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sneakerdoodle · 4 years

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I was going to release this as a long video essay but devices and software had conspired against me and eventually drained my patience, so here it is in the written form. My magnum opus. My 15 pages long analysis of the three Infinity Train seasons currently out.

1. Introduction

So for starters, I watched Infinity Train way too late, only a few weeks before the release of Book 3. And it immediately gave me MANY many thoughts, head full... Needless to say, when the first 5 episodes of Book 3 were released I was HYPED. So hyped that, being on a vacation out in the countryside, with better connection only availble upon climbing a nearby hill, I made some. sacrifices. To get there after dark, when everyone else was sound asleep.

[id: two screenshots of separate discord messages by someone with a handle “fern”, one reading “ also i decided to not risk bothering people/dogs by opening the gate, so i jumped the swamp instead, except i didn’t actually cover it, my foot got stuck, i barely saved my shoe, and i need to do that again to get back bc i am locked out”, another reading “well” with a photo of a person’s legs covered in black dirst from feet to knees. end id]

And by the rules of friendly bullying, I am now destined to have that night haunt me forever. Naturally.

[id:discord chat search results for the word ”swamp” (38 results found), cropped so that a part of one message is readable, saying “... KNOW it was the SWAMP that embraced ME, not the other way around”, another (by someone with a handle “Fleur” saying “you already DID embrace a swamp”. end id]

[id: a message from the same person saying “he asks ‘how was your swamp’”. end id]

[id: a message from the same person saying “big words coming from mx. soggy feet” with an angry red overlay. end id]

And, well. The first two Books had left me with a sense of assuredness, the underlying motif of them appearing empowering and infinitely comforting, and I was excited to get another supporting pillar in season 3. Another story to turn to in time of need to remind me that I have the power to make my life a better one, that it is never too late to make something of where I am. And, well, it's not that Book 3 didn't continue the topic of personal choice and growth, but the story it told added... let's say, more weight to the idea of personal development.

That is perhaps only natural: narratives need to grow, to develop, to take the themes explored in them further, deeper with every coil of the spiral. And a more, grave, exploration of them will only bring them closer to life. But in the aftermath of Book 3 I had to deal with a certain sense of powerlessness, not being able to fit it into a neat system, put it on a shelf in a shiny frame of witty analysis and call it a day. But, quite ironically, I believe that this exact feeling of unending change and death of comfort is the exact thing the show wants us to get comfortable with. And that's what I want to talk about here. Infinity Train's core narrative of an individual versus the wrold, individual versus change. The very concept of personhood, the relationship between the person and their environment and the way to approach it that is shown as perhaps the most productive.

I’ll start with my Many Thoughts on the first two books to explain what I thought was the underlying message of both of them.

2. Book 1: The Perennial Child and the Unproducitve Protagonist Complex

Book 1 establishes the core elements of the narrative wonderfully, the writing is smooth, effortless, beautiful and takes you on a wonderul, deeply impactful and bittersweet emotional ride. We have Tulip, The Perennial Child herself, who has to renegotiate her relationship with the world, with life, change, and other people's power to bring said change. Tulip is also to learn true connection and make peace with its price.

The narrower narrative of a story centered around a divorce is a perfect gateway into a broader one, so let's explore the specifics of the foremer first. Tulip's mindset is the mindset of a child from a dysfunctional family. The notion of blame is very strong in her perception of the world. On one hand, she sufferes from a misplaced sense of responsibility for the way things are, as she admits in her conversation with One One. That is the most natural for someone who grew up in an unstable environment, with parents whose relationship was not harmonic and healthy. A child caught in the middle of adults' anger and argumments internalizes that anger and those arguments as something having to do with them. And that's what we see Tulip go through, with her having to listen to her parents fight because of her needs.

[id: a screenshot from Infinity Train Book 1 showing younger Tulip, a read-headed girl, sitting between her two parents upset as her father is telling something to her mother angrily. end id]

Tulip also has to step in as a caregiver to a suffering adult, tucking her dad in at night; the dialogue emphasizes that their usual roles are being reversed in that situation. Growing up in the middle of constant conflicts, having to provide care and comfort and stability to someone who was supposed to take care of her, had naturally resulted in a deeply ingrained painful perception that Tulip is the one responsible for her environment, is the one to blame when it is “broken”, and is the one who should step up and fix it, make it right.

Then, on the other hand, there is the notion of blame Tulip puts on others, specifically her parents. Here, we see the same mindset but reversed: Tulip feels caught in the middle of their divorce and demands that they make it right, make it work, for her sake. She needs her family, she needs stability, she needs her parents to work out their schedules, she needs to get to the game design camp. And she is prone to seeing her parents as people who are cruelly destroying her life and her family for no apparent reason.

I am not calling her entitled, of course; ideally, stability is exactly what parents need to provide their children with. That is their mission. And when they fail, it is more than natural for children to feel hurt and betrayed. In a way, they are. Tulip's agony over her parents' divorce is never mocked nor undermined in the show, either; it is shown with the deepest compassion. So this is not so much about calling her feeligns invalid, but about looking for ways to redefine the situation in a way that would help Tulip heal. The way out of her agony seems to be to abandon the mindset that puts her at the center of her family life – and at the center of the world, in general. Things are not that simple; people have reasons for behaving the way that they do outside of how it affects her; and avoiding and rejecting that truth hurts her, first and foremost. Feeling like the center of the universe isn't so much selfish or arrogant or toxic; it's just painful, and Tulip needs to step out of it, for her own sake.

[id: screenshot from Infinity Train Book 1 showing the two adults from before, Tulip’s parents, with exaggerated demonic features, surrounded by flames. end id]

An important thing to discuss is that the notion of “blame” can only exist if there is indeed something wrong with the world. Let's go back to Tulip's defining conversation with One One, in which she gets to say some incredibly important words: “It's not your fault the car is this way.There isn't a fault, it just is.”. “No fault” can mean “no one to blame” as much as “there is actually nothing wrong with the world”. The words “It just is” carry this simple and raw reality check that forces us to accept the way things are, with no emotional withdrawal or avoidance of it.

The world simply is the way it is, and even if the way it is hurts us, it doesn't mean that what hurts us is wrong.

I would like to suggest that the Unfinished Car itself, the residents of which continue adapting to their unconventional reality and genuinely thriving in it through acceptance and flexibility, are here to emphasize that. We may not like the way things are, but that doesn't mean we should go looking for someone to blame and force to “fix” them, be out ourselves and others. We shouldn't ferociously attack what hurts us with wrenches, kicking and screaming and tyring to get it to Work Already. Sometimes the only thing we can do is to accept the reality of it, let go, and see what we ourselves can do to feel happy and content in the present circumstances.

Making peace with the way the world is, renouncing responsibility for it outside of her personal decisions, is exactly what Tulip gets to learn on the train. Being half-abducted by it during a time when Amelia has taken over and no one is there to give a nice welcoming message with specific instructions, Tulip is deeply distraught by the mysteries surrounding her, and infinitely frustrated by her seeming inability to 'logic' her way through the challenges. She boards the train as a girl whose main need is to create a semblance of control over her environment, through understanding it.

[id: two shots of Tulip’s sketchbook where she is tryng to figure out train’s puzzles. end id]

She is at the center of the universe, she is responsible for the way things are, and it is up to her to figure them out.

That is a lone, individualistic journey of a single person who only wants to deal with their own life, their own problems, and Tulip does not welcome any companions at the beginnig of it. It makes sense for her to seek solitude: she feels overwhelmingly responsible for her own little personal world, just how unbearable would it be to let it merge with other people's lives, for her to suddenly be at fault when those she cares about are hurt? Not to mention that new people are new unknowns, new factors that can make her life harder, more confusing and painful. For a person stuck in her desperate desire for control, it makes a lot of sense to prefer to deal with her problems on her own and expect others to do the same.

Meeting One One, who is the first to care, and Atticus, who is there to dispense his pearls of wisdom about the resources we find in each other, the value of friendship and its ultimate worth in the face of responsibility and risk of loss that comes with it, is what helps Tulip find comfort and humility in her relationship with others. She is simply one of the many people influencing each other's lives; she is not at the center, not at fault for the pain that comes to others, even if they were hurt through their association with her; it was their chocie to lend her a hand or a paw, and they had the right to make that choice.

Similar humility of being just one of the many is found in Tulip's relationship with the world at large, too, shown through her relationship with the train. First, she is frustrated and impatient, trying to figure out the most rational logical way to proceed in her attempts to control what happens to her next. Then, as she finds joy and connection, things become easier, she finds a rhythm that works for her, as seen at the start of “The Ball Pit Car”. And then soon after that, in swoops Amelia, ready to wreck havoc and quench Tulip's progress by trying to kill one of her friends and turning the other into a monster, and pinning it all on her.

Losing Atticus is far too big of a blow, and so Tulip gives up her lessons and falls into fatalism, feeling like she has no control over her fate, like she will never be allowed to make it off the train.

But the core component of Tulip's character is her ability to “bounce back”. She loses her progress quite tangibly, with the number going up – and yet reverses that development rapidly, when she gives it all another try and subsequently learns the truth about Amelia. Finding out that the current self-appointed conductor who has been terrorizing cars and threatening Tulip and her friends is just a person, Tulip asks a very important quesiton: “What's stopping me from doing what she did?”. She stops interpreting her surroundings as alien, hostile and created to act against her, in weird incomprehensible ways that seem to be mocking her attempts to find a shred of logic to them. Instead, she takes full control of her own actions and starts using her environment to her own benefits, much like Amelia did. But Tulip takes it a step further and approaches it in a healthier fashion. Where Amelia is desperately trying to make the world do her bidding, Tulip states a simple objecitve: help her friend, - and looks at her options.

Tulip steps into her power when she realizes her choices and actions matter and have full weight. That restores her faith into being able to help Atticus. She cannot control her surroundings fully, she cannot control how other people behave, and trying to make herself responsible for it is unfair to herself and others and hurts everyone. She can, however, make her own choices and use her own skills to strive to perserve what is important to her.

Once again, that mindset is directily opposed to Amelia's. In Book 1, Amelia is stuck in the constant attempts to recreate her life, to change the world around her, to bend her environment to her will instead of growing internally, accepting the change and adapting to it, taking responsibility for her own feelings and not for what surrounds her. The key motivation in the prison she has created for herself is grief. Unwilling to let go of the world she once shared with someone she loved, not wanting to accept the passing of something that was incredibly important to her, Amelia stagnates, rejects the thought of progress, of healing, of moving on. To start to get over such a loss is to create distance between yourself and what you are mourning. When you move on, you leave it futher and furher behind with each step. And so Amelia decides to stay exactly where she is: in the depth of soul-shattering suffering. Symbolically, she never even leaves the pod she was delivered to the train in, stays at the very beginning of her recovery journey, turns her pain into her armor until forcefully broken out of it by Tulip.

The two characters are perfect for each other as counterforces; even more so, the very environment that Amelia has created, the one that frustrates Tulip with all the unanswered questions and mysteries, is the exact one that would motivate this girl to grow. This is something to keep in mind when approaching Infinity Train's narrative: Amelia is a perfect antognist to Tulip, and it is through encountering her that Tulip grows. Amelia's mistakes result in Tulip's progress.

A key moment in the two characters' confrontation is Amelia's offer to give Tulip a car of her own, where her and her family can be pitcture-perfect and happy in the exact way Tulip wants them to be. By that point in the narrative Tulip has already had to face the truth of her family situation, the reality of it, it not being anyone's fault nor her parents' whim, sad things simply just happening for reasons outside of anyone's control. And with Amelia's offer, she has to come painfully close to the truth that she has just started making peace with once again. She has to really internalize the fact that her real parents were not happy together, and wouldn't be happy in this simulated reality; and if they were, they would not truly be the people she knows.

Tulip acknowledges the painful and beautiful truth of life: if you want to be surrounded by real people you can love, people that can love you, you need to give them the freedom to live their lives, freedom to hurt you, to walk away, to change the life you share, to have their own personal feelings that might be different from the ones you wish they had. They need to have freedom to make choices. It is scary, and it hurts, but that is the only way to have something real. While Amelia is obsessed with molding her environment in the image of her perfect life, and failing miserably, Tulip realizes that to reunite with her parents she needs to accept that, as long as they are in her life, things can change between them; and that is okay. That is the only way love can exist. With the risk of loss and pain, not any less worth it for that.

At the end of her journey, Tulip has learned the nature and price of connection, and her place in the complicated, irrational, incomprehensible world. She gets to accept that things don't need a reason for happening, that there is not always someone to blame and demand reparations from. She gets to accept that she is just one person - but that realization gives her so much personal power. As just one person, she is free from the weight of the world she used to carry on her shoulders; as just one person, she has the full scope of her personal skills and power to protect herself and those she loves, to change with the world and adapt to it, once she starts treating it as a friend and engaging with it on its own terms. At the end of her arc, she truly gets to say that she is ready for everything: she learns a whole new way to approach life that makes handling change much less painful.

She is a protagonist that gives up the protagonist complex, telling her she is the central point of the larger narrative. And through that, she finds peace and flexibility.

What is fascinating is that the narrative itself then supports that idea by removing Tulip from the center of the show. In the next book we follow the arc of Lake, my beautiful perfect child. And with it being centered around the idea of Lake's personhood and them transcending the role of a denizen, that decision could not have been any more metatextually perfect.

3. Book 2: Cracked Reflection and the Relationship between Personhood and Connection

In the first season, Lake is a side character that appears for just one episode, contributes to the protagonist's journey and is then gone. But as the story shifts and focuses on them, we see their struggle as they try to break out of the role of a 'supporting character' and prove their completion and worth outside of their contribution to someone else's story. Their intial place in the narrative and their initial position within their own story echo each other beautifully, and this is the exact kind of writing excellency that has me absolutely hooked. Thank you Infinity Train.

Quite interestingly, the idea of personhood is explored in relation to the theme of connection. Lake shares their journey with Jesse, and the two character arcs mirror each other, dealing with the relationship between personal freedom and external bonds.

Lake and Jesse operate under the same false pretense that to connect to people means to be what they want you to be, that in order to have friends you have to sacrifice who you are, what you want. They approach this false predicament from the opposite ends: Lake by avoiding any connection altogether and Jesse by readily caving in to peer pressure, adult pressure, just... general imposion of everyone else's expectations, because he suffers from the compulsive need to be liked and accepted. Lake refuses to fit in and is left to deal with their horrifying situation alone, Jesse hurts himself and those he loves in order to fit in.

It's very interesting how the narrative connects reflectiveness to connection. 'Empathy Goes', the song about friendship that Jesse sings, starts with lines “When I look at you, I see me” – words that take on a quite literal uncomfortable meaning for Lake.

[id: a screenshot from Infinity Train Book 2 of a small girl looking at her reflection in a reflective child (Lake)’s head, Lake unamused. end id]

Then the thematic core of season 2 – Lake's conversation with the dying Sieve, in which the latter torments them – introduces the thought that, by befriending Jesse and helping him grow, Lake became what he needed them to be; became his reflection.

That is, of course, not true. The idea that Lake had simply fulfilled the role of a denizen is disproven by the fact that they are the protagonist of Book 2 that goes through the same journey as Tulip, meeting the exact people and creatures and foes that influence and challenge them in the most important ways. At the end of the day, their victory was not changing their external circumstances but their internal approach to them.

As this awesome person has pointed out, that to get off the train, Lake had to embrace their reflectiveness. However heartbreaking was their enraged plea to have their personhood recognized, they never really did change One One's mind. In his perception, they remained a denizen, “so good at helping”.

The truth is, however, is that yes, Lake has helped Jesse - by being themselves unapologetically, by not fitting in, by showing him that that is an option, and in that life, you can still be loved and cared about – because Jesse without doubt cares about Lake very deeply.

But Jesse has helped Lake, too, has changed them – by giving them connection and recognition, by showing them they can be accepted and loved without the need to change who they are, without the need to tailor themselves to another person and 'mirror' them. At the end, the two get one escape for two people – because their journey was a shared one, because their paths cannot be separated, because they have influenced each other equally.

And much like Amelia was the perfect person to challenge Tulip, One One with his inability to think outside of the algorythm and acknowledge Lake's personhood, was perfect for challenging them and putting them into a situation where they had no other choice but to accept, acknowledge and appreciate the connections they have made, and the fact that those connections define them - partially.

Reflectiveness represents bonds, letting other people into your life, letting them influence you, teach you something, ask something from you – and, fascinatingly, that seems to be a part of what defines us, gives us personhood. Are we just what we do for other people? No, obviously not. Are we simply what separates us from others, what makes us unique, who we are completely on our own, with no regard to what unites us with other people, what they bring into our lives and what we bring into theirs? The answer Infinity Train provides appears to be no, once again.

Lake names themselves – finds a true, real name that they identify with, when they embrace their reflective nature and see themselves in a body of water that, yes, lets the world in, reflects it, while also undoubtedly having a life and depth of its own. Personhood, real, full human experience seems to be the subtle dance of individualism and connection, both what defines us as separate from others and what tethers us to them.

I mentioned how Lake's journey being similar to Tulip's is a part of what validates their personhood. That's one of those fascinating things in Infinity Train's writing: how the intial split of the cast into the passenger and supporting denizen characters appears almost like commentary on the protagonist complex, with Tulip actually having to internalize the idea that the world and her life are not centered solely around her, are not all about her happiness and growth, that some things happen just because they do, not because they have something to do with her.

Then, opening with a lead that needs to outgrow the protagonist complex, the show moves on to that character's narrative foil and shows them grow into the central point of the narrative, fighting to have the world recognize them as the main character of their separate, independent story. And to us viewers there is no doubt that Lake is a person of their own and has full rights to personal protagonism – they are the one we are watching, whose struggle is the focus of the Book, they are who we sympathise with in the story.

This wonderful meta decision really drills in the idea that every single character we only ever catch a glimpse of is the main hero of their own journey, and has a full life and full personhood outside of the role they play in the story we watch unravel. At the same time, as per the rules of narrating, we only see the people and events that serve the current protagonist's growth. Through that, and through being an antalogy that unravels by latching onto a secondary character time after time, book after book, exploring their own journeys and inner worlds, Infinity Train creates a breathtaking polycentric model of reality, in which every single person is the main character on their own path, with people around them contributing something of value to that path – and the main character contributing something to theirs, becoming in turn a secondary supporting character in someone else's story.

Tulip and Atticus are a wonderful example of that: embarking (hehe) on the same journey for different reasons, helping each other, accepting the responsibility that comes with being each other's friends and companions, welcoming the pain that comes with connection and at the end aiding each other in their quests. And Jesse and Lake are much the same.

The idea of companionship being the escape is only directly introduced in Book 2, but it had already sprouted in Book 1. The themes of connection, renegotiating one's relationship with the seemingly hostile world, and coming to terms with everyone's place in it as one of the many, but having endless personal power over our own narrative, are constantly and continuously present in the show, with the differnet smaller plots and character arcs beautifully overlapping.

___________________________________________________________

Analyzing all of this in the past, I felt incredibly secure and confident in the seeming underlying lesson. That there is no reason to fight the world at large, the things that are outside of your or someone else's control. And that doesn't mean “not standing up to those who are hurting others”, as shown in Tulip's confrontation with Amelia, Jesse's confrontation with the Apex. It means that some things, like where you have come from, what the relationships of people around you are, and who you have lost, cannot be changed, and our subconscious attempts to fight them only hurt us in the end.

The idea of our boundless ability to find resources in ourselves and people around us, learn from people that surround us, accept their help and offer them ours, find love once we accept the change love brings; the idea that we always have the ability to thrive in our current circumstances, once we accept that we ourselves are getting in our own way, out of the unwillingness to let go of something we hold dear; the idea that we can always, always bounce back, that it is never too late for any of us, and that true companionship will always be there to give us escape...

The idea of the world as our friend, with its own will and wishes, something that is not to be controlled and bruteforce- reasoned through, but something to engage with...

These all gave me strength, held me up, and gave me a new paradigm that allowed me to look at the reality from a place of comfort and assuredness. The paradigm of the complicated web of life where everything is in its place, where our shortcomings create valuable lessons for someone else, where our choices, even if they hurt us and others, create lessons, as established by Sieve, have their place in the big picture, like what we see with Amelia's mitakes and Tulip's progress.

Then, the idea that in that big picture, you are exactly where you need to be, always, because you always have the only thing you need to grow and recover and thrive – you have yourself and the people around you. How infinitely comforting this is, how solid.

And then Book 3 has arrived. And holy shit y’all.

4. Book 3: Cult of the Conductor and Trust vs Control

And once again, this season has not necessarily disproven all of the aforementioned stuff, just... put a lot more emphasis on the reality of pain people have to endure. In this book we had to witness simultaneously a recovery – within Grace's arc, - a descend – within Simon's, - and an actual, raw trauma, that Hazel had to suffer through on screen. We had to watch Simon murder Hazel's caregiver and repeatedly make her feel unsafe, and Grace withdraw herself and leave Hazel alone because of her ungoing identity crisis. We have to come uncomfortably close to the reality of the pain that shapes people, and with how horribly we all can hurt each other. That pain is no longer obscured by the passage of time, it's not something in the character's past. And that is... very rattling.

But, once again, the constant running themes and motifs remain. Once again, the show tackles the idea of change, of connection and the relationship between the individual and the world.

Regarding the latter, what we see with the Apex is the protagonist complex projected on a group. The Apex myth simultaneously places them at the top of the world – hence the name – and makes them the poor victims of the evil False Conductor that of course seeks to destroy them and targets them specifically. Grace and Simon developed the idea of themselves and their group as the sole people for whom the train exists, as well as the chosen deliberate targets of the entity that had taken over their environment, instead of accepting that maybe the world does not revolve around them!

Upon meeting Amelia they learn that they are not chosen, that they are not on the train because the outside world did not recognize their value, that there was never someone at the top who had their best needs in mind, and that the entity that calls the shots now does not actually know anything about them besides the fact that they exist.

The theme of connection makes a comeback hand in hand with the motif of empathy, with the book opening with Jesse's song 'Empathy Goes'. And that's what's being explored in Grace's and Simon's respective arcs with relation to denizens: their ability to show compassion and recognize someone else's personhood.

The narrative is multi-layered here. On one hand, what is being explored is a group mentality, a cult mentality that paints the outside world as simultaneously inferior and hostile, and we can see Grace and Simon accidentally inventing some pretty mean propaganda techniques. Whew, those kids. But then on the other, the idea of denizens as projections, 'nulls', incapable of actual feeling, only pretending to be real people... this brings to mind such complicated and staggering concepts as philosophical zombies or the idea of the world as something that is simply a projection of your, you currently reading thinking person, brain, where nothing is real except for your own consciousness. And since it is simply impossible to possess others and make sure they are indeed living breathing feeling creatures and not just NPCs in one wild, wild dream, empathy becomes a fascinating choice. What we're left with is 1) believing that other people do in fact feel what they say they do, 2) treating them with respect just in case or because being mean feels bad, or, 3) you know, deciding that we're on top of the world, and are the Apex predator, and everything exists for us, and we can do whatever we want with people around us.

It's interesting to see this mindset as a group mentality, but it makes sense, too; with the Apex we get to watch what happens when a group only recognizes the personhood of those that are a part of it. The thing is, there is no actual empathy within that group, either; we see that once Grace stops fitting into it as smoothly. To the Apex, she becomes a 'void', a nothing, something hollow, devoid of status and power and therefore rights and feelings that need to be respected. Simon's approach is “whatever I do not like is not real”, so by proxy, the new version of Grace is nothing, and should be erased.

This lack of empathy can be tracked deeper and deeper down to Simon as the extremely tyrannical leader, his refusal to recognize the personhood of anyone who does not agree with him. It is natural for us all to act as if what we believe is correct; otherwise, why would we believe it? But Simon takes it to the extremes, refusing to even for a second consider an alternative point of view, and ends up locked in a mindset in which he is the only person entitled to the ability to see the truth, and everyone else somehow is inferior and incomplete. That's the protagonist complex, that's the experience of a person who considers themselves at the center of the world. Why would he out of all people be the keeper of truth? He simply does not ask himself that, because he does not stop to think about the existence of others, or their experiences.

However, it wouldn't be correct to say that Simon is completely devoid of empathy. It's just that his version of it is extremely self-centered and unable to discern between his personal situation and someone else's reality. As my awesome friend @buttercup-bug has pointed out, the relationship between Grace and Hazel and Simon and Hazel is built on extending that limited, conditional empathy. As they have noted, the golden and silver masks at the start of the season that are performing the song 'Empathy Goes' represent the two of them, the golden one directly intersecting with the one Grace wears, and in general gold and silver matching their color schemes.

The position of the masks matches their position on the stage, as well: they are the two leading figures in the big messed-up play that is the Apex, removed from reality, avoiding it, living in their own little world. They perform that reality in different ways, Grace leading with smiles and emotions/emotional manipulation, Simon being more uptight and serious.

[id: two shots from Infinity Train Book 3, showinng first a scene with halves of two theatrical masks, a sorrowful and a laughing one, surrounded by undefined actor creatures; then Simon and Grace, two young people, Simon white and blonde, Grace black, with shortr dredlocs, wearing a golden masks, holding hands with each other and two other kids in a curtain call manner, with fire raging behind them. end id]

Now, returning to the empathy motif: as it was pointed out to me, the two extend their empathy to Hazel in their own ways, representing their relationship with the inner child. Grace relates to Hazel as a lonely young girl seeking connection with other children, and engages with her in a fun, upbeat way, making it so they enjoy each other's company and spend time together like friends do. That helps her get closer to Hazel, get genuinely attached and through that let Hazel influence her worldview a bit, and be there for Hazel through harder, less fun things as well, till.. a certain point.

Simon, on the other hand, sees himself in Hazel as someone stranded on the train and under the care of a denizen, and automatically perceives Tuba as a threat. And he expresses his empathy in a direct, serious, violent way, by doing what he thinks needs doing: by getting rid of Tuba without making time for smiles and fun times.

Grace is the leader, she engages with people emotionally, making them feel needed and special and through that keeping the group together. Simon is the general who leads the army in what he perceives as the Apex's attempt to protect themselves. His approach does not leave much space for bodning. And it makes sense for him as someone much more focused on safety to have his understanding of denizens as dangerous run deeper, be more at the forefront, in his focus. He’s the one calculating the “danger levels” of encountered denizens. And of course the incident with The Cat makes it much more personal. I think it's fair to assume that both Grace and Simon must've had some unfortunate run-ins with the inhabitants of the train, with Grace being initially so set in her belief that denizens are dangerous because they are unpredictable, and you never know what they will do next. Though the only time we actually see her endangered is by the steward that Amelia had reprogrammed. Either way, the two had started off feeling endangered by the unpredictable and unreliable creatures surrounding them, and probably, in their attempts to find a reason to trust each other and feel safer around each other in a dangerous and confusing world, decided that passengers must be inherently good, denizens must be inherently bad.

There is, however, no actual trust in that, none at all between them.

I'd say that “trust”' is the core motif of season 3. Infinity Train tends to adopt an aphorism that keeps reappearing throughout a season, pronounced by different characters or in different contexts, highlighting the thematic movement and change and the development of the theme within the plot. In Book 1, it was the collocation “bounce back”, as the core of Tulip's character. In Book 2, we had “You can't spell 'escape' without 'companionship'”. In Book 3, our boy Roy introduced the phrase “Teamwork starts with two people trusting each other”. Simon's horrifying rendition of it emphasized the idea that not everyone counts as a person, so not everyone is deserving of trust. You can only rely on those who fit your narrow criteria of one.

However, even when Grace and Simon were on the same side of the barricades they've built with their own hands, they could never actually trust each other. Their bond and their care for each other were extremely conditional, hinging on the ultra specific image of a passenger, and influenced by the power hierarchy they had created.

We see that Grace is reluctant to trust Simon or the Apex with the changes happening to her, with her number going down, because she didn't want them to think “less of her”. Her personal issues, her fear of loneliness and abandonment and the idea that she needs to be something specific, someone who is always strong and right for people to stick around her, have certainly played into that. Grace is so used to comforting herself through saying the world is mean to her because she is special; she wears her “special” status as a mask, she has the highest number, she is “so good at the train”, and that's what keeps others around her in this reality, keeps them needing her. But it's not actually about her as a person. But it is also just the system the two have established. Numbers are power; one's number going down is their failure.

The amount of trust only diminishes as the plot progresses, with Grace's perspective shifting but her not being able to trust Simon with those thoughts and feelings – quite understandably, since he remained adamant about his beliefs till the very end. Grace could never truly trust Simon outside of the invented value system they've been existing within for many years. And that is reflective of her constant inner struggle, not being able to trust anyone with her self, without any myth explaining why she is awesome and irreplacable. Hazel was the first person who spent time around Grace while also falling out of the equation, not being influenced by the Apex propaganda, and that is why their bond was so life-changing to Grace – aside from the aforementioned grounds for empathy.

Now, was Simon ever able to truly trust Grace? I think he desperately needed to, and facing the fact that Grace has in some ways betrayed that trust by keepings things from him was one of the things that played into him going off the rails. (...That pun was not intended. )

As it was pointed out many times by many viewers, Simon seems to know quite a lot about funerals, which means that he probably had to attend one as a kid. Then, his relationship with The Cat seems to be a metaphor for neglectful parenting due to an addiction. The Cat is a collector, her treasures seeming to be extremely important to her. The voice in which Simon says the words “She is collecting again” hints on a long, ongoing problem. Then in the memory of his meeting with Grace, we see that The Cat had actually probably endangered him on one of her car crawls. Overall, Simon's childhood seems to had been an extremely unstable one, with nothing and no one he could truly rely on, with parental figures either dying or neglecting him. It is similar to Tulip's struggle, but most likely running even deeper.

We see Simon continuously leaning on Grace, which at times causes her frustration: she snaps and asks bitterly if she always has to tell him what to do. When Grace starts behaving weirdly, starts changing, acting in a way that Simon can't understand and is not used to, he probably feels endangered, like his life is growing incomprehensible and unstable once again, like things are slipping through his fingers and out of his control.

But at the end of the day, not one of them was truly relying on the other. Grace never trusted Simon to just stick around because he liked her, she needed the upper hand, the leading position, the idea of being “very good at the train”, and the system in which they should stick together as the passengers threatened by the dangerous environment and “the false conductor”. Simon never truly trusted Grace as we should trust those we love: with the freedom for them to grow and change and still remain someone we can feel safe and happy around. Instead of taking that leap of faith and relying on her to do right by him, he was in fact leaning on the system they've created, clinging to it desperately to the very end. People may change, but the system will stay the same, as long as he doesn't reconsider his worldview, and he had decided to never abandon it, whatever happens.

The lack of trust is warranted by their treatment of each other. How could Simon rely on Grace if she had never shown him her true self? How could Grace trust Simon with her genuine self if he needed her to be something very specific and unchanging? Their bond, while being something that helped them through the lonely existence in a weird, dangerous place, was in fact incredibly, tragically toxic. That is not something that people acknowledge easily. These two held onto their semblance of friendship for dear life, but that only worsened their respective problems, made them less and less capable of actual genuine friendships.

Both of their characters are very complex and convincing, and before I speak directly of some less pleasant parts of them I want to establish that I love Grace and am so very proud of her, and glad to see that a Black woman character did not remain an antagonist and got explored deeply and compassionately. And that while I was absolutely enraged by Simon's actions throughout the season, I can also appreciate the depth and complexity of the show's writing in his arc, and the tragedy of it, and I do feel for him quite deeply.

It is also worth mentioning that, even tho they are on the older end of 'kids', they are both kids still, with their formative years spent in unfortunate, unhelpful environments, and the age of growth and self-discovery happening in an actual cult, even tho it is one they had locked themselves into.

So now, to what can be perceieved as the darker parts of their characters. A unifying element of both Grace's and Simon's characters are their desire for control. Both scared of what life would be without it, they bend over backwards to make people behave in the way they need them to.

Grace does that through emotional manipulation, she directs her entire demeanor into making people see her as the most knowledgable and powerful, someone they need. She makes them want to be a part of the gang, telling them that it makes them special and brave, as well as making them belive that the outside world means them harm, which is... a classic cult tactic. She hides the truth from them when the truth threatens her position and bonds with them. In the culmination of her personal growth, she admits the reason behind it: she did everything in her power to not be left alone. She tried to control the way other people see the world, and through that control how they see her, thinking that that will make them want to stick around. But her manipulation was what kept her from creating genuine connections, so after she first fell out of her own equation and then pushed Hazel away in the last desperate attempt to fit back into it, there was no one left around her. She made people need her cult, not her person. She never let them know the real her that would make them want to stay. The truth is that people change constantly, and we can't eternally push ourselves to live up to a specific expectation, so any attempt to keep people around with anything else than our genuine self are simply doomed.

Simon does not have the same talent for manipulation that Grace does, despite his attempts to use her own techniques on her when trapping her in her memories.

[id: screenshot from Book 3 showing Grace looking at Simon, who’s sitting next to her with a grave expression on his face. end id]

Lacking subtlty, he seeks to control the world around him through brute force. We see him repeatedly grabbing Grace in an unsettling, scary, invasive and violent manner. He is unable to influence her mentality like she influences the mentality of other people. He can't act subtly, through emotion and manipulation. And his desperation to control the world and force it to work in ways that suit him get externalized through physical aggression.

That does not excuse him, nor does his desperation warrant sympathy, but the idea of his shows of power being actually signs of powerlessness seems... captivating, reassuring somehow. People who lash out at us do so because they don't actually get to control how we feel, and never can. They can influence and wound us deeply, but they can never actually fully control us, they don’t get to rewrite us.

...Buuut back to the character analysis. Much like Grace who at the start was holding the position of “whatever doesn’t pleases or entertains me gets wheeled” (perhaps a reflection of her “never needed them anyway” attitude seen in how she feels about her failed attempts at friendship), Simon also denies everything that doesn't suit him, not just the value of it but the reality of it, too. Despite all reason, he refuses to believe that he had been living a lie for the last uhh number of years. If something isn't working the way he wants it to, if someone is behaving in a way he doesn't like, he deems them broken and wrong. As Grace points out, her memories are only a true and reliable source to him as long as he likes them, and once he doesn't, they must be lies.

Simon is the very embodiment of stagnation, complete lack of flexibility – out of his compulsive need to control the world, to have it remain the same and stable, after the turbulences of his childhood. He is very, very much like Tulip – but he is not given a chance to 'bounce back'. Amelia, another example of deep stagnation and refusal to accept the changes in the world, is allowed that decades after boarding the train. She might never leave it, but she can still make an effort, she can still grow, bit by bit. Simon never makes it to the point where he is ready to accept the reality and start making peace with it.

I assume that for the biggest part of the show he is simply constantly triggered. He spends time with Grace, like they used to, before the Apex – but they met and started travelling together right after The Cat had abandoned him. Then they encounter a child who has no one but a supposedly unreliable denizen taking care of her – another thing to remind Simon of his own neglect. Then they straight up bump into The Cat, and Simon learns that her addicition is still active, that nothing has changed, that what happened to him wasn't enough for his parental figure to reconsider her ways. Then things start changing, Grace starts behaving differently, abandones the 'passenger-denizen' binary and makes him feel more alone and directionless than he probably has been in years.

But after he traps her in her tape and returns to the Apex, there is at least a couple of month for him to get out of the spiral and reconsier. All Of That. and yet he doesn't. At this point his actions are not solely motivated by the very unstable state he was in – which is not to say that he wouldn't need to take responsibility for them either way. But a certain amount of time and distance from it all could have been used for reflection, and yet Simon stays firmly in his position of clinging to the system and revelling in the ultimate control he had found by becoming a leader. He creates a myth of Grace as someone who is worthless because she is unfit to be a leader. He paints himself as more reliable and powerful through the firmness of his beliefs. With him, you can always know what the rules are going to be, how to be the best. Perhaps, in his twisted horrifying perception, he was giving the Apex kids the stability he'd never had.

Going back to the question of why Simon was not given the opportunity to bounce back... Obviously, a core element of his character is his refusal to change in any form, and that’s on him. But with making peace with change being a big theme in the show from season 1, with Amelia doing the same for decades and eventually getting to a place where she had finally accepted it... This is a heavy and fascinating narrative decision.

It's good to consider that Amelia never actually succeeded at controlling the world in the way that she needed. Among all the characters, her grief was the most hopeless, most desperate: she tried to reverse time, she tried to bring someone back to life. Unlike her, Simon achieved some at least perceived control that he had been striving for. The danger of his character is that he executed his power over actual physical people, and he felt like he could actually decide what their life was going to be, what his life was going to be. He never got to lose it all, like Grace did. He never got to face just how hollow his illusion of control was. So in some ways within his arc him not getting redemption makes sense.

But what does it mean for the show at large, for the underlying message? It feels inconsistent with the Infinity Train's narrative to just make Simon out to be a cautionary tale of what happens to those who deny change, or a foil to Grace who did ended up accepting it; we've already established that in the show's polycentric system, every character is more than just a part of someone else's journey, has full existence and autonomy outside of that.

Once again quoting my wonderful smart friend @buttercup-bug, I want to refer to the end of season 3 in which Grace tells the ex-Apex kids that it is not fair for her to decide for them what their place on the train is, who they are, what life is to them; and in the same way, the unconcluded story of this book can be open to interpretations, with every one of us getting to choose what to take out of the simple reality of it. Simon's story simply happened. We can take whatever lesson we need from it.

But before we part our ways and each one decides what to think of the bone-chilling end of his arc, I want to point a couple more things out.

5. The Train as a Metaphor for Life

Something that has really fascinated me about the show's narrative ever since my marathon of the first two seasons is the concept of the train. One One seems so very sure the train inspires growth, and yet, as we have learned in season 3, he, the Conductor himself, does not actually know much about the passengers' life aboard it except their numbers. There is no established system, there is no assigning of the denizens, there is no rulebook for them, they are not aware of the specific problems of the passengers they meet. Passengers can actually die on the train, which is wild if the goal of it is to make them grow and flourish. We are so used to thinking that to heal, one needs a perfectly supportive, comfortable and safe environment, and yet the train is challenging, dangerous, unpredictable.

I think the idea here, with characters time after time having to come to terms with life being confusing, ever-changing, often painful and entirely outside of our control, is that the train is not necessarily there to soothe the wounds but to raise the stakes, challenging people in such a way that their choices and their actions and approach to the reality have much more serious consequences. Tulip learns to accept help and help others in situations that actually threaten her and her loved ones, while what she would risk in the past when shutting herself off was just upsetting some friends and family and, you know, being fundamentally alone. Jesse went from letting others bully his brother to balancing on the edge of selling Lake out, which would end their entire existence. Grace went from being a child who creates fights and eggs others on to do something stupid to being an actual teenage cult leader. The train raises the stakes exponentially, and that makes everyone on board reconsider the real price of their actions.

Aside from that and giving specific directions for growth through numbers, though, it doesn't really... do anything. It functions the way life functions: things just happen, people just behave in ways that make sense for them, and everyone has full autonomy. At the same time, we see characters encounter the exact companions that make them grow, the exact enemies that challenge them in the most important ways. To once again quote Fleur @buttercup-bug a.k.a. the established sponsor of all of the behind-the-scenes Infinity Train discussions, the train is both ambigious and very meta, and “acts both as a narrative arc machine in a storytelling sense and as a lesson provider in a life sense, which bridges the gap between story and reality in a really personal way”.

That is a wonderful way to put something that captivated me upon my first watch. The train is a metaphor for life. It is contrasted against the metaphor for death or non-existence: the lifeless wasteland through which it is constantly moving, the wasteland populated by soul-sucking parasites also symbolical of nothing other than death. The train is life that is always moving, never the same, outside of our control, bigger than us, not obeying our wishes no matter how hard we try, challenging, populated by other people that have their free will, which often hurts us. And yet, the train is a provider of companions, which are to be our escape. And they are not crafted or tailored to us, nor are we crafted for them - and yet as our paths intersect, we impact each other, and we learn from each other in incredibly meaningful ways.

When thinking about this, I've landed on two possibilities. Either the Engine or the Train – something separate from One One – is a great and omnipotent mind capabe of foreseeing how things would unravel to everyone's utmost benefit, placing the correct people at the correct places, weaving an incredibly complex web of connections in which we always meet the companions we are supposed to meet ot exchange lessons with... or it doesn't need to be at all. And I think I like the latter much more.

The train doesn't need to be that, because, as I've already proposed earlier, ourselves and the people around us, whoever they are, are all we ever need. Wherever you are right now, wherever the Universe has put you, you are supposed to be there, not because it has some grand plan and knows something that you don't, but because no matter your circumstances, you already have what you need for growth. You have yourself and you have other people and their stories, and the connection they can offer you. (Hazel, who is perhaps the most mature character we meet – which is tragic considering how many dysfunctional adults she has to be around – seeks to connect with everyone around her who is not outwardly dangerous, no matter how little in common they seem to have. And eventually something is found, some strand of connection, creating empathy.) People around you always have something to offer. You yourself always have something to offer.

I would hold onto that idea, as well as the idea of “bouncing back”, of it never being too late to get better. And I felt a bit off-balance when Simon was not given a chance to do that. But in a way, shifitng the story from fated encounters that kickstart someone's progress, like the one between Tulip and Amelia, Lake and Jesse, gives even more weight to this concept, by putting our personal decision to change into focus.

It's not all about meeting this one specific person who will show you the error of your ways; even more so, sometimes people who have a lot in common and mirror each other hold each other back instead of helping each other grow. Sometimes one of them changing only pushes the other further down when they refuse to accept that. And at the end, it is all up to us.

Getting a little bit existential here, but we are fundamentally the only ones who define our lone separate experience, and we are always on our own and solely repsonsible for ourselves. Connection is always there to support us, to teach us something, and playing a role in someone's life is what makes us real and vice versa, and at the same time we are all masters of our own destiny. We do not bear responsibility for other people's actions, and they do not bear responsibility for ours. Some environments are more suited for our growth, some less, but at the end of the day the choice to take whatever opportunities we have is up to us.

Which means that we don't have to sit around waiting for the Logical Point in our character arcs to achieve a breakthrough. The world is always there for us to engage with, to hear what it has to say. The question is, are we ready to accept it? To see it for what it is? With time it will grow louder, ignoring the truth we're avoiding will become harder, but the choice to listen is always ours. We can do it sooner rather than later. Or we can do it... never, refuse the reality, refuse change and the nature of life. Because we are the ones responsible. We can't blame the world for not delivering the needed lessons sooner in life, because even if it did, nothing would stop us from ignoring them. We can't feel entitled to endless lessons and endless comfort from people around us. We should take care of ourselves.

Which means that, wherever we are, at any point of our lives, we can always grow if we listen, if we open ourselves up to the truth. And the truth is that life is incredibly, undescribably complicated. It stretches across so many different individual experiences, and it does not prioritize a single one of them. We are a part of such a vast web of events and connections, and it is foolish to consider that the world is the way it is just to spite you or hurt you, or that it should change, stop and start spinning in the opposite direction just to ease your pain.

Things happen that no one is to blame for. There is no fault in the way the world is. Nothing is broken. Life goes on, endlessly, life changes, people change, people leave, people hurt us. That is okay. We can always change ourselves, we can be flexible and open and alive, we can extend our hand to the world and work together with it in true companionship.

Life is the way it is, wild and uncontrollable, and you cannot escape it, you cannot escape change, as long as you are alive. But you can make peace with that. Through acceptance, love and connection.

Gohms, creatures dwelling in the desert that symbolizes non-existence, parasites that symbolize death, are what awaits those who choose to get off the train. Those who try to escape the endless movement and challenges of life. You cannot truly stagnate, you cannot stop moving, you cannot stop things form changing, as long as you exist. As Simon attempts to control the world, still it, for the very last time, that is what happens to him. He stops existing. By refusing change, he refuses life itself. And loses it. And maybe it's not about him never getting to arrive at a point that would tip him over and change him. Maybe it's about his choice to not take all the opportunities that were presented to him before. Maybe he could've done something very different, whether that would have changed his fate or not, with whatever time he had left.

#infinity train #infinity train book three #infinity train book two #infinity train book one #meta #tulip olsen #lake infinity train #grace monroe #simon laurent #trauma mention tw #childhood neglect tw #addiction tw #analysis tag #OOF #ive been waiting to get this out of my head for so LONG

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merflk · 4 years

Text

if your cascade, ocean wave blues come.

main pairing: ginny weasley x blaise zabini background pairings: neville longbottom x astoria greengrass, percy weasley x pansy parkinson, oliver wood x marcus flint words: 6021 link: ao3 soundtrack: peace - taylor swift

Every wedding she’s attended since the war reminds her of Bill and Fleur’s.

She can’t help it. No matter the venue, or the people getting married, or the guests attending, every single time she’s pulled back into that tent in her parents’ backyard.

It was bad the first few times. The war sparked a lot of tragedy, but the war ending made people feel like taking the leap together. In the past seven years, she’s been to thirteen weddings total. The first time, it was like she was transported back into the war in the middle of the ceremony. She had a quiet panic attack that no one noticed and, eventually, got home absolutely plastered. After that happened a second time, she realised that it was a wedding thing. So for a little bit she attended none.

That didn’t last very long. Hard to get to wedding number fourteen otherwise.

The thing that saved her was her camera. As it turned out, taking pictures was a ton of fun, and she was kind of good at it. At first, it was because she ignored every single ‘rule’ photography had. She paid next to no attention to classic perspective and lighting. She just went ahead and snapped. People said it was artistic. That made her feel a little proud, so she kept taking them.

At some point, the camera became an extension of herself. And she became a photographer.

Now, wedding photography is like a little treat. She only does it for friends and family, not as an actual career choice, choosing to stick to other subjects for that. When Neville asked if she would take the pictures for his wedding to Astoria, she agreed to it immediately. They’re having a spring wedding, full of flowers and sunshine, and now that she’s standing here, looking around, she feels free from Bill and Fleur’s wedding for the first time.

Ginny smiles and snaps a picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione, who are laughing loudly near the buffet. The wedding is outside, in the large garden of the Greengrass estate. As far as Ginny knows, it took a lot of convincing to get Astoria’s parents on board with her marrying Neville, but with the help of her sister Daphne (who was a grade A politician) they had managed to figure something out.

The gardens are huge, and the wedding is smack in the middle of them, so the house seems pretty far away from here. Even so, she can still make out its luxurious white exterior. Neville is marrying into big money. But…

Ginny glances over at Neville and Astoria, who are quietly dancing in the middle of the dance floor, their foreheads pressed together. The hem of Astoria’s dress is slightly smudged with mud, and she has three flowers in her hair. It’s like they’re their own little sun with the amount of love and happiness radiating from them. The other dancing couples orbit them, basking in their light.

She takes a picture.

Even if Astoria’s parents never accepted Neville, even if they had disowned their daughter like they’d originally threatened to do, neither of them would have wavered. They would have had a tiny wedding somewhere in a forest, and Ginny would have taken the exact same picture there.

Damn, love is kind of beautiful.

Thinking of Neville and Astoria as the sun puts the wedding in a different light, though. Ginny looks around carefully, looking at the way that groups of people move together through the space. Although this wedding is one between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, that mixing of houses doesn’t extend to the party guests. Now that she’s looking for it, Ginny notices the way that there are clusters of isolated guests spread out. A couple of former Slytherins here, a few former Gryffindors there. There are two or three places where the houses meet, and of course there are people of all houses here. Hannah Abbott is chatting with Romilda Vane. Padma Patil is having a very playful conversation with George. Pansy Parkinson says something to Percy as she steals his glass of champagne right from his hands. But, afterwards, they move towards their own group of people – Percy to Fred and Angelina, Pansy to Daphne and Blaise Zabini.

When Ginny follows her with her gaze, her eyes land on Zabini for a moment, and she catches him looking back at her. Perhaps it would be more fair to say that he catches her looking at him. As a reflex, finding the perfect excuse, Ginny lifts up her camera and takes a picture of the three of them from a distance.

When she looks at the screen briefly to check the photo, she notices that Blaise is smiling in it, looking straight into the camera. He looks so good that she wonders if that was his reflex – put on the model face. He probably has modelled for something or other, right? She thinks she heard that rumour somewhere at some point. That his parents live in Italy and he’s done some modelling there after the war. No, wait – just his mom. She’s notoriously remarried a bunch of times. Lady Zabini is a bad bitch.

“Did it come out well?”

Ginny jumps and almost drops her camera, like she’s been caught red-handed doing something embarrassing.

When she looks up, Blaise Zabini is right in front of her, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his perfectly-tailored suit and a smile on his face that tells her he knows exactly why she just almost jumped out of her skin.

Get it together, Ginny, she scolds herself. You’re the wedding photographer, for Merlin’s sake. You’re just doing your job. He can’t prove anything.

“Yeah, I got a good one,” she says with a polite smile, “Astoria expressly asked me to take some extra pictures of the friends and family today. I think she’s making an album.”

Blaise snorts, and his smile softens for a moment. “Sounds like her.”

His response piques her curiosity a little bit. “Are you close with the family?”

“I suppose.” He smiles at her, something sly that makes her feel like they’re sharing a secret. “We’re all pretty tight-knit.”

Ah. So he’s aware of it too, hm?

“I can tell.” Ginny looks around again. “People stick together.”

Blaise sighs. “People are obsessed with the comfort zone.” He scrutinises her face for a moment, and Ginny has to think of ice water to keep from getting flustered. This man has a very intense gaze.

Shark eyes, she thinks to herself.

“Not you, though, aren’t you?”

It’s supposed to be a compliment, she thinks, but it feels undeserved. “I’m not so sure,” she tells him honestly, “If that was really the case, maybe I wouldn’t be standing behind a screen the entire time.” She holds up her camera.

Blaise hums softly, a deep, warm sound. Unexpectedly, Ginny feels something inside of her light up.

“But you’re brave,” he presses, “With that, uh… Gryffindor spunk?”

She laughs, and he smiles like that was what he was angling for in the first place.

“I guess. At least I can be honest about it. Not sure if that’s the Gryffindor spunk, but well.”

“So maybe it’s the Weasley?”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “I’d like to think it’s the Ginny.”

He tilts his head. “Fair enough. It’s admirable, in any case.” He grins. “And kind of sexy.”

She laughs again, the flame inside of her glowing brighter. She wonders if that’s how love works – if a sun like Neville and Astoria makes all the other stars brighter too. Maybe she’s getting swept up in the atmosphere. But…

She looks over Blaise curiously. “Smooth,” she teases.

He’s still smiling at her, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I tend to speak my mind.”

“I like that.”

“Good. Can I get you something to drink?”

She can’t help but laugh again. She likes how obvious he’s being about it. It’s bold.

“Sure,” she says, “But no alcohol. I’m on the job.”

“Ah, yes,” he grins, “We can’t have you distracted now, can we, miss Weasley?”

“Thank Merlin I have an iron will.”

He chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

She stares straight back at him, issuing a challenge. “Don’t tempt me.”

***

The next wedding sucks.

And, no, it’s not because things didn’t work out between Blaise and her. That has nothing to do with it. It’s fine. She’s fine.

It’s not even like it lasted very long. They dated for three months, then were together for eight. That’s less than a year. Nothing to write home about.

Of course, that had been one of the biggest issues: home. She hadn’t expected her parents to be so against her dating Blaise. He continuously made a bad impression on them. It was in the way he talked, the way he walked, the things he did, the things he said… Blaise and her family just didn’t match.

She didn’t do much better with his family. Lady Zabini is an incredible woman in her own right, but she definitely can’t stand Ginny’s attitude.

But that should have been fine. If it were real, they could have worked around it. Instead, they just fell apart.

Maybe we don’t want the same things in life, was their conclusion, maybe we’re too different.

Now, almost a full year later, she can admit that maybe they are too similar. Both too stubborn for their own good. Both too fucking scared of all of it. The real commitment, the intimacy, the vulnerability. Maybe it wasn’t that it didn’t work, it was just that they weren’t…

They weren’t ready.

But how the fuck were they supposed to know that?

It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work out. It happens. It’s fine.

Ginny lifts up her camera and takes a picture of her parents, the biggest traitors in history, who are laughing and chatting with Pansy in her gorgeous white dress. Pansy managed to do what Blaise couldn’t: she completely won over the Weasleys, despite her Slytherin heritage.

It probably had something to do with Percy’s attitude as well. Percy saw the way her parents treated Blaise, and when he started dating Pansy he wouldn’t stand for that kind of behaviour. He refused to talk to them until they gave her a fair chance. Ginny remembers a family dinner which ended in a very uncomfortable screaming match. When it came down to it, Percy had screamed that it didn’t fucking matter whether Pansy was a bitch or not. She was his. And if they could accept him for who he was, they very well could except the girl he loved as well. And that was that.

That night, Ginny kept her mouth shut. She regrets that more than anything. But maybe the fact that her parents didn’t like Blaise was just the perfect excuse not to bring him home to them. Not to let him get that close.

Frustrated, Ginny grabs one of the nearby waiters and downs a flute of champagne. These days, she kinds of hates herself.

She can forgive herself for the shitshow that was her relationship with Blaise Zabini. She can forgive herself for her mistakes. She can even be proud of what she’s learned from the whole experience. She knows more about who she is and what she wants now than ever before.

She just can’t stand that she’s still so fucking sad about it.

She locks eyes with Blaise over the rim of her empty champagne flute and for a moment the world stops turning. They look at each other. He arches one of his perfect eyebrows, and she remembers the moment she told him that she doesn’t drink on the job like it happened three minutes ago. She flushes in shame.

But fuck him, honestly.

She represses the urge to flip him off, hopes she conveys the emotion with her gaze, and walks the fuck away.

She absolutely hates that they now move in the same circles more than they did before. Since Pansy and Percy got engaged, every party she’s been to has seen a number of Slytherins that she would have never been able to predict hanging out with. Moreover, they’re great. They’re fun. People are falling in love all over the place. It’s kind of beautiful. But it would be so nice to just not see Blaise for a little while.

He knows her better than she would like, so she knows he’s aware that she hasn’t been doing great since their break-up. Sure, she’s been going to therapy, which was about fucking time, and that’s been very helpful, and she’s been learning a lot about herself, but it’s all been so exhausting and it shows. It shows on her face, it shows in her art, it shows in the state of her relationships. She’s lost a bunch of friends rather suddenly, but she’s kept the important ones close-by (Luna has been an actual saint) and she thinks that’s fine for now. Weirdly, she’s grown pretty close to Percy through it all.

He’s a little bitch, of course, and doesn’t let her get away with anything, but he sticks around anyway. And that’s just how her brother is, she supposes. She’s pretty sure he’s really annoyed with her most of the time, but he’s there anyway. He picks her up for brunch. He responds to the memes she sends him. He lets her make one harsh comment about Blaise every few weeks, and if she tries to do more he tells her to stop deflecting and take some responsibility for her life. It stings, but it’s a sting she welcomes. She needs a Percy in her life.

Just one, though. That’s enough. And sometimes, she really needs a break.

She takes a picture of him now, standing with some of his friends near the back of the room. He has a good, solid smile on his face, one that makes him look like their dad, and he’s clearly enjoying himself. She’s happy for him. The ceremony went well. Pansy looks like a fucking dream. Everyone’s behaving themselves. She might actually be the biggest problem factor at the entire event, nursing her little grudges, and she feels like she’s done a decent job of keeping that under wraps.

She glances at Blaise again. He’s talking to a woman at the bar, and she hates him. She hates it. She hates this. She hates that she cares. The woman is gorgeous. Maybe she should walk over there and hit on her. That would be a double win – hot lady and sticking one to her ex.

She doesn’t like the bitterness of her own thoughts, and represses the itch to get more alcohol in her system. It’s her brother’s wedding. She’s not going to get smashed. He deserves better, and she’s definitely not going to give Blaise the satisfaction.

She points her camera at Percy again, but he’s already looking at her with a frown on his face, annoyance flashing across his features.

Ginny looks down in surprise, wondering if she spilled something on her dress or something, but she looks fine. Still, when she looks back up, Percy is stalking towards her.

He didn’t read her mind, did he? No. No, he can’t do that. He doesn’t have the… Can he do that?

“You’re doing that thing,” he accuses her when he reaches her.

“What thing? I have several things.”

They’ve done in depth analyses of all of them. Him, accusing her of being a brat. Her, impatiently explaining to him that some coping mechanisms and behavioural patterns aren’t pretty. All over a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the night.

She’d never imagined she would one day be the closest to Percy out of all of her brothers. But here they are.

Percy shoves his hands into his pockets. “The thing where you look like you’re trying to set someone on fire by sheer force of will.”

She is trying to set someone on fire by sheer force of will.

But she’s not going to admit that to him.

“Come on, you couldn’t pick out a look like that from all the way over there, that’s ridiculous. At most you saw me glaring a little bit.”

Percy doesn’t let up on his accusatory stare, so Ginny shows him the palms of her hands in defeat.

“Look, I’m trying, okay? I’m doing alright, aren’t I? I’m not bothering anyone. You’re the only one who picks up on these things. And you can’t tell me that you’re not having the time of your life. You’re practically glowing.”

He is. He looks healthier than he has in years. Pansy makes him wear fashionable glasses, and he has leaned into all the better aspects of himself since they got together. Now, having just married her, he looks proud and satisfied, like a cat in the sun.

“As you should, by the way.” Ginny nods her head in Pansy’s direction. “She looks like a dream.”

He follows her gaze. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Percy smiles like he has a secret. Ginny wants to shake him until he shares it. Instead, she focuses on how seeing him happy kind of makes her happy too.

She nudges him with her elbow. “I’m fine. I’m not setting anyone on fire. Go dance with Mrs Parkinson-Weasley over there.”

He looks back at her, but she can tell he’s already halfway to Pansy’s side. “Don’t set anyone on fire,” he warns her.

“Promise,” Ginny grins.

She doesn’t set anyone on fire after that. If she’s still thinking about it, no one else calls her out for it. She gets through the night, her brief chat with Percy fuelling her determination to be okay for him. This is not the time and place to wallow. Maybe the time for wallowing is pretty much over in general. Maybe it’s time for her to finally take the next step towards growth by letting go of some of this bitterness over that one failed relationship.

Perhaps she could meet someone new.

***

She probably would have been alright after that if it weren’t for Blaise motherfucking Zabini.

Initially, she’s off to a great start. By the end of Percy and Pansy’s wedding, she had taken one picture of Blaise, where he was smiling into the camera with his arm around Theo, and she’d given him a brief nod to let him know it turned out the way she knew he liked. He was nearly floored by the gesture, she’s pretty sure, but he nodded back. That was progress.

After that, it was almost like they could become friends. At the very least acquaintances. She had lost contact with most of their mutual friends at that point, but she ran into him when she wanted to show up for Percy. Percy had practically disappeared into Pansy’s friend group at that point. The only person he really stayed close with outside of them and his direct family was Oliver. Of course, it helped that Oliver and Marcus finally stopped bullshitting each other and admitted that their rivalry was perhaps more of a romantic-tension thing than anything else by that point.

But for Ginny it mostly meant that she spent a night every few weeks in the presence of Blaise and maybe six to ten other people. Pansy and Percy had moved after their wedding, but their new place was only slightly bigger than their former one, so there really was no avoiding each other on nights they hung out.

It helped with some of the lingering bitterness. But it also kept him in her orbit. And that just made it very clear that Blaise Zabini? He’s impossible to forget.

Every time she wasn’t annoyed with him, she liked everything that came out of his mouth. When they bantered, she felt alive. When he looked her up and down as she entered the room, she couldn’t keep herself from grinning.

She missed him.

That wasn’t new. She knew that she missed him. It didn’t mean anything. At least, it didn’t change anything. They didn’t work. She realised why. She missed him. She wasn’t falling for anyone new. The facts weren’t great, but not a threat in any way.

Except that some nights, when she was more sober than she would have liked to admit afterwards, that feeling of missing him crossed the line into exceptionally dangerous territory.

I want him, she’d admit to herself, I want him for myself again.

During nights like that, it was especially nice to have Oliver there. She could distract herself by bringing up Quidditch with Oliver and Marcus and then the night would fly by. In the end, they grew rather close.

So, yes, of course, when Oliver asked her to do the photography for their wedding, she happily agreed.

So here she is at another wedding.

Admittedly, she’s having a pretty great time. Oliver and Marcus decided to have their wedding on a small island off the coast of Scotland, underneath the wide open sky. There isn’t a theme, but, just like with Neville and Astoria’s wedding, Ginny manages to find something like a theme – freedom. Both men flew into the ceremony on their brooms. There are aerial artists at the reception. The air smells of salt and seaweed and a hearty wind has been blowing through the clusters of guests since the moment they stepped onto the island.

Some of the guests are complaining, running after hats or constantly brushing their hair out of their faces. But most of them are enjoying breathing a little deeper than normally, feeling the fresh ocean air fill up their lungs and making their minds expand beyond the walls they usually find themselves enclosed in.

The wind makes Ginny’s job a little harder, since it’s hard to catch people being photogenetic with hair in their faces, but she likes a challenge. Moreover, with conditions like these, the good shots she does take aren’t just good – they’re brilliant.

She’s caught Oliver and Marcus a couple of times, grinning brightly and holding hands. They fit each other so well that it perplexes her sometimes. Every time that happens, she feels her gaze wander, looking for the shark-eyed man who recalibrates her sense of gravity.

She tries not to. It’s just so hard not to indulge – Blaise looks like a Greek hero, briefly sequestered on some island or other while he is on his way back home to Athens. The ceremony was in the morning, at eleven, so the party is in the middle of the day. Although the sky isn’t as blue as it was this morning, instead turning a cloudy light-grey, the day is still warm and as wonderful as they could have hoped for. The island is rocks and weeds, mostly, so sand isn’t much of an issue, and since the island isn’t lived on, it’s like they’re out in a piece of wildness.

Blaise has taken off his jacket, like most of the men who are bothered by the heat and inspired by the free feeling on the island. Most of the women have taken their heels off and are walking around bare-foot. It’s like they’re all letting their hair down and taking a break from social conventions, even while politely asking after each other’s families and addressing people by their formal titles.

She catches someone teasingly calling Neville ‘professor’ and looks over to see him grinning at Hannah, who is holding Millicent’s hand. With a smile, Ginny brings up her camera and snaps a picture of them.

Then she returns her attention to Blaise.

He’s grinning with Draco and Adrian. Adrian and he are bare-footed already, and Draco is toeing of his shoes, leaning against Adrian to keep his balance. Marcus calls out a jab to them and Draco flips him off good-heartedly.

Blaise looks up and catches her gaze like he was expecting her to be looking at him.

“Gin!” he calls out, making her chest ache, “Please, this has to be memorialised!”

Ginny pushes through the pain and laughs, taking a photo of Draco stumbling around with one shoe and a stark white sock in his hand. Blaise lets out a cackle just as she takes it, and when she checks the picture her eyes are immediately drawn to the perfect, joyful expression on his face. No matter what he’s doing, she has never managed to take a bad picture of this stupidly photogenetic asshole.

The second she sees the picture, she knows she’s going to cherish it. Something about this feels right. She’s here with her friends and family, and everyone is happy, and the air is as fresh as the first day of the world.

She loves him, she realises. It’s all very simple suddenly. She loves him.

And, with that, everything doesn’t feel so right anymore. Because even though they’re all here, together, and Blaise is right there for her to smile at and touch, and she loves everyone, and she loves him, she isn’t with him. They’re just existing in the same space.

Tears blur her vision and she flinches. Panic shoots through her at the thought of everyone being able to see, so she whips her hair in front of her face with a nod and backs away from the scene, her fingers shaking. She needs more air.

Ginny walks briskly towards the edge of the party, where the people are more spread out and engaged in deep conversations. She finds a nice rock and sits down on it, pretending to look through the images on her camera while she tries to find her bearings.

Well fuck. This is just excessive, isn’t it? Love him? When the fuck did that happen?

Somewhere between spending a year in his arms and another year wanting him back, she guesses. Still, aren’t you supposed to notice when you start loving someone? She definitely didn’t start just now. So why hasn’t she noticed before?

Fuck. It doesn’t matter. It’s going to take a while for her to process this. The best thing she can do right now is gather herself up and get back to the party. She’s going to have to put this off.

Ah, crap, Percy is going to have a field day with this.

“Are you alright?”

Blaise is frowning down at her, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking wind-swept and perfect.

Of all the goddamn times for him to be considerate…

“Hm?” she says, frantically trying to get her erratic heartbeat under control.

He purses his lips. “You alright?” he repeats.

She forces a smile. “Yup. Lovely ceremony, didn’t you think?”

She couldn’t make it more obvious that she’s trying to change the subject, but if he’s in a considerate mood, then maybe-

“Cut the crap, Ginny.” He sits down beside her, cocking his head in her direction. “What’s wrong?”

Ah, hell.

“I don’t want to get into it.” She returns her attention to her camera.

He nudges her. “You can talk to me.”

There’s something weird about his voice, so she looks back up at him. The wind blows her hair into her face, obscuring him. But she can make out the expression on his face – it matches his tone.

Nervous. A little hopeful.

Her lips part in surprise, and suddenly she is all ears for whatever he has to say. The monster of hope roars up in her chest, threatening to swallow her whole.

“Why?” she asks, “Do you have something you wanted to talk about?”

Blaise freezes for a moment and then glances to the side, in the direction of their friends and family. He’s getting somewhere, though. She can tell.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally says, looking back at her. Now that he’s made up his mind, he completely zones in on her. From one moment to the next, it’s like the rest of the world around them doesn’t exist anymore.

He has a look on his face that she remembers very clearly. He’s hovering right on the edge of vulnerability – of letting her in. Most of their relationship had been spent dancing on that knife’s edge.

But this time, he does something that he has never done before: he takes a shaky breath and plunges right off that edge.

“Can we try this again?” he asks, his expression open and pleading, “Us?”

Something inside of her is pulled taut. “You’ve been thinking about that?”

“Yes.”

There’s no hesitation or reluctance in his expression. She traces the lines of his face with her eyes, looking for anything even remotely unsure. Despite how he may present himself, Blaise is an overthinker. He overcompensates for his insecurities by pretending to be sure about things.

But right now…

She’s learned to read him, over the years. She’s seeing nothing of that now.

He’s serious.

The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile as hope turns into elation. “Yes,” she tells him.

His gaze flits across her face, and she knows he’s looking for the same things she was looking for just now. He won’t find any. She’s never been more sure about anything in her life.

“Yes,” she repeats, reaching out to take his hand. And because he has shown her how to do it, she lets her walls down for a second and squeezes his hand. “Please.”

A smile similar to her own unfurls on his face and he grips her hand more tightly. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” she states with a nod. She starts laughing.

He reaches for her like he can’t stop himself, pressing his hand into her cheek and scooting closer towards her so he can press their foreheads together, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Ginny laughs again, so overwhelmingly happy in that moment. She turns her head to press her lips to the palm of his hand, then moves back to press her forehead square against his.

She’s still holding his other hand. She never wants to let it go.

She’s not going to.

***

“Smile,” he whispers into her cheek, his hand pressing against her lower back.

“My jaws hurt,” she complains, but her lips curve up into a smile anyway.

She listens to Blaise chuckle while she poses for the camera, trying not to flinch when the flash goes off. The photographer looks at the image for a moment and then sticks up his thumb with a grin. Ginny gives him a polite nod and turns to Blaise as he walks away.

“That shot did not need a flash.”

Blaise smiles at her and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You can lecture him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to be lounging in a pool in Italy,” she corrects him, brightening up at the thought.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be passed out until three,” he correct her in turn, grinning at her.

She elbows him for the innuendo she knows is in there, but he’s right. Even if they do nothing but sleep tonight, she’s going to be absolutely floored tomorrow. All of the preparations have taken a bigger toll on her than she expected, and this day is very wonderful, but also very long.

Worth it, though.

She places a hand on Blaise’s cheek, looking at him while his gaze glides over their surroundings. People seem to be having fun, at least. The twins are drunk, which is rude, she supposes, but she just thinks it’s great. Plus, it’s hilarious to see their genuine interactions with all of Blaise’s stuck-up cousins. She’s pretty sure they’ve pranked at least three of them already.

She joins Blaise in his surveillance of the scene. They’re standing in the middle of their own backyard, where a dance floor has been put out, surrounded by fairy lights that her father insisted on buying for them. She kicked off her shoes before their first dance and Blaise keeps playing with her hair, which probably looks nothing like the elegant up-do that Fleur helped her with earlier that day.

She has never been happier in her life.

Everyone is there. Every single couple she’s ever photographed for, all of their family, their friends… Even Lady Zabini has a small smile on her face now, despite her company. She insisted on paying for the entire wedding, so Blaise and Ginny decided to have it in their backyard to spite her. Although Lady Zabini has come around to Ginny since she and Blaise got back together, she’s still stupidly hoity-toity about power and status when it comes down to it, and isn’t too happy about her son marrying into the Weasley family.

Well, she’ll have to get used to it. Against all odds, Blaise is a Weasley now.

And she’s a Zabini.

She looks back at her husband – her husband – and lets that sink in for another moment. Before she’s through, one of Blaise’s cousins has come up to congratulate them personally, and she’s swept back into polite conversation. As soon as the guy leaves, she groans and scrunches up her nose.

“We should have eloped.”

Blaise fondly rolls his eyes at her. “You’re the one who didn’t want to.”

“I’m an idiot.”

I told you that you’d hate a big wedding.”

“I don’t hate it. I love it. I would just also love to sit down.”

He shakes his head at her and her gaze drifts down to the new ring on his finger. After months and months of planning, today finally came. The ceremony is over. She’s all set. For life. It’s incredible.

Blaise pulls her against himself and presses a kiss to her crown. “I told you,” he says again.

She sighs. “Fine. You were right.”

“I usually am.”

She sticks out her tongue at him. Behind her, she hears the click of a camera. She turns her head to spot the photographer, not able to resists checking whether he’s doing an okay job. But Blaise catches her and sweeps down to kiss her. He doesn’t hold back either – he kisses her thoroughly, until some of the guests start cheering and whistling at them. Then he pulls back and kisses the tip of her nose before standing up straight again with a satisfied grin.

She can’t help but laugh at him. Ridiculous, perfect man.

“Let the man do his job,” he teases her.

“I am!”

“You’re hovering.”

She gasps. “You take that back.”

“It’s true.”

“Goddammit.”

He’s right. She needs to let this go. The next wedding she attends, she’ll be able to take her own pictures again. She’ll use all of the tools she likes best and play with the light and look for the best angles. She’ll have her settings just right and will get down into the dirt to get that perfect shot. For now, she just has to enjoy her own wedding for a change. It’s going to be the last one she’ll ever have, if it’s up to her.

She smiles at her husband. “Well, then, Zabini. How about you distract me?”

“Am I a joke to you? What have I been doing for the past hour?”

“Your best, I’m sure.”

“Ohohohoho… You did not.”

He pulls her against him, making her laugh, and drags her back onto the dance floor for another lazy waltz. She presses her cheek against his chest and closes her eyes, feeling the heat of his body against hers, the thump of his heart; her favourite sound. Around them, the party goes on, filling the evening air with drunken laughter and laid-back conversations. Blaise is humming along with the song, his chin on top of her head. Everything settles into place for a brief moment.

According to some people, time isn’t real, so this moment will last forever. Even when the night passes and she gets on a plane to Italy, holding her husband’s hand. When she spends the next few weeks lounging in his arms and making him feed her grapes and bruschetta. When they wake up on a Sunday morning twenty years from now. When she’s old and brittle and every memory she’s ever had begins to fade.

She will still be right here. With him.

#blinny #blaise x ginny #ginny x blaise #hp #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #original #slytherdornet #hprarepairnet

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agent-breakdance · 4 years

Text

(Icarus Ch. 2) - Rookie Mistakes

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F! MC (Olivia Anika Cohen)

Word count: 3.1k words

A/N: ANGST

Warning: Language, mentions of small character death, war and violence.

Disclaimer: PB owns characters. There’s lots of Grey’s Anatomy references with some dialogue borrowed from Open Heart.

Tag list: @deliciouslydeafeningstarlight @drethanramslay @ohramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @justanotherrookie @kaavyaethanramsey @batgirlassociationofgothamcity @tyrilstarfury @lilypills @juneiswriting @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj @mvalentine @sanchita012 @choicesstan1 @junggoku @aylamwrites @whatsamottowithyou @utterlyinevitable @openheart12

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Song: 21 Guns by Green Day.

They all gathered at a nearby bar, Donahue’s to celebrate surviving their first week in the university. It was dingy and dim but completely packed.

By the time Olivia made it to the bar, the rest of the gang was already packed into a corner booth a little too small for them.

Before Olivia could slide into the booth, a very drunk Bryce held up a hand to stop her.

“Halt traveler! You must answer our riddle to take a seat.”

Olivia rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness but decided to roll with it.

“Here we go…”

“One of us only tells the truth. The other only tells lies.” Bryce said, gesturing to himself and Aurora.

“Jesus Christ, Bryce, I said I was sorry!”, Aurora said.

Olivia looked amused but puzzled. She looked over to Jackie for an explanation.

Jackie explained that Bryce and Elijah had had a drinking competition and Aurora had declared Elijah the winner.

Olivia chuckled as she sat down.

“Quick! There’s still sixty-seven seconds left in happy hour!”, Sienna said with urgency in her voice.

“Who cares? We’re all going to have a hundred grand in debt anyway.” Elijah retorted.

“Relax Sienna, I put in quite a few orders before the buzzer.” Jackie winked at her.

The waitress brought over a tray lined with tequila shots filled to the brim.

“You want to start with tequila?”, Aurora asked, eyebrows raised.

“Start, finish and everything in between”, Liv said.

Jackie laughed. “A woman after my own heart.”

They all clinked glasses and threw back the shots. The smooth liquid burned as it traveled down her throat.

“Whoa.”

“Again”, Jackie said as she flagged down the waitress for another round.

Bryce interjected. “No, let me.”

He got up and walked to the bar. Ten minutes later, he arrived with a tray lined up with mysterious blue colored concoctions.

“I call this Early Onset Alzheimer’s because you won’t remember a thing in the morning if you drink this.” He grinned as he handed the drinks out.

They all took a sip each only to set it back down.

“Yeah, I’m going to switch back to tequila.” Olivia said.

She was met with laughter and “me too’s” from the rest of the gang.

***

The door swung open as Ethan and Tobias walked into the bar. They took a look at the dark, packed place as Ethan asked Tobias, “Remind me again why I agreed to this...”

“Because you are a great friend, Ethan… and I agreed to buy you drinks.”

“What are you waiting for then, Carrick?” Ethan said as they took a seat near the counter.

Tobias waved the bartender over.

“Two gin and tonics.”

“What, are you just learning to drink? Make it two scotches, neat.”

Tobias was about to respond when they heard peals of laughter coming from a corner booth.

Ethan looked over to the booth only to see her face once again. Tobias watched as Ethan’s face took on an irritated expression which seemed focused on one person in particular. When he saw the girl approach the bar, his eyes lit up with an idea.

She walked up and ordered a tray of tequila shots. As she waited for her order, Tobias slid onto the stool closest to her.

“Hey, I think I’ve seen you around campus. I’m Tobias. The grumpy guy over there is Ethan.”, he said as he held out his hand.

Olivia smiled at Tobias and shook his hand. She gave Ethan a tiny nod to which he responded with one of his own.

“Olivia Cohen.”

She saw Ethan look up slightly as though he was registering her name.

“Nice to meet you. Can I get you a drink?”, Tobias asked.

Just then, the bartender slid over a tray of shots, answering his question.

She smiled and he gave her an understanding nod.

As she started to move back to the booth, he called out to her.

“I saw you in a few of our classes. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly face that's not Mr. Grumpy over here. You could sit with us...?” He trailed off with a questioning look.

Ethan discreetly rolled his eyes but Olivia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Somehow, the fact that their friendship would annoy Ethan made it all the more easier for her to agree.

“I don’t see why not, considering my friends have different schedules. I guess I’ll see you there. Tobias. Ethan.”

As she walked away, Tobias turned towards Ethan only to be greeted with a glare.

“What? I told you we need new friends. I don’t see the problem. She seems nice.”

Ethan shook his head. He did not like where this was going.

***

It was late.

They were in no position to drive. Olivia pulled out her phone to call them a cab.

Her friends all piled into a cab which left no space for herself and Sienna. She waved them on and tried to call another cab. Her phone had chosen an excellent moment to die.

“Fuck!” She threw the phone back into her purse.

Tobias and Ethan happened to be leaving at the time and Tobias offered to share a cab. Olivia seemed uncertain but eventually agreed.

Tobias stepped away to call them a cab.

Suddenly, she heard a loud noise like a gunshot ripping through the air. On instinct, she fell to the ground and tightly shut her eyes. Her mind started flipping through memories and it put her right back onto the battlefield.

She opened her mouth but no words came out, only whispers. “No…no…please, no.”

She heard clear gunshots ring through the air as people dropped like flies on both sides. She touched her arm and pulled away, only to find it slick with blood.

She felt strong hands grab her arm and the touch wrenched her away from her memories, back to the present. She opened her eyes to see his face. This time the concern evident on his face as he made no attempts to hide it.

“Olivia, are you okay?” Ethan asked softly.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A car backfired.”

He saw a distant gaze in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She focused her eyes on him and nodded firmly. He decided not to press further.

Sienna got her into the cab and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

***

The next day…

Ethan entered the room only to find Tobias and Olivia already seated together, talking and laughing. A wave of jealousy passed over him which, to him, was completely unprecedented. The strangest part was that he wasn’t sure if his jealousy was towards Olivia for monopolizing his best friend or towards Tobias for being the one laughing with Olivia.

He broke out of his thoughts as he saw Tobias wave him over.

He took a seat near Tobias and leaned over to him.

“So you weren’t kidding about sitting with her?”

“Be nice, Ethan. She’s very funny. I bet you both would get along, if you just gave it a shot.”

“Oh, I’m sure”, Ethan thought to himself.

Two hours into the lecture, the professor seemed to have completely ditched the topic at hand and was focused on his personal exploits.

Olivia looked around the room trying to find ways to stay awake.

She looked over at Tobias who seemed to be…sleeping?

Fighting her laughter, she leaned over to look at Ethan whose gaze never faltered from the professor.

Her eyes finally settled on the ceiling fan. It was almost as though all other sounds had been muted except the whirring of the fan. She felt her mind wander and before she knew it, she was back on the battlefield.

Shouting all around her was drowned out by the loud mechanical whirring of the helicopter. It positioned itself to deliver medical supplies and food for the soldiers. The sand whirled around, forcing her to cover her eyes. Suddenly, she heard a deafening noise and shrapnel flew all around her. It opened up gashes on her arms as she threw them up to protect herself. The helicopter had been shot down. She saw as it came crashing down and with it their hopes of survival. She saw her comrade and friend, Mia Perez shouting for help to patch up one of the injured soldiers but her legs were frozen in place.

“Olivia.”

“Olivia!”

“OLIVIA!”

Beads of sweat clung to her forehead. She felt a hand on her shoulder as her visions dissolved. She faced Tobias who gestured towards the front of the class.

The professor looked at her expectantly.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” Olivia asked.

“What is histology? You’re sitting in a histology lecture. You should be able to answer that.” The professor said with an exasperated sigh.

Olivia struggled to bring her focus back to the present.

Ethan noticed her struggling. He remembered last night’s events and quickly cut in. “Sir, may I?”

The professor gave him a begrudging nod.

“Sit down, Rookie.” He whispered to Olivia.

“Histology is-” He began but was quickly interrupted as her voice rang out clearly.

“Histology is the study of the micro anatomy of cells, tissues, and organs as seen through a microscope. It examines the correlation between structure and function.” Olivia said with conviction.

The professor nodded. “Eyes on me during the class, Ms. Cohen.”

“Understood, sir.”

Olivia thanked Tobias for the timely wake-up call and shared a private smile with Ethan.

***

In the afternoon, the mess hall started to fill up with students.

“Hey Liv! Saved you a seat or five. Take your pick.” Bryce gestured at the huge table as she approached.

“Oh good. I thought I was going to have to answer ‘a riddle’ again.” She smirked at Bryce.

She looked over and saw Tobias and Ethan looking around in search of a free table.

“Gimme a sec, guys.”

She walked over to them. “Hey guys, would you like to sit with us? We have plenty of room. Besides, I thought all my friends should finally meet.” She looked straight at Ethan. He shook his head with a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Lead the way!” Tobias said.

Everyone looked up as she approached with two people in tow.

“Everyone, meet Tobias Carrick and Ethan Ramsey. My two new best friends.” She laughed at the annoyance in Ethan’s face.

They sat down after all the introductions were made.

“So, did you follow my lead and fall asleep during the lecture?” Tobias asked jokingly.

Olivia hesitated and caught Ethan’s eye. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Har har…it’s amazing that someone actually managed to stay awake.” She gave Ethan a pointed look.

“Oh, Professor Hardman? Everyone sleeps in his classes. Don’t worry about it, Liv.” Bryce said getting nods of assent from the rest of the gang.

***

Towards the end of the day, Olivia and Ethan made their way to the histology lab. Attendance was optional so Tobias had decided to opt out. His exact words had been, “If I have to listen to Hardman drone on for another minute, I might stab him with a pair of forceps.”

They took their seats and saw the equipment laid out in front of them.

“Usually computer applications are used to analyze specimens in histology labs nowadays but today, we decided to go the old school way. Each one of you has been set up with your own microscope and blood sample. Let’s begin.” Professor Hardman began instructing the students.

Olivia took the blood sample in her gloved hands and was about to set it up in the microscope when a loud crash caused her to spill the blood sample on her hands.

Her mind started spinning as she looked down at her bloody hands in horror. She was once again transported to the battlefield. She faced intermittent gunfire as she took her position behind steel enforced hideouts. To her left was Private Mia Perez, her best friend. The gunshots eventually halted and Mia smirked at her.

“Let’s smoke these suckers.”

Mia and Olivia stood up and opened fire on the other side.

As the gunshots from the other side started up again, they quickly took cover. “This won’t do. We need to get closer.” Mia said.

“Let’s go around and take them from the other side. They only have two privates stationed there.” Olivia said as they started moving.

They cornered the enemy from the back and Olivia took the shot. Mia looked around for a split second to see an enemy soldier hiding, rifle raised to take the shot at Olivia.

Before she could register what was happening, Olivia heard gunshots ring in the air. Mia’s body collided with her own as they both fell to the ground. Olivia touched her torso and found her clothes soaked in blood. She felt around but couldn’t seem to find the source of the bleeding. Her face paled as realization washed over her.

“No…NO! Mia!”

She rolled her over to find that the bullet had ripped through her best friend’s abdomen. She put her hands over the wound and applied pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding but the look on Mia’s face said it all. There was nothing she could do.

Tears streamed down her face as she held her dying best friend in her arms.

“It’s alright, Livvy. We got them.” Mia whispered before her body went limp.

“Rookie…you alright?”

The words jerked her back to the present and she found Ethan looking her over. She felt fresh tears run down her face. She looked up to see the professor chewing out a student for breaking the apparatus which was the source of the sound that startled her.

She felt her emotions overwhelm her and she knew she was about to break down. She quickly excused herself under the pretext of cleaning up and ran into an abandoned lecture hall.

The tears now freely streamed down her face as images of her friend flashed in her eyes. She broke out of her trance when she felt someone sit down next to her. Ethan had also excused himself to look for her. She looked over and tried to school her features but fresh tears pricked her eyes. Ethan pulled her into a hug as she let the tears run down her face.

“Flashbacks, invasive memories, extreme physical reactions like sweating even under the cool breeze of a ceiling fan. Rookie, all this coupled with personal experience leads me to believe that you’re suffering from PTSD.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Maybe I was just paying close attention.” Ethan gave her a small smile.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened-” Ethan started but was interrupted.

“I served in the Israeli military for two tours.” She paused before continuing.

“Long story short, there was an error in my judgement which led to my best friend taking a bullet for me. I held her as she died. She was an amazing soldier and an even better friend. Today is the anniversary of her death.” She choked up.

“That was a major factor which influenced my decision to be a doctor. I have harmed countless lives in the name of protecting my country but I can’t watch people die anymore and be able to do nothing about it.”

Her face strengthened with resolve. “I refuse to.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how it feels to be helpless and to blame yourself for their death. I did the same.”

"Right, you said you had personal experience. You don't have to share just because I did."

He silently handed her a handkerchief from his lab coat.

Bold letters stood out in black against the white background.

EJR.

She chuckled. “Monogrammed handkerchiefs? Really?”

“They were a gift from my mother.” He smiles as he reminisces.

He takes a moment to compose himself.

She sees him struggling to collect his thoughts and lays her hand on his, as a show of support. He interlaces their fingers, holding tight as he continues to speak.

“It was my 17th birthday. My father had taken me out to the bookstore and my mom made use of the opportunity to surprise me with my favorite funfetti cake but she realized that she didn’t have any sprinkles. She made a quick trip to the store but on the way back…she met with an accident and passed away.” His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“She seems like a lovely lady. I would have liked to meet her.”

Ethan regards her for a moment and slowly smiles. “I think she would have liked to meet you too.”

His ocean blue eyes met her amber ones. It was almost as though they were pulled together by an invisible force. Their faces were so close that he could see the light catching on her eyelashes. She leaned into him, their lips meeting softly at first. They pulled apart, just an inch to gaze at each other. His lips then came crashing down on hers. Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer just as his arms encircled her waist. He kissed her with an intensity that made her cling to him.

A loud buzz from Olivia’s phone forced them to pull apart. She checked her phone and sighed.

“It’s Tobias. He’s asking where we are since Prof. Hardman’s class got over ten minutes ago. I think we’d better go.”

Ethan nodded and they both got up. Just as Olivia started walking, he grabbed her hand and turned her back toward himself. He kissed her again, slowly and deeply till another buzz, this time from Ethan’s phone forced them apart.

He checked his phone with a grimace. “He is very insistent on knowing where we are as I can only infer from the ungodly amount of question marks and emojis.”

Olivia took out her phone and tapped away before turning on her heel and walking out, leaving Ethan staring at his phone in confusion.

Rookie

5:47 pm

K imma dip.

“What in God’s name is she dipping?”

He looked it up on his phone.

Ethan made his way to the dorms only to find Olivia already standing next to Tobias.

“What took you so long?”, Tobias asked.

“I was dipping the lab.”, Ethan answered, clearly looking pleased with himself.

Tobias stared at him in confusion while Olivia couldn’t help but laugh at his miserably failed attempt.

Chapter 3: Flashbacks and Flashcards

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #dr ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices #OpenHeart

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honouraryweasley12 · 4 years

Text

Reconciliation

After Ron suffers a nightmare, Hermione is there to comfort him.

Also on FF.net

The images were cloudy in his mind, his vision tear-blurred from the vicious kick to the gut that dropped him to the ground. Rough voices and sinister laughter rang in his ears, the smell of sweat, dirt, and blood burned his nostrils.

Disoriented, he glanced up from his prone position. In desperation, he reached a feeble hand out at the shapes, hers the most obvious as she was pulled away from him, her screams echoing in the forest.

He could hear himself yelling out, his voice foreign to even himself. "No, don't take her! HERMIONE!"

He woke up with a start, his eyes wide open, taking in her face hovering above his.

"You're alright," Ron gasped, trying to regain his bearings.

With a mind of its own, his hand reached up, fingertips trembling, and almost brushed her cheek—wanting desperately to feel that she was safe.

Suddenly remembering where he was, he pulled away as if burnt. The heavy silence roared in his ears.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione whispered, breaking the tension. "You were restless and moaning."

Despite the beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead, his cheeks flushed.

"Just a nightmare."

She nodded, stealing a brief glance at the entrance as if reassuring him they were alone. Harry had been out on watch before he dozed off, and he had no idea how much time had passed. His eyes searched hers, the worry in them obvious. It gave him a warm jolt to know she was fretting over him.

"Do you want to talk about it? Was it about what happened at the Lovegoods?"

It was almost like things were back to normal, as if that chasm between them had suddenly closed.

"No, it wasn't about that."

Another brief silence.

"You… you said my name." She stated quietly. "In your sleep, I mean. You sounded very distressed."

He closed his eyes momentarily, embarrassed, before his eyelashes fluttered open, taking every opportunity to study her face up close. "Bloody snatchers."

She scrunched her nose, in that cute way she did when confronted with something she didn't immediately understand. He almost smiled.

"I thought you said you escaped them rather easily. You even joked about it!"

He grimaced. "It didn't seem like the right time to go into it. They did knock me around a little at first, blackened my eye, kicked me in the ribs when I was down, that sort of thing."

Hermione flashed him a look of sympathy and shifted closer on the camp bed. "And you still managed to get away?"

Her sudden interest gave him a burst of confidence, causing him to sit up. "Yeah. They were a dim lot, and I was hurt. When I eventually got to Shell Cottage, Bill fixed me up."

"All except this?" She grabbed his hand gently, examining his two missing fingernails in the wavering light.

He gulped hard at the intimacy of the gesture. His courage failed him—all he wanted to do was entwine their fingers together and pull her close. He didn't have that right, he reminded himself. He'd lost it when he left her.

"I asked him not to. He thought I was mental."

She surveyed him thoughtfully. "Why?"

"It reminded me of what I had done. To Harry, and especially to you."

"Oh."

Her features softened as he continued on, knowing this was a sore subject for her. He needed her to believe she was never far from his thoughts. "The nightmare, well, it's one I had many times when I was away."

She leaned in slightly, encouraging him. "I got really, really lucky with the snatchers that found me. When I was at Bill and Fleur's place, I heard all sorts of mental stories. Some of these gangs are merciless with their captives." He shuddered visibly. "Even Fenrir Greyback is supposedly out there."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth as she let out a gasp. "That's horrible. All those poor witches and wizards just trying to survive."

He nodded. "You and Harry were out here, unaware of what was going on. You could have been caught at any time. I needed to get back to you. I needed to warn you about how dangerous it was. I never stopped thinking about you." Ron paused, his voice wavering. "I… I just hope you believe me."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I… I do. I do believe you."

He grinned slightly. "Thank you."

"So that's what you were having a nightmare about?"

Ron's jubilation was replaced by a frown. "I kept dreaming that I finally found you, but as soon as I did, you were caught and taken away." He clenched his fists in frustration and looked skyward. "I felt so bloody helpless that I couldn't save you. You'd be screaming and I would be laying there, unable to do anything. Every night, those same visions would come back, tormenting me. I was so scared I'd never see you again."

Her hands covered his, his head snapping down to again meet her stare. Her eyes were glassy, and it broke his heart to once again be the cause of her tears.

"You're back now, that's all that matters. We're safe, at least as much as we can be. I hope that knowledge puts a stop to your nightmares."

"I'd hardly call this safe."

"Well, when we're not escaping from roving gangs, giant snakes, or exploding houses."

He let out a dry chuckle at her statement, and Hermione returned a watery smile.

"I just… need you know that I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to protect you, and Harry, as much as I can. It's just a good thing you said my name that day."

Ron could see a flash of guilt cross her face as she looked away.

"What? What did I say?"

"I just… all we had to say your name out loud, and we could have got you back much sooner. There was so much time lost, so much pain and hurt for all of us."

She'd hit on something that had been bothering him since he returned. He asked the question gently. "Why didn't you say my name earlier?"

Hermione's voice dropped to a barely distinguishable volume. "It was too hard, for both of us. We missed you terribly. Your leaving… we could barely function without you. I need you to know that."

"Harry said something like that, too. You… you really mean that?"

"Of course, Ron." She gripped his forearms. "You mean so much to me, and to Harry as well."

He couldn't help it at that moment and pulled her into a hug. Her body stiffened for a second before relaxing in his embrace, her hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt. He flashed back to his brother's wedding, when he last held her in his arms, and tightened his grip.

So lost in the closeness, neither registered the sound of the tent flap opening until they were rudely interrupted by the sound of Harry clearing his throat. They quickly sprung apart; their blushes visible in the flickering light.

Though things had been strained due to the debate about Horcruxes and Hallows, Harry's smirk couldn't be contained. "Kissed and made up, have you?"

Hermione stood up and sputtered, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her jumper. "We did nothing of the sort! Ron had a nightmare and I was concerned. You two get some sleep, I'll be keeping watch."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"Thank you." He smiled at her, which she returned. They remained fixed in place, saying so much without saying a thing.

Harry was glancing between them, watching this exchange with great amusement. "You were going on watch, Hermione?"

Her tone was clearly one of annoyance. "Go to sleep, Harry."

As she left the tent, Ron laid back down and stared up, hands behind his head. The grin on his face not a threat to leave anytime soon.

"Alright, mate?" Harry called out.

"Couldn't be better."

#romione #ron/hermione #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger

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askwhatsforlunch · 9 months

Text

Mushroom and Summer Vegetable Lasagna (Vegetarian)

On a rainy and chill Summer day, this Mushroom and Summer Vegetable Lasagna brings the heat and colour the weather is lacking to your plate! Happy Tuesday!

Ingredients (serves 2):

1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil

1 small Green Onion

1/3 red hot chili pepper

1/2 large aubergine, rinsed

1 courgette, rinsed

1/2 red bell pepper, rinsed

4 leaves fresh sage

1/4 teaspoon coarse sea salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1 tablespoon Modena Balsamic Vinegar

2 large ripe tomatoes

1 heaped teaspoon caster sugar

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

6 to 8 cremini mushrooms

4 leaves fresh sage

1 garlic clove, minced

1/4 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt flakes

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1 /2 tablespoon plain flour

1 cup semi-skimmed milk

Parmesan cheese

olive oil

6 Homemade Pasta rectangles, cut to fit the tins

Heat olive oil in a large, deep, nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.

Finely chop Green Onion, and stir into the skillet. Cook, 1 minute.

Thinly slice chili pepper, and stir into the skillet. Cook. 1 minute.

Dice aubergine, and stir into the skillet. Fry, coating in oil, a couple of minutes.

Dice courgette, and stir into the skillet as well. Cook, another couple of minutes, until starting to brown.

Seed and finely chop bell pepper, and chop sage leaves. Stir both into the skillet. Cook, one minute more. Season with coarse sea salt, and black pepper, and cover with a lid, a couple of minutes until vegetables have just softened.

Remove lid, and deglaze with Balsamic Vinegar. Cook out, 1 minute.

Dice tomatoes, and stir them, along with all their juice, into the skillet. Cook a few minutes, until slightly reduced. Stir in caster sugar until dissolved.

Remove from the heat; set aside.

In a large, saucepan, melt butter with olive oil, over medium-high heat.

Dust cremini mushrooms, and cut them into thick slices. Add mushrooms to the saucepan, and sauté, a couple of minutes, until softened.

Finely chop sage, including the top part of the stalk, and stir into the mushrooms, along with minced garlic. Cook, 1 minute.

Season with fleur de sel and black pepper. With a wooden spoon, stir in flour. Cook out, 1 minute. Reduce heat to medium. Then, very gradually stir in milk, waiting for the sauce to thicken as you add (you want it smooth and silky, but not too thin.) Remove from the heat and grate in about 1/3 cup Parmesan. Give a good stir; set aside.

Preheat oven to 200°/395°F.

To make the Lasagna, generously oil two individual gratin tins. Spoon a tablespoon mushroom sauce at the bottom of each. Lay one Pasta rectangle onto the mushroom cream into each tin. Top generously with Summer vegetables. Then, spoon a layer of mushroom sauce on top. Grate a little Parmesan over the mushrooms. Lay second Pasta rectangle on top, and repeat layers, saving a third of the mushroom sauce to top. Finally, lay third Pasta rectangle onto the mushrooms and cheese, and top with remaining mushroom sauce. Grate Parmesan on top.

Place Lasagna tins in the middle of the hot oven, and bake, at 200°/395°F, for 30 minutes.

Serve Mushroom and Summer Vegetable Lasagna hot, with dressed lettuce.

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romioneficfest · 4 years

Text

Reconciliation

Title: Reconciliation Prompt/Day: Day 2 - Ron talks about the Snatchers Tumblr name: Rating: PG-13 Brief summary: After Ron suffers a nightmare, Hermione is there to comfort him. Any possible triggering/warning tags: Violence, nightmares

He could hear himself yelling out, his voice foreign to even himself. “No, don’t take her! HERMIONE!”

He woke up with a start, his eyes wide open, taking in her face hovering above his.

“You’re alright,” Ron gasped, trying to regain his bearings.

Though dark in the tent, there was enough light from a nearby bluebell jar to make out the mixture of concern and confusion on her face. A stray chestnut curl escaped from behind her ear, dangling between them. Blurry, then sharp, then blurry again. With a mind of its own, his hand reached up, fingertips trembling, and almost brushed her cheek—wanting desperately to feel that she was safe.

Suddenly remembering where he was, he pulled away as if burnt. The heavy silence roared in his ears.

“Are you alright, Ron?” Hermione whispered, breaking the tension. “You were restless and moaning.”

Despite the beads of cold sweat dotting his forehead, his cheeks flushed.

“Just a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Was it about what happened at the Lovegoods?”

It was almost like things were back to normal, as if that chasm between them had suddenly closed.

“No, it wasn’t about that.”

Another brief silence.

“You… you said my name.” She stated quietly. “In your sleep, I mean. You sounded very distressed.”

He closed his eyes momentarily, embarrassed, before his eyelashes fluttered open, taking every opportunity to study her face up close. “Bloody snatchers.” She scrunched her nose, in that cute way she did when confronted with something she didn’t immediately understand. He almost smiled.

“I thought you said you escaped them rather easily. You even joked about it!”

He grimaced. “It didn’t seem like the right time to go into it. They did knock me around a little at first, blackened my eye, kicked me in the ribs when I was down, that sort of thing.”

Hermione flashed him a look of sympathy and shifted closer on the camp bed. “And you still managed to get away?”

Her sudden interest gave him a burst of confidence, causing him to sit up. “Yeah. They were a dim lot, and I was hurt. When I eventually got to Shell Cottage, Bill fixed me up.”

“All except this?” She grabbed his hand gently, examining his two missing fingernails in the wavering light.

He gulped hard at the intimacy of the gesture. His courage failed him—all he wanted to do was entwine their fingers together and pull her close. He didn’t have that right, he reminded himself. He’d lost it when he left her.

“I asked him not to. He thought I was mental.”

She surveyed him thoughtfully. “Why?”

“It reminded me of what I had done. To Harry, and especially to you.”

“Oh.”

Her features softened as he continued on, knowing this was a sore subject for her. He needed her to believe she was never far from his thoughts. “The nightmare, well, it’s one I had many times when I was away.”

She leaned in slightly, encouraging him. “I got really, really lucky with the snatchers that found me. When I was at Bill and Fleur’s place, I heard all sorts of mental stories. Some of these gangs are merciless with their captives.” He shuddered visibly. “Even Fenrir Greyback is supposedly out there.”

Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth as she let out a gasp. “That’s horrible. All those poor witches and wizards just trying to survive.”

He nodded. “You and Harry were out here, unaware of what was going on. You could have been caught at any time. I needed to get back to you. I needed to warn you about how dangerous it was. I never stopped thinking about you.” Ron paused, his voice wavering. “I… I just hope you believe me.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I… I do. I do believe you.”

He grinned slightly. “Thank you.”

“So that’s what you were having a nightmare about?”

Ron’s jubilation was replaced by a frown. “I kept dreaming that I finally found you, but as soon as I did, you were caught and taken away.” He clenched his fists in frustration and looked skyward. “I felt so bloody helpless that I couldn’t save you. You’d be screaming and I would be laying there, unable to do anything. Every night, those same visions would come back, tormenting me. I was so scared I’d never see you again.”

Her hands covered his, his head snapping down to again meet her stare. Her eyes were glassy, and it broke his heart to once again be the cause of her tears.

“You’re back now, that’s all that matters. We’re safe, at least as much as we can be. I hope that knowledge puts a stop to your nightmares.”

“I’d hardly call this safe.”

“Well, when we’re not escaping from roving gangs, giant snakes, or exploding houses.”

He let out a dry chuckle at her statement, and Hermione returned a watery smile.

“I just… need you know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to protect you, and Harry, as much as I can. It’s just a good thing you said my name that day.”

Ron could see a flash of guilt cross her face as she looked away.

“What? What did I say?”

“I just… all we had to say your name out loud, and we could have got you back much sooner. There was so much time lost, so much pain and hurt for all of us.”

She’d hit on something that had been bothering him since he returned. He asked the question gently. “Why didn’t you say my name earlier?”

Hermione’s voice dropped to a barely distinguishable volume. “It was too hard, for both of us. We missed you terribly. Your leaving… we could barely function without you. I need you to know that.”

“Harry said something like that, too. You… you really mean that?”

“Of course, Ron.” She gripped his forearms. “You mean so much to me, and to Harry as well.”

He couldn’t help it at that moment and pulled her into a hug. Her body stiffened for a second before relaxing in his embrace, her hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt. He flashed back to his brother’s wedding, when he last held her in his arms, and tightened his grip.

Though things had been strained due to the debate about Horcruxes and Hallows, Harry’s smirk couldn’t be contained. “Kissed and made up, have you?”

Hermione stood up and sputtered, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her jumper. “We did nothing of the sort! Ron had a nightmare and I was concerned. You two get some sleep, I’ll be keeping watch.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Ron?”

“Thank you.” He smiled at her, which she returned. They remained fixed in place, saying so much without saying a thing.

Harry was glancing between them, watching this exchange with great amusement. “You were going on watch, Hermione?”

Her tone was clearly one of annoyance. “Go to sleep, Harry.”

As she left the tent, Ron laid back down and stared up, hands behind his head. The grin on his face not a threat to leave anytime soon.

“Alright, mate?” Harry called out.

“Couldn’t be better.”

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated T #Rated 15 #Ace Safe #nsfr

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minervahopebeyond · 4 years

Text

Blood Daffodils.

Chapter 5: The wedding. (Part 3/3)

The ceremony had been beautiful, a perfect mixture of Fleur's culture with the Weasley's traditions...

Draco was enchanted with everything, he always loved weddings... The bride's dress, the groom's dress-robes, decorations, the vows... Magic always seemed to surround the recently married couple, bringing them even more together and making them even more in love than before.

Of course, that only happen when you got married because of love, not in arrange marriages like it was costumary in the pureblood families. His parents were an exception to the rule, because his mother once told him that she had liked his father since her first year at school. So since that moment, she asked Draco's grandmother, every summer, if she could arrange a marriage with Lucius Malfoy until it became true. His father was taken with Narcissa as well, so as their Hogwarts years went by, they fell madly in love with each other.

Draco always dreamed of marrying Harry Potter. He dreamed about having a summer wedding, just like Bill’s and Fleur's, in a beautiful garden, something small intimate with all the ancient traditions; the dances, everything. Now, to that fantasy, he added dancing to 'Love of my life' in their first dance.

Not that it would ever happen, of course.

He took a sip of his wine as he watched the happy couple dancing in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone was clapping around them as they danced.

He could see Mr. Potter smiling softly as he looked at Sirius who grinning wide and beautifully at Bill and Fleur as he clapped to the beat.

Next to them, Remus was trying to explain to Nymphadora that he was quite happy not dancing at all... They were so cute together, it had been quite a surprise to everyone when, last year, after the battle, Tonks kissed him in front of the entire Order of the Phoenix. During the couple of times that they went to have dinner at the Potter's mansion, Draco had taken the opportunity to remind Remus of that scolding, the prior summer, that the blond boy had received for his joke about dating Charlie because of their age difference.

Draco's eyes drifted to look at the dragon-tamer. Charlie was laughing at something that Fred and George just said, glass in hand. His dress-robes were almost as dashing as Bill's given the fact that he was the best man, Mrs. Weasley had been quite insistent about keeping the forms and that included the dress-code; the twins were pretty much annoyed about the entire thing. Charlie must had feel his gaze on him because he looked at Draco. The blond boy looked away as quickly as he could, blush appearing in his cheeks.

"I think your brother caught me staring at him, be a good friend and hide me, Weasley."

The redhead chuckled and waved at Charlie. The blond boy punched him on the arm, which only made Ron laugh before seeing something that seemed to erase his smile automatically. He followed the direction of his friend's eyes to find the source of his discomfort. It was Granger laughing with her international quidditch star ex-boyfriend.

Draco brought his glass to his lips before before emptying its content. Hermione was too busy talking with Krum, and Potter was too busy pretending to be a Weasley cousin and talking with Ginevra; hence Ron and him being the bitter bastards of the party. Cheers.The alcohol was starting to low his inhibitions. He didn't mean to drink as much as he had but because of what happened that same morning, he thought that he deserved a bloody break.

He turned to look at his friend again.

"You know what would be considerably more fun than moping about our love interests, weasel?" The redhead looked at him with amusement in his expression.

"Are you drunk already?" Draco only moved his hand, gesturing that yes, more or less. "What's the plan?" Ron asked before leaving his glass on the nearest table. Draco just grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the dance floor.

The songs were more fun by then, not as fun as dancing to Queen or, well, any other muggle band, but it was definitely more entertaining than spending the entire night looking at Potter with longing eyes. The song was customary danced by couples, Weasley also knew the steps, probably because Molly or Arthur had force their children to practice before the wedding. Draco and Ron twirled and jumped to the beat, laughing everytime that the weasel stomped on his feet and the blond boy pinched his arm in return.

After a while, Draco noticed that almost everyone were looking at them, probably because they were laughing so bloody laud that they were interrupting the party.

"I feel judged, ferret."

"Couldn't agree more, weasel. How about a drink?"

"Yeah, no. You are not allowed to drink anymore, I don't want you tripping all over the place."

"I beg your pardon? I seem to recall that you were one who couldn't walk straight to your common room." Weasley smiled smugly at him.

"Well, at least, I walk straight sometimes." Draco barked out a laugh and nudged him playfully.

Suddenly, someone was touching Draco's shoulder. When he turned around, he found Charlie's gorgeous eyes looking at him, small smirk on his lips.

"Nice dancing, very smooth, not clumsy at all." Draco lifted his chin.

"I'll have you known that I'm a spectacular dancer, your brother is the one who moves like a troll." Draco could hear Ron muttering a 'Fuck off'.

"Well, how about you dance with a more qualified partner?" The redhead said as he offered his hand to take him back to the dance floor.

Merlin, how Draco wished to don't give a fuck. To not care about Potter, to not think about Theodore; because maybe, if he didn't care about anything, Charlie would seem like an awesome choice. Tall, handsome, brave and kind... Good dancer too, he noticed, funny as hell, he kept whispering things in Draco's ear, trying to make him laugh. He praised him too, said that he looked dashing and that his make-up looked beautiful.

It was so fucking frustrating, he wanted to be able to look at people, really look at them. Like he looked at Theodore, and still, everytime that Potter fucking talked to him, the brunette would instantly disappear from his mind. Because there was no comparison. Yes, he loved Theodore but he wasn't in love with him and he definitely couldn't even look at Charlie, not more than admiring and enjoying his company.

A bright light irrupted in the tend, a silver Lynx announcing what Draco feared since last year.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

No. Not now.

Everyone started to apparate away and in a matter of seconds Death Eaters were attacking them. Charlie was fighting, along with the rest of the Weasleys, except for Ron who was running towards Hermione. Draco almost ran behind him...

Yeah, no. The golden trio could take care of themselves, Mr. Potter on the other hand had already died once and Sirius tended to do reckless shit when someone was in danger. He found Potter trying to help Ginevra, shouting like a mad man and he caught him by his shirt to stop him.

"SHE IS GOING TO BE FINE! GO, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Draco shouted in between the caos, As he pushed him towards Hermione who was already holding Weasley's hand. Hesitation flashed through the girl's eyes when she realized that the blond boy wasn't making any attempt of running away with them.

"GO. NOW." He commanded at her and the three of them apparated away. Draco couldn't miss the panic in Potter's face before they disappeared.

Good. Now let's find the other two reckless Gryffindors.

It was madness, people were taken away and he could hear the Death Eaters demanding for the guests to hand in Potter. He found Sirius and Mr. Potter fighting back to back, quite literally, great method to avoid being curse on the back but still, the killing curse couldn't be blocked... They needed to leave.

He ran towards them, almost knocking them to the floor as he casted a Fumos Charm. The cloud of smoke started to surround them as Draco yelled at them.

“We have to leave! We have to find them!”

And that was enough explanation for James who caught both of their arms and apparated them into the middle of the living room of the mansion.

Silence. Fucking finally.

“Kid, you are bleeding.”

“I’ll get the Dittany.” He heard Sirius say before running towards the bathroom cabinet.

Everything was moving too fast. He felt the potion drip over the wound on his shoulder, closing it, hurting like hell. He let out a pained noise.

“Sorry, little cousin, almost done.” Draco shook his head.

“Not your fault, I drank too much.”

After Sirius was done, he asked him to fetch the map that was hidden under his bed. His cousin looked at him with confused eyes but did as he was told. Mr. Potter was frantically pacing around him, so bloody nervous.

“Hurry the fuck up, Sirius!”

“DON’T YOU YELL AT ME, YOU BRAT!” His voice sounded muffled because of the distance and maybe because he had his head under Draco’s bed to get the map.

When Sirius got downstairs to where they were, he had a frowned on his face.

“It looks like a regular map.”

“Because it is. Give it to me.”

His cousin put the map on his hand and Draco unfolded carefully to lay it, on the floor, in front of him. Then he grabbed his wand and casted a Diffindo on his hand. He heard the two men gasp, surprised, as he closed his hand tightly, letting the blood drip over the map. Once it seemed like a good amount, he asked for more dittany on his hand.

‘This is going to work, if you could bring Mr. Potter back to life, you definitely can do this.’

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the spell and only the spell, on the urge to find them. ‘Powerful spells need powerful magic sources, my Dragon prince. Hate or love are powerful enough to kill or save someone, always choose love. Always love deeply, Draco.’His mother’s voice was echoing in his head.

Love. Potter. Weasley. Granger.

He needed to find them.

He took another deep breath before pronouncing the enchantment.

“Reperio ones diligamus, datur nobis ad ones, quae sunt sanguine.” The drops of blood seemed to begin shaking as they listened to Draco’s command. “Reperio ones diligamus, datur nobis ad ones, quae sunt sanguine.” They started to move, slowly, leaving a trail of red as they gathered together and moved towards their destiny. “Reperio ones diligamus, datur nobis ad ones, quae sunt sanguine.” The blood settled on a little spot. Draco frowned.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! They can’t be this stupid!”

His cousin was frowning at the map as well.

“That’s Grimmauld.”

They went to fetch them when Draco said that he was feeling good enough to endure another apparition.

Wands out, entering the old house again, risking being found by Severus again.

They heard Potter casting a stupefy as soon as they crossed the door. Mr. Potter casted a protego just as quick as his son.

“It’s us, Potty. Lower your wand.”

But the three of them were holding out their wands still, and neither Sirius or James lowered theirs.

“What was the first thing that you said about hufflepuff when we met, Malfoy?” The green-eyed boy asked, suspicious.

“That I’d leave if I got sorted into Hufflepuff. When did we meet?”

“At Madam Malkin’s, your mother was looking at wands for you and you told me that you were going to drag your father to look at brooms after.”

Finally, Potter lowered his wand and everyone did the same.

“Why didn’t you come with us? You bloody scared me to death.” The boy hissed at him.

“I needed to find Sirius and your father, Weasley was wearing the necklace,I knew I’d find you after.”

Potter frowned, maybe the weasel hadn’t told him about it... Ron walk towards him and pulled him into a hug.

“This is really the best present that I’ve gotten, ever. Thanks for coming to get us, we didn’t know if we were being followed.”

Draco smiled softly and tightened his arms around the redhead.

“You are not getting rid of me that easily, weasel. I’m just glad that you are safe, really... and don’t you ever dare to take the necklace off.”

“I promise I won’t, ferret.”

Potter face was as moody as it could be, probably mad at Draco for separating him from Ginevra in the middle of the fight. Draco pulled away from his friend and turned to look at the rest of the group.

“Now, how about we really start that horcrux hunt?”

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

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lokislytherin · 4 years

Text

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night. word count: 1988 + 1808 + 2373 +

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

Over the next few weeks, Jeongguk's appearances in your apartment become increasingly frequent until it's a daily occurrence, regardless of whether Seokjin is there or not. Jin is like an older brother to you, and you know he would never allow you to bring home a boy he hasn't given his stamp of approval, let alone a vampire he's never even met.

But the thrill of breaking the rules has always excited you, hasn’t it?

Slowly but surely, you and Jeongguk grow steadily closer. You learn a lot about him: he likes photography, but a part of the curse of vampirism makes it impossible to appear when not seen by the naked eye; impossible to be caught on camera; or reflected in your bedroom mirror, for that matter. He's unintentionally scared you one too many times for you to be comfortable stepping out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around you anymore. He adopted a tiny white dog called Gureum, but he wasn't able to visit ever since he 'died' and was turned - Gureum barked every time Jeongguk even came close. Jeongguk had sniffed himself, wondering if he smelled any different. He couldn't tell.

He also learned a bit about you - like your opinion on pineapples on pizza, which had baffled him endlessly. He'd looked at you, distrustful, wondering how you could possibly not like pineapples on pizza. Equally horrified, you'd turned to him, asking how could a fruit like pineapple possibly belong on pizza? After a lengthy debate, both of you had reached a final decision to agree to disagree. You'd even told him you were saving up to get two tattoos - a fleur-de-lis with mismatched angel wings, a personal choice; and a dragon, a symbol of your family. He'd nodded in approval, lifting up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal an armful of tattoos. You'd asked about some of them - the tiger lily was his birth flower, and the 'please love me' inked behind it was "wishful thinking"; a skeletal hand making the rocker sign and a lyric by Nirvana was for how he'd wanted to be a singer. Ironically, the lyric said 'better be dead than cool', and Jeongguk had laughed at his own expense.

At one point, both of you had bonded over contact lenses - you had a pair of red ones you'd used the previous year for Halloween, and Jeongguk had screamed when he saw you with them on, thinking you'd been turned and he wasn't there to protect you. You thanked him for the sentiment, plucking the lenses off your eyes as he fell onto the bed in relief. He told you his eyes weren't naturally blue, but brown - he'd been wearing blue contacts when he was turned, and now the color had merged onto his eyes.

Soon, you find yourself anticipating Jeongguk's midnight meetings with you, excitement making you shiver when night falls. You're not surprised when you find yourself falling for Jeongguk, hard. He's basically perfect: he's cuddly (but lean and muscular underneath), just how you like him; always buying you little trinkets that reminded him of you; even going to far as to bring you flowers, sometimes braiding them into your hair. His good looks are just a bonus. His only flaw so far is his love of pineapples on pizza.

On nights like this, you find yourself thinking - what if he was a human? What if the two of you could be something more than just friends? What if he could be yours?

You're rudely interrupted from your blissful, wistful daydream by the sound of harsh knocking on your bedroom window. Your apartment isn't far from the ground - anybody with a good grip could probably make their way out without much sweating. It's probably a prank - one of your exes was petty enough to throw pebbles at your window until Seokjin opened the window and screamed until he fled.

More than a little cranky and annoyed, you barely think about the consequences before you throw the window open and yell out into the gloom: "Who the fück is knocking on my window at one a.m?"

A pair of familiar but haggard-looking blue eyes stare into yours. In the dark, his eyes look purple, until you realize that they're tinged with red. Even though you know full well that it's Jeongguk and he wouldn't hurt you, you can't help but fear for your life: it reminds you of the first time you 'met' him, the vampire starving and driven to kill by the blood-lust that controlled him.

"Permission to enter," he rasps. Normally, his voice is smooth enough to make you swoon, but not today. Today, it is husky and a near growl. "Wards increased power."

You blink. Ward? What ward? You have no clue what he meant, but you grant the young vampire permission anyway, urging him in. The pain and exhaustion is clear on his face, and it worries you, empathy completely overriding your innate 'prey' response of fear. “Thanks, Y/N,” Jeongguk mumbles as he staggers into your arms like a drunk man.

You clap a hand onto your mouth upon seeing the state that he's in. Oh, god. Blood. So much blood.

Oh god, he's covered in blood, dark red liquid painting his white shirt crimson. The metallic tang makes you want to puke your guts out the window, but you notice that there are traces of it on your windowsill, and Jeongguk is dripping the stuff all over the floor. “Jeongguk? Jeongguk, are you okay?” You can hear the desperation in your own voice.

"Hi, Y/N." He smiles at you, a little loopy, the twinkle in his eyes missing. He doesn't look like the Jeongguk you've gotten to know. "Good... to... see... you."

He bares his fangs in a weak grin. One is a little chipped (you've noticed that before), both are gleaming red with blood (that's new).

“Oh my God, Jeongguk,” you whisper, horrified, “what did you do?”

“Sorry… Y/N.” He looks mildly apologetic. "Didn't mean to."

A whimper of a scream escapes you as his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses on top of you, bringing you down to the floor.

You muffle your screech with your sleeve as you shove him off as gently as you can, praying that Seokjin can't hear you from the room across the corridor. Your hands are red with blood, all over your fingers and rolling onto your arms. You wipe it on your shirt in an attempt to get it off, but there's blood under your nails, too. That's not even the biggest problem - whose blood is it?

Thankfully, Jeongguk opens his eyes after a minute or two. It felt like ages to you. He's conscious now, but his irises are redder than when you saw them last. “What happened to you?” you ask him, confused, worried, scared.

He grunts, trying to push himself into a sitting position. There's a long gash on his arm, though it doesn't look very deep. "Got ambushed," he hisses, something feral in his voice. He doesn't quite sound human, but he seems to be holding back in front of you, trying to be human even though both of you know he's not. He carefully pokes and prods himself, trying to find out the sheer extent of his injuries. "Damn hunters again."

You remember what Jeongguk said about the hunters before - humans who knew about the secret nightlife, humans who were so thirsty for some sort of vengeance that they would hunt down vampires, werewolves, and witches alike, regardless of how said creature had treated them in the past. Jeongguk had sneered when he talked about his previous close scrapes with hunters, but this was the first time he'd been caught.

"I took a few down, but there were too many. I tried not to hurt them, I really did. But they didn't hold back, so neither did I." He grits his teeth at a particularly deep cut on his thigh, which sizzles and oozes blood. You stare at it in horror. Did he climb all the way to your apartment with all those injuries? He growls lowly. "Fückin' silver knife." It's the first time you've heard him swear. "Hurts like shït, but it's worse for werewolves." He laughs hollowly.

But why you? Why, of all people, would he come to you?

"You're the only one I'd trust with helping me," he grunts as he plucks a small shard of wood out of his thigh. He tosses it out the window. "Also, this is going to sound crazy, but I think your roommate is a witch. He knows I've been here, and he strengthened the wards around the apartment." He flinches when one of his wounds begins to steam. "That's why I had to ask for permission. He's trying to protect you, but I put both of you in danger by coming here. I think I lost the hunters, but they have a good tracker."

You frown. Seokjin, a witch?

You rewind back to all the times he's seemed particularly magical in any way. Perhaps it's his cooking, and how everything he makes seems to be better than yours even though you're not too shabby a cook yourself. Or maybe it's his looks - most times, he goes unnoticed, but once you make eye contact with him you seem to be unable to look away. It doesn't help that he looks the same as he did ten years ago, you've seen his pictures.

But now is not the time to question Seokjin's humanity. Jeongguk is badly injured, and by the steam rising out of the wounds and the fading light in his eyes, he looks like he may even be dying in your arms. "Let me help you, Jeongguk," you beg, "just tell me how."

Jeongguk shudders, squeezing his eyes shut as a silent scream rips out of his mouth. When he reopens them, the lovely blue of his irises is almost gone, covered by flecks of red. "Blood." Fangs slide out of his gums, and he eyes your neck. "I need fresh blood."

“Fresh… blood?”

"I mean, dead animal blood works too," he adds hastily, "just not as well. I'd heal faster with fresh blood." His voice is deeper and gruffer, and you like the sound of it a little more than you should. "But please, hurry. Make a decision. Once my eyes go completely red, I'll lose all control." His voice goes even lower. "I don't know how I'd live with myself if I hurt you somehow."

You can see his blood-red gaze on your throat, sharp fangs peeking out of his mouth. The look in his eyes is damn near predatory, and you shiver when his tongue darts out hungrily. If this feral side of Jeongguk isn't the hottest thing you've ever seen, you don't know what is.

Slowly, you brush your hair away from your neck, exposing your throat to the young vampire. His gaze pins you to the spot - no doubt he can hear every frantic beat of your heart.

Blue briefly flickers in Jeongguk’s eyes. “Are you sure about this?” He sounds scared for you. “'Cause once I start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” “It’ll be okay, Guk. I’ll be fine.” Are you reassuring him, or yourself? “We’ll be fine.” “If you still say so.” He still sounds uncertain.

As soon as the red bleeds into his eyes, he becomes another person completely. Gone is the Jeon Jeongguk who would make you flower crowns and buy you pretty little trinkets - here is an apex predator (who totally does not get you all hot and bothered, by the way.)

Jeongguk licks his lips, a small smirk on his face. The tips of his fangs are stark white against the red of his lips, and you can feel your cheeks heat up. It’s too late to back out now.

He pounces, pushing you down against the covers, trapping you under him. You gasp as he clamps his teeth onto your neck, fangs piercing through the skin of your throat and sinking deep into your jugular vein. The feeling is foreign, as is the pain, and you struggle a little. Jeongguk lets out an animalistic growl, sucking hard as he pins your wrists above your head. Your eyes flutter shut after a few moments - after the initial sting of the bite fates, all you're left with is a growing sense of euphoria.

All is well until you start to feel woozy. Jeongguk is literally draining away your lifeblood, and if he keeps going you'll be dead in a few minutes. You nudge him gently, but there's no response. You nudge him a little harder, and you get a grunt this time. Not much better, but a little progress is better than none at all. "Jeongguk," you start gently, "that's enough." You hope the thirst has faded enough for him not to lose his temper and snap your neck.

He groans, mumbling something about your sweet blood. You call him again, a little more fear in your voice.

Footsteps sound from across the corridor, and you swear under your breath as your housemate kicks the door open, revealing Seokjin in all his alpaca-nightshirt wearing glory. He's wielding his phone like a weapon, the torch on as he squints. "Y/N, what the-"

He takes in the state of your room - bloodstains all over the floor, the vampire attached to your neck. You're less scared of Jeongguk now, more fearful of your roommate. The only thing worse than an angry and protective Seokjin is a tired, cranky and protective seokjin. “- hell?” Well, you’re screwed.

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iamnotoriginalphil · 4 years

Text

Lying is the Most Fun (Loki x f!Reader) - Part 3

Synopsis: Loki meets your sister and you have to deal with the bed situation.

Words: 1406

Warnings: none

AN: I went out and got my hair fixed after fucking it up. I didn’t realise how much it was affecting my mood until I fixed it. Anyway, if you wanted to be tagged in future chapters just let me know.

Your sister was staring at Loki. He had his arm around your shoulders, your body resting against his. You’d been sitting on the sofa, listening to your mother tell a story about Agatha from across the road when your sister had arrived with her fiancé. After initial introductions she had taken a seat across from Loki, staring at him with narrowed eyes and judgement in every line of her body. She’d never liked any of your previous boyfriends.

“So you met at work?” she asked.

“Where else am I going to meet anyone?” you replied.

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond. Loki tightened his arm around you, presumably flashing your sister one of his trademark winning smiles. You patted his knee in what you hoped came across as a comforting manner.

“And you haven’t been together long?” she asked.

“Long enough to know I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Loki replied as smooth as butter.

“Only a few months,” you supplied, ignoring his answer.

“Every single one of which has been absolute bliss.” His lips pressed to your temples again and you fought against a disgusted shiver.

“So how did it happen?” she asked.

“I’d been watching her for a while, so impressed with her work. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. And then one day she stepped in front of a bullet for me,” Loki said.

“All part of the job,” you muttered, ducking your head.

“Well, after that I asked her out for a drink. I figured, the woman who had saved my life must like me at least a little bit. And then one date turned into another and then another until I realised I couldn’t do without her. No one has dazzled me the way she has.”

You laughed uncomfortably. You patted his knee again, getting up.

“You want a refill?” You asked, looking down at his empty cup of tea.

“Thank you, love.”

You took the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing against his. He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to the palm of it. You flushed, drawing it back from him. You disappeared into the kitchen, knowing you were leaving him to the lions.

You stood at the stove, the kettle on top. You placed your hands on the counter, leaning forward and bowing your head. You let out a long breath, trying to get your thoughts under control. Your head was spinning. You should be better at this than that. You were a paid liar. This shouldn’t be so hard.

A pair of cold arms wrapped around your waist, a hard body pressing against your back. The scent of pine and snow and shadow told you it was Loki. You grabbed his wrists, ripping his arms from you. He tutted, wrapping them around you again.

“You don’t want your family seeing that little display, do you?”

“You disgust me,” you spat.

“You flatter me.”

He buried his face in your neck. His breath fanned over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. It was cool, cold in fact, and you wanted to get away from him. The kettle began to whistle.

“You should get that.” His lips brushed against your pulse point.

You grabbed the kettle, swinging it around, almost hitting Loki in the chest with it. He took it from your hand, standing still too close. You looked up, reminded how much taller he was. He was practically crowding you against the countertop. He tucked some hair behind your ear, his cool fingers lingering on your jaw. You looked into his blue eyes, finding it difficult to look away.

“Is everything okay in here with you kids?”

Loki spun away from you, pulling the mugs closer to him. You smiled at your father, patting Loki on the back as you passed by him.

“Everything is perfect,” you said.

“Are you sure, kiddo?” He kept his voice low.

“Yeah, daddy. Everything is fine.”

You slipped past him, back into the living room. You took your seat on the sofa again, ignoring the look your sister was giving you. Loki sat beside you, close enough to feel the coldness rolling off him. He handed you the mug of tea he’d made for you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You let him pull you against his body, resting your head on his shoulder. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. You glanced up at him. He was smiling down at you.

You turned back to your tea, not wanting to keep looking at him. If you did you might do something stupid. Like slap him. You took a sip from the mug.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” your sister asked, “you’re terrible at keeping secrets from me.”

“I wanted to make sure it stuck,” you replied with a shrug.

“And you think it will?” she asked.

“It better,” Loki said.

You turned your eyes back to him. He was looking down at you, the hint of a predatory glint in his eyes. You scowled, pushing his arm from your shoulder. He laughed, leaning backwards. You shifted forward to keep any part of you from touching any part of him. You caught your sister’s eye. She raised her eyebrows at you. You shook your head, settling in your seat more comfortably.

Loki rested a hand at the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. He gently tugged on it until you looked at him again. He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Sorry, love,” he said.

“It’s okay. I know it’s just because you want this to work,” you repied, giving him a tight smile. He chuckled.

“It’s good to see our youngest daughter so happy,” your mother said.

“It’s better to see your eldest daughter getting married,” you shot back.

“Oh sweetie, I just meant that it’s been so long since you’ve seen anyone,” she said.

“I guess I’ve just been too busy with work.”

“Lucky for me,” Loki said.

Your mother gave him a dazzling smile. You rolled your eyes, chugging from the mug. The faster you finished it, the faster you could retire for the night and not deal with your family’s bullshit. Although, then you would be dealing with a whole different type of bullshit.

“I’m going to turn in,” you said.

You got off the sofa, taking your mug with you. You left it in the sink in the kitchen, knowing it would annoy your mother. You slipped into your room, closing the door and letting out a long breath. You grabbed your pajamas and your towel.

When you returned to your room it was to find Loki standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but sweat pants. Your mouth fell open.

“Hello love.”

“You better be getting ready to make a bed on the floor or else we’re going to have a problem,” you said.

“Why make a bed when there’s a perfectly good one already here?”

“We’ve already been over this,” you said, slamming the door shut, “if you insist on doing that then I will be removing a limb.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Before you could give him an answer he had one of your arms pinned behind your back, his breath ghosting over the shell of your air. You gritted your teeth, turning your face to look at him. He was too close. You could count the colours in his eyes. He smirked.

“Although I can think of worse things than being pinned to a bed by you,” he murmured, his eyes straying to your lips.

“You wish,” you hissed.

“You have no idea what I wish for.”

He let you go. You got as far from him as you could, putting as much space between you as possible. He turned away from you, rummaging through his bag. He pulled a book out from amongst his clothes. You watched him settle in the only chair in the room, opening the book up.

“Do not worry, love. You can sleep easy.”

You watched him for a few moments but he didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You slipped into the bed. Loki raised his hand, snapping his fingers. All the lights in the room went out, a soft glow emanating from his palm. You closed your eyes, turning your back on the demigod.

You tried to ignore the sound of him breathing.

Tags: @sheridans-dynamos @tumultuous-love @juniperbab @internetgremlin @true-queen-of-mischief @sev7en @fleurs-en-ruines @lokilover2000-blog @hakuoyuki @el-eldritch @foreverbeingthunderbuddy @fuckthatfeeling @libellule2001 @thefallenbibliophilequote @smollest-soybean @jessiejunebug @cxstl-e @paulsonix @sadwaywardkid @alcoholic-muffin @eveybitch @subtlemalice

#Loki Laufeyson #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #marvel #marvel imagine #lying is the most fun

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drarryangels · 4 years

Text

Drowning in a Burning Lake - Part 4

Read the whole fic on AO3

Harry waited. And waited. Waited longer.

The water grew darker with each passing second, but still he waited. Merpeople drifted around him, sneering and hissing at him through the water. Harry waited and held onto Draco's sleeve tightly. His fingers grew numb clenched around the fabric, so he switched to holding Draco's wrist. It was warmer that way.

Harry couldn't tell if he'd been here for hours, or if the time was passing slower in the silent lull of lake water.

He watched Hermione's face carefully, and then Draco's. The Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang. The girl who must be related to Fleur. They all floated, their limbs relaxed and loose. It must be some spell, Harry thought. He wondered if any of them even knew where they were, or if they'd just been knocked out and dragged down here. Harry wouldn't have had the thought at all, he trusted Dumbledore, but he had no idea what the judges or heads of the other schools would be willing to do. It didn't matter.

Harry waited until, finally, a body emerged from the darkness. Harry recognized the yellow emblem immediately: Cedric. He waved wildly to him, beckoning him over, but Cedric didn't hesitate. He pointed his wand at the rope tying Cho to the bottom, and wrapped around her waist to pull her up to the top. Just before he moved completely out of sight, he turned to Harry and tapped his wrist. Harry squinted. Time. He must be running out of time.

He looked between Draco and Hermione. He couldn't leave either of them here. So he waited.

A shark head snapped into view not long after Cedric's departure, and Harry recognized the uniform as Krum's. Unlike Cedric, Krum didn't pause for a minute, but simply whirled by, taking Hermione with him.

Harry was free to go now. Hermione was safe with Krum; no matter what Ron said about Durmstrang, Harry trusted Krum to keep Hermione from harm. The only person left was the silver haired girl. Harry looked between her and Draco. He wasn't sure what would happen to the girl if Fleur didn't get down here before the task was over, but he wasn't willing to risk it. Harry darted forward and grabbed her arm. The merpeople swam forward, glaring and stabbing their spears, but they backed off quickly when Harry pulled out his wand.

Dragging two bodies up to the surface of a very deep lake turned out to be exceedingly difficult. Harry clung onto Draco and the girl, but with every push up closer to the surface, it felt like they were both slipping out of his grasp. Harry kicked harder and pushed Draco and the girl along with him. He had to make it to the top with both of them. Both Cedric and Krum had finished the task ahead of him, but Harry knew that at least Fleur hadn't done well, so he wouldn't come dead last. Not that it mattered. All that was important was getting to the top. The top, the surface, the light. Harry could see it now.

Just then, two sharp jabs spiked through the sides of Harry's neck, and he faltered in the water. He tried to inhale, but a thin stream of water choked into his lungs. Harry gagged and subconsciously held on tighter to Draco's arm. He was running out of time.

Harry kicked out furiously at the water underneath him, but he'd never learned to swim, and the flippers the gillyweed had given him were melting away. The light shimmering from the surface of the lake grew further away, and Harry tried to swim without letting go of Draco and the girl. His lungs burned and his head ached, and it was all he could do not to allow his body to snort more water into his mouth.

The blaze in Harry's lungs and head rose steadier, and all coherent thoughts edged out. The only thing he could focus on was the blond screen of Draco's hair wavering in front of his face, and the drag of the little girl's robes swiping around his ankles.

Another sharp pain ran up Harry's neck, and one of his hands flew to the side of his neck. The little girl wafted away and Harry grabbed onto her before she could move out of Harry's reach. But he'd already felt the smoothness on the sides of his neck, and knew that his time was up. All he could do now was push Draco and the little girl up towards the surface and hope that they'd make it. They were only a few feet, give or take, away from the opening air. One last shove upwards would get them to the top, but it would push Harry in the opposite direction.

Harry hardened his resolve. Draco mattered more, and he was sure that Fleur would be desperate to have this girl back by her side, whoever she was.

He ignored the heavy blankness settling over him, and thrusted Draco and the girl up one final time. Harry gravitated down into the depths of the lake, the shapes of Draco's dark robes and the girl's pale ones blurring out of sight. Harry could see the surface of the water break, and pushed the rest of the air out of his lungs in relief. They'd made it. Black came swooping in on the fringes of Harry's vision. He might have been imagining it, but he thought he saw a dark blob coming toward him fast. He threw his hands out to protect himself, but the movement was weak, and the blob pushed his hands aside easily.

Something grabbed onto the back of his uniform, and then he was getting hauled up and up. And then there was air. Harry gasped and coughed, and oxygen seared his throat. Someone was still holding onto his shirt, pulling him close. Harry blinked fiercely, and the someone cleared slightly in front of him.

"Draco," Harry wheezed. "You're alright."

"You bloody idiot," Draco yelped, and grabbed onto Harry, pulling him into a wild hug. They ducked under the water for a second, but Draco yanked them both up instantly. "Can't you swim?"

Harry laughed through the heaves of his breath. "No."

"Of course you can't," Draco chuckled. Draco twisted his hand in Harry's shirt again, and started treading them back to the shore. Harry tried to kick helpfully, but with the way Draco was panting, Harry didn't think he was being much help.

As soon as they were in shallow enough that both Harry and Draco could touch, Draco stopped and threw himself on Harry again. Harry didn't mind a bit when they almost went splashing back into the water. People were shouting his name, and there were cheers coming from everywhere, but the only thing Harry could hear was Draco's breath, heavy and close in his ear. Draco's arms gripped around Harry's shoulders. His hair, sticking to Harry's cheek. His heart fluttered frenziedly around his rib cage, and he hugged Draco back tightly.

"You did it, you buffoon," Draco was whispering, over and over.

"Wait," Harry said, pulling back suddenly. "What about the girl? Fleur's girl?"

"Oh." Draco pushed tendrils of Harry's hair off of his forehead. Harry tried to ignore the heat rising up his neck. "She's okay. They got her out of the water. I think Fleur's with her now."

"Good," Harry said. "What happened to Fleur in the lake?"

"I don't know," Draco said, shoving Harry. "I just emerged from this bloody lake, same as you."

"Right," Harry laughed. "Come on."

He latched his hand onto the sleeve of Draco's dripping robes, and lead him out of the shallows of the lake. Hermione was waiting for him, bundled up in a thick towel, and she leaped on the two of them as soon as they were out of the water.

"Oh, thank goodness you're both safe," she said, hugging them both and waving Madame Pomfrey over with blankets and towels.

She took the blankets from Madame Pomfrey, ignoring her taken aback expression, and threw them over Harry and Draco. One of the blankets got caught over Harry's head, and his vision went dark before a cold hand pulled it back from his face. Harry smiled at Draco gratefully as Hermione continued fussing over them, pulling the blankets tighter, and chattering about the task.

"I can't believe you figured it out," Hermione said, pulling both of them farther away from the lake, and towards the crowds of people congregating and pressing in around the champions.

Harry shook his head. "It was all Draco. He figured it out."

He glanced over at Draco to see a smug smile laid out over his face, and Hermione hugged them both again.

"Well, thank Merlin he did. I don't know what would've happened to you if someone hadn't saved you," Hermione said.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I would've figured something out."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just thank every god that Draco was there, Harry."

"Don't worry, I am," Harry said without hesitation. He pressed his shoulder to Draco's beside him, and grinned at him. Draco's teeth chattered back, and Harry pulled him in under his own blanket.

He tried not to think too hard about it, but it really was quite difficult when Draco's whole body was pressed to Harry's side. Both of them were trembling and still sopping wet, but Harry wouldn't have changed anything if he'd been given a choice.

Fleur approached them, her hands tight around the girl that Harry had pulled up from the bottom of the lake.

"Thank you," she said, coming up quickly and kissing all over Harry's face. Draco yanked him back, but then Fleur was on him too, pecking his cheeks and forehead. Draco's nose wrinkled in disgust; Harry tried not to snort. "My sister. Thank you."

Harry nodded and smiled until Fleur hurried off, fluttering all over her sister. An elbow jabbed into his side, and Harry started to see Draco glaring at him.

"What?" Harry said.

"Why are you staring at her?" Draco demanded. "At Fleur?"

"I wasn't," Harry said truthfully. "I was just thinking how much she and her sister look alike."

"Right," Draco scoffed, ducking out from under Harry's blanket.

"Draco?" Harry reached out and snagged the edge of his towel, reeling him back in. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Draco said.

Draco was close. They were face to face now, and Harry could feel the splay of Draco's breath over his cheeks. Draco seemed to realize then how close they were too because he looked up and down at the little space between them, and tried to take a step back. He didn't make it far, Harry was already moving forward to crush him into a rib-cracking embrace.

"What's this for?" Draco grumbled.

Harry pulled his head back, kept his arms looped tightly around Draco, and grinned. "I just... am doing what Hermione said."

"And what's that?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Thanking every god that I have you," Harry said, serious.

Draco's eyebrows dropped and the points of his face softened. His hands lifted to pat Harry on the shoulders, cheek, his head. They came to rest on Harry's forearms, and Harry resisted the urge to pull Draco even closer.

His stomach was throwing riots and his heart was practically leaping out of his throat. It was a miracle Draco couldn't tell how electrified Harry was being this close to Draco. Or maybe he did know, and he was just generous enough not to say anything about it.

The screaming from the crowds continued rising around them, and Draco rolled his eyes before removing himself from Harry's reach. Harry's arms lingered in the air, thinking for a second that he was still holding onto Draco. Draco threw a wicked grin over his shoulder, and Harry followed him helplessly.

Tag list:

@bumpingbees @addicted-to-w0rds @cibeewastaken @emotionaljabber @lupabianca @april-thelightfury115 @chinike @ladyseidenlocke @colormehazelnut @acequinz @podsgirl @kinkybazsmolsnow @malfoy-potterx @helpmeimaunicorns @graymatters @iammarvelsslut @solemnlyremy

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #triwizard tournament #fourth year #alternate universe #friends to lovers #au #part 4 #ao3 #hugs

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justathoughtfulangel · 4 years

Text

The One That Got Away (Draco Malfoy Mini Series, Part Two)

Hellllooooo! Here is the second part of my Draco Malfoy Mini Series, The One. If you’d like to see more details about the series as a whole and a summary of this part or the parts to come, you can do so here. If you’d like to read more about my OC, Amara Grimaldi, you can do so here.

PLEASE read part one, The One Who was Lost, before you read this one. You can find it here.

Word count: 13, 254 (literally twice as long as part one, YIKES)

Please don’t hesitate to message me if you have any questions/comments/concerns or if you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new part :)

Whenever you see “~~~”, I’m transitioning to a different scene. If you see “~” instead, we’re in the same scene but different characters are being shown.

If you have a hard time following the scenes, please use this scenes list as a resource.

Happy Reading!

Amara Grimaldi stood outside her home, wanting to take it in one last time. Everything was the same. The fountain flowed beautifully, birds chirped happily in the mornings, and her father, strong and unwavering, was always there to welcome her.

Ambrosi Grimaldi had watched his daughter grow in this house. It was here she discovered her passion for potion-brewing. It was here she took her first steps. It was here where he and his Lucianna had brought her after she was born. Grimaldi Manor is and always will be her home.

“I’ll see you at the wedding in a few days, Daddy.” Ambrosi smiled as much as he could and held his daughter close. Both of them knew the dangers they were in. Yet, if only for a moment, they were safe with each other.

Miles away, Harry Potter watched his cousin, aunt, and uncle drive away forever. Elsewhere, Ron Weasley stared out to the horizon, watching the setting sun. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger erased the memories of her parents, walking away from her home with just a small bag in her hand...

~~~

Amara had been braiding Gabrielle Delacour’s hair when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone apparating. “Excusez-moi, ma petite cherie.” Gabrielle nodded and smiled at Amara. “Merci beaucoup! Je peux finir seule, Amara.” Amara smiled back warmly, ducking to kiss the top of Gabrielle’s head before descending down the long, winding stairs of the Burrow.

“Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…” Minister Scrimgeour released the parchment, letting it float near him as he read from it. “First, to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, a device of my own making, in hope that when things seem most dark, it will show him the light.” Ron reached out hesitantly to take the Deluminator and clicked it once. Two orbs of light from the nearby lamps floated into it, and then returned once he clicked it again.

Amara smiled softly as Ron mumbled, “Wicked!” under his breath. Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow, but he continued. “To Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in hopes that she finds it entertaining and instructive.” Hermione took the book, flipping through its pages once. Ron babbled about the stories in the book while Harry and Hermione looked baffled. Amara assumed Scrimgeour was getting impatient, and he was. “To Amara Lucianna Grimaldi, I leave my copy of Hogwarts: A History, in hopes that she finds solace in the knowledge it provides.”

Amara took the book gingerly. The book was immensely fragile with age and she took great care in opening the cover. Its contents were very different from the copy Amara owned; Dumbledore’s copy was certainly an earlier edition, perhaps one of the first to be written. “Lastly, to Harry James Potter, I leave him the Golden Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch game at Hogwarts as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.” Amara’s head snapped up from the book. She shared a look with Hermione as Harry reached out to accept the Snitch. Yet, when his fingers grasped the cool metal, nothing happened.

Amara was expecting Scrimgeour to bid them goodbye but found he had more to read. “Dumbledore has left you a second bequest, Mr. Potter, the sword of Gryffindor. However, the sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. It belongs to-”

Hermione quickly interjected, “Harry. It belongs to Harry. He drew the sword from the hat in our second year. It came to him in his time of need.” Amara knew that didn’t make the sword Harry’s, and she would’ve said so had the Minister not beat her to the chase. In any case, Amara was thinking about why Dumbledore left Harry the sword.

Dumbledore did not do anything without reason. Everything they had received was given to them for a purpose; who received what item was equally important.

Amara was brought out from her thoughts when Scrimgeour tried to tell Harry to give up. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Mr. Potter, but you can’t fight this war on your own. He’s too strong.” Amara happened to be sitting closest to Harry and she placed her hand on his shoulder supportively. Harry had always known he would either win this war or die trying; he didn’t need a reminder of how difficult things would be.

~~~

For now, things were brighter. Bill and Fleur had a beautiful wedding. Laughter and smiles could be seen everywhere, despite the dark times. Amara’s hand went to her bag and she clutched it, knowing she had everything should she and her friends have to Disapparate without warning.

From the corner of his eyes, Ambrosi noticed his daughter’s fingers tightening anxiously around the handbag he bought her for her 15th birthday. His hand rested on top of hers gently. “Amara, everything is fine.” Amara took a deep breath and managed to smile up at her father. Worries still plagued her mind and Ambrosi could see them in her eyes, but he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Dance with me, sweetheart.”

This time, Amara beamed genuinely. Hermione happened to be nearby and took her bag from her, gesturing her head towards the dance floor which at the moment was occupied by Luna and her father as well as Fleur and Monsieur Delacour. Amara took her dad’s hand and still found peace in it. 17 years of life and her father’s hand was still the one she turned to for guidance. It was still what she needed to reassure her when everything seemed strange.

Ambrosi held his daughter close and danced with her slowly, fighting the tears welling in his eyes. When Amara noticed them, she very gently wiped one away. “Don’t cry, Dad. We’ll see each other soon.” Ambrosi smiled and kissed his girl’s forehead. “When did you get so big, my dear? I remember when I would waltz around with you in our living room. Now you’re about to run off and save our world. Before I know it, we’ll be at your wedding.” Amara’s life had seemed to drag on in her mind, but it was quite the opposite for her father. He hadn’t realized when she had transformed into a beautiful woman from his adorable little girl. Time had passed too quickly for his liking.

“I want you to keep this, angel.” Ambrosi’s hand slipped his heavy golden ring from his finger, placing it in her palm. It bore the crest of the Grimaldi family. “I know you have your own, but I want you to have this piece of me when you’re off with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Return it to me the next time you see me.” It was far too big for Amara to wear, so she closed her hand around it. “Thank you, Daddy.” She reached to unclasp the thin chain she always wore. That necklace had one of her mother’s rings hanging from it, and she slid the Grimaldi family ring onto it as well.

“This way, you and Mumma will always be close to my heart, no matter how far we are.” Ambrosi’s eyes twinkled as he hugged his daughter. “I’m so proud of you. I know your mother would be too. I love you with all my heart, Amara. Remember that, always.” Amara couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded. Eventually, she was able to speak. “Please stay safe.” Ambrosi smoothed Amara’s hair soothingly and kept his voice calm and reassuring. “I will, dear, I will.”

Before anyone had the chance to say anything else, Kingsley’s Patronus ran right in between Amara and her father, who held her close as it spoke. “Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.” Ambrosi gave his daughter one more kiss before letting her go. “Get out of here, Amara. We’ll hold them off.” Death Eaters began Apparating into the tent and Amara frantically looked for Hermione, Ron, and Harry. “I love you, Dad!”

Ron and Hermione finally reached Amara and Remus shoved Harry to them. Within seconds, they had vanished.

Draco thrummed his fingers against his sleek, mahogany desk. He opened the first drawer to his left, one that he kept locked. Within it was a picture of Draco and Amara from when they were 10, among other memories he wished to treasure alone.

The picture was bright and colorful; Little Amara’s smile shined through her eyes and Little Draco, even then, looked at the camera only momentarily before looking at her. Draco closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he saw his Amara as she was now: kind, brave, loving, and still beautiful as ever.

He knew that she was likely at the Weasley wedding. In his cowardice, he was grateful that the Dark Lord didn’t force him to partake in the attack. Draco wouldn’t have been able to stand hurting Amara or those she cared about. He wanted Potter to win. He wanted all of this to be over.

Just as Draco went to put the picture away, he heard a woman scream downstairs. His first instinct was that the scream came from his mother. Leaving the picture on his desk, Draco Apparated down to his foyer to see his Aunt Bellatrix bleeding from her cheek as his mother hovered over her. Before he could sigh in relief at his mother being safe, he heard his aunt spit out curses and vow to kill every single member of the Order.

Draco closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His thoughts found their way to Amara once more. Wherever they were, he hoped that she and her father stayed safe.

Up the stairs and through the door to Draco’s bedroom, Little Draco looked at Little Amara once more, his eyes gleaming with innocence and happiness. Draco hadn’t felt such joy in years, nor did he know if he ever would again.

~~~

A week or so had passed since they had run from the wedding. They had taken shelter at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry was exploring the house, and Ron was playing Fur Elise rather badly as Hermione tried to teach him; Amara could hear it even though she was in the kitchen. They had nothing much to do until Kreacher came back with Mundungus Fletcher.

Amara spent most of her time flipping through Hogwarts: A History, simultaneously looking at her copy and the one Dumbledore left her. She wanted to find the difference between the two, needing to know why Dumbledore left her this copy specifically. There was something hidden in here that he wanted Amara to find. She had already found numerous details that weren’t in her edition, such as more details regarding Slytherin’s thoughts behind making and sealing the Chamber of Secrets or a cup that Helga Hufflepuff created which was likely one of the first utensils ever used in the Great Hall. They must have been edited out with time or deemed irrelevant.

Amara was about to give up for the night before she paused. This page was entirely blank. She knew the Ministry had thoroughly examined each object bestowed to them. Whatever was hidden on this page would not reveal itself by a spell. “Hermione!” Amara wracked her brain as the piano keys stopped ringing immediately and Hermione rushed into the kitchen. “What is it?”

She took a minute to respond, the wheels in her mind churning with determination. “You know the Ministry has searched all of the items Dumbledore left to us in his will?” Amara turned the book to show Ron and Hermione the blank page. “They were looking for enchantments, spells, etc. What if Dumbledore hid something on this page using a non-magical method?” Hermione’s eyes lit up in recognition and summoned a lemon, a knife, and some cotton swabs.

“That’s ingenious, Amara. If Dumbledore has hidden something on this page in a non-magical manner, it would most likely be invisible ink.” Hermione was slicing a lemon just as Harry walked in; Ron leaned over to fill him in quickly in the background. When Amara gently brushed the lemon juice over the page, everyone watched with bated breath.

Gasping softly, Amara saw the message appearing beneath her fingertips. Noticing how faint it was, Harry quickly cast Lumos, his wand hovering over the page. It wasn’t a message, it was a riddle. Hermione read it aloud as Amara finally moved away. The four of them stood around the table, reading Dumbledore’s handwriting as it gleamed up at them.

“For one destroyed, false security was the answer.

He first tried with a memory.

Then, he relied on his grandfather.

He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.

He had one companion left

When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.

In the end, there was only him.”

Ron groaned in frustration. “If he wanted to hide a message, why did it have to be another puzzle to solve?!” Amara said nothing, still reading and rereading Dumbledore’s message. Harry sighed as well, though he was the one who discerned why. “Dumbledore must have known they would search his things. If he felt the need to hide this specific riddle, it must be crucial information Dumbledore didn’t want in the wrong hands.”

They were interrupted with the resonating crack of Apparation, and Amara slammed the book closed, the words imprinted on her mind. Kreacher and Dobby appeared, dragging Mundungus Fletcher along. “Dobby?!” Dobby began explaining why he tagged along as everyone in the room cornered Mundungus. “Look, I panicked that night, alright’?! Could I help it if Mad-Eye fell off his broom?” Hermione dangled the locket in front of him as Harry shut him up quickly. “While you were here, did you steal a locket- don’t deny it!- that looked like that one? What did you do with it?”

“Why, was it valuable?” He had quite the audacity to ask such a question. “Do you still have it?” Amara chimed in, while Ron scoffed. “He’s probably worried he didn’t get enough money for it.” This time, Mundungus had the sense to look remorseful. “Bleedin’ gave it away, didn’t I? I was scuffling ‘round Diagon Alley when some Ministry hag asked to see me license. Said she had a mind to turn me in, ‘til she took a shine to my locket.”

“Who was she? This woman. What did she look like?” Mundungus began to respond once more until his eyes fell to an old copy of the Daily Prophet. “Well, that’s her right there. Bleedin’ bow and all!”

Amara grabbed the paper to set it on the table, and the four of them shared a look. Though the image was black and white, Amara could see the sickening pink of her suit. “Umbridge.”

~~~

The clothes of Marietta Edgecombe’s mother, Madame Edgecombe, were beginning to loosen around Amara’s body while Albert Runcorn’s face bubbled and morphed back into Harry’s. Realizing they had no time to waste, Amara stunned Umbridge and Hermione ripped the locket from her neck. Ron took Mary Cattermole along with them and they sprinted into the elevator before the Dementors got too close.

Harry cast the Patronus charm and they were immediately off. By then, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off for everyone besides Ron, and Amara was sure she’d seen a camera flash behind them. Ron spoke to Mary Cattermole, instructing her to take the kids and run. As she pulled her ‘husband’ into a kiss, Ron began morphing back into himself. He looked rather embarrassed, even more so when the real Reginald Cattermole saw his wife kissing a stranger.

“Long story, sorry!” They had no time to indulge this awkward moment. Yaxley shot a spell aimed at Harry, and Hermione noticed that the grates to the fireplaces were slamming down one by one. The four of them managed to enter one, but not before Yaxley got a hold of Ron’s arm.

When Amara landed on her feet, she saw they had not returned to Grimmauld Place but had landed in some forest instead. Gasping softly as she saw Ron’s torn shoulder joint, Amara immediately opened her bag and dug around for Dittany. She threw the bottle to Hermione and tried to catch her breath. “Hermione, I thought-”

Hermione was soothing a whimpering Ron, trying to administer the searing droplets of Dittany. “Yaxley must have gotten ahold of Ron, Harry. It wasn’t safe for us there anymore.” Hermione nodded, wiping away some tears. “I had to get us out of there, but Ron got splinched.” Amara’s eyes softened and Harry looked like he was at a loss for words. She patted Harry’s shoulder gently. “The tent is in my bag, Harry. Set it up, please? I’ll do the enchantments.”

Harry was frozen for a few moments. So many people had gotten hurt for him. How many more would before this ended? Amara’s gentle hand to his shoulder broke him from his daze, and he went to begin building the tent.

Amara glanced back at her friends once more, worry flitting through her eyes. “Repello Muggletom, Salvio Hexia, Muffliato Maxima….”

~~~

Ambrosi sighed concernedly, setting the paper down. Amara was pictured, clear as day, running from numerous Ministry officials who fired various spells at her. When he turned the page, he saw his daughter’s face on a Wanted poster.

Artemis had come to settle next to him, hooting sadly and nudging Amara’s picture with her talons. Ambrosi brought his hand up to pet her gently and she nibbled on his finger affectionately in return. He was doing his best to keep his promise to Amara, but it was immensely difficult to stay safe. While Grimaldi Manor was protected, Ambrosi wouldn’t be should he have to leave for any mission for the Order.

He had lost his beloved wife because of this darkness; he hoped and prayed for his Amara’s safety every day. She would not lose him because of this War, he would make sure of it.

~~~

Amara was pacing around the perimeter of their safe haven, her arms hugging a black shawl to her body. From her neck dangled the two rings on a small chain, clinking softly as she walked. As she got closer to the tent, she overheard Harry snapping at Hermione for not doing enough for Ron. Amara, too, had been working on brewing a healing potion, but it was proving to be very difficult with the limited number of ingredients she brought with her.

Amara stood in front of Harry, stretching out her hand. “Take it off. The Horcrux.” Harry tugged the locket from his neck aggressively, immediately letting out a loud sigh of relief. “Better?” Harry nodded silently, and Amara clasped it around her neck. “We’ll wear it in turns.”

From inside the tent, Ron’s radio crackled, and Lee Jordan’s voice rang out clearly. The locket now hung right next to Ambrosi’s ring, chittering maliciously as always. As night fell, Harry, Hermione, and Amara headed into the tent. Amara had made her way into the kitchen, not quite thinking of anything but dinner. Deciding on some quick spaghetti, Amara got a pot of water boiling and dug around her bag for a jar of sauce.

“And now for some sobering news. We’ve just received word that our beloved friend, Nectar, has been murdered by Death Eaters just miles away from his home. Let’s all have a moment of silence in his memory.” The jar of pasta sauce fell from Amara’s fingers and crashed to the floor. Hermione rushed over to her but faltered slightly. Amara’s face was entirely expressionless.

No one spoke or moved for the next minute. The crackle from Ron’s radio broke the silence. “To those that knew him, Nectar was a benevolent man, an unwavering father, and a strong friend. He died a hero. In Nectar’s honor, the password for our next broadcast will be Grimaldi. Stay safe everyone, Potterwatch will be back as soon as possible.” Amara walked over the broken glass and clung to her shawl, exiting the tent numbly.

Ron came out from the bedroom, his eyes wet with tears and one trailing down his face. Hermione went over to him and hugged him close, both of them sobbing silently. Harry felt his heart shattering. Of all of them, he could understand Amara’s pain best. Ambrosi was beloved by all. He was one of the few men he trusted dearly, possibly the one he trusted most after Sirius and Remus.

Amara stood outside the tent, the snow falling around her, contrasting harshly against her black shawl. Silent tears were streaming down her face. The cold air was thinning around her, suffocating her until she couldn’t breathe. Her knees gave way from her shock just as Harry came out, quickly catching her. When she felt Harry’s arms around her, something in Amara snapped.

She let out a wail, one that could have been heard for miles had they not put up a sound barrier. That wail gave way to broken, choked sobs as Amara clung to Harry. The cold around them couldn’t compare to the shattering grief inside her, threatening to consume her at any second.

Inside the tent, Hemione placed a hand over her mouth and Ron closed his eyes in pain when they heard Amara’s scream. Harry didn’t know what to say or do besides holding her. He knew this pain, and in this pain, no one could say anything to make it better. Things would be dark until something -anything- gives you a glimmer of hope. Amara had been there for him the most after Sirius’s death, and he would do the same.

Bellatrix’s cackles rang through the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Draco gritted his teeth, not interested in another gleeful rant about which Order member or muggleborn family she had killed now. His fingers clutched his mug of tea, burning with the heat encircling them.

“I told you, Cissy! I told you I would kill that blood-traitor!” Draco managed to take a sip, the hot tea scalding his throat. He stood, about to make his way to his bedroom for the night. “That Ambrosi Grimaldi got what was coming to him.”

Draco’s mug hit the floor, shattering into tiny shards. The tea swam across the wooden floor. Draco said nothing. He couldn’t. He didn’t trust his voice, nor his ears in this moment.

In her cheerful reverie, his aunt ignored it completely. Narcissa’s eyes immediately shot to Draco. Lucius, too, hardened as he stood, unreadable as always. Somehow, Draco got his feet to move. The winding staircase to the bedrooms seemed even longer to Draco now, his feet dragging with effort as he moved.

While Bellatrix danced around the room, her sister’s eyes followed Draco as he trudged upstairs. She wanted to follow him but thought otherwise when she heard Draco’s door slam shut.

The Muffliato cast over his bedroom would have stifled his scream had he not gone out to his balcony. It rang out across the immaculate lawns, frightening the peacocks roaming around. He lost the man who cared for him just as Amara did. Amara…

Swallowing hard, Draco closed his eyes, letting himself feel the hot tears streaming down his face. How much more would she have to lose? How much more was this War going to take from them all?

~~~

Amara had been in a daze these past few days. They weren’t making much progress with the search, nor were they any closer to deciphering Dumbledore’s riddle. She couldn’t sleep. Should her eyes droop shut for even just a few minutes, the Potterwatch broadcast played in her mind like a reel on replay.

Hermione’s rhythmic snipping of scissors was nearly silent as she attempted to give Harry a haircut. Harry found it entirely unnecessary; it was just something to pass the time. His mind was elsewhere: the night of Bill and Fleur’s wedding when he last spoke to Ambrosi. He found it more important than ever to remember these words.

The wedding had transitioned into the reception seamlessly. Harry found himself surrounded by many red-headed Weasleys and members of the Order, the atmosphere high with celebrations. He was sitting at a table alone when he was joined by Ambrosi who put a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

Ambrosi knew they would be leaving tomorrow; before he went to dance with his daughter, he wanted to come talk to Harry. The war brewing and the lives lost had a devastating impact on Harry. Ambrosi felt the responsibility of lightening his burden as much as he could. “Harry… It can be very easy to blame ourselves for grievances in life, especially when we are there to witness them. For years, even before I knew of Sirius’s innocence and Pettigrew’s deceptions, I did not blame Sirius for the death of Lucianna... I blamed myself. I believed I should have been the one to go to Godric’s Hollow that night in her stead.” Harry swallowed softly, and Ambrosi’s eyes gleamed softly with his wisdom and kindness. It was the same look Amara often had in her eyes. She was more like her father than she knew.

“In some ways, that feeling has never gone away. And yet… When I think of our world now, I think of the other eleven people who were murdered that night and the countless lives being lost because of the darkness in our world. People leave this world and new souls are created every second. Our proximity to death doesn’t make death our fault.” Ambrosi’s voice never wavered. It was strong and reassuring, and Harry absorbed the words as much as he could. “This war has been building for a long time. Lives have been lost, and unfortunately, we’ll lose others we love as well. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.”

“Oh my God!” As the scissors clattered to the floor, Harry was pulled away from his thoughts. Hermione rushed to the kitchen, digging through her bag and pulling out one of her many books. Harry followed her quickly, ignoring the incessant crackling of Ron’s radio. Amara stepped into the tent, shivering from the cold outside. Her emotional numbness dissipated slightly when she took in the excitement exuding from Hermione. “The sword of Gryffindor… it’s goblin-made!” Amara’s eyes widened and she went to join Hermione at the table. “That’s amazing news!”

Harry looked at the two of them in bewilderment, completely not understanding why the sword being goblin-made had anything to do with the sudden cheer (and also because this was the first time he’d seen light in Amara’s eyes in weeks). Hermione exhaled in exhilaration and spoke, “You’ve already destroyed a Horcrux, haven’t you? Tom Riddle’s diary.”

“With a Basilisk’s fang! Don’t tell me you and Amara have one of those in your bloody little bags.” Harry reached across the table to see the book Hermione was flipping through. “You don’t understand. The blade of the sword does not rust or dull over time... It only takes in what makes it stronger.” A glimmer of understanding shined in Harry’s eyes. “The sword is impregnated with Basilisk venom. Which is why…”

“Why Dumbledore left it to me in his will! You are brilliant, Hermione, truly.” Hermione babbled in her exhilaration, humbly disregarding Harry’s compliment. “There’s only one problem, of course.” Before Harry could continue, the lights in the tent suddenly switched off, plunging them into momentary darkness. When they came on again, Ron was standing to their immediate left, the Deluminator clenched harshly in his fist. “The sword was stolen.”

Amara was the first to recognize Ron’s anger. “Ron… the Horcrux. Have you been wearing it all day?” He completely ignored her, plundering on as his emotions overruled his mind. “Yeah, I’m still here. But you two carry on. Don’t let me spoil all the fun.” His tone made the girls blanch with worry. “What’s wrong?” Ron scoffed as if Harry’s question was utterly ludicrous.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Not according to you, anyway.” Harry’s jaw began to set, hardening with irritation. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, don’t be shy. Spit it out.” The argument escalated; Ron was seething internally, and it was only a matter of time before his anger bubbled over like lava and burned those near him. “Alright, I’ll spit it out. But don’t expect me to be grateful now that there’s another damn thing we’ve got to find.”

“I thought you knew what you signed up for.” Harry’s eyes were wide, not used to this kind of behavior from Ron. This wasn’t like him at all. “Yeah, I thought I did too.” Harry began to get up and approached Ron, ignoring Amara’s hand as she reached out to grab his wrist and hold him back. “Well then, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand. What part of this isn’t living up to your expectations? I mean, did you think we were gonna be staying in a 5-star hotel? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back with your mum by Christmas?”

“I just thought, after all this time, we would have actually achieved something. I thought you knew what you were doing! I thought Dumbledore would’ve told you something worthwhile.” Hermione came to stand next to Ron, not knowing how to help. Ideas on how to deescalate the situation ran through Amara’s mind, but she wasn’t confident that anything would work at this point. “I told you everything Dumbledore told me, and in case you haven’t noticed, we have found a Horcrux already.”

“Yeah, and we’re as close to getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them, aren’t we?” Hermione reached for the Horcrux, begging him to take it off. “Ron, please... You wouldn’t be saying any of this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you know why I listen to that radio every night? I listen so I don’t hear Ginny’s name. Or Fred, or George, or my mum.”

“You think I’m not listening to? You think I don’t know how it feels?” “No, you DON’T know how it feels! Your parents are dead; you have no family.” The scathing words thundered around the four as Harry jumped forward, wanting to expel his anger but unable to hurt his best friend. “Fine, then go! Go then!” Ron tugged the Horcrux off furiously, not even faltering when he saw Hermione’s tears.

Amara’s heart panged, the cracks in it searing her painfully. “And you? Are you coming or you staying?” Hermione looked at Ron and then to Harry and Amara. She couldn’t say anything, but Amara nodded to her softly. Ron would need her with him; it was far too dangerous for him to leave alone, and it wouldn’t be right to leave Harry alone either.

Hermione wordlessly agreed, and Amara knew she would bring Ron back as soon as she could. Dumping some of her books onto the table, she grabbed her bag with the tears streaming down her face. Harry understood though he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t feel betrayed. Ambrosi’s words came to his mind as they Disapparated. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.

~~~

Harry came to join Amara outside. She was sitting with her back against a tree, her eyes closed as she breathed in the frosty, winter air. When she heard the scuffle of Harry sitting beside her, Amara didn’t open her eyes but rather just leaned to rest her head against his shoulder and made sure her blanket covered him as well. He hummed softly in contentment, asking her what she was thinking about.

“I was remembering a trip I took with my father and Draco one winter. His parents were taking a vacation and Draco hated being left behind, so he came to stay with us. We would spend the day skiing or flying or building castles of snow… My dad would turn in around an hour or so before we did, and we’d sit by a fireplace, reading together or just talking.” Harry’s arm came around Amara’s shoulder and he smiled softly. That didn’t sound like the Malfoy he knew, but he could hear a smile in Amara’s voice. She truly cherished these memories… she truly cherished him.

“You love him.” Harry didn’t ask a question. He knew, just as she did. “Yes, I love him. Even if he may not show that he loves me too.” They sat together in comfortable silence. A few birds chirped around them and a soft wind blew through the grand conifers. Harry and Amara were both hurting, but just for these silent moments, their pain could be pushed aside.

~~~

As Amara woke the next morning, the day felt brighter. There seemed to be a palpable hum of energy in the air, something that had all but vanished in the last few months. Harry was nowhere in sight, but Amara heard people talking outside. Shooting out of bed immediately, she grabbed her cardigan and rushed out of the tent, worry clearly etched onto her face. Her feet faltered once she made it out of the mouth of the tent; her features lit up with relief.

Hermione rushed to Amara and threw her arms around her. Harry was smiling for the first time in a while. From the corner of her eyes, Amara saw the Sword of Gryffindor in Ron’s hand, the morning sun reflecting off of the blade and shining onto the destroyed locket in his other hand. “You found it! Where?” Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, both of them remembering last night’s events and Hermione sighed softly as she thought of the locket’s torturous words to Ron.

The quartet headed into the warm tent and Amara began making some tea as she was brought up to speed with the events. The searingly harsh Horcrux was not a surprise to Amara; she remembered all too clearly how the Horcrux in Tom Riddle’s diary had wanted to kill Harry. It made perfect sense, actually. Twisted, dark souls could only bring pain and destruction.

Even so, the energy didn’t dissipate from around the four friends. There was a shining sense of hope when they were reunited. No one forgot at how quickly that hope could be torn away from them, but they all clung on to it anyhow.

When Amara gave Hermione her tea, she handed something to Amara in return: Dumbledore’s copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Amara flipped to the page that was marked, her fingers brushing against the inscription that followed “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” Harry peered over Amara’s shoulder curiously while the wheels in Amara’s mind churned away. Surely this wasn’t a rune she had seen before.

“I’ve seen that… Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing that symbol at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” Amara’s eyebrows shot up as she experienced a stifled epiphany. She had an idea about what the symbol could mean, but voicing her idea was not the best way to go about this, not when Ron’s motive for leaving was based on more things they had to find. She would wait for Luna’s father to confirm or deny her suspicions before she brought this up. “We need to go see him.”

~~~

“That treacherous little… Is there no one we can trust?!” Ron’s agitation spilled from his mouth and echoed against the trees surrounding them. “They took Luna, Ron. He was desperate.” Harry was angered as well, but not at Xenophilius. He was angry with himself. The thoughts he often tried to dispel spun around in his head again. He did not want more people to get hurt for him. Before Harry could recall Ambrosi’s words and ground himself, Hermione froze in his peripheral vision.

Just a few feet from them, Snatchers lounged against the trees, looking for their next targets lazily. “Well don’t hang about, snatch ‘em!” Amara had to take Hermione’s hand and drag her out of her shock. In his shock, Ron stumbled and ran as fast as he could. Even as they began to run, Amara knew they would not make it away safely; they could not Disapparate away together, they wouldn’t get close enough.

As discreetly as she could, Amara sent a Stinging Jinx in Harry’s direction. His cry of pain was muffled by the bracken covered ground as he tripped. Hermione, now completely back to her senses, grabbed Harry’s glasses and stuffed them into her bag. Harry’s glasses were far too recognizable. At the same time, Amara took up some mud and caked it onto her neck and cheek. She knew it wouldn’t be enough. Amara Grimaldi’s face was next to Harry’s on the Wanted posters.

Wracking her brain for whatever she could do in the limited amount of time they had, Amara thought of only one spell: Crinus Muto. It was an exceedingly difficult spell, one of the last she had learned from Professor McGonagall. If performed incorrectly, the results would be disastrous.

Yet, by some stroke of luck (or perhaps by the skill Amara had), she was no longer recognizable. Her long, mahogany locks had transformed into short strands of blonde silk. The Snatchers had thankfully been unable to see Amara’s transformation and were stupid enough to assume that one member of the group got away. No matter. There were four more prizes to collect.

Four of the Snatchers grabbed each of the four friends while the leader sauntered around them arrogantly. He questioned them individually, trying to see which would crack first. Hermione chose to say she was Penelope Clearwater, and Ron said he was Barney Weasley. Amara’s lie had come to her quickly: Marietta Edgecombe, the pureblood daughter of Madame Edgecombe whom she had impersonated a few weeks ago.

Her breath caught in her throat when the leader, Scabior, paused in front of Harry. His eyes lingered on Harry’s forehead for much longer than necessary. “Change of plans… we’re not taking this lot to the Ministry.”

The days were passing. Each moment suffocated Draco more and more. His thoughts never strayed too far from Amara. Was she safe? What was she doing? When would he see her again? When could she be allowed to properly grieve? When would this all end? Would the two of them be able to walk away from this alive?

Narcissa paused at Draco’s door, observing as Draco’s shoulders slumped forward. Long gone was the laughter that warmed this household. Long gone was the light in his eyes. “Draco…” Her heart broke even further when her son looked into her eyes. Every inch of her was aching to grab her child and shield him from the horrors of this life, an instinct she had been attempting to ignore for years now.

“Yes, Mother?” His voice echoed his desolation. Draco had lost the capacity to feel anything. “Your Aunt Bellatrix is calling you. We believe you can identify some traitors.” Even before she came to get her son, Narcissa knew that these were no traitors. Traitors to the Dark Lord, perhaps, but not traitors to the good in the world. Amara had transfigured herself physically, which was a remarkable feat in itself, given that she was not a Metamorphagus. Human transfiguration spells were known to be exceedingly difficult and even dangerous to maintain. Amara could not, however, transfigure the mannerisms ingrained into her. How she carried herself. Her facial expressions. The way she pressed the pad of her thumb to her index finger when she lied, a movement so small you’d have to look for it to see it. Narcissa could see it was her almost immediately.

Draco stood and passed his mother. His lifelessness had scared him once, too, but now it was just who he was. It was who he had to become since he rejected Amara in the hospital wing months ago. Narcissa did not have time to warn her son; their house was no longer safe, their walls had ears. His descent down the winding staircase was not rushed. A memory flitted through his mind: Amara at age eight, daring Draco to slide down the banister. Would they ever know such joy again?

“Ah, Draco! So good of you to join us.” Draco looked up at the sound of her voice just out of habit. When he did, his feet faltered. He prayed it wasn’t noticeable. His eyes fell on Granger and Weasley, and then to the blonde girl standing next to them, mud drying on her neck and left cheek, obscuring her features. Draco’s confusion lasted only a fraction of a second. His aunt’s next words cleared them up immediately.

The Snatchers had not been dismissed. Bellatrix enjoyed an audience. Whether that audience would witness the Dark Lord’s reward to the family or if they would witness a murder by her hands was irrelevant. “I have reason to believe that the imp I am holding is none other than the chosen one himself.” The biting sarcasm tore through her voice, but he no longer heard anything. Noises muted in the background. If this was Potter, Granger, and Weasley… then the blonde girl was Amara. There was no other option.

Bellatrix tugged on Harry’s hair, revealing the scar which stretched across his forehead. “Well?” She looked at Draco expectantly, growing frustrated when his answer was weak. “I can’t be sure.” Lucius had been listening silently up until this point. His loyalties had never externally wavered, but he, too, wanted this war over. “Look closely, son. If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven. All will be as it was, do you understand?” Draco swallowed hard and took a cautious step forward.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” Bellatrix pulled Draco by the arm gently, bringing him to his knees in front of Harry. “If this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

Draco was sure. “What’s wrong with his face?” The scar didn’t give him away, his eyes did. Draco had glared into them enough times to know what they looked like. “Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed the question. “He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest, I reckon.”

Harry was not entirely surprised that Draco had not given him away. He was slowly starting to see the Draco his friend loved. He was there, hiding underneath the surface, just as Amara always said. “Or ran into a Stinging Jinx.” Amara’s heart thudded in panic. Hermione glanced at Amara anxiously, but she held her ground as Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed on her. Narcissa clutched Lucius’s arm, frightened for the girl whom she loved like a daughter. She was unable to protect her, just as she was unable to protect Draco. “Give me her wand, I want to see what her last spell was.”

A pleased, evil giggle came from Bellatrix and she continued to step towards Amara. “Got you.” She paused then, her glee molding into fear. “What’s that?” Bellatrix’s voice was no more than a whisper. Her eyes gestured toward the Sword of Gryffindor which was being held by a Snatcher. “Where did you get that from?” Scabior seemed a bit bored, having seen many such encounters. “It was in her bag when we searched her.” He took the sword and pointed it at Amara. “Reckon it’s mine now.”

The grin on Scabior’s face was wrenched away with Bellatrix’s spell, casting him back towards the stairwell and the Sword flew into her hand. “Get out!” Exuding a whip from the tip of her wand, Bellatrix attacked the other Snatchers, beating them until they scrambled away. Her eyes came to narrow on Amara. “Cissy, put the boys and the mudblood in the cellar.” Ron, Harry, and Hermione were pulled away by Narcissa and then pulled down the stairs by Pettigrew. Their screams and protests fell on deaf ears.

Amara’s face had not changed, even when she had a very good idea of what was coming. “I want to have a little conversation with this one.” Bellatrix wasted no time with theatrics now. She made her way to Amara very quickly, pausing only when the necklace Amara wore gleamed in the light. Amara inhaled sharply, and her focus slipped. Her magic could no longer maintain the disguise. Even if it did, it would have been meaningless. The necklace held her father’s ring; the crest of the Grimaldi family was all too recognizable.

When Harry and Ron were tossed to the dungeon floor, they heard Bellatrix’s cackle. It was joyful once again. She had found another motivation for torturing Amara, not that she needed convincing. Amara’s blonde hair reverted to its natural state, and Bellatrix took a handful, using it to throw the girl to the ground. Despite her pain, Amara clenched her jaw shut, refusing to scream or speak. She would not give this murderer any form of satisfaction. “I had hoped to kill you the same day I killed your father, but I suppose that can be taken care of now.” In her taunting, Bellatrix did not see that Narcissa and Lucius had to restrain Draco. Attacking his aunt would only bring more pain to Amara, and a part of Draco knew that. How could he be expected to watch the girl he loved -he had stopped denying it long ago- be torn apart?

“How brave. Your father was brave too. But bravery doesn’t save anyone, now does it?” Something in Amara snapped. Perhaps it was foolish, she knew it would only invite more torture for her. She stood and grabbed Bellatrix’s wand arm, twisting it behind her back. “Don’t say another word about my father.” In their surprise at Amara’s actions, Draco was nearly able to wrench out of his parents’ arms. They caught him again before he could help her. Bellatrix freed her arm from Amara’s grip and backhanded her with enough force to send her flying to the ground once more.

Amara did not show her pain; her will was no match for the Cruciatus curse, however. Bellatrix’s bloodlust and anger fueled the spell. Amara’s body convulsed as the spell seared through her brain, and she could no longer hold back the screams of agony. It took all of Narcissa and Lucius’s strength to keep Draco restrained, and Amara’s screams were echoed by Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the cellars. “Not so brave now, Grimaldi?” The spell intensified for a moment before it relented.

Amara gasped, trying to prepare herself for more pain. The cries of her friends grew louder, and it took every ounce of control Draco had to not harm his parents and rush over to Amara. Bellatrix tucked her wand away and grabbed her dagger, harshly flipping Amara over and laying over her. “That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts. How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault?!” Her voice started out as a whisper and crescendoed to a scream.

Draco felt unbelievably useless. In all the years Draco had known Amara, he had never heard her sound so broken. “I didn’t take anything. Please… we found it.” He could not stand this. Narcissa looked at her son once he slumped in her arms, sharing a look with her husband as well. Watching Amara writhe in agony was torture for them too. “I don’t believe you.” As silently as he could, Draco took the wands of the quartet and slunk off to the dungeons. His face contorted with pain as Amara’s screams echoed throughout the foyer and down the stairs to the dungeons. It only took seconds to stun Pettigrew and Draco faltered when he saw Dobby. “Dobby?” Luna and Ollivander were gone, to Draco’s relief. The cries were unbearable for all those who loved Amara. It didn’t seem possible, but they got even louder.

Draco had tears in his eyes, as did Hermione. Harry did not fail to notice them. The five worked on a plan to get them back upstairs and safely away with Amara. Draco had to sneak back upstairs first, leaving the wands with their rightful owners. Dobby Apparated them up to the top of the stairs. Amara lay on the floor. Her blood pooled out of her forearm; the words ‘blood traitor’ were etched into her skin. Bellatrix kicked her once more in anger and questioned Griphook about who could have possibly entered her vault.

Silent tears streamed from Amara’s eyes. The tears could have been from the assault she had endured, but she didn’t think so. Her heart thudded painfully when she saw Draco’s eyes, broken and helpless as he looked at her. “Liar!” The dagger that had torn through the skin on Amara’s forearm had grazed Griphook’s cheek. Bellatrix was not going to get any substantial answers from him because they had never broken into her vault. “Consider yourself lucky, goblin. The same won’t be said for this one.”

Amara did not have the energy to defend herself. Not anymore. Bellatrix was slightly disappointed. Having her victims struggle and scream was part of the fun. Just then, Amara’s friends ran from the shadows and attacked. Draco was bound by his love for his family as much as he was for his love for Amara. He pretended to fight against Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Should he concede too easily, his aunt would see and would kill Amara so much faster.

As soon as they came into sight, Bellatrix pulled Amara up to her feet. “Stop!” Hermione, Harry, and Ron faltered when they saw Amara. Draco bit down on his tongue so hard he drew blood. “Drop your wands” The dagger pressed against Amara’s throat. One slice and she would be gone. “I said drop them!” They had no choice but to obey. “Draco, pick them up, now!” Draco picked them up without hesitation, knowing well that he would return them as soon as he could.

“Well well well… look what we have here! It’s Harry Potter! He’s all bright and shiny and new… just in time for the Dark Lord!” Amara whimpered softly, and Draco had to look away. This was worse than any of his nightmares. “Call him.” Amara’s life was at the mercy of his deranged aunt, and he did not have the strength to watch. Her screams and his sheer helplessness would be etched into him forever, just like the cruel words would be on her. “Call him!”

Before Lucius could begin calling Lord Voldemort, the silence in the foyer was met with a squeaking sound. Bellatrix looked up to see Dobby on top of the chandelier, not realizing what he was doing until it was released. In her haste, Bellatrix shoved Amara away from her as she dove backward. Hermione caught her and in the chaos, Harry tugged the wands away from Draco who didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You stupid elf! You could’ve killed me!” Griphook had joined their little group and Hermione held Amara upright. It was taking all of Amara’s strength to stand. “Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.” Narcissa swirled her wand around as if to cast a spell, though her movement made it only too easy for Dobby to disarm her.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand? How dare you defy your masters?!” Bellatrix’s screaming did not affect Dobby. The only one terrified was Amara. Her voice would haunt Amara’s dreams just as Amara’s suffering would haunt Draco. “Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!” They all reached for Dobby and he began to Disapparate just Bellatrix threw the dagger towards the group. Draco’s blood ran cold when he saw the dagger disappear along with them.

~~~

Dobby’s death had shaken all of them to the core. The four spent as much time together as they could, planning and recuperating. Amara spent much time mulling over the riddle Dumbledore left her. There wasn’t much else for her to do. She and Harry would remain hidden with Griphook when they broke into Gringotts. It was certain that Bellatrix was terrified of something else being taken from her vault… they just don’t know what it was.

Hermione stood at the doorway of the guest room where Amara was, her hand hesitating above the doorknob. She was not going to have her impersonate the woman that killed her father and tortured her, Hermione would do it instead. “Harry! Ron! Hermione!” Amara’s voice rang through the cottage. Her friends burst through the door without wasting another moment. “What happened?”

Amara was busy scribbling away on some spare parchment. Dumbledore’s riddle finally made sense. “I figured out what the riddle means!” Amara laid the riddle and her incomplete notes side by side. “For one destroyed, false security was the answer. He first tried with a memory.” Amara shook her head incredulously, not understanding why it took her so long to figure this out. “The riddle gives us clues to his Horcruxes.” She had to be careful not to say the name.

“A memory… his diary?” Hermione caught on quickly, relieved. “Then, he relied on his grandfather. Marvolo Gaunt’s ring.” Harry gingerly lifted the book up and Ron noted the next line. “He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.” This gave them all pause. Amara took a moment to think not of Lord Voldemort, but of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the child with the dark life and past. Hogwarts had been his home. “Hogwarts. Excellence, wisdom, and victory… the traits of the Hogwarts houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor!”

The four huddled on the bed for another hour, trying to determine what each line meant. “Ron destroyed Slytherin’s locket! But victory… victory could also be a trait of the Hufflepuff house…” Amara was running her mind over what object of the Ravenclaw family could Voldemort have defiled. She was coming up with nothing. “If we know it’s an object of victory, perhaps we’re looking for a trophy… a cup of some kind.”

By the end of their brainstorming, they had concluded that four Horcruxes remained. One would be linked to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. One was a companion of his… though they were unsure about who this could be. Voldemort had an army of followers; any one of which could be holding a Horcrux for him.

The last two lines bothered Amara. She believed she understood what they meant. ‘When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.’ Voldemort had gone to kill Harry… A Horcrux was not going to be found in Harry’s old home, he would have already found it when they went to Godric’s Hollow. But what if Harry himself was a Horcrux. Amara didn’t want to entertain the possibility, but her rationality did not allow her to dismiss it. Harry had known for a long time that he may not live through this War; Amara could not be the one to confirm her friend’s death.

~~~

Before they knew it, the quartet was back at Hogwarts. Seeing Neville and all of their friends brought everyone a renewed sense of relief. Quickly, the came up with a plan to find the remaining Horcruxes. Harry explained that the Horcrux they needed to find had something to do with Ravenclaw. The suggestion of the lost diadem was echoed by Luna and Amara was about to leave when students were being summoned to the Great Hall.

They wouldn’t get away with ignoring the summon. If they tried, it would have brought about much torture. “I have a better idea.” Harry quickly changed into Hogwarts robes as Nigel made a Potterwatch broadcast announcing that the four were at Hogwarts. Amara, Hermione, and Ron were alerting the members of the Order.

The march to the Great Hall felt like a march of prisoners rather than students. Amara swallowed a whimper of pain as she watched. Where was the Hogwarts that was her home? Was it lost forever?

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour. It has come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.” A murmur rose from the student body. Harry was beginning to twitch with anger. “Now. Should anyone, student or staff, attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Furthermore…

“Any person found to have knowledge of these events and fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty.” Snape left the head of the Hall and made his way down the center aisle, his eyes searching. “Now then, if anyone here has any knowledge of Mr. Potter’s movements this evening… I invite them to step forward…. Now.” His feet stopped. His eyes glanced directly at the old members of Dumbledore’s Army.

Harry could not stand it any longer. He stepped out from the group of Ravenclaw students as the student body gasped in shock. Snape’s eyes narrowed like those of a snake. “It seems, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you have a bit of a security problem Headmaster.” The grand golden doors of the Great Hall opened, revealing Amara, Ron, Hermione, and numerous Order members. “I’m afraid it’s quite extensive.”

Harry blinked for one moment, imagining Dumbledore at the Head of the Great Hall, where he had seen him daily for many years. “How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who TRUSTED YOU, and killed him! Tell them.” Snape brandished his wand, aiming to attack Harry; before he could, Professor McGonagall stood in front of him.

Amara, Ron, Hermione, and the others took a step forward. A few of the members of Dumbledore’s Army stepped away from the crowd of students. Professor McGonagall threw every spell she could at Snape. In his cowardice, Snape Apparated away. A cheer rang out through the Great Hall, and light returned to the flaming lanterns. Before the joy could last very long, however, a cold, shrill voice impregnated everyone’s mind.

“Harry Potter…” Harry’s eyes glazed over as he stumbled backward onto the stone steps. Two students began screaming, and before anyone could help them, the voice continued. “I know that many of you would want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise… but this is a folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this, and none shall be harmed.” Harry’s face was blank. The words were a lie. They all knew it.

“Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched.” The voice of evil rang clearly, compelling obedience from those it tormented. “Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”

~~~

Before the hour was up, Order members worked to protect the castle. Ron and Hermione went down to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve another Basilisk fang while Amara and Harry split up in search of the Ravenclaw Horcrux.

Harry was starting in the Ravenclaw common room. If he brought this idea up to Amara first, she would have pointed out what a fruitless endeavor it would be. Instead, Amara found herself in the restricted section of the library. Perhaps there was some clue here.

Pacing through the bookshelves, Amara looked over the titles as swiftly as she could. One the side of one shelf, she found the crest of the Ravenclaw house. She stopped in front of it. Amara had been here numerous times and had never seen it before.

Suddenly, Dumbledore’s words rang through Amara’s mind. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” Biting her lip anxiously, Amara brushed her fingers against the wings of the eagle on the crest. “I wish to see what you hold.” The silence in the library was deafening. She waited with bated breath until the crest began to turn, slowly embedding itself into the wood. Above her head, a compartment opened.

Within it was a diary… the last diary of Rowena Ravenclaw. Amara took the book, gingerly opening it while trying to find anything she could on the diadem. Her fingers stopped on the last page. A drawing of the diadem greeted her; below it were the words “to be bestowed upon my daughter, Helena, after my death.” Her eyes widened. The Grey Lady. Taking the diary with her, Amara ran to Ravenclaw tower as fast as she could.

The hour was up; Death Eaters had begun attacking the protective dome around the school. It was only a matter of time before they would infiltrate the castle. Just as Amara rounded the corner, she ran straight into Harry. “Harry! You need to speak to the Grey Lady! She’ll know the location of the Diadem.” Harry caught her by the shoulders, stabilizing them both. “I already did. It’s in the Room of Requirement.” Her eyes widened with confusion and recognition both.

The battle raged on above them. Hermione and Ron, miles below the ground, had destroyed the cup. For a moment, they just looked at each other. The water trickled around them. Their arms came around each other in a loving embrace; their lips met for the first time. Both knew they might die tonight. It didn’t matter. Hermione and Ron had denied their love long enough. Ron took her hand, vowing to not let it go.

Amara and Harry rushed up many flights of stairs. Ginny began running towards him. “Ginny! I-” She cut Harry off with a sweet kiss. “I know.” Amara’s steps had faltered for a second but she continued, letting Harry have a moment with Ginny amidst the horrors around them. She swallowed softly, blinking away tears. It was quite possible she would not get to tell Draco she loved him ever again.

Within minutes, Harry and Amara began searching the Room of Requirement. They split up to cover more ground, and Harry was the first to realize they weren’t alone. Draco, Goyle, and Zabini were ten paces away from him, all three of them pointing their wands at him. “You have something of mine. I’d like it back.” Draco had willingly let Harry snatch the wands from his hands that night, a fact they both knew. “What’s wrong with the one you have?” This conversation was more for the sake of Goyle and Zabini. “It’s my mother’s. It’s powerful… but it doesn’t quite understand me.”

Amara found herself deep into the room when she spotted it. Pixies were hiding within the piles of forgotten items and a few flew out when she tried to grab it. She made it back to Harry just as he asked Draco another question. “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix. You knew it was me.” Amara stepped into Draco’s sight just then, and Goyle urged him to stun Harry. Draco did nothing but slightly lower his wand. Harry was reminded of the night in the Astronomy Tower just a year ago. Draco had lowered his wand in the memory of Amara once again.

Draco looked to Amara. The air was thinning around both of them. Suddenly the few steps between them were like a chasm of miles they had to cross to get to each other. Harry just observed the silent moment, noting Draco’s eyes and reactions. He really did love her. He had no choice. He was bound by his family. Without warning, Goyle shot “Stupefy!” at Hermione while Ron disarmed Zabini. Someone -Amara couldn’t see who- cast Avada Kadavra. In her haste to deflect it, the diadem slipped from her fingers; it flew to the top of a heap of junk as the spell ricocheted off of it.

Ron ran after Goyle and Zabini. Draco and Amara were both frozen for just one more moment before Harry called for her help. She was the first to tear her eyes away. Draco watched her climb the precarious pile before he, too, ran off. Harry grabbed the diadem and tossed it down to Amara who let it fall into Hermione’s waiting hands. Just then, Ron’s screams and a strange light began to fill the grand room. “GOYLE SET THE BLOODY PLACE ON FIRE.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her along with him, running for the door.

This was no ordinary fire; this was Fiendfyre, a dangerous form of dark magic. Harry took Amara’s hand and pulled her along, but the fire had a mind of its own. It found them wherever they ran. Before it could corner them, Harry was able to cast a wall from Aguamenti to protect them. Ron stumbled to the ground and fell against four broomsticks. Before they could make their escape, Harry glanced back to see Draco and Zabini clutching onto a chest for dear life as the fire roared below them. “Harry!”

Amara’s eyes followed Harry’s and she immediately turned around. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE DOING?” Ron screamed after Amara, but she heard nothing. “We can’t leave them!” Harry tried to reason with Ron, quickly following after Amara. “He’s joking, right?” Amara reached them first and tried to grab Draco’s hand without losing her momentum. His fingers grazed her palm before they came down to clutch the drawer once more. “If we die for them, Amara, I’m gonna kill you!” Harry’s hand grabbed Draco’s and Ron grabbed Zabini. Hermione and Amara led them out as the room began to crumble around them. The six hit the ground hard and Amara stabbed the Diadem, kicking it into the Room of Requirement and letting the fire engulf it.

Amara fell backward as the dark soul within it escaped, encroaching on hers. Draco made it to her before her head hit the ground. The pain in her eyes reminded Draco of the night just a month ago, when he listened to the girl he loved scream as she was tortured. He couldn’t do anything to help her then, but she was with him now. “Amara…” A soft sob escaped Amara’s lips as a tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. They were two sides of the same Galleon; they always had been. Draco kissed her deeply, almost furiously, as if he were trying to make sure she was real and alive. Amara clung to his blazer, her ashen fingers clutching the fabric and holding him close. He pulled away abruptly as his arm began to sting.

Walking away from her was the hardest thing Draco had ever done. He let his fingers brush against her cheek just once before he ran off. Hermione and Harry knew of their love for a long time now, and Ron had chosen to ignore it. He couldn’t any longer. When Amara straightened up, she saw Harry’s eyes glazed over as he fell into another vision.

~~~

The castle was silent and desolate. They had lost so many loved ones. Harry was nowhere to be found. Amara, Ron, and Hermione sat on the crumbling stone stairs. Harry was descending them, his eyes blank. “Harry!” Ron was the first to see him. His voice mellowed when he saw Harry’s expression. “We thought you’d gone to the forest.”

“I’m going there now.” His voice was determined yet lifeless at the same time. Amara and Hermione knew he had figured it out. “Are you mad?” Ron stood in disbelief, staring at the girls who said nothing. “No. You can’t give yourself up to him.” Silent tears began streaming down Amara’s cheeks and she reached for Hermione’s hand. She, too, nodded. Her lashes were decorated with teardrops that threatened to spill over any moment. “There’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.”

Amara’s breath caught in her chest and suffocated her as if it was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. “I think I’ve known for a while… and I think Hermione and Amara have too.” Hermione’s tears were no longer silent. “I’ll go with you.” Amara ran forward and threw her arms around Harry. He hugged her tight… his best friend… his sister. “No… kill the snake. Kill the snake and then it’s just him.” Hermione moved to hug him too; Harry and Ron looked at each other with broken eyes. Harry had to be the one to pull away. He couldn’t glance back as he walked towards his death. He couldn’t.

Harry walked the empty grounds, looking at the corridor where Fred and George showed him the Marauder's Map. Behind him was the fountain where he launched himself into the sky on his Firebolt for the first time. The Forbidden Forest was where he served his first detention. The Snitch weighed heavily in his pocket. He took it out and read the words once more: I open at the close.

“I’m ready to die.” His breath shook as he pressed the cool gold to his lips. From within it rose a black diamond stone. The Resurrection Stone. Harry took it in his hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw his mother standing before him. Next to her was his father. Remus and Sirius stood to his right, and Ambrosi stood to his left. Lily held her hand out to Harry, but he could not touch it. “You’ve been so brave, sweetheart.”

“Why are you here?” He swallowed softly, turning to look at them all. A soft, loving smile was on his mother’s lips. “We never left.” Surrounded by his loved ones, Harry’s fears began to resurface. “D-does it hurt? Dying.” Sirius absorbed the face of his godson and tried to reassure him as gently as possible. “Quicker than falling asleep.” His eyes fell on Ambrosi standing next to his father. “Ambrosi…. It was hard to remember them… your words. But I had to. I did.” Ambrosi nodded warmly, his eyes gleaming with the wisdom Harry found sanctuary in. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me. And Remus, your son-” Tears brewed in Harry’s eyes now. They’d been held back for who knew how long.

“Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he’ll understand.” Swallowing his emotions away, he looked upon their faces -their mirages- one last time. “You’ll stay with me?” James was the one to respond, “Until the end.”

“And he won’t see you?” Ambrosi denied this, and Sirius pointed to his heart. “We’re here, you see.” A few minutes ago, Harry had said he was ready to die. Now, he was. “Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

~~~

As the early hours of the morning came upon them, Voldemort brought his army back to Hogwarts. At the sight of them, people came out from the Great Hall. Neville led the way, the Sorting Hat clutched in his hand.

“Who is that? Who’s that Hagrid’s carrying?” Tears spilled from Hagrid’s eyes. Nagini slithered at Voldemort’s side maliciously. “Neville, who is it?” Hermione and Ron stood silently, knowing what had happened but not ready to believe it yet. “Harry Potter is dead!” Amara’s eyes closed in pain as Ginny’s pained screams of anguish echoed around the broken stone. Draco held Amara’s hand. His face, too, was crumpled in hopelessness.

“Silence! Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith in me.” Voldemort was victorious. It was time for his regime to begin. “Harry Potter is dead!” Behind him, the Death Eaters cackled. All but Narcissa and Lucius, whose eyes were on Draco and Amara across the courtyard. “And now is the time to declare yourself.”

Voldemort’s glee was met with silence. “Come forward and join us… or die.” No one moved. “Draco!” Lucius urged Draco to come, and he didn’t move. His grip on Amara’s hand tightened, and he looked into her defeated hazel eyes. “Draco… Come.” His mother’s voice was one he couldn’t deny. Amara gave him the briefest of nods, but she understood. His hand slipped away from hers once more. Something in Amara hardened painfully. She had loved Draco for years and would love him forever. Yet, he would always be the one that got away.

Draco’s feet felt like lead as he soldiered across the courtyard. Voldemort appraised him, wrapping his arms around him awkwardly. “Well done, Draco. Well done.” Draco went to join his mother, who pulled close to her. Her face was as emotionless as could be, but her eyes spoke volumes. If she could, she would protect Amara too. But she knew the chances of that were very slim.

Neville limped forward too. Ginny and Arthur Weasley looked at him in shock. “Well, I must say I’d hoped for better.” Voldemort’s followers chuckled again. From behind them, Hermione’s face was etched with pain and the tear stains seemed to never dry. “And who might you be, young man?”

Despite everything, Neville’s voice was strong as he said his name, once again earning laughter, some of it especially loud at his last name. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our ranks.” “I’d like to say something.” Neville all but cut Voldemort off. This manner of foolish bravery amused him. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.” If Amara didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn Harry’s arm had moved. “Stand down, Neville.” “People die every day! Friends… family… Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us! In here!” Neville pointed to his heart and Voldemort’s grin grew wider and wider as he listened. “And so is Fred, and Ambrosi… Remus… Tonks… All of them. They didn’t die in vain. But you will!”

Voldemort’s smile turned into laughter. Surely there was nothing else left. “Because you’re wrong!” Amara made her way up to Neville, standing next to him in solidarity. “Tom Marvolo Riddle…” Amara’s voice was quiet, but everyone could hear it. “How many of your followers know of your true identity? How many know that your blood is dirty, by your own definition? Do they know that you are the son of a witch and a muggle… one proclaiming himself a Lord?” Voldemort’s jubilation vanished. No one had the audacity to speak to him in this way. Ever. “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us!” Neville brandished the Sword from the Sorting Hat. “No matter how many followers you gather, they will never respect you the way we respect Harry.” Before Voldemort could attack them, Harry fell out of Hagrid’s arms, attacking Nagini.

A renewed sense of hope spread across the crowd, a renewed will to fight. They would win. Harry ran, avoiding Voldemort’s attacks. Neville and Amara’s words hit them deeply. Death Eaters began Apparating away. From the corner of her eye, Amara saw Narcissa and Lucius running from the castle. It was then she gave up hope of seeing him again.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara regrouped in front of the gates. “I’ll lure him into the castle. We have to kill the snake.” Neville ran forward, the Sword of Gryffindor in the air. Before he could attack, Voldemort cast him back and Apparated away with Nagini. Spells were flying everywhere, and at times it was difficult to differentiate who to protect and who to attack.

Minutes later, when Neville’s eyes opened, he was disoriented as well. Green, red, and white bursts of magic were all around him. His eyes fell on the Sword a few feet behind it. He took it up quickly, rushing to find the snake. Nagini was being distracted by Hermione as Ron attempted to stab her with a Basilisk fang. Before he could, she turned to him, hissing and snapping at him.

Voldemort and Harry collapsed in the courtyard. This was it. Their wands met, just like they had three years ago. Hermione and Ron were running from Nagini. Amara attempted to cast spells to deter her but it was no use. She could not watch her friends die. Before Nagini got any closer, however, Neville sliced her in two. She exploded into a dark cloud.

There was just him. Harry felt Voldemort falter as a piece of his soul disintegrated. He cast against him with fervor, and Voldemort could not hold it back for long. He, too, disintegrated, crumbling into dust and ash like any other in the yard. It was over.

~~~

Harry walked through the Great Hall with a serene smile on his face. They had lost many, but they would not lose any more to darkness. Aberforth chatted with Dean and Seamus. Professor Slughorn believed it was his time to retire and was telling this to Professor Sprout. Harry walked to Hagrid, who gave him a loving hug with a chuckle of peace.

Amara was helping Madame Pomfrey administer healing potions when she saw Harry. Setting the potion down, Amara came to join him; Hermione and Ron did as well. The four walked out onto the bridge. The destruction wasn’t wearing down on them. The sun and the promise of a new beginning were both coming to fruition.

Harry stared down into the chasm below, the Elder Wand in his hand. “Why didn’t it work for him? The Elder Wand.” Amara sat on the ledge of the bridge, her feet dangling down over the edge. “It answered to someone else. When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. But the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape.” Harry’s eyes looked down at Amara, pausing before he continued explaining.

“It was Draco who disarmed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower. From that moment on, the wand answered to him. Until… the other night, when Malfoy let me disarm him at Malfoy Manor.” Amara laid back onto the bridge, closing her eyes and letting the sun sink into her skin. “So that means…”

“It’s Harry’s.” Harry came to lay next to Amara. “What do we do with it?” Ron seemed giddy with excitement. “We?” Hermione was flabbergasted at the insinuation. “Just saying… that’s the most powerful wand in the world. With that… we’d be invincible.” Harry stared at the wand for a moment, watching the sleek wood shine in the moonlight. Then, he snapped it in two, sat up, and handed half of it to Amara.

Amara twirled it over in her fingers for a moment. The wand once belonged to Draco. She had given up hope of being with him, but she had this small piece of him. They shared a look, and then, at the same time, Harry and Amara threw the pieces of the wand away below the bridge. Ron and Hermione stared at the pieces flying through the air in surprise. They came to sit next to Harry and Amara. Amara’s arm came around Hermione’s shoulders; Harry grinned at Ron.

It was a real smile. There they sat, hand and hand, just as they had years ago. None of the four friends were afraid. The bright depths spread out below them like the future ahead.

Our heroes have triumphed and can lead peaceful, calmer lives from now on.

Thank you to everyone who is reading my story. It truly means so, so much to me to share this with you. The Fall semester of my university has begun, but I am already working on the third and final part of this mini series!

Don’t hesitate to reach out to me, please! I’d love your feedback/comments/reactions/constructive criticisms :)

Lots of love, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3

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