dorcasmeadowes
GIVE A LITTLE LOVE TO ME
Not Doe, Dory, Cass, or Cassie.19. Ravenclaw. Spellcasting, Charms cohort. Karaoke enthusiast. Harpies forever. Welsh and loud about it.
Now playing: "Octopus's Garden," The Beatles, Abbey Road (1969).
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JAMES POTTER:
He was sure there would be enough time later to go over his ailments, the fact he was stuck in a bed for the foreseeable future, but that wasn’t his concern right now. He squeezed her hand lightly, “Dorcas –” his voice was soft, and he cleared his throat, eyes scanning a face of a person obviously far from fine. “Just because you’re not the one sitting here in a hospital bed doesn’t lessen anything.”
She frowned, shaking her head. “I’m not here to be comforted by you. You don’t have to— Really, it’s fine.” She’d had a month of coming to terms with what had happened — and, well, she hadn’t, but that didn’t matter now.
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ZOE BELL:
Zoe knew the real reason she was feeling like this. That beneath her pain for Dorcas happened to be something deeper and less likely to ever be fixed. Her mother was still gone. Off on her crusade to rid the world of witches. At least here, now, she could try to keep the people she loved safe. Even if it meant pushing off their dance party and wrapping Dorcas in a hug instead. One that felt too crushing to be their normal. Too serious to be between people this age.
“I can’t imagine what I’d ever do without you.”
Dorcas squeezed back, hard. “You won’t have to.” And of that she was more certain than anything. She released Zoe but kept hold of her hand, moving towards the wireless. “What have I missed?” Though she spoke lightly, there was a seriousness in her gaze — Zoe hadn’t exactly been having an easy go of it.
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ZOE BELL:
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. This wasn’t your fault. You were—” She didn’t dare say the words, suddenly superstitious in thinking that once they were said out loud, they would only invite in more trouble. Zoe felt too fragile for that sort of dare against the universe. So she kept that part out. “I hate seeing you like this, and I don’t know how to make it better.”
“It’s not your job to make it better,” Dorcas said, squeezing her hand. God, as much as she wished it could be — as much as she wanted more than anything for Zoe to hold her and make all of this go away. “I don’t want you to feel like it is.”
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JAMES POTTER:
“Until I’m strong enough, I guess. I – can’t walk. Even had to get the nurses help to just sit up.” He cleared his throat. He hated feeling so weak, but at least he had the determination that was needed for a quick recovery. He scanned her face. “How are you really?”
“Oh.” Dorcas tried not to let her dismay show, even as she thought of all the things that meant. No Quidditch. No nothing, and it was so difficult to imagine a bed-bound James, of all people. “Really, I’m fine. I wasn’t really hurt, or anything.” Not like you, was the unspoken addition.
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JAMES POTTER:
“Me too. Healers said I’ll be in here a while.” He reached out as best as he could, hand covering hers. “How are you?” It had been the question circling in his mind ever since he woke up, behind his conversation with Sirius, the discussions of tunnels with the boys, testing with the healers.
“How long’s a while?” She felt herself frown and tried to smooth it away. He didn’t need a visitor with a load of negativity. “I’m all right. I’ve been at home until recently.”
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JAMES POTTER:
“Yeah,” he replied quietly, moving over to create space for her as best he could. “Don’t blame you.” How could he? The more he sat with it, the more he was awake and aware of the whole situation – well, he’d been a fucking idiot, hadn’t he?
She almost felt guilty, then. Anything that had him subdued was serious, and funnily enough that was what drove home the reality of it all. “But I’m glad you’re okay. Ish.”
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ZOE BELL:
Zoe nodded slowly, realizing, once more, why Dorcas was an integral part of this whole friendship deal. She was clearly the brains of the operation. “I’m just going to say one thing, and then we can turn on the wireless and dance and sing horribly.”
Her smile didn’t drop or fade, there was just an extra watery-ness about her eyes that warned of a potential brewing storm. “I just think that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, and I just want you to know that every minute I get with you, I’m never taking for granted. Not ever.”
Dorcas felt her eyes well up in sympathy. “I hope you don’t,” she said, the joke turning feeble before it was even all the way out of her mouth. In a quieter voice she said, “I’m sorry. To have worried you, and — made this month that much more frightening than it already has been.”
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felixmacmillan:
Felix: yah the one who said my advice was bad which it wasnt !!
Felix: i think if ur gonna shag a woman for the first time u should light some candles that smell like warm bread and biscuits. makes her feel comfortable and safe
Felix: i would know these things i get laid all the time
Felix: yah ur right
James: he’s a loser anyway
James: Dorcas loved the candles
James: I’ll be back on tomorrow
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JAMES POTTER:
“Not quite,” he replied. His body was weak in every way it could be – the nurses even had to help sit him upright – but his spirit was still intact. Mostly. To him, it was like no time had passed at all. But that also meant all the feels from being trapped were still present, no time for them to diminish. He held a hand out to her, well, as well as he could. “Sit with me?”
She perched on the edge of his bed, gingerly, worried that she’d knock all his internal organs around again. “I’m really angry with you,” she said, tearfully enough that it wasn’t convincing at all. “Like, so furious.”
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ZOE BELL:
With relief, Zoe took Dorcas’ hand, doing her best to maintain a brave face. Now wasn’t the time for her to crack, too. She had to be strong for her best friend. A solid rock that she could always rely on until the end of time. “Maybe we don’t dance to anything. Maybe we just, dance, you know? Like when you’re a kid and all of the music is in your head. Garbled up nonsense.” That might’ve just been her own experience, and not a universal.
“Or, we can sing. We’ll make our own music.”
Dorcas laughed, something a touch too breathless to be mistaken for true mirth. She wanted to pull Zoe close and tell her she’d missed her, but it seemed they were at least attempting to pretend this was an ordinary homecoming. “Or we could just switch on the wireless.”
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JAMES POTTER:
When: 11th November / 9th December 1980
Where: In captive / St Mungos
Who: @dorcasmeadowes
11th November 1980
It had, perhaps, been the biggest test of trust the young couple could have gone through. Any couple, really. The days had blurred into one long awful one. Their captors somehow got worse once Maeve escaped, hammering up the window. They were crueller when they were there, fed them less. It was a sick kind of psychological torture, just waiting for the shoe, or the bullets, to drop. The only solace was that they hadn’t been alone. They had each other. To lean on, to fight the cold, to pass the time. But as time went on, even that became difficult. Because at the core of it all, they were simply two terrified twenty-year-olds.
But it had been trust that had saved them. Not magic. Not the downfall of their muggle captors. None of the ridiculous plans they’d discussed. No. During a critical moment, when they heard the doors opening, James had turned to Dorcas and asked maybe the most important question he’d ever asked her – “Do you trust me?”
The response had come in the form of a yes, and then there wasn’t much more time to think. James was telling her to jump on his back when the time was right, absolutely leaving more confusion than was necessary, and then the door was open. Two muggles, holding two wands, pointed at the face of a fully grown stag, and one shell shocked witch who was frozen to the spot.
No longer able to use his words, James had to stamp his hoof to snap Dorcas out of it, and she was soon pulling herself up onto his back. It all happened so quickly, and the muggles were too stunned to react as James charged at them, Dorcas hanging onto his neck for dear life. But the wands. They’d need the wands if they had a chance against the guns.
Giant horns steered towards the first one, knocking him back and causing the wand to fly into the air. Just like he’d asked her to trust him, James trusted Dorcas to catch it, and she did. The second muggle though began to run, snapping the wand clean in half in the process. If a stag could wince, he would’ve, but they couldn’t dwell on the lost wand in the moment. Not when this was probably their only shot.
That was how it went, getting out of there. Through a few tunnels and into the glaring light of day. They’d had the element of surprise at the start, but the muggles still had their guns, and those at the exit had been warned, guns drawn. It was all James could do to continue on his way and run through them, hoping Dorcas had the sense to stick low.
He thought they had made it. The shots that had been ringing around them, bouncing off trees, were dying down, and they hadn’t been hit. Soon they would be far enough away that the muggles would need time to catch up, and they’d be able to apparate safely away, until he felt a sharp pain in his side, the ringing of a final bullet echoing around them.
He staggered, letting out a roar of pain, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was lucky he was so large, the bullet wedged in the muscle of his side, inches from his heart. Lucky until they reached a spot James deemed safe and he sunk to the ground with exhaustion, Dorcas sliding off his back. Lucky, until he shrunk back down to his human form and all of a sudden the bullet wasn’t inches from his heart anymore, it was mere millimeters, grazing his aorta and starting a flood of internal bleeding that would soon plummet him into unconsciousness.
Not before he got the chance to look up at Dorcas with a weak smile and get out, “Pretty cool, huh?”
28 days later…
He’d been awake for a few hours now, when Dorcas came in the room. Of course, the boys had gotten the whole story, but to the doctors James pretended it was all too blurry still – he needed some time. He couldn’t exactly admit he was an unregistered, and therefore illegal, animagus. It was a shock he’d been able to transform so well at all.
Really though, he just wanted to see her. To make sure she was okay before they were forced into all the bureaucracies that came with a crime – especially a crime in this new world where muggles had been involved. The smile he gave her when she came in was akin to the last one he gave her, although he felt a lot stronger this time around. Surgery and a whole month of rest would do that to you, despite the fact his body had deteriorated to a state that would take months of rehab. “Hey you.”
“Hey you?” Dorcas repeated, first incredulous, then furious, then full-on crying, somehow packing this rollercoaster into two simple syllables. One month, one month of having to ball up the panic of his hospital stay and what had happened and her wand, and of course the first thing James would say was something quippy.
“What are you, indestructible?”
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ZOE BELL:
Zoe puffed out her chest and flexed both of her arms. Though she did have some muscle, there wasn’t much there that could have suggested she was much of anything, except for ridiculous. “A Chaser in a Beaters body, I always say.” Her smile was light, but her eyes were focused. Reading every single one of Dorcas’ movements, waiting for a shoe to drop. Or a trunk.
“Well—” Zoe almost said, I missed you. However, it didn’t seem appropriately to immediately go down that path. They had been there before. There was much crying. Not enough tissues. Very red eyes. Instead, Zoe said, “Maybe we should dance it out.”
This time the laugh was softer, weaker. But Dorcas summoned the fortitude not to collapse into tears then and there, and instead reached out a hand, waiting for Zoe to take it. “Sure. Any records come to mind?”
Because now, here, she didn’t want to flip through her collection, which had sat all but untouched this past month. She didn’t want this feeling, this persistent empty longing, to sink into the familiar vinyl grooves she loved so well.
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ZOE BELL:
To put it lightly, Zoe was simply relieved to have Dorcas here in the flat once more. Her nerves were frayed, her fingernails chewed off, and the normal sparkle she had about her was diminishing, day by day. This hadn’t been the final year at Hogwarts that anyone had wanted. Not even close. They were supposed to just sneak away to meet their boyfriends, skive off classes, tell each other about their days after hopping into one another’s beds.
Instead, Zoe was left with a worried expression on her face, hoping that Dorcas could still come here and see something she liked. That whatever happened didn’t reduce how much everything else meant to her, too. “It might’ve moved when I fell the other day. I tried to catch myself, but either that couch is suspiciously light, or my body continues to be pure muscle.”
She hoped the joke was enough. She hoped that she was enough.
Dorcas laughed, less because the comment was truly hilarious and more because she felt — more by instinct than anything conscious — that they both needed it. “You are the beefiest Quidditch player at Hogwarts, so.” She set down her trunk, rubbing at the mark the handle had left in her palm. It took some getting used to, carrying the thing around instead of levitating it.
Then, the thought prompting some kind of domino collapse she wasn’t equipped to process, she blurted out, “I miss my wand.” Of course Zoe knew it had been left behind in the dramatic escape, and of course Zoe knew she’d been putting off getting a replacement, and of course Zoe must know, objectively, that she missed it. But saying it aloud made Dorcas feel both better and worse.
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when: december 8, 1980
where: no. 1 low street
who: @rocketshipbell
The Low Street home wasn’t different, and neither was she, not really, but when she stepped through the door Dorcas still expected everything to have changed. After all, the world couldn’t be the same, with what she’d seen.
Nearly a month after she and James had managed to escape their Muggle captors, but it hadn’t yet been set right. How could it be, when James was still in hospital, and there was nothing in her pocket where the comfortable, familiar weight of her wand should’ve been?
Dorcas angled a halfhearted smile at Zoe. “Did the sofa move, or something?”
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MAEVE BRAGNAM:
Night of November 9th
As the anticipation grew hot and sticky like humidity, Mae had grown sickeningly afraid. If this was a war of the wands, if these horrible people wanted to see these wixen fight to the death, the next time her face would see light would be underneath the coroner’s table.
Dorcas Meadowes and James Potter were capable in every way Maeve Bragnam never would be. Leaving them behind would help, deep down she believed so deeply. Had she not burdened everybody thus far? They’d be dragged down to an unwelcoming death if she breathed another lick of their air.
“Fuck you both!”
She had plucked at it, the window nearby covered in rubbish, bit by bit under the impression they’d all go through together. Tonight, she went alone.
Blood leaked from cuts, but they were no match for the previous head injury that’d caused her head to pound without a break to breathe. Her footballer speed carried her throughout the woods. There was no time to wonder if she’d really gotten free. She couldn’t wonder if she’d caused a big enough distraction that’d somehow the couple had gotten out behind her in the tizzy of things.
She didn’t know where she was. But she was out and never going back.
fin.
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JAMES POTTER:
MAEVE BRAGNAM:
“Ye lot awake?” The voice was followed by a few sets of heavy footsteps. A door, the door keeping the trio barricaded inside of the musty room, flew open at once and finally, the natural light of outside blared inside and blinded the blue eyed girl. A hand came up to protect her vision. If Mae had kept an eye on the approaching group, however, she’d have been able to prepare herself for the barrel of the gun she’d soon be looking down.
Feeling helpless was the reoccurring theme of Maeve’s life this school year. Working past the point of no return had finally bitten her in the ass in the fashion of being swept off her feet after her shift at WixBurger. She was not whisked off by a date, however, no, and the comfort of Low Street was not where she laid her head that evening for a bout of dreamless snoozing. Instead, cold and calloused hands had wrapped themselves around her. She didn’t remember fighting back, because was it not a routine arresting? This rundown shack should’ve screamed the answer – absolutely not.
Maeve would not be the person to go to bat for Dorcas Meadowes or James Potter. They’d proven themselves to be capable time and time again – capable of annoying Mae to her core and only slowing her strides. She tried harder and harder to pin the blame to the couple, but your mind could only muster up so much when you were being forced to your feet by masked figures. “Did you stupid English cunts make those during arts and craft hour at the internment camp?” Maeve spat, with all of her might. It was not much, but it was enough to rouse a reaction of sorts. It’s exactly what she’d wanted, to learn who and what they were dealing with.
The butt of a rifle collided with Maeve’s temple, her body crumpling to the ground like littered laundry as blood seeped from the fresh wound. It’s exactly what those radical Anti-Magic fucks yearned to witness. The leader of this group shifted his weapon between Dorcas and James, teetering back and forth, back and forth.
“Wot? Was it somethin’ I did?” There was a chuckle, paired with a good-bye wave. “Ta. We’ll be back when she wakes for a bit of a game. In the meantime, decide who’s best with their wand. Winner gets to live.”
Her plan had worked. They could understand the gravity now.
.
The memories of the night before came back quickly for James. His internship had finished for the day in Puddlemere, Dorcas had met up with him – his gaze flickered to the third body, stirring awake. Dorcas. His heart sank. The situation was unknown, but he’d feel better about it if he’d known she was home on Low Street, safe, rather than here as well. But there was nothing that could be done about that. They’d been heading to Wixburger, lost track of time. Curfew hit, they were met with Aurors – or so they’d thought – and now here they were. Wherever the fuck here was.
He turned to Dorcas, half way through asking if she was alright, when suddenly their musty cell was flooded with sunlight and they came face to face with those who had taken them. The look on the face staring back at them, rusty gun in hand, was full of pure hatred. There was only one conclusion here – muggles. That was somewhat of a relief, almost, in James’s mind. His hand moved slowly to his back pocket, where his wand was always safely kept (or stupidly, depending on who you asked) only to find it empty. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, the smug sneer on their captors face obvious they had them. The relief was suddenly gone.
He was up on his feet, as Maeve crumpled to the ground, only to find the gun pointed in his face now. Not surprising, but impulsive acts had always been the James Potter way, even in the face of danger. “You fucker,” James spat, starting forward, hands balled at his side. But the muggle was already backing away, and without a wand, faced with a gun, he had no chance. Just as quickly as he had come into the room was he gone, the door sounding with a thud behind him.
There was no time to dwell on the words, the threat. Winner gets to live. Not as his shocked gaze moved from where Maeve lay, in a pool of her own growing blood, to Dorcas. “Fuck. We have to stop the bleeding.” He was already pulling his jumper off and over his head, crouching down besides Maeve. “Hey, Bragnam.” His voice was as gentle as his touch as he pressed the balled up jumper to the bleeding wound. “Can you hear me?” ·
There was no time to second-guess her own mind — there was too much to process here, now. Dorcas swallowed past the lump in her throat, trying to make herself as small a target as possible — and she jumped when the gun was slammed against Maeve.
Dorcas moved behind James, wincing at the sight of the other witch. “Is she okay? That doesn’t look—” Healing spells, bloody fucking healing spells, suddenly popping helpfully to mind when she had no wand to cast them with. “What did they mean? About who’s best with a wand? They’re not going to...?” But she trailed off, having no clue what they could or couldn’t do to them.
She raked a hand through her hair. This was just curfew. Missing curfew was supposed to mean, what, a brief I’m so sorry to an Auror?
@maebragnam
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