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kotosnoozy · 3 years

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「fourteen」 chapter 1

"Yuri did confess to me about one crush. First one he ever had, I’d wager, from how nervous he seemed. I had expected it to be Lady Estellise here,” Hanks says, the corners of his eyes crinkling mischievously as she flusters, “but the one detail he did give me certainly ruled that out quick.” “O-oh?” Estelle stammers. “Mmm, well. Apparently whoever they are, they’re significantly older than him. About 14 years, I think he said.”

On the nature of Yuri's first crush.

He hadn’t thought much of it at first.

Hanks’s fond babbling about Yuri over their extremely well-earned dinner is incredibly revealing about the usually cool-headed leader of their motley crew. The old man proves himself a riveting story-teller, keeping their entire party entertained for hours on end despite the incredibly long and taxing 48 sleepless hours they’ve had.

(‘Though there was almost a permanent sleep in there for some of us,’ Raven finds himself thinking morbidly, before digging his bitten-down nails as deep into his ankles as he can to distract himself)

It feels like the only time any of them stop smiling and laughing is to take another mouthful from their bowls of curry, piled high from the seemingly endless and eternal pots of the stuff in the knight’s mess hall (or in Rita’s case, to test out another formula against the system Alexei’s locked the princess into - luckless so far, but she’s yet to lose determination).

Hanks has provided all sorts of anecdotes: the adventures of a baby Yuri who had just learned to walk, quicker to his feet than Flynn but still only babbling in response to the younger’s full fledged scolding - their dynamic had formed incredibly early on, it seemed; fond recollections of helping him to learn to bind properly, their first real bonding experience that had endeared them to each other as adoptive-grandfather-and-grandson; prideful recounts of Yuri’s development from childhood cynophobia into a renowned dog-lover, of all the other little things Yuri had been scared of as a child and grown out of in time (and those he hadn’t - Raven makes a few mental notes for later reference); all the fights Yuri and Flynn had gotten into over the years, and the brief interlude where they had dated in their teens (‘If anything,’ he laughs, ‘the bickering became even more frequent at that point - thank heavens they didn’t last!’); and of course, everyone’s old favourite - that one time 2 years ago when he’d thrown Adecor into the river on tax day.

Raven’s heard that one on a number of occasions from all four of the people who’d been present when it occurred - it somehow never gets any less funny.

While most of Brave Vesperia and it's honorary members are thrilled to learn more about their favourite rebel, Yuri himself is less than happy about Hanks laying out his life story for everyone to see. It's plain on his face - the grimace of a man who appreciates how much his parents love him but would really prefer they didn't tell his date about the time he streaked naked through the town and peed in a fountain at 5 years old. His embarrassment is palpable, a pink glow to his ears that slowly spreads to his cheeks the longer and more intimate Hanks’ stories become.

It’s as he brings up Yuri’s childhood dream of joining the knights so he could sweep a princess off her feet, pointedly winking in Estelle’s direction, that their so-called fearless leader bolts to his feet. He spins on his heel, making a beeline to the other side of the room, and plonks himself violently between a bewildered Adecor and Boccos, immediately thrown from their confusion into annoyance as Yuri’s food slops all over both of them.

His previous dining companions merely snicker in his wake, Hanks chuckling fondly.

“He’s always been so easily riled, that boy. If this is how flustered he gets over just you lot hearing all this then I can’t even imagine how he’ll be when he finally shacks up with someone.’

“Wait, but didn’t you say he dated Flynn when they were younger?” Karol asks, head cocking to one side.

“Well between you, me and our gatepost friends here,” the old man says, leaning in - they all follow suit, as Hanks’ eyes pointedly glance over to Flynn, “I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings if he hasn’t realised, but I always got the impression that Yuri was far less invested in their relationship than Flynn. It was Flynn who asked him out, after all.”

“My, that does surprise me. Yuri’s always seemed like he’d be the more proactive of the two when it comes to romance.” Judy muses.

Hanks raises his eyebrows, thin lips twisting into an uneasy frown.

“Wait a minute,” Rita says, leaning even further forward. “You’re not saying Yuri never had feelings for him are you?”

He winces, gaze averting. Raven feels his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“They’ve always loved each other, of course. But the tone of that love seems to differ between them. Their relationship was what happened when they tried to figure that out, it seems, but ultimately…”

“They just weren’t compatible as partners of that type?”

“Right.” he nods to Estelle. “In all honesty, Yuri might give off the air of someone with considerable relationship experience, but it’s Flynn who attracts more attention. And seems more interested in others in turn.”

Raven finds his gaze wandering between the two in question - Flynn has managed to find himself eating amidst a small crowd, knights and lower quarter folks alike, all of them doting on him and telling him stories, and him listening attentively to each of them in turn. Yuri, meanwhile is… wrestling with all three of the ex-Schwann Brigade’s most prominent knights simultaneously. Astounding.

“Yeah that tracks.” he finds himself murmuring, nails scratching through the chest hair that rises above the collar of his shirt. Even if Flynn wasn’t the most eager to please others between the two, the young man radiates a natural charm that draws others to him like a moth to a flame - it’s hard to forget how he was upstaged the time he took him drinking in Dahngrest. Yuri, meanwhile, has a proclivity for trouble and a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth with his wit. While endearing, he can’t imagine it’s the most efficient for pursuing new connections - even if he’s managed to attract all of the motley crew Raven’s currently sat with.

“So Flynn’s a secret ladies’ man and Yuri, despite all the pomp and swagger, has absolutely no game?” Rita snickers, casting a wry look across the room at Yuri that he’s too distracted to notice.

“Well I don’t know about that. Flynn’s a man’s man if nothing else, never shown interest in women to my knowledge. But… I don’t think Yuri’s ever actually been interested in dating , full stop.”

“No way, really?!” Karol barks. The exclamation draws the attention of the groups sat closest to them, even Flynn, momentarily, before they go busily back to their meals. Flynn’s expression as he looks at them is pondering, almost puppy-like, and Karol’s panic is practically visible as they watch him seemingly wrestle with whether to come over and see what the fuss is about. Then the woman at his side taps a hand to his elbow gently, and his manners win out - she successfully steals his attention back around, all of his interest in their discussion completely forgotten.

“Well. It certainly seems that way anyway. I remember him asking me, back when they dated, how he would know if his feelings for someone were romantic. He didn’t seem to understand my answer very well."

“That’s unexpected. I suppose my advances have all been vain!” Patty whines. Raven finds himself snickering - whether Patty’s affections are genuine or not is one mystery he's yet to solve, but her playing it up is never any less entertaining or fun to tease.

“Though now that I think about it… he did confess to me about one crush. First one he ever had, I’d wager, from how nervous he seemed.”

Patty surges forward onto her hands and knees, scrambling to get in Hanks’ face. Surprisingly, he’s not that caught off guard - perhaps used to it from Yuri’s exuberance as a child, or that other kid from the lower quarter who’s off chasing Repede on the far side of the room.

“I need all the details, matey! Don’t spare a single one!”

Hanks chuckles.

“I’m very sorry young lady, but he didn’t tell me all that much! I had expected it to be Lady Estellise here,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling mischievously as she flusters, “but the one detail he did give me certainly ruled that out quick.”

“O-oh?” Estelle stammers.

“Mmm, well. Apparently whoever they are, they’re significantly older than him. About 14 years, I think he said.”

“My my! That’s quite the considerable age gap.” Judy coos, tone teasing in spite of Yuri’s absence. She turns over to look at him, sitting atop a pile of knights and triumphantly tucking into a second of four bowls (spoils of war, Raven would wager) - they all do, in fact.

“Kid’s got taste at least. Nothin’ quite like the mature allure of an older lady~'' Raven sing-songs, half-joking. Rita jabs him in the side harshly.

“Shut up old man-- you said you thought it was Estelle he had a crush on right? So are you saying this is recent? ”

It’s like a switch flips in all of their heads simultaneously. Faces filled with shock whip to look at Hanks, who sits sheepishly clutching his bowl.

“Whoops. Might’ve let a little too much information slip on that one. I was probably meant to keep that detail private…”

“Oh my go--”

Rita slaps a hand over Karol’s mouth before his shriek draws too many eyes over. They all meet each other's' gaze one by one - Yuri's crushing on someone for the first time ever at this exact moment - before turning to look back at Yuri again. He’s mid-mouthful, spoon clutched in his hand like a shovel and sauce dripping down his chin, as he turns to survey his surroundings and catches their eyes.

“What?” he chokes out around his mouthful, just audible over the bustle of the rest of the room. He must see the sheer shock on their faces, as concern starts to cross his face and his gaze wanders to Hanks. “Wait, what did you tell them, old man?”

Hanks chooses that exact moment to get up, incredibly swiftly for a man his age.

“Well, thank you all for keeping me company, kids, but I must be off to… check on other people in… other parts of the castle. Right. Goodbye.”

The speed at which he heads for the door is quite remarkable - Yuri barely manages to scramble off his knight-pile-cum-throne before he’s gone from sight, and presumably halfway down the corridor before Yuri makes it out of the room after him.

It’s a shock, that much is certain. Raven hadn’t thought Yuri would be interested in older women - or people he supposes, he’s never really shown any inclination to anyone before in a romantic sense, so certainly not any specific gender. He’d never much struck him as the type.

But then he hadn’t struck him as the type to be interested in any type of relationship until this curveball of a conversation had come along. So hey, why not. If Yuri was into older people, he certainly wasn’t intending to torment him about it. Other than maybe one opportunely timed quip.

Honestly, he really hadn’t thought much about it at first.

But then the kids throw their own curveball.

“I can’t believe Yuri likes someone so much older than him!! Like, I guess I get the appeal of someone a little older than you for like… security or something, I dunno. But man, 14 years!!” Karol exclaims, as quietly as he can for his excitement. “I wonder if we know who it is.”

Rita barks a laugh, catching a distracted Patty off-guard. She begins anew whatever calculations she’d been making on her fingers as Rita shrugs exaggeratedly.

“I bet it’s some big-boobed motherly-figure in the lower quarter or something.”

“Well if all he wanted was big boobs and a nurturing personality then I’ve been here this whole time, all he had to do was ask!” Judith sighs, sly smirk giving away her lack of sincerity.

“Hey,” Patty pipes up suddenly, drawing their attention. “Isn’t Raven about 14 years older than Yuri?”

He feels the cogs in his brain whirr to a stop.

Suddenly, he is thinking very much about it.

“Oh yeah!” he hears Karol chirp. No doubt he checks the calculations on his own fingers, but Raven doesn’t register it if so, hard as he’s trying just to think at all. “Haha, that’s a weird coincidence!”

Estelle giggles.

“Imagine if it was Raven he had a thing for!”

He feels their eyes on him instantly, but it takes a moment for his brain to catch up. His own eyes must be wide as saucers, as they look at him, the mirth starting to fall from Estelle’s expression - he forces a ridiculous grin to his face.

“Haha, yeah imagine that! Someone like Yuri fallin’ for a washed up old fart like me!” he cackles, voice strained even to his own ears. “That’d be ridiculous!!”

The kids buy it though, Karol laughing along before pulling the others back into their debate about exactly who the mystery object of Yuri’s affections could be. It’s Estelle whose gaze lingers on him, just a moment or two longer, as the facade starts to crack, but she must see it - the silent plea in his eyes - as she turns back to the others not a moment later.

If anyone notices that Raven is mentally tapped out until they all go their separate ways for the night, then they’re at least polite enough not to mention it.

⇷-------------

Raven is a strange one.

This is Yuri’s third time meeting the man (or fourth, if the time Rita threatened to set him alight in Capua Torim counts as an actual encounter) and in all honesty, it’s hard to get a read on him past him being very obviously shady.

He seems as though he might be someone of consequence, if the quality of information he so casually throws like bones to random guards is actually as quality as he would have them believe. Either way he’s certainly silver-tongued, plying the others in Yuri’s makeshift travelling party into submission fairly easily despite their initial apprehension about him. Karol and Estelle are charmed by him, by his goofy antics if not the lolloping drawl of his accent, though they make no effort to hide the fact that they find him fishy. While Rita is far less taken, she seems to be placated by him taking her punishments, both fire and fists, like a champ.

The charm isn’t exactly visible to the naked eye though. He skulks at the back of the group, heavy footed and posture slouched. His clothes all seem far too big for him, obscuring the shape of his body in a way Yuri supposes is meant to make him seem unassuming, and he’s already displayed a number of habits that he knows would make any upper quarter noble’s toes curl - picking at his ears and the skin around his nails, before chewing at the nails themselves.

He has to admit though, he’s quite handsome in the face beneath the mess of dusty brown hair. Not in the same way as Flynn, with his big blue eyes and tousled blonde hair, the very picture of a storybook knight. His crooked nose, chapped lips, stubbly chin and hollow cheeks certainly make for a more unconventional type of attractive, but they all come together to create a certain appeal. The brightness of his eyes certainly helps too.

Also the combat prowess. Fighting ability is always an attractive quality in Yuri’s opinion, but especially in a travelling companion.

For a self-professed old man, Raven’s far more nimble than Yuri had expected. Sure, he’d made quite the getaway back in Capua Nor after he’d sold them out, but he’d assumed that’d been a one-off desperate sprint, not the norm. Apparently he was wrong, based on the nimble footwork he employs to dart out of the way of a particularly feisty howler. It doesn’t escape his notice how Karol nearly falls flat on his ass when Raven rushes past him and twists himself at an insane angle to fire an arrow across the way, skewering a beetle between its mandibles before it can take a bite out of Estelle.

“Woah, Raven!! Yuri, you’ve got some serious competition for your acrobatics now!!”

The bark of laughter leaves his throat unwittingly.

“I didn’t realise there even was a competition!”

He sees Rita roll her eyes as she releases a torrent of water behind her, clearly disbelieving him and with good reason; he’s never been one to back down from a potential competition. He breaks away from the corner of the forest floor he’s been holding down, using the momentum to propel himself up and over Raven, carrying it into his sword as he flips to crash it down into the skull of another monster. Raven whistles appreciatively as it disappears into dust.

“Not bad, young ‘un!”

He throws a smirk over his shoulder, ego swelling at the genuine awe on Raven’s face.

“How’s about it, old man? First to twenty?”

The awe transforms into a grimace in an instant.

“Ahhh, I dunno about that. Ol’ Raven’s never really been one for competitions, let alone effort. ”

He scoffs.

“Oh, come on. We’ve got no choice but to fight to get deeper into the forest anyway, right? So why not make a game of it? Not like it’ll actually be any more effort than you were already putting in.”

Raven purses his lips, seemingly unconvinced. His eyes narrow slightly as he stares off, deep in thought, the blue-green seemingly increasing in intensity. For all he’s been putting on the act of a court jester, Yuri is certain in that moment that there’s a deep intelligence to the older man; something unspoken, a wisdom beyond his years.

(Not that he knows how old Raven is but. Well, he gets the feeling that while he’s certainly older than he and his travelling companions, he’s not actually pushing middle-aged yet like he makes out)

Fwip!

He comes back to himself to see Raven’s face closer than before, upside down, chin in line with his collarbone. His bow arm (and subsequently the bow itself) is extended past his shoulder, the other loose by his head having just fired. Behind him there’s a thunk. A screech. A pop. And then silence.

“Looks like that’s one ta me~” Raven coos, eyes hooded as he smirks. He rolls his back, lithe and catlike, to stand himself back upright, stretching his arms out until his shoulders crack. For all his complaining about aches and pains so far (extremely numerous for the time they’ve been travelling with him, maybe an hour at most), he certainly doesn’t move as though he has any joint issues.

Despite his shock, he finds himself laughing.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s just as charmed by Raven as the kids are. He’s never made a connection quite like this one; with someone who can go toe to toe with his dry wit, and make it out the other side without being angry with him. Rita had been the closest (since Niren at least, but Yuri prefers to avoid thinking about the only father he ever knew if he can). But while Rita’s great with a back and forth, she’s easily riled, easily flustered. It only takes one slightly wrong jab and she gets stroppy, or else loses all interest in the situation.

Raven, for all his strangeness, has so far matched Yuri every step of the way. They’ve fallen so easily into a steady banter, something of their own personal comedy routine for just the two of them, some form of it present even from their first encounter way back in that jail cell. To have someone who can appreciate his snark, and give it back just as good while they both know it’s all in good fun? He’d never realised just how much he’d appreciate a relationship like that.

So yeah, Raven’s a little suspicious. But as far as Yuri’s concerned, he’s willing to offer him the benefit of the doubt for the strange comfort he gets from their repartee, just so long as he doesn’t do anything too crazy.

He slaps Raven on the shoulder, moving past him to continue deeper into the oversized brush.

“You got me, old man. But don’t you worry, you won’t be holding that lead for long.”

Raven merely cackles in response, wordlessly filing in behind him.

-------------⇸

There’s only one real constant within their travelling party, and that’s that the sleeping arrangements are ever-changing.

It takes a little while for him to notice, though in his defence the first week or so he’s with them is certainly not a typical week. In the more recent days, they’d gotten lucky with inns having enough beds for all of them, but the first few nights had been entirely sleepless in the hustle and bustle of, y’know, stopping a war, taking down the Blood Alliance and colliding with an actual genuine-article ghost ship.

(He’s still not sure what that was all about if he’s being entirely honest, but he’s old and ““wise”” enough by now that he knows there are some things in this world that you simply shouldn’t question)

So it’s Nordopolica where he finds himself bedding down with his new companions for the first time. The constant hustle and bustle of Palestralle’s workers and the fresh colosseum season unfortunately means there isn’t much free in terms of rooms. On the plus side, the three double beds they’re provided are plenty enough space for them all to be able to sleep comfortably; Fomalhaut’s rooms are quite spacious, nothing at all like the army barracks of his youth (though he supposes that should be expected from a city that considers itself something of an entertainment hub).

Raven takes his time ambling in behind everyone else, absently watching how effortlessly Repede transfers his pipe from one side of his toothy maw to the other. Rushing would be pointless, in his opinion, because he can already envision how everyone will double-up. Rita is sure to claim a spot beside the princess, for whose sake she could not be more clearly continuing to travel for despite her protests, and Judy won’t want to get lumped with a snotty (though admittedly quite sweet) brat or some dirty old man she hardly knows - he’s gonna get stuck with the kid, and the two of them can have a very one-sided competition over whose shitty little brain can give them the most nightmares in one night, and Raven will be perfectly content with that, thank you very much.

(It’ll be him who wins that one - hormone-induced nightmares are nothing compared to the horrors your brain can produce when you have blood and a war on your hands)

And then Karol throws him for a loop by tossing his bag semi-gently to the floor before diving into bed after Rita , of all people.

She hardly even makes a fuss. There’s a yelp - what sounds like it could be the start of the protest Raven would expect from such a combination - before she settles almost immediately.

“Just make sure you don’t kick me awake again, got it?” she barks pointedly at him, before rolling to face away from him and promptly cocooning herself in the blanket. He laughs at her, kicking off his shoes and fluffing up his pillow, seemingly content.

Wide-eyed, Raven turns to the girls - surely he can’t be the only one caught off-guard by this, it seems unthinkable for Rita not to put up a fight to sharing with Karol , and there’s an exclamation of surprise right on the tip of his tongue - only to find them claiming the second bed for themselves, Judy helping Estelle to unfasten the complicated buckles of her dress. He bites his words back, head whipping away; much as the image of a pervert works as a brilliant cover to convince the kids of his idiocy, peeping on the possible-crown princess as she gets changed is certainly not a thing he’s ever aspired to.

And so he comes face to face with the final bed. His bed he supposes, strange as it may still be to him. Yuri’s already making himself comfy on the left side, shirt and jacket thrown over the bottom edge of the bed frame. He stretches his arms up and over his head, muscles rippling as he yawns. He catches Raven’s eye as they fall back down, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes.

“Looks like it’s you and me, old man.” he says, patting the sheets next to him with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

He can feel his own lips quirk to mirror Yuri’s, even as he fights to push down the instinctive panic.

“And here I was hopin’ ta share with my darlin’ Judy!” he whines playfully, flopping down beside him face first in a show of dramatism.

“Sorry, Raven. I just couldn’t miss the chance to cuddle up with Estelle!” comes her voice, sing-songy, from the bed she’s claimed. He can see, as he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees to get better situated, that she’s doing exactly that. She’s practically spooning the princess, face buried in short pink locks, and Estelle herself looks the very picture of a tomato (not that he wouldn’t himself with Judith’s considerable… assets pressed against him).

“Well so long as yer not a cuddler yerself, Mr Lowell.” he jokes, rearranging himself onto his back before pulling the duvet up to his chin. For all that they’re in less than ideal circumstances with sharing beds, he’s glad to see Palestralle don’t skimp on the furnishings for their inns - the linen is incredibly soft, smooth against the pads of his fingers, and it’s a smart fabric choice for an inn in so changeable a climate.

Yuri huffs a laugh.

“I think I can hold myself back this once, just for you.” he says, tone laden with sarcasm. He watches Raven with keen eyes as he lounges on his side, head resting in his hand. Raven wonders how he can sleep like that - how his arm doesn’t cramp in the night, doesn’t wake him up in a fit of panic when he can’t move it, breathing shallow until the blood flow returns. He forgets, sometimes, that not everyone enters a blind panic over the little things.

“Why, I'm honoured! Yer benevolence knows no bounds!" he coos back, nose scrunching in amusement. Yuri smiles as he reaches back and pats Repede where he stands by the bed - a silent request to turn off the overhead light. The pooch complies, trotting off with a clack of his pipe between his teeth - Raven’s constantly caught off guard by the dog’s intelligence, the number of strange things Yuri’s managed to teach him (or perhaps that the dog has taught himself? He’s still not fully certain how much of a hand in training him that the young man’s had), and this is certainly another for the list.

“Damn right it doesn’t. Better make sure you show me the respect I deserve.” he says. He meets his eyes again as the blastia clicks off, dousing them in darkness. They crinkle with mirth, the abyss within softening even more as Karol giggles at their antics on the other side of the room.

They find themselves in a staring contest, of sorts. Or maybe closer to a game of chicken? He’s sure Yuri sees it that way at least, if his unblinking gaze is anything to go by. For him on the other hand it’s… something else. What exactly he can’t say. He’s just... transfixed .

Because Yuri’s plenty handsome on his own - perhaps even beautiful, if that’s more your thing. Raven’s already seen him turn a great many heads in the short time they’ve been together, including both the illustrious head of Fortune’s Market and the great forgotten war hero himself. Maybe he’d even let himself cast an admiring glance his way, if he hadn’t picked specifically womaniser for Raven’s bullshit cover-up trait.

But when the sea-breeze blows gently, kicking up the curtains, and the moonlight shines into the room, it catches him just so. The glow is ethereal, transformative, and it brings out the hidden flecks of golden brown in the depths of Yuri’s eyes, spins the silk of his dark hair almost chestnut. And just for a moment, he can trick himself into believing she’s here, the Canary herself, laid opposite him with a fond teasing smile, and oh god the hole where his heart used to be aches to reach out and touch her--

But for all her perfections, Casey’s eyes had never glowed quite like that had they? Never stared directly into his soul, made him almost want to bury into her arms and let her shoulder his every burden for him. Her kindness had inspired, but never been so bottomless that he wanted to abuse it, had never come off her in waves to the point it was visible in every little line of her face despite any grandstanding. Never so gentle to the broken that he could almost convince himself that he doesn’t need to run, that if he’s seen he’ll be accepted wholly, flaws and sins and all.

Not like Yuri. Not at all like Yuri.

The curtain drops, or else the clouds must roll in overhead. Either way, the moonlight vanishes, and with it goes the last vestiges of the illusion.

“Aye-aye, sir.” he all but murmurs, his voice tighter than just moments ago. He hopes, as Yuri’s face twists in concern, that his own face doesn’t give away the turmoil of his heart.

“You alright, old man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Hah, maybe I have!” he laughs, but it sounds notably hollow even to him. Still, he doesn’t break eye-contact as Yuri seems to peer directly into him, seemingly scanning his every thought and feeling, hope and dream.

The last thing he sees as he slips into sleep is the gentle embrace of the abyss. While his dreams are plagued by nightmares, a broken body bleeding out in the sand, he finds it’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in years.

-------------⇸

The town is silent, other than the gentle rustle of the sea breeze through the trees and the crunch of the dirt path beneath his feet.

They’ve been here all day, but Yuri’s not sure he’s used to how incredibly peaceful Yormgen is yet. He’s not sure he ever will be, either. He’s used to the bustle of the city, the shouting of vendors and newsies in Zaphias’s main market as carts laden with goods and people roll by. It feels like there’s always a dog barking, a clock chiming, a baby crying in the city, and the background noise helps him to switch his brain off in a way that the country never can.

Halure had been quiet to him - the calm atmosphere of the day, the slowness of shop transactions and conversation, had already been a lot, but for there to be a perfect stillness as night fell rather than an increase in bustle as drinkers started to take to the town had been the real whiplash. Despite a relatively large population, the town didn’t have a single dedicated bar to its name, and it’d thrown Yuri for far more of a loop than he’d ever expected.

Yormgen is even stranger. There must be all of fourteen people in this entire town, he thinks, and every single one of them vanished into their houses the moment the sun started to set. The only conversation he's heard that he hasn’t been directly involved in since Duke showed up and smashed their apatheia (he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still annoyed about that) is that of his own travelling companions bickering over what to make for dinner with their limited ingredients as he stepped away to find their mysterious disappearing old man.

Raven took the loss of the crystal hard. Or at least, Yuri thinks he did. He certainly vanished quickly when they decided to wait around while Rita took some time to investigate. He’d been right next to him one second and then gone the next, before they’d had a chance to agree to meet back up for dinner at sundown. With no one having seen him all day since to let him know, it’d fallen on his shoulders to hunt him down and drag him back. Raven might’ve been plenty energetic on their first trip through the desert, but they all know better than to let him make the return journey on an empty stomach. The man eats like a bird at the best of times - he really can’t afford to be doing that now.

He’d grumbled and whined about it being him who had to go find him, but in all honesty he’s kind of pleased. He’s found himself surprisingly worried about the old man - this is the first time since they’ve started officially travelling together that he’s pulled a disappearing act. Normally it’s hard to get him to shut up for more than 20 minutes at a time, so the better part of a day without seeing or hearing from him at all is completely unheard of. If his silence doesn’t mean he’s curled up and died somewhere, then Yuri knows that he’s the only one of their party who stands any chance of fetching him with both of them left unscathed.

He’s explored the residential side of the town (if it can truly be called that) extensively already throughout the day. Not that it was hard to do - other than the homes of locals that are a bit further out, the town proper is essentially three big buildings and a deck. He’d quickly concluded that there were very few places to hide a man with a proclivity for such a bright shade of purple amongst the muted timber and the gentle green of the grass. The only conclusion he can come to is that Raven must’ve headed to the other side of town, to the sea of flowers that makes his sinuses itch just looking in their direction.

For all he knows they’ll give him a headache, the flowers are incredibly pretty. It had been the bushes of pink and blue trumpets that had caught his attention in the midday, as Estelle had run over to them in delight and plucked a few. She’d fashioned a few little fascinators, of sorts (a skill she’d learned in the finishing school she had no doubt been forced to attend as the potential future Empress), and spent the better part of an hour lacing them into everyone’s hair. If he looks back over his shoulder, he knows he’ll see Judith wearing the pink blossoms - rhododendron, Estelle had called them - with pride, while Karol nervously fidgets with his own, worried they’ll fall out, ruining the princess’s hard work.

Now, however, in the amber light of the sunset, it’s the flower tunnel that draws his eye. Not that he hadn’t noticed it before - it’s impossible to miss, vibrant as it is. But he’s never been the biggest fan of yellow, always a little bright for his tastes. The way the light bounces off the thousands of little flowers is certainly eye-catching though, setting them in such a way that their radiance is somehow easier on the eye. They’re impossible to look away from as he draws closer, some emotion he’s unused to, couldn’t possibly name, stirring in his chest. The chains dance gently in the breeze, bouncing against each other like a bead curtain, and something about it makes him nostalgic for the familiarity of the Lower Quarter.

Then he spots him, further in, beneath the boughs. His hand rests comfortably on the handle of the knife he keeps at his waist, the other left to the mercy of the breeze as he stares up amidst the blossoms. They bathe him in their glow, mingling with the dying rays of the sun, casting him almost golden . He’s mesmerised by the sight himself, it seems, completely off-guard for the first time in the couple of months Yuri’s known him - for all he plays the fool, Yuri would be an even bigger one not to realise how keenly Raven follows the every movement of all those around him.

But right now, he seems… defenceless. Open. Fragile. Unaware that a world aside from him and the sea of flowers even exists. He could do whatever he wanted to Raven in this moment, he thinks, and he just knows the man would be equally surprised by anything. Something about that knowledge, this vision makes his chest feel light, almost airy.

The image sears itself into his mind, unbidden, and he knows instantly. No matter how hard he tries he’ll never erase it.

“Laburnum.”

He startles as Raven speaks. Perhaps he hadn’t been as unaware as he’d thought.

“Huh?” he grunts dumbly.

“These flowers. They call ‘em Laburnum. Or golden rain in some parts.” he says, flicking his eyes (almost the vibrant green of dense aer with the glow) over to acknowledge Yuri. He goes quickly back to gazing upwards, almost reverent. “Pretty apt.”

Yuri finds himself eyeing the flowers again as he moves closer. They’re strangely shaped, the blooms, unlike any he’s seen before. The petals curl back and in on themselves, clustered closely together in a way that hides the little shock of red in their centres. Stranger still are the buds, gently curved in a way that reminds him of the plantains he’d seen in Dahngrest’s market.

From the right angle, they could almost look like birds in flight, or indeed a sudden burst of rainfall.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Raven’s lips quirk into a smile. His eyebrows set into something pensive, wistful even.

“They’re pretty rare these days. Didn’t think I’d ever get to see a single tree with my own eyes, never mind a whole grove…”

The melancholy that’s settled over him like a veil is impossible to ignore, his voice distant as though transported to another time. There’s a pressure at the base of Yuri’s throat as he watches him, finds himself wanting to do… something. He’s not sure what. Just anything to pull him from his reverie. But of course, in the end all he really knows is sarcasm.

“Wouldn’t have taken you as the type to know about flowers.”

It seems to work somewhat. Though perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised - he and Raven have always been strangely in sync.

“Wouldn’t be much good with the ladies if I didn’t know about little things like flowers, now would I?” he says, finally turning to face Yuri more fully. His eyes soften with mischief, and yet still seem tight with… well if Yuri had to put a name to it, he’d wager it was grief .

A half-joke then; his flower knowledge almost certainly learned on behalf of one lady, though he’d wager not women generally at all. After all, for all he seemed to enjoy playing the womaniser, his actions often seemed chosen to purposefully push them away if anything.

Yuri rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. Raven smiles. It gets closer to meeting his eyes than he expected it to.

“I can’t imagine just throwing their names around is especially impressive. Seems more like the absolute bare minimum.” he says, hand coming to rest on a cocked hip. Raven’s smile widens, coaxed out of his shell somewhat by the familiar teasing routine.

“Ah, but whoever said I only knew their names?”

His eyebrows raise instinctively. To know flowers’ names is one thing, but any other details aren’t usually common knowledge; their language, how to arrange them, the best methodology for their care all usually things known solely by the upper echelons of society, or else those with enough money in their back pockets to take a chance on starting a related career.

“Don’t tell me…” he trails off, fixing Raven with a sceptical look. The old man’s face splits into a wide grin, hand coming up to flash a peace sign. Dork, his thinks impulsively as he huffs a laugh, surprised at the fond tone the word takes in his mind. Then quick as the cheer arrives it drops again, leaving the previous melancholic half-smile splayed across Raven’s face.

“These wouldn’t be much good in a bouquet though, pretty as they are. If bein’ deadly poisonous wasn’t enough, they’re usually used as a symbol of the forsaken. ” he muses, the last word spat like something dirty from his mouth.

“Who the hell would look at these and decide that? ” Yuri barks out. His expression must look as bewildered as he feels - Raven laughs at him, gentle but genuine.

“Yeah, it seems like a lot, right?” he says. His gaze drifts away from Yuri’s, losing focus and staring past him, through his shoulder. “She always liked them though, in spite of that.”

“...She?” he asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to sound eager, too nosey. Doesn’t want to push when the old man is this fragile. But he can’t help his curiosity - this is the first he’s mentioned of his past, the first clue to piecing together the admittedly fascinating mystery that is Raven. The man himself seems to realise it too, that with just one sentence he’s revealed a huge part of himself he hasn’t previously. Graciously, he doesn’t scramble to hide it away as Yuri might’ve expected.

“Ah. Old friend.” he says softly, as though divulging a secret. “She’s… gone now. But she was always a big fan of flowers. These weren’t her favourite but. She liked ‘em plenty.”

It slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Not like you to spill your past out in the open like this, old man.”

It takes all of his mental strength not to kick himself as Raven’s expression shutters, the nostalgia, longing , vanishing from his face in favour of something more carefully guarded. His eyes though, expressive as they are, can’t hide the pain.

“Ah. I suppose they got me feelin’ a little nostalgic. Forgive me.”

The silence stretches out between them for miles and miles as he watches Raven, Raven in turn watching the dancing laburnum above his head. His eyes flicker from bloom to bloom, as though cataloguing each one carefully, trying to commit their shape, their profile to memory. Yuri finds his eyes drawn to his lips as they purse, a gentle pout taut in a manner that gives away the nervous chewing of the inside of his mouth. His thick eyelashes fan over his cheekbones as he blinks, and Yuri hates the silence of the country, because it’s weird sappy shit like this that the bustle of the city helps him to avoid thinking about.

Raven’s a lot like these flowers , is the thought that springs to his mind, unprompted. And it’s ridiculous really. Completely nonsensical. The kind of thing Karol might come out with on a night where he’s overtired, that they’d all tease him for mercilessly until they pass out. But there’s nothing to distract him from it - he’s surrounded by the evidence, and the more he tries to ignore it the more sense it seems to make to him. The two parts of his brain war with each other, unrelenting, and he can feel the push and pull starting to show on his face.

Then a single blossom falls from the canopy above. It lands perfectly atop Raven’s bangs, perched there like a peepit in a tree, and he can’t fight the analogy anymore - Raven certainly looks forsaken, in that instant, the pain swimming in his eyes. And yet usually so bright and cheery, like the flower’s vibrant colouring, almost desperate for attention as he jokes around-- and then pushing people away, like a poison, when they try to get close. An exterior crafted to make you underestimate him, and yet a hidden strength, swift and deadly on the battlefield. A sunny disposition that washes over you like a summer rain, calming and refreshing.

He’s not sure anymore if the golden glow bouncing off Raven’s skin is from the flowers, or just simply the man himself.

A light breeze jostles the flower, and it slips from his hair. The strange shape hooks itself onto the crook of his nose and it wedges firmly, even as the wind picks up, cascading more petals down onto them both. Raven either ignores it, or doesn’t notice, his eyes falling closed as he lets nature wash over him.

He steps closer carefully, unthinkingly. He feels as a moth to a flame, though why he couldn’t say. He’s unfamiliar with the stirring in his chest that rises at the sight, doesn’t understand his compulsion to reach out, to touch Raven. To check he’s still solid and there, that he hasn’t been blown away on the currents of the wind like his namesake.

His hand reaches out, plucking the flower from Raven’s face gently. The old man startles instantly, eyes snapping open and meeting Yuri’s as he flicks the blossom to the floor. Raven’s eyes scan over him, looking for answers that he’s not sure he’ll find. Yuri certainly wouldn’t be able to explain if he were to ask. He simply looks between the sunken blue-green, carefully smoothing more fallen petals from Raven’s shoulders.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice practically a whisper beneath the howling of the breeze, far gentler than he’d expected it to be, “I think I understand why your friend liked them.”

Raven’s eyebrow cocks, ever so slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he answers, lips quirking into a small smile, something genuine and raw and delicate that he doesn’t recall gracing his face before. “They’ve got a certain charm, I suppose.”

Raven’s breath hitches - he doesn’t hear it, only sees the narrowing of his nostrils, the bobbing of his Adam's apple. His eyes are so round, as the melancholy starts to subside slowly, leaving something inquisitive in his wake. It’s an expression he’s sure he’s seen on Repede before when he was younger, still training, still struggling with learning to sit on command, and it feels strange to compare Raven to a puppy, but it certainly isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to him in the last 24 hours.

It feels like hours before Raven breaks his eyes away, anything raw and gentle immediately traded for bluster and jokes as he ducks his head.

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ out with me amidst the flowers anyway?” he asks, voice a little hoarse as his teasing lilt starts to creep back to him. “The others will start to talk if we keep havin’ these secret rendezvous, young man! How scandalous!”

He slaps his hand to his chest, feinting horror at their make-believe tryst. Yuri snorts, socking him lightly in the arm. Ridiculous as his jokes are, he can’t help but be pleased to see him return to some semblance of normalcy.

“I came to get you for dinner, dumbass. After that, you can feel free to go on ahead to Nordopolica.” he says, turning back around to lead the way to the others with a nod of his head.

Raven snickers at his own antics, hurrying to follow after him as he pulls a hurt expression.

“What, you wanna get rid of me so soon?”

“Wrong.” he snorts, head turned pointedly away in an effort to ignore his self-deprecating jokes. “I just wouldn't want you to miss the new moon and your chance to deliver the letter all on our account.”

The beat of silence that follows is just a touch too long for their usual banter. He turns back to Raven, worried momentarily that he’s run off again and he’ll be on a wild goose chase for the rest of the night, only to find him following attentively behind him. He’s looking at Yuri, expression… totally indecipherable to him for once, actually. It’s a rare occasion for him to have no idea what the old man is thinking.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow quirking. Raven simply smiles, wide and catlike.

“Oh, nothin’ important~” he sing-songs, taking over the lead in the moment Yuri pauses. “Honestly, I could do fine without your concern.”

Yuri scowls.

“Wrong again.” he says, moving to keep pace, their back-and-forth continuing until they arrive back at the inn, and the campfire their party has set up.

(He never does figure out what Raven’s expression had meant on that day, but when he finds the small laburnum branch tangled in his hair alongside the rhododendron the next morning, he quietly stows it away in the bottom of Karol’s bag, heart fluttering strangely in his chest)

-------------⇸

The speed at which Mantaic’s locals manage to throw the party together is honestly quite astounding.

The stalls of the inn concourse have cleared their tables of their wares, already starting to accumulate piles of local cuisine - barely an hour since the news of the Flynn Brigade’s arrival started to spread throughout the town, whispers abandoned in favour of joyous cries despite the extreme early hour, and already there’s a feast to rival one for a noble. People of all ages are wide awake and gleeful, even very young children who don’t fully understand what’s happening squealing with joy at seeing their parents’ and older siblings’ excitement.

The princess tries to help where she can (as always) - shakily carrying huge steaming pots to their directed positions, assisting in dragging tables out of homes to line the streets. Were Flynn not so busy tying up loose ends with the stragglers of the Cumore Brigade, Judith’s sure he’d be dancing around her like a mother hen. Instead, Karol and Rita have become his stand-ins, getting roped into helping themselves albeit minus Estelle’s unshakeable enthusiasm.

She’s glad everything turned out okay in the end. It had been with great unease that they’d all drifted off to sleep the night before, distressed at their powerlessness, their lack of time. Battling with the princess’s impulsivity had been hard, especially in the presence of her big round eyes and quivering lips, but a necessary evil. There really wasn’t anything they could’ve done. Judith remains firm in her belief - it would be impossible to rehabilitate a man like Cumore in jail. Even with the combined influence of Flynn and Estelle, the strength of their idealism and naïveté, a man as corrupt as he would never conform to concepts like morals and ethics. He would only change in death.

The man’s fall from grace, while certainly better than allowing him to run amok, does little to satisfy her in all honesty. The townspeople, however, just seem glad to be free of his clutches, regardless of the flaws in the Empire’s justice system. She can’t blame them really - she’s sure she’d feel the same in their shoes, the ever-lingering threat of death by dehydration or being eaten alive finally lifted from their shoulders.

She’s glad for the lifting of the tense air that had settled over their travelling party the night before. That there’s a smile on Estelle’s face again is good too. For the sake of the guild, nothing more , she scolds herself mentally, quashing the leap in her chest as the baby blues smile in her direction.

She finds herself counted as one of the old souls on this occasion; the small group who are extremely pleased for the turn of events and the freedom of the people, but are either too tired or consider themselves too uninvested to actually lend a hand. Raven is a regular to this group, fucked as his sleeping pattern is, and it doesn't surprise her as much as she thought it would that Patty too sits among them.

Yuri sitting back, however, is new.

Something is off with him. Something has been off with him since… well, certainly since their discovery of Cumore's little scheme. He’s never been the most talkative of their group, a man of relatively few words until it comes to snide jibes and teasing, or else rallying speeches to raise morale or call outs for something he perceives to be an injustice.

(She’d say he was self-righteous - but then, by that same line of thinking, isn’t she also?)

His usual quietude has never felt like this though - dense and oppressive like thunderclouds, holding a tension that, if referred to, threatens to strike like lightning, harsh and quick and painful. It’s possible he’d just slept badly, but she doubts it. She and Yuri are painfully alike at the best of times and in this, it seems, they continue to be.

Yes, for Yuri, the biggest champion of justice among them, to still be so tense, so incredibly on edge… It’s extremely telling.

The only one who seems to have noticed Yuri’s torment other than her (and his faithful pooch) is, of course, Raven. It’s no surprise - he’s always kept a close eye on Yuri, in the time she’s known them. She’d heard tell that the Don had taken an interest in Yuri when he’d met him, in a way usually foreign to him in regards to newcomers. Normally it would be years - years of hard work, of craft and contributions in the name of the guilds, for the man to so much as glance in your direction, let alone learn your name (understandably so for so busy and powerful a man). Yet Yuri had waltzed in and garnered his full attention in the space of a few hours, at best.

That Raven has clearly been instructed to stake him out, in addition to his apatheia hunt, feels natural. Less so is a good chunk of what he actually seems to be observing about Yuri - she’s sure the Don would much rather see a report on his fighting capabilities, his disposition, the flexibility of his morality in a pinch, than whatever he’s gleaning by staring at his back when he takes his shirt off, or watching the flow of his hair in the desert breeze.

(That is, however, a report she would quite like to read, if for nothing more than watching the burn of Raven’s ears at the request)

This morning, however, the eye he keeps on him is careful. Though the ever-present catlike smirk that plays over his lips remains, there’s something considering to his gaze - a scheme in the works but not those of his usual calibre. Nothing designed to rile Rita, fluster Estelle or make the kids laugh (though she’s sure if he can tie his usual goals into whatever he’s concocting then he certainly won’t shy away at the chance).

If she had to guess at his intentions, she’d have thought--

The blaring of a horn throws her suddenly from her train of thought - the celebrations are brought instantly into full swing by a makeshift band of passing guildsmen throwing their own contributions into the mix. Judith doesn’t consider herself a big listener of music, in all honesty, but she’d be hard pressed not to recognise the juxtaposed staccatos and legatos characteristic of Dahngrestian swing - while lesser known within Empire towns like this one, the style is famous the world over.

She hasn’t had many opportunities to join in with the festivities the guilds are known for throwing, where dancers step and twirl faster than the barkeeps can pour drinks (and really, isn’t that an impressive thought, considering the drinking culture in Dahngrest?) She’s bore witness to their local dancing customs only once or twice, and never within the heart of the city itself, and she knows with certainty that while her footwork on the battlefield might be immaculate, she has two left feet for dancing - would certainly never dare to attempt swing. She has great sympathy for the townsfolk who, while enraptured by the melody, feet tapping along jovially, seem as though they don’t know quite what to do with it.

Altosk’s second, on the other hand, is ecstatic. He barks a delighted laugh that startles Patty, almost jostling her from the table she’s perched upon, and finally momentarily draws Yuri from his reverie. She watches, amused, as he throws Yuri’s grumpy, inquisitive look a wink before springing to his feet.

“Hey, kid!” he calls, flagging Karol down as he heads to the middle of the concourse. Their illustrious guild master looks up from the mabo curry bun he’s attempting to swallow whole, wide-eyed. Raven grins, crooked and gummy in a way she’s come to associate with his mischief.

“Why don’t we show these lovely folks how it’s done, as thanks for their hospitality?”

Karol is practically vibrating at the concept. In a flash he’s pulling off his gloves and whipping his bag over his head, dumping the pile in Rita’s lap (eliciting, of course, an incredibly over the top yelp of annoyance). He scarfs down the remnants of the bun as he hops over the table he’s sat at, scampering over to Raven in a manner that does nothing to hide his enthusiasm.

“You better not stand all over my feet, Raven!” he calls as he draws closer, face pulling into a pout that doesn’t quite ring true. The noise Raven makes in response is rather like that of a strangled cat.

“The nerve o’ kids these days!” he bemoans, pinching his sinuses with a shake of his head. “I’ll have you know yours truly is the pride of Altosk! Ya won’t find a better dancer in all o’ Dahngrest, not even the Don himself!”

“Uhu, suuuure. ” Karol drawls, disbelieving, as he comes to a stop by his side.

It’s as he does that Raven ducks his head close to the boy, hand a shield to cover whatever he says. His words are inaudible, but if Karol’s terrible attempts at hiding his furtive glances in Yuri’s direction are anything to go by, Judith would have to guess it’s something about whatever Raven’s scheming for Brave Vesperia’s second.

The band seems to catch wind of their plans, slowing the jaunty tune down to allow the two to begin. Karol dusts his hands off on his trousers bashfully, ridding himself of any remnants of curry, before taking Raven’s hand in his. Their movements start off slow and creeping, almost unnatural to watch, but it quickly becomes apparent to her that they’re motions meant to teach rather than for actual dancing - an enunciated display of footwork for the surrounding beginners as they take their time to get a feel for each other as dance partners.

And then, Raven taking Karol’s waist, they begin in earnest. Movements still slow, but now fluid as water, they begin to turn around one another in the style she vaguely recognises, and while she knows nothing about dancing, it’s clear that they’re extremely good. They match each other's timing perfectly, not a step out of place, and she could believe they were gliding if not for the dust their footsteps kick up.

Karol is good, of course, especially for a kid of his age (she wonders idly if he might’ve had a brief foray in a dancing guild, prior to joining the Hunting Blades), but Raven is really something else. She’s never seen a man able to move his hips in such a way, sashaying in a way that’s frankly a little hypnotising - if she thought he were truly interested in her, then this’d definitely be enough to make her begin to consider his earlier flirtations more seriously. It’s frankly criminal, she thinks, that his trousers and jacket do so much to obscure his ass.

As they become more comfortable, they begin to ramp it up a little - they take it in turns to twirl one another, alternating between wide sweeping arcs, Raven displaying his extreme flexibility to twist beneath Karol’s arm, to fast tight twirls that almost remind her of Rita’s casting motions. For these, Karol spins so quickly she’s surprised he doesn’t completely lose balance and land face first in the dirt. Instead he simply laughs jovially, really getting into the spirit of it and losing himself to the music. Raven’s responding smile is fond, like a father watching their kid, and she could almost believe they’ve both forgotten about their ulterior motives, if not for how Raven keeps glancing in their direction every other time he’s facing their way.

It’s as Estelle drags Rita out to join them, accompanied by a group of the locals, that Judy feels something ugly snare her heart and promptly takes the opportunity to cast a considering glance instead to Patty and Yuri. The smaller is bouncing where she sits, gleefully watching the dancers - she seems antsy to join in, if only she could find a spare partner who wouldn’t accidentally crush her.

Yuri surprises her - while he might not be completely out of his funk, he’s watching more attentively than she previously expected. She gazes at him curiously for a while as he leans his head on his hand, watching the Dahngrestian pair’s increasing frenzy. Karol’s giggles are near constant, and Raven’s been infected by his happiness, laughing obnoxiously himself. The creases of Yuri’s eyes tighten, even as the rest of his face fails to emote, as his eyes seem to lock on Raven’s face and stay there. She smiles.

“Ahem.” she coughs, sharp and decidedly fake. Yuri and Patty both are startled away from the party, turning to her. She raises her eyebrows pointedly at the former, coy smirk rising to her lips. His eyes widen in response, as Patty turns confusedly to look at him, before he flusters, turning away from the party entirely. She laughs.

It’s at that moment that Karol comes spinning towards them, hand freed from Raven’s grasp at last. His smile is blinding, and he’s struggling to catch his breath, but he still seems to be full of energy as Raven follows behind him.

“Patty, you probably know a bit of swing, right?” he asks her, real question thinly veiled by his proffered hand.

She’s a clever lass, though. “Hah! Of course I do, matey!” she declares, grabbing it firmly and pulling him back out into the street.

Raven watches them go fondly, before turning to her. With a flourish, he bows to her, graceful as a knight but with none of the prim and proper charm.

“Judy, my darlin’, could I convince ya to honour ol’ Raven with a dance?”

His eyes never leave hers as he asks, gaze sharp and lacking all pretense of genuine flirting.

Ah, so that’s his game is it?

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!” she declares exaggeratedly, hand to her chest. “Not when Yuri so clearly wants to instead!”

The effect is instant. She barely has time to note the twitch of Yuri’s ears at the sound of his name before his head whips around to look at them.

“Hu- what?”

Raven springs back upright, throwing his hand up to clutch at his own chest.

“Yuri, darlin’, if you wanted to dance with me then all you had to do was say so! No need to make Judy do all yer dirty work for ya!”

He closes the gap between them in a matter of steps, as Yuri’s face grows more panicked by the second.

“Wh-- no, what?! Judy, no, I can’t dance , JU--!!”

She smiles as Raven takes him by the hand and tugs him away. Yuri’s expression reminds her of a bunwigle, caught unaware in the middle of the night, backed into a corner with no escape. It’s incredibly endearing, and certainly a nice change from the faux-apathy he’s been stewing in.

As they move away she watches as Raven’s expression transforms from mischievous to something more careful, considerate. He doesn’t guide Yuri to the middle of the crowd as she’d expected, where their friends spin with reckless abandon, but instead to a quieter area of the dancing space. Yuri seems just as confused as she feels, more than likely expecting Raven to have humiliated him with his lack of skill. They’re far enough away that whatever the older man says to reassure him is lost to her, but he smiles and takes Yuri’s hands gently.

Her heart swells at the careful way Raven teaches him, easily pulls him out of his darker thoughts and concentrates his mind on something else. Yuri doesn’t strike her as the sort to let himself be taken care of, but she doubts he even realises that’s what’s happening - probably sees it instead as some sort of challenge. It’s nice. She might not have known him long, but she feels close to him in a way she hasn’t felt with another person for… a good ten years, she’d wager. She’d forgotten what it felt like, to see good things happen to someone you care about.

He trips over Raven’s feet often, but Raven doesn’t let him get self-conscious about it - instead exaggeratedly pretending to trip himself in a way that allows Yuri to chip in and tease him. When there’s one failed attempt too many and Yuri attempts to break away, he simply pulls him back in, closer, and looks him in the eyes.

(She feels a little bad for still watching, personal and intimate as the moment is becoming, but it’s hard to find anything else interesting at this point)

“What is it I always say when I’m fightin’, Yuri?” she can just about hear the old man say over the wail of the trombone.

Yuri’s tone is monotonous, even as his face starts to rise into an affectionate smirk.

“‘Ooo, eee, ow, my back hurts?’” he says, quirked eyebrow a dead giveaway for his bullying. He receives a light slap to his arm for his trouble that leaves him laughing openly in a way she… hasn’t actually seen from him in the time she’s known him.

Huh.

“That it’s just like dancin’, ya dolt!” he says. He laces their fingers carefully before starting to move once more through the basic steps. “You’ll see what I mean before long.”

After a few more failed attempts, Yuri finally starts to figure it out. He still steps on Raven’s toes more often than not, but it’s to be expected for a newbie in the face of a dance as rapid as swing - she’s quite impressed at how fast he’s picked it up in all honesty. He’s already doing a damned sight better than Rita, whose motions are still awkward and stiff as she’s twirled by Estelle (though she looks to be having the time of her life, in spite of it).

They look very sweet together, in all honesty. It’s the most she’s seen either of them relax in front of other people - Yuri’s snark is quickly abandoned as he starts to really get into the swing of it, and most of Raven’s jokes and teasing go along with it. They’re just a couple of normal guys in their own little world, dancing together beneath the rising sun, looking genuinely happy for once. Watching them laughing together, she finds her own spirits raised too, even as she continues to sit to one side like a wallflower.

And she’s glad she did. If she hadn’t, she’d have missed out on this potentially one-time-only sight of Yuri’s carefree smile. Would’ve never seen the sudden change in Yuri’s demeanor as he looks up at Raven mid-spin, eyes widening, before his expression becomes suddenly raw.

He’s not watching his feet at all any more - he’s just going with the flow, and reading Raven’s movements and they’re incredibly in sync to say Yuri has all of 10 minutes of experience. It’s strange to think it, but he seems to be having fun , doing something other than fighting, even despite his mess ups. Yuri’s uncharacteristically crooked smile, as his eyes never leave Raven’s, is blindingly beautiful, and piques her curiosity.

Before today, when she’d seen the admiring glances the Raven had sent his way, she’d have thought he was barking up the completely wrong tree. Now though (although she doubts Yuri’s realised the way he’s starting to look at the old man) she’s really not so sure.

Then the moment is gone.

Behind her, she hears him. Flynn, barking orders to his brigade, accompanied by the protests of the now-bound followers of Cumore. And in that exact instant, Yuri stops stock-still. Raven goes crashing into him, frantically apologising and trying to check he’s okay, but it’s as though he isn’t there. Yuri just stares past her to Flynn, eyes wide and unseeing but… terrified , if she had to take a guess.

She can hear Raven call to him as he slips his hands free from his grip, and he looks up glancingly. He mutters something, what she can only imagine is some excuse, or a few words of apology, before he’s stalking off towards the inn and shutting the door behind him briskly.

Raven, standing alone and off to one side, looks very small in that instant. Like he doesn’t know quite where he went wrong, what he could’ve possibly done differently.

Perhaps, just this once, she can take pity on him. After all, if there’s anyone who can fix her left feet…

Standing and smoothing down her skirts, she heads over to him, taking his hand, and he startles. His big blue eyes look up at her, puppy-like, and it’s like Estelle the night before all over again. She sighs, already regretting her question before she asks.

“Is the offer still open?”

He smiles. Solemn. But it’s a start.

me, age 12: haha yeah raven blatantly has a thing for yuri and i love them together, but i guess there isn't much to imply yuri likes him back huh me, age 24, seeing the 'Happy Birthday' skit for the first time and learning the Very Specific Age Gap between Yuri and his first ever crush: a

ftr no one in the vesperia party is cishet no i will not take questions

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solarianvoidthearoace · 3 years

Text

Excerpt#2 from my JuPeter Vampire!AU

CN/TW: disordered eating, blood mention, relationship negotiation, insecurity, Nureyev-typical self-consciousness, flirting & making out, mentions/preparations of drawing blood (scene stops before anyone bleeds), short fight out of concern

When Juno found him, it was in the kitchen with his second glass of… possibly cat or grey-squirrel. Some people at least tried keeping the local wildlife safe. Which, to Nureyev, felt like a decent thing and fair enough, given he had his share in decimating said wildlife.

“Everything okay?”, the detective sidled up to him, not just yet touching him. Nureyev closed his eyes,

“I suppose it is but I do kind of worry… are we moving too fast again? I mean”, he trailed off. When Juno reached out, Nureyev gave a short nod and pretty much sunk into his touch.

“I don’t think we are. Sure, we can go back a step if you want to, but besides spending time together, talking way too much and occasionally sharing a bed… it’s been five weeks and not once did we end up in a compromising position. I would say we’re doing good.” Nureyev smiled at that,

“Well, the one time you fell asleep on my lap might be counted as compromising placement.” Wrapping Nureyev in his arms, Juno shook his head,

“Nuh-uh, you also nodded off while reading and your face seemed pretty comfortable between my boobs, from the face you were making.”

Nureyev cleared his throat,

“Oh, I, ah, wasn’t aware that happened. But wasn’t the point to express we didn’t end up in too compromising positions, not to best each other about who made the more embarrassing display.”

“First of all, I wouldn’t call anything about you using me as a pillow embarrassing, adorable is one of the words I would use”, Juno slung his arms loosely around Nureyev’s shoulders,

“Second of all, I would very much like for you to kiss me now.”

Of course, Nureyev was all too happy to oblige his lady.

Setting his glass down, he pulled the detective close, wrapping one arm around his waist and smoothing over his cheek with the other hand, tilting the lady’s head to his liking.

“Oh, Juno”, instead of kissing him outright, Nureyev let their foreheads sink together and closed his eyes. Juno’s hand found his side and squeezed lightly,

“You know, I’m glad you started calling me by my name again. I like when you call me nicknames, don’t get that wrong, but it was pretty obvious you were evading my name. I’m sorry.” Before he could say more, Nureyev’s thumb found his bottom lip, dragging down on it and opening Juno’s mouth before he was kissing him. Juno couldn’t help but dig his fingers into any part of his partner he could reach, grasping at his shoulder on one side while pulling him closer by the waist on the other.

Nureyev parted their kiss just to rearrange his hands on Juno, grabbing the lady’s thighs and swiftly lifting him onto the kitchen table. They fell back into each other, with Juno mussing his hair and clinging to him.

When they parted because Juno had the dire need to come up for air and regain his bearings, Nureyev didn’t even try hiding the smug twinkle in his eyes.

“You know, I’m-”, Juno had to catch his breath,

“I’m somewhat surprised we haven’t fallen into bed with each other yet. With you kissing me like that and given we seem to end up in quite compromising positions despite our best efforts”, as if to prove his point, he hooked his legs behind Nureyev and pulled him in even closer. When Nureyev smirked, he didn’t try to hide his sharp teeth at all. Juno suppressed a groan, letting his forehead fall onto the man’s shoulder.

“I seem to recall we decided against it until further contemplation, seeing as we felt like there were better things to do in and with each other’s company”, his hand returned to Juno’s cheek,

“And I for once don’t need to sleep with you to worship you, my goddess.” It was a teasing murmur, it was meant to rile him up, he knew that. Still, Juno couldn’t help flushing and burrowing his face deeper in Nureyev’s neck,

“Damn it, I hate you. I’m glad Rita fell asleep, I wouldn’t ever live it down if she walked in on you calling me that.”

“I’m sure I could come up with something else intimate and to be murmured in private, if that would quell your embarrassment about this nickname”, Nureyev leaned down to kiss Juno’s neck,

“My goddess.” This time Juno really couldn’t help it.

He was already flushed, hot, pressed to his boyfriend. With said boyfriend nipping at his neck, pressing kisses there and letting him feel the occasional deliberately non-threatening drag of teeth across skin. Juno moaned aloud, letting his head tip back and digging his fingers into Nureyev’s back once again.

“You’re nasty, you know that?”, there was no heat behind the grumble but Juno also didn’t think he could have managed that if he wanted to, at that moment,

“I love you.”

“And I love you, Juno, my darling.”

After tea time they walked Rita back to town, with Juno hugging her one more time and her giving Nureyev a thumbs-up. The pair took care of some errands before hailing a coach to return to the manor before sundown. If Juno had noticed Nureyev didn’t stop by Captain Aurinko’s tavern, he didn’t mention it. It was a warm evening in early May and the two oft them were back to enjoying each other’s company. When they turned in for the night, Juno followed Nureyev to his room without prompting, hugging and holding him close from behind while Nureyev removed his make-up in the in suite washroom.

“You’re quite warm, darling. You didn’t overdo it with the alcohol, did you?” Instead of an answer, Juno shook his head where his face was pressed to Nureyev’s back. Chuckling softly, Nureyev placed one hand on Juno’s arms wrapped around him,

“I’m glad you’re here, to have met you again.” That did prompt Juno to lift his head, pushing up onto tiptoes to watch Nureyev’s face in the mirror,

“I’m thankful for this second chance at us, yea. Have I told you today how gorgeous you are?” Taking off his glasses to remove his eye make-up, Nureyev shook his head,

“Couldn’t you have made that compliment before I started looking like a mess taking off my make-up before bed?”

“Nope”, Juno took his glasses from him for safekeeping,

“‘Cause to me you’re gorgeous just the way you are and I’m the luckiest lady getting to see it. Getting to see you.”

When they finally fell into bed together, they couldn’t get close enough to one another. Nureyev was colder than usual, Juno noticed, but was quite thoroughly distracted with soft kisses and innocent touches.

It was another five weeks later, Juno got worried about Nureyev feeling so much colder than usual. In the literal sense of: the man’s temperature was even lower than he had gotten used to. It was barely a week into July when he got worried enough to confront him.

“Okay, spill! What’s up with you, Nureyev?”, Juno stood in front of Nureyev’s winged armchair, his arms crossed and trying at caging him in.

“Juno”, the questioning tone was underlaid with a soft warning to drop it,

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He didn’t even close his book, simply sighing and burrowing deeper into his chair. The detective huffed, clicked his tongue and shook his head. Slowly exhaling Juno let his arms sink, more wrapping around himself than crossing them properly,

“Nureyev, babe, I’m not blind. You literally look feverish! I know you can’t have fallen ill but you certainly look about ready to keel over. What is it?”, the initial reproach had died down to heartfelt worry while Juno had been talking,

“I’m worried, okay? My dearly beloved partner somehow got sick when that shouldn’t be even possible and I’m out of my depth.” He shrugged, the gesture somewhat stunted.

At that Nureyev did put down his book, hung his head and rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. Placing the book aside entirely, he raised a knee up in front of his chest, his slipper kicked off, he hugged his leg to his chest. Curling in on himself like that, he looked at Juno,

“I… have been fasting”, he attempted a shrug,

“It seems my reserves of human blood ran dry. Captain Aurinko can’t get another shipment ‘til end of the current month and I must admit I have been, well, first rationing, then fasting the last weeks already”, his expression turned stony,

“Because surely I wouldn’t attack villagers, be the need for human blood as it may.”

Juno couldn’t help his shock showing on his face, when he attempted to answer, he was lost for what to say, is mouth hanging open for a moment. Pulling a face and inhaling deeply, he tried again,

“Nureyev… you could have asked me.” It baffled him he even had to point that out, because,

“Honey, I love you and I knew fully well what I was getting into this time around. I somewhat expected to… I don’t know, provide a bit of blood at some point. I can’t believe you would rather starve than -“ Nureyev interrupted him,

“Juno! I couldn’t possibly ask… more like talk you into that, I mean, Juno”, he looked rather distressed, which the sickly look he had given up to cover up these past days didn’t help with.

“Nureyev, honey, you didn’t even ask”, Juno’s tone was stern,

“I’m offering. We both know I have a thing for your teeth going from the very start, so you might as well put them to use”, Juno snorted, while Nureyev rolled his eyes at him,

“Especially since you need to. I’m fine with it, really.”

Nureyev still hesitated, shying away from the hand Juno offered for him to take. Righting his glasses, he shook his head.

“But only since you want to. Not like this, though”, he uncurled and stood, motioning for Juno to follow him. They made their way to the kitchen, where he indicated for Juno to wait.

When he came back, he was carrying one of his many knives as well as gauze, a wound pad and disinfectant. Before Juno could decide whether to look offended or questioning, Nureyev sighed,

“As I said, I have been fasting. That means I’m quite… I don’t want to say desperate. And I do not intend to endanger you in any way! Which means, I won’t bite you. I think you recall what happened in the Captain’s tavern the last time I was starved”, at that, Juno flinched.

Nureyev just sighed, solemnly,

“Exactly. Which isn’t as bad, since I have been drinking more animal blood to compensate, but it’s a fact I need human blood to not fall ill, as you put it. It’s your choice whether you trust me to be in the room with you but”, he turned to one of the cabinets, getting a glass bottle and a hopper for it,

“This bottle can contain half a liter. Even if you were to fill it, which I could never ask of you, it wouldn’t impact your health too much besides possibly making you sleepy for the rest of the day.” Nureyev stalled before withdrawing his hands from the kitchen table. Knife, medical equipment and bottle set up, he nodded once, turning towards the door without waiting for Juno’s answer to any of that.

A hand on his arm stopped him,

“Nureyev, you know I trust you. But of course I will remind you as often as you need, please stay.” Nureyev turned to look at him, nodded and stepped back towards the table.

“I would be more comfortable to keep my distance, as a precaution. I don’t think I need to leave, but I probably shouldn’t be too close either.” Juno offered him a sympathetic smile,

“You will help me bandage it, though. A lady can ask that much.” At that Nureyev snorted,

“Don’t tell me you’re still squeamish around blood, detective.” His grin showed off his teeth by pure habit.

#tpp jupeter #JuPeter fanfic #Juno Steel #peter nureyev #juno steel series #junoverse fanfic #vampire au #au fanfiction #vampire!Nureyev #jupeter #TPP fanfic #Juno Steel AU #vampire #juno x peter #peter ransom

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subarubi · 4 years

Text

Last Dance

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It was a broken deal from the start, just one dance and Bucky Barnes will leave you.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+. Angst. This is sad. I’m sad, sorry bout it. Fluff. Light smut. I think I wrote ‘ass’ once.

He’s on a date with a sweet dame at the soda fountain when he first sees you looking like an absolute vision. Scowl and all. And when you smack the boy leaning over you from behind, he’s certain you must be some angel fell from heaven. An angry one sure, but an angel still. With downy feathers and doused in golden light. His heart, big and red and beating strong, trembles at the sight. He’s felt flutters in his stomach before and let out uncontrollable smiles when pretty lips press kisses to his cheek, but never has his heart stuttered like that.

Tip to tail, Bucky Barnes trembles, tingles as you walk towards him with fire in your eyes and dark lead drawing your lips into a frown.

Him! You’re walking towards him, kitten heels pounding into the checkered floor and Bucky’s mouth falls slack mid-flirt. His date protests, face twisted sour, but he can’t bring himself to do more than stutter over an apology. Jeez, he sounds like Steve, jaw falling open and offering her nothing but a strangled gurgle.

Ten feet feels still too far as you tie your coat closed tight, spitting venom over your shoulder at the disgruntled man with a red handprint across his cheek that trails after you.

In front of him, right there before him you stand a heavenly storm and he can’t help the breathless “Hi...” that escapes his lips.

You fix Bucky with a strange look, narrowed eyes flitting across the handsome planes of his dazed face. It doesn’t matter how you’re looking at him though, at least not to Bucky. No, all that matters is that you’re looking at him, damn the residual anger still dragging your brow down. He feels fuzzy all over, lights fading into twinkling stars and chatter softening into a low hum like all the cheesy pictures Steve sees.

What feels like an eternity to the Brooklyn boy only really lasts about fifteen seconds before you’re glossing over him and focusing instead on his date, Rita. “Can we get outta here, Reets? I think I’ve had my fill of drugstore cowboys,” you ask, curiously side-eyeing her date that seems to have a few screws loose.

Rita sighs, lifting her hand from where she’d placed it on Bucky’s bicep, “But-”

“I can walk you home!”

Bucky cringes as the both of you stare at him following his outburst, a little too loud and a touch too eager. He can feel Rita glaring daggers into him and while Bucky does feel guilty for being a complete jerk, he can’t help himself to stop staring at you with that hazy look in his baby blues.

Your friend coughs loudly, interrupting the drawn out eye contact as you scrutinize this strange man she had chosen to spend the night with. You’re almost thankful for it, the reprieve from those deep pools that seem to shine with your reflection in them.

“Ya know what, you two-”

“Bucky,” he supplies with a lazy smile stretching across his pink lips, even if you didn’t really ask. Your face scrunches up and really, he has never seen a woman so beautiful.

“Right... Reets, you and Bucky enjoy your night. I’ll find my way home just fine,” you smile tightly, already making leave. Anything to get away from the starry-eyed man who didn’t seem to concern himself with anything else but you-- not even his date, your friend.

The swinging door and the soft ting of the shop bell accompanies the fleeting image of your skirt flaring behind you and Bucky’s suddenly cold. You’ve taken all warmth from him, any semblance of the burning giddiness that’s seemed to overpower him in the short time since he first saw you. Steve teased him before of a similar feeling. Those infatuations that burnt too bright, too fast and then, in the blink of an eye fizzle out pathetically.

This doesn’t feel like that. This feels like if he lets you go without getting your name and some hope of seeing you again, he might never be able to breathe again.

Really, what is happening to him?

“Listen, Rita...” he sheepishly mumbles, gathering his own coat.

Rita glares at him with enough force to level Brooklyn, eyes ablaze in disbelief, “Bucky Barnes, I swear if you leave me right now...”

Bucky straightens, his whole body buzzing with the need to run after you. His eyes may be glued to your figure floating past the shop windows, but he has at least enough in him to guiltily offer, “I am so so sorry. Will you get home alright?”

“Will I-” Rita’s rising volume starts to draw eyes, “Are you serious? You’re going after her? My friend?!”

“I really am sorry,” he fumbles in his pocket for some cash, slapping it down on the counter. Barely glancing at the shop owner Bucky asks, “Make sure she gets home alright, Tommy?”

His feet start moving on their own volition, worn brown soles headed for the door before he even has the chance to hear a reply. He knows Tommy is a good man and that Rita will be fine. But him? Well, doused in the cool November air and whirling around left and right trying to find you, Bucky can feel the tightness in his face, a deep frown threatening to settle over him.

Bucky hears you first, clicking heels-- those robin’s egg blue Mary Janes with the daisy eyelets that he’s surprised he even noticed-- mixed in somewhere between an errant car horn and distant music. You’re a flurry of wild hair, tawny peacoat waving in the wind as you chase down a yellow cab. His lips pull into a grin as it leaves you in the dust, cursing colorfully under your breath.

“Hey!” Bucky shouts to get your attention.

“Oh,” your lips fall slack at the sight of him briskly walking to close the distance between you. There’s cute little lines on your scrunched up nose that Bucky just wants to kiss away. “Everything alright? Is Rita okay?”

Bucky nods eagerly, unable to calm that wide smile that makes his cheeks ache or his racing heart that unconsciously sends his chest into a soft heave, “She’s fine, jus’ wanna make sure you get home alright. ‘Specially after that handsy jerk back there.”

It might’ve been cute, a nice gesture that would’ve soothed over the harsh sting left by some other man earlier in the night. It could’ve made you smile and set butterflies loose in your stomach and all of the other feelings that your girlfriends talked about.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?”

You expect a lightbulb to flick on over his head, for him to head right back into the shop at the reminder, to break out of whatever odd stupor had kept him from rational thought. But it never comes, he just nods softly and sways on his feet, hands stuffed into his pockets looking relaxed and very much unbothered by your question.

“Well, Billy, don’t suppose it’s proper date etiquette to leave your girl to walk home her friend, is it?”

He tries not to let the misnomer hurt too bad, settles instead for a brief grimace to relieve the pang in his heart. Bucky kicks himself for not properly introducing himself before. Maybe if you hadn’t been so absolutely disarming, he would’ve been able to offer more than a quiet whisper of his name. Maybe then it would’ve stuck and he would’ve gotten yours in return.

“It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes. And if it’s all the same to you, Angel, can’t we just pretend I’m just walking my girl home?”

You snort, honest-to-god snort and it only endears you to him more. He thinks at this point he’s half in love with you and any more he might just propose on the sidewalk. It’s crazy, he realizes. But his mother always said sane is boring.

“Are you thick in the head or just a plain jerk, Bucky Barnes?”

“Huh?” Bucky’s eyes bug out of his head.

You roll your eyes and that’s it for him. His knees scream at him to bend down on one of them and beg you to be his forever. “You do realize Rita’s my friend, right? The girl you left to do whatever it is you’re doing right now?”

He’d thought he was flirting, being cute, the right side of cheeky. Apparently not. Bucky clears his throat, smile falling just a bit into something softer, shy if you’d believe it, “I ain’t ever met a dame like you, Angel. What’s your name? Please, I gotta know.”

Quiet, less full-on than before, you can appreciate how handsome he is. That bashful blush across rose petal lips, stirs you up inside. You vaguely remember Rita gushing about meeting him the 'most beautiful man across all five boroughs’ and laughing at her hyperbolic tendencies. Dark chestnut quaff, chiseled jaw with a dimple at his chin, frosted blue irises-- ‘most beautiful’ may not be something you can say for certain, but he is a downright dish. Too bad he’s apparently a perfect mix of thick in the head and jerk.

“What’ll it take to get you to leave me alone, fat head?”

Truthfully, Bucky will go if you really want him to. He’s not so arrogant to overstay his welcome with women who want nothing to do with him. He won’t try and change their mind about him because normally, they’re right.

“A dance?” He can’t help himself.

His heart, the big and red and beating strong one, feels like it blooms flowers out of his chest when you seem to actually ponder the idea. You've lost a lot of your initial fire, eyes cast downwards, brows pulled together in thought, hands fiddling with a button on your coat. Another flash of you that Bucky just catches a glimpse of that makes him feel like a little boy.

“So if I dance with you, you’ll never talk to me again?”

“One dance and I’ll disappear, if that’s what you want,” Bucky reluctantly replies. He’s pretty sure the one dance is gonna make him want a million, but he’ll honor your wishes.

You spare a glance up at him, and god dammit he looks like a puppy. A puppy you’ve kicked and you just want to wrap him up in your arms and tell him you’re sorry for whatever it is you’ve done and- what?

“You’ll keep your hands chaste?”

“Scouts honor.”

“Right here?”

“Right here,” Bucky smiles, the soft one that you like a lot more than the too big one you saw him flash Rita earlier in the night. Rita! You’d almost forgotten that the next morning Rita will have that sour look on her face and be cursing his name. And you’re supposed to tell her just how much of a jerk he is and how she deserves better than men like him.

“But there’s no music...”

“Sure there is, Angel.”

Bucky gestures to the shop behind you as he already sways gently to the faint sounds of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet from the windows emanating warm light that paints everything rose.

“You’ll stop calling me Angel?”

“But you are.”

The words catch in your throat and you can only manage a flustered “um” in response. You’ve not exactly shown Bucky Barnes your best side tonight. He’s witnessed you slap a man and storm out of the soda fountain dramatically with the ugliest angry face you could muster. You’ve called him the wrong name and then fat head and you’ve rather rudely told him to ‘bug off’ in no uncertain terms. And you’re an angel for it? He really is crazy.

You ignore it, shaking your head and holding a hand out to notarize the agreement.

“Okay, deal.”

It’s a broken deal from the start. Bucky knew it, you knew it.

As you sway back and forth in your apartment, bodies desperately clinging to one another, some part of Bucky, the unselfish part of his love that only wants to see you happy, wishes you’d never said yes. That you left him in the rear window of a taxi or even gave him a good wallop for pestering you so much because you’re breaking his heart-- because he’s breaking yours.

“Angel, I-”

“Can we just dance, Buck? Please, just let me hold you.”

Your tears are warm and wet in the hollow of his neck, eyelashes drawing small streaks of mascara over his pulse. Every time your trembling lips brush over his throat, peppering it with soft kisses like bolts trying to anchor him to you and Brooklyn, Bucky feels like his heart-- the one that trembles just for you-- just might shatter.

One of the fingers clutching tight balls of his fresh green uniform, he’d hoped to be wrapped in a gold band some day. He imagined a matching one of his own, gleaming proudly in the sun for all to see that he is yours and you, his. He tells you all of this because he thinks it might make you feel better. Give you hope and something special to plan for when he gets back. Steve will have to hold on to the rings, of course, because Bucky can’t be trusted to not lose anything important.

He bites his tongue thinking that the sentiment might include even you.

You’ll get married at the courthouse because once he’s back home, he won’t want to spend another night not being your husband. It’ll have to be in secret because his and your Ma’s will murder you both for not having it in a house of god. That’s okay, though, because Steve will be there with the rings and Rita, who never fails to shoot him scathing glares, can reluctantly hold your flowers. It’ll be perfect. He can’t wait.

“Bucky, please...” you sob, not really sure what you’re asking for.

Please let’s just dance. Please hold me tight and never let go. Kiss me, touch me, give me something, everything. Please stop making promises you can’t keep. Please stay.

His answer is to softly cup your jaw and brush his thumb over your chin tenderly. To duck down and press his lips to yours lightly, sweet and slow with a saltiness that you can recognize as tears. Yours, his, the world’s.

It’s quiet, only the static of a finished record that still twirls around the gramophone and your soft sniffles filling the dark room. You’re still swaying as Bucky holds you tighter to him, the hand over your jaw slipping into the back of your hair, the other gliding from hip to the small of your back.

He hasn’t stopped touching you since he got his orders. At dinner he kept your left hand tightly grasped in his across the table, wouldn’t let go, even when you needed it. At the Stark Expo, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and littered your face with kisses when he could, sometimes drifting a hand on the curve of your ass. He wanted to go dancing, to get to hold you close for a couple more hours and see you smile-- touch up the image of it etched in memory so that he won’t forget on the nights he’s surely going to need it.

You end up at home instead, not really dancing like he’d wanted, but better still. Just wrapped around each other with pale moonlight lighting the high points of your faces, the rest in shadows. There’s some semblance of dancing. Your hands began on the tops of his shoulders and his respectably on your hips.

On the bed, Bucky’s shivering weight pressing you into the mattress, your shaking hands curl around his back and dimple the hot expanse of skin there. He’s whispering all those hopes and dreams into your skin, marking it as a promise with a kiss and lave from his warm tongue. Bucky’s sweet on you, he’s made sure all of Brooklyn knows it, so he’s always sweet with you. You feel grotesque, eyes puffy with snot dripping from your nose, but he calls you the most beautiful things, stares at you like you’re an angel.

He marvels quietly at the sight of you beneath him, skirt rucked up and the top half of your dress pulled down so his lips could find familiar ardent trails. Bucky’s fingers trek the path from your bobbing throat that’s still half sobbing down the center of your chest, curving around you to slot themselves between your ribs. He’s unusually sloth-like in every movement, eyes lazily tracing your familiar curves, hands palming your flesh that vibrates with need unhurriedly, drinking up all of the soft sounds of pleasure that spill from your lips. You know what he’s doing and you can’t keep the tears at bay when he meets your eyes again. He’s committing every part of you to memory, looking at you like it’s the last time.

Bucky thinks perhaps the worst and best thing he’s ever done was dare to look at you long enough to fall in love.

He’s crying too when he finally takes you, muttering ‘I love you’ so many times that it starts to sound like ‘I’m sorry’. Punctuating every thrust with a desperate kiss that makes him love you more and more and himself less and less. He never deserved you and you loved him anyway and now he’s off to war unable to fight the deep upset at the idea of you at home waiting for him. Wondering if he might die before he ever gets the chance to do the decent thing and marry you, make an honest woman out of the love of his life.

“Bucky, I-” you choke out, legs locked around his undulating hips, feet pressed into the backs of his thighs.

He smiles the soft one you love so much, but it wavers as he balances himself on one trembling arm, bringing the other up to brush damp hair from your face and hushes you soothingly as he picks up pace.

Bucky ruts into you with his forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked so close and all you can see is blue and a reflection of yourself that is more beautiful than you see in the mirror.

This is how Bucky sees you and your heart burns at the realization.

You moan in the small distance between your lips, as you feel it bubbling up inside; all that Bucky has always tried so desperately to show you, he’s pushing into the warmest parts of you and begging you to understand. Love and adoration and something so strong you don’t think there’s even a word for. It mounts in your tensed gut, cresting with a hard thrust that has you wailing and clutching him so tightly you think you’ve melted into him. You’re sure of it. He’s taking every part of you with him.

After he’s finished simultaneously filling you with all of his love and ripping your heart out of your chest, there’s not much else to say. No more tears, no more declarations of love and apology. Just this emptiness as the two of you lay a tangled mess of numb limbs, waiting for the sun to come up and take him off to war.

Bucky kisses your forehead softly, and manages to push a whisper out of his throat raw from sobbing and crying out your name, “I’ll come back to you or I’ll die trying.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #1940s!bucky #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #40s bucky #bucky barnes x you

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darkobsidianquill · 4 years

Text

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Eleven.

Harry set his bag down gently on the hard stone floor and bent down to rummage inside it for his bound notebook and the book on containment wards he'd taken from his trunk. He made sure that the glass jar was still wrapped up I the black robes at the bottom of the bag.

He opened his notebook and flipped through the pages to the section where he had made notes on the some of the spells he intended to make use of. The first one was the Homorphus charm that would force dear Rita back into her human form and prevent her from turning back for about an hour as long as he put enough power and intent into the spell.

He set the notebook, still open, to the side and then turned to the wards book. He had marked the page with the spell he wanted to use, so he was able to get to it right away. It would create a solid magical field around a space he designated, and no one would be able to leave or enter it until he canceled the spell. He didn't think that it was terribly likely that Rita would be getting away from him, but he figured the added precaution was wise, and it took very little effort to cast and maintain, so he saw no reason not to.

He reread the passage quickly and then began walking around the chamber, swishing his wand in the shape of the described runes as he went and muttering a chant under his breath.

Once he had walked the perimeter – which only took a minute since he wasn't warding a very large space – he returned to the center and forced out a focused wave of his magic to complete the spell.

He could feel the magical walls that now surrounded him, as they resonated with his magic. He had no idea how talented Rita was with detecting magical auras or signatures, so he wouldn't know if she would be able to sense the barriers or not. He supposed he would find out if and when she was unfortunate enough to walk into one.

He snickered.

Satisfied that the cell was now in place, he set the warding book back into his bag and picked his notebook back up.

He read over the list of spells that he had been itching to try. He wanted to see what they were really like. What it felt like to really cast them. His heart was racing in sick anticipation and he was possessed with a sadistic glee at the prospect of finally having a living human target to try them out on.

A giant snake corpse was fine and dandy for target practice and absorbing some of the magical impact, but it didn't provide nearly as satisfying a target. Nor did it actually work for a large number of spells.

He ran his fingers over the surface of the bound parchment with a strange reverence as a giddy urge to giggle began to bubble up from his stomach. He was getting excited. So very excited.

A small voice in the back of his mind was protesting weakly. It was one thing to attack the corpse of a snake, but he was about to use these spells on a real, live, human being. A person.

A person who would not be leaving this room alive.

That was a fact that he needed to come to terms with, for sure, before starting. Because once he began, there was no going back. No changing his mind. He didn't intend to use the instantly lethal spells simply because he wanted to draw this out and practice as much as he could manage on the woman before she could no longer take any more. But in the end, he would kill her.

It wasn't even really anything personal. She was just convenient. Sure, he hated her. But he wasn't going to kill her because she had written those articles about him. He was going to kill her because she was there, and no one would be able to link her death to him.

He looked at the list one more time and felt his magic flaring up with eager anticipation.

He was set. There was no going back. He... he wanted this. Needed it. His skin was crawling with the raw need to feel her life slipping away by his hands. He wanted to see if he could really do it. He could feel himself being consumed with the intense hunger for death and pain that the dark magic left in him. He felt starved for it.

Being so close to actually committing the act was like standing in the middle of an desert, facing an oasis after depriving himself of water for a lifetime. He couldn't stop now. He wanted it too badly.

He set the book down beside his book and pulled out the jar, still wrapped in the black cloak.

He walked to the center of the room, not too far from the basilisk's corpse and set it down while slowly removing the cloth.

The beetle within instantly began flitting around the inside of the jar with mad desperation.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the jar. A silent incantation and a simple wand movement later and the glass melted away as if it were wax before dissolving into a cloud of wispy smoke. The beetle instantly bolted, but she was obviously confused as to her whereabouts or how to properly leave because she circled the space wildly for a moment.

Harry tracked her with his wand for a second before casting the homorphus charm and hitting her on the first try. The spell sent her suddenly increasing in size and then falling heavily to the ground in a sputtering heap.

She gasped and turned her head from side to side in obvious panic before spinning around in her place on the dirty stone floor to face him.

Her eyes were wide and consumed with desperation for a moment before she tried to take on an air of innocence.

"Harry," she said in a simpering voice as she tried to smile and began to try and pull herself to her feet.

He pointed his wand at her lazily and said "Adstringo,"

Her eyes bugged out as she her arms and legs were suddenly bound to her side by an invisible force. Next he flicked his wand and incanted "ponere" although it didn't seem to have any visible effect.

"Do you know what that was?" he asked with a smirk as he began to slowly stroll around her prone form on the floor. "The Ponere charm is a dark spell that allows me to put you into any position I wish, and you will be unable to move. Adstringo is sort of a mix between a binding spell, and a petrifying spell. Can't move. Can't talk. It's better than some lesser binding spells since it binds the person with magic, instead of conjuring a rope or a chain or something that could be cut through or banished. Of course, to maintain the binding, I have to continue to focus my magic. But... since I've now set the posable curse on you, I don't need you bound anymore so..."

He drawled off as he flicked his wand and released the thread of magic that had been holding her bound and released it.

Suddenly her face switched form frozen surprise, to pure panic and fear. "Harry... Harry please. Think about what you're doing. We're both mature, rational people here. It was never anything personal, I was just doing my –"

"Silentium!" Harry drawled lazily along with a flick of his wand. Her mouth continued to move, but there was no longer any sound coming out. Her panicked expression became rather indignant for an instant before returning to fear and caution.

He began to stroll over to her and her wide eyes tracked his every moment. He came up beside her and used his foot to roll her onto her back.

"You see, Rita... that's where you're wrong. I may be mature, but I don't honestly think I'm being particularly rational. And while I would argue that it was personal, this little encounter that we're having here has almost nothing at all to do with your idiotic little scribblings in the paper."

He crouched down and reached out, cupping the side of her head with his hand and moved her head so that he could look directly into her eyes. "Now before we go any further, I need to ask you a few... questions. And you will be answering them. How about a little... obedience," he said with a smirk and he brought his wand up to her temple. "Pareo!"

Her eyes glazed over and Harry felt the glee course through him. It was working and it was so easy.

Tingling precursors to the euphoria of dark magic began to dance through his belly and his head lulled back for a second as he let himself enjoy the curiously enjoyable tickling sensation just under the surface of his skin.

He refocused on his task and released the silencing spell he had cast over her a moment ago.

"Now Rita, I want you to tell me something. Does anyone else know about your animagus form?"

She blinked groggily and her head turned slowly. "Nn...noo," she said in a strangely tired voice. He grinned.

"And does anyone know that you've been sneaking into Hogwarts?"

"N...noo..."

"So... no one has any idea where you are?"

"No one," she said in a weak breathy voice before she squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered.

He ceased his support of her head with his hand and it ended up falling down on to the cold stone floor with a thunk.

"Good," he said with a grin as he stood back up and flicked his wand, releasing the obedience spell.

She blinked owlishly in confusion for a moment before looking back up at him with fear in her eyes.

"What was that?" she gasped. He could tell from the way she was moving her head and neck – the only parts of her body she currently had any control over – that she was trying to struggle away from him, but couldn't. It made him want to cackle with delight at how utterly under his control she was.

"That, was an obedience spell. Fairly tricky bit of magic. I wasn't sure I could pull it off. I've never had an actual subject to test it on. But... that is why you're down here, after all," he ended with a wicked grin.

Her eyes widened and she began to dart them around the room. He watched as she began to fully register that she had absolutely no idea where she was. The moment she caught sight of the basilisk was so entertaining to watch, he almost burst out laughing.

She screamed. Of course she screamed. But what really surprised Harry was how much the sound sent a thrill coursing through his entire being. The pure terror that filled that voice was like honey on his tongue.

"Wha-! What! What is that! Is that...? Where am I!"

Harry began to giggle but stifled the sound and started slowly strolling towards the basilisk.

"This is a basilisk, obviously. I mean, honestly Rita... how many magical serpents are capable of growing to over sixty feet in size? Not many."

"Wh.. how... where did it..."

"I killed it. In my second year, actually. It's remarkably well preserved, isn't it? Although I have been bringing about quite a significant amount of damage to it lately with all my practicing. It's sort of been my target dummy. It's been incredibly convenient in that regard, but it's just so unsatisfyingthrowing curses at something that's already dead."

He turned to face her, still sprawled across the floor and looking up at him with dawning horror behind her wide eyes.

"You... you killed that thing?" she said in a stuttered whisper.

"Oh yes. This is the Chamber of Secrets, by the way. Just in case you hadn't figured that out yet."

She gasped and her eyes darted around the large room again and landing on the enormous carved stone statue of Salazar Slytherin's head.

"The chamber..." she said in a whisper.

"It's been quite handy for me. It's beyond the normal wards of the school, and the room is unplottable. Nothing I do here can be detected by anyone else. The headmaster is completely blind to any goings on down here. And no one else can even get down here since only a parseltongue can open the door," he paused and smirked down at her. "That goes both ways, by the way. The doors are all closed and the only way to get out is for me to open them. Not that you could get away, anyway."

"P-please, Harry... we c-can work something out. I realize I was harsh... I was... I was so focused on the story that I didn't consider how it would effect you. But I.. I, see the error of my ways. I'll never write another thing about you, I swear it! We.. we can just put all of this behind us. We –"

Harry sighed in a bored tone and rolled his eyes while flicking his wand at her and casting another silencing charm.

"You have such an annoying voice," he drawled.

He walked over to her prone figure and crouched down, grinning evilly down at her. "You're missing a rather important detail here, Rita. You see... I'm not doing this because you wrote those nasty things about me in the Prophet. I'm doing this because I have been just dying to try out some of these really fascinating spells I found, but the darnn basilisk corpse over there just isn't any good at all for testing them out on.

"I need a living, conscious, human. The basilisk works as target practice, but I can't see if the spell is actually doing what it's supposed to be doing, unless the person has the proper organs to melt, or the ability to feel the pain in just the right way. So you see... you coming along was just so convenient that I simply couldn't pass it up," he said all this in a calm soft tone, as if he were trying to explain something complicated to a young child. The whole time, Rita's face grew more and more horrified and he could see her mouth moving with silent words of protest.

He chuckled darkly and placed his hand on her cheek and gave her a condescending pat. "You see, Rita. It's nothing personal."

He stood up and walked over to his notebook, still open on the floor.

"Now lets see... which to try first... Oo... this one sounds fun. And it won't leave any lasting physical damage. Best to start small first. Don't want to use you all up with the first few spells, after all. It's called Formidilio. Ever heard of it?It puts a person into a fit of terrifying visions until the spell is canceled. It's supposed to fill your mind with your worst fears... wonder what your worst fears are, Rita? Shall we find out?" he grinned down at her and leveled his wand.

Her mouth was working furiously, and tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks, but not a single sound was heard.

Harry made a lazy little shape with his wand and said "Formidilio!" in an equally lazy tone before taking a step back as if it watch a show.

At first her eyes just darted around in panic. The tears began to flow more and more readily and her face quickly contorted in a horrifying scream. Again and again she screamed and bellowed, but no sound was made.

Harry's grin was growing wider and wider and his eyes were on fire with sick delight. He bounced a few times on the balls of his feet before pulling out his wand. "Oh, I've just got to hear this!" he said in a strangely gleeful eagerness. He canceled the silencing charm and the cavernous room was instantly filled the Rita's terrified shrieking and howling.

She blathered nonsense and wailed in horror. The longer Harry held the curse on her, and more and more powerful the dark magic coursed through his insides. It was like a dull roar, slowly growing more and more powerful. He began to cackle madly with a sick, twisted delight as the addictive feelings coursed through him. His cackles grew so loud, that it began to drown out her own terrified screams.

Finally Harry saw the signs that she might pass out soon, and instantly released the curse.

"Can't have you passing out on me so soon," he said with a giggle, as he fought to regain a semblance of control. "I still have so much planned for you. Let's see... next up on my list isss... Ah. Tussio Praefoco. A spell that causes a fit of suffocating coughs. Good for rendering an enemy unable to properly aim or fight, without having to leave any lasting damage, or kill them. Pretty mild curse, really, but it could come in handy," he continued in a mild, analytical voice, and a disinterested look to him. However the second he trained his wand on her, the wicked glee returned to his eyes and Rita flinched and began to whimper again through her stifled sobs.

Five minutes of horrifically violent coughing and wheezing, that went so far as to result in coughing up quite a bit of blood, and Rita passed out from lack of oxygen. Harry released the Tussio Praefoco curse and Rennervated her back to consciousness.

"That one wasn't so bad..." he said through his smirk and he walked in a slow circle around her. Her tired, fear-filled eyes tracked his every movement as she sniffed and hiccoughed.

"Next one is quick and simple. Lets see how easy this one is to cast..." he said as he pointed his wand. She stiffened and her muffled cries were horse from the coughing.

"Eructo Cruor!" he shouted with blazing green eyes, alight with sick joy. Harry keened out and his head fell back as a rush of dark delicious magic shot through his body and out his wand, straight at Rita in a cork-screw shaped red jolt.

The second it hit her, she began to violently vomit blood, everywhere. Her body heaved involuntarily and she shook and cried out. It lasted only a moment, but the magical rush was so intense and Harry contemplated for a moment, doing it again.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, trying to recenter himself. He had to maintain some bit of control if he was going to get through all the spells he wanted to try before killing her. No fun in ending it all prematurely in a fit of madness.

And there were so many he had been just dying to try...

The next hour was spent going through all of the lesser curses he'd been curious about, but had never been able to really apply before now. Twisting and bending the magic to his will and reveling in the euphoric haze it put him in. Every nerve in his body was on fire with exquisite delight. He felt utterly intoxicated with it.

He cast viscus expello on her, which caused her to instantly expel the contents of her bowels. He cleaned her up more as a service to himself than to her. He cast vormica morsus, which caused horribly painful boils to appear all over her skin, and begin to erupt and burn. Her screams of agony only seemed to enhance the perverse pleasure he was taking in watching her suffer and writhe. Some part of him knew it was sick, but he just didn't care. He was too high from the magic coursing through him. It was all too amazing. Too euphoric to stop.

He cast exustio morsus next, which did no actual physical harm, but caused the illusion in her mind that she was burning alive. The pain was enough that she actually passed out after only a minute, and it took him a solid three minutes afterwords of throwing rennervates at her to get her to wake. When she finally did, he kicked her in the head to sooth his own irritated frustration at it having taken so long.

She was a blathering mess of tears, snot, and blood at this point, but Harry didn't seem to notice or care. He was getting excited again. He was drawing upon the nastier spells now and his eagerness was growing substantially.

The next thing he cast was actually a spell that would prevent her from falling unconscious. It was apparently a very commonly used spell when dishing out torture. When you're intention is to dish out punishment, it does no good at all for the person to simply pass out and escape the pain.

And constantly pausing in your curses to cast rennervates was too bothersome to keep dealing with.

The spell put a mild drain on his magic, since it would remain linked to him until he finally allowed her the respite of unconsciousness... or death. But it was minimal, and since it was a particularly dark bit of magic, the gentle tug on his magic was like a constant, dull, tingly warmth. He found he quite liked it, and it was a reminder that he was prolonging her suffering.

He knew that shouldn't please him. On some level, he still had some ability to acknowledge the moral base that 'normal' people lived their lives by... but he just couldn't find it in himself to actually agree with those ideas anymore.

That thought made him frown for the briefest moment before he shoved it away to refocus on his task.

The next spell he cast was far more hands-on than the previous batches. It was called skyrdda excorio, and it pealed back sections of skin, and shriveled the flesh beneath it. Slowly he shaved off layer after layer of skin from her legs, arms, and belly. Her screams were ear piercing, and yet they were also frighteningly lovely.

He got so lost in the moment that he realized if he didn't stop soon, she was likely to bleed to death, so he stopped and threw a few episci healing spells at some of the deeper gouges.

Fervefacio was a curse that literally melted flesh, and he began applying that to her fingers and hands. He watched with an perverse fascination as the skin, and muscle melted off her fingers, exposing tendons and bones. He couldn't help but think to himself that this would be an incredibly interesting way to learn human anatomy.

Rita's voice was hoarse by now, but her screams still came.

Next, just for the hell of it, he decided that he would try throwing a crucio at her. It was a foundation of the dark arts repertoire, after all, and it would be embarrassing if he could cast a exustio, but not pull of a crucio.

The moment he had cast the first one at her, he knew exactly why it was so bloody popular.

It certainly wasn't an easy spell to cast, but the way the dark magic utterly consumed him, and coursed through every vein of his body with the most powerful, dark, raw magic he had ever felt, left him breathless and panting on the floor. The greater the pain he threw upon his victim, the greater his bliss.

He was utterly stunned at how powerful it was. It had been weeks since a dark spell had sent him to his knees. Rita was still screaming and he realized through his haze that the spell was still active. His head was buzzing with noise and a whirlwind of pleasure and feelings that were too complex for him to make sense of at the moment. He realized that his breath was still coming in heavy pants and his back was arched off the ground. He forced himself to regain enough of his senses to cancel the spell, and both he and Rita collapsed.

Rita was crying and her body was twitching in pain-induced muscles spasms. Harry felt as if he had melted into a puddle of warm goo from the overload of feelings on his already raw senses. It was.. indescribable. It was so bloody amazing. How could anyone do any other kind of magic? But he supposed that's why they didn't teach the dark arts in schools. If people were exposed to this, they would never want to let it go.

Instead, they ban the teaching of it. And the Ministry bans the practice of it! To deny people from this delicious form of ecstasy was what should be criminal!

He recovered and looked over at the shaking, horrifically mutilated woman laying several feet from him in a puddle of her own blood and bodily fluids.

A giggle bubbled up in him, and he tried to stifle it, but it only turned into a snort, and then a chuckle.

Merlin, she was so weak. So pathetic. Not once could she even try to fight back. She had never stood a chance. She was nothing to him. Nothing at all.

He stood to his feet and stared down at her for a long moment. Watching her twitches. Observing the blood as it continued to pool and congeal. Examining the bits of skin that were pealed back and all shriveled looking.

So pathetic.

So easy.

He rose his wand and her eyes managed to catch the movement. Her cries and sobs renewed ten fold.

"Oh, dear sweet Rita. No worries, love. I think I'm done with you now. Would you like that? Shall I put you out of your misery?"

She continued to cry and closed her eyes, pitifully.

"I wonder if I can pull this off... they say its an incredibly difficult spell to actually perform. It is unblockable, after all. They say that very few wizards succeed in casting it their first time. Or even their second or third. If it doesn't work out, I suppose I can just keep trying though, hmm? You're not going anywhere, after all. They do say that even if it fails at it's intended purpose, the spell is still quite painful... I guess we'll only find out if I try, hmm?"

His eyes began to glow and the magic began to swirl around him. He called it to him, pulling it from the deepest recesses of his soul and relishing in the indescribably delicious, inebriating quality that it filled him with. He leveled his wand, straight at her head and incanted...

"Aveda kadavra."

– – –

Hermione Jean Granger was not stupid, or blind. She prided herself on being a very clever and very observant young woman.

Her strengths had always been with book knowledge, and she would be the first to admit that her social skills were still somewhat lacking in some areas. She didn't always understand other people, but she had improved a lot over the years. She was a fast learner, after all, and once she had friends, she made it a point to learn how they operated, so as best to be their friend.

Her friendships were incredibly important to her, since up until Hogwarts, she had never really had any good friends.

She would also be the first to admit that at the start of this school year, she had mad a egregious mistake, in regards to her best friend, Harry Potter.

She had believed, just like everyone else, that Harry had done something reckless and stupid, to get his name into that Goblet, and enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Even when Harry denied it, she didn't believe him.

Harry rarely had much regard for rules, and had very little respect for authority figures, especially when whatever they dictated didn't suit Harry's needs at the time. All of the other boys in Gryffindor had been absolutely obsessed with that ridiculous tournament. Every one of them had desperately wished they could enter. They all wanted eternal glory. They all wanted the prize money. They wanted the challenge, and the opportunity to prove themselves brave and strong.

So she had simply assumed that Harry would be the same as all of his dorm mates and have wanted the very same thing. Only Harry was Harry, and if anyone would find a way to get around the rules, Harry would.

But she realized just how stupid her assumptions had been. Once she got over her fury at Harry doing another stupid thing that would put his life in danger, she woke up enough to realize that Harry would never put his life in danger for something as petty as fame or money. Harry already hadfame and money, and he hated it. It was his modest, unassuming side that impressed her most about him sometimes.

Harry was humble. He was famous all throughout the magical world, but he never acted like it. In fact, any reminders of his fame only made him shy away from something.

No... when Harry stuck his neck out and put his life on the line, it was always for something that was worth it. He was always going out on a limb to save someone, even when it was almost guaranteed that the limb would snap out from beneath him and send him to his death along with whoever he was trying to save.

Harry didn't mind. Because any chance that he might save that person was worth to risk of personal injury.

But fame and glory? No... Harry wouldn't consider that worth the risk.

How had she been so blind? How could she abandon her first real friend over something so stupid and petty, when he was in such dire need of a friend?

She had realized her mistake after a month, but Harry wouldn't even look at her by then. She had tried on a few occasions to talk with him, but could never manage to get alone with him.

She had tried talking sense into Ron, but he had been stubborn and pig-headed. He wasn't angry with Harry for putting breaking the rules or himself in danger, like she had been; no Ron was angry because Harry hadn't shared whatever trick or spell he had used to enter the tournament with Ron. No matter what Hermione said to Ron, she couldn't convince him that just maybe, Harry really hadn't done anything, and someone else had rigged it so Harry was forced to participate.

Hermione kept herself distracted by throwing herself headlong into her latest passion – fighting for house elf rights, but that only took her mind off of her troubles with Harry when she kept herself busy. And Ron did nothing but openly mock her efforts with S.P.E.W.

During the time between Halloween, and the first task, Harry kept to himself, all the time. He seemed to avoid contact with anyone else, at all costs. He went to classes, and rushed through his meals in the Great Hall, and then quickly disappeared to his dorm room, or the library. He avoided everyone like the plague, and no matter what she did, she couldn't find a way to apologize.

The events of the first task had been a considerable shock. She hadn't known what to make of the fact that Harry had used parseltongue of all things, to survive. She had never heard that dragons spoke parseltongue before. She even looked it up in a large number of books afterwards and found absolutely no references to it anywhere.

She wondered where Harry had figured it out from.

The task with the dragons had made Ron finally realize that the tournament wasn't all glory and fame. It was danger, and horrific burns, and complex spells that, as forth years, they couldn't hope to be familiar enough with to survive.

But despite his realization that Harry just may not have entered the tournament after all, his overall freaked-out-ness over Harry's use of parseltongue had kept him from going to Harry right away.

Hermione was actually surprised when Ron came to her, asking if she would go with him to try and corner Harry so they could apologize. Harry hadn't wanted to accept it. He was angry. He was so angry, and betrayed and Hermione was consumed with the most horrifying fear that she might have completely screwed things up, forever. That she had lost her first, best, friend.

She cried herself to sleep so many times as her mind was consumed with what-if's and if-only's.

Therefore the day that Harry told her that they were 'alright', she had been so incredibly elated and happy that she had finally been forgiven, and things could finally begin to go back to the way they were before.

But they didn't.

Not really. Harry was... different. During their time apart, she had noticed several changes, but attributed it mostly to him being alone. He was more studious, and got all of his homework done alone, and without anyone else's assistance. He had also begun to perform considerably better in classes.

This trend remained the same. It was as if Harry had suddenly rediscovered his magic. He had always been so easily distracted before. It would take him many many times, practicing repeatedly, to accomplish any spell introduced in class. Now he was able to get them with only a few attempts. He answered questions in class easily, and actually seemed interested in the subject matter.

She had actually been rather excited in the beginning. She finally had someone who could hold an intelligent conversation with about magical theory! And it was Harry! She was elated to have this new thing to share with her friend.

Despite him having taken her and Ron back as friends, and despite their new connection on an intellectual level, Harry remained distant. He was quiet and contemplative. He would still join in on conversations at meals, and in the common room, but it always seemed so forced.

He acted like he was paying attention to them, but she suspected that he was just humoring them. She doubted Harry was even legitimately aware of all the work she had done lately towards spreading word on the house elf enslavement! When she did speak to him about it, and he spoke with her on it, it was as if he wasn't even listening. When he did respond, any sign that he actually cared about it seemed entirely faked.

At least Ron's open disregard for the house elves was honest. Harry's faked care bordered on insulting! How could he not care?

And he was spending so much time alone, working on preparations for the next task! It was also strange that he refused to tell her anything about it. Now that they were friends again, she had expected him to ask for her assistance with spells and research, but he insisted on doing everything alone.

She dismissed it at first, since he had had to do all of his preparation for the first task alone, so he probably felt comfortable doing the second task alone too. But they were there for him now! Why couldn't he just ask them for assistance? And why wouldn't he tell them what he was doing?

She just couldn't understand it.

Since they were all going to be staying behind for the holidays, she thought it would give her a chance to spend more time with Harry, but the opposite had been true. Harry was gone so much during their winter break. And she had absolutely no idea where he was going.

He kept telling them that he was going to the dungeons to work on a potion he was brewing, but several time she had gone down to offer her assistance, only to find the room empty.

The fact that Harry was clearly hiding some things from her concerned her, so she was considerably relieved when he trusted her enough to reveal what was probably an enormous secret. An utterly shocking secret at that.

Harry... her Harry... was gay.

She really had not seen it coming, and she had to admit that a tiny piece deep inside her was a bit disappointed by it. When Harry had first saved her from the troll, all those years ago in their first year, she had developed a bit of a crush on the raven-haired boy with piercing green eyes.

She had gotten over it quickly, but there had always been a lingering feel in her. She knew it was especially silly now that she was beginning to develop surprisingly strong feelings for Viktor.

She had never expected that to happen... but it had. The Bulgarian quidditch star had sought her out in the library frequently since first term, and she never quite understood why he bothered.

But he did. And while it was shocking, it was also flattering. And Viktor was quite good looking, even if he wasn't much of a conversationalist. His English was improving though...

And Harry. Sweet Harry. Gay. While she was surprised, she certainly had nothing against it. She was surprised with how easily he spoke of it, she was most impressed with how he handled being unwittingly outed, after the holiday break was over.

But during the actual holidays, when Hermione had hoped that she would finally get to spend some time reacquainting herself with her friend, Harry had remained distant. Hermione ended up spending her holidays working on S.P.E.W. and nagging Ron to be responsible for once in his life and actually get his homework done before the last day of their break.

Christmas arrived and the gifts were predictably thoughtful. The dance was that evening, and it was absolutely lovely. Hermione was utterly stunned to watch Harry with Fleur.

Where had that shy little boy gone? He had been replaced with a roguish young man who was brimming with confidence. He had a cocky swagger to his step, and a devilish grin on his lips almost the whole night.

And the way he moved! How had Harry learned to dance like that? She had been impressed with his leading at the dancing lesson, but that had only covered the traditional waltz. Harry caught on to more modern dancing with surprising ease and a fluid grace she had never seen in her friend. The way he and Fleur moved together on the dance floor sent flutters through her stomach a few times, and she had been forced to divert her eyes and turn her head to hid her blush.

If she hadn't known that Harry fancied boys, she would have seriously wondered about the way he and Fleur were dancing.

Fleur was clearly enjoying herself tremendously, and Hermione actually wished, for the briefest of moments, that she could have been Harry's date for the night. But she was still undeniably enjoying herself with Viktor, so she quickly pushed that thought away quickly.

The night would have been perfect if not for Ron being... well, Ron. He wasted the dance acting like a pig-headed idiot, who was too embarrassed and stubborn to actually enjoy the dance himself, but was then bitter and angry that his friends had enjoyed themselves despite him. He was also clearly jealous and upset that Hermione had gone to the dance with Viktor. What exactly that meant, was debatable.

If Ron fancied Hermione, he was too thick to realize it. And too stubborn to do anything about it. Hermione was certainly not going to stand around and wait for her emotionally stunted friend to realize what his feelings meant.

Following the winter holidays things with Harry began to get even more strange. He continued to disappear for long periods of time and no one could find him. He was even more withdrawn than before, and she often caught him scowling or glaring at someone when he thought no one was looking.

He snickered and chuckled under his breath at things that he never would have found humorous before. He had even chuckled when Malfoy had thrown something into Seamus's cauldron one day in potions and it had gone and exploded on him.

Hermione just didn't know what to make of the changes. On one hand, Harry was doing better in his classes than ever before, and was dedicated to his studies. But his personality seemed to be fundamentally shifting.

Ron was far from pleased by the changes in their friend. Harry no longer seemed to care about going flying or talking about Quidditch. He almost never agreed to play exploding snap, and even less often agreed to play chess. As far as Ron was concerned, it was as if he had lost his friend all over again.

But Hermione was worried about a lot more than just Harry suddenly not caring about Quidditch. In recently months, she had taken to worrying a lot about some strange ticks that Harry had picked up.

As the afternoon would draw nearer, Harry would begin twitching as if he was eager for something. He would sit through his last block of the afternoon with his knee bouncing up and down rapidly, and gnawing away at his fingernails. He would shift his position in his chair, over and over again, never able to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time.

He would scowl at the professors. Scowl at his classmates when they asked questions that caused things to drag on. Scowl at the clock on the wall. But the moment someone actually spoke to him, he would throw up a calm, genial mask. He would smile, and joke and act as if nothing was wrong at all.

He always rushed through his dinner, and those anxious ticks would quickly make another appearance. Whenever something came up that prevented him from running off and disappearing to wherever it was that he disappeared to, he would get a tight pinched look to his face, and his eyes would take on a sharp glare.

She saw him lose his temper only a few times, and it usually only happened when he didn't think that there was anyone nearby to witness it. Someone – usually a Slytherin, but it had occasionally been someone from one of the other houses – would say something to push Harry's buttons and he would lash out... violently. Hermione had only born witness to this three times, but each subsequent event had been more intense then the last and it made her stomach clench uncomfortably to see her nice, sweet, Harry, react so angrily.

She could only assume that there had been more instances than the ones she had witnessed. One thing she was sure of was that something had happened between Harry and Draco Malfoy, because the blond, egotistical pure-blood had been avoiding Harry like the plague for two months now.

Hermione kept telling herself that the stress from the tournament had to be effecting Harry. The pressure, and the fear of the danger it posed. The fact that someone had to be out to get him. That this someone had placed his name in the cup for a reason, and that reason was most likely to get Harry killed.

She hoped that once the task was over with, some of the secrecy would leave with it. She had believed her hopes granted when Harry finally told her and Ron about him having become an animagus, the day after the 2nd task.

She was hurt that he hadn't told them before then. Shocked that he had managed to keep such a huge thing secret for more than a year! But she finally thought she understood why Harry was always running off and disappearing. He had been training to become an animagus. Finally things made sense.

But they didn't. Not really. And most confusing of all, he was still running off to Merlin knows where every single evening, even though it was now a week and a half since the second task. Harry no longer had to train for that task, and he wouldn't have any idea what the third task was for more than two months. He had also mastered his animagus transformation, so that wasn't the reason for his absence either.

So if Harry wasn't training his animagus ability, and wasn't training for the third task. What was Harry doing?

What other huge secret was he keeping from them? Having become an animagus seemed huge to Hermione, and it only made her wonder... what else was Harry working on? Was it just as monumental as his other secret? Would it be just as shocking?

And why did he still refuse to share it with her or Ron? Why was he lying and making up lame excuses for his disappearances?

And for that matter... where on earth was he going!

She had tried to follow him a number of times over the past two months, but had never had any luck. He would always lose her right away. It was obvious that Harry was using his invisibility cloak to sneak around, which really only brought up more questions.

Hermione had feared that she had lost her first and best friend after her terrible mistake on Halloween night. She had hoped that Harry had forgiven her, just before the winter holidays, and had been optimistic that things would finally go back to normal. But now she wasn't so sure. She wasn't sure if things would ever go back to normal.

And she had a sinking suspicion that Harry would never truly trust her again. Would he ever openly share his secrets with her again? Would she ever regain his trust, or had she truly blown it?

These were the thoughts going through Hermione's mind as she watched Harry enter the Great Hall for lunch that day. Harry never skived off classes, so the fact that he had missed History of Magic and Charms that morning was decidedly odd.

She watched him speculatively as he walked with a strange, fluid grace towards the table. His head was bowed low but as he approached she caught a glimpse of his face, and his eyes were bright and wild.

He seemed to be fighting off an almost crazed grin that sent a shiver down her spine. As soon as he sat down and rose his head to the others, the expression was gone and replaced with a look of fatigue.

Had she imagined it?

She had never thought of Harry as a particularly good actor in previous years. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve. He often brooded quietly to himself, but Hermione prided herself on being able to read him pretty well. But that had all changed his year. Now she wasn't sure if she could read him at all.

"Are you feeling better, Harry?" she asked, hesitantly.

He looked over at her and gave her a soft, kind smile and nodded his head. "Yeah... loads, actually. The nap really did me good."

She smiled back, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was worried... really worried. But for once in her life, she had absolutely no answers. She didn't know how to fix this. All she could do was keep watching him and try to find out what it was that was going on with Harry. What was bothering him... and what he was hiding.

– –

Harry laid down in bed that night still feeling the rush from his earlier activities. He was practically jumping out of his skin, and seriously doubted that he would be sleeping anytime soon. He needed to calm down and relax. He knew the best way to do that was to slip into his mindscape and relax in his companion's arms, but he was anxious and hesitant to do just that because he knew that as soon as he went in there, he would have to face his realization earlier that morning that his companion was probably a lot more than just some of Voldemort's power.

Finally accepting that he couldn't hide from the truth any longer, Harry pulled his bed hangings closed, lay back into his bed covers and mountain of pillows and slipped into his mindscape.

It was dark there now and the mist stretched far and wide. It wasn't pitch black, but more like the mild illumination one would find during twilight. The 'sky' or 'ceiling' gradually faded into blackness. The corner where the once-small 'dark spot' resided, was a void of blackness, but there was nothing scary or unsettling about the area. It was comforting, if anything.

Harry made his way to where the black silhouetted form of his companion was standing, facing away from him. As Harry drew closer his companion turned slowly.

Hello... Harry, the breathy voice echoed through the expansive space and Harry had to suppress a shudder that the voice sent through his spine. His companion stretched his arms out, becoming Harry forward and he quickly made his way over.

His companion pulled him down into the couch-like area that they spent most of their time, whenever Harry was inside his own mindscape. His companion was sitting back first, and Harry lay back into him, his back to the solid black silhouetted body of his companion. Black arms wrapped around Harry's middle and pulled him back into the other being chest.

The gesture was intimate, calming, and instantly relaxed Harry's frazzled nerves.

No matter what came of this discussion, it wouldn't change anything. Not really. Harry knew he would not give this up for anything.

You are... troubled...

Harry sighed and nodded his head.

"I... what are you? Exactly?" Harry asked after a long silent moment.

Do you truly... not know?

Harry pulled his lip between his teeth and looked off into the dark distance.

"I don't know... maybe. Can you just answer the question?" Harry said with a pouty scowl.

I suppose. I am... a sliver... of Voldemort's... soul.

Harry blinked. His soul? Harry frowned. "How did you end up in me?" he asked.

When... he tried... to kill you. I broke off... The act... of murder... it can shatter the soul... if you so desire it. You can take those pieces... and magically bind them... to an object... or... person.

"But why would he do that?" Harry asked, in bewilderment.

As long... as some portion... of the soul... is bound to this world... none of it can leave. Even if... the body has... been destroyed.

Harry leaned back and processed this latest revelation. Honestly rather stunned. "That's why he didn't die. Because you were in me."

Yes... But I don't think... that he... realizes this. My binding... to you... it was unintentional.

Harry paused, going over in his mind the different questions he now had, swirling around in it. He was a little surprised at how little it bothered him to realize that a portion of the Dark Lord's soul was inside him. Rationally, he knew this should really be freaking him out and yet... it wasn't.

"Do you have his memories? His knowledge?"

I... possessss ssome... fragments... and only from before.. I was split off.

"Are you really a separate person from him? You say 'him' like he's not you, but you're a piece of his soul."

He and I... are one... in some ways... and are two, in others. I only represent certain... fragments of who... he is... the parts... he considers... weak. He tried to cast those pieces out... to become stronger... I have also spent... the last thirteen yearsss... with you. I have seen through your eyesss... even when... I was kept behind... walls. Kept separate... I was still with you. I have exsssisted separate from him... for many yearsss... so I am not... entirely him.

Harry nodded his head and began to lazily trace his fingers along one of the black arms, wrapped around his middle. "That makes sense..." Harry mused quietly. "So... do you know what his task is? What this thing is that he has to do?"

He is the Dark Lord...

Harry waited, expecting for there to be more, but when it became clear that there wasn't, he pressed on. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Magic herself deemed him so. He mussst work towards the task... that the Lord of Dark Magic is always tasked with.

This, Harry had not expected. He had never realized that Voldemort being called the 'Dark Lord' had more meaning than him just being a very powerful, and arguably overly egotistical dark wizard. He had always figured that Voldemort had simply claimed the title of 'Lord' because he thought himself worthy of it because of his greater magical power level and desire to lead. Harry had never realized that the title actually meant something.

"And what task, exactly, is that?" Harry pressed on, getting more eager and curious by the minute.

Maintain... balance... Control... and restrain... the Light. Keep magic... out of the hands... of those not deemed worthy... when they steal the magics... from us... the End will come...

"I... don't think I quite get it..." Harry said, slowly.

It is.. old. Old ways... old magics... old laws... laws that wizards have forgotten... that the Light has forgotten... they have lossst their way. Lost sight of where... our magics come from... the deal that was struck... the agreement our ancestors agreed to... Their ignorance... will cost us the power... to save ourselves. They will bring the End upon us all...

Harry nodded his head very slowly, although admittedly, this really hadn't cleared up much of anything. He was still greatly confused, and knew he was missing a lot of the context necessary for any of it to ever make sense. He also doubted that his companion could ever effectively clear it up for him. He was good company, but a conversationalist, he was not.

"Alright... er... thank you. Can you tell me the prophecy?"

Unfortunately... the precise wording of it... did not completely stay... with me.

"But there was a prophecy, right? And it was about me?"

Yesss...

"It said I would defeat Voldemort?" Harry prodded, disbelievingly.

It said... you would have... the power to do it...

"But it didn't say that I would?"

I... do not know... The full prophecy... was kept hidden from usss... Voldemort never... learned the entire... thing... only half...

Harry scowled lightly.

"Well, who knows the whole thing?"

Dumbledore...

Harry's scowl morphed, instantly, into a deathly glare. Of course it would be the old man. Harry wondered if Dumbledore was the only one who knew. If he was, that would make it exceedingly difficult for Harry to find out any details about it.

Harry sighed and let his head fall back onto his companion's shoulder.

"Is there anywhere I can look to find more information on this old magic? The stuff about the Dark Lord's task, or the er... agreement or whatever else you mentioned?"

His companion remained silent, and Harry wondered if he would get an answer at all.

The chamber... there is a book...

Harry perked up instantly. "Really? Which book?"

It is... hidden.

...I will show you how... to find it...

Harry's excitement and curiosity was peaked. He began making plans for spending Saturday down in the chamber reading this new hidden book, when he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to meet Sirius down in Hogsmeade the next day. He almost growled in annoyance, but managed to hold it in.

He hadn't seen Sirius since the firecall the week after Halloween, and he hadn't seen his godfather in person since the previous spring when Harry had helped him escape on Buckbeak. If he really was going to get to see Sirius in person, he should be excited about it. And he was... really. He just had a lot of other things going on in his life.

Harry huffed out another sigh and let himself sink back into his companion's arms, willing himself to relax. He needed to sleep. He was still a bit wound up from his session with Rita that morning, and if he didn't start focusing on clearing his mind and calming down, he wouldn't get to sleep for hours.

Merlin it had been an insane day... He had had a vision where Voldemort spoke with Nagini and Harry began to discover and make sense of the man's motives in a way he never had before.

He had discovered that Sirius was going to sneak into Hogsmeade somehow the following day. He had come to understand a bit more, the extent to which Dumbledore had fucked with his life and had a moment of insane rage at the damned old fool. And then... bloody hell... he had killed Rita.

He had murdered someone today.

It was strange how blasé the sentence was uttered in his mind. How little effect it had on him to think the words. How little meaning it had.

There really was something wrong with him... wasn't there?

"Is this because of you? Because I've... I don't know... accepted or... embraced you?"

Is what... because... of me?

"The way that I've changed... the... it was so easy for me to kill Rita today. I don't even feel the slightest bit bad about it. I'd do it again without any hesitation. It was easy."

That may... be the influence... of Voldemort... of Me...

Harry nodded his head again in a strangely calm and accepting manor.

"Okay."

Does that... upset you?

"Oddly enough? No."

#Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Dark!Harry #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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theasstour · 6 years

Photo

Sweet Creature. 01.

31 December 2015: You two meet.

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word count: 3.3k

NB: explicit language, alcohol

You had only started working at BBC Radio 1 in October, but Nick and you had already hit it off. Of course, you had made other friends at work as well, but there was something special about Nick. As lunch breaks came around, he’d haul you outside and the two of you would eat and talk, having a laugh while doing so. Since you had come to London to work toward your dream of working at a radio company and to be where everything happened, your main priority hadn’t been to make friends. But Nick made life in London easy for you. You had met loads of people through him, but so far he was the only one that you felt like you could fully be yourself around. It was because of the two of you getting so close that he invited you to his New Year’s Party. He told you that you needed to come because it wouldn’t be a party without you. You frowned on this, because you, Nick and the rest of the population on Earth knew that you were not the life of the party. Even drunk, you were as lowkey as they got. Even so, you couldn’t say no, so you decided to actually go to Nick’s small party.

You arrived 15 minutes too late, knowing that Nick wouldn’t mind and that he’d be very keen to introduce you to everyone that had arrived so far.

“I was just about to serve dinner without you.” Nick said as he let you inside, taking your coat to hang on the coat-hangers on the white wall.

“Sorry, perfection takes time.” You joke, making Nick chortle a little before he walks you into the dining area.

“Everyone, this is [Y/N]!” Before you can do anything but wave awkwardly, Nick pushes you to sit down by a free chair by the end of the table. Sitting down opposite you, Nick smiles and then continues on to introduce everyone around the table. Feeling slight anxiety bubble up, you struggle to remember all the names, but there are a few familiar faces like Alexa Chung and Rita Ora that Nick has introduced you to earlier.

“I’m serving Domino’s pizza and champagne.” He tells you as the chatter around the table continues on. “Doubtfully the best New Year’s Eve party you’ve ever been to.”

“The classiest.” You announce, making Nick smile and drag a hang through his hair. You noticed in the way Nick kept glancing toward the door that there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“What’s-“

But before you could finish the question, the doorbell went off and Nick shot up from his chair, practically running toward the hallway. The others around the table watched their friend as well, and you even shared a confused look with Alexa before Nick came grinning back into the dining area.

“Last guest is here, we can finally eat that bloody pizza. [Y/N] help me out.”

You got up from your seat and walked over to the kitchen where Nick had been keeping the pizzas warm. Placing the two pizzas on some fancy plates, you walked over to the dining table to see the last guest sitting in the chair next to yours. His long, dark locks trailed all the way down to below his shoulders, the red, floral shirt he wore loose over his upper-body while his black jeans were the opposite to his lower half. Needless to say, Nick knew that you had been a bit of a fan of One Direction back in the day and so there was no doubt in your mind that he had seated Harry next to you intentionally. And you suddenly realised why he had been so keen on having you here tonight.

“Haz,” Nick said as he walked in first, placing the pizza plates he held down on the table as you followed suit. “This is [Y/N]. [Y/N], this is Harry.”

Harry looked up at you and you swear you saw him stop a little in his tracks as he was about to raise to shake your hand properly. With his mouth ever so slightly open and the hint of a smile on his lips, Harry reached his hand out for you.

“Pleasure.” He said, licking his lips in such a way that you knew you’d think about it when you went to sleep that night.

You gave him a smile back and sat down, looking at Nick as he gave you a not-so-subtle look. There was something in that look that you didn’t really know how to depict. Nick’s eyes trailed over to Harry and as you looked at your seating-partner, he only gave you a small smile before looking down at his plate. You too watched your plate for a little bit before you let the weird events from earlier pass, choosing to talk a little and engage in the conversation that was going on around the table.

The night went on and soon all the pizza was gone and the champagne went with it. Not that you had had a lot to drink, but due to the volume in the room, you knew that everyone else had. You didn’t mind, though, watching Nick tell elaborate sex stories and gossip about people at work had you intrigued for hours. It was only when it was soon to strike midnight that Nick stopped talking and found the last bottle of champagne he had for the evening. You could feel Harry’s arm brush yours before he cleared his throat and watched Nick run off to the kitchen cabinet with all the alcohol. It was a slight touch of flesh to flesh, but it still made you draw in a little breath. Instead of telling yourself this was an actual, genuine reaction your body had to him, you told yourself this was most likely because you had been a fan and that you still kind of were. It was Harry Styles after all, he would never in a million lightyears be attracted to you. And he as most likely the most stunning specimen to breath oxygen. That was why your body was tingling where his skin had touched yours, no other reason.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Harry had felt that brush too, he had initiated it in fact. When you shook his hand earlier he had felt some sort of reaction, something that made his skin prickle in a wonderful, almost hypnotizing way. He wanted to see if he could feel it again, and as his skin brushed yours, he couldn’t help but clear his throat and look in the opposite direction of you, knowing that a small blush was creeping up his cheekbones. Another thing you didn’t know was that Harry literally had to stop for a second when he saw you. However ridiculous it sounded, it was true, and he couldn’t quite believe how hopeless he was himself. There was just something about this radiant and magnificent beauty of yours that had him stopping in his tracks at the first sight of you. Harry didn’t believe in love at first sight; hell, he wasn’t even sure if ‘the one’ was a legitimate concept. But he knew that if he didn’t get to know you tonight, he would most likely regret it for a long, long time.

“Let’s go to the balcony and get ready for the countdown!” Nick shouted, receiving a howl from all the drunks around the table.

Smiling, you got up and started walking to the hallway to retrieve your coat, something none of the other guests seemed to think was a good idea.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one knowing it will be freezing out there.” A deep voice sounded, and as you look to your left to find Harry standing there with both his hands in his jean pockets as he takes slow steps toward you and the coat-hangers.

“Think they’re too drunk to feel by this point.”

Harry let a small chuckle pass his lips as he took his coat down from the hanger, putting it on while watching you tie a scarf around your neck. Though you had told yourself your fascination in him was only there because of your previous obsession with One Direction, it didn’t stop you from taking him in. Those pink lips of his were wet after he had just had the lower one pressed between his teeth, his eyes such a green colour in the dim light of the hallway that it made you wonder what they looked like in the sun.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” You asked Harry without really registering that you had.

Harry seemed a little shocked at your utterance as well, but he brushed it off with a slight huff of air and a sideways smirk. “Would you believe a guy if he told you he didn’t feel like it?”

You cocked your head a little to the side, feeling a slight rush of confidence taking over you. An unusual feeling. “Depends on the guy.” You say before you start walking toward the balcony.

Harry is left staring after you, a little smile on his lips as he notes the way you walk toward the balcony. It wasn’t a walk that told everyone that you owned the room, rather a walk that said you didn’t want to. You liked not having all eyes on you, to be someone under the radar. To Harry, he hadn’t seen anything as attractive on a woman in all his 21 years. A smile crept over his face as a feeling of intrigue took over him. Walking after you, he knew this evening was crucial for how you two would work out. He already knew that he wanted things done the right way, he didn’t want to rush anything as you were the first “regular” girl Nick had tried to set him up with. Everyone else had been quite high-profile people, but… you weren’t. You were different.

You stood leaning against the railing as Nick asked over and over again who fancied opening the champagne bottle at midnight. It was 15 minutes away, but you knew Nick was impatient and he would have a hard time choosing over all his guests, who all seemed more than eager to open it. You suddenly felt something brush your right arm again and as you looked to your right, Harry stood there leaning against the railing as well, looking at you with the smallest grin on his lips.

“So,” he said, dragging out the word a little as your lips stretched out into a smile to match his. “Am I that kind of guy who you’d believe if told you he didn’t feel like drinking?”

So not to overwhelm yourself, you glanced out over London, loads of sounds and lights erupting from a city that never slept. This was your first New Years here after all, but it never ceased to amaze you how alive London was. The city had its own heartbeat, you had thought to yourself more than once.

“Hm,” you thought, teasing Harry as you waited to answer. “What’s your favourite alcoholic drink?”

“Any drink?”

“Anything.”

Harry let out a breath. “Probably Martini.” Harry answered, but then went on, “Or Sex on the Beach.”

“You are indecisive.” You note, still not taking your eyes off the city before you. Harry is still watching you, though. “Meaning that you’ve tasted a lot of different types of alcohol. So, I’d say you’re not.” You joke, hoping Harry will sense it.

Harry let’s a grin spread out across his lips, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he glances down at his hands holding one another. You suddenly feel anxiety press on as you thought he didn’t knew you were teasing him. Just as you were about to tell him how you were kidding, Harry started talking.

“I did party a whole lot back when I was 18, 19.” Harry admitted, looking out at London as well, trying not to stare back into your eyes as you let yourself study him where he stood by you. “I mean, at 18 I was legally allowed to drink here in the UK, so I took advantage of that. Big time.”

You let out a giggle, something that makes Harry smile and give you a short glance.

“Believe me, I know a good night out, I really do, but I just went on a break from the band, so I just thought I’d take it slow for a while.”

The sound of something shattering stopped your conversation, and as you looked down, Nick had lost the champagne bottle down on the pavement below. There was a slight silence before everyone erupted into laughter. You and Harry shared a little look before both of you watched your drunk friends as they clapped and hit each other on the back like they had just won gold in the Olympics.

“We’ll just have to go into 2016 with Absolut Vodka then. I’ll get the shot glasses!” Nick ran into the flat again, some of his friends following to help him out.

“I’m not even going to try and stop that.” Harry mumbles, making you laugh. Glancing up at you, a small spark lights up in the pit of his stomach and he bites his lip as he watches you look out over London again. Sticking his nails into the skin of his hands, he told himself to relax and not look too much into all of this.

“Anyway,” you sigh, looking at Harry as he looks down at the shattered bottle on the pavement below. “You were saying?”

Harry nodded, his green eyes meeting yours. You might not see the stars here in the thick of London, you thought to yourself, but Harry’s eyes were so damn close to replacing the concept of stars so it didn’t really matter.

“I just got on the hiatus, so I want to take it slow for a little while. Catch up on some sleep that I’ve lost over the last 5 years.”

You smile. “So you’re only going to sleep on your break? You don’t have anything else planned?”

Such a dazzling smirk spread out over his face then that you were happy you were leaning on something or else your legs would have given in. “What are you suggesting?”

“Oh, nothing.” You look away from him again, holding on to your scarf as a chilly wind blows past the two of you.

Harry only raises his eyebrows at you, but you don’t utter a single word. Where all this confidence came from was a mystery to you. Somehow, you had saved up confidence all your life for this moment and you were alright with that. If confident meant keeping your cool right now, then you were going to give it all you got.

“I mean,” Harry shrugged, getting his hair out of his face as the wind had blow it out of place. “I could fit something in between naps, but it’s a tight schedule.”

You giggle at him just as Nick and his two friends come back to the balcony with loads of shot glasses. Harry and you watch as Nick tries not to lose all of them and it is miracle that he doesn’t. A part of you tells you to start up your conversation with Harry, you two are really flirting with one another and you haven’t made yourself cringe yet. This is a miracle and you need to take advantage of this surge of confidence you have. But just as you are about to look back at him, Alexa shouts, “10, 9, 8-“

Losing yourself somewhere in between the shouts of numbers and the little time left 2015 had on this globe, you look over your shoulder at Harry. He is already staring at you, the playful grin that occupied his lips only a minute ago all gone. There is something intense, something absolutely captivating about the way he looks at you. It seemed like the firework could go off in the distance, but he’d still look at you because somehow you were more breath taking.

“-3, 2, 1; Happy New Year!”

The fireworks of London go off in the distance and everyone starts to cheer, hug and kiss one another. Anxiety and anticipation bubbles up in you as Harry take a step closer to you. You tried not to let yourself see too much into this, the two of you had just met after all, but you wanted this to be more than just that. Harry didn’t get to take another step toward you, though, because Nick jumped over to him and kissed his friend right on the lip.

“Happy New Year, Harry!”

And then he turned around, kissing you as well.

“Happy New Year, [Y/N]!”

You watched as Nick went around kissing all of his guests on the mouth, the cheering of London and the sound of fireworks as background noise for the cinematic masterpiece that was Nicholas Grimshaw as drunk. Letting yourself laugh, you look down at the ground, noticing a reminder on your phone that you have work tomorrow morning at 6. Not wanting to remind Nick of this since he’s got such an amazing time, you only look up at Harry.

“I’ve got to go.” You say, not really knowing why you are feeding him this information.

Harry’s eyebrows make one as a look of confusion washes over his face. “What?”

“I have work in the morning, and I respect myself enough not to stay up until 4am.”

Harry inhales sharply, retaking that step toward you that Nick made him walk back. Resting his hands in the pockets of his coat, he looks down at you with the same mesmerizing gaze he has held all evening. “When will I see you again?”

You give him a little smile. “Well, that’s up to fate to decide.” You say, using that last drop of confidence you have left. “And your nap schedule, of course.”

Harry’s mouth tips up to the left, revealing an adorable dimple. “Of course.”

“Harry!” Alex shouts, waving him over to her.

“Wait just a sec, Alexa.” He holds up a finger to her before looking back at you. “When are you free?”

“Harry, Alexa has a shot waiting for you.” Nick says, draping a lazy arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You need to take it.”

“Nick-“

“-And I know you’re leaving, [Y/N], but just remember to call me tomorrow when you wake up so I can try and make it on time as well, yea?” Nick points a finger at you, booping your nose so a smile comes over your features.

“I will.” You look at Harry. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait-“

“-Bloody hell, Harry, get over here!” Alexa dragged him over, not giving Harry a chance to ask for your number before you left. You showed yourself out as you put a reminder on your phone to wake Nick the next morning. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Harry staring after you, the shot in his hand. You gave him a little smile before you disappeared from view, your heart racing immediately at the thought of the night’s events. You had been only seconds away from kissing Harry Styles. Harry fucking Styles.

And Harry himself, couldn’t believe that bloody Nick had ruined the possible kiss. Wasn’t he supposed to set you two up? Why ruin the moment? He made a mental note to ask Nick for your number when Nick was sober. Taking the shot, Harry closed his eyes and knew that he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head until next time you two met. Hopefully fate would let it be sooner rather than later, Harry found himself thinking, because he wasn’t patient when it came to the possibility of maybe spending more time with you.

AN: AHH i really hope you guys liked this! this is the first in the series i’m calling ‘sweet creature’ and it’s basically your and harry’s love story!!

(COULDN’T FIND THE SOURCE OF THE GIF SO IF YOU KNOW WHOSE IT IS PLS SEND ME AN ASK!! FULL CREDIT GOES TO THEM ON THIS WONDERFUL CREATION)

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butihavejoy · 7 years

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44 pls oh Queen of Angst :)

As the declared Queen of Angst, I can only hope I delivered.

Major Character Death.

44. One of them being diagnosed with a terminal illness.

It started small, general discomfort that Rafael chalked up to old age. “I always told you your ill-spent youth would catch up to you,” he told Sonny with just a hint of gloating as Sonny rolled his eyes and adjusted the heating pad.

“Ill-spent youth,” Sonny snorted. “I’m not the one who couldn’t get off the floor last week because my knees gave up on me.”

Rafael arched an eyebrow at him. “Keep that up and it’s the last time I get on my knees for you.”

“Liar,” Sonny said, closing his eyes and leaning back against the couch, automatically tucking his toes under Rafael’s thigh, the way he had almost every night for the entirety of their marriage.

Rafael, however, flinched. “Jesus, Sonny, your toes are freezing,” he complained, reaching down to rub Sonny’s feet with one hand. “Maybe you should go see your doctor, make sure you’re not coming down with something.”

Sonny didn’t respond, and Rafael glanced over, rolling his eyes affectionately when he saw that his husband had fallen asleep. “Typical,” he said fondly, returning to his book, still rubbing Sonny’s feet with one hand.

But then Sonny seemed tired more often, and cold more often, and in pain more often, and Rafael finally suggested without any hint of joking, “You really need to go see your doctor.”

The general practitioner referred them to an internist, who took one look at Sonny’s scans and referred them to an oncologist.

Cancer.

Rafael knew when he had said “in sickness and in health” all those years ago, that he had meant every word. But he still didn’t think it could prepare him for this.

His heart sank when the doctor sat them down in her office to give them the prognosis. “Pancreatic cancer,” she said, her voice grave. “Stage 3.”

Sonny reached out blindly for Rafael’s hand, his expression carefully controlled, far more than Rafael’s, and Rafael took his hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing his hand gently. “Ok,” Sonny said calmly. “So how do we fight this thing?”

It was so perfectly Sonny to instantly focus on how to fight this, and Rafael managed a slight smile at the taken-aback expression that flit across the doctor’s face. “You should know—” she started, but Sonny shook his head.

“If this is about odds, I don’t want to hear it,” he said, with conviction. “We’ve beaten worse odds. We’ll beat this.”

That was also so perfectly Sonny, and Rafael’s breath caught in his throat as it always did at his husband’s overwhelming, unwavering optimism. “Soleado,” he said softly, but Sonny just shook his head again and squeezed Rafael’s hand.

So Rafael didn’t argue.

He didn’t argue when Sonny was up at all hours of the night, sick from the chemo. He didn’t argue when Sonny finally admitted that he needed to take a health-related leave of absence from work. And he had no argument left in him when he ran his hand through Sonny’s hair one day and came away with a fistful of graying blond.

“Huh,” Sonny said, his smile fading only slightly. “Well, guess it’s time to shave my head.”

His smile was back in full force by the time he had (mostly successfully) shaved his head, and he even managed to laugh as he ran a hand over his head. “You’re probably gonna leave me now, huh?” he said with a grin. “I know you’re only married to me for my hair.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s absolutely the only thing that’s sustained me through 15 years of marriage,” he said with no small amount of snark. “And certainly not because you have an oddly shaped head.”

“Hey!” Sonny protested. “My head is gorgeous. Just like the rest of me.”

Though Rafael rolled his eyes again, he couldn’t help but smile. “Glad to see that cancer hasn’t stolen your self-confidence,” he said dryly.

And later that night, as he held Sonny close to him, Rafael pressed a kiss to his newly bald head and whispered, “I’ll never leave you. Hair or no hair. Never.”

Sonny just tipped his head up to capture Rafael’s lips with his own.

But then Sonny started getting sicker.

And weaker.

He lost what little weight he had managed to retain and was so pale and listless that he barely resembled the laughing man so full of life that Rafael had loved for longer than he’d been willing to admit at first.

When the doctor told them that the treatment was no longer working and that the cancer had spread, neither was surprised. “You still have a few options,” the doctor said. “There’s an experimental treatment we can try. We can try to resect what part of the tumor we can get to. But…” She hesitated. “You should know that either of those options buys you at most months. Quite possibly only weeks.”

Rafael looked over at Sonny, resignation in every line of his body. “It’s up to you,” he said hoarsely. “What do you want to do?”

“Take me home,” Sonny said instantly, looking up at Rafael, his eyes too large in his pale, drawn face. “I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life here.”

All Rafael could think of was his abuelita, how all she wanted was to spend what little time she had left at home. He thought especially of how he had robbed her of that, and as he looked at his husband, wrapped in a cardigan sweater that not even four months earlier Rafael had joked was too small for him, Rafael swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure that Sonny’s last days were spent in their apartment, together, filled with love and laughter.

Enough to almost make up for the years they should still have had together.

“Ok,” he said simply, taking Sonny’s hand in his own. “Let’s go home.”

The very next day, Rafael put in for a full-time leave of absence from the DA’s office. “You’re gonna get bored of me,” Sonny said that afternoon, his head in Rafael’s lap.

“Impossible,” Rafael said. “Besides, I’ve got, like, fifteen years worth of Netflix to catch up on if I do get bored of you. All those lawyer shows that I get to critique…”

“Nerd,” Sonny said fondly.

Rafael rolled his eyes and bent down to kiss Sonny’s forehead. “Says the man who tried to call NBC because the cops weren’t holding their guns properly in one episode of Minneapolis PD.”

Sonny half sat-up in protest. “Gun safety is not a joke, Raf,” he said. “Someone could get hurt trying to copy that.”

“If you’re dumb enough to try copying a TV show…” Rafael murmured, grinning when Sonny sighed and elbowed him lightly in the stomach.

That was how they spent their time, in quiet moments together like that, their days punctuated by frequent visits from friends and family (though they were one and the same at this point. Rafael could never have anticipated the way the most important people in his life would somehow slot together, but he no longer questioned it when Liv, Rita, Lucia and Sonny’s mother Tessa told him that they were going to stop over on their way to brunch together. Just like he no longer questioned when Rollins and Gina showed up with identical evil smiles to ‘kidnap’ Sonny for an afternoon, or when Fin and Bella came over to play cards one night. They all just fit.

They were family.)

And Sonny greeted them all with his same beatific smile, up until the point when Sonny’s smile was more a grimace, and the thought of seeing people exhausted him.

“We understand,” Olivia whispered one day when she stopped by, Sonny napping on the couch. “He needs to keep his strength up.”

Rafael didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t sure how much longer Sonny would be able to keep his strength up.

Even though he could barely muster the strength to see their family, Sonny still insisted that they go to church every week, or at least every week that he was able, even though none of his suits fit anymore, and Barba dutifully accompanied him, kneeling down in the church while Sonny sat next to him, no longer able to get down and up again, no longer able to genuflect, even, coming down the aisle.

Rafael didn’t know who Sonny prayed to. He had lost what little faith he had left when the best man he’d ever known was told he was dying decades before his time.

But he prayed to a God that no longer listened nonetheless. For Sonny’s sake. And for the vague hope that maybe, one day, they’d be together again.

When Sonny died, it was a quiet Monday.

They were together in bed, Sonny unable to get up and Rafael unwilling to leave his side. Sonny was curled against him as Rafael read the newspaper out loud to him, since Sonny could no longer focus enough to read thanks to the pain meds.

He knew it would be soon.

Not even three days ago, Sonny had woken up in bed and told Rafael, his voice stronger than it had been in weeks, “You should call the priest.”

Rafael wasn’t sure if Sonny, as someone technically living in sin for the past fifteen years, qualified for Viaticum, but he called the priest nonetheless. And an hour later, when the priest left and Rafael went back into their bedroom, he found Sonny looking more content than he had in quite some time.

“I love you,” Sonny had told him, drawing him to the bed so he could kiss him.

“And I, you,” Rafael said, his voice thick with emotion.

There was none of that on that Monday. Rafael’s voice was thick instead with irony as he read a particularly scathing opinion piece outloud.

There was no grand moment, no final declaration of eternal love.

One minute, Sonny’s breath was faint and warm against Barba’s shoulder.

The next, it was gone.

Rafael almost didn’t notice, it was so subtle. But even in illness, even on death’s door, Sonny had always been so full of life that it would have been impossible not to notice that he had gone completely, utterly still. “Sonny?” Rafael asked, quietly.

He already knew.

He couldn’t bear the thought of Sonny not answering.

But Sonny didn’t answer, and Rafael turned, slowly, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. Sonny’s eyes were closed, his head still resting on Rafael’s shoulder, but Rafael knew.

He reached out, slowly, and touched Sonny’s cheek gently. “I love you,” he whispered. “Now. Always. I love you.”

Sonny didn’t answer.

Sonny never again would.

Barba made it through the funeral by sheer willpower and an unwillingness to let the frankly overwhelming number of attendees see him cry. He had known Sonny was loved, but even he hadn’t realized how many lives his husband had touched.

Which was all the more reason why he couldn’t cry.

He had to be strong, because Sonny would have been.

Afterwards, he stood in the church and stared almost contemplatively at the massive crucifix. He didn’t flinch when Liv came over and touched his arm gently, though he did reach up with a slightly shaky hand to wipe away the stubborn tear he had barely noticed falling.

“How are you doing?” Liv asked softly.

Barba shrugged. “I just—” he started before his voice cracked, sounding almost as broken as his heart. “What do I do now?”

Liv shook her head and gripped his arm a little tighter. “You come with us to the bar,” she said, her voice steady, if sad. “You lift a glass to Sonny. And you get drunk, because he would expect no less of you.”

“And then what?” Barba asked dully.

Liv took a deep breath. “I don’t know,�� she said honestly. “I guess you live the rest of your life trying to make him proud of you. Just like you always have.”

And Barba nodded, slowly, the sharp pain in his chest dulling, even just momentarily.

Make Sonny proud of him.

He could do that.

Or at the very least, he could try.

#barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #barisi fic #svu fic #svu #ask #answered #hey nonny #fanfiction #my fic #my writing #major character death #angst #cancer cw #established relationship #sad #like I made myself a little bit sad here tbh #Anonymous

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icertglobal-blog-blog · 7 years

Text

Preparation of Study Plan for PMP Exam Certification tips

PMP Exam Study Plan

Preparing for the PMP exam is quite unlike what you did in school and college. Here the focus is not on memorization, but understanding the concepts, best practices, guidelines, and project management framework, as per PMI's PMBOK Guide (currently Fifth Edition since July 2013).

Most of the people I come across have heard about PMP from their friends or colleagues and are interested to gain the professional certification in Project Management.

However, they mostly lack the experience of project management. Most have worked on small projects, and may not have been in a Project Manager position for a significant amount of time. I have written previously about the eligibility criteria for the PMP Exam.

Further, they may have limited knowledge of all the project management knowledge areas, as not all are required for most small day to day projects. No wonder the casualty rate for first time PMP exam takers is so high.

So, when it comes to preparing for the PMP Exam, you need to have a plan that is specific, practical, time-bound and achievable. Without a good game plan, you may simply be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work, or just run out of steam mid-way...

One good Study Plan for PMP that I often recommend to my students is as follows.

1. Quickly enroll in a PMP Exam Preparation Workshop in your city. You can most certainly find one, and you can look up our PMP Training Directory if you need assistance. PMI has local chapters in major cities in almost each country, so you can ask the local PMI chapter for assistance, recommendations or suggestions of upcoming PMP boot-camps.

These boot-camps may be 4 day or 5 day in length, are are quite intensive. Some companies even run them on weekends, so you don't have to take leave from your busy project schedule.

Another alternative to Classroom Training is to Study Online for your PMP Exam. Yes, you can do this now, and study at your own time and convenience. Using Online PMP Exam Preparation Classes, you can also get the 35 PDUs or Contact hours, and they are considered valid for the PMP Exam.

2. Assess the gap in your knowledge: After you've attended the PMP Exam Preparation training of usually 35 contact hours ( a pre-requisite of PMI before you can take the exam), you will realize how big is the gap in your knowledge and the PMI's project management framework.

You should ask questions such as:

* In which knowledge areas do I have the least knowledge?

* In which kind of organization types have I never worked at?

* What kind of HR theories do I follow, and which are new to me?

* What kind of professional and social ethics are the norm in my company and my country?

* Is there a significant difference in my understanding and the best practices?

With the answers, you will be able to assess the amount of study you need to do, and how close or far you are from the PMP Certification exam.

3. Filling up the PMP Certification Application Form: The next thing you should do is to fill up your PMP Certification application at the PMI website. It generally gets approved within a week, if not audited, and you can then straight away take the Code given to you to schedule your exam at the Prometric website.

In Singapore, there are now 2 Prometric centers, and it takes at least 6 to 8 weeks before you can get a free slot for the exam. This is a boon in disguise, because you DO need atleast 6-8 weeks of earnest study time, to fill the knowledge gap, and prepare for the PMP exam properly. After all, you do want to pass it in your first attempt. It isn't cheap and you are probably stealing time away from your family, so get it right the first time.

4. Firm up Your Study Plan in earnest: Once you know your PMP certification exam date, you can then work backwards to today, and calculate the amount of days you have left at hand. This is all you have now, so use it wisely.

A good study plan is to ensure you have enough time to read, understand, and try your hand at mock PMP exam questions.

Get the PMP Exam Preparation Books, and start reading. You can also start with the PMBOK Guide, but it not a very easy read, and is commonly known as the remedy to cure insomnia. If you can't sleep, start reading any chapter, and within a couple of pages, you might be fast asleep.

My recommendation is to read Rita Mulchahy's PMP Exam Prep Book, 6th Edition, which aligns to the PMBOK Guide Fourth edition. By the way, both books are easily available at Amazon or your nearest bookstore.

5. Suggested PMP Exam Study Plan:

Assuming that you have atlest 6 weeks before the exam, spend the time as follows

First Round of Basic Study - Rita's PMP Exam Prep Book

* 2 Days for Project Management Framework

* 18 Days for the 9 Knowledge Areas (2 days each)

* 2 Days for Professional & Social Responsibility

For each day of study, read the base material, and create a mind map or write the key points on 4 by 6 index cards. You must attempt a few mock exam questions from each knowledge area, as you finish reading it. This will give you an idea of the kind of questions that come in the PMP exam.

Second Round - Test the Knowledge

Now that you have done one full round, start every morning and spend 5 minutes drawing the 47 Project Management processes on a piece of paper - just like on the PMBOK guide. Initially it will be hard, but with daily practice, you will be able to make it very quickly.

The second thing you need to do daily is to write down the Earned Value Calculation Formaulae on a daily basis too. Soon you will be able to write them out quickly. Make this a habit, and it will prove to be of immense use in the exam.

* 2 Days to review the entire mind map or cards, and make sure you still remember the key concepts.

* 1 Day to do a full mock test of 200 questions. There are many free or paid tests available that you can use to access your level of understanding, speed of answering and depth of knowledge. I found this online test to be a very Good PMP Exam Simulator.

Third Round - Strengthening

* 10 Days to review the framework and 9 knowledge areas each from PMBOK Guide, Fourth Edition. Each day do 30-40 mock exam questions

* 1 Day to do another full mock test of 200 questions. You should see huge improvement from the past test, or else you need to identify the knowledge areas where you seem to score the least.

* 4 days - study only the weak knowledge areas again, and attempt to fill the gap in your knowledge.

These 3 stages alone take about 40 days, which is about 6 weeks.

Take Action - Write Down Your PMP Study Plan

Like everything else in life, Success is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. Go ahead, get up and take some action. Don't just keep reading post after post and get overwhelmed by the exam.

One of the best things we have seen that really works is to write your Study Plan, and then share it with your spouse, friends, and inform me. Once you share it with someone, you have shown your commitment, and you are more inclined to follow through. Your friends, spouse, and I will encourage you and make sure you have the time to study, and get the PMP Credential to boost your career options and credibility.

Ultimate Objective of this PMP Study Plan

You need to think differently to gain the PMI's perspective of answering questions, and learn how to think and act in the correct way, the best way, which aligns wth the PMI's way of thinking, to get the most out of any situation, and ace the PMP exam easily, on your first attempt, and be qualified, certified with PMP.

ICertGlobal offers Online PMP Exam Prep Training. Currently, we have students enrolled from 50+ different countries, including USA, Canada, UAE, India, Singapore, Saudi Arabia etc. It gives you the flexibility to study for the PMP Exam anytime, anywhere, at your own pace.

To date I have coached hundreds of students in face-to-face PMP Training Preparation classes and shared valuable

PMP resources.

After getting my PMPCredential, I often wondered how I could share my new found knowledge of passing the exam easily on my first attempt, and impart it to people struggling to get the PMP certification, but don't have a clue

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luciareyesud-blog · 7 years

Text

406 (2.1) Research Of Methods

My aim is to apply recognised research methods to assess the impact of my artist brand on a range of audiences. I will be using established techniques including qualitative and quantitate analysis to form new conclusions and improve my understandings.

I will be using research methods to whittle down to my main core values. I have been writing and performing my own music for the last 6 years, but have always moved through different projects with different people, taking inspiration from situations in my own life. I never researched into what I stand for and how I want people to recognise and remember me for. I don’t want to just be a singer and I feel a longevity of an artist comes from the values and what they stand for, which connects to an audience. Making your fans/supporters feel like a community that they belong to, and thats why understand why artist give their fans a name, Lady Gaga - Monsters, Rita ora Ritabots and Justin Bieber - Beliebers. This makes them feel they are connect to the artist, they believe in their music what they stand for, and are in a community with the rest of the other fans including the artist. I personally don’t like the idea of giving my fans a name, I feel then that somehow they belong to me, but maybe when I further look into my values, I can back up why I don’t want to have a name for my fans/supporters.

I do definitely want to to build a community and I want to use my music to connect people together, and I think that I need that for me just as much as I want it for everyone else to feel a part of. In the recent year I have really tried to focus on what things I am most passionate about, if thats being a feminist, Vegetarian or environmentalist, all things a care about but not sure how strong I personally fight for them. Beyonce has been a role for women empowerment, and being a great role model for young girls, some will argue but she has never promoted anything to do with smoking and drugs, she went through long term dating to marriage to kids, all in a very traditional way, which is something you should inspire to have. Lady Gaga stood for being yourself no matter how weird or different you think you are, she made you belong, feel accepted and bought others alike together. Solange with her recent album really stands and gives light to black rights, and standing up for her black culture, Beyonce has done similar things in different ways. Frank Ocean, looking back at his first album, really shared his struggle of coming out as being gay, also with is recent backlash with his label going independent, which a lot of artist are doing, which I also thing stands for something. The rebel and the victim, which I think an audience can really connect to.

I am also looking to do things without a label, but thats not because I am totally against a major label, but I still don’t see the benefit quite yet as I haven’t had the option. Solange created her own label, Saint Records (Heron), really a whole collective of all of the arts, same as Janelle Monae, Frank Ocean released his last album independently. I would quite like to have my own label, but more a collective of many different skilled artists from across all artistic boards, but thats not for right now maybe in like 3/4 years when I have met these kind of people.

Something I believe in strongly is rising awareness about mental illness. I suffer from depression and anxiety, as I think most musicians do, and I don’t have it as strong as some people that I know. Help Musicians bought out a survey saying that musicians are 3x more likely to suffer with depression then a non musician. I am just not sure on which way around it I should go, If to talk about it directly, or build an escapism to not have to think about it, music thats takes you away from thinking, and to create a space where we are musically and visually taken to other space. I personally feel I don’t socially fit in ( which I am sure most people do as well) even if it looks like I do, it takes me awhile to become close to some one, I don’t really have a solid group of friends, I also feel like when I am talking to people they aren’t really listening to, which then makes me feel super uninteresting which makes me want to talk less, then keeps me in my room, which makes me more mad, a viscous circle I have to deal with, but for me music allows me my place, and I want other people to feel their space in society. I have also cared, maybe too much, about how people are, putting other peoples feelings before myself, which recently has coursed me more heartbreak, but I also want to be strong because I know that I can, and I want to show people, there is more, I don’t know what more is, but I believe in it, that I will get upset about the little things and thats ok but knowing that there is so much more to look forward to and I won’t waste my time caught up on it. There are some popular songs that discuss depression in their lyrics, Radio head - Creep, Tears for Fears - Mad World and George Michael - Praying for time.

https://www.verywell.com/songs-about-depression-1067597 https://www.pastemagazine.com/blogs/lists/2011/05/brilliant-musicians-whove-battled-mental-illness.html

I also feel its hard for me to stand up for something, because I don’t feel confident in knowing all the facts, so I think I need to take time to really understand the particular subject matter, which I need to find what it is. I am very much interested in nature, and our environment, I could do something about that. I do also believe in Equality, I think I want to talk about feeling in the middle, culturally maybe I didn’t find my space, i never knew where I was supposed to be. With the things I want to stand up for though, I don’t feel like I need to lyrically write about them just social speak about them, sharing articles, petitions, bringing awareness to the issues I care about on my social medias. With my music visuals I want them to be quite environmental images.

http://grist.org/article/musicians/

I found this article about Bands/Artist who are environmental, giving money and standing up for certain causes and campaigns, i am going to look into further what they did individually to see if it is something I can do at the early age in my career where giving money away isn’t a big option.

I have started working on a project linking environment issues and imagary to symbolise relationship situation. I really like this idea as I can focused on talking about real personal stories but with having the link to the enivonment which I would like to raise more awareness about.

What is important to me now, is how to create an real image that supports the truth about environmental issues, and I was thinking about merchandise, create a little zine on recycled paper, and sell them, with some of the money going towards an environmental cause.

I want my work to be eccentric but in-centric to me, I create my own zone, with the encouragement to join people in my space, but also want them to enjoy the performance if they don't want to fully commit to the experience. I want there to be physically interactions, not necessary with me but with the performance and visuals. I need to learn and work out how to do this. I want it to be a spectacle, like they have walked into another world, another time, another being.

My Research Method

I will create a set of questions that I can use when recieving feedback to see if peoples feedback relates back to my core values and image/brand. I will put my songs on a private Soundcloud link sending it to people from musical and non musical backgrounds to get feedback from different view points. I will also be filming my performance and will be giving out small feedback forms to audience members to gather more information, which will comment on my music, performance, image and how it is coherent with each other. I am looking for qualitative more the quantitive feedback and to get this I will not make a public call for anyone to listen to my songs for feedback, I will select a group of people who I trust their opinions, and they know musically what they are talking about. I would also like to ask a hand full of people from a mainstream non musical audience, this feedback I expect will be more about image and performance, and how interested and engaged they are or not. I will gather information from comments and engagement on my social medias pages, and organise all feedback from all sources into one document. I will be looking for key words and similar patterns, drawing conclusions that I hope will answer my questions. This will help me to conclude that what I want to represent is being seen, or I could found out something more interesting that I hadn’t realised in my own work yet. I will have a better direction to know where to go and don’t go with my music so that my core values are represented properly.

Questions

Does the imagery within my visuals and clothing represent the environmental, relaxing, artistic and creative vibe I am going for? (Image & Identity)

Are my visuals and creative input to my performance professional? (Creative output)

My music can be seen reaching blogs/magazines such as Vice/Dazed/Clash? (Market awareness)

Did my audience feel connected to my performance either threw full concentration, movement, and audience response to questions asked in conversation? (Audience relationships)

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mikeezzlmynizzl-blog · 7 years

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What is your perception about EdTech?

According to Corpuz and Lucido, educational technology “refers to the art or craft of responding to our educational needs” (p.14, 2008). Last November 18, I was able to interview Teacher Fatima who is handling the nursery and pre-kinder class in Bannister Academy. Although most educational technologies are currently not being used inside their classroom, she still managed to share with me her perception about it. Teacher Fatima stated that educational technology has the potential to aid learning when limited and used properly. As a future child development educator, I would focus my perception on Dale’s Cone of Experience.

There are a lot of pros and cons when it comes to the usage of these technologies. For the Direct Purposeful Experiences, the child can practice the ability to follow instructions since they would have to follow exactly what the teacher says. Also, they could improve their senses since the senses are the tools in constructing ideas and concepts. However, it could lead to spoon-feeding since the teachers are directly giving out what should be done. Teaching with Contrived Experiences is convenient for teachers since the actual thing or object you need can sometimes be hard to find, expensive, or even extinct. That is why using models or mock ups can be very handy when discussing in the class. According to Rita May, a 2-year-old child once told her that she was only able to learn that giraffes are that tall when she visited the zoo (2010). What this means is that models of an actual thing can somehow confuse the child on what that specific thing really looks like. For the Dramatized Experiences, this could be very beneficial to children since it encourages free play and it stimulates their imagination as well. This could also improve their communication and interactions with their peers. However, when regarding the actual lesson being discussed in class, this experience could somehow complicate things or cause the diversion of the actual lesson in the minds of the children. For the Demonstrations, the children can acquire a concrete knowledge about the specific lesson being discussed since the teacher’s task in demonstrating is to fully explain or show something precisely. However, the teacher could also be inaccurate at some point. The COIK fallacy (Clear Only If Known) should be avoided since this could result to the confusion or lack of knowledge of the children. For Audio-visuals, the teachers can easily show a short film or recording of their topic for the day which is very convenient. Also, the teacher could practice before teaching the class by filming herself then view it to improve herself even more. However, there are limitations; audio-visuals encourage passivity since it is a one-way communication device; too much television could cause the child’s lack of development regarding visualizing and imagining; and there are a lot of violence found in tv that could influence a child’s behavior. Visual Symbols such as drawings and cartoons are very essential for preschoolers since this type of experience gets most children’s attention. This could also promote creativity for the child. However, visual symbols such as the diagrams and charts are not used that much inside preschool classes; but these could also help widen the knowledge of the child since it shows correlations and comparisons and contrasts. Lastly, Verbal Symbols are very essential for a preschool classroom since it includes the whiteboard/blackboard. This is the most common teaching aid and probably the most effective also since the teacher could easily write or correct mistakes; if compared to a prepared power point. One limitation however is that the teacher should be well educated with regard to using project-based multimedia learning strategies.

Generally, these educational technologies are very convenient and effective. However, if not used properly, it could be the cause of the child’s lack of knowledge. All in all, I can say that educational technologies are very much needed nowadays and it could really help, simply with regard to educating.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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The House-elf Liberation Front

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery that evening to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry could send Sirius a letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time they entered the Owlery Ron was saying that they ought to have suspected it all along. "Fits, doesn't it?" he said. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup....I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch! Come here - I'll do it -" Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg. There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I'm serious." Harry knew that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behavior of the last few weeks, but he appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron. "Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament," she said seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next." "Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" said Ron. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime." He threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. Pigwidgeon plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual - Harry hadn't been able to resist giving Sirius a blow-by-blow account of exactly how he had swerved, circled, and dodged the Horntail. They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, "Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now." Sure enough, when they entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt, though a couple showed Cedric with his head on fire. Harry helped himself to food; he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry, and sat down with Ron and Hermione. He couldn't believe how happy he felt; he had Ron back on his side, he'd gotten through the first task, and he wouldn't have to face the second one for three months. "Blimey, this is heavy," said Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!" "He's supposed to work out the clue on his own," Hermione said swiftly. "It's in the tournament rules...." "I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too," Harry muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily. "Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!" several people echoed. Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open. It was hollow and completely empty - but the moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Harry had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw. "Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears. "What was that?" said Seamus Finnigan, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. "Sounded like a banshee...Maybe you've got to get past one of those next, Harry!" "It was someone being tortured!" said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!" "Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," said George. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing...maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower. Harry." "Want a jam tart, Hermione?" said Fred. Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned. "It's all right," he said. "I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch -" Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed. "Just my little joke, Neville...." Hermione took a jam tart. Then she said, "Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?" "Yep," said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. "'anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!' They're dead helpful...get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish." "How do you get in there?" Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice. "Easy," said Fred, "concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and -" He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. "Why?" "Nothing," said Hermione quickly. "Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?" said George. "Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?" Several people chortled. Hermione didn't answer. "Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!" said Fred warningly. "You'll put them off their cooking!" Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary. "Oh - sorry, Neville!" Fred shouted over all the laughter. "I forgot - it was the custard creams we hexed -" Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing. "Canary Creams!" Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. "George and I invented them - seven Sickles each, a bargain!" It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut. Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point...they were all right, really, dragons.... The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter. Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the comer of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them. "I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an see if they fancied a kip...we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes...." There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends; their stings and their suckers, combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things Harry had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets. "We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens." But the skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, "Don panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead - had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt was left. "Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. "Jus' try an slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won hurt any o' the others!" "Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks. "Well, well, well...this does look like fun." Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm. Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby. "Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted. "Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows. Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said. "What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely. "Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid. "Really?" said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?" Harry noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid's wild black beard, and his heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they. Harry?" "What? Oh yeah...ouch...interesting," said Harry as she stepped on his foot. "Ah, you're here. Harry!" said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. "So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?" "Yes," said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him. "Lovely," said Rita. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid. Harry noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek). Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear. "This is o'ny me second year," said Hagrid. "Lovely...I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots." "Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid said eagerly. "Er - yeah, why not?" Harry had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so he had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson. "Well, good-bye, Harry!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to him as he set off with Ron and Hermione. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!" "She'll twist everything he says," Harry said under his breath. "Just as long as he didn't import those skrewts illegally or anything," said Hermione desperately. They looked at one another - it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do. "Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledores never sacked him," said Ron consolingly. "Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry...did I say worst? I meant best." Harry and Hermione laughed, and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch. Harry thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that he and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life. "I would think," she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, "that some of us" - she stared very meaningfully at Harry- "might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths...and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?" "An ugly old bat in outsize specs?" Ron muttered under his breath. Harry fought hard to keep his face straight. "Death, my dears." Parvati and Lavender both put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified. "Yes," said Professor Trelawney, nodding impressively, "it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower...ever lower over the castle...." She stared pointedly at Harry, who yawned very widely and obviously. "It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before," Harry said as they finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney's room. "But if I'd dropped dead every time she's told me I'm going to, I'd be a medical miracle." "You'd be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost," said Ron, chortling, as they passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly. "At least we didn't get homework. I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector, I love not working when she is...." But Hermione wasn't at dinner, nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph - but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea. "Wonder where she's got to?" Ron said as he and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower. "Dunno...balderdash." But the Fat Lady had barely begun to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind them announced Hermione's arrival. "Harry!" she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). "Harry, you've got to come - you've got to come, the most amazing thing's happened - please -" She seized Harry's arm and started to try to drag him back along the corridor. "What's the matter?" Harry said. "I'll show you when we get there - oh come on, quick -" Harry looked around at Ron; he looked back at Harry, intrigued. "Okay," Harry said, starting off back down the corridor with Hermione, Ron hurrying to keep up. "Oh don't mind me!" the Fat Lady called irritably after them. "Don't apologize for bothering me! I'll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?" "Yeah, thanks!" Ron shouted over his shoulder. "Hermione, where are we going?" Harry asked, after she had led them down through six floors, and started down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. "You'll see, you'll see in a minute!" said Hermione excitedly. She turned left at the bottom of the staircase and hurried toward the door through which Cedric Diggory had gone the night after the Goblet of Fire had regurgitated his and Harry's names. Harry had never been through here before. He and Ron followed Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one that led to Snape's dungeon, they found themselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food. "Oh hang on..." said Harry slowly, halfway down the corridor. "Wait a minute, Hermione...." "What?" She turned around to look at him, anticipation all over her face. "I know what this is about," said Harry. He nudged Ron and pointed to the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit bowl. "Hermione!" said Ron, cottoning on. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!" "No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Ron -" "Changed the name, have you?" said Ron, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -" "I'm not asking you to!" Hermione said impatiently. "I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come on, Harry, I want to show you!" She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside. He had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, "Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!" Next second all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly he thought his ribs would break. "D-Dobby?" Harry gasped. "It is Dobby, sir, it is!" squealed the voice from somewhere around his navel. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!" Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him; the pencil-shaped nose, the batlike ears, the long fingers and feet - all except the clothes, which were very different. When Dobby had worked for the Malfoys, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Harry had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Harry saw, was the black one Harry had removed from his own foot and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes. "Dobby, what're you doing here?" Harry said in amazement. "Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir! "Winky?" said Harry. "She's here too?" "Yes, sir, yes!" said Dobby, and he seized Harry's hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Harry noticed as he passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but he supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above. At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Harry past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied, as Winky's had been, like a toga. Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed. "Winky, sir!" he said. Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care other clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt. "Hello, Winky," said Harry. Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup. "Oh dear," said Hermione. She and Ron had followed Harry and Dobby to the end of the kitchen. "Winky, don't cry, please don't..." But Winky cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Harry. "Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?" he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs. "Er - yeah, okay," said Harry. Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits. "Good service!" Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated. "How long have you been here, Dobby?" Harry asked as Dobby handed around the tea. "Only a week. Harry Potter, sir!" said Dobby happily. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed -" At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed-tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow. "Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!" The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Hermione, however, said, "Good for you, Dobby!" "Thank you, miss!" said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. "But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid. Harry Potter....Dobby likes being free!" The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume other crying. "And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!" said Dobby delightedly. At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face-down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches. "And then Dobby had the idea. Harry Potter, sir! 'Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!" Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again. "And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!" "That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating. "Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, miss....Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better." "And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly. If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious. "Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!" "Ashamed?" said Hermione blankly. "But - Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you -" But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, "You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!" "Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter," squeaked Dobby confidentially. "Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it." "Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Harry asked. "Oh no, sir, no," said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. "'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them - though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to - to -" Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry closer. Harry bent forward. Dobby whispered, "He said we is free to call him a - a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!" Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle. "But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter," he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. "Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him." "But you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?" Harry asked him, grinning. A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's immense eyes. "Dobby - Dobby could," he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. "Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were - were - bad Dark wizards!" Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring - then he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" Harry seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table. "Thank you. Harry Potter, thank you," said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head. "You just need a bit of practice," Harry said. "Practice!" squealed Winky furiously. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!" "They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" said Dobby defiantly. "Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!" "Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!" moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her...oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled. "Winky," said Hermione firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -" "You is seeing my master?" said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?" "Yes," said Hermione, "he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament." "Mr. Bagman comes too?" squeaked Winky, and to Harry 's great surprise (and Ron's and Hermione's too, by the looks on their faces), she looked angry again. "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!" "Bagman - bad?" said Harry. "Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously, "My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying...Winky - Winky keeps her master's secrets...." She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!" They couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages. "Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest. "Tell you what, Dobby," said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?" Dobby was delighted. "We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Ron told him, "but it'll go well with your tea cozy." As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron loaded their pockets with cream cakes and pies. "Thanks a lot!" Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. "See you, Dobby!" "Harry Potter...can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?" Dobby asked tentatively. " 'Course you can," said Harry, and Dobby beamed. "You know what?" said Ron, once he, Hermione, and Harry had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!" "I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know," said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!" "Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky," said Harry. "Oh she'll cheer up," said Hermione, though she sounded a bit doubtful. "Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man." "She seems to love him," said Ron thickly (he had just started on a cream cake). "Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?" said Harry. "Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?" "Probably says he's not a very good Head of Department," said Hermione, "and let's face it...he's got a point, hasn't he?" "I'd still rather work for him than old Crouch," said Ron. "At least Bagman's got a sense of humor." "Don't let Percy hear you saying that," Hermione said, smiling slightly. "Yeah, well, Percy wouldn't want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?" said Ron, now starting on a chocolate eclair. "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy."

#GobletofFire #HarryPotter

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