#they’re married whether Merlin likes it or not
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Chapter 2: On the Roof
Shit weather can only stop me for so long! Here's chapter 2
Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner
Summary: The boys receive their commendations, and you keep your legs crossed. Should be easy, right? Wrong.
Word Count: 3680
Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving)
Chapter: 2/4
Minors DNI
Previous Chapter
“Sooo,” Maria Cortell leans as far forward as her bump will allow, drawing out the word with a smile on her lips. It’s become apparent that you’ll be waiting a while for your stolen tablemates to walk onto the stage and receive their commendations. “Are wedding bells ringing?”
Your poor heart, which had only just slowed, skips an unsteady beat. Maria’s question, for as simple as it is, packs one helluva wallop.
The thought hasn’t crossed your mind. You haven’t even said I love you—not for a lack of love, but because you’ve lost many of the ones you love over your life. Admitting the depth of your feelings—whether for family, friends, or beaus—always seems to precede an abrupt departure of said person from your life. But now that Maria has mentioned it, what are you supposed to do?
Distracted, you twist your cloth napkin between clammy hands. It’s not like you can marry Ice and Slider, but you can’t date Ice forever, either. especially not if he’s trying to climb the ladder. He’s expected to marry. To have kids. The white picket fence experience. A wife to come home to.
“They must be,” Merlin’s wife jumps in.
Maria nods with the enthusiasm you wish you felt. “Bill and I were looking at houses after three months. I’m sure you’ve at least talked about it.”
Goose throws back a full glass of wine.
They think they’re being supportive, and it would be nice if it weren’t so terrifying. “I–”
“And now’s the perfect time,” Maria doesn’t even realize she’s cut you off. “Who knows how long he’ll be stationed at Miramar?”
“Ooh! You could get married on the beach.”
Cougar catches your lack of participation. “Don’t scare her off, now,” Cougar says, placing his hand on top of his wife’s to get her attention.
“Oh please,” Laura brushes Cougar aside, “they’ve been practically wrapped around each other all night. Ron said they’ve been inseparable.”
Maria sighs. “Poor Ron.” Carole chokes, but the only one who pays her any mind is Goose, who smacks her between her shoulder blades and refills her water. “I remember how close he and Tom were at Pensacola, must be hard for him to watch his friend settle down–“ something must flit across your face because she hesitates mid-sentence, her eyes widen a little as she realizes the insinuation, and she all but lunges for the distraction of her sentry of a water glass, “–but, um, I’m sure you have a friend you could set him up with?”
“Oh,” Goose interjects loud enough to turn a couple of heads and incite a stern look from Jester, “I think this is them.”
It isn’t.
“That would be fun,” Laura coos back to Maria without skipping a beat. “Think of the double dates.”
“Come on,” Goose tries again, “you don’t want to set someone up with Kerner, do you?” And didn’t Goose know it. He squawks when Carole catches him in the ribs with her elbow, but Maria and Laura are off to the races, passing the idea back and forth and painting a picture of your future while you struggle to keep up.
“You’ll always have someone to keep you company when they end up on a carrier halfway around the world.” Maria.
A sly look from Laura. “You know, if you time it right, your kids can grow up together.”
“Community is so important,” Maria agrees, ducking around a waiter’s arm as dinner plates are settled.
“Sam and I were lucky enough to be stationed near my family when we had the girls.”
“I don’t know what I’d have done without the wives’ group while I was pregnant with Robbie.” Maria gives her husband a tender smile and smoothes a hand over her belly. Whatever she says next is drowned out by applause.
This time—as Goose breathes an “Oh, thank god”—a familiar group of flyboys are led onto the stage. The commander keeps it brief; says some words about the Layton mission and the courageous efforts of the aviators who defended the boat from enemy MiGs. Everyone gets a pin on their lapel before they’re all ushered off the stage. Your legs are crossed by the time they make it back to the table.
The rest of the dinner passes without issue. Plates are cleared. The program comes to a close with the cutting of a cake. A cacophony of music and conversation erupts as the masses are released from their seats and the event finally catches its second wind. More immediately around you, the flyboys spill into the space between their tables and continue catching up.
Hollywood and Sundown introduce their dates—fiancée and wife, respectively—to the larger group. Jester and his wife sneak off, presumably to find Viper but definitely different company. It’s a relief to gain more social padding between yourself, Maria, and Laura, well-meaning though they may be.
It’s while you’re reacquainting yourself with the rest of the group when Hollywood asks Slider if he’s flying solo these days.
“What’s it look like?” Slider grumbles.
Wolfman slings an arm around his fellow RIO’s shoulders to pull him close. “Aw, man. What happened?”
Slider gives him a half-shrug, looking otherwise unaffected. “You know how it is. Couldn’t handle the job.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chipper chimes in. “You’re still at Miramar.”
“So she dumped you?” Wolf’s winces as he looks up at Slider, taking his silence for confirmation. “Yikes.”
“Hey, it wasn’t like that–”
“Don’t mind them,” Sundown says, an arm wrapped around his wife. She beams at him when he assures Slider,“The right one will stick around.”
And the conversation could’ve ended there. Wolf, Chip, and Sli could’ve spent the rest of the night wingmanning each other until it was time to turn in and Slider would slip into your quarters.
Maria Cortell had other plans. “Don’t be ridiculous! We were just talking about how the future missus must have a friend she can set you up with.”
Cheeks flaming, you tuck into Ice’s side in an attempt to escape his gaze. “Future missus?” His tone gives nothing away, but the stiffening of his arm beneath your hand speaks volumes.
Beside Ice, Slider raises a brow. “Were you, now?” This is a conversation you were hoping to avoid.
“Please,” Pete scoffs. “I wouldn’t wish Kerner on anyone.”
Slider sneers, but it doesn’t have any real heat behind it. “Bite me, Mitchell.”
And bless Carole Bradshaw because she sees Pete opening his mouth to say, “Which one?” from a mile away and deploys a very loud countermeasure: “I wanna dance!”
Goose grabs his wife’s hand and pulls her to sit across his lap. “Great idea, honey!” he crows, earning a kiss on the cheek.
For as long as you’ve known him, Goose has always been a darling. Everyone knows it, too. The sun is hot. Water is wet. Everyone loves Goose. His close call on Hop 31 only cemented that last truth. Nick Bradshaw is magnetic in a way few others are, and he could pull a crowd just as easily at the piano as he could, apparently, at his wife’s beck-and-call.
The display of eager, honeyed affection drawing the eyes and smiles of the group.
“C’mon, Mav, give us a push!” Goose loops his arms around Carole as she makes herself comfortable in his lap for the taxi to the dancefloor. “Should be a—what did you call it?—a target-rich environment.”
“Wait. You not seeing Blackwood anymore?” Hollywood asks, receiving ‘oohs’ from the rest of the men. Pete’s shoulder’s bunch, but otherwise, he ignores his friends. Though she was a civilian contractor, Charlie did work for the DoD, and after her relocation to D.C., Pete was technically on her turf tonight.
“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Ice deflects.
Pete grabs hold of Goose’s wheelchair, finding it more difficult to maneuver with two passengers. “I wonder if Penny’s here.”
Carole throws her head back with a guffaw. “After your little joyride? I’d be surprised if her daddy lets her within a thousand feet of you!”
The group doesn’t stick together much longer, inevitably breaking up as they go their separate ways.
“What do you say?” Ice asks, nodding after the group headed to the dancefloor. Eventually, Ice needs to go back to rubbing shoulders with the brass, but there’s no harm in a quick dance or two to break up the monotony.
“That’s okay, Ice,” Slider butts in, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. You repress a shiver when the same hand that had been between your legs squeezes your shoulder, fingers ghosting over the velvet near your collarbone. “You go keep Mav out of trouble. We’ll grab dessert and meet you there.”
The twitch at the corner of his lips gives away how hard Slider is fighting to keep the wolfish grin off his lips. Your ears burn, but Ice’s only reaction is an unenthused, dismissive sound. Both of you know what Slider is playing. That doesn’t stop the pinpricks of arousal from returning as you imagine Slider’s hands—both of them this time—working to finish what he’d started under the table.
“How long have we known each other?” Ice asks Slider.
“Going on ten years.”
“And I can count the number of times I’ve seen you eat cake on one hand,” Ice muses.
Undeterred, Slider offers you a lopsided, wolfish grin, his fingers tracing down your arm and raising goosebumps in their wake. “Who said anything about cake?”
“There it is.” Ice flicks Slider’s fingers from their path and threads his fingers through your own. The same Iceman mask he wears around the tarmac is firmly in place when he levels Slider with a look. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You’re pissy because I had this in the bag before I was interrupted.”
“And how were you planning on getting away with it?” Ice hisses with a glance to make sure the three of you are well enough alone. “Sitting at a table full of people.”
“I had a plan,” Slider scoffs.
“A plan to get caught with your hand up her skirt.”
“You’re just upset you walked right into it.” Ice clenches his teeth. He doesn’t have a responding quip, and Slider knows it. Ice had been too excited by the sudden appearance of Cougar to realize Slider was gunning for a quick win. “All it takes is one mistake,” Slider needles.
Wearing down the competition with technical precision is a page straight out of Ice’s book and his fingers twitch ever so slightly in your grasp, Slider rubbing it in his face that he’s fallen prey to his own game. It’s a mistake he won’t make twice.
Ice takes a deep breath and looks to the barrel-vaulted ceiling as if he’ll find the answers he���s looking for among the gold leafing. “We’re leaving now.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Slider taunts, but Ice is back on his game. He serves Slider a smug look as he wraps his arm around your waist.
“Goodbye, Kerner.”
In the dance hall, you’re a single drop in a rolling sea. The band is louder here, the floor tacky with spilled beverages, but you find a pocket of space as the music slows. Pete hangs onto the edge of the crowd with Goose and Carole, his face pressed between Goose’s shoulder blades as he helps his best friend stand to dance with his wife—Carole, you’re sure, is crying.
Gentle hands bring your focus back to your partner as he encourages you to step with him to the rhythm. When you look up at him through your lashes, you almost forget the rest of the room. Taken by the flint of his eyes in the low light. A smile bubbles to life on your rouged lips is an inevitability.
You spin beneath his arm and let Ice reel you in until his breath tickles your ear. “You’re stunning.” You glow under the praise, fingers playing with the short hairs at his nape. High praise.
It makes you wonder: does Ice even know what he looks like?
The ever-present tan of his skin highlighted by the contrasting white of his uniform. The smarts. The confidence. A beauty mark on his jaw. High cheekbones. The way he moves.
He has to know. Not for vanity, but for fact.
“How’re you holding up?” He must pick up on the restless twitch of your muscles or maybe the flutter of your heart in your palm.
You paint on a smile. ”I’m fine.”
You can’t suppress the shudder that wracks you or the sharp intake of breath when he lifts your chin with a finger, lashes brushing your cheeks as a kiss is pressed to your forehead. When he tugs you closer, you go easily, but you’re unable to fully relax into the embrace.
“Did you know you only say you’re fine when you aren’t?” He shifts his hold so it feels more like a hug, a soft quirk to his lips. It’s easier for him to hold you like this when you fade into the crowd. There’s less pressure. Fewer eyes on him when his hand shifts lower, dexterous fingers tracing over the knobs of your spine and raising goosebumps beneath the luxurious drape of your gown.
The band does wonders to mute your gasp, but Ice doesn’t miss the way you jerk in his grasp. Sensitive.
“Was it…?” He doesn’t finish in an overabundance of caution for who may or may not be eavesdropping. The hand you’d let linger near his nape comes to fidget against his chest as you lay your head against his shoulder and nod while focusing on the ba-dum of his heart. “Do you need to leave?”
“No.” Sure, you tingle with each brush of skin on skin. Yes, you’re eager to soak up each touch. But, as you meet his eyes, you mean it. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by all of this,” you fib.
Slider may be pushing the boundaries of decency—may have definitely blown past them during the dinner— and you may be wound tight after so many days without either of their company, but you can do this. Tonight is about Ice, and you intend to see it through.
“But I don’t want to leave.”
Ice keeps you close as the song fades out and the band counts in a fast-paced number. “Look,” Ice concedes when you break free of the dancing. Playtime is over, you can practically see the cogs turning in the metal of his eyes as Ice comes up with a revised plan. “There are still some people I need to talk to, but after, I’ll get us out of–”
“Just the man I was looking for.” Ice stops so abruptly that you stumble into him. “Admiral John Benjamin,” Penny’s father introduces himself, taking Ice’s hand in a firm shake. “Really good stuff on the Enterprise.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The praise, though sparing, is well-deserved. But the obsequious nature of his comment is revealed in the way the admiral’s eyes scan the nearby crowd. Ice isn’t his target.
“Say,” the admiral drawls as he drops all pretenses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where your wingman is? I want to congratulate him on a job well done.”
You very much doubt that, but as you glance over to where Pete had been with Goose and Carole earlier, he’s long gone—Carole helping her husband back into his wheelchair, the only evidence Pete had been there at all. And Ice knows enough through retellings of Pete’s past run-ins with Admiral Benjamin that you trust him not to sell your brother out. At least, not if he doesn’t have to.
“I haven’t seen him since we received our commendation.”
“Of course. Congratulations again on those,” Benjamin clips. “But you must have some sort of idea of his whereabouts.”
“I–”
“Ice. Admiral, sir.” It never ceases to amaze you how someone as large as Slider can so easily fly under the radar when he wants to. “I need to borrow her for a minute,” he says before Ice can say anything, and because he can’t do anything when Admiral Benjamin continues to squeeze for information on Pete, Slider steers you out of the dance hall.
It had been a crisp 66 degrees in DC, the setting of the sun taking what remained of the day’s warmth with it. The cold creeps beneath your skin as Slider beckons you up the roof access, shimming the door with a wad of folded cocktail napkins so you can slip back to the party later.
Though shrouded in darkness on the flat of the rooftop, the bright lights of the capital might as well be a hair’s breadth away. Too close for comfort. Before you can protest, Slider engulfs your hand in his and looks for a more suitable, more private corner. It won’t do to be caught, though Slider doubts anyone will come looking. But it pays to be cautious.
“You have any idea how good you look in this?” Slider rumbles, voice resonating from deep within his chest in a way that makes your insides quake. He lets you know with a demanding kiss, his lips lightly stained with your rouge when he pulls back so you can suck in a breath.
“Sli.” The wind carries your whine toward the street, where it’s drowned by the brassy horns of street traffic. When goosebumps erupt along your arms, your fingers scrabble for his shoulder boards in a bid to keep him close.
It takes next to nothing to convince Slider to give in to your plea. Crowding close as he smears kisses and color down your neck. “It’s been so hard to keep my hands off you.” Said hands grab fistfuls of you over the velvet of your gown; the smooth rasp of the fabric over tender skin makes you gasp.
“You didn’t,” you point out.
“No,” he agrees, fingers reacquainting themselves with the gusset of your panties. “But can you blame me?”
“Who else would I blame?”
Dizzy with desire, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep a heady whine locked away when fingers slip between your pussy lips to tease around your entrance. “Do you want me to stop?” Slider asks with a lopsided, teasing grin.
“Don’t you dare.”
Instead of giving you what you want—two fingers to fill you where you feel hopelessly empty—Slider’s hand withdraws from your panties. You’re a second from demanding he put his hand right back where he had it when Slider lowers himself to the ground. “Wait–!” you exclaim as his first knee touches down on the unkempt rooftop floor “–your pants.”
“Don’t worry,” he says as both of his hands slip under your dress, eager fingers drawing the lacy elastic of your panties down your legs. “That’s what drycleaning’s for.” But his other knee stays decidedly off the ground.
Slider scoots himself closer, impatient hands rucking up your tight-fitting dress until he can take advantage of the slit in your skirt. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, soft skin exposed to the night, but you’re far from cold as he chases the fabric with scorching kisses up the inside of your thigh. Deliberately leaving marks where no one else at this stuffy party will see them.
His hair is just long enough that the tips begin to curl. You spear your fingers through the short waves and fist what you can. Normally, you’d hold him close as he litters your hip with hungry kisses and sharp, rosey blooms, but with the way he’d worked you up earlier, you pull his head toward the apex of your thighs. You can go back to being Ice’s pretty trophy girlfriend after you cum on Slider’s tongue.
Slider lets out a gruff rumble of a chuckle as if he’s read your mind. A nip makes your leg jump in his grasp, your heel knocking against his back, but he’s as eager to get this show on the road as you are.
Face half-obscured by black velvet, Slider’s tongue laps over your clit. Eyes slamming shut, whole body pulsing in time with your heart, head thunking back against the wall. Slack-jawed, you encourage him to do it again with a shuttered but wanton noise in the back of your throat.
“That’s it,” Slider encourages, his other hand reaching up to massage your ass and drag your hips forward in a slick grind against his mouth. You tremble in his grasp as he continues to roll your hips against his face before he opts for a new angle of attack.
A quick reposition of the leg over Slider’s shoulder grants him better access for a more thorough assault on your cunt, and your back arches when his tongue prods at your entrance. Blood roars in your ears while your walls clench around nothing at the promise of his tongue, but it only teases at your lips.
You try to drag him closer with your one leg, letting go of Slider’s hair with one hand to steady yourself against the wall. Sli takes that moment to dive in, tongue finally fucking into you and his nose bumping into your clit in a way that has your heart stuttering and limbs shaky. Your hips jolt at the touch, back arching off the wall.
It’s messy, the pinpricks of Slider’s stubble eased by the mix of arousal and spit coating the apex of your thighs. The barely muffled slurp as he parts your lips and delves his tongue inside before engulfing your clit in the wet heat of his mouth and giving it a suck.
Slider’s eyes are half-lidded when he meets your gaze. “You’re close,” he breathes, calloused fingers petting up your leg directly to your clit and drinking in the shiver it knocks loose, your lips red as you bite back a moan. “Don’t worry,” he says, two fingers dipping the slightest bit into your cunt before drawing back to rub at the opening, “we’ll get you there this time.”
Against your back, the wall rattles as the roof access bangs open.
Next Chapter
#thirsty's fics#fic: stuck in the middle#fic: stuck at the navy ball#chapter 2: on the roof#tom iceman kazansky x f!reader#tom iceman kazansky x reader#ron slider kerner x f!reader#ron slider kerner x reader#female reader#tom iceman kazansky x reader x ron slider kerner#top gun smut#tom iceman kazansky smut#ron slider kerner smut#nick goose bradshaw#afab reader#carole bradshaw#the '86 flyboys#because is fucking your rival-turned-friend's sister even fun if you don't have to be over-the-top sneaky about it?
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Merthur & Johnlock
You know what I just realized? I was (and still am) a big Johnlock shipper. I love Sherlock despite the many issues I have with it, and it was my primary mlm live action ship for a while.
Then Merlin came along.
I kid you not, I literally said out loud: “Why the fuck was I bothering with Sherlock?”
I didn’t mean it in a “show vs show” way, but more in a “vibe vs vibe” way. There was something about Merlin that made me happier and more excited than Sherlock ever did. Merlin and Arthur’s dynamic was some how so much more fun to me than John and Sherlock’s, which is interesting given the similarities.
Arthur’s a privileged royal who has Merlin take care of him. Sherlock is very capable consulting detective who has John take care of him.
Arthur and Merlin insult each other constantly without any real bite. John and Sherlock insult each other constantly without any real bite.
Both pairs pretend not to care as much as they do, and go full “kill” mode if the other is in danger.
Neither of them know what “communication” means.
Arthur and Sherlock are both self centered and arrogant. Merlin and John are both sick and tired of their bullshit.
While Arthur and Sherlock can operate without Merlin and John, they struggle significantly when they’re absent. Arthur is a helpless mess, and Sherlock can’t focus on his cases to the point of missing an incredibly obvious detail.
Merlin and John are perfectly able to exist without Arthur and Sherlock, but they are miserable or constantly thinking about them. John lives with thinking Sherlock is dead for two years, and he’s super fucking depressed, even with a girlfriend he intends to marry. Merlin can’t go anywhere or do anything without thinking about if Arthur will be safe, and talks about him constantly for no real reason.
Both pairs are willing to die to save the other.
They both get jealous/protective when someone they don’t approve of is making advances. With Merlin it’s the princesses and ladies that take advantage of him, like Sophia, Vivian and Elena (albeit unknowingly), and Mithian, even though there was nothing wrong with her. The only relationship he supports is with Gwen. John gets super aggressive and protective when Irene is messing with Sherlock. Sherlock goes out of his way to interfere and insult every woman John is involved with aside from Mary. While Arthur never sees or is confronted with the idea of Merlin actually in a relationship, I’d assume it would go pretty similarity. His response to being told that Merlin is even “seeing a girl” is disbelief and skepticism when he gets back.
They both make ridiculous amounts of direct eye contact that anyone with eyes notices as being a bit much for friends.
I could probably find even more if I continued to think about it, but my point is that they’re very similar dynamics. So why do I like Merthur so much more than Johnlock?
I finally figured it out!
It’s because in Sherlock, their relationship is constantly questioned and denied throughout the whole show. It’s both a joke, and not a joke. But because it takes place in modern times, we constantly get reminders of “he’s not my boyfriend” or “I’m not gay” and constant jabs from side characters.
Merlin doesn’t take place in an era where they would talk like that. You could come up with equivalent dialogue that fits the time period, but it would definitely feel out of place. So it just doesn’t happen. Nowhere in Merlin are Arthur and Merlin poked fun at/bugged about whether their relationship is platonic. Nowhere in Merlin does Arthur or Merlin say “I’m not gay” or “he’s not my boyfriend”.
I didn’t realize how exhausting that was until it wasn’t there.
While Arthur is definitely attracted to women, and in love with Gwen, there’s never a moment where he denies Merlin. It’s because he’s never asked, but that gives the viewer more room to interpret their feelings.
With John, he’s constantly shutting down any suggestion of being gay, or being in a relationship with Sherlock, despite all the evidence in front of his face that he feels differently about him than other people.
Now that I’ve realized it, I’m shocked at how much of a difference that made in my feelings toward the shows and ships.
EDIT AFTER SEEING SOME REPLIES/REBLOGS: This is not meant to be interpreted as a Merthur VS Johnlock post!! I am purely talking about the subconscious difference in feeling I felt but couldn’t figure out!! This is not a breakdown of all my thoughts and feelings about the two shows/ships! It’s not meant to be about one being superior than the other! That’s why the title is Merthur AND Johnlock! Just clearing that up!!
#merlin#merlin bbc#bbc merlin#merlin thoughts#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#sherlock#sherlock bbc#bbc sherlock#sherlock thoughts#sherlock holmes#john watson#johnlock#merthur#medieval husbands#two sides of the same coin#what’s the cool name for the sherlock fandom?#the once and future fandom
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Imagine, if you will, if in the battle of Camlann, Arthur hits Mordred’s blade away.
Imagine that Mordred hits Arthur somewhere else, say, in the thigh.
A piece breaks off, but Arthur has time. Merlin gets him to the Lake and they say they cannot stop it, only delay it. But he has time. Lots of time. Time to get to know Merlin again, time to legalize magic, time to spend with Guinevere. And he does.
He gets weaker over the years: they forbid him very quickly from anything more strenuous than light training with his knights after he has a stroke during a tournament. But he gets time and they’re able to calm him when he gets restless. Him and Guinevere have children. Three: two boys and a girl.
Melora is first, nearly nine months after Camlann. She has the eyes of her father and Morgana’s hair, but she’s all Gwen on the inside. Arthur roars after her as she shrieks through the great halls, calling after Merlin to help her slay the fearsome dragon chasing her.
Next is Finnr, who is a spitting image of Arthur and Guinevere quietly thanks God that she gets this picture of him even after he’s gone. Gaius says he isn’t sure whether he’s more like Igraine or Gwen. Arthur beams and follows Finnr as he tugs at his arm to go visit the town because a new book is out and he wants to read it to Mildred (or Millie, as he calls her at such a young age).
Thomas is last, as the years go on and Arthur flags in his strength and begins to come to terms with the fact that he may not have much more time left. Thomas looks exactly like Guinevere, and reminds them of brave Elyan. Arthur can’t do much, but he listens intently to all of his stories and does what’s he can to be around. Melora and Finnr whisper tales of Arthur of old, and of the gossip they’ve heard over the years on why he’s slowing down when Mother and Uncle Merlin can still keep up.
Soon Arthur is confined to his room, much like his father before him, and he grows anxious because of this. Gwen and Merlin and Leon and Percival all assure him in their own way that he is nothing like his father and he has done all he can. They have family meals in the parents’ room now, instead of the dining hall, and despite how pale and weak their father has gotten, he is still fair and kind with his children and listens to their stories.
One day, he summons Melora and Finnr and sits them down and explains. He tells them that Finnr may be his first son, but Melora is his firstborn, and he wants to ask her if she would like to become Queen of Camelot. She thinks about it. And pulls Finnr away and discusses with him. And approaches their father with a new proposal. When Melora comes of age, she will be Queen, and when Finnr comes of age, he will be King. And should Melora or Finnr get married, they will decide who shall stay and who shall go then, if they go at all. Arthur mulls it over, but already a smile is breaking out and he pulls them close and whispers how proud he is of them and how much he loves them.
Later that night, Uncle Merlin calls them down to his own chambers and weaves a long tale fraught with danger and loneliness and heartache. It is the tale of Morgana Pendragon, their aunt who was killed before they were born. Melora and Finnr sneak into Thomas’s room and they each make a promise to never betray one another, to always be siblings.
Thomas is five when Arthur is finally confined to his bed. Melora is ten and Finnr is nine. In one of his lower points, Arthur asks them quietly if he’s been a good father. They are confused: how hasn't he been? And they ask Mother and she tells the story of a very lonely prince with an angry, sad king trying his best as a father but failing nonetheless. Melora and Finnr haven’t ran to their parent’s room in years, but they do that night, and make sure that Arthur is safe and secure between the people who love him.
Arthur knows he is dying. He’s spent the last month in bed, but this week he knows is his last and he’s been calling people in all week, thanking them quietly and spending time with his loved ones. Guinevere lies on his chest and listens to his ragged breathing, even as his arm wraps around her in an attempt to keep her next to him. The last day he calls in Merlin, alone, even though he’s always been there.
He thanks him for the time he’s given Arthur. Thanks him for saving his life, in more ways than just with magic. They reminisce about old times and Arthur can see the tears Merlin is trying so hard not to cry. And then, softly, Arthur apologizes to him. Tells him that he is sorry for his behavior in his past, sorry for the insults, sorry that he had to do it on his own for so long, sorry that he’s leaving him. And Merlin can’t help but cry, but he’s laughing, too, because of course the clot pole would find a reason to apologize when he’s the one that’s dying. And Arthur tells him that he’ll never be alone, even if Arthur is dead. He has family here. Merlin switches with Guinevere.
But there isn’t much left to say. They’ve said it before, alone at night in their room. They’ve said it a thousand times in a million different ways over the last near eleven years. It’s more than they could have hoped for and less than they ever wanted. She reassures him that Merlin is welcome and that she’ll take care of the children and Camelot. They whisper how much they love each other when she leans her forehead against his. And they smile.
The children are last. Thomas doesn’t understand yet, won’t until his daddy’s already moved on, but he’s content to babble stories and play with the blankets on the bed as Melora and Finnr try to be brave and not cry. Arthur tells them that he’s proud of them, that he will always be proud of them, just as he will always love them, to never doubt that. He pulls them close and hugs them as Melora cries into his shoulder.
He may be dying, but he is content, and he hopes that they will be too, in time.
Guinevere wakes up around midnight to hear Arthur whisper I love you into her hair before breathing his last. She cries as she hugs his body before sending for Merlin.
#bbc merlin#arthur pendragon#finale what finale#arthur x gwen#arthur and merlin are platonic soulmates#kiki writes#just yelling into the void#battle of camlann#what if#OKAY I'VE HAD THIS IN MY NOTES AND THEN MY DRAFTS FOR WEEKS#WAITING FOR THE COURAGE OR THE EDITING IDK#SO UNEDITED AND WITH MY OWN OCS IDK IDK#I FIGURED IT'D BE BEST TO POST THIS ON BBC MERLIN'S 15th ANNIVERSARY!!#so here's some writing#some random ocs#no i don't remember who millie is#i think maybe just a villager oc??#and also some#arthur x gwen children#idk if this is how this works#hence the ~keep reading~#idk guys just enjoy#AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BBC MERLIN THE BEST WORST SHOW!!#(no i don't have any political evidence for whatever the kids say maybe I'll fix it later maybe I won't maybe I'll find evidence#the future is full of possibilities!!)
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@the-pen-pot tagged me to search my WIPs for the words leaf, star, newspaper, frown, and tea. (I totally forgot to do this yesterday.) These quotes are from two different WIPs.
1.) There was a fountain sat in the middle of it, shining marble, and ludicrously naked, in an unabashed way, without any modesty of fig leaf or strategic hand; but he did look at it, for lack of anything better to do, and wondered whether they had modelled it after anyone particularly, and what exactly they needed with mortal men, if there were among them those sorts of anatomies.
2.) There were stars in front of the visor, and now when he moved, his left side screamed out with a human grief. He leapt back from a slash at his gut, and then, having engaged once more, and forcing Morold’s blade with a squeal into the rock underfoot, punched him in the face, so the helm rang out like a gong.
3.) Gaius frowned at him, taking off the glasses now, to rub at his eyes. “That isn’t what I meant, Merlin. Only that these are a lot of traditional folks. They’re not going to come after you with pitchforks, but very many of them wouldn’t like to think they’ve One of Those looking after their animals.”
“Yeah. It’s not 1950. I know it’s been illegal most of your life, but we gays can even marry now. So if anyone’s still stuck on some rotten laws they can piss off. It’s none of their damn business where my dick is after working hours.”
4.) So now as November banked itself over the Dales, and the sun slowly died out of the memories of men, now anything other than rain, or that fine, mizzling cousin of rain, survived only in eulogy or mythology, Arthur was running about the hillsides after stray sheep or cattle or pigs, and huddling together in sheds which kept out nothing more than hope, drinking tea or poor coffee, and blowing on his fingers to resuscitate them.
I don’t actually have anything for newspaper; also, I am tagging @aemelia as part of a vicious bullying campaign. Your words are naked, dream, eye, and tear. If you can’t find anything for these words, then write something. 🗡️
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tag people you want to get to know better
thank you for tagging me, @strangesoulmates and @afewbulbsshortofatanningbed !!!
Three ships:
Any form of Yassen and Alex having to talk to each other. There’s so much to explore, whether it’s a romantic, platonic, or familial relationship…or even enemies.
Doctor/Rose in any form, though I’m quite partial to Nine, Ten, Tentoo, and Twelve. +1 if it’s multiple doctors and a bad wolf Rose!
Merlin/Morgana — unsurprising to anyone who knows me, I love how they mirror each other and there’s so many interesting ways to explore their relationship…either one of them could have turned into the other if they had made different decisions…and the ambiguity of who’s actually “good” is very interesting too! (I know the showrunners want us to think Merlin’s good and Morgana’s evil, but they both have very legitimate reasons for their allegiances, and tbh sometimes Morgana made more sense than Merlin lol)
First ever ship: hahaha I think it was Guy/Marian from BBC's Robin Hood! Or if you want to go even earlier…my first ever fanart at the age of 6 was of fox-Robin and fox-Marian from the disney version (they were in a car with balloons that said “just married” and I very thoughtfully gifted it to my neighbour (who was single lol) and told him to save it for when he gets married…he was such a sweet guy he actually hung it on his fridge for months 😆)
Last song: one of my birds loudly singing their made up song…and the other one aggressively asking him “HEY hey WHAT you doooo??”
Last movie: Balam Ji Love You — don’t judge lol. It’s ridiculous and campy but HILARIOUS, I actually had to pause the video several times to laugh 😆. Thanks to youtube’s algorithm I’ve made my way past Hindi films into regional cinema, which unfortunately doesn’t come with subtitles…but in a strange coincidence, it turns out the language of this movie (Bhojpuri) is a dialect of the same language my great-grandparents spoke! My mum used to hear it at home as a kid but never knew what it was called. SO I’ve once again roped her in to help translate (she understands like 80% of it, and it fills me with so much joy when she gets excited hearing and rediscovering a word/phrase she used to say at home with her grandparents & parents but had forgotten in the past few decades of speaking only Hindi/Urdu and English!)
Currently reading: an excel spreadsheet of project timelines and marketing goals 😭 (I haven’t read a book in so long, pls rec me funny things)
Currently watching: Tere Bin — the sets and costumes are GORGEOUS and I am so impressed with the acting, especially the male lead who has usually been a very friendly, flirty character in past dramas I’ve seen. Just look at the man in the gif below, the first time I saw him in a drama it was a comedy where he was trying to get an older lady to fall for him so he could have money and never have to go to work 😆 — he's done such a good job taking on this intense character! (I’ve paused on episode 5, because I can sense the cliffhangers coming and I’m waiting for the series to actually finish before I continue watching lol)
Currently consuming: chocolate chip cookies!
Currently craving: cherries. A few weeks ago I miraculously found some for $3/lb but they’re back to like $10/lb everywhere 😞
tagging (no pressure if you don't have the time) @yucasava @irelise @jackstarbrightisaqueen @morfoxx @wishuponadragon and anyone else who'd like to play!
#ask#ask game#about me#desiblr#the real question is: how did youtube know my mum knew this language before either of us knew 🤔#anyway I know Bhojpuri movies get a bad rap but the ones I've watched so far seem pretty well made for how low their budget is!#I've mostly watched more recent ones with Khesari Lal Yadav (who is an extremely funny person) and they're quite nice (and very funny)#they're mostly set in the countryside and the key thing you need to keep in mind is they KNOW they've got a low budget#so instead of making things look realistic they always go for whatever is funnier/more entertaining#but it's been very cool to see the place where my grandparents were born! I'm learning so much about the culture#like apparently we're known for being funny 😂#pls message me if you want to hear me ramble on about this lol
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You know, it’s actually interesting because when you think about it, Henry is interfering in people’s affairs, but he’s not really doing anything to be happy in his life. Like he and Anna, it’s obvious both have a bond. But that’s it. That’s why it would be hilarious if Morgan is the one to try and talk some sense into him.
Morgan has tried chaining Anna in skimpy clothes to Henry’s bed but nothing really happened. Months later everyone knows that Lady Anna sometimes accompanies Lord Henry to his lands and stays there for days. The people of Lord Henry’s lands have kind of accepted the Lady Anna’s presence. She’s the only woman close to him next to his mother. They’re practically married without being married. Everyone in Castle Pendragon and Castle Camelot are taking bets on when King Arthur will actually announce and perform the wedding for them.
I agree Morgan and Merlin should talk sense into him/them lmao 😂
But I wonder tho if Starz Merlin/Morgan can power thru stubborn as heck Mr. Merlin Emrys. I’d expect that Henry/Anna wouldnt even know they’re already together before they’re already together. But ofc Starz Merlin/Morgan can always encourage Arthur to speed things up by ordering Lord Henry to marry the Lady. 😂
I like to imagine that because of Henry’s reluctance to do anything really big or honest, Anna will be tempted to seduce king arthur herself, recycling a bit of morgan’s plan. Whether she does it to mess with Henry or to actually get the crown (the temptation is never lost on her), she never tells.
That’s up to Henry to make a stand once and for all. Take that one chance of happiness that’s quickly slipping away.
Pick ur poison hahahaha
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33 andd... 50?
33. Come up with the best way to ask someone out, right now!
.....yeah i got nothing 🤣
50. Any arospec headcanons?
*SLAMS heavy folder down on table* RIGHT
1. Dani from Sense8 - Aroace
daniela my babyyyyy i have literally no words problematic fave she is an aroace person who is VERY sex favourable and she’s in a straight up qpr with lito and hernando in canon and she’s so fucking important <333
2. Sir Leon from BBC Merlin - Aroace
literally what is there to say... that is a man. he is aroace. i’ve seen him be called straight before even tho he’s literally the only knight where attraction/relationship to a woman or anyone else is not even slightly suggested ik he’s boring but that’s entirely separate to his orientation xx
Tahani Al Jamil from the good place - Grayromantic Bisexual
my ICON the way her romantic relationships are usually a way for her to feel valued and she recognises this and works on it and she has a happy ending that does not involve a partner in any capacity and it’s so SUBVERSIVE whether she’s arospec or not but i gotta project xx
Kala Dandekar from Sense8 - Demiromantic Demisexual
kala didin’t want to get married bless her. kala went on several long rants about amatonormativtiy and was EXTRMELY salty about the notion of giving up a career to marry and have children. girl fell for wolfgang fairly quickly bc of their instant deep emotional connection thank you sensateness then the finale is her realising she’s actually in love with her husband too and having a massive poly demi crisis darling im so sorry i love you but it is fucking HILARIOUS 🤣
The Doctor - Aromantic Asexual Aplatonic spectrums (also genderkdsfklglhl) (but none of it bc they are an alien!!!!)
I HAVE DECIDED. mayyybe they are varying degrees of each depending on regeneration or maybe it's just how they show it but just... the way they experience relationships and how they will leave people behind and not think to pop back.... they like having company and spending time with friends and depending on regeneration are very affectionate and some people they do bond more deeply with and they don't like being left (it's the rsd) and they NOT do well on their own but... they just need someone? idk they tend to move on quickly and not look back and as long as they've got the tardis and the freedom to travel and at least one nice person to run with them show them the sights, they're all good <3
Morgana Pendragon from BBC Merlin - Aromantic Lesbian
it feels so wrong to hc her like this when she’s the literal embodiment of the aromantic stereotype - cold, beautiful, suggestive demeanour, her lack of capacity for love emphasizing her evilness- but at the same time i can’t leave her off this list, and she’s very much an aromantic lesbian before she ‘turns evil’. i can’t see s1 or any other season her being interested in romance, even if she’d stayed ‘good’ she just wanted to be able to be herself and for her friends to be safe.
Samantha Carter from Stargate SG1 - Aromantic... Heterosexual? maybe??
this is a recent one i galaxy brained the other night and the reason why samjack always felt a bit beyond just ‘they’re in love’ finally fell into place *checks notes* ten years after they became my first otp. n e way yeah she’s aro and doesn’t know it and ends up with an increasingly shitty series of men when she already has a perfectly good qpr she’s very happy with and i will make a full post about this bc she deserves it <3
All the female royalty in BBC Merlin bc they deserve an aro club <3
SORRY but this mithian quote in particular just... SCREAMS pining aro struggling to accept themselves under amatonormativity <3
Michael from The Good Place- Aroace (+Agender!!)
which is GROSS 🤢 by the way, kissing is GROSS 🤢🤢You just mAsH yOUr foOd hOLeS tOGeTheR, they're not 🙅♂️ for that!!
he makes me feel seen 🤣💚🤍🖤
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I just want Severus being a protective dad to Harry. Like,
(or, some conversations i think should happen.)
Year One
Severus: It’s not me, Harry.
Harry: But Dad, you like magical shiny things -
Severus: Harry. Go bother Professor Quirrell.
One book later…
Severus, storming through the castle on a rampage: WHO THE FUCK HIRED THAT TURBAN BITCH WHO TRIED TO KILL MY SON?!
Year Two
Harry: They’re going after Muggleborns. Like Mom and Hermione.
Severus: *pen snaps in his hand under desk* Hm. I’ll take care of it, Harry.
In Mcgonogall’s office later with her and Dumbledore…
Severus: My son is coming home with me whether you like it or not. And I’m inviting every other student too.
Dumbledore: We have everything under control.
Mcgonogall: Severus, I hate to break this to you, but four thousand students are not just going to follow you home.
Severus: *laser eyes ignite* They will if I offer them free A’s and no homework. And I think you’re forgetting that my son is the Chosen One, Minerva.
Mcgonogall: Bitch if you think I won’t slap you -
Dumbledore: *snores loudly*
The rest of the book later…
Severus: You are never allowed to speak Parseltongue again.
Harry: Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form?
Severus: *mocking Harry’s voice* Then how will we talk when you’re in your Animagus form? We won’t, you idiot! I only do that for incredibly dangerous missions or to get some goddamn alone time!
Harry:
Harry:
Harry:
Harry: *starts to tear up*
Severus: Oh no. Oh no no no. Harry, no, don’t cry, not the crying, I didn’t mean, fuck, love, no, I, Harry -
Year Three
Harry: Dad, um… Professor Lupin invited me for tea.
Severus, without looking up from drawing smiley faces all over graded tests: Yes, yes. Go see him. Don’t be late. And tell him a good strong “fuck you” from me.
Half a book later…
Severus: I can’t believe you laughed at that paper’s comment on my nose.
Harry: Dad -
Severus: I did not marry James Potter and Lily Evans so our son could make fun of me. I have not dragged myself through thirteen years of your incessant crying and misplaced sarcasm to have you laugh at my nose. I could have killed myself Harry. You could have grown up with Petunia.
Harry: Dad, I’m sorry -
Severus, huffing and dropping down in his chair and turning his back on Harry: My only son. A traitor!
Harry: *groans*
The other half of the book later…
Severus: SIRIUS. THIS IS WHY YOU LET ME COME UP WITH THE PLANS.
Sirius: Snape -
Severus: SHUT UP YOU FOUL-BREATHED HEATHEN. COULD YOU NOT HAVE HAD THE COMMON DECENCY TO AT LEAST CLUE REMUS IN ON YOUR LITTLE PLAN?
Remus, stepping in front of Sirius: Now, Severus -
Severus, angrily pointing at them: NO! NO. HE’S YOUR HUSBAND, THAT MAKES YOU COMPLICIT. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?
Hermione: Uh, guys? Full moon?
Remus and Sirius: Shit.
Severus, already rolling up his sleeves and tugging his idiot son and said idiot son’s idiot friends out of the Shack: Come meet James, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. They’re not that bad, she said…
Year Four
Severus: No.
Harry: I didn’t put my name in there, believe me, but Dumbledore says -
Severus: Fuck Dumbledore. I’m your father and I said no.
Harry: Dumbledore says there’s wards -
Severus: No.
Harry: But -
Severus: No.
Harry: Dad -
Severus: No.
Most of a book later in Severus’ office…
Harry, curled against Severus’ robes: Dad, he just… and Cedric… he’s back… it’s all my fault - *bursts into tears*
Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head* Nonsense. I’ll protect you, love. You’re gonna be just fine. And Voldy dearest can just fuck right off if he thinks he can get to the son of James Potter and Severus Snape and Lily fucking Evans -
Harry: *laughs wetly and wipes his eyes and nose on Severus’ robes*
Severus: *withholds disownment*
Rest of the book later in Dumbledore’s office…
Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -
Severus: *whirls around and points angrily* NO. I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT ALBUS. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES MY SON HAS NARROWLY AVOIDED DEATH IN YOUR SCHOOL? I WANT MORE SECURITY PROTOCOLS AND I WANT THEM NOW.
Dumbledore: *face scrunches up like a lemon* You want me to… what, Harry-proof the school?
Severus: *crosses arms over chest* Yes.
Dumbledore: *sighs* Severus -
Year Five
Severus: She did what.
Harry: *swallows nervously* Um. Nothing, Dad, just a blood quill -
Severus: A FUCKING WHAT NOW?!
Five minutes later…
Hermione: Harry? Why is your father cussing out Professor Umbridge and hexing her luggage when she’s not looking in the courtyard?
Ron: Yeah, and why’d I see him pay Fred and George like five hundred galleons in the hallway back there?
Harry, watching his father literally throw Umbridge down the steps while still shouting curse words in languages Harry didn’t even know existed: *facepalms*
Most of a book later…
Harry, sobbing and limping towards Severus: Dad… Dad, she killed… Dad, Sirius… *sobs brittlely*
Severus: *kisses the top of Harry’s head and pushes him gently into Remus’ shaking arms* Nonsense, love. Now, where’s the stupid veil?
Remus: *points trembling finger*
Severus: *nods sharply*
Severus: *returns ten minutes later dragging a soaking wet and violently shaking but otherwise fine Sirius Potter Lupin behind him* Found him.
Remus: *immediately pulls Sirius into the filthiest kiss of his life*
Severus: *wrinkles his nose* You’re welcome.
Harry: *laughs wetly and buries his face in Severus’ robes* Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you -
Severus: *awkwardly pats head* Um. Sure.
Unseen epilogue we all wanted…
Severus: I now pronounce you Dumb and Dumber.
Harry: *nudges Severus* Dad.
Severus: *huffs* Husband and husband, whatever.
Sirius: *grins devilishly and dips Remus back in a kiss*
Harry: *claps enthusiastically*
Severus: *gags to hide his face as he wipes away a tear*
At the reception…
Harry: *puts a flowercrown of lilies on Severus’ head*
Severus: I’m disowning you. You’re no longer my son. Enjoy homelessness, bitch -
Harry: Mum and Dad would like it.
Severus, now bright red and squeaky: Ah. Well. Fuck you.
Harry: *leans his head on Severus’ shoulder* I love you, Dad.
Severus, grumbling: You suck, kid.
Year Six
Severus: Give me your wand.
Harry: Dad -
Severus: Give me your wand.
Harry: Dad, Draco deserved it -
Severus: *shoots up and leans over the desk* Harry James Potter Evans Snape. No one deserves what you just did. What you just did was moronic, stupid, and above all, cruel. I know you’ve heard the stories about your idiot father and you know better than that, Harry. You are better than that. And if you want to make your parents proud, and I know you do, this incident will never be repeated. Do you understand?
Harry, in tears: Yes, Dad.
Severus, through gritted teeth: Yes, what?
Harry: Yes, I understand and I won’t do it again.
Severus: *sits back in his chair* Good. Now give me your wand.
Harry: *hands over wand*
Harry: *sniffs*
Severus, sighing and standing up: Come here.
Harry: *shuffles into his arms*
Severus: *kisses his head* I love you, kid.
Harry, sniffling: Mmph.
Severus: *closes his eyes* And I’m proud of you. We all are.
Harry: *laughs wetly and shoves his face into Severus’ robes* We’re proud of you too, Dad.
A quarter of a book later…
Harry: Hey Dad, I found this awesome book and I don’t know who wrote it but -
Severus: Give that to me, Harry.
Harry: But Dad! This thing is literally the only reason I’m passing Potions at all -
Severus: I know. Because you told Minerva you want to be an Auror. Now that, Mr. Potter, is a fucking lie, and you shouldn’t be taking Potions anymore. So. What do you really want to do?
Harry:
Harry:
Harry:
Harry: I wanna be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
Severus: There you go. But bitch, if you get the position before me -
Harry: Dad -
Severus: And if you tell anyone who wrote this book I swear to Merlin I’ll make sure you meet your parents far earlier than expected -
Harry: The Half-Blood Prince? Why? Do you know him?
Severus:
Severus:
Severus:
Severus: I’m raising a dumbass.
Half a book later…
Harry: *bursts rudely into Severus’ office* Dad, Draco -
Severus: I know, Harry.
Harry: No, you don’t, this time I’m actually -
Severus: I know, Harry.
Harry: Dad, he’s -
Severus: *finally looks up from grading papers* Harry. I know. It’s okay.
Harry, sputtering: It’s not okay -
Severus: Harry, love. I don’t lie to you.
Harry:
Harry:
Harry:
Harry: I know. Okay.
Severus: *looks back down at his papers* Just don’t be dick.
Harry: I do not -
Severus: *raises his eyebrow*
Harry: Yes, Dad.
Three quarters of a book later…
Severus: So. Harry. I heard you’re dating Ginny Weasley.
Harry: No. Nope. I’m not.
Severus: I see. Well, either way -
Harry: Oh no.
Severus: Oh, yes. We need to have this conversation; you’re a growing sixteen year old boy. Of course, as your body grows there will be things -
Harry, bright red: No. No no no. Oh my god, Dad -
Severus, maintaining intense eye contact: When two or more people love each other very much, like your parents and I did -
Harry: *bolts right up* Dad, I will go to the Astronomy Tower and throw myself off right the fuck now if you don’t shut up, I swear to Merlin.
Severus: Good. Now, about protection -
Harry: I’ll do it.
Severus: So you’ve said. Madame Pomfrey has -
Harry: *throws his hands up in the air* I’m not even dating anyone!
Severus: *gives him a look* Of course people will be lining up eventually, you are the Chosen One after all.
Severus: *gives Harry a once-over and smirks*
Severus: Though I do wonder how you plan to defeat You-Know-Who when you can’t even sit through a discussion about the protection charms your mother cast when she sacrificed herself for you.
Harry:
Harry:
Harry:
Harry: OH MY GOD DAD THAT’S NOT FUNNY -
Severus: *giggling manically*
The rest of the book later…
Harry: Dad. No. Please, no.
Severus: I’m sorry, Harry.
Severus, externally: *looks at Dumbledore* Avada Kedavra.
Severus, internally: That’s what you get for hurting my son, you shitty old bitch.
Year Seven
Hermione: Harry, you need to talk about it.
Harry, setting up a tent “successfully”: Talk about what? I’m fine.
Hermione: *sighs* Your dad.
Harry: Okay. You wanna talk about your Obliviated parents?
Hermione:
Hermione:
Hermione:
Harry: Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Ron: *accidentally knocks the tent over*
Meanwhile, Severus…
Severus, staring blankly at the Carrows: What son.
Carrow #1: *sneers* Your son. Harry Potter.
Severus:
Severus:
Severus:
Severus: You think I raised that idiot?
Carrow #2: That’s… actually a fair point.
Severus: *huffs and crosses his arms over his chest*
Severus: *flips hair*
Severus, internally: Damn right it is, bitch.
Severus, externally: See? Obviously not my son.
Carrow #1, snickering: Plus no one would ever sleep with you.
Severus: *turns his head slowly so he can glare right into Carrow #1’s eyes*
Severus, in that dangerous, painfully slow drawl of his: Of course not. Carrot.
In Mcgonogall’s office at three a.m….
Severus: Where is he?
Mcgonogall: I don’t know, Severus.
Severus: But he’s alive, right?
Mcgonogall, sighing: If he wasn’t we’d have heard by now.
Severus, pacing: Right. Right. He’s fine. He’s fine. Har - he’s fine.
Half a book later…
Severus, poking his head into the Gryffindor common room at like two a.m.: Hello? Y’all coming?
Ginny, stepping forward while the rest of Gryffindor rallies behind her with small bags and pillows: Yeah.
Severus, creeping into the Hufflepuff dorms: Marshmallows? You guys ready?
Hufflepuffs, in perfect chorus as they gather with blankets and stuffies: Yes, Professor.
Severus, knocking on the Ravenclaws’ doors: Yo, smartasses, it’s time.
Luna, hugging a stuffed white rabbit with the rest of Ravenclaw behind her: Hi, Professor.
Severus: *heart melts a little bit* Hello, Luna.
Severus: *leads them all to the Room of Requirement under a mass invisibility spell*
Severus: *gets them all settled for a long-term sleepover*
Severus, straightening up: Okay. Anyone want goodnight hugs?
A few pages later…
Severus: You have a list for me?
Draco, handing over a piece of parchment: It’s alphabetized.
Severus: Hm. Thank you.
Severus: *reads list*
Severus: Get Zabini to put Zonko’s products in the bed of everyone on this list. Have Pansy get the rest of you prepped on the plan. If you’re all still on board, that is.
Draco: *shrugs* We may be Slytherins, sir, but we’re not cowards.
Severus: *eyes suddenly shiny* No. No, you’re not.
Most of a book later I think I haven’t read them in years…
Harry: You killed him.
Severus: *pleads with his eyes*
Harry: How dare you stand where he stood?
Severus, internally: FUCK why do I have to be the tortured one??? Kiss me, James said. Marry me, James said. Let’s have a kid, James said. This is all his fault. I swear Jamie when I die I am going to kill you. You fuckwad -
Severus, externally: *starts shooting harmless spells at Mcgonogall*
Quite a bit later…
Severus, internally: Fuck, I hate snakes. Why is that my Animagus? I already have this shitty tattoo and I’m in the snake House why do I need to die by a fucking snake too oh look my son’s here that’s humiliating
Harry, overwhelmed with tears: Dad -
Severus, internally: I’m fine go away jeez
Severus, externally: *gurgles*
Harry: *flurries his hands around Severus’ body uselessly*
Hermione, exasperated: Harry, move.
Harry, blubbering now: *whimpers* Mione -
Hermione, wand out and pointed at Severus’ wounds: Harry, move.
Two minutes later…
Severus, freshly healed and more than a little pissed off: Now let’s go tell that snake ass motherfucker to go fuck himself -
Harry, clinging to him desperately: Daddy you can’t -
Severus: Like fuck I can’t. That slimy ass shitwipe killed my spouses, tried to kill me, and has gone after you for your entire life as if you don’t have enough shit to deal with already so yeah I’m gonna go murder him.
Harry, burying his face in Severus’ robes: Dad, I have to go.
Severus: No, you don’t.
Harry: It’s the right thing to do.
Severus: Since when I have cared about the right thing?
Harry: Since always.
Severus:
Severus:
Severus:
Severus: You’re grounded for the rest of your life after you survive this.
Harry: *laughs wetly* Dad, I’m not gonna -
Severus: *kisses his forehead* I love you, Harry.
Harry: I love you, Dad.
*dead silence*
Hermione: Harry. We have to go.
Harry, whispering: Keep them safe, Dad.
Severus, also whispering: Of course, love.
Idontevenfuckingknow later…
Voldemort: Harry Potter is dead!
Everyone: *crying*
Severus, internally: The fuck no he’s not like you could kill my son.
Severus, externally: *stares at Voldemort*
Five minutes later…
Harry: Expelliarmus!
Severus: I KNEW IT
The end…
Harry: Hi, Dad.
Severus, tugging him into a hug: You’re grounded forever you fucking idiot.
Harry, grinning and hugging back: Yeah, I figured as much.
A little bit after the end…
Remus: You did a good job.
Sirius: You really did. I can’t say I’m not surprised.
Severus, internally: I can’t believe I saved your life you fucking dick.
Severus, externally: I know.
#here's the thing#i'm not funny#BUT#i THINK i'm funny#which means#as it is#you are stuck with hearing this sort of crack from me at least once a week until i change my mind#which#fun fact#i will not be doing#so enjoy this shit#because it's here now#and none of us can change that#i guess#severitus#severus snape#harry potter#marauders#wolfstar#james x lily x severus#if james and lily and severus were together and severus raised harry after they died#i just love him so much okay#so so much#like too much#anyway#yeah#some of the scenes might be jumbled i'm sorry#just pretend these are in the perfect order#i hope you like this#cause it's what you're getting
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Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 2
Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago. With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.
Rating: K+
Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones@kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior@in-spirational @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst@kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch@allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @cssns @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @eastwesthomeisbest @dreamingdreamsalways @xsajx @justren21 @laughterandbooks @cocohook38 @therealstartraveller776
Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns, the ladies on the Discord! Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood!
Other Chapters: Prologue 1 3 4 Epilogue
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"So after the phone calls, the text messages started coming," Emma said, settling into her best friend's plush sofa.
"Texts?" Mary Margaret asked curiously before taking a sip of her tea. "What kind of texts?"
It felt like Emma had known Mary Margaret forever. Both girls were placed in the system at young ages-Emma, because her parents abandoned her on the side of a road as an infant, and Mary Margaret, because her parents both died of illness. They ended up in the same group home, and quickly became the best of friends. They were closer than sisters until the day Mary Margaret was adopted by Cora Mills, and then eventually, Emma was fostered by Ruth Nolan.
Even after being placed with other families, Emma and Mary Margaret kept in touch-letters, phone calls, even the occasional visit. On one such visit, Emma's foster brother, David, was home from college, and as soon as he and Mary Margaret met, it was love at first sight.
They were so in love it was honestly a bit nauseating.
When they got married fresh out of college, Emma couldn't be happier. She'd always considered Mary Margaret her sister in all the ways that counted, and now they truly were.
There was no doubt about it - Mary Margaret Nolan was the person Emma was closest to in the entire world, and so it was only natural that when the weird stuff with the cell phone started happening, Emma decided to discuss it with her.
"Weird ones," Emma answered, taking a sip of her own hot cocoa with cinnamon. "Stuff like Help! or You're the only one who can save me!. And then some of them were even stranger. Just...random letters and symbols, almost like someone was randomly pressing buttons on a keyboard."
"So what did you do?" Mary Margaret asked, sitting on the other side of the sofa and turning toward Emma.
Emma shrugged. "I tried answering at first. You know, you hear about people who are abducted and, like, stuck in a basement for years and stuff like that. I kept thinking, what if someone really needed help and I just...ignored them?"
"And what happened when you answered?" Mary Margaret asked.
"Nothing," Emma answered before taking another sip. "No answer, just another cryptic text several hours later. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. Either someone needed help, or someone was messing with me. I decided I'd call the number, decide whether I needed to help them or tell them to go f-" She stopped, glancing over at Mary Margaret's toddler playing with blocks nearby. "Well, go do something not at all child-friendly to themselves."
"Let me guess, your call didn't get through."
"Nope," Emma confirmed, "but it was even weirder than that. I dialed the number just after receiving a text, but it went directly to voicemail."
"But that's not possible!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.
"Right?" Emma said. "So I tried to ignore the whole thing. Maybe the phone was just...I don't know..glitching or something, although I don't know how a technological glitch could make phone calls and text someone. Anyway, for some reason, I just can't let go. Even though I don't know him, somehow I feel a...connection...to this Killian Jones. I just-I don't know what to do about it."
Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking several sips of her steaming beverage, before turning back to Emma with a cautious look in her eyes. "There is...there is another possibility, if you have an open mind."
"Just how open are we talking?"
"Pretty open," Mary Margaret said. "What if-and just hear me out, I know this is crazy-what if Killian Jones is contacting you from beyond the grave."
"What, like a ghost?"
Mary Margaret shrugged. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but why not? One of the other teachers I work with was talking about this medium. His name is Merlin Emrys. Supposedly he can contact the dead and see ghosts and stuff like that."
"A medium? Seriously?" Emma asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Mary Margaret, you know those people are frauds. It's all about researching their marks ahead of time and then cold reading them. They're only in it to bleed as much cash out of vulnerable people as possible."
"I know it sounds crazy," Mary Margaret conceded, "but what if it's not? I've thought about going to him myself. If I could just talk to my parents one more time-make sure they're okay, make sure they've moved on, or whatever happens after someone dies. Well, it would provide a lot of comfort."
Emma's heart turned over, and she took her friend's hand. She knew how much Mary Margaret missed her parents. It was different for Emma. She'd never known her parents, only knew they'd tossed her out like garbage. She wasn't sure she even wanted to find them.
"I know you miss them," Emma said.
"I do," Mary Margaret said, "but that's not the point. The point is...what do you have to lose? Maybe this Merlin is just a quack like you said, but maybe not. Maybe he could be the key to unravelling the whole mystery."
Emma was silent for a moment. It was crazy; she knew it was. A medium wasn't going to give her the answers she needed if all her bail bonds tricks had failed her, but what the hell?
"Fine. I'll go see Merlin," Emma caved.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Emma's eyebrows rose as she took in the small, ranch-style house Mary Margaret had directed her to. She was skeptical before seeing the place, but now-now red flags were going up everywhere.
There was a huge, gaudy sign out front that read "Merlin, the great and powerful. Wizard of the unknown and medium of the great beyond." The sign-indeed the entire front of the house-was decorated with all kinds of astrological signs and symbols.
Was this guy even for real?
Emma seriously considered turning around and getting back in her car, but she'd promised Mary Margaret she'd at least check this Merlin out and give him a chance, and Emma was a woman of her word. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
A moment later, an older man with longish, thinning gray hair and a rather unkempt gray beard opened the door. He was wearing long robes. Really playing the part, apparently.
"Merlin Emrys, I presume?" Emma asked as the man welcomed her inside with a sweep of his hand.
The man chuckled. "I'm afraid not. I'm merely his apprentice. Who might I tell Merlin is calling?"
Emma cocked an eyebrow. "You mean your all powerful boss didn't see me coming with his second sight or whatever?"
Emma stepped inside and the apprentice shut the door after her. "My master isn't clairvoyant. He merely has the ability to speak with the dead."
"Right," Emma said, not even trying to tamp down the skepticism in her voice. "I'm Emma Swan, and I'm here to-"
He stopped her with a raised hand. "Don't say too much. Merlin does not wish to be influenced by his clients. He wishes to sense the energy around you for himself."
Emma shrugged. "Sorry."
"It's quite alright," the apprentice said, moving toward large drapes at the far end of the room. "I'll be just a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Emma looked around the room while she waited, and it took everything in her to keep from rolling her eyes. This guy was really playing up the whole "psychic" thing. It felt like she was in some sort of fortune teller carnival tent. All the signs and symbols. This guy even had a crystal ball. An actual crystal ball.
This trip was a massive waste of her time, but maybe it would at least prove to be entertaining.
"Emma Swan, welcome!"
Emma looked up at the handsome black man who made his way through the curtains. He was dressed in much the same way as his apprentice, only he wore a sorcerer's pointy hat on his head.
"Uh, thanks," Emma said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Full disclosure. I'm more than a little bit of a skeptic, so if this is one of those 'it can only work if you truly believe' deals, we might have a problem."
"My gift can withstand the doubts of the skeptic," he chuckled before reaching out and taking her hand.
No sooner had his hand touched hers than he gasped, taking a step back, eyes going wide. "Would you-would you care to follow me back to my private sitting room, Miss Swan? It's far more comfortable back there."
Emma cocked a brow again, wondering what this odd man was on about. Still, she didn't sense any overt deception in him, and he didn't seem to be any threat to her, so she shrugged before following him through the curtains.
This backroom was far more ordinary than the room they'd just inhabited. Emma took a plush armchair, and Merlin sat on a sofa across from her.
Merlin pulled off his hat and sat it beside him. "I apologize for all the theatrics, Miss Swan," he said, reaching for a pot of tea and then raising an eyebrow in question. Emma declined the beverage with a small shake of her head, and Merlin proceeded to pour himself a cup. "I attempt to play up to what most clients expect from a psychic. Unfortunately, most poor souls who come to see me are out of luck. The loved one they wish to contact has passed on. For most, all I can do amounts to smoke and mirrors. I could tell the moment I shook your hand that you were different."
Emma inwardly scoffed. She knew enough about cons not to be fooled by a clever con man. Made sense he'd use a different tactic with a skeptic than he would with some poor, grief-stricken sap who was a true believer.
"No offense, but I still think you're full of crap," she said.
Merlin smiled. "It seems those with the most energy surrounding them always do."
"So, what?" Emma asked. "Are there ghosts all around me or something?"
"There are a few spirits here with us today," Merlin confirmed. "There's one who's quite insistent. It's a man; looks as though he died rather young. I don't sense he's family, but you were close. Maybe coworkers? Perhaps friends?"
Emma took a deep breath, a face coming to mind. Surely he couldn't mean-
"I'm getting a G in the name," Merlin said slowly. "Greg or Gray….no. Graham."
Emma's heart turned over. Graham. Sweet, slightly dorky Graham Humbert. They'd worked together on more than a few cases, and they'd become good friends.
In fact, they'd been teetering on the precipice of possibly becoming more than friends when he died suddenly.
"How did you know to mention Graham? How did you know that name would get the biggest rise out of me?" Emma demanded, voice hard.
"I don't choose the spirits who come to me," Merlin explained calmly, "I merely give them a voice. Graham is pleased to see you again. He's glad you're doing well."
The anger came then, spurred on by the pain the memory of Graham's death brought back. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"He died quite suddenly, didn't he?" Merlin asked, ignoring her question. "I'm feeling a tightness in my chest. Something with his heart?"
"Heart attack," Emma confirmed tightly. "He had a heart attack right in front of me and died in my arms."
"He's sorry, so very sorry you had to go through that," Merlin said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "He never wanted to be a source of pain for you."
Emma felt the tears at the back of her eyes and had to take a deep breath to keep them from falling. "Yeah, well, he didn't exactly have a say in the matter. Look, I don't know how you knew to bring up Graham, but I'm still not buying it."
"He apologizes he couldn't bring you a bear claw today," Merlin continued with a smile. "Oh, and he asks if you remember the day he thought he saw a wolf. He wants you to know he wasn't drunk. It really was there-in spirit at least."
Emma gasped, remembering the night she and Graham had gone to the Rabbit Hole for a drink after a long shift and Graham swore he spotted a big, gray wolf right there on the main street of town. Emma had made fun of him for that, telling him he'd clearly imbibed a bit too much that night. There's no way Merlin could have known about that incident. He couldn't have found it in any newspaper or online article about Graham's death.
Was it...was it possible this guy was the real deal?
"Okay, I admit, it's weird you'd bring that up," Emma said. "Let's say I believe you, can you ask Graham if he's okay? If he, like, moved on or whatever?"
"You just asked him," Merlin said. "He's here with us and can hear you. He wants to tell you that he is okay. He's more than okay; he's happy. He's moved on, and he's at peace, more than he could have ever thought possible."
Emma smiled, feeling comfort at the thought.
"There's someone else here with us as well," Merlin said. "Another male presence, but I don't believe you know this one. This one seems angry, desperate."
"Um...should we be scared?" Emma asked.
Merlin shook his head. "He doesn't mean us harm, only wants his story told. He's too indistinguishable to speak now, but I sense he'll be accompanying us on our journey today as well."
Wonderful. An angry, desperate ghost guide. Just fantastic.
"So, Emma," Merlin said, after a moment, "what brings you to me tonight?"
Emma pulled out her phone and laid out the entire story for Merlin. She told him about the calls, the texts, everything. Merlin took her phone in hand and gasped as soon as it touched his hand.
"There is a huge amount of energy here," he said. "There's no doubt a spirit has attached itself to you-or at least your phone."
Emma felt a chill. "My phone is haunted?"
"Not precisely," Merlin murmured, turning the device over in his hand. "Someone wishes to get your attention; wishes for you to help him, but there's something odd here, something I can't quite place."
"What do you mean?"
"The spirit is...indistinct," Merlin said, "hazy and just beyond my reach. I've never experienced anything like this."
Emma waited, her curiosity more than piqued at Merlin's odd reaction to her cell phone.
After a moment, Merlin's eyes widened. "Your friend Graham cleared up the mystery for me."
"What?" Emma asked. "What does Graham say is going on?"
"The reason I can't get a clear read on the spirit attached to your phone-this Killian Jones-is, well, because he's not dead."
Notes:
-So there you have it. For those of you who have wondered how this story could possibly have a happy ending since Killian is dead-this is how. He's not actually dead!
-Up next: With Merlin's help, Emma finds out how this is all possible-and she finds the not-dead Killian Jones.
Next Chapter-->
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Cardigan (Wolfstar)
I sat down to write a teeny drabble with two lines from the song Cardigan by Taylor Swift. It quickly spiralled into this. (I really love it though).
Set in the cannon universe, cw for mentions of death, injuries and scars. (Nothing graphic though).
I knew you, dancing in your Levi’s drunk under a streetlight.
“Shh! Pads. you’re gonna get us caught!” Remus half-whispered, his own voice a tad too loud for his own liking but his slightly tipsy state didn’t allow for a lower volume. Sirius spun into him smushing his fingers right up against Remus’ lips, both of them chest to chest under James’ cloak. It was hard to believe the four of them mused to fit under this - now it only just about covered Remus and Sirius even with Remus ducking down to Sirius’ height.
“Come on Moony, you’re ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’,” He said, punctuating each word of the grand title with his index finger poking into Remus; chest. “Even if we do get caught, you can charm our way out of it.”
Remus rolled his eyes, but followed. The passage was dim and the ground was uneven and to be perfectly honest, they hadn’t yet discovered if this particular passage way had been caved in since they last explored it the previous year, but Sirius seemed sure of himself and that was enough for Remus. If Sirius was the one leading, he’d always follow.
“Alright, but I’m late on a transfiguration essay, so if Minnie catches us, you’re on your own. I need to save my charm for that.” He said, his tone stern, but all his reserve melted when Sirius smiled up at him and pressed a victorious kiss to his cheek.
“I take back your title.” Sirius said dramatically, looking at Remus with a smug righteousness. “Apparently ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’ isn’t so perfect after all.”
He pressed his mouth right up next to Remus’ ear just as they stepped out the little secret entrance, ducking under the ivy trellis that hid their little passageway. “It’s a good thing I like bad boys.” Sirius breathed, and Remus couldn’t wait any more, not caring whether the cloak revealed their ankles or not when he pulled Sirius in for a blazing kiss.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
Sirius smirked and kissed him again. “That seems to be the general consensus.”
Remus laughed and took off walking again, tugging the cloak off as soon as they were far enough away from the school, catching hands and spinning under the soft glow of the lamplights illuminating the path to Hogsmeade. Sirius tilted his head back, still spinning, their hands acting as the axis that centred the entire universe.
“I love you too.”
I knew you, hands under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better.
“Sirius, if you don’t start being more careful, I’m gonna-”
“What?” Sirius teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, looking far too haughty for a man sitting on a countertop, his legs dangling in the air. “What’re you gonna do Re? You gonna punish me?”
Remus pursed his lips to try hide his smile, but gave in, kissing Sirius once briefly.
“No,” He said, pulling up Sirius’ jumper to get a proper look at the gash he had acquired after climbing a tree. Then subsequently falling out of said tree. “But I will send you to Madam Pomfrey and have you try to explain to her that you thought you’d be able to pull off a levitation charm if there was a ‘more extreme sense of urgency’.” He finished, mocking Sirius’ words from earlier.
Sirius just scrunched up his face playfully in retaliation, before breathing in shakily as Remus coated the cut with a liberal amount of salve, watching in fascination as the skin knitted back together.
“There.” He said, straightening up to stand between Sirius’ legs, pulling down his jumper again. “Good as new.”
“Nah ah.” Sirius countered, shaking his head as his legs locked behind Remus’ back, binding them together. “Gotta kiss it better.”
Remus wet his lips, shaking his head in fond disbelief, but leaned in willingly, feeling the hot slide of Sirius’ mouth against his own cooler one.
“All better?” Remus asked, panting slightly as they rested their foreheads together.
Sirius shrugged, hooking his arm more firmly around Remus’ neck. “Close, but not quite better yet.”
Remus huffed a laugh through his nose, but gladly locked their lips together again, the pair fully intertwined as if they had been made for each other.
(And maybe they had. For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)
And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite.
“Sirius?” Re said softly, pushing the door to their dorm open slowly. “Are you here?”
“Yeah,” Came a muffled reply. “I’m here.”
Remus stepped into the room, looking first to Sirius’ bed to find it empty. Remus frowned, looking around to find Sirius curled up on Remus’ own bed, his favourite cardigan folded gently around him.
“Hi sweetheart,” Remus said, voice hushed as he climbed onto the bed next to the other boy, noting the red stained eyes and puffed lips. “What do you need?”
At the words, anything that seemed to be holding Sirius together until that point shattered, the raven haired boy collapsing into Sirius’ arms.
“Re,” He gasped, between his sobs as Remus just pulled him closer. “Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Isn’t love supposed to be good? If it’s so great, then why the fuck does it hurt so much?”
Remus’ heart clenched. Regulus.
“I don’t know sweetheart,” He murmured, holding Sirius close. “But it makes us who we are.” He cupped Sirius’ face so he could meet the raging stormy eyes. “It’s better to have loved and have lost than to never have loved at all.”
Sirius just blinked at him.
“But for the record,” Remus said, touching their heads together. “I don’t think you’ve lost him. He’s just lost right now. But he’ll find his way back to you.”
Sirius nodded, and slumped against Remus’ chest, no longer crying, just breathing deeply.
“You know Remus Lupin,” He whispered after a while. “I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m gonna marry you someday.”
To kiss in cars, and downtown bars, was all we needed.
“Oh Merlin, they’re snogging again.” Peter commented as he turned his head to spot James and Lily, leaning in for a kiss. Remus, currently with his tongue in Sirius’ mouth heard this, but let Peter discover the other couple in his own time.
“Christ, the pair of you are too. You’re all fuckin at it.” He grumbled. If Remus’ mouth wasn’t already a little preoccupied, he would have laughed. There it was.
“Right, I’m off to find humans capable of holding decent conversation.” Peter muttered and he might have left. He could have stayed and done a jig on the table for all Remus cared, but in this moment, he noticed none of it. What was the poem he had read somewhere? Stars and moths and rinds slanting around fruit. This moment.
You drew stars around my scars and now I’m bleeding.
“Hey, look at this.” Sirius said somewhat excitedly, rolling away from Remus momentarily and returning with a quill and a jar of ink.
Remus eyed him skeptically, his arm tucked under his head as they lounged on his bed, the curtains drawn to create the illusion of their own little oasis.
“I bet I could draw stars on your chest and then your scars could connect them, like in astronomy.”
Remus bit his lip, looking at Sirius’ appraised expression. “I feel like I should say no,” He said slowly, even as he unscrewed the ink. “But go for it.”
Sirius grinned triumphantly and studied Remus for a minute, brushing the quill over his lips as he concentrated. Remus couldn’t help but muse that if Sirius put half as much effort into his schoolwork as he was doing here, he would be top of the class. Finally, Sirius ditched the quill, dipping a finger into the ink directly.
“I don’t want the point of the quill to scratch you.” He explained, after noticing Remus’ raised eyebrow. Something warmed inside Remus’ chest while something cold trickled over the outside. Remus closed his eyes and let himself focus on the slightly ticklish, but mostly soothing sensation of Sirius tracing patterns over his skin.
“Done.” Sirius muttered after a while and Remus opened his eyes, raising his head a little to peer down at himself. He looked like some abstract piece of art, covered in black and blue and red and green, scars shining silver between it all.
“Woah,” He breathed, “That’s pretty cool.”
Sirius grinned, then pointed to a star just over Remus; appendix. “That’s Sirius right there.”
Remus hummed, pursing his lips together, then grabbed a jar of ink, tracing a star a little messily, right over his heart.
“Nah,” He countered, “Sirius is there.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, but came up to press their lips together. In the morning, they both looked like works of art.
But I knew you, stepping on the last train, marked me like a blood stain.
“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll be taking this train.” James said, the four of them standing in a row on the platform, not yet ready to get on.
“We’ll be back.” Remus said. “Someday, we’ll be back.”
Sirius linked their fingers together. As one, the marauders stepped onto the train.
Mischief Managed.
I knew you, tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy.
Remus just stared at the auror.
“Mr Lupin,” The man said gently, playing his hand tenderly on Remus’ arm. Remus didn’t know what his name was. It was probable the man had said it but Remus wasn’t listening. Everything had gone dark. “I realise this must come as a shock.”
Remus wrenched his arm back, shaking his head. “A shock?” He laughed a little manically. “No, you’re wrong.”
“Mr Lupin, we have evidence that Sirius Black was the one to-”
“Well you’re wrong!” Remus yelled. Or maybe he had whispered. It was possible he hadn’t even spoken at all, but the words swirled around and around in his head. “I don’t know how, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong, this isn’t right, you have it all wrong, he would never-”
Remus gasped, pressing a hand to his cracking heart as if it would hold him together. “He would never.” He repeated, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they had gotten there, he didn’t know, but their presence was suddenly noticeable with the cold rush against Remus’ skin.
“I’m so sorry.” The auror said and then he was gone. And Remus was alone.
Had it always been this way? Remus alone. Remus with friends. Remus with Sirius. Remus alone.
Maybe he had made the entire thing up.
But dreams didn’t leave you feeling like the last kiss you’d ever had was from a dementor, not your true love.
It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. He had said that to Sirius once.
What a fool he had been.
I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water, when you are young they assume you know nothing.
“It is believed this was a plan Mr Black had been staging for quite some time now.” A newspaper read. Remus snorted and threw it in the fire. Sirius couldn’t even plan a week in advance. What they fuck did these people know.
But then, what did Remus know? His love was long lost, Rapunzel in a tower. Remus was no knight.
But he knew in his heart, none of this was true. He knew. He didn't care what anyone else said, they may have known his thoughts, but Remus knew his heart.
But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss.
Sirius’ leather jacket still hung in the cupboard under the stairs. His hair potion, still in the shower. Remus couldn’t bear to see them. He could never throw them away.
I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s.
Remus should have fought harder for Harry.
He should have, he should have, he should have, he should have.
He should have known better.
What if.
A smirking smile and stormy eyes. Hair held up with a wand. Those same dark strands coiled around Remus’ fingers.
The smell of smoke would hang around this long. Cause I knew everything when I was young.
Remus woke up to James’ scream. Except it couldn’t be James. Unless… Had this all been a dream?
James opened his eyes and suddenly there was Lily. Lily and James and they didn’t know who Remus was.
(Remus had been the first one to hold baby Harry. Before even Sirius. And now he didn’t even know him)
I knew I’d curse you for the longest time.
Remus hated Sirius. Not for being the notorious mass murderer Sirius Black. But for leaving him alone.
Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Remus wanted to laugh. His question to Sirius now would be this; Why couldn’t he stop loving someone he should hate.
Chasing shadows in the grocery line.
The students all murmured about the Grimm. The paintings gossiped about little else. Even the staff room had a few words on the subject matter. Remus tried not to let his heart flutter.
(But his boy was free. And there was a grim on the loose).
I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.
Walking down to Hagrid's hut, Remus thought he saw something rustle in the bushes. He stepped off the path and looked closer, barely even breathing as his heart thundered, but the shadows that had lurked were gone.
And you’d be standing in my front porch light.
“Lie low at Lupins.”
For the first time in twelve years, amber met grey.
“Re,” Sirius croaked, and Remus shattered. He pulled Sirius inside the door quickly, shutting it and reinforcing all of the charms around his little cottage, drawing all the blinds shut and placing a charm around the area so he would know if anyone approached the house before he finally turned, and there he was.
And I knew you’d come back to me.
Not Mass Murderer Sirius Black.
Not even Padfoot.
But Sirius. Remus’ Sirius.
“Re,” Sirius said again, “It’s not true, it’s not true.” He said, repeating the words as he shook his head, eyes filling. “It’s not true, I would never.”
He would never.
Remus shook his head too, pulling Sirius into the tightest hug they ever might have shared.
“I know.” He whispered. “I know.”
You’d come back to me.
Sirius after a few weeks of good food and warmth looked a lot more like the boy Remus had once known, but there was no denying the person with his was now a man. Remus supposed they both were.
You’d come back.
“I love you.” Sirius whispered one night as they were curled under a blanket, Remus reading as Sirius lay on his chest, the position comforting and oh so familiar.
“Do you think you could ever love me again?”
Remus’ heart cracked as he set down his book and curled his fingers gently around Sirius’ jaw, tilting his head so Remus could look into that swirling sea.
“Love you again?” He said, his voice nearly cracking in disbelief. “Pads, how could I love you again when I never stopped?”
And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite.
“I can’t believe you still have this.” Sirius whispered, pulling the same cardigan he always stole out of the back of Remus’ drawer.
“It used to smell like you.” Remus admitted. “But I wore it too much, I missed you too much.”
Sirius smiled, shrugging it on, it curling around his shoulders the way he curled into Remus, tilting his head up and pressing his lips against Remus’.
“I can fix that.” He whispered and Remus held him close, taking his time.
(For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)
#wolfstar#Remus Lupin#Sirius Black#wolfstar oneshot#Marauders#marauders era fanfiction#cannon compliant#wolfstar fic#James Potter#peter pettigrew#Lily Evans#harry potter#cardigan taylor swift#ao3 OpeningMyEyes#wolfstar angst
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For @hp-fearfest’s day 2 prompt: From Beyond the Grave. Thanks 4 the beta @corvuscrowned. CW: spooky vibes and graphic depictions of corpses.
(on Ao3 | T | 2.5k)
Making a Family Makes a Home
“Happy anniversary, love,” Harry pants into Draco’s wet, open mouth. He thinks he can make out the chirping of morning birds over their slowing breaths, and the warm lamplight in the room is slowly being suffused with cool grey from the dawning sun. They hadn’t slept at all that night.
Harry has never felt happier. He’s loved Draco for so long, and now, finally, he’s allowed to show him. The fact that Draco loves him back makes him feel incandescent, like he’s flying.
Draco hums tiredly in response, hands stilling in Harry’s hair. “‘Spose we can tell everyone to settle their bets on whether we’d make it to a year or not. I think Longbottom is the only one who went in our favor.”
Harry laughs gently and captures his boyfriend’s kiss-swollen lips in his teeth. “Fancy shocking everyone even more?”
“Always.”
“Let’s move in together…” Harry whispers into the dip between Draco’s collar bones, where sweat has pooled and started to dry. He darts the tip of his tongue out to capture the salty tang.
Draco goes stiff underneath him and says nothing.
Harry pulls back to gauge his expression. It’s firm, unreadable. “It’s just, we’ve been dating for a year and you’re here just as much—if not more—than you’re at home. We don’t have to stay here, we can find a place we both want to live, somewhere new. You talk all the time about how much you hate still living with your parents. We could… We could really start our life. Together. The way we want.”
Draco’s enigmatic expression breaks a little. “Oh, Harry, love. You know I want that. Of course I want to build a life with you. It’s just… I know I complain about mother and father, but they’re getting old. They need me. I’d… I’d worry about leaving them all alone in that big old Manor.”
“Yeah. I get that, I do. But…They have house elves, don’t they? To look after them? It’s not like you couldn’t visit whenever you want.”
“We couldn’t afford to pay the elves, after the trials. We had to let them go.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Well, I don’t want to pressure you into anything, so—”
“Harry. I… Want to. I do. Just. Let me think about it a little?”
“Yeah. Of course. Of course, love. Take all the time you need. I’ve already got more of you than I ever thought possible. I’m happy.”
“Sap.”
*
“You promised you weren’t going to pressure me, Harry,” Draco snaps as he drops their dinner plates into Harry’s sink with a clatter.
“I know, I know, and I don’t mean to. But we’ve been together for nearly three years, Draco, and you still refuse to even stay the night half the time you’re over here. Is it… Do you not love me anymore? Has something changed, have I—”
He watches the shutters fall behind Draco’s eyes, like they always do when they have this conversation. He’s tried so hard to respect Draco’s request for time and space, but lately it’s like a chasm has opened between them, and Harry doesn’t know how to bridge it. His gut reaction to the feeling of impending loss has always been to hold tighter, to grasp and pull. He knows how suffocating that can be for some people, but he can’t help it.
Draco sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Harry, no, of course not. I love you more every day, you know that. It’s just... not that easy. My parents—”
“Oh, sod your bloody parents!” Harry bites back, sharper than he intended. “I mean—I’m sorry—but I feel like you’re sacrificing your own happiness for them. Again! I know you love them, but after everything they’ve put you through. Everything they asked of you. You deserve the chance to make your own choices and live your own life, Draco.”
“I… I know that. I do. I just feel so guilty, sometimes…”
“Look. We can look into some care homes, maybe. Neville says his Nan loves her community. Or—” Harry raises a hand to cut off Draco’s interjection, “—we can interview some live-in Healers. I can help you, you won’t have to do it alone.”
Draco’s face twists into an ugly frown. “No. How dare you—I’m not dumping my parents into some disgusting care home to be ignored and overlooked by overworked nurses. And I’m certainly not allowing a stranger into my home, Harry! Haven’t you heard of elder abuse? How could I do something like that to them?”
“Your home…”
“What?”
“You just called the Manor your home. I thought… I’d hoped you considered this your home.”
“Oh...well I—”
“Forget it. Look, I just need some space. I don’t want to say something in anger that I’ll regret later. Your feelings are valid, I just...feel a little hurt right now, to be honest. I’m going to Ron and Hermione’s for the night. Feel free to stay. Or not. Merlin knows you never do.”
“Harry—” Draco pleads as Harry turns toward the Floo.
*
“What do you want, Potter? I’m terribly busy.”
“Pansy, you don’t have a job.”
“And?”
“Nevermind, look. It’s about Draco…”
“Isn’t it always?”
“Please, Pansy. You know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t serious. I...need your help.”
Pansy sighs, settling herself and her glass of scotch on the chaise in front of her fireplace, which Harry had just tumbled out of unannounced several minutes earlier.
“Fine. Make it quick.”
“Right. Well. Draco won’t move in with me.”
“Mm,” she hums, taking a drag on the cigarette in her other hand. “Sounds normal to me. I don’t see why anyone would want to live with you.”
“Fuck’s sake—” Harry hisses, beginning to pace across the hearthrug. “I know you don’t like me, you wish Draco were with someone else, whatever—can you please just take this seriously for like, one second. Please.”
Pansy exhales an exasperated cloud of spicy smoke into Harry’s face and sits up straight.
“Potter. Draco’s relationship with his parents is… complicated.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Pansy eyes him sharply over the rim of her rocks glass for a long moment. “No, I don’t think you do, really. Not the whole of it, at least.”
Harry throws his hands up, frustrated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A series of emotions passes over Pansy’s face as she eyes him. Amusement, then scorn, then sadness, and finally pity.
“Pansy,” Harry says, slumping down onto the chaise next to her and letting his head fall into his hands. “I love him so much. I…want to marry him. But, I can’t if he won’t be honest with me about why he won’t live with me. I’ve done the best I can so far, but I can’t envision a future where my husband won’t even stay the night with me, let alone share a house with me. And I definitely can’t envision a future where we move into the Manor together.” He shivers involuntarily.
“No, I don’t think that would do anybody any good. Harry… I can’t say any more. I know, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. If you really need to know why Draco won’t move in with you, and he won’t explain it himself, you need to go see them. Lucius and Narcissa. I think you’ll find your answers there. I just hope you’re prepared for them.”
“He’s never asked me to go home with him. I haven’t… I haven’t been to the Manor since the War.”
“Mmhm,” Pansy hums, lips pursed condescendingly.
Harry stands and takes a palm full of Floo powder, gut twisting and thoughts racing.
“Harry—” Pansy says, stopping him as the flames flare green. “If you really love him—”
“Pans—”
“—You’ll let this go. You won’t go to the Manor.”
“I don’t… I don’t think I can do that, Pansy.”
Pansy draws her worried eyebrows down between her liquor-glassy eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
*
Harry never received a reply to his owl to Lucius and Narcissa asking if it’d be alright to visit that afternoon. He isn’t surprised; he knows there’s no love lost between them even now, even after he’s been with their son for years.
He’d considered sending owl after owl until one of them responded—even if it was just to serve him with a restraining order. In the end, he knew he would never be at peace if he didn’t talk to them face to face. He needs to settle this once and for all, so he can move on. So he and Draco can move on, and move in, together.
After deciding that he’s given them enough warning, he apparates to Wiltshire.
When he lands outside the Manor, he’s confused. For a minute he thinks he’s apparated to the wrong location. The once-gleaming gates are rusted and bent, hanging from their hinges. Ivy creeps across the damp stone pillars and flagstones, eating into every fracture and crevice. The footpath beyond the gates is thickly overgrown with weeds and brambles, as though no one has walked it in years.
He pushes past the gates and begins fighting his way through the underbrush. His breath catches in his throat when he comes around the final bend in the path. There’s no way Draco has been living here for the last six years. There’s no way anyone has been living here in a long time.
The entire house seems to sag. The stone walls are covered in a thick layer of black muck. The same ivy that threads through the front gates has all-but consumed the lower half of the building, making it look as though the Manor is scrabbling up from the depths of the earth. All the windows Harry can see are coated in a thick layer of dusty grime; some are broken and grimace at him like mouths full of jagged, glass teeth. The once-resplendent gardens are now buried under thick snarls of thorns and wild, venomous tentacula that wave menacingly at Harry, welcoming him. To what, he doesn’t know.
Dread settles into the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone. His breathing becomes sharp and ragged, and he knows—beyond the shadow of a doubt—that something is very wrong.
When he finally picks his way up the crumbling front steps, he finds that the stately front door is cracked open. From the look of it, the lock fell from the moist, rotting old wood at some point.
He pushes the door open more fully and is hit with a wave of the thick, sickly-sweet scent of decay. His shocked brain finally jumpstarts into action. He jogs into the foyer, the clacking of his dress shoes muffled in the thick layer of dust on the floor. Despite the blood rushing in his ears and his short, wheezing breaths, he can hear the sounds of voices coming from a door down the hallway to his left. He recognizes one as Draco’s.
He moves quickly but cautiously toward the sound, pausing just outside the open door.
“Mother, I’ve told you a hundred times, you can’t have milk in your tea anymore. It upsets your stomach for days. Here, let me—”
“Oh, stop fussing, Draco. I’m an old lady I can do what I like,” comes Narcissa’s high-pitched, croaky voice.
Draco chuckles warmly, and Harry can hear the clink of teacup on saucer.
“So, Draco, my boy. How is your Mister Potter?” Lucius asks. Harry had forgotten how alike he and Draco sound, though Lucius’s voice is a touch deeper.
“Oh, well. Don’t tell him I told you, but I think he’s going to propose soon!” Draco replies, sounding genuinely pleased.
Harry’s stomach flips, despite his overwhelming unease.
“Oh, my love, that’s wonderful. I know you love him very much. Perhaps now you can invite him to come live with us? We’ve got more than enough room, you know,” Narcissa’s reedy voice cracks a little, and Draco clears his throat.
“Mother. No,” he responds sternly, almost shouting, “We’ve talked about this many times. You know I can’t bring him here. As much as I would love—” Draco sniffs wetly, as though he’s crying, “—to have all of my family together, he would never want that. He could never understand. He’s not...not like us.”
Draco sobs, then, and there’s a clatter of china as though he’s shoved his teacup away from himself.
Harry can’t take it anymore. He takes a deep breath, sets his shoulders, and moves around the doorframe to face them.
Draco glances up from the opposite side of the small table, startled. He looks like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a hungry dog--hunched and shivering, eyes wide and darting erratically. But then a smile cuts across his pale face. His pink lips curve up at the edges, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Oh, Harry. We were just talking about you. You’ve come just in time for tea. Sit.”
It’s then that Harry looks to Lucius and Narcissa, seated in chairs on either side of Draco.
Neither of them move, and it takes Harry longer than he’d like to realize that’s because they can’t.
Their bodies are stiff and cold-looking. Their skin is waxy and grey, and both of their skulls are swathed in wisps of white-blonde hair that looks to have been tacked on with a hasty sticking charm. Harry shifts one step to the right, enough to see that Lucius’s eyelids are gone and his eyes have been replaced with shiny, black marbles.
He cuts his eyes frantically over to Narcissa, whose ivory teeth look too huge in her face. Harry realizes on a wave of nausea that her lips have rotted, exposing fleshless gums.
“Yes, Harry dear, Draco has told us so much about you, please sit. There’s so much we need to talk about. To clear the air.”
A manic laugh rips from Harry’s throat as what he thought was Narcissa’s voice drips out of Draco’s mouth like the chime of discordant bells. He takes several stilted steps backward toward the door.
Draco shoots to his feet, a soft, pleading look on his beautiful face. He moves toward Harry carefully, extending pleading hands until he can grasp Harry’s shoulders.
Harry wants to scream. He wants to run away from that place and never look back. But here’s Draco, his Draco, jarringly pretty among all this rot. Draco places a soft kiss on Harry's trembling lips.
“Harry. Please. Join us.”
The snick of the door echoes in his ears as it’s spelled shut behind him.
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Being a Death Eater would include:
Masterlist
This idea started life as a random thought while I was finishing up my final assignments for my teaching course (which I have now completed 🥳). This turned out darker than I thought it would be, so beware for some in-universe prejudice (muggleborn) and mentions of murder.
Y/B/N = your brother’s name
Being a proud Hufflepuff.
Which seems a little odd, especially considering your future as one of Voldemort’s most formidable followers.
But it meant that you were able to fly under the radar of Wizarding society for a long time before people realised where your loyalties truly were.
You’re part of a Pureblood family, an old one that can trace it’s ancestry back several hundred years.
And unlike a certain family cough the Blacks cough, there’s little to no signs of madness, due to your family’s habit of marrying wizards and witches who aren’t related to you at all. Take that Bellatrix.
Like much of your family, muggles disgust you. They’re entirely useless in your eyes.
Muggleborns are slightly better, because at least they can do magic.
But there’s still something suspicious about them…
Your older brother introduces you to Voldemort.
He was in Slytherin when Voldemort was, albeit a couple of years behind. He became one of the first Death Eaters and you were so proud of him.
Your brother adores you too and watches your progress at Hogwarts. He sees how you advance in your studies, how powerful your magic has become. You become Prefect and join the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and he looks on as you become a major influence on other students, particularly the young ones.
Y/B/N mentions your name to the Dark Lord, talks about your talent and how useful you might be to his efforts to cleanse magical Britain.
Voldemort is indulging your brother when he arranges a meeting with you, but he discovers that he wasn’t lying about your talent.
You’re not as powerful as him, Merlin no, but there’s a strength and a drive to be the best that he can support.
He finds himself agreeing with your brother and invites you to join his Death Eaters in your final year at Hogwarts.
You accept. The ritual is painful, but you don’t flinch from it. There’s pride in your older brother’s eye as your mark appears on your skin. The other Death Eaters welcome you to their ranks and Lord Voldemort himself congratulates you for joining him.
Your family congratulates you and they’re all very proud of you and Y/B/N for trying to clean up Magical Britain (even if they voice it more delicately than that).
During your final year, you act as Voldemort’s spy in Hogwarts. Becoming Head Boy/Girl has given you plenty of leeway to patrol Hogwarts and you use this power to get information which you then pass onto him.
At the end of the year, the Dark Lord summons you and asks you to remove the Muggle Studies teacher (who has offended him in some way).
Needless to say, you succeed.
The sudden death of the Muggle Studies Professor is a shock to Hogwarts. It looks like an accident (and it’s eventually dismissed as one), but some people wonder otherwise…
You’re never suspected in it, Merlin no. Who would expect the Head Boy/Girl to murder a teacher, let alone a teacher of a subject they never took?
After leaving Hogwarts, you work at the Ministry in your chosen field while continuing to spy for Voldemort, who also helps you learn more about the Dark Arts.
You act as a recruiter for the Death Eaters during this time. You have an eye for potential members and you pride yourself on selecting only the best to show your Lord.
Outside of your family, Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, no one knows you’re loyal to the Dark Lord for a very long time.
You keep your ear to the ground and pass along any information that seems useful, whether you come across it at work or through your social circles.
You have a lot of friends and acquaintances to keep in touch with. Who knows which one of them will have something useful for you?
Especially if they don’t realise how useful their information is to you and the Dark Lord.
It takes a while for anyone to realise what’s going on.
Certain Wizengamot bills that Chief Warlock Dumbledore supported fail to pass the final vote.
People who were about to be arrested have prior warning about their fate and manage to evade capture.
Rumours fly around the Ministry of potential spies leaking information to You-Know-Who.
Certain members of society start to disappear or are made to feel unwelcome in the Wizarding World.
And if you use this time to take your revenge on some of the Mudbloods you went to school with and their families? That’s no one’s business but yours.
Lord Voldemort doesn’t trust anyone, not even his followers. But he acknowledges that you’re one of his more competent Death Eaters (something he appreciates), which puts you above many others.
You grow to relish every encounter with the Order of the Phoenix, especially if it ends in their blood being shed.
You’re responsible for the murder of the Bones family.
This is the event that reveals your identity as a Death Eater to the Order and a particularly fierce one at that.
People become afraid to say your name. Rooms become silent the moment you enter them. People have started to realise that anyone who makes you unhappy quickly meets with bad luck or death.
Rumours spread of the Dark Lord being defeated by a baby, the Potter’s only child. You don’t believe this and try to discover what actually happened.
You and Y/B/N are captured before you’re able to find out what happened on Halloween. It’s 15 Aurors against both of you, but neither of you are going down without a fight.
The pair of you have already killed 7 Aurors and injured more, when your brother suddenly falls to the ground after a curse hits his chest. The shock of your brother’s death distracts you enough for an Auror to stun you in the back.
You’re quickly charged and sentenced to Azkaban - there’s absolutely no doubt about your guilt.
Your cell is across the hall from Bellatrix Lestrange. First the Dementors, now you’re in close contact with your frenemy for the foreseeable future?
What did you do to deserve this?
Oh, wait...
The years pass in a haze. They harden your beliefs and strengthen your disgust about Wizarding society.
You know you’re not completely sane, like you were once before.
Your jailers tell you that You-Know-Who is dead. You don’t believe them.
When Voldemort comes to break you and the others out of Azkaban, you take your revenge on them, even if it’s just with your bare hands.
Your Dark Mark burns against your forearm. The pain is overwhelming, as is your joy. When Bellatrix starts her incessant cackling, you join in.
As you leave Azkaban, you silently swear to yourself that you’ll never go back there - even if it means your death first.
And if you happen to take some of the Light’s supporters with you? Oh, that will be so sweet.
Harry looks up from his breakfast when he hears Ron swear. His best friend is reading about the escaped prisoners in the Daily Prophet. “Y/N Y/L/N,” Ron says in a whisper as he points to your photo. A placid looking face stares back at the boys as they read your list of crimes.
“Who was that?” Hermione asks as she leans across the table.
“My Dad told me about them,” Ron began slowly. “No one knew they were a Death Eater until they were arrested. They passed so many secrets to You-Know-Who that the Ministry took years to rebuild and change department guidelines after they went to Azkaban.”
Harry stares at your face. There was no madness in your eyes, no hint of abnormality or sign that you were a Death Eater.
“Apparently they were a Hufflepuff,” Ron says. Harry and Hermione look up at him in disbelief. He nods in confirmation. “It’s why they were so successful in hiding their loyalty for so long. No one ever really suspects a Hufflepuff of being a Death Eater.”
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when nothing’s said- fred weasley
masterlist
pair: fred weasley x slytherin!female!reader
summary: y/n has known the weasley twins since first year and wanted nothing more than to befriend the pair, but one of them wants nothing to do with her. never one to back down, she worms her way into their lives and captures the heart of fred, whether he likes it or not.
warnings: slight swearing, italics is memories
a/n: first hp fic!!! thank you for all the support on my marvel fics so far it means so much <333 i’m gonna start a taglist so message me if you want to be added! and specify if you want to be added to marvel, hp or both! also requests are open!
“wicked.” you heard the voices of fred and george weasley chant behind you. their voices still managed to boom over the loud chatter of zonko’s. they were looking at the new line of products that had been added to the shelves. you were in your last year at hogwarts and had been through your entire school career with the twins. however, you had a love-hate relationship with them.
being sorted into slytherin in your first year immediately made them dislike you, their deep rooted hatred for slytherins being the cause of that. you met on your first day, in the great hall before the sorting ceremony. you heard their murmurs about pranks and tricks they could play on each professor and a small smile crept on your face.
“oi! what you smiling at?” the one on the left asked, you later found out to be fred.
“i strongly suggest you don’t prank professor snape. that won’t turn out well on your behalf.” you replied. your parents were high up in the ministry of magic and were well respected individuals in the wizarding world. they had told you all about the professors at hogwarts and what to expect when you arrived.
“oh yeah? i don’t know about you fred, but i don’t think professor snape stands a chance against us.” the one on the right said, george, you now know.
“you’re absolutely right, george.”
“y/n y/l/n!” professor mcgonagall announced and you stepped up to the sorting hat.
“oh? a y/l/n? i remember your mother. you two are very similar. wow, i see. very cunning. very ambitious... slytherin!”
and that was all it took. that budding friendship, gone. it was more fred than george, well at least that’s what you seemed to notice. fred had a very sort fuse and could never seem to control his anger towards you, george seemed to tolarate you a little more.
you had many run ins with the them throughout your years in hogwarts, many of them to fred’s demise.
“hey george! you said you needed help with potions?” you called, jogging slightly to catch up with them.
“yeah, you’re like crazy smart at it and snape doesn’t like me.”
“snape doesn’t like anyone.” you stated.
“he likes you.” he replied.
“it’s only because she’s slytherin. he doesn’t care that she’s the smartest in our class.” fred complained.
“you think i’m smart?”
“everyone thinks that.” he said. you send him a confused look, did he just compliment you? “i mean, you like to rub it in everyone’s face that’s all.”
“ignore him. library after dinner?”
although the fred disliked you and george only spoke to you for help with potions, their friend lee jordan had a soft spot for you and you two actually got on very well.
“y/n!” lee called. he pushed through the crowds of children to where you stood near the entrance.
“hey lee.” you greeted with a smile, “where are dumb and dumber?”
“drooling over new products, what’s new?” he replied.
you chucked, “usual for them then.”
“who are you with?” he asked.
“uh, y/f/n. she’s looking for something to get her brother.” you explained.
lee nodded his head, “how about you two join us for some drinks at the three broomsticks?”
“hmm a chance to piss off the twins? how could i resist?” you teased.
“meet us there in like half an hour?” he suggested.
“of course. see you then.” you said, winking at him and leaving to find your friend.
you scanned the busy store in search for y/f/n, noticing her talking to adrian pucey.
“hey, y/f/n, adrian.” you greeted. adrian and your friend both smiled warmly at you.
“afternoon, y/n.” he said, “me and y/f/n were planning to head back to the common room, want to join us?”
“actually, lee just invited me to the three broomsticks. why don’t you come with us?”
y/f/n scoffed, “what? just to see you and fred bicker like a married couple the whole time? thanks but no thanks.”
“it’s not my fault he doesn’t like me! i’m only going to talk to lee anyway.” you explained.
“uh huh, sure you are.” she mumbled.
“oh shut up.” you said, laughing lightly.
“i need to pay for this stuff,” y/f/n stated, gersturing to the items in her hands. “you guys wait here and then we can walk you to the three broomsticks.”
you and adrian made conversation until she came back, robes pockets slightly bigger than before she left.
“shall we?” adrian said, letting you guys leave first.
the streets of hogsmeade were filled with excited students, snow falling on their heads. you wrapped your coat around you tighter, feeling the harsh breeze under it. the wooden sign of the three broomsticks came into view and you saw lee and the twins standing outside.
“well, i’ll see you guys later.” you announced, waving at the pair as you walked away.
you approached the trio of boys and greeted them, “good evening boys.”
“where’s y/f/n?” lee asked.
“oh her and pucey wanted to go back to the dungeons.” you explained.
“what the fuck lee? you said we were waiting for angelina.” fred spat.
“whoops sorry, must’ve forgot.” he joked with a large smile on his face.
fred groaned in annoyance and walked into the three broomsticks. “what’s got his knickers in a twist?” you asked.
“he just fancies you.” george replied, with a smirk.
“oh yeah, who wouldn’t.” you joked. you stepped into the dimly lit pub and swept your eyes across the busy tables. george came in behind you with lee and lead you to a table where fred sat with a scowl set on his face. him and lee went to get butterbeers for the table, leaving you two alone.
“hey sunshine.” you said, sliding in beside him. his mouth stayed shut and his eyes stayed trained on the empty booth in front of him. “you cant ignore me forever.”
“actually i can, sunshine. and i will.” he replied.
“merlin, you’re so dramatic. is this only because i’m an evil, muggle-born murdering, slytherin? or is there something else to it?”
he scoffed and turned his head to look at you. “oh come on! just because i’m a slytherin doesn’t mean i’m evil.”
“i’m pretty sure it does.”
you let out a shocked laugh, “grow up fred. i’ve never done anything to you. you’re the one that pranks my friends and i! and fair enough some of my house mates are wankers but me and y/f/n haven’t done anything to you.”
he opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately. “i think you need to let go of this petty hatred towards me.”
“i think he does too.” lee announced as he approached the table with two butterbeers in his hands. him and george sat on the other side of the booth from you and slid two glasses across the table.
“he’s not one to back down easy is my brother.” george said.
“very stubborn so he is.” lee added.
“right that’s enough you two.” fred groaned, taking a swig of his drink.
“anyway, did you listen to that record i gave you?” lee asked you.
“yep, i’ve been listening to it on repeat. my roommates hate me for it.” you replied, chuckling.
“you like muggle music?” fred questioned.
“yeah it’s actually how lee and i became friends, he heard me whistling a song by queen and began singing along. since then we’ve been giving each other albums to listen to.” you explained. you took a sip of your butterbeer.
“wicked, what album was it he gave you recently?” he asked. out of the corner of your eye you saw george and lee subtly high five each other and begin having their own conversation.
“it was parklife by blur, it came out last year.” you said.
“i think i remember lee playing that one. when you give it back i’ll make sure to listen to it.”
you and fred spent the next hour bonding over your love for muggle music. you were surprised that he listened to so much and you guys actually had a very similar taste in music.
“do you remember professor lupin?” you asked. fred glanced over to george and smiled lightly.
“uh yeah, vaguely.” he replied with a laugh.
“well one time i was going to ask him for help with my essay on vampires and he was listening to david bowie! i mean i knew he was my favourite teacher but that just made me love him even more.”
“bowie huh? i can see that.” he said, nodding in approval.
“oi you two.” george stated, catching both your attention. “we’re gonna head back.”
“do you want to go?” you asked.
“you two go on, we’ll stay here for a bit yeah?” he replied, turning to look at you for confirmation. you nodded with a smile which fred returned.
george chuckled and winked at fred who just rolled his eyes. you watched the pair leave the pub and turned your attention back to fred.
“it must be fun having so many siblings.”
“it is, they’re so much fun to prank.” he chuckled. “want to go for a walk?”
“you want to go for a walk with me?” you asked with feigned shock.
“shut it, come on.” he grabbed his glass and finished the leftover butterbeer at the bottom before pushing you slightly to get you out the booth.
you slid out and grabbed your coat that you had abandoned earlier, putting it back on.
the cold air hit your face as you opened the door, fred stepped out behind you. he sucked in a breath, “bloody hell it’s freezing out here.”
“good solve detective.” you joked.
“being a cheeky bugger is my job.”
“well now you’ve got some competition.” you laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you walked down the main street. a comfortable silence fell over the two of you as the snow fell on the ground. the crunch of your shoes against the snow was all the could be heard.
questions began to flood your head, why was fred here with you? what made him change his mind? shouldn’t he hate you? surely talking about music wasn’t enough for him to get over whatever made him despise you?
“okay i have to ask.” you blurted. fred glanced at you and nodded, signalling for you to continue. “why are you here?”
he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “what do you mean?”
“don’t you hate me? i feel like you shouldn’t be as nice to me as you are being right now, considering you avoided me like the plague from first year. i’m not sure what i did, but i’m just confused on how you seem to no longer hate my guts-“
suddenly his lips were on yours and you froze, he was kissing you? why? you pulled back in shock and looked up at him, glancing between both his eyes.
“why did you do that?” you asked.
“i don’t hate you. i never have. i was pissed off myself for liking you, for thinking you were beautiful.” he explained, “you are a slytherin and for some stupid reason that made me push you away.” he placed his hands on your arms, “i’ve been raised on the idea that slytherin’s are all evil and are all with them. but i know now, that’s not true. so i’m sorry.”
“merlin you are one soppy bastard aren’t you! i accept your apology don’t worry.” you said, “i knew you secretly didn’t hate me.” you smiled up at him.
“how could i? you’re a catch darling.” he replied with a smirk.
“anymore of that and my head will be bigger than yours.” you joked. “anyway, i believe i owe you something.”
“what?-“ you leaned up and kissed him before he got the chance to say anything else. he smiled against your lips and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. you lifted your arms up around his neck and laced your hands together.
fred pulled away first, breathing heavily. “wait till george hears about this. godric he’ll go mental.”
“he told me that you fancied me earlier, should’ve believed him.”
he chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours, “what’ll your family think when you tell them you’re dating a weasley?” he asked.
“woah, woah, woah. dating are we?” you teased.
“obviously, love. unless that’s not what you want.” he replied, placing his hand on your cheek and rubbing his thumb across your lips.
“i’ve wanted that since the moment you called me smart.”
“i wasn’t subtle at all was i?” he asked, cheeks going slightly red from embarrassment.
“not really now that i think about it. but i was oblivious.”
fred chuckled and pressed a soft kiss against your lips again, exhaling a laugh through his nose.
“can we continue this somewhere warm? i’m freezing out here.”
#fred weasley#fred weasly x reader#harry potter#fred weasley imagine#harry potter imagine#fred and goerge weasley
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Lol, Queen Elsa and Ser Ambrose are going to have an identity crisis. 😂 Then again, I have the feeling they’re going to call each other Morgana and Merlin in private. Wait a second, doesn’t Vortigern have a daughter in the movie?
Merlin: You have a daughter. *staring at the little princess*
Morgan: In this life, I do. What of it?
Merlin: *shakes his head* Nothing is all. It just feels strange.
Morgan: Well, it’s none of your business.
Merlin: *smiles sadly* I know.
Tho i wonder if with Vortigern dead, the magic under the tower would’ve still activated? Uther is still young and is the one running the kingdom. So will Morgana try to take it from Uther like Jude Law’s Vortigern?
And then again Merlin has to make a choice againlmao
Merlin: Your Highness, you could always marry the princess to prince arthur when they become of age
Morgana: where’s the fun in that, Ser Ambrose? I dont want to be just an ordinary mother in law.
Merlin: come on morgana i beg you. You don’t even have a claim on this camelot either. The tower will still fall, let the pendragons rule
Morgana: Why do you always support them, merlin? What have they done to you? I’m a mage too. We are the same. We could rule together. Our lives don’t have to depend on whether this Uther tolerates it or not. You won’t have to go in hiding if you ally yourself with me! Must you always align your destiny and powers with them?
Merlin: (internal moral crisis)
#mergana#merlin x legend of the sword#mergana au#i’ll spread my wings and i’ll learn how to fly#i know it’s not easy to tell you goodbye#take risk take a chance make a change#and breakaway
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#40 kisses prompt if you haven't had that asked yet please and thank you.
A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.
I felt like expanding this.
“And, why are people staring at us?”
Tina clears her throat as they walk past gaggles of well-dressed employees at the Ministry entrance, then waves her wand at a stand of this morning’s papers so that one flies into her hand and falls open to the second page. “The usual.” She passes the page over to Newt, her beaded charcoal gown rustling between them.
Many of the guests pay them no mind, but Newt is right to notice the odd person pointing or whispering with badly concealed glances in their direction.
“ ‘Scamander and Auror Wife to Split’ details on page 10′” he reads. “Merlin’s beard, not again.” He skims the article briefly before sending the paper back to the stand with a flick of his wand and a frustrated sigh. Frequent absences for work. Sources close to the couple. Chilly atmosphere on a walk last week after Mr. Scamander returned from his research trip.
“Mm-hm.” Tina rolls her eyes, fighting hard to brush it off entirely, although she knows these articles bother Newt. Not all of them—not the ones speculating about the color of ink he uses at book signings or the financial arrangement he has with his publisher for a second edition. He finds those easy enough to ignore. And the articles that anger him the most are those with misinformation about his creatures. But she has noticed that it bothers him when the papers speculate about the state of their relationship. Is it so impossible for people to see how we feel about each other? he’d asked the night after the second article had run, his face cast in shadows on the pillow beside her and his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along her ribs.
She can understand the frustration. As secure as they are in each other, it stings that the rest of society seems to have decided that their feelings deserve suspicion and ridicule. A single article would be one thing, but to have the baseless stories repeated over, and over... (Who’s gonna marry him? she remembers asking Newt on the day they met, in reference to Jacob of course, but it feels apt now—the question everyone else seems to be asking of them.) Tina is a generally private person, and she knows it wouldn’t help, but sometimes she wishes she could make these foolish people listen to her as she describes her husband—his kindness, and wit, and energy. How unusual and wonderful he is, and how lucky they both feel every day, even when one of them is in a terrible mood, or they’re about to be separated for work, to have stumbled into each other on a New York street.
The specifics of the articles change each time, but the implications remain more or less the same. Some speculate that she is always at work, too busy to support his success, and too disinterested a wife to care. Others suggest that he is too strange, too cold—that he couldn’t possibly care for her. And always, the articles seem to say, it was destined to be a disaster, and if ever there was any passionate feeling between them, there certainly isn’t now. She’ll take the criticism of her feelings and know it’s absurd, but the self-satisfied hints about Newt are enraging.
They make their way to the east wing of the lobby and up a set of stairs, where floating chandeliers and draping gold and navy fabric adorn the usually bare hall. Newt must have picked up on her scowl, because he slides his hand into hers and squeezes tightly. She squeezes back, trying to shake off her frustration as she waves at a couple of auror colleagues. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you hate these things.”
“You hate them too,” he protests.
“Yes, but I’m the one who’s required to go.”
His thumb sweeps across the back of her hand, his fingers threading through hers. “I’d do far more, you know.”
She does not try to hide her soft smile, lovestruck though it must be. “I know.”
They reach the top of the stairs and turn left, making their way past tables of bubbling drinks and towards the ballroom’s heavy wooden doors. Newt drops her hand to avoid a floating platter of chocolates, stepping to the side to rejoin her a few feet later. A camera flash goes off in front of them. Wonderful, Tina thinks. More fuel for speculation.
-&-
The first part of the evening goes as well as can be expected. Tina has few enough people that she’s interested in talking to; the only reason the Auror Department is required to attend these soirees is ‘to demonstrate to everyone that England is doing just fine in our efforts to stop Grindelwald’.
At least Perkins had pulled Newt deep into conversation about the creatures he’d come across on assignment in Brazil. They’d wandered off fifteen minutes earlier, leaving Tina to sip her drink and watch the rest of the senior aurors and department heads mingle. Occasionally, she has a brief conversation with a colleague, but they, like her, keep moving around the room, taking stock. Even if she were the kind of person who enjoyed parties, she supposes, her job would probably ruin them. There are too many people to keep an eye on--too many people that she’s learned by reputation or experience not to trust.
Since Newt left for a smaller anteroom, she has also found to her great annoyance that the gossiping has become somewhat bolder. There are a few whispers around her--a couple of women from the press office pointing at her with sympathetic sighs; a man turning to his wife and saying I didn’t think it would last, you know. He’s so odd.
She has just turned back for another drink when Mrs. Selwyn spots her. “Ah, Tina darling, how are you?”
Tina moves her glass to her left hand, reaching with her right to shake the woman’s hand. The Selwyns have purchased hippogriffs from the Scamanders and have known both boys since they were little, although they are not, Tina has gathered, a particular favorite of either. “Fine, Mrs. Selwyn,” Tina replies smoothly, keeping an eye on new arrivals passing through the ballroom door.
“You know, dear, if you ever needed--well, if you needed someone to talk to...”
Tina swallows a cough at the presumption. “What about?” she asks cheerfully.
“Oh, well. I’m sure I don’t know. Married life. That sort of thing.”
Tina does cough at that, covering it with a sip of her drink. Any anger on her part, she knows, will only be taken as confirmation of the story. The nerve of these people though, and the nerve of those so-called journalists with their smug implications, that no one could really fall in love with Newt; that a woman and an auror could not possibly have a happy marriage; that because Newt doesn’t follow her around like a crup at every event saying ‘yes dear’ and ‘of course dear’, he couldn’t possibly be in love with her. Never mind the way he looked at her from across the room a few minutes ago, when he caught her gaze mid-sentence. Never mind that her heart still takes off like a niffler in a jewelry store whenever he fixes her hair or kisses the back of her hand.
“Tina!” she hears, grateful that for once, her brother-in-law has good timing. “Could I borrow her for a moment, Mrs. Selwyn? Auror business.”
Mrs. Selwyn looks between them, raising an eyebrow as though deciding whether to be offended, and then nods and turns away.
“Thank you,” Tina murmurs under her breath as they walk towards the opposite wall.
“I’m quite put out, you know,” Theseus replies good-naturedly. “My brother and sister-in-law are splitting up for the fifth time this year, and they didn’t even bother to tell me.”
“Don’t you start,” she warns.
Theseus glances at her, then nods towards Mrs. Selwyn’s retreating form. “Is that what that was about?”
She hums in acknowledgement. “Offering ‘marital advice’.”
“Ridiculous, if you ask me. ‘There was a chilly atmosphere on their walk’,” he quotes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Mm, particularly given the fact that we’d spent the majority of that day in bed.”
Theseus chokes on a sip of firewhisky. “Tina, he’s my little brother, would you please not—“ She grins, and he scowls back half-heartedly. “You say things like that just to make me squirm.”
“It’s good for you.” Her grin melts into a softer smile as she catches sight of Newt, who is still engrossed in his conversation with Perkins half a room away, his hands flying through the air with his enthusiasm.
Theseus’s voice has gentled beside her. “I don’t know how anyone could pay attention to the two of you for five minutes and believe anything those articles say.”
Well, Tina thinks with a rush of impatient energy, perhaps that’s what everyone needs to put an end to this stupid speculation. “Back in a minute,” she tells Theseus, downing the last of her drink and setting the glass on a nearby table.
She strides across the room to where Newt and Perkins are still talking. “Could I borrow Newt?” she asks, one hand grazing Newt’s elbow once he’s seen that it’s her.
“Hello,” Newt offers once they are facing each other. He swallows hard, she presumes at what must be a rather fierce expression on her face.
“Hi,” she returns, touching the edge of his fringe.
He catches her hand in his own, turning to press a kiss to her palm, the touch comfortable and breathtaking in equal measure. “Is something the matter?”
She shakes her head, falling into the tender amusement of his searching gaze. The auror in her had crossed the room with a plan, but as she slides a hand along his jaw and brings his lips to hers, she does not think about who might be watching them, or who would care. She does it because she wants to, and because she loves him, and because they can. Because she’s caught glimpses of him looking at her all evening, and knows that she’s been doing the same.
Newt is as wrapped up in them as she was in an instant. He tilts his head further and cups her jaw to keep their mouths joined, his other hand settling on her waist to steady them. The kiss is intense but not frenzied, the press of lips and tongues a familiar give and take, their soft gasps muffled into the space between them.
Tina slides her hand around his neck, slipping her fingers up into his messy hair and smiling against his lips when he arches into the touch, and Newt coaxes her closer with his hand spread across her back. A shiver works its way through her as his calloused hand settles against her bare skin where the cut of her dress has left it exposed.
They part slowly, first to their foreheads pressed together, and then enough that Tina glimpses the dazed expression that matches her own.
He watches his fingers curl into her mussed hair and tuck it back behind her ear, and Tina melts into the tenderness in his touch and his eyes. “That was…” he manages, his voice rough.
Her teeth dig into her lip, her eyes dancing to find the beginnings of a smile on Newt’s lips. “Unexpected?” She fixes the ends of his collar, although they hardly need adjusting. “I thought maybe we could put a stop to the rumors. They were starting to bother me.” She fingers his bowtie. “I think they have been. A little. Not because—but the things that everyone assumes about you are...“
“I know.” His brow furrows, his fingers curling around hers. “I think the same about you.”
A camera flashes beside them.
Tina sighs as, reluctantly, they pull apart. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t appear in the papers. But if they’re going to, at least it can be a little more accurate, and less likely to send nosy women and thoughtless Ministry officials their way with cruel assumptions about Newt’s heart.
The story runs the following day as a caption to a photograph from the evening, an ever-repeating moment of their hands tangled and eyes fixed together as they separate from their kiss.
Newt Scamander & Auror Goldstein Like Newlyweds at Last Night’s Soiree, the headline reads.
Theseus drops a copy on Tina’s desk the next morning with a shake of his head and a begrudging grin.
“So, did that go how you’d planned?” Newt asks that night as they’re getting ready for bed.
Tina grins as he settles under the blankets beside her. “I saw you tear out a copy of that photograph and put it in your case.”
He settles a hand on her hip, and she grasps it to tug him closer, until he’s pressed up against her back, his voice behind her warm and sleepy. “Your eyes in that photo, Tina.”
She cranes her neck to glimpse his face, reaching an arm behind her to tuck his face into her neck. “I may have left a copy in my desk. I prefer yours.”
#newtina#newtina fanfiction#my writing#i don't even know what this is#anyway#tina and theseus being friends gives me life ok
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Albus Dumbledore being an awesome teacher and human being
Bubblegum Bitch - MARINA
(Imma be honest with y’all, it’s mostly just him being a crackhead.)
He tells stories about Grindelwald, about their marriage and their beliefs and their lives together. All of the stories have lessons - sure, a lot of those lessons are about how NOT to make pasta, but they’re still lessons!
He likes to matchmake students using seating charts and certain magical spell assignments. He’s very good at it. I mean, he’s shit at figuring out who likes each other, but he is great at meddling, so Mcgonogall tells him who to mess with and he does as he’s told. They make a great team (and are invited to a lot of weddings). Couples they’ve helped include but are not limited to: Dean and Seamus, Luna and Ginny, Hermione and Harry and Ron, Sirius and Remus, Peter and Maxwell Needles, Peter and Regulus (that was later), Lily and Severus and James, Fred and Lee plus George and Lee, Charlie and Newt (queerplatonic), Leta and Newt (queerplatonic), Harry and Luna (queerplatonic), and Sirius and James and Remus (queerplatonic). They’ve been very busy.
He and Mcgonogall have teatime almost every day. They talk about their students and work on their matchmaking plans. There’s a lot of sass and deadpanning involved. Sometimes they invite Remus, Sirius, and James. (Not Peter. He doesn’t need the same level of torturing that they do.) Bubbles of all shapes and sizes and colors float around the room the whole time. It’s fantastic.
He accepts gossip in exchange for extra credit. He’s a really good secret keeper too, so a lot of students go for it. (It hasn’t broken any friendships. There’s an understanding among the student population that Dumbledore is like Ms. Potts from that Muggle film Beauty and the Beast - well-meaning and trustworthy, but terribly, terribly bored.)
Everything in his classroom is pink. And glittery. And covered in sequins. Once a student asked him why and he just smirked for a solid minute before whispering, “Lemonade.” (As if that makes any fucking sense.)
He once taught class in a full-fledged glittery ballgown that faded from light pink to deep purple. He did not once acknowledge it or act like anything was out of the ordinary. One student raised their hand and asked timidly, “Professor? Why are you wearing a ballgown?” And his brow furrowed as he frowned, looked down at himself, and muttered, “Thought it was a bathrobe.” (Harry does not let him live this one down. His dad is not much help - Severus took many, many pictures.) (Not that it mattered. On Wednesdays Dumbledore wears pink (glittery ballgowns).)
He speaks to kids who have parents, friends, and relatives in prison, whether for being Death Eaters or otherwise. He chaperones visits to Azkaban for them so they can see their loved ones. He casts protective and invisibility charms on them so only the one they’re visiting can see or hear them, and he teaches them Patronuses (with Remus’ help, of course). He often spends these visits on the other side of Grindelwald’s bars, playing wizard’s chess against him. (Sometimes Grindelwald gives him flowers. It always makes Dumbledore smile. There may be no one left in the world who understands why they love each other, but they don’t need to understand it for it to be true.)
He stands at the front of the classroom and makes funny faces during tests and waits to see how long it takes for a student to look up. His latest record is seven minutes.
When he’s teaching Grindelwald’s history, he makes snarky comments about his husband. They range from “I mean really. Who the fuck thought wizards ruling Muggles was a good idea?” (Rest in peace that one student who thought it was a good idea to say, “You did, Professor.”) to “Honestly, that man has no concept of romance. I ask him for a nice night out and he takes me to a Muggle rally about witchcraft and tries to impress me by playing practical magical jokes on the speaker. A toddler could do that.” (He often gets mushy during those stories though, usually trailing off like “But that time he took me to my childhood home for my birthday was sweet… brought me flowers for Ariana’s grave and everything. Sure, he killed her, but… he has a sweet side…” and from there on out he’s basically a lost cause and you might as well go to your next class because he’s not going to stop humming that fucking Elvis song).
He “loses” his glasses all the time by casting an invisibility charm on them and forces his students to search the classroom for them when they’re on his face the whole time. He thinks it’s funny. Harry does not. (But Severus and Mcgonogall do, and that’s really what matters.) (Severus and Mcgonogall and Dumbledore are a fantastic trio full of snark and sarcasm and shit, I have just decided.)
He makes little animals out of multi-colored magical dust and they fly around the classroom and perch on his favorite students’ heads. Once a dragon fell asleep on Newt’s head and wouldn’t leave even when class was over. Newt had to wait for the magic to wear off so it would disintegrate. (Of course, he had named it by that point and had a meltdown when it disappeared, so Dumbledore recreates the dragon (Robert) every class and just lets Newt coo at it, even during tests.)
He conjured and charmed two giant (I mean Egypt half-animal half-man guard statue size giant) fluffy pink teddy bears that are alive and stand on either side of him like bodyguards during class. A Slytherin student punched one in the stomach once and it vomited enough M&Ms over their head to completely bury them. The student’s partner, a Ravenclaw student, punched the other one in an ill-advised burst of illogical thought and received the same treatment, but in Skittles. (Luckily their Gryffindor aro-ace friend and nonbinary Hufflepuff friend stayed after class and ate until they could move again. Safe to say no one has dared punch the bears again.) (Though I hear they do give very good hugs. And they eat homework if you ask nicely enough!)
He has a bunch of cloaks that act as portals to realms like Merlin’s Celestiums (S.G.E., Soman Chainani). He gives one to each student for tests, and they are transported to their ideal test-taking environments, complete with whatever song they feel like listening to at any given minute playing all around them. Unsurprisingly, his students have the best grades in all of Hogwarts. (He also has a secret cloak that he uses for himself, to see Grindelwald. Grindelwald has his own matching one so he can always make it home for Thursday date night.) (They have been caught. Of course they have. But no one is going to challenge Dumbledore for his right to see his husband, even if he did marry a murderer.) (Sirius and Remus used to steal the cloak for their own dates. And later on James would steal it to take the two of them on friend-dates. Inspired by that, Dumbledore made a special cloak for Mcgonogall that he gifted her on her fiftieth birthday. The smile she gave him then is his favorite of all time.)
He bickers with Fawkes constantly. This often evolves into full-fledged screaming matches with spastic hand gestures, gratuitous spit, and angry hops on both sides. Once Dumbledore drew wand on his “useless babbling bastard of a bird”. No one has bothered to tell Dumbledore that Fawkes probably can’t understand a word of their arguments. (They do evacuate the classroom when these fights start though. The last time they stayed their hair was gone for a week, and when it grew back it was glittery and pink.) (Harry looked especially fantastic. Sirius thought he looked great. He laughed until he was in tears. Harry was not amused.) (Remus was.)
Sometimes he’s absent from class and Mcgonogall teaches them instead. When asked if he’s alright, Mcgonogall simply answers, “My partner is away on personal business for the day. Now, turn to page -” Soon enough people figured out that “personal business” meant “conjugal visit with Genocidal Maniac Husband™ in prison”. They stopped asking.
He gives all of his students the red button test (without knowing what it does, do you press the red button?). Those who pass get automatic A’s and a lollipop. Those who fail get a talking pet pygmy puff. The thing that usually trips people up is that Dumbledore considers the “correct” answer to be pressing the goddamn button. (Seamus is the only one who has ever passed (enthusiastically too!). Newt half-passed because Niffy the Niffler sat on it.) (Sirius and James would have passed too if they had not been the life partners of one Remus Lupin, whose creativity with threats and extensive curse-word vocabulary rivaled Mcgonogall’s even at the tender age of fifteen.)
He has floating war maps just lying around. He plays battleship with his students on them. What he neglects to tell them is that their moves have actual consequences in the world, as the maps are magical and reflect real battles and places. When Harry finds out (he blew up Denmark, completely unawares) he shows up at Dumbledore’s door soaking wet at five-thirty in the morning with a newspaper, his fists clenched, his face red, and his chest heaving. He wouldn’t stop glaring for weeks. (Alas, Dumbledore’s glorious beard has great resistance to fire spells.) (Following an incident involving the original four Marauders in their third year. Shhh… we do not speak of that.)
He has a habit of walking into random classrooms, gesturing for a student to come with him with his finger, and then taking them to his office for teatime. He usually asks them inane questions about a specific theme (fish, pasta strainers, socks, throw pillows, mooses, etc.) for hours until finally dismissing them. It drives Mcgonogall crazy. (She’s yelled at him plenty for “kidnapping students to ask them questions you know you could easily find on that Muggle infer-het thing! They have exams, Albus -” but he just smiles at her while calmly sipping his tea and she always ends up collapsing in the chair across from him with a sigh, taking the tea from his hands and chugging it before wiping her mouth, slamming it down on the desk, and asking, “So. Fish. What’s up with them?” and Albus just beams.)
He spends half of his class lessons babbling on about how Merlin was gay for Arthur and Arthur was gay for Merlin, but not in long tangents. Just a bunch of random comments without context, warning, or explanation. (He mentions “poetry” a lot and waggles his eyebrows for some reason, so… what’s up with that? (Merlin BBC))
He overshares A LOT about his and Grindelwald’s lives. It’s a problem because 90% of the time it’s something sweet or innocent like “Oh, he brought me a tiger lily that bloomed open to show a gold and ruby ring nestled inside on our first anniversary. That’s how he proposed to me” and “He used to hum while he did the housework, you know? He’d stand in the middle of the house and close his eyes and just hum. Almost entire symphonies too, just waving his wand in the air like a conductor” to “This one time in bed he…” and there is NO warning. The amount of things these poor children’s ears have had to endure… (*shakes head in mock disappointment*)
He often cooks during class using wandless magic. The pots and pans heat themselves and float around in the air. Sometimes Dumbledore dances and then they start dancing too. He whistles and creates a base beat for the sizzling, popping, clanging, and other kitchen noises to follow. This usually happens during tests. Oh joy.
He leaves the windows open when it rains, but somehow nothing ever gets wet. Harry and Hermione have a theory that it’s protection charms. (Really it’s a spell Severus made up when he was drunk because he was angry that umbrellas don’t have enough room under them for three, and he’s always been the most self-sacrificial person in his marriage.)
He regularly makes bets with Mcgonogall about the students’ love lives. Not money, but little things the other doesn’t want to do or buy. Dumbledore usually has to handle the Marauders’ detentions or give up one of his teddy bear guards for Mcgonogall’s experimental enjoyments. Mcgonogall has to do something embarrassing or let him borrow one of her glittery hats. They should really stop making bets at this point; the stakes and the winners are dreadfully predictable. He always wins when the bet is on a student’s sexuality or gender and she always wins when the bet is on who a student will end up with. Nonetheless, the bets continue. So too does their grumbling amusement.
He figured out how to make a broom invisible when he and Grindelwald first fell in love, so they could be showy with each other at their Greater Good rallies. They later used it for dates, prison breaks, and daring escapes complete with kisses under the moon. Once Grindelwald went to Azkaban, Dumbledore used it to find some privacy where he could grieve. Now, he uses it to travel around his classroom and Hogwarts and trick everyone into thinking he can fly by sheer will. Only Mcgonogall knows his secret. (And Severus, but Dumbledore doesn’t know that because he told him when he was black out drunk. So.)
He lets pygmy puffs sleep in his beard. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
He once taught class while teetering on his feet because he had somehow gotten himself tangled in Christmas lights from shoulders to ankles and couldn’t move. (Sirius wandered in and saw this, cried he was laughing so hard, and then warbled his off-key way through as many Christmas carols as he could remember for the rest of class.) (Dumbledore tried to Silencio him but just fell over trying to make the wand movement. He broke his nose. Sirius almost had a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe from how hard he was laughing. By the end of this he had curled up in a fetal position on the floor, Remus was lying down next to him and muttering jokes to him, Mcgonogall was trying to fix Dumbledore’s face, and Severus had taken over the class. Not that they got much done - James was visiting that day. And him, Sirius, and Remus all laughing about the same thing rarely leads to a quiet and calm learning environment.) (They gave him a joint present of rainbow Christmas lights for his birthday - “Happy Gay Day, Professor!” - and he was not amused.) (Grindelwald was though. So was everyone else.)
He tends to mix up holidays in his head and often decorates for the wrong one. He goes all out too. He’s kind of a disaster, and so is his classroom. It became such a problem that the Marauders actually took pity on him and made him a very big calendar with all the holidays marked on it in glitter and fake jewels and flowers. It sits behind his desk and occasionally works.) (Occasionally.)
He’s queerplatonic partners with Mcgonogall. They held a friend-wedding and forced Severus to be the flowergirl. Harry officiated, Remus was Dumbledore’s best man, Sirius was Mcgonogall’s, James wasn’t given a job cause he was crying too much, Lily was in charge of taking care of James, and Peter was the ring bearer (he only lost them TWICE and they were ring pops anyway). Mcgonogall screeches at him a lot and Dumbledore can be depressive and neglectful because he misses Grindelwald but they love each other so it works. (And they’re the prime source of advice for James, Sirius, and Remus regarding their own queerplatonic relationship, for better or for worse.)
He puts his feet up on the desk even though it’s bad for his knees. Mcgonogall told him it’s bad for his knees and he has stubbornly put them up there every class since. (His knees are killing him but he will not give in to “a paranoid, batty old witch who doesn’t know shit about what’s good for me and wouldn’t if she was hit with an Imperio and I told her -” “I’M YOUR FUCKING PARTNER, YOU BLASPHEMOUS ARROGANT BRAT OF AN OLD FART!”)
Instead of walking around his classroom, he struts. (Yes, it worsens his knees.) He does strike poses, he does make obnoxious expressions, and he does look fabulous. WORK! (Yes, that was a Hamilton reference.)
He once taught class without a face because Mcgonogall cursed him for “fucking up the alphabetical organization of my tea, you old twit. Honestly, Albus, it’s not that hard”. (How did he teach without a mouth, you ask? Easy, he used intermediate BSL (deaf students, plus Azkaban isn’t great on old men’s ears and he and Grindelwald are both gettin’ up there) and Sirius interpreted.) (Incredibly wrongly, crudely, and foul-mouth-ly, but nonetheless he interpreted.)
He has difficulty understanding the straight people in his class. He is fully accepting of everyone and wants the best for all of them, but when it comes to relationship advice, he’s shit.
Excerpt pulled from Pensieve of a conversation he had with a student who identified as female:
Dumbledore: “So your boyfriend is a dick, is what you’re saying?”
Student’s best friend: “Yes. Merlin, he’s such a dick. Would you believe he -”
Dumbledore: *looks at student and points to her best friend* “Why don’t you just date her?”
*cue red faces and sputtering*
(They did not take his advice.)
He wears bowties ALL THE TIME. If he’s not wearing a bowtie, there are bows in his hair and tying the ends of his beard together. Once he wore pigtails. It was great.
He has a habit of bursting into song randomly and performing full-blown Broadway musical numbers (yes, he can rap Guns and Ships at full speed). This usually involves all of the complex moves to be expected in a musical - dramatically climbing up the stairs while looking forlorn, leaping onto the desk and squatting as you launch into a whispered limerick, speedy costume changes - you know, the works. Sometimes Sirius and James back him up, if they’re there. Severus will take over teaching with a bored look on his face (“What are you looking at, Harry?” “Dad, there’s -” “I don’t see anything interesting happening, Harry.” *glares*) while Mcgonogall screeches at Dumbledore to “GET THE FUCK DOWN, YOU NARCISSISTIC HEATHEN!” It’s a problem.
When the Marauders challenge the dress code, Dumbledore is the first Professor to encourage it. While Sirius is perfectly confident in a skirt and Regulus isn’t far behind (neither is Severus, surprisingly), James and Remus are far more insecure. Dumbledore wears a tutu to class one day to show his support, and Remus wouldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day. (James just turned bright red and beamed when Sirius started laughing.) He also backed Lily up when she wore pants (along with Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary) by convincing Mcgonogall to wear pantsuits for a week. (Sirius, despite being a hardcore gay, was quite affected by this. Remus did not appreciate the water spit in his face and refused to kiss Sirius for a week.)
He plays Cecily Smith (Will Connolly) on the ukulele on late nights and stares out at the stars thinking of Grindelwald. Sometimes he forgets to turn off the Sonorus from earlier that day and ends up broadcasting his little song to the whole school. Sirius and Remus will dance to it in the common room while James watches his partners with a happy smile on his face (and Peter sleeps, because he’s tired and doesn’t force himself to stay up simply for the purpose of being cool or finishing that one assignment that isn’t due for another two weeks) (I’m sorry, do you feel called out?).
This man has weed brownies stashed away in his desk and he does eat them during class. He also offered one to Remus once, who is the only student that knows about the stash and tends to use marijuana for medical purposes (helping with anxiety and pain regarding the full moon, courtesy of my beautiful girlfriend who has never read nor seen Harry Potter but nonetheless insists to me that Remus Lupin is a stoner who wears red beanies). This prompted Sirius to ask for one, which Dumbledore refused, but then James joined in and they started a riot by standing on their desks and pumping their fists in the air and screaming, “BROWNIES FOR ALL!” while Remus giggled into his hand and was no help at all, so Dumbledore gave them each a brownie just to shut them up. (Sirius wouldn’t stop rambling about how pretty Remus’ eyes were, James was babbling on about unicorns, Severus was hissing at something no one else could see, Regulus was hissing at the same thing for some reason, Peter was crying because he couldn’t tell the difference between hamsters and gerbils and guinea pigs, and Lily was muttering pi under her breath until she fell asleep.) (Mcgonogall was unimpressed.) (No teatime for eight weeks. Damn.)
Dumbledore cares about all of his students, however little he shows it. He wants them to lead a better life than he did. And maybe fall in love with better people than he did.
#albus dumbledore#albus wulfric percival brian dumbledore#mcgonogall &x dumbledore#&x means queerplatonic i have just decided#grindledore#wolfstar#james &x remus &x sirius#severus & mcgonogall & dumbledore#james x lily x severus#albus dumbledore is a crackhead 2021#i dunno please enjoy this shit#i'm really fucking tired#harry potter#have a nice day y'all
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