smile and a modest shrug. He looks like such a different person to the Luke you saw earlier that day, seething threats at his own father and brewing in a venomous mood. Even when you met him in the kitchen earlier that night, Luke had seemed guarded and brooding and nothing like the sweet, considerate and boyishly charming man he is with Hermione.

You all sit crossed-leg on the ground in a circle and, with a looming sense of doom, you find yourself sitting between Fred and George, an unsavoury position for anyone to be in. Before you can escape to the other side of the circle, Fred and George begin filling up several glasses and hand them around the group. Fred pauses in front of Ginny, sculling her fire whiskey with a wince and filling her glass with chocolate milk. Ginny folds her arms across her chest, glaring dangerously at her brother.

“No alcohol for anyone under 14,” Fred says, wagging a finger at Ginny, “It rots your brain.”

“Good thing you don’t have one, then,” Ginny grumbles, rolling her eyes and snatching the glass of milk out of her brothers’ hand. Once everyone has their glass, the game begins. Unsurprisingly, George volunteers to go first.

“Never have I ever…met a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon called ‘Norbert’, tried to smuggle Norbert out of Hogwarts but got caught in the process and consequently lost Gryffindor one hundred points,” he says before adding, “Oh, and got sent to detention, too.”

You, Hermione, and Harry exchange guilty glances and take a swig of your drinks. The fiery liquid surges down your throat like molten lava and pools delightfully in your lower belly, the alcohol crackling in your veins.

“Technically, I wasn’t there when they tried to smuggle Norbert out,” Ron argues, raising his arm to reveal the thin scar knitted into his skin, “Norbert bit me, so I was in the Hospital wing.”

“You still met him,” George points out and Ron’s confident expression falls, grumbling as he takes a sip from his cup.

“Alright, Harry, you’re up next,” Fred grins, pointing at Harry with his glass.

Harry’s brows furrow as he thinks, the tip of his tongue poking out between the soft cushions of his lips. Once again, Harry seems so…relaxed. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, or the company, or both, but it’s a relief to see him so unguarded and it shows in how easily he’s smiling, how warm and inviting his gaze is. And when he catches your eye, his lips quirk up into a small smile and it feels…nostalgic.

It feels like it used to.

“Never have I ever…been kicked out of a bar?”

Fred and George groan in unison and take a swig of their drinks. To everyone’s surprise, Ginny does, too. While the rest of the group gapes at Ginny, their jaws slack and eyes wide in disbelief, Ginny gives a nonchalant shrug, her eyes glistening in the low light as she recalls the moment.

“I may or may not have hexed a certain, misogynistic Ravenclaw who was getting on my nerves,” she gives a sharp, cat-like smirk, resembling her rebellious, older brothers “I don’t regret anything.”

Fred and George pretend to sob tears of pride as they slap Ginny on the back, “Look at how far our precious, little sister has come. We taught you well.”

The game moves around the circle, jokes and laughter thick in the summer air as your drinks slowly begin to dwindle.

When it finally reaches Fred, he flashes a scheming grin, and he raises a confident brow, “Never have I ever…had a crush on Cedric Diggory…”

Everyone narrows their eyes on you expectantly. You sigh, rolling your eyes as Fred sniggers devilishly.

“Fuck you, Fred!” you snip, throwing the rest of your drink back. Your head spins in languid circles as try not to splutter, and in the warm ambience of the room, your eyes find Harry’s; gazes colliding for a long, lingering moment. Harry doesn’t shy away, in fact, he’s the boldest you’ve seen him since the World Cup, and something hooks around your lower belly, yanking it up into your throat.

“Okay, (Y/N), your turn,” Fred juts his chin at your glass and eyes you hopefully. You heave a sigh.

“Alright. Um…” you pause thoughtfully, and then your lips pull into a grin when you catch Ginny’s eyes, “Never have I ever…had a crush on someone in this room.”

Fred and George stare at Ginny and she sighs, taking a swig of her chocolate milk. She pokes her tongue out at you playfully and you give her an apologetic look. She shrugs nonchalantly, though she doesn’t seem entirely bothered. Strange, you think, she must be getting over Harry. You never really anticipated that.

You never anticipated Hermione and Harry taking a nervous sip from their drinks, either.

“Woah,” George says, eyes flitting between the two of them, “What’s going on here?”

They seem hesitant in their answer, weighing their options, gauging each other for a response like they’re dancing tentatively around the subject. You and Ron exchange a surprised look, the tips of Ron’s ears an odd shade of red. Something tight and nasty coils inside of you like a sleeping snake.

Hermione and Harry exchange a look, and Harry shrugs “Nothing. We’re just answering the question.”

You blink at Harry, then at Hermione. They seem to be avoiding your gaze, eyes darting around the room like they’re trying to pull excuses from the air around them. Is that what all the secrecy is about? Are they…?

“So you both have had a crush on someone in this room?”

“Er…” Harry flicks a glance at Hermione and then sweeps his gaze to you before hastily averting your gawking stare, “…yes? Why?”

“Huh,” Fred shrugs, “No reason.”

Hermione frowns, “What? It’s not like we like each other.”

“Whatever you say, Hermione.”

Hermione’s mouth twists into a thin frown and Harry furrows his brows at Fred’s blatant, off-handed remark. Tension has steeled his spine like an iron rod and he fidgets uncomfortably, his nervous mannerisms unspooling as time seems to drag by. The sepia-stained nostalgia that you had so willingly embraced begins to crumble the more he glances between Hermione and Ron, and the needlepoint sting of hurt pricks the inside of your wrist.

“Um, I think it’s your turn, George,” Ron says, quickly, nervously glancing at Harry. Does Ron know something–?

George nods importantly and continues the game, but you’re still rooted in time. As everyone else takes their turn, your eyes continue to stray to Harry, studying, observing, realising, that this is so much more than his scar. His cheeks are rosy, flushed pink from the alcohol and embarrassment, his eyes a startling shade of green against the sun-kissed skin of his face and the electric shock of dishevelled, black hair and as you study him, your head begins to spin.

You take a long swig of your drink, gulping back your anxiety, wishing that you had trusted your gut in the first place.

***

Somehow, you make it back to your room without making a complete fool of yourself.

Hermione’s avoided you for most of the night, though you can tell that she’s nervous by the way she chews her bottom lip; it’s red and raw, the moon-crescent bite marks curved into the delicate skin of her lower lip. You want to talk to her, to ask about the secrecy, but your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and your eyes are like heavy golf balls stuck into your skull and you really just want to sleep–

You pull your camisole over the top of your head and rip your bra off, an envelope falling out from its grasp.

“Oh,” you say, to no one in particular, “My letter.”

Between the visit from your dad and the Weasley’s drinking game, you had completely forgotten about it. Bending down, you scoop it off the ground and study the envelope. Your name and address are writing in elegant curlicue cursive to the point where it’s nearly unreadable. You squint, following the loops and curls, and turn the envelope over. No return address. Odd. You open it anyway, unfold the letter…

And gasp.

It doesn’t make sense.

Your stomach is twisted into a tight, thick knot, heavy in your abdomen, weighing like an anchor plummeting to the ocean floor. Ice gushes through the deltas of your veins as though it were blood pulsing through the arteries of a cold-blooded monster, freezing your spine, paralysing you.

You can’t tear your eyes away.

You stare down at a photo of you and Cedric at the World Cup, stained in shades of black and grey, frozen in time, smiles fixed onto your faces. And it would have been a beautiful photo, it really had, if it weren’t for the blood-red insignia scarring the back of the photo; a snake eating itself, circling around what looks like a cross between a Scarab and a skull moth.

And, beneath it, eight words strung together, bleeding into the paper like a wound.

Mus uni non habeat fiduciam autem serpens esuriit

A mouse does not trust a hungry snake

Suddenly, you wish you were drunk again.

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @harrvjpotter @depressed-octopods-art (i’m sorry i didn’t tage you before!! i just realised you replied to one of the posts!) @romanofftasha @moonpeachs

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faierius · 6 years

Text

This and That (Carry On/SnowBaz)

Well, here it is. My first ever fanfic inspired by a novel-verse. I’ve never written anything for novels before, but the world of Carry On just BEGS for it. So, I wrote some fluffy sap. And I want to dedicate it to the amazing @thatkanragirl because she is one of the reasons I even read this book. THANK YOU!

Baz’s nostrils flared as he eyed the sorry lump of a man occupying the seat next to him on the couch. Surely there were better uses of his time—their time—than this? Well of course there was, but he wasn’t about to pass up this chance, either.

Though, of course, when he agreed to be the man-lump’s drinking companion, he hadn’t expected this.

This was supposed to be a fun, drunken grope-fest. This, however, had fallen into some morose pity-party. (For Snow only. Baz was actually content with his life at the moment. As content as a vampire could be, anyway.)

Some days, despite the magickal shrink he spoke with, his curly-haired man-lump got rather down on himself about his drained magic. Baz didn’t blame him, even felt sorry for him. Said as much, in fact. Once, sincerely. But only once. Now he just teases him about it, because who would he—Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch—be, if not the eternal tormentor of Simon Snow?

At this point, Baz wasn’t even sure what Simon was carrying on about. Whatever topic was spilling forth from those pouting lips also required too much gesturing. Dangerous when one hand very loosely gripped a glass of whiskey. (Why Simon chose whiskey of all things, Baz was entirely unsure,) The liquid inside sloshed, a few drops splashing onto Simon’s fingers and sliding down to his wrist.

Baz licked his lips. He could shut Snow up by grabbing his wrist and licking away the spilled alcohol. Merlin knew he needed to do something. This was becoming pure torture. Not just the babbling, but the shedding of clothing. Occasionally, Snow would pause in his complaining to add a complaint about being too hot. Then an article of clothing would vanish from his body. (Not magickally, of course. Just thrown aside to be found later.) Now Simon was down to his underwear—a ratty pair of grey boxers—and leaning heavily on Baz.

Pure torture.

Snow growled low in his throat, in that way he did when things weren’t going his way. Quirking a brow, Baz eyed the man out of the corner of his vision. What a mess he was. An adorable, amazing, drop-dead gorgeous mess. Curly bronze hair falling limply across his forehead, skin flushed from drink, blue eyes half-lidded, freckles and moles begging to be kissed and licked.

More than once Baz fought the urge to bite at his skin. Wouldn’t do to turn him, would it? (He had offered to do that once as well. Jokingly, of course.) He feared he may injure Snow at the best of times already.

As his mind wandered to all the things he wanted to be doing right now, he felt wetness seep into his tee-shirt. Snow sloshed his drink again, spilling some on Baz’s shirt.

“Watch what you’re doing, you drunk,” Baz scolded, narrowing his eyes.

Snow lifted his head, eyes obscured by hair long overdue for a trim. He sagged against Baz’s arm and appeared to be fighting with himself not to lean in and nuzzle his neck.

Simon Snow was a melancholy, affectionate drunk. Who would have thought?

“’M sorry I’m so useless.”

The annoyance Baz felt about his ruined shirt instantly drained away at those words. He took Snow’s glass, setting it on the coffee table and turning toward the man in the same smooth motion.

“Take those words back, Snow.”

Simon’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed in the most obnoxiously adorable, foggy manner. (How on Earth could something so cute annoy Baz so much?)

“Why’re you s’mad?” Simon slurred, slumping against the back of the couch. Eyeing his confiscated drink, his lips turned down in an exaggerated pout.

Rolling his eyes, Baz took Simon’s hand and linked their fingers together. “Take those words back now, Snow.”

“Or what? You’ll Eat your words at me?” Crossing his arms, Simon huffed.

“Oh, come off it Snow.” It was Baz’s turn to huff. Indignant though it may be, he huffed more than he cared to admit around Simon. Sometimes it was out of anger or irritation, but more of than not, out of embarrassment. (He’d be dead—well, properly dead—and buried before he even thought about admitting that.)

Dropping his hands into his lap, Simon’s fingers curled into fists. Clenching his teeth, he finally lifted his head and looked directly into Baz’s eyes. Sharp. Grey with flecks of blue. Full of love. Concern. Why?

“I am, though. Useless, I mean. Can’t even leave the flat without you or Penny helpin’ me.” There was no heat in Simon’s voice, just flat defeat.

Grumbling, Baz raked a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “We aren’t helping you, we’re helping everyone avoid wetting their knickers at the sight of you.”

“Do you think I asked for this?” Simon demanded, sitting up straight, swaying a little.

“From what you told me, yes.”

Simon wanted to smack the blank sarcasm off the man. “That’s not what I meant, you dunce.”

Baz quirked one dark brow.

“Stop looking at me like that with your horrible gorgeous face.”

The corner of Baz’ mouth curled with amusement.

“I swear to Merlin, Baz!”

“Swear what, Snow? That you aren’t useless? That you never were, and never will be useless? That you are, in fact, immensely useful?” Baz leaned in, blinking softly and tracing an endless, random pattern on Simon’s chest by sliding his finger from one freckle to the next.

Simon puffed out a breath caught halfway between a scoff and a giggle. “All I’m useful for is helping you get your rocks off.”

Baz grinned, rising from the couch briefly to swing one leg over Simon’s hips to settle in his lap. He curled his arms around his shoulders and peered down into attentive eyes.

“As far as causes go, I say that is a noble one.” Bending down, he stole a boozy kiss from Simon.

Sliding his hands around Baz’ waist, Simon sighed. “Be as cute as you want, but it won’t change my mind.”

Baz chuckled, low and husky in his throat. “I’m sure I can come up with a convincing argument.”

Licking his lips, Simon’s skin itched with heat. There was no way he was blushing. It had to be the alcohol.

“Maybe it’s a good thing I’m magickless,” Simon muttered, pressing his forehead to Baz’s chest.

“And why might that be?”

“Because when I go off, I don’t actually want to go off.”

A surprised snort erupted from Baz. “Sweet Crowley!” Hugging Simon’s head, he laughed out loud. “You drunken halfwit.”

“But I’m your drunken halfwit.”

“That you are,” Baz sighed, lips curved in an astonished yet affectionately sarcastic smirk. “Perhaps I’ll sober you up a bit before this goes any further.” Arching backward, Baz scooped his wand off the table and pointed it toward the cheap coffee maker on the kitchen counter. “Wake up and smell the coffee!”

When Baz turned back to Simon, the man was watching him with a slightly unfocused gaze.

“You look like you have something to say, Snow.”

“I spilled on your shirt.”

“I may forgive you if you wash it for me.”

“Gotta take it off, first.”

Baz smirked knowingly at Simon.

As the coffee pot perked and gurgled in the background, Baz’s clothes joined Simon’s in various corners of the room.

This was back on track and Baz was more than happy to participate in the drunken grope-fest. Of course, he would never admit he had been looking forward to it all day. If Simon Snow knew just how much Baz needed him, he feared he may not be treated to days like this anymore.

He’d keep that secret close to his chest for a long time.

#writing #fanfic #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #baz #snowbaz fanfiction #cute #fluffy #drunk #silly boys #fluff #drunk fluff #faierius writes

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philipronans · 7 years

Text

something tangerines (4/7)

two updates in one day?? watch me disappear for three months

i think it’s time to accept we’re fully on the sirius/james/lily train here and i’d be sorry except i’m not even remotely

part one | part three

2013

“How many of these fucking things do we even have to go to?” Sirius grumbles, tugging at the bottom of his shirt and scowling when none of the creases magically vanish. “No fewer than ‘too many’.” Remus says, grinning when Sirius and James groan at him. “Shut up, Lupin. That was bad, and you should feel ashamed. It’s just this one. One more sodding school ball and then we’re home free.” James says, so earnest Sirius wants to believe him. “And then we’re on to the dazzling heights of university summer dos.” James gives him a flat look. “As if we’re going to actually go to those.”

“Well, you might not. I, however, will be living it large in Southbank. My horizons will be broadened and soon I’ll forget all about you bellends.” Sirius sniggers, which ruins whatever effect he might have been able to muster. He plays with his fringe, trying to be subtle as he watches James through his fingers, but fails miserably. James snorts. “As if. You’re not getting rid of me, no matter how hard you try.” “So not very, then.” Peter pipes up from where he’s lounging across the bottom of James’ bed. There’s a magazine in his hands, and how he manages to read upside down will never not boggle James’ mind. “Shut it, Pettigrew.” Sirius says, flustered. “Flustered” for Sirius means his cheeks are very faintly stained pink and he refuses to meet anyone’s eye. “S’not my fault he’s so… James.” “Should I be offended?” James asks, frowning at his reflection when his hair won’t cooperate with him. “Trust me, it’s a compliment.” Sirius mutters. He glances at his phone and sighs at the time. “We’d best get a move on, if we’re going.” “I spent thirty quid on these shoes; I don’t care how miserable we are, we’re going.” Remus says. There’s no room for argument in the way he says it, and the look on his face dares them to try and find one.

“Come on, then.” James says, watching Sirius pull Peter to his feet. The magazine drops onto his duvet, pages creasing as it lands. His parents aren’t home, so they don’t have to worry about being fussed over by his mother. He’s uncharacteristically grateful for that. Not because he wouldn’t secretly enjoy it, but because the look on Sirius’ face as she combed his hair through her fingers would be too much for him to handle. Instead they shove their feet into their shoes and reluctantly bend down to tie their laces. Remus is the only one who doesn’t, his shoes are just slip-on and he smiles smugly at them. James is only… incredibly jealous when his knees crack as he bends down. The walk to the bus stop is quiet. It’s strange, in a way. They’re usually so boisterous and full of life, bouncing off of each other so effortlessly it’s like they’re part of the same person. No matter how it might appear to other people, they can’t actually read each other’s minds, so James can’t speak for the others, but he knows why he’s quiet. And, to a lesser extent, why Sirius is as well. However much they might joke about this being the ‘end’, there is a legitimate fear underlying everything. Year Eleven hadn’t affected them too much because they all knew they were going on to the same Sixth Form. But they’re nearing the end of Year Thirteen now, and this… this is different. Exams are approaching, looming just on the edges of the horizon, and with them the promise of the future. The big, scary, uncertain future where they’re all going to be in different places with different people and different experiences. It’s terrifying. It’s exciting. It’s terrifying. James can’t wait, but at the same time he wants time to stand still forever in this moment where the four of them are happy. Together. He’d been a lonely little boy desperate for a friend, once. Now he has a group of people he loves so fiercely he’s not sure how to handle it. To love so wholly, so completely, is overwhelming. And the fact that in a few short months it’s going to be over is so out of the realm of comprehension James doesn’t know how to begin processing it. This ball, this one final evening where their entire year is together for the last time ever is scary. Once it’s over and the morning brings a new day, school will still go on as usual. They’ll still have classes. Exams. But it won’t be the same. Can’t be. They’ll have waved goodbye to childhood, whether they realise it or not, and James isn’t ready to face that. Neither is Sirius, although he’d never admit it. He’s too stubborn. Too proud. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like the majority of their year group, but he can’t lie to James. James, who sees the way he softens when Bertha and Dorcas sit with him in Psychology, hands clasped under the table as Trelawney rambles on about Zimbardo and the prison experiment. Whatever that means. James’ mind can’t wrap itself around the intricacies of the brain. Which, he realises, is hilariously ironic. He’s seen Sirius deconstruct every wall he’s ever locked himself behind. The thing that scares him more than anything is the fear that when they go their “separate” ways he’ll put them back up again. Sirius perks up slightly when the bus eventually turns up, change jangling in his hand as he pays the driver for his ticket. “I wonder if there’ll be a bar.” He says, as he leads the way up to the second deck. “‘Course there will.” Peter answers, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead when he reaches the top of the stairs. It’s muggy outside, and the warm June air is affecting all of them. Peter just happens to be unfortunate enough to show it. “The teachers wanna get drunk just as much as we do.” “You make a compelling point.” James says. He lifts his glasses so he can rub at his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Excellent.” Sirius says, clapping his hands together. He’s halfway to the back seat, shoulders hunched so his head isn’t scraping against the ceiling. A painful lesson learnt by all of them over the past few years. Growth spurts are, to put it bluntly, a bitch. “There’s a vodka and coke with my name on it.” “That’s true of every bar in Oxford.” Remus mutters, shooting James a grin when he snorts. “Now, now.” Sirius says, neatly spinning so he can sprawl across the back seat. Peter takes his usual place in the seat in front, back leant against the window with his feet up on the seat cushion. Remus takes the seat opposite, arm wrapped around the back of his chair, left foot tucked under his right thigh. “No need to get snarky with me, old man.” Remus scowls at the nickname. At least, James thinks that’s what he’s scowling at. It’s hard to tell with Remus, sometimes. He’s a scowl-y sort of person. Learning to tell the subtle nuances apart is a skill unto its own, and it’s taken James close to six years to feel anywhere close to having mastered it. James knocks their knees together as he passes. He slips into the space left for him as if it’s where he’s meant to be, as if it’s been waiting for him. His back hits Sirius’ shoulder and he watches Sirius’ hand drop in front of his collar bone. He studies it; the slender wrist tapering into a long palm and longer fingers, one of which is crooked from the time he punched Lucius Malfoy’s face so hard he broke it. Sirius claims it’s worth it, because he also broke Malfoy’s nose. There’s something fascinating about Sirius’ hands, James thinks, reaching so he can play with it. Not that Sirius as a whole isn’t fascinating, because he is, but there’s something about his hands that capture James’ attention. Sirius is anger and bitterness and hard edges. It’s the way he’s always been, and James doesn’t see that changing any time soon, and he doesn’t want it to. But his hands. They’re soft and gentle, quick to take away the hurts of the world, and so eager to help it’s painful to watch Sirius stop himself. “Having fun?” Sirius asks, and there’s a laugh in his throat, painting his words with sunshine. “Not really.” James says, refusing to look at either Remus or Peter. He’s well aware of how pathetic he is, he doesn’t need their knowing smiles as a reminder. “Your finger’s rank, mate.” “Fuck off, I got that defending your honour.” Sirius says without any heat. “Hard to defend what you don’t have.” Peter mutters, smile only growing wider when James glares at him. “I have plenty of honour, thank you very much.” He grumbles. He feels Sirius’ snort against the back of his head, and swats at his leg. “You didn’t have to break Malfoy’s nose, you know.” “Yes I did.” Sirius says. James doesn’t see his decisive nod, but he doesn’t need to. “He’s an arsehole, and what he said to you was disgusting.” “I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson.” James says dryly, mostly because he can’t be bothered to have this argument again. “Even if he didn’t, I did.” Sirius says and James can hear the smile in the way his words gentle around the edges. “Protect your thumbs when you punch people.” “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Remus says as he shifts his weight around. “You know, for all those fights I get in.” “Please do.” Sirius snorts. “I’ve only got your best interests at heart.” “My arse.” Peter mutters. Sirius is going to answer back, because he’s Sirius and he can’t resist having the last word. But before he can, the bus lurches to a stop and sends them all scrambling to keep their balance. “Shit, this is our stop, lads.” Peter says, barely dodging the swipe Sirius aims at him. “Nice going, lookout.” He grumbles. There isn’t any heat behind it, although he does manage to kick Peter in the shin as they get up. “You’ve lived here your entire life.” Remus points out, placing himself between the two of them when they stand up and start making their way towards the stairs. “If you don’t know which bus stop is the right one maybe you’re not that smart after all.” “I didn’t see you pointing it out either, Mr English-Degree-At-Cambridge.” Sirius complains. It’s such a childish response from someone usually three steps ahead of everyone else that it makes James snort. “Treacherous wanker.” He says. Remus grins at him. “Their course is better than ours.” “Yeah, yeah. You’re off the Christmas card list.” James shoves at his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him pay attention to where he’s putting his feet. The stairs are steep, and the last thing any of them need is Remus breaking something. The street is thankfully clear when they step onto it; tourist season is at least three weeks away, so the only people they have to worry about are obnoxious students, and exhausted workers having finished their shifts. They say thanks to the surly bus driver, and fall into step as James starts walking. Town is always a mad rush of taxis, buses operating on at least fifteen different routes, and secondary school kids with too much time and not enough to do. By the time they get to Carfax Tower, James is ready and willing to just forget the whole thing and find the nearest pub instead. He doesn’t. They cross the street, Peter narrowly avoiding getting hit by an angry looking taxi driver as he steps up onto the pavement. Remus’ laugh is dangerously close to giggling as he reaches out to pull Peter further into him and away from the road. “Clumsy.” He admonishes, but the way he says it also includes James and the fact he’s now walking backwards so he can watch them. Sirius spins him before he can walk into one of the concrete bollards lining the pavement, and rolls his eyes at the grin he’s given in return. “I was being careful.” James says, voice verging on a whine, just to hear the annoyed huff Sirius lets out. He uses the grip Sirius still has on his shoulder to pull Sirius closer, wrapping both arms around him and resting his head on a bony shoulder. “My hero.” Sirius shoves him, detangling himself so he can walk on ahead, but James catches the smile, can see his shoulders shaking. “Isn’t he a hero, Peter?” He says, loud enough for Sirius to hear, grin still firmly in place. “Undoubtedly.” Peter mutters, voice dry as he straightens the sleeves of his jacket. “Fuck ooooooooooff.” Sirius groans, slowing down so they can catch up with him. He digs his elbow into James’ ribs. “You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?” “So I’m told.” James says cheerfully. In apology, he presses a kiss to Sirius’ temple, fingers brushing against a curled fist in invitation. “It’s a good thing I like you.” Sirius grumbles, taking the hand offered to him without comment. He strokes his fingers over the top of it and James knows he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. “If you were truly angry you’d have buggered off already.” Remus says, digging his phone out of his pocket so he can check the time. “We’d best get a move on; doors open in ten minutes.” “Come on then, boys.” James says, as if they aren’t already on their way there. Peter makes an inelegant noise and shrugs when Remus looks at him. They share a quick smile and raised eyebrows before traipsing after him. The hotel, when they reach it fifteen minutes later, is a fancy looking building three stories high. There’s a thick, plush looking carpet lining the front steps that James is almost afraid to stand on lest he ruin it somehow. There are a few of their classmates loitering around the front door, chatting amongst themselves. “Doors not open yet?” Peter asks as they approach, sharing a friendly smile with Bertha. “Everyone’s already gone in.” She says with a shake of her head. “We’re waiting on Lily and Benjy.” “Want us to wait with you?” Sirius asks, free hand reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket. “You just want a fag.” Dorcas says, mouth curling into a smirk as she steps up behind her girlfriend, arm wrapping around her waist. Sirius shrugs, unrepentant as he pulls a cigarette out and lifts it to his lips. It takes him a few attempts to get his lighter to work, but the inhale he takes is satisfied when he eventually manages. James leans against the wall, eyes scanning the corner opposite them. Remus shifts restlessly beside him and he slides his gaze over to him. “You wanna go in?” He asks. Remus nods, scuffs his foot against the concrete slab of the pavement. “I need a piss.” Peter’s already half way up the stairs by the time Remus even makes the first signals of moving. He shrugs at the look he’s given. “I need a drink.” “We’ll find you.” James promises, as if there’s no question of him staying out here with Sirius. Sirius doesn’t say anything about it, sways further into James’ personal space, giving a pleased grunt when their hips knock together. He takes another drag of his cigarette, careful to blow the smoke away from James. “I’m not going near you smelling like that.” James says, contradicting himself as he lets go of Sirius’ hand so he can wrap his arm around his shoulders instead. “I know.” Sirius murmurs, quirking an eyebrow at him. Dorcas is watching them with the barest traces of an amused smile, her lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. James can see the moment her attention shifts, sees the way her eyes glaze as she looks over his shoulder. “Fucking finally!” She calls as James twists his head to look where she is. Lily’s on the other side of road, dress billowing in the breeze of a passing taxi. It’s a pretty colour, James notes; a deep burgundy that bleeds into purple in the dying sunlight. “Got stuck in traffic!” Lily answers, holding up the hem of her dress as she jogs across the street. Benjy trails behind her, not in any hurry as he waits for a car to drive past before stepping off the curb. “Bus driver was a wanker.” Is the first thing that Benjy says, edging past James so he can greet Dorcas with a wet kiss to the cheek. The thing James has learnt about Benjy over the past eleven or so years is that it’s honestly best not to ask. So he doesn’t. Instead he turns to Lily, gives her a smile, and says “You clean up alright, Evans.” “Oh, shut up.” She laughs, stepping into him so she can give him a hug. “You alright?” Sirius straightens up, drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground and steps forward. “He’s a pain.” “Isn’t he always?” Lily asks, grinning as Sirius tugs her into a hug of his own. “I’m standing right here.” James complains, staunchly ignoring the fact that Bertha, Dorcas, and Benjy are all laughing at him. “That’s what makes it fun.” Lily promises, eyes amused. She frees herself from Sirius’ arms, but sticks close, and tilts her head at them. “Are we going in, or did you want to stand out here all night?” James pulls a face at her. It morphs into a gentle smile when he feels Sirius’ hand slip into his again, and not even the unamused look Sirius is giving him is enough to diminish it. He offers Lily his other arm, and together the three of them make their way towards the front door.

#jily #prongsfoot #jilypad #fyjamesandlily #gxldentrio #something tangerines #ot3: we were inevitable #hp fanfic #vic writes

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