Hey Sam, I saw you write about that one-shot of Harry jumping through the veil after Sirius and I wondered if you already published that one somewhere or if you are still writing it? If it’s the latter would you mind sharing snippet?😇 I am really curious now
It is not published. I started it around... fuck, maybe a year ago? So, you can tell, I never finished it. I had only a vague idea of where I was going with it. Then, I had other stories to write and just kind of... never finished it? I don't know if I ever will finish it. It's just been sitting in my WIP folder forever. You guys don't even know about half the stories in that folder just sitting there, collecting dust. I need to get plot bunnies out of my head or else I can't focus on what I'm working on.
Anyway, it's called Looking Glass.
“You’re Harry Potter?” Sirius asked.
Harry nodded. “Yes, my parents are Lily and James Potter. They named you my godfather.”
That seemed completely mental.
“Why would they name me godfather?” Sirius pressed.
Harry swallowed visibly. “Because you and my dad were best friends.”
Sirius wanted to laugh. Him and James Potter were best friends? They fucking hated each other.
“I’m not even friends with James Potter, let alone his best friend,” Sirius said in a soft voice.
The kid jumped back, jerking his limbs away from Sirius as though he had burned him. “Is that what’s different here? Who… whose my godfather then? Wait, am I even alive here?”
Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know but I know the Potters had a baby boy named Harry. Their supposed friend kidnapped the kid and brought him to the Dark Lord fourteen years ago. He murdered the kid, so I’m not sure how you’re here if you really are Harry Potter.”
Harry’s chest heaved. “What?”
Sirius squinted at the kid. “Unless he didn’t murder the kid and you’re the kid… but why would he connect you with me?”
“Sirius, I don’t think I’m meant to be here,” Harry whispered. “I just… I wanted to save you. Do you, do you think my Sirius is here?”
My Sirius.
Sirius stared at the kid like he had never seen anything like him before. The story seemed outrageous. Alternate universes. Him being friends with James Potter and godfather to his kid. It seemed like an impossible life to lead. Except the kid was staring up at him like he expected him to fix things, like he relied upon Sirius.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Sirius whispered, trying to wrap his brain around what was happening.
Harry took a step closer to him, his big green eyes staring up at him. “Will you help me? Will you help me find my Sirius?”
Sirius’ lips parted.
“You’re the only one I trust,” Harry whispered. “No matter what universe I’m in.”
Sirius cleared his throat. “That’s probably not the smartest idea, kid.”
Harry blinked up at him. “Why?”
Sirius don’t know what possessed him to do it. He raised his left arm, pulling up the sleeve of his dress robes. The Dark Mark shined brightly on his forearm, nearly glittering despite the poor lighting in the room. Harry stepped back, his eyes widening at the sight of the Mark.
“Tell me, does your Sirius have the Mark as well?” Sirius asked in a cool tone.
Harry shook his head. “No, he… he hated Voldemort,” he croaked, his eyes snapping up to Sirius’ face. “Why?”
Sirius pulled his sleeve down, not taking his eyes off the kid. “Because it was what was expected of me. Tell me, are the Blacks not aligned with Voldemort in your world?”
Sirius dove head first into the alternate universe explanation. The kid seemed to uniquely trust Sirius in a way he shouldn’t.
Harry only stared at Sirius. “They are… but you weren’t. You ran away from home when you were sixteen. You couldn’t take it anymore.”
Sirius snorted. “Where the bloody hell would I have gone?”
“The Potters,” Harry whispered. “You said you were always welcome at the Potters.”
Again with the fucking Potters.
“What I don’t understand is why I’m even close to the Potters,” Sirius snapped. “You said James Potter is my best mate?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, since you were eleven. You shared a dorm together, along with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.”
The wheels spun in Sirius’ head. “Wait, I was in Gryffindor?”
Harry frowned. “You mean you weren’t here? Were you…?”
“Slytherin,” Sirius said in a dull voice.
“So, you never became friends with my dad or ran away or, or were named my godfather…” Harry whispered, his voice cracking. “And you joined the Death Eaters? Do you, err, do you believe in all that stuff too?”
Sirius stilled at the question. Truth be told, he never fucking cared about blood status or any of that tosh. But he had been forced to pretend to care. He had hurt people, killed people, all in the name of blood purity because he had no choice.
“No particularly,” Sirius admitted, shoving his hands into his robe pockets.
“Then, why’d you join?” Harry asked, his brows furrowing.
“I didn’t know I had a fucking choice,” Sirius seethed.
Harry swallowed. “My Sirius is part of the Order of the Phoenix.”
Sirius’ face pulled. “For real?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, you were since you left Hogwarts.”
Sirius didn’t know what to say or to think. But for some reason, he trusted the kid was telling the truth. There was some odd pull he felt towards him, almost like he cared for the kid even though he had never met the kid before.
“And you think your Sirius is somewhere in this universe?” Sirius clarified.
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I just assumed because I showed up here that he would have as well.”
The door opened behind Sirius. Harry looked beyond him, his face instantly paling. Feet stomped and Sirius turned around slowly to come face to face with James Potter.
Potter grabbed him by the front of his robes and slammed him against the nearest wall. All the air left his lungs at the rough impact. Harry screamed ‘stop’. Robards only shut the door behind him.
“What the fuck are you playing at, Black?” Potter seethed.
Sirius only saw red. Best friends, his fucking arse. Maybe he should doubt the kid a little more.
“I’m as confused as you are,” Sirius replied through clenched teeth. “Get your hands off me.”
Potter didn’t. He shoved Sirius tighter against the wall.
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Flowers and Fireworks
Returning to business as usual on the ranch is hardly monotonous with Abby around. New faces and old trails make for good company, even if it means getting sidetracked.
Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)
Content: established relationship, brief cowboy ellie, fluff, poor attempts at writing southern accents (i dont even think theyre in the south), reader isn't described, sort of a part two?, author needs a cowboy partner asap, i know less about horses than before, i don't think any warnings apply
A/N: the brainrot is brainrotting. i wanted to write cowboy ellie but then got distracted by both abby and the excitement of a motor vehicle. had a very specific song stuck in my head while writing this but now icant remember what it was (something colter wall??). anyway hopefully this is a fun read even tho its not too eventful (and also was not proofread lolz). planning to have more ellie in the next part if it ever gets written bc we're going to the CLERBBBB
WC: 1508
You haven’t met her yet, but you’ve felt the tension in the air like something’s about to snap into place.
She’s the rookie. The new kid. The hotshot from some bigger, richer ranch further west with a reputation that stirs more talk than her name—whatever it might be. She’s the racer on the back of a chestnut mare in a denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves and workboots that must’ve lost their shine long before she came here.
And she’s lunging in the ring outside the stables, faded black hat crooked, casting a stubborn shadow over the leafy tattoo wrapped around her forearm. Choppy brown hair brushes her shoulders and burns a color like coffee in the dying sunlight.
Not that you care. You’ve got places to be, and she’ll fall in with the rest of the wranglers eventually.
Gravel crunches some ways down the road behind you, but Abby doesn’t kill the ATV’s engine in time to sneak up on you completely. She comes coasting down the dusty path, toothpick hanging from the corner of her mouth as she grins sideways at you and rolls to a stop.
“You talk to ‘er yet?” she asks, and the sun flashes over the lenses of her aviators when she tilts her hat out of the way.
“Not yet. You?”
Abby shakes her head. “Heard she ain’t done too much talkin’ to anyone yet.”
“Uh-huh.” You plant your hands on your hips and nod. “What else’d you hear?”
“Well, what’d you hear?”
“I asked you first.”
She bites down on her bottom lip, jerking her head at you. “Get over here and I’ll tell you.”
“You’re an ass,” you tease, but hop up onto the quad’s grate so your back leans against hers.
“What, I get one record and you think we’re some big-timers?” Abby scoffs, nudging you with her shoulder. Her braid shifts in the humid breeze. “We got work to do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” is all you mumble as the ATV purrs back to life and jolts towards the barns in the distance. “Tell me what you heard.”
“Not much,” admits Abby. “I mean, not much you don’t already know. She’s got just about the same story as the rest of us. Some ribbons under her belt.”
Dust kicks up from the tires, funneling right past the mudflaps to gather on your jeans. “She got a name?”
“Relax. I’m gettin’ there.” Abby leans to the side to shoot you a skeptical, if halfhearted, glance. “What’re you tryin’ to get under her belt, too?”
“Abby.”
She laughs, then turns her focus back to the road. “Ellie,” she finally says. “Ellie Williams.”
“Alright.” The smell of fuel mingles with the freshness of the tallgrass scrolling by on either side, either one a welcome break from the tinge of manure drifting in from the neighboring fields.
“Just alright?”
“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to say?” you ask. “I don’t know the girl.”
“I got a good idea.” The engine cuts again. The two of you come to a stop in the shadows just outside one of the stables, before the open sliding doors that stare right out over the mountains. Abby twists to look at you head-on. “How ‘bout you just tell me when we’re good to go?”
----------
“Y’know—” Your nose crinkles as you squint against the sun, shifting in the saddle with every step the horse beneath you takes. “I thought Manny was helpin’ you with this run.”
It’s muscle memory—tacking, adjusting, swinging up into the seat. Practiced. Routine. But it never gets old. Not the cool tones of the mountains shattering the skyline on the far side of the valley, or the steady gait of the horses as they fall into step beside one another. And definitely not Abby.
“He was,” she confirms. One hand holds the reins while the other settles her sunglasses on the brim of her hat. “‘Til he got busy.”
“With?”
The corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile. “The usual.”
“Sure.” You raise a brow. “And who’s the usual this week?”
“Beats me,” says Abby with a shrug. “Long as it ain’t you, it ain’t my problem.”
“Speak for yourself. The last usual kept leavin’ him notes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. In the wrong fuckin’ bunk.”
Another grin creeps across her lips as she looks back. Gold falls over her freckled face, flooding the scar on her cheek with light.
“A little light readin’ never hurt nobody,” she teases.
“You think?” You tilt your head, unable to avoid the same expression writing itself into your features. “Then next time—”
She’s drawing away, picking up pace.
“Hey, now,” you call, but she doesn’t seem to hear. You nudge your horse’s side to urge them on. Still, though, Abby’s got a good lead. She passes under the low-hanging branches of the trees bordering the path, through a set of rusted iron gates.
Then, she flicks the reins and takes off.
“Abby!” you shout, and with no choice left but to do the same, chase after her.
A cloud of dust stirs up behind her, but you ride right through it, and soon, the trail falls away.
“I thought you said you got work to do!”
She laughs, easing up and straightening to drop back and match your pace when you slow. Tallgrass rises on either side of the makeshift path—trampled dirt and dust and the curled-up bodies of flowers unlucky enough to fall into the path of passing hooves.
“We do,” she says. “That don’t mean we can’t take our time.”
“It’ll be dark soon, yeah?”
“Not that much time.” Abby rolls her eyes and smiles. “We’re just takin’ the scenic route.”
“You know where we’re goin’?” you check.
“Just c’mon.” Turning back to the trail ahead, she nudges her horse to a quicker gait. The unbuttoned front of her flannel flutters around her, giving way to the thin white tank top underneath.
The ground slopes down, further into the field, as the sun fades over the jagged peaks. Through the yellowed straw and the waves of rippling green, pops of color appear where bright flowers have pushed through the soil and bloomed.
“You ever been this way before?” asks Abby.
You shake your head. “Not that I remember.”
The field is glowing, burning under dusk’s light. She’s glowing with it.
“Well, then.” She shoots you a wink. “You’re in for a treat.”
Just like that, she’s off again.
The rough path winds down the ridges in the hill, between weeping trees with lazy, swaying branches that force you to duck. Over wooden planks laid out across the marshier parts of the lower pastures and a bridge where a dried-up river leaves a gash in the ground. Back up another slope, another patchy flower field, another grove.
Until Abby stops to look back at you.
The Ranch sprawls over the acres of land before the two of you, windows lit in the bunkhouse and the barns and lanterns burning alongside the settled paths. The dark shapes of other hands wander like ants across the grass, while the mingling shadows of cattle fill the squares of plains just below.
“Wait,” Abby urges. The horses paw boredly at the dirt, but, like you, remain in place as the warm summer breeze snakes around you. “Heard about this from a friend last time I was in town.”
You shoot her a curious glance.
“Don’t look at me.” She waves you away, grinning, and points towards the horizon instead. “Over there.”
The first stars are peeking through the bluish parts of the sky, just where it meets the hills. There’s a flash. A burst of red sparks.
“Fireworks?” Even from afar, their light unfurls over your face.
“Sure are.” Abby falls silent as the bang from the explosion crashes, muted, through the valley. “They had some leftovers from the fourth.” She sighs, then asks: “Some view, ain’t it?”
Another smattering of colorful bursts erupts over the hills. Another chorus of pops thunder over the grass. The sky changes from one color to the next, smoke gathering in thin gray wisps along the skyline, before you look away.
The lights dance in the lenses of Abby’s aviators where they’re still sitting on her hat, but don’t quite reach her eyes. She hasn’t been watching the fireworks at all; she’s been looking at you instead.
“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning over to kiss her. “Some view,” you say against her lips.
“Anyway—” Clearing her throat, she straightens, then jerks her chin towards the cattle in the field below. “Race you down there.”
“Hey—”
But she’s already gone. Racing back down the hillside, still bathed in the far-off lights.
“You’re gonna owe me a drink!” she calls, though she’s already dropped out of view.
After a last glimpse at the fireworks blooming over the ranch, you pick up the reins again and turn to follow.
The flowers and the fireworks blur, blooming and bursting against the shaded countryside. Lining the hills and lighting the sky and leading you.
Leading you right back to her.
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