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fantasywriter19 · 9 months

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1. Melody Riddle and the Sorcerer's Stone Ch.7 Friends and Family

Despite the overwhelming anxiety I felt for the choice I realized she must have made, I was still relieved to see her. With a shout of, "Mom!" I bolted towards her and wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug. She squeezed me back hard enough for me to burst, but I decided against noting on it.

Wow, it’s a great comfort to see her after so long. Now I know the meaning of the saying that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' “You.. you had the baby. How did that work out? Where is he.. or she?"

"Oh, it went very well!" she said, pulling away from me with a forced smile. "I did what needed to be done..." her smile reduced to a frown, and she gave a small sigh. "You and I no longer exist. As far as Jim recalls, the baby boy appeared on his doorstep from a random fling he had. Your classmates don't remember you, and none of Jim's friends remember anything about us."

She left the baby boy with him with no memory…? "Wha – but... is there never going to be a time where we get to meet him? I mean, he's likely going to grow up magical, too, right? So why couldn’t —?"

"Eventually, I'm sure," she said evasively, immediately turning to Professor Snape. "Thank you… erm… Snape."

"For what?" he asked her coldly, his black eyes icy. Icier than I’d ever seen them.

"For watching over my daughter while I took care of business," she said, ignoring his tone. "Give Dumbledore my thanks as well."

He inclined his head, and then Disapparated.

"Do you know him… personally?” I asked curiously as she led me away from the bank. Despite every fiber in my being wishing to demand she explain what her thought process was when she initiated everything, it seemed blatantly obvious from the way she’d avoided doing so that she wasn't going to talk about it, but... why not keep him? Why not tell Jim? Why couldn’t they both come? Why am I not being clued in on important details?

"Oh, yes," she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Bit of a small grudge there. Did you get into my Gringotts account all right?"

Small grudge? “You’re lucky I thought to bring this key,” I told her, fingering the chain around my neck. I vaguely wondered — since she knew Professor Snape — whether I should ask her about Professor Quirrell. He’d recognized her name without hesitation.

"Thank goodness for that. Now, let's get all your supplies! We’ll go to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions first!" mom said, coaxing a big smile back on her face and pointing towards said shop.

When we walked inside, a squat witch dressed in mauve robes walked over to us and smiled kindly at me. "Hogwarts?" she asked.

My mom and I nodded.

She beckoned me alone to the back of the shop to two footstools, and had me stand on top of one. Then she brought some black robe fabric and draped it over my head, pinning it to just the right length for me.

A couple minutes later I saw another family walk in with a boy my age who had a pale, pointed face. He looked a lot like his dad, with pale blonde hair. Why couldn't I look like mom in that same way? Instead, I look.. like a stranger.

Another witch brought him to the back of the shop and set him on the stool next to me, doing the same measurements on him.

At first, I didn't pay much attention to him, because I noticed his parents started talking to my mom with shocked looks on their faces — her own expression being that of embarrassment. I studied their conversation, wishing I could read lips. Then they waved courteously to her before leaving.

"You starting at Hogwarts, too?" the boy asked me in a bored tone.

“Uh yeah... I’m starting this year." I said, still preoccupied with staring at my mom. She looked a little pale as she paced around.

"You have a strange accent!" he exclaimed in surprise, causing me to have to look at him in slight bewilderment. He had an extremely gleeful look on his face, and I couldn't help but think about how strange that felt for me. Someone who was actually interested in talking to me — including Fred and George Weasley but, they were oddballs anyway, so they didn't count.

"I'm from the United States, that's why,” I said. “I mean, it’s the same situation for me. Come here, and everyone else has an accent."

"Why are you here then? Isn't there that school in America — Ilvermorny?" he probed, his curiosity piqued.

"I don’t... I don't know," I said with a shrug. How much should I even tell him? I wondered. I guess mom did say I had to make friends, and if he's in my year then it counts toward something more… stable. I mean.. he seems extremely privileged, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers. "My mom just wanted me to go to Hogwarts. It's where she went before she moved to the United States."

“Oh, well, I suppose she would,” he said, still staring at me with interest. "What's your name?"

"Melody Riddle. And yours?" I asked. I guess he will be a friend?

“I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.... I wonder, what do you think of.. Mudbloods at the school? D’you think it’d be any different from America’s school?” he asked.

I read that term ‘Mudblood’ somewhere. A sort of racial slur, basically, against Muggleborn witches and wizards. He's one of those people mom warned me about ... but hey, I really should avoid making enemies at school, least of all with someone as high up as he must be. But come on, I have no clue what American students are like about all this. "I could care less," I replied diplomatically. “So long as I have nothing to do with them.”

He was immediately.. strangely.. eager. “Brilliant. That must be your mother waiting for you over there, but where's your father?"

"I don't know," I said, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "I've never met my dad before."

He changed the subject, as if to spare me any more feelings of humiliation on the fact. “Do you know what House you're going to be in?"

"No, I don't." I said, pondering over it yet again. I really knew I should've done research into the Houses while I was at Hogwarts, but I only knew about the Gryffindor House because of the twins. And I’d thought with some hope that I would be in that House just because they were there. But Draco, however...

"Ah, well no one really knows, I suppose. But, I do know I'll be in Slytherin. My whole family was.”

Well, Draco just informed me of another new House. What is the whole point of these Houses? What makes them different from one another? I only hope that he won't ask anything else on the subject of a whole line of things I know nothing about. I'd probably be branded a Muggleborn and get bullied for it. Like I need that in a school I’m going to be stuck in for — what was it? — seven years?

Madam Malkin, thankfully, saved me the time as she handed me the set of robes. "All right dear, you're done."

I hopped off of the stool. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts!" I burst to Draco, running my new uniform over to my mom.

“See you on the train!” he said with considerable excitement.

I guess I made a real impression on him. He made an impression on me, too. Just how many more people in the wizarding world are like him? How many are like Fred and George who are fun and accepting?

"You made a new friend?" mom asked, still a little pale, as we walked out of the shop.

"Yes, I think so… You know his parents?" I asked.

“Oh, yes, I know them,” she said, very quietly. She'd said it in such a way that it felt smart to leave the subject alone. Something was off about it. Something always seemed to be off about her now.

Ugh, change the subject again. ”Um, mom.... What House were you in when you went to Hogwarts? And what are the different Houses for?"

"Argh! I should've told you a bit about Hogwarts before you left! All right then, there are four Houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I was in Ravenclaw. I'll find a way to explain more later, but in the meantime...." Mom steered me right into Flourish and Blotts where there were many, many large shelves of books. There was the smell of fresh pages and, interestingly enough, leather due to the strange majority of leather book bindings.

As mom showed the shop owner the list of books I needed, I couldn’t help but ask, “Then how do you know Draco's parents? They were in Slytherin.”

"How do you know that?" she asked, preferring to place her whole attention at pointing out the books on the list than to look at me.

"Well, Draco — their son — told me his whole family's been in Slytherin… I guess my choices in friends— because I met two Gryffindors back in May— place me in either Slytherin or Gryffindor."

"Don't ever tell that to Draco, or whoever you know in Gryffindor,” Mom deadpanned quickly.

“Well, why not?" I asked in surprise.

She finally turned to face me as the shop owner went to the shelves for my books and brought them back a stack at a time. "Gryffindors and Slytherins purely hate each other. So, that’s a warning to you not to vote one or the other with Draco Malfoy if he's so sure he'll be in Slytherin. Slytherins consider the Gryffindors to be— in a sense— wannabe Slytherins as Severus, Lucius and Narcissa told me when we were younger."

"Lucius and Narcissa?" I asked.

"Draco's parents."

"Oh... so you were friends with Professor Snape?"

"There you are!" the owner of the shop said, handing us the books. Mom took the chance to look over the books rather than answer the question.

“Mom,” I said. She slowly turned to look nervously over at me. A strong sense of guilt overtook me at the sight. Maybe I’ll ask everything else later, she looks immensely stressed out by my curiosity. “How are we going to carry all of this?”

“Oh, right,” she said, staring at the large pile of books before us. She took my supply list out of her pocket, "How about this? You stay here with the books. I'll go over to the Cauldron shop, buy you a pewter cauldron, and then come back. It will be able to hold all of your stuff."

“Okay,” I said. And with that, she hurried out of the store.

Shortly after, two young girls sped right in and slammed the door shut behind them. They breathed heavily with laughter as they leaned against the wall and peeked out the windows.

The one with long, dark blonde hair spoke between gasps. "Your brother... is going… to kill us!"

“Heh, he'll be fine!" the other girl said with a wave of her hand. Her short, curly brown hair bounced with her as she laughed. "Besides, I can't embarrass him in front of his friends if I'm not around. It's a win-win situation!"

"Unless he embarrasses himself by going after you," I couldn't help but quip.

"That's exactly what I'm going for!" she laughed, turning to look at me with an eager, "Hello!"

"Oh, hello!" the other girl looked over her shoulder at me with a wave, only to return to staring anxiously outside.

"Hi," I said, rubbing my arm with anticipation. Now to practice making friends with these two, “May I ask why you’re hiding from your brother?”

When she grinned, it spread so wide that it was cheshire-like, complimenting her round cheeks. “It’s my sisterly duty to be as annoying as possible! Our younger sister is a lot worse with it, so he’s lucky he’s only got me to drag around today.” She jumped up and down with excitement, “It’s going to be my first year at Hogwarts, so of course he’s going to have a hard time keeping me on a tight leash!”

“She literally means tight leash,” the other girl said, moving away from the window. “He actually attempted to put a leash on her.”

I couldn’t help my chuckle. They’d only talked to me a few minutes, but I could tell that putting a leash on her would be like trying to keep a jumping jelly bean in one spot. Making friends seemed to be easier than I originally thought.

“Oh my gosh, Addy!” the crazy girl exclaimed, turning to me to take my hand in both of hers and shake it excessively. “We’re so rude, we haven’t even introduced ourselves! I’m Becky, nice to meet you!”

Addy came over and gently pulled Becky’s hands away. ”As Becky has already said, I’m Addy. I know she’s a handful, but we’ve known each other all our lives so I can keep her… er, somewhat civil.”

Becky gave a loud chortle, “Civil? Addy, I am civil!”

“Right,” Addy replied dubiously, shaking her head slightly before turning to me with bright green eyes. “Is this your first time in the wizarding world?”

I smiled, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Everything looks like a new experience to you. You don’t have to worry about us, we’re not so prejudiced against Muggleborns.”

“I’m not a Muggleborn… my mom is a witch, but she raised me in the muggle world.”

“Why Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny?” Becky asked. “I know an American when I hear one.”

“Wow,” I laughed. “You’re both very observant… my mom’s actually British. She went to Hogwarts, so she wanted me to as well.”

“Amazing… have you gotten everything you need yet?" Addy asked.

“My mom’s getting the cauldron now so I can carry all these books in it. After that, I hope I go get my wand before anything else. I’m looking forward to that,” I admitted.

"Us too!" Becky exclaimed. “The one thing I can use when I finally get in Hogwarts to prank Joey whenever I want — that’s my brother’s name, by the way.”

“I deduced as much,” I grinned.

Mom walked back into the shop with the cauldron in her arms… though she had more than just that. Inside were already the ingredients on the list and some other equipment. “Sorry I took so long, but I also went into the Apothecary for your potions ingredients and…” she put the cauldron on the counter, pointing items out as she spoke, “Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment for the glass phials, the brass scales and the brass telescope.”

“Hi Melody’s mother!” Becky said. “Would you mind if we steal Melody away to Ollivander’s Wand Shop?”

Mom looked up at her in surprise, “Oh, I didn’t even notice you two.” I watched as her shoulders relaxed and she smiled, “You know what? That sounds like a wonderful idea. You go ahead with your new friends, and I’ll be there shortly.”

It was all the ‘go ahead’ the girls needed to grab my hands and race out of the shop. I struggled to keep up as they continued to speed down the alley.

“I think I just saw Joey!” Addy yelled.

“Hurry up!” Becky giggled. “I can’t let my brother drag me home yet! This way!”

Within moments she led us toward a narrow, shabby shop and swiftly yanked the door open. Walking in, a bell rang somewhere within the shop and we paused to catch our breaths. I sat down on a lone, spindly chair to wait for the shop owner.

"Hello," a quiet voice said, making us all jump in surprise. The person chuckled, "Don't mean to scare."

Turning I saw an old man standing right there behind the desk, looking at me — and I do mean me…. Not Becky nor Addy — with curiously unblinking silvery-like gray eyes, much like my own. A little too much like my own. Mine and mom’s.

“Hi, Mr. Ollivander,” Addy and Becky chorused.

The owner of the shop… does he have any employees? It seems.. empty.

“Nice to see you’re both finally starting Hogwarts,” he told them politely. Looking at me, he said, “But I’m sure I’ve never met you before…”

“No, I’m from the United States. I’m Melody Riddle.”

A look of immediate recognition crossed his features as he stared at me, “Would your mother’s name happen to be Orele?”

My eyes widened, “How did you —?”

He turned to Addy before I could finish my sentence. “I will start with you, Miss Gentz.” Mr. Ollivander gestured her over, talked quietly, and then started searching through the shelves upon shelves of wand boxes while a measuring tape measured her arm in midair by itself. When he spoke at any point after that, it was out loud as he pulled out wand after wand only to swiftly snatch them from Addy’s hand when nothing happened.

“Is his memory always that good, or does he just know you two that well?” I asked Becky.

“Oh no, his memory is absolutely amazing,” Becky gushed. “He remembers my parents, Addy’s parents, my brother and Addy’s siblings. He remembers every wand he’s ever sold to every person who ever bought a wand from him.”

My mouth dropped open, “That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

"Aha!" Mr. Ollivander shouted out.

I turned back to where Addy now held a nice, goldish-looking wand with a skinny handle. It looked only slightly longer than my mom's wand.

"Applewood with dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches, and slightly springy!" he said, putting Addy's new wand into its box and wrapping it in brown paper. He looked very excited to me, like it was the best part of his day just to do this. Every. Single. Day.

"Now, Miss Figsund," he said, beckoning her over to him as Addy went to stand next to me, holding her wand box tenderly in her hands. Again, hespoke to Becky softly before going through the same process of trying out wands with her. The only difference between Becky and Addy were the reactions of the wands that were wrong for them. Where Addy’s did nothing, for Becky’s something would explode somewhere in the room — his inkpot, a flower vase, and a wheel from his ladder.

Addy and I could only watch, glancing at each other uncertainly every time something else exploded. There were so many different wands that I wondered how on earth it was possible for him to choose what wand goes with who. And how this man was so patient to work at it until he found the perfect fit.

“How are we supposed to know which wand is the right one?” I asked Addy in a whisper.

“In Ollivander’s perspective, the wand is what chooses us. It’s really a fascinating process to watch, I’ve seen it done so many times before with my brothers and sister. I have to say though, it’s a lot more fun to do it yourself. You’ll see.”

He made an exclamation again when he found Becky's wand, it was shorter than Addy’s. Is that an indication of size, future and present? I wondered. Or… something else?

“Red Oak with unicorn hair, ten inches, and reasonably supple."

Becky bounded over to us with her wand in hand, refusing to let him box it up.

“And you," Mr. Ollivander said ominously, looking at me. I looked nervously at him and walked slowly towards him, feeling slightly awkward. “Miss Riddle, do you know which wands your parents received?" he asked.

I shook my head, admitting, “I’m surprised you know I’m not Muggleborn.”

“I have a clear idea of who your parents are based on your eyes and your face. Your name merely confirmed to me who your father was.”

My eyes widened, I look like my father?.. What does he mean by was?

“Let's see,” he said, looking up as if into his thoughts. “I remember your mother getting her wand in here as if it was just yesterday. When she got accepted to Hogwarts, she caught the interest of a fairly unique wand. It has unicorn hair, measures twelve inches, and is very reasonably supple.”

Wait, why say 'when she got accepted' when that is quite obvious due to her coming to get the wand? “Can I ask how the wand chooses?" I asked him curiously.

He looked at me with a source of interest and confusion. "The wands have personalities, too, young lady.” Then he changed the subject… to my biological dad. “Your father on the other hand earned a Yew wand, with phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, supple.”

He obviously knows exactly who he was. "Who was my dad?"

"I believe that's for your mother to divulge when she decides to,” Mr. Ollivander said, waving the subject away and walking into the different aisles to find me a wand.

I was slightly annoyed with him, and not only because he wouldn’t tell me about the man, but because I also realized that he hadn’t told me about the wood of mom’s wand. He told me my dad’s, but not hers… what is it with everything today?

"Which is your wand arm?" he asked, taking out the tape measure.

"My right, I suppose,” I said, holding it out.

He walked away to pull out some more wands while the tape measure did its job, even checking my height.

Each wand I tried, he snatched away as soon as I started to raise it. I was relieved that I wasn’t exploding anything, but it was still jarring for each wand to get pulled from my grasp with such force.

I didn't understand the idea that the wand chooses the wizard until he finally gave me a wand that let me know just from touching it — the comfort and feeling of protection that came with holding it. I felt warmth between my fingers, and I raised it, almost surprised Mr. Ollivander had not snatched this one away yet. Red sparks came out of the end of the wand and I felt a surge of pride and power.

"Ah," he said softly, "Spruce with dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches, supple."

I handed my wand to him, and he began wrapping it slowly. I wondered if there was something wrong due to his pace, and the serious expression he wore as he worked on it.

Becky and Addy paid for their wands first, and mom walked in the door as I was paying for mine

“We must get going. Joey will throw a fit if we’re gone for much longer,” Becky said, her eyes glittering mischievously.

“We’ll see you on the train, Melody,” Addy said, rolling her eyes at Becky.

"I'll see you then,” I said. As they walked out the door I took my new wand over to mom, placing it gently in the cauldron. “Should we get going then?” I asked. Looking up at her though, her face was deathly pale as she stared down at her feet. “Mom, what's wrong?”

“Orele,” Mr. Ollivander said softly, causing my mom to slowly look up at him. "I would like to speak to you in private, if you please. Melody can wait in here, if you'll just come to the back of the shop with me."

Mom put down the cauldron and pointed at the spindly chair to tell me to sit down— which I did, for fear that she might lose her composure even further— and followed Mr. Ollivander while I stayed put in my seat. What does he want? Why does he want to talk to her in private? What’s going on? Mom seems to know everyone, and they all have something to say to her…

About five minutes later, mom stormed out and grabbed the cauldron. "Let's go —!”

"What happened?" I asked, aghast.

"Nothing, nothing," she lied, holding out her hand to me, "Let's just —”

“Orele,” Mr. Ollivander said sternly, coming from the back of the shop. “You have nowhere else to go. You might as well come home.”

“I’ll figure it out. I always do,” she retorted almost childishly, refusing to look at him.

I looked back and forth between them in confusion. It was one thing for mom to yell at me when I’d done something wrong, but she was arguing with him the way I might argue with her.

“You always have a home with us. Why do you think Dumbledore told you to talk to me? Your mother and I haven’t heard from you in fourteen years, and now you show up with a granddaughter we didn’t know we had.”

“… What?” I snapped.

“You think I’m going to come crawling back just for a place to live, you can think again!” mom said, pulling me to my feet.

“I believe you don’t have much of a choice, Orele,” he said, looking pointedly at me.

She looked down at me with heavy reluctance.

“Mom,” I said with realization, “you never told me about your family. Every time I asked, you changed the subject altogether…. It made me think they were all dead or something.”

“Well,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes as she stroked my hair, “as you can see, I didn’t tell you a lot of things.” She took a deep breath and looked back at Mr. Ollivander… her father… my grandfather…. “I have a condition that you not treat me like a child while we live with you.”

He gave a broad smile as he walked to the back, “I make no promises.”

Mom grumbled but she began to follow him, cauldron of items in hand. I looked out the window at Diagon Alley to get one last look at all the magic I had missed out on in my life. How much magic will I get to see now, and in a household of a wand seller no less?

I caught a glimpse of a large, oversized man walking towards the shop with a boy about as young as me. He was much smaller than the man and had untidy black hair with broken glasses held together with tape. I looked at them curiously, a thought cropping up at the back of my head that I should try to make one more friend until mom got a key to our new home.

However, my arm was grabbed a moment later and I was dragged past cases upon cases of wands to the back of the shop. She pushed me into a chimney of all places, picking up the cauldron she’d left in there and handing it to me. Mr. Ollivander — my grandpa now, I guess — stood next to the chimney with a bowl of glittery, grayish powder.

“Take a handful,” she told me. So I did. “Keep your arms tucked in while you’re on your way to the house. Apparently, you’ll know your room when you find it, so start unpacking when you get there. I’ll be there soon, I just have to get you a few late birthday gifts…. Now, when you throw the Floo powder on the ground, you have to clearly yell ‘Ollivander Home.’ It’ll take you straight there.” She gave me a kiss on the forehead, “Go on.”

“Oh… okay,” I said uncertainly. When will you have time to answer my questions, though? That would be a great gift… I sighed, throwing the powder down in the fireplace, calling out, “Ollivander Home!”

It was like being sucked through a tube. I kept my elbows close to me as mom suggested, wondering how scraped up I would get if I spread them too much further from my body. I was tossed out, rolling into a large living room with fancy-ish furniture and crystal-like windows.

I officially hate wizard travel.

After brushing myself off and making sure everything in the cauldron was intact, I walked around the house, thinking of it as more of a small mansion. There were many different rooms, I found mine with my trunk already in it, my mother’s… with her special blue trunk in it already… some other room filled to the brim with junk, an extra large master bedroom, a plain guest room, a shockingly small kitchen, and then found another large room that looked much like a study. Peeking inside the study, I was amazed by the long, nicely polished mahogany desk and the rolls of parchment were fresh. This was so far my favorite room in the whole house.

When I started to hear a light mewling, I slowly went back downstairs to investigate what was making the noise.

Mom had appeared in the living room holding many rolls of parchment and a cage. Looking at the tag, it said "never-ending amount of parchment, always have extra." There was also never-ending ink to go with it, and the real prize for me was that the cage held a medium-sized black cat.

I giddily gasped, and mom was visibly pleased with herself.

"Happy birthday, Melody!" she said brightly.

"Oh wow," I said. "Thank you…. Jeez, how much money did the never-ending parchment and ink cost?"

"A lot, but you deserve it after I had to miss your birthday.”

“Please don't spend that much on me again,” I insisted. “Just a hug and a kiss — oh, and some answers — would be appreciated."

“But do you like your presents?” She purposely avoided my gaze.

I sighed, "Are you kidding? I appreciate my presents… I’m also glad that you were with me today to buy my things — rather than Professor Snape. Today was the best.”

She smiled widely, looking extremely grateful. "Thank you, honey."

"No, thank you." I said, making my way upstairs to begin unpacking. All I could run through my mind was one question…. When will I get to ask my questions?

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#melody riddle #harry potter fandom #voldemort's daughter #orele ollivander #draco malfoy #becky figsund #addy gentz #garrick ollivander #diagon alley

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stagbells · 2 years

Text

Warmth in the Soaked City

From: @bugsnthrenodies

To: @mipexch

Note: Sorry if this is short or not as expected! Was fun writing for these two! Enjoy! Written work under readmore

(Drive version: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AgzLbo2HXqO-Zd05r67Ti4AQiXMeIjVFuTFqFoQaAYU)

The City of Tears. Once a bustling capital full of money, now a decrepit grave empty of life. No, the husks that shambled endlessly around did not count. In fact, as far as Lemm could recall, only he remained alive and untouched by the recent, now-ending plague. Well, he and the so-called Eternal Emilitia. He had heard her giggling to herself in his few journeys to that side of the city, and he was certain she was still alive after all this time. Hm. Maybe ‘eternal’ was the correct term to use.

Lemm turned his attention back to the fountain he had been looking at. The statue of the Hollow Knight, the King’s ‘pure vessel”, and the three Dreamers stared back at him. A perfectly-placed raindrop ran down the vessel’s horns and stone face, falling from its eye like a real tear. Lemm pondered this, the endless rain continuing to soak his form.

Suddenly, it stopped, causing Lemm to look up. An umbrella, a pretty, petite thing, protected him from the downpour. The relic seeker looked over and was met with the kindly eyes of Quirrel.

“It must be difficult to keep that luxurious beard dry,” he commented with a light laugh. The pillbug moved closer, standing under the umbrella with Lemm. He ran a gentle hand through the other’s beard. “Just as I thought. Soaking wet.”

Lemm let out a playful scoff but didn’t remove Quirrel’s hand until it left on its own accord, drifting down to clasp itself with Lemm’s. The relic seeker smiled as Quirrel began to lead him away from the central fountain, back into the western part of the city.

“What were you doing out there in the rain?” he questioned, putting the umbrella down once the pair was free of incoming water.

“Ah, just pondering the statue. It has an air of mystery to it… it is so intriguing, yet any answers to my questions eternally eludes me.” Lemm filed away his mental notes for later. “And you?”

Quirrel gave a ghost of a smile. “I just happened to notice you out there, without protection from the rain. I happened to have an umbrella for two. I hope you didn’t mind, my friend.”

Lemm shook his head, droplets of water flying from his sopping wet beard. “Of course not. I do not mind the company. The little vessel does not come around as frequently as before, though they have given me quite the collection of relics to study and analog.”

“Ah, yes, Little Ghost! They are quite the charming little thing… they have dropped in to visit me more than once during my travels around this kingdom.” He paused only when the door of Lemm’s shop, closed and locked, was within view. “Ah, here we are, my friend. Here- take my umbrella. I have more than one, and you need it more than I.” Here, he held out the closed umbrella to Lemm. Gratefully, the other took it.

“Thank you, Quirrel.” Tucking the umbrella under an arm, Lemm opened the door to his shop.

“Just a moment, Lemm.”

“Hm?” Lemm turned to face the pillbug.

Quirrel held a bundle of silken rags in hand. “It would be rude to allow a beard such as yours to go without a proper drying. Please, allow me.”

Lemm chuckled and allowed the other to walk inside, shutting the door behind him. Once inside, Quirrel pulled out two stools and seated himself upon one of them, setting the rags on his lap. Lemm gently set his umbrella aside and took the other stool, facing Quirrel. The two made eye contact- a simple gesture that spoke a million words.

Silently, Quirrel reached forwards, a rag in hand, and gently lifted Lemm’s beard. Lightly, as if disturbing a single hair would bring about the Infection, he ran the cloth over it, slowly absorbing water as he did so. When the cloth became too damp, he swapped it out with a second, softer one.

Once all the water was free, leaving 4 or so wet cloths on the floor of Lemm’s shop, Quirrel allowed the relic seeker to stand. He tapped his face teasingly, then perked up as if struck with a mind-blowing idea.

“What is it?” Lemm questioned, intrigued.

In response, Quirrel held up a small brush. “I cannot believe I almost forgot this step,” he replied with a quiet chuckle. Gently, he eased Lemm back down onto the stool. “Now hold still.”

Lemm did as told, allowing Quirrel to take the brush through his long beard. Locks of facial hair slipped between he bristles effortlessly, as soft as the comfiest moss. The cycle continued on, the only sounds being the rain pattering against the window of the shop.

#stagbells #summer stagbells 2022 #lemm #quirrel #hollow knight

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northernroyal · 2 years

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how many times have i found you?

Chapter Three

ao3 and ffn

“What were you thinking, Hermione?” She is accosted by Dean as soon as she steps foot into the common room. “We heard Ron and Harry were in the infirmary, and something happened with Quirrell. But I didn’t hear anything about you, and I knew you had to have been with them.” He’s talking fast and looking her over from head to toe. She doesn’t have a chance to respond before he pulls her to him. He holds her tight, and she stands there shocked. She’s never had someone be so worried about her before.

“I’m alright.” She mummers as she hugs him back. He pulls back and holds her by her shoulders. She gives him a small smile. He sighs.

“Alright, just don’t do anything like that again.” He lets her go and takes a step back. He looks embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Would you like to hear what really happened?” He still looks upset, but he gives in.

“Don’t leave anything out.” He says as he pulls her to the sofa.

“I’m just getting worried, is all.” She says as she finishes the last equation on the page. When Dean had told her that his parents still wanted him to continue his muggle education, she had decided she would do the same. Since leaving Hogwarts, they’ve met up once or twice a week to work together. Her parents had been more than happy to drive her across town. They haven’t said anything, but she knows they are excited she has a friend…finally. “I’ve written him all summer and haven’t heard a thing back.”

“This is Harry were talking about, right? He’s not the most…” He trails off, but Hermione knows exactly what he means.

“Yes, I know. But he said he would write back.” She pouts. She had thought she and Harry were starting to get on well together.

“He lives with his muggle aunt and uncle, right?” She nods. “Why don’t you just ring him?” He smiles at the dumbfounded look on her face.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” She grumbles.

“Because I’m the smart one in this friendship obviously?” In a move so un-Hermione like, it has Dean bursting out in laughter, she sticks her tongue out at him. “Come on, I’m sure my mum has a phone book sitting around somewhere.”

After some rummaging, they finally find it. It is surprisingly easy finding the number. Not many Dursleys in Surrey. He writes the number down in his notebook. Before he can pick up the phone, they hear the slamming of car doors.

“Oh gods.” He groans as he pulls the notebook over his face. A second later she hears the front door open, and it is accompanied by high pitched giggling. The eldest of his little sisters stops when she catches sight of them and hollers out behind her.

“Dean’s girlfriend is here.” It is followed by another round of giggles before Dean’s mum tells them all to hush up. She wonders if he’s blushing as badly as her.

“She’s just my friend. You know, something you’ll never have.” She just laughs before flicking his forehead. He tries to swat her away, but she runs away before he can retaliate.

“Sorry about them, dear. Are you staying for dinner, Hermione?” She didn’t realise it was so late. She checks her watch then grimaces.

“Oh, I didn’t realise the time. No, thank you. My dad will be here soon.”

“Another time then dear.” When the coast is clear, Dean dials the number. It rings twice before someone picks up. Dean asks for Harry, and a gruff voice replies. She doesn’t know what they are saying, but from the look on Dean’s face it can’t be anything good. The line clicks before he can say anything back.

“He said Harry isn’t allowed to use the phone. He must be in trouble or something.” But he doesn’t look too convinced. Hermione isn’t either. They sit in silence as she packs away her things.

“I’ll try next week. It is his birthday after all. Surely, he won’t still be in trouble.”

And she does just that, but the nasally voice who answers tells her no one named Harry Potter lives there and to never call back. She is hung up on before she has even fully comprehended what has happened. She thinks about calling Dean, wondering if she has the wrong number, but an incessant tapping at her kitchen window stops her. The weathered looking owl she has come to recognise as Ron’s sits there like he’s on his last leg.

Apparently, Ron was getting worried, too. He and his brothers are staging a ‘rescue mission’. She hopes Harry isn’t in need of actual rescuing. She writes back telling him not to do anything illegal and to owl her as soon as he has news on Harry.

A week later she gets a reply. By the end of it she is seething. Not only was a house elf stealing Harry’s letters, but it also did magic in his muggle house which Harry got blamed for. While the use of a flying car is certainly not how she would have done, she is glad the Weasleys showed up when they did. The Dursley’s is in no way the right place for Harry

She would have to do some research.

“Ready to go?” Her dad asks as she once again looks over her school supply list. Dean snatches it from her hand and puts it in his pocket. She glares at him. He pushes her toward the door and gives her dad a grin.

“All ready, Mr Granger.” He just chuckles as he pushes both of them out the door. Her mum and Dean’s parents had gotten a little overwhelmed the year before, so her dad had volunteered to take the both of them. They will be meeting Harry and the Weasley’s there. Dean had written Seamus as well, but his family wouldn’t be coming to London until just before school starts.

The whole ride to The Leaky Cauldron is spent talking about football. Which is almost as bad as listening to the boys talk about Quidditch. Almost. At least with football she knows all the teams.

They find the Weasleys easily after they’ve been to Gringotts. But they seem frantic. She spots Ron and pulls Dean with her towards him.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Harry used the floo for the first time and now we can’t seem to find him.” Ron starts to mumble towards the end.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Hermione asks as she glares at Ron. He goes from sheepish to angry in an instant. They look ready to argue before Dean interrupts them.

“Oi, he’s fine. He’s right there with Hagrid.” Hermione and Ron both dart their heads to the direction Dean is pointing.

“Blimey Harry, we thought we lost you there.” Ron says as he runs up to the pair. All of his anger gone as he thoroughly ignores Hermione.

“Ended up in Knockturn Alley, he did.” Hagrid grumbles as he pats at the soot covering Harry. Mr and Mrs Weasley soon join them, thanking Hagrid for finding Harry. Seeing the red blossoming on his cheeks, Hermione pulls him away from the adults.

“You’ll need to stop at Gringotts, yes? We’ve already been. We’ll wait for you here.” She says as she pushes him towards the white steps of the wizarding bank.

“Mr Weasley’s taken your dad hostage.” Dean tells her when she walks back to the two boys. She looks over to see Mr Weasley almost violently shaking her dad’s hand while talking very animatedly. Even her very open-minded dad looks a little out of his depth.

“It’s probably a good thing our mums stayed home, huh?” She whispers back. He chuckles and then settles into a grin. Ron’s eyeing them up, but Mrs Weasley waves them all over before he can say anything.

“Remind me, why were you so excited to see Gilderoy Lockhart, Hermione?” Dean snickers. He’s been teasing her since they left Flourish and Blotts. They bicker back and forth, Dean laughing the whole time. Her dad is unusually quiet. Until he isn’t

“Why was Arthur fighting with that man?” Both children go still. “It wasn’t because of me, was it?" Hermione catches a glimpse of his face in the rear-view. He looks frustrated and a little upset. She looks to Dean. He subtly shakes his head. It seems neither of them had told their parents just how prejudiced some wizards could be.

“No, dad, I don’t think so. They just don’t get along. Even their kids don’t.” He thinks on it for a moment then nods his head. She can tell he doesn’t fully believe her, but he’s willing to let it go…for now.

The last few weeks of summer holiday are blissfully uneventful. She sees Dean a few more times, and Harry owls her once or twice. Her parents take her camping, and she’s grateful for the time she has gotten to spend with them. But as September 1st gets closer, she grows more and more eager to return to Hogwarts. The night before, she triple-checks her trunk and only goes to bed after her parents take it to the car. When she finally falls asleep, she wishes she hadn’t.

The slamming of the door didn’t wake her. Neither did the cracking of thunder or the blistering rain pounding against the roof.

“Up, now.” Consciousness pulls at her as the heavy footsteps close in on her. “Get out of bed!” She blearily looks up at him. As he charges closer, she’s finally able to make out his features.

She scrambles across the bed, but he is faster. His hand grips her upper arm so tightly she winces in pain. He sneers down at her as she tries to pull away. She can hardly keep up as he drags her out of the house. The rain and thunder drown out all the other sounds around them.

He keeps pulling her along, and she can feel the cuts already forming on her feet. As soon as her home is no longer in sight, he pulls her tightly against him. She struggles. She tries to push him away, but it gets her nowhere.

“Keep still!” He hisses, but she doesn’t. When he has finally had enough, the back of his hand meets her face with such force she falls limp against him. He pulls her to him again. The world moves too fast around her. She feels as if she’s been pulled inside out and then back again.

Her feet touch the ground again. She hadn’t realised they had left it. Her stomach turns as soon as everything stops moving. She looks around. They are in a large empty cavern with several tunnels leading out. There’s a boy here, but he’s not looking at her or the man holding her. He doesn’t even seem to know they are there. Not until the man comments on her, that is.

“See how pathetic they are, son.” The boy finally turns to them. She recognises him just as she recognised the man who pulled her out of bed. He doesn’t say anything back to his father. He just looks at her with horror in his eyes.

“Father…” He mummers, but his eyes never leave hers.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out, that you could keep her a secret.” His voice continues to rise. She should be scared. After everything he’s told her about his father, she should be scared. “She’s a muggle. What were you thinking?” His every word is filled with venom. His grip on her arm has only gotten tighter. “She can’t live. Gods know what you’ve told her.” He throws her down on the stone floor. “No, she needs to disappear, and you need to learn a lesson.” He then starts to hiss. She would think the sound pretty if he didn’t spit it with such violence.

“No, father, please!” He tries to grab for her, but he stops in place as if he’s hit a wall. His father stops his hissing, and when she looks back at him, he has a stick pointed at him.

“I said you need to learn a lesson. You will stay right there, and you will watch.” He yells with such force his whole face turns red. The hissing starts again.

She looks back to the boy. She thinks he might be crying, but she can’t hear him. His eyes go wide as he looks behind her, and then he starts to scream. She looks and then wishes she hadn’t. Everything goes silent then. The only sound is that of her own heartbeat.

In front of her sits the biggest snake she has ever seen. The beast is taller than both of the men put together, and it is so long she cannot see the end of it. It slithers its way toward her, stopping once to listen to the man hissing.

She casts one more look behind her. The boy is no longer looking at her. His eyes are hard, and his jaw is clenched as he glares at his father. She has never seen such hate in him before. She can see the fire in him.

All of a sudden, she can feel it too. The beast sinks its teeth into her, and nothing has ever felt as painful. She screams and screams. And then she feels nothing at all.

She barely remembers the dream as she wakes up. But she’s panting, and tears are running down her cheeks. It’s been months since she’s had one, and never once has she had such a strong emotional reaction to one. She’s anxious for the rest of the day. The mood is sombre like last year, but her mum doesn’t cry this time for which she is thankful. She knows she could hardly handle it after last night.

She makes her way onto the platform after saying goodbye to her parents. She spots Dean and Seamus right away. They seem to be waiting for something. As soon as Dean spots her, he smiles and waves her over. She is hit with a realisation. They were waiting for her. The smile on her face isn’t forced like the rest she’s had today.

Dean gives her a strange look, but Seamus pulls them along before either of them can say anything. She hopes Harry and Ron have already saved them a compartment.

#hp fanfic #hermione granger #hermione x dean #hermione x theo #hermione x draco #hermione x harry #reverse harem #dean thomas #theo nott #draco malfoy #harry potter #my wrtitng #dreams #soulmates #soulmate au

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inwhichiramble · 2 years

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Chrysalis: Chapter 11

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Hufflepuff had been absolutely flattened by Gryffindor.

Caelia overhead the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain on the way back to the common room. “Honestly, I can’t even be mad. That Harry Potter made the most impressive catch I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Tell me about it,” said the tall, blond Hufflepuff seeker who had played opposite Harry. “Slytherin’s all got Nimbus 2000s too, and not even they can fly as fast.”

Though when Caelia saw Harry next, it was clear that he had other things on his mind. There was something about Snape and Quirrell, and something about a dragon? And apparently, Caelia’s tip off about Flamel had sped up their findings significantly, because he, Ron, and Hermione had been guarding the third floor corridor as inconspicuously as they could for the past three weeks. Harry had very dark circles under his eyes, so Caelia recommended a potion to put on his face to clear things up. And then she marched him back up to Gryffindor Tower so he could take a nap. Everyone was looking at her weirdly, but that did not deter her from dragging her exhausted friend all the way up to his dorm and tucking him into his bed. Immediately after, she nearly fainted when the incredibly haggard Ron entered the dorm looking somehow twice as worse.

She resolved next to find Hermione, because if the boys were looking that bad, there was no way her overachieving friend was going to be doing okay. She found the girl in the library, naturally, but on this occasion Hermione was fast asleep, sprawled over an open Herbology textbook and surrounded by piles of books and parchment.

March passed by quickly, and as her Gryffindor friends seemed to be doing much better, Caelia thought that things had finally been settled, and so she focused on studying for her exams. But, to her great surprise, the day of the HissPuff party snuck up on her before she realized it was coming.

She walked into her dorm to find Susan helping Hannah and Megan get ready. Caelia’s jaw dropped.

The three girls turned to her, and Susan gasped. “Caelia, did you forget about the party?”

Caelia took a very deep breath. “Yeah, I did. I should probably get ready, huh?”

Hannah bit her lip. “We were just about to leave. Are you alright with being a little bit late? We can let Draco know for you.”

“Yeah, would you do that please? Let me just change really quick.”

Caelia headed to her wardrobe to pick out some clothes as Hannah and Megan left. Susan plopped down on her bed.

“I am so glad none of us wear makeup yet.”

Caelia chuckled. “Tell me about it.” She pulled out her favorite pair of nice overalls and a soft yellow knitted crewneck. “I hope Draco won’t mind me being a little bit late. At least I’m not gonna be the only person he has to talk to.”

Caelia was, in fact, the only person Draco had to talk to. At this particular party, at least.

As she descended the steps to the classroom where the party was being held, self-consciousness wracked her body as she noticed that the vast majority of girls there were wearing dresses--especially the Slytherin girls. Daphne Greengrass’s hair was curled to perfection and she wore a deep black velvet dress that hugged her knees. How did an eleven-year-old manage to look that good? Hannah, with her bright blonde hair against her white paisley dress, looked quite pretty, but it was a different kind of beauty next to Daphne’s, who stood beside her.

“You look fine.”

Caelia tensed and whipped around. “Draco, I’m so sorry I was late, I--”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you stayed late in Charms. You look nice.”

“Oh, well, thank you… Say, have you seen what they have to eat here?”

Draco led her over to the refreshment table, and Caelia used this opportunity to breathe for a moment. Draco was easily the best-dressed of the first year boys in the room, with dark gray slacks and a black long-sleeved button up. Caelia took a cup of punch and didn’t stop sipping for a solid minute.

Draco, miraculously, didn’t seem to notice. They skirted their way around the edge of the party, avoiding the older years--but Caelia didn’t miss some nasty glares thrown from the older Slytherins in Draco’s direction. They leaned up against the wall and watched everyone else mingle silently.

Draco cleared his throat. “Listen, Carter. You probably haven’t heard this from Potter yet, as it happened just last night, but you ought to know--he, uh…we both got detention from McGonagall. Granger and Longbottom, as well.”

Caelia choked on her drink and tried desperately to recover. “What?”

“I lost twenty points for Slytherin. They all lost fifty each.”

Caelia massaged her temple. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not. And I’m not going to try to explain my case to you, as that hasn’t worked with anyone else. I… Hogwarts just hasn’t been as great as I thought it would be.”

Caelia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No one really listens to me, aside from you. I thought I’d be respected, because I’m a Malfoy, and that’s just who the Malfoys are. And even though you don’t put up with… some of the things I say, you’re the only one who doesn’t hate me right now.”

“Well, Draco, you’ve made some pretty big mistakes. But that doesn’t mean it’s too late to turn things around before it gets worse.”

“How are people supposed to respect me if they don’t fear me?”

Caelia’s heart ached for this boy. And to be honest, she didn’t know if she could answer all of his questions. But if there was one thing that her father taught her, it was that people will try to find a way out of their hole if you give them a shovel.

“Draco… do you think people respect me?”

He frowned. “Well, yes. You have plenty of friends. I’ve even seen the older years smile at you in the hallway.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Well… I’m not quite sure,” he said honestly. “You certainly aren’t from noble birth, and you were sorted into the most unassuming house of them all, so frankly I don’t understand it. Uh… no offense.”

“None taken,” she smiled. “I’ll let you think about it, then. But in the meantime, I hope your housemates decide to be kinder to you. We’ve got exams to focus on, there’s no time for bothering other people,” she joked.

Draco chuckled. “Thanks for talking to me, Caelia.”

“Anytime, Draco. Anytime.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exams came too quickly, and once they entered that week it seemed as though they would never escape. Caelia was personally not overly concerned about her results, and while she did do her best, she spent most of her time trying to make sure her friends were okay. Hannah was anxious nearly every moment, Susan had retreated into a near silence, only talking to herself trying to memorize things for the next test. And even Megan had mellowed, laying awake at night.

Whenever Caelia passed Harry, Ron, Hermione, or Neville in the hall, she would squeeze their hand or cast a subtle calming charm. While she definitely cared about her results, it was more important that her friends didn’t lose their minds (because then she would definitely lose hers).

Unfortunately, it didn’t help that that week was sweltering. The castle certainly wasn’t a cooler, but Caelia was not as desperate as the rest of her friends to escape the stuffy building. When the exams were finally over, she spent the whole day lying awake in her bed for hours in silence, just taking a moment away from everything.

She went to dinner in silence, completely drained of energy, but glad that her friends had recovered from the strain that exams had had on them. She played with her shepherd’s pie, and gazed around the room, almost forgetting she was in it. And then, everything stopped.

She’d caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who, unlike everyone around them who was chatting contentedly, were stone silent and fidgeting in their seats.

They were among the first to get up to head back to their dorm, though it was obvious that they were trying not to look suspicious. Caelia knew that Harry had gotten up to some mischief over the course of the school year, but right after a grueling week of exams? And why did he look sick?

Caelia told her friends not to wait up, and headed out of the Great Hall to catch them before they got to Gryffindor Tower.

“Hey! Harry!”

The trio turned around. “Caelia? What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“I think the better question is, why do the three of you look like you’re ill?”

Hermione shifted on her feet. “Oh… it’s nothing. I’m just anxious for our exam results to come out.”

Caelia softened. “You don’t have to lie to me. Does this have anything to do with the third-floor corridor?”

The three of them turned a shade greener, but Harry stepped closer, motioning for Ron and Hermione to go on without him.

“Caelia… remember what you told me about Nicolas Flamel?”

She nodded.

“We found out that the Sorcerer’s Stone is here. At Hogwarts. We think someone--probably Snape--is going to try and steal it. Tonight. So the three of us are going to try to get to it first. None of the teachers believe us, and Dumbledore is gone, so we have to do it ourselves.”

“Four.”

“What?” She looked him deep in the eyes. “The four of us. I believe you.”

Harry paled. “Caelia, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“You’re not asking. I’m coming.”

“No, Hermione and Ron aren’t even supposed to be coming, I can’t be responsible for you too--”

“Harry--”

“--Your Dad would kill me--”

“Harry!” She grabbed him by the shoulder and looked him in the eyes once more. “You are not responsible for me. I’m making this choice. There is no one I trust more in this world besides you and my Dad, and if you’re in danger then I need to be there. Maybe my dad wouldn’t want me to, but he’ll understand. I don’t know what we might face down there, but if all I can offer is mental support, then that’s enough. Though… maybe my Transfiguration skills will help too. I don’t know. The point is, I’m coming, and I will never leave you behind.”

Harry had finally stilled, and seeing the resolve in Caelia’s face, nodded slowly. “Alright. Wait until your common room empties and meet us at the third floor corridor. And--be careful, will you?”

Caelia smiled and gave him a tight hug. “Don’t worry Harry. You can count on me.”

#chrysalis #fanfiction #harry potter #harry james potter #draco malfoy #hufflepuff #quidditch #sorcerers stone #harry potter fanfiction #writer #fanfic writer

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the-irrelevant-trumpeter · 3 years

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my sister just found a stop motion video we made out of harry potter lego to the tune of the harry potter in 99 seconds song and it's so crap dfghjkjkhgf

#one of the highlights is us not actually having the voldemort character #so we had to use the face on the back of quirrell's head #and we put the grindelwald hair on him #it looks crap #also for the mermaid we put leaves on werewolf lupin's head???#it was a work of art honestly #also just found out that the song is by jon cozart?????? how did i not know this???????#also also just found an actually good lego stop motion but i think ours had moments that were a lot better

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septembercfawkes · 3 years

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How Each of the 5 Major Plot Points Turn a Story

I recently had an epiphany on structure that I wanted to share. When I first realized this, it felt pretty significant (at least to me), but as more time has gone on, I've realized, in some sense, it's actually kind of obvious--I just hadn't seen it from this perspective before 😆 I'm willing to bet a lot of others haven't either, so it's definitely something I want to share. But where to start? I think I'll start with a problem I ran into: midpoints.

Midpoints happen in the middle of the story (usually around the 50% mark, give or take). It's a moment when new, significant information--or at least a shift in context--enters and turns the story in a different direction. To put more simply (or in some ways, vaguely), it's when the protagonist gets a sense of what's "really going on" in the plot.

For example, in the movie Interstellar, the midpoint happens when the characters learn that there is no Plan A--everyone on Earth is destined to die.

In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the midpoint happens when Harry overhears the professors in the Three Broomsticks and learns Sirius Black is the reason his parents are dead.

The midpoint moves the protagonist from reaction to action. It enables them to go on the attack--at least a more informed, aggressive attack than before.

This is what I was first taught midpoints were, and I was introduced to them in Story Engineering by Larry Brooks.

But as time went on, I ran into a different definition.

In Blake Snyder's Save the Cat!, he says that midpoints are events--a "false win" or a "false lose."

It's near the middle, and it's when the protagonist seems to win or lose what he or she wants.

For example, in Mulan, the midpoint happens when Mulan retrieves the arrow on the post, proving herself worthy of staying in the army with the men (a seeming victory).

In Stranger Things Season One, the midpoint is recovering Will's body (a seeming defeat).

So which is it? Is a midpoint new information? Or is it an event?

Personally, the more time goes on, the more I think both definitions are right. So these days, I prefer to combine them together:

The midpoint is a significant event and/or revelation that is either a seeming victory or a seeming defeat for the protagonist. It often provides a broader understanding of what's actually happening in the plot, enabling the protagonist to become more proactive in their goals.

The midpoint almost always happens right in the middle of the story.

And it pivots the story into the second half.

(Of course, this is not to say some rules can't be broken.)

Okay, now I'm going to talk about something else, and come back to this.

I've talked about the next section a few times, so if you are already familiar with it, feel free to skim the next few paragraphs.

In a well-structured story, nearly everything makes this shape--whether it's a scene, sequence, act, or whole story. And it can even fit, in smaller pieces, inside a scene. It's essentially like a nesting doll or a fractal.

The climactic moment is sometimes called a turning point because it "turns" the direction of the story.

This moment can only be one of two things (well, or both of them): a revelation, or an action.

Why? Because these are the only ways to turn a story!

This is most obvious in the overall plot level because that is what we are most familiar with. THEE climactic moment will either be a revelation or an action and often it's both.

Whatever it is, and in whatever it is (scene, sequence, act, or whole plot), that's the turning point.

I do want to add one thing: it doesn't necessarily have to be the protagonist who has the revelation or takes the action to create a turning point. It just needs to be someone significant, so that it turns the story. For example, a turning point may be the audience or an important side character having a revelation. Or it may be someone else (likely the antagonist) taking an action.

In the structure of a whole story, there are usually several major turning points:

1. The Inciting Incident (sometimes called the "Catalyst" or "Call to Adventure")

This is when something new enters the story and disrupts the established normal. The inciting incident will either be a problem or an opportunity. In The Hunger Games, Prim having her name drawn out at the reaping is the inciting incident--it's what turns the story in a new direction, leading us into the main conflict. Without that problem, the books wouldn't exist. In Harry Potter, the inciting incident is Hagrid telling Harry, "Yer a wizard" and inviting him to Hogwarts. Without that opportunity, the books wouldn't exist.

2. Plot Point 1 (sometimes called "Break into Two" or "Crossing the Threshold")

I hesitate to use the term "Plot Point 1" because I've found it to be rather ambiguous, as some people consider it to be (or at least include) the inciting incident, while others consider it to be the moment the protagonist chooses to move forward irrevocably, to address the new problem or opportunity. This is usually a transitional segment that takes us from the beginning of the story to the middle of the story. (Today, this is what I mean by "Plot Point 1.")

In Interstellar, this is when Cooper blasts off into space. That can't be undone, and it takes us into the main conflict of the story, the middle.

In Mulan, Mulan cuts her hair, takes the armor and horse, and goes to the camp in her father's place. Once she arrives as "Ping," her decision can't be undone (at least not without big ramifications, such as dishonoring her whole family). This takes us to the main conflict, the middle of the story.

The inciting incident and Plot Point 1 put the protagonist into a reactionary state. They are reacting to new obstacles.

3. Midpoint

I already talked a lot about midpoints, but just to keep things even, I'll repeat.

The midpoint almost always happens right in the middle of the story.

And it pivots the story into the second half.

You can see examples above.

4. Plot Point 2

At the end of the middle, a few things usually happen:

The protagonist faces the antagonistic force and experiences a defeat. This leads to what's called an "all is lost" moment--where it feels like (as you probably guessed) everything is lost, like there is no way the protagonist can succeed.

Soon after this, though, the protagonist gains something empowering that allows them to move forward toward the climax.

Some writers call the "all is lost" moment Plot Point 2, while others call the moment of empowerment Plot Point 2. What matters is that you understand that these things happen. This can get a little more complicated (for example, instead of experiencing a defeat, the protagonist may get what he wants and experience a hollow victory), but I'm gonna stop here for today.

Like Plot Point 1, this is a transitional segment that turns the story toward the climax--it moves us from the middle of the story to the end of the story.

In Mulan, Mulan is discovered to be a woman and dishonored. She thinks of going home, when she learns that the Huns are still alive. This propels her to the climax.

In Spider-verse, Miles watches his uncle die and gets tied up. After his dad visits, he gains a clear understanding of perseverance and faith, busts free, and heads to the climax.

5. Climax

The climax is the biggest, most pivotal turning point. It will either hinge on a revelation or an action and often it's both.

It might be a revelation that leads to an action. Or it might be an action that leads to a revelation.

For example, the protagonist may have an epiphany (a revelation, and often a thematic one) that informs him how to defeat the antagonist, so the protagonist takes that action. Alternatively, the protagonist takes an action to defeat the antagonist, and the result leads to a realization. If the latter happens, often the revelation will be further explained after the danger has passed.

For example, in Interstellar, Cooper realizes that love is indeed part of a higher dimension, and through it, he can communicate to his daughter Murph. He then takes the required action to reach her across spacetime and save the human race (and therefore defeat the antagonistic force).

In Harry Potter, Harry takes action against Quirrel. This leads to a revelation: Quirrel can't touch him. Later, Dumbledore explains Lily's sacrifice left Harry a magical protection: love.

(Love doesn't have to be the realization, of course, I just happened to pick two examples that share that in common 😆)

Now, this is all generally speaking, and it will be different if you are working with negative character arcs, but talking about all the variations is beyond the scope of this article, today.

Let's start tying these topics together:

So, generally, there have been two different definitions of the midpoint. Significant information. Or significant event.

Well:

Information = Revelation

Event = Action

Revelation is just another word for "new information," while "event" is just another word for action. Right?

Guess what? The midpoint and the climax are similar in this way. They turn on revelation or action or even both.

What about the other major turning points?

Every story structure I've looked at, emphasizes that at Plot Point 1 (or "Crossing the Threshold" or "Break into Two"), the protagonist chooses to move forward--that means taking action. The protagonist doesn't just want to move forward, he has to do something. So Plot Point 1 turns on action.

Let's look at Plot Point 2. After the "all is lost" lull, the protagonist almost always learns ("gains") something. This may be plot-focused--such as Mulan learning the Huns are still alive. Or it may be thematic, such as Miles Morales now understanding and embracing perseverance and faith. But it's essentially new information, a new understanding. So Plot Point 2 turns on revelation.

Okay, I know what some of you are thinking. You're thinking of stories that maybe don't fit this. You are thinking of stories where Plot Point 1 hinges on revelation and Plot Point 2 hinges on action. Like many writing subjects, this can become a chicken vs. egg conundrum. After all, when we act, we learn new things. And when we learn new things, we act.

A protagonist may learn something new that leads him to take action for Plot Point 1.

And the "all is lost" moment usually follows a big event (read: action), so we may have an action that comes before the revelation of Plot Point 2.

It's also not impossible to have two actions in a row, or two revelations in a row.

But Plot Point 1 and Plot Point 2 are transitional segments. They turn us to the middle and to the end, respectively. And that turn is usually an action and a revelation, respectively.

Of course, I'm not going to go as far as saying that no stories exist that break these rules. But most stories turn in these ways.

It's also worth noting that sometimes you have moments that blur the lines a little--for example, a character may take a big action that reveals something significant simultaneously.

Recall how earlier I said not all turning points are focused on the protagonist. For example, a turning point in a scene, may be an antagonist taking an action. A revelation may be a side character learning something. In a well-structured story, there will be lots of turning points of action and revelation. And of course, you can slice and dice stories in different ways (which is why learning structure can be so confusing sometimes).

But when it comes to these four major turning points, they usually focus on the protagonist.

At Plot Point 1, the protagonist takes a forward action.

At the midpoint, the protagonist takes a significant action or learns something significant.

At Plot Point 2, the protagonist gains valuable information.

At the climax, the protagonist has a realization and/or takes an action that thwarts the antagonistic force.

Now we have the inciting incident. The inciting incident is a little different than the other major turning points because it's what kicks off the story. It's the first turn that starts the story--it's disrupting an established normal, not changing up the main conflict.

Unlike the other four major turning points, the inciting incident sort of . . . How do I want to say this? It sort of comes from outside the protagonist more? In the other major turning points, it's the protagonist who is acting and gaining information on the journey.

The inciting incident hinges more on an outside source. I mean, it has to, because it disrupts the protagonist's life. The protagonist hasn't hit the main conflict yet.

For example, Effie in The Hunger Games and Gandalf in The Hobbit, are the ones bringing the inciting incidents to Katniss and Bilbo, respectively. In Legally Blonde, Warner is the one breaking up with Elle.

This isn't a perfect concept, but it is a generality. Perhaps the idea I'm trying to convey is that the inciting incident is something that happens to the protagonist. (Usually, there are exceptions.)

Notice that the inciting incident can also hinge on an action or a revelation.

Peter Parker getting bit by a radioactive spider is an action. It's the spider's action--an outsider's action--against Peter.

Harry being told he's a wizard from Hagrid is a revelation. It's information that Harry didn't even know to consider--completely unexpected.

So let's map out the five major turns:

Inciting Incident: Disrupting Action or Revelation

Plot Point 1: Primarily Turns on Action

Midpoint: Turns on Action and/or Revelation

Plot Point 2: Primarily Turns on Revelation

Climax: Turns on Action and/or Revelation

Now you will have a clearer understanding of how to handle the five major turning points in your own stories.

And should you have a protagonist who does not want to take action at Plot Point 1, as is sometimes the case--well, I have something to help with that.

That pretty much sums up my epiphany . . . or should I say, revelation? 😉

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writing reference #turning points #plot turns #writeblr #story structure

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americanmoths · 3 years

Text

Picture Draco Malfoy as Wizarding Ben Franklin, with The Sorcerer’s Stone tied to a key tied to a kite

Hermione has never regretted teaching Draco to pick locks more than when he switches the lights on in her bedroom at 3 a.m. on the only day-off she’s had in months.

“I figured it out, and you will not believe. You will not believe. It’s a key.” Draco says. “An actual key.”

Had she not seen Draco rant his way to multiple epiphanies, she would tell him to get the fuck out of her room. But she was there when he figured out the sorcerer’s stone drained all the magic from the world, and she was there when he discovered that electrical currents have the same atomic structure as magic, so — “What’s a key, Draco? What are you talking about?”

“I should’ve figured it out ages ago. It was literally on the cover of that physics textbook you gave me. I couldn’t sleep, so I was reading it again, and when I finished, I still couldn’t sleep, so I was going to read it again again, but I didn’t have to because it was right there on the cover. You’ve seen it. The bald guy with the beard flying a kite with a key on it. You’ve seen it.”

“Yes?”

“That’s our answer. That’s how we jumpstart magic. Kite. Key.” He mimics an explosion with one hand. “Lightning.”

—

Yes, it is odd Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are friends; thank you for asking.

Sometimes Hermione will remember exactly how odd; she’ll look at Draco and see all the ways they’re antonyms instead of their decade-old friendship sparkling underneath.

Their Hogwarts class had been small. Her, Draco, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and that’s it. Doesn’t that mean something? Did you hear that there were more squibs born in the 90s than any decade prior? The youngest Greenglass girl has no magical ability whatsoever. What the fuck does that mean? The Parkinson child, too.

The four of them hadn’t worried about it. Too many other things going on. A teacher with a lisp and a lumpy head; a troll attack that resulted in Draco and Hermione’s unlikely friendship; an end-of year feast where Neville and Ron won last-minute bonus points for being brave and getting Quirrell fired.

Hermione remembers the banners changing from Slytherin green to Gryffindor gold; standing on a chair and cheering, lifting her fist in the air, and then — darkness.

The lights at Hogwarts would never come back on. Magic, though they hadn’t realized it at the time, had run out.

—

A few nights after Draco's epiphany, Hermione wakes to thunder. A storm that jostles their house and sends her alarm clock tumbling to the floor, green digits stuck flashing 11:11 over and over again. I wish Draco was reasonable, she thinks, even as she spies him atop the hill in their garden, trying to control a kite with a red stone and a key tied to it.

“COME ON,” Draco shouts at the sky. “HIT ME! I CAN TAKE IT! I’VE TAKEN EVERYTHING ELSE YOU’VE THROWN AT ME. YOU TOOK MY PARENTS. YOU TOOK MY FRIENDS. AND NOW IM OFFERING YOU A FREE SHOT AND WHERE ARE YOU—”

Crack!

A white flash of lightning zizzles down the kite string.

“Draco!” She says and runs into the storm.

There’s a large burnt spot where lightning met Earth. Draco’s on one side of it, the charred kite bobbing up and down on his chest. He's breathing, Thank Merlin.

A man with a lightning bolt scar bisecting his face yawns and stretches in the center of the circle, one hand grasped around the key.

“How long was I asleep for?” The man asks. He squints at Hermione. “Do I know you? Sorry it’s hard to tell from here; my eyesights never been good and it's dark. Let me just—” He points the key in the air the way they used to point wands, when they still used those. “Lumos.”

The end of the key lights up. Almost like magic.

for @drarrymicrofic prompt: sleepy | on ao3

#starstruck but make it drarry #alternate title: the day the magic died #idk man i've been reading a collection of scifi short stories #drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #draco malfoy #harry potter #100 moths trying to write hamlet

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 106: Eyes

"Malfoy," a voice called as his hair was pushed out of his face and his chin was tilted slightly. "Malfoy," the voice repeated.

Draco was quite certain he must be hallucinating, there was no way that it was who it sounded like.

"Draco," that voice said again, "Wake up."

His eyes fluttered open and he groaned in pain as the light seared through his retinas and straight into his brain.

"Hey," Harry bloody Potter said.

He opened his mouth and spit out a bit of blood.

"Merlin," Potter said, "Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah," he grunted. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for your assistance, Potter."

The other boy huffed a laugh, "Sure. Come on. Let me help you get to Madam Pomfrey."

He shook his head, "Don't let me keep you from your important life," Draco said as he stood up and reached out to steady himself on the wall.

"Draco," he said.

Looking through his swollen eye, he tried to glare at the other boy. "Harry." he parroted.

"You don't have to be so stubborn," he said with a laugh.

He took a step toward the infirmary and his knees buckled.

Potter caught him and put an arm around his waist. "Come on."

(Read more below the cut)

"What? No one else to save?" Draco asked through clenched teeth as he started to hobble off down the hallway using Potter as little as possible.

"Not at the moment, no," Potter quipped. "You want to tell me who did this to you?"

He let out a humorless chuckle, "It doesn't matter."

Potter hummed and caught Draco when he started to slip a bit. "I've got you," he murmured.

Draco tried not to let the words go to his head.

----------

After they'd reached the infirmary Potter tried again to get Draco to tell him what had happened but there was honestly no point.

Madam Pomfrey had shooed Potter out and then Draco had a few hours of peace and quiet while his wounds were healed. Fortunately he had a good book in his school bag, which Potter had carried up for him.

"Why don't you stay over night, love," Madam Pomfrey said and Draco looked up from his book. "You're not quite ready to go back yet and it's just about bed time anyway."

"Thank you," he replied, giving her a little smile before going back to his book.

Shortly thereafter, the door to the infirmary flew open and Draco's head snapped up. Normally an entry of that magnitude meant that something horrible had happened.

But it was just Potter, looking thunderous as he stormed over to Draco's bed.

"Madam Pomfrey's just gone to bed," he said as he closed his book and set it on his lap. "If you've come here to inflict more damage, perhaps you could wait until the morning for her sake."

That stopped the other man in his tracks. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Just, whatever it is that's made you look murderous, I'm sure it's warranted but I do think that Madam Pomfrey deserves a good rest, don't you?"

"I'm not," he shook his head, "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Oh."

Potter rubbed a hand over his face. "I found Smith."

"Ah," he replied.

"He said that you didn't even raise your wand to cast a shield charm to protect yourself," Potter said as though he was personally offended by this.

Draco shrugged.

"Why?" Potter asked. "Hermione thinks it's because the Ministry has told you what spells you can and can't cast, and if that's the case, I'll write a letter to Kingsley right now-"

"It's not because of the Ministry," he interrupted.

"Then why-" he started before pulling over a chair and plopping down next to Draco's bed, "Why do you keep letting this happen to you?"

"I don't see them," Draco replied, staring at his hands that were twisting together in his lap.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't see them," Potter replied.

He shook his head, "Why does it matter?"

"Draco," he said, "You can tell me-"

"There's nothing to tell," he snapped.

"Look, I know that the war was hard on all of us-"

"You have no idea what the war was like for people like me," he interrupted, trying to keep his breathing under control and his voice low.

"No, I suppose you're right," Potter replied and Draco couldn't help but look over at him. "Would you like to tell me?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "There is nothing to tell! Just like there's no reason for me to tell you who keeps cursing me. And there is no reason for me to tell you that I don't stop them because I deserve it!"

They both sat in stunned silence; Draco breathing heavily, his heart hammering away in his chest and Potter just stared at him.

Potter broke first, "You-"

"Don't," Draco said, shaking his head. "Circe, Potter, don't say it. Don't tell me that I don't deserve it because we both know that isn't true."

"Draco," he breathed and it was like he was shoving a jagged, rusty knife straight through his chest.

"Don't," he repeated, begging this time.

"Draco, listen to me."

He shook his head and to his mounting horror a tear spilled from his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," Potter said.

"Don't," he begged, wrapping his arms around his stomach as though it could stop the way his entire body felt like it was unraveling. "People died-"

"Yes," Potter agreed. "People died on both sides. From your actions, from death eaters actions, from the Order's actions, from my actions; people died. You never actually killed anyone, though. You don't have it in you."

"Potter, I am culpable for-"

"You never killed anyone." Potter repeated. "You didn't want to hurt people, you didn't want to kill people, you just wanted to protect your mum."

"Don't." He shook his head, "You don't understand."

"I actually killed someone," the other boy replied.

"The Dark Lord doesn't coun-"

"When I was eleven," Potter started and Draco was so shocked by those words that he didn't even interrupt. "You remember all of the commotion at the end of the year or first year?"

He nodded slowly.

"I killed Professor Quirrell," he said. "Long story short, because of the blood magic protecting me, he couldn't touch me and it killed him."

"But that's not-"

"Second year, Tom Riddle was sucking Ginny's life force so that he could come back, I killed him. I stabbed the horocrux with a basilisk fang and I didn't even think about it," he continued.

"But-"

"Last year, Pettigrew died because he owed me a life debt and he tried to kill me."

"But-"

"I not only was responsible for Voldemort's death the first time and the second time, I was responsible for killing seven pieces of his soul."

"But it's not the same!" he finally managed to get in.

"Why?"

"Because you were on the right side of things and I wasn't!"

The other boy shook his head, "Yeah but it's not like you wanted to be on that side."

"When I was young-"

"Oh sure," he agreed, "you were a complete arse. But we wouldn't have won if you had turned me in, if you hadn't given me your wand, if you'd killed Dumbledore. It's not who you are any more."

"Still," Draco whispered. "I fixed that closet."

He nodded, "And I can't count the number of things that I've done to cause deaths. Godric, Draco," he shook his head, "I don't sleep well as it is, but I'd never sleep if I held myself responsible for all of the horrible things that happened because of my actions."

"Potter-"

"Look, it doesn't have to happen in a day, but you can't keep doing this, Draco. You can't keep letting people hurt you to atone for your perceived sins."

He let his head fall back against the pillows. As much as he would love to live in the delusions that Potter was offering he couldn't imagine that world actually existed.

"Be my friend."

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking over at the other boy.

"Be my friend," Potter said. "Please."

"Why?"

He sighed, "Because..." he trailed off.

"I'm not a broken thing for you to fix."

"No," he agreed easily. "I'm the broken thing."

Draco stared at him, "You make no sense to me."

Potter grinned like he'd complimented him.

"Will it shut you up if I say yes?" he grumbled.

"For now," he replied with a nod.

"Fine."

"Alright," Potter said, sitting back and making himself comfortable in the chair.

"What are you doing?"

He gave him a little grin, "Being a friend. You're stuck with me like glue now."

"That's a boyfriend not a friend, you're confused."

Potter shrugged and said through a yawn, "Boyfriend, then. That title is fine with me."

"What-?" he started.

But Potter leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead as though it was the most natural thing in the world and every word that Draco knew evaporated. "Good night, Draco Malfoy. Sleep well."

He was so stunned that he said nothing in reply and by the time he'd gotten his thoughts in any semblance of order Potter was fast asleep; his head resting on his hand as he snored.

Draco shook his head and decided that he would just have to wait until the morning to straighten all of this out.

For now, he decided that it might be alright to spend the next few hours with the tiny, fragile ball of joy unfurling in his chest.

--------------

Day 105: Cuddle | Day 107: Charge

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #Day 106 #Eyes #hogwarts eighth year #Dealing with Trauma #cw: ptsd #becoming friends #drarry #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #This one got a little bit long-sorry!!

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bringbackthebastard · 3 years

Text

Bring Back the Bastard Daily Prompts

Hello, folks! I'm posting these two weeks before we begin our fest, on September 1st, to give folks some inspiration on what to write each day as we celebrate Severus Snape's pettiest, most dastardly moments. I specifically picked out moments Snaters always harp on, that Snapedom personally enjoys--from any moment with Trevor to bitching at Lupin at Sirius, to the moments that Lily turns away and Dumbledore's face flashes with disgust--sure, he's a bastard, but he's our bastard, and that's what we like about him. You don't want him? Good. We'll keep him. Here are 30 scene prompts for 30 days--it's a long list, pulled chronologically from all seven books, but I found that it reminded me of everything I love about this character. The moments where he's called deranged, the moments where he slips into all-caps, the ugliest moments of the soul. Hope yall enjoy. Excited to kick off the fest starting September 1st, and absolutely excited to see what Snapedom will do. Let's Bring Back the Bastard! The prompts are below the readmore.

Day 1: The Scar Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacheer with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes--and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. "Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head. "What is it?" asked Percy. "N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look--a felling that he didn't like Harry at all. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy. "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 2: Bad Impressions Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new--celebrity."

Day 3: Potions Class "Potter!" said Snape suddenly "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand shot into the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut--fame clearly isn't everything."

Day 4: A Horrible Sight Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?" Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but-- "POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back." "GET OUT! OUT!"

Day 5: Maybe He's Ill "Hang on..." Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table...Where's Snape?" Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked by everybody except the students from his own House (Slytherin), Snape taught Potions. "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Harry, "because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again!" "Or he might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him--" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Day 6: Slytherin Takes the Field "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "But I booked it!" "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'"

Day 7: No Quidditch For You! "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest." "Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly. Snape looked furious.

Day 8: Expelliarmus! "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry--you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at *him* like that he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our fist spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course." "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth. "One--two--three--" Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Day 9: Only Bite Him A Little Bit, Please "Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

Day 10: Poisoning Trevor The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron. "Everyone gather 'round," said Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small op, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. "Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

Day 11: Insufferable Know-It-All Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. "Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between--" "We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on--" "Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are..." "Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf--" "That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Fire more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Day 12: Your Saintly Father "I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," he said, a terrible grin twisting his face. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you--your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't gotten cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts." Snape's uneven, yellowish teeth were bared.

Day 13: Don't Talk About What You Don't Understand "KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end o his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent. "Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you..." "The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" --he jerked his head at Ron-- "I'll come quietly...." "Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black...pleased enough to give you a little Kiss, I daresay...."

Day 14: A Great Disappointment "He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have let somebody in the room with him. When this gets out--" "HE DIDN'T DISAPPARATE!" Snape roared, now very close at hand. "YOU CAN'T APPARATE *OR* DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS--HAS--SOMETHING--TO--DO--WITH--POTTER!" "Severus--be reasonable--Harry has been locked up--" BAM. The door of the hospital wing burst open. Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey. "Control yourself!" "See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw--" "THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. "Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!" "YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT--" "That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the war ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?" "Of course not!" said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!" "Well, there you have it, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further." Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward. "Fellow seems quite unbalanced," said Fudge, staring after him. "I'd watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore." "Oh, he's not unbalanced," said Dumbledore quietly. "He's just suffered a severe disappointment."

Day 15: Haven't You Heard? "Blimey, haven' yeh heard?" said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. "Er--Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'....Thought everyone'd know by now...Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose on the grounds las' night...He's packin' now, o' course."

Day 16: I See No Difference "And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain." "Potter attacked me, sir--" "We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted. "--and he hit Goyle--look--" Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. "Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly. "Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!" He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth--she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Day 17: The Dark Mark Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He struck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled. "There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eater to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Day 18: If You Are Ready...If You Are Prepared... "Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready...if you are prepared..." "I am," said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. "Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

Day 19: Obviously "Now...how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard. "Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. His eyes on Snape, Harry added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. "You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape. "Yes," said Snape quietly. "But you were unsuccessful?" Snape's lip curled. "Obviously." Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard. "And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?" "Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry. "Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge. "I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily. "Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile. "I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed. "Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers'--er--backgrounds...." She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson, and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber. "No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?"

Day 20: Very Like His Father "How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?" Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius' wand-tip to his face. "Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him. "I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better." "Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?" "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?" "Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform...gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand. "NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't--" "Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge. "Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

Day 21: Wormtail's Whine "We...we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly. "Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?" He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen. "As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily. The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove. "Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming--" "Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom." Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him. "I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eyes. "Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me." "To assist, yes--but not to make you drinks and--clean your house!" "I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments," said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord--" "I can speak to him if I want to!" "Of course you can," said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."

Day 22: A Loving Caress Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? "Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" --he indicated a few of them as he swept past-- "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" --he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony-- "feel the Dementor's Kiss" --a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall-- "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" --a bloody mass upon the ground.

Day 23: Better People "What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts--it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like an of us need protecting against the Dark Arts--" "It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle--" "They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" "Then why not confide in me, and I can--" "I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!" There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but--"

Day 24: Revulsion and Hatred Etched on His Face "Severus..." The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forward and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The three Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face. "Severus...please..." Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. "Avada Kedavra!"

Day 25: Don't Call Me Coward Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi-- "No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them--I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, woudl you? I don't think so...no!" Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight. "Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward--" "DON'T--" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly deranged, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them-- "CALL ME COWARD!"

Day 26: The Guest Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowing revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds. "Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as thought they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!" "Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

Day 27: I Regret It "All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner...and I think I have the answer." Snape did not speak. "Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen." "My Lord--" "The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine." "My Lord!" Snape protested, raising his wand. "It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last." And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Snape, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Snape could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue. "Kill." There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape's face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. "I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

Day 28: You Hurt Her! "Tuney!" said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. "Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What d'you want?" Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. "What is that you're wearing, anyway?" she said, pointing at Snape's chest. "Your mum's blouse?" There was a *crack*. A branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed: The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. "Tuney!" But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape. "Did you make it happen?" "No." He looked both defiant and scared. "You did!" She was backing away from him. "You *did*! You hurt her!" "No--no I didn't!" But the lie did not convince Lily: After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused....

Day 29: Save Your Breath "I'm sorry." "I'm not interested." "I'm sorry!" "Save your breath." It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here." "I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just--" "Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends--you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?" He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. "I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine." "No--listen, I didn't mean--" "--to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I any different?" He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole....

Day 30: Anything "If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for the mother, in exchange for the son?" "I have--I have asked him--" "You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to drink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?" Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore. "Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her--them--safe. Please." "And what will you give me in return, Severus?" "In--in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

#severus snape #snape fest #bring back the bastard fest 2021 #bring back the bastard fest #bring back the bastard #bring back the bastard prompts #harry potter fandom fest #hp fandom #snapedom #pro-snape #snapelove #prompts #daily prompts #snape prompts

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Sneak in

“Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?”

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

“We were — we were —” Ron stammered. “We were going to — to go and see —”

“Hermione,” said Harry.

Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him.

“We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor,” Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron’s foot, “and we thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry —”

(Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets)

Just a small missing moment of something that Minerva McGonagall may have remembered in this scene.

____________________________

It’s just past ten and Minerva is returning to her office, after meeting with Albus, when she sees the two boys walking in the shadows of the corridor leading to the Hospital Wing. She doesn’t need to get closer to know who they are – if there is trouble, those First Years are right in the middle of it.

“Potter! Black! What are you doing?”

They turn around, their guilty expressions evident in the moonlight that comes from the windows of the hall, before one of them grins.

“Night, Professor”, James Potter greets warmly. “Fancy seeing you here”.

She doesn’t fall for his easy charm.

“I would say the same, but it’s already past curfew, Mr. Potter”.

“And you are out of bed, Professor?”, Sirius Black notes, his voice dripping with fake indignation. “That’s a bad example for your students”.

Minerva fights a will to laugh.

“Unlike you, Mr. Black, I have permission for it”, she says instead, thinking of how since term began, she has already seen them on ten detentions at least. They enjoy too much playing pranks on others – and they seem to have a knack for being discovered, almost as if they are doing it on purpose just for the reputation.

“But on emergencies the law can be ignored, Professor. Isn’t that right?’, James asks innocently, though Minerva doubts there is any innocent bone on his body.

“It would be, but neither of you seems to be on an emergency”.

“No, fortunately, we found ourselves mostly healthy”, James notes brightly, then he frowns. “But our friend isn’t”.

“Friend?”

“It’s Remus, Professor”, Sirius says hurriedly. “We came back from dinner to find out he is sick, and since he was sick last month too, we were worried”.

“We were trying to visit him in the Hospital Wing”, James adds, now more serious. “Just to show support, let him know we are there if he needs anything”.

Now Minerva fights not to show any emotion at all. She knows exactly what affliction Remus Lupin is suffering and she knows they won’t find him in the Hospital Wing at this hour; the boy must already have gone to the Shrieking Shack.

She watches them both for any sign of mistrust, but Potter and Black must still be in the dark about Lupin’s real condition. That is not a secret she wants to share; she wasn’t sure about him, truth be told, but all she has seen of that First-Year boy is a kind hard-working boy, that, as Albus had put it, deserved a chance to study as much as anyone else.

He had been shy in the beginning, unsure of making friends, and Minerva had feared he would be isolated once she saw how Potter and Black had quickly formed a pair, both seeming to be best friends even after only one week of classes.

But then Potter and Black had started talking to him and she had seen how, despite his reservations, Lupin had opened himself to them, had accepted their friendship and had even coached them to also befriend little Peter Pettigrew.

Those four First-Year Gryffindors were now thick as thieves, always involved in some small prank or confusion, but always together too. She has already seen them getting into fights when someone tries to mess with one of them, careful to protect one another.

She is not surprised Black and Potter are concerned with their friend; they have their faults, but lack of loyalty to their little group is not one of them.

Minerva sighs, her expression softening.

“Mr. Lupin is fine”, she assures them, even though she knows she is lying. “I’ve seen him before, he is resting now, as should you”.

“Can’t we just –“

“No, you can see him tomorrow, Mr. Potter”, she tells them. “Now go to your Common Room, no detours”.

They exchange a look.

“No detention?”, James asks, sounding surprised.

“No missing points?”

“No telling us we are embarrassing Gryffindor?”

“That was Evans, James, not Professor McGonagall”.

“Oh, true”, James notes, flushing slightly. “But I think she scares me as much as –“

“Potter, Black”, Minerva interrupts him, again forcing herself not to smile. “Just go, it’s late. I don’t want to see you again out of the Common Room after curfew”.

“Don’t worry, Professor”, James says, grinning. “You won’t see us”.

He winks at her, and before Minerva can answer his cheekiness, he and Sirius turn in the next corridor.

“I really should use my Cloak more”, she hears James saying, his voice vanishing in the corridor.

________________________

Minerva shouldn’t be surprised.

She saw how close Harry, Ron and Hermione were ever since Halloween one year ago, how after that weird incident with the troll they had become friends and they were together in everything – even in that little adventure of Harry with Quirrell, all three of them facing the challenges that were well above them. She knows how Ron sacrificed himself so they could go on and she knows how Hermione only returned when only one could go forward.

And she noted how Harry and Ron seemed unbalanced ever since Hermione Granger was petrified, how it is obvious that their little group is for three members, not two, and how worried they are.

Sometimes she wonders if there is something in the Potter blood that inspires and demands loyalty.

She remembers how James and Peter and Sirius (before he… before) had woken up early in the mornings in search of Remus on the days he was away, how they were worried both before they knew his secret and afterwards when it was obvious they would come after a full moon looking for him.

And even if it was one of the others – the time Pettigrew was pushed in the stairs and had a concussion, or when Black had gotten the worst in a fight with another student, or when James had taken a bludger to his head – they would stay up all night in the Hospital Wing if she would let them; she didn’t, so they resumed to being there as soon as the Hospital Wing was open to visitation.

“We don’t want him to feel alone”, James had said one day, very early in the morning, when she had found them almost sleeping in front of the door to the Hospital Wing, waiting for it to open so they could check on Remus.

She’d thought of saying that Lupin was sleeping now, too tired after his transformation and clearly not caring or knowing if he was alone or not, but she hadn’t said anything.

She couldn’t fault them for wanting to be there for their friend.

Just as she can’t fault Harry and Ron for wanting to see their petrified friend. Especially Harry. He reminds her of James in many ways, like when he is flying or disregarding rules, but mostly when he is fiercely loyal and protector of his best friends.

The only thing Minerva wishes is that Harry’s friendships end up better than that of his father (it’s been years and she still can’t understand what happened to end with rebellious Sirius – the boy who worked so hard to show he was different from his family – in Azkaban, little Peter – who was always running to be in the same league as his friends - exploding and brave reckless loyal James betrayed and dead).

“Of course”, she says, forcing back her tears. “Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been… I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you’ve gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission”.

#i will review it in the morning so forgive any mistake #Missing Moment #Chamber of secrets #Just some parallels #Minerva McGonagall #Harry and James #Sirius Black #Marauders #t: fanfiction

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thatslikely · 3 years

Text

Stowaways - G.W.

Stowaways- George Weasley x Fem!Reader (former Gryffindor)

Warnings: none! just tooth-rotting George fluff :)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! This is my longest fic to date, and I’m so proud of it. I love Georgie so I’m glad to finally write for him. Hope you guys enjoy this one <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and flashbacks/thoughts are in italics.

93 Diagon Alley is a place of wonder, mystique, and above all else, joy. A place where all your best memories are enshrined, a place where you can be your best self, alongside your doting fiery-haired boyfriend, who wears his ginger mop of hair like a halo. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes occupies most of the address, its orange and purple exterior lightening up Diagon Alley effortlessly.

Its interior is just as magical, the multiple levels of the shop are engulfed with shelves stocked full of Fred and George’s mischievously ingenious products. Some threatened to transfigure you into an eye-popping xanthic canary, while others could spontaneously spawn a whole swamp in the blink of an eye.

Everything within its walls brings smiles to children of all ages, and it could be argued that George is still one of those kids too.

The store seems to make George truly come alive, even more than he was at Hogwarts just a year prior. The look in his eyes as he skillfully operates the store with Fred reminds you of the glow that your face used to hold as a child as you looked longingly through countless toy-store windows around December.

While the shop is the main source of his pride and joy, even its power couldn’t halt the toll of a busy workweek. Every day, new shipments had been zooming in and out of the store, sales at an all-time high. The new lot of Hogwarts students must have a mischievous streak, for student-sent owl orders in preparation for the school year were arriving daily by the barrel-load.

It was finally Friday evening, and George trudged up the back stairs to the flat, his eyelids droopy and back hunched. His lack of energy, however, couldn’t take away from the playfully handsome purple and brown ensemble he wore. He pitifully fiddled with the keys before finally turning the lock, entering the flat promptly, taking in the familiar home-y aroma.

He promptly plopped down at the small breakfast table near the kitchen, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He pressed his elbow onto the surface of the table, his arm supporting the weight of his head that his neck couldn’t bear any longer.

“How was your day? You look absolutely exhausted,” you asked with concern. You already knew you would have to plan something to cheer poor George up.

“I am simply dying, Y/N,” he said, while pretending to go limp like a corpse, “there’s no hope for me. Tell Mum and Ginny I love ‘em.”

“Not even your own twin brother, huh?” you asked sarcastically. He could only respond with a zombie-esque groan.

You sarcastically rolled your eyes at his dramatic display, glad to see his lack of energy didn’t affect his sense of humor. You walked over to your tired George, who had his head now resting on the back of his chair, eyes spaced out at the ceiling.

You calmly sat down next to the Titian-haired love of your life and laid your head on his strong shoulder, your arm slowly snaking up his back. The motion of your hand alternated between tracing soothing circles lightly on his strained back muscles and massaging his tense shoulder.

He turned his face to you, painted with a soft and grateful grin, glad to finally be home, especially with you. For a few serene minutes, comfortable silence filled the air.

George had nearly drifted off before the both of you were disrupted by his stomach emitting a loud growl. “I take it you’re hungry, Georgie?”

“Apparently so,” your boyfriend responded, patting his stomach.

He languidly started undoing his bright amaranthine purple tie when you asked, “Do you want icky leftovers or yummy takeout? I know what I’m voting for.”

“Such a tough decision…” George responded with a wink.

----

By the time dinner was over, the tired look in George’s eyes remained, but the delicious takeout helped remedy his splitting headache.

The two of you quickly settled on the comfortable marmalade-hued couch to watch one of your favorite muggle movies (it was a comedy of course). George’s laugh never ceased to make your heart flutter, even after all these years. The way it used to echo so freely through the crimson Gryffindor common room, and now through you two’s cozy flat, couldn’t help but make you fall even more madly in love with him.

George somehow brought out the kid in you that laid dormant for so many years. With him, the world seemed so vibrant; there was always a little adventure waiting for you both, even in mundane activities like laundry. He would bunch up the freshly-washed paisley and tessellated dress shirts that he wore down to the shop daily, pelting them at you like the snowballs that he enchanted to hit Quirrell all the way back in third year.

You loved George with all your heart, as did he.

After a while of movie-watching, George drifted off into a light sleep. His hazy dream was filled with thoughts of the school he called home for so long. The smell of the burning logs and pumpkin that would drift through his nostrils every morning as he walked down the steps from his dorm; the sound of first years’ giggles as they messed with one of his pranks.

His brain then swam through the blurry memories to the first time he met you, the real you, drinking Firewhiskey and playing truth or dare in the back of the common room with the Golden Trio and crew after a victorious Quidditch game.

He thought of your first date, your face scrunched with belly-aching laughter as you tried stuffing in as many sweets as you could on a snowy Saturday at Honeydukes. The way the twisted rainbow lollipops and chocolate frogs made your face uncontrollably grin cemented what he swore the moment he first saw you: he vowed to never stop making you smile.

He couldn’t live a day without your joy-filled face; it enchanted him like the beautiful glow of fireworks against a smokey black sky, like the addicting feeling of adrenaline from breaking the rules.

----

“Georgie,” you whispered, “Georgie!”

Your drowsy boyfriend slowly drifted back to reality after hearing your soft whisper, your hands lightly tapping his chest to an invisible rhythm.

He released a yawn before asking, “What is it, angel?” His eyes fluttered lazily, and his lips were quirked to the smallest of smiles.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch for the night,” you said caringly, “I knew you’d be even sorer in the morning if you did.”

George’s heart warmed at your thoughtfulness. He quickly took in his surroundings, which starkly contrasted his dreamscape. The television softly droning cheap infomercials instead of the muggle movie he fell asleep to, the blinds closed to hide the velvety black sky, and bits of buttery popcorn strewn across his chest and lap.

He sat up tiredly, swiping his hand carelessly through his vermillion-pigmented locks. He rubbed his umber eyes as you brushed loose kernels from his clothes to the carpet.

George muttered, “I love you, Y/N,” quietly, thinking you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

You did, however, and you reciprocated an “I love you, too” sweetly. You stood up from the couch, extending your hand to help droopy-eyed George up. He took your hand and he rose before walking towards the kitchen, drawn to the stark blue light of the refrigerator.

The fridge doors popped open, revealing tupperware full of picked-at leftovers, a few odds and ends, and a half-drank bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy. He groaned at the meager scraps of food occupying the fridge, shutting the door disappointedly. The crisp air that surrounded him with a chill dissipated within an instant.

“Georgie, I think we should go off to bed. Tomorrow's Saturday, and I have a big surprise for you planned,” you said excitedly, coming up behind the man of your dreams, resting your hand steadily on his shoulder. He leaned into your touch as you guided the sleepy boy to the bedroom.

As the two of you laid down to go to sleep, facing one another, George asked in a tired, raspy voice, “What’s the surprise, darling? Or will I have to find out tomorrow?”

“You know I would never spoil a surprise. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

----

George awoke to the delectable scent of freshly-fried bacon and eggs wafting from the humble kitchen. The other half of the bed, he noticed, lay empty, the cozy handmade quilt blanket you usually dozed under laying askew. Sunlight poured through the windows, letting his linen covered body bask in golden morning rays.

After minutes of continuing to peacefully lay under the covers, absorbing the pure morning ambiance, George finally decided to get up and follow the delicious aromas emitting from the kitchen like a bloodhound.

As he entered, you were bent over the stove, guiding a spatula around in a lightly tarnished pan, appetizing pancakes browning within. You were still in your sleepwear, wearing oversized plaid pants that dragged across the tile and one of George’s shirts, which was huge on you and smelled strongly of his cologne.

He snuck up behind you quietly as a mouse, before unexpectedly poking the sides of your stomach. You let out a shocked, “George!” before bursting into laughter. Your chuckles blended with his effortlessly, creating a beautiful symphony.

“Morning, darling. I see you’re making breakfast,” George said with a smirk as he surveyed the surrounding food-covered counters. He seemed in a much better state than he was yesterday, his tired eyes replaced with resplendent brown and gold-speckled ones, which were flooded full of energy reminiscent of his adolescence.

“I am! And I made all your favorites, so get excited! The day’s only getting started.” You sent him a knowing wink, and he responded with a child-like grin. George giddily opened a cupboard, grabbing two shiny ceramic plates. He forked some already-cooked bacon and eggs onto each plate, shaping the food into two adorable smiley faces.

“What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing girlfriend like you?” George asked after giving your cheek an affectionate peck.

“The real question is, what didn’t you do? You’re perfect in my eyes, Georgie,” you heartfeltly admitted as you carried a small plate stacked with butter and syrup-coated warm pancakes coated to the table.

George had beaten you to the breakfast table, waiting patiently until you finally sat down in the chair to his side. He eagerly stabbed a forkful of egg, stuffing it into his mouth. While Ron was usually credited as the biggest food-lover of the Weasleys, there was no way you could deny that George was runner up.

He gulped down the rest of the meal quickly, sending breakfast-filled smiles in your direction after every bite. After both of your plates were squeaky-clean, you ventured to the bedroom to get ready for the busy day ahead of you.

You instructed George to wear “something comfortable,” and he happily complied, throwing on a cream-colored, pin-striped short-sleeve oxford with a pair of worn jeans. You selected something equally as comfortable, and adorable.

You were in the middle of packing a backpack full of snacks and water when George finally asked, “So… when do I get to know where we’re going?”

“We’re going to Hogwarts,” you said promptly with a knowing smile, greatly contrasting George’s look of perplexion.

“And how exactly are we going to manage that, love? Surely they wouldn’t allow an impromptu visit like this, even good ol’ McGonagall?”

“Well, let’s just say Hogwarts doesn’t actually know we’ll be there.”

----

Platform 9 ¾ could be seen bustling with life, the delicious taste of magic floating through the air. It sent you back to all of those years you spent before term, pushing a luggage-stacked trolley across the station.

The scarlet express heaved tufts of smoke from its chimney, a piercing shriek occasionally echoing from its whistle. The magical platform was coated with clumps of young witches and wizards and their parents; the brick floor could barely be seen under all the boots.

You bid goodbye to your parents, ready to start a new (magical) chapter of your life. As you skipped gleefully to the entrance of the enchanted coach, you caught sight of a rufescent sea of wizards bickering and chuckling with each other. There were six carrot-topped wizards in total: a middle-aged and balding father, an equally middle-aged warm and caring mother, a short and freckle-ridden son who appeared to be the oldest, a tall and stuck-up boy with pretentious-looking glasses who was tightening the crimson tie around his neck, and two identical-looking boys who seemed to be first years as well.

One of them could be seen tieing the stuck-up boy’s shoelaces together, a mischievous smirk on his face as he did. The other was distracting the glasses-wearing brother, shooting the knotter an occasional sneaky glance.

You smiled at the sight before stepping into the train, eager to make new friends. You felt a little less nervous upon seeing students chatting in their compartments; pure joy from students’ laughing and yelling filled the corridor.

You looked around in search of a promising compartment. Finally, after what felt like hours of looking, you settled on a compartment filled with three other first-years. There were two girls and a boy: one of the girls, Angelina, was animatedly recounting a story, the other, Alicia, sprinkled in witty comments, and a smitten-looking boy named Lee was blushing in the corner, listening intently.

After a while of bonding with your new friends, the train slowly began to chug along the tracks, rhythmic clanking creating some pleasant background ambiance. The train began to gain speed before your compartment door was slid open by none other than the vexatious redheaded twins.

The twin who tied his brother’s shoelaces together, who you later learned was named Fred, confidently took a seat next to Lee. They quickly struck up a conversation, seemingly clicking almost instantly. The twin who served as the distraction for his poor older brother, George, sat down next to you timidly.

At first, George was too shy to say anything other than a meek, “hello”, but as soon as the trolley stacked with sweets rolled around, he became quite talkative. He was very observant; he would enchant you with beautiful descriptions of the most minute details in the most mundane things.

George was so observant, in fact, that he noticed you didn’t get anything from the trolley, despite the look on your face saying that it wasn’t by choice. He could only afford a single chocolate frog with the spare change his mother gave him, which he handed to you with a toothy grin.

You yanked on George’s long arm, pulling him behind one of the large brick pillars supporting the platform. “Okay, George, for this to work, we can’t be seen by anyone.” You unsheathed your wand from your pocket, preparing to cast a spell.

“I’m going to cast a disillusionment charm, okay? This should make us blend in with our surroundings so we can sneak onto the train. If I do it correctly, we should be able to see each other just fine, though.”

After receiving an accepting nod from George, you gave him a light tap on the shoulder with the tip of your wand. Camouflage slowly dripped down his body, as if someone poured some sort of invisibility paint above his head. Just as quickly as he faded into the pillar behind him, he returned back to normal colors. You hoped he was still invisible to everyone else.

“Wicked,” he uttered, checking out his arms as they turned invisible and back.

You did the same to yourself without hesitation. George watched with curiosity as you blended seamlessly into the platform; he then admired you as your features slowly returned from invisibility. Every eyelash, every blemish, and every inch of your lips never failed to go unnoticed by him.

“What’s the next step of the plan, Captain?” George asked with a salute.

“So, without being seen, once all the students are off the platform and on the train, we need to sneak onto the caboose, where we should be able to ride safely. After that, it’s smooth sailing to Hogwarts!”

“That sounds easy enough… I think,” George said with his hand in his palm, thinking over the steps of the plan intently.

“Oh trust me, it’ll be great! I mean, if you can set off fireworks during an exam guarded by Umbridge, you can sneak onto a bloody train.” You gave George a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Don’t even remind me of that soul-sucking bright pink nightmare!” George said with a sarcastic eye roll.

As students slowly started filtering into the train, your time to strike inched closer and closer. Finally, the clock struck eleven, and you and George were dashing across the platform to the back of the train with your hands intertwined with one another’s.

You and George leaped onto the back ledge of the train just in time, for the scarlet locomotive slowly started rolling along the tracks just as you latched onto the railing. The both of you broke into cheers of triumph the moment the train was out of the vicinity of the station.

“Y/N, look at the window, there’s no reflection of us in it. We really are undetectable,” George mentioned, gesturing towards the window.

It was unsettling to not see your usual features bouncing off the window, but you were thankful that your charm had worked.

You moved to sit on the ledge of the train, which was small, only about a foot wide. You put your legs through the wide rails so that the soles of your sneakers nearly dragged on the tracks. George took a seat next to you, his lanky legs sitting crisscross.

The scenery that the express heaved through was breathtaking; it was even better feeling the crisp air on your face. The rolling moss-tinted hills, vibrant green and yellow trees that dotted the horizon, and worn stone archways that cut through the landscape allowing the train to huff on. All of it reminded you of the impressionist paintings in museums.

The sunlight bashfully peeked through the clouds like the small flashes of vibrant strawberries hiding under their large green leaves on a serene spring day. The air tasted sweet and refreshing; it felt like you hadn’t ever breathed until your lungs were filled with it.

You and George sat peacefully in silence, listening to the noises of the express and the faint chirping of birds, reflecting on the past. Eventually, he said softly, gaze pointed to the scenery, “I can still remember the moment I realized I was in love with you.”

He continued, “It was the start of fifth year, on this very train. The moment you sat down in the compartment next to me, I just knew. Everything was different. There were so many things I never noticed until then; it was like my eyes were finally open.”

Silence filled the air. You couldn’t think of what to say, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to say it.

“Everything about you looked so beautiful all of a sudden. The way you moved or swished your wand, the way your lips enunciated every heavenly word that fell from your tongue. All of it.”

George turned to you nervously. What if I messed it all up? What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? he thought. You stared down at the track, lost in the depths of your mind.

Everything George had ever spoken to you danced through your brain like ballet; his words sounded like rich and eloquent poetry, even his simple cheers or quips at teachers. Your heart felt like it was beating a million times the speed of the chugging crimson engine.

You rapidly pivoted your head to him, his uncertain gaze immediately locking deeply with yours’. Your eyes were clouded with determination and passion, which reflected in the kiss that you swiftly pulled him into. His lips felt magical against yours’, still oozing with lively youthfulness as always.

George tenderly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, you wrapped one of your hands around the nape of his neck. The kiss softened, becoming something slow and loving. Your other hand intertwined delicately with his’, which lay softly on your thigh.

After a while of sugary sweet kissing, George’s lips parted, uttering an “I love you,” lightly.

“I love you, too. Promise me you’ll marry me someday?” You asked, still heavily under the angelic ginger’s trance.

“You know I couldn’t marry anyone but you, Y/N.”

----

The sun slowly retreated behind the horizon, painting the sky a brilliant and fiery orange, which nearly matched the hue of George’s wind-swept hair. You languidly rested your head on his broad shoulder, staring out in the distance. Your face lingered with euphoria, courtesy of George’s amazing kisses which had just peppered every inch of it.

The backpack stocked with snacks you perfectly packed was now filled only with empty food wrappers. Most of the various foodstuffs had found a new home safely in your boyfriend’s black hole of a stomach, leaving you with mere crumbs to chew.

“Georgie… why’d you have to eat all the snacks? I’m starving,” you asked dramatically, pretending to be skin-and-bones.

“I’m sorry I didn’t save enough for you, darling. I would give you some but… y’know… they’re in my stomach.” George petted your hair caringly with a regretful smile, his strong fingers gently brushing through your strands, taking in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

As you sat, gaze towards the breathtaking sunset, George mechanically started braiding a small section of your hair. He had always been an expert at braids; Ginny taught him how to fourth year. His mind was elsewhere than your strands, however, for he was plotting something significantly more mischievous.

George retracted his hands from your hair, the soothing touch of his fingers dissipating from your scalp. He stood up from the cozy spot beside you, turning to peer through the window of the coach. His eyes scanned the corridor like a hawk, his brain spindling abstract ideas into a devious plan reminiscent of the schemes he so often plotted back at Hogwarts.

“Georgie, what are you doing?” you asked quizzically.

After one final glance through the coach window (bearing no reflection), he said with a devilishly handsome and mischievous smirk, “I have a plan.”

Before you could interrogate him any further, in one calculated motion, he swung the emergency door open, leaping inside the train full of students.

If anyone was skilled enough to pull off whatever he was set on doing, it was George. While Fred was often the instigator of the twins’ famous pranks, George was often pulling the weight of the trick.

You just hoped the disillusionment charm hadn’t worn off yet.

----

George silently crept through the corridors of each enchanted coach, elaborately dancing around stray students who occasionally ditched their compartments. His face was scrunched with determination as if he were a raider searching for the holy grail.

It took all his self-control, and more, to resist sneaking into Malfoy’s compartment and giving him a slap across the head; it was even harder resisting giving Ron a friendly spook, along with the other members of the Golden Trio. He decided to stay on track of his mission, for you and you only.

Every coach he passed through, he became increasingly more irritated and nervous. Now that he was an adult, there wouldn’t just be a simple ten points deducted from Gryffindor, no. Sneaking onto a train full of students and stealing candy from the poor old lady’s trolley of sweets would be a hefty fine. Molly would definitely not be pleased.

Finally, in the coach closest to the engine (and unfortunately furthest from the back), laid the trolley, luckily unattended. It was practically overflowing with classic sweets that he used to enjoy so much: colorful Berties Botts Every Flavour Beans (he swears he got a booger flavored one once), towering stacks of frosted cauldron cakes, clear-as-glass sugar quills, and chocolate frogs.

George, of course, knew your favorite anything and everything like the back of his hand. He swiftly grabbed a package of candy from the bottom rack of the trolley, a twinge of guilt hitting him in the heart. The kind old lady would be down one treat. His guilt was quickly alleviated when magically, another perfectly packaged sweet filled the empty space.

The expedition back to the caboose was a decidedly more risky one; it’s a lot more obvious that someone is invisible when a piece of candy is levitating midair. Luckily, the darker it got outside, the more students opted for the comfort of their cozy compartments, which fostered the perfect environment for sleeping. After all, when he and Fred would pull pranks on the train, this was the hour they’d hit the hardest.

He was nearly to the back coach when a now sixth year Neville Longbottom emerged from his cabin, a defeated look on his face. A harshly conquered game of wizard’s chess could be seen, Luna Lovegood sitting next to the board with a neutral smile resting on her lips.

George had tried to dance around Neville, but Longbottom’s clumsiness was no match for him. Not even a second passed before Neville rammed headfirst into George’s chest, falling backward. He laid on the floor for a minute, dumbfounded, before cautiously getting up, reaching for the floating sweet that George grasped high above his head.

George couldn’t help but mutter a low ‘sorry’ to poor Neville before rapidly darting past him towards the door. Neville looked around suspiciously for a minute longer before accepting the fact that he had likely been the subject of another foul prank.

Finally, unscathed, George returned to the rear of the train, where you lay half sprawled across the ledge sleepily. Your eyes were closed, your ears focused on the calming rhythmic rattling of the wheels on the track.

A small smile couldn’t help but creep onto George’s face at the sight of you asleep. He gently tapped you awake, a soft hum escaping his lips. Your eyes fluttered open, a loving look glazing them.

“What is it, Georgie?” you asked, taking in your surroundings.

“Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t fall asleep here. You’d be sore by the time we get to our destination if you did,” George said with a wink.

He outstretched his hand like Prince Charming, helping you stand up from the floor. Your rubious-haired boyfriend inconspicuously held his other hand behind his back, concealing the candy in his large palm.

“Where did you go, George? One moment you’re out here with me, next moment you’re off into the train packed full of people!” you questioned curiously, inspecting George from head to toe.

“Well, you said you were hungry, so naturally....” he said, “I had to get you something to eat.”

George held out a single chocolate frog in his hand like a proud little kid. He wore the exact same smile he sported first year: a look radiating innocence and kindness. You gingerly accepted the frog, slowly unwrapping the chocolate and stuffing the card in your pocket for Ron.

“...just like first year,” you muttered, barely able to make a sound.

You were seated on the tail of the express once again, eyes pointed towards the inky black and star-blemished sky. George quickly mirrored your actions, comfortably sitting next to you. While you munched on your chocolate frog joyfully, George rested his head on your shoulder, even though he was very much taller than you. He momentarily began humming a lullaby he learned as a baby; the vibrations emitted from his voice box resonated comfortingly through your body.

His angelic humming echoed lovingly through your brain all the way to Hogwarts.

----

The train screeched to a halt at the Hogwarts station behind the school. The soothing rattle of the train ceased, to your dismay, and exuberant students began to flood out of the express like a tidal wave. You and George trailed far behind the various cliques of students, cracking jokes at the expense of the new first years.

“Look at that poor one! He’s fixed to become the new Neville!” you said laughing, before getting a playful elbow from George.

“McGonagall will have quite the handful with those two over there. Reckon they’ll be tricksters like us?” George asked with a nostalgic laugh, pointing at two boys who were sneakily distributing some sort of (surely hexed) candy to their gullible peers. They looked so much like Fred and George did in their first year, down to the very same expression.

“No doubt about it,” you said confidently, darting your eyes comparatively from the boys to your boyfriend. “It really is quite uncanny.”

Soon enough, the towering main entrance to the castle was opened with a swish, and the distinctly familiar smell flooded your nostrils. You were finally home once again. Not much had changed since you left, besides the absence of all of Umbridge’s devious decrees, replaced with some friendly-looking paintings.

“Looks the exact same, doesn’t it?” George whispered, careful to be unnoticed by the excited soon-to-be-sorted first years who were guided to the Great Hall. You nodded yes, clenching his hand harder with exhilaration.

Instead of risking getting caught during the time-honored Sorting Ceremony, you and George walked aimlessly, enjoying the unique ambiance of the school. After a while of galavanting around the halls, you climbed the moving steps towards the Gryffindor tower.

“Open up, it's George,” he whispered to the portrait of the Fat Lady with a smirk, and surprisingly, she obliged with a pleasantly surprised smile. Your stare flickered from George to the portrait, mouth agape.

“Let’s just say, me and the Fat Lady have a lot of… history. Oh, not like that!” George let out a laugh followed by an adorable wink.

You gravitated towards the comfortable crimson couches which sat by the large and inviting fireplace, dragging George’s hand behind you.

Your body melted into the red plush of the couch, the soft material much more desirable than the stiff metal rails of the express. Your carrot-topped better half took a seat next to you, his body intertwining with yours.

Gryffindors threatened to flood into the common room any given moment, so you wasted no time pulling George’s soft shirt to your chest for a gentle and loving kiss.

“Blimey! Get a room you two!” Ron said, walking towards the two of you from the portrait, gagging.

“I guess the charm’s worn off, Georgie.”

“Just in time, too,” he said with a slightly cocky smile.

You turned to Ron, who reluctantly held his arms out for a hug. You ran to him with all your might, meeting the messy-haired ginger’s chest. “I’m so glad to see you again. It’s felt like ages.”

“Glad to see you too, Y/N,” he said with a genuine smile.

Harry and Hermione entered not long after, a matching perplexed expression on their faces. “Y/N? George? How’d you get in here? Surely McGonagall wouldn’t permit a visit such as this?” Hermione asked, giving you a small but confused hug.

“Well, the thing is, no one knows we’re actually here,” George said, a grin on his face.

“How’d you do it? Sneak in here, I mean,” Harry asked, eager to learn a new way to sneak to the school.

“Snuck onto the express. Brilliant idea and execution courtesy of my dear Y/N. She’s a genius in training. Learning from the best, of course,” George said sarcastically, his thumb pointing to his chest.

“Very funny, Georgie. This one was all me. My magnum opus, some would say.”

----

The ensuing night was amazing. Laughter echoed through the cherry-tinted walls of the common room like a magnificent orchestra; classic games like spin the bottle and truth or dare were played religiously.

By the time it struck midnight, your mind had nearly escaped to your hazy dreamscape too many times to count. It had been a long day; you started early with cooking a full breakfast, sneaking onto the Hogwarts Express, and partying for hours into the night with the Gryffindors, all with the love of your life. To say you were exhausted was a massive understatement.

Harry had graciously offered his comfortable bed to you, Ron reluctantly sacrificing his to George. “You owe me one,” he repeatedly grumbled to his older brother, who plastered a sickly innocent smile on in response.

George took quick notice of the unfathomable exhaustion plastered onto your face from his couch across from you, immediately announcing to the chatting group of friends, “I think it’s time for me and Y/N to turn in for the night. See you all in the morning.”

‘Goodnights’ drifted in and out of your ears as George picked you up from the couch bridal-style, carrying you light-as-a feather up the steps to the boys’ dorms. He could envision a furious Head Boy Percy demanding, ‘Put her down, George! Girls sleep in the girls’ dormitories, boys in the boys’! They have that rule for a reason!’

He smiled as he creaked open the sixth year boys’ dorm’s door, laying you peacefully onto Harry’s scarlet four-poster bed. He grabbed some cozy knitted blankets, gently setting them over your body.

“There you are, angel, have a good nights’ sleep. I love you with all my heart,” George cooed. He turned to Ron’s bed with a smile before you grasped his hand desperately.

“Before you go to bed Georgie, did you have fun today? I know you super were stressed out yesterday and all,” your words came out slurred and tired, some borderline incoherent.

“I have fun any time I’m with you, darling,” he said, smoothing your ruffled hair. “But yes, I had the time of my life with you today. Just being with you makes my day infinitely brighter. You’re like my little sunshine.”

“And will you actually marry me someday, Georgie?” you asked, your droopy eyes filled with an unfathomable and everlasting love. You were deep under the heavenly redhead’s spell once again.

“I always keep my word, darling.”

164 notes · View notes

mrslittletall · 3 years

Note

saw your whump post, honestly the "I'm fine" screams Hornet to me, so it'd be cool to see that! - dooblebugs

Title: The Idol Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: Hornet & Little Ghost Word Count: 2.825 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30941981

Summary: After the Hollow Knight is freed from the temple, Hornet does her best to take care of the ones that are still left in Hallownest. Everything should be fine... until it isn't.

(Author's note: @dooblebugs

I thought about using canon verse with “Almost everyone lives AU” or your Mer AU. But ultimately, canon verse won, because I still miss some context for the Mer AU. I hope you enjoy.)

Hornet opened her eyes and jumped on her feet right away. Her day would always start with hunting and gathering food, preferably before Hollow woke up and tried to move, and it was a whole other problem trying to haul a bug their size back into bed, especially when they rigorously ignored their wounds.

While Hornet trusted Quirrel and Cloth enough to leave Hollow in their care for a while, she always felt better if she could look over them personally. However, the longer she hesitated with leaving, the longer she would need to come back, so Hornet left the house in Dirtmouth they had inhabited for Hollow's recovery and went towards the crossroads.

The little pitter-patter of tiny feet next to her prompted Hornet to look down. Ghost had decided to accompany her again. They always would. She could tell them a hundred times to stay behind, they would never listen. For a vessel meant to be void of mind, Ghost was one of the bugs with the strongest will that Hornet ever had seen.

“You will still come with me, even if I say no, right, little Ghost?”, Hornet said, shouldering her needle. Ghost didn't nod or sign at her, they simply stared, with their unblinking, never changing expression. It was enough for Hornet to know that they wouldn't leave.

“Alright, but don't get into my way.”, Hornet said. At this, Ghost swung their nail and jumped in front of Hornet in a pose that depicted a challenge, then their nail went down on the ground in a strike, the swing of it breaking through the calmness of the morning.

“I know! I know! You've beaten me twice, but... I have gone easy on you.”, Hornet half hissed. It was a blatant lie and she knew it. The first time she had simply underestimated them (or she simply had become tired of fighting) and the second time... she had given it her all and they still had remained victorious. In a sense, Ghost was the new king of Hallownest, but they didn't seem to put any mind on the title. They didn't even seem to be wanting to be celebrated for being the saviour of Hallownest. They simply joined Hornet every morning for hunting and went off on their own afterwards, always coming back to play with their friends in Dirtmouth.

As the both of them jumped down the well, Hornet couldn't help but think about that there wasn't much to rule anymore. This kingdom was in shambles. It had been two weeks and the dried off infection still crusted the crossroads, too little bugs alive to care much about cleaning the place up. It was becoming more and more difficult to get food, because so many of the infected had simply been reanimated husks, without any meat left in them.

They surely would have to wander to Greenpath again, hopefully finding a few vengeflies and mosscreeps to bring home.

Hornet was used being alone. She had been alone for a very long time. She had managed. She never was lonely... well, maybe a little lonely and now there was a bunch of strangers up in Dirtmouth who relied on her. Hornet never wanted for anyone to rely on her. She had seen what happened when bugs relied on someone and... there wasn't a solution.

She looked down on Ghost again, they had their nail on the ready and stared vigilantly in front of them. They must have crossed this crossroads a dozen times on their journey, still expecting to be attacked by the infected every given minute. Hornet could understand that it was hard for them to let go of old habits.

She was the same. She never let go of her needle as well. Even with the infection never being able to come back, she had to remain vigilant. She would protect her siblings, no matter what. She wouldn't, no she couldn't, let anyone down.

“We are nearing Greenpath.”, she said, only to cut through the silence between them. She knew it wasn't Ghost's fault that they didn't have a voice, but after years of not being able to talk to anyone, Hornet barely could stand the silence, when there was someone she could talk to. “Remember, when we hunt the mosscreeps, take their leaves as well, for the herbivores.”

While Hornet was able to eat plant matter as well, it never had been satisfying to her. She was the daughter of a spider and a wyrm, both predators, and therefore she usually would hunt for food. She was unsure about what kind of diet Ghost and Hollow needed, but they seemed to be content with the prey she brought back, so she wouldn't change anything about it.

“And remember, we can't hunt too much. The population needs a chance to recover.”, she said as well. The infection had done a number on the whole of Hallownest... it wasn't a surprise that there was such a food shortage. In fact, Hornet had cut her own food intake in favour of her siblings and anyone who couldn't hunt or still needed to recover. That bug, Tiso, came to mind. Had a far too big stomach for having been utterly destroyed by the colloseum of fools. Why Ghost had dragged him back to Dirthmouth, she would never understand.

Ghost showed that they understood with a little nod of their head and the both of them entered Greenpath. It was a MUCH nicer place without the infection, but they still had to pay attention, the fool eater plants were easy to overlook (not that Hornet had ever overlooked them, but Ghost tended to forget...) and there were some predators still around, though they were no match for her needle. The problem was to avoid them to not hunt too much. Like she had said to Ghost, they needed to give the population time to recover, if they wouldn't want all to starve beforehand.

“We get only enough for everyone back in Dirtmouth.”, Hornet said again. “Then we leave again. Let's search for some mosscreeps first.”

The both of them jumped and slashed their way through the vegetation of Greenpath. While Hornet preferred to use her needle, Ghost had found a lot of new ways to move around since the first time they fought and they dashed (literally leaving their shell behind and somehow phasing through time and space) and jumped with wings that reminded Hornet of her father... and she got a bad feeling in her guts every time she saw them.

After a bit of time, they had managed to hunt two vengeflies to bring back, Hornet keeping them cocooned up for transportation and were now searching through the vegetation for some mosscreeps. Finally, Hornet found one and struck it down with her needle, preparing a cocoon for it again, when Ghost picked something up from the grass.

“Ghost, what do you have there?”, Hornet asked. The item was too small to be prey and they tended to hoard stuff they found. It probably was just something that was completely worthless nowadays, only generating Geo when given to this historian in the City of Tears. She still wanted to know.

Ghost came over and laid the thing they had picked up in her outstretched hand. When she looked down on it, she froze.

It was a King's Idol, the item that the citizens of Hallownest had crafted to worship her reclusive father. Each of them looked different, but they all shared the general shape and depicted his most salient feature: The horns that resembled a crown.

Staring down at it, something in Hornet broke. It might have been the stress she felt since Ghost had arrived. Or the fact that Hollow recovered from years of abuse from both the gods of Hallownest. Or that she was running on an empty stomach most of the time. But once she saw that thing, all her frustration crashed down on her at once.

You!”, she hissed. “It was all your fault! You knew that the plan wouldn't work! You knew that they would suffer and you still have let it happen! The teacher, the watcher, my mother, all sacrificed for nothing! And then, in the moment you were needed the most, you vanished, you damn coward! We needed you! I needed you! I hate you. I hate you and I can't even say it to your face anymore!”

Hornet threw the king's idol on the ground with so much force that it skipped on the ground and then fell on her knees, slowly getting aware of the tears on her face and the presence of little ice cold hands patting her arm.

“I am fine.”, she said, wiping the tears away. Just a moment of weakness, nothing else. Even though she could feel the judgemental stare of Ghost, she was fine. She had to be. “Seriously, I am fine.”, she continued once more. “Let's continue hunting.”

As Hornet was putting her composure back together, she didn't notice how Ghost continued to stare at her, picking up the idol from the ground, and only starting to move again once she called out for them.

The hunt had been more or less successful. At least they had found enough prey that nobody should go terribly hungry (at least when Hornet halved her own portion again). As usual, hunting had taken the better part of the day. Hornet would have liked to go hunt at some different locations, but the Old Stag from the stag ways wasn't around lately, apparently he was taking care of some personal business. With him not being around, it was just too far to walk to the Fungal Wastes or Deepnest, at least not when she wanted to come back the same day.

Currently Hornet took in her meal in Hollow's room with Ghost present as well. She was busy thinking about if there was another route that would make sure she could hunt elsewhere but Greenpath for once, when she felt a nudge. When she looked down, she saw how Ghost offered them a half of their mosscreep, holding the prey up in their little hands, seemingly eagerly awaiting for her to take it.

“I can't take this, Ghost.”, Hornet said. “You need all the food you can get, you are still growing.”

Ghost cocked their head and for once their eternal deadpan expression was on point. Hornet knew how ridiculous her argument was. Ghost had been born before her. They hadn't grown in years. Their body had been unable to grow because they didn't had access to void. “You know what I mean.”, she defended herself. There was the possibility that Ghost would start to grow as long as they stayed in Hallownest.

Ghost offered their meal a little while longer and then gave up with a little frustrated stomp of their foot. It was then when Hornet felt another nudge... this time it was Hollow, who had simply watched the scene unfold in front of them, offering their part of their meal.

“Oh no, not you too, Hollow.”, Hornet sighed. “You need the food much more than me, you are still recovering. I won't accept anything from you.”

The both vessels shared a look and once again Hornet asked herself if they could talk to each with some kind of void telepathy, before both of them looked at the ground in defeat.

“I am fine.”, Hornet repeated herself, she knew that. “Really, I am fine...”

Hornet awoke the next morning... not because her stomach cramped and she had trouble sleeping because of it, but because someone nudged her. She cracked one eye open and murmured: ��It's barely morning...” She just craved to go back to sleep, to forget about the day in front of her for a few minutes longer, but the nudging got more and more intense, until she shouted: “Fine! I am getting up! Stop bothering me!”

It was Ghost in front of her and immediately Hornet stopped being annoyed. What if something had happened? “Is something the matter with Hollow? Or is a threat approaching the village?”, she asked, already fumbling for her needle, once again forgetting that Ghost was more than capable of defending the village themselves. They just looked too much like a little, defenseless child, even though Hornet had experienced otherwise.

Gladly, Ghost shook their head, though this put Hornet right back into annoyance. “Then why have you woken me up?”, she said, falling back down in her pillows, ignoring the urge to close her eyes and looking at Ghost again, making sure to give them a judgemental stare.

Ghost did grip something under their cloak (wings? Hornet never knew what this thing around the vessels was) and after a bit of struggling, they produced a jar... a jar filled with honey. The smell actually made Hornet's mouth water. Honey was one of the few things she liked to eat that wasn't meat, mostly because she had trained in the Hive in her youth.

Though, as lucky as she felt about having more food, she couldn't help but scold Ghost. “Ghost, did you get this on your own? The Hive is dangerous, even without the infection! What if the Hive Knight would have found you?”

Ghost shook their head and then outstretched their hand, showing Hornet a shiny little charm. A charm she remembered. The charm of the Hive. “Wait, you have been there and challenged him already?” Hornet wanted to be surprised, but Ghost couldn't really surprise her anymore. When they could surprise her somehow, then it was that they were full of surprises.

“Anyway... I guess I have to thank you, though I don't approve that you sneak out at night into the Hive.”, Hornet murmured. “At least we have more food for the group now..”

Ghost rigorously shook their head and pressed the jar in her hands. “For me?”, Hornet asked and Ghost nodded.

“But... Ghost, I appreciate it, but I don't need.. the others need the food much more than...”

Another shook of their head and a stomp of their foot along with crossed arms and a slight turn around. Hornet suddenly felt very small, she had never seen them that upset.

“Alright, alright...”, she said. “Maybe I have eaten insufficient lately...”

Ghost nodded again and gave the jar of honey another press, so that she had to hold it firmly in her hands.

“Alright alright...”, Hornet finally gave in. “I will take your offer, Ghost.”

As she opened the jar, her hunger became more and more apparent and soon she dug in and had finished the whole jar in what felt like no time and finally, for once, she didn't feel overly hungry. Satisfied even.

She then saw Ghost holding up something. A little rock with a few letters written on it. Lately Cornifer had given them writing lessons, though it still was a work in progress.

“Fine?”

That was the word they had painted on the rock (where did they even have the colours from?).

“I am fine.”, Hornet said. “This time for real. I am sorry, Ghost, I shouldn't have lied to you. I just feel so... responsible for everyone. I can't show weakness in front of anyone.”

Ghost shook their head again and then got something out. Hornet recognized it as the King's Idol they had found in Greenpath. They tossed it at the ground, just as she had done and then hit it with their nail, leaving a notable crack in it.

“You as well don't have the best memories of him, right?”, Hornet said. Both of them had been left behind, though in a different kind of way. Ghost had been discarded and Hornet had been left with responsibility far too huge for her age.

Ghost nodded again and gave the King's Idol another smack, so that it landed in front of her. Hornet took it into her hands and stared at it. She did miss him, that she had to admit to herself, but she also knew that her anger and her disappointment were real and there was no reason to hide it in front of Ghost.

She squeezed the Idol until it cracked into two pieces and just watched as they fell down. “Thank you, Ghost.”, she said. “But make sure to not tell Hollow about this.”

The way Hollow idealized their father... it would break their heart seeing his image being defiled like that.

Another quick nod and then Ghost actually got another one out, their face clearly saying: “Wanna break another?”

A grin crept over Hornet's face. She would never get her mother back or escape her responsibilities, but at least she could vent out her frustrations, even though it took her sibling for her to realize.

“Oh you bet I want.” (Author's note: Little Ghost is kinda fun to write. I think they are a character mostly showing what they feel through body language and it was fun to come up with how they would act. I also like to think that they can stare very judgemental, even though their expression never changes, a stare of them can make anyone falter. Hornet's relationship to PK is... complicated. He hasn't actually been a bad father to her, but as the infection came back and depression took over, he left her alone more and more and she got angry about it... especially when he decided to just vanish. She felt utterly betrayed by it and it is a huge source of her frustration and anger. I put in some little references to the game in there, try to find them if you please.)

#hollow knight #fanfiction #hornet #little ghost #march of the whumps #request fill #hornet has issues #whump #emotional whump #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #Anonymous

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whatsmyisyours · 3 years

Text

To Kingdom's Edge And Back

Oh how the little vessel hated this climb. Back up the main column of Kingdom’s Edge to the Colosseum of Fools. It had died many times up this way just to be let back into the City of Tears at the end all because he was a few geo short to enter the first trial. The vessel took the bench in the pit though. Talking to Tiso was lovely after that ascent. The Knight hoped Tiso’s trial was going well. Only a few more steps then. Tiso. Oh Wyrm. Tiso! He lay, back in the snow, thrown from the Colosseum at the top of Hallownest. Was he dead? The Knight made a mad dash over to where his fallen friend lay latching on to the ledge and pulling itself up. Its hand was small enough to fit under the armor Tiso wore. The vessel’s cold void connected to the throat of the fighter. It was faint, but there was a beat. Tiso was hanging on to life. The vessel rejoyed. Then it started to plan. First, they needed safety. The nearest stag station was King’s Station. From where Tiso lies it would be a fall, but he had cleared out the Tower of Love awhile ago, along with that it was warm and padded. He pulled Tiso’s unconscious body onto its back, securing him with the strap ment for the vessel’s nail. It was a long way down, but for Tiso it would take that plunge.

A few more seconds. Then they would hit the snow. He raised Tiso just above its head so Tiso’s body would make no contact with the ground in case this failed. The vessel’s eyes locked to the door, and it told its body to dash. Thus, they had made it in. They were in the higher part of the Tower. How comforting the once sickening padding of the room was. The Knight jumped the small gap and brought the warrior fully into the Tower of Love. It worked quickly. Unstrapping Tiso’s from its back, opening up the fighter’s armor to assess the wounds. In the vessel’s many deaths it had grown a knowledge of area’s that could kill in seconds if left to bleed. Tiso’s armor had done him well but his arms were covered in bleeding bites, cuts, and acid. His legs were just as bad. The Knight focused the soul it had into its hands. The vessel had learned many things in the water-stained city, one of which was a very useful spell to heal those injured with the caster’s soul. The Knight rubbed Tiso’s arms as soul moved from his voided form to Tiso’s body, breathing life into it. The Knight was no healer though it could only do so much with half soul. It went to clean the route to the stag station. As it did this it pondered its options. There were a few. The first, Quirrel, last seen at the Blue Lake, with years under Monomon and in the wilds he would know a fair amount of medicine if not for others then for himself. The second, the Snail Shaman, he had given the vessel its first spell, surely the vessel could teach it what he had learned and the Shaman could apply it tenfold. The last contender was Confessor Jiji, though she dapples in the void more than the physical if it came down to her it was worth the shot. Though the Knight wanted to visit one place before he went to see any bug. The Bath House in the City was worth a gamble.

Jumping past the large guards is much harder when you have an armored bug on your back. But there was no going back now. The Spring was in view. The Knight rushes in as the guard approaches it. Striking the lever in the elevator listening from afar to the singer’s ghost that still haunts the stage, her voice always brought peace to the vessel. Finally the elevator stops and the two bugs leave it to start the small climb to the spring. Once again unstrapping Tiso from it’s back and removing his armor. The vessel grabs Tiso’s head. Holding too much respect for the fighter to remove his head scarf. Tiso will just have to deal with it if he wakes up. NO. No. When he wakes up. Tiso will wake up. The vessel shakes its head. Back to the task hand, the Knight drags Tiso into the Hot Spring, taking care to make sure Tiso’s body doesn’t sink. After minutes it had to drag Tiso back out. The vessel felt better already, but clearly the Springs did not have the same effect on the fighter. Tiso was still unconscious. Putting his armor back on, the vessel strapped Tiso back on and made his way to the elevator. To the stag then the Resting Grounds.

The chime of a bell echoed. Then the quake of legs running to the station. “Hello little one! Where are we goin-... Your friend does not look well.” The vessel nods. With no voice he could not tell the Stag of the Colosseum or of Tiso’s state. “I suggest putting him in my luggage saddle. For it seems he would not be able to sit up by himself.” The Knight shook his head. That was no place for a warrior. Neither was his plan, but it was more respectable than the luggage saddle. The Knight patted his lap. The Stag was confused “You plan to… have him ride in your lap?” The Knight nods. The Stag sighs “I cannot stop you if that is what you wish, but hold onto him tight. I don’t want to see him falling off. Now where are we off to little one?” Vessel tapped his map on the Resting Grounds. This was going to be a ride.

The Blue Lake was a far march. As the vessel sat on the bench, map in hand, it planned a path of least resistance. It would pass the statue to the Dreamers and Xero’s grave to get to the Lake. No infected bugs would be on this path. Perfect. Putting the map back, the Knight looks to Tiso. The vessel hopes the trip will end here. With Tiso reattached it waves to the Stag as he walks out of the room. Taking care to fall one platform at a time. Passing the Dreamer’s statue the vessel looks up. All of their masks were gone. Broken. The Knight still had work to do before it faced its sibling though. A friend to heal, a King Soul to bathe in void, and a Pathon to fight. It broke the seal on the Egg in case it got tired of fighting the Pathon of Hallownest and just wanted to face its sibling head on. The vessel look up from its thoughts to see Quirrel sitting by the Blue Lake. Quirrel looks to the Knight. “Ah! Hello again small friend! My… who is that you carry?” The vessel undid the straps on his back letting Tiso fall to the sandy shore. Taking Quirrel’s hand the focusing its soul so if it were hurt it would heal. “You believe I can heal your friend?” The vessel nods and pulls Quirrel toward Tiso. “I will have a look at your friend, for, a friend of a friend, is a friend of mine.” The Knight waits as Quirrel looks over Tiso. The silence was killing the vessel slowly. “Well, I’m sorry to say but it seems your friend has taken internal damage, and I am no doctor. What I could do has been done.” The vessel quivers. Its first option was down. Two to go. Hold on there TIso. I will find help for you yet. The vessel bowed to Quirrel, as a thanks. Back to the Stag then, the Infected Crossroads.

Clearing the path to the Snail Shaman came easily to the Knight. It had gone to talk with the Shaman after defeating the Broken Vessel in the Ancient Basin to ask where to get more spells from. The last runner had exploded. Time to go get Tiso and bring him through.This was becoming quite an effort. Bone rattled under the vessel’s feet as it ascended the mound, the flames flickered as it passed. Skulls or masks watch the march. The rattle of bones and the sound of something hopping into a bench startled the Shaman. He walked over to see if another infected had made way into his home. More and more these days they were finding ways in. Soon he would have to lock his door. To his surprise it was his friend, another bug strapped to its back. What possessed it to make a trip here? “Ohohoh! You gave me quite the startle friend! I thought you were another infected bug. Say who do you have here? They don’t look well at all.” The vessel looked up from where it was sitting, got up and grabbed the Snail Shaman. “Ohohoh! A little rough today, are we? Do you need me to do something?” The Knight nodded. It dragged the Shaman over to Tiso who now lay on the bench. Starting the healing spell to its hands, it looks back and forth from the Shaman to Tiso to its hands, waving them from time to time. The Shaman finally caught on, “You want me to cast the spell you are to heal your friend here? Hmm…” The Shaman looked almost guilty. No. Please. “Shadow I will be blunt with you. I craft spells. And the craft takes time. I have a very difficult time learning spells from others who can speak, let alone a Shadow that cannot. I will work on making a spell that I can use to heal your friend, but it will be days. I suggest you try someone, or something else in the meantime.” The spell dissipates from the Knights hands. Void starts to well in its sockets, as its body shakes, it looks to Tiso and nods. The Knight made sure the spell didn’t waste as the Shaman talked, which means he had more time, but at what point would it be pointless to continue Tiso’s suffering? At what point would it give up? It knew half an answer. Not now. The vessel wiped the void leaking from its sockets, cleared the way, thanked the Shaman for his time, strapped Tiso back on once again, and headed for the Station. Two down, one to go. Confessor Jiji was the vessel's last hope.

The vessel needed more rancid eggs. Worst of all there were very few left in the world, around three, and the Knight wanted ten before it went to see Jiji. It would have to visit Tuk. The vessel despised the Fluke and all that they are. Not only were they creepy, even compared to the beast of deepnest, they were frankly a pain in the ass to kill. Luckily the Knight didn’t have to carry Tiso with it even though this would take awhile, it had a plan. It had left Tiso strapped to the Stag, so if the need arose, the Stag could take off without worry that Tiso would go flying. The vessel entered Tuks' little hole with three eggs already in hand. It paid for seven more. Hopefully this would be enough for Confessor Jiji. For a moment the Knight thought of buying ten more. But it quickly turned down the notion. If Jiji wanted more the vessel would gladly pay after Jiji did whatever she needed to do. Time to go. The bench felt nice after the smell and dampness of the Waterways. “Ah! Welcome back little one, are we off to Dirtmouth?” The Last Stag question. The Knight unstraps Tiso and nods. Its last hope. Please, let this work. This must work. For Tiso. For me. Void drips from the vessel's empty eyes. A rumble shakes the ground as the Stag charges off to the Knight’s last stop.

As the Knight emerged from the Stag Station Sly’s and Elderbug’s conversation came to quick. They saw who the vessel had strapped to itself. The brave man in seek of the Colosseum of Fool. The warrior looking for a challenge The light in his eyes was gone. This left only darkness in its wake. The Knight passed Bretta and Zote. This only allowed Zote to slander the vessel further. “I bet that beast killed the warrior. No doubt in fact. I only wish I was there to save that wonderful bug.” Zote toted. Zote can shove it. “Another dead to bury? Hand him over, ittle nuisance.” The Knight slapped the ghosts hand away. You will pull this bug off my corpse. I dare you. The vessel steps into the Confessor’s cave. Tired from carrying Tiso for so long. “Ah, hello again. Have you- Oh. I see you brought your regrets strapped to your back today.” The Knight pulls out all the eggs it carried. Void threatens to drop onto the Confessor’s floors. The Confessor reaches out a claw to the small vessel, “Hush now. You have travelled to many places to help your friend. But found no one capable. Your travels end here, though.” Does Jiji mean… No. Jiji, please help him. Please. I can’t. I can’t- “Did you know before I became a Confessor I wanted to be a doctor. I even went to school in the capital!” Huh? The vessel looked up. Was Confessor Jiji truly going to help it? Or was she just spinning a tale to calm the Knight. “Can I see the patient please?” The Knight pushes the eggs first, “No need for payment for this work. I will always mend the physical for free.” The Knight turns around to allow Jiji access to the strap on its back. Once Tiso’s weight had left it, the vessel turned to follow after Jiji. “Do you want to help?” The Knight nods, firing up the healing spell again. “Okay then, you may help me. Just try not to get in the way of my tools. This work will be more delicate than just summoning a shade.”

The procedure felt like a lifetime. The soul from the Knight moved slowly to last. For the vessel doesn’t know what would happen to its friend if it was not there, feeding the body, keeping Tiso breathing. Watching Jiji work inside Tiso hurt as though the vessel was Tiso. The Knight was used to blood, guts, and gore, the infection did cruel work on the bugs it wormed inside. But this was its friend. The Little Fool would suffer after this. The vessel looked over its friend. The whole Colosseum will be purged of every bug, beast, and insect. I promise those fools will know the rage of wyrm, root, and void, Tiso. The Confessor started to sew up Tiso, as the vessel started to shake. “Are you okay?” The vessel nodded as the soul in its hands started to fade. “You look tired. You should stop that spell,” Jiji looked from her work, “It will take everything from you and give it away, if you are not careful with its use. You need to stop.” The Knight shook its head. Not until you're done. Not until Tiso is closed and in a be- The white pouring from the vessel’s hands stopped as its body fell to the floor. It felt so tired. But there was still work to be done. The vessel tried to pull itself to Tiso. Please. I’m tired. But I need to help. I need help. I can’t. Not yet. Not don- And with a thud, as the last stitch was placed into Tiso, the vessel’s heavy skull hit the floor. Passing out. The void consuming it as if birthed again.

The Knight awoke in a strange room. On instinct it took out its nail and looked around. There in a bed next to the vessel lies Tiso snoring. On the other side, Confessor Jiji was also asleep. No infected bugs. Nothing to do but wait. Well. The others did need to eat. The vessel walked up to Jiji holding out a rancid egg, the smell awaking Jiji. “I see you have woken. I warned you of that spell.” The Confessor looked to the Knight. “Again I do not need payment for this work.” The vessel shook its head. Holding up the egg to Jiji. To eat. Not for work. “Ah, thank you for the food though. I will be delighted with this meal.” Next to stir was Tiso. “Pale... thing? Where are we? I… must get back to the Colosseum. Ack!” The stitch sent a shock up Tiso's body as he tried to move out of the bed. “Ahh good morning to you too. Your friend here brought you in. You have been badly injured, but I was able to mend most, if not all damage. Since you will be with me for a while may I ask your name? Mine is Confessor Jiji by the way.” At this point Tiso noticed the lack of his armor. He frantically felt around his head to check if his veil was still there. He felt more at ease with the knowledge that the hood was still there. “My name is Tiso. How long must I stay here?” The Knight watched the back and forth between Tiso and Jiji, happy that they got along. Happy Tiso was alive. “Ah! Pale thing. You’re crying, is something the matter?” The Knight shakes its head and using its hands draws a smile across its face. I’m happy you're alive. “By the way. Thank you. Really. If not for you I would have died. If you need me you know where to find me, Pale Thing.” The Knight nods as it leaves the cave. It walked into town and rested on the bench. It had much to do. But first. Revenge will be sweet. The Knight heads to the Stag asking for the City’s store room. The Colosseum shall pay with soul. It walked up to the Little Fool handing over the geo for the first trial after resting and tweaking its charms. It placed its mark on the challenge. The pit door, closing, the gathering of great bugs roars. Today a new Fool will be crowned, debts shall be paid, and the Colosseum will know what the rage of wyrm, root, and void looks like. Hail to the voided vessel, Fools of Hallownest, and recognize the King.

#Tiso #Hollow Knight #little ghost #Quirrel #Snail Shaman #Confessor Jiji #colosseum of fools #Sly #Elderbug #Zote #Bretta #Kingdom's Edge #Dirtmouth #Hallownest #Infected Crossroads #City of Tears #fix it fic #Tiso's death

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