#why cant i just wave my magic wand and have it be done | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shivada-jade · 3 years

Text

magical mischief (2)

hogwarts!au

character(s): diluc ➡ mentions: kaeya, sucrose, childe, venti, baal, diona warning(s): swearing <3

notes: it was supposed to be diluc, zhongli, and thoma but diluc's unexpectedly got longer than i hoped oOPS so i made a separate one for zhongli and thoma

part 1: kaeya, childe, albedo

gryffindor!

diluc

everyone knows of the gryffindor prefect. some people would mistake him as ravenclaw for being so studious; some people would mistake him for slytherin for being so closed off. in his first year of hogwarts, people often mistook him as hufflepuff for being friendly, overly polite, and outgoing. the hufflepuff mistake changed when he turned sixteen.

no one knows what happened to his sudden change of personality. no one but kaeya and a strange, childhood, ravenclaw friend that works with another even stranger ravenclaw.

sucrose pushes her glasses up, watching you create another explosion in her room.

you cough, wiping off the ashes from your face. the black smudges on your face don't go away. sucrose hands you a handkerchief and you gratefully accept it, finally getting the grime off.

"project sixty-two oh-eight is unsuccessful." the mint haired girl notes in a journal. "moving on to..."

you tilt your head, giving her a nod to go on but she stares at the space behind you. you turn and see kaeya, cracking open the door with a quiet knock. you frown, his uncharacteristic actions feel so weird. he usually just blasts open the door with a flick of his wand and sashays inside.

"kaeya?" you ask after apologizing to sucrose for interrupting her. "what's up?"

the slytherin clears his throat, opening the door more widely. "may i have a moment of your time? preferably not here, though."

he's so... formal. unlike himself.

you wave goodbye to sucrose and promise her to do another experiment next time then direct your attention back to the boy in front of you. "sure, outside?"

he nods. with a swish of his robes, he walks out. you note his posture is so unlike him. his strides are more rigid, less carefree. it's like a comparison from a beauty model to an uptight CEO.

he leads you right in a place where you can see the black lake. it's awfully farther than you expected. you thought he was going to lead to to the court yard, or at least the slytherin common room.

"kaeya, you're not acting like yourself." you comment.

"haha!" an airy laugh escapes from someone. you jolt, surprised from the unexpected guest. you feel two hands clamp your shoulders. "you're absolutely right, my dear."

you knit your brows, walking away from kaeya and... diluc. you slap a hand over your mouth. "wait, diluc- did you just laugh?!" did he just call you 'my dear' with a peppy tone

kaeya grumbles in displeasure. his arms cross while his brother leans on him with a carefree attitude.

you make an 'o' shape with your lips, piecing the clues together. "oh.. oh." you try to remain stoic and serious about the situation, seeing how uncomfy kaeya- no- how uncomfy diluc is.

you gasp out laughing, clutching your stomach. you crouch on the ground unable to control your laughs and look up to the brothers with tears in your eyes, "oh- please! you've switched bodies! how?!"

no wonder the slytherin had been acting all curt and polite. diluc in kaeya's body pinches the bridge of his nose. "the new first year did this," he starts to explain. "took one look at me and said, 'i will destroy the wine industry!' i don't even know how the kid knows of my family's business in the muggle world."

"placed a spell on us with weird words while having a quidditch practice match," kaeya finishes. "but really, who doesn't know of the winery? even the purest of purebloods know of it."

kaeya (still in diluc's body) looks at the red portion of his robes with a scrunched up nose. you're unable to tell if he hates how the robe feels on him. or if he hates wearing gryffindor's colours.

you hum, scratching your head. "you want me to undo the spell, right?"

"if it isn't a problem," diluc presses his lips together. with one glance at your unsure face, his shoulders droop. "you don't know how, do you..."

you smile sympathetically. "i'll try my best to undo it, but just in case, we need to find that first year, to the source itself"

kaeya raises his arms behind his now red hair, "great! it feels so weird to be seeing with both my eyes. or well, with both diluc eyes. the kid's name is diona. she's also in slytherin like me. diluc will lead you to her."

"what? why me," diluc asks.

"because you're the one who looks like me, duh! i cant go in the slytherin common room if i look like gryffindor prefect. just bring [y/n] with you. childe can also help-"

diluc glowers, "you still hang around that scum?"

"you still keep that vase?" kaeya throws sweet poison to diluc.

you chuckle nervously when you see them bring their wands out. "so, diona? let's find her."

kaeya raises a brow, and smirks. "toodles~! i dont want to spend another minute in this grump's body. that donna girl keeps trying to give me a pie- i dont want seven different pies." he wriggles his fingers to show his goodbye.

you shiver. it's so weird to see diluc- when you know diluc isn't actually diluc in his body. but his face keeps smiling and showing emotions with kaeya's soul inside. it's weird to not see only little quirks of his mouth or his typical sighs.

but really though, you could stare at kaeya's new face. it's strange seeing diluc with a scheming face: the one kaeya typically wears

"please at least try to not get into any trouble..." diluc purses his lips. "i'll try to act like you- you try to act like me."

you stare at diluc with owlish eyes. diluc? acting like kaeya?

it seems kaeya has the same reaction, because he freezes. luckily for him, he's quick witted, "oh? act like you?" he musters the grouchiest face and crosses his arms. "hello, i am diluc ragnvindr. i am a grouchy gryffindor. i hate kaeya. i hate lots of slytherins, especially the beautiful, gorgeous asshole named kaeya," he praises himself.

diluc fights the urge to throw him into the black lake. you laugh, dragging diluc away and leading him to where the slytherin common room is.

"i've only been here once, but i am acquainted with childe, so he can show us around." you bump his side playfully and stand outside the slytherin common room.

"CHILDE." you yell with your hands amplifying the noise.

"WHADDUP SHAWTY," you hear a shout from behind you.

you nod to diluc, encouraging him to somehow find a way to get the slytherin password from childe. you know he hates him, but you want to see dilucs words come true. you want to see how he acts as kaeya.

he lets out a shaky sigh and smiles so casually. the smile is so pretty, it hurts. it's a shame he doesn't do that with his own face.

childe beams seeing the two of you, "hey comrades! what are you all standing around for?" he prods around, eying diluc then snaps his fingers as if realizing something.

you wait a bit for diluc to say something, or act more, but it seems he's done his acting gig and goes straight to the point. "what's the password?"

you deadpan. childe's gonna question him now and he'd have to say he's actually dilu-

"yeah sure no problem! it's 'reckoning'"

diluc says the word to a blank wall and enters through the door. you squint your eyes and make a face at childe. "you're up to something, i know."

he shrugs and pushes you in after diluc. "tell diona i said hi."

...

you sit at the lounge, waiting for diluc to show up with diona. your brows crease, because diluc is right. childe knows something others don't. you don't recall telling childe you were trying to find diona.

you doubletake, seeing a hufflepuff drinking an absurd amount of butterbeer from who knows where. they hang their arms around a slender, purple haired slytherin who tries to push him off with disgust.

what is venti doing hanging out with the slytherin queen. he'll die-

"venti," you hiss, reaching out to try and let him live a bit longer.

he hiccups and waves you over. he 'whispers' to the slytherin next to him. oh he's in trouble now. "psst, baal. is that the one all the slytherins are talking about?" his whispers are shouts at this point.

the slytherins at the lounge freeze, hoping you havent caught on yet.

baal hits venti's head with a hand, "shut up. you're ruining the plan."

you snort seeing venti spill his drink on his clothes.

"but baal," venti downs what's left in his mug. "if that grumpy gryffindor wont confess to [y/n] then how on earth is the plan even going to work? he barely even talks to [y/n] these days because hee likes [y/n] too much." he says as if you're not in the room. he continues babbling even after baal kicks his shins, "kaeya's plan won't work if diona-"

oh shit so it's kaeya's plan and every slytherin is on it

baal drags venti out of the common room and throws him out and all the other slytherins hastily leave to their own rooms.

diluc coughs from behind you, now transformed to his normal self and with who you assume is diona. pink peppers his face while he tried to cover his face with his fiery hair. "um, i found diona. she swapped me back."

diona sticks her tongue out. "that ugly kaeya made a deal with me on something and i had to oblige! it's honestly so pathetic how you can't confess so deal or no deal: i had to do it, but the uglier bard ruined the whole plan so i turned you back."

diluc dusts imaginary dust off his cloak and grasps your hands. he looks down to his feet, still unsure of whether to do this or not. "well, you heard it all. it's a shame it couldn't be from me but-" he rambles. with other's he's confident, but with you he's a mess. "i hope you can accept my feelings. if not i understand, i'll go on with my day and you'll never have to see me."

he holds his breath, silently quivering with the lack of response you give. a hand lifts his chin up and he stares at your eyes, nervous.

you didn't say anything, but you smile and give his the warmest hug.

he knows the answer now.

he wraps his arms back, silently thanking kaeya for his idiotic plan. it's stupid, but it worked in the end.

BONUS!:

"KAEYA I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS"

kaeya swirls a gold goblet with sparkling grape juice inside. he wolfishly grins and holds his cup up with a hand. "a toast for master diluc! for finally confessing, if people can even call it that."

he lowers it, placing it on his lips but never drinking it. he grins under the cup seeing diluc's wand in his hand flaming red.

"it's not even my fault." kaeya starts to explain his bullshit to diluc, "you can blame yourself. honestly, it gets tiring seeing you pine for so long and avoiding them like you weren't childhood friends with them."

the tips of diluc's ears turn red, not wanting to agree with his brother, but it was true. he was hopeless in the romantic department by himself. he can reject thousands and millions of people. he can have who ever he wants, but you aren't "whoever." you're the most special someone to him and that made him scared.

kaeya hands his drink to diluc, "do i get a thank you?"

diluc scoffs, yet accepts the drink. "thank you," he quietly mutters.

part 3: thoma, zhongli

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader

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isolemnlyswear · 3 years

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hello! can i request a modern marauder (you pick) x popstar!fem!reader (while they're still in hogwarts) to the song breathin by ariana grande as if it were the reader's song? <3 <3

breathin

a/n : this is the most specified request i've ever gotten, so it's kinda shitty ! i really have never wrote anything like this - at all - and i didn’t know if the reader was meant to be a muggle or not ????????? so i made them not one. bc you’re anon i cant ask you questions abt your request, so next time please specify!

continued a/n : wow, this is interesting. i dont like it, but !!! hope u enjoy????

warnings : swearing, bad writing

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory @vsawyer1989

Remus sighed, glaring at the raven-haired boy beside him.

“What, s’gonna be fun!” Sirius grins, and the lycanthrope who’s refuting him simply laughs.

“Fun? Your idea of fun is a packed concert - full of muggles, nonetheless - for this...popstar woman?” Remus says incredulously, and Sirius raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, ho, ho, this is not any popstar, Moony. Plus, what else are we gonna do over the summer? Sulk around at your parents’ house?” Sirius grins again, and Remus lets out a sigh.

“The latter I can agree with. But who is this girl, anyway?” Remus inquires, and Sirius reaches into his back pocket to acquire his phone. Although Hogwarts doesn't allow modern technology, both Sirius and Remus have their own each for the summers. With how phone-centered the modern world is, they couldn't not.

He swipes through to find a picture of you - one obtained from your Instagram, which has over four million followers - and holds it up to Remus.

“Merlin,” he breathes, eyes scanning the image.

You're wearing a brown leather dress, the shoulders poking up just barely. Your hair is framing your face, legs tucked under you in a half-crouch, and you're looking into the camera with lips perfectly parted. It was one you took for the shoot of your newest album, and a particular favorite of yours.

“Gorgeous, right? She’s really talented, as well.” Sirius grins, looking at his best friend, who is unresponsive, with eyes glued on the screen. “Moony?” he waves a hand over the brunette’s face, who snaps out of his trance.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure.” Remus says, blinking a few too many times.

“So, you up for it now?”

“Alright,” Remus replies, nodding at Sirius, who pumps his fists into the air with a grin.

“She's American, but doing a show in London in a few weeks,” Sirius informs, smiling.

“American, huh? How old is she?” Remus asks, settling back into the couch they're perched on.

“That's the best part. She's our age - just turned eighteen.” Sirius grins again, putting his phone away.

“Oh yeah? You say that like she'd notice us. Never gonna happen, Pads.” Remus smiles, shaking his head.

“Expect the unexpected, mon amie.”

---

You're fiddling anxiously with your fingers, hands out of use as someone else is doing your makeup, rather than yourself.

“Almost done, Miss L/N,” Madelyn, your makeup artist, says, brushing a soft highlighter over your cheekbones.

“Mads, I told you that you can call me Y/N. You only do my makeup every day,” you say, closing your eyes as the woman pats highlighter into your inner corner.

“And...” she mists your face with setting spray, “...Done!”

---

About four hours later, your back is facing the crowd that's piled into the venue, stage lights shut off as only the sounds of quiet murmurs and shuffling feet hit your ears.

And then, the lights come on with a thumping click, and you begin the routine that you've practiced time and time again.

The music to your first song, the least vocally challenging of the set, begins, and you turn around with a sway of your hips.

Holding the mic to your mouth, you begin a one-step, two-step rhythm, one that's second nature to you; your eyes survey the crowd, left hand reaching to flip your hair.

The tune changes, and the beat is faster, now, as the lights begin to flash and your voice, in a habitual fashion, changes to match. You stride out rhythmically to the center of the stage.

You crouch in a fluid movement, thankful for the coverage your outfit gives you. It's a black sparkling jumpsuit, bottoms being a high-waisted, glimmering fabric with two side flaps, connected at your stomach to a matching corset-like top.

After a few minutes of usual song/dance routines, followed by cheers from the crowd, you decide it's time for a crowd interaction. It's difficult, resisting the urge to pull out your wand and cast a silencing charm to get the group's attention, but you opt for speech, instead.

"Alright, alright, everybody," you say into the mic with a laugh, eyes scanning the crowd for someone to converse with.

There's one man - his ebony hair is swishing as he speaks - who's bouncing up and down like an eager dog, and you laugh.

"We all excited to be here? In London!" you say, garnering numerous cheers and screams from the group.

"I can tell you are." You walk over to the raven-haired boy, who's in front row, and crouch down. He'd previously cheered extremely loud, confirming his excitement.

The boy makes a loud whoop'ing noise, getting a laugh from his friend.

His friend.

You continue to speak, walking over to someone else, but now your eyes are glued on him.

He looks about your age, with beautifully disheveled sandy brown hair and chocolate eyes. He has numerous scars littering his face, some new and red, some older and whitening.

You can't help but wonder what the scars are from, and you feel a strange attachment to the boy, though you've never spoken before.

And after a while, it's time for your final song. About a thirds of the way through, at your favorite part, you meander back over to the boys.

You lean over, disguising your position as a simple concert move, but you're really staring into the brunette's eyes.

"You remind me of a time when things weren't so complicated." The words fall from your mouth effortlessly, and you're able to search the boy's eyes as you sing. There's a spark in them, a glimmer of light that pulls you in.

"All I need is to see your face." You sing, still singing almost directly to the brunette.

You need to see more of him, you suddenly think. And you continue to sing the song, but all that swims around in your brain is a plan. A plan to erase the mystery behind the boy.

The show comes to a close, but before everyone has left, you pull your manager aside.

"Hey, Martin, this- this is an odd request, but could you ask these two boys to come backstage? That sounds, um, interesting, but would y'mind-"

"What do they look like?" Martin interrupts you, and you sigh in relief.

"One has longer black hair, and the other... sorta sandy brown hair, and some scars on his face. Can you find them from that?"

"I'll try."

You nod and thank him, running backstage to your small lounge and bathroom to await your mysterious visitors, changing quickly into clothes that are more comfortable; a simple silk dress, in a y/f/c hue, and a sweater to go over it.

You fiddle with your wand in your hands, mentally berating yourself.

It was quite a reckless decision, really. It's not like you had a valid reason for inviting these people to such a VIP space such as this. Just because you feel some weird connection to one of them didn't mean you could disregard everything. These boys are probably muggles, and you are not. Merlin, you're getting shipped off to Scotland next year after being home-schooled by your magical parents for eighteen years - just in time for your last year of school -going to a boarding school called Hogwarts (which would be a PR nightmare, but your parents insisted you needed some 'real-life experience').

But amidst your train of thought, you hear a knock at your door - two taps, three taps, your manager's code that it's okay to open the door - and you shove your wand into your (enlarged via Engorgio charm) pocket.

You stride over to the door, fiddling with the hem of your sweater, and open it to see Martin.

"Here they are, Miss L/N." He steps to the side to reveal the two boys, the darker-haired male standing in front, and you refrain from gasping when he steps forward, allowing you full view of the other boy.

The scars on his face are glimmering in the light, and his eyes are warm, pulling you in with every glance. His hair is perfectly tousled, and he's tall, over six foot two, or so you'd guess.

"Come in," you say, stepping aside to allow them entrance. You nod to Martin, signalling him to leave, and he does so, shutting the door and leaving you with the pair.

"Holy shit," the raven-haired boy says, and you realize he's only slightly shorter, about an inch less.

You laugh slightly, gesturing for them to sit down.

"Why are we back here?" the shorter one says, and you smile. He's made himself comfortable, seemingly the more outgoing, but the other one is still standing awkwardly beside you.

"You can relax, I'm not interrogating you," you say, smiling at the taller boy, who seems to let out a breath. "Why don't you introduce yourselves, and then we can talk, okay?"

"I'm Sirius, Sirius Black." The boy runs a hand through his dark hair, grinning.

"Ah, like the constellation? Brightest star in the sky," you say, and he nods.

"I'm, um, Remus. Remus Lupin," the other boy says tentatively, offering a smile.

"Hi, Remus," you say, nodding. "I don't want to assume you know my name, I'm aware you're not American, but considering you're at this concert-"

"Of course, we know your name, we're British, not daft," Sirius says with a playful scoff, and you laugh. "You're Y/N."

"That I am," you say with a giggle, and Remus grins. Your heart stops for a moment, the world coming to a halt as his eyes meet yours.

Sirius clears his throat, and a blush spreads onto the apples of your cheeks. You gulp, looking down.

"So, you didn't answer my question," Sirius starts, tilting his head, but Remus kicks his shin.

"Pads, chill," he whispers, shaking his head. Sirius shakes his head, looking at you.

"It's fine, really. 'M not that interesting, no need to be uptight," you say, smiling again.

"I'd beg to differ," Remus breathes.

After what feels like no time at all, but is really three hours, you've gotten any and all formalities out of the way. Well, all but one - you're still unsure if they're muggles, and they don't know that you're a witch, either.

That is, until Remus gets up to go to the restroom, and something tumbles out of his pocket.

Your first thought is how did something that long fit in a jean pocket, but then you see what it is.

It's a wand, about ten inches, cypress wood, with a small bulb at the end of it. You gasp, and Remus goes pale, stumbling to pick it up.

"Is that-" you start, but Sirius cuts you off.

"It's nothing," he says quickly, but you shake your head.

"That's a wand," you say slowly, and Remus is wide-eyed, nervously fidgeting.

"It-"

"No, no, no," you say, reaching into the pocket of your sweater and pulling out your own. Sirius and Remus simultaneously gasp as you brandish it in your hands, and you grin.

"You're a witch?" Remus asks, jaw slack.

"You're a wizard?" you return, raising an eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah we are!" Sirius says, and you grin.

"What school?" Remus inquires, and you purse your lips.

"I was home-schooled, but this year - for my last one - I'm going to this school called Hogwarts? D'you know it?" you explain, garnering another gasp from the pair.

"That's where we go," Remus says, and your eyes light up.

"Really?!" you ask excitedly.

"Yeah! I guess you'll have some friends when you get there, at least," Remus assures, grinning.

"I bet Remus wishes you had a boyfriend to greet you," Sirius says, disguised with some coughs, and you blush. Remus kicks his friend in the shin again, and turns to you with a sigh.

"Sorry, he doesn't know what he's talking about," he says, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Does he not?" you ask flirtatiously, and it's Remus's turn to blush.

"Uh-"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" you say with a mischievous grin, one returned by the sandy-haired boy in front of you.

#remus lupin x reader #wolfstar #sirius black x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #marauders

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anamatics · 3 years

Note

Send a ship and I’ll tell you who: Fleurmione 🥺

Here have some stuff form the Teenagers Universe, some spoilers as this is mostly set in the aftermath as that’s what I’m writing now. Slight CW for dealing with the aftermath of trauma.

Gives nose/forehead kisses

Probably Fleur, she's the more affectionate of the two of them, but when Fleur dozes off in the middle of a translation, half-read books of runic poetry scattered across the desk and crumpled bits of parchment scatted on the floor. Hermione drapes a blanket over Fleur's shoulders and gently shakes her awake. "Come to bed," she says. She bends and presses her lips to Fleur's forehead. "The runes will still be there in the morning."

Gets jealous the most

Jealousy was reserved for that one time that Hermione had a maybe-almost-something with Pansy that blossomed into what even Fleur agrees is one of the healthiest friendships either of them has. And besides, Hermione had that mortifying moment with Professor McGonagall that was, well, enlightening for everyone. When Pansy finds out about that during a party she laughs for a good ten minutes before giving Hermione a slow once-over and announcing, “I stand by my point about degenerates and nerds from fifth year.”

Hermione doesn’t hex her, but it’s a close thing.

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive

So maybe Ron splitches himself once too many, and Hermione’s started to just take the night tube back to White City. It’s easier, honestly. Living in a space that straddles both muggle and wizarding London has left her so accustomed to occupying both spaces that it seems the natural option. When she and Fleur get caught in the turnstiles, and neither of them can quite get their oyster cards to read, they realize that they’re in their late thirties and probably should not be out so late when they have children waiting for them at home. But Pansy throws the best parties and the sitter’s agreed to stay late while they explain to the TFL attendant that they’re not too drunk to get on the train, and no one will get sick.

Takes care of on sick days

Here’s the thing. Wizards don’t get sick the way muggles do, no, they have ailments of the wizarding kind that Hermione’s got no idea how to deal with them when she first encounters a case of dragon pox on her third day of residency at the Queen Vic’s A&E. She still gets headcolds and a flu shot every year because in the eyes of magic she’s more muggle than witch. Fleur attempts to make soup, and, despite Hermione having (relatively) mastered cooking, she’s still not the best at it. When she ends up disappearing for twenty minutes and coming back with a packet of instant noodles from the corner shop, Hermione just sniffles and smiles woozily at Fleur. “Hate that you can’t catch this.”

“I’d rather you didn’t catch it either,” Fleur replies. “Perhaps this is a lesson about refusing to take the floo or apparating to work?”

“I will die before I floo willingly and you like taking the train as much as I do.” Hermione takes the chopsticks offers her and sits up, frowning at the instant noodles. Even through her clogged nose, Hermione recognizes the scent of peppers. “The Korean one?”

“To clear your sinuses,” Fleur answers.

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day

Here’s the thing, the water’s cold and Hermione isn’t going to just get in it without prompting. She’s brought a book to read, a fiction book. She’s taking a break from all the academic reading and reading a novel that Pansy’s recommended in the shy, hesitant way that Pansy does anything that matters. She’s been working her way through the wizarding classics, but this novel is new - just published. Pansy’d been insistent, and when it’d arrived in the post Hermione understood why. She’s not a fool, and she recognizes a pseudonym and a barely disguised dedication.

Fleur’s standing by the water, ankle-deep in the chalk-colored water, waving at her. Hermione sets the book aside moves to join Fleur, their fingers tangling together as they wade out into the water, staring across the channel at the French coast.

“I can’t believe she kept her hobby a secret,” Hermione comments. “Dunno how she has the time between doing all those proofs for work and taking care of the kids while Hannah works nights.”

“I think she wanted to impress up on the world that no one truly knows her,” Fleur answers.

“Very Slytherin.”

“Quite.”

Gives unprompted massages

It used to be that touch was something they both craved, having spent so much of their early relationship apart. Now, when Hermione gets home at half ten from a shift at St. Mungo’s that turned into a shift and a half dealing with a magical catastrophe so bad that they’d had to call Andromeda back from Reading to even begin to make sense of what had happened. Near-fatal organ damage from accidental magic was something Hermione was used to dealing with, but this, threaded with something think and dark and particularly nasty that sat like oil amidst the child’s blood was not her area of expertise. She’s dead on her feet, and her patient is barely stabilized by the time she’s comfortable leaving. She collapses on the sofa when she arrives back at Catterlily Place, half asleep as she melts into the soft cushions.

“How bad?” Fleur asks. She’s got her glasses perched on her nose and is already bending to pull Hermione’s trainers from her feet. Her fingers dig into Hermione’s sore, aching feet, and Hermione cannot say anything at all, knowing full-well that there’s a chance the patient won’t survive the night.

“We had to call Andy back from Reading.”

“Oh, chérie.” Fleur’s hands still and she pushes herself to her feet, settling next to Hermione and wrapping her arms around Hermione’s shaking shoulders. “You are so, so good at what you do, Hermione. So is Madame Tonks. It’ll be okay.”

Drives/rides shotgun

“I think this is a threat to public safety,” Fleur says as Hermione adjusts the seat and fiddles with the height of the steering wheel. She walks around to the passenger side of their rented hatchback, and climbs awkwardly into the seat. “We could be killed in this deathtrap. We are witches. We do not have to drive anywhere.”

“Fleur,” Hermione says with grave seriousness. “Sometimes things that are easier... are worse.”

As they drive away from Reykjavik and into the Icelandic wilderness, Fleur’s breath catches and Hermione’s smile grows smug. This was going to be a fun holiday.

Brings the other lunch at work

It takes over a year for the goblins to allow Hermione back into Gringotts. She runs into Damien Betz when she’s ducking into Fleur’s office on the second floor with with a bag from Pret and two coffees during her lunch break at the Queen Vic. “Mademoiselle Granger,” Damien says. “Bonjour.”

“Salut Damien,” Hermione says. She tilts her head toward Fleur’s office door. “Is she in?”

He nods, but bends close. He’s clearly just had his line done, as it looks as though a razor has carefully sculpted the shape of his bangs against his forehead. “This morning,” he bites his lip, frowning, “didn’t go well.”

The Blakeley Vault has been a nightmare for the entire curse breaking team for weeks now. “I’ll bear that in mind,” Hermione says. “It was nice to see you, Damien.”

He waves his hand, and Hermione moves toward Fleur’s office with purpose.

Has the better parental relationship

When Paulie drops them back at the hostel, she again offers them a chance to stay at her place with her husband. “It’s no trouble, really,” she says. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “I know this hasn’t been an easy day - being surrounded by muggles,” she wrinkles her nose looking the hostel’s shabby exterior over, “does not sound like my kind evening.”

In her distaste, Hermione is able to look through the haze of sadness that’s come over her to see Pansy in Paulie - the Parkinson upbringing creeping through despite the fact that this woman has a muggleborn witch as a mother, despite the fact that she’s helped Hermione undo all the damage she’s done to her parents, despite the fact that she’s being so kind to two complete strangers, she’s still a Parkinson at heart.

“It’s alright, Paulie, thank you though.” Hermione says. “I expect there will be a lot of days like this before things get better.”

Later, Fleur holds her and promises her that it will get better. “At least your mum can stand to look at you,” Hermione says through the tears.

Tries to start role-playing in bed

“Grab the headboard,” Fleur says. Her hair is mussed, lipstick smeared across her cheek. They’d been out at a ministry function, but all it had taken was one lingering look from Hermione, her lips closing around the olive in her martini, to have Fleur pulling her into a darkened alcove and pushing her up against the wall. Hermione doesn’t mind when this part of Fleur comes out, the part that’s content to kiss her like she’s damnation and salvation at once. Hermione’s hands found their way under Fleur’s tailored jacket (she’d insisted on attempting a menswear look to compliment the dress Hermione’d found while out with Pansy and Ginny a few days back and the final product had Hermione’s mouth dry even before they’d left the house), and she’s whispering about finding somewhere more private.

Hermione grabs the headboard, and Fleur’s straddling her hips, eyes dark and wild. Fleur reaches for her wand, raises an eyebrow. “Will you let go?” she asks. “If I say you can’t?”

Swallowing, Hermione shakes her head. “I won’t.”

But then Fleur’s using a severing charm on her dress, leaning over her with a sinful smile. She bends to kiss Hermione and the whole world is closing in on that one moment and Hermione can’t breathe, she cant--- When the world relaxes and Hermione’s body starts to untense, she’s sobbing, back in the terrible memory of that night at Malfoy Manor and Fleur’s gathering her up in her arms and apologizing over and over again.

Embarrassingly drunk dancer

It takes nearly three years before Hermione is comfortable going to a club again. Being trapped in the dark, surrounded by people she can’t see, whose faces are obscured and then illuminated by flashing lights is enough to send Hermione into panics that last two or three days. So they go out to warmly lit pubs full of old men who look them over before shrugging and turning their attention back to their conversations instead. On a warm night, when they’ve shared a pitcher of Pims with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, Fleur gets to unsteady feet and asks Hermione if she’d like to dance to the song that’s playing lowly from the wireless in the corner. To her credit, she nearly manages to execute the proper steps to the dance before they tumble together, clinging to each other as they sway to the music.

“This is so disgustingly adorable I need to get a camera,” Pansy comments, sliding into the seat Hermione’s vacated. There’s a large diamond on her ring finger, which is, ostensibly, the reason they’re all out. Hannah didn’t wait long. She pours the remainder of the pitcher into the final clean glass, fishing out cucumber and crunching on it thoughtfully. “When are you two getting married?”

Hermione shrugs, and Fleur just laughs.

“I mean they sort of are married,” Ron says.

“Totally,” Ginny agrees.

Harry buries his head in his hands and groans. Pansy reaches over and pats him on the back before drawing Ginny into a conversation about the ring. Hermione rests her head on Fleur’s shoulder. “We should do that, you know.”

“Let Pansy have her fun,” Fleur says. She presses a kiss to Hermione’s forehead. “There’s a lifetime for us.”

Still cries watching Titanic

They go to the cinema not long after the war ends, and Hermione very bluntly asks for the attendant what the longest film that’s playing’s run time is. They’re avoiding her parents, who are desperate to reconnect since she’s retrieved them from Australia, and avoiding Fleur’s, who’ve come across the channel to meet Hermione’s parents. When Fleur’s mother had summarily dismissed them as they all traipsed up from the basement dining room of the charming French restaurant near the National Gallery Hermione’s parents knew, they didn’t need telling twice. The conversation thus far had been mortifying, and they’re both eager to get away form the nightmare that is the combined powers of their parents. They offer to meet back up for tea in a few hours, and disappear off to the cinema, where they sit in the very back row leaning on each other and sob through the ending together.

Firmly believes in couples costumes

Hermione hates fancy dress parties and balls, but after the war they become all the rage within her friends group. Something about going out as someone else appeals to so many of them, as they’ve all been forced to be celebrities despite their best efforts to avoid the spotlight. Harry and Ginny always go as famous quidditch players with period-appropriate gear and think they’re terribly original. Hermione lets herself be talked into floor length gowns and togas and, one memorable time, a full pirate costume by Fleur. She wears what she’s told and when Fleur finds a way to use the costumes to drive her wild throughout the night with slips of skin and lingering touches, Hermione doesn’t have any cause to complain.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas

The ring, when it does come, is presented on Christmas morning at Fleur’s parents’ house in full view of Fleur’s mother and grandmother. Gabrielle is distracted with a new book from her father and Phillipe has been drawn into explaining some of the diagrams at the back of it. Fleur holds out the small box to Hermione with some trepidation, looking from her mother to grandmother. “Oh just give it to her Fleur,” her grandmother finally snaps. “You’ve waited long enough.”

"Fleur?” Hermione asks.

“You once gave me the soul of the world,” Fleur says quietly.

“Because it never ends,” Hermione breathes. Her fingers tremble as she opens the box. The ring is beautiful, and when Fleur puts in on her finger it feels as though Hermione’s come home after a long, long time away.

Makes the other eat breakfast

“You need to eat, chérie,” Fleur says.

Hermione, where she’s been pacing up and down the length of the flat, looks to where Fleur’s standing in the kitchen holding out an energy bar. “I can’t,” she says. “If I eat I’ll get sick and I have to pass this exam today or I will never get the job at St. Mungo’s.”

Fleur’s lips press together into a thin line. She steps into the path of Hermione’s pacing and places her hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “You already have the job at St. Mungo’s. You know as well as I do that Blacks do not stick their necks out for just anyone. If Andromeda says you’re ready, you’re ready.”

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, but she knows Fleur’s right. Her teeth click as she closes her mouth.

Fleur’s expression softens. “Now, please, eat.”

Remembers anniversaries

It’s late February when Hermione suggests they go out somewhere nice. Fleur smiles fondly from her translation. “What’s the occasion?”

“You kissed me for the first time five years ago today.”

Brings up having kids

“There are potions for that, Healer Granger, if you’re at all interested in such things.”

Hermione splutters, nearly spitting her coffee out as she stares across the breakroom table at Andromeda. “Why Healer Tonks,” she says, picking her words carefully. She’s been lamenting to her colleague that Fleur’s mentioned children for the third time in as many weeks and it’s about to turn into a conversation. “Are you offering to brew for me?”

“Well, I was going to offer my sister’s services,” Andromeda says, sipping her tea. “She’s been complaining to me that she’s bored now that the divorce has gone through.”

Hermione does spit out her coffee this time. “I will not have your sister brewing--”

“Merlin, Hermione, you’re far too easy.”

#fleurmione #fanfic #this was a lot #casual homage to Freckle

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geminimoonbeamx · 5 years

Text

Oh, Baby: Chapter Two

A/N: So I was so excited about the reaction and feedback I got on the first chapter, I hope you guys enjoy this one too!

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warnings: None really- brief mentions of smut and of course cursing like a mf

Summary: After a drunken night, Y/N finds herself having to face the biggest decision of her life; is she ready for motherhood? And a better question, is Bucky Barnes, her long time friend and womanizer extraordinaire, ready for fatherhood? They’ll just have to go along for the ride and find out together. A Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader Story

Chapter 2/6: And a Cherry On Top

Once you decide that you want this baby- that you’re keeping, things become alot clearer in your mind.

All those lists you made? The bullet pointed steps, numbered processes that you need to accomplish zero in, your brain finally able to sort them, at least a little bit. More then you’d been able to last night, or even this morning.

You’re keeping this baby, it’s cemented in your stubborn brain now and even though that brings a whole new round of terror, it becomes a front and center though. A focal point, so to say.

And when you’re focused- you’ve been told you can be a little ruthless.

“Look, Dr. Cho, I like you so far, I really do, but I’m going to be blunt here: I’ve read some horror stories about plus size pregnancies, and how miserable it is to have a doctor who is fatphobic- so I just want to check base and make sure that you’re...okay with having me as a patient, and will treat me with the same respect that I plan to treat you with”

She doesn't look shocked and you don't know whether that's just her training or if her face always has that sage quality to it, but you can't really read it.

“I really admire you bringing up your concerns, and I can assure you that they’re very presidented, but that’s not something you’re going to have to worry about with me if you choose to continue on with me as your practitioner for this pregnancy.

I’ve been an OB for the last fifteen years and have worked with lots of very different women: big and small and everything in between and that doesn't matter to me. What matters is that we find a plan that works for you and your little one and keeps you both healthy as we get you to term. Does that sound okay to you?”

You chuckle, delightedly shocked at her words. At how straight forward and sincere she had been. At the support you could feel from her and how relieving that felt to know that your doctor was going to be on your side, for you, with you.

Being overweight, you’d had prejudice thrown at you left and right thought your life, sadly also by medical professionals, and to know she wasn't going to do that to you?

“Yeah” You nod, with a grateful smile “That sounds more than okay”

The appointment goes smoothly for the next hour and a half or so after that. You’re happy you’d Googled like crazy and had come prepared with a small list of key medical facts: any allergies, past surgeries talks of mental health and medications. She gives you a pelvic exam/Pap and its uncomfortable as they always are, even with her gentle, nimble fingers. Legs in stirrups, biting at the inside of your cheek.

The magic happens when she lays you down and slathers your tummy with a jelly like substance and your heart goes fluttery against your chest as she uses a little wand, probes and moves it gently against the jelly. Looking, searching…

Thump,

Found.

On the screen of the ultrasound machine that she’d pulled up. Dr. Cho had warned you that it was very early, and that there was a good chance that she wouldn't be able to find much of anything at this point and yet there it was.

A tiny little blur in the blob like painting of your insides that we’re up for display on the US machine. A heart beat, the sound it made would be imprinted in your mind forever.

“There’s your baby, it’s about the size of a cherry right now and I has no really defined shape, but as you can hear, it has a very strong heart beat”

Like in movies, you thought you’d cry, and yeah, maybe your close, but really it lights a fire in you. Sets your heart ablaze and makes you feel lightheaded.

There’s your baby, and it’s real. So real. With a little heart inside you, beating along with your own…

You leave the office with two copies of the ultrasound pictures, one for you to keep, and one to give to Bucky.

Now you only had to tell him.

Later that night, as you and Wanda lounge on your living room couch, you text him, clutching a furry pillow in your lap.

You need to get this done and over with, you have to tell him.

Hey, long time no talk. You think we could get together for lunch sometime this week?

----------

Bucky finds himself sitting at a corner table, it’s half past three and you’re still not there yet. You we’re supposed to be meeting him for a late lunch...ten minutes ago? Fuck, why were you always late?

It drove him crazy, was on that long list of things about you that made his eyes cross with annoyance. On that list was also the fact that he could never guess what you we’re going to do- which yeah, that one still stood, too.

When you’d texted him, asking him to meet you for lunch last Friday, Bucky had gaped at his phone for a few minutes. Hadn't you spent the last couple months avoiding him like the plague? He couldn't help himself, though, and had only given you a tiny bit of shit before agreeing to meet you that next Wednesday at you guys’ favorite spot.

And so here he sat, at HandCraft, waiting for you. Trying not too feel excited, hopeful. That usual feeling that settled in his gut whenever you we’re around(even with just the promise of your presence) had been thrown into effect.

He orders himself a Corona, extra lime, but considers something stronger to quell the weird nerves, and orders you a Long Island Peach Tea.

He knew your obsession with everything peach, so when he saw it he couldn't help but order it for you.

He’s a couple drinks into his beer when you walk in. Bucky could zero in on you in a crowd of hundreds, a skill he’d developed pretty quick after meeting you. His weird 20/20 Y/N radar doesn't fail him and his eyes snap to you as you walk in, and he waves you over. You boop through the crowd, and Bucky knows he has a stupid little smile on his face as he watches.

You’re cute, always. It’s infuriating, and intoxicating and damn, will he ever get over this shit? It’s been eight years for fucks sake.

It’d been rainy and humid in the city this May, and the beige long sleeved, off the shoulder top and high waisted ripped jeans you wear are breezy enough. You always dressed nice, most always put together and he’d always taken the time to appreciate your style, the way you hed yourself and adorned your curvy body.

The big bun that sits atop your head is messy and has started to frizz from the time you’d spent in the sprinkling rain, your loose baby hairs wispy and starting to curl as you sit down in the chair on the opposite him.

“Hi” You greet, shifting in the chair. You’re awkward around him now, and it sucks. It really does.

He thinks about that night in early March, and he cant bring himself to regret it, and he tries to ignore the twinge from how apparently you seem to.

“Hey there- I ordered some drinks so I didn’t die or dehydration while I was waiting for you”

You can’t help but giggle- you and Bucky’s dry humors had always lined up. It was a part of the reason why the two of you had always got on so well, the two of you were always throwing off hand, rude to anyone else, jokes at each other.

“It’s three, you’re going to need to check that alcoholism or yours someday” you rebuff and he shrugs, taking another swig if his beer with a cheeky smile-

“It’s five o’clock somewhere...and it’s actually 3:30, which makes you- he checks his watch playfully, asshole, fifteen minutes late”

“I had a meeting with my boss. Give me a fucking break” You snipe back, and yeah maybe you sound a little sharp.

Shit. No, that’s not how you wanted the atmosphere of this conversation to go. But this week had been...a lot.

You’d told your little sister MJ about the big B news and she had advised you to talk to your boss about bumping up your healthcare, about maternity leave and all that other jazz as early as possible- and that had lead to you having to sit for over an hour with the one-eyed owner of the radio station.

Nick Fury was cool enough, really he is, but still. Explaining an unexpected pregnancy to him was...really awkward. Especially when he had asked about the father and you had to pretty much shrug and say “Bitch, I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out later today”

But you definitely didn’t call your boss a bitch.

“A meeting? Is everything okay?” Bucky actually sounds concerned and you purse your lips and spin the straw in the dark drink you hadn’t touched yet because you were preeeeetty sure it had liquor in it and that was a no go for you now.

“Um, yeah...it is now. I just had some serious stuff to talk to him about”

“Serious? That doesn’t sound great” Bucky didn’t mean to pry, but he knows how much you loved your job. How hard you’d worked for it.

He’s always rooted for you, knowing that like many things, the radio waves were dominated by male hosts. He listened to your podcasts, and your new show, religiously.

Every Wednesday night at 7- he diligently listens to your melodic voice, actually for the last couple months it’s the only way he could feel close to you.

Sucker. He knows.

“Um, yeah. Kinda serious? More just things I needed to get sorted out with Fury. A little planning for my future, ya know?” Our future, the life inside me, you don’t say. Yet.

“Okay, well as long as everything’s still going smoothly there, that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, right. Everything’s going smoothly…” fuck.

“Just say it and get it over with. Like pulling off a band-aid” Wanda had pep talked you about this- but god, how could anybody know it was going to be this hard.

Your heartbeat had gone hummingbird and your stomach was in knots as the minutes ticked on. You order an ice water and watermelon salad and Bucky frowns.

Because that’s not your usual...you always get the Nacho Tots. He offers them as an appetizer for the two of you to share and you shake your head with a forced smile, complaining of a stomach ache.

You don’t touch the peach tea, he points that it too and you shake your head telling him you weren’t in the mood to drink which, what? You were always down to day drink. Always.

Half way through his chimichurri steak, Bucky can’t take the weird tension anymore. You’re trying...to hard. And yet he can clearly see that you’re more uncomfortable, more uneasy then he’s ever seen you.

He can only bite his tongue for so long. Months of tension were bound to come to a head eventually.

He couldn’t bare talking about the weather and other trivial bullshit subjects anymore.

“Y/N...if you didn’t want to hang out, why did you make plans with me?” Bucky questions, bluntly. Takes you off guard a bit.

“What?” Is your bright reply and he just frowns and leans back in his chair. His body language is all wrong- and it makes you even more anxious then you already were.

“I just- fuck. Fuck, it’s been so weird between us since March and I thought having lunch today was supposed to be us remedying said weirdness but it just feels worse” Bucky’s tone is slightly frustrated and dejected

You can feel your face drop. None of this was going how you’d planned- and you’d imagined this going 1,000 different ways in the last few days.

“I just want everything to go back to the way it was” Bucky speaks, interrupting your silence and it feels like there’s fucking needles in your stomach.

“It can’t go back” You utter, fidget in place, staring at the busy street outside the window for a moment. Not able to meet his eyes yet.

“Really? Cause I kinda think that’s bullshit. So we slept together? It was consensual and we’re adults, I don’t get why it has to be a friendship ending thing-“ Bucky’s feelings are hurt, and it’s apparent in his tone. Confused, slightly pleading.

Band-aid, Wanda’s words ring in your head as you muster up your courage and look back at Bucky.

Jesus, you could drown in his foggy eyes. Could be melted down to nothing by the molten silver of his gaze.

“I have something to tell you, it’s why I asked you to lunch today. I wanted to talk to you face to face because...this is pretty fucking huge and I- I” you stutter and stumble over your words and Bucky knows it’s something major because words are usually your weapon. You vernacular your sword and armor.

He doesn’t know why he knows, or why it clicked together in his head- call it some kind of weird intuition. Maybe from the fact that he grew up with all sisters and that he remembers his older sister Charlie and her face when she’d told his parents, at the age of sixteen, that she was-

And Oh, ohhhh, you hadn’t drank. Or touched your food-

“You’re pregnant” it doesn’t feel real to him as he says it, as his lips gram the words he can’t really feel himself speak them.

You gasp softly- your big eyes locked with his for a moment where everything goes still around the two of you, and then you nod.

It’s like he had peered straight into your soul anyway. Like he already knew.

“Yeah, I am. Nine weeks- well almost ten now, I guess”

“Oh...oh fuck” Bucky breathes out, a long exhale because he’d been holding his breath and oh shit- he hasn’t had a panic attack in years but this sure feels like what the start one.

“Bucky?”

“It’s mine?” He knows it’s an asshole question, but he grits it out anyway because he has to be sure of what he already knows.

“Yeah, it is. I haven’t been with anyone since we were together” It’s the truth, and he knows because you have a big fat unfiltered mouth that you hadn’t been with anyone for months before him.

“Five months?” You remember him breathing into your neck “Fuck, doll, how? No way”

“Mmhmm” you’d hummed as he’d kissed down your chest “I’m not a whore like you- I can go a few months without sex with out my genitals shriveling up and my brain short circuiting”

He’d laughed around a mouthful of breast.

And now you were pregnant. With his baby.

He gapes like a fucking fish as he tries to digest it all.

“I’m going to keep it, Bucky. And that doesn’t mean I expect you, or am going to force you to be in they’re life but I just...I don’t know I thought i should tell you? And not because I felt obligated to or anything...I mean kind of, but because you’re a good person and I wanted you to know” You’re rambling, yeah, but you’re saying your peace.

“You’re ten weeks?” Bucky questions, breaking you out of your ramblings and you nod, a little confused.

“Yeah, it’s the size of a Cherry right now...trippy, right?”

Bucky barks out a laugh, still in that headspace where he though he might wake up at any given moment.

“A cherry. Oh my god. Holy fuck- you’re pregnant” Bucky exasperates and then puts his hands on his face, trying to calm down. Trying to get a grip on himself.

He knows you. Knows that you’re not lying about it being his, why would you? And there’s a baby inside you, right this moment. One that he’d put there- that the two of you had created together.

“Yup. Super fucking pregnant- a doctor confirmed it and everything” You try to lighten the mood a little, just like you always do.

“Really?”

“Yeah...here, look” you dog through your handbag for a moment and then pull out a laminated picture and reach across the table to hand it to him.

When Bucky takes his first look at it, his heart squeezes and his breath gets stuck in his throat again.

It’s the ultrasound picture. Black and white, unidentifiable shapes- but his eyes zero in on the little blob in the darkness. The baby.

His baby.

His heart clenches again.

“There it is” you point out what he’s looking out with a manicured finger “that’s the baby. I know it all looks like an obscure Picasso painting or something but that’s it” you kind of hate calling your baby an it, but you don’t know what else to call...them, yet.

“A cherry” Bucky whispers, asks.

“Yeah, like-“ you make that annoying, internet famous, 6 shape, with your hand and put it up to your eye to look through it “this big”

Bucky chuckles. You’re so dumb. And so special, for being able to make such a tense situation feel...lighter.

“I’m going to want to be in this baby’s life, you know that, right?” Yeah, he doesn’t know how he feels about all of this yet. He still thinks this might be some kind of fever dream- that maybe he died from that flu he had last week, but he’d been raised right by his mom and pop.

Was he a bit slutty? Yeah, he guesses he’d own that(argue that he only acted on how he was pursued)

Could he be a little bit of an arrogant prick? You, and plenty of other people had told him that plenty in his life and yeah, he’d own that one too.

But he’d never, could never, leave you alone to raise this child. Not with how he felt about you- and shit, even if he wasn’t harboring these feelings could he ever just leave a woman who he’d gotten pregnant completely alone.

“Don’t make promises in the heat of the moment, I’m not expecting-“

“Me to want to be a father to my child” he doesn’t snap, per say, but he knows you can hear how offended he is. It makes you bite the inside of your lip.

“I don’t know. I just don’t...want you to feel like you have to say things you don’t mean because I’m sitting in front of you right now. Like? You might feel different later, you know?”

Bucky instantly feels bad for snapping at you. You’d been sitting on this, thinking you might have to do this alone…

Bucky looks back at the ultrasound picture and his stomach rolls at the idea of you doing this alone. Of him missing this first milestone of your pregnancy. Of his child’s life.

His child.

He’d woken up this morning, single, uncomplicated and now...he knew there was a baby that was half him inside of you.

He should have had that stronger drink.

“I’m going to be there for this baby, and for you. I don’t know what that looks like yet and I can’t promise I’ll be great at it, but I’m going to be here” his voice gets soft and passionate and fuck, the way he’s looking at you, vowing this to you…

It’s almost more than you can handle.

“Okay...I’m game” you say, and he snorts and nods.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, if he’ll be a good dad or not. There’s so many unknowns swirling around his head, clogging his brain-

But he knows he’s not going anywhere.

“We’re going to have a baby” He says it, and this time it feels a little more real as it comes out of his mouth. “Holy fuck I’m going to be a dad”

“Um, congratulations” The waiter chooses that time to come back to the table, and the kid who can’t be more then eighteen looks a little awkward at intruding “Do you want a celebratory piece of cake?”

“You know what? Yeah we do- and please, make sure there’s a cherry on top”

He grins too big when he asks for a cherry and you know he’s needs it as a visual comparison to the size of the baby inside you. Bucky is so obnoxious.

He’s also beautiful- in the restaurants low light. All teeth and bright blue eyes- his brows still pulled together and his expression a little overwhelmed, but not mad. Not disgusted or cold like you’d feared.

You can almost here both Wanda and MJ’s “told you so’s” now.

You can’t help but share in his contagious smile- the nerves that had players you aren’t completely gone, not by a long shot.

But...you and Bucky Barnes were going to have a baby.

You could only hope that the two of you didn’t fuck it up too bad.

@peacefulwriter88 @jaamesbbarnes @jalapenobarnes @gifsbysimplysonia @brieannakeogh @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @lostinspace33 @4theluvofall @tatathekissypotato @siren-kitten-his @skishenanigans @geekyweed @spidey-babe-parker @lastfallenstar @rachelle-on-the-run @prettybubblesintheair @dani-si @hufflepuff-always-forever @morganhoran1671 @imdiegohargreeves @nikolett3 @miss-mcbotty @nerdgirljen @readingsubtitles @sgtbookybarnes @prussiangilbert @tiredofsatansbullshit @bitchwhytho @mishameadows @heartbeats-wildly @10kindsofderp @xodearling @notyourtypcalrose @rachelle-on-the-run

The taglist for this story is still OPEN. If you would like to be tagged, please be aware that I will be expecting feedback, and will not take the time to tag you again if you don’t give any- I will update with the next chapter once this chapter reaches 100 notes.

Okayyy, so here’s part two. It might be a little cheesy, but I really want this story to be more fluff then angst, okay?! Which let me say is not easy for me because lately I’ve been one angsty bitch.

So I decided that I wanted to play with more MCU characters then I normally do, do something different- and that’s how I came up with the idea that the readers little sister is MJ(Michelle Jones) from Spider-Man. I love Zendaya- and since I’m usually writing a mixed race reader- she fits as a sibling.

Just for heads up, a little spoiler for the next chapters, I will also be having the Van Dynes be in her family tree. Hope is her cousin.

I’m really just trying to have fun writing for Marvel again. Hope you guys are having fun reading this.

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self-critical-automaton · 5 years

Text

dwp fuckery update

ill be as brief as possible

context: ive spent most of this year without most of my income because the dwp suspended my esa for spurious reasons and ive been trying to get it back all year but theyve insisted many times it cannot be done without documents we cant obtain

so a month or so ago i scanned and sent in some other docs we knew they wouldnt accept,as a hail-mary heard nothing, so a couple weeks ago i called up the job center and made a fuss and they said id get a callback. i didnt so this week on monday i called up like ‘why no callback’ and somehow got escalated to a callback from a supervisor at the actual benefits center

who was v e r y condescending but eventually agreed to investigate

and then the next day i got a callback saying basically ‘youre unsuspended and youll get your arrears tomorrow’ and im FURIOUS how DARE they reveal that they could just wave a magic wand and make this BULLSHIT go away and could have done it any time ALL YEAR anyway the next day they give me like 10% of what they owe me and say ill get the rest the next day, the next day they bunp that up to like 30% and say ill get the rest the next day

they have not sent the rest

the FUCKERs im so angry theyre gonna make me phone up and have to have trauma-y panic attacks AGAIN fuck FUCK

also: i asked them what their investigation showed, they said that they had reassessed me based on jaunary and based on that unsuspended me, i asked what the actual problem had been all along and they just... outright refused to answer!?!

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snictionary · 6 years

Text

The Snobels 2018 snominees masterlist

updated 29/11/2018

The snominations will close 30.11.2018. After that, you’ll have the entire December to snote for your favourite in each category. The winners will be announced 9.1.2019, which is the birthday of our snord and snaviour, Severus Snape.

If someone you snominated isn’t on here, it’s because you did not provide a link. Without the link, some bad guesswork is the best I can do. The only way to make sure the people you snominate appear here is to submit a link.

I will keep checking the snominations and updating this list!

Meta

@severusdefender, @akashikadoesthings, @deathdaydungeon, @raptured-night, @idealistic-realism00: Marauders vs Snape and Draco vs Harry, the difference between bullying and rivalry (meta 1)

@aworldofgrey, @thegreatsnapescape, @wormwoodandasphodel: Lily should’ve done more to help Severus during the events of Snape’s Worst Memory (meta 2)

@legilimensxsnape, @thegreatsnapescape: Sirius’ hate for Snape (meta 3)

@severusdefender: The end of Prisoner of Azkaban (meta 4)

@sayruq: Severus Snape never stood a chance (meta 5)

cj_whitehound: But Snape is just nasty, right? (meta 6)

@snapedefender: Why is it the accepted norm that Snape was obsessed with Lily? (meta 7)

@potteryet: One thing people forget (meta 8)

@rainfiresnowearth: Not fond of his looks (meta 9)

@rainfiresnowearth: Daily Snamione #88 (meta 10)

@maximoffsrogers, @deathdaydungeon: House points (meta 11)

@queersnape: About House points (meta 12)

The World of Severus Snape: Discipline at Hogwarts (meta 13)

@deathdaydungeon: Always (meta 14)

Literature

@thegreatsnapescape: Rue and Rainflower (literature 1)

@deathdaydungeon: A dealer, not a Death Eater (literature 2)

@humanveil: si vis amari ama (literature 3)

@severusdefender: One small step (literature 4)

@thesnapewecandreamof: Harry Potter AU idea (literature 5)

flamethrower: Of a Linear Circle (literature 6)

@humanveil: Curiosity (killed the cat) (literature7)

Paganaidd: Memories and Dreams (literature8)

@rainfiresnowearth: A Gloomy Poem for Our Dour Potion’s Master (literature 9)

@rainfiresnowearth: Lost by the Seashore (literature 10)

@deadcatwithaflamethrower: Harry Potter’s third year (liteature 11)

@thesnapewecandreamof: Missing (literature 12)

Art

@bananagege: Proud boy in Pride Month (art 1)

@elenianz: that snape boi (art 2)

@thegreatsnapescape: Redemption (Out of Reach) (art 3)

@the-mr-lolipop-things: Severus with his Pygmy Puff (art 4)

@elenianz: the good old days (art 5)

@a-substantial-trash-pile: Snapetober 13: Guarded (art 6)

@madfantasy: fairy kisses (art 7)

@doodlebat: Tiny Sneep stole his mum’s old Hogwarts uniform, skirt included (art 8)

AnastasiaMantihora: Impedimenta (art 9)

IrenHorrors: Always... (art 10)

Hellanim: The hot wet bat (art 11)

Vizen: Welcome to Slytherin (art 12)

@elenianz: Severus Snape is Gina Linetti of the wizarding world and no one can convince me otherwise (art 13)

@thegreatsnapescape: Inktober day 2: “Worst Fear” (art 14)

@bananagege: Week 3 of Snape Appreciation Month : Snape Experimenting Alone (art 15)

@madfantasy: Spauldron (art 16)

@lifeofapottedplant: How dare you stand where he stood? (art 17)

@nazonopurinsu: The place where we met for the first time (art 18)

@kedroboiz: Early Saturday morning in the Hogwarts kitchens (art 19)

@RainFireSnowEarth: The most beautiful thing (art 20)

@RainFireSnowEarth: When my time is up (art 21)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Cowards (art 22)

@RainFireSnowEarth: One day (art 23)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Poem - Nikita Gill (art 24)

@RainFireSnowEarth: I will cry (art 25)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Poem - Lang Leav (art 26)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Strangers and Secrets (art 27)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Quote - Russell Brand (art 28)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Quote - Mandeq Ahmed (art 29)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Author - n.d (art 39)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Similar Personalities and Traits (art 40)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Different Personalities and Traits (art 41)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Similar Magical Abilities and Skills (art 42)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Different Magical Abilities and Skills (art 43)

@RainFireSnowEarth: #79 - Daily Snamione (art 44)

@RainFireSnowEarth: #82 - Daily Snamione (art 45)

@RainFireSnowEarth: #85 - Daily Snamione (art 46)

@elenianz: Layers & layers (art 47)

@semiramis-audron: Severus has been known to knife a motherfucker in his time (art 48)

Meme

@thegreatsnapescape: car salesman: *slaps Snape* (meme 1)

@potions-and-potters: Turn against the dark lord (meme 2)

@snapedefense: no (meme 3)

@ktnissevurdeen (@lvnderbrown) : What do you do? (meme 4)

@hharringtcns: B e c a u s e h e i s w o r t h i t. (meme 5)

@snapeseverus: Updog (meme 6)

@uchuu-nosuri: This is canon, right? (meme 7)

@1800areyousnappin: Snape flirting (meme 8)

Shitpost

@a-snarling-slytherin: swaying Snape around in the air (shitpost 1)

@snapedefense, @pessimistichogwarts: How Snape Haters Think The HP Books Were Written (shitpost 2)

@buffspiderman: you must join the festivities, Severus (shitpost 3)

@potions-and-potters: Severus I’m still missing your photo for this year’s faculty newsletter (shitpost 4)

@severusdefender: Level with me (shitpost 5)

@doodlebat: When you find bargain priced Dark Mark tattoos (shitpost 6)

@deathdaydungeon, @astronema-princess-of-all-evil, @xxtheforgottenonexx, @mollymcgiftens, @a-snarling-slytherin: Stage (shitpost 7)

@dungeonsblues: Is Sev a good dancer? (shitpost 8)

@lifeofapottedplant: No foolish wand waving (shitpost 9)

@thegreatsnapescape: Every time I see this comic (shitpost 10)

@thegreatsnapescape: Expectdough patronyum (shitpost 11)

@snapeseverus: Those cunning folk (shitpost 12)

@mysnarkyslytherinsecret: Snape is walking across the Great Hall (shitpost 13)

@supiprimi, @severace-snape, @bayneko, @askfordoodles, @justdrarryme, @pandas-cant-fly-ks, @thepurplewombat, @cannithebear: Ridiculously overpowered

Conspiracy theory

@tetragon4: The Headmaster Snape Conspiracy (conspiracy theory 1)

@we-built-the-shadows-here, @dungeonsblues: Ruthless Dumbledore (conspiracy theory 2)

@severit, @prosnapeblogging, @potteryet, @thegreatsnapescape: All up in their faces (conspiracy theory 3)

@thoughtsaboutsnape: Severus marries the whomping willow (conspiracy theory 4)

@severus-snape-fans394, @snapeingturtle, @snapedefense: 3 lives saved (conspiracy theory 5)

@snapeingturtle: Gay deer (conspiracy theory 6)

Peace

@snapedefense, @snapeingturtle: the incredible cellist (peace 1)

@snictionary: incel (peace 2)

@supiprimi: The saga of snevor (peace 3)

@aworldofgrey, @sevi-seviyorum, @onecolorgirl, @wormwoodandasphodel, @thepotionsmasterwife, @librarydaze, @mollymcgiftens, @saltyqrow: Sounds more intimate (peace 4)

@snalendar-snofficial, @snictionary, @severus-snape-apreciation-blog, @madfantasy, @elenianz, @thegreatsnapescape, @agalemnon, @suffer-my-displeasure, @elfarock-art, @run-and-hide21, @lcsslr, @justyouraverageshittyblogger, @captainhellaradsart, @banana-ge-ge: The Snalendar 2019 (peace 5)

Headcanon

@thesnapewecandreamof: Hiding from Madam Pomfrey (headcanon 1)

@thoughtsaboutsnape: Severus’ patronus wasn’t a doe. It was dough. (headcanon 2)

@sxvxrxssnape: facts (headcanon 3)

@severussnapeimagines: Snape being human (headcanon 4)

@deathdaydungeon: Snape’s greasy hair (headcanon 5)

@snapped-snape: Hot take (headcanon 6)

@thoughtsaboutsnape: Swole Snape (headcanon 7)

@deathdaydungeon, @thoughtsaboutsnape: Sev’ socks (headcanon 8)

@RainFireSnowEarth: Is this the DADA Classroom? (headcanon 9)

@RainFireSnowEarth: #145 - Daily Snamione (headcanon 10)

@RainFireSnowEarth: #157 - Daily Snamione (headcanon 11)

@thesnapewecandreamof: Missing (headcanon 12)

@snapeingturtle: A little sneadcanon (headcanon 13)

@prosnapeblogging: Snape’s ears (headcanon 14)

@thesnapewecandreamof, @deathdaydungeon, @raptured-night, @somuchanxietysolittletime: I Have a Question (headcanon 15)

@sevi-seviyorum, @severusdefender: Snape moves to Vegas

#the Snobels 2018

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simplemoonk · 5 years

Text

I wrote a thing so why not share it on everywhere I possibly could, right? Right - so here we go! You could also read it on Ao3 (my username is somethinglikespace - still cant believe I’ve posted something on there). Thank you!

Ginny Weasley and the Case of 'the Girls Night Out'

Hermione was descending down the stairs quickly her heart in her mouth. Someone was pounding on her door like they were very much determined to take it out of its hinges.

Please let Ron be okay.

She prayed as she grabbed the handle. Ron was on a stake-out with the Aurors this night. She swung open the door… and came face to face with Ginny Weasley whose fist stayed frozen on mid-air.

“Ginny?!”

“Hermione! Hi! Come-on grab your coat we are having a girls night out!” she said all in one breath as she reached out to take her coat off of the hanger. Hermione was still gaping at her when she tugged at her arm and slummed shut the door effectively pushing Hermione out of her own flat.

“Ginny!” getting a hold of herself Hermione retreated her arm back from Ginny’s grab. “You almost gave me a heart attack!��

“Oh! Sorry about that. I get a little excited.”

“Excited about what? Where are we even going?” Ginny glanced at her quickly.

“You’ll see when we get there.” Hermione was about to open her mouth to retort when she saw it.

A shiny red Rover. Pulled into the driveway of her flat. With Luna on the backseat. Waving at her with a very serene look on her face. Like finding herself on the backseat of a muggle car was an everyday occurrence for her.

Hermione stopped on her tracks so suddenly that Ginny walked past her only to turn around and looked back at her, biting her lips.

“What?”

“Ginny – What is it?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Um... a car?”

“Where did you find it?”

“I burrowed it from a friend.”

“Which friend?” Hermione asked while crossing her arms across her chest.

“From Bridget Cooper. A trainee of Harpies.” Ginny answered without a skip but Hermione wasn’t buying it. She had seen that slight twitch on her right eye before. A nervous tic of Ginny’s whenever she was lying.

“Ginny!” she exclaimed exasperatedly.

Ginny straightened up and started walking again, determined.

“Come on! We are going to be late!”

“Ginny, wait! Did you even know how to drive?” Hermione asked while trying to catch up with Ginny.

“I don’t have to know how to drive Hermione! Luna and I charmed the car so it would take us wherever we want to go!” Ginny replied opening the door of the driver seat in the meantime.

“B-but where are we going?”

“Surprise!” Ginny’s answer came muffled as she closed the door behind her. Hermione moaned and threw her head back feeling desperate. She could not let Ginny go like this – not after she was sure that she was up to something.

As she fastened her seatbelt she could not help but felt like she was back on Hogwarts with Harry and Ron once again.

*****

They had been driving along crowded streets and Hermione had started relaxing after a while as girls had kept talking about anything and everything. She had even forgotten that they were in a self-moving car until it had turned a rather familiar looking alleyway.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked squinting her eyes as she looked around. The answer was on the tip of her tongue – it almost felt like experiencing deja vu. They entered a side rode. Houses here had been lined up perfectly and none had its lights on. It must be late Hermione thought. She saw a post standing at the corner of the road and it read –

Private Drive.

Oh... Oh no! No no no no no!

“Ginny! You – We- What?!” she spluttered and turned to look at Ginny so fast her neck popped.

“What?” Ginny asked innocently. Too innocently. And then she pulled her wand out and tapped it on the wheel. The car stopped in the middle of the road and Ginny took the control instead.

“When did you learn how to ride again, Ginny?” Hermione squeaked as she start holding onto the cushions like her life depends on it. And it very well could be.

"My dad had had a car.” Ginny said.

“You were ten!”

“Still-!”

“Can I drive as well?” came Luna’s calm voice from the backseat.

“NO!”

“Later!”

Hermione took a very deep breath from her nostrils before started trying to talk some sense in Ginny.

“Ginny, look I know. I know you are angry at them for everything they have ever done to Harry but whatever is in your mind it is a bad idea. A. Very. Bad. Idea.”

“Don’t worry Hermione! I’m not going to do anything that will get us into trouble.” Ginny said to her soothingly but then she mumbled something under her breath which suspiciously heard like much. She maneuvered the car when they arrived in front of Number 4. Their car’s estate lined up with the Dursley’s shiny black Sedan’s bonnet. Hermione understood what Ginny was about to do and for the second time that night she felt her heart in her mouth. She looked around maniacally.

“LUNA!” she heard herself shouting and both Ginny and Luna turned to look at her bewilderedly.

“You can’t crash the car! You will hurt Luna!”

“I told you Hermione, we have charmed the car! Not even a hair on Luna’s head would get harmed.”

“Ginny please let’s talk about this through! DON’T!” But it had been too late as Ginny had already hit the accelerator as the car was on reverse gear. The car gained speed instantly and collided with the Sedan with an all mighty CRASH! Hermione opened her tightly-closed eyes –she didn’t even realize she had shut them off- and turned around to see the damage they had caused. The Sedan’s alarm was screaming through the night and its headlights kept flashing. Ginny shifted the gear back and drove forward a bit only to crush with the Sedan once again. Its bonnet fell out and windscreen shattered onto the ground yet their car stood perfectly fine as though it hadn’t been the one that got involved in the accident and they hadn’t felt anything aside from slight bouncing.

The houses that had plunged into darkness moments ago now started illuminating with light.

“WHAT’S HAPPENED?” Hermione looked up with Ginny and Luna as a beefy man with a very large mustache started yelling from a window on the second story. They could see a thin blonde woman looking over the man’s shoulder. Hermione moaned for the umpteenth time of that night as Luna waved at them and Ginny laughed gleefully. The man disappeared probably coming straight down to call them to account when a second shrill noise cut through the night. They saw bright blue and red lights on the corner. Hermione’s stomach leapt.

“Police!” she shrieked out.

“What?” Ginny asked squinting her eyes to the car with blue-red lights that had just cornered the road.

“Police! Drive Ginny, drive!” Ginny hit the accelerator once again and the car was dispersed when they shot out the opposite direction.

“Are they like the Aurors of Muggle world?” Ginny asked yelling against all the noises around them.

“Yes, they are!” Hermione yelled back. Ginny cursed turning the wheel hard and they sped through the alleyways.

*****

“Harry!”

Harry looked up when he had heard his name called out. Gawain Robards, head of Auror Office, was staring him down from the threshold of his office.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked and without waiting for an answer retreated back to his office.

Harry signed. He was about to get off the office as his shift had ended an hour ago. He proceeded to follow his boss instead. Robards had already seated on his desk when he entered his office and with a careless flick of his wand his boss slammed shut the door behind Harry.

“Have a seat.” Harry sat down on one of the chairs positioned in front of Robards’ desk and looked up at him expectantly. From the closed file on his boss’ desk Harry assumed he would be assigned for a new case. He shifted on his chair anticipated.

“Your relatives were attacked by vandals on last Tuesday night.” Harry’s eyes widened behind his spectacles not knowing what to say or how to feel so he kept staring at Robards.

“You don’t need to worry. They were unharmed – their car not so much though.” Harry didn’t know what to feel about that either.

“Were – Were they attacked because of me?” Despite all the things he and the Dursleys had been through he still felt something suspiciously resembling of guilt started boiling on the pit of his stomach.

“No. At least we don’t think so. There were no magic involved. A car crashed into theirs on their driveway without any passengers in it. The only reason why we have been informed of this because they are your relatives and you might want to look into it.”

“Yeah – No. I mean if there is no magic involved.”Harry said quickly. He wasn’t keen on to get involved with Dursleys ever again. Robards nodded.

“I thought you might say so. Muggle police thinks the crash was about getting back at Dursleys’ son anyways. A bad break-up or something like that. Apparently it has been three girls that crashed into their cars.” He opened the file in front of him and skimmed it through quickly. “A brunette, a blond and a ginger.”

Harry’s head snapped up at the word ‘ginger’.

Surely she wasn’t… but Robards also had said a brunette and a blond which completed the picture perfectly. And I told her about the cupboard two weeks ago.

“Did something happened?” his boss asked one eyebrow raised. He had been watching his reaction very closely.

“No! No, nothing. I’m sure they are right. The police, I mean.” Harry said and they stared into each other’s eyes for a very long moment time before Robards broke the eye contact. Nodding again he cleared his throat and dismissed him. Harry walked out of his boss’ office and off the Ministry leisurely and then sprinted off. He arrived at apparation point before knowing it and found himself on the street across the Grimmauld Place within seconds. He darted up the stairs and tapped the door’s handle with his wand.

“Ginny?” he called out on her as he made his way down to basement kitchen. The sound of the wireless reached his ears. He found her chopping vegetables on the counter while swaying her body left to right compatibly with the song.

“Ginny?” he felt bad when she jumped clearly hadn’t heard him before. She turned to face him.

“Sorry.” He apologized as she gave him a radiant smile and came towards him for a quick peck on the lips.

“It’s okay. Welcome home.” She turned back to continue her chopping.

“I thought we could have roasted chicken for dinner. Mum has sent a basket of carrots from the garden today so I will put them in as well. Oh guess what? I went to a Muggle store today because I could not fin-”

“Why did you do it?” Harry interrupted her monologue suddenly. His voice was low and calm. Having understood what he was asking immediately she stopped chopping and her body stiffened. Slowly she turned around to face him eyes meeting his in their search looking for any sign of anger or disappointment. He seemed to be feeling none of these. All she could read from him was curiosity.

“Because I promised you.” She said after licking her lips.

“Promised me?”

“That I wouldn’t hex or curse them. So that was the least I could do.”

“But why, Ginny?”

“Because I could not stay still and do nothing while they have caused you so much pain, Harry!” she exploded. “Because I have not been able to fit into my own skin since you told me about that sodding cupboard! I’m not sorry for what I did, no I would have done the same thing all over again. They deserved worse than that! But I’m sorry if I made you think that you could not trust me again with your past. I don’t want you to think like you could not tell me anything anymore! But please understand this! I had to do something Harry! I had to!” her voice muffled as he crushes her into his chest hugging her tightly. Coming to the end of her tirade she started breathing very heavily on his chest. He held her like this as she calmed down. When they drew apart her eyes were red but very dry.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

“No.” he answered her and pressed his lips on her forehead before tucking her head under his chin.

“But you have to make a new promise. Promise me you won’t vandalize people again.” She hesitated but then gave in with a sigh.

“Promise.”

“And where did you find the car?”

“I burrowed it.”

“From?”

“Street.” she shrugged and he laughed.

#hinny fanfic #hinny #hermione plays a part in it too #oh and luna #bc its girls nights out #and sorry for crossposting #but not so much

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years

Text

Sunday Afternoon.

(( Cleaned up and pieced together from a thread with @misfit-herbologist , who you should definitely check out. I’ve known & have been writing with them for several years. ))

A couple of hours meant exactly two hours.

Not an inaccurate interpretation of two hours but, it might have been easier to just say “two hours”.

When Calleo appeared in front of Vasiliy’s place he stopped for a moment, looking around the area. It must have been awhile; he was almost certain there weren’t that many greenhouses the last time he’d visited or, if there were, they were almost certainly smaller.

Moving plants, the thought struck Calleo out of nowhere, always made him nervous and there were bound to be a lot of moving plants in that place. Plants were just–not supposed to do that, they were supposed to stay in the ground and not wander about, make sounds, grab things, or even worse and even those that were meant to capture prey were still supposed to remain firmly in the ground.

Well, non-magical plants were supposed to, at any rate. What magical plants did was anyone’s guess; maybe nothing, maybe screaming in a way that would cause you to die, because why not?

Our of habit, Calleo swept the area for traps, wards, and hostile magic in general. He didn’t necessarily expect to find anything, though; at this point it was more of an automatic habit that one was just supposed to do before approaching a building, even when invited.

And, of course, finding nothing out of the ordinary, he walked up to the door and knocked, silently hoping it was Vasiliy who answered the door and not Vasiliy’s partner whose name he could never get entirely correct even after several years.

This time, Calleo had not left his hair down, that was far too much to both deal with and risk around weird, grasping plants. It wasn’t exactly done up nicely either, just lazily tied back in a manner that suggested he might have actually wrapped it around the two wands whose job it was (at the moment) to act as hair sticks. Perfectly appropriate use of wands.

That added wonderfully to the impression that Calleo had, perhaps, been up all night, took a bit of a nap in the morning, then realised he was supposed to have been somewhere an hour prior and decided as-is would have to do. As long as nobody looked terribly closely, he did manage to look relatively put together.

Fortunately for Calleo, it was indeed Vasiliy who opened the door. He still had his winter beard and had thankfully remembered to trim it before his friend’s arrival. His hair, on the other hand, looked like it hadn’t seen a brush or comb in a few days, though it was just as likely that Vasiliy had just been frantically cleaning and getting things ready for his guest. Not like his house really needed that much more cleaning and organising, truth be told.

“Ah, Calleo,” Vasiliy said with a warm smile. “Please come in. I was just finishing up the tea and I’ve got fresh biscuits.” The welcoming smell of tea and biscuits was evident as soon as the front door was opened, and Vasiliy stepped aside to let Calleo through.

There were a number of indoor plants inside, though thankfully nowhere near enough to confuse the home with the greenhouses, but enough to give the strong impression that the homeowner was a fan of plants. They also, thankfully, didn’t rustle or give the faintest impression of sentience at the guest’s arrival.

Aside from Vasily himself, and his cat Smoky peering around the stairs in the hallway, the only other sounds in the home were from the kitchen of the tea kettle’s whistle slowly dying down and the clinking of some tea spoons and cups as they filled and arranged themselves on the small table there. A small stack of book sat waiting.

“Vasiliy! You look–” he canted his head in a slightly bird-like manner, “–about how I’d look if I had left this mess on my head down.”

Calleo stepped past Vasiliy and into the house, taking far too careful note of which plants were where in case nay of them got any strange ideas of moving about or acting in ways plants just shouldn’t be acting.

“Kitchen, or–?” He glanced back at Vasiliy and stopped moving, not particularly wanting to just wander around the house, even if it was the house of someone he knew fairly well. Calleo did give the cat a nod, as though the animal were going to greet him in return.

“Anyway, I was mostly a bit curious as to how accurate you could get an array of flowers to fit at least the general theme, kind of, of something but I probably shouldn’t jump straight to business, should I?” Another sidelong glance at the cat with fur that probably stuck to clothes, though it may also have been a quick look to see if Vasiliy’s partner was around or if he’d purposely made himself scarce.

“We probably ought to catch up a bit first, yeah?”

The cat stared back at Calleo while Vasiliy shut the door behind him and then gave him a slow blink. She didn’t otherwise move, seemingly waiting to see what room they would be heading to.

“Oh— I was just getting things ready in the kitchen but it’s no problem to move things out to the not-kitchen.” Vasiliy paused and then ran a hand through his messy hair as if that would fix anything, taking a moment to remember how to be a normal social person. He hummed to himself and stepped into the nearby kitchen. “Tadeusz went out to run some errands so he may be back before you leave.”

It was cosy and not too big but managed to keep anything one might need in a kitchen. On top of the cupboards were tins upon tins of various teas as well as a number of coffees. Some were purchased and others had new labels written upon them–they must have been the ones Vasiliy grew himself.

“Sugar or honey? Cream or milk?” Vasiliy asked Calleo, looking back towards him to quickly inundate him with too many questions. “Or do you prefer black? Do you want jelly with your biscuits? Or would you perhaps prefer something more savory?”

“Kitchen’s fine, mate,” Calleo waved dismissively at nothing. “Usually no rugs in there, not that I intend on dropping anything. It’s been awhile since I’ve forgotten I’m holding something, open the hand it’s in, and drop it.”

“By awhile, I mean about seven months.” He turned as the door closed, and his attempt to do so casually didn’t necessarily land; it ended up looking more like a mild jump than anything else.

Before he could manage to apologise for that reaction to nothing more than a door closing, Vasiliy had begun peppering him with questions–about something? Tea and food and then tea and–

Calleo blinked owlishly and followed Vasiliy into the kitchen, “It–black is all right. I’ll figure the rest out when I get to that point.”

Maybe if he sat down there would be fewer questions? Probably not but, taking a seat would look less standoffish than staying where he was, looking mildly shocked at the fact that a door had closed. It was just a closed door anyway, not a cell door, this wasn’t a prison, he wasn’t a captive, and there would be no good reason for Vasiliy to have locked anyone in or out of a room.

“Things have been well, yes? It has been some time and I figure it may not be the best idea to just presume,” while he was now in the kitchen as well, Calleo didn’t sit. Not yet, anyway.

“You’ll have to–well, not have to, but it would be nice–forgive me, with all the work I do and the sorts of people I work with it’s sometimes a bit tricky to not be a little jumpy!” He laughed and shook his head, “Old habits and all of that. Funny thing is, around people I know are dangerous, I’m perfectly at ease.”

“Hm. That’s all right,” Vasiliy reassured him. He set some sugar, honey, and cream on the table anyway in case Calleo did change his mind, and a jar of strawberry jelly. “Nothing in here will bite you.” He side-eyes a tea spoon that was still floating about in the corner. It promptly dropped to the counter with a clang–a small clang proportionate to its size–when it was seen. “Well, nothing should bite you.”

“Oh! And where are my manners? Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the chairs at the table and waited for Calleo to sit before seating himself down.

“Ah, everything’s been well for me, and I don’t think there have been any dramatic changes since the last time we met. I’ve just been studying different plant specimens, writing about them, experimenting with hybrids of a few.”

Once it appeared that the pair were getting settled, Smoky entered the kitchen and sat down by the door. Observing.

“Won’t and shouldn’t are two very, very different things,” Calleo all but flopped into an open chair, “though it doesn’t look like much in here does a lot of moving on its own–I mean, apart from us and the cat.

A cat that Calleo turned to eye somewhat suspiciously.

"That is just a cat, right? Not some sort of familiar or some kind of weird living situation with an–no, obviously not an Animagus, I’d be able to tell that. Forget that part, that was a part that should have stayed right inside my head!” He flashed a brilliant, if a bit tired, grin and, for the moment, only curled his hands around the tea cup.

“Hybrids like making lilies produce lima beans? Or something a little less mad than a suggestion a Muggle illustration from the 1920s made as a joke? Or more mad? I’m not sure what the scale of ‘mad experimentation’ is in Herbology, maybe that’s all perfectly normal.”

Calleo moved to take a sip of his tea but stopped when the cup was mid-way to his mouth, “You did mean hybrids of plants and other plants, yes? Not hybrids of plants and–garden toads or people you don’t particularly like or anything like that? Because you don’t need to hybridise anything for that, you can just get creative with Transfiguration.”

“Smoky?” Vasiliy picked his own tea up and looked at the cat. “Ah–oh no, she’s just a house cat,” he said, shaking his head. “I think she’s just checking you out. Nothing to worry about.”

The aforementioned cat gave Calleo another slow blink, and then began washing her face like a perfectly normal cat. Nothing suspicious here. Vasiliy meanwhile took a biscuit and spread some jelly on it as he listened to Calleo.

“Plant hybrids. The lillies that produce lima beans will just be a silly little side-project because now I’m just curious if I can do it. I’m sure I can, but the process is still fun.” He sipped some of his tea before continuing.

“But yes, I’ve mainly been experimenting with various herbs and some produce plants. Seeing if some can be made hardier, or if they can take on the qualities of both parent plants, or maybe even produce some combination.”

Vasiliy paused, considering the hybridisation of plants and very-much-not-plants. He hmms and makes a mental note.

“What about yourself, Calleo? What have you been up to?”

“Cats are such odd creatures. I think it’s the eyes, somehow.” Reluctantly, Calleo tore his attention away from the perfectly ordinary cat that was busy doing perfectly ordinary cat things.

“I’m glad your answer was–not boring or mundane but normal? Then again, my basis for normal is often based on what my own projects are and none of those are even remotely objectively normal most days.” He absently scratched the side of his head, “That happens after a few years, you just lose all sense of what ’normal’ actually is.”

The hum seemed to prompt Calleo to elaborate, “You ought to see the dog I made for Braxford. Had a Magizoologist yell at me about it like I didn’t think it entirely though! It’s technically just a dog that was a little transfigured, not something I bred, because I don’t think you could breed a dog and a spider–” he trailed off. That likely wasn’t the best line of conversation for tea.

“I have been up to a lot of things I have no business being up to, around or in, chief of which is a tower. What’s left of a tower anyway. That’s partially why I’m here but, I’ll get to that later.”

“Apart from that, work,” he shrugged idly and took a sip of tea, “and I don’t like a good lot of what I keep seeing on the political side of my job; I have to keep myself in relatively okay standing with various governments on the continent in order to move freely, you know.”

Calleo shook his head and paused for a moment to have some more tea, “The Ministry wants nothing to do with reports that have been leaking out from Eastern Europe for almost eight years now and it’s not going to end well for anyone if they keep their current view. At this point,” he chuckled lightly, “I’m fairly certain Europe’s reaction in the next four or five years is going to be a tired, vaguely sarcastic, ‘I told you so’.”

“A dog and a…spider?” Vasiliy frowned a little. “Ah–no, that’s okay. I don’t like spiders. I’m sure it’s interesting though!” He smiled a little and took another biscuit. “No adverse effects? I would be concerned about its well-being and quality of life, especially since those are two very different organisms.”

“That’s not to say I wouldn’t be curious to see a plant combined with an animal,” he added quietly.

He then furrowed his brows a little. “I honestly am very bad at keeping up with politics or anything. And what have you been doing in a tower?” Vasiliy takes another sip of his tea. “Is that where you’re growing lichen? Why are you growing lichen, anyway?

The cat, while no-one’s looking at her, quietly hops onto the table and lies down on the stack of books beside them.

“Now you just sound like a Magizoologist!” Calleo snorted back a laugh, “It’s not as though I did it on a whim; it started out as a pun–you know, wolf spider–but the first one was…it was a spider so it had the brains of a spider, and that didn’t go so well.”

“The second one was arguably more dangerous and much less frantic, so, kind of messed with the pun when the third one was a domestic dog transfigured to have several features more commonly seen on spiders.”

“Specifically,” he grinned, “eight eyes, eight legs–just two extra in the front and two extra in the back–and it can spin webs. It also has hollow, venomous, black ‘teeth’. Incredibly friendly, and has a permanent charm on it so Muggles only see a little white spitz dog.”

Calleo picked up his cup again and answered Vasiliy’s first question without exactly thinking, “Grindelwald,” he seemed to realise mid-sip what he’d just said out loud and very slowly and deliberately set his cup back down; the only outward sign of what was probably a somewhat large internal cringe.

“I’d apologise for my personality but, really, you’ve known me long enough to be probably mostly used to it by this point,” he sighed and shook his head, “That is where the lichen is, though; grows on the walls. I’m not growing it. I wouldn’t have any use for it. It’s–I think it turned into one of those weird things someone latches onto if they’re kept in solitary confinement too long? There used to be rat skeletons nailed to the wall as well and I really don’t want to ask about that because I’m certain the answer will be as unsettling as anything I could come up with on my own.”

“He’s weirdly protective of it. The lichen, not the skeletons; I don’t normally get near that wall just on principle. It flowers now and again. Odd little red things on stalks.”

Vasiliy shivered lightly. “No. That’s–that’s too many things on one dog. Is it poisonous, then? Or–I mean more is it dangerous for people?”

“G–Grindelwald??” Vasiliy momentarily went pale and just stared at Calleo unsure of how to even continue on that topic. Did he want to know more? Was it safe to know more? Dare he ask?

“The red stems that the lichen grow are their reproductive structures,” he then says. Yes, let’s change topic. That’s much safer than worrying and wondering about the war criminal. “It sounds like those are isidia–column-like structures that stand up above the thallus, which can be different colours depending on the species. So, red in your case.”

Yes, that’s good. Let’s talk about fungus. Excellent.

“Peekers is a perfectly normal–ish–friendly dog. Of course, that goes off of Braxford’s interpretation of friendly but he’s had dogs before and I’m sure I’d have loudly heard about it if Peekers were somehow unmanageable.”

Calleo nodded, “Mm. Surprisingly friendly and conversational when not completely out of his mind. Reckon most people are, though. He’s not even the most dangerous person I know these days. Anyway!” He smiled again, “Isn’t that what flowers in general are? Or am I still at some T level understanding of what flowers are?”

“Admittedly, I didn’t know lichen, of all things, flowered. I’m not even sure I knew it was a plant, to be perfectly honest. The red clashes fantastically with the weird shade of green that stuff is.”

“I managed to get it to grow on a few rocks in my yard, somehow. I"m not entirely certain how that happened because the Muggle who explained how to do it said it involved a blender and something else–I’m not really sure, I haven’t got a blender, and just let her do it.”

“I can tell you, however,” he pointed at Vasiliy with his cup, “I felt more than a little mad using a butter knife to spread it onto bare rocks. Glad nobody but the crows in the yard saw that.”

“Well, they aren’t really a plant so those structures wouldn’t be considered flowers. They’re close to plants, like moss, but are also similar to fungus. They can grow in practically any climate, too. And what kind did you start growing yourself? The same one as in the tower? Or another type? Is it because you like that colour contrast, or did you just have that on hand? I don’t really keep too many of them myself but I do have a few unusual lichen specimens in my collection.”

“I think the ones I enjoy are a little fluffy, you could say. They’re a little like mesh and grow out like little branches from whatever it is they’re on, usually tree branches, and they’re lighter in colour. Well, at least the ones I’ve collected are a little on the bright side, there are likely others that are dark.”

“If you’d like to add a little variety to…either of those lichen collections, I could give you some that I keep. You would, however, need to spread them in much the same way.”

Vasiliy then took a slow sip of his tea, feeling a little better now that he rambled a little about plant-things.

“Now, ah–you wanted to do something with a flower message?”

The question about what type of lichen it was was met with a completely blank stare. A completely blank stare that continued for far longer than it should have. The only indication that Calleo hadn’t completely somehow frozen was the fact that he was occasionally taking a sip of tea.

“I have no idea what it is apart from lichen that makes weird red stalk-flowers now and again. Whatever I spread onto rocks was whatever flaked off and fell to the floor there. I just sort of–collected it for a couple of years. There’s a small ‘garden’ of it on a few smaller rocks in a bell jar there now.”

“I’m not sure if I’m insulted or not that it grows just as well on outdoor rocks in Scotland as it does in a dodgy old building designed to suck the life out of everything it touches. Doesn’t say much for Scotland’s weather or my house, does it?”

Calleo sat quietly for a minute or two, considering the lichen offer, “You know, I think I will for the sole reason that I want to see if he asks me what in the actual hell I’m doing to what’s left of the walls and to see if he believes the explanation.”

“Right, right!” Again, he set his cup down. Holding it and talking at the same time didn’t appear to be a possibility, “The entire reason I decided to take up the majority of your Sunday! It’s not–I know, for the most part, how messages via flowers work, primarily because I can read, but this is slightly different.”

“I don’t think it can be done directly because what I’m kind of thinking of is more–a ‘mood’ in the wording that would make it recognisable as to what it’s meant to be paired with if that makes any sort of sense.”

“We can take a look at the lichen that I have later then.” Vasiliy nodded. “Even if I strongly question your life choices,” he then added quietly.

He glanced at the stack of books beside them and then reached over to stroke Smoky’s head, who purred in return. “That sort of message is really much easier to send via flower arrangements. What are you pairing it with? A letter? A poem?” Vasiliy paused. “You’re not sending him some sort of secret messages, are you?”

“Vasiliy, I strongly question my life choices. You can see what good it does.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems–I mean, it kind of is, it’s actually rather objectively terrible but, it also isn’t.”

“At some point I think I just got rid of the bar,” he shrugged and smiled again. If any of that bothered Calleo, there certainly wasn’t any indication of it.

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead; does it need to be paired with something?” He canted his head slightly, “Secret messages? No, no, it’s more a–re-reading of something.”

“What kind of secret messages did you imagine I’d be sending, out of interest?” A hint of amusement crept into Calleo’s voice.

“Oh, I don’t mean pair it when you send it. I may have worded that poorly. I think I just meant what you’re basing the message on?” Vasiliy ran a hand through his hair, this was a lot more socialising that he’d done in a good while.

“And I have no idea what sort of secret messages you might send and if that were the case I wouldn’t want to know what they were or whom they were for. But if that’s not what they are then–that’s good. That’s good and fine and I prefer that.”

“Oh! It’s a poem. I haven’t got it written down, I’m not sure I’m allowed to; I do have it memorised, however. Maybe think of whatever plants get involved as a bit of theatre or something? That’s probably not exactly the right word there.”

“Not sure yet if I want to be able to read along with them.”

“I’ve sent coded messages before with flowers but I’m not entirely certain if the recipient knew that or if he just thought some weird man was sending him flowers for some inexplicable reason,” Calleo frowned slightly at his cup.

“And once, with Felix,” he perked right back up again! “I had to tell him not to take ten words and something like a hundred letters and symbols to say what he could say in English in, like, five words because chances are I’d translate something wrong or miss some subtle nuance and take it literally.”

“I like to send Braxford inappropriately aggressive messages that way and it’s a lot more interesting than just sending an owl to ask him if he fancies a duel.”

Calleo’s grin was now back and it had a bit of a sharp edge to it, “I like to send him bouquets of Rhododendron and Tansy.”

“That is clever,” Vasiliy said with a smile. “I didn’t think anyone still sent little messages with flowers. Well, apart from the maybe-more-typical romantic sort, of course.” He then nudged Smoky a bit and pulled a notebook out from under her. The cat didn’t seem to mind and lied back down on the next book as if she were never disturbed in the first place.

“A poem then? Hm. I won’t write it down if you’re not allowed to but I will note some keywords and themes so we can keep track, if that’s all right. I know I can get a little excited when talking about flowers and I’m pretty sure you’re not here for a lecture on herbology or anything,” Vasiliy said with a light chuckle.

“At least I know Braxford isn’t going to misinterpret it–and it’s not really ‘war’ but, the way we destroy everything involved sometimes might count as a minor one. Great way to keep your skill and reaction time up!” Calleo watched the cat a bit too closely again. It was just. A. Cat.

When Vasiliy asked about the poem again for possibly the third time that afternoon, Calleo wrenched his attention away from the perfectly ordinary cat and back to his friend, “Oh! Right, right, the thing I’m actually here about!”

“I’m going to play it a bit safe and not just read you the entire thing but, the topic of it was, of course, waxing poetic about the sunrise over the Northern-ish lake where they lived. Thing is, though, you do have to avoid anything reed-like, aquatic, or anything like long grass that looks like it might grow around the edges of a lake.”

“Now that I think about it, it could probably just be an array of orange and reddish flowers mixed in above a lower blue layer but, I’m guessing, you’ll be able to add a little more depth to it than that.”

Vasiliy jotted a few things down so he doesn’t forget: sunrise over a lake, no aquatic plants, and also draws some little flowers of different types as he thought them over. He tapped his pencil on the paper a few times before speaking up.

“Gerbera and tulips are a couple of flowers I can think of that have mostly symbolism as well as come in a variety of colours–aside from roses, in popularity, of course,” he said. “Red, yellow, and orange tulips tend to symbolise passion, cheerful thoughts, hope, and understanding. There are also blue ones for tranquility if you wished to stick to one type of flower.”

“Gerbera, which also come in a range of colours that would be appropriate for the sunrise theme, represent energy and joy,” Vasiliy continued, all the while more focused on making little drawings of the flowers he’s talking about and noting their meanings. “Again, positive messages, but maybe a little too…loud? Not loud, but they don’t really read as peaceful and tranquil as a sunrise over a lake would be.”

“Ah, freesia is another. Protection and calm. Let’s see.” He went back to tapping on the notepad as he recalled flowers, not yet resorting to the assortment of books he’d dragged out of his and his partner’s little personal library. “Blue violets for faithfulness, purple for loyalty and simplicity.”

Vasiliy finally stopped and looks up at Calleo, a touch of concern on his face. “Was that too much?”

For the most part, save for tulips and violets, Calleo had no idea what Vasiliy was talking about.

“I think, if it’s a sunrise, it’d be a bit of a–half circle that dips behind the blue flowers? So maybe a few of those,” he pointed to the Gerbera sketches, “for things not the–whatever the center of a floral sun would be, and use the tulips near the center.”

“A mix of blue and violet, well, violets might give the water some depth and it looks like the freesia has a shape that would work well to be rays of sunlight throughout?”

Evidently, he didn’t think it was too much.

“Should probably put a few preserving charms so it doesn’t start to wilt and die the way cut flowers tend to do after awhile. In this particular situation that would–” Calleo shook his head, “it just wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I think that would work out just fine,” Vasiliy said with a smile. “So–this and the other lichen samples. Was there anything else you needed, Calleo?”

“Oh! Did you want to make this flower arrangement here? I’m not sure that I have all of the required flowers, but you can take this sheet and I can point you at a good local florist?”

Calleo shook his head, “No, no, nothing I can think of and, since I’ve taken up the majority of your day with all of this you’re overdue for a break!”

“I’ll take the sheet to a florist and let you get back to your afternoon, thank you again.”

“I’ll let you know how well it goes–though I probably won’t know with the lichen for a month or so.”

#stories #hp rp #1991 #flowers #misfit-herbologist

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luxexhomines · 5 years

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Hello! I was reading through your blog and wanted to ask if you could write for Tsumugi with a female S/O who is the Ultimate Witch? In or out of the V3 universe is fine. Thank you!

Hullo, anon! Thanks for the request!! Although Tsumugi isn’t my favorite character, I so enjoyed writing this. I put it out of the V3 universe, so there are no spoilers for anyone wondering. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the reader be doing “real magic” or magic tricks, so it’s a little vague, haha.Icon credit to 64pxs! Also wow my third request finished in one day although it’s past 1AM & technically a new day here now!

Guess I’d classify this as fluff, too. It’s not that long, so it’s not under the cut. Here you go!

Tsumugi x Female! Ultimate Witch! S/O

You knocked on her door and grasped the doorknob, fully intending to open it and peek in the gap, but your plans were abruptly foiled by her voice.

“Don’t even try,” she cackled. “The door’s locked and I’ve got a chair keeping it closed, you know?”

When you tried to turn it, it was true. It wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, come on, Tsumugi!” You whine right outside the door, making sure she could hear you loud and clear. “I haven’t seen you leave that room for a third day now! I know that you’ve got snacks and a bathroom connected to your room, but that can’t be healthy,” you beg. “Please come out…”

Either she’s ignoring you, or she’s ignoring you. Two perfectly possible options. You could even hear her plaintively humming a random tune, a tune that seemed reminiscent of a folksong–but what did that matter now, when part of her reasons for doing so was to drown out the sound of you?

“Can I at least come in, Tsumugi?” You knock on the door again, but you’re soundly rejected.

“No! You’re not allowed in here for the rest of the week, even if I do come out of the room,” she says firmly.

She was getting strangely obsessive about hiding the contents of her room from you, and you were extremely worried. The only times she ever pulled stunts like this was when she hadn’t finished preparing a cosplay for a con coming up soon, but the problem was that there were no cons coming up soon. As you understood it, she had taken a leave from work to do whatever it was she was doing in that room, and you had no clue what was so important that she’d take a week off of work to do it. She thrived off of that income to make living wage and make cosplays in addition to all her the money from her sponsors.

You could only sigh at the plain white door and walk back to your own room, resigned to your lonely fate for the rest of the week. It was anyone’s guess what she was doing or why she was hiding it from you, including your own, despite being her girlfriend.

You supposed you’d go practice your magic for the upcoming magic show you were holding while Tsumugi did…whatever it was she was doing. There was no time to waste at her doorway, calling her name to a silent answer or pounding on the door in exasperation.

You took a deep breath and gathered your focus for the first act, a rather simple attention-getter with birds flying from your sleeves like colorful ribbons spewing from them. Somehow, it was always the easiest magic that was easiest to mess up, so you ended up practicing the act for at least an hour, worried about the possibility of success in a live performance.

Falling back on the bed, you pant slightly in exertion. Who said magic was as easy as waving a wand? That’s only what magicians wanted other people to believe, after all. If the magician was dropping dead from exhaustion, no one would enjoy the show–no, it was much better for them to believe that the magician possessed unlimited amounts of mana and could continue performing magic for an entire day but just ended it at around an hour for the audience’s scheduling convenience.

But even magicians weren’t immortal. You decided to take a break and walked to the kitchen, grabbing a drink of water to hydrate yourself before returning to practice, throwing a bitter, yearning look toward Tsumugi’s closed door.

It was going to be a long week, just you and your magic.

On the day of the magic show, you hoped Tsumugi would emerge from her cave, maybe make an appearance. But it was fifteen minutes before the show, and she still hadn’t come.

You let out a sigh of disappointment and return to your dressing room as you pick at your ratty, ripped seams of what used to be a smart looking, black long-sleeved tailcoat and matching pencil skirt. You’d had it since your very first show, and you liked it very much, but it was ready to retire and had been for a while now.

In fact, you were surprised Tsumugi hadn’t commented on it–she usually would make note of any clothes you owned that were no longer serving a functional and aesthetic purpose and bring you out to buy new ones. Speaking of Tsumugi, your dressing room just burst open with a long, blue-haired girl in spectacles and carrying what looks like a newly pressed outfit in black.

“Tsumugi! You’re here,” you gasp. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

She rushes over to you, out of breath and frenetic.

“Oh, good, you’re in your dressing room! Take this,” she thrust the plastic protected outfit at you along with a box of what you assumed to be shoes. “Sorry I’m late, it took me so long to finish this. Go change, your show is starting in ten minutes!”

You look at her in confusion, but do as she asks. You’re used to her frantic nature, even if she was rather laidback most of the time. When you finish dressing, she claps her hands together in delight, and swooning.

“Oh, I knew you’d look great in this! I’ve had this idea for forever, I’m so happy I finally get to see you wear it. I can die happy now,” she declares passionately, almost drooling with excitement, her blue eyes glimmering brightly.

You examine the outfit, which includes a pair of white gloves, black heels, a black top hat, and a similar black tailcoat, black dress shirt and pencil skirt, along with a tie of your favorite color wrapped snugly around your neck that curves over your bust gently.

“Tsumugi, you made this for me?”

She nods proudly.

“I think I did a bang-up job of it, too! It’s absolutely perfect for you,” she beams at you, as lovely and warm as the golden sun, and you can only grin like a fool in response.

“You sure did. You sure did,” you repeat, amazed by her accurate, neat needlework and toiling dedication she had offered you in making the outfit.

“Now, go out there and amaze the crowds,” she encourages you, giving you a light push on the back and going out to join the audience below.

The magic show goes splendidly–you don’t know if you’ve ever done a better job, and all kinds of flowers, roses, daffodils, daisies, skyrocket toward your lone figure standing at the center of the black stage, hoping to be caught by you. You wave at the audience happily and skip on and off the stage to the standing ovation before exiting for good.

Luckily for you, Tsumugi is waiting at your dressing room, so there’s no need for you to push through the masses to find her, and you immediately envelop her in a hug, tackling her, and her breath leaves her with the impact you’ve come at her with. She wraps her arms around your back, and you can feel her pride for you simply seeping out like radioactive waves.

You don’t let go of her for a long, long time, and when you finally let go of her, you smile at her in a daze. You can’t believe your girlfriend is this gorgeous, kind, devoted, thoughtful girl standing in front of her.

“I think I’m in love with you, Tsumugi,” you say, staring straight into her eyes, endless pools of blue.

She smiles back, pushing her spectacles up slightly.

“A good thing, too, because I think I’m in love with you, too. That is, if you couldn’t tell after I spent over a week cooped up in my room to make this ensemble for you,” she replies, gesturing at your outfit.

You pat her on the head.

“Yes, yes, I know, good girl. But I was so lonely,” you pout. “Did you have to leave me alone like that for such a long time? I could have died of loneliness!”

She simply laughs full-heartedly.

“I suppose we’d be in trouble if you were a rabbit, huh? But there’ll be no more loneliness on my watch. That sounds rather presumptuous of me to say, but you can trust me on that,” she smiles charmingly as she puts a hand on her hip.

You laugh back at her, sharing in her joy and playfulness.

“You’d better live longer than I do, in that case,” you tease.

Tsumugi bends toward you and places a small kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Your wish is my command, royal magician of the court,” she chuckles.

You smirk and slip a hand around the small of her back, pulling her in closer so that both of your bodies are pressed against each other, and kiss her on the lips deeply.

“Then, my first command is that thou shalt stay at my side for the rest of our mortal lifespans.”

You can feel the corners of her lips stretch out and upward at this, and you take that to be her response as you draw her in for many more sweet kisses.

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delicrieux · 7 years

Text

Peculiar (Newt x Reader) pt.9 FINAL

A/N: cant believe it’s over…thank you everyone. i hope you’ll like it <3 WARNINGS: none PREMISE: An aloof, though kind, Gryffindor Quidditch player with an attention span that of a gold fish catches the eye of one extremely shy Hufflepuff that promises her to show all of Hogwarts’s magical creatures in an attempt to show off.

peculiar masterpost. MASTERLIST KO-FI.

Golden years ago in a mill beside the sea. There dwelt a little maiden, who plighted her faith to me;

The Maid of the Mill. I remember it clearly now, as if it was only yesterday it had happened. The cracking of the old record player, the melodious though haunting voice and the same repetitive circus tone. Then it all sprays with colour, the black and white memory, as if someone were to drop paint into a clear glass of water. And I’m falling; my back hits the ground and I shatter by my own spell. I heard it then, but perhaps only this many years past do I understand why.

The mill-wheel now is silent, the maid’s eyes closed be, And all that now remains of her are the words she sang to me:

I remember being a small child and dancing to it in my family’s living room, just like my mother had danced before me at her wedding.

Do not forget me, do not forget me!

And I know now why I heard it then, as my own life was running behind my eyelids like tears. I have dreamed and craved to do as my mother did on that fateful day. I wished for it to be my song. And at the time I felt like I could never realize my dream. Laying in the pool of my own blood I felt like I had lost much more than my life. That that was the end, my end. And in a way it was. Along with my shattered wand, something else broke too. That child-like wonder he loved me for so.

////

New York, 1926

(Name) (Lastname), born 1898 xx xx and is considered to be one of the brightest witch of her time, has gone missing. The War hero and inventor of Fiendfyre has been last seen on her trip to Peru, from which, she as sources say, vanished. Apparition was impossible, Auror Leroy Ambrose says, since the disappeared into one of the world’s most magical places – Machu Picchu - which is guarded by strong anti-apparition spells. More? Read on page 11.

Along with a lovely photograph of a woman smiling into a camera as it flashed over her face was the said paragraph Newt Scamander’s eyes glazed over, worry pulling on his heartstrings as an old, forgotten flame sparked in his chest. He inhaled, taking a step closer and tilting his head to the side to get a better look at the picture – the newspaper laid sideways on the already cluttered table, and as he was about to reach it—

“What are you looking at?”

“Oh…oh uhm, nothing.” He blurred, “Nothing at all.”

Porpentina Goldstein, behind her desk, slumped her shoulders with a curt sigh and looked back at the papers in her hand, “Do you have a wand permit, Mister Scamander?”

“Wh-yes, yes I do.” He nodded, unruly, “Say,” he took a step closer, making the girl blink, “Do you know of…” his eyes wandered back to the photograph and for a second he was lost in thought. Porpentina followed his gaze, raising a brow and failing to see how any of this was relevant to the situation at hand.

“(Lastname)? Of course I know her, everyone knows her.” She told, scribbling on her paper, “She’s a legend.”

…

The air was chillingly cold, or perhaps it was just him, trembling. With eyes wide and filled with pain he stared at Percival with disbelieve and horror, then shifting to the side once they caught of something much more important. By Graves’s side sat a woman, too close to be just another acquaintance, yet too stiff to be a close friend. Newton didn’t recognise her; the council seemed to move in slow motion as their gazes met for the one and only time. His heart betrayed a strange jump when the connection sparked. In his mind surfaced a painful, suppressed memory of dazed (color) eyes and untamed forest of playful curls, young dewy skin, blushed and apple-sweet with lips that tasted like honey suckles after the rain. Her name in his mind, one he read on the newspaper just yesterday, echoed in his earlobe. Soon the illusion broke as a scream, blood stinging and hurt, pierced his chest along with a horrid flash of red.

Newt gulped and quickly collected himself, more confused than distraught. It all fell into place then, the overwhelming fear of what was to happen to him and his creatures. He didn’t dare linger on the memory; in fact he was ashamed it appeared so suddenly in such a bad timing. Why? He did not want to worry over it not now, not ever. He pushed himself to reality as his eyes filled with opalescent tears and he begged, “Please, you don’t understand, nothing in there is dangerous.”

…

It was deadly silent in his office, only the clicking of short heels and Tina’s sniffles bounced off the walls now ten times louder. The unfamiliar woman that sat next to Percival was here too, circling the table and watching Newt shift in his seat, his eyes boring into the paper in Graves’s hands. He had caught her staring a couple of times, gaze sharp and precise like a lion’s; again she walked as stiff as she sat, head held high in authority. She must’ve been an important figure…but why does it matter? Why does she matter? And why was she staring so intently?

Newton met her gaze as she stood behind Percival Grieves, her dark iris glimmering in the dim light with raw emotion, but what it was he couldn’t tell. Newt thought he’d look away first, but it was in fact the woman that glanced to Tina before he could grasp onto what she was trying to say. The silence stretched; Newt tapped his foot – a sign of cracking nerves no doubt – as Graves finally decided to acknowledge him.

“What I want to know is…What Albus Dumbledore saw in you.”

…

The metro was cold and the dust floating in the air made him choke. Newt coughed, raising his hand up as if that would help stop Grave’s from shooting a spell. Behind him Tina found it hard to stand, sinking into the debris and hurting her feet. A zap of wind and his skin prickled, snapping his head to the side he caught a snipped of a traveling coat.

His eyes roamed forward, a tall figure standing in front of him as it raised its slim wand, pointing it directly at Percival Graves himself. The end of it lit up into magnificent bright red flames that grew in size, a ripple of heat and magic catching his breath and making his lungs blaze with fire. He marvelled at the growing beast, his heart stopping for a moment as he recognized the form of a fearless lion which roared and shook the roof. Newton recognized the tight braid of hair to belong to that stern woman he saw earlier, but what was she—

The gloom peeled off like paint, revealing curls of (color) hair hiding underneath and blotchy skin regained its colour. He could not see her face, but he knew who she was, who stood before him confident and wordless firing a spell. It was soon cut off, just like last time he had seen it, eating itself into a small black bubble that disappeared a second later leaving unnerving silence behind. Graves, taken aback by the sudden appearance, soon scowled and sliced with his wand. One elegant turn of her wrist was all it took and a flock of crumbling debris shielded her, turning to dust but giving her just enough time to fire a pale blue spell as she took a step forward. It snaked around the official, like rope, tying him down and immobilizing him as it squeezed at the pressure points.

Loud footfalls could be heard from above, and still unable to move Newton watched the female figure stride forward, hop onto the platform and crouch to examine the face of the man. The pads of her fingers traced his cheek, drawing symbols but of what he couldn’t say. Finally, the cavalry arrived and the woman, snapping her neck to the coming aurors stood and Newt could finally see her in her full glory.

Your left cheek held a shallow cut; no doubt you were battling in the city before coming here to aid them. You stood by the hunched over Graves, not daring to even lance Newton’s way. His mouth fell agape.

“Miss (Lastname),” Madame President stalked over, displeased, “should’ve known it was you.”

“It is always me, Seraphina” Your voice was playful, but held this distinctive sweet tone that made it appear staged. You smiled, unnaturally, kindly, but that kindness never reached your (colour) eyes, “Surprised it took you this long to figure it out.”

“You broke into MACUSA.”

“Me and rules…Never got along.” You replied, dispatching the slim Alder wand, “You should know better than anyone else.”

“I should pull you in for charges.”

You raised a finger at her, almost comical “Ah, yes, you should, but you won’t. The paperwork is on your table, signed by the British Minister of Magic. Official duty you see, top secret, could not drop by for a drink but I will kindly take you up on that offer once we’re done here.”

He watched with a mix of shock and strange disgust – the scene full of banter was clay like, almost appearing as a bad play had bought a ticket to ogle at. Your smooth features were as if bewitched – every remark had a fast paced answer, which was not like you, never like you. Unnatural. Plastic. The interaction was lively, but not life like.

Newt called your name, his voice cracking at the last syllable as hopeful he watched the actress facade crumble. The first genuine emotion blossomed in those doe eyes as they connected – his heart jumped in his chest as a brief second of happiness washed over him like a wave. But like a machine, the wheels fell into motion and your face twisted from surprise and even remorse to the same inhuman smoothness.

“It has been too long, Newton.” You finally said voice even and low, losing all coyness and sounding strange coming from smiling lips. You turned back to Seraphina, as if he was not there anymore. In turn Newt felt untamed sudden anger rise in his chest and he took a shaky step forward, calling out again as if afraid you’d fade away like a summer dream. You didn’t respond, though, instead fixing last business with the President about Grindewald.

“Wall then,” You said after a short conversation, sending a wary glance at the blonde haired wizard, “I best be on my way now.”

“You know I can’t let you go.” She said, serious. You recoiled. Lastly, you nodded, again, scripted. Your eyes swept the ground and flashed to Newt Scamander, still waiting for you to notice him, “I guess I have no other choice but to go…” You winked, then hurriedly turning back to Madame, “Shall w—“

You evaporated.

…

“You never talked to me, despite my numerous and failed advances…I never even got to properly complain about you taking the blame for what she had done. Ever the kind, you are. Though, I suppose it was my fault as well. I should have been more careful, more aware of my surroundings…” You faltered, “In the end it was I who frightened Leta enough to bite back.”

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, despite the pub brewing with life. Music, specifically jazz, played, beautiful women eyeing men and flirting each chance they got. Two glasses, both empty, were on your table. It was hot here, hot enough for you to lose your jacket and Newt couldn’t help but stare at your exposed shoulders and the delicate arch of your neck. He gulped, looking down into his intertwined hands.

“You changed.” He told, the pads of his fingers coming to graze the edge of the small glass. You shrugged.

“War changes everyone…” You said, quieter.

Jacob Kowalski’s bright grin flashed in his mind, “Not everyone.”

“Then only me.” There was a smile in your voice, he could tell and in turn he let a loopy grin slip onto his lips before he pulled it down. “Why did you avoid me, Newton?”

“I thought…I thought it was best if we-we-we stopped” His green irises found yours, “seeing each other all together, that is. I…I thought that…That after what happened…You wouldn’t want to see me.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was my friend.”

“Hardly matters in the end,” You told, “I know you…You must’ve been ashamed or something silly like that… All this time, wasted…” you added, more to yourself than him as you leaned onto the table, successfully breaking some distance between your bodies, “I don’t think I’ve changed that much.” You told, a ghost of a smile tilting the corners of your lips as your eyes twinkled in the smoky lights, “I just think you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Well, I still have my suave charm.”

“Oh do you ever.”

“Isn’t MACUSA looking for you?”

“Don’t tell me that is going to stop you?” You coyly raised a brow, “The danger is part of the fun, after all.”

“I never could resist an adventure.”

“With yours truly, no doubt.”

“You give yourself too much credit.”

You shook your shoulders with a cheerful grin, “Credit must be given where credit is due. I must admit, though…I did not expect you to reach out to me.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to show you something.”

“Last time you did I ended up in your suitcase.”

“Do you want to again?”

“Cannot say no to such an invitation.”

…

He pulled the curtain open and his form was flooded with warm sunlight, sounds of rustling leafs, howling wind and oinks and stomps of various creatures reaching the small cabinet you found yourself in. He had lost his jacket when you entered this warm space of his magical suitcase, neatly hanging it on a chair along with your coat. The smell of herbs and dirt tickled your nose and with a curious step you followed after him. Your mouth fell agape, eyes growing wide as small reflections of stars started to shine in them; caught in awe your feet took you forward but spun and twirled as you took in each and every inch of this pure creation. Creatures you have never even dreamed about poked their heads out to see the visitor, or leisurely continued their precious work of hiding in grass or rolling some tree branches for a den. A warm breeze tickled your skin and it blushed. As you tried to keep up with the whole ecosystem you released an amazed laugh, slapping your palms over your lips to stop a squeal.

Meanwhile he watched, watched and realized that you haven’t changed after all. He grinned, pride striking him and he straightened his back, overly pleased. Making you happy brought no greater joy. He had almost forgotten this feeling. Almost. But it surfaced again, kept safe in his subconscious before it could emerge and infatuate him again. Everything about you was enticing and only after all this time he realized. His jaw tensed and he glanced at the swaying flower heads – so much time he had wasted. A cold hand squeezed his heart, but he gulped those bitter feelings down.

But some things are not broken, some simply cannot be. They are just forgotten, drowned by misery into the deepest caves of our minds. And all you need is to remember. A spark, like a firework or a glint of beautiful spell. Or much simpler than that, one gleam of your true loves gaze can awaken the things one thinks they have lost.

Little talk was exchanged as you opted to wander and explore what he had built, playing with the creatures and feeding some. You dirtied your knees and hands in the process, accidentally smearing some dirt on your cheek as you tried to wipe away the moistness forming on its tender skin. You seemed so emerged he didn’t want to disturb you; and so you worked in silence, together, harmoniously.

It wasn’t until you stumbled to a small shack, opening the damp wooden door and coughing as a cloud of dust blew on you. Your eyes glazed over the cabinets, in search of some treats, but what caught your gaze was not edible. You recognized the outline of your face and passing the threshold you tilted your head to the side, fingers gripping the newspaper as you brought it to your face.

(Name) (Lastname), born 1898 xx xx and is considered to be one of the brightest witch of her time, has gone missing.

“I was worried about you.” Newt spoke up from behind you, making you jerk and turn to him. His form was leaned on some boxed, shoulder slumped, his gaze lazy and his hair a mess – he was tired, you conducted, “I…” a splash of energy prompted a rosy tint on his cheeks, “I always…worried about you.” He gulped, shyly glancing away and scratching the back of his neck, “I’m…I’m sorry, (Name). I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” His words caused you to inhale, every happy thought that previously swam in your mind erased, leaving you blank and motionless. Noticing the sudden shift he pushed himself to stand straight, “They…they didn’t pick you to find Grindewald, am I correct?” Your head bobbed, stiffly. Newt’s face turned soft, sad and pitying, “I should’ve been there…with you.”

You neatly folded the newspaper back and put it where you found it. It was enough time to collect yourself, and fixing a pained smile, that lasted for a second if not less, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him again, “You were right.” You murmured, “War…War doesn’t change people. It’s the loss that does.” Your voice trembled and you gulped, stepping out the shack, “Not sure if you remember him or not, but… Out of all of my friends, only Leroy survived…And I am grateful for that. Just that. Asking more would be greedy.” Eyes stinging you rubbed them with the hilt of your palm, trying not to infect them. Taking in a calming breath you continued, “I have made peace with it.” You found his gaze, “You should too. You are here now, and that is all that matters.”

Newt seemed to think, the corner of his lips cracking into a smile as he softly shook his head as if recalling a memory, “You know…I never…Never asked you out, properly.” You released an amused huff, “See, that day…That day when…When Leta hexed you… I was there because I wanted to. To ask you out, that is.” Any previous turmoil of pain was snuffed clean as you felt a spur of joy light up your world, “I planned to stand there, by the door to the girls bathroom and wait for you with a bouquet of flowers and well, improvise, I suppose.”

“You are lying.”

“I’m afraid no, not this time.”

You laughed, thought it was a bit dry by the lingering hurt, but it was real. Nothing about you seemed plastic now. “And…I know this…this is, well…Highly inconsiderate and..uhm..” He started, lamely, shyly approaching you “B—“

“Please do not tell me you are going to apologize for kissing me ten years ago.”

Newt faltered, smiling sheepishly, “N-No…not apologize. I was actually…I…” He licked his lower lip, eyes rolling over the room as if to catch an idea on how to convey his words, “I was actually wondering if you…if you would…If you would allow me to be selfish once more and…” Your fingers brushed the fringe of fiery hair from his eyes tenderly. You smiled, lovingly.

Here it was that familiar sweet scent that left your heart racing as your thoughts rushed at an equal pace. It hardly felt as if a day had passed since you’ve last seen him, all those bittersweet memories now playing in your mind like an animated movie, and if the look in his eyes betrayed anything is that he was feeling the same. He stepped closer, or was it you, you did not care. Finally, he was close enough to touch, to feel the heat of his body caress your own. Your hand landed on his chest, near his heart and you felt it beat. Newt pressed forward, catching himself at just the right moment – if you wished to pull away now was the only and perfect time to do so. But you didn’t, instead your lips parted to inhale a frail breath with a weak gasp that did nothing but encourage him. His hand came to rest on the side of your jaw and he felt you quiver. He gulped. His thumb caressed your dewy rosy cheek, gliding over a thin scar – a battle wound – and making it tingle. At last he leaned in, unable to hold himself. The proximity became dizzying as your noses brushed. Anticipation prickled your skin. Your world drowned in velvet darkness as he kissed you and what was to be a gentle show of love turned raw with passion .

…

The chorus of people settles and the heavy door creeks open. I am flooded with beautiful fairy lights and a velvet sky above me, irritated by stars and an obnoxiously big moon. I hold in my breath and tremble – though I am fairly sure I am not the only one – as I feel myself spur with excitement and contagious joy. The pleasant air bites at my skin and I shiver – my eyes land on him, standing by the aisle and waiting for me almost fearful, as if I could change my mind and run away.

Instead of the cliché wedding march an old record player croaks to life and I cannot be any happier. A familiar melody floods the hall and I feel like I am dreaming. I take a shy step forward, as if to make sure this was all real. It is.

My father, behind me, follows suit and links his arms with mine. I see my mother as I pass, staring at my wide eyed and teary; somewhere in the crowd I glimpse at Leroy silently cheering at the perfect moment. But nevertheless, despite my father, the spite the whole reception following the bride I cannot help but awe at the groom. He stands confident as I draw closer, his fiery hair glimmering in the beautiful lights. Newton’s hand reached for mine as we stop, and my father, given the nod, squeezes my hand tightly as if to say goodbye – I smile, though hold a tear. My fingers link around Newton’s and he helps me step up to stand next to him. The bouquet of flowers itches in my dewy palm.

Newt catches his breath, trying to bite down a goofy smile but it still pinches at his cheeks and he gives up, grinning with brilliant radiance and I have the most sudden of urges to kiss him right there and then.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathering here to…” It is a bit silly, perhaps inappropriate to admit that I heard nothing the preacher said, nor did I care for any word of it. What mattered to me were the gentle link between us, intertwined with our hands, a link of rings and hearts and red strings. I love you, is the only thing that dances in my mind as I gaze at him, and if I know him well his thoughts mimic mine.

Our vows go by quick, filled with small laughs from the audience and Newton’s awkward blinks that go along with a rosy blush. I, of course, am no better – forgot my lines and repeated them with a stutter. He didn’t mind, though. I do like to believe he thought it was cute.

“…I pronounce you husband and wife. Newton, you may kiss the bride.” And this was the very sentence the guests, us included, were waiting with baited breath. Newt turns to me, admiring me for one last second before he reaches closer and I follow suit. We meet half way and kiss. The crowd behind us cheers and somewhere above us I hear fireworks greet the night’s sky.

THE END.

BONUS:

“Now listen here, Scamander. (Name) is a precious little flower and if I find out, you hear me, if I find out that you are treating her badly there will be consequences, son.”

“Oh, husband!” Miss (Lastname) shuffled, hitting her man with her white gloves. The said man loosened his grip on Newt’s shoulder; the wizard gulped, loudly at that, “Do not mind him, Newton, he’s all talk and no bite.” She winked, “Welcome to the family.”

Tagging: @tmrhollandkay@hamithefangirl@mamiipix@vanessawolfblue@scamandeur@tatumvandiver@lovelypotterhead@knight-of-light-tier @tfios-whovian@notsosaneemma sassypevensie @fanart-girl@misofine@willowecho25518 @aeichajoanes @goldylocksandthethreefandoms @fly-f0rever@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @backitup-humperdinck @mcveymejames @radioacteve @allie-smile @gryffindorwithagedweyignasia @safetypin-inspace

thank you everyone again. see you in our next adventure.

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blarghsandblurbs · 5 years

Text

20.6.2019

So much happened in one year. I divorced, I moved on, I fell in love and got my heart broken, again. I learned so much-- what being trapped truly looked like for someone else, what despair and trauma does when it takes roots and I came face to face uncomfortably close with my own toxicity and blindness.

I should be grateful to you for showing me, but admittedly, I am a little bitter it came through the depths of sorrow and suffering. I was so depressed i nearly wiped myself off the face of the earth last summer.

I promised myself 1 year to decide.

Well, I survived.

I thought of my ex today and I truly wonder why I fell so deeply in love with him. I honestly cant remember. And I cant remember why I fell in love with you too when living with you sometimes is like a vicegrip to the heart because of the stress. I forget to breathe, and sleep sometimes.

I wonder how often 2nd chances (3rd, 4th, 5th...) have screwed me. Too much compassion, then i'm bitter... though i'm admittedly much better now and I am forgiving them. So hard though. I get it but I dont. How can people choose to be so miserable and hateful.

Maybe I am too busy looking at them like I did nothing wrong. I must have. Things dont go south for no reason. But I honestly cant remember except for being impatient and drained.

I loved them so deeply, as if that was my worst fault. And that seems so egotistical. I obviously have more work to do on myself, if only I could overcome it. Working on myself has become tedious and old. But I dont want to stop. I just want to be done.

But you dont wave a magic wand and it doesn't work that way.

I'll sleep off this weirdness.

I do know one thing.

I gave them the sun, moon and stars and it wasnt enough. That's one of the reasons why they hate me.

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whoranrantheworld · 6 years

Text

❇ Mahoutokoro School of Magic ❇

Disclaimer: Most scenes are inspired by the original story.

Chapter One: Introduction

I am Nyaro Kojima, a student from Mahoutokoro School of Magic. Im on my 2nd Year now and i cant wait what possible adventures i'll experience this year. In Tengu House, we're called the Protectors. I dont even know why i was put in this house since im not really that type, my parents chose me this House. Im loyal and determined, but Protector? Uhm, maybe? Im no longer a day student, so i pack up all my things in my luggage and i can see my parents getting too emotional coz ill be gone for months. Of course, they can send me a howler anytime they want.

"Mom, im all set". I looked at my mom as i grab my small purse.

"Okay, your School's petrel will be here anytime soon". She hugged me and as if she doesnt want to let me go. Then we heard a loud swoosh on our roof, of course the other muggles wont hear it. I bid goodbye to my parents and wave at them before riding on the petrel's back.

We arrived at the palace which is by the way located on the topmost point of volcanic island called Minami Iwo Jima maybe after 10mins of flying with those giant storm petrels and, of course our house prefect are already waiting for us, we were instructed to follow them directly to Tengu's common room. I really havent had any best friends that i can call, i mean i have a lot of acquaintances, but no close friends that i hang out with or talk with all seconds of my life here. I saw Momoko and Yuki at the common's room lounge, they were pretty much my friends since were on the same year. I waved at them and they greeted back. I feigned a smile at them as i walk directly to my room. I immediately fixed my things, after i was settled , i walked back to where i found Momoko and Yuki and they asked me if i would be on the House's Quidditch meeting tonight.

"There's a Quidditch meeting?" I looked at them as they both nodded. I am one of the Tengu's Beaters, yknow those who hits the damn bludgers. I wanted to be the Keeper, but i cant take the Captain's spot since he havent graduated yet. I thanked them for telling me about the meeting before going back to my room and grabbed my purse. I immediately left the common room and ran to the palace's main hall. We usually do our meet-ups there, as i was walking, i passed by some other students from different houses, Kappa, Kitsune and Tanuki. I looked at them with my poker face even though some of them are familiar since i guess most of them is on the same year as me. Gosh, i should really learn how to be friendly, anyway, i arrived at the main hall, no one is around then suddenly there was a loud bang making the huge doors closed.

I immediately grabbed my wand, all our wands here are made by cherry wood and mine is mixed with Unicorn's hair and Akita's blood. I gripped it and prepares myself, i havent had a duel for 2 months, and duh im just on my second year. Its so dark, i cant see anything but i can hear footsteps. Damn, where is it coming from? I turned around and swoosh my wand, i need light. "Akira maxima", its a charm, a light creation spell used to light the tip of the wand. I walked to see who dared to play a prank on me when suddenly, i felt hands covering my eyes. I struggled and tries to let go from these hands, what if this person is trying to kill me. I felt my kokoro beating so fast then i started yelling and kicking the person behind me, and that person lets go then i tried to open my eyes, breathing harshly. The main hall's lights are all turned on, everything is clear already then i turned to face the person trying to kill me then i blinked my eyes again. "Eh?!"

I almost dropped my jaw when i saw the person in front of me, brunette-haired tall guy with that James Dean daydream look at his eyes, smiling like an enormous dumbo, our Captain~ Junnosuke Taguchi.

"Senpaiiiiiii~! If i only know how to throw a Cruciatic curse, i wouldve done it to you, yknow". I shrugged as i tried to compose myself.

"I was just playing with you,Nyan". He laughed as if he just won in a lottery or something then the other Quidditch Members appeared.

"Hey Nyan" Daiki Arioka, Jun Shison and Tina Tamashiro, our 3, always synchronized Chasers chorused as they greeted me.

"Yo!" My partner as a Beater, Yuto Nakajima greeted me with his kakkoi aura, then at the back giggling as she waved at me is our Seeker, the Kawaii angel but when she's on the field, she's a devil, Maika Yamamoto.

I smiled at them and greeted them in return.

"Okay, since we're complete. Lets start our meeting". Our Captain/Keeper Junno uttered as he grabbed his notes.

"As you all know, there will be a tournament and our first rival is the House of Kappa". Captain started as he looked at everyone.

"We should prepare and train a lot since we all know, that Kappa's Quidditch team are pretty good and ive heard they have a new Seeker".

"Eh? Who is it Captain?" Maika asked as she tried to carefully open the chocolate frog's box.

"He's a 2nd year student, Shintaro Morimoto " He read his notes and looked at us.

"Since its the first game of this year, we should give them a good fight right?" He looked at us again feigning a playful grin.

1st day of the new school year, everyone is excited. Wearing the robes that was given to us, as you all know, we we're given white robes when we were first accepted, then this robes will change its color when the wearer gained more experiences. When you see someone wearing a gold robe, that means theyre amazing aurors. So me, im on my second year, and im wearing a super pale pink robe, not because im turning into an amazing witch but its just because we won 3 matches in Quidditch last year. This year i want my robe to change its color but i feel like im a boring person. I wanna do something great, but someone like me seems to not be destined to greatness.

I walked out of the common room, i saw Suzu Hirose dropped her books, so i walked towards her and picked them up. She smiled shyly as i hand her books to her. I smiled in return and continue to walk my way to my "Transfiguration" class. I entered the room and of course, i saw an owl on the table. Professor Koyama Keichiro, transformed to an owl again. I heard Kato telling us stories that he always do that during Transfiguration class. I searched for a desk, the only available seat is beside a guy and he seems familiar, i guess we're on the same year. I sat beside him and he looked at me as he put his things aside to give me some space. Eyes like stabs me in my kokoro, thick eyebrows which really suits that evil eyes, and an aura of a full blooded Japanese auror. Why does my heart suddenly beat too fast ne? Is he scaring me? I tried to compose myself as i grabbed my quill and ink, then gulped.

"Hi, Masaki Suda desu". He muttered.

I kinda froze when i heard his voice, i cant look at him. I heard somehow huffed, maybe he thinks im a goddamn anti-social.

"Im from Tanuki, and maybe thats the reason why you dont want to speak to me, but its okay."

I can see him in peripheral view looking annoyed so, i gripped on my quill and shrugged as i face him.

"No thats not it, Uhm. Nyaro Kojima desu of Tengu. Yoroshiku." I bowed then immediately turned to Koyama-sensei as i heard his voice.

"Goodmorning class..."

I can sense Masaki-kun smiling as we continue to do some stuff in Transfiguration.

We talked from time to time and i felt comfortable beside him.

As we heard the bell rang, i immediately grabbed my books and smiled palely at him.

"Hey, do you wanna go our next class together?" He said with that annoying but adorable grin on his face.

"Uhm... actually i gotta go grab to my room first. You go ahead". I lied as i ran out from the class, leaving him dumbfoundedly.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

The Second Task

"You said you'd already worked out that egg clue!" said Hermione indignantly. "Keep your voice down!" said Harry crossly. "I just need to - sort of fine-tune it, all right?" He, Ron, and Hermione were sitting at the very back of the Charms class with a table to themselves. They were supposed to be practicing the opposite of the Summoning Charm today - the Banishing Charm. Owing to the potential for nasty accidents when objects kept flying across the room. Professor Flitwick had given each student a stack of cushions on which to practice, the theory being that these wouldn't hurt anyone if they went off target. It was a good theory, but it wasn't working very well. Neville's aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room - Professor Flitwick, for instance. "Just forget the egg for a minute, all right?" Harry hissed as Professor Flitwick went whizzing resignedly past them, landing on top of a large cabinet. "I'm trying to tell you about Snape and Moody...." This class was an ideal cover for a private conversation, as everyone was having far too much fun to pay them any attention. Harry had been recounting his adventures of the previous night in whispered installments for the last half hour. "Snape said Moody's searched his office as well?" Ron whispered, his eyes alight with interest as he Banished a cushion with a sweep of his wand (it soared into the air and knocked Parvati's hat off). "What...d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?" "Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it," said Harry, waving his wand without paying much attention, so that his cushion did an odd sort of belly flop off the desk. "Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he's giving him a second chance or something...." "What?" said Ron, his eyes widening, his next cushion spinning high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier, and dropping heavily onto Flitwick's desk. "Harry...maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name in the Goblet of Fire!" "Oh Ron," said Hermione, shaking her head sceptically, "we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving Harry's life, remember?" She Banished a cushion and it flew across the room and landed in the box they were all supposed to be aiming at. Harry looked at Hermione, thinking...it was true that Snape had saved his life once, but the odd thing was, Snape definitely loathed him, just as he'd loathed Harry's father when they had been at school together. Snape loved taking points from Harry, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give him punishments, or even to suggest that he should be suspended from the school. "I don't care what Moody says," Hermione went on. "Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if Snape is a bit -" "- evil," said Ron promptly. "Come on, Hermione, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office, then?" "Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?" said Hermione, ignoring Ron. "Its a bit funny, isn't it, that he cant manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?" "You just don't like Crouch because of that elf, Winky," said Ron, sending a cushion soaring into the window. "You just want to think Snape's up to something," said Hermione, sending her cushion zooming neatly into the box. "I just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he's on his second one," said Harry grimly, and his cushion, to his very great surprise, flew straight across the room and landed neatly on top of Hermione's. Obedient to Sirius's wish of hearing about anything odd at Hogwarts, Harry sent him a letter by brown owl that night, explaining all about Mr. Crouch breaking into Snape's office, and Moody and Snape's conversation. Then Harry turned his attention in earnest to the most urgent problem facing him: how to survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth of February. Ron quite liked the idea of using the Summoning Charm again - Harry had explained about Aqua-Lungs, and Ron couldn't see why Harry shouldn't Summon one from the nearest Muggle town. Hermione squashed this plan by pointing out that, in the unlikely event that Harry managed to learn how to operate an Aqua-Lung within the set limit of an hour, he was sure to be disqualified for breaking the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy - it was too much to hope that no Muggles would spot an Aqua-Lung zooming across the countryside to Hogwarts. "Of course, the ideal solution would be for you to Transfigure yourself into a submarine or something," Hermione said. "If only we'd done human Transfiguration already! But I don't think we start that until sixth year, and it can go badly wrong if you don't know what you're doing...." "Yeah, I don't fancy walking around with a periscope sticking out of my head," said Harry. "I s'pose I could always attack someone in front of Moody; he might do it for me...." "I don't think he'd let you choose what you wanted to be turned into, though," said Hermione seriously. "No, I think your best chance is some sort of charm." So Harry, thinking that he would soon have had enough of the library to last him a lifetime, buried himself once more among the dusty volumes, looking for any spell that might enable a human to survive without oxygen. However, though he, Ron, and Hermione searched through their lunchtimes, evenings, and whole weekends - though Harry asked Professor McGonagall for a note of permission to use the Restricted Section, and even asked the irritable, vulture-like librarian. Madam Pince, for help - they found nothing whatsoever that would enable Harry to spend an hour underwater and live to tell the tale. Familiar flutterings of panic were starting to disturb Harry now, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate in class again. The lake, which Harry had always taken for granted as just another feature of the grounds, drew his eyes whenever he was near a classroom window, a great, iron-gray mass of chilly water, whose dark and icy depths were starting to seem as distant as the moon. Just as it had before he faced the Horntail, time was slipping away as though somebody had bewitched the clocks to go extra-fast. There was a week to go before February the twenty-fourth (there was still time)...there were five days to go (he was bound to find something soon)...three days to go (please let me find something...please)... With two days left. Harry started to go off food again. The only good thing about breakfast on Monday was the return of the brown owl he had sent to Sirius. He pulled off the parchment, unrolled it, and saw the shortest letter Sirius had ever written to him. Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl. Harry turned the parchment over and looked at the back, hoping to see something else, but it was blank. "Weekend after next," whispered Hermione, who had read the note over Harry's shoulder. "Here - take my quill and send this owl back straight away." Harry scribbled the dates down on the back of Sirius's letter, tied it onto the brown owl's leg, and watched it take flight again. What had he expected? Advice on how to survive underwater? He had been so intent on telling Sirius all about Snape and Moody he had completely forgotten to mention the egg's clue. "What's he want to know about the next Hogsmeade weekend for?" said Ron. "Dunno," said Harry dully. The momentary happiness that had flared inside him at the sight of the owl had died. "Come on...Care of Magical Creatures." Whether Hagrid was trying to make up for the Blast-Ended Skrewts, or because there were now only two skrewts left, or because he was trying to prove he could do anything that Professor Grubbly-Plank could. Harry didnt know, but Hagrid had been continuing her lessons on unicorns ever since he'd returned to work. It turned out that Hagrid knew quite as much about unicorns as he did about monsters, though it was clear that he found their lack of poisonous fangs disappointing. Today he had managed to capture two unicorn foals. Unlike full-grown unicorns, they were pure gold. Parvati and Lavender went into transports of delight at the sight of them, and even Pansy Parkinson had to work hard to conceal how much she liked them. "Easier ter spot than the adults," Hagrid told the class. "They turn silver when they're abou' two years old, an' they grow horns at aroun four. Don' go pure white till they're full grown, 'round about seven. They're a bit more trustin' when they're babies...don' mind boys so much....C'mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat 'em if yeh want...give 'em a few o' these sugar lumps.... "You okay. Harry?" Hagrid muttered, moving aside slightly, while most of the others swarmed around the baby unicorns. "Yeah," said Harry. "Jus' nervous, eh?" said Hagrid. "Bit," said Harry. "Harry," said Hagrid, clapping a massive hand on his shoulder, so that Harry's knees buckled under its weight, "I'd've bin worried before I saw yeh take on tha Horntail, but I know now yeh can do anythin' yeh set yer mind ter. I'm not worried at all. Yeh're goin ter be fine. Got yer clue worked out, haven' yeh?" Harry nodded, but even as he did so, an insane urge to confess that he didn't have any idea how to survive at the bottom of the lake for an hour came over him. He looked up at Hagrid - perhaps he had to go into the lake sometimes, to deal with the creatures in it? He looked after everything else on the grounds, after all - "Yeh're goin' ter win," Hagrid growled, patting Harry's shoulder again, so that Harry actually felt himself sink a couple of inches into the soft ground. "I know it. I can feel it. Yeh're goin' ter win, Harry." Harry just couldn't bring himself to wipe the happy, confident smile off Hagrid's face. Pretending he was interested in the young unicorns, he forced a smile in return, and moved forward to pat them with the others. By the evening before the second task. Harry felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare. He was fully aware that even if, by some miracle, he managed to find a suitable spell, he'd have a real job mastering it overnight. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he got to work on the egg's clue sooner? Why had he ever let his mind wander in class - what if a teacher had once mentioned how to breathe underwater? He sat with Hermione and Ron in the library as the sun set outside, tearing feverishly through page after page of spells, hidden from one another by the massive piles of books on the desk in front of each of them. Harry's heart gave a huge leap every time he saw the word "water" on a page, but more often than not it was merely "Take two pints of water, half a pound of shredded mandrake leaves, and a newt..." "I don't reckon it can be done," said Ron's voice flatly from the other side of the table. "There's nothing. Nothing. Closest was that thing to dry up puddles and ponds, that Drought Charm, but that was nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake." "There must be something," Hermione muttered, moving a candle closer to her. Her eyes were so tired she was poring over the tiny print of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes with her nose about an inch from the page. "They'd never have set a task that was undoable." "They have," said Ron. "Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your head in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out. Best you can do, mate." "There's a way of doing it!" Hermione said crossly. "There just has to be!" She seemed to be taking the library's lack of useful information on the subject as a personal insult; it had never failed her before. "I know what I should have done," said Harry, resting, face-down, on Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts. "I should've learned to be an Animagus like Sirius." An Animagus was a wizard who could transform into an animal. "Yeah, you could've turned into a goldfish any time you wanted!" said Ron. "Or a frog," yawned Harry. He was exhausted. "It takes years to become an Animagus, and then you have to register yourself and everything," said Hermione vaguely, now squinting down the index of Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions. "Professor McGonagall told us, remember...you've got to register yourself with the Improper Use of Magic Office...what animal you become, and your markings, so you can't abuse it..." "...Hermione, I was joking," said Harry wearily. "I know I haven't got a chance of turning into a frog by tomorrow morning...." "Oh this is no use," Hermione said, snapping shut Weird Wizarding Dilemmas. "Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?" "I wouldn't mind," said Fred Weasley's voice. "Be a talking point, wouldn't it?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves. "What're you two doing here?" Ron asked. "Looking for you," said George. "McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione." "Why?" said Hermione, looking surprised. "Dunno...she was looking a bit grim, though," said Fred. "We're supposed to take you down to her office," said George. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, who felt his stomach drop. Was Professor McGonagall about to tell Ron and Hermione off? Perhaps she'd noticed how much they were helping him, when he ought to be working out how to do the task alone? "We'll meet you back in the common room," Hermione told Harry as she got up to go with Ron - both of them looked very anxious. "Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?" "Right," said Harry uneasily. By eight o'clock. Madam Pince had extinguished all the lamps and came to chivvy Harry out of the library. Staggering under the weight of as many books as he could carry, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, pulled a table into a corner, and continued to search. There was nothing in Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks...nothing in A Guide to Medieval Sorcery...not one mention of underwater exploits in An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms, or in Dreadful Denizens of the Deep, or Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do with Them Now You've Wised Up. Crookshanks crawled into Harry's lap and curled up, purring deeply. The common room emptied slowly around Harry. People kept wishing him luck for the next morning in cheery, confident voices like Hagrid's, all of them apparently convinced that he was about to pull off another stunning performance like the one he had managed in the first task. Harry couldn't answer them, he just nodded, feeling as though there were a golfball stuck in his throat. By ten to midnight, he was alone in the room with Crookshanks. He had searched all the remaining books, and Ron and Hermione had not come back. It's over, he told himself. You can't do it. You'll just have to go down to the lake in the morning and tell the judges.... He imagined himself explaining that he couldn't do the task. He pictured Bagman's look of round-eyed surprise, Karkaroffs satisfied, yellow-toothed smile. He could almost hear Fleur Delacour saying "I knew it...'e is too young, 'e is only a little boy." He saw Malfoy flashing his POTTER STINKS badge at the front of the crowd, saw Hagrid's crestfallen, disbelieving face.... Forgetting that Crookshanks was on his lap. Harry stood up very suddenly; Crookshanks hissed angrily as he landed on the floor, gave Harry a disgusted look, and stalked away with his bottlebrush tail in the air, but Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory....He would grab the Invisibility Cloak and go back to the library, he'd stay there all night if he had to.... "Lumos," Harry whispered fifteen minutes later as he opened the library door. Wand tip alight, he crept along the bookshelves, pulling down more books - books of hexes and charms, books on merpeople and water monsters, books on famous witches and wizards, on magical inventions, on anything at all that might include one passing reference to underwater survival. He carried them over to a table, then set to work, searching them by the narrow beam of his wand, occasionally checking his watch.... One in the morning...two in the morning...the only way he could keep going was to tell himself, over and over again, next book...in the next one...the next one... The mermaid in the painting in the prefects' bathroom was laughing. Harry was bobbing like a cork in bubbly water next to her rock, while she held his Firebolt over his head. "Come and get it!" she giggled maliciously. "Come on, jump!" "I can't," Harry panted, snatching at the Firebolt, and struggling not to sink. "Give it to me!" But she just poked him painfully in the side with the end of the broomstick, laughing at him. "That hurts - get off - ouch -" "Harry Potter must wake up, sir!" "Stop poking me -" "Dobby must poke Harry Potter, sir, he must wake up!" Harry opened his eyes. He was still in the library; the Invisibility Cloak had slipped off his head as he'd slept, and the side of his face was stuck to the pages of Where There's a Wand, There's a Way. He sat up, straightening his glasses, blinking in the bright daylight. "Harry Potter needs to hurry!" squeaked Dobby. "The second task starts in ten minutes, and Harry Potter -" "Ten minutes?" Harry croaked. "Ten - ten minutes?" He looked down at his watch. Dobby was right. It was twenty past nine. A large, dead weight seemed to fall through Harry's chest into his stomach. "Hurry, Harry Potter!" squeaked Dobby, plucking at Harry's sleeve. "You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!" "It's too late, Dobby," Harry said hopelessly. "I'm not doing the task, I don't know how -" "Harry Potter will do the task!" squeaked the elf. "Dobby knew Harry had not found the right book, so Dobby did it for him!" "What?" said Harry. "But you don't know what the second task is -" "Dobby knows, sir! Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy -" "Find my what?" "- and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!" "What's a Wheezy?" "Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy-Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!" Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts. "What?" Harry gasped. "They've got...they've got Ron?" "The thing Harry Potter will miss most, sir!" squeaked Dobby. "'But past an hour-'" "- 'the prospect's black,'" Harry recited, staring, horror-struck, at the elf. "'Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.' Dobby - what've I got to do?" "You has to eat this, sir!" squeaked the elf, and he put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and drew out a ball of what looked like slimy, grayish-green rat tails. "Right before you go into the lake, sir - gillyweed!" "What's it do?" said Harry, staring at the gillyweed. "It will make Harry Potter breathe underwater, sir!" "Dobby," said Harry frantically, "listen - are you sure about this?" He couldn't quite forget that the last time Dobby had tried to "help" him, he had ended up with no bones in his right arm. "Dobby is quite sure, sir!" said the elf earnestly. "Dobby hears things, sir, he is a house-elf, he goes all over the castle as he lights the fires and mops the floors. Dobby heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody in the staffroom, talking about the next task....Dobby cannot let Harry Potter lose his Wheezy!" Harry's doubts vanished. Jumping to his feet he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it into his bag, grabbed the gillyweed, and put it into his pocket, then tore out of the library with Dobby at his heels. "Dobby is supposed to be in the kitchens, sir!" Dobby squealed as they burst into the corridor. "Dobby will be missed - good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!" "See you later, Dobby!" Harry shouted, and he sprinted along the corridor and down the stairs, three at a time. The entrance hall contained a few last-minute stragglers, all leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin and Dennis Creevey flying as he leapt down the stone steps and out onto the bright, chilly grounds. As he pounded down the lawn he saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons' enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that were packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat-out around the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another gold-draped table at the water's edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were beside the judges' table, watching Harry sprint toward them. "I'm...here..." Harry panted, skidding to a halt in the mud and accidentally splattering Fleur's robes. "Where have you been?" said a bossy, disapproving voice. "The task's about to start!" Harry looked around. Percy Weasley was sitting at the judges' table - Mr. Crouch had failed to turn up again. "Now, now, Percy!" said Ludo Bagman, who was looking intensely relieved to see Harry. "Let him catch his breath!" Dumbledore smiled at Harry, but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime didn't look at all pleased to see him....It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they had thought he wasn't going to turn up. Harry bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath; he had a stitch in his side that felt as though he had a knife between his ribs, but there was no time to get rid of it; Ludo Bagman was now moving among the champions, spacing them along the bank at intervals of ten feet. Harry was on the very end of the line, next to Krum, who was wearing swimming trunks and was holding his wand ready. "All right. Harry?" Bagman whispered as he moved Harry a few feet farther away from Krum. "Know what you're going to do?" "Yeah," Harry panted, massaging his ribs. Bagman gave Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the judges' table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, "Sonorus!" and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands. "Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One...two...three!" The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause; without looking to see what the other champions were doing, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled the handful of gillyweed out of his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth, and waded out into the lake. It was so cold he felt the skin on his legs searing as though this were fire, not icy water. His sodden robes weighed him down as he walked in deeper; now the water was over his knees, and his rapidly numbing feet were slipping over silt and flat, slimy stones. He was chewing the gillyweed as hard and fast as he could; it felt unpleasantly slimy and rubbery, like octopus tentacles. Waist-deep in the freezing water he stopped, swallowed, and waited for something to happen. He could hear laughter in the crowd and knew he must look stupid, walking into the lake without showing any sign of magical power. The part of him that was still dry was covered in goose pimples; half immersed in the icy water, a cruel breeze lifting his hair, Harry started to shiver violently. He avoided looking at the stands; the laughter was becoming louder, and there were catcalls and jeering from the Slytherins.... Then, quite suddenly, Harry felt as though an invisible pillow had been pressed over his mouth and nose. He tried to draw breath, but it made his head spin; his lungs were empty, and he suddenly felt a piercing pain on either side of his neck - Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits just below his ears, flapping in the cold air....He had gills. Without pausing to think, he did the only thing that made sense - he flung himself forward into the water. The first gulp of icy lake water felt like the breath of life. His head had stopped spinning; he took another great gulp of water and felt it pass smoothly through his gills, sending oxygen back to his brain. He stretched out his hands in front of him and stared at them. They looked green and ghostly under the water, and they had become webbed. He twisted around and looked at his bare feet - they had become elongated and the toes were webbed too: It looked as though he had sprouted flippers. The water didn't feel icy anymore either...on the contrary, he felt pleasantly cool and very light....Harry struck out once more, marveling at how far and fast his flipper-like feet propelled him through the vater, and noticing how clearly he could see, and how he no longer seemed to need to blink. He had soon swum so far into the lake that he could no longer see the bottom. He flipped over and dived into its depths. Silence pressed upon his ears as he soared over a strange, dark, foggy landscape. He could only see ten feet around him, so that as he sped throuugh the water new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the incoming darkness: forests of rippling, tangled black weed, wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones. He swam deeper and deeper, out toward the middle of the lake, his eyes wide, staring through the eerily gray-lit water around him to the shadow beyond, where the water became opaque. Small fish flickered past him like silver darts. Once or twice he thought he saw something larger moving ahead of him, but when he got nearer, he discovered it to be nothing but a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions, merpeople, Ron - nor, thankfully, the giant squid. Light green weed stretched ahead of him as far as he could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of very overgrown grass. Harry was staring unblinkingly ahead of him, trying to discern shapes through the gloom...and then, without warning, something grabbed hold of his ankle. Harry twisted his body around and saw a grindylow, a small, horned water demon, poking out of the weed, its long fingers clutched tightly around Harry's leg, its pointed fangs bared - Harry stuck his webbed hand quickly inside his robes and fumbled for his wand. By the time he had grasped it, two more grindylows had risen out of the weed, had seized handfuls of Harry's robes, and were attempting to drag him down. "Relashio!" Harry shouted, except that no sound came out....A large bubble issued from his mouth, and his wand, instead of sending sparks at the grindylows, pelted them with what seemed to be a jet of boiling water, for where it struck them, angry red patches appeared on their green skin. Harry pulled his ankle out of the grindylows grip and swam, as fast as he could, occasionally sending more jets of hot water over his shoulder at random; every now and then he felt one of the grindylows snatch at his foot again, and he kicked out, hard; finally, he felt his foot connect with a horned skull, and looking back, saw the dazed grindylow floating away, cross-eyed, while its fellows shook their fists at Harry and sank back into the weed. Harry slowed down a little, slipped his wand back inside his robes, and looked around, listening again. He turned full circle in the water, the silence pressing harder than ever against his eardrums. He knew he must be even deeper in the lake now, but nothing was moving but the rippling weed. "How are you getting on?" Harry thought he was having a heart attack. He whipped around and saw Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of him, gazing at him through her thick, pearly glasses. "Myrtle!" Harry tried to shout - but once again, nothing came out of his mouth but a very large bubble. Moaning Myrtle actually giggled. "You want to try over there!" she said, pointing. "I won't come with you....I don't like them much, they always chase me when I get too close...." Harry gave her the thumbs-up to show his thanks and set off once more, careful to swim a bit higher over the weed to avoid any more grindylows that might be lurking there. He swam on for what felt like at least twenty minutes. He was passing over vast expanses of black mud now, which swirled murkily as he disturbed the water. Then, at long last, he heard a snatch of haunting mersong. "An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took..." Harry swam faster and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they were carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Harry swam on past the rock, following the mersong. "...your time's half gone, so tarry not Lest what you seek stays here to rot...." A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Harry saw faces...faces that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom.... The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry as he swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands. Harry sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and he even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, pointing at his webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry sped around a corner and a very strange sight met his eyes. A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson. Ron was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made Harry feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour's sister. All four of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths. Harry sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and charge at him, but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong. For a fleeting second he thought of the knife Sirius had bought him for Christmas - locked in his trunk in the castle a quarter of a mile away, no use to him whatsoever. He looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were carrying spears. He swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head. "We do not help," he said in a harsh, croaky voice. "Come ON!" Harry said fiercely (but only bubbles issued from his mouth), and he tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it back, still shaking his head and laughing. Harry swirled around, staring about. Something sharp...anything... There were rocks littering the lake bottom. He dived and snatched up a particularly jagged one and returned to the statue. He began to hack at the ropes binding Ron, and after several minutes' hard work, they broke apart. Ron floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom, drifting a little in the ebb of the water. Harry looked around. There was no sign of any of the other champions. What were they playing at? Why didn't they hurry up? He turned back to Hermione, raised the jagged rock, and began to hack at her bindings too - At once, several pairs of strong gray hands seized him. Half a dozen mermen were pulling him away from Hermione, shaking their green-haired heads, and laughing. "You take your own hostage," one of them said to him. "Leave the others..." "No way!" said Harry furiously - but only two large bubbles came out. Your task is to retrieve your own friend...leave the others..." She's my friend too!" Harry yelled, gesturing toward Hermione, an enormous silver bubble emerging soundlessly from his lips. "And I don't want them to die either!" Cho's head was on Hermione's shoulder; the small silver-haired girl was ghostly green and pale. Harry struggled to fight off the mermen, but they laughed harder than ever, holding him back. Harry looked wildly around. Where were the other champions? Would he have time to take Ron to the surface and come back down for Hermione and the others? Would he be able to find them again? He looked down at his watch to see how much time was left - it had stopped working. But then the merpeople around him pointed excitedly over his head. Harry looked up and saw Cedric swimming toward them. There was an enormous bubble around his head, which made his features look oddly wide and stretched. "Got lost!" he mouthed, looking panic-stricken. "Fleur and Krum're coming now!" Feeling enormously relieved, Harry watched Cedric pull a knife out of his pocket and cut Cho free. He pulled her upward and out of sight. Harry looked around, waiting. Where were Fleur and Krum? Time was getting short, and according to the song, the hostages would be lost after an hour.... The merpeople started screeching animatedly. Those holding Harry loosened their grip, staring behind them. Harry turned and saw something monstrous cutting through the water toward them: a human body in swimming trunks with the head of a shark....It was Krum. He appeared to have transfigured himself - but badly. The shark-man swam straight to Hermione and began snapping and biting at her ropes; the trouble was that Krum's new teeth were positioned very awkwardly for biting anything smaller than a dolphin, and Harry was quite sure that if Krum wasn't careful, he was going to rip Hermione in half. Darting forward. Harry hit Krum hard on the shoulder and held up the jagged stone. Krum seized it and began to cut Hermione free. Within seconds, he had done it; he grabbed Hermione around the waist, and without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with her toward the surface. Now what? Harry thought desperately. If he could be sure that Fleur was coming....But still no sign. There was nothing to be done except... He snatched up the stone, which Krum had dropped, but the mermen now closed in around Ron and the little girl, shaking their heads at him. Harry pulled out his wand. "Get out of the way!" Only bubbles flew out of his mouth, but he had the distinct impression that the mermen had understood him, because they suddenly stopped laughing. Their yellowish eyes were fixed upon Harry's wand, and they looked scared. There might be a lot more of them than there were of him, but Harry could tell, by the looks on their faces, that they knew no more magic than the giant squid did. "You've got until three!" Harry shouted; a great stream of bubbles burst from him, but he held up three fingers to make sure they got the message. "One..." (he put down a finger) "two..."(he put down a second one) - They scattered. Harry darted forward and began to hack at the ropes binding the small girl to the statue, and at last she was free. He seized the little girl around the waist, grabbed the neck of Ron's robes, and kicked off from the bottom. It was very slow work. He could no longer use his webbed hands to propel himself forward; he worked his flippers furiously, but Ron and Fleur's sister were like potato-filled sacks dragging him back down....He fixed his eyes skyward, though he knew he must still be very deep, the water above him was so dark.... Merpeople were rising with him. He could see them swirling around him with ease, watching him struggle through the water....Would they pull him back down to the depths when the time was up? Did they perhaps eat humans? Harry's legs were seizing up with the effort to keep swimming; his shoulders were aching horribly with the effort of dragging Ron and the girl... He was drawing breath with extreme difficulty. He could feel pain on the sides of his neck again...he was becoming very aware of how wet the water was in his mouth...yet the darkness was definitely thinning now...he could see daylight above him.... He kicked hard with his flippers and discovered that they were nothing more than feet...water was flooding through his mouth into his lungs...he was starting to feel dizzy, but he knew light and air were only ten feet above him...he had to get there...he had to... Harry kicked his legs so hard and fast it felt as though his muscles were screaming in protest; his very brain felt waterlogged, he couldn't breathe, he needed oxygen, he had to keep going, he could not stop - And then he felt his head break the surface of the lake; wonderful, cold, clear air was making his wet face sting; he gulped it down, feeling as though he had never breathed properly before, and, panting, pulled Ron and the little girl up with him. All around him, wild, green-haired heads were emerging out of the water with him, but they were smiling at him. The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry had the impression they thought that Ron and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong...both of them had opened their eyes; the girl looked scared and confused, but Ron merely expelled a great spout of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to Harry, and said, "Wet, this, isn't it?" Then he spotted Fleur's sister. "What did you bring her for?" "Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her," Harry panted. "Harry, you prat," said Ron, "you didn't take that song thing seriously, did you? Dumbledore wouldn't have let any of us drown!" "The song said -" "It was only to make sure you got back inside the time limit!" said Ron. "I hope you didn't waste time down there acting the hero!" Harry felt both stupid and annoyed. It was all very well for Ron; he'd been asleep, he hadn't felt how eerie it was down in the lake, surrounded by spear-carrying merpeople who'd looked more than capable of murder. "C'mon," Harry said shortly, "help me with her, I don't think she can swim very well." They pulled Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching, twenty merpeople accompanying them like a guard of honor, singing their horrible screechy songs. Harry could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione, Krum, Cedric, and Cho, all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Ron from the bank as they swam nearer, but Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, came splashing out to meet them. Meanwhile Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water. "Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?" "She's fine!" Harry tried to tell her, but he was so exhausted he could hardly talk, let alone shout. Percy seized Ron and was dragging him back to the bank ("Gerroff, Percy, I'm all right!"); Dumbledore and Bagman were pulling Harry upright; Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime and was hugging her sister. "It was ze grindylows...zey attacked me...oh Gabrielle, I thought...I thought..." "Come here, you," said Madam Pomfrey. She seized Harry and pulled him over to Hermione and the others, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as though he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears. "Harry, well done!" Hermione cried. "You did it, you found out how all by yourself!" "Well -" said Harry. He would have told her about Dobby, but he had just noticed Karkaroff watching him. He was the only judge who had not left the table; the only judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief that Harry, Ron, and Fleur's sister had got back safely. "Yeah, that's right," said Harry, raising his voice slightly so that Karkaroff could hear him. "You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," said Krum. Harry had the impression that Krum was drawing her attention back onto himself; perhaps to remind her that he had just rescued her from the lake, but Hermione brushed away the beetle impatiently and said, "You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry....Did it take you ages to find us?" "No...I found you okay...." Harry's feeling of stupidity was growing. Now he was out of the water, it seemed perfectly clear that Dumbledores safety precautions wouldn't have permitted the death of a hostage just because their champion hadn't turned up. Why hadn't he just grabbed Ron and gone? He would have been first back....Cedric and Krum hadn't wasted time worrying about anyone else; they hadn't taken the mersong seriously.... Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think." The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy's clutches; she led him over to Harry and the others, gave him a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them. "Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then she turned to Harry. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage." "Yeah," said Harry, who was now heartily wishing he'd left all three girls tied to the statue. Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek (he felt his face burn and wouldn't have been surprised if steam was coming out of his ears again), then said to Ron, "And you too-you 'elped -" "Yeah," said Ron, looking extremely hopeful, "yeah, a bit -" Fleur swooped down on him too and kissed him. Hermione looked simply furious, but just then, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows.... "Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points." Applause from the stands. "I deserved zero," said Fleur throatily, shaking her magnificent head. "Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We therefore award him forty-seven points." Harry's heart sank. If Cedric had been outside the time limit, he most certainly had been. "Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points." Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior. "Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own." Ron and Hermione both gave Harry half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks. "Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However...Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points." Harry's stomach leapt - he was now tying for first place with Cedric. Ron and Hermione, caught by surprise, stared at Harry, then laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd. "There you go. Harry!" Ron shouted over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all - you were showing moral fiber!" Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen. "The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions." It was over. Harry thought dazedly, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes...it was over, he had got through...he didn't have to worry about anything now until June the twenty-fourth.... Next time he was in Hogsmeade, Harry decided as he walked back up the stone steps into the castle, he was going to buy Dobby a pair of socks for every day of the year.

#GobletofFire #HarryPotter

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