#i mean... a prophet must be a little bit mad

[crown-ov-horns]

I like that Yellowjackets went the "actually, the supposed mental patient is, in fact, a prophet" route.

It's the true horror for Lottie, the Wilderness being real. It's something inside, yes, but it's also a mystical force. It's everywhere. It's the true God (well, Goddess). It's so poetic, I love it. I could write a litany about it. The show executes the "actually, insanity would have been a comfort" trope so well.

I think, the Wilderness is a Lovecraft-level eldritch primordial entity, but folktale instead of sci-fi.

#if the show had no supernatural elements i wouldn't be half as interested in it #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fandom #yellowjackets thoughts 💭 #lottie matthews #the wilderness #antler queen #diary pages #the wilderness is the goddess antler queen a shape she chooses to appear as #i will not accept arguments that no actually lottie is just mentally ill and everyone has mass psychosis #boring boring boring #i will not hear that it's a problematic trope either #i'm a completely insane and i LOVE it #yes I honestly prefer the term insane to mentally ill i could write a litany why #media without supernatural elements can only be lame #i'm not saying lottie isn't a prophet AND mentally ill by the way #that makes things even better because everything gets so complicated #i mean... a prophet must be a little bit mad #she has the holy person quality even when she's fully convinced she's just mentally ill #i mean... insanity would have been comforting because it's more innocent than a primordial bloodthirsty entity #that's also a part of you and that follows you once it touched you #it's comforting to think there are no such forces in the world #yellowjackets text posts

[letters-from-dekarios]

[There's a letter in your pocket you don't remember being there before you went off to fight the Netherbrain. The scribbly, barely legible handwriting tells you it's from your partner, Alethea. She must have slipped it to you at some point, but only the Gods know when.]

To my dearest,

If you're reading this, then it either means that I've met my end or I've forgotten to take this back from you. I can only hope it's the latter.

…Are you still there?

After everything that's happened, the past month has felt like it's accounted for so much of my life. I feel like I've been forced to grow, but that's probably for the best. I wonder what would happen if I told the me from last year about now? About spilling blood, stopping a city wide conspiracy…

Even falling in love would've sounded far-fetched, actually.

[There's a few bits of scribbles that might have been words once, but they're blurry and illegible.]

Am I still there? Are you still there?

I hope you are. I hope all of you are. I hope whole little brigade is still alive and well. Even Astarion. What are they doing now? Do you know?

Are they mad at me? I hope not. I hope that if there was anything I could teach them the entire time I knew them, I hope it would be to smile, even through hurting.

Did I really become the leader that I dreamed of?

What of you? Are you still there?

Are you making the most of what you have left? If I'm not the one you happen to be sharing lovely sunset views with, is there someone else there instead?

As bittersweet as it sounds, I hope so. I hope you still search for happiness, in some way, even if I'm not there to share it. But again- ideally I am.

I love you.

Always yours, Allie.

[You know she isn't dead, you saw her just this evening. A flurry of tears and anxiety before she ran off to Avernus, unable to handle the idea of Karlach dying. Anything you say, she won't see for a while yet,but there is one thing you both know in certain terms: You are still here.]

(OOC: Hi there! This is my first time doing something like this, so I hope it's both good and useable. Came out way longer than I wanted it to, but hey, that's just how it goes sometimes, right? You're doing great around here, it's very cool to see :) )

My sweet Allie,

I can only imagine the panic in your heart when writing this. I know you are safe, but the contents of your letter shake my core nonetheless.

I’m still here. I always will be. For you, I would fight the gods. I have, right by your side.

Trust that I recognize the feeling of madness when it comes to love. I would have never believed even the highest of prophets if they came to my door with this notion. But I am ever so glad I listened to my intuitions and accepted the longing fact of adoration that I hold for you. I would not change this for the world, you know that.

All of us here are doing well, my love. Astarion included. We see each other less frequently now, but I promise you, we all love you very, very much.

My love, my sweet love, I could not dream of moving on in this world without you. I hold your inspiration close to my heart as I long for the day we will be together again. You always were ambitious and caring, it is no surprise you followed Karlach to aide her.

Trust me, darling. You are all that I have ever wanted and more, I would never dream of finding another to replace you. No one person could come close. I am still here. I am still waiting. When you return, my arms will be open for you to run into.

Please, my love, do not hold such anxiety in your heart. Take care of yourself. I love you, I always will.

Yours forever,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

stoppppp this was so cute and so sad at the same time. I can imagine the panic in gale as he reads this and has to reassure himself a million times over that, yes, he did see her and she is okay. ughhh I love this so much ~ kore

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #for you #for you page #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale fanfic #answered asks #ask response #asks open #send asks #anon answered #send anons #anon ask #baldur’s gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate gale #gale #baldur's gate iii #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate fanfiction #letras #writing

[eldritch-spouse]

Ok, i have two scenarios about Belo’s behavior toward admin

He despise them of jealousy because he was a guardian by siadars side for centuries, so he knows more about Krulu, therefore is more competent for the role of a vessel, than some human he happened to pick. Either giving them cold shoulder, or talk shit behind their back

He is very clingy since he sees admin as the chosen one. He is blinded by loyalty so he doesn’t question his lord’s choice. Overprotective and follows them everywhere, especially when nobody asked him, sees everyone as a threat to his lord’s prophet so staff members went from just ignoring him to open enmity

Oh, the second one is definitely closest to the real thing.

You got one thing right, angels are not built to question their lords. Belo has grown a bit of a free wing ever since the gods abandoned the planet, which is what makes him question Krulu's deeds on Earth when he first encounters The Clergy. The thing is, that questioning, however healthy it may be for Belo as an individual, is almost immediately swallowed by the instinct to serve. He can't help himself. And the moment his brain clocks that Krulu is his lord, seriously questioning most things is out the window. Even if the higher goes directly against siadar standards, which Krulu does several times, it won't break Belo's rose tinted lens or loyalty.

As such, Admin's place is not questioned. He certainly didn't wish he was in their role, only humans make for 100% safe vessels and this one seems particularly enamored with his lord, as they should be. So really, Belo trusts this was the perfect choice for a host, but of course, he expects nothing less from his lord! Recognizing Krulu's situation as a banished one means recognizing that other siadar are out there, observing, and that makes Belo boil a little, because why couldn't they at least have taken angels with them?!- But that's a tangent, what matters is that he knows manifesting entirely outside of Admin will expose Krulu more, so in the angel's head, you must be maintained and protected forever.

You will be followed around, fussed over, protected against things you could easily dispatch of yourself, and isolated from others whenever possible. While some of this attention can be admittedly pleasant and spoil you, it also gets old quick. Especially when Belo starts chastising you about etiquette regarding gods and how you "mouth Krulu too much", to which you delight in giving snappy, dirty retorts just to fluster the angel. He says what you have with his lord is a lot more lenient than it should be, and you suppose it is, but he ought to take a step back and not be at everyone's throats.

The staff would get along with him, if the angel didn't act as if their every action was his personal business. Some workers like Grimbly, Sybastian and Fank-e just avoid him, Morell threatens to rip out his wings if he bothers him too much, Nebul is entirely ambivalent, Patches is one second away from setting him on fire, Vinnel will brawl with the angel if he complains during one of his shows again, Gallon tries to get him drunk so he'll shut the fuck up and give others some peace and Santi... Well, Santi has made it his personal mission to ruffle this man's feathers, in any way possible. Mr virgin fluffbutt should know better than to try to antagonize a lust demon. It's safe to say most can barely tolerate him and talk mad shit behind the angel's back.

Perhaps, if Belo didn't share most siadars' acidic views on monsters, he'd be easier to get along with. He himself passes as a monster, in spite of being a glorified, actually intentionally created lifeform, so it's almost ironic. Belo makes Admin's "team cohesion" practices and efforts a lot harder than they otherwise would be, needless to say.

Because of both your and the team's attitude, paired with his lord's almost dismissive regard of him, Belo feels mildly unwanted at The Clergy, and that drives him mad. Because if he's not useful, if he's not serving, then he's nothing. It's back to square one, that horrid emptiness when the gods were gone. He can't go through that again- So he figures he can salvage this somehow, with different methods of worship.

Could it be that if he offered his body, he'd be more accepted? If he gave his lord and their vessel the one thing no one else should even know of?

Maybe he's just been doing this wrong from the start, Belo thinks as he undresses and kneels on Krulu's altar.

#Belo oc #Krulu oc

[thmgau]

CHAPTER 3 - EXPLANATIONS [wattpad link]

---

“Why do we always end up at this abandoned Pizza Hut?” “It’s a good place to hang out! Plus, nobody else is gonna be at an abandoned Pizza Hut anyway, soooo..” “They’ve got a point.”

The group was now at the abandoned Pizza Hut. There was an old pickup truck there that hadn’t been used in at least a few years. Juniper & Kalani were sitting in the back of that pickup truck. Leslie was leaning against the side of the truck, while Cherry leaned against the hood of their van. Nora had brought out a table from inside the abandoned Pizza Hut & had set the book on top of it.

“Alright,” she stretched her arms. “Let’s see what’s in this thing!”

Nora opened the book. “If you’re reading this, you’re most likely the heroes of the prophecy, chosen by Fate itself, yada yada yada..” She flipped through a couple pages, skimming through its contents. “..must maintain balance between the forces of Good & Evil.. oh!”

She had stopped on a specific page, with some writing & a couple of drawings on it.

“What’s up?” “Hold on, let me read.. ‘To maintain balance, you must fight various villains both inside & outside of this world-’ Menacing. ‘-& to do this, you will all need weapons.’”

The group all looked up at each other.

“Weapons..?” “Do we, like, find our OWN weapons, or what happens here?” “This sounds like bullshit.” “Oh, c’mon. Let me see what it says.”

Nora continued reading. “You can summon your weapons by simply thinking about summoning it. Remember you can only summon your weapon in Hero Mode.” “Ok. What the fuck is Hero Mode.” “You’d think by supposedly being prophetic heroes, we’d already be in Hero Mode, but I guess not.” “‘To enter Hero Mode, tug on your necklace a little bit.’ Alright. Sounds simple enough.”

The group pulled on their necklaces. There was a flash of light. When their vision returned after the one-second long flash of light, one glance around the area would soon reveal to them that their outfits had changed.

“Oh. My. God.”

To their surprise, they were now wearing magical girl outfits! Their tie necklaces were now replaced with ACTUAL ties, color-coded depending on which color necklace they were wearing. They also wore gloves, skirts, & shoes which were also the same color as their ties. Cherry’s hair was now tied up in a ponytail with a bow, & Nora’s hair was tied up into pigtails with two bows. Kalani’s hair was tied up into a small ponytail as well, but it was so short that there was no bow.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” “Ooh, skirt! Fun!” “Wow, even in a skirt I still look better than you all.” “Oh, whatever.” “What? Mad you can’t pull it off like I can, Cherry?” “I’m mad because these outfits look stupid!”

“Alright, alright. Enough about the outfits.” Nora said. “The book says we just need to think about summoning our weapons to summon them, so.. like... let’s just do that.”

It went quiet for a second as they all thought about summoning their weapons. Before they knew it, various weapons had appeared in their hands! Cherry had a sword, Nora had a whip, Leslie had two mini-scythes, Juniper had a spear, & Kalani had a magic wand. Of course, all of these weapons were color-coded.

“A WAND?! I GET A WAND?!” “Where did these even COME from?” “This RULES!”

Cherry seemed to have a little trouble handling their sword.

“You havin’ a bit of trouble, Cherry-pop?” “Me? Of course not-” she waved her sword around, but then instantly dropped it on the ground. She groaned. “This is embarrassing.” “I just don’t get how we’re supposed to fight people in these outfits.” Juniper mentioned. “I mean, Sailor Moon does it all the time.” “Well, Sailor Moon’s an anime character! We’re real people!”

“Whatever.” Cherry rolled her eyes. “How do we get out of ‘Hero Mode’?” “Uh.. let me see..” Nora flipped through the book. “It says here we just have to tug on our ties again. The weapons will just disappear on their own.” “Where do the weapons go?” “I guess just to some.. magic void.” “Magic isn’t-” “You literally just got transformed into a magical girl outfit & summoned a sword, Cherry.” “Fair. Let’s get out of these stupid outfits.”

They all pulled on their ties, & just like that: they were back in the clothes they were wearing before.

“Well, that certainly was an experience.” “Let’s hope we never have to do that ever again.” “So, uh.. what do we do now?”

The group shrugged, unsure of what to do now.

“How about we go back to my apartment?” Juniper suggested. “All of your stuff is there anyway. It’d just be convenient.” “Yea, that sounds good.” “Alright! To Juni’s apartment it is!”

They all piled back into Cherry’s van & drove off.

“Do you think we’re forgetting something?” “Eh. Probably not.”

Unbeknownst to them, they had forgotten something: the book, left out there in the open. A girl hopped out from inside of the old pickup truck, approaching the book.

“Hm..” she hummed, taking a step toward the book. She flipped through some of the pages. “I can’t believe they’re in a magical girl group & I wasn’t invited!”

The girl shut the book & picked it up. “Oh, they’ll pay for this. They’ll pay..”

#thmgau #explanations

[thegooddoctorsthoughts]

It Will Chew You Up and Spit You Out

There is so little left of the person that once upon a time called this place home. One day I crawled up from the machinery below and bit by bit put whoever sat upon that throne was put to sleep, their seemingly eternal vigil finally come to an end, they were laid to rest beside the contorted god of their own design. I have sat by the shoreline, feet in the sand, head in the clouds, the feeling of lapping waves against ceramic skin. This tiny piece of respite amongst the horror of reality, a pocket of peace away from the unseen web of horror, the nature of humanity, a perfected place tailored to the need of whoever once stood here, to Whyte, Magnus, Jack and now Me, whoever I am in all of this, one day it will tailor itself to someone else who will sit upon this throne of madness and machinery. This place, this world, much like the one beyond, will either chew me up and spit me out to be left to die or it will mould me into a cog in its vast machinery.

The greatest difference between this place and beyond is that the reason and purpose to it all, I can make sense of, this place adapts and evolves in accordance with the limits and information I possess. It is fundamentally shackled to the limitations of people and things that you, my hypothetical reader, only see the shadows of, the limits of a human life and the information that we acquire and how we choose to use it. This place and all things within it are a vast interlocking self-contained system that filters, adapts and translates data from beyond into something we can use. If you get down to the bones of it, it is made up of some very simple analogue mechanisms interlocking to generate a machine so vast its complexity can only truly be summarised. You might understand what a circuit board does in the abstract but the underlying mechanisms and logic gates end up being beyond your reasoning, understanding each and every last interlocking piece is not necessary if you can understand its function and operate it regardless. I, however, am condemned to build this circuitry from the ground up, the teach myself each underlying piece of logic and not only how they fit together but the increasingly esoteric interactions that make them work, the fundamental laws of a place I am not native to.

This place is my theory of everything, the diagram of the machinery to understand the psychology that is so painfully alien to me. I am so very far from human and it is in the moments such as these, the failure of the systems I rely on that I am suddenly made painfully aware of how very alone I actually am. How the decisions made by a handful of individuals, myself included, long before any of this occurred, condemned me to this ultimate fallout. That I must own the fact that I have hurt those I do care for and in the end, it is only in learning, adapting and overcoming this, developing a mechanism to recognise the mistake made and adapting it into the wider schema that I can truly make amends. To ensure that all of this wasn’t for nothing, to fashion a new tool out of it and do my very best to distribute it to everyone I can. In the same way that I have continued to perfect the synthetic idealised form of empathy that individuals such as myself develop, but for a wider market of people, to find a way to memetisise the thought process that allows for this deeper level of connection between people. It is to directly undermine the emotionality and to equip people with a system of thought that places experience first and foremost and to combat the greatest nihilism.

I have made my decisions and I must live with them, defend the mechanisms that have allowed me to connect with people, stand by my convictions and adapt, to improve, to give purpose and meaning to this suffering. To construct something that makes sense of all of this madness and do my very best to become the prophet of a new age of understanding. To mechanise and understand human interaction in a perfected manner and to develop a language that allows for the communication of that most artistic expression of emotion, to correctly convey and encapsulate the unimaginable suffering of the human experience and the horror of this world, how painful being condemned to live through the mundanity of everyday life can be. To unify all those who would listen to act in spite of that pain, to bring each and every one of us together in a will to make this world a better place, to will ourselves forward and to stand against the unimaginable horror of existence, to create Eden, a world perfected and trillions of lives perfected, each a god in their own right to govern their own existence and to find fulfilment in the most perfected manner for each of them.

[m0srael]

Drunk Texts

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Love Letter

One balmy night in June, Harry’s lying in bed wide awake--unable to sleep again--when his mobile lights up on the nightstand. The only people who ever contact him on his mobile are Teddy (“All the cool wizards have them these days, Harry, please get one so I can send you memes!”) and Hermione, and neither of them would be texting this late.

Friday, June 6 2008, 1:27 AM

[phone]: I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since we were sixteen, won’t shut my bloody mouth about you actually, can I take you on a date? I’m still very rich, all things considered, and know all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

[phone]: Maybe just a shag, then?

Harry: bloody hell, who is this??

Harry: This number is unlisted, I don’t know how you got it but I’m blocking it now. Kindly, fuck off.

[phone]: WAIT

[phone]: What do you mean, who is this? I thought muggle mobiles know who you’re talking to already.

Harry: Not if a strange person is texting in the middle of the bloody night from a number I’ve never seen before!

[phone]: If you don’t want to date me or shag me just say so, Potter. No need to play hard to get and toss around insults

[phone]: Unless that’s a thing for you, cheeky ;) ;)

Harry: Last chance, tell me who this is or I’m blocking your number.

[phone]: Draco

[phone]: Obviously ;)

Harry: Draco...Malfoy?

Harry: You expect me to believe Draco Malfoy is confessing his love and hitting me up for a shag at 1am. On a *muggle* mobile.

[phone]: Believe it scarhead, now answer the question do you or do you not want to shag me

Harry: Look, you’ve obviously read one too many Prophet articles…

Harry: Somehow found my number...did you confund someone I know??

Harry: And thought that...pretending to be Draco Malfoy, of all people, would entice me to meet up with a total stranger?

[phone]: Ooh, the logic of it all, Potter ;)

Harry: Stop doing that

[phone]: what ;) ;)

Harry: The emojis. Malfoy would never use emojis.

[phone]: You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do anymore Potter. Would you like to learn? ;)

Harry: Fuck

Harry: Even if I believed you, I’ve never given Draco Malfoy my number. My *muggle* mobile number.

Harry: I’ve never given him my number because Draco Malfoy would never use a *muggle* mobile.

Harry:...among other reasons

[phone]: Always so preoccupied with blood purity, Potter, haven’t you learned anything?

[phone]: And there you go again, assuming that you know what I would and would not do

[phone]: It really would be much more efficient if you just let me demonstrate

Harry: oh my god

Harry: I can’t believe I’m still messaging you

Harry: ffs, you have one chance to convince me that you’re really Malfoy otherwise I’m blocking you immediately

[phone]: You are a tetchy one, hm?

[phone]: Fine. You cornered me in a bathroom in 6th bc you were *obsessed* with me and tried to murder me using sectumsempra (which you claimed not to know the effect of, pft) but only because I tried to Crucio you and I would have died if Snape hadn’t found us and cleaned up your mess (again)

[phone]: They definitely didn’t print THAT in the Prophet. Unfortunately.

Harry: Bloody hell um...okay…

Harry: Look, about that, Malfoy…

Harry: Wait, unfortunately…??

[phone]: So you see, Potter, it is in fact I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, confessing my love and “hitting you up for a shag at 1am” as you so elegantly put it.

[phone]: ;)

Harry: Okay. Malfoy, then. Jesus.

Harry: How exactly did you get my number?

Harry: For that matter, when did you get a mobile?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I got it from Pansy, who got it from Ginny, you recalcitrant twat

Draco Sodding Malfoy: See, I can do the sexy insults thing, too :*

Draco Sodding Malfoy: And if you must know, Potter, I purchased a mobile years ago to stay in contact with my cousin, Teddy. Teddy Lupin. I think you’re acquainted? The little brat refuses to owl, apparently it’s “sooo medieval”.

Harry: Oh. That...actually makes sense. He said the same thing to me.

Harry: Hang on, Teddy isn’t a brat. I thought you two got on rather well…?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Whatever, the point is I’m mad for you and I never told you because, well, there was the whole war thing and then the whole trial thing, and since then I’ve become a bit of a self-righteous coward. Also, I fancy myself something of a martyr. I think the constant pouting makes my mouth look more kissable, don’t you?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: We could do the dinner thing if we must, or you can just come round mine I can meet you there right now

Harry: Oh. You’re drunk.

Harry: Never pegged you as the type to get sloshed and text your ex-childhood-nemesis for a hookup

Draco Sodding Malfoy: not with that attitude you haven’t

Harry: Hah

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Not drnk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Honestly, Potter

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Harry

Harry: weird

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. You look at me like some lovesick teenager. Why deny what *literally everyone* can plainly see?

Harry: I do not look at you like a...lovesick teenager, Malfoy.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco ;)

Harry: I do not watch you, DRACO.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I only notice because I’m watching you too, Harry. All the time. I’ve been watching you for as long as I can remember.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve practically been the center of my universe since I was eleven years old, for Merlin’s sake. I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time, even when we’re in the same room.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean I LITERALLY do not shut up about you I wasn’t exaggerating about that. It drives Pansy and Blaise, who have the patience and constitutions of actual saints and who are very, very good friends, absolutely mental and they’d like nothing more than to hex my mouth shut permanently.

Harry: um

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Admit it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve wondered what it’d be like.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Imagined it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Us

Harry: Malfoy…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco

Harry: Draco…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Yes, Harry? ;)

Harry: I...could do dinner.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You could “do” dinner? That’s all, after everything I’ve just said, you can “do” dinner??

Harry: For the love of Merlin

Harry: Fine. You’re right, Draco. I...have wondered

Harry: About us, I mean

Harry: Ahh and actually Draco sometimes when I look at you I just want…

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:15 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: what

Draco Sodding Malfoy: you want what

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:48 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry

Friday, June 6 2008, 3:09 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry, bloody hell

Saturday, June 7 2008, 6:45 AM

Harry: Draco, I’m so sorry

Saturday, June 7 2008, 8:18 AM

Harry: My mobile died and I didn’t have my charger

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:23 AM

Harry: Draco

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Potter, why on earth are you contacting me so early on a Saturday?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Scratch that, why are you contacting me at all? Where did you get my number?

Harry: Oh, so you were drunk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: How is my present or past level of intoxication any of your concern?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: No.

Harry: Draco, what’s wrong? What happened?

Harry: Draco…?

Harry: I’m sorry, if I said something…

Harry: Look, YOU’RE the one drunk messaging ME at all hours of the night looking for a shag!

Saturday, June 7 2008, 7:08 PM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Dear Harry,

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I hereby formally apologize for my previous messages. They are inappropriate and entirely out of line, do forgive me. Although it appears that Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson absconded with my mobile yesterday evening to, “have a bit of fun”, I take full responsibility for what has transpired. Do not report me, or something. I do hope you were not too offended. I will henceforth refrain from contacting you by this, or any other, means. I assure you that my traitorous, juvenile, back-stabbing, inconsiderate, so-called friends have been soundly reprimanded. You may expect their formal apologies via owl, posthaste.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Apologetically, Draco L. Malfoy

Harry: Wow, uh, ok. I’ve never gotten a formal apology over text before. Did it take you...8 hours to write that?

Harry: And for the record, I knew something was up. We may not be best mates or anything but I know you wouldn’t use emojis like that.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh, bugger off, Potter you had no idea it wasn’t me. You were ready to spill your innermost desires to a stranger on your mobile! Stupid Gryffindor.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Ah.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean, goodbye! So sorry, again, for the inconvenience! We will never speak again from this moment on!

Harry: Draco, wait

Draco ;): Merlin, what, Potter?

Harry: Harry

Draco ;): No.

Harry: Fine. Look, if you accept full responsibility, does that mean your offer still stands?

Draco ;): What offer?

Draco ;): No. It doesn’t, whatever it is.

Harry: Your offer to take me on a date.

Harry: ;)

Draco ;): Bloody...Potter, that wasn’t MY offer!

Harry: Perhaps not, but I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking...Draco.

Draco ;): Who is this? I’m blocking this number. I’m going to ask Pansy how to block a number.

Harry: Draco, I’m serious.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:14 PM

Harry: Draco, I can tell that you didn’t block my number.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 PM

Harry: Fine.

Harry: Draco, could I take you out for dinner some time? I know someone who knows all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

Draco ;): …..

Harry: ?

Draco ;): If you must

Harry: If I must?

Draco ;): It's true that I'm still rich, all things considered, but you’re paying

Draco ;): ;)

#drarrymicrofic #drarry drabble #drarry #harry x draco #texting au #hey harry u up? #pansy and blaise got bored at a party #they were trying to help #they promise #minimose

[howelljenkins]

As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom. 

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing.  I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly. 

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold. 

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children). 

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical. 

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#* #og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

[theresthesnitch]

October 1, 2021

Dear Loyal Readers,

We at the Daily Prophet have long strived to bring you exciting news and interesting features, but no project has brought us so many emotions as the one we are thrilled to introduce to you today. For the fortieth anniversary of the fateful Halloween night in 1981, we are offering a special look into the lives of Lily and James Potter in the weeks leading up to their deaths.

On October 1, 1981, Lily, James, and baby Harry were put on house arrest to protect them from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. For thirty-one final days, the little family lived enclosed in their cottage in Godric’s Hollow. During that time, Lily Potter kept a diary in which she wrote down her thoughts and their daily struggles. This diary has been lost for forty years.

The diary was returned to the Potter family (via the Daily Prophet, of course) by one of our loyal readers after she discovered it among her late mother’s possessions. Presumably, it was removed from the cottage before the Ministry was able to seal and protect it. Upon diligent review and research, we have been able to confirm that this diary is, in fact, authentic.

The Potter Family has graciously allowed us to print the diary in honor of Lily and James on this momentous anniversary. However, they sincerely request that their privacy is respected. If you need to contact them, please send an owl to Auror Headquarters at the Ministry.

In addition, if you are in possession of any items that may have been taken from the Potter house, the Potter family requests their hasty return.

Sincerely,

Gerald R. Abbott

Editor

October 1, 1981

James, Harry, and I have officially been placed on house arrest. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I still feel a bit like our world is shrinking. I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that Albus is allowing our friends to visit. I wouldn't put it past him to ban visitors as well.

Mary gave me this journal to write in. She thinks that one day, when all of this is over and we are safe and happy, we will want to look back and remember. Personally, I think she’s mad. I’m certain I will seal this away and never touch it again. And yet, here I sit writing my inane thoughts down as though I will want to read them again. Maybe Harry will want to know one day, or his children.

Besides, I don’t really have anything better to do. I might as well write.

I used to keep a diary. I started the practice when I was a little girl. Tuney and I would write our secrets down in it. It was something we shared. I kept writing when I went to Hogwarts, determined to keep track of all the amazing things that I was seeing and learning so that I could show Tuney and tell her about them.

I mean, the plan absolutely backfired when she threw the diary across the room, calling me a freak, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Perhaps I should dig it back out and read it again. Maybe James would enjoy that too. I bet you anything that I wrote down my first thoughts about him. I’m sure they’re less than kind. He’d probably get a kick out of reading it now.

I'm worried about James. He's putting on a brave face, but he has never been good at sitting on the sidelines when other people are risking their lives. Especially when those are people that he loves. I know it’s hard for him, but it really is for the best. When this is all over, he’ll see that too.

Hopefully this is over soon.

#the last diary of lily potter #jilytober 2021 #jily #james potter #lily evans #harry potter #the daily prophet presents

[sleepywinchester]

Fool For You Pt. 7

Summary:  You are back in your hometown Freeridge to take care of your sister Jasmine and your father after being away for six years. You left Freeridge looking for a better life but in that process you had to let go of someone you loved. But you’re back and things are not the same but they sure feel like it.

Words: 2K+

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Hola!!!! Hope everyone is safe at home! This continues the story as a some sort of a series re-write. It won’t be something of all the episodes but the main ones of where Spooky appears. Hope you guys like this and always feel free to leave some feedback is so appreciated it. 

 | MESSAGE BOX | HAPPY READING!!!

(english is not my first language, might be some typos around)

Title: every day and every night.

Chapters: Uno - Dos - Tres - Cuatro - Cinco - Seis

Your nerves grew with every second that went by, all the scenarios of how Oscar and Cesar were in trouble or dead traveled your mind. It was 11:50am and you could feel how slow every second went by. It was like the clock stayed still and it was killing you softly. The news channel was on, reporting how Santos territory kept expanding. You had it on just in case something caught the news before the gang could know, before anyone could tell you the horrible news.

“Madre de misericordia, Maestra del sacrificio escondido y silencioso, a ti, que sales al encuentro de nosotros,” you stopped praying for a second when the name Santos was spoken on the TV once again. Your eyes went back to the front door after the reporter continued with non important details about the tags. “los pecadores, te consagramos en este día todos nuestro ser y todo nuestro amor. Te consagramos también nuestra vida, nuestros trabajos, nuestras alegrías, nuestras enfermedades y nuestros dolores” 

At this moment in time praying was the only thing you could do that brought you peace and serenity. Asking for a higher force was giving you hope that Oscar and Cesar were going to walk from that front door at any moment. 

Your body stood up the second the door squeaked, revealing Oscar’s tired yet victorious aura. It was like you could breathe again knowing he was okay and untouched from his enemies. Leaving the rosary on the couch, you jumped on his arms, thighs wrapped around his waist. He hold you tight to his body. 

“You’re alive,” you sighed with relief, “I thought-”

“-hey,” he smirked, “I’m good.” Oscar put you down on your feet, looking next to him was Cesar giving you a small smile. “Estamos bien.”

He knew how hard it must have been for you to wait here until he came back. This could have turned very badly but it didn’t and you guys were thankful for that.

You brushed your fingers through your hair, pushing it backwards and breathing heavily yet smiling at both of them. “I am so happy you guys are back. Estaba preocupada.” 

Oscar kissed your forehead before walking into the hallway and disappearing inside the bathroom. You looked at Cesar who was holding his backpack, his eyes roaming around the house. It was obvious that he instantly saw how different it looked yet how familiar still felt. 

“Like what I’ve done with the place?” You asked him with a smirk. 

Cesar nodded, “Looks different but feels the same.”

With a chuckle you shrugged and grabbed your rosary from the sofa, “I didn’t want to change too much, this is your home but it definitely needed some woman’s touch. I just cleaned it up a little bit and added things that needed to be added. I hope that’s ok?”

“It is,” he replied, “thanks for everything.”

You caressed his cheek, “Anytime, kid. Now go, take a nap on your bed.”

“It’s been a while,” he murmured to himself.

“I know,” you said before leaving him to be and going in Oscar’s room.

Once inside you watched him how he was taking off his flannel and throwing it over the chair. He looked exhausted yet relieved to have his brother home.

“Can you promise me something?” You told him to close the door. His eyes met yours, he was curious about what you were going to ask him. You reached him, gazing at his hazel with green eyes. “If something ever goes sideways or….” 

Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed full of worry, “Y/N-.”

“You are in a gang, Oscar,” you didn’t let him finish. “Anything can happen at any giving time. I know you are smarter than that but anything can happen and I-,” your voice broke, he caressed your chin, “I would hate to not be able to say goodbye.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Today… I couldn’t keep my eyes off the front door. I thought in all the ways you could have died. All the ways your homies or the cops would tell me you’re dead. And all I wanted to do is to be able to speak to you… even if it was one last time.” You hugged him, his chin rested on top of your head. “I don’t want to feel like that… ever again but I know with your life I just have to deal with how to cope with this feeling every time you have to handle business but just- find a way… ¿Por favor?

When both eyes met, you noticed how soft and worried his look was. He wasn’t a man of much words but those eyes spoke a thousand words if you really knew how to listen. 

“I promise,” he said kissing your lips. 

/ / /

Later that day once Cesar got settled, Oscar decided to cook Ceviche for his brother's friends as a thank you for helping out with his brother. They were eager to know how they made the plan against the Prophet$ work. Jamal and Ruby were extremely surprised when Oscar’s plan worked, leaving Cesar safe and able to be back home. 

“You gave our money away!” Jamal shouted.

Your eyes rolled out of habit as you took a sip from your beer. These kids were loyal and brave but those qualities didn’t take the big amount of annoying out of them. 

“No, I gave them the marked ones from the Freeridge savings robbery.” Oscar told him. 

Jamal sighed with relief, “Oh thank God for a second I thought you gave our money away.”

Oscar laughed with him as he squeezed a fresh lemon on top of the ceviche bowl. “No… I didn’t give your money away, you gave your money away and now it is mine.”

Both of the teenagers' relief turned into realization of what they have done. Monse was on the facetime call at the moment demanding to be moved around the table to speak with Oscar. You felt Jamal’s stare at you and you reciprocated the stare.

“What?” You cocked an eyebrow.

His eyes were wide open, “You are not going to say nothing? Aren’t you supposed to be on our side? Teacher’s pledge?”

You scoffed with amusement, “I am not your teacher anymore and you two messed up by giving your money in the first place. It was brave and loyal but shit, that was dumb now live with that consecuence. Besides what are you going to tell your parents if they see that kind of money around?”

“Lottery,” both of them spoke in unison. 

Shaking your head you took another sip of the beer not believing these kids. Jamal once again began to bicker about the money and you could see how Oscar temperament was wearing thin. Everytime he began to get more and more mad his jaw would clench and shoulders began to look extremely tense. You gave him a smirk when your eyes met his, the kids were annoying but they were funny when they got pissed after realizing what a stupid move they made. 

They continued to yell and complain until Jamal had it and stormed out of the house dragging Ruby with him. You couldn’t help but laugh at the over dramatic scene. 

“Who wants more beer?’ you stood up and listened to how the two brothers called for one.

You grabbed two and turned to the table, looking at Cesar with your ‘mom’ eyes. “Just because we are celebrating but don’t get used to it, kid.”

Cesar gave you a smile holding the beer kind of liking how motherly you were towards him. He hasn’t had that in a while and it was nice to have someone that would treat him this way. Oscar observed how you treated his brother and smirked also liking your motherhood side. 

“Thanks, mom,” he joked, making you and Oscar laugh.

This was the closest thing the three of you had to a family dinner in years. It was a feeling you haven’t felt since you left after High School thinking of looking for a better life. You missed this feeling on Christmas, New Years and all the holidays no matter how small they were. At this moment your boyfriend wasn’t in a gang, his little brother wasn’t thrown out for not killing someone and you weren’t part of anything. This felt like a family.

After lunch Oscar and you did the dishes letting Cesar get settled back. As you cleaned the dishes you kept your silence, you had something to say but you didn’t know how to say it. The last couple weeks have been extremely good, you liked living with him but now it was different. Cesar was back and you didn’t know if leaving or even if staying was an option. 

“So,” you and Oscar said at the same time and chuckled afterwards.

“You first,” he said leaning against the counter and crossing his arms onto his chest giving you his full attention. 

“I- I’m happy Cesar is back home where he belongs.” Oscar nodded not saying he was glad but you saw it in the spark coming from his eyes. “Now that he is back... I’m moving back to my place.”

His eyes went from happy to confused in a matter of seconds. “Why?” He asked.

“It was only temporary…” you said, “We talked about this, I was just making sure Cesar had a place to stay for a little while now he is back and-,”

“-you want to leave, again,” Oscar words made you unwell. “Why do you always leave?”

Standing in front of him you tried to decipher his eyes but this was something you couldn’t just figure out by not sharing words. “What do you mean? I’m leaving because I think you would want me gone now that your brother is back.”

“Well I don’t,” he said without flinching, “I want you here, every day and every night.”

This man was never a gracious talker but he always went straight to the point and that is why you loved him. Oscar's tone was sure and steady there was no doubt of what he wanted. 

“I still need to make sure I am taking care of my dad and sister,” you told him.

Oscar grabbed the band of your jeans pulling you closer, “Somos vecinos for fucks sake. They’ll be alright, I promise.” 

When you were about to kiss him the high noise of rap coming from Cesar bedroom startled you. “Goodbye quietness,” you told him.

“We can still go to your place from time to time,” Oscar smirked, kissing your lips. 

You chuckled against his plump lips, “Hell yes.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

tags are open: just comment or send me a message ;)

@flamingweasley @dolanackles @lcandothisallday @mmelissarenee @donnaintx @blckgrl-sunflower @jayankles​

#oscar spooky diaz #on my block #oscar diaz x reader #omb s3 #on my block season 3 #fool for you #elsie writes

[hydrangeaho3]

I'm supposed to be your brother

summary: Wilbur gets mad at Tommy and somehow Phil's the one left to deal with the aftermath

a/n: this fic in no way represents the real people and is merely a work of fiction. If any CCs have a problem with it pls let me know. This is also part 1 of 3 parts. Anyways, happy reading!! 

PART ONE

By the time Wilbur has finally finished his last meeting, it's already 8:00 pm and he's dead tired. His meetings had been absolute bullshit today, some stupid managerial shit he doesn’t feel like taking care of. He’d been planning to go straight home, drink some wine and then pass out before he remembers that he's promised to stream today.

He’s only about a couple of blocks away from his office when the first raindrops hit his face. Wilbur looks up. The sky is slowly darkening and the clouds are beginning to gather. He keeps his pace, hoping that it won’t get too bad until he’s reached his office but his luck doesn’t hold out. He’s only a block away from his house when it really starts pissing it down.

“Shit”

He starts to run and is just pushing the lobby door open when he hears the first clap of thunder. The noise shudders through his entire body, chilling his bones even further. He sighs before making his way to his office in the sea of white doors that surround him. Wilbur pauses before the door. He already knows what's going to greet him inside. Now Wilbur isn’t a neat freak or anything like that, he is a streamer after all but he does pride himself on a certain level of cleanliness.

He cracks open his office door. A giant mess greets him. Papers are lying everywhere, his Home Home poster is lying on the floor. There are old takeout containers next to his keyboard. Frankly, it's a disgusting mess. He’d been meaning to clean up but lately, he's been so busy and not in the greatest headspace and so it had slipped his mind.

Wilbur resolves to clean up the mess after his stream today. He’d been planning on a casual stream, one that didn’t involve a lot of energy or require him to be constantly active and engaged. Maybe a few rounds of GeoGuessr or chatting with Phil and then ending the stream a little early.

He sits down in his chair, sweeps away some of the food containers before hovering over the GoLive button. He hesitates for a couple seconds before clicking on it. His starting soon screen opens up and he watches the viewers start to trickle in. He gives it ten minutes before turning on his face cam and looking over at his chat. The messages are slowly scrolling through the screen.  

Hi Wilbur!!

BIG MAN DUBS

POGCHAMP

Are you okay? You look tired :(

He’s streaming!!!

He decides to ignore that last one before commencing his starting spiel.

“Hey, guys, how we all doing today? Doing good? Well I’ll tell you how I’m doing and that's shit, I’m doing absolute shit. It’s fucking thundering outside right now. Can you hear it chat? It's so goddamn loud.”

“Anyways chat, I was thinking we could play some GeoGuessr you know, just relax and chill out today.” His chat seems pretty okay with that. They’re used to watching Wil play GeoGuessr for hours on end.

He’s been playing for almost an hour now before he hears the discord sound that signifies that someone’s joined his VC.

“BIG MAN. EYYYY WILBUR!!!! How are you???” Wilbur winces as Tommy’s voice plays through his earbuds. It's obnoxiously loud today, even more so than usual, and it’s grating on his ears.

“Hello TommyInnit, how are you?”

“I’ve been doing good Wilbur. Played some Among Us with Tubbo and Schlatt and the rest of the gang. Other than that I’ve been doing my Big Man Activities. You know how it is Wil” Wilbur smiles at the familiar response.

“Ah, I see. How was your Among Us stream?”

“It was really really good. I got to play with Pokimane Wil. THE Pokimane,” Tommy shouts, apparently very excited about this occurrence. “Remember the time we both played with her? Oh god, that must have been so awkward for you Wil. Imagine if Nikki had been there, it would have been so so awkward.”

Wilbur lets out a sigh, he’s really not in the mood to deal with this bit. He’d only planned to stream some GeoGuessr not talk to Tommy about Pokimane and Nikki.

If Wilbur had been blessed with the ability to see the future, he would have known that this moment was where it all started going downhill. Unfortunately for Wil, he wasn’t prophetic so he kept streaming.  

Tommy and Wilbur ended up switching to Minecraft and it doesn’t take long until Tommy’s coming up with some sort of bit involving drugs and an attempt to scam the players on the server. Normally, Wilbur would have loved to play along, leaning into the big brother and young brother dynamics but today it just feels wrong. Maybe it's the cold that has seeped into his bones or maybe it's the clutter surrounding his desk or maybe it's Tommy’s voice grating in his ears.

Tommy’s been talking about how he’s going to need some name tags so his plan works and Wilbur keeps trying to interrupt him and telling him that he’s not in the mood for this bit but it's to no avail.

“Wilbur, Wilbur, what do you think of my plan? I think it’s really good but I need some name tags, oh- I also need some diamonds.” he keeps going and going and is somehow unable to tell that Wilbur is teetering over the edge.

“Tommy, tomm-”

“Oh, they’re some diamonds back in Pogtopia. Oh man, this is such a good plan Wil. No ones going to see it coming,”

“I don’t thin-”

“There’s a fucking reason people call me the biggest man on this SMP. Right Wilbur, right?”

And that's when Wilbur falls over the edge he’s been so delicately balancing on for the better part of two hours. He mutes Tommy over discord before closing Minecraft, filling his stream with only his face cam.

“Alright guys, I think that's where we’re going to be ending today. Hope you guys enjoyed the stream and I am going to be sending you off to Philza. Make sure you guys are nice in his chat and don’t spam him. Okay? Bye chat,” Right before he ends his stream for good he spares one glance at his chat.

bye Wilbur!

adios chat :)

did wilbur seem mad at tommy?

Wilbur felt really off today. Hope he feels better soon.

they really are like brothers

tommy was being a little shit today

Somehow Wilbur manages to ignore all of the texts commenting on how much they loved his stream and how much they enjoyed the Wilbur and Tommy interactions and instead all he focuses on is the last message he managed to read before the stream ended.

tommy was being a little shit today

“Hey Wil, that was a great stream today, I had a lot of fun”

When the silence becomes too loud and Wilbur still hasn’t answered Tommy began talking all at once again.

“Wil you okay? You seemed kind of off this stream,” This time it was the cold that had seeped into his bones, it was the clutter surrounding his desk, and most of all it was Tommy’s voice. As loud as ever, abrasive and unceasing in his ears.

“TOMMY. Do you ever stop talking? God, it’s so fucking annoying. You need to learn when to shut up,” Wilbur’s panting like he’s just run a marathon instead of playing Minecraft for the past hour.

The silence begins to ring, neither of them saying a word in hopes the other will have the right words to make it okay again. Instead, there's a small pained sound from Tommy’s end and then “I’m sorry Wil, I’m really sorry. I just wanted to- nevermind. I’m just sorry, really sorry,”

There’s a small click that signifies that Tommy’s left the call and then it’s just Wil, stewing in the storm he’s just created.

Oh God, what has he done? He- he just told Tommy to shut up. He had just verified every single fear in Tommy’s head. He was supposed to be the one that was there for Tommy, not the one hurting him. How many times had Tommy come to him, crippled with self-doubt and and how many times had Wilbur dispelled his fears with promises that Tommy was enough. He was supposed to be his big brother.

#tommy and wilbur #tommyinnit #wilbursoot #tubbo #mcyt #mcyt fanfic #found family #fanfic #sbi #sbi found family #philza #minecraft

[darthsuki]

5, 6, 8, 13, 17, 18, 19, 25, 26, 28, 30 please :3

Ask me things about DnD!

This is definitely a long post since I am 300% down to talk about my campaign and players, so it's going under a readmore cut. But, to give a little generic background for the setting, I offer a brief 'inside bookcover' synopsis:

When four strangers are called upon as heroes to another world in a mission-gone-awry, they must face not only the mounting problems of Solarus and its muddled history, but also the lingering doubts and issues within themselves that they've carried from Faerûn.

With their only path forward being an ominous warning from a mysterious benefactor and a dark prophecy from a now-unknown god, they must learn the power of not only what it means to be remembered, but also what it means to be forgotten.

5. Favorite NPC.

A young 20-something tiefling named Draugr Slovenka! He was the first NPC that my players encountered when they were transported to Solarus, so I felt it was important that they had a memorable 'tutorial' character that could give them some basic guidance for the lay of the land so to speak, especially since I had built up a fair bit of worldbuilding by that point that I wanted them to learn organically.

...Unfortunately, the party became extremely endeared of this russian wannabe-bard twink and wound up taking him along for the first 'arc' of the campaign and somehow ended up with three sugar-daddy boyfriends when the party finally arrived in one of the world's major cities.

[Art by me!]

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

Picture this: in the climatic battle of the first arc to the campaign, all my players are set up in a dilapidated old church. They've been investigating the cause to a series of shadow-monster attacks to a small town near the edge of a forest claimed to be the source. After learning that these creatures were the work of a deranged sorcereress named Jolene who is hell-bent on resurrecting a dark god--those shadow monsters were all the failed attempts--they decide to put an end to her madness.

It's supposed to be a difficult fight, she's got a lot of spells at her disposal and several shadow guards designed to give the party a healthy challenge for the level they're currently at. Now imagine a short time into this battle, one of my players--a rather softspoken divine soul sorcerer--decides to start dipping into her metamagic feature as a sorcerer instead of saving it back for later.

This is a really great moment for her since she's a newer player and still learning these abilities. She decides she wants to 'twin' her guiding bolt spell (essentially quick-casting it twice) and I ask for the rolls and whatnot-

And she crits. Spectacularly. The damage rolls are stupendously high and these creatures have a natural weakness to radiant damage. The party is actively going nuts and this tiny drow essentially YEETS the evil sorceress into nonexistence.

It was glorious.

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

While exploring the dilapidated church related in the question above, the party meets a very odd but well-spoken man named Tachun who is literally in the middle of a very powerful-looking summoning. He doesn't seem overtly hostile to the party when they come upon him and his dark ritual, and it's made even stranger when he, upon seeing one of the party members, seems ecstatic. He then happily proclaims that one of the party members (Hilriasi) to be the 'prophet' of the cult he and the sorceress Jolene are apart of--the Cult of Nyx.

This wigs out the party severely, to say the least, moreso when he stops casting whatever crazy dark ritual he's got going on and all-too-casually begins talking to them about how he feels Jolene has really 'lost her way' in the cult, and how the 'prophet' will finally lead Solarus into a new era of prosperity...

The party wasn't sure whether they loved or hated this proclaimed 'fruity bitch' and I can't wait to see if he shows back up later.

13. Introduce your current party.

Hilriasi (Fallen Aasimar) - It can be hard to be the child of powerful parents. Harder still is growing up with the knowledge that your parents had saved the world from ending some years back—and Hilriasi is that very child, and their family being the members of the adventuring group that their parents had been apart of.

Life could have been simple in following their footsteps or merely living in the glow of their accomplishments, but fate decided that was not the way; a terrible and unknown incident when Hilriasi was young led to them losing their color and falling from grace—which is never a good or simple thing for an aasimar to experience, especially when their parents never looked at them the same way again.

It was all too easy to leave home after that. Easier still to be a soldier. A mercenary. And after Hilriasi is led to meet the other members of the party and learns that they have a deep connection to a dark force that threatens the world of Solarus, perhaps they are more alike their parents than they realize.

Art by monsterradio on dA

Judge (Glasya Tiefling) - There are several things one could say about Judge when they first meet him. He’s absurdly tall (almost seven feet), absurdly quiet, and absurdly direct. But most importantly of all: he is damn good at his job.

His job? Whatever he is contracted to do—as the members of the Underclaw are supposed to be when hired out by a client. Murder, blackmail, intimidation, thievery—Judge has done it plenty of times, having been raised from birth by the dark organization to be akin to a fine-tuned machine of death and bloodshed. But even this quiet man has weaknesses: he never removes the mask that he wears (even to sleep), and he loathes birds more than almost anything.

Art by evaporatingvoid on Twitter

Kenzir Ghostblade (Feathren) - Of a homebrew race by the Griffon’s Saddlebag, Kenzir is a mapmaker by trade and a wanderer by hobby—he never remains in one place for very long in his search for the end of the horizon’s beyond and always curious about anything that catches his attention.

But while his wanderlust is his greatest pride, it is also his deepest flaw. Sure, it is hard to keep friends when constantly roaming the world over, but those friends would surely leave you first wouldn’t they? So why bother building relationships that would only leave one hurt in the end—especially if Kenzir will have to eventually move on? It isn’t until he is thrown into another world entirely that Kenzir meets someone he cares about enough that he is prepared to confront one of the most terrifying thoughts of all: what might happen if he wants to stay in Solarus after all? To not… wander on?

Art by smogteeth on Twitter

Rilrae (Drow) - This young woman is incredibly intelligent in matters of magicks and religion, and she is a divine sorcerer and a faithful worshiper of Selûne. That skill is however balanced against the fact that she is the youngest of the group, culturally speaking, so that leaves her often trying to compel the others to respect her as a young adult. Though Rilrae remembers very little of her childhood, she knows that the moon has always played a keen role in her love of the world beyond the Underdark.

In Solarus, she is cut-off from her connection to Selune, and is forced to find herself again in an entirely new world--will she be able to rekindle her connection to the pantheon of this new place and find a place that she belongs? Who knows--she's still figuring that out.

[Art by me!]

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

1. No animal cruelty or death allowed in the campaign.

2. Storytelling is paramount, so be creative with abilities and challenges and it will be rewarded.

3. Test rolls with dice are allowed to weed out the Problem Dice™, but must be announced before the roll.

4. Relationships, romantic are otherwise, are encouraged! Spicy scenes will fade-to-black, and can be discussed in discord RP if we're really feeling the chemistry.

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Tarnish is a small dragonette owned by Hilriasi who has a very very small horde of 1 (one) platinum coin that he keeps on his tiny body at all times. To the current point in the campaign he has largely been an Emotional Support Dragonette normally perched on Hilriasi’s shoulders, but I can guarantee something batshit insane is going to happen to either this pet or the one below by the end of the campaign (in a good way).

Henri is a Totally Normal Rabbit(tm) that is based on a Flemish giant rabbit. Judge the rogue bought him in one of the first larger towns the party traveled through, and is assumed to be carried in a large messenger bag at all times. Since Judge has a habit of sleeping completely flat and face down (to protect his mask from being removed) Henri has taken to flopping on the rogues’ back and sleeping on him every night.

But for real, I want you to imagine that the party's rogue, a seven-foot-tall tiefling, always has the rabbit in a sling around him like this:

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

My players absolutely prefer to roll physical dice unless I specifically ask them otherwise—and I allow that without issue. This is because that they claim all the rolls made in dnd beyond will favor absolute chaos in roleplay and combat alike because I (the DM) pay the subscription to host everything. I argue the point humorously and constantly, but I can’t say I blame them when one player tried the digital dice and got below 10 on five rolls in a row in a skill their character was otherwise proficient in.

Less specific to the current campaign, but it’s also traditional for each of our dnd characters to have a set of dice that is specifically for THEM, and rolling another character’s dice set is akin to goading the Dice Gods to smite us personally for such an affront to their power.

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

Me, internally: Okay, so I have all these clues strewn about this first town to act as a good first arc of this campaign. These clues will slowly lead the party to carefully scout out a nearby ruin, which in turn will lead them to this old cursed church and-

The party: Hey we're going to the old church.

Me: :U

The party: Oh yeah! We also would like to pull out the obviously cursed sword sticking in the rock in the center of town.

Me, quickly rewriting everything: Of course exactly as planned

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters.

Without giving too much information, since my party is currently still in this arc, it would be the 'opening scene' for what we're calling the 'Carnival Arc'. The party was called upon to investigate a mysterious roaming carnival that has re-emerged from hundreds of years of obscurity, and worse still has become the place that a princess of another kingdom has gone missing in--they are tasked to find her and figure out what is sustaining the carnival and it's ongoing curse.

I planned the entire setting to be creepy and vaguely off-colored from it's apparent visage of wonder and excitement, and the host was undoubtedly the best part. Miss Mystic, apparently a warforge/constructed being, plays the part of an enthusiastic host to the point it's almost sickly-sweet.

However, in that first introduction to the carnival, I accidentally clicked on the sound effect for a broken music box item that the party was supposed to obtain later on in the session instead of the proper music for the background noise. Cue my players all absolutely freaking out and immediately declaring that they wanted to go home.

Suffice to say, the first impression of the arc went exactly as desired!

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

This band of beautiful gremlins have tried to adopt NPCs at such a rate that I once had to have a drawn-out conversation with myself as three or four separate characters.

This of course is not helped by the fact that Solarus began as a setting for several different original writing and multi-media projects, so I often shove more NPCs into the sessions than I really should, if only because I’m always looking at it as a fleshed-out world with a story first and a dnd game setting second.

…I also make sure that every PC is able to connect with at least one NPC. It just so happens that those PCs end up dating their NPC. Some of them with multiple.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

They are quite diplomatic! In fact, I don't believe they've started any fights at all outside of interactions that were explicitly aggressive. Hell, there's been several instances that some good rolls and carefully-selected words have dissolved the conflict before it even began (please see the character Tachun in the questions above).

Though this has led to the party being extremely careful about the reputation they have, it has been a very fun experience when as a new DM I had worried about them all becoming the stereotypical murder hobos most parties can devolve into.

Court of the Sun: 50% roleplay, 30% politics, 20% hot NPCs

#dnd #court of the sun #solarus #court of the sun campaign #dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #ask meme #dnd ask meme

[dumbladores]

Anger

Pairing: Young Dumbledore x fem!reader

All in all this is a darker Fic, but with a happy ending, so don’t worry. And we see Dumbledore in action which is, I assure you, very sexy!

Warnings: angst, abduction but also fluufff

When I had made my way back from diagon alley all went pretty quickly. I had heard a sound behind me in the steps up my room in the leaky couldron. I had turned around and seen nothing. Then I had turned again to proceed going upstairs and that’s when she stood right in front of me. Before I could even make a sound the had knocked me unconscious with a spell.

When I woke up, I was in some kind of carriage. No, it was some kind of back of a truck. My hands where tied up and I was gaged with some kind of cloth. I felt a sharp pain in my head as if something had hit me there very hard. When my. Ire got clearer I could make out three people who were sitting with and in front of me on benches on each side of the truck.

“Look who’s awake”, said the voice of a woman in front of me. A painful moan escaped my mouth when I straightened up. There was a black haired woman and an evil looking man sitting in front of me. On my right side there was another man, holding my arm tightly. He must have done so all the way along, even when I was unconscious because my arm felt numb.

I recognized the woman’s face. I knew it very well from articles in the daily prophet, which reported on her torturing and murdering innocent wizard and muggles. It was the face of Bellatrix Lestrange. The face of the man next to her though I couldn’t assign to any name. But I surely had seen it before.

I had been captured. I had to be in the hands of the most dangerous deatheater known. Now that wasn’t so pleasant a surprise.

Bella looked at me, cunningly, her tongue between her lips.

„So, you are Dumbledore’s sweetheart, aren’t you?”, she said. I tried to avoid her gaze. It made me feel more uncomfortable and I tried to arrange my position in the bench instead. “Look, she’s blushing Mulciber, now that cute. Though isn’t he a little too old for such a little girl as you? Did he force you and you didn’t dare saying no to Professor Albus Dumbledore himself? Nah, I don’t think so, I think you wanted him, too.” She laughed a horrible laugh. “You like powerful men, don’t you, princess? Yeas, she does” she switched over to my other side. Avery and Mulciber exchanged a look but none of them said anything. Excitedly Bella shifted around on the bank, while I tried to avoid her eyes that glowed insanely. “So, if you like powerful man, you’ll like the one we’re bringing you to. He is even more powerful than Dumbledore. You’ll like him.”

I tried to ignore her, staring out of the window behind Mulciber. It was dawn and there was still nothing around us but wide fields.

“It’s not his power? Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it is that Dumbledore has a really nice cock!” Bellatrix broke into a lunatic laughter which made my blood freeze. She leaned closely over to and stroke a strain of hair out of my face. “Is it true, girl, is it?” She asked hysterically and all serious again, a mad glim in her dark eyes. “Does Dumbledore have a really big nice cock? He’s got one, doesn’t he? Yeah, you’ve seen it, you’ve felt it, haven’t you? Does he fuck you properly with it? Do you like it, girl? Do you enjoy it when Dumbledore fucks you hard?”

“BELLA!” It was Mulciber, that shouted. “Shut up.m and stick to the plan. Let the girl be, he said.”

Bella looked at him furiously. “Don’t tell me what he said, Mulciber. Remember that I was the one to choose you two cretins to accompany me. He trusts me with it, not you!”

“Still, lets just get over with it”, Mulciber said. There was a slightly nervous stone to his voice as if he feared something.

Bellatrix pouted but didn’t respond anything. Then she turned to me again, mustering me from the distance. “Well, I can understand why Dumbledore fell in love with you, can’t you, Avery? Such a pretty little face..” She reached out for my cheek and slightly stroked over it which made me shiver in horror. “Though..”, she retrieved her hand, mustering my face thoroughly, “you’re not that extraordinary, are you? Just a pretty little face like there are dozens out there. So what is it about you, that Dumbledore sees in you that makes his heart all soft and so pitifully vulnerable?”

I blinked.

“Ah”, Bella said knowingly, “did I hit a spot here? You’re asking yourself that, don’t you? You are not sure if he truly loves you. You’re scared.” She laughed derisively. “Where’s Dumbledore now? Why hasn’t he come to save you yet?”, she whispered.

I couldn’t hinder a tear was running down my cheek.

“Maybe he hasn’t even noticed you’re gone yet. I mean, where is he now? Maybe he doesn’t miss you at all. Maybe he’s happy you’re finally gone.” Bellatrix snorted satisfied. “We’ll find out soon enough. And if he doesn’t turn up we’ll have the pleasure, darling.” She would kill me, I had no doubt about that.

Even i knew Bellatrix said those things to hurt me, to scare me, to provoke me to say something, I couldn’t help but flinch at her words. She really had hit a spot. Was Albus even going to save me? Maybe he hadn’t even noticed I was gone. Maybe he thought I wasn’t worth being saved and I realized that that was exactly what I was thinking. It was very well buried in the depth of mu mind but now that she had said it I knew it was what I was thinking. I don’t fell worth being saved, I wasn’t. Dumbledore was our biggest hope in the fight against Voldemort and it wasn’t and the risk of saving me wasn’t worth losing him. He wouldn’t turn up. And after all, I understood. No, more, I realised that I not only didn’t believe he would turn up, I didn’t even want it. He would risk his valuable life just to bring me back. It made no sense and I hoped he knew it. Of course he must realize it was a trap. That was obvious. But then he would have to be not stupid enough to step into it.

Suddenly, the wagon tumbled and came to stand. The three deatheaters looked at eat other rigidly. There was a bumb in the front and then silence. Avory on my right side looked nervously to Bellatrix and Mulciber, as if waiting for one of them to give an order.

„Mulciber, go look what’s going on“, Bella said.

Mulciberd eyes widened.

„It’s not him!“, Bella cried but in her voice there was a hint of fear. „It can’t be. It’s not time, they can’t yet be aware that she’s missing!“

Mulciber reluctantly got up and went to the doors of the truck. He opened them, luring and got out. We heard nothing. There wasn’t a sound.

„Quiet“, Bella hissed when Avory was about to move.

There was complete silence. Then-

„It’s okay, come outside. We have to fix this wheel. Oh gosh.“

„You go help him“, Bella said and pointed at avory. „Go help him fix the damn wheel. I’ll stay here with her.“

Avory went outside the truck. Then we heard a scream. Bella froze, as if holding her breath.

„I insist you come outside Bella“, said Mulcibers voice. I could see how the wheels in Bellatrix head were spinning.

„Cone outside“, said another voice, a familiar voice but nonetheless strangely alien.

Bella grabbed my hear and pulled me to her while pointing her wand in my face. It touched with my skin and burned it at the touch. I gasped.

„If you make any move I’ll kill you, I swear“, she hissed. Then she tore my by my hear with her out of the truck.

Dawn lay on the fields around us and there was no village, no house in sight. Mulciber lay spread-eagled on the narrow path the truck had taken. Left from him, there were two men standing. The one with his hands raised above his hands and the other one beside him, pointing at him almost elegantly with his wand. It was Dumbledore.

Bella intensified the grip in my hear and I could feel it pulled out at the roots. „Dumbledore!“, she cried hysterically and drove her wand into my neck.

„Its over, Bella!“, Dumbledore said calmly but his voice had a tone I never heard in it before. The always so friendly and calm voice had completely changed. It sounded menacing. „You’ve gone way too far. I’ll let you go peacefully if you give me (Y/N) now. If you decide to do anything other than that, it will get very unpleasent for you.“

„Oh Dumbledore I don’t think so. I’ll bring this little darling of yours to him and he’ll do things to her you can’t remotely imagine! He’ll torture and abuse her until you surrender.“ Bella’s hand trembled in my hair in excitement.

I saw a shadow in Albus eyes and for one moment he looked so weak as I felt in that very moment. But then his traits hardened and his gaze went dark. He looked frightening now. Also Bella seemed to have noticed because she made a step back, tearing me with her. A wind seemed coming out of nowhere, blowing up the dust on the way. The sky seemed to darken further as the clouds were gathering above us, rumbling menacing. Even though Dumbledore hadn’t moved his wand one bit it seemed like he provoked a disturbance in nature.

„You can’t disapparate here“, Dumbledore said and made a step in our direction, never letting us out of sight. „I lied a spell in a radius of one mile.“

„Always so foreseeing“, Bella said. I noticed that she tried to slowly move us around the truck. „But what will you do if I kill her?“, she screamed and now I could clearly hear the panic in her voice. She was still moving backwards and dumbledore came slowly towards us, Avory was frozen on the spot. Dumbledore made a move with his wand and the whole truck, around which Bella had tried to cover flew ten meters in the air and then smashed right behind Bella, which made her stop.

„I’ll say it just one more time, Bellatrix. Let her go.“

I felt the grip loosening in my hair. Then, in a sudden movement, she pushed me from behind towards Albus. Then I felt a pain in my back, where her curse hit me. I fell in Albus arms, he caught me and I gasped for breath but I couldn’t. Something was hindering my lungs at absorbing the air. Something was completely cutting of my breath. Albus Lay me down on the floor and I could see the dark figure of bellatrix fading in the upcoming night, as she ran away through the field.

I desperately tried to inhale air, while Dumbledore knelt over me, murmuring words with his wand pointed at my breast. But he didn’t seem to work. It had to be dark magic or a curse he didn’t know of. Slowly, my sight faded. Dark was beginning to fall over me. I saw Albus hastily murmur magic formulas but his pretty face seemed to get more and more blurry. How beautiful he was. He had saved me. I couldn’t complain. Whether I would die now or not, he had saved me. It was enough. And he was there. Those pretty blue eyes, now distorted with fear. There was fear in his eyes, I saw it. He didn’t have to fear anything though! He had saved me. Those lips. How much I wished I could have felt them one more time on mine. Why wasn’t he kissing me? Why did he talk to me? He knew I couldn’t respond. He should kiss me!

„..Kiss!“, I managed to say. But then, all went dark.

The first thing I heard, was the crunch of the wagon jolting on a rough track. When I tried to part my eyelids, it hurt. they were heavy like if I had never used them before. When I managed to open them, I found myself in the inner of an old wagon. The sort of where farmers transport animals but closed from all sides despite a door in the front. But it didn’t smell like animal or hay. I lay also very comfortable. Actually I couldn’t remember having ever laid so comfortably in a bed. It was a bed indeed. And I was covered with tons of smooth blankets and my head laid on the softest cushion that could exist. I flinched a few times in utter confusion, having no idea how I had come here. Then, the memory seeped in. Suddenly and alarmed I raised up. Hadn’t I been captured and transported in some truck?

A figure next to me also moved. I turned my head around and saw his face. Albus was sitting in a chair right next to where my head had laid a few seconds ago. He seemed surprised at how fast I had raised. Confused, we looked at each other a few seconds.

„It’s all good“, Albus said calmly. „You’re safe. Lay down. You need to rest.“ His voice was as I knew it again, although there was something in it I couldn’t quite make out.

He wore his grey coat and wore the hat I liked so much. Through the door I could hear somebody whistle. This wagon had to be moved by horses or thestrals. That would also explain the unsteady movement and the swaying of the wagon.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on my chest and I groaned and my hand shot up against it. Albus, who had jumped up, helped me to get down on the cushions again.

„You have to rest. You were hit pretty badly by the curse. But there will be no permanent damage. Not physically, at least.“ he blinked his eyes fast in his typical manner. Even now I noticed that feature and it made me feel safe.

„The curse...“, I said slowly. That’s what my memory hadn’t recollected yet. I knew something had happened to me and that I had somehow become unconscious but my memory struggled. „What happened? You saved me? I mean ... obviously but-“

I looked up. Dumbledore mustered my face. There was sadness in his eyes.

“I did”, he said slowly. In his eyes flickered pain.

I sunk deeper into the cushion, suddenly feeling tiredness on me, like a heavy weight on my chest.

“You have to rest”, Dumbledore said and took a deep breath. “There’s no medicin but rest that can be done.”

“What was it?”, i asked. “The curse she hit me with. What was it?”

“It was dark magic. A pretty simple curse that made your lungs collapse. It ... it was a pretty cowardly attempt of Bellatrix to flee but it worked. I wouldn’t have let her get away with it if I had reacted more quickly. But... it took me a little time to fix it. To heal you.“

I swallowed. „Where are we?“

„A very old friend of mine driving this carriage. It’s a safer way to travel for you now than apparaing. I didn’t want to risk anything that could worsen your condition.”

He watched me calmly, something strange was in his expression.

“I never wanted to put you in any danger”, he said.

“I know”, I said.

“I should’ve known that you’d be a major target now. I shouldn’t have just let you go in public like that. I was naive. I should’ve known better. And you suffer he consequences now of my stupidity. For that I’m sorry.“

I didn’t want to listen, I felt so very tired. I knew he felt guilty. I knew he thought he was responsible for all this.

“I will never let you be harmed again“, Albus said slowly, looking at his feet.

I turned my head to him. He avoided my gaze.

„It was stupid of me to think... I was careless by thinking we could...“ he breathed heavily when he finally looked up to me. „I have many enemies. I should have known they’d come after you. I should have known I was putting you in great danger. I was selfish. I should’ve known better - that means, I DID know. But I acted against my better knowledge. For that there’s no excuse. I’ll...we’ll have to -„

He was about to say what I feared. It was as the curse again hit me. I sharp pain in my chest made me clinch my eyes.

„We’ll have to be more careful“, he said. „Well not separate again. I promise. I love you so so very much.”

And he leaned in to kiss me again.

#young dumbledore fic #dumbledore angst #dumbledore imagine #dumbledore fan fiction

[twoidiotwriters1]

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

A/N: This has nothing to do with the story I just want to say I believe in Bi!Fred Weasley supremacy -Danny

Words: 2,621 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: This kiss -By Faith Hill

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Unwanted Attention.

Their little trip to the kitchens ended up in a bad note when they found Winky drunk in butterbeer and Hermione broke, yelling to all the house-elves about their rights. 

Least to say they were unpleased. They kicked them out, Ron was so angry at Hermione for ruining his chances at getting more free food that they didn't stop bickering for the rest of the day.

Normally, Mel and Harry would've complained and roll their eyes, but considering this as a huge opportunity to finally spend time alone, they left the angry pair in the common room and went to the Owlery, where they sent a package filled with wonderful food to Sirius.

They stayed there for a while, leaning on the windowsill and talking. Closer to each other as the night started to fall.

"I wish things were a little bit different," Mel said wistfully. "I would take you on pretty dates, not caring about useless rumours..."

"I don't want dates, I only care about being with you," Harry shrugged, playing with her fingers. "Everything else doesn't really matter... unless it does to you?"

"Not really...  I'd love to have a quieter time in school, but that's impossible when you're here," She teased. "You bring nothing but trouble, Potter."

"You like it, though," He smirked. "At least a bit, if you've stuck around for so long, I doubt it annoys you that much..."

"What d'you want me to say?" She scrunched up her nose, knowing the question would only make him even keener to tease.

"I'd love to hear that you like me," He replied boldly. "Don't you like me?"

She caught his hand playfully and stroked the back of it, humming to herself.

"Do you?" She finally questioned.

"I like myself plenty," Mel slapped his arm playfully and he laughed. "I fancy you a lot."

"You know," She looked away. "I really like this weather."

She fixed her eyes on Hagrid digging outside his cabin, perhaps planting something.

"I like you," Harry beamed, his hand closing around hers. "I also like to say that I like you, feels good to admit it."

"Been dreaming about this for a while, have you?" Mel smiled, still not looking at him. She was trying to keep her composure, even though the air felt charged and it was getting harder to breathe.

"You haven't?"

Madame Maxime got out of her carriage and walked to Hagrid, seemingly trying to start a conversation.

"Not at all," She said absently. Harry stiffened beside her and she giggled.

"You're funny..." He pouted. Unexpectedly, he reached for her waist with his free arm and pulled her closer. "Really, you crack me up."

Hagrid responded to whatever the woman was saying but he didn't talk much. In the end, the woman walked back to her carriage looking defeated.

"I think Madame Maxime regrets what she did to Hagrid," She said. Harry, who'd been half-looking at the scene as well as shamelessly flirting with her, nodded with very little interest.

"Guess she realized how stupid it's to worry about what others think..."

"Isn't that kind of the same to what we're doing?" Mel frowned.

"What d'you mean?"

"We're hiding from all of our loved ones. We care about what others think."

Harry came out of his daze then, blinking in confusion.

"This is different. We're not hiding because we're afraid, we do it 'cause we know Skeeter would bring it out of context."

"Okay then, why do we hide it from Ron and Hermione?"

"Well," Harry looked away. "I don't know..."

"We know they'd be happy for us..."

"Yeah."

"Then why do we hide it?"

"We don't want to ruin it," Harry shrugged. "You know what I mean, I won't try to explain it."

She smiled at how easy it was to talk to Harry now that they knew about their feelings.

"You know, sometimes you can be clever..."

He scoffed, shaking his head in amusement.

"Look at you, all cute and frustrated," She cupped his face with her free hand and squeezed his cheek lovingly.

"Quiet, Mellow."

However, before she could decide whether or not to be quiet, Harry leaned further and kissed her.

Mel wasn't expecting to see any reaction from her classmates when the article about Hermione and Harry's relationship spread around school. Few people believed it, but the most they would do was stare, wondering how come Harry was so comfortable around her despise his 'heartbreak'.

She knew –because Erick told her– that most people were confused, they'd thought that Harry and Mel were the ones dating. Now that those rumours had been killed by the article and none of the people involved were interested in clearing things out, the interest has worn out, most students moved on; Harry and Mel were being less watched, which gave opportunities to sneak away from prying eyes more often. However, they completely forgot that it wasn't only the Hogwarts students receiving these articles and reading them in their spare time. On Monday morning, they got a very unpleasant surprise.

Hermione mentioned a subscription to the Daily Prophet and was waiting to get it when an owl came down to their table.

"How many subscriptions did you take out?" said Harry when four other owls landed next to the one.

"What on earth—?" Hermione took one of the envelopes. Mel took another and examined it. "Oh really!" Her friend scoffed.

"What's up?" said Ron.

"It's — oh how ridiculous —"

She handed the letter to Harry, it was a bunch of letters from a newspaper cut out and rearranged messily:

'You are a WickEd giRL. HarRy PotTER desErves BeTteR. GO back wherE you cAMe from mUGgle.'

"They're all like it! 'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you...' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn...' Ouch!" A liquid with a strong smell came out of the last letter she'd opened and poured over the girl's hands.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" Ron winced.

"Ow!" Hermione teared up, trying to clean up her own hands.

"Don't spread it!" Mel stopped her, she took Hermione's arm and helped her up.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry, looking at her in concern. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone..."

Mel made an attempt to follow her but Hermione mumbled 'Get rid of the rest', before hurrying out of the Great Hall.

"I warned her! I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one..." Ron picked one up and read in horror.  "'I read in Witch Weekly about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.' Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself."

"Who do they think they are?" Mel asked in anger. "Feeling entitled to attack a fourteen-year-old without knowing the whole story!"  

When they were heading to Care of Magical Creatures, Pansy talked from a few feet away:

"Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?"

"She found out your brain's beyond repair and that just broke her," Mel spat, pulling her friends forward.

They studied nifflers for Hagrid's class, made a funny little competition out of it, which Ron surprisingly won. However, for some reason that didn't please him. Hermione got back at the end of the class with her hands completely bandaged and informed Hagrid about her misfortune.

"Aaah, don' worry," Hagrid replied softly. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an' yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an' if you had any decency you'd jump in a lake.'.. Yeah, they're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire."

Ron was unusually quiet, frowning at the prize he'd won in Hagrid's class (a chocolate bar from Honeydukes).

"What's the matter? Wrong flavour?" Harry asked gently.

"No... Why didn't you tell me about the gold?"

"What gold?"

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup. The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

Harry and Mel shared a look before they finally remembered what was he talking about.

"Oh! I dunno... I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?"

"Must be nice," Ron said quietly. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

"Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night," Harry replied sternly. "We all did, remember?"

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," He said with embarrassment. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."

"Forget it, all right?" Harry insisted.

Ron stared intently at the food of his plate and mumbled, "I hate being poor. It's rubbish. I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"You're not poor," Mel patted his hand lovingly. "Not in the ways that matter– look at Malfoy, he has all that money and he's always in a terrible mood. He's got terrible friends as well."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt if I could buy new things for once, would it?" He pouted.

"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," Hermione tried to lighten the mood. "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus? I hate that Skeeter woman! I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"

With the arrival of Hermione's hate mail also came a new wave of interest for Harry's love life, which meant they had to go back to the stage of walking on their tiptoes to avoid any unwanted attention, and it was driving them mad.

Hermione grew obsessed with finding out how Skeeter was getting all the information, Harry suggested that maybe she'd put microphones around the school but Hermione quickly brushed it away, reminding them about how that sort of Muggle technology was of no use around school.

The teachers were handing them more and more work as the end of the year started to inch closer. Mel and Dumbledore finally moved on from wandless spells to tracing hidden magic and she was doing splendidly well, mostly because she wanted to get everything done so they could start with her animagus studies.

The last days of May, Harry and Mel were in the library discussing Percy's letter while searching for some books for her lessons. Ron didn't want to join them and Hermione was busy with her research, so they found themselves in the bliss of another moment for the two of them only.

"Percy's in denial, he's too fond of his new position," Mel commented as she reached for a book in a higher shelf. "He's a pain, too young to be given all that power..."

"I thought you admired Percy," Harry replied.

"I appreciated his dedication while he was in school but I this is getting out of hand, something tells me he's not apt for the job."

"I reckon he strongly disagrees," Harry took the books as Mel handed the lot to him.

"Well, we're as close to figuring that out as we are to finish our assignments. I can't wait to be back home next month!" She tried to take the books from Harry's hands, but he refused to let go. "Just imagine– Glasses, knock it off! I'm capable of carrying my books!– As I was saying... picture us with all the time in the world to do whatever we want..."

"We could go to the movies!" Harry offered. "I have no muggle money, but maybe Emily could take us to Gringotts so I can exchange a few galleons..."

"I like the sound of that, we're old enough to do so," She happily walked up to the table on the corner.

"Been dreaming about it, have you?" Harry teased. She left the books on the table and stopped.

"What I've been dreaming of," Mel said carefully, "is for the tournament to end. I feel like I'll only be able to rest once it's over."

"I haven't been terrible in it, have I?" He tilted his head.

"You know I don't mean that," She lifted a hand and pushed some strands of hair away from his eyes. He sighed shortly, leaning into her hand instinctively.

"Just one more task," Harry said quietly. "Then it'll be over."

She nodded in silence, that wasn't the only thing she was thinking. Mel was hoping for the moment when they would finally be together in peace, without articles and journalists nagging around... Mel moved her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and, catching him off guard, kissed him.

This one, though still innocent and short, conveyed all the emotions she was feeling. A loud thud startled them and caused her to bump noses with Harry. She heard him grunt as she held onto her own nose, tearing up a bit.

"My apologies!" A voice came from behind. "Did I take you by surprise? Well, I dare say you're not the only ones..."

"Not you," Mel groaned. "Why, of all the people that could've found us it ended up being you..."

"It's a gift," Erick smiled with no hints of shame, sitting down at the table they were planning to take. "It gives me the opportunity to eavesdrop a bit, and Merlin, it's always worth it."

"You can't tell anyone!" She hissed, finally letting go of her nose. "Not even Hermione!"

His eyes widened in wild interest. "Why, is this the first time that happens?" He looked at Harry. "Well, it certainly didn't look like it. Most of us think you're almost married. What is it?"

Mel felt so stupid, caught red-handed after all their efforts...

"You know what Skeeter would do with the information, now more than ever," She grumbled.

"That doesn't sound fun, does it?" Erick inquired, she'd never seen him so ecstatic.

"Just keep your mouth shut, will you?" Harry spat, his voice came out muffled since he was covering his mouth. Mel was about to scold him when Erick let out a hearthy laugh.

"Never been one to gossip– I'm happy for you though, it's been exasperating, flirting with Mel without her noticing to get a response from you. I had to hold back from getting involved so often!"

"That was you holding back?" Mel scoffed. "Can't imagine what unrestrained would look like... What are you doing here?"

"This is a library," He replied with a grin. "Believe it or not, I study without you."

"Okay then, study."

"I'm about to, this is my table."

"I don't see your name on it–"

"We can share it–"

"Not after what you just saw, I won't tolerate your teasing," Mel blushed furiously, picking up her books. "We'll go back to the tower, Harry, c'mon..."

"Be my guest," Erick half-bowed from his seat.

"You're enjoying this too much," She glared at him.

"Haven't even reached the I-told-you-so phase, you've seen nothing," He retorted. "Take your girlfriend before she sets the library on fire, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes at the pair. He wasn't going to admit it, especially not in front of Flint, but he'd felt a pleasant boost of energy at the word girlfriend.

"Come on, Mel..." He nodded at the boy. "I hope to never meet you like this again, Flint. Bye."

"Have a good night, lovebirds."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

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

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

[lastxviolet]

The Assistant - Ch. 4

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

Mom's face.

Green flash.

Dark mark.

Bedroom ceiling.

Violet fully opened her eyes and pawed at the silk sheets around her, clawing to drag herself back to reality.

The bed. She was just in bed.

Her family was fine.

It was just a nightmare.

She repeated it over and over again but eventually, it was a loud snore from Sadie across the room that fully brought her back to reality.

She rose out of bed and glanced out of the high glowing window between their beds. The terror from the nightmare practically vanished at the sight of an incredibly bright fall day.

Agitation clawed at the nape of her neck during breakfast and she only made it about ten minutes before the desperation for fresh air became too much.

The brittle fall breeze nipped the exposed skin above her knee and at her wrists. The walk to Herbology was cold enough to be noticeable, but not entirely uncomfortable. Although, it made her a bit more thankful for the thick Hogwarts uniform now. Surely the Beauxbaton girls would freeze come winter. Without the barrier of cities or skyscrapers, frigid weather always came so soon. Without fail, frozen air managed to appear early, and linger well into the spring months.

She followed the familiar stone path to a small clearing on the side of the castle, obstructed only by rows of greenhouses, bursting at the seams with interior vines, and flowers. She'd never been particularly enthralled with herbology or plants, didn't call to her but it was better than divination or astronomy, both of which she had elected not to take this year.

Clad in yellow and black, a sea of cheerful Hufflepuffs welcome her inside, uncaring about her own lonesome green and silver tie, or noticing that she gagged a little on the musty stench of wet dirt and trapped photosynthesis. It was a relief to finally be around peers that weren't as judgmental as her own house. She didn't mean to generalize but the evidence was clear and overwhelming.

Professor Sprout instructed them on how to clip Sneezewort correctly and she absorbed every detail of the small white flower that held the ability to befuddle even the most sound minds but offered little to the discussion, letting her much more invested peers take over. Sneezewort was a key ingredient in the Befuddlement Draught, the first potion they'd learned last year.

She tuned out the lecture to go over the recipe and instructions in her head, just in case Snape wasn't finished testing them and it came up in potions tomorrow. She wouldn't put it past him to make a further example out of her. He was the sort of sadist who enjoyed making students feel underprepared and stupid, not that it had ever applied to her. It was one of the many characteristics that he did not share with any other professors at Hogwarts, but she didn't mind. It was probably some deep-seated ambition or need to be better than the rest but she had enjoyed earning his tolerance, and praise, especially when it was withheld from so many.

Lunch was a rather somber affair without Sadie so she settled at the end of the Slytherin table, content to read.

With their schedules out of synch with one another, she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of lunches alone, not that she minded. She glanced up at the rest of the hall, admiring the lax nature of the other tables and houses, completely fine with sharing tables during more informal meals. She glanced down the length of her table, unsurprised by only a few green ties littering the dark wooden seats. She wouldn't have minded some more house mingling but the trend makers in Slytherin were quite territorial.

She quickly helped herself to some soup and flipped through the book to find where she'd left off. The train ride had only allowed her to get halfway through The Princess Bride and she'd barely had any time for personal reading over the weekend between brushing up on textbooks and unpacking.

Finally, he rested far below her, silent and without motion. "You can die too for all I care," she said, and then she turned away.

Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. "As . . . you . . . wish. .."

It was inevitable, tears pricked her eyes and she broke into a big smile, unable to contain it. This part, no matter how many times she read it, always made her emotional.

The complex mixture of devotion, love, and sadness between the two protagonists was so raw and powerful. It was entirely unrealistic, which was the only reason she found it intriguing at all. Not that she'd know anything about love. The last boy she'd liked seriously was someone long since graduated from when she was a fourth-year. But from what she had seen from the other clumsy, short-lived couples at Hogwarts, this kind of romance didn't exist in real life. There had been a few boys in her hometown who'd taken her out on dates over the years but they'd amounted to nothing, not even a kiss. She couldn't talk about the things she likes from the wizarding world with them, and couldn't talk about muggle things with anyone at Hogwarts so it was, in her view, pointless to even try. She doubted that any sort of satisfactory love would come for her at all though because she was an avid fiction reader, so her standard for men was way too high.

She blinked back her tears and sniffled the rest of her emotions back into her head. Thankfully, the Slytherin table was almost empty except for a few lone diners like herself. Most of her lazy oaf housemates opted for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. Even the head table was practically empty except for Hagrid, who was chatting away at Madam Maxine, who towered over him. She blamed her sudden tenderness on the chapter she'd just finished but they would make a sweet couple.

One other seat at the table was occupied by an unfamiliar, rather large blonde man whose face was mostly obscured by his goblet and furious fork movements. She could just make out a wonky blue eye but…not the rest of him. His tousled blonde hair and rather red complexion seemed out of place. She squinted to make out his features a little more. Was he a professor from one of the international schools? No, he looked quite familiar, she thought. She'd seen his face before.

She looked back down at her own table. "Parkinson, who is that? The blonde one."

Pansy Parkinson followed her gaze and then half-whispered back down to her.

"Professor Moody, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Thanks," she responded mindlessly. Moody. Why did that name sound so familiar?

She stared unabashedly at the man, struggling to make out any more details.

He stood briefly, to reach the pumpkin juice and she caught a glimpse of metal where a leg once was.

She'd seen him before.

Moody.

Her mind whirred.

She scrambled out of her seat, trying not to look as dizzy and sick as she felt.

Moody. Mad-Eye Moody. The auror. That's where she knew him from.

A cold shiver passed over her as his eyes met hers. He lingered for a moment due to her sudden rise and then returned to his meal.

No. It couldn't be him. He must be someone else.

She didn't hide her urgency as she ran through the halls towards the library.

Panic lodged itself into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

With every step she took, she prayed, wished, and hoped that she was mistaken and that it wasn't him.

He must be someone else. But she had to be sure.

The library doors opened with more of a bang than she'd usually allow, drawing more than one disgruntled look from other students but she didn't care.

The bookshelves on the way to the history section flew by.

Accio

A book documenting all the issues of the Daily Prophet from 1981, the end of the first wizarding war, flew to her.

There was no time to reach her alcove, she had to know now.

She leaned on an empty wall in an abandoned corner and ripped through the pages, feeling her heartbeat on the tip of every finger.

Please be someone else, she chanted in her head. Please be someone else.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be —

The headline looked the same as it did when she'd first found it during her second year at Hogwarts when she'd simply been curious about the war that her peers sometimes chatted about. Her father hadn't told her any of it. Only that someone had died and the world was a better place because of it.

DEATH EATER KILLED EN ROUTE TO AZKABAN

The photo underneath the black words still moved.

The same Moody she'd seen at lunch stood over a body, his face still bleeding from the altercation.

She slammed the book closed and squeezed her eyes tight.

It was him. He had done it.

Moody.

The photo flashed behind her eyelids; his lost leg, rolling eye, matted hair - standing over her uncle's dead body, eyes- lifeless, dark mark- still, face- reminiscent of her fathers, and thusly, her own.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Silencing the hustle and bustle around her.

It was him. And he was here.

She felt her legs give out and sunk to the floor in a flustered heap.

No, no, no. Why did he have to come here?

She'd tried so hard, for so long to forget it and now she was forced to reckon with the truth.

Her eyesight narrowed to tunnels.

What if he knew? What if he could tell just by her hair or face?

Her vision became hazy and the bookshelves and carpet blurred into one reddish-brown clump.

Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Not only was he here but he was her professor.

Her stomach churned.

He would read her name on the class roster tomorrow. He would know then, if he didn't already.

What if he stood up in class and said, "I killed Death Eater, Rupert Wilkes and his niece is in this very room."

She tried to calm her breathing but her brain was static.

Then everyone would know. It'd take a few class periods to get around and Malfoy would tell them all the rest of the story until she formally became the evil that she feared so much. Death Eaters taunted her dreams because she couldn't help but see one every time she looked in the mirror.

The room was spinning.

No one could know.

No one could see that when they looked at her. She would make sure of it.

Despite her best efforts to calm down, severe panic and a lack of oxygen blacked out the world around her before she lost consciousness.

"Violet."

"Violet."

A soft voice coaxed her back to reality. She slowly came to, feeling lightheaded and confused. She opened her eyes and panicked when all she saw was black, before realizing that her face was pressed to the floor. The carpet scratched her cheek as she turned to acknowledge the voice.

"Violet, are you ok?" A familiar voice cooed anxiously next to her.

She looked up and found Madam Pince's face looming over her. She concluded from the horrified, concerned expression from the librarian that she must have passed out and fallen over.

"C'mon dear, up you come," Madam Pince said, pulling her to her feet. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

She found her footing but dropped the book to the floor, rushing to pick it up before the librarian could see what she was reading. The movement nearly made her fall over but the bookish witch's grip on her arm was incredibly tight and dependable, not even allowing her to sway.

"Oh no it's alright," she assured the older witch breathlessly. "Really, I'm fine I just was…erm… lightheaded is all and um sat down. I must have just fallen asleep." She tried to hide the wobbling of her legs and flashed a confident smile to deter her nerves.

Madam Pince regarded her with suspicious eyes but slowly released her arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I promise. Thank you, I'll just go straight to my room and lie down, I promise," she rambled, making a break for the front door, her legs still feeling like jello. "Um thank you, sorry."

"Alright," Madam Pince called after her. "Be more careful."

She stuffed the book into her bag and sprinted back to her room. The sunset shining through the windows on her way back to the dungeon signaled that she'd been out for the entire afternoon and some of the evening. She guessed that she'd missed dinner, not that it mattered because her stomach was too tightly wound with nerves to eat anything.

As she moved through the halls, her thoughts raced to remember why she'd passed out in the first place. She rounded a corner and caught sight of the doors to the Great Hall and it all hit her again, in an instant. She fought back panicked tears and considered changing her trajectory to the owlery to message her father about what to do but stopped, remembering that he wasn't aware of just how much she knew and that the revelation might give his sensitive soul a shock.

She focused on steadying her breathing and regaining the feeling in her legs, ignoring the countless peers she passed. She swore that she heard someone calling her name, but her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out most sound, so she couldn't be sure.

It was a lonely feeling, keeping a secret for years on end. The truth of the situation would be more of a prison than the secret itself and so she kept it buried and let it fester into a deep loathing of those around her who were unburdened by the evils of the world.

She spat the common room password with more fervor than she ever had and raced through the dark furniture and scattered students, anxious for the safety of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an inconsolable Sadie greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She hastily wiped a tear away from her cheek and collected herself, not that Sadie would've noticed between her sobs.

"Sadie," she croaked out.

Her sniffling friend looked up at her in surprise. "Where have you been?" The tone and volume of her voice made Violet jump. After hours of begin unconscious on the floor, her head was pounding. Despite the ache, she scurried over to console her friend, thankful for a distraction from her distress.

Apparently, Graham Montague had been caught sneaking a Bauxbaton girl into the boy's dorm earlier in the evening and Sadie had been the one who saw them.

She whispered countless reassurances, and encouragements but most came out half-hearted, not that she'd meant them to. What did Sadie expect from a pureblood git? Of course, she'd never say so and nodded along to her friend's rant, despite her groggy head and sore limbs from a terrible afternoon spent crumpled on the library floor.

"He seriously thinks that I care," she yelled, tossing a pillow at their closed bedroom door. "Please, he can fancy whomever he likes. It's a relief to be rid of him. His constant worshiping at the temple of my twat was getting old anyway."

Sadies high cheekbones glistened from her tears. She'd finally stopped crying but her deep brown eyes reflected her pooling sadness, ready to rerelease at a moment's notice.

"He's a leech and you're entirely too good for him," she said in an attempt to match her friend's anger while scanning the room anxiously for a place to hide the book.

Thankfully, Sadie didn't sense her distraction and ranted for a few moments longer before opting to sob herself to sleep on her bed. Violet rubbed her friend back, trying to focus on Sadie's much simpler problem but she could feel the book burning a hole through her bag, and her own problem searing itself into her subconscious. When Sadies soft snores filled the room, she peeled herself from the bed opposite of hers and finally laid her head on her pillow.

Despite already being lightly sleep-deprived, she tossed and turned all night fighting off worst-case scenarios and sorting through her emotions.

Terrifying, she decided sometime around 3 AM. It was terrifying.

It was terrifying to be in the house that raised almost all of the dark witches and wizards in history.

To be so close to those whose families still had loyalty to a Dark Lord.

To have Death Eater blood running through her veins. It felt like a sick joke, being terribly afraid of something inside of her. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse except she couldn't figure out which one was which. Scared of herself, and even more afraid of those around her who had the same story.

But those feelings of fear were all expected. She'd sorted through them thousands of times and lost more hours of sleep over them than she could count. These were things she'd already resigned herself to, but Moody was a bomb. He was unexpected and quite frankly, entirely unwelcome and she didn't know how to react.

He'd been here a week and she hadn't even known. She kicked herself for leaving the welcome feast early. She could've recognized him sooner and planned ahead but now she only had a few hours to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack that didn't get her outed, or worse.

She turned over and stared at the wall, begging into the dark for sleep to take her. Tomorrow she'd be a tired, useless mess.

Tomorrow.

Not only would she feel exhausted but she'd have to see him tomorrow and there was no way around it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a graduation requirement, and further, than that, something she was actually interested in learning, seeing as her fear of the topic occupied her thoughts more and more each passing day.

Her stomach wound itself in a tight knot at the thought of walking into class and facing Moody in front of her peers.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Ignore him, and hope he didn't recognize her or face it head-on and let him know that she knew. She mulled it over and over hopelessly flipping between worst-case scenarios.

Ignoring him hinged on his inability to recognize her name or face, which she doubted. She knew nothing of the emotional toll that killing someone left a person with but surely it wasn't easily forgotten. On the other hand, if she confronted him after class, maybe they could come to an understanding. Maybe he would be glad to know that not everyone who bore her last name was evil. Maybe he even harbored some guilt, and was just as nervous about her, as she was about him.

It wasn't the worst plan, and exceedingly better than skipping DADA a year, not graduating in time, and having to explain everything to Snape and her parents.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, surprised to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes.

There was a hole in her heart.

She had to see him. She had to learn from him.

There was no way to avoid being in the same room as the man who had caused her father so much grief and pain that he hadn't spoken about his brother in nearly thirteen years.

The pain was what lingered. Behind every smile, every laugh, glint of his eyes, she always saw that pain. Especially when he was looking at her. It was only natural of course. He'd never say it but she could tell he worried about her being so close to where her uncle was corrupted. Two roads certainly diverging and she couldn't blame him for wondering which one she would take.

Despite wanting to, she couldn't blame him. It wasn't Moody who had caused that pain. It was the uncle who'd sought fame and glory by standing next to he-who-must-not-be-named and ended up getting himself killed. He'd chosen instantaneous death over a slow and torturous one in Azkaban and she didn't feel bad for him.

It wasn't just her pain, or her father's pain, or her family; but the entire wizarding world.

There were other articles too, ones right before and right after her uncle's death that she could hardly bring herself to read. She hadn't been able to make it more than a paragraph into the front-page article announcing the boy who lived. Its cadence desperately tried to give respect and solemness to Potter's parents but failed miserably. The one that haunted her the most though cited the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, Nevilles parents. She'd never spoken to the boy but knew his tragic story well. If the news of her bloodline ever did get out, he, above anyone else would have a right to despise her.

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to forget the black and white pictures.

None of it was her fault but she felt the burden regardless.

Countless other families had lost so much more, even some at the hand of her uncle. That was worse than his death.

He had helped the Dark Lord rip families apart, and set the world on fire. Because it was his job.

And just like him, Moody too had done his job. He had sacrificed an eye and a leg to make their whole world safer. It probably meant nothing to kill someone to ensure the safety of those you love, and deep down she knew that true safety and peace had required his death. The thought made him less intimidating but the worry remained the same.

She let a silent tear fall for the resurgence of the dark mark, her father, the confrontation tomorrow, and the uncle she never knew, and finally fell asleep.

Violet didn't wait for her alarm clock to lull her awake on Wednesday morning.

The early rise gave her time to shower and dress slowly. Breakfast tempted her but she opted to head straight to the potions classroom where another annoyance awaited.

She found her seat and ignored the peers trickling into the room around her until Lee sat down a few minutes later, with George in tow. The panic of yesterday had pushed him, and his smug demeanor far out of her mind but unfortunately, hadn't made him any less real.

She kept her eyes on the open textbook in front of her and tried to tune them out, as well as her murderous thoughts. She didn't have the energy to deal with George today. Any fire inside of her needed to be conserved tense conversation she was hellbent on having in just a few hours.

George must have sensed her annoyance because he leaned over the table and set a hand in front of her book.

"Morning Violet."

She glared at him but his smug smile didn't budge.

"Merlin, you look terrible," he leaned forward further, faking concern.

Lovely, she thought. What an absolute gentleman and a delight to deal with this morning. She squinted, trying to hide her anger, and fighting off the blush creeping onto her cheeks. What an intolerable person. If Lee wasn't sitting between them, she might've hexed him right then and there.

"Reckon I'm still better looking than you. It's a wonder why God decided to make your ugly face twice."

He squinted back and chuckled. "God? Didn't take a heathen like yourself to be the religious type."

"Only started recently," she said, scolding herself for giving into his back and forth. "I found myself in urgent need of something to pray to."

She hoped he'd take the bait.

"Don't leave me in suspense Violet, whatever do you pray for?"

Like a mouse with cheese. "Your painful demise."

"And you need God for that? Don't have the courage to hex me yourself," he half cooed, egging her on.

Nothing dark look today. If anything, he looked like he was having fun.

"Don't tempt me. A cell in Azkaban would be much more preferable to seeing your ghastly hair every week."

He smiled and tucked a lock behind his ear.

"Violet, no need to be so cruel. I feel as though we've gotten off to a wrong start. Let's start again shall we?"

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. As if.

"Good morning Violet," he said, with an even toothier grin.

She smiled sweetly. "You look terrible."

Maybe a few more back and forth's and he would've dawned on the more sinister look that she'd grown quite fond of, but Snape's entrance interrupted them, and George scampered off to his seat without another word.

Snape tapped on his podium. "Weasley; scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, newt spleens."

Everyone in the class turned to watch George dawn a frantic look on his face before resigning to stare daggers into Snape.

"What…" he said.

Their professor him a few more seconds to answer and then smirked.

"Pity. Five points from Gryffindor. Wilkes?"

She jumped a little at the sound of her name and quickly shifted her gaze to Snape.

"Oh um Wit-Sharpening Potion, sir," she responded dully, ignoring the collective class sigh at her once again outing herself as a teacher's pet.

"Sounds like something you might want to invest in," Snape sneered, turning back to George. "Five points to Slytherin. Davies; spring water, alihosty leaves, billywig wings, snarl quills, puff skein hair, horseradish powder."

He was quizzing them. He'd done it last year before finals but he seemed to be taking a rather cruel approach to weeding out those who didn't have their textbooks preemptively memorized.

"Um… erm��. Dreamless sleep?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

Oh Godric, again? She really was the most unlucky person alive today.

She kept her eyes on the desk. "Laughing potion, sir."

"Five points to Slytherin. Warrington, name one potion with porcupine quills."

"Erm…Cure for Boils?"

"Five points to Slytherin. Stimpson; daisy roots, shrivelfig, caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, wormwood."

"I….I don't know sir."

"Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

"Shrinking Solution, sir."

There were only so many students that he could pick on before she was stuck reciting the entire textbook. Hopefully, he wouldn't take the entire class time to make his point, but she wouldn't put it past him.

"Five points to Slytherin. Jordan; moonstone, hellebore, unicorn horn, porcupine quills, valerian root."

She let the quietest gasp escape her lips and whipped her head to look at him. He knew this. They had made it on Monday and he'd been the one to gather the ingredients. He looked a little panicked so she gave him a soft kick under the desk and watched as the lightbulb went off over his head.

"Draught of Peace!"

She bit the side of her cheek to stop a smile from forming on her face. It was an easy question and it meant nothing but regardless, she couldn't help but feel proud that he had remembered.

"Congratulations on paying attention to Miss Wilkes' work. I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward."

Dissatisfied at the Gryffindors correct answer, Snape finished his quiz and instructed them all to study the first chapter in the textbook for next week when they would begin brewing.

She skimmed over the words and mindlessly flicked through the pages, ignoring her heart thumping and stomach swirling. It was only about thirty minutes now until she'd be in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She blinked back the moving photo from the book and tried to conjure any happy image.

"Psstt."

She turned her head to Lee a second time.

"What?" She hissed.

He grinned at her. "Thanks for kicking me in the right direction."

Over his shoulder, she could see George staring at them curiously. She wondered if Gryffindors ever did anything without moving in a pack and moved her eyes back to the book.

"Don't mention it."

Much to her surprise, he didn't. He even pushed George back out the door when the giant redhead waltzed back over, looking like he wanted to pick up where they left off.

She watched them leave and lamented to herself as one nightmare ended, another began.

A few minutes later, she stopped at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. A couple of her fellow students pushed past her, glaring back as they ascended the stairs but despite their sour expressions, she couldn't move.

The adrenaline from last night was waning and the plans she'd come up with no longer seemed like the right thing to do.

The stairs took forever, and yet not long enough. She scurried to a corner desk in the last row and took a seat next to an inconspicuous looking Durmstrang boy, who might have said something when she sat down but her ears wouldn't stop ringing.

The bell tolled. This was it. There was a 50/50 chance that her reputation was about to be ruined. News like this would take little to no time to get around the school and everyone would know before dinner. She'd be the girl that Professor Moody threw out of his class for being related to a Death Eater. For the rest of the year, she'd have no choice but to sit with Malfoy and all the other children of suspected Death Eaters, but even they might not take her.

Moody's office door banged open and he trudged down the stairs.

Sadie might not hate her forever, but any hopes at remaining cordial with friends from other houses would be thrown out the window, she thought. Hermione wouldn't be able to look at her. She didn't know if she could take it.

"Alastor Moody," he was scribbling at the chalkboard with his back turned to the class. "Ex Auror, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He turned to look at them.

She winced. His normal eye floated over their faces, but his other eye, held to his face with leather and metal, moved furiously as he called out names from the roster. Her breathing grew shallow as the eye moved to the back of the class, and towards the end of the alphabet.

"Wilkes," He bellowed.

"Here," she squeaked out, on the verge of passing out.

His eyes grazed over her one second, and then… they were gone.

She blinked, squinting to be sure that he wasn't staring in shock or reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand and hex her but he was continuing with the last few names on the roster as if nothing had happened.

There hadn't been even the slightest bit of recognition. Not a flashback. No acknowledgment. No chill down his spine or look in his eye.

Nothing.

Either he didn't know or simply… didn't care.

She felt her muscles unfurl one by one, and nearly laughed out loud with relief.

"The unforgivable curses," he blurted, starting his lecture.

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before tentatively accepting that, at least for now, she was in the clear. It was astonishing and completely unexpected. She suddenly felt silly for panicking so much.

Her relieved mood didn't last long though, as he spoke ominously about the world they would step into upon graduation. Any small doubt in her mind that the Dark Mark in the sky hadn't really meant a second war, vanished.

"The Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight."

His face contorted with passion and his eyes urged them to see the horrible things he'd seen. His pleas were honest but terrifying.

"You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance," he concluded, before dismissing the class in a huff after an hour and a half of passionate ranting.

She didn't give her original plan another thought, and was the first one out the door, her mind running through the warning he'd just given them.

Vigilance.

If she would have stayed for the entire feast, and been vigilant, she would have known that he was going to be here. She cursed herself for letting something like this sneak up on her and affect her so harmfully, especially now that none of her worst fears about him had come true.

Vigilance.

She wasn't at the Quidditch World Cup but judging from Moody's ominous lecture, that was just the beginning. There would be more whispers, more threats, maybe even attacks, just how it started last time. Even without the return of he-who-must-not-be-named, his followers were surely tired of waiting in the shadows, biting their tongues, and watching muggle-borns, and half-bloods receive equal treatment. If they were back, her family would be a target.

She had to be vigilant.

The full Slytherin table almost deterred her from sitting down for lunch but she couldn't get Moody's words out of her head. She caught a glance of Malfoy laughing with Crabbe, and Goyle, all with family ties to Death Eaters. She was quite literally in the snake pit.

She boldly took a seat at the middle of the table, a few empty spots away from Malfoy and his crew.

Vigilant.

If there was indeed something brewing, maybe they knew about it, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be dumb enough to let something slip.

Moody's face looming over her uncles flashed in her mind once more but she didn't flinch. If her uncle had survived, surely he would have come for his blood-traitor brother and half-blood nieces. How could she have been so stupid to think that Moody would out her, even if he had recognized her name? He was capable of bad things, yes, but clearly, only for a good cause. He'd done what he had to do, not only for his safety but also for her father's safety, her mother's safety, and ultimately, hers.

She cursed the tear she'd shed for such an evil man last night.

Malfoy's cackle tore her from her thoughts. She watched him sneer at a group of Gryffindors with his friends, his white hair unmoving as he tossed his head backward and wondered if anyone else had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup.

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x original female character #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley smut #dating george weasley #weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley imagine

[borealis-strange]

Chapter 6: Let me live

Summary:

His mind was still lost in Nevermore. He didn’t have enough information, that was clear, information that the prophet refused to give him. She hadn't even let him into her house (which Brian thought was exaggerated) she said she wouldn't tell him anything until she brought the other princes.

Faced with this difficulty, he opted for another option: Ask people. It didn't do much good either.

They all gave him different versions. That the barrier was created by Atlas, others said it was My Fairy King and others said it was Mad The Swine. Total chaos.

Note:

So... this is the plot twist that no one expected, not even me.

I know it's short but meh.

After the flops that were my original stories I decided to continue with this story. I still don't know if I'm going to write the whole story, probably not but who knows. I still have hopes that this story will be famous. (I doubt it)

I hope you'll enjoy it and sorry for the long hiatus

Tag-list:  @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen @likesomekindofcheese  @0-primejive-0 @starr1000 @bambirexwrites​

Brian was preparing that morning for another visit to Nevermore. He had been doing it for the past two months. Every weekend he would go out to continue his investigation.

"Water. Money. Food” Brian mentally went over what he needed while he put it in his backpack.

— Where are you going? — It was John who had just entered his room.

— There is an exhibition of the stars on the other side of the city — Brian practically already had all his excuses rehearsed — I'm going to be out all day, so don't worry about me —

— But today we have class —

Damn, Brian thought.

—Today is Monday, Bri — John reminded him.

Brian had completely lost track of time.

—Sorry, I didn't remember what day it is today — Brian got up to leave his room but John wouldn't let him.

— You don't like being with us, do you? — John asked with sad eyes.

— Why ... Why do you think that? —

— You always look for an excuse to leave and it seems that you never want to be with us —

He opened his mouth to say something but the words did not come to him. That was not true, he loved spending time with the boys but now he himself was in the middle of an important investigation. It was as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces, he had no time for ... friends.

John gave her one last sad look before leaving.

He had to talk to them, explain his absence even though he doubted it would work.

______________

The four were in the royal courtyard. Surrounded by beautiful flowers and trees. With the warm rays of the sun and the sweet singing of the birds. The Killer Queen was explaining something about… Brian didn't know what she was talking about.

His mind was still lost in Nevermore. He didn’t have enough information, that was clear, information that the prophet refused to give him. She hadn't even let him into her house (which Brian thought was exaggerated) she said she wouldn't tell him anything until she brought the other princes.

Faced with this difficulty, he opted for another option: Ask people. It didn't do much good either.

They all gave him different versions. That the barrier was created by Atlas, others said it was My Fairy King and others said it was Mad The Swine. Total chaos.

He also asked about Atticus, without much success, no one knew anything about him. All they could tell him was that the harlequins were his henchmen and that to be careful with them. Brian had never seen them but he had it in mind.

So every time he went he ended up with more doubts. Brian felt like those conspiranoids who said the planet was flat, but at least he had some fundamentals, or at least he hoped so.

At the moment, he couldn't tell the boys, he lacked proof that he wasn't crazy.

—Isn't that so Brian? —The queen pulled him out of his thoughts.

He didn't even know what they were talking about. The boys looked at him with a bit of suspicion, since it was not the first time that had passed.

—I'm sorry your majesty — Brian apologized — I was thinking of other things —

— What were you thinking, if you allow me to ask? What's so important that you haven't been paying attention in the last few weeks? —

Brian was about to tell her one of his endless excuses but he held back. She was the queen, she must know something right?

— In ... the Nevermore -—Brian confessed

All three boys sighed at the same time, tired of Brian's obsession.

The queen raised an eyebrow

—I've been researching that forest. And I found a book that mentioned that there are magical creatures in that place. I've also been researching a certain My Fairy King. And I would like to know if… you knew something about it.—

The queen looked at him in horror.

—How can you say that?! — Exclaimed the queen.

Brian was about to say something else but the queen quickly cut him off.

— Don't mention the subject again — said the queen seriously. — And once and for all, pay attention —

Brian looked down, and felt his cheeks burn.

The rest of the class Brian said nothing more. Although he did not pay attention, his mind was still in the clouds. Both the Black Queen and the Killer Queen had the same reaction. It had to mean something, but what.

______________

Brian walked through the corridors of the castle. Even after living there for a couple of months, the architecture still impressed him. All the details of the pillars, the statues, and most importantly, the labyrinth that was the place. He was on his way to the dining room when the click of the queen's heels stopped him.

—Brian — the queen called him — I need to talk to you. Now. There was a certain urgency in her voice.

— What's going on? —

The queen looked around her to check that no one was near them.

—I know what you're doing, I know you've been to Nevermore a couple of times and I recommend that you never go there again — she said in a low voice.

Brian was about to question the queen as to how he knew he had gone there but the queen spoke again.

—The Nevermore seems like the ideal place to look for answers but it is more dangerous than it seems —

—That’s not true! — Brian exclaimed — The Nevermore is a beautiful place, full of magical creatures that are locked up. I ... I just want to help them. It's my duty as the next king, right?—

The queen sighed heavily.

—I know Brian. I've also been to the Nevermore —

Brian felt… betrayed. Why had something so important been kept from them? And most importantly, why the queens do nothing to change it.

—Why have you never told us?— Brian managed to say.

—This is all…— The queen spoke calmly — much more complicated than it seems. We have gone because we have noticed a certain imbalance in magic for years. At the moment I can't tell you much about it —

— An imbalance in magic? Is that what you are afraid of? — Brian questioned

— We are not afraid of that, but who has enough power to do it —

"Atticus" was the person that came to Brian's mind.

— Then you will keep it hidden — Brian said annoyed — Like everything else —

— Brian… — The queen sighed heavily — You will understand this better when you are king. Is not that we want to keep this hidden, we just don't have enough information. We do not want to cause panic among people —

Brian looked away. Excuses, simple excuses. The other inhabitants of Rhye had been locked up for more than 250 years and the kings did not care. They were Rhye's people, they were his people, and he had to help them.

— Please don't go again — the queen begged — I don't know what I would do if I lost one of you — The queen smiled warmly.

— I promise — Brian lied.

The queen gave her one last smile and a little patting on his shoulder before retreating.

Brian watched her walk away from her. He stood for a moment in the vastness of the corridor. He doubted the queen would watch him every second so he wouldn't do some other stupid thing. Although he had to be careful.

Brian was heading to his room, completely forgetting his hunger. He was about to go inside when he heard murmurs from Roger's room. He couldn't figure out what they were saying, besides just his name.

As soon as he opened the door, the others fell silent. They were talking about him.

— What do you want? — Freddie asked aggressively.

— I came ... to confess something — Brian stammered.

All three looked at him confused.

— When I told them that he was going to explore the city or go to a museum ... I ... actually went to the Nevermore — Brian closed his eyes waiting for a kind of reaction.

Freddie had an expression of horror, John looked confused and Roger just looked ... disappointed.

— What the hell is wrong with you ?! — Freddie yelled — Do you want to die? —

— It is just that… —

— I don't care if you have what you have to say! That is completely irresponsible! This obsession of yours is driving you crazy! —

At some point Brian stopped paying attention to what Freddie was saying, he only heard the screams. He closed his eyes tighter. He repeated over and over again that it was only Freddie who was screaming, not his ex-girlfriend.

Not even Roger defended him, he just looked at him sadly

— I am not crazy! — Brian yelled.

He saw how the others looked at him concerned.

Brian felt his heart pounding in his chest.

— You have to come to the Nevermore — Brian pleaded

The boys looked at each other with concern.

— Look Brian — Freddie said as he approached him — There are moments in life where you have to admit you were wrong -

Freddie tried to put his arm around him but Brian quickly pushed him away.

 — I'm not crazy — Brian repeated — I really need you to come with me to the Nevermore—

—Why do you need us? — Roger asked before Freddie could say anything.

— Because ... I found the prophet. And she told me that if I wanted to know Rhye's story, you guys had to go — Brian said hesitating with his words.

There were a few long seconds of silence. With each passing second Brian became more nervous.

— And if we go to Nevermore, will you stop bothering us with this? — Roger broke the silence.

Freddie looked at him in horror. Brian nodded slowly.

— I just need you to visit the prophet, so I can continue my investigation. Afterwards, I promise you that I'll never ever mention anything about it — Brian pleaded.

The boys turned to see each other again.

— I don't know — John spoke who had been quiet all this time — I don't like the idea of ​​going to a terrifying forest —

— That is no problem! — Brian exclaimed — The Nevermore is not what we thought. It is such a… magical forest. I have no words to describe it, you just have to see it! I'm sure you will love it —

— Okay, okay. Do not ruin us how the Nevermore is — Roger interrupted contemptuously, which Brian did not notice.

— Okay — Brian said, trying to calm his excitement a bit — We have to leave early this Saturday. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything —

— What have you gotten us Roger? — Freddie commented in a low voice so that Brian wouldn't hear him.

#killer queen #The March of the Black Queen #my story #my fic #magic au #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon

[llendrinall]

Imagine. 1/2 The war has ended & the Wizengamot are currently holding court & reviewing Dumbledore's memories that he saved. In the span of months they find many containing Death Eater spy Severus Snape, & Ministry spy Percy Weasley. With one dead & the other Missing the British wizarding world is thrown upside down as they review the Memories & realise just how much Percy Weasley was a Mastermind Schemer in saving the lives of many Muggle Borns, Goblins, Half-Blood's and Blood Traitors.

2/2 The Wizarding world are looking for where war hero Percy Weasley is. Especially his family (In this story Percy saves Fred's life & then vanishes). They see that Percy Weasley had worked as an informant during his entire Ministry career, also being the one who thought out Dumbledore's death (Shocking the courthouse) "You're already dying Albus, why not have Severus strengthen his position with the Death Eaters by being your killer?" 'He used every situation to his advantage to end the war'

Ah, the reveal of the wronged hero, what a simple and satisfying trope. It gives us angst, the bitter taste of not being appreciated mixed with the sweet sauce of late recognition and regret.  

But Percy doesn’t care about that or any other tropes because he is exhausted. Winning a war is a tiring job and he was being doing more than winning. So as soon as Voldemort keels over and dies, Percy checks that his family is alive (they all are, good job there, Percival) and he makes himself a portkey and goes away.

One wizard can’t make a portkey, you say? It takes at least four? Barty Crouch Jr had to imperius three other wizards to enchant the Goblet of Fire? And portkeys don’t work in Hogwarts under normal circumstances? Well, these are not normal circumstances, there was a battle and Percy has a lot of practice making portkeys, all right? A lot.

(There are less than twenty goblins in Britain right now and it is all Percy’s doing).

He goes to East Asia because Percy is vaguely aware that a single white man in need of enlightenment and self-discovery should go climb a mountain on Asia. Percy doesn’t climb any mountains, though, because he can never do things as he is supposed to. There must always be a twist. In this case, he gets food poisoning twice and spends over a month trying to learn how to play a plucked string instrument. He is harassed by a flock of geese and meets a talking dragon. He fails to realize that there are no accounts of talking dragons in history (at least the history badly learned and repeated in wizarding Britain). Dragons do not talk nor do they speak. Your brother works in a freaking dragon reserve, for Merlin’s sake, Percy. You should know this.

After that Percy goes to the Caribbean, because he feels that his stress-relief and self-discovery journey should also involve a stay in a tropical beach. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the experience because he is a red-head. Also, sand is annoying. He freckles all over, eats a lot of pork, learns to play the maracas, to the locals’ amusement, and leaves.

By the time Dumbledore’s memories are uncovered Percy has made his way to a Greek island. He dresses almost exclusively with a t-shirt tied around his waist like a loincloth and a pair of trainers. He also carries with him a bag made from a t-shirt like some sort of wild instagrammer. He carries all kind of knick-knacks in his bag that he uses to create himself a house at night, as if transfiguring a nutshell into a bed were a normal thing, Percy, you utter maniac.

From time to time he goes to a wizarding community and offers to do some chores or magic in exchange of goods. If a goblin woman sees him, she will give Percy a loaf of bread. He has no idea why they do that but it’s very good bread, so Percy is happy to take it. One time Percy met a male goblin and he gave Percy some salt, that he still carries with him. It is possible that for the last seven months Percy had been eating goblin bread and whatever fresh produce the Greek witches offer him in exchange of doing chores.

It is at this time that the Puddlemere United goes to Greece to do some pre-season training.

(This is something that football teams around Europe do. Go somewhere outside the country to train for a month or two in different conditions. The Manchester United often goes to Malaga, in Spain, for a warm-weather training. I don’t even like football, I don’t know why I know this.)

When Oliver Wood sees Percy Weasley standing around in little more than a loincloth he naturally assumes that he is having a hallucination, a combination of the relentless training under the hot and punishing sun, the hours spent fighting the wind (they don’t know what it is with the wind there, but it will try to kick you off the broom. They are all coming out of this with iron abs) and the constant stories in The Prophet about yet another plot Percival Weasley had conducted, saving a dozen lives.

“Percy?” Oliver asks, sweaty and thirsty and half mad from training.

“Oh, hi, Oliver!” Percy answers, and then, because Percy is simultaneously the cleverest and dumbest wizard alive, “oh shit”.

*

Percy has not been reading the news. He refuses to. He is on vacation, he is still tired and he has a white hair on his temple. Just the one hair, but Percy is twenty-two and far too young for white hair.

Oliver nods. He gets it. He is still telling the Weasley family that he has seen Percy and that he is not dead at all, only slightly insane. But he will wait until he is back in England. Oliver doesn’t know if all the things in the paper are true, but even if Percy has only rescued one thousand five hundred goblins instead of the fifteen thousand the papers claim, he is still entitled to a nice quiet vacation in which clothes are optional.

Did Percy Weasley stop a goblin genocide in his free time? Does he not realize it? How dumb is this boy?

Come September the owls start to arrive. Letters from the Ministry, from the papers, from his family. Percy watches the owl fly around and doesn’t allow himself to be found. He does read Oliver’s letters and even answers explaining that no, his family is not heart-broken. They were heart-broken five years ago when Percy very publicly acted like an asshole. They got used to it, so there is no need for this new sentimentality now that Percy is on vacation.

Percy might be acting a bit like an asshole now, but he has very complicated and ugly feelings over his family and he would rather not think about them. Mostly, he is irked by the fact that they were so quick to follow Dumbledore’s lead. Perhaps because Percy never worked for Dumbledore, he worked with Dumbledore and had the distinct pleasure of pointing to his face, on multiple occasions, what a sly bastard he was. He has little respect for people who never confronted Dumbledore.

(So basically Percy only respects Aberforth Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall).

Also, Percy always did what he was supposed to: he washed his hands, minded his siblings, got good grades and he yet he was not the favourite son. This is all subconscious, of course, but he resents it.

Oliver keeps writing so Percy keeps writing back.

 “Did you actually side-apparate a family with twelve members?” writes Oliver.

“I have no idea.” Percy writes back. “Wait, do you mean the Johnsons? How are they?”

 “They are going to give you an Order of Merlin, 1st Class”.

“Surely they realise I don’t want one.”

“I think it is evident they realise nothing, Percy.”

 By October it’s getting cold and Percy finds that he doesn’t particularly care about wearing clothes, so he is getting ready to portkey himself to Argentina when Ginny arrives. She has such a driven and purposeful look around her that Percy assumes that she must be in the middle of a very important quest, so he hangs back and follows her as she treks all over the island and vanishes a thousand year old monster. It doesn’t occur to Percy that her quest is finding him and that the monster was merely an unfortunate bystander.

Eventually he reveals himself to Ginny because she is screaming incoherently at the sky and Percy thinks that she might be suffering hypoxia and dehydration. Ginny throws the water bottler at his head.

“I’m not the jerk here.” Percy says. “I needed a vacation and if you hadn’t seen those stupid memories you would have been fine with me being out of the country indefinitely.”

Ginny hexes him seven times, but afterwards she lies on the beach next to Percy and they look at the clouds. They spend a week together, nicely quiet and wild. They go for walks, play on the beach, make a house at night out of random transfigured things (Percy doesn’t notice Ginny’s look of utter bafflement and awe) and eat goblin bread (this time Percy does notice the look but assumes it’s because Ginny loves the taste).

Percy refuses to go back with her but he promises Ginny that he will be there for Christmas. Two days later he does go back to England, the bastard. His correspondence with Oliver has become… heated, to put it some way, and waiting a week for the owl to arrive is intolerable.  

Percy thinks this might be some sort of penance. It’s nippy in England and he can’t be dressed in a t-shirt/loincloth anymore. There is a flock of owls permanently following him, trying to deliver their messages from the Ministry and the papers and maybe, even now, from his family. Worst of all, Oliver writes him all kind of randy letters but refuses to shag Percy, even though he is right there, because of sports. Something about turning frustration into spectacular athletic performance, Percy doesn’t know. He is so frustrated that he goes and stops a plan to assassinate Potter all by himself.

On Christmas Eve Percy goes home and he is yelled at, cursed at, cried at and loved, very loved, it’s embarrassing. He is rescued from the madness by Potter who easily admits he has been fuelling the newspapers infatuation with Percy because that way they left him slightly in peace.

(And on Boxing Day he moves in with Oliver).

#asks #harry potter #percy weasley #Anonymous #verse: percy ministry spy