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ladylynse · 4 years

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The Trouble with Ghosts: Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom.

<< < Part XII [FF | AO3]

-|-

Lancer wasn’t entirely surprised to see that he was missing one of the shrubs on his front lawn. The Shakespeare lawn ornament wouldn’t be salvageable, either; the poor fellow was bent up enough to have written Richard Armour’s Twisted Tales from Shakespeare himself.

Still, he stepped aside to allow Mr. and Mrs. Fenton into his house without a word.

“You said Danny’s safe,” Maddie was saying. “Where is he? What happened? Did he tell you?”

“Did you just find him after he got away from that no-good ghost?” Jack put in. “Did—”

“Danny’s doing remarkably well, considering the circumstances,” Lancer said. “Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, might I have a word before you go to visit your son?”

A trace of a frown crossed Maddie’s face. “You mean before we pick him up to take him home.”

“I sincerely hope that to be the case.” He gestured toward his living room, where he’d set out another chair and cleared up most of his books, banishing everything that didn’t fit on the bookshelves out here to his bedroom. He planned to find more permanent homes for them all once these more pressing issues had been addressed—which is to say, he planned to buy and assemble at least one new bookshelf, once he found one that would fit within his remaining wall space. It would be a rather cathartic exercise after all of this. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“If this is about Danny skipping his detention again,” Maddie said slowly as they all settled into their seats, “I’m sure you’d agree that being caught in a ghost attack is a reasonable excuse for his absence, at least in this instance?”

“That ghost scum is determined to attack our family,” Jack added, not bothering to clarify which particular ghost he meant. Lancer dearly hoped he didn’t blame Phantom for all of this.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Fenton, it has come to my attention that your son has a very honourable excuse for all the detentions and classes he has missed.”

“Oh?”

“I’m afraid it’s his right to give you the details, and he’s agreed to do just that.” Under pressure, admittedly, but Lancer couldn’t see how they could do this without the cooperation of the Fentons. Besides that, it wasn’t right for Danny to keep this secret from them when it endangered his life. Were he a parent, he would rather make amends than continue to target his own child. The very idea of allowing this to continue as it had…. It was appalling.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your son has, shall we say, done a considerable amount of community service. While I cannot merely forgive every failing grade, I do believe that I can ensure that he receives partial credit for his work. I will also speak to my colleagues and see that they are more understanding of his absences, tardiness, and—if you’ll allow me to be quite frank—his inability to remain awake during class. With special allowances, Danny will be able to write makeup tests for those he misses and submit additional assignments for extra credit when need be.”

Maddie’s eyebrows rose, but Jack beat her to the question, saying, “You’d do all that for Danny-boy?”

Lancer spread his hands. “Really, it is the least I can do. I cannot speak for my colleagues, and I’m not sure how much he’ll allow me to share with them, but I do have considerable influence. We all know your son isn’t stupid; we merely had no idea what the problem truly was.”

“And his problem, so to speak, was community service?” There was a touch of hesitation in Maddie’s voice. The barest hint of incredulity. She knew that wasn’t strictly correct, but she couldn’t imagine the truth.

Frankly, Lancer couldn’t blame her. He’d have never dreamed it, either.

“Let’s just call it some rather unconventional extracurricular activities for now, shall we?”

“He was doing that—whatever that is—when the ghost found him,” Jack guessed. “So it’s made him a target of ghosts? And he can’t even carry around an ectogun in school? Are you going to talk to the board? Try to get them to make an exception for those who can prove they know how to use them? They shouldn’t cause more than a mild burn to human skin—”

“The no weapons policy will still include ectoguns,” interrupted Lancer. “At best, I can draft a proposal for your Fenton Thermos—a purely defensive weapon which cannot be used, accidentally or intentionally, against other humans in any way other than a conventional thermos might—but you would have to be prepared to draw up a distribution plan for those thermoses, as well as designated days they can be emptied or traded for empty thermoses. And I’m rather afraid the testing period would be quite extensive; we have no idea how someone might try to modify your thermos to achieve more nefarious effects, and we cannot hand any of our students, however much training they’ve had, a weapon that could be turned on others. Of course, the propriety of your design—”

“Perhaps,” interjected Maddie, “you could keep your proposal to just Danny and Jazz, given their experience and likelihood of being targeted?”

“There would still be no guarantee. Lockers are hardly impenetrable.”

“But they would be more likely to allow it, considering what happened to Danny.” Jack crossed his arms. “Extra activities or not, he was still on school property. At least try.”

Lancer ducked his head, acknowledging their points. “It is certainly something to consider amending—”

“I’ll draft the proposal and submit it to the school board,” Maddie said, “if you’re so reluctant to be associated with it. This is for my children’s protection. Even if it’s first dismissed, I want it discussed.”

She might not be quite so adamant when she realized how those very thermoses could become a detriment to her son, were someone to capture Phantom. True, Lancer didn’t think there were many sympathizers with the various ghost hunting groups that came through town, but Phantom had a lot of fans, and that wasn’t always a good thing.

Still, that was something that could be addressed in the future, and given what he’d learned from Danny, there was something else he wanted to address now. “Speaking of your children’s protection,” he began slowly, not sure if this was his place but not willing to let it go unspoken, “have you made any, ah, more recent safety amendments to your home laboratory?”

Jack and Maddie exchanged guilty looks, and Lancer had his answer before Maddie said, “The kids have their own HAZMAT suits, and they know basic lab safety and first aid.”

“Teenagers often believe themselves to be invincible,” Lancer said dryly, “and cannot always be trusted not to touch what they shouldn’t, even if they know better. Besides which, the safety of your own weapons and prototypes—”

“Danny told you how many of our weapons mistakenly target him?” Jack interrupted. “I’m working it out. I keep trying things. I’m going through them one by one. I’ve eliminated so many—”

“Please,” Lancer cut in, and Jack mercifully fell silent. He’d worried the man would bowl over his words in an attempt to justify what Lancer was beginning to think was a negligence so ingrained it felt normal. “I’ve seen a variety of your weapons. I own a few of your defensive ones. I can only guess how much you have stored in your basement and how dangerous even a handful of those weapons might be. I know it cannot be easy nor lucrative to be inventors, to run your own company, but you need to look into locating your lab somewhere else. It’s not just your safety or that of your children, though I hope that would be reason enough; were something to go catastrophically wrong, you might endanger your neighbourhood. Surely your desire to protect them in the future won’t drive you to continue to compromise their safety now?”

Jack raised a hesitant hand. “Did Danny tell you about changing the ecto-filter on the Fenton Ghost Portal? Because I, ah, might have exaggerated the consequences to get him to do it. More than once.”

Judging by the look on Maddie’s face as Jack said this, Lancer doubted she thought Jack had been exaggerating terribly, and that just made it worse. They were aware of what could go wrong and hadn’t sought to even look at potential properties to continue their research? Money was a factor, it had to be, more so than convenience, and pride might have kept them from asking Vlad, but considering the quality and quantity of weapons they produced, they were making something.

Perhaps, if they reinvested in infrastructure instead of buying new supplies to craft different weapons….

But perhaps that wasn’t what was holding them back at all.

Perhaps it was the ghost portal in their basement.

And the accident that could very well involve it, if Vlad’s had involved its prototype.

It made a cruel bit of sense. If Danny’s accident was indeed tied to the ghost portal, his parents did not know the details. And that meant that they couldn’t know everything that Danny had done with the portal, how he had tweaked their settings or whatever had gone on, and that meant they weren’t sure if they could replicate their results.

And they were afraid that they couldn’t.

Even if they didn’t know the truth, even if they didn’t suspect the truth, they knew there was something they didn’t know, and that had kept them from trying to separate their work and home lives even once safety had become an issue.

“Danny has left me to draw far too many of my own conclusions,” Lancer said slowly, “but he’s told me enough to give me cause for concern.”

Maddie straightened in her seat, recognizing something in his words before her husband. Not the right thing, perhaps, but enough of it. “Surely you don’t think we don’t care for Danny and Jazz?”

“I think you care a great deal indeed,” Lancer said, “but I fear that when it comes to your chosen occupation, you can both be rather…overzealous. To the point of preoccupation.”

“You really believe we care more for our work than for them?” Maddie’s voice was quiet. Cold. Lancer had never heard her angry before. A glance at Jack revealed hurt in his eyes at the thinly veiled accusation, but he held his tongue.

“I think your beliefs about ghosts can be a rather complicating point in your relationship with your children,” Lancer said carefully.

“We care about our kids,” Jack growled, “and we care enough to stop ghosts from doing anything else like this. The Fenton Spectre Deflector—”

“Mr. Fenton, I suspect both your children are more than capable of handling themselves in a ghost fight.” If Jazz knew the truth about Danny, she would have been helping him whenever Sam and Tucker could not—most likely, whether or not he thought he needed that help. She would be involved in more than a few isolated incidents, and she clearly knew the full truth about Vlad. “I do, however, wonder if you’ve ever taken the time to listen to them speak about the subject, or if you’ve simply contented yourselves with lecturing to them.”

“Of course we listen to them.” Maddie got to her feet, and Jack jumped to his as well. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lancer, but if that’s all you have to say, I’m afraid it can wait until after we’ve taken Danny home. If you would like to have a candid discussion about how Danny’s doing in school or at home, we can set up a conference once we know Danny is safe.”

Lancer didn’t rise from his chair. “I can assure you that is my intention.”

She smiled at him, but though her anger no longer showed in her voice, it came through in the lack of warmth in her expression. “Excellent. We’ll speak with you early next week to arrange a time.”

They didn’t want to listen to him right now.

He hoped that was merely out of concern for Danny and the fact that this conversation was keeping them from their son.

He hoped he hadn’t been wrong.

“Danny is just down the hall. In the bedroom on your left.”

Jack and Maddie murmured polite thank-yous before heading down the hall. Lancer took a few deep breaths but couldn’t steady his nerves. After everything that had happened…. Oh, for the love of The Railway Children, he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake, but it was far too late for him to second guess his decisions now. He’d make more tea—he’d happily drink the entire pot himself if no one else wanted any—and then join them. If nothing else, he’d have to apologize to Danny. His conversation with Jack and Maddie had not gone nearly as well as he’d hoped.

-|-

His parents burst into the room, all questions and concern, and Danny was happy he’d only eaten a little; his stomach was twisting enough that he wasn’t sure even that was safe.

Valerie pushed herself up and sat at the foot of the bed, neatly avoiding his parents as they came in with hugs and kisses and more questions.

Too many questions, considering they wouldn’t want to hear the answers.

“Mom, Dad, it’s okay. I’m fine.” A lie. His usual one. Habit. “Mr. Lancer’s been taking good care of me.”

“How long have you been here?” Maddie asked.

“Which ghost took you from the hospital? I’ll tear it apart molecule by mol—”

“It wasn’t a ghost.” If he was going to tell them the truth—and he couldn’t very well chicken out with Valerie right there, which come to think of it was probably the real reason she’d stayed—he might as well start there. “I didn’t…. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I…I asked Mr. Lancer to take me to his place.”

“Sweetie, you know if you’re concerned about ecto-contamination, we’re much better equipped at home than the hospital, and we’d understand—”

“It’s not ecto-contamination.” He bit his lip. “I mean, I don’t…. I don’t think it is. Maybe it is. I just…. It…. That part doesn’t matter anyway. These—” he gestured at his injuries “—didn’t come from a ghost.” They came because I was the ghost. Except he couldn’t make his mouth form those words. “It was an accident.” Everything was an accident, except for the part where Vlad had specifically targeted him. “Phantom—”

“I knew that putrid piece of protoplasm was going to be involved!” Jack exclaimed. “Don’t worry, Danny, when we find him—”

“You don’t have to look for him.” He had to bite his tongue and swallow the urge to follow that statement with lies. Anything to mislead them. “He’s…here.”

“And not responsible,” Valerie said loudly as Jack and Maddie produced various weapons. “For any of this. Trust me, I was there, too. I was just lucky enough to get out of it unscathed.” They turned to her, but she answered their question before they could voice it. “I didn’t see Danny or I would’ve said something. I didn’t realize he was there until later.”

Man, she was good at that. Maybe that’s why she’d gotten away with ghost hunting for so long. He’d always figured her dad was more aware of her activities than his parents were of his.

Of course, now she was looking at him, obviously waiting for him to take what she figured was a golden opportunity.

Why did this have to be so hard?

“I was…hiding.” That wasn’t the right word for it. “I mean, I was there, but Valerie didn’t know I was there. No one knew I was there.” He didn’t know how to start explaining this. All he knew, now that those words were out of his mouth, was that this was not the best start. “She didn’t recognize me.” Was that any better?

“What do you mean, honey?”

Okay, clearly not any better. Why couldn’t he just come out and say it? I’m Danny Phantom. That’s it. That’s all he had to say. Three little words.

They probably wouldn’t shoot him immediately, considering Valerie was in the room.

Her presence should be enough to make them pause long enough to question him, as opposed to the usual ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ policy. They shouldn’t automatically assume that this was a trick of Phantom’s, that he’d developed the ability to shapeshift or something and was trying to pretend to be their son. Even though they already assumed ghosts were out to get them and were willing to use any trick in the book and….

Still. Valerie had taken it well. And his parents had in the past. Granted, they’d been a bit more prepared for it in the past. Somewhat. This wasn’t….

He should just spit it out.

“Do you remember when you first built the portal?” Maybe that was a better place to start.

His parents exchanged glances. “What are you getting at, Danny-boy?”

“My accident. In the lab. When you guys weren’t home, and I convinced you I didn’t need to go to the hospital once you got back. That I’d be fine. That I was fine.” He hesitated, watching as their expressions pulled into confused frowns. “I wouldn’t even have told you if I’d thought you wouldn’t notice we’d been down there. Me and Sam and Tuck, I mean. Because I was…scared.”

“Sweetie, you know you don’t need to be afraid of us. We don’t want you touching our prototypes because we’re not sure they’re safe for everyone else to use yet, and we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I know. I…. Even though the portal was done, even though it wasn’t working, I just…. It was stupid. We were being…. We weren’t thinking. I mean, I still put on my HAZMAT suit, since I was poking around, but it was…. It wasn’t that I tripped on a cord and caused something to short out and something else to start working, or whatever we told you. I can’t even remember. The thing is, I actually went inside the portal. And then it…turned on. I mean, I…. I hit something. And then it started to work. While I was still inside.”

Silence. Fear on their faces. Concern, more like. His mom had gone white, and his dad put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Danny,” she whispered, “that could have killed you.”

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It nearly had. Maybe it really had. He still wasn’t even sure what he was. Poindexter had called him a halfa, and Danny had joked about being half ghost, but half ghost wasn’t really a thing. Half dead wasn’t really a thing, either. True, he hadn’t exactly tested the boundaries as far as he could have while Phantom—he still took air with him into space, even though he’d gambled that the cold and the vacuum wouldn’t immediately kill him, but…. Shouldn’t it have? If he was really human at his core?

He hadn’t thought about it at the time.

He hadn’t thought that he might not be able to change back.

Did that mean he really was more a ghost that could pretend to be a human than a human with ghost powers? What he and Vlad did, what Dani could do—was that just an extremely unique ability? Like his ghostly wail? Was that ability what really defined a halfa, just like shapeshifters had a greater control over their form than the average ghost?

Or was it just what Jazz had theorized, some infusion of ectoplasm messing with his DNA? Maybe it was just extreme ecto-contamination that should have killed him but hadn’t. Because of how he’d gotten it.

Just like Vlad.

“I know.” Danny looked away, not wanting to see their faces. He caught sight of Valerie’s horrified expression and turned away from her, too, only to find Lancer at the door. He had no idea how long Lancer had been standing there. He’d never heard the kettle whistling, but Lancer had reset the tray with a tea pot, a box of hot chocolate mix, and an array of empty mugs and spoons. His expression was more of grim acceptance than horror or surprise.

Maybe he’d guessed as much from what Danny had told him earlier.

Maybe he’d just guessed as much because he knew the Fentons pretty well after all those parent-teacher conferences he kept calling, not to mention all the ghost attacks he’d witnessed.

Danny tore his eyes away and stared at his hands instead, knitting his fingers together and breaking them apart and twisting them together again. “The thing is, when I first woke up…. I thought it had. Killed me, I mean. I was…. I was terrified. I wasn’t…. I wasn’t myself.”

He should look at them. Try to read their reactions. Gauge the situation. See if they’d figured it out, so he didn’t have to say it.

But he was afraid he might see something else in their eyes or their expressions. Something he didn’t want to see.

“My reflection wasn’t mine.” He didn’t want to be doing this. Why had he agreed to do this? He could have convinced Lancer to give him a bit more time, surely. Or at least managed to get Jazz here. She’d be good at damage control. She’d anticipate their questions and have answers at the ready, while he…. He wasn’t sure how much he was thinking and how much he was just talking to keep from outright panicking. “The boy in the mirror that looked back at me…. It was Phantom. I’m Phantom.”

He waited for questions.

He waited for denials.

He waited for the telltale whine of any of their myriad of weapons to power up.

Instead, springs creaked and the mattress shifted as his mother sat down on the bed between him and Valerie. Looking up, Danny saw his father sink into the chair Lancer had abandoned earlier. Neither of them said anything.

No one else did, either.

“Sam and Tucker knew from the start, since they were there when it happened,” Danny said into the stretching silence. “Jazz figured it out a long time ago. They’ve been helping me. I…. I didn’t know how to tell you, so I asked them not to say anything. To anyone.”

Maddie reached out and pried one of his hands free, gripping it tightly in her own. Now that he couldn’t go intangible, he wasn’t sure it was a grip he could break and stay free, and for a few panicked milliseconds, he thought she was grabbing him to keep him in one place. He wanted to pull back—had to actively fight the urge to pull back—and wait.

He knew it couldn’t have been a long wait, but it felt like an eon passed before Maddie said, “It doesn’t matter how you told us. It…it matters that you’ve told us.”

He couldn’t read all the emotions in her expression, but she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t ready to blame Phantom, to call this a trick, to pull him closer and hold an ectogun to his head.

And when his eyes flicked to Jack’s, he saw pride there.

Maybe they believed him after all. Maybe this wasn’t going to go as horribly as he’d imagined. Maybe—

“Breathe, Danny,” came Valerie’s voice, and he remembered to suck in a much-needed breath and relax.

And then he let himself change.

He wasn’t sure if his mother’s flinch was in reaction to the sudden light or the fact that the hand she now held was the gloved one of a ghost she’d long considered an enemy, but it still hurt.

It really, really hurt.

Even if she hadn’t meant it to.

“Danny-boy,” Jack breathed, but he didn’t say anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispered.

Maddie squeezed his hand and glanced back at Jack before saying, “We’re sorry, too, sweetie. For not listening.”

“And for making you afraid to tell us,” Jack added. He got to his feet and wrapped Danny and Maddie in a hug. “We still love you, son. Don’t think we don’t.”

Danny was pretty sure he heard Valerie mumble I told you so under her breath, but he didn’t care. He just hugged them back and let his tears soak into their shoulders.

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#danny phantom #danny fenton #mr lancer #jack fenton #maddie fenton #dp fanfiction #phanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #the trouble with ghosts #dp snippet #snippets

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artroom303 · 3 years

Text

7&8th grade Art Syllabus

Welcome to 7 & 8th Grade Art With Ms. Sacco!

Student Responsibilities & Classroom Rules

Hello, and welcome to 7 & 8th Grade Art. We are very proud of our art program and I am sure you will enjoy your time in art this year. During this quarter you will be introduced to a variety of art media and techniques. In addition, you will

explore various artists and styles that have shaped the world of art. You will also learn

how to view, understand, and critique works of art.

SUPPLIES:

Students will store all their supplies in the folder listed below and store the folder in their backpack, locker, or classroom cabinet. Students will be required to have their supplies for Monday, September 13th.

Expandable/accordion Folder with a fastener (to hold everything listed below)

At least 6 pencils

2 Erasers (buy the white kind, like Magic Rub, or a gray kneaded eraser)

9” x 12” or 8” x 10” sketch pad.

PAD MUST FT IN ACCORDION FOLDER LISTED ABOVE

1 Black Sharpie (fine point)

1 Black ultra fine Sharpie

1 Glue stick

scissors

12” ruler

12 Pack or more colored pencils. Can be Crayola. Prang and

Prismacolor are more expensive, but of much better quality

Crayola or equivalent watercolor set.

8 or more colors with brush included.

**Please note that if any of these supplies are purchased for another class do not feel obligated

to purchase duplicates.**

For example:

You do not need to buy a separate pair of scissors for Art class if another class asks you to purchase one.

However, it’s important to know that you will need ALL of these supplies with you when you are in Art class.

*****************************************************************

1. Attendance:

a) Student attendance and punctuality is a given.

b) If you have band/chorus/trip/lesson/etc., it is your responsibility to inform

me before the event.

c) When leaving the room you must have a signed pass. NO EXCEPTIONS

2. Absences:

a)You are responsible for all projects/homework assignments. All work missed due to

illness or excused absences must be made up.

3. Projects: Art is a reflection of the artist—take pride in your work and give

it your best effort.

a) All projects will have a deadline. The day a project is due is not a working day.

The only activities on that day of class will be grading and critiquing the class

art work. Please plan ahead of time so your project will be completed and included

in the class critique.

c) Keep project deadlines in mind. Do not wait until the project is due to seek extra

help.

b) After the project due date you will have to complete your project on your own time.

You may work on it during one of study flex or lunch periods.

4. Homework:

In addition to the class projects, you will be given a sketchbook every 2-3 weeks. Sketchbook assignments must be photographed and posted under the assignment on classroom in order to receive credit.

Late homework may still be turned in for a 85% at any time during the quarter. Homework will count as 10% of your final grade.

5. Grading:

Projects (application of concepts, craftsmanship and effort) 75%

Classwork (class participation, charged and ready Chromebook & time on task) 15%

Homework (sketchbook drawings--usually 8-10 per quarter) 10%

6. CLASSROOM RULES:

1. Follow directions the first time they are given.

2. Take care of ALL art materials (and school facilities). Use tools as demonstrated. Respect property.

3. Keep hands, feet and objects to yourself.

4. Stay in your assigned seat or area unless given permission to do otherwise. We must keep a 6 ft distance in the classroom.

5. Respect others at all times.

6. ALWAYS clean up after yourself.

Cellphones, electronic devices and headphones are to be put away and are not to be visible during class *except when an assignment calls for its usage.* Devices will be held for the period if a student fails to comply. A second infraction will result in the device being sent to the Dean’s Office for pickup and the end of the day.

Students who follow the rules, produce quality work. Every student has the right to work in a positive learning environment.

First infraction: warning, no consequence.

Second infraction: phone call home and a detention.

Third infraction: removal from class for the period.

You will be given every opportunity to succeed,

BUT YOUR SUCCESS DEPENDS ON YOU!

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whymylife-101 · 4 years

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Pen...Pals? ~Kenma Kozume X Reader~

Description-

Okay, so @OIKAWAS (on wattpad) originally made this idea/plot, but I really liked it and (for the time being) they discontinued it, which was really sad to me because I feel like they got Kenma's personality down really well! (Though I do understand why they did it and completely respect their decision) So I just kinda thought I'd put my own little spin on it! Okay, thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy!(This book and all my other ones are gender neutral, I don't like excluding people so if I do make a mistake anywhere then please let me know!) (Also, any art in this book is not mine! I'm not sure who most of the artists are because I got the pictures off of google, but if you do know please tell me so I can give the proper credit!) -Started; March 30th, 2020 (3/30/2020) -Finished; March 30th, 2020 (3/30/2020)

Chapter One;

~Reader's POV~

I walked into class and sat in my desk next to one of my best friends. "Hey.." I yawned out, rubbing my eyes. "Did you stay up late playing video games?" (F/n) questioned with an eyebrow raised. "I didn't say up that late." I told them truthfully. "You say that every time." They told me, rolling their eyes with a small smile on their face.

The teacher walked in as our conversation came to a close. "Alright." The teacher started. "Because in this unit we are going more in depth about Japanese history and we already studied the culture, I thought it would be a fun idea to get a first hand experience with some of the kids that live in Japan. I was lucky enough to get Nekoma High School to agree."

At this, some people started to murmur about how cool and excited this would be. The teacher cleared her throat to get the classes attention and to signify that she wasn't done talking. "Make sure that your letters are appropriate and don't share any personal Information. I will mail them by the end of this week and yes, they are for a grade."

The kid in front of me raised their hand. "Mrs, do we write in English?" The teacher nodded her head as she picked up a tiny box. "Any other questions?" When no one raised their hands or called out, she then proceeded to explain what the box was for.

"Now then, I'm going to walk around and your going to pick out a name from the box. Then I want you to get started on you letters." She walked around to everyone's desk, and everyone pulled out a random strip of paper.

When she got to my desk I put my hand in a grabbed the first piece I touched the pulled it out quickly. "Hey, who did you get?" (F/n) asked. "I got Kenma Kozume, who did you get?" I asked. "Fukunaga Shohei." They said, pronouncing it very slowly while trying to sound it out. I giggled slightly. "Maybe you should ask him how to pronounce his name." "Oh shush!" My friends said, lightly hitting my shoulder.

"Okay class, start working on your letters." My teacher said as she put the box beside her desk and started to grade papers. I took some lined paper out of my bag and began to write my letter.

When the bell rang I had a little more than a full page done. I had written a little bit about me, what I look like, and some cool places I've been to that were near me. I had also asked him some questions about himself and Japan.

I gave the letter to my teacher as I headed out the door with (F/n) right behind me. "Hey (Y/N), what do you think your pen pal is going to look like?" They asked as we pulled up her our lockers. "I don't know, you have any idea about yours?" I asked back. "Well they say people with difficult names are hotter." My friend said, making me laugh. "That's such a weird stereotype, where did you even hear it from?"

"W-well, there's this YouTube channel-!" My friend started, but I interrupted them. "And your really going to trust some nut-job on the Internet?" (F/n) crossed their arms. "At least I try to search up informational things in my free time." "Touché." I once again laughed as we made our way to the lunch room.

"So you think your pen pal is going to be hot?" I questioned, making them blush. "S-shush!" Once again I laughed as (F/n)'s face exploded in a blush. "I can't say I know for sure what my pen pal is going to look like, but I hope they like video games."

"What, you want them to send you over some Japanese exclusive games?" (F/n) said sarcastically. "That wasn't the intent purpose, but I suppose I wouldn't go against the idea. I just thought we could bond over video games." I hummed out.

"Hey!" I heard (f/2) (that means friend number 2) say as they sat down at our little table. Me and (f/n) gave our own versions of a hello. "Hey, you did the pen pal thing last year right?" (F/n) questioned, making (f/2) nod their head.

"Yea, are you guys doing that now?" I nodded my head. "Oh that's so cool! Ya know, I still talk to my pen pal. His name is Kuroo Tetaurō." (F/2) said. "Oh wow, you guys still do the pen pal thing?" (F/n) asked. "Oh no, we exchanged numbers towards the end." (F/2) laughed out.

We continued to talk about the pen pal stuff and (F/2) told us what we should expect going into it. After lunch was over me and (F/n) dumped our trays and said goodbye to (F/2).

"Are you excited to get a letter back?" (F/n) asked me. "A little, you?" I questioned back. "A little." They said, copying me, making me laugh. "Okay, lets get to class."' I told them, rolling my eyes.

Chapter Two;

~Kenma's POV~

I sat in class, sneakily pulling my phone out to play Pocket Camp, class hadn't started yet and I really had nothing better to do. A few minutes past and Fukunaga had sat behind me. "Hey Kozume." I gave a hum in response.

"What are you playing?" He asked, trying to take a look at my phone. "Pocket Camp." My tone was dull as I continued to try and complete my missions and stuff that I needed to do for Bob and Rosie.

The bell rang throughout the halls which could be heard from inside the classroom, signaling me to put my phone away so I wouldn't get in detention and have to run extra laps at volleyball practice. Once I slid my phone in my pocket the teacher walked in with a box and a lesson plan in hand. "Good morning class."

"Good morning." Me and everyone had said back. "Today we are going to be doing something different. Because we have been learning about a ton of other countries, a school from (insert where you live) reached out and asked if we could do a "pen pal" type of activity. That way you guys can learn about the place first hand from someone that lives there, and you can tell your pen pal how it is here."

"Now your pen pals have already been assigned and they have already written a letter to you. I have this box with me, and I'm going to go around and hand out everyone's letters." After he finished he grabbed the box and started to walk around. Eventually the teacher got around to my desk, he quickly shuffled through the letters and found the one addressed to me.

"Hey Kozume, who'd your say it's from?" Fukunaga asked as he looked down at his paper. "Umm... (L/N), (Y/N).... you?" "(F/LN) (friends last name), (F/n)." He answered. I nodded my head, fixing to pull out my phone again when the teacher had asked us if we had any questions. The girl in front of me raised her hand. "Are we writing in Japanese?" The teacher shook his head. "No english." Another student then raised a hand.

"Are we aloud to send pictures?" "As long as they are appropriate, any other questions?" When no one raised their hands the teacher told us to start reading the letters and once we finished to start working on our letters that we'd give back, and that they'd be due by the end of this school week. On that note we started to read/write our letters.

About half of the class consisted of me writing something down and erasing it not long after, so all I had was:

'Dear (L/ N), (F/ N)

My name in Kozume Kenma.'

Sighing out of frustration i looked behind me, catching Fukunaga attention. "Umm... how do we start the letters?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck in embarrassment. "Well," Fukunaga started. "I introduced myself, told them how to pronounce my name, and told them to call me by my surname. I started to list some things about me and I told them

I would have pictures of different places that most tourist would want to see when visiting. Oh! And I also described what I looked like. But I also answered some of their questions two."

I nodded my head and thanked him, then turned back around to finish my paper. When the bell rang I had a little under a half of my page full. I sighed, and put it in my book bag so I could finish it at home and get the pictures I needed.

I quickly pulled out my phone and slung my bag over my shoulder as I made my way out of the classroom and into the hallway with Fukunaga by my side. We both walked until we got to class 2-3 where Yamamoto was and waited for him so we could walk to our club together.

Once Yamamoto came out, him and Fukunaga started chatting while I was silent, playing on my phone. I was just fixing to beat a new level on my game when suddenly I could feel a hand wrap around my shoulders, which caused me to glance to me side to see Kuroo. "Hey shorty." "I'm not that much shorter." I told him plainly as I continued to play my game, as we walked into the changing rooms.

I didn't take a second to glance around me, and instead sat down on one of the benches as I was trying to hurry and finish the level. Which I successfully did. A sigh of relive slipped through my lips as they tugged up into a small smile. "Hey Kenma? Hurry up and change or coach is going to make you run extra laps." At Kuroo's works I slid my phone in my bag and started to change into my volleyball uniform.

I walked out of the changing rooms after practice with my phone in hand and Kuroo by my side. He was talking about his day and some of his classmates as a made a few comments here and there. Suddenly, Kuroo stopped talking as his phone buzzed.

He quickly pulled his phone out and started to type to the person, a smile coming across his face. "Awfully quiet on your end." I noted, not taking my eyes off my game. "Well, (f/2) is texting me." He chuckled. "Come to think of it, it was around this quarter that I first got a letter from (f/2). Are you guys doing that pen pal thing?"

I nodded my head and gave a hum. "Who did you get?" "Uhhh... I think the last name was (L/N)?" Kuroo nodded his head and started typing something on his phone, a few minutes later he gave off this devilish smirk. "Is something funny?"

Kuroo gave off a chuckle. "It's nothing." He said as we continued walking until we came to my house. We both waved goodbye and I quickly unlocked my door, trying not to lose my level. I then walked inside and closed the door with my foot, haphazardly kicking my shoes off in the process. I then walked up the stairs and into my room, shutting the door the same way I did downstairs, then plopped on my bed.

I quickly finished the level and set my phone down. "I should probably try and add something to the letter... and get some pictures..." I told myself quietly as I got up and got back to work.

Chapter Three;

~Reader's POV~

It's been about a week since we turned in our letters and our teacher had the letters from our pen pals ready for us to read. On the envelopes they made us write who they were to and who they were from.

When the teacher called my name, I came up and grabbed the envelope and sat down at my desk. Once we got our envelopes we where told to wait until everyone had gotten theirs so that way we could all open them together and there wasn't a bunch of noise as she was trying to pass out the envelopes.

I couldn't help but feel butterflies in my tummy at the thought of what my pen pal could be like. Would they have similar interests that i have? Would they be the polar opposite of me? What did they look like? These thoughts and millions of other swarmed my head.

That was until the last person got theirs, she told us we could read them and then write a response back, and that they were again, due at the end of the week.

I opened the envelope neatly, unlike some people that chose to just tear them open. Once I opened it I started to read it to myself.

'Dear (L/N), (Y/N)

My name in Kozume Kenma (Ko-zoom-e Ken-ma), but please call me Kozume. I live in Tokyo Japan and go to school at Nekoma High, but you probably already knew that. I'm on my schools volleyball team and in my free time I like to play video games (some of my favorites are Pocket Camp and Mario Cart). I find it hard to describe things so I decided I would just put a couple of photos of me and my volleyball team in the envelope two (I'm the one with the black hair fading into blond). In Tokyo there is mainly a lot of food stands/shops, and a ton of stuff for tourists, I'm sorry, but I really don't know how to describe it. If there's anything in particular you wanted to see I could always take a picture. I'm not really a social person so I apologize for the lack of writing.

-Sincerely, Kozume Kenma.'

I looked towards my friend to see they got a whole two pages, front and back, while I barley got even a full page of writing. "Wow..." I said quietly to myself. I decided that I would go ahead and look inside the envelope for the pictures that Kozume said he sent.

I saw some miniature pictures in the bottom and took them out, the first one was a picture of the whole Nekoma volleyball team, It wasn't hard to find Kozume because he was the only male with the hair colors he described. He was also the only one holding his phone and looking down at it.

I then looked at the next photo to see it was one of him and a guy with bedhead. Kozume wasn't looking down this time, instead, he stared straight at the camera with a small smile as the bed-headed male gave him bunny ears.

The next, and last photo was of just Kozume, he was standing on the side walk, and was glancing up at the person taking the photo with a phone in his hands. Unlike the other ones, where he was in his team uniform, he was actually wearing casual clothes.

When I put the photos down I could feel some heat making its way to my cheeks. I wouldn't deny that Kozume was fairly attractive, but the thought of the semester being over and him being nothing more than a faint memory kept me from thinking about it to much, instead, I focused on writing another letter.

I couldn't think of much to write about, I just asked him who the bed haired male was, told him some video games that I enjoyed, I also told him what club I was in and told him I also would send photos of me and some places around the city.

The bell rang and I decided I would put my note in my bag so I can get the pictures I needed (Im sorry if this feels repetitive). I again made my way to lunch with (F/n) and (F/2).

"So (Y/N), do you have anything in common with your pen pal?" I paused the game I was playing and looked up at (F/2), slightly blushing at the thought of Kozume, though it went unnoticed to the two in front of me. "Yea, we both like video games, and I found out he had a Pocket Camp account."

"Oooh~ Are you going to give him your friend code~!" (F/n) tried to tease me, but I just unpaused the game and ignored them. "Aww come on! Don't do us dirty like that!" I continued to play my game and try to block out my friends. I could hear one of them puff out a short breath of air, meaning they were going to tease me more, but thankfully the bell came to my rescue, and I quickly got up to leave and go to my class.

At the end of the day I was walking home with (F/n) and (F/2). They were talking while I was playing a video game on my phone. "Hey (Y/N), how did you respond to your pen pal?"

I quickly looked up from my game to glance at my friends (who had smug faces) and back down at it again. "I wrote a little about video games and the city here... I also told him I'd include pictures like he did."

"Ohh! So he sent you pictures! Is he good looking!?" (F/n) shouted, making a light blush spread across my cheeks. "Uhhh... idk. You can be the judge of that.." I took out the letter in my bag and handed it to my friends. "He's the one with the blond hair and dark roots."

I heard (F/n) giggle at the male in the picture. Suddenly, (F/2) gasped. "Hey! That was my pen pal last year!" I quickly glanced up from my game again to see they were looking at the second photo and (F/2) had pointed at the male with bed hair. "Oh yea... I was wondering what his name was." I told them as my eyes went back to my phone.

"It's Kuroo!" (F/2) was looking at the photo and stared at the "Kuroo" guy with a dark blush. "Ah, the one you like." I paused my game to see their reaction, and it was priceless. Their face lit up an even darker shade of red that spread to the tip of their ears.

"Hey! We're at your house! Don't you think your mother wants you home?!" (F/2) quickly said, trying to get me to stop teasing them. "Guess we are." I said, taking the letter and photos back from my friends and headed inside.

When I got home I immediately went to my room so I could print off some pictures of myself. I found a few of me, (F/n) and (F/2) and printed them. After words I put them in the envelope and tried to finish my letter.

I heard a knock on my door as I was putting the letter in the envelope. "(Y/N), dinner is almost ready." I heard my mother's voice as she opened the door. "Okay, do you mind if I go take some pictures real quick for a school assignment?" I asked, taking my phone off of the charger. "Sure dear, just be back in 30ish minutes okay?" I nodded my head, and said a quick "yes ma'am" as I put my shoes on.

My mom left, to where I assume to be the kitchen, as gathered my things. I quickly plugged in my headphones to my phone and made my way downstairs. I then made my way around town and took quick pictures of some things that I typically see tourists go to.

When I was finished I made my way home, my mother telling me I was just in time for dinner. I quickly ate, telling my mom it was delicious as always, and then made my way upstairs. I hooked my phone to my computer and downloaded the photos I took. After a few hours of it downloading I was finally able to print off the ones I liked and put them in a separate envelope. 'Finally I can go to sleep.' I thought to myself as my body was finally able to hit the bed.

Chapter Four;

~Kenma's POV~

When I woke up I had realized that I woke up extremely late and I missed half of my classes. At this realization I rushed myself to the bathroom to get dressed and quickly checked to make sure I had everything before running out the door.

I pulled out my phone while running to see that it was already 10:27. 'Shit... I'm not going to make it in time to receive my letter!' I haphazardly threw my phone in my pocket and continued running.

At some point I skidded to a stop in front of my classroom. I was panting from running all the way here, so I took a second to regroup myself before I decided to knock on the door. I adjusted my tie and smoothed out my school uniform a little before lifting my hand, but just as I was about to make contact with the door, the bell rang and students started to file out of the rooms and into the hallways.

I stepped back to give the ones leaving some space. "Ahh, Kozume! You were late today." I could hear Fukunaga say as he exited. "I have your letters, I was planning on giving them to Kuroo, so he could leave it at your house, but I guess your here now." He told me, holding out a white envelope and a bigger orange/yellow one for me to grab. "Thank you."

I was still taking shallow breaths as sweat gathered on my temple, so it was no shock that Fukunaga noticed and made a comment about it. "The last time you were this tired was when you skipped practice because of a video game and coach made you run the entire practice. Where you really that eager to get your letter?"

At this a light blush came to my face. "No. I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss all of my classes and that coach wouldn't make me do that again." I told the male, referencing to the first, and last time I'd ever skip practice.

"Was it worth it?" Fukunaga asked as we started to walk. "No." I answered quickly while scrunching up my face at the thought, making Fukunaga laugh.

When I got home I made my way to my room and got the two envelopes out of my bag. I opened them quickly but made sure to not rip or tear anything.

After I read the note I took the photos out of the white envelopes first. When I saw the person I was pen pals with I could feel what raise to my cheeks and the corners of my lips tug into a small smile.

The first picture was of (L/N) and two of their friends. (L/N) was in the middle and held up a peace sign with a bright smile, while the one on the left held bunny fingers behind (L/N)'s head, and lastly the friends on the right had a small smile while they took the photo.

The second picture was only of (L/N), they were standing on side was as they covered the bottom half of their face, poorly hiding a blush, as they looked off to the side. This picture in particular made my small smile stretch a little into a grin.

The third photo made my smile instantly fall. This one had (L/N) and another male in the photo. In this one they were yelling at the male while he laughed at them. I felt some anger slowly form in the pit of my stomach. The first thought I had was that this was (L/N)'s boyfriend, which made the anger rise a tad more.

But then referencing to the letter, they said, as quoted, they took some pictures of themselves and "some of my friends" I quickly looked back at the letter to make sure that I didn't skip over anything, and referencing back they didn't say anything about a boyfriend. This made me relax a little, so I dismissed the option that it was their boyfriend as there was no evidence.

I picked up the yellow/orange envelope, opening it. Inside we're five pictures this time.

The first one was of a statue that has a little golden plaque near it, the statue itself was of a older looking man with a cane, just like the plaque the man was golden as well.

The second photo related to the first one, as it was a closer look of the plaque. As I read it, it explained how the statue was of the man that had founded their country.

The third photo was of a really nice looking castle. There was a little note at the bottom of the letter that said that this was where the man from the first picture had lived, and that both of these were a really big spot for tourists.

The fourth photo was at the castle again, except this time (L/N), the two friends from the first photo, and the male from the last one, were by one of the many knight armor that was lining the walls. They all made funny faces at the camera, looking like they were having a good time.

The fifth photo was one that made my blood boil. It was in the same spot at the last, but this time the male had leaned really close to (L/N) with his lips pressed against their cheek. He had a light blush on his face while (Y/N) had a huge one on theirs while their eyes were also wide open.

I couldn't help but glare at the photo that was currently in my hands. Suddenly their was a knock on my door and I could hear it creak open. "Hey Kenma, my parents are having a double date with your parents again tonight, so I was wondering if-."

With each word that left Kuroo's mouth I knew he was getting closer and closer to my side as his voice got louder, but I couldn't care less, even when he was right beside me and stopped talking, my eyes never left the picture, and my glare didn't falter either.

That was until Kuroo gave out a large cackle. I looked up and gave Kuroo the same glare, which only made him laugh harder. After ten minutes of his obnoxious laughter, he finally had enough and was clutching his stomach as he wiped away a fake tear.

"Kenma... that was the funniest thing I've ever seen you done." He wheezed out. "Now what are you glaring at?" He asked, snatching the photo out of my hands.

"Which one is the pen pal?" He asked, after a moment of studying the photo. "Take a guess." I mumbled out. "Hmm... the one being kissed?" Kuroo asked with a smile. I only puffed out my cheeks in annoyance as I fell back onto my bed.

"Hey, I didn't know your pen pal knew mine." "What do you mean." I leaned my head to the side to look at Kuroo. "The one with the (random hair color) and (random eye color)." Kuroo turned the photo so that I could see it and pointed at one of the people that were in the first photo.

My eyes shifted from the person Kuroo was pointing at to the male and (Y/N), making me groan and turn the other way. "Ya know, I've never seen you so upset about a person." Kuroo pointed out, and by his tone I could just picture the smile he was giving me.

I grumbled out a excuse under my breath which only caused Kuroo to laugh. "How about I treat you to some apple pie?" I sat up slowly and glanced at Kuroo then to the picture that was in his hand.

"Are we going to the one on 57th street?" Kuroo nodded his head at my question. Instead of replying I stood up and put my shoes on. We both walked in silence to the bakery that I loved.

Kuroo had just left my house so I decided I would take the left over pie from earlier and take it to my room so I could start writing me letter.

As I started to write it the only question I could think of asking was "who was the boy" and "is he your boyfriend or is he just a friend" or "why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone"

The urge to ask (L/N) those questions, and many more, was very high. Eventually I got through the note without commenting on the mysterious male.

It was late so I decided to get some rest for tomorrow, but the longer I stayed without knowing that I'd get closer, the more thoughts that swarmed my head. Like, 'how long have they been dating' and 'are they still together' or 'did they break up' and 'are they maybe just childhood friends' and 'are they in a happy relationship' and of course many others. But lastly..

'what if that was me instead of him?'

Chapter Five;

~Reader's POV~

I walked into the classroom with a skip in my step, I was excited to be getting my letter from Kozume. I quickly sat down in my seat, with a wide smile.

"Wow, since when do you come into class without your face in your phone? Did you beat a new video game?" (F/n) giggled out. "I did finish Super Mario Brothers 2 last night, but that's not why I'm excited."

"Oh, is it the letter from your dear Kenma then?" (F/n) teased as I blushed. "Come on, we aren't even on first name basis." "Doesn't mean you don't like him~!" They teased even further, making me blush even darker in return.

Before I could rebuttal, the teacher walks in with the letters. "Okay class, I'll pass out the letters and I want you guys to write your responses quickly because we have work to do today.... I'll give you guys 15 minutes after I pass them out."

The teacher passed back the papers and I beam to read through mine.

'Dear (L/N), (Y/N)

Hello again, I wanted to say that I found you very pretty in the pictures you sent, it's not a surprise to me that you have a loving boyfriend. How long have you guys been together, and what's his name? By the fifth photo you sent with the castle I'd assume that it's been a while. I couldn't send photos this time, but I'll try in my next letter. I wish you and your boyfriend the best.

-Sincerely, Kozume Kenma'

At the word boyfriend I could feel my eyebrow quirk up. I wasn't dating anyone, and I haven't dated anyone in a few years. Then i remember sending a photo of (M/n) (male name). It was just a photo of me and him arguing over a video game, so I'd assume nothing when sending it, but i guess Kenma had assumed otherwise.

I quickly started off my letter by telling him that (M/n) wasn't my boyfriend, just a close friend I've had since Jr. High. I continued the letter by saying that he has been like a brother to me for so, nothing could ever change that. I then asked Kenma a few questions before closing off my letter and setting it aside. I didn't really have much to say, so my letter wasn't very long.

The 15 minute timer ran out and we continued with class as normal.

After my club me, (F/n), and (F/2) decided we would go to the arcade that was near by. "Hey (Y/N), I challenge you to a battle!" (F/2) said excitingly. "Oh!" I started, deciding to play along. "You dare challenge the queen!" This sentence made (F/2) giggle. "You mean the soon to be ex-Queen." (F/2) said smugly. "We'll see about that." I told them, a smirk growing on my face. "Now which game shall it be."

"Hmmm.... what about mortal combat!" (F/2) flicked my forehead. "You're on!" I yelled, racing them to the arcade machine. We both inserted our coins and picked our characters, then played.

"Ugh! Come on! No far!" So far we had done the best out of ten and I had won every single game. "Ahh, but I still have my crown. Looks like you couldn't beat the queen." I gave (F/2) a small smile.

"Oh, but I bet you want Kozume to be your king right?" (F/n) said out of nowhere, making me blush lightly. "I never said that..." I mumbled. "No, but you can't lie and say you haven't thought of it." This made my blush darken greatly and made me puff out my cheeks slightly. "I don't need a king...."

Chapter Six;

~Kenma's POV~

Just like very other week, the teacher passed out the letters. I was particular anxious about this one because of how many questions I asked about the mysterious male.

Not only that but what if it actually was their boyfriend? Will they think I'm being weird? Did I freak them out? What if they think I'm jealous? What if it gets awkward?

Once the teacher sat the letter on my desk I very hesitantly reached out to it. I very slowly opened the letter and then very tentatively read through the note.

In the very first sentence (L/N) had clarified that she was not dating the male in the photo, and that they were in fact childhood friends. And if anything he was a brother to her so nothing could have grown into anything bigger. I continued read on when the ending of the letter especially caught me eye, it read:

'I've been thinking about how this quarter is almost coming to an end, and in this short amount of time I have grown to consider you a really close friend and would like it if you addressed me by my first name. And if you wouldn't mind maybe we could talk about the possibility of me visiting during the summer (or vise versa)? I completely understand if you shut down both of my offers, I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I look forward to your response!

-Sincerely yours, (Y/N) (L/N)'

I couldn't believe what I was reading. (L/N), not only considered us close, not only wants me to call them by their given name, but also would like to meet me in person. I was over- joyed to say the least, and I could feel my lips tug into a warm smile as I quickly wrote a letter back.

After school had ended I asked Kuroo to take me around Tokyo to some "touristy places" so I could take pictures to send to (Y/N), mainly because I didn't know the area well even though I've lived here for almost my entire life.

We walked around and took pictures of different things until around 8 and decided to head home. When I did get home I ate dinner and then printed the pictures to put inside the envelope along with the letter.

Chapter Seven;

~Reader's POV~

When I got in the classroom I was fidgeting a lot more than usual, and I guess (F/n) noticed. "Hey (Y/N), are you okay?" I nodded my head and took out my phone, I started to play one of my games, but I couldn't concentrate because my thoughts were spiraling.

Ever since I gave my teacher the letter to send off I had been anticipating Kozumes response. I was really worried about being to forward and scaring him off. But judging by the times we had play Pocket Camp, he seemed like he was having a good time? But I could have been reading to much into it?

As that thought crossed my mind my screen flashed with a "game over" text, making me sigh. I was way to fidgety to be playing the game and kept messing up.

"Woah, something just really be bothering you to lose at that game. What's wrong?" I sat my phone down and took a deep breath in and out. "I told Kozume to call me by my first name and I also told him that I could visit sometime if he liked. I'm just scared of what he'll say..."

(F/n) put a hang on my shoulder. "Hey, listen. You are a wonderful person and friends. If he can't see that through your guys letters and talks during your video games, then that's really his loss. You're beautiful, have a wonderful sense of humor, and have the most charming smile ever. If he can't see that then he's blind!"

(F/n)'s words made me giggle. It didn't erase my worries completely, but it helped a lot. The teacher then walked into the classroom and handed out the letters.

When I got my letter my nerves returned again... taking a deep breath I opened the letter and let that deep breath out, taking all of my worries with it. I grabbed the first the note and started to read it, praying there wasn't anything bad in it.

'Dear (Y/N), (L/N)

I wouldn't mind calling you by you given name if that is what you want, and I also wouldn't mind it if we arranged a meet up during the summers. Though if you wanted to tour Tokyo my friend would have to come with us because I don't know the area to well. I thought that I'd take some pictures of places that are near me and most tourist go. I also have little headings on the pictures to explain the the pictures a little.

-Sincerely, Kenma Kozume'

I couldn't help but smile when I read the bottom. Normally he would put his surname first, but this time he put his birth name, which meant that I would be able to call him by his birth name.

I then remembered that he had sent me photos and decided to open the separate yellow/orange envelope.

The first picture was a photograph of Tokyo Tower, the heading just stated that it was in fact Tokyo Tower and that some people mistake regular water towers for Tokyo Tower.

The second picture was of Kenma and his bedhead friend. They both stood in-front of the very famous Sensoji Temple. his arm around Kenma's shoulder while Kenma was looking down at his game. The heading had said the photo was of Kuroo and him last year when the bad went there on a school trip.

The third and last photo was Kenma and Kuroo again, but this time Kenma was looking at the camera, although he looked very annoyed, and Kuroo held up bunny ears behind Kenma. The head had explained that this was taken on a school field trip they had taken this year to Tokyo's National Museum.

I couldn't help but laugh at the picture in particular with a huge smile on my face. I quickly decided i should write a letter back to Kenma.

Chapter Eight;

~Kenma's POV~

Once again I got a letter from my teacher. When i opened it, it was all about (Y/N) gushing about how fun it will be to finally meet me in person. Towards the end of the letter (Y/N) had said that if i wanted to continue to talk, the i could give them my phone number. My last letter was short, I didn't really have a lot to say so it was pretty blunt....

As I got home from school I looked at my desk where my letter had sat, I didn't know if I should give that letter to my teacher or not.... the one thing I did know though was that my mind was constantly on (Y/N). My eyes always trialed to the small sliding drawer where I kept the letters she sent me, along with the photos.

I sat up from my bed and walked over to the desk and decided to re-read through the "old" letters. I even looked through the pictures. I subconsciously had a small smile on my face as I looked down at the photos.... well, all but two.

When I came across those two photos in particular my smile dropped. I immediately made up my mind as I saw those two photos.

Bad Ending;

~Reader's POV~

I walked into my classroom with a pep in my step. In my last letter I had asked Kenma for his number, and judging by how he still played Pocket Camp with me and came to visit my camp site, I'd say when I opened that letter, it was going to have his number in it.

I sat down and instantly started to fidget just like I did last week, the only difference being, this time it was from excitement. "You look happy this week." (F/n) pointed out, making me smile up at them. I honestly didn't have words to describe how happy I was, so instead I just nodded my head.

"Okay class, settle down. I thought I should point out before handing out these papers that this is that last letter that you will receive, and you won't need to write a letter back." After finishing this she started to hand the letters back. When the teacher got to me, she held a look of pity in her eyes and gave me an all knowing look, like she's seen situation play out like this a million different times before.

She then walked by my desk. She didn't say anything. She didn't put a note down, she just walked past and continued to hand out the notes. When she finished she had called me outside the classroom to speak with me.

"As you know, you didn't get a letter.... your pen pal, Kozume, decided that he couldn't bring himself to write another letter because of certain relationships you had with another male..." My teacher explained. The only thought racing through my head was "why".

"Um... can I go to the bathroom?" I asked. The teacher gave me a pitied look and nodded her head, walking inside the classroom. I went to the bathroom and went on Pocket Camp to text Kenma.

No matter how many times I texted him, no matter how many times he had seen it, he didn't respond.

He ghosted me....

Good Ending;

~Reader's POV~

"Okay class, settle down. I thought I should point out before handing out these papers that this is that last letter that you will receive, and you won't need to write a letter back." After finishing this she started to hand the letters back. When the teacher got to me, she smiled and gave me an all knowing look, like she's seen this a million different times before.

She didn't say anything though, and instead opted to just give me my letter. Immediately I opened it and grabbed the letter from inside. The words on the paper were short, sweet, and to the point.

'Dear (Y/N),

I can't wait for you to come to Tokyo, here's my number xxx-xxx-xxxx. Hope we can work the details out later.

-Sincerely, Kenma.'

My smile stretched further and I quickly got my phone out and punched Kenma's number into my phone, and quickly sent him a text saying that it was me.

-extra-

It was finally summer, and although I had to pick up some jobs, I gathered enough money to help pay for my ticket to Tokyo so I could see my dear boyfriend. I wanted to surprise Kenma, so I had been talking to one of his closest friends, Kuroo, for a few months about when to come and visit.

Eventually, we settled on a date and made plans. Kuroo was going to come pick me up from the airport and then take me to Kenma's house, saying he had a "surprise" for him.

I quickly texted Kuroo that I was boarding the plane and he said that he'd be seeing me in a few hours. When I got on the airplane and we took off, I could feel myself falling asleep.

I woke up to the captain saying that the plane had landed safely and that everyone could get off. I texted Kuroo and told him I arrived in Tokyo and he texted back saying he was waiting at the baggage claim.

I got my bag first and then started to look around for Kuroo. When I spotted him I I waved at him and called out his name. He turned to me and gave me one of his "signature smirks" as (F/2) had described it.

I walked up to him and we got into the car. Kuroo drove as we caught up and we also played a little bit of music. Mid way to Kenma's, I had gotten a notification from the boy himself.

To: (Y/N)<3

From: Babe<3

Hey, what are you doing?

To: Babe<3

From: (Y/N)<3

I just got off of work, can I text you when I get home?

To: (Y/N)<3

From: Babe<3

Yea, I'm sorry to bother you while driving. Make sure to stay safe.

To: Babe<3

From: (Y/N)<3

It's okay! I'll be safe, no need to worry. I'm not driving yet, though I'm about to. Ttyl!

"Who texted you?" Kuroo asked, not taking his eyes off the road. "It was Kenma, I told him I just got off work." "Okay, we should be there in a few minutes." Kuroo told me, making my lips tug into a small grin.

Not to long later and we arrived at Kenma's house. I couldn't help but have a slight bounce in my step as we walked to the front door, which Kuroo took notice of but chose not to mention. Kuroo had texted Kenma saying he had his surprise and to help him with it when he rang the door bell.

After we confirmed Kenma had seen the text and got a response I rang the doorbell with Kuroo standing behind me. A few minutes later the door opened, revealing Kenma.

When the door opened Kenma's eyes went wide and his mouth went slightly open in shock. His actions made me giggle. Before I could tease him, he quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me in for a hug. His hands were around my waist as he buried his face into the crook of my neck. My hands rested around his neck as I took in his sent. 'Smells like apple pie...' I thought to myself.

Kenma suddenly pulled back and grabbed me by the chin, quickly making our lips connect for a split second before pulling away again. "Come inside." He said, opening the door wider to let both me and Kuroo inside. 'Tastes like it two.' I thought, with a wide smile.

#kenma #kenma kozume #x reader #kenma x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #x you #haikyuu x you #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #fanfic #wattpad #penpal #complete #completed #gender neutral reader

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earthnougat · 4 years

Text

Utitur Oratione

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You can see anything and everything your soulmate writes on their skin.

Warnings: Slight smut scene nearing the end.

Rate: Mature

You frowned down at your book in frustration, you had no idea what Snape had assigned, and you desperately needed help; and a nap for that matter. You slapped your forehead as you had a little Eureka! moment, and you furiously scribbled everything you knew about Draught of Peace onto the parchment and shook your head at your own stupidity. Soon, you grew tired, and overly bored. You dipped your quill into some ink, and began to doodle on your hand, thinking that Professor Snape wouldn’t be overly pleased with flowers covering the top corner of your parchment, even if he did have a soft spot for you.

You slapped your forehead when you realized that your soulmate, wherever they were, was about to have their hand covered in awfully drawn flowers. You shook your head at yourself again, for your own stupidity. Today really just wasn’t your day was it.

Fred Weasley, who was on the other side of the school, sitting in the Gryffindor common room and scheming up pranks with this twin, nearly fell off the sofa when he saw the flowers on his hand. “Freddie?” George asked, concerned. “My hand! My bloody soulmate has written something! Finally!” He cheered, and Harry, Ron and Hermione all ran over to get a look at his hand that was now covered in flowers.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off of them and melted at the sight at the appalling looking flowers, “Man, she cannot draw,” George said, snatching up Fred’s hand and getting a closer look for himself, “Oi! Shove off, I’m in love with her,” Fred said, stealing his hand back. The little group let out a small chuckle, not overly surprised that Fred had already declared love to someone that he had just found out existed, and he hadn’t even met them yet. Fred grabbed a quill that Hermione had been writing with and scribbled a message back onto his hand.

‘Hello, lovely’

He seemed quite satisfied with himself and smiled as he stood up and hauled George up with him, “C’mon then Georgie, time to sleep.” Fred said, and they both walked up the stairs leading to their dorm. “He’s bloody mental,” Ron muttered, as he slammed himself down against a sofa, “But at least his soulmate has reached out, whether she meant to or not. That’s a lot more than any of us can say about ours,” Hermione muttered. Ron shrugged at that, and then nodded his head in agreement.

The next morning, Fred wandered down to breakfast, George by his side like always, and plopped down onto the bench, and quickly started loading his plate with eggs before he realized that he had yet to check his hand. He looked down, and he nearly choked on the bite of eggs already in his mouth.

‘What’s your name?’

“Well, she certainly is blunt, isn’t she?” George snorted, and shoveled some potatoes into his mouth. Fred quickly grabbed a quill and whispered a quick charm so that it had some ink on it and wrote back on his hand with his name.

You looked down at your hand and let out a little gasp, underneath the line of you asking for his name, was Fred Weasley written in blocky letters, and you nearly fainted on the spot. Fred Weasley, The Fred Weasley, half of the Weasley twins, one of the biggest pranksters Hogwarts had ever seen, as well as being one of the loudest students Hogwarts had ever seen, was your soulmate. You panicked, and quickly hid your hand in your robes and took a bite of your toast before you jumped up and ran to the potion’s classroom.

You opened the door to the potion’s classroom, and Snape glanced up, and then looked back down when he saw that it was just you, “Ah, Ms. Black, pleasure.” As much as Severus absolutely, positively, despised Sirius Black, his daughter was quite probably the best student Severus had ever had. She was incredibly brilliant, never spoke out of turn, managed the best potions, and they always came out perfectly, and she was overall incredibly hardworking. She smiled at him, and nodded, and walked to her seat. Despite it being in the back of the class, she still constantly produced the best potions, and Severus hardly needed to go and check on her because they were always perfect, she would seek out extra work just for the hell of it, and would turn it in a day before Severus asked for it, and she did this in every single class, the professors had never met a witch like her, and they didn’t expect to meet one like her anytime soon.

Not to mention that she left everyone alone, and liked to be on her own, Severus liked that too.

She sat down, and grabbed her quill and inkpot, and quickly scribbled on her hand.

‘Afraid I can’t say, sorry.’

She was shy, and seriously did not want Fred Weasley to find out that his soulmate was a measly Ravenclaw girl who didn’t speak to anyone but had top marks and the professors loved her. She was practically the exact opposite of him. She was quiet whereas he was loud, he was constantly surrounded by friends and was loved by nearly all at Hogwarts, she had no friends and hardly anybody knew of her existence except for Luna Lovegood, and possibly Hermione Granger because she seemed to know everything.

Fred glanced down at his hand with a frown as they walked to Potions class, “Hm, we need to figure out who she is immediately,” Fred muttered to George, and he nodded his head in agreement as they entered the classroom. It seemed that they were early, and the only people in there were Snape and some Ravenclaw, the Ravenclaw girl looked up when they entered, and her eyes widened and she quickly looked back down, her hands shoving themselves into her bag, and she kept her head down. Fred shrugged, not overly bothered. Snape, who had noticed the writing on her hand the moment she had walked in, sighed to himself at the stupidity that was Fred Weasley.

Severus had to admit that even with how stupid he found the Weasley twins, they were both actually bloody brilliant. They got top notch marks in potions, and the little devious treats that they had crafted were also incredibly smart, and required some serious potion making skills, and he had to give the two of them credit there. They were still abysmal students, and it was a wonder that they had actually made it to their seventh year without getting expelled with some of the pranks they had pulled. They hardly ever listened in class, normally spending it muttering to each other about the next prank they had, or the next idea for their joke shop or something of that nature, hardly ever did their homework, and if they did, the results were normally god awful, spent a great deal of time in detention, yet they still managed to have some of the highest marks in Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Muggle Studies. It truly was surprising.

As time went on, Fred got more and more fed up, and kept on pestering Hermione to help him. “’Mione! Help please, you know like everyone and everything,” Fred mumbled, as he slapped his hand down on the parchment she was scribbling on. The newest words on Fred’s hand stood out against his pale skin,

‘Best of luck in the match! I’ll be cheering for my own house, obviously.’

“So, she’s in Ravenclaw then, interesting.” Hermione said, and then wracked her brain for every single girl in the Ravenclaw house. “I’ll keep an eye out during the match to see if anyone is acting different,” Hermione said, then promptly took hold of Fred’s wrist, and tossed it at himself so that she could complete her work. Fred clapped his hands, delighted, and then ran out into the hallways in search of his brother to tell the small tale to. He decided to wander past Ravenclaw tower whilst looking for his twin, and he stumbled upon the girl that he had seen at the back of Snape’s classroom, she was pressing her fingertips to the face of the eagle doorknob, and her lips were moving yet nothing was coming out, and then the door unlocked and it was about to open, when she looked up and spotted him, her eyes growing wide.

Fred finally had the chance to take in the girl before him. She truly was stunning, and if rumours were correct, she was probably the smartest student in Hogwarts history, she was in his year, he knew that for sure. She was shorter than him, and her eyes were wide with curiosity as she glanced up at him, and then she looked down, and smiled softly before hoping into her common room, the door closing behind her.

Fred asked Hermione about her the next day. He sat down beside her at the table, “Say Hermione, do you know who that is?” Fred questioned, and pointed at the girl he had seen yesterday. Hermione’s eyes widened as she took in the girl, “That’s (Y/N) Black, Sirius Black’s daughter.” Harry’s head whipped around, “Scuse me?” He said, and stared at the girl, and was about to stand up to go talk to her, “Harry no! She’s mute! Even if you do talk to her, she won’t be able to say anything back!” Hermione said, and tugged Harry back down. “Explain, everything.”

“Rumour has it that before Sirius was cart off to Azkaban, he had a child. Him and Remus were in the middle of a fight really, the relationship was over, and so Sirius went out, found a nice witch, and well, took her back to his room, and well you know the rest. He left, yet she was pregnant, and he had no idea. She died during childbirth, and obviously the baby was Sirius’, so he took custody of her, and him and Remus began to raise her, James was Godfather as Remus was basically acting like a second father. When Sirius was taken to Azkaban, she should have gone to the Potter’s, but due to them being dead, she was given to Remus under the Potter’s and Sirius’ previous request. The Ministry refused to trust the child of Sirius Black, and so they shot a spell at her that left her mute, it apparently can’t be undone. Now that Sirius is back, I am guessing she goes back to his custody, but from what I know, she is of age, and can really do whatever she wants, it could explain why we have never seen her at Grimmauld place.” Hermione said. Fred stared at the girl, “So, she’s my what, God sister?” Harry questioned, “I guess so?” Hermione said, “Damn.” Fred said, and sat back down. “How does she communicate?” He questioned, “Well, it’s not as if she has a lot of friends, or any at all, she has managed to keep her last name a secret, I only heard it walking by a professor, and I think she knows sign language,” Hermione said. “I want to speak to her,” Harry said, “Harry, she can’t respond. She actually doesn’t have the ability to speak to you, or to anyone for that matter,” Hermione said, making him see sense. He grumbled and sat back down.

‘You look anxious, are you alright?’

Fred glanced down at his hand, and his head shot up as he scanned the Ravenclaw table, looking for anybody, boys included, that were writing on their hand, but alas no luck, people were either shovelling food into their mouths, talking, or reading. “She’s in this room, she can see me, but I have no fucking idea who she is. This is infuriating,” Fred mumbled, and scooped some cold porridge into his mouth before grabbing a quill and writing back on his hand.

‘Just learned some new things is all,’

He glanced around the Ravenclaw table once again, trying to see who was looking at their hands, and when he got to the seat where you once were, you were gone, and he was awfully confused.

Gryffindor won, they celebrated, yet Fred wasn’t as pleased as he normally would have been, because he knew deep down that you would have been upset about the loss for your house, and the last thing he ever wanted was for you to be upset, even if he had no idea who you were.

‘Congrats on the win! You played amazingly x’

So, she was there, she had seen him play, and she still wouldn’t say anything to him. He was starting to hate this. He wanted to know who she was more than anything, he wanted to be able to hug her, hold her, kiss her, keep her protected and safe and happy, but he had no idea where to start or what to do.

‘Thanks, love. Why won’t you tell me who you are?’

‘You’ll be disappointed.’

‘You’re mad if you think I’m not already in love with you.’

After that, the writing stopped for the night, and Fred just had to assume that she had went to bed. He trudged up to his dorm, sadly, and flopped onto his bed, and just groaned into the air.

The next day, Fred was walking through the halls, George had forgotten his entire bloody bag in the library and told Fred that he would meet him in the common room. He stopped short when he noticed you standing by the door, you looked up and your eyes got really really wide that it was almost comical, but then you pulled out a quill and started writing on your hand and Fred looked down and he found that it matched what you had written and that you were his soulmate and he suddenly fucking realized that his eyes were probably the really wide ones and he was probably looking just a bit more comical than him.

‘Follow me, please.’

Fred was more than happy to oblige. His soulmate was right in front of him, and it took everything in him to calm down the more primal urges which were telling him to run to her, protect her, keep her happy, keep her safe, and he followed after her, trailing like a lost puppy but not seeming to have any problem with that.

They wound up in an empty classroom, and Fred couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. They kept scanning her, wanting to see everything he could. She bit her lip when she realized Fred wouldn’t stop looking at her. She didn’t know what to do, and so she waved, and then signed, ‘I’m mute, sorry,’ before she quickly scribbled it onto her hand so that Fred could see too. “Yeah, I know. ‘Mione told me,” Fred said, “I’m not disappointed, not at all. You’re bloody stunning and the smartest witch at our school, I’m so fucking happy I don’t know how to articulate,” Fred breathed, staring at her. Her lips broke out into a grin, and Fred nearly melted. He opened his arms, and slowly walked towards her, but when she walked into his arms, and they wrapped around her, he had never felt so good, so secure in his entire life. “I’m gonna learn sign language,” Fred told her, and leant back from the hug and cupped her cheeks.

“I want to know everything about you, without having to wait for you to wash off your hand to write something new or for you to waste a bunch of parchment,” Fred declared, and she smiled, and it seemed like she was laughing but no sound came out but the look on her face said it all.

As time went on, Fred began to learn more and more sign language, and had even taught George, Ron, Hermione and Harry some if they were going to ever actually meet her. Harry had been bouncing up and down in his seat like a child when Fred finally decided that they all should meet, he was actually going to get to speak to, well not speak to, interact with someone who was family. He was ecstatic. Right when Harry had learned that you were practically his God sister, AND that you were Fred’s soulmate, he immediately owled Sirius asking for an explanation.

Sirius,

I recently found out that you have a daughter. A daughter that is mute? A daughter that has been staying with Remus ever since you were taken to Azkaban. Why didn’t you or Remus tell me about her? She’s two years above me, and what’s more, is that she’s Fred’s soulmate.

Fred is over the moon about her, hardly lets her out of his sight. It’s sweet.

I haven’t gotten the chance to meet her because Fred says she’s really shy, and I guess that’s understandable, so I won’t push the matter, I think we are going to actually get to meet her soon enough.

Where does she stay if I have never seen her at Grimmauld place and if she is of age, so she technically isn’t under your or Remus’ care? Will we see her at Christmas? I hope so.

I was really happy to learn that I have another family member, it makes me feel less alone, even if I have never actually gotten the chance to actually interact with her.

With Love,

Harry

Sirius had replied within a day.

Harry,

I am incredibly sorry about not telling you about my daughter, we thought (we being Remus and I) that it was best to keep her as a secret. I still have yet to be cleared by the ministry, and people still think that I am a mass murderer, and we didn’t want her to have to deal with the judgement from her peers.

The professors know about her lineage, and about her condition, which is why she probably never gets called on, or you have never seen her actually interacting with someone.

She’s Fred Weasley’s soulmate huh? Interesting. She isn’t allowed to owl Remus or I in fear of suspicion, so thank you for telling me.

He takes good care of her then. He better. Him and I will be having a quick heart to heart when you’re all here for Christmas. And yes, she will be joining us from Christmas. Rem and I discussed it and thought it would be best for all of you to finally meet, formally that is, and so that we can explain somethings about us and about her.

She is very shy, and when I say very, I mean very very very shy, so be nice about it, don’t push anything because she will probably get anxious and will just up and leave.

She is also incredibly nice and has been so excited to actually get to meet you since I told her of you being my Godson.

I love you,

Sirius

Harry smiled at the last line, Harry had never really had anybody tell him they love him, and so hearing it from Sirius was incredibly reassuring and he adored it. Sirius had quickly caught onto the fact that Harry was incredibly touch-starved for affection, and reassurance, so he did his best. He hugged Harry whenever he saw him, would press kisses to the top of his head and forehead, and would keep a comfortable hand on the back of his neck if they were sitting next to each other. Harry basked in it, he absolutely adored it.

When Fred proposed the idea of you meeting them, your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head and looked down. You were sitting in the Room of Requirement where you tended to end up quite a bit, as you refused to go the Gryffindor common room, and the Ravenclaw common room was always filled with people studying so you didn’t think they would take kindly to one Fred Weasley lounging around and making noise.

“C’mon love, they’re all super nice, and you’re practically related to Harry!” Fred said, tugging you into his lap after you had stood up, anxious to get out of there at the prospect of meeting the golden trio and the other half of the Weasley twins. You pushed your head into his neck, and he smiled softly at the light kiss that you left there. You pulled your head out from his neck and looked at him in the eyes, “What if they don’t like me?” You signed, and looked down, suddenly incredibly shy again.

“Love, they will adore you, just like I do. You’re wonderful, and you’re also Sirius’ daughter and Harry’s God sister or whatever, I’m sure they would be incredibly pleased to meet you, Harry hasn’t stopped talking about it.” Fred said, and cupped your face in his hands and laid a small kiss on your lips. You eventually agreed to go with him, and the smile of Fred’s face was incredibly worth it.

He led you up to the Gryffindor common room, his hand not letting go of yours, and the grip you had on his hand was getting tighter and tighter by the minute, and he was pretty sure you were shaking at this point. “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to,” Fred said as he glanced down at you. You shook your head, “No, I need to, and want to,” You signed back to him, and he smiled softly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head as he whispered the password to the fat lady.

They walked in, and being the incredible people that they were, Harry, Ron, George and Hermione had cleared out the common room so that you wouldn’t get overwhelmed. Harry was practically bursting with excitement, and Hermione had to place her hand on his arm to remind him that you would probably get nervous if he just jumped up to greet you. Harry, Ron, George and Hermione all greeted you and Fred with massive smiled, everyone incredibly excited to meet you. You felt the same, but you were just awful at portraying that. She signed ‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you’ and Fred quickly turned to the group at their kind of confused faces, “She says hello and that it’s nice to meet you all!” He beamed, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, (Y/N),” Hermione smiled at you, and you smiled back, George scoffed, “Truly, I was getting tired of Freddie just rambling on about you when we could meet you for ourselves, so yes it really is a pleasure to meet you,” George smiled, stood up and brought you into a hug. You hugged him back, and then smiled at him when he pulled back and brought you and Fred over to the couches.

Fred, who you soon realized didn’t like it when you weren’t right up against him if you were in his reach, tugged you right down beside him so that you were practically on top of him, and he turned to the rest of the group. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of you, finally meeting someone he could consider actually family. The Weasley’s and Hermione were his family yes, but someone that was actually family, like Sirius was, and getting to finally meet you was incredible. Fred saw the want in Harry’s eyes and he just laughed, “That’s my little brother, Ronald, and then we have your God brother, Mr. Harry James Potter,” Fred smiled.

“Hi Harry,” You signed, and Fred was quick to relay that back to him. “She says hello,” Harry smiled, “Hi,” He simply said, he had so many questions that he wanted to ask, but he knew it wasn’t the correct time, and he wanted to ask them in private, and he couldn’t really do that until he leant sign language so that Fred didn’t have to act as a buffer. As if you could read his mind, she quickly signed a word and Harry turned to Fred for clarification. “She says later?” Fred said, and turned to you, confused. ‘I will speak to him later about whatever questions he might have, because I know he has them,’ She signed to him, and he nodded, and was about to relay it to Harry but Harry had already gotten the point, and smiled as Hermione got to know her.

As time went on, Umbridge just got crueller and crueller and you had been hauled into detention in her office multiple times purely because you couldn’t answer her questions, you had managed to keep your punishment from getting to Fred, as you shared defence with the Hufflepuffs and not with the Gryffindors, but it was going to get harder to hide from him. You had left her office once again and stared down at the scabbing on your hands that were dripping fresh blood.

‘I will respond when spoken to’

She forced you to write lines for hours until your parchment was dripping with blood, and you were starting to get dizzy from the blood loss. You didn’t want to go to anyone knowing that Fred would absolutely freak out and do something major to get himself in trouble, and you didn’t want to bother your other Professors with problems that you viewed as menial. You had been avoiding Fred for days now, wouldn’t look at him in the Great Hall, refused to even come into any contact with him because you needed to figure out what you were going to do with your hand, you guessed you could go to Madam Pomfrey, but you were honestly assuming that the scars were created with dark magic so going to her wouldn’t do you any good anyways.

Fred was just shy from being absolutely furious. He had found out from Luna that you had gotten detention at the end of nearly every single defence lesson, and you were serving it with Umbridge which meant your hand was bound to be bleeding, and you were being hurt for fuck all. He stormed up the Ravenclaw tower, and the eagle head gave him a riddle.

‘I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?’

Fred pondered for a second, “A map!” He exclaimed, and the door unlocked and swung open. He clambered in and right away spotted you, “(Y/N),” He muttered, and you heard him and glanced up, your mouth falling open, and your hand tucking itself into your robs. He saw the movement, and he suddenly saw red, wanting to hurt Umbridge more than he thought was humanly possible, but also wanting to comfort you and make sure you were okay. You stood up, and walked over to him, and he gripped at your hand, the one that wasn’t in your robes, and pulled you out of the common room to the room of requirement. Once the door opened, he pulled you inside, and yanked your hand out of your robes.

‘I will respond when spoken to’ stood out against your skin, and he let out an almost animalistic growl, and banged his fist against the wall, “I’m going to kill that toad bitch!” He angrily muttered, and you quickly pulled your hand out of his, and placed your hands on his cheeks, making him look at you as you mouthed the words ‘I’m okay’ to him, and he shook his head, and pulled you in for a hug. “No, you’re not okay! You’re being sent to detention for something that is so incredibly stupid and beyond your control! Its cruel! You don’t even have the ability to actually respond to her. Georgie and I are going to make her life a living hell before we leave,” You tucked yourself into him, and Fred nearly melted, again.

“You’re too bloody nice, why don’t you just tell her you’re mute and can’t actually respond?” Fred asked. ‘I don’t need the rest of the damn school knowing that I can’t talk because my father is Sirius fucking Black, who is technically, still wanted for multiple murders.’ She signed angrily, looking up at him, while she pulled away from his body. Fred sighed, and sat down on the sofa that the room had conjured up. “What about all of the teachers that know of your condition?” He questioned, and patted his lap, trying to get her to come sit with him, she shook her head. ‘I don’t need their pity, oh the poor little mute girl can’t stand up for herself, how sad’ She signed, and glared at him from where she was standing.

“Love, they won’t pity you. They haven’t pitied any of us! Not even Harry! They all have treated the matter rationally. Now, we all know Snape has a soft spot for you and you’re the only student he actually likes, well maybe he likes the ferret but that’s up for discussion. Snape won’t give you pity, but he will defend you, and you know it as well as I do.” Fred stated, standing up and grabbing her hand, and looking at the words across it. You saw the rage and quickly pulled your hand back, ‘I will go speak to Snape. You will not come with.’ She signed. Fred just nodded his head with a sigh, “I’ll be here when you’re done with the greasy old git.” And then he plopped back onto the sofa and watched you walk out of the room.

When you had finally made it to the potion’s classroom, you breathed in deep before knocking. “Come in,” The monotone voice replied to your knock, and you let yourself in, glancing up at Severus as you walked in. “Ms. Black?” He questioned as he saw it was you. Severus along with many of the other teachers had learnt sign language immediately after they had learnt that you were deaf.

‘I didn’t really want to come, because I hate pity, but Fred said I should, and that you would never even think to pity me. I showed him my hand with the scars from Umbridge and he thinks it’s unfair because I can’t actually respond to her, which is the whole reason I get sent to detention after nearly every class with her.’ You signed quickly.

His eyes hardened, “Show me your hand, Ms. Black,” You quickly walked over, and laid you palm onto the desk. ‘I will respond when spoken to’ was easy to see against your skin, the cuts being red and angry and harsh. “This is ridiculous! Nobody has informed her of your condition then,” Severus said, as he summoned some bandages and some dittany. You shook your head. “Oh, the incompetence of this school truly is tiresome,” He muttered as he took care of your hand. He wrapped it up in some bandages, “Do not, under any circumstances let your father know of this until Umbridge has left the school. I am well aware of just how protective Sirius Black can be, and neither of us, nor Mr. Weasley, need a convicted mass murderer, no matter how innocent he is, storming the castle so that he can kill Umbridge, do I make myself clear?” Severus said as you pulled your hand up to your eyes to inspect it, you nodded, ‘Thank you, Professor,’ you signed, and he just nodded. “Go, you’ll miss curfew.” Severus stated, and then went back to ignoring you. “Oh and Ms. Black, thank you for informing me of the cruelty she has been subjecting the students to. Be well aware of the fact that this will not go unpunished, and she will see retribution for her actions. Now leave.” Severus said as he saw you nod.

When you finally wandered back to the Room of Requirement, Fred had actually dozed off on the sofa, you smiled at the sight and closed the door, making sure it was locked and nobody could even think about entering, you walked over to him and cupped his cheek. You felt bad about being kind of rude to him earlier, and you wanted to make it up to him. You and Fred had been talking about some sort of sexual contact for a while now, you hadn’t really made it past kissing and sitting on his lap due to how shy you were. Yet, Fred being the perfect boyfriend, and just perfect human being for that matter, let you take it as slow as you wanted, and let you have control over the speed of the relationship. It made you incredibly relaxed, pliant and happy, knowing that you got to dictate what happened, otherwise, you would have been far too anxious to even think about doing anything with Fred.

You smiled, and lowered yourself onto his lap, straddling him. Fred roused at the weight being added onto him, and his hands immediately flew to your waist to keep you secure. “Love?” He questioned, trying to shake of the remnants of his nap. You simply shook your head, and started pressing soft kisses to his lips, moving onto his cheeks and then onto his neck. He was confused but craned his neck so that you had more access to the soft supple flesh. You suckled on his collarbone, and he let out a little happy sigh at the feeling. You quickly began to unbutton his shirt, wanting more access to his skin. When his shirt was completely unbuttoned, he shrugged it off his shoulders, but grabbed your chin and made you look at him. “What’s this all about love? Not that I’m complaining or anything,” You smiled at that. ‘I want to make you feel good,’ You signed shyly.

“You make me feel better than any person could ever manage too. You make me feel so good, even when we aren’t doing this okay? Don’t think that just sex or something more than kissing is the only thing that can make me feel good alright? You do that plenty already. Even when you sit on my lap!” Fred said, and leant up and kissed you softly as you nodded. The kiss progressed into something more, and he quickly took control of the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. “Now, I don’t think it’s fair that I haven’t got a shirt on, but you do.” Fred murmured, and you smiled and quickly allowed him to unbutton your shirt and peel it from your shoulders. “God damn it, you’re so beautiful,” Fred said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and then your neck. You arched up into his touch, and he smiled, that was nice, having you react to him like that really was nice.

He leaned you back on his lap, and just drank you all in. A lilac lace bralette covered your breasts, and your skirt covered the bottom half of your torso. He suddenly realized that he really wanted to see the bottom half your torso; he wanted to see all of you. You suddenly got off of his lap, and he whined at the loss, but you just smiled at him and shimmied out of your skirt. It fell to the ground, and you were just standing there in a bra and panties and Fred just about fainted. Your panties were the same colour and texture as your bra; lilac and lace, and you were so very pretty just standing there, all for him. “Pretty girl,” Fred smiled, and pulled you over to him by your thighs. He pressed kisses to your stomach and smiled up at you as you threaded your fingers through his hair, it was soft and flowed really nicely. A thought came to you, and you smirked and slipped from Fred’s grasp. “Hey! You know, I quite like having you on my lap! Stay there would ya?” Fred teased and was going to say something else until he saw you dropping to your knees and all thoughts vanished and his mouth became dry.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, and Fred swore that he could’ve come right there. You were so damn beautiful, “Fuck,” He breathed, and his head fell back to the back of the couch as you slowly rubbed a hand over the tent that was steadily forming in his trousers. You unzipped his trousers, and you tapped on his hips to raise them so that you could slip them down as well as his boxers. You helped them off his ankles, and then you looked up at him and your eyes widened, and you stared, you had no idea how you were going to fit all of that in any part of your body. “You’re gonna be the death of me you know that?” He smiled at you, and ran his hand through your hair, and leaned down a bit so that he could cup your face in his hand. You simply smiled, leant forward, and licked from the bottom of the shaft all the way up to the head, leaving a little kiss on the tip. He groaned, deep in his throat, and his head instantly came to rest on the back of your head, not to force you down or anything, because he would never, ever, force you to do anything, but it was there to guide you if you needed it.

As your head bobbed up and down and your hand quickly went to the base of his member to stroke what you could get at with your mouth, Fred was muttering under his breath, but you could hear all of it, not really knowing if Fred actually wanted you to hear.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby? You know that?”

“Fuck! That’s so good, God that’s good,”

“I’m gonna marry you for Merlin’s sake,”

“I think I’m in love with you,”

That one got you to draw your head up, and place yourself on his lap, lean forward, and mouthed against his lips, “I think I’m in love with you too,” But instead of it just being your mouth moving with no words coming out, sound was escaping your mouth and you gasped, and then began to cough, your throat incredibly dry, and painful after years of disuse. The room supplied you with water, and Fred quickly raised it to your lips, and you drank gratefully, lapping it up. Your eyes were massive, and you looked, not relived, not in the slightest, you looked terrified.

You had spent your entire existence not being able to speak, not being able to articulate your thoughts in the slightest, it was impossible, frustrating, hurtful and you hated it at first, but had begun to get very used to it, but now you had a voice? Why? Where did it come from? You hadn’t been able to talk since you were just a baby, but now suddenly, you can speak? What on earth? He had no idea what to do, Fred looked at you, and your eyes were huge and shining, like you were about to cry. “Come here, love.” He said, standing up as he quickly put on his boxers, you walked over and you were shaking like a leaf when he enveloped in your arms, and you just cried, but instead of you just crying silently, sobs were actually coming out, they were angry, and you sounded so scared as you cried into his shoulder; he hated it, hearing so much pain and fear coming from you. “Fred?” You said, your voice raspy. “I’m here, love. How about we go see good ‘ol Dumbledore, yeah? He’ll know what’s up and will probably get your dad down here.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. You nodded, still seeming fearful, and you refused to move from his embrace, like him keeping you in his arms would keep you from this massive change that had just occurred.

“Let’s get you dressed yeah?” He said, and he saw that you still weren’t moving, but you wouldn’t keep your wide and fearful eyes off of him, like you were scared that he would just up and vanish, he leant down and grabbed his sweater, the one that he normally wore over his dress shirt that he had thrown off when you had originally walked into the room of requirement, and he tugged it over your head, knowing that you would probably feel warmer, more comfortable and just safer in his sweater that was pretty oversized on you. He helped you shimmy into your skirt, and you being you, always having to have your shirt tucked in, tucked in the front of the sweater out of habit and looked up at him as he pushed you onto the sofa and helped you into his shoes, kissing up your legs.

“You’ll be okay, love.” He said, as he stood up and got his clothes on, buttoning up his shirt and grabbing yours and then shrinking it and stuffing it in his pocket. He took your hand in his, and led you out of the room, you were still seriously shaking, and as soon as you had walked out of the room, you tucked yourself into his side, impossibly close. When you had gotten to Dumbledore’s office, the large statue just seemed to open up for you, and you furrowed your brow whilst Fred just shrugged and led the both of you up the stairs.

“Ah Ms. Black, Mr. Weasley! How can I help you? Lemondrop?” Dumbledore said as they walked up, you shook your head, all of your shyness coming back as you tucked yourself slightly into Fred’s side but also kind of behind him, he realized. Seeing that you weren’t going to talk, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to sign, Fred opened his mouth to explain. “(Y/N), well it seems like she can talk,” Fred said, and Dumbledore’s eyes widened, “Sorry?” And Fred looked down at you, and you mustered up the courage, “Hi, Professor Dumbledore,” His jaw dropped. He had known you since you were a baby, and he had never heard you say anything, as you had been rendered mute before you were able to talk. “Dobby!” He called instead of doing anything. “Yes, master?” Dobby said. “Harry Potter is your master, Dobby. But, please go and fetch Sirius Black and Remus Lupin and bring them back here for me, thank you, Dobby.” Dumbledore said, and smiled and shook Dobby’s little hand, as he was looking at you, his eyes wide but twinkling instead of appearing shocked. Dobby nodded, and in a minute, he was back with Remus and Sirius.

“Albus, what is the meaning of this? Is (Y/N) alright? Is Harry okay?” Sirius said, his voice coming our frantic. “Turn around, Sirius, and yes they are both fine.” Dumbledore said, and Sirius whipped around and his face lit up at the sight of you. He grinned, walked over and hugged you hard, and it was exactly what you needed to get the waterworks to start flowing again. You had always felt safe in Fred’s arms, but you had never, and didn’t think you would ever, feel as safe there as you did in Sirius’ and you could bet that Harry said the same. His eyes widened but he just hugged you harder, turning his head to Fred for an explanation as his hand went to the back of your neck, but then he realized that sounds were actually coming from your throat and he gasped, pulling you out of his arms. “Say something, darling,” Sirius said, his hands coming up and cupping your face, that was something that he had learnt that calmed down not only you, but Harry as well. “Dad?” You said, your voice croaky, but beautiful to him, and that was also enough to make him cry.

He cried for you and the fear that must be gripping you, he cried over the fact that he was the reason that you were rendered mute, he cried because one of the things that he wanted most in the world, up there with yours and Harry’s safety, was for you to be able to talk and communicate like everyone else did. He always saw how your eyes would get sad when someone belted out a laugh or told somebody that they loved them.

“Why and how on earth can she speak?” Sirius said, whipping around with his daughter still in his arms to look at the headmaster. “I’m not honestly sure, can one of you please give a recap of what took place before you came here?” Albus said, gazing at the two students. Since you still didn’t look like you wanted to speak, Fred stepped forward again. “We were just chilling in the room of requirement, and I asked (Y/N) to go see Professor Snape,” – Sirius let out a growl at that – “In regards to the scars on her hand from Professor Umbridge,” – Sirius let out another growl and took your hand in his, examining the bandages – “And she came back, and we were just laying around, and – oh my God,” Fred finished, his mouth dropping open as he realized what happened just before, and no, it wasn’t the blowjob. “I told her I loved her, and she said it back, well was going to, but then sounds came out on the last word, and she started coughing so I got her water, and she started crying and I didn’t know what to do, and I thought coming here would be best,” Fred said, glancing down at you in your father’s arms.

Dumbledore looked confused, but Remus’ eyes were widening, and Fred stopped his anxiety just to giggle in his brain for a second, because of course Remus knew what was happening, he was Remus! “What is it, Rem? I can tell you’re thinking something.” Sirius said, placing his daughter back into Fred’s arms, knowing that she would be comfortable there. He walked over to Remus, wrapping an arm around his waist, the other settling on his chest. “Utitur Oratione.” He muttered, and Sirius just looked confused. “Come again?” Remus looked over at you, where you had tucked yourself up against Fred, your hand massaging your throat almost. “It means triggered speech, I don’t know much about it, a curse breaker would though,” Remus replied, walking over and giving you a massive hug. “You’re alright, my love?” Remus questioned. Fred quickly got the idea that your family was very fond of nicknames, and he began to recall any nickname that he had ever heard between you, Harry, Remus and Sirius, he had heard many over his stay at Grimmauld Place over Christmas.

Padfoot, Moony, my love, little one, dear, sweetheart, darling etc.

He also quickly began to understand that Remus was basically your second father. He had raised you since you were tiny, he did everything he could for you, even if you were born out of what was basically an affair on Sirius’ part. The love that Remus and Sirius seemed to have for you and Harry just came in bounds, it was as though Harry finally had an actual family, and Remus and Sirius were the heads of it.

“We can get Bill over here, can’t we?” Fred questioned, as you pushed yourself back into his arms. “Yes, I think that would be smart,” Dumbledore said, and summoned Dobby once again to bring William Weasley over to Hogwarts; they were back in a flash. “Bill!” Fred smiled upon seeing his older brother, Bill smiled at him and tugged him in for a hug, “Heya, Freddie,” He smiled, and then he noticed you and smiled again, and proceeded to tug you in for a hug. “Hi, sweetheart,” He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of you head. Ever since you had met all of the Weasley’s, they were all very fond of you, and loved having you around, so Bill viewed it as a delight to get to see you again so soon. “Hi, Bill,” You replied, and he pulled back, “Well that’s new,” He replied, and turned to Dumbledore, “So, I’m assuming you called me here to figure out what happened with her curse breaking, hm?” Bill smiled. Dumbledore nodded, and then supplied the name of the curse for Bill and everything that led up to the curse breaking.

“Ah, Utitur Oratione, that isn’t a curse we deal with very often. Basically, when a person is cursed with Utitur Oratione, whoever did the cursing, has to supply a trigger for the curse to be broken, we can’t break it, it won’t break unless the trigger has been completed or supplied. In (Y/N)’s case, the curse was done by the Ministry, and the curse trigger must have been her and her soulmate’s – that being Fred of course – relationship reaching a mature stage, and that stage must have been saying I love you. The Ministry must have thought that (Y/N) now has something else to love and talk about, other than her father, and so now she can have her voice back because she now has something else to love. Obviously that plan didn’t work out very well for a variety of reasons, but the Ministry of course wouldn’t have noticed that when they originally cursed her as a baby.” Bill supplied, glancing around at the people in the room, his eyes focusing on you though.

As your eyes became watery again, Fred pulled you right up against him, and brought you to the couch, and as you leaned your head into his neck and started to cry, everyone in the room felt a rush of sadness for you, you had gotten so used to the way that you were living, that when the sounds of your cries actually came out, Fred lifted a hand to his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears that were about to fall. “Can someone get Professor Snape to bring her a potion or something for her throat? It seemed like it hurt earlier,” Fred said, caressing your hair, you nodded your agreement and Dumbledore quickly summoned the potions master; and he was in the office in three minutes with something for your throat.

He walked in, and his eyes landed on you and they widened dramatically, you were actually crying, and he could hear it. He handed Fred the potion, and you drank it quickly, “Thank you, Professor Snape,” You said, the rasp in your voice was gone and you sounded much better. “Of course,” Snape said, and turned to Dumbledore for an explanation, Dumbledore quickly provided one.

“Man, I really am not a big fan of talking, don’t know why some people do it so much,”

The room let out a guffaw at that, and then you suddenly felt content. The one thing that had always upset you about yourself was the fact that you were mute, and now you had the ability to make people laugh, to tell people you loved them, and to laugh yourself.

“Thank you, seriously, all of you. For always being there for me, helping me when I couldn’t speak, Professor Snape, for curing my injuries when I didn’t want to tell Umbridge that I couldn’t speak, Remus for raising me despite the troubles I must’ve caused you, Dumbledore for always clarifying things for other Professors, but making sure I was okay with it first, Bill for actually explaining this stupid thing for me, Dad for everything you’ve done for me because I was mute, and Freddie, fuck Freddie, thank you for being the reason I can speak, thank you so Goddamn much, okay I think that is enough talking for the year,” You smiled. The people in the room smiled at you and didn’t even comment on the profanity.

“Thank you, Ms. Black, for showing us that you don’t need words to be a strong witch, a strong person, and a good one too.” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.

You smiled at him, and turned to Fred and left a kiss on his cheek, laughing when your father fake gagged, beaming when Remus pulled Sirius into him and left a kiss on his cheek, smiling when Snape actually gagged at that, just because he could, just to piss off your father, and twinkled when Fred left a kiss on the top of your head, and whispered ever so softly into your ear.

"I love you,"

#fred weasley x reader #harry potter #fred weasley #reader insert #oneshot

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gossamerandshadow · 3 years

Text

Zane frowns at the light purple and green egg on his desk. Why would such a thing be in the Survival Class? Are they going to cook it? Everyone's eggs seem to be slightly different and the Potion's teacher is in the room. Are some poisonous? Are they going to have to figure out which ones? Is someone going to end up in the hospital before the class is over?

"Settle down, class," Miss Valentine begins bored, not really caring if the noise diminishes. “As I’m sure you’ve all realised by now, it’s time for the annual egg assignment.

He glances around. There are some confused faces, much like his own, but most of his classmates do seem to be at least partially aware of whatever the assignment is. Or, at the very least, not care about it.

Most of his… training mates seem annoyed at the task with the exception of Rahela and Icefand who seem absolutely thrilled.

"For the next… let's say 2 months, you are to take your little bundle of joy everywhere with you and make sure it hatches into a healthy specimen." The other Miss Valentine takes over with a big smile and tone that sounds more appropriate for a kindergarten class rather than one full of the 13 year olds they are, hovering slightly off the ground.

Is this the Mirtran version of the pretend an egg/doll/bag of something is a baby so you realise you aren't ready to become a parent and don't have sex thing he sometimes saw on TV back home? Wait! Did she say they hatch!?

"Now, the assignment will not be over until the 2 months pass, so I wouldn't try to hurry them if I were you."

"On the other hand," the Survival teacher continues the explanation, "this' an excellent opportunity to practice fighting with a truly defenceless dead weight holding you down so keep your guard up. Any student who manages to destroy someone else's charge'll get a reward. Whoever loses their charge will get detention."

The walk back to the Palace from home was completely nerve wrecking!

So many students thinking of smashing his egg. What a feat it would be to destroy the egg of the marked one! But he? - for Zane could clearly feel the confusion still present in everyone's mind - is still so fresh! So weak. Maybe we should wait? Let him finish it. Nourish it. Wouldn't it be funny? Does he know? I hope no one tells him.

Gosh! How Zane wishes he could block the thoughts, so loud and filled with ill intentions towards him!

It's with great relief he closes the door to the Palace and his mind is finally alone, with only his own thoughts to break the silence.

He stays like that for a moment, holding the egg gently in his arms with his back against the solid wood doors breathing deeply as he calms down.

"What do you have there?" The soft echoey voice of Queen Flora brings him back to the world.

She's walking down the hall holding her long green princess dress with pink roses, the golden tiara reminiscent of a flower crown sparkling on her long wavy pink hair.

"An egg," Zane shows her. "I have to care for it for 2 months."

"Oh-? Oh," she offers him a sad smile, lowering herself to both see it better and be at his level. "I never really understood the point of that assignment. It was Princess Sarah's idea, did you know? Although, I must say, I don't think it has ever had the same impact since the first time we did it. I wish you luck with your task."

"I can raise an egg!" Zane cannot help but feel insulted at the Queen's words. "I grew up on a farm. I was in charge of the chickens…!"

Her dark blue eyes sparkle, amused with his reply. "Fair," she straightens up. "Maybe you'll fare better than expected."

The following days everyone's eggs slowly hatch. Lilian gets a fire phoenix which her icy companion finds to be a nuisance while Rahela hatches a tiny little black snake she wraps on her neck. It lasts only until the 1st training - she completely forgets it's there and drains it dead.

Ylva and Icefan both get lizards, one fragile but venomous the other slow but sturdy.

Zane's egg is one of the last to hatch. It opens to reveal a small purple and green dragon, the size of a newly born kitten.

Having the baby dragon to care for is a nice change of pace. It gives him something to focus on, to keep his mind away from how much he misses his family. The small critter needs him.

Zane takes the small dragon everywhere. It is the assignment, after all. But, more than that, it's just… nice. It's nice having the little hatchling with him, either on his arm or the little bag he bought to carry it around or even on his shoulder once the darling is strong enough to stay there.

And, since they're always together, why not talk to it? Tell it about what he's doing, recite it his school work. Maybe even share some fond memories of his life before Mirtran.

And it listens with such big and curious eyes! They're such a darling! Zane knows the dragon will likely be taken some place else once the two months are up, but surely there's nothing wrong in giving it a nickname in the meantime. It's just weird not calling it by a proper name.

So he names the little dragon Sugarplum.

The others shake their head once they realise he named his task. Such a dumb thing to do, they think. He's not the only one but that he did it seems to be almost an insult. How could the marked one be so stupid?

"You don't think I'm stupid, do you, Sugarplum?" Zane asks his charge late at night while they're both laying in bed under the cover, the small dragon purring happily as Zane scratches them under their chin.

He probably shouldn't be letting them sleep with him, but it's not like they were given any instructions other than《Raise them》and he let Cookie sleep in his bed. And Sugarplum is just as worthy of it as Cookie was.

Gosh! How Zane misses his family and pup.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know? I wish I could keep you once this thing is over. Or at least visit you. Honestly, I think you're the closest thing to an actual friend I have in this god forsaken place. You are my friend, right, Sugarplum?"

"Fiend."

Zane sits upright on the bed. Did Sugarplum…? "Did you just say friend?"

"Fiend!"

Can dragons speak!?

"Fiend! Fiend!" Sugarplum squeals happy.

"Oh my. I knew your little charge was rare but I did not think it was this much!" Queen Flora watches it with worry in her eyes. "I wonder just how Dandelion got her hands in one of these…"

"Was I supposed to teach them how to talk? Cause I didn't think they could…! Should they speak more by now? Or are they just like a parrot…?"

"Oh, Zane, darling. No…! You-you should not be teaching your task. You really, really shouldn't. And you really shouldn't be getting attached."

"I know," Zane can't help rolling his eyes. "I know I can only keep Sugarplum till the 2 months are up. I can be friends with them and say goodbye when they go to their new home."

"Oh, Zane… haven't you realised it yet?" Queen Flora places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly. "Sugarplum isn't going nowhere. When the time is over, you're going to kill them and harvest their body for potions."

"What!? Why didn't they tell us…?!"

"It's part of the assignment - to learn sometimes you must sacrifice what you hold dear. If you don't know how it ends then you won't stop yourself from caring for the charge." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ears. "It never quite had the same element of surprise since that 1st time, but still must be done."

Zane can't help the tears that begin to fall from his eyes. "What-what potions can Miss Valentine do with Sugarplum?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I don't think Sugarplum is from our corner of the staircase. She can either make great new discoveries or just make dragon soup."

"Would the discoveries help people…?"

Queen Flora sighs. "No. Even if Dandelion manages a proper potion, dragons like Sugarplum are not easy to come by. We will not be able to replicate any results she might get."

Zane picks up Sugarplum and holds them close to his chest.

"I failed the egg assignment," Zane proclaims to Professor Valentine of the Survival class who raises a blond eyebrow.

"You have your assignment purring on your arms. How in Queen Flora's sake have you failed?"

"I know how it ends and I'm not doing it! I'm keeping Sugarplum." He replies defiant, perhaps more than necessary but he is simply not killing the sweet dragon for nothing!

So the marked one had bonded with the thing. He sure was different from Serenity - she killed her charge with zero hesitation. Her sister though, the evil one they should have put down the moment they found her, she refused. And, for that, she was a target for the rest of the school year.

"Refusing to harvest your charge has consequences."

"I don't care."

"For the rest of the school year anyone who manages to attack you with non lethal or permanent damage will get extra credit. It will not matter if it's within school boundaries or not. And we're still quite a few months away from the Summer." Back with Morgana it had been a loophole, an opportunity to let everyone give her what she deserved. Now… now it's a challenge. Just how far is the runt willing to suffer for the dragon? He might be weak, but he's not stupid. He knows he's in for a bad time if he goes through with this.

Zane cannot help the fear that crushes his heart at the woman's words. It's already difficult with the school divided by everyone in class. To have everyone out for his blood…

"I don't care." Still he repeats his words.

#ic #zane #sugarplum

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years

Text

Idle Threats

Wow, this was not supposed to be this long, but hopefully it makes up for all the not writing I’ve done for the past month :)

Word Count: 8041

Pairings: Platonic Deceit and Logan. (With background LAMP)

Summary: No one has ever stood up for Dee so he decides to do it himself, in front of the class, in front of the brand new substitute teacher. And he almost regrets it.

Quick Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy

Read on AO3 || Master List

Dante Ethan Ekans hates every single teacher in his school. Three years into his high school career and he had come across every single teacher—every single one of them—and he hated them all. He had sat through every lecture, done every assignment, battled in every single class discussion. He had done everything the school system had asked him to do.

And he is still staring at a low D average in all his classes.

It should have been impossible: the grading system was set up so that as long as students just showed up they were receiving a C grade.

And well, Dante had always been proving the impossible, possible. He had survived his own birth, survived the car crash that killed his father, and survived the worst of his mother’s psychotic tantrums. He had dragged himself to school with bruises on his wrists and broken fingers wrapped messily in old bandages that made his handwriting into an atrocious disgrace just so that he could at least get an education, get a chance at a scholarship, get a chance to leave town.

And he is in his third year of high school, the year most colleges start to look at prospective students, and he is getting a low D average and he couldn’t do a single thing about it.

It’s like the entire teaching staff had unanimously decided “hey, you know that kid whose face is all messed up with the burn marks from the car crash at age six? Let’s just ruin his entire life by grading him unnecessarily harder than everyone else in the school, turning a blind eye to when the other students mess with him, and loudly announcing how he needs to do better on his essays if he wants to get better grades in front of the whole class.”

Dante—and fuck if he hated that name. No one was called Dante anymore—had done everything he could to get his grades up. He studied twice as hard and twice as long as everyone else. He had swallowed his pride and asked the teachers for help (and been told to pay more attention in class) and for extra credit (and been denied). He had tried to argue grades and been sent to the Detention room for vulgar language and an attempted assault on a teacher (which was a blatant lie).

Not to mention that one asshole of a teacher, Mr. Walker, who had told him that not only was make up for females, but his use of cosmetics was an unacceptable cry for attention. Dante then had to stand there in front of the class with his cheeks burning red and his peers snickering as he told the teacher that he wasn’t wearing any make up, and that the burns on his face were the real deal, and that he couldn’t wash it off even if he wanted to.

So Dante Ethan Ekans—Dee for short; Dee was what his friends would call him, if he had any—has no hard feelings when he heard that Mr. Walker had been in a bad car accident and would not be back for the rest of the school year. What a complete shame that would be. How would they ever move on?

Apparently, there’s a substitute coming, one of those long-term ones that only ever dropped by for times of emergency. Dee had overheard the head of nutrition (a sweet, mother-like man that all the lunch ladies adore named Patton Hart) and school resource officer (who Dee doesn’t know the name of and kept far enough away from. He doesn’t need to be any closer to any law enforcers than he already was) talking about the teacher: about how strict he was, about how the kids had no clue what was coming, about how Mr. Hart should redesign the menu with the majority of the student’s favorites because this week was going to be rough with a capital R. They both had laughed after that, and Patton had caught sight of Dee and asked him if he needed anything in the kindest tone Dee had ever heard.

(He had run after that, had run as fast as he could without making it seem like he was running away. The last thing he needs is anymore people to look at him with pity, with cruelty, with smug better-than-you expressions that appeared the second Dee dared act vulnerable. The last thing he needs is to open his mouth and tell the truth.)

Dee isn’t expecting anything amazing to come out of the substitute teacher. He expects it to be another beanpole old lady who snaps anytime someone made a noise and confiscates phones on whim and assigns them all worksheets that were to be done and handed in by the end of the class period, no exceptions.

He’s usually one of the first into the science room because the class he has before it is Math which just down the hall, but he’s barely out of the room when Mrs. Johnston’s shrill voice slices through the student chatter.

“Ekans!” She screeches, “Ekans! A moment!”

It’s not a moment. It’s never just a moment with her. The bell rings and the halls empty and Dee stands in front of the math teacher for another three minutes listening to her tell him that he’s been doing his math the wrong way and if he doesn’t start doing it the way she taught in class she’s going to have to dock him more points (like there’s more to dock him in the first place), regardless of the fact he doesn’t understand the way she’s been teaching and his way is actually based on how a college professor explained it on the YouTube series he looked up for help.

He can see into her classroom, the one that’s filled with obnoxious freshman who are lounging around while they wait for their teacher to be done berating Dee. He can see the way they all point and snicker and make fun of the half of his face he can’t do anything about.

“And now you’ve made me waste time for my next class, Mr. Ekans.” Mrs. Johnston says, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Dee says robotically, and his hands tighten around the strap of his backpack. “It won’t happen again, Ma’am.”

But it’s a lie, because it always happens again.

But it’s a lie, because he’s not really sorry at all.

Because she might have missed the first few minutes of class, but she controlled the rate the students learned. Dee felt his own nails tear into his palm as he opened the door to the classroom where the new substitute was-- the one who’s voice was already droning on about what they were learning, already through the roll call, already letting the whole class know he was not going to tolerate any monkey business at all.

Dee glances at the teacher, who in turn does not break his lecture, but nods to him and to one of the several empty desks in the room. He’s young, nerdy looking, but Dee can’t think of anyone he knows who would have the guts to say it to the man’s face. He had a cold look about him, like he didn’t know how to smile and wasn’t in the mood to learn.

Dee throws himself into the closest empty chair, keeping his head down and tries not to make too much noise when he picks through his backpack for his notebook for the science class.

He’s so focused on not disrupting the teacher, not causing anymore eyes to fall on him, not helping the already terrible opinion the man has of him, that he wasn’t even paying attention to who he was sitting next to until it’s far too late to change seats.

And he finds out when sees another body drape over the desk to his left out of the corner of his eye and Dee freezes on the spot. He’s not hearing a single thing the new teacher says, not hearing whatever he’s mentioning about the quick technical drawing he has on the board, and definitely not hearing the notes he should be taking down. His tongue grates against his teeth as Kyle slides his chair an inch his direction with a weasel-ish expression on his face.

“Hey, Ekans,” Kyle murmurs just loud enough for Dee to hear.

Dee refuses to look at him, but it’s not like he’s seeing anything in front of him either. His fingers squeeze his pencil, and the soles of his feet rest firmly on the ground, like it can keep him from moving at all.

“Ekans,” Kyle says again louder, but not enough to stop the teacher. “The boys and I took some notes for you.”

They aren’t notes. Dee can see the header so neatly written on the top of the paper, so innocently telling him it’s a list of reasons no one likes him and what to do about it (and worse). It’s not original, its not new, and Dee stubbornly refuses to give him the satisfaction of taking it.

Dee can hear the rest of his friends, the idiots, the dicks, and those two girls who never had anything nice to say, snickering behind them and further left. He can see a motion that looks like one of them nudging each other, and he feels the familiar kick of someone’s foot against his chair.

He wants to say he’s used to it.

He doesn’t think lying to himself is healthy.

Lying to everyone else? Yeah, sure, he’s been doing that since middle school. He’s drowned in his fake apologies for things that weren’t his fault and his torn himself apart to appease people who need to feel like they’re better than others just to keep his own mind sane.

Honestly, he’s a little sick of it—all of it. He didn’t ask for his face to be the discolored mess that it was, didn’t ask for his mother to sometimes lose her mind, didn’t ask for everyone around him to be assholes. He remembers, vaguely, the doctor who had treated his burns (one of them?). At six years old, he can’t even put a face or a name to the form, but he can still hear the voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s lucky, so very lucky.

He could have lost an eye. His arm. His life.

Dee hasn’t felt lucky since then.

The foot kicks his chair again, Dee jerks. Someone laughs. The teacher says something about a test with a pointed clip to his tone. They settle down long enough that the teacher turns away and rambles on about the schedule he’s going to keep them on, blah, blah, blah.

Kyle leans over again. “Ekans—”

“Shut up,” Dee hisses. He regrets it a second later. Because there was a metaphorical door there and Dee had just flung it open and allowed Kyle to walk on in.

“Damn Ekans,” Kyle snickers, “You don’t have to be such a little bitch about it. Does your brother know your such a little bitch?”

Dee’s hand tightens on his pencil.

“Maybe we should tell him,” Kyle muses. Dee doesn’t have to look to know the expression on the other’s face. “He goes to Mind Elementary, right? Just down the road?”

Dee counts backwards from Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

“It would be super easy just to sit down and have a chat with him. I wonder if he knows how big of a freak his brother is? I bet he’s too stupid to—”

Dee does not make it to six.

“If you so much as look at my brother, I’ll put you in the goddamn hospital,” Dee says.

The room seems to breathe for a second. Dee glares at Kyle and his stupidly pleased weasel face and beady green eyes that look like forest moss eating the carcass of some animal. The room seems to breathe for a second and Dee realizes with a fiery anger it was because no one was speaking.

The teacher had stopped. Which meant that everyone’s attention is on him.

“Mr. Ekans,” The substitute says a hand reaching up to adjust his glasses, and Dee flinches. “Is there something you would like to add to my lecture?”

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes into the class, and the man already knew his name. Kyle grins sharply, smugly. Two of his friends do an underhand five in the seats behind them. Dee thinks he hates everyone in the room at that very moment.

“No,” Dee says, through gritted teeth, “sir.”

The teacher hums. “Interesting, could that be because Mr. Phillips was providing an ample distraction in the middle of my class time?”

That was the moment that Dee realizes he had gone to school with Kyle for three years and had never heard his last name before.

After all, Kyle was every teacher’s favorite. If they didn’t know him from his numerous club activities (drama, art, debate, every honor club you could think of), he often brought them presents on the first day of class and was invited over for dinner every Saturday evening within the first week of class. No one addressed him by his last name.

The substitute teacher didn’t look pleased to be the first. Neither did Kyle.

And frankly, neither did Dee. (Because it wasn’t like it would last. It wasn’t like by tomorrow all of Kyle’s misdeeds would be forgotten and this teacher--this temporary teacher--wouldn’t be wrapped around Kyle’s finger like all the others.) Dee’s stomach clenched at the thought, a bit of envy, jealousy, anger clawing up his throat and making the burns from so long ago itch.

“Well?” The teacher says—and no, Dee checked, he had not written his name on the board. “Mr. Phillips?”

“I was just offering him the notes.” Kyle says, “He came in late. I was trying to be a help and he threatened me!” He looks at his friends who all nod earnestly like Kyle isn’t lying through the skin of his teeth.

“Curious how I do not believe that,” The teacher counters. “This is my classroom, Mr. Phillips. If I thought Mr. Ekans needed notes, I would have provided them to him. Additionally, your actions have caused more harm than good as I am now wasting more of this class’s time, and seeing how this is the last class of the day, I only have your attentions for approximately an hour and fifteen minutes.” He stops for a moment, his eyes darting between Dee and Kyle in a way that Dee does not like.

“Perhaps this is for the best.” He says suddenly, “It would do well to get this out of the way now. Both of you, up here.”

Dee freezes.

Kyle hisses under his breath and heaves himself out of the chair with false gusto. He makes a gesture to his friends that carries a round of giggling up to the front of the room.

“Mr. Ekans,” The teacher says. “That means you, too.”

In no way shape or form is Dee at fault here. He knows he’s not. Kyle and his friends have been picking on him for years and getting away with it and leaving charcoal rocks in Dee’s stomach from every encounter. Standing up feels a lot like striking a match and the entire trek up to the front of the room feels like lowering it to the rocks.

Dee’s face is already burning by the time he side by side with Kyle again. He stares stiffly at the whiteboard, glaring at a smudge of black marker from the last class.

“I am not your normal teacher,” The substitute says. “A lot of the things that were condoned in his class will not be in mine. You will not talk when I talk. You will not be on your phones unless I tell you to. You will not pass notes. You will not make idle threats—”

Dee isn’t sure what comes over him, but that charcoal fire in his stomach explodes outward and engulfs his entire body. For a split second everything turns red, every noise of all the twenty-two other students in the class fades to nothingness, and Dee turns sharply to the side.

Maybe its because Dee had a little bit of hope buries somewhere deep in his mind. Maybe its because he knew that teachers weren’t supposed to pick sides or hold prejudices. Maybe its because Dee spent a whole ten years being “lucky” enough that he survived everything thrown his way just to let another teacher turn a blind eye to the students’ interactions.

Maybe its because Dee was just so very tired of the smug look on Kyle’s face.

His fist connects before anyone realizes he even moved. Kyle yells, and he goes crashing to the floor. Dee’s knuckles pulsate with pain, and he pretty sure he tore the skin off on when it scraped Kyles stupid teeth. Several kids scream.

Dee looks back at the teacher, meeting his somewhat surprised gaze with his own angry one.

“There,” Dee spits, “It’s not an “idle” threat anymore.”

So he finds himself sitting in the front office hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders up to his ears. Part of him wonders if he can fold into himself until nothing exists. The secretary running the phone and letting parents in to pick up their kids, keeps side eyeing him, as if he’s a circus attraction she can’t quite believe is real.

Dee’s head is still ringing with the teachers voice telling him to take the quickly scribbled note and go to the Vice Principal’s office, but the edges of his adrenaline and his anger keep him from feeling the paper cut and the bruising on his knuckles that surely was coming.

He tries to convince himself he’s sorry for doing it, but if Vice Principal Joan tells him to apologize to Kyle in person Dee might have to take a short walk off the roof.

It had felt…good. It had felt great. It had felt a lot like a mistake too.

There was no way he was getting out of this one, no empty promises to do better could make up for assaulting another student. Not to mention that substitute teacher most definitely hated him now, and rightfully was about to join ranks with ever other teacher in the school.

VP Joan was going to suspend him, and then they’ll call Dee’s mother, and then Dee was never going to get into college, and he was never going to leave this town, and he was never going to overcome the scarring on his face that he had been so damn lucky to survive in the first place.

“Dante Ekans,” A voice calls from the hall of offices where all the staff had desks. Dee only recognizes VP Joan because of their face in the school newsletter and sometimes on the papers. They did a lot of fundraisers like kissing a pig if the students raised “X” amount of money, or one dollar to buy a strip of duct tape to tape them to the wall.

Dee goes with them into their office. It feels cluttered, but there is enough space for Dee to sit down and VP Joan to look stressed. Papers, mugs, several action figures Dee vaguely recognizes rest on the desk. There were awards on the walls and teaching certificates along with superhero posters Dee thinks probably aren’t the most professional until he sees it was signed by the cast of the movies.

“So,” The VP says, “Want to tell me what happened?”

The answer is no, Dee does not want to tell them what happened. Because even when Dee tells the truth, even when he lays down his words barren in front of the judges, even when he cries or yells or shows any validating emotion, his scarred face makes him appear less trustworthy. It happened before where Kyle said what he wanted and the teachers decided that must have been what happened and that Dee had lied and made everything up in yet another desperate cry for attention.

So, no, Dee doesn’t want to tell the VP what happened, because he’s so sick of being turned into the bad guy when he’s not. (Okay maybe punching the guy was a bad example here. Maybe Dee just wants to keep himself from digging a bigger grave with this one).

Dee stares at the wood grain in the VP’s desk and lets the silence hold out. It’s comforting in a way.

VP Joan taps their fingers on their side of the desk. If Dee shifts a little he can see the little blue unfolded note that the teacher had sent him with, and although he doesn’t know what it says, Dee knows it probably bad.

Like “Student Ekans interrupted class with a threat against unarmed peer and then acted upon said threat. Suggested course of action is immediate expulsion” bad. Or something worse.

“Mr. Ekans,” VP Joan says, followed by a sigh, “Fuck this shit.”

Dee blinks at the sudden language—language he’s pretty sure is not allowed in the school. Most of his teachers get after him for that (especially the ones who can’t get him with anything else. His last English teacher was a fan of cutting him off mid book discussion whenever he used a swear, until Dee just began to hold his tongue completely.)

“Look, I don’t know what you did that Logan needed you out of the classroom.” VP Joan says, “And I don’t really have any work that a student can do, uh, legally. Why don’t you go see if Patton—uh Mr. Hart to you—needs any help.”

Dee stills, “What?”

VP Joan holds up the blue paper, and the black scrawl that reads “Please entertain Mr. Ekans for the rest of the block” makes Dee’s eyes cross slightly.

“I’m not…in trouble?” Dee says. It sounds like a dream, like saying the words out loud will make the reality crack and fall apart.

“Should you be?” VP Joan asks, “Don’t answer that. Dr. Ackroyd and I go way back, but I’m still surprised he agreed to fill in here for the rest of the year. We need a competent science teacher, so I’ll turn my head to whatever complex puzzle he’s solving.”

Dee doesn’t understand what that means. He really doesn’t care either.

“Don’t forget your bag,” VP Joan says as they usher Dee out of the office and towards the cafeteria where Patton Hart might be found. “I’m sure I’ll see more of you, Mr. Ekans, but until then have a good day.”

It’s ridiculous, Dee thinks, like its part of a dream. Maybe it is? Maybe Dee punched Kyle and Kyle hit him back and he hit his head on the white board marker tray and now he’s hallucinating.

But he doesn’t think hallucinations were this real: he can hear the sound of each teacher teaching, laughter from some of the rooms, and the muttered conversation between two teachers who have a free period this block and don’t spare him a glance. He can hear the sound of the tape ripping as a couple of students hang posters on the walls for Cheerleading tryouts, can feel the sturdiness of the tile floor under his feet as he tries to catch the reflection of the artificial lights on the polish, can smell the lemon cleaner from the trolley outside the bathrooms that signifies they’re being cleaned at the moment.

He finds Patton Hart sitting at the only table left set up in the cafeteria. He’s laughing leaning forward with a bottle of Windex and a rag at his elbows, but it looks like he’s already cleaned everything that needs to be cleaned. Standing next to him is the resource officer, and Dee still doesn’t know the man’s name. It wasn’t like they talked very often. Still, the man looks smug and happy, and absolutely thrilled that he managed to get a laugh from the nutritionist.

Dee slows his pace, a half step for every real step he could be taking when he realizes that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to say. At best? Mr. Hart would set him up with some busy work to do, like cleaning lunch trays maybe (where there any of those left?). At worse? He’d demand to know why Dee wasn’t in class, and then drag him to said class and Dee would get to be the middle of a commotion all over again. Perhaps it would be better if he ran for the bathrooms and hid there until the end of the day. Then he’d sneak out with the rest of the students, avoid Kyle, pick up his brother, and make it all the way home before anyone stopped him.

His shoe scuffed the ground when he goes to turn around. His heart jumps to his throat, when both the staff members pause to look at him.

“Hey, kiddo!” Mr. Hart says, “You need something?”

The Resource Officer shifts to put his hands on his belt. Dee tries not to watch too intensely. His mouth dries up again, and he tries figure out what combination of English words isn’t going to ruin this chance to walk free of consequences. He hates that he remembers a time when he wasn’t afraid to talk to people, hates that he has to swallow the lump in his throat and fight the urge to stare at his shoes while his fingers tear at his bag’s straps.

“VP Joan,” Dee says finally, “sent me to you.”

“Me?” Mr. Hart blinks, pointing to himself. “Hmm, that’s not normal. Did they say why?”

Answering the question is a straight forward thing: VP Joan said that he had nothing for Dee to do, so he sent him to Mr. Hart. But Dee also knows that will lead the conversation to why he was sent to VP Joan in the first place and he really doesn’t want to tell anyone else how he managed to dodge the repercussions of decking another kid by some type of miracle and have that change.

The silence holds on a second, two, three, too long. Dee’s head drops to stare at his scuffed up converse (an ugly yellow pair that he had stolen from a GoodWill bin in the outer parking lot of a shopping complex late one night two years ago, which he had worn until they were a dusted brown).

“Kiddo?” Mr. Hart asks

The Resource Officer shifts again, “Wait, I know you!” He raises a hand casually turning back to Mr. Hart, and hopefully missing the way Dee’s shoulders tense. “He’s got Walker for last block.”

Mr. Hart claps his hands and turns back to Dee. His eyes sparkle behind his black framed glasses. “Oh, that means you were in Logan’s class! That’s amazing! He’s a great teacher!”

“Hardly!” The Resource Officer scoffs. “Logan probably scared them all out of their minds! He’s the worst!”

“Roman!” Mr. Hart hits him on the arm, “You take that back! Logan is the sweetest teacher this school is ever going to see!”

“Of course, you’d say that, Pat!” The Resource Officer- Roman?- says, “You never had to be tutored by him!” For a man who could probably bench press three “Logan’s”, Dee thought it was a little weird how he shuddered unpleasantly. Although that was not as weird as trying to make sense of what the two adults were talking about.

Honestly he wasn’t sure they were talking about the same person at all: The teacher-- Logan, Dr. Ackroyd (that’s was VP Joan had said right?)-- was stern and stiff and, sure, a little scary, but then again Dee didn’t exactly have stellar experiences with any other adult either. Still he couldn’t see what about him was “the sweetest teacher in this school”.

And the fact that Dee had been in his class for about ten minutes before he was sent right back out. He still wasn’t convinced the teacher wasn’t planning some big, huge, insurmountable class project to give to Dee as a punishment for punching such a nice kid like Kyle.

Mr. Hart stood up from his seat looking directly at Dee, “Come sit down, kiddo! Are you hungry? There’s some left ice cream sandwiches from lunch this week that I’m going to need to throw out before the weekend.”

Dee very much doesn’t know what to do. He’s not sure he nods, but Mr. Hart disappears into the cafeteria kitchen anyway so that Dee and the Resource Officer are left alone. Dee’s fingers ache whenever he moves them, so he takes extra special care to use his non-dominant hand to shrug off his backpack. The burn scars on his forearm and on his shoulder blade work in tandem to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

When he looks up, Resource Officer Roman is staring at him. His brain whirls with something to say, something defensive that will get the adult to keep his comments to himself, and please, please, don’t ask about them. But everything that comes to mind is nasty and ugly and he can’t say it to someone with a taser on their belt.

For a room that could fit upwards three hundred students for lunch, Dee feels trapped and claustrophobic.

“So,” The adult says, “What’s your name?”

“Ekans,” Dee says immediately. He stares down at the table.

“That’s…that’s a terrible name, kid.” The Resource Officer says. “Did your parents pick that one out or--?”

“Dante Ekans,” Dee says sharply, and squeezes his aching fingers tightly because the pressure overrides the pain even if its just for a second.

“Ah! Dante! Like the Poet! Writer of The Divine Comedy!”

Dee sinks lower in his seat, “Yep.” The centuries old text of a guy traveling through hell and purgatory and idolizing a guy that had been dead even longer than him. Like he hadn’t heard that one before. It was just another reason to hate his name.

Mr. Hart chooses that moment to come back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, sliding on the freshly polished floor, and those curls of his dancing. Resource Officer Roman immediately forgets all about Dee and Dante’s Inferno and all those things that adults like to think when they saw him. It’s a relief.

Kinda.

Mr. Hart sits down right next to Dee, ignoring his previous seat completely. Dee’s shoulders bunch up to his ears, he’s sure, and the way his mouth dries out is far from expected. But the man just hands him an ice cream sandwich that the cafeteria sold for a dollar during lunch shifts, and Dee takes it.

(He’s had one before, like once. For his birthday last year where he borrowed a single dollar from his mother’s and bought himself one birthday gift. It had been sticky and too sweet and the chocolate had clung to his fingers and he had thrown half of it out, but Dee had loved it. His mother had screamed when she found the money missing, screamed and tore his hair and Dee hadn’t said a word.)

Dee takes his time unwrapping the treat, part of him upset that if Mr. Hart knew why Dee was there, he wouldn’t be giving him a free ice cream sandwich, part of him wishing desperately he could save it and share it with his brother, part of him wanting to shove the entire thing in his mouth because he deserved it for having put up with this stupid shit for ten years.

“What nothing for me?” Resource Officer Roman asks petulantly.

Mr. Hart smiles at him innocently. “Oh, I have something else for you Ro! It’s just gonna have to wait until after work!”

“Oh yeah?” The Officer smiles, leaning in closer, “And why is that, my dear Pat?”

“Because you can’t eat and work, silly!” Mr. Hart laughs, “What if there’s an emergency? You’d show up all covered in ice cream…!”

Dee takes a large bite of the ice cream sandwich and silently presses “f” to pay respects for the resource officer. The obvious flirting seemed to have absolutely no effect on the man between them, and Dee wasn’t sure if it was the innocent nature of him or if he was trying to let the officer down nicely.

“Ah, my dear Pat,” The Officer says, “Always looking out for me. What would I do without you? Die, surely!”

Mr. Hart laughs, the freckles on his cheeks glow. Dee glances at Resource Officer Roman’s face and is not surprised to see the blatant “smitten” expression. He looks like some anime character seconds before the “heart eyes” started. It’s almost embarrassing. Dee takes another bite of the sandwich.

“Ah, I thought I’d find the three of you here.”

Dee chokes on the bite of the sandwich.

Resource Officer Roman jumps, letting out a yelp that was surprisingly high pitched for a man of his stature. Dee coughs to dislodge a glob of chocolate breading that got stuck when his throat closed suddenly in a panic. The only one who doesn’t seem a little bit startled by Dr. Logan Ackroyd’s appearance is Patton, who jumps up from his seat and leans forward on the table with literal stars in his eyes.

“Logan!” He cries happily, “It’s been so long!”

“Too Long,” the Substitute teacher agrees, and Dee is uncomfortable with the amount of warmth in his expression—its a stark contrast to how he had looked in the classroom, to how he had looked at Dee. His hand pulses again, his fingers twitching in the pocket he had refused to take it out of since he had sat down.

“Logan,” Resource Officer Roman says, with a sniff of distaste that’s clearly artificial. “I can’t believe they let you back into the country.”

“Roman,” The teacher responds, the warmth sizzling in the air. “Your mother says hello.”

“When did you see my mother?”

“Yesterday, I helped her grocery shop. She called me the son she wished she had.”

The Officer flaps his hands, with a noise that sounds stuck between offended and flabbergasted. Dee feels a bit of the ice cream drip down his palm.

There’s a bizarre feeling in the air, a tension? No that wasn’t right. Dee can’t place the reason for the electricity in the air that the teacher had brought, buzzing and sparking between the three of them. Mr. Hart doesn’t seem to have a bad thing to say which meant that Resource Officer Roman had every right to hate the man at the other end of the table (since he was obviously hitting on Mr. Hart, ugh). But somehow the words and the tone don’t match at all. There’s no jealousy, no thinly vailed hatred that Dee was so adept at noticing.

(If he’s honest, he thinks the Resource Officer is eye fucking the substitute Teacher right there in front of him and that even more terrifying than the alternative.)

“I see you have both entertained Mr. Ekans, here.” The teacher says turning to Dee with a sharp piercing gaze. Dee stomach drops out.

Here it is. End times. Dee finds himself sinking backwards like he can hide in from the words that are coming. The burns on his shoulders sting with a phantom pain that’s all too familiar, and not at all real. He stares at the half melted ice cream mess in his hand because it’s easier than meeting the accusatory look of his teacher who was going to hold him accountable for injuring the “perfect” student.

“Don’t you have a class to teach, Calculator Watch?” Resource Officer Roman says, “Unless you murdered them all already. Bored them to death at fourteen! Tragic!”

“Your snide comments have no equal, Prince.” The Teacher shoots back, “They are sixteen and seventeen, and I left them for a mere moment to talk to Mr. Ekans. They believe I am picking up more worksheets for them to do in the coming weeks.”

No one says anything for a second, and Dee feels it in his bones the way the attention shifts. All three adults are looking at him, and he feels the need to defend himself in any way that’s possible. What could he say? That Kyle was a douche? A bully? Like any of them would believe that. Dee was the one who had threatened and then assaulted the other. Not to mention he looked like the bad guy in everyone’s stories. Short of the fangs, he was the monster that hid under kids’ beds.

(And he wasn’t thinking that just because once he had seen several of his brother’s friends run off screaming as he approached him in the pick up area of the elementary school, because he couldn’t blame a couple eight-year-olds for being scared.)

Dee’s mouth is halfway open with some half baked, insincere apology he doesn’t mean and hates to say when Dr. Ackroyd speaks.

“I came to ask how your hand was fairing.”

Mr. Hart’s head tilts to the side. Dee glares at the other side of the room and wishes he had slid into the restroom when he had the chance to. Cowardly? Maybe. But he’s never met anyone who liked facing consequences either.

“Kiddo?” Mr. Hart says. “What happened?” He sits back down, causing the table to shake and Dee to squeeze the rest of the ice cream from between the chocolate breading and onto the table.

“There was an altercation in my class,” Dr. Ackroyd says. “Mr. Ekans ended up punching another student.”

“Oh dear!” Mr. Hart cries, and Dee for the life of him can’t figure out why he suddenly grabs the rag at his elbows and gently cups the ice cream mess that is his out-reached hand. It’s the wrong hand, but Dee’s brain short circuits in the second their hands touch. (He’s not sure why that happened either and refuses to give a second to think about it.) Why was Mr. Hart trying to help him? Didn’t he see that Dee was the villain making threats and acting on them?

“I didn’t even notice! Are you alright? Do you need ice? A bandaid?”

“Am I gonna have to write a report for this one?” Resource Officer Roman groans, “Why are you trying to give me extra homework again, Logan? We graduated years ago!”

“If I remember correctly, you got off a minute and a half ago, Roman,” the Teacher says, placing himself in the seat directly across from Dee, “So therefore, no, you will not have to write an incident report for this event. Additionally, those extra homeworks were the reason you graduated at all.”

Dee glances at the clock in the corner, surprised to see there’s still twenty minutes of class left. Did the Resource Officer really get off early? Dee had never heard of that, but then again, he had never cared before either.

“It’s the other hand, Patton.” The teacher continues.

Dee gets the feeling he’s being analyzed. Mr. Hart coaxes Dee’s other arm from his pocket, and it stings where the lip of his jean pocket rips over his knuckles. He has to turn so that Mr. Hart can look at his fingers and the black nail polish on his nails where his mother hadn’t been able to scrub it off. But it’s turning away from Dr. Ackroyd and his calculated stare and for that Dee is grateful. He hides in his shoulder.

“Mr. Ekans,” The teacher says, “Might I inquire what possessed you to acquaint Mr. Phillips with your fist in the middle of my class?”

The word “no” is at the top of Dee’s tongue, clicking against his front teeth valiantly, although the silence is preferable. Somehow, he doesn’t think he could win a game of silence against the gaze of the teacher. Somehow the silence seems much more dangerous than speaking the truth.

But before it gets out, the Resource officer is suddenly right next to them, “Did you just say he punched Phillips? Like Kyle Phillips?”

Dee doesn’t have time to even panic.

The man is already turning to him a grin lighting up three-fourths of his face. “It’s Official, Dante Ekans! You’re my new favorite student!”

“Roman!” Mr. Hart says, “You can’t pick favorites! Kyle is--”

The Officer leans back with a scoff, “I’ll stop you there, my beloved baker! I had to hold you back from physically fighting his mom at the last PTA meeting!”

“Yeah but—”

“You wanted to burn their house down!”

Mr. Hart sticks his tongue in his cheek and bites it. “Their entire family is just so awful to everyone.”

Dee imagines what it would be like if Mr. Hart had burned down their house, if Kyle had lost his dad, if Kyle had been just as disfigured at Dee was. He hates it, he hates the smug feeling in his stomach, because he knew better than anyone how much life sucked and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Shouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Dee hisses where Mr. Hart’s rag rubs over his knuckles. The scraps were red, but at least it didn’t look like they were bleeding. He must have ripped the first couple layers of skin off, but that’s all.

Dee stares off in a direction where no one else was. It was easier than looking at the adults. The words caught in his throat, warbled and stuttered and barely more than a mumble.

“He started it.”

Did he sound like a five year old? Yes. Most definitely. Absolutely.

“I see,” the teacher says. He folds his hands deliberately in front of himself, in a fluid motion that Dee watches like a hawk without turning his head back. The tone gives him pause, because Dee can’t find any amusement in it, any hint that this new teacher is just humoring him because he wants a laugh or why-ever any of the teachers that ever listen to him do.

“I assumed as much from his attitude during my class. I’ve already set aside time to speak to him and his mother about his inexcusable behavior.”

Dee freezes as the teacher goes on to talk about proper class etiquette. He doesn’t hear a word after “inexcusable”. It makes his chest hurt, his eyes burn, and his scars itch. Its uncomfortable, its wrong, its different. Because no one has ever called Kyle’s behavior bad. The floaty feeling from earlier comes back (without him realizing it had been gone) and Dee is certain that this is somehow a twisted dream.

A twisted dream he wants so bad to be reality. A dream that Dee doesn’t want to wake from.

“—of course. If instances continue at this pace I would be obligated to—”

“You’re serious.”

The words plop out of Dee’s mouth and land on the table between him and the teacher in some type of ugly blob. He hadn’t meant for it to be so weak, so pathetic, but his tone to wobble somewhere between the four syllables just so much that the teacher’s mouth snapped shut and Mr. Hart’s gentle hands paused from examining his knuckles. Dee wants to take it back, wants to yank the words from the air and pretend they were never there.

Dr. Ackroyd adjusts his glasses and their eyes meet for the first time. Dee thinks it’s a lot like staring into the galaxy, into the great expanse, and knowing that it was also staring back at him.

“I’m very serious. I wear a necktie.”

It sounds like a joke when he says it, and maybe there’s a flicker of his lips that tells Dee is alright to laugh at it.

Dee feels like crying instead.

“I think you’ll find I’m not like your other teachers, Mr. Ekans.”

Mr. Hart smiles at that, smiles the whole conversation, smiles like the sun is shining and the birds are singing and global warming isn’t gonna end all life on Earth by the time Dee is thirty. He lets go of Dee’s injured hand and Dee finds he misses the warmth and the gentle touch. “I have some bandages in the back. Ro, can you help me?”

The Resource Officer makes some noise but the nutritionist takes him by the wrist and drags him into the kitchens. Dee thinks the man is too gay to have really protested anyway.

The teacher and him sit silently as the echoes of their voices, of Mr. Hart’s laughter fades until its just them in their own little untouchable bubble.

“Mr. Walker, your previous science teacher, left me several notes about his classes.” Dr. Ackroyd says, “As well as the grades.”

Dee itches the burns on his neck, a little angrily. He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. It’s midway through the year and there’s very little he can do to bring his grade up as far as it needs to go for science alone. Not to mention English, Mathematics, and History.

“He mentioned that I might find you to be a difficult student, but I disagree with that assessment.” Dr. Ackroyd prompts Dee to look at him again, “I get the impression you are a very bright student, Mr. Ekans, and very few people choose to see that part of you. I’ve met a lot of students in my time teaching in the United States and abroad. Most of them get by with less than a fourth of the effort than you’ve most likely put in. However, I can’t change the grades that your teacher has already declared for you.”

He pauses, “I can however enter a grade that hasn’t been posted yet.”

Dee dares to let his chest fill with that unfamiliar feeling, that whimsy mystical emotion everyone called hope.

“As it happens, you have a 62.45 percentage in this class as of right now. Mr. Walker was notoriously slacking when he entered any of your grades, so many of your grades are resulting zeroes from missing work, including the midterm from last week.”

The midterm that Dee had finished five whole minutes before everyone else and handed into to Mr. Walker directly. The one that he’s sure the teacher had finished grading before the end of school bells had rung.

Dee hangs on the teacher’s words, too desperate for the chance Dr. Ackroyd was offering to be embarrassed about how pathetic he was acting. He was starving and this ridiculous teacher was dropping him breadcrumbs.

“So, if you are open to recreating the work that has gone missing and putting time aside to retake a midterm I will provide, I would be more than happy to enter in the missing grades.”

“You’d…you’d do that?”

Dr. Ackroyd seems surprise that Dee would even have to ask.

“Of course. I see no reason to withhold grades as long as you put in the effort, Mr. Ekans.”

Dee doesn’t care if it’s a dream. If its fake. His knuckles hurt, his chest constricts, he’s not sure he can make words even if his life depended on it. A lump forms in his throat, thick and heavy and dangerous. Because that’s all he’s wanted, all he’s needed since he was six: just someone to treat him like everyone else.

Not Lucky. Not pitiful. Just Dee, by himself, putting in the effort for the education he needed.

“Just please, if you could refrain from making anymore, ah, serious threats against the rest of the student populace.”

And that’s all it takes for him to break.

Mr. Hart comes back hand in hand with Resource Officer Roman and they find Dee attempting to forcibly remove an onslaught of tears from his face before the bell rings to release the students, and Dr. Ackroyd appearing as incredibly uncomfortable as possible as a slew of confused apologies tumble from his mouth.

And all either of them do is smile.

Dante Ethan Ekans hated every single teacher in his high school.

(Except one. And a Resource Officer. And a Nutritionist.)

[Sequel]

#Teacher!Logan #Student!Dee #deceit sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #LAMP #bullying #burns #Friends on the Other Side (Your Side) au #possibility of more? maybe #who knows #symapthetic deceit #sanders sides

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casper-writes-stuff · 5 years

Text

Fallen

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046148/chapters/47471281

Summary: Patton has Roman and he has Dolion. That's about it though, in the friendship department. Not a big deal though, that's all he really needs! Who cares if he gets picked on for his overly cheerful disposition when Dolion isn't around to shoot glares at everyone? Not him! In fact, he so doesn't care what other people think that- Yeah no, he usually ends up crying alone in his room when he feels lonely because Roman is always at rehearsals for some play or another and Dolion prefers to stay in his home alone after school to recharge for the next day.

That is, until he manages to catch the attention of one Virgil Ward, resident bad boy punk at the school who's rumored to have killed someone in the last school he was in and everyone avoids except for Student Body President Logan Thomas and resident biker gang member Remy Sanders.

Special thanks to @thetickleeraven for letting me write a fic inspired by their own fic, Rumored!!

Patton was a lot of things. He was friendly, he was what Roman described as “soft pastel”, he was a dad joke loving fiend according to Dolion. He was not, however, popular. This was evident by the avoidant students and sarcastic teasing from the more, actually popular, kids.

That was fine though, he had Dolion and Roman and that was really all he needed, right? Wrong apparently, since he usually got overwhelmed with loneliness after school when he was home alone after school, waiting for his parents to get home from work. His mom already starting her twelve hour shift at the hospital and his dad barely coming home because he was a workaholic at his everyday desk job.

It was quiet existence and not exactly something Patton wanted, being the extroverted teen he was, but that wasn’t really something he could control. So, every morning, he’d wake up, put on makeup to hide his red puffy eyes from crying to sleep the night before, put on a bright grin and give himself a pep talk.

“You, Patton Heart, have got this. You’re kind, you love your friends, your friends love you, you’ve got all you need. You’re smart! Getting straight A’s at school and having a four-point-o grade average is hard to achieve and you’ve got that! You’re incredible, you can do this!”

Usually, the pep talk worked and he could get on with his day, but sometimes, like today, the words felt fake. It’s okay though, he could fake it ‘til he made it. He was going to get through today too!

Patton pushed the little voice in his head telling him he couldn’t do this to the back of his mind, grabbed his backpack from his room and headed out the door to go next door before Roman left to pick up Dolion.

The walk was short but definitely needed to pick up Patton’s spirits as he felt his grin grow more genuine at the thought of getting to see one of his two best friends so early in the morning. Roman Prince was already locking up the house when Patton made his way through the gate, beaming at the drama nerd humming some Disney song to himself (was that Go the Distance from Hercules?).

“Hey Ro!” Patton said brightly, making Roman jump and fumble with his keys, the jingle abruptly stopping when they fell through his fingers to the concrete porch step.

Patton snickered and Roman playfully glared at him, bending down to pick up his keys.

“Must you do that every morning, Pattoff?”

“I dunno, do you gotta get startled every morning, Romoff?”

Roman sighed dramatically, walking past Patton and out to his red Hyundai Ioniq Hybrid (Patton had no idea what that was, but Roman was very insistent on saying the entire car brand or whatever it was).

“Honestly, you’d think with how often you scare me each morning I’d get used to you popping up out of nowhere, but no I’m always in different stages of getting ready when you come over!”

Patton rolled his eyes, readjusting his backpack strap on his shoulder before responding.

“Not my fault you’re inconsistent with getting ready. If you had a set routine I’m sure you’d get more used to it! I always come over at the same time every day, and I never know if you’re going to be still brushing your hair, putting on your makeup, or packing your bag.”

Roman stopped with the driver’s side door open to stare at Patton, as if just realizing something.

“Wow, you really do show up at the exact same time every day. Doesn’t the routine get a little boring?”

Patton shrugged, opening the door on his side and tossing his backpack on the floor before climbing in.

“It’s comforting, I guess? I dunno, I kinda like it though.”

Roman hummed as he climbed into the car with Patton, sticking his key into the ignition but not turning it and turning towards Patton.

“Didn’t you say once that routine wasn’t the healthiest for the human mind?”

Patton shrunk into his shoulders, staring out of the windshield.

“...yeah. The brain needs stimulation, and a regular routine bores the mind and makes depression more likely.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, but otherwise stayed quiet. Patton didn’t say anything else until Roman’s ringtone for Dolion started going off, Fall Out Boy blaring throughout the car.

Roman cursed and dug into his back pocket for his phone until he could answer the call, putting it on speaker so Patton could hear too.

“Yes, love?”

Dolion’s unamused voice came through the tiny speaker.

“Don’t you “love” me, you’re three minutes late in picking me up, Roman. School starts in five.”

Roman cursed again, setting his phone down on the center console while Patton snickered as they both buckled up.

“Did you seriously not even start driving yet? Do you want to be late again?”

Patton felt his heart jump into his throat at the reminder. If Roman made him late again that meant detention for Mr. Lendor because he was late yesterday but managed to get out of the punishment because he’d literally never been late before.

“Please step on it, Roman,” Patton whispered, sinking low in his seat at the thought of getting detention.

Roman gave Patton a weird look, Dolion already having hung up.

“Why? You usually advocate for safe driving.”

“I have Mr. Lendor first period, Roman. I was already late yesterday.”

Roman has a really bad habit of swearing, and usually, Patton would subscribe to the swear jar, but right now he actually agreed with the loud “Fuck!” that Roman let out as he pulled out of the driveway and stepped on the gas.

Patton ran into the school ahead of Dolion and Roman, quietly repeating crap to himself as he ran to the back of the school towards the English hall. Of course his first class had to be at the very back of the school! The bell rang thirty seconds before Patton slid into the classroom, his rubber soles squeaking against the linoleum flooring.

A bunch of kids starting snickering and whispering as Mr. Lendor handed Patton his detention slip, making his heart fall despite the heaving of his chest.

“I gave you a chance, Mr. Heart. I’ll be seeing you in Mrs. Montejo’s classroom after school.”

Patton nodded quietly, taking the slip before making his way to his seat in the front of the classroom, jamming the paper in the smallest pocket of his backpack before he pulled out his English textbook in dejection, opening it to the page written on the board. Today was going to be a long one…

And it honestly was. He’d had to run to every single class to make sure he was on time, getting warning shouts from teachers and angry ones from student’s he’d accidentally run into. He wasn’t usually in this much of a rush, but teachers kept holding him back after class to talk to him about this scholarship or that extra credit assignment and it was driving him insane!

He finally slowed down near his psych class, knowing Dr. Picani would be much more forgiving if he walked in a few seconds late than the rest of his teachers. His constant reference to cartoon characters definitely helped Patton get really into psychology.

Patton gave a genuine smile at Dolion when he met him in the hall, walking along with him to Psychology.

“You look like hell,” was Dolion’s first comment, making Patton snort at the abrupt honesty.

“I know. I’ve been running around all day. Teachers keep holding me back to talk about my grades.”

Dolion groaned. “You’d think with your perfect grades, rivalling only Logan Thomas, teachers would leave you alone.”

Patton heaved a sigh, nodding in agreement. “I know, but they want me to start thinking about colleges, even though it’s still only Junior year and I don’t entirely know if I want to be a therapist or work with pets!”

Dolion gave Patton a Look. “You’re allergic to cats.”

“Not severely!” Patton defended, entering the open door of the classroom with Dolion, taking a moment to smile at Dr. Picani before sitting in his seat just as the bell rang.

Of course, a minute after the bell rang, Picani hadn’t started teaching and that was because a certain student usually took two minutes after the bell rang to enter the class.

Patton shifted uncomfortably in the silence, Dolion already doodling in his sketchbook and not paying attention to anything but what he was doing. Patton sighed, resting his elbow on his desk before plopping his chin his hand while he waited for Virgil Ward to enter the classroom.

Virgil had a reputation. He always sat in the back of every classroom, regardless of seating arrangements, he skipped classes he didn’t like or feel like going to (which was saying something that he literally always showed up to Dr. Picani’s psychology class), he almost never spoke up and tended to insult whoever forced him to when he could.

He had also transferred to the highschool a year ago, and the rumor was that he had killed someone in his last school.

Patton didn’t think it was that extreme, otherwise he’d be in jail, right? Still, Patton couldn’t help but believe that maybe he had beaten someone up and gotten expelled or something and that had caused his transfer.

And right on time, Virgil sauntered into the classroom, his bottom lip dipping as he played with the piercing on it with his teeth.

Of course, there was also the fact that Virgil was incredibly attractive, with his piercings and tattoo sleeves and his ripped skinny jeans, his studded bracelets and black shirt and leather jacket. It was honestly ridiculous how hot the teen was.

And, instead of sitting in the very back, he always sat behind Patton.

Patton had grown used to it by now, what with the year being two-thirds of the way over, but it still gave him nervous butterflies. Whether it was from the tiny crush he had on him or the dangerous reputation he had, Patton never could tell.

He was just… he had control. He had friends too! Despite being labeled the dangerous bad boy everyone should avoid, everybody secretly swooned over him, and those that hated him didn’t dare make it known to his face and that was honestly just… so cool! It made Patton envious, but at the same time he admired him so much. He was friends with the actual smartest kid in school, Logan Thomas, and with resident biker gang member Remy Sanders.

Logically, pastel soft boy Patton, who wore pink and was one of the most sensitive kids in school shouldn’t be crushing on bad boy Virgil, but everything about him captivated Patton and he really couldn’t help it.

“Patton?” Dr. Picani said, making Patton blink back to reality.

“Um… yes?” he asked, sheepishly, making Picani raise an eyebrow.

“Can you tell me what HFD is?” he asked patiently, smiling knowingly as Patton flushed, realizing he had spaced out.

“High Functioning Depression. It’s uh… not actually a clinical diagnosis though, falling under Dysthymia instead....”

Dr. Picani nodded. “Exactly! People with HFD are found to be smarter than they were before, some psychologists find that people with HFD tend to throw themselves into their work, most claiming to be perfectionists before diagnosis.”

Patton breathed a sigh of relief when the attention was off him again, though now he was actually paying attention to what Dr. Picani was saying and taking notes. He’d have to ask someone for notes he may have missed, if he can find anyone. Dolion doesn’t usually take notes, and usually everybody else avoids him…

Sighing, Patton listened intently, trying not to let his mind wander off. He’d barely eaten today, so concentrating was difficult, maybe he should eat something when he gets home? His mom should have food ready when he gets home, if she decided to cook tonight. Though maybe not, she did mention having to go to work early today and wanting to get plenty of rest in his family group chat during lunch…

Before he knew it, the class was over and he’d once again barely paid attention, though it didn’t look like there was homework for this class at least. Hopefully he’d get a chance to go over someone’s notes during detention.

“Patton, if you wouldn’t mind staying for a minute?” Dr. Picani spoke up, making Patton sigh.

“Yeah, Dr. Picani?” he asked, forcing on a tired smile for the sake of his favorite teacher.

“Are you okay? You barely paid attention today. You had a faraway look in your eyes almost the entire class.”

Patton nodded, smiling more genuinely this time.

“Yeah, I’m okay! I’m just tired today is all, I was up late working on homework last night.”

Dr. Picani hummed to himself, tapping his chin.

“Can you do me a favor? I want you to research depression tonight, different types, as much as you can handle after all of your homework. Then I want you to come see me Monday after school and talk to me about what you learned, okay?”

Patton, feeling slightly confused, nodded. “Sure, Doctor. Can I ask why?”

“We’ll talk about that on Monday, Patton.”

Nodding, still confused, Patton turned to leave the room after Dr. Picani gestured for him to leave.

And then he noticed the time and he took off running through the halls again to get to the Spanish building outside. God, why was this school so big?

He barely made it into the classroom with a minute to spare, his rushed entrance gaining the attention of everyone there, including Virgil and Remy, the latter sporting a black eye that couldn’t even be completely covered by his shades. The former had bruised knuckles, and there was a third kid closer to the front of the classroom with a swollen nose and split lip.

“Kind of you to finally join us, Mr. Heart. Why don’t you take a seat next to Mr. Ward in the back and we can get started. I certainly hope you don’t make being late a habit.”

Patton bit back his response that he wasn’t late this time, deciding he didn’t really want to gain a reputation of fighting teachers and did as he was asked.

The butterflies in his belly returned, this time stronger, now that he was sitting right next to Virgil instead of in front of him. God help him, detention was going to be hard until he was able to focus on something else.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, detention has officially started. You’re not allowed to do anything except sit there and think. You all know the drill. I’ll be back here every fifteen minutes to check in on you.”

Patton held back a groan, slumping forward and hitting his head against the table. Being forced to think with nothing to do? Bad idea, Mr. Lendor. If he heard Patton’s regular thoughts when he was crying himself to sleep at night (not that he’d do that here, too many people), he doubted the teacher would make him do nothing.

“I know this is something you’re not used to, Mr. Heart, but you do need to face the consequences of your actions.”

Patton sat up to stare at Mr. Lendor in horror at being sought out, the snickering from the other students making Patton’s cheeks burn.

“Yes sir,” he muttered, sinking low in his seat as Mr. Lendor left the room.

The second the authority figure was gone, Remus, Patton’s regular tormentor switched desks from the front to the one right in front of him, sitting backwards in the chair with a wicked grin.

“Well helloooo~ Pattoff!”

Patton flinched, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Please don’t call me that, Remus.”

Remus pouted, pushing his cheek into his hand so one side of his face squished up.

“Awww, why not Pattoff? Aren’t we friends?”

Patton didn’t answer, staring at his desk and picking at a loose thread on his pastel yellow jean shorts.

Remus huffed at the lack of a response.

“So, what’d you do, baby? You’re never late to class, surely Mr. Lendor was sparing you? Did you get in a fight? Finally grow some balls and punch someone? I knew you were faking that ridiculous sensitivity of yours.”

“Leave him alone, Burke,” Virgil snapped, making Patton look over at the other in surprise, Remus doing the same.

“Aww, Virge sweetie, I’m sorry. Am I bothering your little toy? I didn’t know you laid claim on him,” Remus purred, only to jump in surprise when Patton stood up abruptly, smacking his hands against his desk.

Patton was glaring harshly at Remus, tears in his eyes.

“I am sick of your gross comments toward me Remus Burke. You have anger issues and an obsession with sex? Fine, but leave me the hell alone.”

And then he stormed out of the building, adjusting his route so that he could head home, whether or not Mr. Lendor was gonna give him another detention on Monday or not.

#jo writes #ts sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides #moxiety #platonic royality #platonic moceit #queerplatonic roceit #platonic analogical #platonic sleepxiety #aroace roman #aroace deceit #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #punk au #punk virgil sanders #punk virgil

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actingrelief · 5 years

Text

Inattentive type ADHD/ADD in school (some of my experiences)

Elementary:

Your teachers tell your parents you have potential and are creative, but can’t stay organized and have problems staying on task.

You can’t focus for sh*t.

It’s group reading. Everyone else has the page open. You’re still getting the book out of your desk.

The teacher calls on you. The answer was just explained, but no surprise, you stopped paying attention several minutes prior. You get it wrong in front of everyone.

You tell the teacher you couldn’t finish the homework. They ask the class if anyone had trouble with the homework. No one else did. They tell you you’re just not trying had enough.

You try not to cry in class because you can’t keep in up that one subject you REALLY don’t understand.

Your parents tell you you can’t eat until half your homework is done. So you start crying because you’re hungry, frustrated, have had no breaks, and your head hurts.

The school makes you take all these weird tests where you’re asked questions. You feel like you’re being treated like a baby.

You don’t understand why they pulled you out of recess and class for them if you’re not in any trouble.

You get diagnosed with ADD. You’ve heard of it before, but have no idea what it REALLY is, except something everyone makes fun of.

Your parents decide to start putting you on meds.

Your doctor changes the meds because your appetite went away.

Your personality and attitude changes. Your friends wonder why you’ve become so “boring.”

You forget to take your meds one day and everyone likes you again. You realize the medicine changed your personality.

You’re ashamed of having ADD, so you don’t want to tell them.

You finally do, and they don’t understand.

“I don’t think it’s the medicine. My medicine never makes me borning.”

You ask your parents to take you off the meds. They say no. You feel like a liability.

You can’t swallow pills so you have to take them with food everyday.

You can’t even LOOK at whatever food you took your meds in without gagging because you’ve grown so sick of it. This cycle repeats every few months.

Middle school:

Everyone thinks you’re way too uptight.

You finally tell your doctor (without your parents in the room) that you hate who you’ve become.

They tell you that it’s common and you can lower the dosage of the meds without going off them entirely.

The new dosage is too low.

You can’t focus for shit.

You get made fun of for having low marks.

Teachers threaten to give you detention if your grades don’t rise.

You have to decide between being too up right and hating your personality vs falling behind in school.

You change your meds entirely.

Everyone in school makes fun of ADHD and special ed programs so you don’t tell anyone.

Your teachers get a note that you have inattentive type ADHD and have to give you extra time during tests.

During state testing, you are put in a different room with other people who have learning disorders, but not badly enough to be put in resource classes.

You see several other people who you had no idea had learning disorders. You agree not to tell everyone.

They put you next to people with disorders that cause them to make noise, stim, etc. You don’t want to complain because it’s not their fault, but you can’t focus for shit.

Teachers know you have inattentive type ADD.

Despite that, they refer to a disrespectful classroom as “an ADD convention.”

You’re forced to take tests again.

When you arrive back in class and the teacher asks why you were gone, you make a joke about hiding a dead body in your locker because you don’t want to tell anyone what happened.

Highschool:

You end up with a teacher who jokes about having ADD.

You finally become honest with people and say you have it.

You find meds that aren’t perfect but are way better than anything you’ve been on.

People still make fun of people with ADHD.

You finally say things like “I have ADHD and I’m doing better than you,” or “yeah, I have to work twice as hard because if I didn’t have it you wouldn’t have a chance.”

You have to force yourself to get through subjects you can’t stand for the ones you’re interested in.

You do extra credits projects for fun in the classes you’re Acing.

You cry because you might fail because of the classes your brain won’t show any interest in.

That one bully who says “I have ADHD,” and finally being able to say “yeah, I have ADHD, too,” to other students so they know not everyone is like that.

Having to hear how “fake,” your disorder is.

You can’t focus for shit.

College:

You major in something that actually interests you.

When you have your mid semester conference you mention you have ADHD to your professor.

They say they never would have known.

You almost cry because it means that you finally feel high functioning.

You finally learn how to swallow pills

There’s that one student in your study group who hasn’t done the work who says they “kinda have ADHD.”

You have to explain to them you ACTUALLY have ADHD and don’t use it as an excuse.

Remembering to take your meds later due to night classes.

But every once in a while you have an assignment due where

You can’t focus for shit

#adhd #add #actuallyadhd #actually adhd #inattentive type adhd #my post #personal #bullying

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letters-from-the-three-houses · 5 years

Text

three houses headcanons: byleth and associates edition

with this, i’ve finally finished writing preliminary headcanons for all the characters i said i was going to do! hcs for byleth split between his/her two 'forms', and associates include the rest of the teaching staff, jeralt, and sothis

as i’ve mentioned before, i won’t be doing headcanons for the church unless someone asks me to, so i’ll be moving on to other weird speculation posts (like guessing the students’ last names) while spewing out some other stuff every now and then

check out the other editions here: lords / black eagles / blue lions / golden deer

m!byleth is strict with deadlines

allows up to three late days for assignments

but the moment that it turns midnight, it’s 10% off of the total grade

hand it in on 12:00 am? too bad, 10% off

once the three day mark hits, it’s an automatic zero

starts class exactly at 10 after the hour, not a second early or late

won’t waste your time if you don’t waste his

has all the info needed for exams on his slides

equal amount of multiple choice and short answer questions

"don’t bother with the textbook. it’s a waste of money"

talks dry and kind of fast

but will clarify things if need be

puts up slides and important announcements well before the lecture starts

if emails existed in the fe!verse he’d answer them straight away

you have to book an appointment to see him in office

f!byleth is more lax

has a lot of fun examples that caters to the students

would put memes in the slides

makes jokes to keep the class engaged

paces around while teaching

part of the final grade is class participation (allows exit cards for the less inclined)

just drop by her office to ask questions whenever

either over-explains or under-explains; there’s no in-between

will pretend to forget she assigned homework then bring it up at the last minute

adds lots of extra office hours a week before an important term test

application-based long answer questions with hypothetical situations

she’s notorious for her difficult exams

assigns way too many group projects for anyone’s comfort

takes a really long time marking papers

pranks her class by saying nobody passed the most recent assignment

sothis is snarky

witty and likes word play

sassy and won’t hesitate to call byleth out

she gets kind of caustic and defensive sometimes as a coping mechanism

but she’s be worried of offending them because she thinks they’ll leave her if she does

has a sweet face that becomes downright intimidating when she wants it to

excitable but she’s not easily impressed

takes an afternoon nap every day

probably likes sweets

would say ’teehee’ and 'omigosh' unironically

hides a lot of secrets behind a tight-lipped smile

she’s incredibly perceptive about things

if you lie to her, she’ll know

and she’ll file away the information for future use

will wait for as long as she needs to if it means seeing her ideals set to motion

jeralt thinks experience is the best teacher

will show you the basics and then throw you to the lions

mistakes are welcome and encouraged

can adapt to any situation

while he can’t sing to save his life, he can dance a mean jig

probably good at gambling but doesn’t (maybe small bets)

a natural bluffer

goes from 0% to 100% really quickly

the mood whiplash from 'joking around' to ’serious business' scares the new mercenaries

lets byleth do their own thing

but will warn them if he thinks it’s a terrible idea (more f!byleth than m!byleth)

dad jokes™

sometimes has a drink while watching the sunset

hanneman is like a cool grandfather

having been a teacher for years, he knows the ins and outs of the job

ask and he shall provide

office is always open for anyone at any time

just wants all of his students to succeed

talks slowly and deliberately

but also rambles and goes off on tangents

it’s hard to follow his train of thought because his lectures can be a bit abstract

the most likely of the teachers to be late to any given class or meeting

doesn’t give assignments but the term tests are challenging

they’re not as bad as byleth’s

but they require a fair bit of studying and revision

will disappear for weeks in his office to finish research on a niche, obscure topic

manuela is almost like the resident guidance counsellor

meets up with students one-on-one to talk about their academic performance

has an individual teaching plan for everyone

caters to their strengths and weaknesses

can be a bit strict because she wants to push them to improve

gives out a lot of extra credit opportunities

detentions are just an excuse for extra credit

takes a liking to byleth right off of the bat

knows the names, birthdays, and favourite colours of all her students

a gossipmonger to the highest degree

provides plenty of supplemental materials to understand the topics in-depth

always has tissues ready in her office if need be

would pair students up on an assignment because she knows they like each other

[asks are open!]

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fe16 #byleth #m!byleth #f!byleth #the byleth association #headcanons #prerelease

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aidanchaser · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter Ten The Marauder’s Map

Even though they didn’t have Defense Against the Dark Arts until Thursday, Harry stopped by Remus’s office before breakfast on Tuesday.

Remus was just pulling his cloak on as he opened the door. His face was thin, but he smiled brightly at Harry. “You’re up quite early. How are you feeling?”

Harry was a little startled by the question, not because he’d forgotten he’d been in the hospital, but because he’d meant to ask it himself. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Remus stepped out of his office to walk down to breakfast with Harry. “I’m doing quite well. You don’t need to check on me so frequently.”

“Dad says someone has to, and Mum says you don’t take care of the things you should.”

Remus laughed a little as they turned a corner. “I suppose there may be some truth to that. But Madam Pomfrey took excellent care of me, and I’m quite fit for teaching today.”

Harry wanted to ask if his parents had stayed in Hogsmeade to help take care of Remus. He wanted to tell Remus about how Snape had run class yesterday, but he knew the “w” word was forbidden in both public and private conversation. He tried to think of a way to bring it up creatively. His parents were so much better at this.

“Professor Lupin,” a student called as they rounded another corner. “Good to see you’re all better.” Harry recognized her as one of the Gryffindor prefects, a sixth year.

“Ah, Anne, how are you?” Remus asked.

“Well, Professor. Tell me you have no intentions of taking ill again. Class without you was absolutely miserable.”

Remus laughed, and Anne fell in step with them as they continued to the Entrance Hall. “Professor Snape is very skilled in and knowledgeable of the Dark Arts. I’m sure it couldn’t have been —”

“He had us silent dueling! I tried to tell him we’d barely covered curses, and even Marcus said we were still practicing silent spell casting, but he wouldn’t listen to us. He spent half the time criticizing our form, and half the time criticizing your teaching methods.”

Harry noticed the corner of Remus’s jaw tighten, but his smile remained unchanged. “Professor Snape often has high expectations. I apologize class wasn’t as pleasant as you had anticipated.”

“And he assigned us an essay — four rolls on battling dark creatures. As if we’re training to be Hit Wizards just because it’s a N.E.W.T. class!”

“We can talk about it all in class,” Remus said tactfully. “I’m sure Professor Snape is only looking out for your education.”

Harry did not agree, and opened his mouth to say so, but Remus gave him a warning look. Harry shut his mouth quickly as they stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him, so he slipped onto the bench between them.

“You were gone when we went downstairs,” Ron said. “Thought you’d already be here.”

“Stopped to talk to Uncle Remus.” Harry reached for a slice of toast. “Wanted to tell him about the essay Snape gave us, but Anne Thelborne beat me to it.” It was a reasonably true excuse. “Apparently Snape was just as harsh on the N.E.W.T. class as he was on us.”

Hermione, however, eyed Harry suspiciously over her Arithmancy textbook. Harry almost asked her what was wrong with his face, but there was a sharp gasp from the Slytherin side of the hall, then a roar of laughter.

Malfoy was re-enacting Harry’s dramatic fall in the Quidditch game by climbing onto the bench and swooning.

“I hope he hits his head on a candle,” Harry muttered and spread his jam with a little more anger than necessary.

“Ravenclaw will murder Slytherin in February,” Ron assured him. “Fred and George were talking about their new Seeker. She’s supposed to be really good.”

Harry thought he should be cheered by that, but it only meant that he would have to double his efforts to beat her.

“You really are feeling alright, aren’t you Harry?” Hermione asked, and set aside her book. She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Ron.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “And I’ll be better once we get Potions over and done with.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

On Thursday, Remus informed them that they did not have to do the essay. The class sighed in relief. About half of them hadn’t done it at all, and about half had done it terribly. Hermione was the only one who looked disappointed, but Remus let her hand it in for extra credit. After the bell, when Harry tried to turn his two rolls of parchment, Remus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Harry,” Remus said gently, “You really don’t need to —”

“Please read it,” Harry insisted. “Even though I knew most of it already, from reading Dad’s books, I worked really hard on it. It’s really rude and everything.”

Remus laughed, and that alone was enough to reward Harry’s efforts. “I will hang onto it for a rainy day,” Remus said, and tucked it into his briefcase. “And you’re sure that you’re alright?”

Harry stiffened. “Fine. Why?”

“Neville and Dean came to me yesterday. They said you’re having nightmares.”

Harry tightened his grip on his bookbag. “It’s alright. I had them first year, too.” This looked like it hurt Remus somehow, and Harry instantly regretted it. “Really. It’s okay. I’ve talked to Mum about them before. It’s been off and on since I saw the… the unicorn.” Harry suddenly felt cold, as if a dementor had floated its way into the classroom.

Remus put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “If you need to talk about them….”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. He knew Lupin had first years coming in and Harry had to get to History of Magic. “Could I… come by after classes are done?”

“Of course, Harry. I suppose you’d better not be late, or I’ll have to give you a detention.” His eyes twinkled. “Then you’d be forced to spend your evening with me.”

Harry smiled as he left. He found Ron and Neville waiting for him.

“You didn’t have to —” he started.

“It’s Binns,” Ron snorted. “Would he even noticed if we didn’t show?”

“I’d still like to be on time,” Neville said meekly, and increased his pace. “Hermione’s already gone on ahead.”

“I told her to wait,” Ron said. “I think being late once or twice ought to be good for her, the way she’s carrying on.”

Harry was inclined to agree.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Professor Flitwick let them out early as a reward for excellent behavior, so Harry quickly made his way back to Remus’s office. The third year Slytherins were just finishing up their lesson on hinkypunks. He was just in time to hear, “Yes, very good Draco. That would be an effective counter spell,” before the bell rang.

There was the sound of students’ chairs scraping the floor and Remus calling loudly over the noise, “If you wish to turn in your werewolf essay for extra credit, leave it on my desk, but otherwise you are excused from the assignment.”

Harry hung back as the Slytherin students filed out of class towards the Great Hall for dinner. He had no desire to get into it with Malfoy today. As soon as the students were gone, Harry walked into the classroom.

“You got here quickly,” Remus said.

“Flitwick let us go early.”

“Professor Flitwick, Harry.”

“Right.” Harry set his bag down on an empty desk and pulled a chair up beside Remus. He eyed the small pile of parchment on the end of Remus’s desk. “Are you really going to read those?”

“I don’t want any hard work to go to waste,” Remus said, and Harry could not detect a trace of fear or apprehension in his voice about having to read essays about identifying and killing werewolves. But he was quick to change the subject. “Did you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly rubbing his scar. It hadn’t hurt recently. Not since he’d tried to cast a Shield Charm and passed out from the strain. Perhaps he was as weak as Malfoy said after all.

“It’s… I told Mum, but it’s about the night Voldemort attacked the house. At least, that’s what she said it was. You weren’t there, were you?”

But Harry didn’t need to ask. He knew the story. Hagrid and Sirius had dug him and his parents out of the rubble, gotten them in Dumbledore’s safe care, and Remus had arrived a few days later, after most of the dust of the war had settled, and Peter Pettigrew had been awarded Order of Merlin, First Class, posthumously.

“This time, though,” Harry continued, “I heard her begging him not to hurt me. I — I haven’t been able to write home since the accident,” he confessed. “I don’t know what to say. She was going to die in my place and I —” But Harry didn’t know how to explain his confusion. He was proud, sad, and terrified all at once and he didn’t know what words there were to explain himself.

Remus didn’t seem to need words to understand. “I think you have a better understanding of why your parents don’t like to talk about that night, now.”

Harry nodded.

“But your mother has always been this way. Your parents have always loved and supported you. That hasn’t always been an easy thing to do, but they did it because they love you.”

“They could have died and I —” Harry didn’t know what would have happened to him. Would he, too, have died because of Voldemort? Or would he have lived with Sirius or Remus? Who would he be if he hadn’t played Quidditch with his father or had his mother to help him with Potions?

“Why do they affect me like this?” Harry said bleakly, and took his glasses off to clean them, unconsciously mirroring his father’s habit. “Am I just….”

“You’re not weak,” Remus said quickly. “Quite the opposite, I’m sure. Sirius is actually far more similar to you, you know, especially about dementors. The thing is, they’re not Beings, and they’re not Beasts. They’re what we call Non-Beings, because they feed off of your emotions. They suck out every happy memory you have, until you’re left with only the bad. It can reduce you to something soulless, like a dementor itself. And the thing about you, and about Sirius, is that you have very bad memories, and very powerful fears. Anyone would have fallen off their broom at such a memory as the one you had. I know it took all your mother’s strength to cast a patronus at that match. It isn’t an easy thing to be brave in the face of your fears, but you have always been very brave, and that makes you incredibly strong.”

As always, Remus had the words Harry needed to hear. Not necessarily the ones he wanted, but the ones he needed. Neither dumbed down because he was young, or intricate to confuse him.

“If dementors are all that bad… Azkaban must be awful.”

“Most prisoners go mad within weeks,” Remus agreed.

“And they can’t cast a patronus, can they?”

“No. Not without their wands.”

“Then how did Regulus Black manage to escape? He was there for twelve years.”

Remus sighed heavily. “That is the question everyone’s been asking. I’m afraid I don’t have any more answers than you do.”

Harry had been thinking for a very long time about how Regulus Black might’ve managed to escape. He’d been thinking for a very long time about whether or not Regulus Black deserved Azkaban. He didn’t have any more answers, only questions he wanted to ask and the only person with answers would be Regulus Black.

“Could you teach me to cast a patronus?” asked Harry. “So if it ever happens again, I won’t —”

“It won’t happen again,” Remus said firmly. “Dumbledore would never allow it. And, besides, I think your mother might charge right into Fudge’s office and demand the dementors be removed from the grounds the instant they approached a student. She’s practically worked her way into the Board of Governors, you know.”

Harry did not know this, and the news took him a little by surprise. Then he imagined his mother in the same room as Lucius Malfoy, debating Hogwarts’ curriculum and staffing. It was a rather pleasant picture.

“Even if it doesn’t happen again, shouldn’t I ought to know?”

“It’s a N.E.W.T. level spell, Harry. You’re a talented wizard, but I’m not sure you’ve mastered the preliminary skills necessary for casting a patronus. It’s usually taught after wordless spell-casting because of how much focus it requires. You’ll be able to cast it wonderfully someday, I’m sure, but the basics —”

“Please, Uncle Remus, can’t we try?”

Remus looked him over for a very long moment. Harry held his breath and gazed at Remus imploringly. He had to work very hard to refrain from begging.

Finally, Remus sighed, and shook his head. “You and your father--” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have a lot of work to get through before the holidays, but afterwards, yes, we can give it a try.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Ravenclaw absolutely flattened Hufflepuff in the Quidditch game, and as a result, Malfoy’s bravado began to wane. Ron’s prediction that Ravenclaw’s new Seeker was a threat proved true. Harry couldn’t wait until February to watch Ravenclaw flatten Slytherin. It would be cathartic.

But before that, the holidays were coming. Harry had been unable to be home for Christmas last year, since his mother had been teaching at Hogwarts, so he was doubly excited to go home this year. He couldn’t wait to see his house, decorated in holly and red and gold ribbon like it had been his first year. He told Ron and Hermione they were welcome to join, and their families, too, of course.

The Saturday before the end of term was another trip to Hogsmeade. Hermione was excited to do some Christmas shopping for her parents. Harry promised if she saw anything Sirius or Remus might like, he would gladly pay her back, but he was to be interred at the castle for a second time.

Still, when that Saturday arrived, he got up to see them off.

Harry leaned against the Entrance Hall doors and watched them go. He was a little glad he didn’t have to walk past the dementors, but like last time, he was left wondering what to do with himself. He thought about walking to Remus’s office, but he thought he’d only be underfoot. Remus had exams to prepare before the holidays.

When he started back towards the common room, he was pulled into a tiny alcove under a stairwell suddenly. Harry groped for his wand in his robes, but saw it was just Fred and George.

His heart was still hammering as he said, “What was that for? Why aren’t you two off at Hogsmeade?”

“We have something for you,” Fred said imperiously.

“Think of it as early holiday cheer,” George said.

Fred snorted. “Or perhaps an early inheritance, but you’ll have to confirm our suspicions.”

Harry had no idea what that meant, but his curiosity was piqued as he followed Fred and George into an unused classroom.

Fred pulled a square of parchment out of his cloak and laid it on one of the desks. It was a very old piece of parchment, worn around the edges, but Harry could see no merit in it. He only stared at it, face as blank as the parchment.

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“The secret of our success,” George said reverently.

“We’re loathe to part with it, but we’ve agreed your need’s greater than ours at present.”

“And we suspect it’s rightfully yours anyhow,” George added.

Harry still didn’t understand. “What do I need with a bit of old parchment?”

Fred gasped, like he’d insulted Merlin or Godric Gryffindor. “Old parchment?” he gagged and mimed swooning.

“When we were in our first year,” George explained, “young, carefree, and innocent —” Harry snorted. “— well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of a bother with Filch.”

“We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason —”

“So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —”

“— detention —”

“— disembowelment —”

“— and we couldn’t help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked ‘Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.’”

“I dropped a Dungbomb to make a diversion, and Fred opened the drawer and grabbed this.” George patted the parchment again. “We don’t reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn’t have confiscated it.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. The story was grand and all, but he hadn’t gotten any answers about why the parchment was so important.

“This little beauty’s taught us more than all the teachers in this school,” Fred sighed.

“Get to it already,” Harry said. “How does it work?”

George smiled and touched the tip of his wand to the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink began to crawl across the parchment. Harry was reminded of the diary, but instead of absorbing ink dripped into it, the parchment spit ink back out to form letters. He was suspicious for a moment, but then the words became clear —

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present The Marauders’ Map

Harry burst into laughter.

Fred jumped up and down gleefully. “We were right, George! It is Professor Lupin and your Dad and Mum and Sirius, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed harder. “No, not my Mum, but yes to the others.” Harry was having trouble controlling his laughter. “How’d you figure it out?”

“The map? Took us a near month figuring out the right words,” George sighed.

“But the mapmakers were very helpful, once they knew we were intent on making trouble,” Fred added.

“I meant about my dad,” Harry said.

“Oh. When we stayed with you at Christmas. And again when they visited for Quidditch. Sirius called Mr. Lupin, ‘Moony.’ We figured your dad and mum were in on it too.”

Harry looked at the parchment, which now detailed the floor plan of Hogwarts, and where everyone was located. Little dots moved about in common rooms and teachers pacing their offices. Even Peeves was visible, bouncing around the trophy room.

“So why are you giving it to me? You could get into loads of mischief with it,” Harry said.

“This,” and Fred pointed to a secret passage that lead out of the castle and up to Hogsmeade. “There are several passages, but this one’s the only working one right now. Filch knows about the others, except this one that’s caved in, and the other one’s guarded by the Whomping Willow. But we’ve used this one loads of times. It’s certainly safe.”

George sighed and patted the map. “We owe them so much.”

“We’ll have to write them thank you letters,” Fred laughed. “Just be sure, Harry, that you wipe the map when you’re done, or anyone will be able to read it.”

George pressed his wand into the paper. “Mischief Managed.”

And the ink faded from the paper. It was once again just a bit of old parchment that Fred folded up and handed to Harry, as if handing the robes of St. Peter himself.

“See you in Honeydukes,” George winked and went off with Fred towards the Entrance Hall. Harry could hear them apologizing to Filch for oversleeping and assuring him their names were on the list. Their voices eventually faded as they left the castle.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry emerged in Honeydukes and slipped through the crowd. He found Ron and Hermione looking at candies to buy for him, which he appreciated. When he came up behind them, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin and Ron dropped a jar of Cockroach Clusters. Harry managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione hissed.

They walked outside and Harry told them quietly about the Marauder’s Map. Hermione insisted he turn it in. Harry found the idea absurd. He had so many questions to ask his dad and Sirius about the map. This, if anything, seemed like an excellent way to repair his and Sirius’s relationship. Ron, once he got over his offense that Fred and George never shared the map with him, sided with Harry.

“What if Regulus Black got a hold of the map? What if he knows about the tunnels on it?” Hermione pressed.

“Regulus Black doesn’t know how to use the map.” Harry imagined if Sirius was involved with the design, the map would have a few choice words for Regulus Black. “And, anyway, Uncle Remus knows all the passages on the map, so it isn’t a problem.”

“Then Professor Lupin might catch you,” Hermione pointed out.

“Then I’ll hand the map in,” Harry shrugged. He doubted Remus would be terribly upset. Sure, he was risking his safety, but this was Hogsmeade. Regulus Black couldn’t turn up in the middle of the day, in the middle of holiday crowds, without getting caught. It couldn’t be any less safe than Hogwarts.

With most of Hermione’s fears allayed, Ron began to show Harry around Hogsmeade. Hermione, too, was unable to withhold all she knew about the small magical town, and began telling Harry excitedly about the history of each building they passed.

They ended up in the Three Broomsticks. Ron — face red from the cold or from a crush, Harry wasn’t sure — bought three butterbeers for him, Harry, and Hermione. They sat near the fireplace as they drank the warm, frothy drinks. Harry had never felt better. The thrill of sneaking out and being with friends warmed him as much as any butterbeer.

Then the door to the Three Broomsticks opened and Harry nearly choked on his butterbeer. Professor McGonagall and Flitwick walked in, followed by Hagrid and Cornelius Fudge.

Ron and Hermione shoved Harry under the table and Hermione used her wand to move the Christmas tree to hide their table from their professors. Harry tried to think of an escape route, but Professor McGonagall had a perfect view of the door. He’d never make it past her sharp eyes.

“Minister,” Madam Rosmerta said in a high, musical voice that made Harry see why Ron liked her, “what brings you down to this neck of the woods?”

Cornelius Fudge’s voice was low and weary. “What else but Regulus Black? You heard he was sighted in town just before Halloween.”

Harry wished he could look up at Ron and Hermione, because he certainly hadn’t heard that.

Rosmerta clicked her tongue and her sparkly blue heels settled near a chair at the teachers’ table. “I had heard a rumor. Unpleasant to hear it confirmed. These dementors are bad for business, you know, Minister. Scare my customers right off, they do.”

“They are… an unpleasant necessity. They’re unhappy about it too. Dumbledore won’t let them in the grounds of the castle —”

“And with good reason,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “The idea of students being subjected to that —”

“All the same, they’re protecting us from something far worse. We all know what Black is capable of.”

Harry’s ears pricked and he dared to inch closer. He didn’t want to miss a word of this.

Madam Rosmerta sighed thoughtfully. “I remember Regulus Black. He was a rather sweet boy, from what I recall. Very polite. Always tipped well. But the friends he had — It’s a right shame. A boy like that, losing such a promising future. I will always wonder if Crouch did the right thing with those two.”

The Minister grunted. “He certainly suffered for his decision. Shunted off to International Relations. Such a fall….”

“I think losing his son and his wife a far worse way to suffer for his decision,” said McGonagall. Her voice was slightly accusing, and the Minister cleared his throat. Harry imagined her turning her strict stare onto him. Good. The Minister needed more people to look at him that way, Harry thought.

“Regulus was such a wonderful student in class,” Flitwick said suddenly, in his squeaky voice. “But outside of class —”

“I think Regulus’s relationship with his brother was largely to blame,” Professor McGonagall.

Harry inched closer.

“Had to throw the Black boys out once for brawling,” Madam Rosmerta laughed. “Never saw two brothers look more alike ‘til the Weasley boys came along. Shame they didn’t get on even half as well as those boys. I’d like to think they might’ve been a good influence on each other.”

“I’m afraid they quite influenced each other in opposite directions,” said McGonagall. “I think they made their choices to spite each other, if anything else.”

“Regulus Black is responsible for ‘is own actions,” Hagrid said. “”E made ‘is choices. Can’t give ‘im a pass because he wanted ter be differen’ from his brother.”

“No one is saying that,” McGonagall said. “What Regulus Black did is unforgivable.”

“The public doesn’t even know the half of it,” Fudge said, rather loudly, Harry thought, for a secret the public didn’t know.

Harry dared to move just a little closer.

“More than torturing the poor Longbottoms?” Rosmerta said in shock. “Here, Minister, let me refill your rum.”

The sparkly heels clicked away, and Harry feared he would never hear the story. But it turned out Madam Rosmerta had as much interest in the gossip as he did, for as soon as the Minister had a fresh mug of red currant rum, she sat back down and pressed him to tell her everything.

“Everyone knows Regulus Black was missing for two years before his reappearance at the Longbottom’s home,” the Minister said.

“Hard to miss! The Daily Prophet's gossip columns did little other than report on the missing heir to the Black fortune for weeks after his father died.”

“Yes, well,” the Minister began gravely, “apparently he was very active during those two years, doing dark secret tasks for You-Know-Who. He was even responsible for what happened to the Bones family.”

Harry shrank back under the table, remembering a conversation he and Susan Bones had eavesdropped on, two years ago, before either of them had ever attended Hogwarts, about how nearly her entire family had been killed by supporters of Voldemort.

“That’s just to name one. He spent those two years selling out Muggle-born families to his master, and doing many terrible things for You-Know-Who,” the Minister sighed heavily. “Things so dark he couldn’t even let his own mother know he was alive.”

Hermione nudged Harry with her foot and he knew she was thinking of that last letter, the one where Regulus begged Narcissa, who Harry now understood to be Sirius’s cousin and Draco’s mother, to disappear. He wondered if Regulus’s disappearance had been part of a larger scheme, as the Minister suggested. But one line stuck in Harry’s mind — “I will do everything I can to bring him down and protect the people and things that I love.”

It was the one part Harry still couldn’t make sense of. He wondered if Sirius fell into the end category of “people I love.” Narcissa surely did, or he wouldn’t have sent her a letter.

But the letter closed with an apology to Sirius. For things Regulus had done, or for things Regulus was going to do?

“Edgar Bones was a wonderful student,” Flitwick said, and blew his nose.

“He came in here with his little ones once or twice,” Rosmerta said. “They were adorable. Spitting images of his mother, in miniature form.”

“Edgar’s mother was a classmate of mine,” McGonagall said quietly. “She was a very talented witch, and fought quite bravely against anyone who criticized her Muggle parents.” There was a sad note in her voice Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from McGonagall before.

“I can’t believe little Regulus, who would have stolen the moon for his mother, would do anything to hurt a family like that,” Rosmerta said.

“The war was a dark time,” said Hagrid. “Lots o’ wizards did things they didn’ think they’d ever do before. I wouldn’ ta thought it of Regulus either, but if you saw ‘im duel his brother, you’da seen it.”

McGonagall hummed, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or disappointment — possibly both.

“Drove him mad, did it?” Rosmerta asked.

“I wish I could say those were the actions of a madman,” the Minister said, “but unfortunately, Regulus Black seems to have become a cruel and calculated man after leaving Hogwarts. I happened to see him on my routine check of Azkaban this last time. No one had seen him in twelve years, mind. Not since his brother took care of the legal paperwork to make sure the Black family possessions went to him. They weren’t going to do Regulus Black much good in Azkaban, of course. I expected him to be as withered as the rest of the prisoners but it seemed — somehow, twelve years of dementors had done nothing. He was despondent, but clear-headed. He asked me for the paper, carefully enunciating and everything, as if his mother were checking his speech at a dinner party. Said he missed reading about new weddings.”

“But what could he possibly have broken out to do?” Rosmerta blurted. “He can’t possibly rejoin You-Know-Who.”

“That, or continue what his master began. It seems he’s starting with —”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. “Minister, if you’re going to make dinner with the Headmaster, we ought to get going.”

“Oh, yes.” The party stood, chairs scraping away. Harry scrambled backwards, against Hermione and Ron’s legs.

“Careful, Minister,” Rosmerta laughed. “Lean on Hagrid if you can’t stand straight.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” the Minister grunted. “Though perhaps the cold blizzard will do some good.”

The door jingled as the adults left, and Madam Rosmerta’s sparkly blue heels clicked their way back behind the counter of her shop.

#harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban #poa #hp fic #hp everyone lives #harry potter everyone lives au

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