#really proud of the outcome even though it was a bit rushed! compared to other art

[skradio]

hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry

#genshin #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #fontaine #genshin impact #原神 #genshin fanart #artists on tumblr #I forgot to post this because i did it from the airport on twitter #and i uninstalled tumblr on my phone lol #well here it is #was a print at anyc #really proud of the outcome even though it was a bit rushed! compared to other art #ogi cant think of any more tags

[mcwriting]

A Science Project for the Ages

Big thanks to this anon for this request! Sorry it's taking me longer to fulfill my requests from when I was in quarantine but I'm trying to get those done soon!

This is a slight continuation of lab partners but can definitely be read alone :)

Ship: SoftNerd!Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1883

Warnings: one blink-and-you'll-miss it bad word

⚛︎

There was a loud buzz as your phone vibrated against the wood table in the science library.

You quickly picked it up, trying not to disturb the few other students around as you looked down at the screen.

Tom.

Though you were together now, he very rarely called at this time. He knew you always studied here before dinner time and respected that.

You grabbed your notebook and bag and shuffled into the hall to answer.

"Tom? Is everything okay?"

"Hey, um. So sorry to bother you, but you've finished your science expo project, right?"

You furrowed your brows as you slid down the wall to sit and stuff your notebook back in your bag. You knew this conversation was going in a weird direction already. You could hear a faint beeping in the background.

"Uh, yeah..?"

"Right, and what was that project over again?"

"I did an analysis on light absorption of different common solutions and then compared them to the color they turned when I lit them on fire. I thought we already talked about this the other day..?"

"Yes, yeah, sorry. So one more question before I tell you what's up. Do you happen to know how to bake?" Tom asked quietly.

Suddenly you remembered what all his project was on.

He was doing a food chemistry project, explaining certain phenomenons that happen when you bake. He had hoped giving people baked goods would make them like his project more.

"I- Tom I told you I would help you but you said it would be fine," you said flatly."

"Well..... Now it's not fine, and Alex isn't here to help me. He went to his girlfriend's."

Tom's roommate. He was usually pretty patient with Tom's clumsiness, but sometimes he just had to get out and enjoy a day off, too. Tom understood, but now the burden fell on you.

"Fine, I'll be there in a little bit. Text me if you need me to bring anything."

⚛︎

You walked in to the smell of burnt. It was overwhelming and you choked as you rushed to the window to air out the apartment.

"Hey, sorry about the smell," Tom said nonchalantly from the kitchen.

You turned to see the situation at hand, which was definitely... a situation.

It was like something out of a movie. Messy bowls and utensils littered the sink. There was cake batter splattered across the counters. Finally, the culprit still sat in a muffin tin on the bar: a dozen very black cupcakes.

You sighed.

"Forgot to set the timer?"

"Yep."

"And let me guess. This was your first experience with baking?"

"That's exactly right."

"Of course," you muttered, but then clapped your hands together enthusiastically. "Well, then. Let's try and fix this, shall we?"

You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Tom's cheek, then brushed past him to grab the tray.

"First on the agenda, we are going to take off the papers and chuck these off the balcony to let out some frustrations, alright?"

You were lucky in that Tom's apartment was on the top floor, and his balcony faced a wooded area. The only thing he could hit was a tree and the food would eventually biodegrade into the soil.

You both tossed them, competing to see who could throw the farthest. It let Tom blow off some steam, and also gave more time to ventilate the place before you went back in.

After the last cupcake (if you could call it that) was tossed, you got started on cleaning everything up. He had used a lot of bowls for one boxed cake mix, but you didn't ask.

It took a while to make sure things were sufficiently clean, but finally everything was ready to make a new batch.

"Oh one other thing before we start. Have you ever made a meringue?" Tom asked as he preheated the oven, which you carefully supervised to make sure it was right.

"I mean, I've made some before. Why?"

"Well part of my project was talking about how egg proteins bind. They sound pretty easy. Just eggs and sugar, right?"

Your hand covered your eyes in disappointed surprise.

"What? No. Tom, meringues are like, notoriously one of the hardest things to get right. They land just before macarons, and meringue is one of the main parts of a macaron!"

"What are you talking about? How can something with two ingredients be that hard to make?" he tried to argue, but you weren't about to let him trick you into making something so difficult.

"Did none of your research explain how moisture, temperature changes, utensils used, and method of cooking affect the outcome."

"...Uh... no."

"Were you planning on using the Swiss, Italian, or French technique?"

".....I didn't know there was more than one."

"Well then you might go do a quick search to add to your presentation while I cover the cupcakes."

While he did that, you made up the batter and got the cupcakes in the oven (set at the right temperature for the right time), then got started making some frosting.

"Hey, y/n. Did you know you aren't supposed to make meringues in a plastic bowl?"

"Yep. Plastic can retain lipids which prevent proper binding. Same reason you can't whip the yolk."

"That's what this says! How did you know that?"

You shrugged.

"I like to bake. By the way, you better credit me as your pastry chef on the presentation."

"Will do."

He made some edits on the page and found a recipe claiming to be the easiest method, so you caved and agreed to help him make them when the cupcakes were done.

As you measured sugar and got the whisk attachment ready, you looked over and admired Tom as he meticulously separated the eggs.

You couldn't help but fall head over heels for him all over again seeing how he did each step carefully, all his focus on each little egg.

Sure, he was a little clumsy sometimes, but he was precious and cared about whatever he did.

It took what seemed like hours to get the egg whites whipped properly (and lots of arguing with Tom about what "stiff peaks" meant), but finally you had them in a piping bag and on a pan to bake.

You couldn't help but wait by the oven in anxious anticipation for the meringues to come out, even though they'd be in there for a while.

Tom sat right next to you on the (surprisingly) clean kitchen floor as you stared at the oven.

"Babe?" he asked softly, leaning into you.

You hummed a response, taking the opportunity to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming and helping me. I know you value your library time."

You smiled and sat back up, looking Tom in the eyes.

"You know, I wasn't really studying anyways. I was watching youtube videos with my headphones in because I didn't want to go home yet."

Tom had a mischievous grin and furrowed brow.

"So you just go there as an excuse to get away from me?!"

You laughed and knocked into him slightly.

"No! I just got done with my homework and wanted to hang around campus for a while... and I had a feeling you'd call eventually."

Tom gasped.

"You didn't trust me!?"

"Now that I can answer truthfully..." you started, causing him to pout. "I'm not saying I didn't trust you at all, it's just that I had never once heard of you baking and figured I would prepare myself accordingly."

"Does this mean that Alex knew too?"

"I can't speak on his behalf, but I'm glad it was just us anyways. I like getting to spend time with you like this." You paused to peck him on the lips. "Want me to read over your project? I know those spelling errors can slip by sometimes."

Tom grinned, wordlessly getting up and offering you a hand.

⚛︎

The expo was in full swing and you nervously stood on the other side of the room as your project to watch people walk by and observe your findings.

You had already given your presentation to the judging panel and now the expo was open to the public, so you tried to avoid stressing too much as you talked with some friends.

Suddenly a pair of warm arms came around your stomach and Tom's scent enveloped you.

"Hey baby, how ya feelin'?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder as your thumbs rubbed over his hands instinctively.

"You know me. A little nervous." You flipped in his arms to face him. "And what about you? The judges like our sweet treats?"

"They sure seemed too. Dr. Grand liked the meringues so much she asked for another."

You smiled.

"Well either way, I'm proud of us both."

"Thanks again for helping, I couldn't have done this without you. I made sure to emphasize how difficult meringue making is during my presentation thanks to you."

Finally your friends had enough of the cutesy bullshit and convinced you and Tom to rejoin the conversation, both of you with arms around each other as you conversed.

Time passed and eventually they gave prizes to the best projects of the expo. You knew you wouldn't win anything, there were some far better projects out there that included heavy research.

"And in first place, 'Science around us: the chemistry of baking' by Mr. Tom Holland! Congratulations! If all of our winners could come pick up their ribbons and get a photo for the newsletter, that would be great."

Tom stayed casually next to you, so you had to shake him and get his attention.

"Did you hear that Tom? You won!"

Tom blinked a few times, then gasped.

"I won!? I mean, we won!!?"

You rolled your eyes and pushed him forward.

"Go on, get your blue ribbon, baker boy."

He excitedly rushed up to the table where his prize awaited (tripping a few times, but you ignored that) and bounced on the balls of his feet as someone pinned the ribbon to his shirt.

You could see the sheer delight on his face as the winners took a group photo, and he practically skipped back to meet you.

You and your friends gave him congratulations as he happily looked down at the blue piece pinned to him.

He then unpinned it and tried to hand it to you.

"Now, don't congratulate me, y/n gets all the credit for making everything."

"No, no. It was your idea and you did the research. You deserve that more than anyone else. And plus, you were right. Baked goods did give you an edge over the competition."

"Well I say it was a science project for the ages!" he exclaimed, holding up the ribbon. You and your friends cheered to that.

"How 'bout we go celebrate your win over lunch, hm? The cupcake I had isn't holding me over and I'm starving."

"Sounds perfect, darling. Lead the way."

You happily headed off towards the nearest place on campus, completely oblivious to the fact that Tom had pinned his blue ribbon to your backpack.

He quickly made up time and slipped a hand into yours.

If nothing else, he was the boyfriend of the ages.

⚛︎

A/N: thanks to the anon who sent the request for this! I really enjoyed writing it! I think I could've improved some things but overall I'm pretty satisfied with it, and I hope you are too!

Permanent Tag List

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

@jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @justafangirlduh, @hollandswife

#a science project for the ages #tom holland #tom holland story #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland one shot #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine

[btsandvmin]

Sweet Night - Song analysis

So I decided to do a small analysis for Taehyung’s new self-written song “Sweet night” which is the OST for the drama “Itaewon Class”. It’s a very sweet song, and I am very proud of Tae. 

I usually aren’t the biggest fan of completely English songs, but even though it’s a bit hard to hear the words clearly sometimes it doesn’t bother me much and I do like the melody, the lyrics and Tae’s voice. I’m really proud over Tae and how he seems to really embrace songwriting a lot more. But it’s quite a bittersweet song to be honest. Or at least it gives an uncertain feeling.

It is a song for a drama, so it is difficult to know how much of the song is from Tae and what might be done to fit the drama. He also isn’t the only writer. However I will speak from a perspective where we guess what it could mean if this is based on Taehyung’s personal feelings and of course also with a possible Vmin perspective.

For me this song (and even Scenery which has some similar parts and themes) seem to show a person who longs to be with someone but that feel like they have probably missed their chance. Or at least they aren't sure if there still is the same chance as there might have been before. And that it was their own fault that they missed their chance before as well, because as the song imply they didn't realize their own feelings from the start. The feelings changed at some point.

It’s a love song, but it’s a very unsure one. It’s uncertain about if there even is a future for that love, if it’s all too late, or even if it’s real at all (real as in If the other person would feel the same). So it’s not really a happy song even though it does have a small sliver of hope. For me it's about a lost chance in the past and wondering what might be there in the future. Let’s look at the lyrics and I will explain what I mean.

Looking at the lyrics, Tae sings about how he can’t sleep and how he is telling us a “fragile truth”. Which means it’s something he is unsure about (not unsure about his own feelings, but if he should confess them or not), and maybe he doesn’t even know if it’s something he should talk about at all. It also seems like he is somehow still hope for something but that he worries that the chance is gone or that he doesn't know if the other person would feel the same. If we look at this as a traditional love song and that it’s about a particular person these are feelings he are very confused about and sad about. He still hopes despite it all though.

Referencing a window being open before and hoping a door can still open for them as well as using the image of two ships in the night, crossing each other for a short time, barely seeing each other and that Tae also already reached the shore. All of it seems to indicate that it could be too late for him and whoever he longs for. It also indicates that there was perhaps a short time where it looked like something was possible but that that time has already passed, but Tae hopes for a second change. (Similar to what he does in Scenery). He still wants there to be something that has been there before, that he missed at the time.

He also asks the question “Are you my best friend?” and this could be both ways, either that he isn’t sure if this person is his best friend, or that he isn’t sure if it’s more than friendship. Personally I think it's 'are we more than friends' considering the whole songs romantic tone. Either way the line about “rushing through my mind” is pretty obviously about him not being able to think clearly. That he is confused and overwhelmed by his feelings.

His next line about “I wanna ask you” if directed to the same person the song is about makes it seem he also doesn’t know if perhaps this thing between them is something real. Or if it’s something he alone is feeling. Basically it could be unrequited and he isn’t sure if his own image of the relationship matches with the other person. But it sounds like his impression is that it is something real between them, but he’s not sure if maybe he is imagining it.

Then he asks if this person is too good to be true, which again seem to point at either his whole image is just something he has built in his head or simply that this person is all he wants and he finds them almost too good to be true. This would match well with all the dreamlike feelings Tae has used to describe love in songs like Winter Bear or his Christmas song, which are much happier and idyllic. It’s possible that Sweet Night could be the step before Winter Bear and the Christmas song and show the progress of being happily falling in love. It’s also possible the other two songs are the more happy longing before he realizes their chance may have passed. If the songs would even talk about the same lovestory at all.

He also asks is it would be alright if he pulled this person closer. This could indicate a possible change in the future, but together with all the other references it seems to almost drown amongst the more negative outcomes of it being too late or one-sided. However it is the ending, and it’s also switched from past tense, so it could be the happy ending of a unsure time. Using "would it be alright if I pulled you closer?" is his wish and hope. Meaning he hasn't neccessarily given up even if he isn't sure about the other person's feelings.

Lastly there is the line “How could I know, one day I would wake up feeling more” and this piece of lyrics truly seem to point at this song being about a person falling in love with their best friend. One day everything is just different, the love is more than what it used to be.

So I guess this in combination with Jimin and in particular Taehyung having confirmed numerous times through the years that they are best friends is the main reason for why people thought of Jimin when they heard this song. Taehyung also seemed to use "My best friend" a lot prior to releasing this song and have pointed out Jimin as his "One and only best friend" making it difficult to not let your mind be drawn towards Jimin. Especially since Friends just came out and we clearly have in our minds how close Vmin are and how they consider each other not only best friends but even soulmates. Basically the timing of this song coming out so close to the album will make people react even more. I suspect this could also be a reason why Jimin hasn’t said anything about it like he tends to do.

Tae also said in his vlive with Namjoon how he gets inspiration from his own feelings a lot. He says “I tend to write what I have felt into the lyrics” and he also said he wrote this song while abroad, so it’s difficult to know if these feelings would be new or old as well. (Though if we consider it to be about Vmin and how they have acted recently it seems more likely to be old feelings.) It also makes Tae’s earlier songs more likely to be very personal and perhaps even reflect different sides of the same love story that he is describing here.

Looking at Scenery in particular we can see a few common things, at the very least in theme and feelings.

Some lyrics from Scenery includes:

Will it be in me

I have my feelings now

That's the time of the moment

I missed my lost mind

I regret it

Collect a moonlight piece

I'll make the lights

Like yesterday

Come in front of me

I still wonder wonder beautiful story

Still wonder wonder best part

I still wander wander next story

I want to make you mine

Basically in Scenery we see some similarities with how Tae knows his feelings now, but that he also that he possibly regrets them, or rather perhaps regrets failing last time they had a chance. In combination with the lyrics for Sweet Night that could mean the other person came before him but Tae himself didn't have those feelings at that time. Something he later regret as his feelings change or become more clear to him. He also seems to want a second chance, asking for the person to come in front of him again. And also that he wants to make them his and looks forward to see what a possible future could hold. So a lot of similarities but in the end a bit more hopeful and certain compared to Sweet night. He knows what he wants, to make the other person his. So despite Sweet Night being a bit hesitant together with Scenery and even more with a Vmin perspective of all other Vmin songs, I think the outcome was a happy one.

That being said there are also many ways a feeling can change and be reinterpreted in a song. So even if the song is partly about his feelings it’s not possible for us to know how much or which parts, or when he felt this. 

I also haven’t seen the drama Itaewon Class so I can’t say how much the song fits in with the drama either. It’s not just Tae who has worked on the song, so it’s possible it’s also been altered to fit the narrative of the story more. Though I have heard people say it doesn’t really fit in with the relationships between the characters. But again, I haven’t watched it yet so I can’t say anything about it.

Anyways, assuming the song is based mostly on Taehyung’s own feelings (and not mostly fiction) there are in my opinion three ways to view it.

1. Just because he uses the phrase “Are you my best friend” it doesn’t automatically mean it has to be about Jimin. It could be about someone else, even someone we don’t know.

2. If it is about Jimin it could be a song based on old feelings and that things have already changed since Taehyung felt like this. Perhaps “Friends” even being the happy solution.

3. The song is about Jimin and it reflects Taehyung’s feelings now. At the very least he is hoping for more and is bold enough to release a song about it.

If I’m completely honest what it sounds like if we assume the best friend is Jimin is that Taehyung has realized he loves Jimin as more than a friend, but he doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know if that is a possible future for them and he isn’t even sure if it’s just him feeling this. Perhaps he is confused about both his own feelings as well as what Jimin could possibly feel for him.

It’s possible with option three that what we have seen all these years is actually Tae struggling with his own feelings without properly knowing what they are, but that now he knows but he feels scared about revealing them. It's possible he has reason to think Jimin might feel something more too based on their past lost chance. It’s also possible he hasn’t even said something at all to Jimin. That this song is just a way for him to express something that has been occupying his mind. It seems unlikely though, with the way Vmin behave and even more looking at their other songs possibly being connected.

I do find it interesting that he sings about feelings changing for someone, and even mentioning “best friend”. I think those are the parts that make this almost look a little bit like a confession from Tae’s side. And at the very least he has now shown that he probably agrees that you can fall in love with your best friend. It all keeps in fitting very well with Vmin… I can’t deny that.

Either way, what it looks like IF it even is about Jimin at all, is that their relationship is (or was) complicated and that Taehyung is a bit unsure and afraid about what they are and if Jimin would feel the same.

So, to me if this is something Taehyung truly feels and if it is about Jimin, I think Vmin are not in any kind of relationship but that perhaps Taehyung hopes for more. At the point in time of this song. Because we don’t know when Tae would possibly have felt like this or if he still feels it.

This is my take on the subject and the lyrics at least, and I can’t say it wouldn’t fit even though it sounds like a fanfiction. Especially since I personally have always felt more like Tae is the one showing potentially romantic feelings for Jimin, while Jimin has always been harder to read.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this. Personally I feel a bit sad looking at these lyrics and knowing it’s possibly something Tae has felt himself. But in the end we know Vmin are soulmates and love each other, so at least there is that.

EDIT: I feel I need to say that while this song on it’s own looks like it’s a bit sad and unsure I personally don’t think that if it’s about Vmin it would still be like this. It's about a moment in time, something Tae wonders if they can change. First I find it unlikely Tae would write a song like this if he hasn’t already either talked about his feelings or gotten over them, at least not if it’s about Jimin. And secondly it’s obvious Vmin are very close and happy recently so I don’t think there is any “angst” there at the moment. This analysis is based on the lyrics and I have no way to know when or even if Tae would have felt like this. 

Thanks for reading.

#vmin #vmin analysis #taehyung sweet night #taehyung #jimin #btsandvmin #Btsandvmin ask #Btsandvmin answer #my post #song analysis #sweet night

[swindlersstole]

@thechavanator amazingly enough this one came out at a not ridiculous length, but I think that’s mostly because 75 is taking me on a cross-country tour of galaxy takes currently. also because writing combat hard

95. wild

When Nova was a child, his grandfather raised him on stories of his travels throughout the world. Chalky told him about the blistering cold of the Snaerfelt, the grand battles of honor in Octagonia, the majesty of watching Mount Huji erupt. He told him about the proud kingdom of Heliodor, the desert oasis of Gallopolis--he never did talk much of Dundrasil, though Nova knew well now that hadn’t been just out of respect for the departed. But Chalky also told him of his own battles, fighting monsters and protecting other travellers, and the camaraderie found within. So, of course, Chalky had told him about pep.

Nova and Gemma had been enraptured with the idea. Little children that they were at the time, they tried to make their own pep, but without knowing any magic yet, it was naturally unsuccessful. A part of Nova wondered if they’d be able to do it now, when he saw Gemma again (because he was going to see her again, damn it), but if nothing else, he was grateful for having the experience of it now.

Chalky had said that there was no one way to call on pep; it was a heat of the moment thing, he’d said, and that you’d know it was coming when you felt it. And Nova definitely did feel it, from each of his companions, and the sensation was different every time. 

With Veronica, pep was a true to form heat, an inferno that threatened to engulf all if not for her expertise, but he never felt fear from her flame. It was every bit the fire of creation as well as destruction, and every time she lent Nova her power to set his sword ablaze, he couldn’t help but be grateful that she was on his side. Having people on his side was a blessing these days, and the fact that Veronica could set things on fire with her mind was a clear, positive bonus.

Comparatively, Serena was a gentle stream, and pep felt like he was treading through the river of Cobblestone on a hot summer’s day. It was rejuvenating in ways his own barely-there grasp on magic had yet to scratch the surface of, and Nova wondered if it came to him that way because he was the Luminary, or because he had that potential in him all along. He was eager to find out, if Serena would teach him.

Erik, though--he was hard to peg as any one thing. With him, pep moved swift and uncatchable, a whirlwind from every which direction that would have made Nova dizzy if Erik weren’t right there beside him. Together, he and Erik were an oncoming storm, thunder rolling in the distance and wind howling through the trees, an unstoppable force of nature to which every tree would bend. And with Serena at their side, the rain would be sure to follow, pelting down upon the earth like cold, piercing daggers and oh sweet Almighty why were Erik’s eyes red--

They hadn’t really had the opportunity to test this out beforehand--pep came and went as it pleased too sporadically to be something inherently reliable, and even then, the outcome wasn’t always certain. Serena had seemed to have a good feeling about what the three of them together could manage, and she didn’t seem nearly as surprised as Nova was at the result. She seemed rather delighted, actually.

“Look, Nova!” She clapped her hands together. “It worked!”

To her credit, something sure did work. Erik had always been a little more cutthroat in battle than Nova was--years of relieving others of possessions and evading the law would do that to a person, he figured, but with his and Serena’s magic backing him, “cutthroat” didn’t even begin to describe the change in his demeanor. Erik moved faster than Nova’s eyes could see, slashing at the spitzfire to and fro without breaking a sweat. And when the spitzfire slammed its claws down in an attempt to slash him, he roared and pushed back harder. His pep had changed from a whirlwind to a ferocious northern chill, and Erik from a man into a wolf, hunting mercilessly beneath the arctic moon.

Nova wondered if maybe Serena knew something like this was going to happen. He also wondered if she had anticipated how mesmerizing this was to watch, because, if he was to be honest? Nova felt pretty enraptured by the whole spectacle, and he very much did not think that was the intended reaction.

“Oi! Quick gawking!” yelled Veronica, who, despite her reprimands, also appeared just as dumbfounded as Nova did. “He’s gone feral, not invincible!”

Nova shook his head, and readied his sword once more. At his side, Serena giggled behind her shield, and it did not help his conflict of emotions in any way.

~

When the spitzfire fell defeated, the red of Erik’s eyes dimmed away, leaving them blue and human once again. He stood on his feet for a good moment, trying to catch his breath, but when he tried to raise a hand to push back his hair, his knees buckled. 

Nova dropped his sword, and caught Erik before he hit the ground. The last of the pep had been expended, and now the exertion had caught up to him; Erik was drenched with sweat, and his skin burned like he’d spent hours running in the sun, which, Nova supposed, was the equivalent of whatever it was he just did. Serena wasn’t far after him, a healing spell on her fingertips, and when she touched Erik’s arm, his skin immediately cooled, but it was very obvious yet that what he needed was a bed to lie in before he was back in top form.

Erik looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, exhausted in ways Nova hadn’t seen him before. And that part of Nova that felt very conflicted about enjoying seeing Erik take a walk on the wild side came rushing back with a vengeance, because this was also inexplicably nice to see. 

“So--” Erik gasped, still not without his ordinary rakish grin, “that blow your mind, or what?”

Nova’s heart near skipped a beat.

What. In. The hell, brain, this was not the sort of thing he should be finding captivating right now! …or ever, actually? What was going on on this day? Nova wasn’t sure anymore. The desert sun must have been getting to all of them.

“That,” Nova paused, choosing his words carefully, “was really cool,” Nailed it, now he could express his worry in relative peace of mind, “but don’t do it again until we practice with it more.”

Erik, still panting, managed a nod.

“Yeah,” he said, and again, that part of Nova took that sound and committed it to memory for… some reason, he’d worry about it later, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

#panda does a write #'this is FINE' said eleven 'the after-effects of pep don't MEAN anything' #he would soon be mistaken however

[citadelsushi]

Trust Tomorrow: Ch. 3

Third part of Avory Shepard’s origin story.

Art by antivancorvo

Also on AO3 and FF.net

Nothing excites a crowd as much as spilled blood. 

Nick assumes human kind has always been this way. He remembers reading once about an ancient civilization who held massive events in which people would fight to the death for entertainment. They had even built an arena, called it the Colosseum, specifically to house the dozens of thousands of spectators who arrived from miles around to watch the gruesome fights. Competitors were called gladiators, granted the title as if it were something to be valued. As if they weren't simply unwanted cuts of meat thrown into a grinder, chewed up and spat out in a mangled mess of muscle and blood. 

Chicago's underbelly had adopted the same sport somewhere along the line, though it wasn't nearly as extravagant. There was no rich emperor sponsoring the fights, no luxury involved even for the highest ranks. In Rome, Nick had read, the majority of the Colosseum’s victims were slaves or captives of war, beaten and whipped until the driving force behind them was painful enough they were willing to enter the ring to escape, despite knowing they faced certain death. 

No one in the pit was forced to participate. At least, not explicitly. 

No, the Reds - Konnor - was a master of manipulation. Threats were beneath him, peasant’s work, the reason he kept Mikki around. Konnor was more subtle; if he wanted a person to do his bidding, he found a way to push his own desires onto them, to make his wants their wants, to turn his needs into their needs until little more remained of his victim than the relentless search for his approval.

Not that Konnor’s aversion to employing violence meant he enjoyed the pit any less than his subjects. In fact, Nick was inclined to believe he enjoyed the fights more than anyone else. A puppeteer watching his marionettes perform on stage, obeying his every command despite never uttering a word. The exhibit was as much to prove his control over his own gang as it was to prove the Reds as a group not to be fucked with.

Though, to everyone but Nick, it seemed none of that mattered. Hell, most of the time Nick doubted anyone else saw what he saw. He knew Avory didn't. As far as the rest of the Reds were concerned, there was no deeper meaning to any of it. To them, the monthly engagement was just a bunch of people gathering to beat the ever living shit out of one another. 

And Nick had to admit, going to the pit was a really fucking good time. Bringing together five groups of people who swore to oppose each other until death, but were able to put aside that hate long enough to watch a grisly fist fight, created a unique energy. The air crackled with it, a fuse of youthful rebellion ignited by alcohol, a powder keg of red sand exploding into enthusiastic violence. For a short time each month, every member could relax, get a little fucked up, and pretend they were kids. For a short time, they could forget to pretend they were adults.

Unfortunately for them, everything good is also short lived.

As much as everyone loves seeing a victor pummel their opponent into a bloody pulp, no one wants to lose a member, a friend, a sibling. Death in the pits is expected, but it never fails to kill the mood. For Nick, the mood had been ruined as soon as the serpent pulled a knife; watching his sister getting sliced up is a sure way to kill a buzz. Now, watching as Avory silently came to terms with what she had just done, all Nick can feel is sober relief.

An eerie silence falls over the crowd as Avory stands over her victim, the blade in her hand still dripping with blood. Steam rises from her crimson stained skin. Her chest heaves as she gazes down at the lifeless body beneath her. Backlit by hazy orange streetlight glow, she looks otherworldly. Like an ancient gladiator, cloaked in neon and death.

Mikki enters the circle, hips swaying in her usual exaggerated fashion, but she keeps her distance from Avory. She knows better than to approach a fighter stiff with adrenaline. As she approaches the center, she shouts, “And the knife hiding bitch makes four!” 

Some of the crowd cheers, some grumble in disdain. Accepting the outcome, most of the group begins to exchange credit chits and their meager, yet prized, possessions, passing over lost bets begrudgingly. But Nick's attention is drawn elsewhere, beyond Avory, over Mikki's shoulder where Sixth Street clumps together. 

Not a single face looks surprised, though maybe a bit disappointed. No sadness either. Instead, a cool, determined veil had fallen over all their faces, their eyes locked on Avory in identical fashion as if they were a singular being. Nissa doesn’t look fazed in the least by her gladiator's defeat. A chill creeps down Nick's spine, giving rise to the hairs on the back of his neck. He quickly glances to Konnor, statuesque as ever, to find his stare locked on Nissa. A grin stretches tight across his lips but his smile never reaches his eyes, the expression so unnatural on his gaunt face that it looks painful.

Nausea takes root in Nick’s stomach and blossoms upward, pushes gin flavored bile into his throat. 

As Mikki begins taunting the Broncs, Nick spots movement and his attention snaps back to the Serpents. Two bodies right of Nissa, a brute of a man with white pants and no shirt unfolds his arms and cracks his knuckles, his actions slow and deliberate. Nick had never seen a krogan in person, but he imagines this man is as close to krogan size as humans can get without genetic modification. The man's legs are thick as cement pillars, but they carry him efficiently enough that he bursts into the ring and makes it to the center before anyone in the crowd can react. 

Nick, however, is already watching.

Panic makes his voice hoarse when he yells, “Avory!”

Under less threatening circumstances, Nick would have been proud of Avory for knowing to look up in the direction opposite of where he stands, over her shoulder to the blind spot of which he has a perfect view. She looks just in time to dart forward, narrowly avoiding the juggernaut charging directly at her. The man’s momentum continues to carry him forward into Mikki, whose reflexes aren’t nearly as quick, and she takes the full force of his attack.

Mikki doesn’t have time to scream. The force of the man crashing into her sends her flying to the edge of the ring, limbs flailing as she spirals through the air. She lands with a thud, rolls to a stop at the feet of the Broncs. Blood trickles from her scalp down her hairline, her only movement comes from the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. No one bothers to check on her. The man growls, doesn’t bother casting Mikki a second look before he whirls around to find his target. 

Avory is a deer caught in headlights, and for the first time, Nick is afraid. He’s never seen her look quite as she does now, crouched and ready to run or rip out a throat. She clings desperately to the knife in her hand, keeps it tight against her body, ready for defense. Compared to the giant standing off against her, she looks so small, so young. The stone cold killer she had just proven herself to be vanished and left in the ring was a scared, scrawny teenage girl. 

Again, the brute charges, the ground shakes with each step. Blood rushes in Nick's ears, his body paralyzed with fear, unable to so much as holler with the rest of the crowd as the giant closes in on Avory. She stands directly in his path, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. He wants to yell at her to move, to run, to charge back, to do anything but fucking stand still and let herself be trampled. 

Seconds later, Nick realizes he was stupid to worry. The giant is only a foot from collision when Avory ducks and darts forward, immediately turning to focus on the man who stumbles to a halt, his open arms still grasping for a body that was no longer there. He turns, growls, and charges again. Just as before, Avory waits until his fingertips are nearly on her before she jumps to the side, whirls around behind him before he can halt his momentum. This time, she delivers a swift kick to the back of the man's knee. It's almost as high as she can effectively reach. 

Coupled with his unstoppable momentum, the blow causes him to fall forward, forces him to throw his hands on the pavement, stops just short of smashing his forehead on the pavement. Avory looks pleased, almost allows herself a self-satisfied smirk. An axe chipping away at a giant Sequoia, every splinter of wood counts. 

Enthralled, the crowd grows louder each time Avory narrowly escapes the man's grasp. They dance around each other like a matador fighting a bull, Avory almost taunting the man, landing cheap shots wherever she can manage. Each jab only enrages the brute further, to the point that Nick swears he sees the man start to paw the ground before each charge. He almost laughs imagining steam coming from his ears and a giant ring piercing is septum. Avory, too, seems to be mildly amused by the fight. Nick is surprised to see her so keen after the last match, but she flutters about surprisingly light on her feet, never staying in one spot more than a few seconds. Her eyes never leave the giant in the ring, even as he throws his weight about like a wrecking ball.

Several minutes in and Nick is too focused on the fight to light another cigarette. When adrenaline was fresh and the threat new, Avory had been exhilarated enough to keep up with the challenge. She had grinned as she circled the man, dangling herself in front of him like bait only to disappear into thin air, leaving him empty handed and embarrassed each time. But now, Nick can see the signs of fatigue. Her blood pressure has been too high for the bleeding from her last battle to stop, blood ebbs from her wounds and with it, so does her energy. She no longer seems to float above the ground, each step becomes sluggish and her posture hunched, desperate for more oxygen her body can’t provide. 

The crowd can see it too. With each charge, the bull gets closer to goring her. He runs at Avory again and she evades him, but only just. She stumbles as she jumps to safety, her left hand clutches the laceration on her side while her right sticks straight out, seeking balance. Panic rises in Nick once again as she stays there, hunched over and gasping for breath, as the bull paws at the ground, thirsty for another attack. 

The man starts at her.

“Avory!” Nick shrieks, “God damnit, fucking move!”

Avory doesn’t lift her head, but she nods. Four, three, two, one stride out and Avory drops to the ground, rolls out of harm’s way at the last possible second. Nick breathes a sigh of relief. But now that she’s down, she struggles to get up. Her arms tremble with effort as she pushes her way to her knees. She’s slow, too fucking slow. She’s barely to all fours when the bull turns back on her, his eyes widened with murderous frenzy. Nick watches in slow motion as he approaches her, his stride slow for the first time since entering the ring, savoring each second as he approaches his victim. Avory doesn’t look up, but she must sense his presence because she starts to crawl as quickly as she can toward the edge of the ring. The bull walks behind her, no longer in a hurry now that she’s so slow, so weak.

Yet, the crowd is thirsty for more bloodshed, rooting for the giant underdog to finally wipe out the girl who stood champion for so long. Saliva sprays from savage mouths as they call for her head. The unfolding events chill Nick to his bones. They’re just kids. Him. Avory. Each person in the crowd, all children begging for the death of another child. He looks to Konnor, arms still crossed, his skeleton features blank. There’s not a single bone in his body that feels any of this. 

Nick’s own anger erupts from depths so deep he didn’t know he could tap. He turns to Konnor, shoves him as hard as he can. It’s just enough to make Konnor unfold his arms, to level his dead stare at Nick. 

“Fucking stop this!” Nick screams, his voice breaking.

Expressionless as ever, Konnor simply straightens, folds his arms once more, and turns back to the pit. “No.”

He’s about to shove him again, to punch him, kick him in the shin, beat the ever living shit out of him until the rest of the Reds pull him off, but the crowd bursts into cheers and Nick turns back to Avory. She’s lying on her side now, a foot away from the opposite end of the ring, curled in on herself. The bull stands over her, his arms held above his head as if absorbing the energy from the crowd. And with that energy, he drives his foot into Avory’s stomach.

Her mouth splits open in a silent scream and she rolls away from the source of the pain, arms wrapped around her abdomen. She lifts her chin and her tear filled eyes scan the crowd. She glances briefly at Nick before passing over him to Konnor, a desperate plea in her eyes.  She’s running on empty, too weak to fight, unable to take much more yet powerless to end her suffering. Konnor could stop this at any moment. Nick looks to him too, his heart already heavy with despair. 

One word and Konnor could put an end to the fight, he could save Avory’s life. But Nick knows the cost is too high. Stepping in to save her would set a dangerous precedent that Konnor’s subjects didn’t have to die for him. Protecting her would make Konnor look weak, would make her look valuable. Letting her die, however, cost him nothing but a night at the pit. Another bet, another gladiator, another child, lost.

Nick can’t afford a loss like that. 

Avory is all he has, all he’s ever had. From the first day he met her, when she had been welcomed into the foster home with open arms by the guardians who promised devotion yet disappeared just as quickly as the state officials, she had stuck her neck out for him. At nine years old, her knobby knees poking out every which way and her knotted hair equally as wild, Avory had more fight in her than he did at thirteen. When dinner time rolled around that night and the pirate-like hierarchy of unsupervised children reared its ugly head, Nick had already retreated to his makeshift bed of tattered towels in the corner. Being low on the totem pole and resources scarce, he would be having sleep for dinner once again. 

As the new kid, Avory’s right to food didn’t exist. Until she insisted. Until that wild haired, wide eyed little kid screamed, and stole, and kicked until no one, not even the oldest, wanted to waste energy on the crazy new girl. Nick had watched her then, admired her ferocity, her ability to charge head on into the unknown and take what she needed. He admired her more when she didn’t hoard her newfound treasures, when she handed out meager scraps to other kids who were too afraid, too weak, too beaten down to take anything for themselves. Himself included.

 The relationship that blossomed turned into something Nick had never experienced. Something kind, something crafted with care, something comfortable. Nick wasn’t accustomed to anything of the sort. No, the types of relationships he knew were violent, only existing because he was told there was no other option, because fear kept him from hoping for better. If there wasn’t anger, there was nothing, an empty hole void of attention, of love, of connection. What he and Avory found with each other made him feel the way old tv shows made him feel, like he was safe, protected, loved. Like he had a family.

Family is too rare a thing to lose without a fight. 

#Avory Shepard #Nick Shepard #Trust Tomorrow #custom shepard #mass effect

[ohnoitsthebat]

Sastiel Creations Challenge: Round 6

Title: One More Pairing: Sastiel Rating: T Warnings: Major character death (sorry!) A/N: Written for @sastielcreationschallenge round 6. This is my first time I’ve properly written Sastiel, so please be gentle with me. If you think it sucks, don’t be mean! I do accept constructive criticism, though. Also, this is a bit rushed and I’m not too proud of it, but I have had a lot going on in my personal life. I hope you still enjoy.

Sastiel Creations Challenge | My blog theme: one more | prompt: flower

Their relationship has always been a series of “one more’s”.

One more hug.

One more kiss.

One more touch.

One more night together.

Just one more. After all, considering the lives they lead, it’s very likely that they won’t get the chance to do anything more than once. So they have never taken their time together for granted.

And now.

Castiel’s touch is gentle as he sets the one lone flower from the bunch he had purchased earlier at the local farmer’s market down on Sam’s bed. As per hunter tradition, he didn’t have a proper burial or a grave. Cas had found Dean tooth and nail about that.

“This is not right, Dean! Sam deserves a grave.” Castiel’s jaw was tight as he spoke.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh, Moments that seemed like hours passed, until he spoke, his voice bone-tired and achingly sad.

“You know Sam as well as I do. You know he wouldn’t want us cryin’ and weepin’ over a grave.” Dean clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is stronger, more insistent.

“This is what Sammy’d want, Cas.”

Castiel wasn’t so sure about that, but he let it go, partly because he didn’t have the strength to fight, and partly because Sam was Dean’s family, not his. Did he even have a say in anything? Dean knew Sam’s wishes better than Cas did. But the angel couldn’t help but think back to the time when he had promised Sam that he would see to it that he had a funeral. Sam had quirked a brow, shook his head as he squeezed Castiel’s hand, and replied,

“It’s all right, Cas. Really, you don’t have to do that for me.” But Castiel had seen the light in Sam’s eyes when he suggested it, had seen that little smile that Sam tried to hide by dropping his eyes down to the book he’d been reading.

Castiel kneels down in front of Sam’s bed. He doesn’t plan on praying, not yet anyway (and, to be perfectly honest, he stopped praying ages ago after coming to the realization that God was neither listening nor cared about anything he had to say), but the position feels right. Feels comfortable. He takes a long, deep breath, lets it out shakily, and begins to speak.

“Sam, I...I am not sure what to say. I suppose...” He runs a hand through his hair, if only to quell his nerves. “I suppose, if I am to be completely honest with you, it should have been me.” Castiel has never been one to indulge in self-pity; he has always found it pointless, but when it comes to Sam, it isn’t self-pity. To Cas, his words are undeniable. He really and truly does blame himself for Sam’s untimely, unexpected demise. No matter what Dean tries to say, neither of them saw this coming. It was  not an expected outcome. But Cas supposes that Dean has to lie to himself so he can make it through each day. In a way, he’s doing the same thing.

The tears are flowing freely now, and the angel’s shoulders heave violently as he sobs. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move. He simply remains in his position in front of the bed, his knees burning from where they are digging into the carpet, but he doesn’t care. The pain is nothing compared to the one he feels in his heart.

“I just—I wish we’d had more time.” Cas chokes out, his face absolutely soaked with grief. “One more time to...to….”

He straightens up, squares his shoulders, chokes the tears back down. No. He can grief later, properly, in private. Soon, the bunker will more than likely be filled with hunters, friends of hunters, and other people the Winchesters encountered over the years. That was one suggestion Dean had agreed to. He knew that he didn’t need to be alone, no matter how much he insisted that he wanted to.

“I wish that I could have one more time with you,” Cas says to the empty bed, “to tell you that you were a good man, Sam Winchester. I….I love you.”

He turns away, bows his head, and quietly walks out of the room. Sam’s bed remains empty, save for a book that Dean had placed there, on top of the blankets. The bed had been made up, as neatly as Dean and Cas could manage through their grief.

For the first time in his life, the angel feels empty. He’s experienced a myriad of human emotions, run the gamut, in fact, but he’s never felt this empty. Or broken.

No more hugs. No more kisses.

No more stolen moments.

Only one more flower.

One more goodbye.

-Fin-

#writerly things #ouch i hurt myself #sastielcreationschallenge #sastiel #pairing: sastiel #spn #spn fic #sastiel challenge #prompt fill #i hope I did this right!~ #sastielcreationschallenge round 6

[readbookywooks]

The Lion and the Serpent

Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported him through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for him to smile blandly as he looked into her horrible bulging eyes. He and the DA were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, and whenever he was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons he dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust. He was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but Harry was not sorry about this; he had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern. Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold). 'You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?' Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. 'On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his.' A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted. 'Well--I thought it was a good idea,' she said uncertainly, 'I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But ... well, if you don't want to use them--' 'You can do a Protean Charm?' said Terry Boot. 'Yes,' said Hermione. 'But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is,' he said weakly. 'Oh,' said Hermione, trying to look modest. 'Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is.' 'How come you're not in Ravenclaw?' he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. 'With brains like yours?' 'Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,' said Hermione brightly, 'but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?' There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket. Harry looked sideways at Hermione. 'You know what these remind me of?' 'No, what's that?' The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him.' 'Well ... yes,' said Hermione quietly, 'that is where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin.' 'Yeah ... I prefer your way,' said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. 'I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them.' 'Fat chance,' said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, 'I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with.' As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment,' she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, 'I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?' Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library. Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindors chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Harry had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years. The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, 'Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday', far from chilling his blood, made him laugh. 'Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,' he retorted, which made Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face. But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, 'Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?' he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too. October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons. The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space. 'You all right?' said Harry. Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth. 'You just need some breakfast,' Harry said bracingly. 'C'mon.' The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. Harry looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Harry tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them. They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal. 'I must've been mental to do this,' he said in a croaky whisper. 'Mental.' 'Don't be thick,' said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, 'you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous.' 'I'm rubbish,' croaked Ron. 'I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?' 'Get a grip,' said Harry sternly. 'Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.' Ron turned a tortured face to Harry. 'That was an accident,' he whispered miserably. 'I didn't mean to do it--I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.' 'Well,' said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, 'a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?' Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes. 'How're you feeling?' Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them. 'He's just nervous,' said Harry. 'Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous,' said Hermione heartily. 'Hello,' said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head. 'I'm supporting Gryffindor,' said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. 'Look what it does ...' She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump. 'It's good, isn't it?' said Luna happily. 'I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway ... good luck, Ronald!' She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey. 'When you're ready,' she said, 'we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.' 'We'll be there in a bit,' Harry assured her. 'Ron's just got to have some breakfast.' It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry's arm she drew him to one side. 'Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges,' she whispered urgently. Harry looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate. 'Good luck, Ron,' said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. 'And you, Harry --' Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Harry cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time he made out the words etched on to them: Weasley is our King With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, he hurried Ron across the Entrance Hall, clown the stone steps and out into the icy air. The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening. Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch. 'OK, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,' said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. 'Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them--' 'We do,' said Harry and Ron together. 'Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,' said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, 'but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.' 'Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,' Harry assured her. They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. Some people were singing, though Harry could not make out the words. He was starting to feel nervous, but he knew his butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron's, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey. 'It's time,' said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. 'C'mon everyone ... good luck.' The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, A roar of sound greeted them in which Harry could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles. The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. He caught Harry's eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest. 'Captains, shake hands,' ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Harry could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince. 'Mount your brooms ...' Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same. 'And it's Johnson --Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me--' 'JORDAN!' yelled Professor McGonagall. '--just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest--and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's--ouch--been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe ... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and--nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away--' Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing. '--dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger--close call, Alicia--and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?' And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands: 'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. 'Weasley was born in a bin He always lets the Quaffle in Weasley will make sure we win Weasley is our King.' ' --a nd Alicia passes back to Angelina!' Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the words of the song. 'Come on now, Angelina--looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat!--SHE SHOOTS--SHE--aaaah ...' Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron. 'Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in Weasley is our King. ' Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he wheeled around to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him. '--and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead--' A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below: 'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring ...' '-- so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team--come on, Ron!' But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins' end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop. 'Slytherin score!' came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, 'so that's ten-nil to Slytherin--bad luck, Ron.' The Slytherins sang even louder: 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN... ' '--and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch--' cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it. 'WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN WEASLEY IS OUR KING ...' 'Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?' screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. 'GET GOING!' Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium: 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING ... ' There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly: 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN ...' '--and it's Warrington again,' bellowed Lee, 'who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't--but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell--er--drops it, too--so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!' Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below: 'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING ...' '--and Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!' Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring: 'THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING WEASLEY IS OUR KING.' But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watchstrap. But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly. '--and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina--GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle ...' Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly ... '--Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey--Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good--I mean bad--Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again ...' 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN ... ' But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch. He dived ... In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom ... The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck ... Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch ... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping ... It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds--Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball--Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly--Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval ... They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won-- WHAM. A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice. 'Are you all right?' 'Course I am,' said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle. 'It was that thug Crabbe,' said Angelina angrily, 'he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch--but we won, Harry, we won!' Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer. 'Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he said to Harry. 'I've never seen a worse Keeper ... but then he was born in a bin ... did you like my lyrics, Potter?' Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone. 'We wanted to write another couple of verses!' Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. 'But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly--we wanted to sing about his mother, see--' 'Talk about sour grapes,' said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. '--we couldn't fit in useless loser either--for his father, you know--' Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy. 'Leave it!' said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. 'Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-- '--but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?' said Malfoy, sneering. 'Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK--' Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack. 'Or perhaps,' said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, 'you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it--' Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach-- 'Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!' He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled 'Impedimenta!' and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. 'What do you think you're doing?' screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. 'I've never seen behaviour like it--back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.' Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release. They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid. 'In!' she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor. 'Well?' she said. 'I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!' 'Malfoy provoked us,' said Harry stiffly. 'Provoked you?' shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. 'He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two--' 'He insulted my parents,' snarled George. 'And Harry's mother.' 'But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?' bellowed Professor McGonagall. 'Have you any idea what you've--?' 'Hem, hem.' Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery. 'May I help, Professor McGonagall?' asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face. 'Help?' she repeated, in a constricted voice. 'What do you mean, help?' Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. 'Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.' Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils. 'You thought wrong,' she said, turning her back on Umbridge. 'Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever--' 'Hem, hem.' Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again. 'Yes?' 'I think they deserve rather more than detentions,' said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly. Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open. 'But unfortunately,' she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, 'it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.' 'Well, actually, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, 'I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it ... I mean,' she gave a false little laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, 'the Minister just sent it ... ah yes ...' She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. 'Hem, hem ..."Educational Decree Number Twenty-five".' 'Not another one!' exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently. 'Well, yes,' said Umbridge, still smiling. 'As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment ... you remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she--that is to say, I--would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers ... anyway, I was reading out our amendment ... hem, hem ..."the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc." ' She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag still smiling. 'So ... I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,' she said, looking from Harry to George and back again. Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand. 'Ban us?' he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. 'From playing ... ever again?' 'Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,' said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. 'You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too--if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,' she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. 'The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well ... good afternoon to you.' And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake. 'Banned,' said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. 'Banned.No Seeker and no Beaters ... what on earth are we going to do?' It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Harry looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match. 'It's just so unfair,' said Alicia numbly. 'I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?' 'No,' said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. 'He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.' 'And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!' said Alicia furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist. 'It's not my fault I didn't,' said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, 'I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back.' Harry stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling. The Snitch he had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotised and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it. 'I'm going to bed,' said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. 'Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream ... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet ...' She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire. 'Have you seen Ron?' Hermione asked in a low voice. Harry shook his head. 'I think he's avoiding us,' said Hermione. 'Where do you think he--?' But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks. 'Where have you been?' said Hermione anxiously, springing up. 'Walking,' Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things. 'You look frozen,' said Hermione. 'Come and sit down!' Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads. 'I'm sorry,' Ron mumbled, looking at his feet. 'What for?' said Harry. 'For thinking I can play Quidditch,' said Ron. 'I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow.' 'If you resign,' said Harry testily, 'there'll only be three players left on the team.' And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, 'I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George.' 'What?' Ron yelped. Hermione told him the full story; Harry could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever. 'This is all my fault--' 'You didn't make me punch Malfoy,' said Harry angrily. '-- if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch--' '--it's got nothing to do with that.' '--it was that song that wound me up--' '--it would've wound anyone up.' Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane. 'Look, drop it, will you!' Harry burst out. 'It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!' Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, 'This is the worst I've ever felt in my life.' 'Join the club,' said Harry bitterly. 'Well,' said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. 'I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up.' 'Oh yeah?' said Harry sceptically. 'Yeah,' said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. 'Hagrid's back.'

#OrderofthePhoenix #HarryPotter