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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Here’s a prompt from the tag! “ Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.” bc I have a feeling Remis would be the type to end up eating Sirius’ dessert instead of his bc he doesn’t know what to order but Sirius knows his taste dkfjsjaha

~Notes: Oh no baby! I read this wrong, thinking it was Person A ordering for them instead because Person B didn’t know what they wanted.... And well this came out-- I can totally write a different prompt though to match this one! Just LMK! <3 <3

Send Me A Prompt | Reblogs are like the tastiest dessert!!

Remus pads softly into his and Sirius’s room, a mug of steaming Darjeeling in hand and clad only in a his robe as he gazes longingly at the sleeping form of his partner for nearing on three years now.

The early morning sun pans across the wide expanse of Sirius’s shoulders, and dips into the planes and valleys of his muscular torso and angular face. Lying there, with his dark hair fanning the pillow and the blanket slung lazily around his hips, he looks like some sort of fallen angel. Beautiful and remote and impossible to touch by sullied hands that aren’t half as sacred. It makes his heart thud an uneven staccato when he remembers that he’s his— Sirius chose Remus, Sirius loves Remus— Maybe even nearly as much as Remus has always loved him.

How remarkable of a revelation indeed.

Gingerly, Remus sets down his tea and crawls back into bed with Sirius, insides thrilling when the dark haired boy subconsciously snakes his arms around him and curves around Remus’s body like so many times before, so often that Remus reckons it’s become by rote, an ingrained response to whenever they’re in close proximity to one another.

With a quiet laugh, Remus stretches around, begins peppering Sirius’s chest and abs and the space surrounding his cock with tender kisses, slowly rousing him to wakening the way Sirius always appreciates after a night of patrols for the Auror’s academy. And as usual, it doesn’t take long at all for Sirius to begin moaning out appreciative sighs, thrusting languorously for the warmth of his mouth, making Remus chuckle as he tugs down his pants, and kisses the length of him, peering up to watch as Sirius’s gorgeous, gray eyes flutter open.

“Wh— Moony?” He says in a peculiarly squeaky voice that Remus can’t ever remember slipping out of his mouth.

“Yes— Problem, Paddy?”

Another discontent, borderline terrified noise rumbles in his throat, and before Remus could even ask what’s got his boyfriend acting like he’s touched in the head, the door to their flat flings open none too gently, and it’s an irate looking James who storms into the bedroom— fists clenched and jaw set as he glares daggers into the face of his practical brother.

“You’re dead Potter!” Is all he shouts before madness ensues— Madness that’s James’s flying fists for Sirius’s face, Peter’s choked laughter flowing in from the other room, and a Lily who looks stuck between horrified and amused

And Remus is so fucking bewildered as he slides off of his boyfriend to avoid any untoward hits accidentally aimed his way.

“Lily?” he presses expectantly, but is totally unsurprised when all she replies with is a bout of uninhibited cackles.

Fifteen minutes, a magically healed split lip, and a physically restrained pair of animagi later, finds the ragtag group of friends surrounding the kitchen Island while a terse James and enraged Sirius are explaining what had happened the previous night. Namely, them getting hexed by a sour faced old bint with a Guinness in hand, after Sirius had driven his motorbike through her rosebushes.

“You guys got bested by a drunk hag!” Peter guffaws for the third time in a singular minute, clutching at his stomach while his body wracks with a continuous stream of laughter

“I will singe your bollocks off Wormtail,” Sirius seethes from Remus’s left— Except no, it’s not Sirius. It’s James, his best mate James who’s now inhabiting the body of his lover. And God how strange of a fucking turn of events. It’s seriously unnerving. He’s just standing their, all too familiar arms crossed against his chest and thick brows furrowed. And God, Remus really wishes he wouldn’t do that— worry on his bottom lip mid snarl. It’s such a quintessentially Sirius thing to do. a look Remus knows well. One that Remus would always coax away with a gentle kiss and a hand carding through his hair and—

“Oof!”

He glances over to where Sirius— wearing James’s face— is glowering at him with pure irritation after having elbow checked him. “Eyes front and center Lupin!”

Remus flushes, glancing over at Lily since she out of everyone here could understand his plight. But of course she’s only snickering to herself in her cup of coffee, the trader.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just because ’s my body doesn’t mean you get to give another bloke the come hither eyes!” Sirius fumes, a sneer caught on his features that Remus never thought the face of the easy going James Potter could ever conjure. “Crikey, it’s plenty that you decided to give him a full on show already.”

“How was I to know this would happen!” Remus sputters the same time James defends that they even barely started, which of course made Peter fall over on his chair with pure delight and Lily walking over to the kettle so she can hide her own laughter.

“Lucky you,” Sirius snipes back, glaring darkly at James and snatching Remus’s hand to interlock with his— erm James’s?— own on his lap.

Remus is so totally fucked.

Graciously, Professor McGonagall— who told the graduating Gryffindor class of 78 to always reach out if they ever needed help with a strangely wet glint in her eyes— Replies to the pleading missive Remus had sent almost immediately, giving Remus the proper instructions to reverse the jinx and wishing him and Lily the best for the impending tribulations about to befall them.

“She’s totally loving this,” James mumbles moodily as Lily massages his head. And Merlin, is that a strange sight— Lily not only deigning to touch Sirius at all, but look at him sympathetically on top of that. Remus has to constantly remind himself of the body swap before his ridiculous envy begins carving at his insides when James only looks appreciatively back up at her, a gentle, open expression painted over his face that is ordinarily reserved for Remus and Remus alone.

“God this is weird,” Lily tells him, slowly inching away and sitting besides Remus instead. “I usually can’t stand even the sight of Black, and now I’ve got to treat him like the bloke I’m in love with.”

“That’s not what you said this morning Evans,” Sirius goads from Remus’s other end, suddenly reverting back to looking like the James of fifth year— when he was still too cocky for his own good and still didn’t understand how much it made Lily want to hex him to hell for it. “I actually think I recall a lot of back robs and straddling action this morning.”

Lily casts him a look that would absolutely scorch lesser beings, and Remus reasons that his own glower is emulating the same energy because Sirius quickly presses their foreheads together and squeezes Remus’s hand between both of his own in silent repentance. “I knocked her off once i realized it wasn’t you love.”

“Didn’t even bother to aim for the bed you absolute sod.”

“It was fight or flight while you had your grubby little hands all over me Evans!” Sirius airily sniffs.

“Oh I’ll show you grubby little hands!” Lily seethes, pouncing forwards right when Sirius hides behind Remus’s back.

“Children,” Remus intones, beyond over it. “Did you all not realize the massive problem with this little mishap.”

“You mean besides dealing with James’s pitiful little knob.” Sirius asks, faux owlish.

“You touch my knob Black and I swear to God I’ll shave off all your hair.” James snipes, which really isn’t all that fair considering how Sirius doesn’t even care about his perfect locks half as much as Remus does.

“Bloody hell! That’s brilliant!” Peter squawks from the loveseat, absolutely glowing. “James, you think you can get Moony’s name tattooed on his arse.”

James’s face goes sly, Remus’s favorite smirk toying the edges of his lips and his stormy eyes glinting with mirth that Remus only ever sees on his boyfriend’s face before a prank or while Remus is undressing in front of him.

“What did I say about that look Moony!” Sirius shouts, scathing and skewering him with a look James only ever employed as Head Boy on the third year students stupid enough to get caught while trying to pull off a prank.

“Erm— Ahem.” Remus adjusts himself in his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes well, that is rather besides the point.”

“So what is the point, Rem,” Lily asks smugly, and Remus absolutely hates how much she’s enjoying this. She should be suffering just as much as him for the sake of Circe.

“Well didn’t you have that lunch date set up with your older sister and her husband for today?” Remus points out, a mutinous little part of him preening at how her face goes a sickly sort of pale at the reminder. Finally someone is as ill over this as he is.

“Oh bloody shite! You’re right! And Professor McGonagall said that this incantation can only be done at night, the same time as it was originally cast!”

“We’re not in school anymore Evans, you can just call her McGonagall. Or Minnie if you’re so inclined.”

“Shut the fuck up Black!” Lily shrieks, and Remus can’t help but unfavorably liken her to a banshee. “I promised Petunia that I’d see her before she leaves on holiday tomorrow! And she bloody hates Black!”

“nasty harpy.”

“What are we going to do!”

“Erm— Well maybe you can explain to her the switch up?” Peter offers, always meek in the face of Lily’s wrath.

“She already thinks I’m a freak for being a witch Peter! I can’t bring James looking like that and expect her to be fine with it!”

“Most people would consider James having upgraded,” Sirius argues.

“The tattoo will be bright pink I reckon,” James muses loudly to himself, pretending not to have heard Sirius. “A nice contrast to your pasty white arse don’t you think Padfoot?”

Sirius bares his teeth at him and Remus feels an impending migraine while Lily continues to lament the idiocy of their boyfriends.

Remus idly contemplates how normal his life could’ve been if he had fought harder with the sorting hat to be placed into Ravenclaw. It would be a much less wonderful existence, to be sure, but it’d be so blessedly normal. Remus would probably have gone steady with that Hufflepuff prefect, Andre, and they would probably still be together. And Andre didn’t have a best friend who he got into insane and improbable situations with, so Remus definitely wouldn’t have been forced to do this. To be forced to go to lunch with his best friend’s wizard hating sister and her pug faced husband and not look longingly over the table at the face of his other best friend where the love of his life is inhabiting his body.

Jesus, is Remus’s life confusing as fuck.

“I need to take a pis— Oof, I mean. I have to use the gents,” Sirius declares as everyone’s entrees are being served, giving a pointed glance to Remus. And he supposes he should talk to him about that, how incredibly obvious Sirius can be when he’s flustered and isn’t trying to show it.

Five minutes after his boyfriend, Remus leaves to meet him in the first open stall, finally feeling less wrong footed for the first time today when Sirius takes him into his unfamiliar arms.

“I’m going to stab my eyes out with a fork Moony!” He hisses, and it’s odd how alien his face— James’s face— is to him. How Remus has never spent the time to memorize the precise slope of his nose, or the shape to his lips. How Remus can’t understand what it means when he squints his left eye or when he flares his nostrils with a slight curl to his mouth. But Remus does recognize the way Sirius has always grabbed his hips in that desperate way when he’s fed up, and how he always presses his nose to the curls behind Remus’s ear when he needs to be grounded. And it’s a bit awkward now that they’re the same height instead of Sirius needing to stoop slightly, and how Sirius now smells like that pricy cologne that James has always sprits with gusto. But it’s familiar enough to make Remus’s shoulders relax from the tension sown through them all day, and breathe out with relief with how the pair of them still understand one another with an innate sort of knowing.

Gingerly, Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’s now less defined torso, and they stand their, tangled into one another amidst the hush settling over them.

“Oi! You berks!” James hisses from the doorway all too soon, clambering inside and stomping his feet. “I swear to Merlin if you pricks are fucking inside there!”

“Don’t worry Jamie, I’d never put my Moons through the indignity of dealing with that after he’s had me,” Sirius jeers, preening when James replies by throwing something hard against the doorway.

“C’mon you idiot,” Remus sighs, tugging on a lowly chuckling Sirius as they meet James by the exit of the loo.

“I’ve had three different birds sliding their numbers into my trousers on my way here alone,” James complains, shuffling foot to foot and looking more awkward than Sirius ever has. “It’s obscene.”

“It’s the life of the beautiful,” Sirius corrects as Remus swaths his hand away from his arse.

“I’d rather not have Petunia getting a heart attack when she sees her sister’s boyfriend copping a feel of another bloke,” he chides before looping his arm through James’s and begins strolling back to the table.

The rest of the lunch is thankfully uneventful, but as stilted as expected, filled with Sirius needing to be kicked in the shin every time he starts gazing absentmindedly at Remus, and Lily flickering her eyes over to James disappointedly while he pouts at her with Sirius’s best puppy dog eyes. And Every time Petunia starts eyeing them all as if they’re all fucking each other behind the scenes, Remus clumsily changes the topic to the weather or how lovely her engagement ring is or asking Vernon about bloody drills— Even if all he wants to do is reach across the table and hold Sirius’s hand.

But thankfully, it all seems to be going along decently enough— That is until the waiter comes around to take their orders and spends a little too long leering at Remus, asking if he’d like a cinnamon roll on the house.

“He’d like a slice of the chocolate fudge cake and he has a boyfriend that probably wouldn’t appreciate the extra service.” Sirius growls out, specs gone askew and dark knuckles paling from where he’s clutching his spoon vindictively.

The waiter only smiles at him, shrugging in that what can you do kind of way before dashing off to place the orders in with the kitchen.

“Hmm,” Petunia levels him with a glance, unimpressed looking. “So James.”

It takes a beat too long for Sirius to respond and Remus silently curses his every damn star.

“Erm, yes Petunia.”

“How long have you been fucking my sister’s friend behind her back?”

Lily goes shellshocked and James looks ill while Remus sinks lower in his seat, trying to force Sirius to get it together through his eye contact alone.

“Hah— Wow, you’ve been watching those silly Muggle dramas have you Petunia.” Sirius says in a mangled tone of voice, but of course that’s the precise wrong thing to have said.

With matching red faces and spluttering words of indignation— a few curses thrown in for good measure— Petunia and her husband rise from their seats and make a hasty retreat to their car towards the back of the building.

“Oh Christ,” Lily groans, jumping up to sprint after them— but not without swinging a perfectly aimed cuff to the back of Sirius’s porcupine head. “I’ll hex you once you’re out of my boyfriend’s sodding body Black!”

“I understand Evans!” He calls after her before swinging his head over to James and Remus with a mischievous grin. “We tried didn’t we?”

“You just couldn’t keep your bloody jealous temper in check,” James scolds with no real heat.

“Oi! And what about you lusting over Lily so blatantly you tosser! It was revolting.”

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll remember that next time you’re gazing at Moony’s arse out in public you mongrel.”

Exhausted, Remus just rises and tells them to stay behind and make sure Lily’s alright. “I need a bath and some quiet.”

“Can I join,” Sirius pouts. “I miss you.”

“Only once you’re my Sirius again,” Remus instructs, brooking no arguments before he finds a safe place to apparate, telling himself that he deserves an entire bottle of that cheap merlot they bought last weekend.

#REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #WOLFSTAR #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #spilt ink #I feel bad I didn't post a Remus Bday FIC tho #rip #sorry angel child o'mine

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minervahopebeyond · 4 years

Text

Blood Daffodils.

Chapter 16: Ally (part 2/2)

Hermione and Ron were revising her purse, making sure that they hadn’t forgot anything... Not that they could go back and look for it right now but whatever. Harry supposed that it calmed their nerves. Him and Nott were sitting by a tree, they had agreed between the three of them to keep watch of him just in case, although Nott hadn’t made any kind of attempt to escape since they had released him.

The silence was awkward but Harry guessed that talking would be even more so. Apparently the other boy didn’t think the same.

“Are you together now?” Nott’s voice sounded flat for the most part, maybe if he tried he could catch the little tinge of jealousy that intermingled with his words.

Harry knew that he was asking about him and Draco, it was obvious, but he didn’t know what was he supposed to respond. He never had a talk with the blond boy about what was going to happen to them when Nott appeared in the picture again. It was kind of a given that there wasn’t going to even be a ‘them’ anymore... From time to time, Harry let himself imagine that there was going to be one... Even in secret, even in stolen moments.

“He misses you.” Was the only thing that Harry responded, hoping that it would do. Nott let out a snort.

“I really doubt that, Potter.”

Harry turned around to look at him. Was he stupid or something? Did he not know...? But his thought were interrupted.

A bright silver light appeared to be coming towards them. Every fiber in Harry’s body stiffened. Nott seemed to realize this and tightened his fingers around his wand. Of course he would think that what was coming was a threat... It couldn’t be any more further from the truth.

The lion ran wildly, approaching them. It was amazing how it reflected the blond boy, his moods... everytime he saw the Patronus, something flipped inside his belly. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the unmistakeable need to have Malfoy with him, of kissing him and hugging him, trying to apologize for all of this.

‘I had to do it, they could take you, they could kill you... I couldn’t allow it.’

The lion stood in front of them, in all its majestic glory. Harry took a deep breath before it began to speak to them. Or, well, yell at them was a more accurate term.

“YOU BLUNDERING IDIOTS” The sound of Draco’s voice echoed in their wards. Ron and Hermione ran to meet the patronus too. “HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME BEHIND.”

“Oh, shit.” Ron muttered as he held Mione’s hand, looking for comfort. Harry wished to have some kind of comfort himself but the only comfort he had was looking at the silver lion in front of him.

“IT TOOK ME TWO WHOLE HOURS TO BE ABLE TO CONJURE THIS, NOT EVEN WHEN I ALMOST DIED IN DECEMBER DID I HAVE THIS KIND OF STRESS! COME BACK OR I SWEAR TO MERLIN THAT I WILL NEVER SPEAK TO EITHER OF YOU EVER AGAIN.”

Harry felt like his heart was being squeezed to death as he heard those words.

“Harry...” Hermione called for him but her voice was interrupted by Draco’s again.

“POTTER: YOUR FATHER IS HEART BROKEN AND SIRIUS IS WRECKING THE HOUSE JUST WITH ACCIDENTAL MAGIC. HE ALREADY FACED AZKABAN, HE DOESN’T NEED FOR HIS GODSON TO BE AN ARSEHOLE AND RUNAWAY.” And yes, Harry knew that. “WEASLEY: YOU ARE THE WORST ONE. YOU GAVE ME YOUR WORD AND LIED TO MY FACE. ‘I’M SORRY, FERRET. IT WASN’T MY CALL??’THEN WHOSE THE FUCK WAS IT? IF IT WAS YOURS GRANGER, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT LIVING UP TO THE SLYTHERIN-CODE OF FRIENDSHIP.”

Harry heard Hermione let out a little sob and when he turned around tears were coursing down her cheeks. Actually, it had been Harry the one who had asked to leave the necklace at the mansion. He knew that Ron always carried it with him and Malfoy was very aware of that.

“IF YOU DON’T COME BACK IN LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, YOU CAN ALL FORGET ABOUT MY FRIENDSHIP AND GO FUCK YOURSELVES.” The lion ended up the monologue and faded away.

The uncomfortable silence surrounded them. Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He needed to reply, and he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t achieve his happiest memory. He turned to Nott and glared at him.

“Don’t even try to talk. If he hears you, he will put two and two together in a matter of seconds.”

“I think I know one or two things about him, Potter. I don’t want him in the Manor any more than you do.”

The pang of jealousy was unmistakable. ‘Throw it in my face why don’t you.’ He turned around and breathed in deeply. He tried to picture the first hug that he got from his father after the department of mysteries, so warm and welcoming...

“Expecto Patronum.” He casted waving his wand and his stag appeared in front of them. “Find Malfoy and tell him this: I’m sorry, we can’t. Don’t send another Patronus, we were alone right now but it’s dangerous. Please don’t hate us. Dad, Padfoot: I’m sorry too, please be safe.” And he sent the stag away.

—————————

Harry couldn’t fucking believe that he was going to drink the essence of the disgusting rat. He was pretty sure that Nott was doing it on purpose just to torture him.

He looked at the three passed out death eaters again and pulled a face. They had already stole their clothes and apparently the plan was to leave them here, in the middle of the forest, tied to a tree and wandless. Nott even had suggested to imperious them so they wouldn’t try to escape anywhere... Hermione wasn’t on board, though. Said that if they gave them a very large amount of Sleeping Draught, that they should be on that tree at least until tomorrow.

Ron and Hermione were going to polyjuice as Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Harry thought that it was pretty creepy for them to be ‘siblings’, even if it was temporary, but Nott had chosen the Death Eaters that normally wouldn’t talk as much in meetings or were assigned the lesser tasks.

“Which one are you?” Harry had asked, arching an eyebrow defiantly. Nott snorted as a response.

“What do you think, Potter? I feed the prisoners, and sometimes the dark lord sends me to feed Nagini because he finds it hilarious, the fact that I’m scared shitless of his murderous snake. And at the meetings I just sit there. After what happened last year: I’m a joke.” He said as he was applying the Draught in Amycus mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, being useless means that you don’t get certain privileges that I’m not particularly interested in having.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked looking at him with the over sized clothes that belonged to Alecto.

“You know, killing and torturing.” He said shrugging as he stood up. “Which brings us to a very important subject: you already know the backgrounds of these ones, but let’s go over the way that they behave. The Carrows are normally at Hogwarts but they come for meetings because they like to kiss the Dark Lord’s arse.” When he saw the panic flashing through Ron’s eyes, Nott calmed him down. “He is not going to be there. Most of the times we don’t know where he is, the meetings are basically to check everyone’s business. If they ask you something you respond that the Dark Lord’s plan is going fantastic and that’s it, maybe mention that you casted a cruciatus on a half-blood third year if it gets to that.” He flinched. He was starting to think that things were actually worse at Hogwarts than outside. “Avoid talking, the two of you.” Then, he turned to face Harry. “You, on the other hand... You’ve met Wormtail before, haven’t you? He is afraid of every single fucking thing, don’t look at anyone directly at their eyes. He only acts cocky if the Dark Lord is around because, for some unknown reason, he kind of likes the piece of vermin.”

Harry knew why Voldemort liked him, it was because he handed in their location, back in the first war, and because he was the one who helped him come back after the triwizard tournament.

“Okay, are you going in first?” Harry asked and Nott shook his head.

“You and me are going in first, the Carrows always go in together and that way we can sense how everything is inside before Weasley and Granger enter.” He saw the brunette cross his arms and take a deep breath. “They are going to catch you. There is no way around it. Try to be as quick as you can, and be near the fireplace, you can apparate safely once you are inside the floo because technically you are not inside the wards. You could be tracked, though... But I don’t have a better idea.”

“What about Luna?” Ron asked quietly and he could see Nott tensing before responding.

“She is not the only one there... You should take Olivander and Griphook too, if you can. I know which spells open the cellars... If Potter comes with me, or one of you two, it could seem like you rescued them without my help. I’m going to receive a Cruciatus but whatever.”

And, suddenly, he understood why Draco was in love with Nott, much to his dismay. He had another type of bravery, the one that Harry lacked, the one that Draco and Hermione also had: you do what you have to do, don’t matter the costs. The only thing that the brunette was trying to avoid was getting himself killed, something that Harry was grateful for because if he died, then Draco would die too. And that wasn’t an option.

After that, they took the polyjuice and used the distance from the forest to the manor to practice the way that these three people normally walked. Nott kept giving Ron and Hermione advise, Harry was the one who nailed his imitation of Pettigrew in the first try because he would never forget the few times that he had met him.

It kind of bothered him that Nott was pretty fucking funny sometimes. He had not believed Malfoy when he told him that... It sucked, each moment that he saw how the brunette really acted, was a moment were Harry was reminded that he loved someone who didn’t love him back. Not the way he should... And seeing the brunette telling Hermione ‘No, Granger. Walk like you have a broom up your arse, it’s like she is always constipated and wants everyone to know it’ was a pretty honest reminder of why Draco found Nott hilarious; he had the same sense of humor that Padfoot had... And Malfoy always laughed until tears came out of his eyes with Sirius.

“Weasley, even though I suspect that the Carrows have a thing going on, I highly recommend that you don’t look at Granger every two minutes.” Nott said and Ron, wearing the face of this grown up man, blushed terribly and said ‘I wasn’t ‘ in such indignant tone that the only logic explanation was that he actually was. Hermione was the only one to reply.

“Ugh, they are brother and sister” But the brunette shrugged, giving the impression that it wasn’t as crazy, not in their circles. Harry couldn’t help but to pull a face at that.

Once they got to the entrance, Harry took a deep breath. They were supposed to not have a problem to enter at all, but, you know, it all seemed a pretty bad idea overall. The best one that they had but still a bad one. It surprised him that everything was lugubrious to the point where it seemed almost cartoonish.

“Well, let’s try not to die, right?” Ron joked and Hermione punched him in the arm and his friend cried in pain. Harry took another deep breath.

“This is going to work, we are going to be fine.” Was what he replied, trying to calm everyone down, even if he didn’t believe that at all.

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

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ashes-and-ashes · 5 years

Text

tw for abuse and torture

Halfbreeds

He thinks he’s about to scream.

Sirius swallows, hard, one hand unconsciously reaching up to tug at his earrings. His heart is pounding, so hard he thinks he might be sick, bile rising up at the back of his throat.

It’s the first day back after Christmas, snow still falling outside the window of the Gryffindor tower. It howls, pounding against the windows, making the glass rattle and Sirius wonders if it will shatter.

His mind races back, 4 days ago, standing in the hallway, one hand pressed to his side as his mother stood above him.

She never cut his face anymore, like she used too. He had goaded her about it, taunted her, caught up in his own rage and self-loathing and hatred. What? Not going for the face anymore? Scared that you’ll scar my pretty face?

Walburga’s response still stung, even all these days later. You? No one cares about you. You’re damaged goods after lying with that animal.

Sirius closed his eyes. His ribs still burned; Madame Pomfrey had tried her best but even she couldn’t completely heal the wound. His mother had always loved experimenting, layering spells on top of Sirius like blankets, covering him until he passed out.

The scene played out, etched into his memories like the scars on his back. He remembers staring up at Walburga, his heart clenching at the clarity in her eyes. Walburga was bad enough drunk, but she was deadly when sober.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, softly. “You’re going to abandon the halfbreed. You are never going to talk to it again. You are going to ignore it completely.”

Sirius had laughed, teeth gritted, his mouth full of blood. “And I suppose you want me to bring you back a bag of fucking crumpets from breakfast.”

Walburga struck him again but the pain barely registered - Sirius just shrugged. “Apologies. Would you prefer toast?”

Walburga tilted her head. “You,” she hissed, “Are a disgrace. An abomination, you and all your little mudblood friends. You will break off all contact with the animal of yours, and you will do it. Immediately.”

Sirius smirked, the tiny one that he knew infuriated her. “Here’s the thing, Mother,” he hissed, putting as much venom into the words as he could. “I don’t find that I particularly want to. And what did you always tell me? ‘A Black never does anything for anyone unless they can do something for you in return?’”

Walburga let out a cold laugh. “Unfortunately, that lesson doesn’t pass on to you. You are not a Black. You are tainted.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Tell me. What exactly bothers you, about Remus and I? Is it that he’s poor? A half-blood? Of lesser status then us? Or is it simply because I’m fucking a boy, and won’t be able to pop pretty heirs out of my wife’s stomach?”

Walburga tilted her head. “It is all of those things. And the addition that you are not ‘fucking a boy.’ You are fucking a halfbreed. An animal. You are fucking something that is not human. And you will cease it at once.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

“Or I will make a formal complaint,” Walburga said evenly. “I will complain about the new scars on your back - oh don’t give me that look. They’ll never be able to trace it back to me - I have half the ministry in my pocket. I will claim that...that he is dangerous and volatile and I will demand he be turned onto the streets. He’ll be finished.”

Sirius’ heart dropped into his stomach. “No.”

Walburga inclined her head. “Why yes. And you know I fully have the means to do it. So, what do you say, Sirius? You always used to tell me that you were better, simply because you put others ahead of yourself. Abandon the halfbreed and I will never tell a soul. I’ll swear an unbreakable if you wish.”

“This isn’t about Remus,” Sirius whispered. “This is about you and me.”

Walburga drew her wand. With a flick, she carved another line in Sirius’ bare back, spilling blood like paint onto the floor. “Of course it is. Why else would I be doing this.” She smiled, opening more gashes on his back. “Clean this up,” she snapped, then swept out of the room.

The wounds on his back still hurt. He had examined them in the mirror, wincing at what he saw. She had positioned the cuts expertly; they looked exactly like claw marks, jagged and deep and evenly spaced. Every time he moved, he felt then rip open more, opening deeper and deeper into his skin.

Remus is back tonight, he thought, and swallowed hard. He didn’t want to. God, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to give up that last thing he loved.

He clenched his fist. Get it over with, he thought, biting down on his lip. Just say it. Straight out. That’s all you need to do.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, voices echoing down the corridor, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach Sirius opened his eyes.

The portrait swung open, revealing James’ flushed face, Peter’s rosy cheeks. They were laughing, their trunks levitating behind them; James’ looked stuffed to the brim with various things - telescopes and books and his invisibility cloak carelessly strapped to the top. He winked at Sirius, sending his trunk up to the dorms with a flick of his wand. “Pads. Guess what we caught Fab doing?”

“Snogging Kingsley!” Peter interjected excitedly. “And I saw Hestia on the train today - she said my hair looked nice! I think this means she likes me - do you think so Sirius? What do you think? Is she noticing me, is this a crush - “

Peter’s words slowly faded away though, Sirius’ heart clenching as the portrait opened again and Remus stepped through.

He had grown taller over the holidays, taller and thinner like he had been stretched out. His hair was wet from the snow, making it stuck up in damp curls. The jumper e was wearing was too small for him; with a pang Sirius realized it was one of his own jumpers. “You’re wearing my clothes,” he said to Remus.

Remus cracked a half smile, the ones that made his face light up and eyes flow. “It’s actually my clothes. Seeing as I gave that jumper to you in 4th year and you never gave it back.”

Sirius’ mouth was dry. It was like he was sinking underwater, everything becoming fuzzy around him. Dread was looking in his stomach, like liquid lead and he coughed. “Mine. When did you ever wear black?”

Remus shrugged. “You wear it so much. It reminded me of you.”

“Yeah,” Sirius croaked out. He looked down at his feet. “James…”

James looked up; his face softened instantly, obviously recognizing the misery in Sirius’ face. “C’mon Pete,” he whispered; with a worried look Peter stood, climbing up the stairs.

Remus frowned; they were alone now. The light from the fireplace cast strange shadows over Remus’ face, turning his eyes golden, making the scars glow like they were starlight. Sirius stared at him hungrily, trying to breathe everything in; his face, the way his lips parted whenever he looked at Sirius, the mess of Auburn curls and the shifting colours of his eyes. The scars - Sirius had memorized all of them, could recognize the location of each raised mark just by running his fingers over them.

Remus blinked, his hands nervously combing through his hair. “Sirius?”

Now or never, Sirius thought fiercely. He bit his lip, hard, letting blood fill his mouth again. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Remus froze. “What?”

“Remus.” Sirius closed his eyes; he was going to be sick. “Remus, please. We can’t do this anymore.”

“This,” Remus said carefully. “What do you mean by this?”

Sirius swore in frustration. “God, you know what I mean. This! This...Whatever is between us! We can’t date anymore for Merlin’s sakes.”

The blood had drained from Remus’ face, turning it ashy. He swallowed, letting his hand drop from where it rested on the table in front of them. “You...you don’t want to be together?”

Sirius forced a laugh, made it sound as sharp and acerbic as possible. It tore at his throat; he choked, trying to push it down. “Finally you get it. Yeah. We’re finished.”

“Bullshit,” Remus said. “What did you mother do now?”

Sirius shook his head. “Screw my mother. I’m talking about us. We’re done.”

“No, we’re not.” Remus swore, viciously; he looked furious, like some avenging angel painted in light. “What sort of absolute bullshit is this? How badly did she hurt you?”

“Remus - “

Remus’ eyes widened. “Oh,” he whispered, his hands white knuckled on the table. “Oh. Oh fuck.”

“Remus, shut up - “

“It’s not you, is it?” Remus whispered, his voice practically a breath. “It’s Regulus. Or me. That’s the only reason.”

Sirius closed his eyes. He could see the future, lying ahead of him clearly; all the darkness and rages and flickering lights. He could feel the tension in the room, like a loop of string pulled double underneath his rib cage, yanking at his lungs with every breath he took.

Remus knew him too well. That was the problem, what had made him fall in love with him in the first place. Remus knew him too well and everything would go to he if he didn’t -

“No,” Sirius said, his voice ice-cold. His gut rolled, nausea overtaking him in waves, the world spinning in huge, heaving circles. “It’s not her. It’s me.”

Remus shook his head. “Nice try. I don’t believe you?”

“Oh really?” Sirius asked. He bit his lip, hard, hating himself with every breath he took. “I told you, it’s me. Do you think I’d really want to date - “

Remus’ face had gone white. “Sirius - “

“Date a monster like you?” The words hurt, like his throat was being cut with razor blades. “That’s all you are, Remus. You’re a monster, something hiding in human flesh. You think I don’t see you during the Full Moon? I’ve seen you tear into animals, watched you crack bones with a single bite. I’ve seen you tear into James’ and I for fuck’s sake - you’re dangerous, Remus! You’re a menace!”

Remus staggered back, like the words physically hit him. Sirius’ gut twisted; he wanted to fall to his knees, beg for Remus’ forgiveness but he stopped himself. Breathe, he thought, This is for him. This is all for him.

“No,” Remus said. “I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” Sirius gritted his teeth. “You think I enjoyed you? Enjoyed sharing my bed with a monster? Enjoyed having to put up with all...all your quirks and habits, having to transform every full moon? I don’t like you, Remus - I never did. I just wanted someone different to fuck and you were there and - “ He broke off. “I don’t want you, Remus.”

And it was ironic, so bitterly ironic that it was only his love for Remus that let him know what exactly to say. Remus looked shattered, like he had been folded in on himself, rage and panic and betrayal and sorrow rolled into one.

“You know what?” he said slowly. “You’re right. I am a monster. But not because I’m a werewolf. It’s because I let myself fall in love with a bastard and I was too blind to see it.”

Sirius took a deep breath. “I’m not a bastard.”

“Oh fuck you,” Remus sneered. He was crying, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Fuck You. Fuck everything, we’re done. Happy now? Happy for playing with my heart you absolute BASTARD?”

“Remus - “

“I hope,” Remus said, his voice cold, “That you never leave. That you stay trapped in that house with your bitch of a mother. That would be perfect - the two of you can screw around together and no one will give a damn. Maybe you should join the Death Eaters, Sirius. Kill all the werewolves. Maybe you’ll try and kill me, hmm? Put me down like the monster I am.”

He swore, grabbing his trunk; his sleeve slipped down slightly, revealing the layers of scars that were so familiar to Sirius. “Fuck off,” he spat. “I trusted you. I fucking trusted you, I thought we were special. I thought you were different, I thought that you could be better. But you know what? All you Blacks are the same. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it Sirius?”

Instinctively Sirius reached out; there was a bang and suddenly Sirius was on his side, Remus’ wand in front of his face.

“I would have punched you, but I would have tainted you with my filthy, halfbreed hands,” he said disgustedly. “Fuck off and die you selfish son of a bitch!”

The wounds on Sirius back had reopened, blood spilling down his back as he watched Remus storm up the stairs. He welcomed the pain, let it wash over him, curled up on his side as he gritted his teeth.

At least he’ll be safe, Sirius thought. That’s all that matters. He’s safe.

Sirius curled onto his side and sobbed.

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 177: His True Love

He tried to go back to normal. He tried. But more than a month later and he felt like every morning the sun came up was the morning after she'd gone. Every time he had tea it tasted bland or it was too cold, hot, too old-imperfect. Every night he spent in his tower, he held back tears and constantly found himself ambling over to his tower windows, looking into her blackened library tower, glancing down the road, wondering if she'd ever come back.

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to.

He prepared for her to do so; for that possibility alone, he found himself at the forge late one night, the name Nimue scribbled on his dagger which held a trickled of blood he'd drawn himself from the Original even as she stared at him in contempt. She knew why he was taking it, how he'd come up with the idea to make a binding spell with her blood so that if Belle did come back and refuse to leave, they'd be free to do as they pleased without having to worry about her ever taking the curse from him again. After he completed the potion, True Love's Kiss, and a number of other lesser-known "cures" for curses, would never pose a threat to him again. Only the Seer seemed saddened by it, an emotion he quickly shoved aside.

"Clever, Rumpelstiltskin...none of us have ever thought of something like this," the Original muttered in a voice that sounded like she was mocking him just as much as she was praising him. He really couldn't bring himself to give a fuck about what she thought.

"Age comes with wisdom," he explained away.

"You know it won't work for everything. You'll still be vulnerable to the dagger, to the apprentice...to Merlin."

He glared at her as the blood on the dagger slid into the potion bottle he carried with him. He knew what she was doing, what she was trying to get him to do. But he just didn't care anymore. He was the strongest Dark One now, and he hadn't let Belle go to forget about Baelfire. He'd made his sacrifice, he wouldn't make another one for anything that was less than what Belle had been.

"I won't focus on your problem until I have my son back," he informed her. "You'll have to deal with that. Now, away with you."

He banished the woman away and completed the potion that night. But it seemed to do no good as the effort seemed to be in vain. Belle did not return. He told himself it was fine, it was right. He told himself, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

He missed her company during mealtimes, to the point that he'd given up eating again. He didn't need it. Without her, he didn't want it. It was just another task. He missed her company in the evening. He hadn't realized just how much her presence had settled him until he first sat down to spin in the evening, saw her spot by the fire vacant, and wondered why he should bother. He missed her when he left the castle and he missed her when he returned, discovering that with her gone there was no one to care about his comings and goings. There was no one to talk to. No one to worry about.

There was no one.

He'd thought only about half a dozen times of going after her, of leaving the castle to find her, or even just checking on her in his cauldron like he used to, but he always found ways to talk himself out of it. Fucking True Love…it could go just as easily as I could come. He had to let it go. He had to.

So he tried. He put her cup away into the cabinet, where he didn't have to see it. He got himself a new tea set made of metal that wouldn't chip. He found reasons to go into the Great Room at times they would never have been together, he went to work in his tower during times that they would have been together. He left the curtains open, unwilling to think of time as "before Belle" and "after Belle". He made his deals. All kinds of deals. All the time. Whenever someone requested him. Even if it was easy or stupid or in the name of love. It was just something to do. It was just something to take his mind off of her.

But it never worked.

He felt Regina the moment that she was on his property. She'd arrived in his tower, as she usually did, probably expected to find him. But he was down in the Great Room. It was the middle of the day. He didn't care. It was a time of day they wouldn't have been together, so that was when he'd decided to leave his work and spin, to make tea, to listen to the empty space where the sound of pages turning should have been.

He hadn't seen Regina in months, not since Belle had been in trouble and he'd gone looking for her in the wrong place. Even after a month without Belle, he was still furious with the witch. So furious that he'd been sorely tempted to kill Robin Hood, "her heart", in retaliation. He'd gone so far as to track him down and found him with his infant son, his wife gone or dead or just missing, he'd never figured it out. He'd resisted killing him though. For one, though his gut told him he was right, he truly had no idea if Regina was the "she" that Belle had talked to, and he'd decided that he didn't want to know. He had to work with her. He still had to use her to cast his Curse and he didn't want it to get in the way. She might have taken Belle from him, but he wouldn't let her take Baelfire as well. Second, if he was destined to be her heart as Belle had been his own, he wanted to give her the opportunity to fall in love with the wretch before he killed him. Daniel be damned. He wanted her to know what it felt like to wait for something and then have it taken away and he wanted it done by his own hands. He'd waited over a hundred years to get his son back…he could wait just as long to take his revenge on Regina. So he'd resolved to leave well enough alone, to continue to work with her as though nothing again changed. But that didn't mean he was going to be overly kind to the woman.

He used a bit of magic to lock the door on the Great Hall. It was a simple spell she could probably break through in a minute. But at least she'd have to work for it. The door did eventually open, just as he'd expected she would, and Regina sauntered in as if she owned the place. He let her despite the fact that he wanted her gone.

"Flimsy locks!" she announced stupidly. If he'd truly wanted her out, he wouldn't have made them flimsy. From now on, when he saw her he had to think of his Baelfire and all she was going to get for him. "I have a deal to discuss. A certain…mermaid…" she pronounced as he turned back to his wheel. Not looking at her helped. A bit.

"I'm not dealing today," he muttered after taking a moment to will the Seer to say something. She didn't, confirming what he knew. The mermaid, whoever she was, wasn't important to the future. That being the case, he didn't really give a fuck about Regina's mermaid. He'd been making deals every day since Belle left, he just wasn't feeling particularly dedicated to helping Regina with something that didn't involve the Curse.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her words forced him to apply so much pressure to his wheel that he stopped it. And when he turned to glare at her over his shoulder, he found she was there, staring back at him. Angry didn't even begin to describe what he felt toward her at the moment. What he felt was too complicated for one word.

"What is it this time?"

He couldn't be sure she was Belle's "she". He kept telling himself that. But he didn't know who else it could have been. Was it the time he'd gone looking for Belle that had tipped her off? Or had that Genie of hers had seen the pair of them in the mirror? He would have liked to know.

"Your little deception failed," he tempted. "You'll never be more powerful than me. You can keep trying, dearie, but you're never going to beat me."

"Is this about that girl I met on the road? Hm…" Regina taunted suddenly; unexpectedly. He kept spinning, kept turning his wheel on and on but only because he knew that if he didn't, he might turn around and kill her right now. Met her on the road…he'd potentially betrayed Belle to Regina when he'd gone after her, he'd mentioned her when he'd forced her to come to the castle to get her glamor removed, he'd stood boldly with her in front of the mirror in plain view of her, but never not once to his knowledge had she ever met Belle. It was her. She'd found her on the road to town. They'd had a conversation, Regina was the one who'd filled her head, who'd poisoned what was between them. Regina was the reason Belle was gone. Without that talk, things might have been normal right now. "What was her name? Margie?"

Baelfire…think of Baelfire..."

Verna?"

"Belle," he spat out without thinking.

"Right," Regina practically growled, as if she was the one who was angry as if she had any reason to be pissed at him. She was the problem, not he. And he couldn't wait to get to Baelfire and teach her a lesson she'd never forget. "Well, you can rest assured I had nothing to do with that tragedy."

He felt his body go cold as he stopped the spinning of the wheel. Tragedy. What tragedy? What had happened here? No one knew about what happened between them. And he felt certain Belle was smart enough not to tell people and draw attention to herself. Why had she used that word?

He left his wheel and moved closer to Regina, who was helping herself to a cup of tea. "What tragedy?"

"You don't know?!" she blanched. "Well," she huffed as if she was surprised. The spoon she was using clattered against the metal tray when she set it down. "After she got home…her fiancé had gone missing."

His heart was already racing by the time Regina spoke, but now it felt as though his chest was squeezing the air out of his lungs. Home! She'd gone home?! He'd felt certain that she wouldn't, that she would have been hurt when she left him, but she was strong. She'd have picked herself up, gone out to see the world. Why would she go home? Why would Gaston's death affect her?

"And after her stay here, her…association with you…no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out."

His mouth was dry, but his throat was thick and sticky. Maurice…a coward if he'd ever met one. She'd walked all the way home with nothing, a single dress and not a penny to her name! And then she'd been cast out. She'd be weak. Why hadn't he thought to check on her, why hadn't he thought to send her away with something?! Why hadn't he made arrangements?! It wasn't too late. He could still arrange something. He could find her, he could find someone to take her, he could pay for her pain, pay to make her life better! He could fix this! He just had to do it so that he stayed away.

"So, she needs…a home."

"He was cruel to her!" Regina shouted with a wicked smile. "He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower," she shrugged. "She died."

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't find it in him to breathe or tremble or even cry. The world seemed to have stopped. A second lasted an hour. Was this the same day? Was this a nightmare? Was this some kind of a trick? A terrible joke? Oh, he prayed she was scheming something!

"You're lying," he managed to choke out, unable to care if he showed too much emotion. His knees were shaking, he was lucky he hadn't fallen to his knees.

"Am I?" the Queen questioned without a smile, without wavering, without so much as a twinkle in her eye.

Oh…Belle.

His Belle.

He hurt. He hurt everywhere and nowhere. His heart ached. He felt as though it had exploded from his chest, that it was shriveling up second by second. He wanted to die too. He did. If the words were true he didn't care about killing Regina, for one second, he didn't even care about getting back to Baelfire…he just wanted to be alone and wither away in her chair by the fire.

"We're done," he managed to choke out through some miracle. He was walking. He was walking to the door, and he was using magic to open it for her…but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel the weight of his body coming down on the floor or the thrill of magic in his body. He felt nothing. The room was bright. He felt only blackness. "Fine," he heard Regina spit out. "I have other calls to make."

On her way to the door, she ran her finger over the table and examined it. Dust. He struggled not to wince. Even the dust reminded him of her.

"The place is looking dusty, Rumple." When she stood face to face with him, she sneered and leaned forward. "You should get a new girl."

Regina left. His air left his lungs, the beat in his heart faded, and he doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, a show of weakness he hadn't experienced since he was human. It was only fitting. She always made him feel human. Even in…

Death. She was dead. It didn't seem possible. She was a bright light a strong woman, determined! She'd thrown herself off the tower?! She'd killed herself?! What had she gone through, what had Maurice put her through that she'd broken and given up hope? And she hadn't tried to summon him?! She hadn't even called out to him to help her because…

Because he'd broken her. Just like he broke everyone and everything around him. He'd broken Bae and Milah, he'd very purposefully destroyed whatever Regina might have been to suit himself, and now Belle…

Belle.

His eyes darted to the cabinet, the place that he'd stored her cup, unable to destroy it he'd had no choice but to hide it from sight but now…he wanted that cup. He wanted to be close to her in some way. He wanted to be reminded of her. He strode over and removed it from where he'd stashed it and nearly dissolved into tears the first time it was in his hands again, the first time he laid eyes on that chip. He saw her then, just as perfect and solid as if she was there! He saw the night she'd chipped it all over again, the way her blush had crept up her chest, how nervous she'd been, how beautiful. Oh, if he'd known that he loved her even then…

He moved carefully, step after step from the cabinet to a pedestal, the one that held the phony Grail.

She was dead. She was gone. His memories of her were strong, so strong that sometimes he felt like he could still feel her close to him. She was dead, and the Seer was never wrong. That meant that the images he'd seen in his head, those that he'd been so worried about and sent her away for, were not visions, but merely fantasies. A dead woman couldn't tell him she loved him, a dead woman couldn't bear him children, a dead woman couldn't wake up in the bed next to him, a dead woman wouldn't wear white and make vows. A dead woman had no life. The shoulder he'd seen in the bed beside him, it wasn't her. But oh, how he wished it was. She would have been perfect, he'd have worshiped her! They would have had a True Love to celebrate. A True Love that never really got off the ground. He hadn't felt a thing when she died. True Love had a tendency to do that, they could sense when one life passed. But that was True Love that was allowed to flourish as theirs never had. Because of him. Because he'd feared those fantasies he'd had of her, because he'd let himself have feelings for her and develop a connection. Because he'd let her go, all for a fear of visions that were never to be. He hadn't been there to protect her.

Her death was on his hands.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Nimue #Belle #REgina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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hp-rbiim · 5 years

Text

The Significance of Moving On

Rating: G Word count: 2162 Tags: Aurors, Office Work, Domestic, Drarry

Read me on AO3

_______________________

Potter had said, “Let’s be friends.” He looked at Draco meaningfully, as if this was something Draco was supposed to naturally understand. _______________________

Potter brought him to the forest, once. The forbidden one where ‘it’ happened.

He told him what had happened there, but Draco didn’t really care, not in the way that someone was supposed to. It wasn't that he didn't care about Potter, because he did. He cared for Potter. The rest, however, Draco would rather remember less of. Except, the Dark Lord was hard to forget.

If anything, what this forest meant to Draco were of two different things than what it had meant to Potter: the first of which was the significance of his mother’s choice; the second was that this was the place Potter brought him in resolution of moving on from their school rivalry.

Draco had asked him why he was telling him all of this. It certainly wasn't of any particular relevance to what was then a bare-bones acquaintanceship for work.

Potter had said, “Let’s be friends.” He'd shifted his weight from foot to foot in that awkward way of his, one hand mussing up his hair. “We’re moving on. All of us.” He looked at Draco meaningfully, as if this was something Draco was supposed to naturally understand.

Well, Draco didn’t understand, not in the instinctual way he supposed Potter had meant. However, he’d been raised to act a certain way, so Draco agreed -- and that was that.

It’d been months now. Potter’s hair was still unruly as ever. He’d spent so much time just staring at the dastardly tuft atop a single Golden Boy that it practically communicated its own language to him.

“Potter,” said Draco. “Robards wants the papers on the recent potions trafficking case, get on it before he sends me back to you every hour like a blasted reminder remembrall.”

“What? As if I didn’t send those to him yesterday!”

“The proper papers, Potter. Not the brief summary of what you -- lead Auror on the case, mind -- believe to be relevant. The whole and complete thing.” When his fellow Auror failed to respond, Draco exhaled and stuck out his open hand.

“I don’t have it right now,” said Potter, unmoved.

“I know. Just give me the papers you do have and I’ll do it.” Draco gestured with his hands to further illustrate his point. It was hard getting through to Potter sometimes. It was clear by the cowlick at the back of Potter’s head that he didn’t get enough sleep last night.

“What do you mean?”

Draco sighed. “You know what I mean, give it over. We both know you don’t want to do it. Just let me handle it, it’ll be quicker for both of us, then we can both get on with our lives.”

“Right...” Potter was reluctant, but eventually, after a nonplussed brow arch and eye rolls full of criticism, Harry finally handed Draco the papers. He looked at Draco oddly, but Draco thought little of it.

The man didn’t want to do it, clearly. Forcing him when Draco knew he’d probably do a crap job of it anyway was just a god awful method of making people do more work. It wasn’t as though Draco didn’t understand Potter’s dislike of paperwork. There were many things that Draco didn’t want to do, paperwork, well, was one of the lesser evil. Time saved for both of them, and no more Robards on his arse. It was simply easier.

Draco left Potter there, looking slightly suspicious and befuddled, but honestly, that just made Draco snort. Though Draco may now be a goon himself, an inferior doing things for other superior people instead of the opposite; it wasn’t as bad as people believed it to be. It became routine. It was peaceful.

It was later at night, when he had his reading glasses on and he was sifting through the pile of evidence for the illegal potion trafficking case Robards wanted, that Harry James Potter knocked on his office door.

“Potter, it’s not locked.” Not that locked doors had any meaning to a slew of Aurors. “Come in.”

Harry shuffled in, his shiny, new dragonhide boots scooting through the doorway first (lucky bastard), then proceeded to sit down on the nearby armchair. It was a dark green -- the armchair Potter was on -- mostly for nostalgic purposes. Draco could have charmed it any color he wanted, but there was always something about green that drew him in.

Potter watched Draco sift in silence. Since Potter didn’t say anything, Draco didn’t either. He kept his line of sight focused on the pile of evidence, which was a fairly good excuse to avoid eye contact.

“We should get dinner.” said Potter, without stutter. Which was relevant, as the case normally was Potter always did. Especially in Draco’s office. He usually looked shy and intimidated here.

In surprise of Potter’s assertion in a place he normally wasn’t, Draco had to pause what he was doing, set his glasses down and raise his gaze. Potter continued to watch him like a hawk, green eyes full of meaning he didn’t get. Draco was easily provoked -- especially by Potter -- so narrow his eyes Draco did and directed a glare unwaveringly back.

It was almost laughable, what they were doing. “At...” Draco clicked his tongue and checked his pocket clock. “...one in the morning.” Right.

“Yes,” confirmed Potter, gaze latching unto Draco’s every movement. It sent a tingle down his spine and Draco wished every so fervently he could punch him so it would stop.

Neither budged an inch. After about a quarter of an hour (which was an abnormally long amount of time for something as silly as a staring contest), Draco’s patience ran thin, not because he couldn’t keep going, but because he was curious. The reason as to his ability to keep going was another conundrum entirely.

“Why?”

“Why not?” replied Potter, the bastard.

Draco gave himself a long stretch, one arm tucked behind his head and the other outstretched above him. A sedentary life tends to do that even to Aurors. “Potter, there are many reasons as to why not.”

Potter seemed genuinely interested in this answer, so it was then that he repeated his question. “Why not?”

“Well for one, it’s bloody witching hour and you’d be surprised to find a soul working the kitchens. House elves don’t slave for the ministry anymore, remember?”

“Not here, obviously.” Potter scoffed, a small quirk in his lips. “You shouldn’t even be here this late.”

“Potter, it’s good that I’m here this late. Though perhaps absent from the forefront of your rather uncomplicated mind, it would be rather foolish to have everyone go home at a decent hour, regardless of ideal working conditions Granger may have embedded into your skull, because then no onewould be present for the security of the ministry in case anyone would wish to target Britain’s valued, shall we say, ‘trinkets’ located in the -- and apparently now unsupervised -- Department of Mysteries.”

Draco was fairly proud of his well-delivered speech, so it irked him that Potter simply brushed it aside and said, “I meant you, Draco. You were supposed to go home at a ‘decent hour’ otherwise Pansy wouldn’t have texted me. There are others keeping watch, not just you, you know, or it would be rather foolish.”

Pansy. The cow! She was snitching on him. Roommates or not, her blatant acceptance of muggle technology was particularly hindrancing to his self isolation. “Let’s say that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve told you why not and you’ve got nothing other than Pansy’s alleged text to convince me to let you... what, come again?”

“Drag you out to dinner.”

“Drag. Me out... to dinner. Right. With no one working the kitchens.”

“I’ll cook. I’m not a horrid cook, I promise.”

“Potter.”

“Come on, Draco. You didn’t have to take the report off my hands, but you did. Let me treat you to dinner.”

“Oh, so it’s for the report. No need, you probably won’t believe me if I told you I did it for fun.”

Potter made a frustrated sigh then. Draco had made sure he was being purposefully obtuse in order to have the upper hand. Truth be told, Draco enjoyed toying with him far more than he should, and he really shouldn’t be enjoying it so much because it’s times like these that his inner thoughts betrayed his expression.

There was a beat, before Potter said, “Fine. Have it your way. Carry on then.” Before he promptly left Draco’s office with a solid door slam -- and that was that.

The silence bloomed for a long moment. Draco sighed. He leaned on his elbow and flipped a page of evidence with an air of disdainful boredom. The places where Potter was always left a gaping chasm when he left, but Draco was used to it, he had a decade’s worth of practice, after all. Golden Boy might be done with his shenanigans, but it was Draco’s bread and butter. With a sniff, Draco continued to sort through Potter's report, smirking at the chicken scratch writing littering the blanks of the report.

It was invariably easier enjoying things from afar. It’s what he’d always done.

When it came three in the morning, Draco wrapped everything up into a folder, flung his office door open and sent the report flying towards Robards’ office with a flick of his wand. There was a thunk and an “Ow!” which sounded vaguely like Potter, which was odd, considering he should have left earlier.

“Potter? What in Merlin’s name are you still doing here?” Draco cast a hasty lumos just to make sure, and there he was: Harry James Potter lying on the side of the hallway, rubbing his nose.

“Well, I waited till you had your fun, didn’t I? Reckon you’re hungrier than before too.” Then there was that cheeky grin of his, that ‘outwitted you’ face that both irritated Draco and made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh, piss off, you should have gone to bed when I took that report off your hands. You could have actually rested! Are you mad? What are you doing still awake at this ungodly hour? Potter, there are better things to do than waste time in front of my office.”

“I’m not mad. Why’d you want me to rest up anyway?”

Perhaps it was because Draco was tired too, but he lacked the energy to argue or do word games anymore. “Because you were lacking sleep! Why else?” said Draco, irritably.

“And how’d you know I was lacking sleep?”

Draco pushed past the baffling man, but Potter was quick to follow behind. “How is it possible you have more energy now than before? Potter, you’re easy to read, don’t you ever question how Granger and Weasley always have treacle tart ready when you’re feeling sour?”

Potter laughed at that. “Right, so I suppose then, like Ron and Hermione, you took the report off my hands because you sensed my mood? Draco...” and Harry had said it in a tone oozing with endearment that Draco had to gag. Potter even had the gall to laugh some more. “You’re more honest like this.”

“Potter, I will murder you, I swear to Salazar.”

“You can murder me after dinner, sound good to you?”

Draco supposed it was a losing battle against the Chosen One. He’d been hungry for quite a while, his stomach now clearly growling, and his mental acuity in shambles, it was hard to find a viable excuse. With a bit of half-hearted whinging, Draco agreed, and was pleased to see another infallible smile from the Golden Boy.

“You’re oddly caring of me, Potter. I can’t for the life of me understand why. It’s not necessary.”

Potter chuckled. “Necessary or not, we’ve moved on, remember? To better things. Besides...I wanted to.” Potter grabbed his hand then, not just held, but laced his fingers with Draco’s. What was terrible about it was that Draco let him. Potter's hand was warm and a just little damp. Draco was nervous about it, and Potter sensed it, because he started rubbing soothing circles on the back Draco's hand with a thumb. Draco let him do that too.

When they finally arrived at the Apparition point, Potter apparated them both smoothly to 12 Grimmauld place.

There they ate there with small snorts and laughs, but before Draco could finish murdering him, fatigue made his eyelids heavy, and he couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep. Potter tucked him in, apparently, as there was a warm blanket covering him in the morning. It was mortifying to know Potter caught him asleep, but he never brought it up after (to Draco’s great relief).

They just simply had dinner again the next night, and the next night, and the next.

Draco didn’t care that they had dinner, but dinner meant something else entirely to him: the significance that it had become a routine in his life, and that Harry James Potter was there to share it with him.

End.

#IM NEARLY DONE WITH SCHOOL #drarry #my writing #i had a mood to do more mundane auror fics #i really like domestic things #hhhh

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darkobsidianquill · 4 years

Text

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Eight.

Harry entered the chamber, pulled his matchbox-sized trunk out of his front pocket and set it down on the floor. He tapped his wand on the top of it, and it instantly enlarged to full size.

The trunk had three latches on the front; two with keyholes and a spoken password, and depending on which one you turned before opening the trunk, you would find one of three different compartments. The two with the extra security features were book compartments, and the way they worked was really quite fascinating.

When you opened the trunk to one of the book compartments, there were two rows worth of 'shelves' facing up, but they slide from side to side as if they were on rollers. The space was magically expanded on each side of the trunk so even though the books appeared to be sliding into the side of the trunk and vanishing, they were actually disappearing into a magically expanded space. The shelves also looped, so you could keep sliding it to the right for what seemed like forever, and it would just keep repeating the same set of books.

He didn't know how it worked, but he was definitely interested in finding out. He added 'expansion charms' to his list of 'things that are safe to ask the teachers' in a bound notebook he had been keeping for his extracurricular learning activities.

He sat down on the floor in front of his trunk and began to empty it of all of his books. He had amassed quite a nice collection during the past month and a half of owl-ordering from Crespus Publishing's catalog. In fact, the collection had got so large that he hadn't had enough room for them in his old trunk and that was becoming a problem since quite a few of them were of a substantially questionable nature and he couldn't exactly leave them laying on the desk beside his bed for his dorm mates to spot.

He had stuffed them, haphazardly, into his new trunk rather quickly, but now he wanted to organize them. He also wanted to sort through which books from Salazar's Study he was going to... borrow.

The first thing he did was separate his 'safe' books from his more questionable ones. The organized the safe books and put them into the second compartment and gave it the password 'Quidditch'. If Hermione or Ron ever needed to get a book from his trunk for him, he could just tell them that the second compartment was his book compartment and tell them the password. Nice and safe and a good way to avoid suspicion.

All of the other books, he organized by subject and then alphabetically, and then placed them in the third compartment. On that one he assigned a parseltongue password. He used §Notechus§, which was the Latin name for the tiger snake and was the alias he had been using when ordering from Crespus Publishing.

As he was sorting through them, he set a few aside a couple that he he had skimmed through recently and had been meaning to actually practice. He hadn't gotten a lot of time to read many of the books he'd bought from Crespus since none of them were safe to read in the common room, and he had had even less time to actually practice any of it, since most of his time in the chamber had been reserved for practicing the serpentine transformation. Now, however, he thought was probably a good time to try some of them out.

He stretched an arm over his head and twisted a crick out of his back that had formed from sitting on the floor for the last hour. He was relatively satisfied with his book sorting. Most of the books that he had added to his collection, from the Slytherin's library, were books that had probably been left there by Riddle since none of them were old enough to have been left by Slytherin. Some small part of him worried about just how many of Tom Riddle's books sparked a strong pull of curiosity and intrigue in him, but he squashed the concern quickly and pressed on.

He also keep two of Slytherin's parselmagic books.

He looked at the two books he had set aside to practice from and frowned. He was waging a bit of an internal struggle over this. It was so easy to say he was okay with it when it was just a matter of ordering a book from a list, but now that he was legitimately planning on practicing what was contained in the book, he could feel a bit of a queasy unsettled knot in his gut.

This was a book entirely on dark magic.

It certainly wasn't the nastiest of the dark magic books he'd bought. It was sort of an introduction to lesser dark curses. He had already read through several dark magic theory books, but this was the first time he was going to actually try using some real spells.

For a while he hadn't been sure how exactly he would try out the spells. Most were rather destructive, obviously, but he didn't want to start throwing off spells at the walls. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a cave-in down in the chamber and end up getting trapped.

But then he was walking through the chamber one day and looked over at the great, enormous basilisk corpse and was struck with an epiphany.

That beast was magically resistant. Most of his spells would get absorbed right into it's scales, so there was no risk of blasting the ceiling of the chamber in on himself.

He took a deep breath and picked the book up.

It was just magic. Damned useful magic at that. That was all. There was no point in ignoring an entire branch of magic just because it scared those too weak to handle it. Harry was not weak.

Having sufficiently steeled himself, Harry stood to his feet and made his way out into the basilisk chamber. He had the book open in one hand while he skimmed several of the spells and walked, and he had his bound notebook in the other.

The book was called 'Sceadwian's Tome of Shadow Vol. 1; Dark Magic that really really hurts, but won't quite kill.' In his notebook he had already made notes of a few of the spells he wanted to practice, and what page to find them on.

He had two lists. One was a list of environment spells. Things that effected the surroundings. These were spells he figured he could easily practice on the basilisk corpse. The second list was a collection of spells he thought would be useful, but were specifically intended for attacking a live human being with.

He could still practice casting them, but he wouldn't be able to tell if they were cast properly and actually working without an actual person to test them on.

He flipped through his notebook to the page of the environment effecting spells and read through his notes.

Scateren glaesum - Makes any inanimate surface crack and shatter like glass. See pg 98.

Khnwos - Scrambles the matter of an object chaotically. See pg 142.

Dimoliri - Tears down a small structure to rubble. See pg 52.

Collabi - Collapses everything within a sphere of space into a crunched mass. See pg 151.

Quassare - Makes a black point of void and sucks immediate surroundings into it. See pg 172.

Screade - Dark cutting curse that can slice through most anything. See pg 208.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he debated what he wanted to try first. He wondered of Screade, that cut through 'most anything' would be able to cut through basilisk skin?

A cutting curse was always useful, and if this dark cutting curse could actually cut through basilisk skin, it would definitely be useful in other situations. More useful than diffindo, that was for sure.. He decided to focus on it first, and opened his book to page 208 to re-read the section on the curse.

A few minutes later he felt prepared and stood before the corpse and pointed his wand.

He figured he could work up to non-verbal after some practice actually saying the incantation aloud, since he had never actually performed any spells like this before. He aimed at a portion of the basilisk's underbelly, focused his magic and drawing it out and around him and shouted out "Screade!"

He felt a sudden and enormous surge of a certain, neglected portion of his magic flow through him, and out his wand. A black beam of color with jagged twirls of deep purple intertwined with it, shot out of his wand and hit the corpse. Harry gasped and felt his knees give out as he suddenly found himself a few feet lower and blinking in stunned surprise.

The magic that had coursed through him had been so utterly raw and intense. It had felt... it had felt incredible!

He hadn't been prepared for it to feel like that. It wasn't anything like using neutral magic. If anything, it felt a lot closer to what his parselmagic felt like. Only... more.

Harry collected himself and stood back up. His eyes were blazing with a weird sort of ecstatic glee. His whole body felt like it was on fire with white hot amazing. He couldn't comprehend any other way to describe it. He pointed his wand at the corpse and cast the spell again.

He gasped and wobbled slightly at the intensity, but didn't lose his footing this time. He threw the spell again, and again and again, and before he knew what was happening, he was cackling madly at the top of his lungs. The more magic he pulled out of himself and threw into the spell, the more incredible it felt. He finally began to feel so light-headed that he began to waver slightly from side to side and his cackle morphed into a subdued titter. He lowered his wand arm and blinked in surprise.

His first few attacks on the basilisk had left it unmarred, but at some point during his barrage, his attacks had apparently begun to do some actual damage. The small section of snake belly that he had focused his attacks on was criss-crossed with shallow gouges.

Another little giggle escaped his throat at the shock of it.

Power. So much unbelievable, raw, delicious power. It was incredible. He could still feel it. It was coursing through his veins and making his head feel foggy, leaving him in an odd euphoric haze. But he loved it. Oh Merlin, he loved it.

More.

Harry looked down at the book that lay discarded on the floor beside his notepad. He moved over to it in a few quick strides with wide, hungry eyes.

He glanced at his notebook first and decided upon one of the spells.

Quassare - Makes a black point of void and sucks immediate surroundings into it.

Sounds interesting... he said with a twisted little grin spreading across his lips.

He opened the dark arts spell book to the proper page and quickly read through the passages on the spell. He had a feeling he was rushing it, but he just felt so damned eager to try it out. To feel that rush again.

He set the book back down and returned his focus to the basilisk. He pointed his wand, aiming at the same section of scarred flesh he had already assaulted. He pulled forth that intoxicating dark magic that came to him so deliciously easily and let it course through his every limb. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head and another little chortle escaped his mouth before he blinked and refocused on the corpse. Aiming his wand, he called out "Quassare!"

The first time it didn't seem to do anything at all, but he felt the rush of magic. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the cutting curse had been though and he scowled. He refocused his magic, pulling more of it out and leaving it at easy access to him. He tried to control his heavy excited breaths and pointed his wand again.

"Quassare!"

A tiny black ball appeared in space where he was focusing his aim and popped big and then small, and then big again for a split second before disappearing with a Bang!

He felt more of the fantastic tingling vibrating all through him that time and had a better idea of what he might be doing wrong. He walked back over to the book and re-read a passage before returning to the snake.

Once again, he pointed his wand, focused the incredible dark magic just so and called out "Quassare!"

The black sphere appeared again, right at the point where all the criss-crossed scars littered the snake's skin. It grew in size by about two feet in diameter, and during that brief moment Harry was consumed with tremendous euphoria and called out in stunned pleasure. The black sphere then shrunk down into nothing, disappearing completely with a pop!

Where the black sphere had been, now existed nothing. There was a perfect hemisphere-shaped chunk now absent from the side of the basilisk. He could see the layers of skin, muscle, and bone that had been vanished with the black magical ball.

And this is a bloody basilisk! Harry thought with excited glee. Basilisks, that were so incredibly powerful, and supposed to be 'magic resistant.'

Not very resistant to powerful dark magic. Harry mentally chuckled with unrestrained glee.

He closed his eyes and shivered as he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His whole body felt so indescribably amazing. It was like the most powerful endorphins known to man were flooding his entire nervous system, setting every nerve on fire with pleasure.

Harry let out a slow breath and opened his eyes slowly as a wicked nasty grin spread across his face. He felt insane with glee. Too insane to rationally analyze his own thoughts or actions. Everything was about this feeling.

Feeling encouraged by his results, he threw another ball of dark magic at the corpse, with similar results. The insane cackled began to escape from his chest again and he began to send off a barrage of the spell. One after another, he pointed his wand and cast the Quassare curse at the snake, leaving it littered with round holes of varying size vanished from it's flesh. When he cast the spell faster and in quick succession, the circles were smaller, but that seemed to give him the greatest rush.

He began to mix in Screade curses at random intervals, practicing repeating his success at slashing into the beasts flesh with it. He felt the need to move. His whole body was pulsing and his muscles were twitching with the need for action. He began strafing from side to side, and then intermixing it with rolls across the floor as if he were dodging incoming spells. All the while, still throwing the delicious dark curses at the snake and trying to maintain his aim.

Anything to give him an excuse to keep firing off the glorious, amazing magic.

Sometime around three in the morning, after Harry had been laying on the floor in a giggling mindless heap for about two hours, Harry blinked his eyes and began to feel his head clear.

He pushed himself up slowly until he came to sit, cross-legged, on the dirty floor in front of the mutilated basilisk corpse. It was a right mess and it took him a few confused blinks to realize that he had done it all. It didn't seem possible.

Like it had to be some impossible dream.

It just didn't seem possible for Harry to be powerful enough to do that level of damage to a thousand-year-old magical creature. It also didn't seem possible for anything to have ever felt that good. It was like it had to be a dream. It just couldn't be real.

But it had been real.

He had done that. He had utterly lost himself to the magic, and the indescribable pleasure it had brought him. As his mind slowly began to work it's way around what had happened, more and more of him began to grow horrified by the whole thing.

Had that really been him?

Yes.

He couldn't put the blame for this on his companion. That had been all Harry. He knew that. The dark magic had been so good that he had utterly given in to it. He had wanted it to take over.

He still did.

A shuddering breath escaped him and he felt a shudder shoot down his spine, to land in the pit of his stomach with a delicious warm curling sensation, as the memory of the way the magic had felt filled him again.

He lowered his head into his hands and fisted his hair tightly while he clenched his eyes shut.

What the hell was happening to him?

– –

Harry had tried to stay away from the Chamber for the next few days. He had really tried. He had even neglected his transformation exercises. He knew if he went back down there he would have to look at the basilisk corpse, and that would only remind him of how the dark magic had felt.

Was it supposed to do that to people? Supposed to have that strong an effect on a person? He had read a few summaries on dark magic in a few of his text books that made reference to dark magic addiction, but he had never expected it to be so strong, so instantly. And these weren't even very nasty spells. They were kind of mild in comparison to some of the others he'd seen in that book.

Despite all of Harry's efforts of will power, he now stood down in the chamber, looking at the devastated section of snake corpse, and yearning desperately to do it again, while also being absolutely terrified to do it.

You must... face this... do not fear... it. His companion's voice whispered in the back of Harry's mind. Harry flinched in surprise at it's sudden appearance.

His companion had been completely absent during his 'training session' a few nights previous. When Harry had escaped into his mindscape the previous night, he had wanted to steer clear of the whole incident. He was trying to relax and calm down, not dredge up his freaked out worries about the whole thing. And his companion had acquiesced to his desires and had not mentioned the event at all.

"What do you mean?" Harry though in a shaky voice.

The magic only... controls you... because it is new... you are unaccustomed... to it. It will control you... as long as you remain... this way...

Harry bit his lip and looked down at the corpse that was currently tempting him.

"But it was like I was insane... I... what do I do if I ever use that sort of magic out in a real battle and I lose myself? I'll end up killing someone and enjoy the whole damned thing... until I come down from my high later on and hate myself forever."

That is why... you must practice... you must gain control of it. To master the darkness within you... you must use the power. You must use it... learn to harness it's... intricacies... and make the power yours.

Practicing it here... where you can harm no one... It is ideal, Harry. You... you can master your power here. Become master of your darkness... Make it thrive... inside you. Wield it and bend it... to YOUR will.

Harry was slowly nodding his head. He saw reason in that argument, and if it was true that practice would bring control, then it was worth it. He had to admit that another part of him was rejoicing with this new, valid excuse to keep using the magic. To keep feeling that thrill.

Harry tried to shove that insane gleefulness down and closed his eyes.

I can help you... His companion's voice whispered through his mind, sending a shudder through him.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and nodded his head. The corners of his mouth turned up, and a fire lit behind his eyes. He was committed. He would do this.

And damn it. He was excited.

– –

Harry had begun to make a habit of checking for Moody and Crouch on the map, every time he used it. It didn't take long to determine that there was obviously something very screwy going on.

First and foremost, Moody never left his office.

Literally. The dot beside the name Alastor Moody never moved an inch. The dot beside the name Bartemius Crouch, however was in the school almost all the time, which honestly, made no sense since the man was supposed to be a high-up ministry worker with a full-time job that did notinvolve the school.

Bartemius Crouch spent an awful lot of time with Moody in his office, and also in Moody's classes.

Was Crouch pretending to be Moody? If he was, he was obviously using Polyjuice potion, which would explain why the man had been raiding Snape's storage room. But why the hell would Crouch be doing such a thing? Harry just couldn't work it out. It made no sense!

In any case, Harry was more than aware that the man he was looking at in class each week, was most likely not Alastor Moody.

One day in class, the next week Harry even pulled out the map from under the lip of his desk, activated it, and checked. He looked up and at the head of the room, lecturing, was was looked like 'Mad-Eye' Moody. But the dot on the map in the exact same spot said Bartemius Crouch.

It was just... bizarre! What was going on? And did anyone else know?

– –

It was now three weeks until the second task. That week would be his last dose of the accelerant potion, and Harry was looking forward to being done with all the potion nonsense.

Neville had spotted him taking his morning potions several times, since Neville had a similar morning schedule, and had no qualms about being in the bathroom at the same time as Harry. Dean and Seamus were still rather skittish about the whole thing, as far as bathroom time was considered, but at least they weren't being obnoxious about it.

Mostly just awkward.

Harry had been making considerable progress in his serpentine transformation. He'd managed to transform both of his legs into a single mass that melded together and then shifted into an extension of his spine, instead of hips and leg bones.

That had been an undeniably bizarre sensation, but he'd done it every day for the last four days and was beginning to feel accustomed to it.

He still hadn't completely absorbed his collarbone and arms, although they did get very small now. He was sure he was getting incredibly close to having the transformation complete.

Harry's dark arts practice had been going great. He'd managed to control his irrational need to do it, as long as he was regular about it. He dedicated a whole hour to it every night, but no more than that. He even charmed a wrist watch so that when the hour was up, it began to get very very hot. If he didn't stop, the watch would continue to get hot until he did stop. If he didn't stop soon enough, it would literally burn him. And quite badly.

But it had been effective at breaking him from his hazy intoxicated state the first few weeks of practice. Now he didn't need it, and as soon as the alarm sounded, he was able to regain control of himself and stop of his own will.

His companion stayed with him during most of his dark arts practice sessions. He didn't say much most of the time, but he would occasionally contribute little hints, or use some strong words or urges to get Harry to calm himself.

Harry still found that he absolutely loved the way the magic felt when he used it. The feel of his dark magic well was just so much more delicious than his neutral magic well. It was also growing stronger.

His companion had been right when he had said that Harry needed to practice. The stronger his dark magic grew, the greater control he had over it.

He also noticed that his gray mottled mindscape was quickly changing it's appearance again. It now had a nights sky. Or at least that's how he imagined it. The ground plane was still gray, but much of the walls and the non-existent ceiling had begun to fade to pitch black.

The darkness was soothing.

His companion seemed to appreciate the change as well. He was able to spend longer periods of time in Harry's aware mind during the days now. He said it was much easier for him to tap into Harry's magic now.

Harry wasn't an idiot.

He knew what this meant.

His affinity had switched. Had his magical affinity really been so light before this all started, though? He had a hard time believing that. But his mindscape had been pure white. Wasn't that a representation of his affinity?

He was really only theorizing, but it seemed pretty glaringly obvious to him.

His magical affinity, which for some reason he couldn't fathom had already aligned with the light before, had managed to switch to the dark, during the last four months.

And he couldn't quite find it in himself to care.

He liked it better this way.

–

Harry made his way to breakfast following behind Ron and Neville. It was Friday and he was both looking forward to, and dreading his last dose of the potion the next night. His mind was busy mulling over the spells he planned to practice that night in the chamber, so he sat down at the Gryffindor table and began to pile food onto his plate on auto-pilot.

"Hermione...? Are... are you alright?" Ginny's voice broke in through Harry's haze and he glanced up, looking between the two with a blank, confused face.

Hermione sniffed once, before quickly mastering her expression, sticking her nose into the air and locking her jaw.

"I'm fine," she said, tersely.

Harry was reallyconfused now. He looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione, trying to figure out what was going on. It was at that point that he saw the two copies of Witch Weekly that were lain out on the table in front of Ginny and Hermione. He scowled down at the magazine. He couldn't make out the cover, but he clearly saw a picture of Krum from the last task, scowling and then ducking out of the border. The byline also clearly said "Rita Skeeter" under the article's title.

"What has Skeeter done now?" Harry asked in a tightly restrained growl.

Ginny glanced over at Harry and then back at Hermione, hesitantly, as if she was afraid to answer the question.

"She, er... wrote a pretty nasty story about Hermione and Krum," Ginny said, giving Hermione an apologetic look.

Ron's head came up now and he looked at the group of them with an annoyed scowl. "What about Krum," Ron said through a mouthful of food.

"Don't even start, Ron," Ginny hissed angrily. "Not now."

He shot his sister an indignant expression and narrowed his eyes down at the newspaper. He literally sneered down at the photo of Krum before returning his focus to his food.

Harry heard Hermione stifle another sniffle and could see the masked pain in her eyes. He looked down at the offending paper and he felt his anger beginning to boil. He was actually surprised by the intensity of the emotion, considering how little he actually liked any of his once-friends' company these days. They had become a means to a goal, and the goal was was to remain under the radar of the general student populace, and the faculty. As long as he was friendly and he socialized on occasion, and he seemed outwardly happy more often than not, people wouldn't suspect that he'd begun practicing dark magic in Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber.

But still, he hadn't lost all of his old protectiveness of them. Besides, they were his, and anything that the vile Skeeter whore did that was in some way tied to him, made him angry. He would protect what was his.

Harry reached out and made to grab Ginny's copy of Witch Weekly, but Hermione reached out and snatched it away first, causing Harry to growl and glare angrily at her for a moment before he managed to mask his reaction. Fortunately, Hermione was refusing to make eye contact, so she didn't see the fury that flashed across his face.

"You don't need to read it," she said sharply, while staring at the table.

Harry's fumed internally and the angry monster in his gut began to growl and hiss loudly, but he held it in check.

"What. Did. She. Say?" Harry said in slow, controlled words as he fought to keep the beast at bay.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said as she finally made eye contact.

Harry held her gaze for a long uncomfortable minute. Finally Harry forced himself to push the anger away. He could just get a hold of the paper later on his own to find out what the cow had said. Hermione was clearly embarrassed by it.

"Fine," he said as he turned his attention down to his plate and stabbed his eggs with his fork rather forcefully.

–

"Harry? Can I talk to you?" Hermione's voice called out to him as he entered the portrait hole that night. At that moment, Harry was in the process of coming down from his dark magic high, and usually begged off from 'exhaustion' the second he got back from the chamber. His temper was always a bit skewed after his training and he didn't think he could keep his mask on properly in that state.

So, understandably, Harry was considerably hesitant to agree to her request. However something in Hermione's tone made him sigh – mostly in frustration – and concede.

"Yeah, sure, 'Mione. What's up?" He said as he turned to face her and pulled on the most convincing caring mask he could muster, given his current mental state.

"You know how you couldn't figure out how Rita Skeeter managed to find out about you being... gay?"

"Yeah?" Harry said with mild exasperation.

"You and Fleur talked about it after the ball, but there was no one there, right?"

"Right," Harry replied shortly. He really didn't have the patience for her to be beating around the bush like this. If she didn't get to the point soon, he was liable to snap at her.

"Well some of the things that she said in that... article about... me... there's no way she could have known those things. No way. No one else was there, and I've asked Viktor and he has no idea how she found out either. He was incredibly furious. I know he wouldn't have said anything."

"So what you're saying is that Skeeter must have some secret way of eavesdropping on us?" Harry said impatiently, trying to get this over with quickly.

"Exactly!"

Harry took a moment to breath, trying to push away his irritation with her. He had already figured this, but she had a point. He would have to keep his eye on it more.

"Well, she's banned from the castle. Dumbledore banned her after the first task. But I'll start checking for her name on the map. See if she's sneaking into the castle under an invisibility cloak, or a disillusionment charm. But she might be using someone else to do her spying for her."

"Do you think she could be using the paintings or a ghost as well?"

Harry shook his head. "The paintings wouldn't help her. They're loyal to the headmaster. The ghosts too, except for Peeves, but I would have spotted him if he had been anywhere around when Fleur and I were talking."

"And Viktor and I weren't even in the school for one of the times that she would have had to eavesdrop on us."

"Where were you?"

She blushed. "Out by the lake. Under that willow tree."

"Ah," Harry said, nodding his head in understanding. That was a pretty well known location to go for a good snogging. "Well the map doesn't show me the grounds, only inside the castle, but I'll keep my eyes open."

Hermione bobbed her head in agreement. "Alright. I'll keep my eyes open too," she hesitated for a moment before looking back up at Harry. "Thank you Harry."

"Don't mention it."

– –

Sunday afternoon at half past noon, Harry 'woke' from his final session with the accelerant potion. He stood in front of the full-length standing mirror and admired the results of his hard work and suffering.

In comparison to what he looked like at the start of the school year, he was now a solid seven inches taller. His shoulders were considerably broader and firmly muscled with surprisingly defined deltoids. His forearms felt and looked solid now instead of the frail bony appendages he once had. His legs were similarly well defined now, as well.

His ribcage, hip bones, and spine were no longer visible on casual inspection. He was lithe and he liked what he saw.

He smirked into the mirror as he turned from side to side eying his reflection.

"Well, I'd fuck me," he said, jokingly to his reflection before snickering loudly. He looked older than fourteen now. He could easily pass for sixteen, in fact.

The changes had happened gradually over the last two months, and as far as he could tell, no one at school had made note of the rather drastic changes. However, he was pretty sure that anyone who hadn't seen him on a day to day basis would notice how extreme his 'growth spurt' had been.

Still, he didn't care. Magical growth spurts weren't unheard of. And he could always argue that he was well past due for one.

Finally, he sighed happily and pulled on a shirt and then his robes. As a reward, he was going to head straight up to Gryffindor Tower and go take a much needed nap.

– –

He drew his wand and aimed it at the target dummy he had conjured. It was getting easier and easier to access his magic, even in his ridiculously pathetic vessel. His power was growing in leaps and bounds and he was becoming more and more anxious and excited for his final resurrection.

He called forth his magic and it responded with growing ease. It was still reluctant to answer the his call with this pathetic body as the intermediate, but he was strong. It would answer his will.

He mentally incanted the spell and the orange jagged light shot out of the tip of his wand and exploded against the dummy.

He cackled at the dark euphoria. He had missed this feeling. Almost as much as his books.

He threw another curse, and then another and another in fast succession. The magic flowed through him and around him as he effortlessly commanded it to suit his will.

His endurance was still rather pathetic, and his vessel grew weary far too soon for his liking, but he had made progress.

He called his levitating chair to him, climbed up into it, and sighed as he finally allowed his limbs to relax. He guided the chair into the study but instead of heading to the desk, he went over to the large windows and with a flick of his hand, the curtains were drawn back and bright sunlight beamed inside. The warmth against his skin was a relief. The manor was too drafty, more often than not.

There was a great yard and an untended, overgrown garden below the window. He was on the second floor, and the manor was atop a hill. From his vantage point he could look out and see Little Hangleton in the distance.

A hissing sound from behind him brought a smile curling upon his lipless face. Nagini climbed up onto the sill of the window and he shifted in his chair so that his small bony hand could reach out and touch her. He hummed in contentment at the soft feel of her scales beneath her fingers. She hissed back in pleasure, happy to be at her master's side and told him so. She also told him that she was hungry and wished he would allow her to visit the local town's park so she could eat one of the younglings who played there.

He chuckled, but told her that she would have to limit her diet to the creatures in the nearby woods. She sulked but didn't press the matter.

§Ah, love, I know you are bored and frustrated here. I am as well. But soon, we will be free to leave this place and I can finally resume my work,§ he hissed to her as he lovingly ran his fingers over her head.

– –

It was three weeks until the task and Harry was currently racing from the second floor corridor, down the grand staircase, and towards the entry hall. He had a triumphant grin across his face as he ran.

He had done it.

He had finally completely succeeded at his first serpentine transformation. He could turn into a huge sea snake, and do it at will with ease. He'd got the transformation time down to less than a minute and finally felt like he was ready to try it out in the water.

He had three weeks to practice actually swimming in that damned freezing lake, and making use of the warming and bubble-head charms. He was fairly confident that it would be enough time, but he was anxious to get started.

He escaped the castle and began to jog down the grounds towards the lake when he came across Hagrid coming out of the forbidden forest followed immediately by young golden-colored unicorn foal. Harry grinned, feeling a wave of relief that his Care of Magical Creature's course had finally started covering creatures that weren't constantly trying to eat him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the blast-ended skrewts.

Hagrid grinned at him and waved cheerily. Harry chuckled and waved back but kept on running. He reached the shore of the lake and began to make his way around it until he had reached a section far enough away from the castle, and with a thick enough collection of trees nearby to hide him from anyone who might be watching.

He reached out with his magic, searching for any nearby magical auras, just in case that Skeeter whore was around under an invisibility cloak or something, but he sensed nothing.

He stripped down to his boxers, which was horrifying since it was bloody February, and it was COLD! He quickly cast a warming spell on himself and instantly sighed in relief as a magical barrier surrounded his whole body, creating a small pocket of warmth. Next he swirled his wand around his face, casting the bubble-head charm directly over his mouth and nose.

He gave a few test breaths to make sure the bubble was actually working. When he was convinced the charm was performing as it should be, he steeled himself and jumped into the lake.

Warming charm or no, it was still really bloody cold. But it was just cold, not the icy-freezing-suffering-pain that he was sure it would be without the charm.

He let himself sink down as far as his body would allow, given natural buoyancy, and began to focus on the transformation.

He held his legs down straight below him and felt as they magically melded together. His arms tingled uncomfortably as they shrunk down into nothing but vestigial limbs. His skull shrunk and streamlined, his jaw structure changed and he felt his hinged fangs grow in. A moment later, he was a long, large serpent. A streamlined mass of muscle and strength. He gave a quick test breath from the bubble and could tell it was still in place and still working. His lungs could hold enough oxygen to last him twenty minutes underwater, but he would still want to ration his air since he was using a small bubble over his smaller snake face, and would need it to last an hour during the actual task.

He opened his eyes, but kept his secondary set of eyelids closed to protect his pupils. His underwater vision was impressive and he would have grinned smugly, if he had been capable of it in this form.

He gave a few experimental swishes of his strong powerful body and began to practice swimming.

There was a modicum of instinct that was working for him, but he was still going to have to learn most of it the hard way. Which also meant practice.

–

The one-to-two hours each night that Harry had previously dedicated to trying to master his transformation was now moved to the afternoon and used to practice swimming. After a few days, he added in practice using the locator spell in his snake form, as well.

Since he couldn't exactly hide things in the lake himself, he started using the spell to locate different creatures that he knew should be in the lake already.

Most of the time he just located the giant squid, but he located the merfolk's village, and a large colony of grindylows, as well.

Nothing down there was ever the slightest bit suspicious of him – although several things were quite wary and steered clear of him. As far as any could tell, he was just a very large water snake.

While Harry would have thought that the present of a large snake would be an unlikely occurrence in a Scotland loch in the dead of winter, nothing else in the lake seemed to think so. But the more time he spent down there, the more he became aware that the Black Lake was filled with a large array of very strange and inexplicable things.

His excursions down there were proving to be quite effective, and he was now able to zip his way through it's many nastier obstacles without any hindrance. He wasn't sure if it would really be that easy during the actual task, but at least he felt like he had a good handle on the lake's underwater terrain.

After the first week of practice, he reduced his time spent in the lake to one hour, three times a week, just to keep in good form.

He had been falling behind in his homework lately since he had been putting so much of his efforts towards his preparation for the task, and into his private studies of the dark arts. He had a lot to catch up on, and began to use his now increased free time to work on his back log.

– –

"I want to try something a little different today," Moody said as he came to stand beside his desk and leaned his weight on the corner to allow his fake leg to rest. He looked out over the class of forth year students and smirked.

"Who can tell me the most important difference between an experienced dark wizard, and an inexperienced one?"

The class looked around and quiet murmurs could be heard, but no one raised their hand at first. Hesitantly Seamus rose his.

"Mr. Finnigan," Moody said, nodding his chin towards Seamus.

"Uh, an inexperienced dark wizard won't know as many spells as an experienced one?"

"Well, that is true, but it's not the most important difference. Anyone else?"

"An inexperienced wizard will make more mistakes in an actual battle?" Hermione asked.

"Again true, but that could be said for any experienced wizard versus an inexperienced one. I'm talking specifically about a dark wizard. Anyone?"

Hesitantly, Harry rose his hand.

"Mr. Potter," Moody called out.

"An inexperienced dark wizard won't have control of the dark magic yet. The magic will still be controlling him."

Moody looked impressed and smirked.

"Correct, Mr. Potter!" Moody pushed himself up off the corner of the desk and began his rough pacing. "But is that truly an advantage, or a disadvantage?"

"It depends on how powerful the dark wizard in question is," Harry said.

"Oh?" Moody asked, curiosity and interest shining in his eyes.

"Well... if the wizard had a really large magical power well to draw from, starts using dark spells, and gets lost in the dark madness, they may just go berserk and start blowing up and slaughtering everything in range.

"They may be easier to take out because they're not necessarily thinking defensively, or using a strategy, but you have to be able to dodge and counter their spells to begin with, and you may not have the time or opportunity if they're already gone. At least an experienced dark wizard who has control of their dark magic won't be so wasteful of their power. But they'll also be thinking clearly enough to employ a strategy and counter any attacks you make. So... it depends."

Moody grinned widely. "That's right, Mr. Potter! Twenty points to Gryffindor."

–

"Where did you learn that, Harry? None of that was in any of our defense text books," Hermione said in a flustered, frustrated tone as they walked down the corridor towards the grand staircase.

"Er, it was in one of the books I owl-ordered on my own, I think," Harry said dismissively.

"Really? Can I borrow it?" Hermione said, looking bright and excited.

"Uhm... I'll see if I can remember which one it was from and dig it out sometime," Harry said, hoping that he could just put it off until she had forgotten about it.

"That would be fantastic, Harry. I was really fascinated by Professor Moody's lecture today. I've never heard anyone explain the psychology behind a dark wizard, or the biology of how the magic effects their body, like that before," Hermione gushed.

"Yeah, but what was all that rubbish about endolphins and stuff?" Ron asked. "I couldn't make heads or tails of any of it!"

Harry and Hermione both looked at him with frustrated disbelief.

"They're called endorphins Ron, not dolphins." Hermione said exasperatedly.

"Yeah, well I don't know what that is either," Ron grumbled bitterly.

Hermione turned to face Harry, apparently having decided to pretend Ron hadn't said something exceedingly idiotic... again. "Anyway, I thought it was an incredibly fascinating lesson. I'd never heard that using dark magic effected the nervous system like that before, but it's really useful to know, actually. The fact that the dynorphins and enkephalins in the spinal cord and peripheral nervous system that dampen and slow pain nerves are triggered by the dark magic is huge!"

"Huh? How so? And what the ruddy hell does any of that even mean!" Ron said, cutting back in.

"It means that using a lot of dark magic triggers the body's natural pain dampening systems. What that means is that a dark wizard could get hit with some pretty nasty curses and hexes but not really feel a thing till much later. They'll be able to just keep on fighting."

"Oh... that's... bad," Ron said looking painfully thoughtful.

"But what I thought was really fascinating is the fact that repeated use of dark magic causes a surge of endorphins in the hypothalamus! It's no wonder that so many dark wizards are sadists! They literally feel pleasure when they cast really nasty dark curses at people! The magic makes them feel a euphoric high. It's really kind of sick, but it's also really fascinating."

Harry had to fight against the sneer that tried to pull itself across his lips, but managed to force it down into a grimace.

"But what does that endolphins in the hypopotamus mean?" Ron asked in a frustrated whine.

"Ron, please don't... don't even try to say it," Hermione said, shaking her head and rubbing her index fingers against her temple.

"Well, you know what I mean!"

Hermione huffed. "It stimulates the reward pathways of the brain, giving the person a sense of euphoria and pleasure."

"Oh... well you could have just said that."

"I did!"

"No, you said –"

After that, Harry just tuned them out. He was already aware of all this. He'd been reading up on dark magic for months now. It's not like it mattered anyway. He grumbled in annoyance and hurried his pace towards the great hall. Maybe some food would distract him.

#Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Dark!Harry #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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socdvnts-blog · 5 years

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Wing Commander

Celebrating its 20th anniversary, the deviants of Welcome 2 Show; The Clintoris, The Guch, and The Devoslack sit down to watch Wing Commander!

Wing Commander was a victim of trying to jump on the new hotness that was movie adaptations of popular video games. After the success(?) of Super Mario Bros., Street Fighter, and Mortal Kombat, somebody somewhere decided that Hollywood needed to experience the thrill of space combat with Wing Commander.

Of course, this movie would go down in a burning furball of glory.

Awesome special effects inspired by the greats of sci-fi? Negative.

Historical accuracy to the source material? Negative.

Gripping acting to at least keep you in the space? Double negative.

Need to Watch The Movie?

Hit these links to rent or buy a copy and watch along with us!

(Please note that by purchasing through one of these links, you are directly supporting Welcome 2 Show, and we truly appreciate it!)

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2VWl3VI

Deviant Casting Director

The acting is atrocious!

Was Freddie Prinze trying for an accent?

Panaka from guard from Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace is in it! And he’s a Brit!

Mark Hamill the voice of Merlin? Mark was also a voice on the Wing Commander Academy animated show

Deviant Script Doctor

The space station was in an asteroid, pretty cool, have we seen that before?

Zulu time? Wtf is that?

They do this thing that Star Wars n Star Trek to a lesser degree always seemed to avoid: somehow they’re more technologically advanced (space travel, simulated gravity, etc), yet much of their tech is inferior to ours (computer screens, floppy discs, etc)

What good is a self-destruct if it malfunctions?!

The one-liners are terrible. “Buy one get one free”?

“He really is a good guy once you get to know him.” Is that a popular phrase?

The Kilrathi were garbage.

It’s Just so Ridiculous!

The effects for the fighters were sooooo bad.

Devereuax looked like a zombie, and Blair starts making out with her!?

The Kim Coppola Award Awarded to the Finest Worst Actor of the Film

Matt Lillard.

However, since all of the acting was atrocious in this movie, we decided to flip the script and honor the “best” actor of this film, that being Tchéky Karyo.

Deviantly Repeatable Quotes

When he got thru the quasar, his expression was so terrible lol like a poor man's version of Keanus Ted.

Deviant Remake

Please god no.

Deviant-Worthiness

Garbage, don’t bother.

Movie Details

Directed by Chris Roberts

Produced by Todd Moyer

Screenplay by Kevin Droney

Story by Kevin Droney and Chris Roberts

Based on Wing Commander by Chris Roberts

Starring

Freddie Prinze, Jr.

Saffron Burrows

Matthew Lillard

Tchéky Karyo

Jürgen Prochnow

David Suchet

Music by David Arnold (Theme), Kevin Kiner (Score)

Cinematography Thierry Arbogast

Edited by Peter Davies

Production companies Digital Anvil, Origin Systems

Distributed by 20th Century Fox

Release date March 12, 1999

Running time 100 minutes

Budget $30 million

Box office $11.6 million

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Show Links

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Show Quotes

“This movie is like watching every single CD-Rom cutscene from Wing Commander.” - Devo

“This isn’t the worst video game movie out there.” - The Guch “What do you think is worse?” - The Clintoris

“House of the Dead.” - The Guch and Devo simultaneously

“I would rather watch Double Dragon than this movie.” - The Guch

“I’ve actually watched She’s All That a lot, and I’m not afraid to say that because… I’m a man.” - The Guch

“You saw this in the theater!? Jesus christ!” - The Clintoris

“If you’re Freddie Prinze, do you leave Devereaux there or would you go back?” - The Clintoris

“You know what, Earth had its time…” - Devo

“Do you think the Kilrathi shave down there?” - Devo

“The mouth movement you get when you’re watching the show at Chuck E. Cheese 1,000 times better than what was happening in this movie with the Kilrathi.” - Devo

“He’s trying to break the ice, he’s trying to incorporate himself with the rest of the crew and what does he do? He brings that sweet sweet bottle of Johnny Walker Black.” - Devo

“If you were to offer me a pizza and a 12 pack, I’d totally re-watch this movie.”

You can subscribe to Welcome 2 Show on iTunes, Stitcher, and Spotify. If you enjoyed this episode make sure to listen to others here.

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Make sure to join the conversation on Twitter using #welcome2show. If you enjoyed this episode then make sure to listen to others!

Disclaimer The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in this podcast belong solely to the host and guest speakers and are not necessarily representative of the views, thoughts, and opinions held by The Social Deviants.

Check out this episode!

#Podcast #Deviant

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 90: The Extra Detail

The house was destroyed. But at least it wasn't his Tower.

He'd been so angry following Anna's departure, at his own hand, that he'd gone a bit mad with fury; breaking glasses, splitting wood, tearing apart pillows and fabric, imploding stones. He'd wanted to find that little mouse, the little rodent that had ruined all his plans and all the plans of all the Dark Ones before him. Anna had demanded that he turn the Wizard back into a human, but she'd said nothing about making sure that he was alive when he made him a man again. He'd kill that mouse. He'd kill him, then turn him back into a human, and enjoy looking at whatever broken and mangled body he left behind. He hadn't gotten the hat, and though he was confident that one day he would get the hat back, he also knew that he wasn't about to miss an opportunity to destroy the one that stood between him and Merlin's Magic. He could still make his plans work. He could hire someone, send them to Arendelle, have them infiltrate the family and kill the Princess after locating the box. Maybe not tomorrow, like he had hoped, but with a little time and patience, he could follow through. Patience was his gift, according to Nimue, even if at the moment she was not in a pleasing mood with him. All these decades had proved was that he had patience galore. He would do what he had to and make sure everyone involved knew better than to mess with him.

But that damn mouse eluded him. He was here, somewhere in this house, hiding. Every now and then he heard a squeak that told him as much. But he couldn't find him. Not behind the fireplace, not under the bed, not in the rafters, as if he didn't keep checking those every five minutes. He'd checked above and around. The only thing there seemed left to check was below.

He rose from his place by the rubble that had once been the fireplace, then held out his hand to obliterate some of the floorboards…and stopped.

A chill ran through his bod. The Seer was whispering. Then she was shouting at him, crying out at him to remember!

His vision. It wasn't a coincidence that the spot he wanted to destroy first had been where Anna had dropped his dagger. But there was something familiar about the image of his dagger on the floor. Something his brain was trying to recall but it was difficult through the red haze of anger.

He remembered! He'd seen it before. He'd never been in this house before never looked or focused on the floor before through the crystal ball which left only one possibility: the vision the Seer had given him.

His heart knocked against his rib cage like a reminder, trying to shake the memory loose from his head as he closed his eyes and tried to think. He remembered Anna. He remembered seeing her in this house, he remembered taking the tear and the Seer telling him that Anna was the key to the box…

But that wasn't the only thing she'd said.

"But the true key is in the box!" she screamed as he found himself looking back at the floor, his dagger was on it. Both the dagger and the floor melted away to reveal a hole in the floor. A plain wooden box. "Your answers."

He remembered. He hadn't paid attention to it in that moment because he'd been so focused on the hat, on finally achieving what every Dark One had wanted. But what he wanted wasn't what every Dark One had wanted. Not truly. They all wanted the hat. Only he wanted Baelfire.

Anna was the key to the box, but the true key was the box…

Which was hidden under the floor.

The place where the dagger had fallen.

He let the magic inside of him build, he let it grow and swirl and then pushed it out and shot it at that place he was staring at now. The wood disintegrated before his eyes into nothing but dust. He applied the same magic to the wooden boards around it until there was a hole in the floor revealing the true foundation of the little house, then he stepped closer to peer inside. There, in among the dust and debris and dirt was a small simple wooden box.

It was small. Like a child's music box, no bigger than something a small girl might put a few pieces of jewelry in. Actually, its design wasn't far off from what Cora and now Regina kept their hearts in, but less ornate. It was made only of unpainted wood, a couple of metal hinges, and a small metal latch that had no lock or key. It was light, too. Maybe too light. When he picked it up he had the sense that there was nothing in it until he tipped a bit and heard a few faint taps against the side. He rotated it more, this way and that. Every time he heard something, several somethings, bang against the sides of the box, tap, tap, taping. But every time he felt no weight. There was no heart inside this box. So what was in it, and why did the Seer want him to have it.

Answers, answers, answers, answers…

The Seer was chanting over and over again in his head. Answers. Answers to what?

With a wave of his hand he righted a small table that had been pushed away and set the box down upon it. Then, he held his breath as he opened the simple latch on the front and tilted the lid up. He let his breath out in a disappointed huff.

Paper. It was only paper! The bottom of the box was littered with small pieces of paper. But...the more he examined them the more his heart began to race and his disappointment faded. It wasn't just paper. To begin with there was no reason to hide small fragments of paper. In addition, the papers were rolled tight which meant...scrolls! Not just paper but parchment scrolls so tiny they could fit in the palm of his hand. They were thinner than his pinky and tied with a thread so thin he didn't know how to make it! Gingerly he pulled one of the scrolls free. He wasn't about to dismiss this. The Apprentice hadn't gotten so far to protect a box of paper. There was something to these. Something important.

They were touched by magic!

He could sense it as soon as he rolled it between his fingers. It wasn't just Light Magic. It was Fairy Magic. Strong Fairy Magic at that.

Just then he heard a squeak come from near the fireplace and turned to see the same brown mouse that had bitten him looking up at him, his nose twitching, beady little eyes staring at him as if daring him to chase and kill. He was tempting him. The Apprentice wasn't supposed to remember his life or who he was in that form, but he could tell that he did at least in some way. He didn't believe he'd stayed hidden as he tore his house apart and then made a sudden reappearance just as he'd found something potentially valuable. He was trying to distract him, which could only mean one thing. He'd found something important; valuable.

With a snap of his fingers he sealed the mouse inside a small metal cage with a bit of hay. His distraction wasn't about to work. He wasn't tempted to run off and kill the Apprentice, now he could do it when he wanted; which was after he'd discovered his secrets. He wasn't an idiot. Coming out of hiding, risking his life for this box, there might have been a spell on it that did something if he died. He couldn't risk it.

"What have you been hiding, Little Wizard?" he questioned. Little Wizard. That was what Nimue had called him when she'd known him and all had been well. She'd never imagined what he might grow into.

Another wave of his hand and more magic and the scroll grew. So did the thread. With a snap of his fingers the thread was cut and the scroll unfolded to reveal tidy writing in ink that sparkled in the light.

Apprentice, we appreciate your last correspondence, we were all so sorry to hear of the death of the previous Author, we know the pair of you had quite the relationship if only privately. He was truly a remarkable man and it seems his world is all the lesser for their loss. We are however pleased to hear that there is a new Author among us. We shall do our best to keep our eyes open for Isaac and any assistance that he should need in the future. As always you have our sincerest loyalty and thanks for your services to our kind. Blessings, The Superior Mother, Reul Ghorm.

Well now...what was this?!

He picked up another letter, enlarged it and read it.

Apprentice, Thank your for your last correspondence and for assuring us that the Black Fairy remains trapped in her own realm. We have done all that we can to contain her but know that she is able to muster a bit of magic to cross realms for a short period of time when summoned. We continue to search for an answer to this problem. The good news is that her summoning is old and not many can read it. The bad news is that it isn't old enough. We will continue to try and seek out all summonings for destruction, just to be safe, and look forward to your next letter. Blessings, The Superior Mother, Reul Ghorm.

"Well, well, well, a secret correspondence between you and the Mother of all Fairies. Why am I not surprised?" he muttered as he pulled out another one. There must have been hundreds of letters in that box. It seemed their correspondence went on almost as long as both had existed, which was a long time. It would take days to read through them all and without doubt he would but…he'd already had one failure today. The Seer had promised answers in this box and yet nothing looked promising about the letters he'd read thus far. What was he supposed to find? If he were back in his Tower he had just the spell to cast to find what he needed. But since he was here…

He held his dagger tight in his hand, held it over the box, and summoned his answers. Two scrolls shot out of the box and raced toward his dagger, sticking there to the metal as if they were magnetic. The mouse squeaked wildly as he pulled them off. Fear. That was a good enlarged the first, broke the seal, and read:

Apprentice, I am sorry to interrupt our typical "all is well" reports with dire news, but I'm afraid it is a matter of utmost importance. It is my true belief that the Dark Curse is no longer safe here with us. Only days ago, we intercepted two of Rumpelstiltskin's spies, innocent individuals being forced to do his bidding, among our most holy of holy places, seeking out the Curse he so desperately desires. We have dealt with the issue of his spies, but I believe that if he can penetrate this far into our fold then we need to do what we can to make sure he does not obtain this Curse! The trouble is, of course, that Dark Magic calls to Dark Magic. We cannot destroy the scroll as the Curse is too powerful, nor can we think of a place to hide it where he will not be able to find it. We know that you have had experience with Dark Ones in the past. Any insight you might be able to offer us into this matter would be greatly appreciated. Blessings-

He didn't read the last bit, he simply plucked the other piece of paper off the dagger and set it aside. He felt light-headed and dizzy, he was so eager he fumbled as he enlarged it, tore the thread free, and read:

Apprentice, We were overjoyed to receive your correspondence and even better a solution to our great problem! Natural Magic. Why hadn't we ever thought of that before? Rest assured my old friend, we have found the strongest source of Natural Magic known to the Enchanted Forest and taken great lengths to hide the Curse there. Along with a few other tricks we have, we sleep sound at night knowing that it shall remain free of the Dark One's hands, hopefully until the Dagger's Curse falls into the hands of another. Many thanks and Blessings-

He tossed the letter away and let out a noise that wasn't human. It was one of astonishment and relief and utter overwhelming disbelief. The mouse was squealing away but he could hardly hear it over the hum of his blood in his ears. Answers, the Seer said. Answers indeed! For years, decades, centuries even he had looked for the Curse! Searched high and low and so many realms and now here it was! Just like that, the answer to everything, the key to finding Baelfire, it was right in front of him and practically had been the entire time. Oh, no. The Blue Fairy hadn't written it's hiding place down precisely, but "disguised by the strongest source of Natural Magic known to the Enchanted Forest"…she may as well have written it down and covered the place in glittering fairy dust! There was only one place his Curse could be.

His answers were on Bald Mountain.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Nimue #Sorcerer's Apprentice #Blue Fairy #The Dark Curse #ouat fanfiction #ouat #fanfic

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