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peter-parkers-passport · 4 years

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Flower Child (Peter Parker x ofc)

Chapter 2: Small-Talk

warnings: depictions of anxiety, language, mentions of death/ loss of parental figures

A New Yorker was hard-pressed to wake up to the enchanting scene of warm sunbeams stretching across the floor, and birds chirping happily outside of windows. And when Lila woke up, the first thing she heard were the sounds of car horns honking at one another in the early-morning rush hour. But, there were pale stretches of sun peeking around the fall leaves of the tree that sat right outside her bedroom window. It could have been a blizzard outside, and Lila wouldn’t’ve cared. Her mood was still riding high from the night before, and she hastily left the warm shelter of her covers in favor of a good outfit for the day.

Lila went through her usual routine in the morning: she brushed her teeth, washed her face, got dressed, watered the plants scattered around her room, and finally made her bed. She gathered her homework together as well as the books she would need and placed them neatly into her backpack. Leaving her room, Lila descended the small staircase and went to the kitchen in search of breakfast. As per usual, her father left a neat note on the kitchen counter, wishing her a good day, and explaining that she might need to go grocery shopping for the next several nights due to a busy schedule of events coming up for the shop. He left two cards on the counter, one was Ted’s personal card, and the other was Landry’s business card. Digging through her backpack once again, Lila pulled out her wallet and placed both cards in it.

She then proceeded to the fridge to begin preparations for breakfast. Absentmindedly, she was humming some Queen song or other as she placed a slice of bread in the toaster. Several minutes passed, and Lila Landry finally set out of her house, stomach full, to begin her trek to school. Her neighborhood, Sunnyside, was full of life early in the morning, and it eliminated whatever remnants of sleep remained in Lila. Smiling softly, she kindly waved to her neighbors, and people that she knew as she headed for the train. Arriving just a few minutes early, she got out her phone and perused social media while she stood on the train platform next to other people beginning their day.

Most of the things that popped up on her Twitter feed consisted of the usual: political rants, celebrity gossip, and, for Sophie’s sake (at least, that’s what Lila told herself, she had to be in the know for her friend), superheroes. There were plenty of rumors on the whereabouts of Captain America, many speculating he was somewhere in Central Africa, or even as far as Northern Russia. Many of the rumors Lila had already been privy to, after hearing the constant theories on Sophie’s podcast. As she boarded the train that would take her to school, Lila saw a retweet from Flash Thompson, showing a video of Spider-Man on 45th Street just last Saturday. His spectacular stopping of a mugging ended in a rather comical way, with the burglars dangling by their feet by a street light. The rest of the video was the police attempting to take them down without dropping them on their heads.

Lila found herself sucked into the Spider-Man tag on Twitter, going through several long articles about the hero, or vigilante depending on the article, and what exactly he planned to do for the Queens borough of New York. She almost didn’t get off at her stop, considering how consumed she was with the news. While she got off and left the station, Lila sent Sophie an article link (“Spider-Man and The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen: Micromanaging One Neighborhood at a Time”) before placing her phone in her cardigan pocket. Reaching her locker, she found Michelle already waiting for her, with her hair pulled back and her nose tucked into its usual book.

“Morning,” Lila chirped, suddenly very excited to share her big news with her friend. She opened her locker and began placing the books she wouldn’t need inside before taking out a few notebooks and extra pens for the day. She also pulled out her barely-used academic decathlon notebook, remembering how Liz said she was planning on having the alternates practice this afternoon. Michelle flicked her hand, her usual gesture of greeting. Lila observed that Michelle seemed to have nothing on her person but her book, which was unusual. Normally, MJ carried a notebook to take all to her classes. “Forget your backpack?” The shorter girl mused.

“Got to a good part,” Michelle shrugged, not taking her eyes away from the book, as always. Wordlessly, Lila reached back into her locker and grabbed the spare notebook she kept for Michelle and handed it to her, along with an extra pen. Michelle took it without question and placed her bookmark in between pages. Nodding in thanks, she looked over at Lila with a quizzical stare. “You’re never this excited to come to school. Why today?”

Lila smiled, trying to rub the blush that was surfacing out of her cheeks. “I - um - I got Peter to say yes. He’s helping me pick out a computer this afternoon. A-And he gave me his phone number.”

Michelle was never impressed by her peers, but knew that for Lila, talking to Peter and even managing to snag his phone number were large strides. “So you’re going to hang out with Peter this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Lila stated, not caring that someone bumped roughly into her shoulder. Nor did she care about the scathing glare Michelle sent their way after. She was too happy to focus properly. “After school, then he’s going to come to the shop to help set the computer up.”

“So you’re spending the entire afternoon with Peter, and into the evening with him possibly as well.” Michelle reiterated, about to approach the door to Lila’s literature class. Lila saw out of the corner of her eye Michelle glance down at her smiling self, so she nodded. She was already thinking about the end of the day, longing for it to be over so that she could get ready to spend the afternoon with Peter Parker, something she wasn’t quite sure was real. She was floating on air, until Michelle muttered, “Huh.”

“What?” Lila’s head snapped up to Michelle, who had stopped short of Mr. Puth’s classroom. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Michelle shook her head. “Thanks for the notebook. I’ll see you in chemistry. Also, enjoy small-talk with Peter.” A ghost of a smile flickered to her lips when she saw Lila’s expression changed into realization. And as Michelle walked away, an impending sense of doom settled into Lila’s stomach at the thought.

She had no clue how to make small-talk with Peter Parker.

*****

Lila stood just outside the West doors at 2:40, precisely five minutes early. Ever since Michelle’s comment, she’d forced herself into focusing solely on school. Naturally, since there was something she’d now dreaded at the end of the day, the end of the day came that much faster. Retreating into herself, a mental pep-talk was often at the forefront of her mind. She’d already done the hard part, asking Peter for help. Now? Maybe they’d get to know each other, maybe she could count herself as a friend to Peter after today. There were great things on the horizon of this afternoon, and they were Lila’s for the taking.

The only thing standing in her way was herself, Lila knew that. Her dad’s voice sat in the back of her head, mentally cheering her on for stepping out of her comfort zone and trying something new. But there was something so comforting about her comfort zone, and Lila’s little box that she’d built for herself was nice. Not to mention, she’d been raised on the notion that she shouldn’t sacrifice a single hair on her head, or a single thought in her mind for a boy she liked. And really, how great could he be-?

“Lila?” Snapping out of her stare, Lila looked up to see Peter Parker right in front of her, smiling softly. Returning the smile was easy, and masked how breathless he made her. He practically radiated warmth, despite the unusually warm October afternoon sun. It was a kind of warm Lila felt under her skin, her fingers tingling and her stomach swimming at seeing him again. He nodded back behind him, to the exit of the school. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Y-Yeah,” Despite the negative voice in her head chiding her for stuttering in front of him, Lila smiled. A real, genuine smile is what she’d read could open up new avenues, and be a great first start to new friendships. She tucked her hair, which was blowing slightly in the breeze that decided to arrive, behind her ears and stared up at him, forcing herself to be comfortable with looking him in his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, did his eyes have to be so easy to get lost in? “Lead - uh - lead the way.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, Peter slightly ahead to navigate the rest of the student body that began to file out of the West doors to make their way home. Lila did her best to keep close, and couldn’t help but detect the most subtle hint of mangoes, one of her favorite fruits. She was so distracted, she ran straight into the arm he’d thrown out, preventing her from crossing the street. On instinct, she grabbed onto his arm, just as a silver Audi drove in front of them, Flash Thompson in the driver’s seat. “Later, Penis Parker!” He shouted before driving away.

Lila didn’t realize she’d still been holding onto Peter’s arm, staring off at Flash’s car with as much of a glare as she could muster until Peter’s arm shifted slightly in her grasp. Almost immediately, Lila let go, a blush fighting to surface on her face. When she looked up at Peter to offer her thanks, she saw a blush already sitting on his cheeks, but for different reasons entirely. His lips were set in a tight line, his shoulders sagging slightly. She saw his dulled eyes staring at Flash’s car as it turned the corner, and her fists tightened. “He’s jealous, you know,” She spit before she could stop herself. Peter’s eyes connected to hers once again, a look of confusion reading across them. Lila elaborated, “He - he’s got it in his m-mind that you’re out to get him. A-Academics just don’t - don’t come as easy for h-him as they s-seem to for you, a-and he’s jealous. It’s m-more to do with him than - than you.”

A second passed, and Peter’s demeanor relaxed once more. “How do you know they don’t come as easy for him?” Nothing about the question was spiteful, he was merely curious. Lila wondered if Peter spent a lot of time letting Flash and his stupid nicknames get to him. She hoped not.

Tucking her hair behind her ears once again, she shrugged. “I may or may not have had to tutor him in calculus and ph-physics for the past couple of months. U-Usually the first questions he a-asks me about are the questions y-you always get right and - and he doesn’t.” The smile Lila was hoping to see again surfaced on Peter’s face, and Lila felt a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that she put it there. He gestured for her to follow him as they continued their trek through Midtown to get to the subway. They fell back into silence along the way, the whole time Lila wished she could grab a hold of Peter’s arm once again, and maybe even hold his hand.

It wasn’t until they reached the subway and sat down on the relatively empty train that they spoke again. Peter looked over at her quiet stature, and how she sat perfectly straight, letting the rocking of the train gently move her. “Are you - are you okay, Lila?” The question surprised her, and she looked over at him. “You - you just seem kind of quiet.”

“I-I mean, you’ll have to be m-more specific, I’m usually - usually pretty q-quiet.” Inside, Lila was chastising herself. Of all things, her self-deprecating crack at her personality was not a good thing to joke about. Peter’s lips twitched, but before he could say anything else, Lila beat him to it. “I’m sorry. I’m not - I’m not very good at s-small-talk. I’m gonna need you to pick a topic.”

Knowing Peter, she knew he wouldn’t poke fun at her for being quiet or shy, but the negative, more cynical part of her mind was ready to say otherwise. What kind of fifteen-year-old doesn’t know how to make small-talk? Lila was pretty sure that one of the regulars at Landry’s had a toddler who was better at conversation. A total tangent, but she couldn’t help herself. At least she missed the brief look of pity flicker in Peter’s eyes. She might not have been able to stomach that.

“Okay. Easy question first, who’s your favorite Avenger?” It was an innocent enough topic, and it got Lila to smile. Her thoughts flew to Sophie, and how right off the bat if someone asked her that question, she’d basically have an entire essay with a structured three-point reasoning as to why Iron Man was the best. Lila was hard-pressed to argue with her, since she’d basically had years of support to add to her claim.

“L-Logically, I’d have to say Iron Man is - is my favorite. Not - not just because you w-work for him,” Lila added as an afterthought. “But personally, I really l-like the Scarlet Witch.” Peter was quiet, silently asking her to elaborate. “I read a lot of fantasy. She - she can perform real magic, and… I don’t know, I just like the idea that magic can exist in real l-life.” She saw him nod in understanding. “What a-about you?”

Peter smiled sheepishly, a sight that basically had Lila in a puddle on the floor. She felt like she’d do anything to get him to smile like that all the time. “Would it be cheesy if I said Iron Man?” Lila shook her head quickly, smiling at how the excitement lit up his eyes as he elaborated. “I mean, he’s so effortlessly smart, and I mean, he - he… ah, nevermind.”

“Wh-What?” Lila asked, the smile growing at Peter’s blush. “You’ve got me - got me curious. What i-is it?”

“You know how - how he stopped his weapons development after he was kidnapped?” Lila nodded, waiting for Peter to elaborate. “He - He built the Iron Man suit after that, and made sure that the weapons still out there weren’t distributed to the wrong people, and destroyed them for good measure. Despite his reputation of being a slacker, or not serious, he just, he took it into his own hands to take care of the people he hurt. No one asked him to do that, and no one expected him to. But he did it anyway.”

There were lots of things running through Lila’s mind, mostly just her adding another reason to the long list of why she liked Peter, and how she genuinely felt he had a heart of gold. “It must be amazing to work for him,” She muttered quietly.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled. “It’s pretty great. He’s a genius, it’s so weird to be in the same room as him, with all these people smarter than me there.”

“I highly d-doubt that,” Lila interrupted, cheeks flaring as she realized that was rude. Peter glanced at her quizzically. “I’m sorry. I just - I don’t th-think you’d be interning for Tony S-Stark if you weren’t as smart as they were.” The train turned a sharp corner, the pair of them gripping onto the seats tightly as they fell victim to the jostling that came along with it. Peter offered his thanks before looking out the window at the city. Lila followed his gaze, seeing Stark Tower jut out against the skyline, easily capturing any stare. “How - how did you find out about the internship?”

Peter’s eyes left the window and settled back on Lila. He happily launched into the explanation of how he applied for a grant program of Tony Stark’s on a whim, and how he’d one day come home to Tony Stark himself sitting on his couch with his aunt. He said that Mr. Stark took interest in his credentials, and asked him about his knowledge in physics, his academic decathlon track record, and asked why he applied so young. A few more minutes of back and forth led to Peter leaving with an internship secured at Stark Industries, and a team-building retreat in Berlin. The explanation lasted the rest of the train ride, the two of them hardly realizing so much time had passed.

“Berlin?” Lila asked in disbelief, hopping off the train next to Peter. “That must’ve been so amazing.” She then dug out a five-dollar bill from the wallet in her backpack, depositing it in the cello case of a street performer. Not losing her stride, she placed the wallet back in her backpack, and saw Peter’s questioning glance. “Sorry, I love the cello. So, Berlin?”

They headed up the stairs and into the October sun, the afternoon remaining rather warm. Peter checked his surroundings, making sure they were going the right way before turning left, heading up the street. “Yeah, Berlin. It was crazy and ridiculously sudden. I’d never actually been on a plane before he took me.” Lila nodded, smiling at his excitement. “How about you?”

“Have I been on a-a plane? Yes.”

“No, no,” Peter laughed softly, a sound Lila immediately committed to memory. “Have you ever been somewhere crazy? Like Berlin or out of the country?”

Lila racked her brain, and the obvious answer suddenly came to mind. “Once,” Lila said, her smile falling. “I went to Paris. I don’t r-remember it being very cool, though.”

Peter’s gaze grew skeptical as he eyed her from the side. “How could it not be cool? It’s Paris! All the art and stuff, there’s so many museums. And the Eiffel Tower, that’s - that’s pretty famous.”

“I guess that’s neat, but I was th-there to bury my mom, so I - I don’t remember it being a good t-time.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Peter stopped walking, his whole body turned to Lila, who had to stop walking as well. She was ready for the pitiful look that most people adopted when she mentioned her mom. So when she looked into his eyes, she was surprised to find a bit of understanding mixed in with the sorrow.

But that didn’t stop him from being polite. When would that ever stop Peter Parker from being anything but a complete gentleman, as his aunt raised him to be? He rubbed the back of his neck, his face relaxed but remorseful. “I’m sorry, Lila. That - that’s awful.” She grew quiet, not liking how he was worried for her. She didn’t like people doting on her, but she didn’t stop him from offering his condolences. It felt different, and when he spoke again, she realized why. “In January, my - my Uncle Ben, he - he…” Peter couldn’t finish the sentence, but Lila knew exactly what had happened. She knew exactly why he missed school for almost the entire month. “I just mean... I get it.”

Ignoring the butterflies and the doubt, Lila made a bold move by reaching over to Peter and grabbing his hand. She had no idea about his sensitivity to touch, how he could feel everything on an impossibly deeper scale. She just knew that when she squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, they both got it. They both understood the pain that bonded them, and felt the relief of knowing that they both could share with the other just what that felt like. When they continued on their way, Lila spoke up again. “I don’t mind talking about her. M-my dad and I both like to - to talk in French sometimes, or just talk about h-her. It’s like breathing life back into her for a little bit.”

Peter nodded, a smile growing back on his lips at the invitation to ask more. “So your mom’s from France?”

And it was as easy as that. The pair fell back into an easy stride, headed for the computer store. Lila’s hair blew gently in the breeze, and a smile sat on her face as she glanced over to see Peter trying to tame his curly hair in the wind as well. “Yeah, she was born and raised in Paris. And she truly embodied it: she was a fabulous lady.” She took his gentle laugh as a means to keep going. “L-like, you hear about all the chic and fashionable people in Paris, that was my mom. And she met my dad fresh out of business school…”

Thus launched the tale of business major Angelina Chenault meeting botanist Ted Landry in the French countryside, where both had decided to vacation after their respective schooling. Angelina had left Paris for the countryside simply because she’d never been, whereas Ted was backpacking with several friends. The pair met at an inn, and two weeks vacation turned into an entire summer touring the French countryside together and getting to know one another. Falling in love was easy, and the decision to move back to New York, Ted’s home, seemed even easier.

The pair shared a shabby apartment in Queens, where they bided their time, saving money for a business they could call their own. The situation they needed happened to fall into their lap, when a small building on 21st Street was vacated, and the rent was made surprisingly cheap. Thus started Landry’s Flowers, where as soon as the deed was in their name, Ted proposed to Angelina. Their happiness, much like their business, grew into something that was supported by the other locals of Queens, and they truly thrived.

Before Lila could get any further into the story (or notice that her stutter seemed to lessen at the comfortable topic), Peter stopped in front of a store, and stared up at the logo. Following Peter’s lead, she was shepherded into the store filled with computers, and bustling with customers and employees alike. Predictably, at the thought of being in such a crowded space, Lila began to fold in on herself. Nerves started taking up residence in her mind and body, but not for long, as Peter nudged her in her side, smiling reassuringly, and causing Lila to stand a little straighter. She could get used to that sort of feeling.

*****

“Seriously, I-I can’t thank you enough, Peter.” Lila gushed as they entered Landry’s Flowers an hour and a half later, Lila clutching a brand-new Mac computer, one of the models Apple did in collaboration with Stark Industries, making the purchase a long-lasting option. Peter had asked several questions Lila would’ve never even considered in regards to performance and longevity for the business, and all the answers were satisfactory in regards to what they needed. Lila simply couldn’t wait to tell her dad about it. The store was busy, but as soon as she stepped through the doors, a certain grace took over her body, and she smoothly moved around customers, completely at home with her surroundings. “If there’s any-anything I can do…”

Peter Parker, who followed behind her, simply shrugged. “It’s no problem at all, Lila.” She gave him a grateful smile, and made a quick round of all the customers in between her and the check-out counter. She didn’t know it, but Peter took a second to watch her in her element: how she could easily make a quick recommendation to an indecisive customer, how she kindly greeted everyone she could, and how her posture seemed to minutely relax in the beautifully designed store. She was relaxed up until she heard a raspy voice call out, “Phish Food!” Lila tensed, turning briefly to Peter, and offering what one might say was an apologetic expression.

“Phish Food,” Sophie came running up to her from behind the counter, nearly knocking down a display of fresh lilies. Her excitement practically radiated off of her in waves, and apparently seemed to fog up her glasses, as her face was flushed. She gripped onto Lila tightly, practically ready to rip her arms off with how ready she was to relay the news. “Trish Talk mentioned my podcast. She - she was doing a podcast appreciation episode and mentioned mine was one of her top new favorites. Me, Lila! My podcast is one of Trish - who the hell are you?” Lila turned around, eyes wide as Sophie looked past her and to Peter Parker, who blinked in surprise.

Lila’s cheeks flared, trying her best to psychically convey her apologies to Peter for Sophie, who was sometimes too brazen for even the most outgoing people. “Soph, this is Peter Parker, the guy I mentioned? He’s here to h-help me figure out the - the computer situation. I talked to you about this.”

That didn’t seem to stop Sophie from staring rather intensely at Peter Parker. The boy in question briefly looked to Lila, who could only offer an apologetic shrug. No way was she confident enough to get in the way of Sophie Nelson. Peter was on his own, and he offered his hand out to her to shake. “Hi, I’m - I’m Peter.”

“Your name is alliterative, did you know that?” Lila was forced to help another customer, as Sophie had left her post at the checkout counter to talk to her and Peter. She put on her best polite smile, but she still nervously glanced over at Peter and Sophie, who were still standing in the middle of the store.

“Um, yes?”

Sophie was unperturbed by his nerves, and instead moved to the next question. “In this flower shop, we respect one line of thinking and one line only. Before you help us, I need to know… who’s the one superhero you would pick in an end-of-the-world-type scenario?” Peter almost asked if she was serious, but she gave nothing away to say she wasn’t. In fact, Peter had reason to suspect that Sophie might beat him up if he said the wrong answer. Which only made him that much more nervous.

“Uh…”

“Sophie!” Lila was back, pulling Peter by the arm, ignoring her heart skipping a beat as she did so. “Peter’s here to help. I had to pull him away from his internship at Stark Industries to do so, so be nice.” Her words were full of double-meaning. They were a warning to Sophie: Be nice, meaning, I really like this guy, please don’t scare him halfway to hell, thanks. But it was also an answer to Sophie’s question, and she lit up considerably, even offering a warm smile to him. Lila didn’t give him time to confirm her statement, and the pair were then placed where Peter would set up the computer.

She practically fought Sophie off of him by means of sharp glares and subtle shakes of her head. Finally, after several teasing looks, Sophie backed off, and went to go walk around the floor, helping people with her usual charm. As Peter and Sophie worked, Lila offered to go set Peter’s things down on one of the tables in the back room upstairs. She did so, and took her time, trying her best to collect herself. She reflected on the afternoon, and it seemed to be going rather well, or at least, she hoped it was. Peter was funny and considerate, and everything she knew he was all along. It was refreshing to see him in such a juxtaposition to every other guy at her school, who thought that being the smartest meant being better than anyone else. Lila knew, from early on, that he was special, and he was only ever proving it to her this afternoon.

About an hour later, while Lila and Sophie managed the store, or helped Peter when he asked for it, the computer was up and running. Peter had managed to hook up several programs to it, making sure everything that needed to be on there regarding the Landry’s business was in one secure space. It was amazing how he explained everything to Lila regarding the computer, and how it would run from there on out. He then explained things to Sophie, while watching her do a few test runs with checking out customers on it. Another half-hour in, and Sophie was easily running along with the new computer. Lila didn’t want Peter to feel he was overstaying anything, so she offered to go with him back upstairs to gather his things.

Opening the back door, Lila smiled softly. “You shouldn't have done such a good job,” She said quietly. Turning her head back, she looked at Peter, who looked slightly confused. “My dad’s going to want you to re-do all the stores’ computers after he sees what you’ve done here.” She heard him chuckle a bit, and picked up his backpack from the table she had originally placed it on. A tug in her gut quieted her as her eyes flickered over to the back staircase. She didn’t want to make him do anything uncomfortable, but she was feeling gutsy. It was time that she made some kind of friendly gesture, and what better way to do so than to prolong his stay? “Odd question, but would you - would you maybe want to see the best place in New York?”

She didn’t know that Peter was privy to practically every place New York had to offer, as he could climb to the tops of buildings and skyscrapers alike. But everyone in the city had a favorite place to go, and it piqued Peter’s interest to see what was Lila’s. So he nodded, and Lila excitedly placed his backpack back down on the table, and walked up the rickety staircase in the far corner that Peter hadn’t really noticed before. Following her lead, he climbed the stairs after her, expecting to find either another room or the rooftop. He was half-right.

When Peter walked through the door, he was met with warmer air than the October afternoon had to offer them. Looking around, he became aware that he was in a greenhouse, the glass encasing them on all sides. The greenhouse seemed to take up the back half of the rooftop, nearly hidden from view on the street where they’d entered the shop. More smells than what were wafting around downstairs hit the pair as they walked around, more fresh herbs, potting soil, and the most subtle hint of a perfume Peter didn’t quite recognize. What didn’t hit him was the sound. Since they were practically outside, it was only natural to expect that the sounds of New York City would follow them, but they didn’t. The glass was thick enough, and far enough away from the street that the sounds of outside were muffled, and it led to the feeling of being somewhere else.

“This is the best time of day for this place,” Lila had made her way across the greenhouse and in between several fruit trees that were growing up against the wall. She’d dragged out a stool, stepping up the three steps and reached up on her tiptoes for the glass rooftop. Pushing upwards on a windowpane, Lila cracked it open, letting the sunlight that had been warped due to the glass filter through and over the plants. The light encompassed the whole room, and Peter let out a sharp breath of amazement. She got back down off the stool, smiling largely at Peter’s expression before picking up a spray bottle filled with water and walking around, making her usual rounds of watering the plants. Peter kept looking around while she did it, eyeing the neatly labeled signs in front of each plant, as well as the dates they’d been planted.

With the window open, the sounds from outside grew louder, but were still relatively quiet. Peter waited for the train he heard to pass before asking Lila, “Do you grow all of these yourself?” He eyed the fresh berries sitting on top of some tables, with large crates of giant vegetables sitting underneath. They all looked remarkably delectable, as if grown by a professional, and Peter couldn’t mask his interest if he tried. Lila put down the spray bottle and walked over to the tree sprouting what looked like little tangerines.

She picked two and walked over to Peter, handing him one, which he gratefully accepted. She nodded softly and began peeling her tangerine. “For the most part. Sophie - Sophie and m-my dad help water them when they can, but I-I’m the one who sows and catalogs them.” She blushed at his impressed expression, watching him enjoy his tangerine as she enjoyed her own. “It used to b-be my mom’s greenhouse, but… well, now it’s mine. It became like, my o-own version of therapy after…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but Peter got the message.

“Is Sophie a family friend?”

Lila smiled a little, thinking of the girl downstairs. “Kind of. She - she started school out here and n-needed a job. She kind of n-never left.” She took Peter’s trash when he was finished, throwing away both of their peels, and heading back for the window she’d opened. Closing it, she tucked the stool back in between the fruit trees, and walked back over to where Peter stood. She gestured to the door, and he nodded slightly, the look of interest never leaving his face. “She insists the only reason she stays is because she’s set on embarrassing me on her podcast.”

“What kind of podcast does she make?” Peter asked, keeping the conversation alive. Lila silently thanked him, not entirely sure what they could keep talking about. The pair headed back down the staircase, Lila taking the lead, and handing Peter’s backpack to him. He accepted it with a thank-you, and shrugged it back on as she did the same.

Lila smiled. “It’s called Origin Story. As you could see from before, she’s kind of o-obsessed with superheroes, and that’s what - what her podcast is all about. Which r-reminds me, I have to ask her about that article I sent her. Maybe you’ve read it? It’s a-all over Twitter.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, making a mental note to check out Sophie’s podcast. If she was as obsessed with Iron Man as Lila alluded to earlier, maybe it might be something Peter would be interested in. The pair headed back out into the store, walking through the quieter top floor. “What article?”

“It was something about the D-Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and S-Spider-Man and their methods of cleaning up c-crime. It was really interesting.” They’d reached the spiral staircase, and began their descent.

From behind Lila, Peter grinned. He couldn’t help it, it was still cool to him that people talked about his alter ego. “What do you think of Spider-Man?”

Lila looked at him, pausing briefly on the stairs. She shrugged and continued stepping down, letting a couple pass her on their way up to the second floor. “I think he’s really c-cool. It’s not every day you meet a guy who’s so - so nice to everyone. Even, apparently, the criminals he stops. I l-like that, there’s not many people who are really that k-kind. Dad?” She stopped at the base of the stairs, eyeing Ted Landry helping out an elderly regular with a fresh bouquet of sunflowers. “I thought you were in Manhattan, today?”

Ted shrugged, smiling softly at seeing his daughter. “Hey, Tulip. I finished up over there, figured I’d come see the computer for myself. Soph’s basically been texting me non-stop since it was installed.” He ignored the “Not true!” that Sophie shouted from behind him as he walked over and kissed his daughter on the forehead. That was when his eyes landed on the boy behind her. “Oh, hey, you must be Peter. I’m Ted.” He kept a hand on Lila’s shoulder and held out the other one for Peter to shake. Which he did, polite as ever. “Good to meet you, fantastic work on the computer over there. Where’d you learn to do all that stuff?”

Peter’s cheeks turned slightly red at the compliment, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, you know, I just kind of… picked it up. Started being a hobby of mine.”

“Regardless, I can’t thank you enough for helping me out. I’ll be honest, I’m not super tech-savvy, but I guess it’s a good thing the next generation is.” Peter felt surprised at how easy Ted was to talk to. Nothing about him felt stiff or rude, and he genuinely seemed interested in talking to Peter, surely as a courtesy for Lila, since they were, for all intents and purposes, friends. “Tell you what, I’m making some pasta tonight for dinner. Would you like to tag along, as a thank-you for today?”

Lila’s small smile dropped, eyes growing wide. “Oh, no, d-dad. I think - I think Peter has to g-get home soon. His aunt might g-get worried that he’s been out all day-”

“Actually, May’s working late tonight,” Peter admitted, looking to Lila. He wasn’t sure if Lila was refusing because she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, or if she was uncomfortable with the idea of having him in her home. He hoped it was the former. “I’d love to, if you don’t mind, Lila.”

Peter’s guess was right, for after a moment, Lila smiled once more. She looked to her dad, who waved his hand. “It’s absolutely no trouble. Come on, I fix a mean tomato basil, and we have the freshest basil you can get at home. Seriously, we grow our own…” Ted’s hand clasped Peter’s shoulder, gently guiding him out the front doors. Lila waved back to Sophie, who sent her a giant thumbs-up, and winked. Blushing, Lila Landry walked out behind Peter and her dad, still wondering how in the hell her afternoon had managed to go so well.

It wasn’t until the next night that things truly started getting weird.

#peter parker #OFC #peter parker x ofc #marvel #MCU Spiderman #mcu x ofc #marvel x ofc #spiderman #spiderman x ofc #spider-man #slow burn #mine

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grapesodatozier · 6 years

Note

okay so I’m watching IT right now for 17th time and i had an epiphany. idk if this is already an idea out there but i just pasted the scene where Eddie encounters pennywise at the well House. do you think you could write a one shot where right after Eddie escapes, he bikes straight to richie’s house for comfort ? ik this is probably an idea out there in the tumblr world bUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE REALLY CUTE. thank you for coming to my TED talk, if anyone reads this.

thank you so much for the request!! this is such a cute idea and it was so fun to write omg

words: 2,137

read on ao3 or below!!

Eddie’s legs quickly became sorefrom how hard he was running, sneakers slapping harshly against the pavementwith every step, but he barely felt it. His chest was on fire, and his heartfelt like it was trying to punch its way out. The wind whipping past Eddie feltlike fingers down his arms, breath in his ear; it made him feel sick. His legs,protesting from years of disuse, managed to carry him all the way past hishouse to a blue Victorian. The sight made it a little easier for him tobreathe, despite how overworked his lungs were. He made his way up the porch onwobbly legs and rang the doorbell, near collapse when Maggie Tozier answeredthe door.

“Eddie?” sheasked, concern flooding her blue eyes. “Are you all right, honey?”

“Is Richie home?”Eddie managed to rasp out, his chest heaving.

“He’s in thebasement,” she answered, stepping aside and letting Eddie in. “Do you want aglass of water? You look a little beat.”

“That’s okay,”Eddie called over his shoulder, already halfway to the basement steps. “Thankyou, Mrs. Tozier!” With that he was bounding down the basement stairs.

Richie wassitting on the floor, video game controller clutched in his hands, neck cranedup at the television, his giant glasses reflecting the light of the screen. Hishead whipped toward the stairs at the sound of Eddie’s hurried steps. “EddieSpaghetti!” he exclaimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t call methat,” Eddie said weakly, frozen at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t quitesure why he was here, and he was still pretty terrified, which didn’t helpclear his mind. He kept feeling like if he turned around… it would still bethere, that thing.

“Aw, you knowyou love it,” Richie winked. “So. You come over for a reason? Or are you justgonna stand there looking pretty?” Eddie blushed furiously at that.

“Yeah, I bet you’dlike that,” Eddie grumbled, making his legs move as he walked over to Richie.They practically sighed in relief as he took a seat on the floor next to hisbest friend. Eddie played with the zipper of his fanny pack; it was still open,and missing a pill bottle, which made Eddie’s heart start up again. Ma’s not gonna be happy, he thought tohimself. God, she’s gonna cry and screamand have a whole fucking fit. The thought was scary, but not as scary asthe memory of where his pills were, why they were currently lying in the middleof Neibolt Street. His breathing became a thin whistle, his entire bodytrembling.

“Eds?” Eddie’shead snapped up at the sound of his name, and he found Richie’s magnified eyesnarrowed as he looked at Eddie. “You okay? I made a joke about your mom and youdidn’t even punch me.” Eddie wanted to respond, wanted to yell at him, but hecould feel his throat closing. He reached for his inhaler, but even the sightof his fanny pack had tears blurring his vision. “Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s okay, I’llget it,” Richie rushed to say. He pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way andretrieved his inhaler. Eddie opened his mouth, letting Richie press his inhalerinto his hand and guide it to his face. Eddie inhaled, grateful for themedicinal taste on his tongue. Richie had one hand on Eddie’s and the othercupping Eddie’s jaw. His hands were a little sticky, but Eddie found that hedidn’t mind; they were warm, and they helped ground him. Eddie pulled theinhaler away from his lips, steadying his breathing on his own. He felt hottear tracks running down his cheeks and wiped them away furiously. Richie slidhis hand away from Eddie’s cheek, resting it on his shoulder. Eddie missed histouch. “You okay?” Richie asked in a voice so soft Eddie practically couldn’trecognize it. “What was all that about?”

Eddie consideredtelling him, but the thought had his throat closing again. “Tell me about yourday,” Eddie said suddenly, the words tripping over one another in their rush toget out. Richie’s brow furrowed, and he looked like he was about to saysomething, but Eddie cut him off. “Any good chucks today?” he asked, his voicestill shaking. The confusion on Richie’s face smoothed out, some expressionEddie couldn’t place passing over his wide eyes before he beamed at Eddie.

“Finally pickingup on my genius vocabulary, I see,” he bragged before launching into an accountof his day. Every word calmed Eddie’s breathing, every wild gesture and stupidvoice dried Eddie’s tears. Before long he was even laughing, smacking Richie’sshoulder half-heartedly. “So you really came over just to hear about my day?”Richie asked, toeing the line between humorous and serious.

Eddie shrugged,already beginning to shrink in on himself again. “I just wanted to see you,” hesaid defensively, wishing he’d worded it differently as a shit-eating,bucked-tooth grin spread across Richie’s face.

“I’m pretty irresistible,aren’t I?”

“Yeah, to licemaybe,” Eddie scoffed. But then he was thinking about lice, and things crawlingon him, inside of him, and he startedfreaking out again. What if that thing had touched him? What if he wasinfected?

“Eds?”

“I sawsomething,” Eddie managed to croak out.

“Congratulationson not being blind? Although considering your present company, you’re kindajust bragging.” Eddie shot Richie a look that shut him up.

“You know thehouse on Neibolt Street?”

“The abandonedone?” Eddie nodded. “Yeah, that place is fuckin’ Creep City.”

“Well, I passedit on my way home, and…” Eddie trailed off, his chest already tightening again.For once in his life Richie was quiet, patiently waiting for Eddie to continue.“I saw this, this man, I guess, but he-” Eddie sucked in a breath sharply,feeling himself getting to the verge of tears again. He gripped the hem of hisshorts so hard his knuckles turned white. “He was sick, like, fucking rotting.” He trained his eyes on Richie’sgangly, bent knees in an attempt to ground himself, unable to look into hisfriend’s eyes as his own began to fill with tears again. “I dropped my pills,and then he just fucking appeared outof nowhere. And I ran, but h-he chased me.” Eddie’s resolve broke on theword “chased,” and he began sobbing in earnest. Richie froze for a moment beforepulling Eddie into his arms. The angle was a bit awkward, as they were bothsitting cross-legged, their knees banging together. Eddie crawled into Richie’slap, throwing his shame out the window and following the instincts that toldhim to seek the comfort Richie was offering. Eddie was both surprised andgrateful when Richie wrapped his arms even more tightly around Eddie’s torsowithout cracking a joke. Eddie burrowed his face into Richie’s shoulder,fingers gripping the front of his shirt. He thought that maybe he should beembarrassed, but Richie was pulling him in, not pushing him away, and insteadof feeling embarrassed he felt safe,finally.

“Did he hurtyou?” Richie asked. His voice sent chills down Eddie’s spine; Eddie had onlyseen Richie genuinely mad once or twice in their six years of friendship, butit was so chilling that he’d memorized what it sounded like, and it soundedlike that. Eddie shook his head.

“N-no, I gotaway.” An image popped into Eddie’s head then, a bunch of balloons in anunnatural triangle formation, none of them bopping or blowing in the wind.Then, behind the balloons-

But no, Richiewouldn’t believe that. If Eddie mentioned the clown Richie would think he’dbeen joking, or that he was crazy. He might even get mad at him, and Eddie didn’twant to do anything that would make Richie stop holding him.

“Damn right yougot away from that fucking creep,” Richie said. Eddie thought he was trying tosound light-hearted, proud even, but there was still that harshness in hisvoice, that anger. “No fucking creep-ass hobo is gonna touch my Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s arms tightenedaround Eddie, and Eddie kind of felt like he was melting into Richie. It feltnice. Richie took a breath and said in a voice much closer to his normal,jovial tone, “I swear Eds, you gotta go out for track, you’d knock ‘em dead.”Eddie’s chest tightened again, but this time it was different. My Eddie. Eds. He curled further intoRichie, sniffling; Richie was a bony motherfucker, but Eddie had never beenmore comfortable. “Hey,” Richie whispered in Eddie’s ear, “he can’t get you,okay? You’re safe now. He’s never gonna bother you again.” This was anothervoice Eddie had only heard a handful of times, but it was a voice he liked muchbetter than the angry one. It was a voice Richie never used around the others,Eddie had only ever heard it when he and Richie were alone. It soothed him, andsoon his sobs were nothing more than small hiccups.

He reluctantlylifted his head from Richie’s shoulder, wiping at his eyes. “Shit, I got snoton your shirt,” he laughed weakly. Richie just shrugged.

“This shirt’s seenworse,” he grinned.

“Ugh, you’regross,” Eddie groaned, sharing Richie’s smile. He didn’t want to leave Richie’slap, but he felt like he had to, so he did.

“You know youlove me,” Richie winked.

“Yeah,” Eddiesighed, suddenly exhausted. That wiped the grin off Richie’s face, leaving himwith wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“I’m uh, I’mglad you came over,” Richie said. His hand were in his lap, but his Band-Aidcovered knees were bumping against Eddie’s, so he was close enough that hecould run his fingers over Eddie’s calves just by stretching them a little bit.Eddie got a weird feeling in his chest when Richie did that, but it felt kindof nice. “You know, you’re always safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happento you.” Eddie nodded, taking Richie’s hands in his own. His stomach flutteredas he did so, but Richie held on tight, and Eddie didn’t feel like pullingaway.

“Thanks, Rich.”

“Any time.”

“I’m not gonnalet anything happen to you either, you know.”

“Aw, Eds, myfierce little protector, you’re too sweet.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn’tlet go of Richie’s hands. “You okay?” Richie asked after a moment of silence.

“I think so,”Eddie said, deflating a bit. “I’m just- what if I’m sick now, you know? What ifhe did touch me, or what if it was airborne?”

“Well if it’sairborne then you just got me sick,” Richie joked, “so I guess we’ll rottogether, asshole.” He grinned, but it didn’t do anything to calm Eddie’sfears. Picking up on this, he added, “Eds, you’re not sick, I promise.”

“You don’t knowthat.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Something Eddiecouldn’t quite name passed over Richie’s eyes. Then, suddenly, Richie’s handswere back on Eddie’s face, and he was pressing his candy-sweet lips to Eddie’s.It was brief, and their lips didn’t quite line up right, but Eddie melted intoimmediately anyway.

“There,” Richiesaid when he pulled away, his cheeks dusted pink. “That’s how certain I am thatyou’re not sick.”

“You’re an idiot,”Eddie mumbled, but he couldn’t help the smile that played across hisstill-tingling lips, and he took Richie’s hands in his own again.

“No, I’m adoctor,” Richie corrected with a huge grin.

“I’ve never hada doctor do that before.”

“I’d sure hopenot,” Richie said, making Eddie giggle. “Was that… okay?” Richie asked, hissmile faltering. It came back full force when Eddie nodded. “Awesome! It was…kind of awesome.”

“Yeah,” Eddieagreed. They looked at each other for a long moment, playing with each other’sfingers.

“You wanna play?”Richie asked, breaking the silence as he nodded toward the TV. “I can plug inanother controller.”

“Can I justwatch you play?” Eddie asked.

“Definitely!”Richie nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to the television, and Eddienestled in next to him, resting his head on Richie’s snot-free shoulder.

“You know, youshouldn’t sit so close to the screen,” Eddie said. “That’s probably why you’reso fucking blind.”

“No, I’m sofucking blind because I’ve blinded by your beauty so many times,” Richiegrinned down at him, kissing the top of his head. He then launched into a storyabout how the round was going as he began to play again, and Eddie was happy tosettle in and listen to his spiel.

As he thoughtabout it, Eddie knew Richie was right; he wassafe, and so was Richie, as long as they were together.

taglist: @jane-doe-663 @reddie4thesinbin @deadlighturis @constantreaderfool @reddieloserz

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fluff #request

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crazyclouds5281 · 3 years

Text

Beast 1

The Killing Curse does not leave a mark. Ever. It forces the soul out of the body without touching it at all. What happens, then, when something takes possession of the empty husk?

Thomas Dorian Potter could barely contain his excitement. He was finally going to Hogwarts! His parents had told him so many stories of their years there- most of his father’s involving pranks, much to Lily’s fond exasperation- that Thomas didn’t even want to wait for the Hogwarts Express. He had begged his parents to just let him Floo straight over, or Apparate him there, but his mother put her foot down.

“It’s tradition, Thomas. You’re getting on that train.” And that was the end of that. So, here he was, at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring in awe at the steel beast in front of him. The Express was much more impressive than he expected, shining red and spewing steam.

Thomas was excitedly chatting with Ronald Weasely and Neville Longbottom, his two yearmates and best friends. Molly Weasely was giving the twins, Fred and George, a stern talking-to, while Arthur just chuckled about their latest prank. Percy looked about ready to join his mother in scolding his younger brothers, but she didn’t pause long enough for him to slip in his own comments. So, he simply glared at them, arms crossed, Prefect badge glinting on the breast of his robes. Ginevra hid behind her mother’s leg, staring at Thomas longingly, not that he noticed. James, Sirius, and Remus were joking around, with occasional input from Ted Tonks, who was also here with his wife, Andromeda. Their daughter, and Thomas’ cousin, Nymphadora, had already gotten on the Express, along with Cedric Diggory, the Weasley’ neighbor.

Suddenly, Thomas was dragged into a crushing hug by Lily, who sighed sadly. “Oh, my baby’s growing up so fast!” she cried, much to Thomas’ embarrassment.

“Mum!” he hissed, “Not in front of my friends!”

She swatted him on the back of the head, not releasing him. “Hush, you! I’ll hug my son if I want to! It’s going to be so quiet without you running around the house,” she said, already overcome with nostalgia.

“Mum!” Thomas whined, squirming in her grip. The snickers of his friends made him turn bright red.

“Fine,” Lily drawled, letting him go, but not before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “You three get on the Express now- don’t wanna miss it, do you?”

“Bye, Mrs. Potter,” Ron and Neville chirped, dragging Thomas on board, then proceeding to take the mickey out of him.

“Oh, shut up!” Thomas snapped. “Don’t act like I didn’t see your mum wipe the dirt off your nose, Ron!” He grinned victoriously when the youngest Weasley son went as red as his hair. The three boys broke down into chuckles, lightheartedly shoving each other as they went to find a compartment, dragging their trunks along with them. They found an empty one towards the back of the train, loading their trunks up on the racks and plopping down on the comfortable seats, stretching out a bit.

“So, which class are you blokes most excited for?” Neville asked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts!” Thomas said instantly. “I’ve already defeated a Dark Lord, so it’s obviously gonna be my best class!” he boasted, making his friends smile.

“I dunno, I’m kinda looking forward to Flying,” Ron said, a wide grin on his face. “Have I told you guys about that time I-”

“Hit a Muggle hang glider with Charlie’s old broom? Only about a million times,” Neville teased, making Ron cross his arms with a faux-pout. “I’m gonna enjoy Herbology. Mum doesn’t have much time to work in the greenhouses with me, what with being an Auror and all.”

“Speaking of being an Auror,” Thomas said, rising to his feet and pulling out his wand- ten inches, dogwood, dragon heartstring core- “Dad finally showed me a spell that he said is essential for all Aurors.” He spun his wand in a circular movement, and cried “Prot-!”

The compartment door slammed open, startling the three boys. Thomas dropped his wand from the shock.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” a bushy-haired girl with large front teeth introduced herself. “Would it be alright if I sat with you three? The people in the other compartments are horribly rude,” she rattled off. Hermione’s eye caught sight of Thomas’ wand as he picked it up, and placed her hands on her hips. “Were you about to do magic? Well, let’s see it. I’ve already cast a few of the spells in the Charms textbook, and they worked perfectly.”

The boys shared confused glances, before Ron shrugged, not seeing the harm in letting her sit with them. Thomas repeated his wand movement, shouting “Protego!”

“Er, mate… Was something supposed to happen?” Ron asked, barely holding in his chortles. Thomas frowned.

“Yeah. Dad said it was a Shield Charm.”

“Looks more like a prank,” Neville said, making Ron lose control and begin howling with laughter. Thomas stomped his foot in frustration.

“It worked when Dad did it, I swear!”

“Protego?” Hermione piped up. “That’s not in the First Year curriculum. I would know- I’ve already read all the books. It probably didn’t work because it’s too advanced for you.”

Thomas bristled at the slight to his abilities, but Ron came to his defense, stopping his cackling. “Hey, he’s the Boy-Who-Lived! He defeated the Dark Lord when he was a year old- nothing’s too advanced for him!”

“You’re Thomas Potter?” Hermione asked, latching on to the new piece of information. “I’ve read all about you! Is it true that you rode a dragon to Russia to help the Kremlin against a goblin invasion?”

“Uh… What?”

“Oh! Did you broker a peace treaty with the Canadian Prime Minister after you saved his daughter’s life?”

“Who?”

“Ooh! What about that time-!”

“Wait!” Thomas yelled, holding his hands. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all your adventures in the books, of course!”

“Books?” Thomas asked, looking at his two friends. “What books?”

Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes. “Oh, I know what she’s talking about! A buncha people have written all these crazy things about you- Ginny’s obsessed with ‘em, despite how absolutely barmy they are.”

“Books are not barmy!” Hermione cried, offended. “They wouldn’t have been published if they weren’t true!”

“I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but Thomas hasn’t done any of that stuff,” Neville said gently. The girl looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating.

“But, but, books don’t lie!” she shrieked, bushy hair fluffing out even more. The three boys were starting to panic; none of them knew how to deal with a crying girl! They were saved by the compartment door slamming open once more. A platinum-blond boy, with his hair slicked back by copious amounts of gel, stood there with a superior smirk on his face. Flanking him were two goons, one tall and one fat, neither very intelligent judging by how dull their eyes were.

“I heard Thomas Potter was starting Hogwarts this year.”

“Malfoy,” Thomas growled, right hand tightening around his wand.

“Looks like it’s true- I was wondering if you might be denied entry for being too stupid. Anyways, I’m here to extend a hand of friendship. Now that you aren’t being led around by the nose by your blood-traitor father, maybe you’ll have the good sense to accept it. After all, the Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in all of Britain. You would be wise to fall in line, Potter.”

“Are you even listening to the crap coming out of your mouth, Malfoy?” Neville snarled, as he and Ron stood, pulling out their wands- nevermind the fact that none of them knew any spells that would do anything worthwhile.

“Bugger off, ya slimy little git! Nobody’s joining your stupid Junior Death Eater club!” Ron snapped.

“Longbottom,” Malfoy greeted imperiously. “And look at that, another Weasel. How many does that make now, fifty? Hogwarts really needs to do something about this infestation in its halls. I suppose Potter would count amongst you idiots, what with his hair. What’s up with that, anyway, Potter? Did you dye it to look like a cheap knock-off? Or did your whore mudblood mother get a little too frisky with Weasley Senior?”

Thomas hauled off and made to slug Malfoy in his fat mouth, when a hand came out of nowhere and latched onto the boy’s wrist with an iron grip. The First Years all made various noises of surprise when a tall boy with disheveled black hair stepped into view, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a forest green hoodie. He dropped Thomas’ arm, then stooped down so he was face-to-face with Malfoy, emerald eyes glowing fiercely.

“Leave.”

Surprisingly, the three Death Eater wannabes obeyed, scurrying back up the train.

“Harry!” Thomas cried excitedly. His next cry was one filled with pain, however, as the young man slapped him upside the head. “Ow! What-?”

“Sit down. Shut up.” A livid glare stifled any protests, and all four First Years did as he said, despite three of them not being the target. “You idiots woke me up with all your yelling.” The dark bags under his eyes, which looked more like bruises, attested to how much he actually needed his sleep.

“S-Sorry,” Thomas stuttered. The older boy stared at him for a long moment, that seemed to stretch infinitely, before turning away, allowing the redheaded boy to finally breathe.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he rumbled, sliding the compartment door closed behind him. For a long while, silence reigned between the four eleven-year-olds, the rumbling of the train a dull roar in the background.

“Who… Who was that?” Hermione asked Thomas weakly.

“My older brother, Harry.”

---

Thomas was positively shaking with nerves. They were about to be Sorted, and his parents had refused to tell him how. Ron was convinced they had to fight a troll, though it was the twins who told him that, so all four agreed it was probably just a joke. Neville said it might depend on their heritage, but that didn’t quite sit right with Thomas. After all, despite the Potters traditionally being Gryffindors, Harry wasn’t (then again, Harry wasn’t exactly normal by Potter standards). Hermione theorized they might have to take some sort of test that determined their personality, which was apparently a Muggle thing. Thomas didn’t really get it.

Finally, however, Professor McGonagall ushered them into the Great Hall. The starry ceiling was absolutely gorgeous, and the archaic architecture of the Hall was a lot different than the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow. In the middle of the Hall was a hat, sitting on a stool. One of the wrinkled flaps opened up, and then-

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty…”

It started singing! Thomas didn’t particularly pay attention to the song, too amazed by the fact that a hat was singing. Even in the Wizarding World, that wasn’t something one saw often. Eventually, McGonagall started calling people up in alphabetical order. Each student sat on the stool and wore the Sorting Hat, which screamed out a house name after a few moments. Hermione and Neville both ended up in Gryffindor, making Thomas cheer loudly, though moreso for the latter. Then, it was his turn. Thomas sat down on the stool, and the brim of the Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, blocking out the Great Hall.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” a voice echoed in his head. Despite being somewhat prepared for it, he still jolted a bit. “Headstrong, you are. You don’t think much before jumping into things, and you have no problems with confrontation. A bit of an aversion to reading, so Ravenclaw’s out, and you tend to not do things you don’t like, so Hufflepuff is as well.”

“Don’t put me in Slytherin!” Thomas thought loudly, hoping the Hat could somehow hear him.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, lad. Better be GRYFFINDOR!” The House name was shouted out loud, and the Great Hall erupted into cheers. The loudest were the Weasely twins, who stood up on the table and yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” With a wide grin, Thomas did a few deep bows, shooting a smug smirk at Draco Malfoy, and going to join his housemates. There were many congratulatory pats on the back, and people introduced themselves to the Boy-Who-Lived in droves, which made it a little hard to keep track of all the new faces.

Thomas had a feeling Hogwarts was going to be fun.

---

Hogwarts was not fun. Classes were boring. The teachers lectured for the majority of the period, leaving hardly any time for the practical lesson, and they always assigned feet of homework to people who didn’t do the spell correctly in class, such as Thomas. His hand ended up aching by the time he went to bed, every day, without fail. And then came Friday, when Gryffindor had double Potions.

The Boy-Who-Lived sat down next to Ron in the classroom in the dungeon. The youngest Weasley son was shooting suspicious glares at the Slytherins on the other half of the room.

“I don’t like sharing classes with all these slimy snakes,” Ron whispered, looking at Malfoy pointedly.

“Yeah? Well, my Dad said Snape’s the worst of them,” Thomas muttered back. It was at that moment that the classroom door slammed open, and in strode a tall man, with greasy hair, a hooked nose, and dressed in billowing black robes.

“You are here,” Severus Snape began, soft voice echoing through the room, “To learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” The man began roll call afterwards, not even glancing up when a student answered to their name. At least, until he called on Thomas.

“Potter.”

“Here.”

Snape paused, staring at Thomas for a long moment. “Ah, yes… Our resident celebrity,” he drawled. The Professor finished roll, and then turned back to Thomas. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would be the result of adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Thomas gaped, too shocked at being singled out to make a sound. Meanwhile, at the next table over, Hermione’s hand shot into the air like a rocket. However, Snape stayed focused on the Boy-Who-Lived.

“No answer? Well, let us try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to locate a bezoar?”

“I… I don’t know, Sir,” Thomas answered reluctantly. Once again, Hermione’s hand was waving in the air, and once again, Snape ignored her.

“Then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Thomas remained silent, red rising to his face as he fumed.

“Pity,” Snape muttered. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“Dad was right- you really are just a big git,” Thomas whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, the entire classroom was silent, so Snape heard him easily enough if the thunderous expression on his face was any clue.

“Out, Potter.”

“Wh-What?”

“I want you out of my classroom. I will not tolerate such insolence, such disrespect! Go to the Headmaster’s office, and you can expect at least a month of detention.”

“You can’t-!”

“Two months.”

“But!”

“Would you like to make it the rest of the year?” Thomas fell quiet, and Snape smirked smugly. “I thought not. Pack your belongings, and get out- now.”

Filled with anger, Thomas did as he was ordered, shoving his quills and papers into his bag haphazardly. He was a bit more careful with his inkwell, making sure to cap it, but that was all. He kicked his stool back under the table, and shot Snape the filthiest glare he could as he passed by the greasy bastard.

“Oh, and… Fifty points from Gryffindor.”

---

Everything pretty much went downhill from there. Much to Snape’s chagrin, he’d only been able to assign two weeks of detention, but that was far more than Thomas deserved, in his own opinion; two hours of scrubbing cauldrons by hand, or writing lines until his wrist cramped (and then continuing to write while his muscles spasmed painfully) every evening after dinner cut into much of his freetime. Thomas had to choose between hanging out with his friends or doing his homework, since he didn’t have time to do both, and the choice was obvious. After all, homework didn’t talk about Quidditch.

Snape continued being a snide arse in Potions, so whenever the Boy-Who-Lived talked back, the bat of the dungeon gleefully tacked on yet another few days of punishment. It eventually totalled up to the two months Snape had promised, and Thomas became more and more agitated as the weeks went by.

Hermione did her best to coerce them into finishing assignments, but eleven-year-old boys had a notorious lack of common sense, so it was an exercise in futility for the bushy-haired girl. More often than not, she ended up storming off with a huff, while the boys laughed at her indignance, then went back to whatever they were doing.

It all came to a head on Halloween. The First Year Gryffindors were in Charms, with Professor Flitwick standing on his stack of books to lecture them on the Levitation Charm.

“One of a wizard’s most rudimentary skills is levitation. Or, the ability to make objects float. Now, don’t forget the nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing. A swish and flick! Everyone?” The class repeated the movements together. “Good. And, don’t forget to enunciate! The incantation for the Levitation Charm is Wingardium Leviosa. Give it a try, all of you.”

A chorus of prepubescent voices filled the room as each student practiced the charm. One of the more notable attempts was by Ronald Weasely, who chanted the incantation, then flailed his wand up and down like a mace.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Hermione said, holding a hand up. “You’re going to take somebody’s eye out, Ronald. Besides, you’re saying it wrong. It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saaa.”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “You do it then, if you’re so bloody smart,” he said, grinning smugly as he got ready to watch her fail. “Go on! Go on!” Hermione shrugged.

“Wingardium Levi-o-sa!” With a swish and a flick, the feather floated into the air, guided halfway towards the ceiling by Hermione’s wand. Ron stared at it in shock, and the rest of the room grew silent.

“Well done, Ms. Granger! Truly spectacular! Five points to Gryffindor, for being the first one to learn today’s spell!”

Ron fell into a sulk, not even noticing when Seamus Finnegan somehow managed to blow up his feather. After class, the youngest Weasley male jammed his supplies into his bag and stormed out of the room, followed by Thomas and Neville.

“It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saa,” he mocked, pitching his voice higher to mimic a girl’s voice. “She’s a nightmare, honestly- it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends!”

A moment later, Hermione stormed past Ron, shoving him aside and scurrying down the hall. An awkward silence fell among the three boys.

“I think she heard you,” Thomas finally said.

---

That stench… It was unfamiliar. Not one he’d smelled in these halls before. There were many other strange ones, as there was at the start of every year, but this one was noxious, overpowering… Predatory instincts roused, his bones contorted and he dropped to four legs, ready to begin the search.

It was time to hunt.

---

“That stupid, rotten Ronald Weasley,” Hermione Granger whispered to herself, sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how long she’d been here, curled up in this stall in the second floor bathroom. It must’ve been a few hours, at least. However long it was, though, she still felt raw.

She’d come to Hogwarts hoping to find people like herself. People she could fit in with, people she could be friends with. That hadn’t been possible in the Muggle world, what with the bouts of Accidental Magic that became more frequent the more she was bullied. However, this school was supposed to have people like her; people who could bend the rules of reality. And, she’d hoped, people who had the same love for learning as her. After all, how could they not want to learn everything they could about magic? It was, by far, the most interesting subject she’d ever come across, and the fact that she could actually replicate the things she read in her books with nothing more than a few words and a wave of her wand made her feel powerful. Like she was more than the daughter of two dentists, more than a bushy-haired bookworm with too-big teeth and an even bigger attitude.

All she found in this castle was disappointment.

The Savior of the Wizarding World was just a typical eleven-year-old boy- not even a particularly pleasant one! The students were the same jealous cretins she’d grown up around, unable to handle that someone was smarter than them, able to do things they couldn’t, and they sought to tear her down to make themselves feel better. One of the most revered wizards in the country, her own headmaster, seemed like nothing but a barmy old man. It didn’t help that he hired rude people like Professor Snape, or incompetent people like Professor Quirrel.

It all added up to a very unhappy Hermione Granger, one who was starting to wish she’d never accepted her invitation to this stupid school. Then, the bathroom door exploded.

---

It was close. The second floor was where the scent was the strongest, and the monstrous bellows, like cannon blasts to his sensitive ears, let him know he was in the right place. The smell was almost unbearable, but he blocked it out, instead following the loud crashing, as whatever he hunted destroyed the room it was in.

He pushed himself faster.

---

A troll. A mountain troll, judging by its gray skin, incredible height, and the absolutely horrid smell, Hermione’s quick mind analyzed. However, while her thoughts were racing with panic, her body was frozen in terror. She’d exited the stall to see what all the noise was about, and immediately regretted it when the wall blew inwards. She was nearly brained with a piece of marble, only avoiding it because she fell on her rump with a shrill shriek. The troll roared once more, waving its club wildly, and Hermione answered with a scream of pure fear.

She scrambled backwards until she hit the far wall of the bathroom. Unable to stand, she simply curled up in the fetal position, covering her head with her arms, waiting for her demise. The troll advanced towards her slowly, swinging its cudgel around and demolishing each stall it passed, the steel crumpling under the thick wood like it was aluminum.

The only warning the mountain troll had was a low, bestial growl that reverberated off the tiles, before something slammed into its back, sending the massive monster flopping to the floor hard enough to crack the slick tiles. Razor-sharp teeth dug into the back of the troll’s neck, and it had just enough time to grunt in confusion, before its spinal cord was severed. Its ugly, misshapen head dropped to the ground, bouncing against the ceramic.

Silence reigned. Hermione, who had fully expected to be dead by now, cautiously peered past her arms, and came face-to-face with a large cat with insanely long fangs. A sabre-toothed tiger (Smilodon, her academically-inclined brain automatically corrected). It had to be over five feet tall, dwarfing Hermione’s modest height (modest for her age and gender, that is). It had thick, midnight-black fur that shone lusciously in the magical light. Its most noticeable feature, however, were the bright, emerald eyes that stared at her passively.

The smilodon hopped down off the troll’s back and stalked over to the trembling girl. There was intelligence in its eyes, though, and Hermione had a feeling the feline wasn’t going to kill her, despite the purposeful manner in which it moved, and the crimson blood dripping from its fangs. She pushed herself upright, standing on shaky legs, back pressed against the cold marble wall. Then, right in front of her, the smilodon began to change. Its long body became more compact, and it became a few inches taller. Its teeth shrunk, snout flattening, hair shortening, and before her stood Thomas’ older brother, Harry Potter. Even as a human, he cut an imposing figure, with his glowing eyes- amplified by the lenses of his glasses- apathetic stare, and the blood smeared across his lips. His tongue darted out, licking up the red liquid, only for him to turn his head and spit it out a moment later, a grimace on his face.

“Troll blood,” he murmured distastefully, turning his attention back on Hermione. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?” His rumbling voice shook her out of her daze.

“Um, I…” She was too embarrassed to admit that she’d been in here, bawling her eyes out. So, she did something she much preferred; she rushed forward and circled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his solid stomach. “Thankyousomuch!” she forced out. Tears were sliding down her cheeks once more, but this time, it was in relief that she was still alive.

Hermione chanced a glance up when she noticed that her saviour was rather silent, and was unnerved by his flat expression. “Move,” he grunted, plucking her off the ground by the back of her robes. The First Year made a noise in the back of her throat, choking when her collar pulled against her neck uncomfortably. Harry unceremoniously deposited her outside the bathroom, not even bothering to make sure her feet were steady. She stumbled back against the wall, nearly falling. When she straightened up, she went stock-still with terror, unable to force her body to move away from the grisly scene in front of her.

So much blood...

---

It was a few minutes before the Professors arrived. Minerva, Severus, and Filius all skidded around the corner, Quirrel following after a few seconds.

“Ms. Granger!” Minerva shouted, “What are you doing here!?” The girl didn’t respond, and it was only then that she noticed her staring, horrified, at a gaping hole in the wall. Minerva pulled out her wand, ready to hex to bits anything that popped out, while herding her Lion a few steps away. Severus and Filius slowly approached, peering into the shattered bathroom, and the half-goblin squeaked.

“Mr. Potter!?”

“Potter, what do you think you’re doing!?” Severus barked, pointing his wand at the boy. Quirrel looked about ready to faint again. Curious, Minerva crept closer, and gasped, unable to comprehend what she saw. Standing ankle-deep in the guts of a troll corpse was Fourth Year Ravenclaw, Harry Potter. He was positively drenched in crimson- it dripped from the bottom of his blue-trimmed robes, was smeared over the lenses of his glasses, and nearly covered the entirety of his face. The only reason he was recognizable was because of the trademark Potter hair, which looked like a localized tornado had swept across his scalp.

Potter swiped a sleeve across his glasses- the motion drawing Minerva’s attention to the wicked, curved silver knife in his right hand- in an attempt to see who was talking to him, not that it did much good.

“I’ll be done in a moment,” the boy grunted. His knife melted into a metal baton- a wand?- and he waved it, Conjuring multiple cylindrical glass tanks. Another wave, and the troll organs, lined up on a tarp on the bathroom floor, were each guided into one tank. The last three were filled completely with dark red blood. The glass jars were all wrapped up in one burlap sack, while another bag was Conjured and filled with solid body parts, such as teeth, bones, nails, and the skull. A few Charms cleaned all the grime off Harry, and he stepped down from the ripped-up corpse, gesturing with his wand for the two floating sacks to follow after him.

“Can I help you, Professors?” Potter asked, his tone indicating it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

“You can start by explaining what this is, Potter,” Severus drawled, looking pointedly at the disastrous scene behind the Fourth Year.

“I believe it’s rather obvious, Sir,” Potter replied dryly. Severus rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further.

“Why weren’t you at the Halloween Feast, Mr. Potter?” the Deputy Headmistress asked.

“Personal reasons,” he deflected quickly, and Minerva grimaced. Of course he wouldn’t care to celebrate on this night.

“Yes, my apologies,” she said. “Ms. Granger? What about you?” she asked the girl who was standing a few paces away. The girl flushed, seemingly embarrassed.

“I… Came her because… Some of the other students were teasing me. I swear, I didn’t mean to skip the feast! I just lost track of the time!” she cried, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. Minerva felt righteous rage burning in her breast.

“Who?” she asked, ready to slap every single one of them with detention for the rest of the year. Bullying the poor girl enough to make her cry in the bathroom for hours was horrible on its own, but for it to result in her nearly dying to a troll attack!? They were lucky Minerva wasn’t contemplating expulsion! It was only the fact that this sort of incident was nearly impossible to plan, especially for a student, that kept her anger in check. Granger looked panicked, as if she didn’t want to reveal their identity and let them be punished- a kind sentiment, but utterly misplaced, in Minerva’s opinion- when Potter opened his mouth.

“Weasley Number Six, hm?”

Granger’s jaw dropped. “H-How…?” she asked, unable to formulate full sentences. Potter snorted.

“That little fool has been putting his foot in his mouth for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of knowing him. I doubt the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived is completely innocent, either.”

Minerva’s nostrils flared. “Is that so?” She turned to Granger. “Is Mr. Potter correct, Ms. Granger?” Shame-faced, the girl nodded, and Minerva’s heart went out to her little Lion. She swept forward, engulfing her charge in a tight hug. That was all it took for Granger to break down into sobs.

“I just- wanted to h-help him perf-form the Levitation Charm!” Granger wailed. Minerva squeezed her tighter, glancing at Filius for confirmation. The Charms Professor nodded, scowling furiously.

“Mr. Weasley was sitting next to Ms. Granger during class, and he didn’t seem to be having much success. I remember deciding to leave him be and help a few other students, because I saw Ms. Granger explaining the spell to him, and figured he was in good hands.”

Minerva was positively quaking with fury. “Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Granger to the Hospital Wing? I believe a Calming Draught would not be remiss at the moment. I have students to discipline.”-

Potter sighed, and looked to Severus, who flicked his wand at the troll remains, taking control of them. “I will bring them down to my office. Collect them before breakfast.”

“The livers are off-limits; I actually need those for a project.” Minerva quirked an eyebrow at the interaction, but didn’t comment. Potter came forward and scooped Granger up in a princess-style carry, causing the girl to squeak.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said, lips thin with disapproval.

“Have you seen how short her legs are? I’d like to get to the Infirmary today, thank you.” Minerva snorted quietly, noting how Granger buried her face in the crook of Potter’s neck, face flaming. She smiled slightly.

“Well, since Ms. Granger seems so comfortable, I’ll allow it this time.”

“Professor!” Granger cried, sounding scandalized, though she made no move to change her position. The old Scot chuckled.

“Off with you two. Filius, Severus, I suggest you two head down to your own Common Rooms and inform the students that the situation has been taken care of.”

The other Professors nodded, before Severus said, “Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Potter, for saving a fellow student’s life.” The Potions Master stalked off down the hallway, robes billowing dramatically behind him. Filius exclaimed his agreement, and scampered away to Ravenclaw Tower, while Minerva strode gracefully to the Lion’s Den, ready to raise hell.

Tonight’s verbal arse-whooping would be legendary.

---

“Sit there, Mr. Potter. I must check you over.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you fought a bloody troll, that’s why!” Madame Pomfrey shrieked.

Harry scowled. “I didn’t fight it, I killed it. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t get smart with me, lad! If you think I won’t put you over my knee-”

Hermione giggled, watching as the Mediwitch stood toe-to-toe with the raven-haired boy, attempting to glare him into submission despite him being nearly half a head taller. The elderly woman was standing in front of the door of the Hospital Wing, blocking Harry’s attempt to leave after dropping Hermione off. The First Year felt a bit hurt, but decided that, since he’d already saved her life, he wasn’t obligated to spend more time around her. She was, however, secretly pleased when he stepped back into the Infirmary, sitting on the bed next to hers with a huff.

“Fine. Just get this over with. I’ve things to do,” Harry said impatiently. Madame Pomfrey swatted him on the head.

“I will finish when I do, and not a second sooner!” Harry muttered something about crazy old hags, earning yet another thump. Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand and whispering incantations. Lights appeared in front of Harry, and Madame Pomfrey finally cut off the flow of diagnostic spells, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, it seems you were telling the truth, Mr. Potter.” The boy growled and made to leave, only for the nurse to stop him. “However, you’ll be staying here until Professor McGonagall arrives. She Floo-messaged me, and wishes you to keep Ms. Granger company.”

A rumbling noise echoed from his chest, and the Fourth Year looked enraged. However, Madame Pomfrey just whipped out a bar of chocolate from the pocket of her robes and shoved it into his hands. The boy reluctantly quieted down, tearing open the wrapper and nibbling on the corner. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

“Like a toddler,” she muttered, a fond smirk on her lips. Harry stuck his tongue out, moving to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. He tapped a finger to the inside of his right wrist, and a leather-covered book with no visible title appeared, startling Hermione something bad.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, eyes sparkling at the thought of more arcane knowledge. Harry just cracked open the book, leaned back in his chair, and began reading. Hermione considered pouting- it worked on her parents, sometimes, when she was younger- but decided against it. He wasn’t even looking at her in the first place. They sat quietly for a while, but the silence was starting to drive Hermione mad. She didn’t even have a book to occupy herself! “So, what year are you in?”

“Fourth.”

“And you’re in Ravenclaw, judging by your robes.”

“Mm.”

“Fifth Year is when students do their OWLs, yes?”

“Mm.”

“Are you prepared for them?”

“No.”

“What? Don’t you know they’re the most important exams in your life, alongside the NEWTs? Your grades on those exams can very well determine the course of your life, such as which classes you’ll be allowed to take from Sixth Year on, and after Hogwarts, which jobs you’ll be qualified for! You must prepare properly for them- your very livelihood depends on it!”

Harry flipped the page in his book.

“Are you listening to me!?” Hermione shrieked, making the Fourth Year glance up, looking very annoyed.

“Yes. I simply chose to ignore you.”

Hermione huffed. “How rude!”

“It’s more rude of you to assume I knew none of that, despite me being in this school for longer than you,” Harry droned, returning to his reading. His eyes were flitting across the words at incredible speeds- speeds that Hermione knew she couldn’t match.

“Are you even reading, or just skimming the pages?” she asked snidely.

Harry snapped his book shut, making the First Year flinch. “Is there a reason you’re trying to piss me off?” he hissed, glaring at her menacingly. His emerald eyes glowed with a fierce light, cowing Hermione. She tried drawing upon her Gryffindor courage, but to no avail. A shiver racked her spine.

“I-I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I’m simply trying to impress upon you the importance of your exams,” Hermione explained weakly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need you telling me that.”

“You said you weren’t prepared for your OWLs, even though they’re next year!”

“Why would I bother with that when I’ve already done them?”

“...What does that even mean?”

“It means, I did my OWLs in Second Year,” Harry said slowly, condescendingly. Hermione ignored his tone.

“What!? How!? Would I be able to do that as well!?”

“That is a matter to take up with you Head of House, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, striding out of Madame Pomfrey’s office, where she Flooed in. “And, since I am here, I am forbidding it. You will take your OWLs in your Fifth Year, along with the rest of your classmates.”

“But, Professor McGonagall, Harry-”

“Mr. Potter is a special case, Ms. Granger.” That was when the Deputy Headmistress noticed the bar of chocolate the Fourth Year was nibbling on. “I see Poppy had to bribe you once more,” she commented, beyond amused. Harry glared impotently, the effect ruined by the eagerness with which he bit into the treat.

“‘S not my fault,” he grumbled around a mouthful of gooey goodness. “The smell of potions is too strong in here.”

“Well, then I suppose I shan’t ask you to suffer it any longer. You may return to your dorm for the night, Mr. Potter.” The young man positively rocketed out of the Infirmary, making the Iron Lady of Hogwarts chuckle fondly, shaking her head. “That boy…” She occupied the chair he had been sitting in, turning her attention to her little Lion.

“How are you, my dear?”

“I’ve… Been better,” Hermione hedged. “The Calming Draught seems to have worked, at the very least.”

“Yes, Madame Pomphrey’s skill in potion brewing is only outclassed by Severus, a Potions Master. She does good work.”

“Um, Professor…” Hermione trailed off, unsure how to say what she wanted to. She fiddled with the loose fabric of her robes.

“Yes, Ms. Granger? If you have a question, you need but ask.”

“What’s going to happen with Ronald and Thomas?”

McGonagall’s face darkened like a black thundercloud. “They, along with Mr. Longbottom, will be serving three months of detention, and have been deducted fifty House Points each. Given how Mr. Potter- the younger, that is- has already lost fifty points for insulting Professor Snape during class, I’m afraid this might put Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup.”

Tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes, despite the Calming Draught. The first term wasn’t even done, and all her hard work had already been undone? She had gained the most points among the Gryffindor First Years through her diligent, if somewhat excessive, work, and it resulted in nothing? McGonagall seemed to be able to follow her train of thoughts, because she stood and put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but bullying will not be tolerated in any capacity. Hopefully having the rest of the House being quite cross with them will set those boys straight. At any rate, I have paperwork to do. Will you be fine on your own?” Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall strode out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the bushy-haired girl alone with her thoughts.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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