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seenoversundown · 5 months

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Sparrow Of the Dawn : Chapter 1

Sam x Willa (Fem OC) Warnings: Alcohol / Mentions of drinking, brotherly banter, dark humor/mentions of death (if you squint), otherwise silly boys being boys.

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

Authors Note: AHHHHH I can’t wait for everybody to read and I hope you all love it as much as I do!! I’m so excited and nervous, feels like I’m waiting for the midnight premiere of Deathly Hallows (part 2) all over again 🥹😭💜

Flower Power - Greta Van Fleet “She’s a sparrow of the dawn, our love is born”

“Oh, HEY,” Jake says sarcastically the second he opens the front door, “Nice of you to show up, Jackass,” huffing out a laugh as he shuts the door behind me. The scuffed-up cherry wood floor creaks under the weight of our feet as I follow him over to where he had been organizing new stock behind the bar.

“Right.. aaand where’s my paycheck again?” I retort, sliding onto my regular spot and dropping my camera bag next to me. The spot in the dead center of the bar has been claimed as mine since before Jake even opened, the stool now complete with my etched initials SFK under the cushion.

“Time is money, brother, and I lend you mine for free, so you get me when I’m free. Which apparently to you means 9 a.m.?” I say, clasping my hands on the bartop, “So please, tell me what is so important that I needed to be here so early.” He sourly smirks back at me.

“Yeah, yeah. I have a few new ones in for you to shoot, and I’d like to get it done before we get busy today.” He picks up his clipboard, eyeing his stock list.

“We finally got the pomegranate Downeast released last month that was on backorder, as well as the pear and the guava passion fruit. Then we have ‘Reciprocal’ from Bissell Bros here in Portland, and ‘Interchangeable #7’ from Blaze Brewing in Biddo. I’d really like to get the blaze shot for our ads because it has the most interesting can art. But, ya know, I trust you.” He reads off.

A year ago, Jake, my older brother, bought this bar located right here in the heart of the Old Port. Back in his senior year of high school he got really into “Black Sails”, this pirate TV show; he practically made it his personality. Naturally, he decided he wanted to run a bar for the rest of his life, so when old man Chuck decided to retire, Jake jumped at the opportunity to purchase it. “Caravel Tavern” has only been open for 6 months and It's been his baby ever since.

“Wow, Jake Kiszka putting trust in ME? Are you feeling okay?” I feign shock grabbing at my heart.

“Just get it done, you idiot,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” I say, glancing over the options. “Give me like an hour. I have an idea that might work. I need to head to the farmer’s market in town, but I can have the best shots edited and emailed to you tomorrow, and then we can pick the best ones for print.” I grab my bag, digging around for my car keys. “Hey, when is Josh in today? I’d like to get some shots of you guys pouring drinks for the website and Instagram for Josh’s intro post.”

“He should be here by the time you’re done with everything. That is if he’s on time. But let's be realistic, when is a Kiszka ever on time?” He replies as he breaks down boxes with a box cutter.

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I take a right onto the gravel that’s set behind the farmers market, my rusty 92’ Ford F-150 rattling as I park. I hope to god it’s just a heat shield making that noise. I cannot afford another repair on Edith. She may be an old crotchety bitch, but she has my whole heart. Well, right behind Penelope, my Bernese mountain dog, Penny girl will always be my number one.

Ding

I put her in park and shove my hand into my backpack blindly searching for the source of the text tone. Finally finding my phone Tweedle Dum🦞 appears on the screen.. I let out a giggle.

We’re running a special on whiskey sours tonight pick up some eggs, princess.

I switch Jake and Josh’s contact name back and forth between tweedle dee and tweedle dum mainly to keep them on their toes, but I’d be lying if I said tweedle dum isn’t just whoever has pissed me off or been dubbed the biggest dumbass that week. The emojis always stay the same so I can keep them actually straight though.

You got it, boss, I send back to Jake, winning the title this week for making me wake up at the ass crack of 9am. Which absolutely is early for me.

Gathering my things, I step out of my truck, immediately being hit with a cold gust of wind, the air causing my eyes to water slightly. I brush away a tear forming in my eye before it threatens to fall down my cheek. For it being the end of March the air is crispier than normal. I pause a moment too long, and a shiver runs through my body. I zip my jacket up a little higher, trying to preserve my body heat. Making sure I have my mesh bag with me, I shut my door and head over to the booths.

I make a beeline for Linda, a sweet older woman who is here every week selling chicken eggs, various fruits from her garden, and some knick-knack crafts she makes. I have about seven bowl koozies, though I’m not sure I even own as many bowls considering it’s just me, but they are really good for ramen and ice cream. Which I do not eat together. Jake and Josh live in the apartment above the bar, so when I moved back after college, I got an apartment a couple roads away to stay close.

Our parents moved out of our small hometown, which sits just on the other side of Portland. Padded off to Apple Valley, Georgia trying to settle into a warmer climate or something. They bought a house big enough for just the two of them and a guest room on an acre of land, “just in case any of you boys come to visit” Mom said. In all honesty, Apple Valley is just the same town, different state. They always said they didn’t like the city because it was too big, which is funny to me after spending the last four years in Boston. Everything here seems much smaller now.

“Morning Linda!” I smile and wave at her.

“Oh, Samuel. You’re up early this week. How are you doing, Sweetheart? How’s my Daniel?” She flashes me a warm smile. She’s also Daniel’s biggest fan. Pretty sure she only comes into the bar to see him, even though I met her first. But what can I say? I’m apparently an excellent matchmaker; we just won't mention the fact that she's 72.

I chuckle, “I’m just out running some errands for Jake. I’m on call today, apparently. Daniel’s good though! He misses you, ya know.” I finish flashing her a wink.

She lets out a high-pitched laugh, “I’ll be down to visit with Miss Eleanor. You tell him not to worry.” She raises an eyebrow and smirks at me, “Anyway, what can I get ya my dear?”

“Think two dozen will do it for today.” I hand her a crumpled ten-dollar bill in exchange, “Keep the change, Lin. I’ll see you at the bar or next Saturday, whichever comes first.” I set the eggs carefully in my tote and head toward my next stop, the flower truck.

The beer I’m photographing for the bar has a brightly colored logo in a style reminiscent of comic book art. A bold red can with yellow, blue, and purple adorning the signature name. My idea is to use a bouquet of different flowers to accent the colors and make the can pop.

I scan through the metal buckets, trying to mentally piece together an arrangement without disturbing the flowers too much. They are far too delicate to be pulling and yanking on them just to try them out for size. Some of the people here, like Linda, make their living posting up every Saturday.

I reach for a bundle of forget-me-nots, settling on those along with the last of the remaining Irises, a few red Dahlias, Daffodils, and Butterfly Milkweed. Taking a step back slightly away from the displays, I start to rearrange the bouquet to my liking. Extending my arms out in front of me, and changing my angle to make sure I like how the flowers look together. Just as I decide that, yes, these will do for what their intended purpose is, I feel someone aggressively poking my bicep.

I turn toward the person attached to the finger. Not going to lie; I’m a bit impressed by the force of it, considering I’m wearing a sweater under my quilted jacket, and the woman who’s doing the poking is standing at about 5 foot nothing and looks like a swift breeze might carry her away. I blink slowly at her a few times and raise my eyebrows waiting expectedly.

“Did someone die, or did you just fuck up like, wicked bad?” the snark heavily laden on her tone.

I close my eyes and let out a long breath, “Uhm, it’s uhh –” I stutter a bit, really trying to play it up, “My grandma died last week, actually. Did you know her? Her name was Althea.” I gaze down at my shoes and drop my head a bit, taking a moment before I attempt to look for her reaction through my eyelashes. If I held my breath long enough, I might just be able to work up a tear. Would that be too dramatic? .. maybe.

“Oh.. uh. No, I didn’t. I’m sor–” Regret immediately paints her face.

“I’m fucking with you.” I let out a small laugh

“What?” her eyes narrow at me, trying to figure out if I’m lying or telling the truth.

“I’m joking, my grandma is fine. Are you okay? Or is it a normal occurrence for you to ask a complete stranger if they’re mourning a dead relative?" Amusement settles on my face.

She lets out an audible groan. Why is she so angry? She tugs down at the sides of her short floral dress and waves a hand out toward my arrangement.

“Why on earth do you need every single purple flower!?” She exclaims, “And who jokes about their grandma dying?” stamping her beaten-up Doc Marten into the patchy grass. She actually stomped her foot at me. What are we twelve?

I roll my eyes and attempt to alleviate the situation, “Bachelor Buttons.”

I have work to do and absolutely do not need an attitude from a complete stranger, even if she is cute. I have brothers for that purpose, and they do their jobs well enough.

“They’re mostly purple but with a bit of blue. They symbolize love if you’re trying to give them to someone important.” I scratch the back of my head and briefly hope she says she’s not. I immediately throw the thought away with a shake of my head. Nope, not opening that door.

“I don’t need Bachelor Buttons.”

“.. ookaay. You could always d –”

“I need Irises.” She says, cutting me off, “Specifically. Okay? And I’m fine, but if I can't find irises today because of you count *poke* your *poke* days!” she ends her sentiment with a final sharp poke to my chest and storms away. God damn, her finger is like a tiny dagger.

Listen, growing up without any sisters means I don’t know much about women, but what I do know .. is definitely never believe one when they say they’re fine.

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As I walk through the door of Caravel Tavern for the second time today, I call out, “Okay, Jake, I’m back with your eggs, Asshole. Where are you?”

I set my camera bag and the eggs down and lean over the counter, checking to see if he’s kneeling behind the bar top.

“.. Jake?” I look side to side. Where the hell is he? It’s the middle of the day, not nearly early enough for lunch.. Not like the guy takes a break anyway.

“JAKE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” I yell through my cupped hands. The sound echoes through the empty space.

He comes running from the back room, a panic written on his face. “Jesus Christ, Sam, what?”

“Got your eggs.” grinning wildly at him. I swear I'm actually his favorite brother.

“Well, thanks, Samuel, for being useful for one thing today.” He says, before changing his tone, “You okay? You look a bit tense?”

“Yeah,” absentmindedly, my hand drifts to my shoulder, rubbing at the area where angry-flower-girl poked me earlier. “Actually, you’ll never believe what happened to me at the farmers market.”

He’s not looking at me when he hums his response, just putting the eggs in the mini fridge next to the ice well. I slide the second carton over to him.

“I ran into this girl, actually, she ran into me rather. I was picking out the bouquet arrangement for the photos I want to take and she sorta.. Came at me poking?”

He slowly stands and looks at me, his brow furrowed a bit. “She.. came at you?” He pauses. “Poking?”

“Poking,” I point to my shoulder in disbelief.

“Okay, and what did this poking girl want?”

“To yell at me for taking all the irises. I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and suggest an alternative, but she poked me some more and stomped off. She was hot as hell even if she was a bit psychotic.”

“Well, why did you take all the irises? You also could have taken the other- wait, “ Jake pauses, turning to face me head-on. He sets the empty carton on the counter, “No, whatever you’re thinking about, cut it out,” He points at me, “Did you forget about the last ‘cute but insane’ girl?”

“Hey, she wasn’t that bad! AND she was really hot?!” both hands raised.

“Sam, she cracked your windshield” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Just as I’m about to further protest, “Cracked windshield? We’re not talking about ‘the Bride of Chucky’ are we?” Josh says

“Oh, come on guys, you can say her name. And again.. She wasn't that bad.”

“No, every time you say her name she comes back like Voldemort, and none of us need that shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Get your ass clocked in so I get your headshots done, and you can get to work lest Jake have a stroke.” I lean toward Josh and whisper, “You’re already late.”

“When isn’t he late?” Jake sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Well,” Josh claps his hands together, “it is clearly time for my close-up. Sammy, let’s get this shit fest over with.”

Oh, Josh, ever the dramatic brother.

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I don’t spend a ton of time taking Josh’s photos, grateful that he isn’t afraid of the camera. I barely have to direct him, which makes my life that much easier. If he could work on just not being a pain in the ass the rest of the time, that’d be great.

A few goodbyes later, and I’m finally off to edit. Putting all my things into the passenger seat and giving my truck some words of encouragement, the engine turns over. Thank fucking god. I live fairly close to the bar, so I decide to not bother with the radio and just listen to whatever comes my way.

Still thinking about the poking girl, mostly because my chest was sore. I didn’t expect to be stabbed today. I do hope she found her Irises…

‘Now I don’t hardly know her, but I think I could love her,’

I turn the volume up on the radio, hoping it’ll help me focus on driving and not thinking about her.

I make it back home, throwing the truck in park and hustling up to my apartment. I’m quickly greeted by my bundle of joy. I set all my things out to edit on the counter and take care of Miss P before I start working.

Taking a walk is probably what I needed to do anyway.

I got Penelope right after I graduated and moved back up here. Being used to a house full of people to just living alone was.. well, lonely. I think I lasted only a few months living alone before I gave in and went to find a pet. The twins suggested a cat because they’re fairly low maintenance, and their plan was to get a couple cats once their lives settled a bit. Settled ended up being right around when Jake bought the bar, I would hardly call that settled, but it worked out for them. Me on the other hand, I’m more of a dog person. As soon as I saw Penny, I knew she’d be my adventure buddy, coming with me on my walks and hikes and photography trips. It’s definitely easier with a dog, despite what Josh says about how easy it is to train a cat with a harness to adventure with you.

Once she is settled in after our walk, I sit down to edit for a while. Pulling up the photos of Josh, something seems off. Why are half of these out of focus? I think to myself, scrolling through the options. If he could have just stopped talking for two seconds, this one would have looked good. The longer I scroll through the options, the more annoyed I get. Why did she poke me so fucking hard? Finding myself rubbing the spot on my chest, I force myself to get up for a minute. Maybe I just need to walk around. Wandering into my bathroom, I pull the collar of my shirt down to see the spot, if it doesn’t actually bruise, I’ll be SHOCKED.

Sitting back down, I take one look at the photo I've been trying to salvage, letting out a sigh. This is awful.

Me: hey I’m not super happy with how Josh’s pics came out.. Do you care if I just borrow him in the morning to get some new ones?

Me: Not at 6am tho- it’ll be Sunday, The Lord’s day, and he would want me to get my beauty rest.

Tweedle Dum🦞: lol that’s fine bud

Me: I may come back for a drink tho. Shit has me STRESSED.

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“God, Sam, don’t you ever leave?” Josh calls from behind the bar.

“You’d think I was tired of looking at your ugly mug all day, but guess not.” My lips wind into a tight smile. “Can I actually get a drink? I’m annoyed as fuck that I hate all the pictures I took today, and a drink sounds like the perfect remedy.”

“Turning to alcohol to solve your problems, hmm?”

“Shhhhh,” I wave my hands in front of me. “Can I get a Clover Club, maybe? In a whiskey glass.. No garnish. I don’t wanna look like a little bitch.” I groan

“Let your freak flag fly, brother,” spinning away to go make my drink and tend to the other patrons seated down the bar top.

This drink really better do the trick so I can relax for five minutes. Honestly, the pressure I put on myself to make sure I do well for Jake’s pride and joy, along with trying to find my own way with a full-time job is a little exhausting. It’s hard knowing that Caravel is his baby; he really doesn’t have much else going on. I swear if he got laid, he’d be a hell of a lot less uptight about it, but I digress. I don’t totally feel like I’m the most reliable person, but I try to make sure he can count on me and I don’t contribute to his stress. Ya know, he’s my brother, and I want him to be as proud of me as I am of him for doing what he loves so much. I don’t think I tell him enough how proud I really am of him. He’s someone I look to for inspiration for trying to pave my own way. I’d never tell him that though, because he’d probably think I was yanking his chain or something. I have a job trial-type thing down in Boston later this week, and I’m really hoping it turns out to be something good. I could use something good right now.

Josh interrupts my thoughts, setting my drink down, “Just how you asked for it in a cocktail glass with extra garnish.”

I sigh audibly, “Ya know, I don’t even care. Gimme it.” I gulp it down in nearly one go. Josh looks surprised at me. Whether it’s because of my eagerness or because he knows I’m terrible at holding my alcohol, I’m not sure. I don’t care.

“One more.” I close my eyes, waiting for the gin to work its magic on me. Feeling my muscles relax bit by bit, my brow finally straightens out, and I sink down against the wall closest to my seat. I sigh audibly again, though this time it’s one of relief.

The longer I sit here, the more people are trickling in. Sipping on my drink this time, I notice people in all sorts of outfits looking vaguely like anime characters. Gathering in little cliques of friend groups, a few interesting folk bouncing from table to table. I can't tell if time is moving incredibly fast or if the alcohol has made me move slower, but suddenly, I have the realization that it’s packed in here. Since opening, they’ve been able to handle everything behind the bar, just the two of them, with Daniel manning the door, but I don’t think they’re equipped to handle whatever event these people are overflowing from.

I swig back the last sip of my drink, grab my glass, and make my way to the back room. I toss the raspberry garnish before setting the glass in the sink to be washed. Grabbing the ice bucket, I start to fill it to make sure the front is stocked for them; ice is usually always the first thing to go. I lug the full bucket back behind the bar, and refill the ice well.

“Thanks, Sammy. Hey, would you mind bussing some of the tables and asking the people with tabs if they need any refills, please? I’ll make sure I put you on the payroll for the night,” Jake asks, eyes pleading and desperate for help. And really, who am I to say no to him?

“Of course I can. I’ve got nothing else better to do anyway.” I start to reach for a tray.

“Thanks. I mean it.” he says, squeezing my shoulder, “I forgot PortCon was happening, and we’re close to one of the hotels.” He explains before returning to the drink he's making.

That explains the costumes. I do my rounds checking to make sure everyone seated in the booths are okay, grabbing the empty drinks out of their way, making light conversation when I can. I bring a tray of glasses, napkins, and various random trash items back behind the bar and set them in the bin next to Jake. Just as I go to take another trip, my eyes catch the door. Of course. Of course, this would happen to me. I can’t have a single day go smoothly if my life depended on it. Good God, someone is out to get me, I swear.

“Fuck me,” I say out loud.

“Who is that?” Jake says to me as he’s working on his current drink order.

“The angry-flower-girl with the dagger fingers,” I pause, looking at the dude standing next to her, “annnd her date.”

“Oh shit.”

Crimson and Clover - Tommy James and the Shondells

“Now I don't hardly know her But I think I could love her Crimson and clover”

<- Prologue Chapter Two ->

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colorsunimaginable · 5 months

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the spare // chapter sixty-seven // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 8k warnings for this chapter: drinking, a wee bit of p in v

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

my lovely beta reader 💕 banner credit @cafekitsune

Chapter Sixty-Seven:

It’s the day after Christmas and I spend it overthinking, worried about this ‘gathering’ at Cliveden. To distract myself, I fiddle around with the new camera Thomus bought me.

And I might have taken a few… dozen pictures of him.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but regardless I now have images of him sitting at the kitchen table with a book, typing away at his desk on the typewriter, and even one I convinced him to take with me in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

“I think I’m… nervous,” I say as we’re getting ready to leave.

Thomus finishes adjusting the collar of his cloak around the collar of his sweater and gives me a curious look. “You likely have more in common with them than I do.”

I shift on my feet, clutching the Tupperware full of cookies tighter. “I highly doubt that. Ever since you told me about this party, all I can think about is the time you spanked me in front of them.” A satisfied smile spreads across his face as he chuckles and pulls a forest green knit scarf from beneath his cloak. “Are we all just supposed to pretend like that never happened?” He steps closer and loops the scarf around my neck, eyes focused on the task. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course.” His eyes snap up to mine as he flips one end of the scarf over my shoulder and the other down my front. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I release a strained groan and fidget with my Ilvermorny Christmas sweater, pulling the hem further down around my hips. “Let’s just go.”

We Apparate straight there and I’m gonna be honest, I have no idea what to expect. The few parties Jacob Astor has hosted that I’ve witnessed have varied wildly. From a super serious Death Eater meeting about human trafficking to dancing with Thomus while high on a lust potion - you never really know. Not to mention, the usual crowd has been an unfortunate audience to my most embarrassing moments in the last six months.

I shudder out of my thoughts while we trek to the large hosting room. The smell hits me first, cinnamon and oranges, and then I register the song playing gently from the corner of the room, Bing Crosby’s White Christmas . An Elf snaps away our outerwear as we approach the open doors.

The room is absolutely decked out . Floating candles light the room, hovering just under the high ceiling. Fake snow drifts down from a dim grey sky, fresh holly on every sconce. In the center of the room against the windows is a massive tree, covered in tinsel and twinkling lights. The grand fireplace is crackling with a delicious smelling fire. We walk closer to the tree, where people are gathered around on couches and chairs, and I can make out what lights the top of the tree... A bright, glowing Deathly Hallows mark.

Well, that’s fucking weird.

I don’t have time to think on it further before Jacob Astor is standing before us. He looks as dashing as ever and not so surprised that I’m not currently blind. He smiles at both Thomus and me, and I wish I could tell if he’s being sincere.

“Glad you guys could make it,” Jake says cheerfully as he shakes Thomus’ hand, but he’s looking at me.

Thomus smiles in return, looking more relaxed than he usually does when we’re out. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As they exchange a few more pleasantries, my eyes wander beyond Jake, trying to see if there’s any familiar faces. I clock Kyle sitting near Will when Jake says something that recaptures my attention. “I see you had your very own Christmas miracle.”

Thomus’ arm slides around my waist. “Yes, I had some very good luck.”

I don’t miss the double meaning to his words. I wanna remark about how his good luck was really my hard work, but I bite my tongue and force a shy smile as Jake turns to shake my hand as well.

Jake gestures to a food and drinks table set up along a wall. “Help yourselves. I think Will’s trying to start up some drinking games here in a minute.”

I start walking toward the table before Thomus, mostly because I’m eager to exchange this box of cookies for something with alcohol in it. Towards the desert section, I glance back over my shoulder to make sure no one but Thomus is watching me slide trays aside, making enough room for my offering.

Finally with free hands, I scooch next to Thomus standing by the drinks.

“Can I pour you anything?” he asks me.

My eyes scan the bottles, then point to the one I want. “Yeah, can I get orange juice with Malibu?”

He reaches for the white bottle I pointed to and pours a double into the iced glass he’s holding. “Coconut rum?” he questions as he’s reaching for the pitcher of orange liquid.

“It’s my go-to,” I say as I grab a coffee straw, taking the glass and stirring it once it’s full. I take a sip and it’s just right. He’s busy pouring his own glass of whiskey, but I offer him the straw anyway. “Wanna try?”

I briefly pull his eyes away from pouring as he leans down to wrap his lips around the straw. There’s just something about seeing his jaw flex like that that has me pinching myself.

“Well, it’s certainly a combination of flavors,” he says after swallowing.

I snort and forget what I’m about to say when I feel an arm brush my other shoulder. When I see who it is, I relax. “Oh, hi.”

Will’s eyes immediately find the box that doesn’t match the rest of the dishes and nabs one of the bright red cookies. “Oh, hi,” he teases after he takes a bite. His face is sans beard and rocking a stache now. “You guys ready to get trashed?”

“What’re we playing?” I ask, taking a few big pulls of my drink.

“Anything,” Will answers immediately. He pulls out his wand and summons a tray pre-loaded with tiny cauldrons just big enough for shots. A bottle of firewhiskey floats from the collection before us and starts filling the cauldrons. “Got nothin’ but a good time on the agenda.”

“Can we play Thunderstruck?” I ask.

Will beams. “Fuck yeah we can play Thunderstruck.”

As Thomus and I follow Will back to where everyone else is gathered, Thomus leans in. “Should I know what that is?”

I can’t help but smile. “Oh, you’ll find out.”

There’s an empty loveseat Thomus pulls me onto. He tucks his arm around my waist again as he settles back, practically tucking me into his side.

As Will passes out the shot cauldrons, I can finally sneak a peek at who’s actually here. Kyle and Will - and obviously Jake. That Roosevelt guy is here, too, but I forget his first name. There’s a pretty blond woman talking to Jake that I don’t recognize and… oh, that’s it. Small group, I see. Which I will admit I’m glad for.

I take the first shot that Will offers me and I down it immediately before putting it back and grabbing another one. I haven’t really eaten much today, so the alcohol hits my stomach like a warm blast.

“Alright, I wanna make a toast,” Jake announces, standing with his shot held out towards the blond next to him. “Firstly, to my sister, Diana, for the last minute decorating.”

“Well, you obviously weren’t going to do it,” Diana says with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he says. “And then to all of you - for making this past year as successful as it has been.”

For one blissful moment I had allowed myself to forget why I was here, why they’ve had such a successful year. It takes .2 seconds for the anxious pit in my chest to grow twice its size. I’m the first one to finish my shot and then sip heavily on my cocktail to wash the taste down.

“Alright, the first game we’re playing is Thunderstruck, so everyone top off their drinks,” Will says, heading over to where the Christmas music’s playing from.

Since mine is already more than halfway gone, I shoot to my feet to fill it back up. I’m not the first one to the drinks table because Kyle is there ladeling in some kind of fizzing purple punch.

“Want one?” Kyle asks as I glance over my shoulder at Thomus, who briefly looked at me before turning to greet Diana.

“Yes, please,” I reply. “Two actually.”

“This your doing or his?” he asks, his voice low. By this he doesn’t even have to clarify - I just know.

I look up at him and shrug with one shoulder. “Mine.”

“Hmph,” he grunts unhappily. He finishes filling the first glass and then starts the second.

“What, don’t believe me?” I ask, taking a sip of the punch. Elderberry and something that tastes like Aloe juice.

“I believe you,” he says quickly. “Now it’s just my turn to hold up my end of the bargain.”

I sigh heavily. “You haven’t figured out how to get me away from Thomus yet, have you?”

“Well, I have a few ideas, but I don’t think you’re going to like them.”

“Such as?”

Before he can answer, we get called back to the group to start the song. I’m supposed to hide the fact that I have my magic, so with both hands I carefully cradle my half drink plus the two new ones back to the loveseat. Thomus is still chatting with Diana, a conversation I’ve completely tuned out, so I just slide our drinks onto the coffee table in front of us.

“Melisa, can you explain the rules?” Will asks.

I’m a bit taken aback by the use of my whole first name - especially being pronounced correctly - instead of my last. Everyone’s eyes are on me now, so I take a deep breath before spilling the details. “Okay so, we go in a circle and every time the song says ‘thunder’, one person drinks until they say ‘thunder’ again, and then the next person starts and so on and so forth, does that make sense?”

“I’ll start!” Will says before pressing play and jogging over. He comes to sit on the armrest of our loveseat.

The first few thunders come in quick succession, so once Will goes, I go, and then Thomus. The thunders go around the circle a few times before the first long stretch lands on Thomus, who has to finish his whiskey, and with some encouragement, grabs the punch I push towards him. With the circle being small, by the time the song’s over, everyone has finished their drinks.

“Now that we’ve all settled in,” Will jokes, “the next game we’re playing is called Captain.” He sets the music back to Christmas music and turns the volume down to a background level. “Usually, it’s played with a pirate's hat or a sailors hat, but since it’s Christmas - “ he waves his wand and a Santa hat appears on Diana’s head, much to her delight “ - this is what we’ve got. Does everyone know how to play?”

I shake my head, noticing the alcohol has started to loosen my limbs. I’d finished my cocktail during the game and have started on the punch - which I swear keeps refilling itself.

Diana rubs her hands together conspiratorially and leans forward over Thomus to explain. “Whoever has the hat gets to pick someone to do a dare. If they do the dare, then we all take a shot and they get the hat, but if they don’t then they’re out of the game. Last person in the game wins.”

I smile at her. “Please don’t pick me first.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry, I got my eyes on someone else.” She jerks her chin towards Jake, who immediately dons this ‘oh shit’ face. She leans back, crossing her arms with a shit eating grin.

“Why’s it called Captain?” I ask. “Just because of the hat?”

“Whenever someone gets the hat, we’re supposed to say ‘Aye, Aye Captain’,” Thomus explains for me, his face leaning in close.

I immediately giggle. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?”

He runs his hand down my thigh and tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

I shift in my seat, getting closer to him so our thighs touch. “Nevermind.”

“Aye, aye Captain!” Roosevelt and Will shout.

Diana taps her chin like she’s still considering. “Hmm, dear brother, what shall I make you do?” Then she grins. “I dare you to take your socks off with your teeth and wear them tucked into your collar for the rest of the game.”

My head quickly swivels to where Jake is sitting to get his reaction and he does not disappoint. His face scrunches up in disgust as he slouches in his seat, already toeing off his nice shoes.

“Hopefully those aren’t the ones you were wearing yesterday,” Will laughs. “Or are they?”

“Shut your trap, Hoffman,” Jake grumbles.

We all wait with baited breath as he grabs his calf to pull his foot closer to his face. He quickly traps the sock between his bared teeth and pulls. It slips off and he does the same to the other one before tucking them both into his collar.

He grins triumphantly and quickly summons house slippers for his bare feet. “Ha!” he says. “Drink up, assholes.”

We all take our drinks as the Santa hat gets transferred to Jake.

“Aye, Aye Captain!” we all shout.

His eyes jump from person to person, and he’s quick to settle on Kyle, who clearly isn’t paying attention.

Kyle’s sole focus is on Thomus, blatantly staring at him with something akin to determination and consideration.

The look quickly disperses as my stare gives Jake’s intention away and Kyle’s expression neutralizes.

“Kyle,” Jake says. “I dare you to serenade the person to your right.”

Kyle sighs dramatically, rubbing his hand down his face. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

Nevertheless, he swiftly gets down on his knees in front of Diana, a hand clutched over his heart. As he’s clearly about to break out in song, I briefly wonder if he’ll have a decent singing voice, and I find out soon enough as he belts out the easily recognizable first notes to All I Want for Christmas is You . His voice is off-pitch and scratchy, and I genuinely can’t tell if he’s being bad on purpose or not. Everyone starts laughing and I can’t help but join in.

When he gets to the end of the first verse, he takes Diana’s hand and gives the back of it an exaggerated kiss. We give him a round of applause as he takes his seat. Jake gives Kyle the hat while we take our drink for the round.

It doesn’t surprise me that Kyle chooses Thomus, I only worry what he’ll make him do. He’s looking around, trying to come up with an idea until his eyes land on Thomus’ drink in his hand.

“Malfoy, I triple doxy dare you to… finish yours and Alder’s drinks in one go.”

Thomus scoffs. “And here I thought you were going to pick something difficult.” He quickly finishes the rest of his punch in a few gulps before trading glasses with me. “Tada,” he proudly announces after easily downing the rest of mine, then he stands holding our four empty glasses by the rim in one hand. “Drink up.”

As Thomus goes across the room to refill our punch, Kyle leans forward, staring at me intently.

“We need to get him drunk,” he hisses low.

I blink at him in surprise, then jump my gaze first to Thomus’ back and then to the rest of the group. No one seems as surprised as I am. Even Roosevelt, who I overheard someone refer to him as Eric, doesn’t bat an eye. Is everyone in on this plot?

“That’s your plan?” Will asks incredulously.

“It’s the start of one,” Kyle answers. “Get him so drunk he passes out and she can just… leave.”

“Just leave ?” I ask. I look to the windows, searching for that shimmer from the magical barrier from before. “What about -”

“The tattoo doesn’t work here,” Jake quickly adds. “And there aren't any additional wards to trap you here.”

Everyone is looking at me, waiting for my response. My heart has leapt to my throat to block any logistical questions I have before Thomus swoops back into his seat.

“What’s that look for?” Thomus asks me. I quickly snatch the glass he hands me to swallow my thrumming heart back into my chest.

Diana jumps in for my rescue. “I was just telling her about my ex.”

“Oh Merlin,” Thomus groans, slumping back against the loveseat. “It’s not a story about me, is it?”

What? Jesus fuck, these people keep smacking bludgers at me one after another.

I try not to react outwardly to the news that Diana and Thomus used to date, even if this news is just as jarring as the imminent plan for my escape from him. I focus on her, really taking in what she looks like. Extremely tall and willowy with big round hazel eyes and a cupid’s bow mouth. Jealousy flares up inside because I can’t help but compare us. Her thighs combined are the size of just one of mine.

She flips her long dirty blond hair over her shoulder and crosses her legs, perching an elbow on the armrest of her chair. “No, but I ought to, shouldn’t I?”

“Definitely not,” Thomus says, quickly sitting forward with a hand outstretched towards Kyle. “Pass me the hat.” He settles the white faux fur rim of the Santa hat over his dark curls.

“Aye aye, Captain!” they all shout. I’m too anxious and fixate my eyes on my drink, still fizzing on the coffee table in front of me. My mind is racing with all that could potentially happen. Where would I go? How long could I hide? Could I be summoned back because of the tattoo? If the idea is to get me close to Voldemort, wouldn’t fleeing just put a target on my back? I wonder if I’d be able to get a message to Hermione about -

Thomus’ hand brushes down my arm. “Melisa?”

My eyes snap to his, focused on me, and I swallow around nothing. “Yeah? Sorry.”

He gives me a sly smile. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright,” I sigh, making a face. “Lay it on me.”

He takes a deep breath and I expect it to be something genuinely challenging, but in all honesty it’s a bit underwhelming. “I dare you to sing the alphabet… backwards.”

I snort. “Jokes on you because I was taught that in the second grade.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he grins. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Looking at him, I feel less nervous about making a fool of myself in front of everyone else. So I start to sing, keeping my eyes on him or on his person, because after a few moments the prolonged eye contact makes my face heat.

Even after I’m finished with the letters, I keep going with the end of the song. “ Now we know our ZYXs’, next time we will go to Texas. ”

Will laughs. “Why the fuck are we going to Texas?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Ask Mr. Morley.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“My elementary school music teacher,” I reply smoothly. “Now drink the fuck up.”

Jake is the first to finish his drink, so he stands to get a refill. “We should play something else. All our dares suck, no ones gotten out yet.”

“I’ve got a good one,” I say quickly. I’d taken a drink, too, because why not? Who wants to make hard decisions sober?

I pluck the Santa hat off Thomus’ head and slip it over mine. “You ready, Will?”

Will squares his shoulders, facing me dead on, expression serious. “Born ready.”

“I dare you to recite a poem - any poem, but you -” I start to blow a raspberry with my tongue in between every word “- have to talk like this.”

Will snickers. “You got that from Spongebob.”

“So what if I did? You still gotta do it,” I smile. “And I don’t think I heard my ‘aye aye, Captain’.”

Jake and Kyle are the only ones who don’t say it. Kyle is lost in his thoughts if his dead eye stare at his drink is evidence enough, and Jake is too far away at the food and drinks table to care.

It’s hard to keep the grin off my face as Will complies with my dare. “ Mosquito lands on my cheek. I try to slap her, but I just slap me. ” He finishes by standing with a bow.

“That’s it?” Diana protests. “It was so short.”

“It’s a haiku,” Thomus explains. “A type of Japanese poem.”

“Oh, yeah that’s right,” she says. “Do you still work for the Daily Prophet? Or has that taken a backseat for… other things?”

“A bit of both, really,” he sighs. “The Dark Lord hasn’t required much of me lately, so I’ve been helping Barnabas Cuffe with editing. In addition to helping my sister-in-law with the New Year’s Eve Gala she’s hosting.”

“Speaking of,” Jake says, rejoining the group, “why weren’t we invited?” It’s obvious he’s not really offended, just genuinely curious.

Thomus sighs and speaks with a hint of resentment. “Only the Sacred Twenty-Eight and whoever’s crawled up through the Dark Lord’s ranks, I’m afraid. Not even the Lots are allowed to be present.”

“Well, if you’re free, Melisa,” Diana says, speaking to me. “You’re welcome to come to a New Years Eve party here. It would just be us and a few of my girlfriends from Oxford.”

I’m genuinely shocked and flattered that this goddess is inviting me to a party, but I know that this has to be a backup plan for escape if tonight doesn’t go as Kyle wants it. I don’t even get a chance to respond because Thomus puts a possessive hand on my leg, wedging his long fingers into the tight space between my thighs.

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible,” Thomus says, speaking for me with a tone of finality, and doesn’t even bother to explain why.

She peers at us curiously for a moment before realization dawns. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”

The tray with all our mini shot cauldrons fill back up as Thomus just gives a silent nod of acknowledgement.

We play another couple rounds of Captain before all the drinks finally start to do their job and loosen everyone up. I know I’m starting to feel it, especially when I stand to go find a bathroom.

Thomus insists on accompanying me, especially when I steer towards the bathroom down by the kitchens. He takes me back out to the lobby, showing me where the bathrooms are there. Secretly, I’m glad, because I don’t think I’d be able to make it up and down all those stairs without tripping at least once. I don’t think Thomus would either, based on how many times he bumps into me.

He even follows me into the women’s bathroom, insisting that it doesn’t matter since we’re the only ones in there.

“I didn’t realize how clingy you were,” I tease, saddling my way into one of the stalls to do my business.

He slides into the one next to me. “Oh, poppycock. I’m just being a gentleman and making sure you don’t fall in.”

My laugh is sharp and loud in the echoey bathroom. “That actually happened to me when I was in preschool. The seat wasn’t down so my butt got all wet and I just sat there waiting to be rescued by a teacher.”

I hear his warm chuckle. “How old were you?”

“Four,” I say as I finish and leave the stall to wash my hands. He joins me a moment later, still chuckling to himself. “What?”

He shakes his head absently. “Nothing, you’re just… adorable.”

I snort as I reach for a paper towel. “Right.”

He dries his hands too and quickly reaches for me as I try to pass him to the door. He leans back against the counter, a hand on my hip and one on my cheek, pulling me towards him. I don’t resist and lean into him, our lips quickly meeting. My arms snake around his waist, wanting a hug at the same time, because it strikes me that if I leave tonight… this could be it.

I still have a million doubts and questions that need answered, but right now… right now he wants me and I need to bask in it for as long as I can, while I still have the chance.

I deepen the kiss and I boldly slip one of my hands to the front of his jeans. He’s already semi-hard, but at my touch, he groans and bites my lip.

“You want to do this here?” he asks, his voice husky.

I nod, my other hand coming around to undo his pants and slip my hand inside. “I want you so bad.”

He drags kisses along my jaw and down my neck. “It’ll have to be quick.”

“And hard,” I breathe, practically panting with want already.

Determination in his movements now, he flips us around until my fupa is pressed against the sink counter and he’s grinding against my ass. He moves my hair away from my neck, sensually kissing the soft spot below my ear. Over my sweater his hands slowly grope down from my chest, then my stomach and the fleshy “handles”, as he’s called them before, where my fupa meets my hips.

I push my ass back against him. “I thought you said we had to be quick.”

He bites my neck, wringing a moan from me. “Patience,” he warns.

One hand lets go of my handle and slips underneath to firmly cup the junction between my legs. I sigh heavily and whine, rocking my hips, increasing the pressure on my clit.

“Fuck,” he groans out. Finally he hooks his fingers into my waistband and yanks my pants and undies down to my knees. I push my ass out towards him when he takes a step back to pull his cock out. He moans when his tip pushes through my lips, feeling how wet I am. Then he doesn’t waste a second longer and slides home.

I cry out, biting my lip in an attempt to keep it muffled. I plant my hands on the smooth cold counter and immediately start rocking back and forth, desperately impatient. With a hand on the center of my back, he pushes me forward while snapping his hips to my ass, seamlessly sliding into the pace I’d set. Quick staccato slapping echoes around the room as he thrusts hard and deep. My eyes roll back into my head, hardly aware of the noises I’m making because I’m too busy losing my mind to the pleasure.

He slows all too soon, pulling me back up to attach his mouth to my neck again. My back bends to accommodate him, and while still keeping him buried to the hilt, my chest juts out. He takes advantage of the position and pushes my sweater up until his fingers find the band of my bra and he pushes that up too. My heavy breasts fall into his hands and he groans, pinching my nipples, and fucking into me with slow, but hard thrusts.

My eyes flutter open briefly, a sudden urge to see. He’s fucked me in front of a mirror before, but he hasn’t done it since I’ve gotten my sight back. Admittedly, I have a bit of an out of body experience, looking at what’s happening instead of feeling it. I hate what I look like, of course. Sometimes in my head I look different than I really do and seeing myself in the mirror can be pretty jarring.

But then I look at Thomus’ face. He’s so… wrapped up in me, hands full, mind clearly numb with ecstasy.

I close my eyes again, grimacing, swallowing down the sudden onslaught of longing and loss. It’s probably all the alcohol, but tears fill my vision because I just can’t bear losing this. I quickly blink them away, avoiding looking in the mirror again.

I don’t want to ruin the moment, so I start pushing back against him again, urging him to pick up the pace.

He obliges me for a few moments until he slows to a stop. He’s still panting and holding me against him before he sighs heavily.

“Darling, you feel amazing, but I don’t think I can finish,” he murmurs hesitantly, sounding regretful.

I nod, sniffling. “It’s okay, we can stop.”

He pulls out and I swiftly right myself, pants back over my hips, bra holding what it should, sweater in the right place. It’s only then that I look in the mirror again. Luckily he didn’t bite me too hard, so there’s no hickey to cover up. I just wet my fingers and run them through my hair before flipping it back over. Leaning close to the mirror, I check that my makeup is still good.

“Were you crying?” he asks point blank, staring at me in the mirror.

“No,” I lie, but I feel a river about to gush out of my nose, so I quickly snag a paper towel and blow into it. “I just had to sneeze real bad and didn’t wanna ruin the moment.”

Fully dressed again, he slides a hand down my butt, gripping it appreciatively. “I’d be happy to help you finish,” he suggests.

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay,” I say, forcing a reassuring smile on my face. I rock up onto the balls of my feet to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Still scratched that itch and felt amazing.”

He takes my hand, pulling me to the door. “Then let’s get back. Hopefully they won’t give us too much grief for taking so long.” He smirks down at me and winks. Actually winks . It's such a quick thing, but it makes my heart contract in my chest with the need to be wrapped up in him again.

God I’m so fucked.

~*~

As predicted, when we return Will and Jake are quick to wolf whistle. They’re over by the music and Thomus joins them while I sink into his seat next to Diana. My face has got to be as red as my sweater, but Diana doesn’t comment on it. She just hands me a full shot cauldron with an understanding look. Grateful, I take the shot. Getting dicked down sobered me a bit more than I wanted.

Eric is busy scribbling away in a little notebook and next to him is Kyle and his stupid judgmental face.

I ignore him and focus on Diana. “So what did you study at Oxford?”

“I studied Art History,” she says, “but I didn’t get, like, a degree or anything. I just wanted to know a little more about the art I was seeing in the museums here.”

“That’s one thing I haven’t done since I’ve gotten to England,” I say. “I used to love going to museums.”

She tilts her head, looking curious. “Were you meant to stay long?”

I shrug. “I had an internship at the Daily Prophet, which I’d been hoping would lead to a full time position at some point.”

“Oh, so you worked with Thomus then?” she asks. “You knew him… before.”

“No, actually,” I say, reaching over for my punch. “I… He wasn’t around all that much while I was there.”

“What gives with the Deathly Hallows mark on the tree?” Kyle asks out of the blue. “You know it’s just a story, right?”

Diana, who’s clearly much more sober than Kyle is right now, looks at him without mirth. “It’s very real.”

I nod along, knowing all too well the truth behind the Deathly Hallows.

“Grindelwald murdered a lot of our family with the Elder Wand,” Diana continues. “Not to mention, I’ve seen invisibility cloaks with my own eyes.” She grimaces. “And yes, I know what I just said is an oxymoron.”

With another pull of my drink, I feel gutsy enough to ask something that’s been on my mind for a while. I lean closer to her and lower my voice. “So… has your brother… always been… “ I sigh. I feel silly saying ‘on our side’, but how else can I put it? “I don't know, I guess I'm asking about allegiances.”

Kyle gives me an ‘are you serious’ look. “Of course he’s been in on it,” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious.

“The entire time?” I ask skeptically, distinctly remembering how not nice he was when we met the night Montague got beat the fuck up by Thomus.

“He’s playing the long game,” Diana explains. “Jake’s very good at wasting The Great Order’s time.”

Her eyes are on the three men in the corner and I turn to look just as the three of them take a shot. “Does Thomus know?” I ask, my voice low.

“Thomus is under the impression that Jake just has reservations about certain things,” she says.

“Participating without actually participating,” I surmise.

She nods. “Exactly.” Her gaze is drawn to Eric, and she stares at him for a moment before she asks, “What happened to your hand, Eric?”

Eric looks up, seeming to have forgotten where he was. He looks around and finds the three of us looking at him. Then the question seems to sink in and he looks down at his hand. Bandages wrap around his palm and twist up his two middle fingers.

“Oh, I uh, had a bit of an accident a few days ago,” he says. “Working on the…“ He eyes me for a second before looking back at Diana. “On the thing.”

“You don’t have to speak in code,” Kyle says to him. “She can handle a few more secrets.”

I nod in agreement, though really it has nothing to do with how good I am at keeping secrets. I’m just too nosey for my own good.

“Right, sure, yeah,” Eric says. He looks down at his notebook. “I’m having a bit of a timing issue. I think I’ve got the explosive strong enough, but it seems the stronger it gets, the less time I have before it goes off.”

I quickly glance back at Thomus, catching him downing another shot, before turning back and whispering, “You’re building a bomb?”

He nods. “Something powerful enough to break through Anti-Apparition wards.”

My eyes widen. “That’s a thing?”

The corners of his mouth turn up in an amused grin. “I’m definitely trying to make it one.”

“Do you have the recipe?” I ask, a bit eager. “I’ve had a similar issue with magical film developer. I might be able to help.”

“Yeah, here.” He flips through a couple pages until he lands on a spread that’s definitely got more use than the rest, then passes it to me.

As I scan the page, I see that a few of the core ingredients are the same, just how they’re incorporated is slightly different. The measurements are also scaled down for testing purposes.

“If this were to scale, how much willow root would you add?” I ask.

“The entire root, but I chop it up.”

“If you grind it down into a powder and then weigh it, it’s easier to be more precise with the amount you add,” I explain, not looking up from the page. “And you’re not adding nearly enough bursting mushroom powder.”

When I look up, Eric’s head is tilted, his eyes unfocused, his mind clearly running away from him with this new information. “Interesting,” he says.

“Magical film developing potion always implodes on itself. It’s just a fact. But I’ve made it so much that I can time it down to the second it’ll implode,” I explain. “Would you… want me to write the recipe down for you? Then you can compare.”

He blinks back into focus, nodding eagerly. “Yes, please do. Here.” He passes me his pen and I quickly jot down my recipe on the next available page in his book.

By the time I’m done, the music gets turned up, and the three in the corner start making their way over to us. I toss down the rest of my drink before reaching for Thomus’, but Kyle stops me.

“Don’t,” he warns.

I quickly put two and two together. “What did you put in here?” I demand with a hushed voice.

“Relax,” he says, standing. “It’s just something to speed things up.”

Completely oblivious, Thomus plops right down next to me, swinging his arm around my shoulders.

“Is that mine?” he asks, not bothering to wait for my response before he grabs his drink and chugs it. He audibly plonks the glass onto the coffee table and turns to me, grinning mischievously from ear to ear, looking like he has a dirty secret he can’t wait to share with me. I return his smile with a hesitant one of my own.

He leans close to speak in my ear, though he’s not exactly quiet. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

My face immediately flushes because everyone heard that. I look around in panic to find everyone staring at us, too. Their expressions aren’t of disgust, though, just surprise.

“Oh my god,” I say, covering my face with my hands. I shoot to my feet. “I need a drink.”

As I speed away, I hear Thomus ask, “What did I say?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Diana covering her mouth in a fit of giggles and Jake shakes his head. “Dude.”

I’m munching on one of my red cookies when Thomus comes up behind me, his hand drifting down my back to settle on my waist. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing. You just -” I glance up at him, noting his dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. “I guess I’ve just never seen you so relaxed. Especially around other people. And we’re acting like we’re…” My heart’s thundering in my chest as I force the last few words out. “Like we’re a couple.”

He turns to face me and leans a hip on the table. “You’re right, it is a bit out of our usual routine,” he admits, his expression serious. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

I sigh and shrug a shoulder. “No more than you usually do.” I put my hand over his where it rests on the table, pushing the tips of my fingers against his knuckles. “And I don’t hate… this, how it feels, you know? It’s just hard to pair it with everything else,” I say. “If that makes sense.”

He nods slowly, looking down at our hands. “This is all new for me, if you can believe it,” he says softly. “I just wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

I bump his hip with mine. “Hey, we fucked in the bathroom. I’d say I'm having a decent time.”

He snickers and leans in to kiss my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, based on tonight’s agenda, but luckily Will calls us over from a card table Jake summoned to play Exploding Snap.

~*~

A little while later we’re all sitting around the card table. I’ve elected not to play since I don’t have my wand and technically Thomus doesn’t know that they know I have my magic.

Throughout the game, Thomus gets noticeably drunker than everyone else, despite only sipping his drink. During one round while waiting for his turn, I guess all the drinks and whatever Kyle spiked his drink with, finally catch up with him. He passes out with his head propped in one hand and the other loosely clutching his cards.

When they notice, the room goes silent except for the Christmas music still playing. Kyle slowly reaches over and shakes Thomus’ shoulder, making his head fall right onto the table with an ominous thunk that does not match the vibe of McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime .

I stare at his face, overwhelmingly anxious about his well-being, when an uncharacteristic snore breaks through the silence between songs.

“Finally,” Jake sighs, tossing his cards onto the table and running a hand over his face. “You sure about this, Kyle? There’s no turning back from this.”

Kyle stands, pulling out his wand. “Trust me. This is the only way.’

“What happens now?” I ask.

Kyle moves Thomus’ unconscious form into the air where he hovers with his arms and head dangling.

But he doesn’t answer me.

“ Kyle ,” I press, “what happens now?”

“Now, we put him to bed and by the time he wakes in the morning, you’ll be long gone,” he answers, moving with Thomus towards the stairs on the other side of the room.

I stand too, quickly following him to demand answers. “Where, exactly, will I be?”

“That’s up to you,” he answers casually. “You can probably get away with hiding here in this massive fucking house until he leaves.”

“What, you think he’s just gonna accept that I’m gone?” I ask. “No questions asked?”

“Yeah, we’ll just tell him you must’ve left in the middle of the night or something. What room am I putting him in, Jake?”

We’ve gotten to the stairs and it’s only then I realize everyone has followed us, with Will right behind me.

“Three doors down from the top of the stairs,” Jake answers. “On the left.”

I realize it’s the same room he put us in before and my face heats at the memory of being bound to the wall and fingered within an inch of my life. We get into the room and I rush forward to pull the velvety soft duvet back from the pillows. Kyle gently lowers him and I make sure he’s settled properly to avoid potentially choking on his own vomit in his sleep.

“What now?” I ask, pulling off Thomus’ shoes and tucking his legs under the blankets before pulling up the unfitted sheet to his chest.

“Merlin,” Kyle exclaims. “Will you quit it?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “ No , I won’t,” I say tightly. “We need this figured out before there’s no going back.”

“Fine,” he says, mimicking my stance and leaning against the wall. “What’re you so worried about?”

I take a deep breath, trying to speak calmly. “What makes you so sure he’s not going to find me?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s literally the Death Eater’s best tracker.”

“He hasn’t found George Weasley,” Will says.

“I’ve no fucking idea how George has managed to avoid getting caught by anyone , given how much of a high profile he has, but there’s no way I could do the same and be close to Voldemort like you want. A missing Lot? The Death Eaters are gonna go apeshit.”

“What about that Lot that escaped early on? Killed her owner and everything,” Kyle says.

“I’m pretty positive she’s straight up left the country,” I say, talking with my hands. “And I don’t think any of us are on board with killing him.”

Kyle nearly rolls his eyes. “I never said we had to kill him,” he says. “You’re here, out of your wards. There’s no need.”

“Okay, well me leaving the country is the exact opposite of what we want,” I say and start to pace. “How long would I be hiding?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle answers, shrugging. “Could be months.”

“Great, so you’re just gonna come get me when it’s time to, what, attack Hogwarts? Do you really think there’s gonna be another fight there? Or are we waiting for him to make an appearance somewhere?”

“I’ve heard he’s pretty reclusive right now, actually,” Will pipes in. “He hardly leaves the school.”

“Great!” I exclaim with fake enthusiasm. “So I’ll just camp out in the Forbidden Forest, then? Take my chances at running into Dementors, Death Eaters, centaurs, fuckin’ giant spiders , for fucks’ sake?”

“Girl’s got a point, Kyle,” Jake says, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the ornate bed post.

“Well, what else is she going to do? She’s useless to The True Order just playing house with a Malfoy,” Kyle says.

“Hey, I’ve done stuff,” I protest. “I’ve passed important notes to the Order, hidden a fugitive right under Thomus’ nose, and it was me who got the word to that safehouse that it was going to be raided.”

“ What ?!” Jake looks at me absolutely stunned. “That was you?”

“Yes! Who else in that room from the meeting would’ve tipped them off?” I ask. “ And I’ve managed to become immune to that scary as shit magic suppression potion. Have you ever taken that shit? It’s utterly terrifying to not have your magic.” I stop my pacing and look around at all of them. “To be completely at the mercy of someone who couldn’t give a shit whether you lived or died? We’ve all been sterilized and raped and branded as property. ”

I pull my left sleeve up, bearing the tattoo and the scars Bellatrix left me. Diana’s visibly horrified and everyone else just looks mildly uncomfortable. “And these are just the scars I’m willing to show you.”

I force myself to calm down, breathing deep in through my nose and out my mouth. “I’m not going to jump headfirst into a plan held together with Spellotape and superglue,” I say after a moment. “Thomus trusts you guys. Aren’t you his best friend, Jake? Are you really gonna break his trust by losing something he obviously has put a lot of time and effort into keeping alive?”

Kyle is glaring hard at the carpet and Jake's intense focus jumps between me and Thomus.

Jake exhales heavily. “She’s right.”

My shoulder’s sag with relief. “Thank you.”

“We have to think of a legitimate way to get you away from him,” Diana says. “Do you think he’d ever… let you go?”

I frown. “Like… set me free?”

She nods. “Then maybe you could get scooped up by another Death Eater or something, someone who works more closely with You-Know-Who or who’d… loan you, I guess.”

I turn around to gaze at Thomus, sleeping soundly, and recall every possessive look or grab he’s given me. “No,” I say softly. “There’s no way he’d let me go willingly.”

Kyle snorts. “Yeah I second that. The asshole nearly slits my throat if I even talk to her when he’s not around.”

“Even if I could convince him somehow,” I say, “it wouldn’t matter what he wanted. I know he’d use the Death Eaters as an excuse. He couldn’t pretend I was gone if someone saw me. The Malfoy’s reputation and the trust the Dark Lord has in them would be put in jeopardy. There’s no way he’d risk the lives of his family.”

“Is there anybody that out ranks him?” Will asks. “Someone who could make that choice for him.”

“I’m not sure, really,” I admit. “I’m sure there is, but I don’t know who. Someone older, like his brother maybe?”

“We just need a reason for them to take you from him,” Jake explains. “Like a change of… ownership.”

“Who, though?” I ask. “And why?”

“Probably best if that’s something for us to figure out,” Kyle says pointedly. “Just in case.”

I sigh heavily and start heading towards the door. “Whatever. All I care about is that it’s legit, okay? Something that’s not gonna get any of us killed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will agrees, stepping out of my way. “Where’re you going?”

“To stand outside and pretend that I’m free.”

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latineslytherin · 11 months

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Snape Fandom Love-Hate Spectrum

& Definitions

An attempt at by Snape fans. Compiled by @ottogatto & @latineslytherin. Made in mid-2023. Note that definitions can shift overtime and are flexible.

We thought it would be useful for the Snapedom, especially those new and those old, to have a brief overview of the terms used within Snapedom to refer to each other and those we interact with on the daily. As well as to chart the various kinds of fans of Snape. And yes, this includes those who don't like or even hate Snape. Because that means you are interacting with Snape as a concept/character. :)

Snape Antis: Snaters who vehemently attack and harass Snape fans whenever they see them, even hunting them down. They repeatedly declare that Snape is the most evil character of HP, that he is unredeemable and that anyone who likes him or, worse, sees anything positive about him, is a horrible human being. They have declared some sort of crusade to crush down any Snape-positive content, often with repetitive slander, and to bully Snape fans, going as far as spamming their inbox, calling them all sorts of names such as Nazi, pedo or abuse apologist, sending them death threats or suicide baits, invading Snape-positive/neutral spaces and engaging in mass-harassment of Snape fans with their followers and mutuals.

Snaters (portemanteau of Snape + Hater): people who hate or dislike Snape as well as the fans, sometimes making it a personality trait. Though they haven’t declared a crusade on Snape fans, they easily engage in Snape slander and bully Snape fans. Nowadays, a significant part of Snaters consist of Marauder fans that have created a Marauder-centered universe meant to be different from canon HP material, and in which Snape is where the line is drawn in terms of evilness and redeemability. Though they don’t target Snape fans as much as Antis, they are hostile to Snape-positive/neutral content, including from other Marauder fans and mutuals.

Snopers (portemanteau of Snape + Nope): people who dislike Snape or even hate him, but do not hate Snape fans. It is important to distinguish them from Snaters. Snopers understand that people have different tastes, remain cordial, respect fandom etiquette, avoid drama or clashes with Snape fans, and can be on very nice terms with them. The term includes people who acknowledge that the Snape they dislike/hate was made-up by Marauder stans in their fandom, and not so much the canon Snape. As such, they can actually appreciate some traits of the canon version. They may post content that is hateful against the character, but they tend to do it with far less frequency or radicality, while spacing it with ambiguous content about him. If they do post hateful content, they pay attention to not make Snape fans uncomfortable, either by avoiding interactions with them or specifying that they just have a different opinion/interpretation of him and do not pretend to shame fans.

Snape Wife: a term that has different meanings depending on the era of Snape Wife. Initially, and before the height of the Snape Wife cult, Snape Wifes were "possessive" of him and didn't like other people self-shipping with Snape. The old Snape Wives have died out in favor of more reasonable ones in the modern era, though they may remain a little too ardent in their love of Snape. There remain very few of them.

Snapewife (pejorative): misogynistic-grounded insult thrown against anyone who likes Snape, with the intent to bring up the history of a Snape-centered, female-led cult in order to humiliate Snape fans (whether Snape Wives or not). Some Snape fans have reclaimed that insult for satire.

Snapeists: members of the cult of Snape that rose up after the Deathly Hallows Book release, but more extreme than Snape Wives. They were more welcoming to other Snape self-shippers and Snape-Shifters (people who believed they "astral projected" to be with Snape, or had their husbands "embody" Snape).

Sneutrals (portemanteau of Snape + Neutral): people who have a mixed opinion about Snape, or remain indecisive, or are indifferent about him. More often than not, they roll their eyes at fandom drama and refuse to engage with it.

Snickers (portmanteau of Snape + Liker, made into Snickers for the candy bar pun): people who enjoy Snape as a character, but aren't super into him either, and aren't creating much Snape-focused content. They easily acknowledge his flaws and failures. They can appreciate Snape’s qualities more than they dislike his flaws, or they can like him especially because of his darker side. They won't turn down a story that includes Snape, though they may be dismayed/discontented if it has a grossly caricatured portrayal of him (either positive or negative).

Snovers (portmanteau of Snape + Lover and Snover Pokemon pun): common run of the mill Snape fans, who enjoy his multifaceted aspects, his negative and positive sides. They don’t deny that Snape did bad things and have an attitude of explaining why he did them without excusing him. They greatly appreciate Snape because he has a grim personality. However, they have a harder time openly saying or conceding that Snape was mean or did horrible things, since enough Snaters and Antis constantly make Snape-hostile “reminders”, and they don’t want to either inadvertently attract Haters and Antis onto their posts or make other Snape fans uncomfortable.

Snape Stans: Snape fans who turn rabid if you even remotely suggest that Snape has even one negative quality, and may purposefully hunt down Snape-hostile people/content to crush them down. They may include people who can't stand anything negative said about him because of bad experiences by Snaters and Snape Antis.

These terms, while not indicated on the graph, are more for general use.

Snape Defenders (not included in the graph): people who, in response to large amounts of Snape slander by Snaters and Antis as well as the increase in Snape-fan bullying, have decided to dedicate part of their fandom experience into defending both Snape and the fans, often by citing canon material, providing deep analyses, pointing out double standards, and sabotaging direct attacks against fans. Though it isn’t their goal to bully Snaters and Antis, as they are allegedly fighting against harassment inside the fandom, some can engage in borderline bullying tactics for efficacy and revenge. Note that theoretically, someone who hates Snape and/or dislikes his fans could defend him and his fanbase, on the basis that no one should be bullied for the fictional character they love, and on the sentiment that if one hates Snape, they must at least hate him for the right reasons or acknowledge they aren’t truly hating the character but rather an OC.

Snape Criticals (not included in the graph): people who make a point of not falling into caricatures, biases or misconceptions of either side of the Snape love-hate spectrum, and readily mention that Snape has done wrong things and has been horrible in his life, while refusing outright slander as well. The term can encompass people who like, dislike, are neutral or ambiguous about Snape, though it cannot include the extremes. They are more likely to have issues with the larger HP fanbase, though they mostly remain in their own spaces rather than seek out fandom spaces in an attempt to correct fans or haters.

Snape Apologist (not included in the graph): insult created and largely used by Snaters and Antis against those who like or sympathize with Snape, as well as those who refuse Snape slander or even remotely defend him, in such a way that it sounds like “rape apologist”. By “Snape apologists”, Snaters and Antis accuse fans/neutrals/criticals of thinking that Snape is perfect, has never done anything wrong in his life, that everything he did was justified or can be excused away. The term has been reclaimed by the fans, who use it more or less ironically, sometimes contracting it into “Snapologist”. “Tobias Snape apologist” is a light-hearted variant used by and for those who want to give Tobias Snape (Severus Snape’s father) a sympathetic backstory.

#snapedom #pro snape #anti snape #severus snape #snovers #snaters

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merlinsbudgiesmugglers · 1 year

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In the Morning

@fluffbruary Day 8: Sunrise

Ginny struggles to sleep, and finds comfort in the one place she has so desperately missed.

(I am so thrilled to have finally written this down. I've literally had this scene in my head since I read Deathly Hallows, but despite trying to get it out so many times, I've never managed it until now.)

Read on AO3

It’s been a whole day and nearly a whole night since Tom fell. Dawn is nearing once more, the sky turning purple outside the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Ginny slips out of bed, quietly so as not to disturb the other sleeping girls. Luna, whose father is still waiting for his release from Azkaban, bureaucratic nonsense forcing him to spend another night in that horrible place. Parvati and Padma, curled up in one bed, holding each other close in their slumber. Their parents tried to make them leave, but they’d refused, determined to stay and help out in any way they could.

She passes the bed Hermione had chosen the night before. The curtains are drawn, but Ginny knows it’s empty, having heard her footsteps sometime after midnight. She has a fair idea of where Hermione has ended up.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at her limbs, Ginny hasn’t slept since the night before the battle. Every time she closes her eyes, she’s transported straight back there. Flashes of moments from the seemingly endless night.

Tonks, a furious whirl of colour as she stood over Remus’ body until she too fell.

Kingsley pulling roughly at the back of her robes, her collar ripping against her throat as a flash of green light passed in front of her. His furious shout when he realised who he had just saved, pushing her back towards the castle, telling her to get somewhere safe, as if such a place existed.

George’s face, so triumphant when he entered the Great Hall, falling and then breaking when he realised what had happened.

Tom’s voice, reverberating off the walls of the Great Hall, inescapable, announcing that the battle was lost.

Harry, lying lifeless in Hagrid’s arms.

Moments playing over and over again like they’d been captured in photographs to haunt her.

So she gives up on sleep, and instead follows the familiar route down the staircase to the common room, her hand trailing along the rough, cool stone. Stone that had always seemed so solid, but that she had seen crumble before her very eyes just the night before.

The common room is dim when she steps off the staircase. The fire has burned down to embers, and the purple sky is not yet bright enough to filter through the narrow windows.

But even in the low light, she recognises the figure sitting on her favourite armchair, the one she’d found so much comfort in over the last year.

They haven’t spoken yet. There was too much to do, and too many people. Even though all she’s wanted since he appeared in the Great Hall is to pull him into her arms and never let go, it hasn’t seemed right. With Fred, and Tonks and Remus. And everyone else they’ve lost.

It all feels like too much.

His back is to her, and there’s no way he knows that she’s there. She could slip back up the way she came and leave him to his peace.

But she takes a step towards him. ‘Harry?’ She calls softly, not wanting to wake him if he has managed what she can’t.

He hasn’t. He turns towards her. She can’t see his eyes in the shadows, but she knows it’s an invitation to join him. She crosses the common room, slipping easily into the spot beside him, legs resting over his like they’d done so many times in those wonderful weeks of her fifth year. It’s a tight fit. It’s part of why they’d always chosen this particular chair, much to Ron’s chagrin.

Harry’s arm wraps around her waist, and he watches her as she settles against him. He’s thinner than he was in the summer, too thin. His hair is still long, but he’s clearly shaved at some point in the night, and she finds herself reaching out to run her fingers along his smooth jaw. His eyes slide shut, and he leans into her hand with a soft sigh.

‘I missed you.’ His voice cracks when he speaks, and he opens his eyes again, watching her warily. Ginny’s hand slides down his neck, coming to rest over his heart, proving to herself that it is still beating, strong and constant under her hand.

She tucks herself against his chest, and feels his chin come to rest on top of her head, ‘I missed you too.’ She tells him softly.

They don’t say anything else, now isn’t the time for talking. That will come later. For now, with his heartbeat strong beneath her fingers, and the sun beginning to peak over the distant mountains, Ginny finally slips into a blissful, peaceful sleep.

#hinny #harry potter #ginny weasley #fluffbruary #bittersweet fluff

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cup1d-cafe · 4 months

Note

ive done the add oc to timeline before and omg it's taken over my life over 200k words good luck m8 🫡🫡

I meannnn... That's just over word Count of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 😏

Seriously tho, I'm proud of you for doing that though!

When I re write it, I will release the different seasons as different works, so that each episode is a chapter!

#ninjago #ninjago headcanons #ninjago oc #ninjago rewrite #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago jay #ninjago lloyd #ninjago kai #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #ninjago nya #ninjago morro #sensei wu #lord garmadon #sensei garmadon #yuki dragonfly

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thehoneybuzz · 2 years

Text

I got my first tattoo when I was 22 years old. My big brother came for a visit - we’d been best friends living on opposite coasts for 2 years by then. A giant Samoan gentleman named Buffalo kept the shop open late to bestow my first ink - a small elephant on my rib cage. Elephants communicate across continents, and it felt good to capture that kind of forever with my brother by my side. We’d always be there for each other - even if just through rumblings. My first tattoo meant “I love you” to my brother.

Just a year later I’d get the country of Iceland tattooed on my calf. I wanted to memorialize the trip I’d taken there. I had traveled by myself to a foreign country and scuba dived between the earth's tectonic plates in a glacial lake. I put the Icelandic word for love - “elska” in the outline of the continent because Iceland wasn’t just the setting of my first solo adventure. A boy named Ian Tanzer would show up 5 days into that trip and bend what he could of his broken knees. He proposed behind a waterfall. We celebrated in hot springs and by feeding Oreos to Icelandic horses. I felt I found my whole heart in Iceland. I found myself and my soul mate on its shores. My second tattoo meant “I love you” to me and the man I’d marry.

My third tattoo was a symbol from the Harry Potter series - the Deathly Hallows. I got it at 24 when my best friend, Reece, and I found ourselves back home together. Reece and I became best friends in the fifth grade when he was told to clean the chalkboard at recess. I offered to stay behind and help, a real Hermione Granger. Somehow our board cleaning devolved into a 409 war. We shot the cleaning material across the entire classroom, and when class resumed we were all but doused in bleach. Our friendship was born of mischief. He and I would wait in line together at every midnight release of the Potter series - at bookstores and movie theaters, alike. We’d be in Europe together, as sophomores in high school, for the release of the 5th movie. Not to spoil it for you - but Sirius Black dies. I sobbed into Reece’s shoulder outside the London theater. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d need that shoulder. My third tattoo - which later grew to read “mischief managed” meant “I love you” to my best friend.

That’s when it happened.

About 6 months later I was marrying my husband, and I couldn’t keep the secret anymore. I couldn’t walk into that next phase of my life without being honest. So. 3 days before my wedding I told my dad I had tattoos. I knew he wouldn’t like it. My brother's tattoos had strained their relationship - but my brother was also living under my fathers roof. I reasoned that since I was independent and doing well on my own (at 22, 23, and 24) that his usual arguments wouldn’t apply. I knew he’d be mad. I didn’t know it would be our last real conversation - that he wouldn’t attend my wedding. At 30 we are fully estranged.

And today is his birthday.

And five years after he’s turned his heart from me I still wish I could wish him a happy birthday. That’s grief.

I’ve got more tattoos now then I did five years ago. I added the flowers of my wedding bouquet to my rib cage. I covered my Iceland tattoo, but I love that it’s still almost there. It sits beneath Mount Rainier, a compass that points NorthWest, and a triangle outlined by lilacs. I missed my home more than I loved Iceland. Now I’ve climbed the mountain I honored on my skin. I got a bee on my ass that reminds me to “live one life” as an homage to a spirit quest taken solo in Peru. Not to mention the pilot I’ve got on my quad - I think that one might be more of a self-portrait than any of ‘em. Who I see myself as when I fly. The color wheel on my forearm is my favorite and most useful. Oh - and a few stars on my wrist as another nod to Harry Potter. I know. One Harry Potter tattoo is enough, but two felt better. Reece got a matching one within a week of mine, of course.

I wear myself on my skin, and at the site of it my creator turned from me. That hurts. It also gives you superpowers. I have been made stronger for this - so I have to be grateful for it. The last words I said to my father were this.

He asked if I would do it differently now. Knowing what I know - knowing how hurt he was - knowing that it would lead to (at that point) a year of not speaking - would I do it all the same?

I looked him in the eye and said, “I would not change the tenets of my character for you or anyone.” And that was that.

If someone turns from you in your power - they are not meant for you. And it’s not wrong for you to let them go. That’s the lesson I learned from my father. I don’t know why - but he could not see me. He likely never will. And that’s okay.

Because I am okay. I am healing and grieving. But - also - creating something beautiful.

So Happy Birthday, Dad. And fuck you

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dhr-ao3 · 3 months

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The Best Mistake Ever

The Best Mistake Ever https://ift.tt/bGxDfAc by Anonymous Hermione Granger is in big trouble. The deadly virus she was working on somehow has been released from the lab, and now it’s mutating. Will Hermione and the gang solve this on time before any of their loved ones die? Or are they all doomed? Words: 189, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Hermy-o-ninny Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Percy Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Minerva McGonagall, Original Muggle Character(s), Daphne Greengrass, Dobby (Harry Potter), Colin Creevey, Rubeus Hagrid, Zacharias Smith Relationships: pairings undecided - Relationship, Readers Choose The Endgame Pairings (Vote In The Comments), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Zacharias Smith, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Tracey Davis/Ron Weasley, Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Dobby & Rubeus Hagrid, Astoria Greengrass & Dobby, Dobby & Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Post-War, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Colin Creevey Lives, Dobby Lives (Harry Potter), Rare Pairings, Apocalypse, Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Anyone can die, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Harry Potter in the Muggle World, Ron Weasley in the Muggle World, Ginny Weasley in the Muggle World, Arthur Weasley in the Muggle World, Molly Weasley in the Muggle World, Percy Weasley in the Muggle World, No Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), No Ron Weasley Bashing, No Ginny Weasley Bashing, No Hermione Granger Bashing, Inferi (Harry Potter), Supernatural Illnesses, Survival Horror, Angst and Drama, End of the World, Inspired By 28 Days Later, POV Hermione Granger, POV Harry Potter, POV Ron Weasley, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Zacharias Smith, POV Astoria Greengrass, POV Gregory Goyle, POV Vincent Crabbe, Vincent Crabbe Lives, POV Parvati Patil, POV Padma Patil via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/G8fFDuV March 01, 2024 at 03:18AM

#IFTTT #Dramione #Draco x Hermione

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meear · 11 months

Text

The Dumbledores as Cain and Abel

I spent years being confused at how you were supposed to spell "Aberforth", because I kept seeing different spellings for it.

That was before realising Aberforth's name was actually only Abelforth in the French version.

Once I noticed that, I had to wonder why such a change? And then I thought hold up... the translator is onto something.

It's very common for names to be changed in translation, especially in Harry Potter: you could ask anyone who didn't read the books in English, and they'd give you a bunch of examples. But most of the time, proper nouns are translated because:

1) there's some sort of pun in the original name, like "Ravenclaw", "Longbottom" or "Slytherin": these names were constructed from english words, so it makes sense to change them in other languages

2) the original name fits the character's personality. The names "Snape", "Moody" and "Umbridge" all carry negative connotations, so they're all a perfect fit for their owner. But naturally a non-english speaker wouldn't register that, so the names need to change

In short, HP names tend to have meaning, so it's natural to translate that meaning for a foreign reader.

But as for Aberforth, why would you only change one letter? "aberforth" doesn't seem to mean anything anyway. Google says it's Gaelic for "from the river", but I don't know how reliable that is, and this doesn't seem so important.

The only explanation is that the French translator wanted to insist on the biblical reference.

Aberforth (or Abelforth in French) does share many similarities with Abel from the Bible:

1) their name, for one

2) sheep-herding: Abel was a shepherd ("Abel became a herder of sheep while Cain was a tiller of the soil"), and we know Aberforth was fond of goats and tended to them as well

3) much like how God favoured Abel's offering over Cain's, we know that Aberforth was Ariana's favourite, not Albus

4) both Aberforth and Abel were the (more admirable) younger brother.

Cain was the traitorous older brother who spilled the blood of his own sibling. Albus admits his own guilt in HP7 and claims Aberforth was a better person than him. This leads us to the most important point:

5) Albus blames himself for Ariana's death. the story of Cain and Abel is known as the first fratricide in abrahamic religions: it is very likely that either Albus or Aberforth (and I'm convinced it was Albus) was guilty of that sin, which led to their sister Ariana's death.

So yeah, I don't believe for a second any of Grindelwald's spells hurt Ariana. Of course, they're all guilty nonelethess, but I think it's important that Albus directly killed his sister too.

So I looked around to see if this possible connection was already well-known, but I could only find traces of it on a French thread from 2007. It was before the release of deathly Hallows, so the guy only suggested it based on Aberforth's fondness for goats (ahead of his time fr). He wasn't taken seriously because well, someone pointed out Abelforth wasn't Abelforth in the original language. Now we have the Dumbledore lore though!

Rowling's a Christian, and that religious influence can definitely be seen in Harry Potter (especially HP7, there are even some biblical verses in that one). It doesn't seem far-fetched to me.

If she intended it, it's still interesting that the translator took it upon himself to make that connection explicit (i dont see why else he'd change the name). Then again, while I like the translation (I never would've realised the Abel thing otherwise), what if it HAD been a coincidence? Did the translator only create meaning from his own interpretation? Much to think about

#i'm in translation studies so i wonder about stuff like this. do i like the change? yeah. would I have done it? no #aberforth was introduced as early as HP4. yet the translator had already decided he would be Abelforth based on a passing goat comment?based #aberforth dumbledore #albus dumbledore #harry potter #deathly hallows

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narukoibito · 11 months

Note

Have you ever been to a Harry Potter book release party?

I have! Just the last book. Gosh, what memories—my friends and I lined up before midnight at Borders (remember that bookstore?!). I wore my Hot Topic Gryffindor tank top and Slytherin necklace (I dunno, I just thought it was pretty; turns out I'm a Hufflepuff...) We hung out at the mall leading up to everything. Everyone there was all waiting for the book, ahhhhhh.

That was my only time, but I did also throw a Harry Potter birthday party on July 31 that year. My best friend made a giant snitch cake (A for effort) and everyone else was supposed to bring HP themed food. I was so excited to try the Treacle Tart because it's Harry's favorite, only to find out I really don't like the taste of molasses. Bleh. Haha, we did secret santa gifts for each other, and a friend gave me a ring with the Deathly Hallows carved into it.

I always look back at my teens and think I wasn't particularly popular but dang, how did I manage to get all my theater friends to participate in all that?!

Anyone else want to share their experiences? 💛

#anonymous #ask #harry potter book release party

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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 4 months

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Whumpuary 15

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: -- ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 15: Aftermath

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Whumper: Voldemort Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: recovery fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

After the battle

words: ~1200

-------------------

The milling in the Great Hall was weird. Draco was sitting being tended by Madam Pomfrey; between the Blood Replenishing potion and the bandaged snakebites, he was feeling quite himself. His mother was standing over his shoulder, holding his hand, and neither of them was inclined to let go; her other hand occasionally ran through his hair, wordlessly fussing about how terrible it looked, which, honestly, fair enough. He let her transfigure it to whatever style she wanted.

And that was such a strange thing to be able to be concerned about. Appearances. The only time he'd thought about his hair in months was when somebody grabbed it to yank him around. And now that was over.

He couldn't stop looking at all these people, walking around, free, no longer having to look over their shoulders. It seemed like he wasn't the only one. Dozens of witches and wizards milling about, all seemingly waiting for something, in weird subdued conversations and occasional strange outbursts of laughter and shushing. No one else could believe it was really over, either.

Voices by the door raised in a way that Draco sensed meant Harry Potter, and he stood to get a look. Pomfrey released him from her ministrations but he hardly noticed. Harry had gone with the Aurors at first, and he hadn't expected him to come back… But there he was, messy dark head in a knot of redheads helping him get through the crowd.

He made his way straight toward him, and Draco squeezed his mother's hand and looked at her to take his leave, just for a couple minutes; she let him go, and he met Harry a few steps away.

It felt weird to smile now, but he couldn't help it. Harry caught his eye and grinned, too. They stopped awkwardly at a normal conversation distance, Harry with his hands in his pockets and Draco fidgeting with his bandaged arm, and Harry was just staring at him, so he sort of returned the favour. It was unbelievable that he was actually standing here, alive… He looked exhausted, of course, but he was alive to look anything.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

"Should probably go to the hospital, but I'll live. Have to find Snape and thank him. What about you? How are you alive?"

"That's a long, weird story. But it's real, it's not borrowed time or anything."

"Oh good, now we can call you 'the boy who just keeps on living'." Harry laughed, and he smiled again for a moment. "You know, you could have been much more clear. You say 'hold on' and I'm supposed to remember the one time years ago you mentioned grabbing Quirrel when Voldemort was in him?"

Harry grinned. "It worked, didn't it?"

"No thanks to your terrible instructions."

Harry laughed, but it sounded a little uncomfortable, and he sobered. "I actually hoped he'd try the Killing Curse," he admitted.

"'Hoped'?" He'd lived in terror of the day Voldemort finally would cast that curse on him for too long — the idea of it actually being the plan was unbearable.

"And it would rebound on him, like before," Harry explained. "When he used the snake, I thought…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to be in that situation."

"When you're in a position where a Killing Curse is the best case scenario, I don't think you can be blamed for anything you come up with," Draco allowed. "I don't know how else I would have come out of that alive."

"Not just for that." Harry shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked toward the broken windows. "For everything he's done to you. I could see it, I know how awful it was, and I'm just… I'm sorry."

"That's not your fault either. I got caught. I should have run better, or…" He shrugged a little bit. "It was him, anyway. Not you. What do you mean, you could 'see it'?"

"That's another part of the weird story, but I could see through his eyes, sometimes. When he was emotional, or when he wanted me to."

"So when he was being conversational, he wasn't talking to me," Draco mused, almost to himself. "He was speaking directly to you."

"Yeah."

"That sounds… horrifying. I guess we know why you look like you haven't slept in six months."

"That bad?"

"It's not great." But he wasn't in much a position to comment on that, he supposed. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. "How's Ollivander?"

"Getting better. I imagine you'll see him at the hospital, now it's safe to take him there."

"That's good." His restless hands had almost unwound the bandage on his wrist, and he only noticed when it hurt to touch; he tucked the bandage back down to stop that. "My father…"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Draco."

"He was trying to save me, in his way."

"'His way' was trying to be the best Death Eater he could."

"I know," he admitted. "That was all he could see to do, especially after they sent Mother away. He was only allowed a wand back after she was hurt."

Harry looked at him for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you." He looked down. "For a while there, I hated you," he admitted. "I'd have handed you over in a second if I had any way to. I'm sorry for that."

"You don't have to be. I'm surprised you don't still hate me."

He shook his head and looked elsewhere. He could explain, eventually, maybe, but he'd rather just be here now, not back there in his mind.

A thought occurred to him, and he blinked back to Harry. "If you expected him to use the Killing Curse on me… it wasn't your intention for me to use the protection that burned him…?"

Harry freed one hand and scratched his head. "I'm glad you thought of it?"

"Merlin… This is a shoddily planned operation, isn't it…" Somehow knowing that hadn't been part of anyone's master plan made it all so much more alarming. He'd just up and grabbed Voldemort — Voldemort — and no one had been expecting it? What if no one had been quick enough to pick up on it? He should be so utterly dead right now…

"It came out all right," Harry said, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Anyway, I should let you get back to your…"

"Yeah, you too…" Neither of them moved quite yet, though.

"Kiss him already!" someone called in an Irish brogue.

Harry groaned and dropped his chin to his chest. Draco looked up and realised they had an audience; not everyone was staring, but there certainly were lot of people pretending not to.

What the hell; he liked being the centre of attention. He had to wait a second for Harry to look up again, and he looked like he was about to say something, but Draco grabbed his hand and kissed him instead.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno15 #aftermath #“you're safe”#harry potter fic #harry/draco #draco whumpee #whump writing #whumpitlikeyoumeanit wrote it #not a prompt whumpitlikeyoumeanit

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Me, HP, and she who should not be named

I no longer financially supporting JK Rowling in any capacity and will continue to maintain that position unless we reach a day where she publicly comes out in an active reversal of her TERF and anti-semitic views (taking action, not just making a statement).

But the Wizarding World that was created...

It's personal for me.

I'm going to pour out a bit of my soul here because I need the catharsis and my own resolution, not because I'm looking to argue, persuade, or dictate to anyone on any level, but I need to make this post for me. There may be people out there who are grappling with the complications as much as I am, and so that's why I'm sharing this, but I will not be engaging in any arguments. Full stop.

I got the first book in paperback in an airport when we were flying to my grandma's house for Christmas, and I devoured it. Two weeks later, I asked for and received books two and three for my thirteenth birthday. Eighteen months later I eagerly waited for the postal worker to deliver Goblet of Fire to my doorstep from this website called Amazon that had made this insane industry-changing promise to have books in our hands the day it was released.

Three weeks later, my family was abruptly uprooted and moved to a new city. Harry, Hogwarts, and these books were my lifeline until I finally made new friends. I read Prisoner of Azkaban so much that the binding of my original copy split from being worn so much. I started writing my first ever fan fiction. It was pretty awful. I typed it and printed it out. I still have it in a binder on my bookshelf because ... it's the second thing I ever wrote. (The first thing was a two-page short story assignment in my eighth grade English class only a few months before.)

My oldest and longest best friend of my life? One of the girls I met during that tumultuous freshman year of high school when we discovered a mutual love for Harry Potter. My mom (single mother) and I had to drive a lot of places together, and I read the books aloud to her in the car.

I didn't get to midnight-release Order of the Phoenix, but I did get to with Half-Blood Prince.

I discovered online fan fiction through Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean, but after HBP's release I went down the rabbit hole of the HP fandom. I got caught up in the "Romance > Other Pairings" category on a HP fanfic site that no longer exists but had quite an active community for many years where submissions for all categories on the site were moderated by real human fans. There was a forum with houses, challenges, a "book club" and a "review club", writing classes, fic exchanges, and annual awards. I became a mod on the site, taught a "Rare Pairs" class, was active in my house, was part of the elite review club...

But most importantly, in that era, I made lifelong friends that I still am in touch with. I met one of my best fandom friends who lived in the same city as my grandmother. I flew to Kentucky for a 4-5 day house party with four of those fandom friends. I went to the Phoenix Rising conference in New Orleans in May 2007 with three other fandom friends where I got to be a featured drabble writer during one of the sessions and met the guy who was "The Remus Lupins" during the heyday of Wizard Rock. At that conference, I got tapped to be part of a "readers discussion" Borders filmed ahead of the release of the final book where all we debated was "Snape: good or evil" for an hour. (When Borders ceased to exist as a company, there website and all content was wiped from the known internet world so...if you're wanting to internet sleuth it, be my guest, I would LOVE to ever see that footage again, but I've never been able to find it while scouring the world wide web.)

One of my best fandom friends flew to my house for a week for the release of Deathly Hallows so we could read and revel together. The next year I flew to Sweden to spend seventeen glorious days with two of my other best fandom friends who lived an hour outside of Stockholm.

I was one of the people who did the chance/lottery thing in order to be one of the only one million fans given the beta access to Pottermore when the site was first launched in 2011.

One of the things my stepdad and I initially were able to start bonding over when my mom got remarried was that he actually had read the books and loved them.

I watched A Very Potter Musical the first summer it came out on YouTube. Potter Puppet Pals. The shit show of content censoring on LiveJournal that spurred the creation of AO3 and a mass exodus to this fairly new social media thing called tumblr? I was there for all of it.

I went to DC and spent a week with another fandom BFF who I had not only a HP podcast with, but we also did a little over three years/four seasons of a Downton Abbey podcast together.

A couple of years after I graduated from college, did a year-long internship, then got my first full-time job, moved out, put a year under my belt there, and then started to realize I needed...hobbies and to meet new friends in my town, my aunt suggested I join some groups on meetup.com and I joined this one that was a HP book club on a silly goofy whim but I was like, psh, I'm not probably even going to go to that one... but the girl who organized it messaged me, personally invited me, they were only on the second week of the book club, and I decided to actually go and... went to that group of 25-30ish year old adult book club for three years. We cycled through the book series twice.

My first ever solo trip was to go to Harry Potter World in LA. I

That's the stuff I can define specifically for you when it comes to the deep roots Harry Potter has in my life.

But that's not even touching the deep roots it established in my identity and my worldview.

This was a world that launched my imagination as a CREATOR. I wrote hundreds of thousands of words in this fandom, created multiple WIP/AUs, established intricate head canons, and read absolutely more fanfics than I can even begin to count.

But the devastating thing for me - and I think so many of us...

This was a narrative that taught me about censorship, governmental corruption, acceptance, love, standing up for what was right. I remember when she came out saying Albus Dumbledore was gay and how controversial that was. That IRL adult Harry Potter Book Club? We fucking read Order of the Phoenix, Half-Blood Prince, and Deathly Hallows during the Trump presidency and at length discussed the horrors of the political similarities.

There are things now that I look back and see clearly were red flags... the name Cho Chang, lack of diversity in any major characters, calling Harry/Hermione shippers "delusional" in one of her biggest/most notable interviews by fans for fans and then coming out ten years later saying she was totally wrong and should have put H/Hr together...

Daniel Radcliffe wrote this essay for The Trevor Project in 2020 when the woman started to publicly make her reprehensible views known. He closes that essay in a way that resonated with me then and continues to be a balm to my soul now:

To all the people who now feel that their experience of the books has been tarnished or diminished, I am deeply sorry for the pain these comments have caused you. I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred. And in my opinion nobody can touch that. It means to you what it means to you and I hope that these comments will not taint that too much.

Some people are boycotting the Wizarding World in its entirety - some on principle, some because it's too painful to entertain on any level - and I'm not going to tell anyone else what they should or should not do.

I'm doing what my soul longs for, which is a complete rejection of JKR and a reclamation of the parts of something that became irrevocably part of me and on so many levels made my life better. When I look at some of my merch, I get angry, want to give my sweatshirts away...

But when I think about the stories, the lore, the things that I wrote, the things some of my dearest friends wrote, the ideas that have recently percolated in my head? Those still bring me joy. Those still inspire me.

I think Harry Potter should get to belong to us - like Greek and Roman mythology, One Thousand and One Nights, Robin Hood, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

If the Nicean Council got to bastardize/dictate/set the precedent for Christianity, why not us? And if you read down this far and are like, whoa, equating HP to a religion? That's a bit much... well. It was as personal to me as organized religion, which I'm also extricating myself from and have spent the past few years trying do sort out and define my own spirituality after coming to the point that I realized I needed to reject the organization I was born into and raised in.

As I said near the top of this post, I'm not looking for anyone to agree or disagree. I've documented some of what's been in my head and my heart here to sort it out for myself. There may be people out there who are grappling with the complications as much as I am, and so that's why I'm sharing this, but I will not be engaging in any arguments. Full stop.

And this is where I'll leave it.

#an aspen thing

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