#hp advent ficlet

[decaflondonfog]

three weeks' worth of reading [dec. 23 - jan. 12]

between christmas/nye/my bday, the horrors of having to go back to work and a routine in general, and the fact that i've been a little ill, i've not been reading a lot of fic. so this week's episode is actually three week's worth of reading instead of the usual one week. here’s what i read in the last few weeks, in case you’re feeling uninspired, overwhelmed by choice or just too tired to scroll through your marked for later/many opened tabs!

[❣️ marks a personal favourite, 💦 a particularly hot one, ⚡ is for when you want your heart kicked, and ☁️ for a soft and gentle hug]

a full feast (over 40k)

Headlights in the Snow by Saras_Girl [hp, drarry, M, 71k]

What’s big and purple and smells like tea? Harry is about to find out. Advent fic 2016.

a nice long meal (over 10k)

Old Song, Love Song. by Random2002 [aftg, andreil, T, 14k]

Nathaniel likes his life, he has a job he likes and friends he cares about. Millport is a small town where nothing really happens but those two things make his life quite pleasant. Until a stranger comes to town and with him he brings a storm that stirs up new feelings in Nathaniel. His small town starts feel too small.

bitesized nibbles (micros, drabbles, and ficlets)

In a Time of Need by @sillyunicorn [merlin, merthur, T, 918 words]

Merlin and Arthur have been captured, trapped in a dark cell for several days. Merlin needs to drink. Arthur is willing. Can Merlin go through with it?

✨ check previous week’s list here ✨

[hiredhorse]

An Excess of Fowl

HP advent ficlets day 2; I can’t explain this one

December 20, 1992

“You look worn out, Harry,” Ron observed, a worried furrow in his brow. “Up late again?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry admitted. “Hagrid helped me, but it took a while to get the swans to settle down. They’re kind of aggressive, you know?” Ron’s blank expression communicated that in fact he didn’t know. “Anyway,” Harry sighed, “they were rather hostile toward the other birds.”

“That’s how many now? Birds, that is?”

“I don’t know, mate. Thirty-odd? A whole bloody lot.”

The two Gryffindors walked on. Behind them, unobserved, Tom Riddle dropped his concealment charm and rounded on the blond-haired boy beside him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“He doesn’t seem excited, does he, Malfoy?”

Draco winced, trying to stand up straight despite an overwhelming urge to cower. “No, my lord, he doesn’t seem excited.”

“He almost seems confused,” Tom snarled.

“Yes, well, my lord, he was raised by Muggles? But perhaps he doesn’t...that is…” Tom continued to stare expectantly, which did nothing for Draco’s composure. “Perhaps he doesn’t know the old Muggle customs?”

“Hmm,” Tom murmured. “Well, perhaps we can arrange for him to discover their meaning. And the other...issue?”

“My father sent me the gold,” Draco confirmed, eager to share good news. “Enough for the next few days,” he added with more caution. “Technically that’s my maximum allowance until I turn fifteen…” he observed Tom’s eyes narrowing further still and added hastily, “But my mother can’t tell me no. I’ll write to her!”

“Very good, Malfoy,” muttered Tom, looking helplessly back at the retreating figure of Harry and his idiot friend. “See that you do.”

December 21, 1992

At breakfast, everyone braced themselves for the daily flurry of fowl at the Gryffindor table. Harry kept his shoulders hunched and guiltily avoided his housemates’ eyes. When the clock struck eight, chaos erupted all around Harry in the form of twelve noisy birds, one cooing uncertainty from its perch in a small potted tree, and the quiet lowing of—cattle?

Harry’s eyes grew wide and he spun around on the bench, seeing through a cloud of feathers that eight cows stood chewing their cud in a perfect row, and crouched beneath each one, a woman in plaid busily milked away into her respective wooden pail.

“What the bloody...?” cried Seamus Finnegan. The maids glanced over then returned to their work, all save one, who rose from her stool and walked over to Harry.

“Are you Harry?”

At his dumbfounded nod, she held out five golden rings. “Swell. Then these are for you.”

Beside him on the bench, Hermione made a startled noise. “Of course. How did it take me this long to figure it out?”

“What?” Harry demanded, stuffing the rings in his pocket. Hopefully they were worth enough for animal feed. Cows probably ate a lot more than birds.

“It’s the Twelve Days Of Christmas!” Hermione exclaimed. “Oh, Harry, I thought it was all terrible, but in fact it’s quite sweet.”

December 25, 1992

Harry woke on Christmas morning feeling happier than he had on any Christmas morning previous. Not only was he at Hogwarts, rather than the Dursleys’, but the Great Hall, rather than practically abandoned, was full of cheerful faces.

“Harry!” chorused the dancing ladies, who had taken a break from their exercise to sip pumpkin juice, and now waved at him. He waved back.

The maids had left their cattle grazing on the lawn and were playing some kind of dice game, taking up the entire Ravenclaw table. The pipers were playing a gentle Christmas mashup and the lords were, predictably, taking turns bounding over the Hufflepuff table, to the delight of a few second years who were clapping heartily between bites of cauldron cake.

“Potter,” said a terse voice to Harry’s left, and he turned his head to find himself looking into the pinched face of Draco Malfoy, who appeared especially unpleasant considering it was Christmas Day.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, then sighed. “I mean...Merry Christmas, I guess.”

Malfoy looked suspicious, but nodded cautiously. “Whatever, Potter. I just...haven’t you figured it out yet?” His tone was almost pleading.

“What?” Harry asked, lost.

Malfoy gestured emphatically around the Great Hall. “This. The people. The cows. All of the...fowl.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry nodded, smiling ruefully. “It’s a Muggle song. Someone must have used magic to make it do...well. All of this. Hermione said the magic would be really impressive.”

Draco’s expression could have been carved from wood. “Did she?”

“Yeah. I guess the birds are one thing, but the people?”

“Hmmm,” Draco hummed tonelessly. It wasn’t exactly a response, but Harry happily went on anyway.

“Yeah, I reckon they don’t even know how they got here, but they’re all quite...happy, about it?”

“Are they?” Now Malfoy sounded half strangled, and Harry was concerned.

“Are you all right, Malfoy? You seem unwell.”

“Tom! Riddle!” Draco burst out sharply, in the manner of one having a fit. Harry stepped back from him.

“What about Riddle?”

“He did it, all of this. He did it with his terrifying magic.” Draco swallowed and became even paler than usual. “Don’t tell him I told you, please. But also, for all our sakes, thank him. Heartily.”

Harry stared. “Why would be…?”

Draco’s lip curled. “Oh, Potter. Do you even know the words to the stupid song?”

“Yes?”

When Draco continued to stare, unwavering, Harry frowned. “On the first day of Christmas,” he began, reciting not singing, “my true...oh.” He blinked, then scoffed. “But he couldn't...I mean…not Riddle.”

“Have a very pleasant Yule, Potter,” Draco said wearily, and left the Hall.

Harry was still processing when the clock struck eight, and at the eighth peal precisely, the entire room erupted—with fowl, yes, and eight additional cows with their busy maids, and the ear-splitting noise of pipes, and the rigorous tapping of dance shoes, and this time, also, the insistent beating of twelve drums.

“Harry.” Tom was walking up to him with his hands behind his back.

“Riddle. Tom,” Harry replied faintly. One of the swans viciously snapped at a passing hen, and an overly enthusiastic leaping lord landed amongst the geese, scattering them and treading on a few eggs.

“I may have to kill Malfoy,” Tom muttered. Harry, who knew enough about Tom Riddle to assume he meant it, hastened to interject.

“No! I mean, what about Malfoy? I was just, um, enjoying all of the...gifts.”

Tom’s look softened and he scuffed at the tile with his shoes, smile shy. “I suppose you’ve figured out it was me.”

“Yep,” Harry managed, wondering if his voice sounded unnaturally high to Tom.

“There’s these, too,” Tom continued, reaching out an open palm that contained five golden rings. Of course. Harry reached out his own hand, and Tom turned his over so that one was cupped over the other, and the rings, warm from his touch, fell into Harry’s hand.

“Oh, right,” Harry said, almost whispering. Tom hadn’t moved his hand, and now his fingertips were gently brushing Harry’s wrist, where Harry’s pulse was racing as furiously as a rabbit’s.

“Thanks, Tom,” Harry managed, and a slow, satisfied grin spread over the other boy’s face.

“You’re very welcome, Harry.”

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter - Sunday, December 27th

Buffy: 'And from the depths of the forest, a call still sounded.’

~~Beauty and the Beasts~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Once in a Lifetime (Buffy/Spike, E) by bewildered

Afterglow (Faith/Buffy, E) by aliceinwonderbra

Under the Skin (Buffy/Spike, T) by zabjade

That's What You Do (Buffy/Giles, M) by froxyn

Spike Wins the Soul in Kitten Poker: the fridge poem (Buffy/Spike, G) by thenewbuzwuzz

A Dream Forgotten (Buffy/Spike, T) by chaoz

Lonelier Thing (Chuck crossover, Willow, G) by Energybeing

Rain Dance (Buffy, G) by ArianShep

Murder Partridges (Buffy/Spike, NC17) by Maimaktes

The Life of the Party (Buffy/Spike, PG13) by simmony

Episode 112 – Doublemeat Palace (Poetry) by Buffyverse

A Promise to a Lady (DS9 crossover, Buffy, FR18) by DeepBlueJoy

[Chaptered Fiction]

Immortal Memory Chapter 12 (Buffy, T) by Vidicon666

All About Faith Chapter 92 (Multiple crossovers, Faith/Bruce Wayne, E) by Peanutbuttertoast

A Witch's Mark Chapter 19 (Willow/Spike, M) by IsobelSalmon

Prisoners of Love di Bewildered (traduzione in italiano) Chapter 17 (Italian, Buffy/Spike, E) by DarkGiulia69, kasumi_EFP

Sacrifice of Heroes Chapter 9 (Buffy/Giles, E) by AlbionMcMillan

Somewhere I Know You're Out There Chapter 42 (Faith/Giles, E) by ZaiaFantasy

What Happens In Quarantine.... Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by bewildered

advent calendar of porn / kinktober in july Chapter 26 (Faith/Buffy, E) by lovelyorbent

Red Mors Chapter 3 (Willow, M) by IsobelSalmon

I love you to the moon and back Chapter 2 (MCU crossover, Xander, T) by MelTodd

Renaissance Revival Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, T) by druseerla

Chapter 22 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Whiskyandtobacco

My Dark Disquiet Chapter 16 (Tara/Willow, T) by Rutkowski

A Minor Intervention Chapter 22 (HP crossover, Buffy, E) by PseudoLeigha

It's The Secret That You Can't Know Chapter 3 (Buffy/Angel, M) by butimbroken, Scribes1015

Safe Chapter 33 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Dusty87

Healed By Love Chapter 21 (Multiple crossovers, M) by Buffyworldbuilder

What Happens In Quarantine... Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, NC17) by bewildered

Souls Unbound Chapter 26 (Buffy/Spike, Adult) by Touchstoneaf

Anniversary Chapter 42 (Buffy/Spike, NC17) by Nik84

American Girls Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, R) by sweetprincipale

The Darkling Complete (Buffy/Spike, NC17) by OffYourBird

AtS season five Spuffy ficlets Complete (Buffy/Spike, PG13) by slaymesoftly

Enmity and Ego Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Sirya5117

Oversight Chapter 11 (Marvel crossover, Buffy, FR13) by JoeB

Life on the Sidelines Chapter 4 (Marvel crossover, Xander, FR15) by Nycorson

Buffy's New Home Chapter 153 (TVD crossover, Buffy, FR15) by Kittykitkat

[Images, Audio & Video]

Graphics: Buffy Signature by whatdBuffyDo

Graphics: Spuffy banner for thewiggins' story Faithful Will by thenewbuzwuzz

Artwork: Buffy & Giles by thegothicalice

[Reviews & Recaps]

PODCAST: I was made to Love You (5x15) and The Body (5x16) Reaction by ‎The Sunnydale Review

[Recs]

More Links Than A Bag Of Sausages by petzipellepingo

Have you ever seen particularly well written recap/analyses of seasons of Buffy? requested by chlorinecrownt

[Fandom Discussions]

Darla and Angel by AstridDante

Have you met anyone who loves Warren by Shannon46

New statues! by Angel6

Discussion of 5.10 "Soul Purpose" by Flannen

Bangel and Angelus by Passion211089

[Season two] Passion by JamesHaven75

What's the story here? by TheFerg714

forgiveness in the show by isolationtoolong

Big plot point in Angel season 3 is completely out of character by GuitarTest

Is Spike the only person we see get groceries? by GuitarTest

Opening Credits Uncredited Actors by Effect_Grouchy

How was Angel able to enter Kate's apartment when she was still alive after trying to off herself? by NewShinyThings

God, I hate Connor with a passion by Savy_Spaceman

Buffy (killed by death) episode (2x18) by halloweenscarecrow

Spike and Whoopi Goldberg! by miseducation98

“She saved the world... a lot” origins (s5 spoilers) by Ok_Significance_4817

I made Buffy on Sims 4 hope you like it by halloweenscarecrow

Hand carved my very own Mr Pointy by fanwuella

Buffy Fan Theories and Headcanons by honestygoodfriend

Christian Kane's father passed away yesterday due to Covid by Use_Her-Name

Just curious what difference would season 6 make if Giles hadn’t left to England in your opinions? by Hollyvu

Cordelia Season 3 by thunder3029

Started watching Angel for the first time a few days ago. Why has this scene not become a meme yet? by moviephil4315

What did people who saw the original broadcast think of Glory before the reveal? by buffster95

Buffy Season Seven by Goldengirlfan77

Season 4 episode 1, freshman by anonymousrobinhoodqueer

Giles being excited over some teen combusting, Angel kinda sus tho, and I love Cordelia by ghostiewriter

The chemistry between Buffy and Spike by rock-and-compass

The Paris Cinémathèque had organized a BtVS 12 episodes marathon by misskittyspuffy

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[hiredhorse]

The Alumni Christmas Party

HP advent fics day 10

There was no reason to notice Harry Potter. That had been true when they were at Hogwarts, and it was still true now. Of course, at Hogwarts Tom had been hard-pressed to notice a Gryffindor orphan five years younger than him, famous last name or not. But Tom had. There was something about him, even then, a certain, radiant purity that Tom found fascinating, perhaps in the natural way that elements and energies are occasionally drawn to their antithesis.

He’d grown up to be handsome, despite his bizarre hair and the way he hunched uncomfortably and fidgeted with his very fine dress robes, cowering by the buffet table as though he wished he could hide beneath it.

He was drinking, too. Tom noticed the unconscious way he kept bringing his glass to his mouth, in the manner of someone who feels uncomfortable and just wants to be occupied with something.

Then Tom was drawn away; he was there to network, tedious though it was, and he didn’t think about Harry Potter for awhile after that.

Tom didn’t dislike the holidays, per se, except to the extent he resented any cultural phenomenon that he was unable to understand. And the Christmas celebrations made no sense to him. He had once sat through a long, stilted lecture from Malfoy about how it wasn’t a Muggle holiday; it was a proper, Pagan festival older than Yule, and even the date had significance apart from all the Christian meaning the Muggles had assigned it.

But Tom didn’t dislike Christmas because he associated it with Muggles. He disliked it because it brought out behavioral differences in people that he couldn’t explain. For example, Bellatrix stopped lamenting every male member of her family and instead bemoaned the impossibility of finding them each a suitable gift. His landlord smiled fondly at him instead of with suspicion, and discounted his rent. Out in the streets, strangers smiled pleasantly at one another.

Oh, he could play along. He’d always been good at that. But he was left with a caught feeling, which he was sure his lessers didn’t notice but which made his skin itch nonetheless. He could play and win, but he didn’t know the game. The feeling was deeply unpleasant.

“...and then, you wouldn’t believe it,” one older wizard Tom recognized as mid-level Auror was hissing to a younger witch, who was listening with wide eyes. Tom listened with half an ear and only for something to do, and not because he particularly cared about either one of them. The Auror wasn’t even important enough for Tom to have learned his name.

“What?” the witch whispered back.

“He answered. In Parseltongue.”

Well, that did interest Tom. It had been a while since he was sincerely surprised, but he had to hide his face in his cup, which contained only water, of course.

“Is that even...isn’t he a Potter?” The witch was dumbfounded. Tom listened carefully for the response, while at the same moment thinking, incredulously, Potter? It had to be Harry Potter. There were no other Potters left.

“Well, that’s who his father was,” the Auror replied, comfortably snide. “No one really knows about Muggle-borns, do they?”

Tom congratulated his instincts as he nonchalantly located Harry Potter, now hovering uncomfortably on the outskirts of a group of other witches and wizards Tom vaguely recognized as being Gryffindors around their age. He drifted in that direction. He should know better than to discount his gut feeling, by now.

TBC? Maybe?

[hiredhorse]

Christmas Special part 2 of 4

HP advent ficlets day 5

Christmas Special Part 1: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180790231765/christmas-special-part-1-of-4

Harry’s publicist was Remus Lupin, a bookish, older gentleman who hadn’t worked for Harry long before falling prey to Harry’s glamorous godfather Sirius Black. Sirius’s influence had limited effect on Remus’s wardrobe, which still ran toward careworn sweaters over off-the-rack trousers, meaning he always looked out-of-place on set and was therefore easy for Harry to spot.

“G’morning, Remus. Hermione made you come?” Harry was glad to see his pseudo-uncle, but also offended by the implication. “I can manage not to bait Tom Riddle all on my own, you know.”

“Oh, Harry, of course we know that,” Remus assured him. “We just thought that if you had a...buffer, if you will, you’d be best-served. And Hermione had a meeting that couldn’t be rescheduled.”

Harry sighed, but consciously avoided behaving in a way that could be called “difficult,” since it was one of the things he disliked most in other television personalities. So he managed a smile for Remus which immediately grew strained at the sight of an approaching Tom Riddle.

If Harry had Christmas-themed fantasies about good-looking older men with terrible personalities, he’d wonder if he’d imagined the sight of Riddle walking across the studio. He wore a tailored white button-down shirt with a subtle red gingham pattern, charcoal trousers, chestnut oxfords, with an affable smile and a deep green scarf thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

“Remus Lupin,” Riddle said warmly, as though he knew Remus intimately, though it was evident by Remus’s startled expression that wasn’t the case.

“Yes, it’s nice to see you, Mr. Riddle.”

“Please, it’s Tom,” Riddle said hurriedly. “And this must be your client?” He turned toward Harry now, and Harry, despite his claims to the contrary, wondered immediately whether he could manage not to bait Tom Riddle all on his own.

“Yes,” said Remus, correctly interpreting Harry’s chilly stare and speaking before Harry could remind Riddle they’d met the year before. “Harry Potter. And Harry, this is Tom Riddle,” said Remus, his smile becoming slightly fixed as he turned toward Riddle.

“We’ve met,” Harry snapped, eyeing Riddle’s outstretched hand and considering whether he should shake it. Before he could decide, Riddle had seized Harry’s hand from where it hung at his side, and was shaking it perfunctorily with a firm, cool grip.

“But we haven’t been introduced,” Riddle said warmly, and Harry saw Remus relax and smile also. The traitor. Harry, on the other hand, had never felt more uneasy. “I’m so charmed by your work on Rescued, Harry. It’s very fresh.”

“Oh?” Harry pulled his hand free and tried to rub the memory of Riddle’s touch off on his opposite forearm. “A critic on Twitter once said it ‘shamelessly targeted brainless Millenials.’”

Remus choked on the breath he’d just taken, and Riddle’s eyes gleamed, assessing. “It sounds like that critic was overlooking the aspects of the program with undeniably broad appeal.” His swift glance traveled from Harry’s face to his ankles and back again.

Seeing someone who looked and sounded so sophisticated also unashamedly leering was a disorienting experience for Harry. Apparently for Remus, also, as he continued to stand to one side, unmoved except that his mouth had fallen open.

“The same source said that my project choices were ‘disgustingly obvious’ and that I had ‘a toddler’s instincts for color.’”

But Remus had found his voice. “Well! It looks like they’re done with the stand-ins!”

Sure enough, a person of Riddle’s approximate height and complexion was walking past, followed by a man with whom Harry was acquainted whose name, curiously enough, was Harrison. Harry’s particular skin-tone meant he had a regular. They exchanged polite eye contact and smiles. When he looked back, he found Riddle continuing to watch him.

“I hope the scripted lines won’t be too onerous for you,” Riddle murmured, leaning toward Harry from the waist, emphasizing the difference in their respective heights.

Harry inched away. “I can tolerate almost anything,” he assured Riddle, and they took their places under the lights.

Christmas Special part 3: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180861404300/christmas-special-34

[hiredhorse]

The Claus part 2

HP advent ficlets day 13 (is anyone else tired of this yet?)

The Claus part 1: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/181019330850/the-claus-part-1

The reindeer led Harry down the hall, and did not pause at any of the closed doors. Harry studied each one as they passed: four panes of seamless, snowy white, with a burst of blue light showing at each threshold. But Harry followed the reindeer to the end of the hall, which was slowly illuminated by the light which seemed to travel with them. It revealed a wide, empty room thrice the size of the foyer. There, a man sat in a large green velvet armchair with his legs over the arm. He was not at all what Harry expected.

To begin with, he had no beard, and his hair was black; there were no signs of extraordinary age on his face. His skin was very white, and his mouth was red. His eyes were as black as his hair. Secondly, rather than red, he wore long, pearl-white robes with a hint of twinkling ice at the hems and cuffs, but largely unadorned. Around his neck, however, was a jeweled locket, on his finger a matching ring, and upon his head a diadem. He looked at the doorway curiously as Harry and the reindeer walked through, but seemed unsurprised.

“Hello, Harry,” said the man. “Naturally, you and Dancer have met.”

The reindeer made a huffing noise, and Harry felt a ripple of tension where his hand still rested on its shoulder.

“Hello,” Harry said uncertainly. “Are you really...him?”

The man smiled coldly. He swung his legs toward the floor in a whisper of white silk and leaned over his knees to eye Harry, considering. “Who do you mean? The King of Ice and Snow?”

“Er,” Harry said, his fingers curling in the reindeer’s hide, as though he could draw some comfort and warmth from Dancer. “I mean...the Claus. Are you the Claus?”

“This is the Claus’s palace,” he replied, sitting up and stretching his arms out to either side in an all-encompassing gesture. “Who else would I be?”

Harry frowned and shifted from one fit to the other. “Um, him. I guess?”

The man—the Claus—smiled slowly. His teeth were very white. “Excellent. What have you come here to ask of me, Harry?”

Harry drew in a deep breath, feeling a sudden burst of confidence. This part, anyway, he had prepared for. He’d chosen his words with care, and muttered them to himself like a mantra during the most trying moments of the journey through the ice and snow to the palace’s door.

“My parents, James and Lily Potter, disappeared when I was one. And the only thing I want is for them to come back. And if you could grant my wish, I promise I would never ask anyone for anything else, ever again.”

The Claus listened with a solemn face. The reindeer made a low, keening noise, and Harry, unsure what had caused it distressed, patted its shoulder with a frown.

“Dancer, are you all right?”

The Claus laughed, a sound sharp as an icicle. When Harry looked from Dancer to the Claus, attention drawn by the sound, the Claus had steepled his fingers and was gazing at Harry with his sparkling black eyes.

“And what consequence would you accept, in exchange for me granting your wish?”

Harry’s eyes widened and his heart beat loudly in his ears. “Do you mean...you could do it?”

The reindeer was reaching its head around as though to nudge Harry toward the door. “No, Dancer,” he whispered impatiently, then looked imploringly at the Claus once more.

“It is within my abilities,” said the Claus very quietly. He continued to smile.

[hiredhorse]

Home Alone part 2

HP advent fics day 12

Home Alone Part 1: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180953003230/home-alone-part-1

For the discord server prompt “snowball fight”

Tom quickly grew accustomed to having the house all to themselves. It allowed him to relax in a way he’d never truly been able to before. In all his life, the only person he’d ever trusted was Harry, but there has still been too many people watching, listening, and hovering close by for him to be able to risk letting his guard down.

He and Harry were lounging in their foster sisters’ shared bedroom on their second day home alone when Harry turned away from the carved white vanity by the window, still holding a tube of lipstick that he’d been applying. His lower lip was even darker red than usual. Harry was pretty, and becoming more so every day. The sight of him in even partial make up startled Tom, but then he smiled.

“Tom?” Harry asked, blinking slowly. His already long, inky lashes were dense and impossibly black; apparently he’d applied some mascara. There was gold eyeliner too. Confused by his racing heart, Tom cleared his throat.

“What is it, Harry?” Tom asked, pleased when his voice was steady and clear.

“It’s snowing,” Harry said, in the tone of someone repeating themselves, but he was obviously too excited to want to puzzle out why Tom might be distracted.

Tom frowned and went to the window. Sure enough, snow was falling in fat flakes, and the light breeze that had arrived that morning was already swirling it into banks.

“Can we go for a walk?” Harry pleaded. There was no need for that, of course. Tom always gave Harry what he asked for.

Outside the snow gathered in their hats and the shoulders of their coats in a fluffy dust. It was just cold enough that there was nothing about the snow that was wet or biting. It almost felt conjured, swirling around them while the sky, still blue and mostly clear, hung bright and open above them.

The first snowball hit Tom square in the back, and his breath left him in a whoosh while already, of course, he was turning and drawing his wand.

Harry grabbed his arm quellingly, and Tom shoved Harry behind him as he made out his unfortunate assailants, two familiar boys from a foster placement last. One was small and one was large, caricatures of a pair of schoolyard bullies. It was kismet, really, because Tom hadn’t had an opportunity to punish the bigger one for once holding Harry down and shoving a live, buzzing locust down the collar of his shirt.

“Tom,” Harry said uneasily, but Tom had forced back the instinct to cast with his wand all on his own. He did best with his wand, of course, but he’d spent years without a wand at all and the past two years limited in its use. He knew how to put these boys in their place in a dozen ways that didn’t require it.

Of course, he couldn’t mold the snow to icicles and fire them at the boys’ soft parts like daggers, or send back rocks instead of snow. Harry was very silly about things like that, no matter how objectively deserved, and Tom didn’t want to watch him pout for days.

Then the little one said, “Oh, I see Potter is growing up to be a little faggot. Guess I was right about that.”

Tom didn’t delay another moment. With a snarl, his fingers formed claws and magic lit in his fingertips. , The swirling snow reformed into a vast, ethereal serpent as enormous as a basilisk. Its snowy jaws parted in a long, loud hiss. The boys, frozen in terror, faced it a moment as though it was a real monster and had paralyzed them with its stare.

Then they tripped over one another in their haste to spin around and run away. The snow snake followed awhile, before Tom let the wind claim his creation and the basilisk disappeared in a burst of separating snow.

“That was good, Tom,” Harry whispered, eyes shining with satisfaction. Tom smiled and squeezed Harry’s shoulder.

“Yes. Well, we’ve had enough exercise for this morning, I think. Let’s go see about unlocking the video game cabinet.”

Harry spun around, cheeks bright. “You mean it?”

Tom nodded, though he never understood the appeal of the moronic game the foster sisters enjoyed but rarely allowed Harry to play.

Harry seized Tom’s hand and held it the entire walk home. Tom allowed it.

[hiredhorse]

The Claus part 1

HP advent fics day 11! Thanks to Dory for this prompt!!!

Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, now that he had finally arrived. There were varied reports of what the North Pole actually looked like, and the only settled fact was that to the non-magical, it looked like nothing at all except snowy emptiness. He didn’t recall an account, though, that it would be a tall, crooked white castle with windows paned in black ice, and a row of ravens on its highest parapet.

He’d come this far, though, so Harry couldn’t turn around now. He walked forward and knocked on the arched wooden doors, and a dusting of snow fell from the surround and collected on the dense fur of Harry’s hooded cloak.

For a moment, he thought nothing would happen. Was he too late? He’d lost track of the days during his journey, but he thought it couldn’t be later than the first third of December. Perhaps the twelfth? The eleventh? Surely the Claus hadn’t already left?

The doors swung open, banishing every thought in Harry’s head in a wave of alarm. Inside a glistening foyer that seemed entirely carved from ice stood an elf, but an elf unlike any Harry had imagined. He was only as tall as Harry, but had the proportions of an adult, as well as the beard of one. He wore a peaked hat the dark green color of murky pond water, and his eyes were solid black, like an animal’s, with no visible white or discernible pupil, beady under beetling black eyebrows.

“Name?” The elf demanded, and held out its arm. A weathered scroll appeared there and abruptly unrolled to spill across the floor and over the stoop, nearly to Harry’s feet. Harry, unsettled, cleared his throat.

“Er, Harry? Potter?”

The elf referred to the list, unrolling it further as he went, so that it piled up around Harry’s feet until he hastily stepped out of the way. Looking down, he saw that the scroll was covered in glittering ink, names written either in red, green, yellow or blue, and which seemed to be slowly shifting back and forth between two columns.

“Here you are,” said the elf. “Potter, Harry.” He glared at Harry suspiciously. “Firmly good. How unusual.” He turned the scroll and pointed at Harry’s name, which was lodged so firmly to the right that it nearly trailed off the edge of the scroll.

“Um, that’s my name,” Harry confirmed, not sure what he was being prompted to do. The elf grunted, snapped his wrist, and the scroll reeled back into itself so quickly it made a whirring noise and raised a puff of snow from the stoop, where it had slowly drifted in since the door opened.

“May I, er, speak to the Claus, then?”

The elf huffed, its unnerving seamless black eyes narrowing. “Obviously,” it said. “You’re entitled.” And it disappeared from the place where it had been standing, with no further gesture of welcome. Harry hovered a final moment on the threshold, then steeled his resolve and stepped inside.

The doors closed behind him, slowly enough that Harry could have slipped back outside before they quietly nested closed, but he only watched with trepidation and then stood moorless in the foyer, staring around.

The ceiling was high, as though there was only one floor in the towering structure. When he looked up, there was no evident ceiling, only the light dwindling into darkness, like looking into the sky. The walls were hung with tapestries which depicted no scene, but provided some muted color in the otherwise silver and white space. The floor appeared to be polished ice, but Harry thought it felt warm through the soles of his boots, in a way the snow and ice outside had not. In fact, he found he was quite warm, suddenly, and lowered his hood, relieved when the air on his neck felt pleasantly cool. Encouraged, he shed his cloak entirely, and put it over his arm.

There was nothing left to do, he supposed, but follow the foyer into a corridor lined with doors. The only other evident path was to leave the way he’d come, and Harry refused to do that. He was entitled, the strange elf had said so. So he walked on, only for his bravery to evaporate a moment longer when something stirred at the dark terminus of the corridor, seeming to come his way. Harry’s heart pounded as an animal took shape from the shadows.

It was a large black reindeer, much larger than Harry had ever supposed reindeer to be. It had towering, intricate antlers that seemed furred in velvet, so vast they threatened to brush the walls as it passed down the corridor, looking steadily at Harry with soft brown eyes.

Meeting its stare, Harry relaxed. He read no malice there. The reindeer paused several steps away from Harry and lowered its head so that they could more easily regard one another. He noticed it wore a leather collar studded with bells, but its movements were so slow and smooth, it did not cause them to ring. A brass plate was visible on the collar, partially obscured by its dense fur, but Harry could make out the name engraved there.

“Hello, Dancer,” he murmured. The reindeer cocked its head, so abruptly the bells did sound, a high tinkling noise that tickled Harry’s ears. He rubbed at them with his hands, laughing and making his hair cling to his gloves with static. The reindeer then stretched its muzzle forward in what Harry was certain was an invitation, so he pulled off his right glove and reached out to stroke its warm nose with his bare fingers.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Harry said, wondering what he’d been so worried about. Perhaps the elf had been rather...matter-of-fact, but this was obviously the Claus’s castle, complete with friendly reindeer. With renewed cheer, Harry met the reindeer’s eye again. “Can you show me to the Claus?”

The reindeer’s eyes widened, and it snorted hot against his wrist, then gently reached out again with its muzzle to nudge his chest. Then, it stared meaningfully over Harry’s shoulder at the exit.

Harry frowned. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t leave. I have to speak to him.” Harry hesitated. “I have to make a very important wish,” he added more softly. The reindeer continued to look worried, though how Harry could perceive so much emotion on an animal’s face, he wouldn’t have been able to articulate. Then, it sighed as though resigned, and jerked its head to one side so the bells sounded gently again, an unmistakable “follow me” gesture.

“Thank you,” Harry breathed, and tentatively rested a hand on the reindeer’s massive shoulder, below the collar, letting it lead him back in the direction it had come from, up the corridor where a light was building in the abyss of a ceiling above the walls, while at the same time the light in the foyer was receding, as though to steer them.

But Harry ignored the sense of foreboding. It was the Claus’s place, and Harry was entitled. Harry was firmly good, whatever that meant, but it couldn’t mean anyone here wished him ill. He felt grounded by the warmth of the reindeer’s skin, discernible beneath the heavy fur, and walked on.

[hiredhorse]

HP advent fics

Starting Dec. 1, I’m going to countdown to the 25th with a daily ficlet posted here. My gift to myself will be going through my internet life in 2019 and beyond without squinting confusedly whenever someone mentions tumblr, a platform which is still at least 75% mysterious to me.

I need prompts! 25 of them! Fluffy ones!

[hiredhorse]

Home Alone part 1

HP advent ficlets day 9

(Apparently I will write ALL THE TROPES, Merry Christmas)

(Also for the Tomarry Discord Server’s prompt, “decorating”)

When Harry and Tom’s foster parents announced they were going to Switzerland for Christmas, Tom immediately and surreptitiously dosed his and Harry’s cereal with a potion of Malfoy’s invention so they would appear too ill to go.

After arguing for twenty minutes, it was determined the rest of the household would go, and Harry and Tom would look after themselves. When Tom set an antidote on the coffee table, within Harry’s reach from his place curled on the couch, Harry scowled.

“What did you do?” Tom let him take the antidote so he could answer his own question.

“Tom, we aren’t supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts,” Harry reminded him, sitting up, his tousled hair even more chaotic than usual around his flushed face.

“I brewed this antidote during term,” Tom assured him, reaching out to smooth down the younger boy’s hair, making it temporarily comply with a flicker of wandless magic from his fingertips, too subtle for Harry to notice.

“I was looking forward to going on a holiday,” Harry insisted. “We might not get another chance for something like that.”

He looked down, and Tom’s jaw tightened. They both knew time was running out in this placement. The parents hadn’t caught on themselves, but Tom couldn’t keep himself from putting the other children in their place. And accounts which hadn’t carried much weight early on seemed to be gaining credibility over time.

“When I’m grown up,” Tom corrected him, “we’ll have a grand holiday each year.” Harry was only eleven, but Tom was thirteen. It wouldn’t be much longer now, objectively speaking, though four years also seemed interminable.

“With a tree, and ornaments?”

“And stockings hung on the Floo,” Tom assured him. In truth it all seemed ridiculous to Tom. But it such simple and meaningless drivel pleased Harry, he was willing to say it.

“Actually, who’s to say we should wait,” he said. “I’ve seen where they keep the decor in the basement.”

They dragged up the boxes and pulled out bright rolls of ribbon and tangles of ornaments, garland and figurines. All of it seemed silly and...well...plastic, compared to the decor in the Great Hall. Instead of improving, Harry’s mood seemed to sink lower.

When Tom was rummaging toward the bottom of the largest box, he emerged with a handful of tinsel tangled irritatingly in his hair, but it finally broke Harry’s solemn mood and he erupted in giggles.

Tom smiled fondly at him. “What’s so funny?” he began slowly, then his fingers twitched against his leg before he could stop himself. Harry was abruptly doused in conjured tinsel, and yelped in surprise.

“No magic!” He hissed, but he looked impressed, clearly noting that Tom’s wand wasn’t in hand.

“It’s only my wand they can trace,” Tom muttered. He usually abstained from magic to keep the Muggles from raising some sort of alarm, but now...

He waved his arm around the room, and it erupted in conjured falling snow, floating candles and soaring silver birds, the Great Hall in smaller scale. Harry laughed, brushing the tinsel out of his face but leaving it tangled in his hair, and reached for Tom’s hand.

“Thanks, Tom,” he murmured, a shy twinkle in his bright eyes. “What kind of wandless magic do you know for the kitchen?”

[hiredhorse]

Christmas Special part 3 of 4

HP advent ficlets day 6!

part 1: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180790231765/christmas-special-part-1-of-4

part 2: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180822701480/christmas-special-part-24-hp-advent-ficlets-day

Tom watched Harry stalk off as soon as they finished the scene and disappear into his trailer. Tom could not recall ever having been quite so intrigued, and certainly not by a colleague. He nearly followed Harry. The security around the trailer certainly wouldn’t be an issue; they’d recognize Tom at once and wave him on.

But the last time he’d followed his instincts with Harry, at the network Christmas party the previous year, they’d quite led him astray. While he delighted in gripping Harry’s taut thighs while pressing himself against the small of the younger man’s back, Harry had not shared his excitement.

Tom had rather lost his composure in the aftermath. He wasn’t proud of that. There was a reason he had allowed his publicists to lock him out of his own Twitter account. He could learn from his mistake. With Harry, though, he had acted on strategy. The boy had just looked at him in a way that suggested he wanted someone to seize him and hold him still.

Tom took a drive, as he often did to unwind. They’d been taken by the project the day before, so he found himself taking the turns to get back there, enjoying the slight resistance of his classic Porsche’s primitive version of contemporary power steering. He was surprised to see a familiar, black half-ton pickup truck already parked in front of the house. He’d seen Harry drive the same one to work. Hesitating a moment over the wisdom of leaving his car unprotected on the curb, he parked it and got out, walking up to the house. It was a lovely Craftsman showpiece, and Tom admired the original mosaic tile surrounding the front door, which he tried and found unlocked.

The lights were on in the back of the house, so Tom followed them through the dark foyer and the shadows hallway to the enormous study. Harry was crouched there holding a rag, his sleeves rolled back. The room smelled intensely of paint thinner. He looked up at Tom and grimaced.

“What are you doing here?”

Tom hesitated in the doorway, then leaned his shoulder against it. “You should be protecting yourself from the fumes,” he observed.

Harry seemed to relax marginally, to Tom’s amusement. Had he thought Tom would pounce on him? Of course, past experience could have led him to that conclusion. Tom was very good at reading people. He thought he had just noticed something about Harry earlier than Harry had noticed it in himself.

Harry shrugged, glancing over his shoulder where cold air was rushing in through a cracked window. Tom rolled his eyes, but Harry was already bent back to the painstaking task of working loose three layers of cracking, mottled finish from the abused floor-to-ceiling wood paneling.

“I thought you’d want to paint it,” Tom couldn’t stop himself from saying. Given the timeline of the project, and the sheer square footage of the room, he’d grudgingly approved that strategy in advance after an assistant producer cautiously made the recommendation. Everyone Tom worked with was aware of his disdain for paint.

Harry squinted up at him. His glasses were smudged and had slid halfway down his nose; his cheeks were pink from the cold. He was adorable.

“It would be really beautiful refinished, is all,” he said, cheeks going slightly redder, as though he was embarrassed to admit it how the potential for transformation excited him. Tom’s heart was beating loud in his ears. “What are you doing?” Harry asked in alarm as Tom stepped into the room, unbuttoning his cuffs.

Tom sighed. “Hand me your spare rag.”

A faint smile quirked the corner of Harry’s mouth, and he stood up and placed a latex glove and half a worn white towel in Tom’s outstretched hand. Tom tried not to look too disdainful, but it had been quite some time since he’d gotten his hands dirty. Figuratively speaking, of course.

They worked all night, and Harry was so exhausted when the sun came up to interrupt them that Tom, alarmed, insisted on driving them back to set. Harry’s tousled head against the leather seatback was such a divine sight to Tom, he didn’t even mind all the filth they tracked onto the upholstery.

Tom caught the elbow of the first alarmed assistant producer he saw. “We’ve revised the approach to the study,” he said, heedless of how she was staring at his soiled sleeves. “And tell the leads that we’re starting late today. Harry needs a nap.”

Christmas Special part 4: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180895178900/christmas-special-44

[hiredhorse]

Christmas Special Part 1 of 4

HP advent ficlets day 4!

Christmas Special part 2: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180822701480/christmas-special-part-24

Christmas Special part 3: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180861404300/christmas-special-34

Christmas Special part 4: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180895178900/christmas-special-44

“I don’t know, Hermione.”

“It’s just one episode, Harry,” she entreated. He raised an eyebrow.

“One special, you mean.” There was a big difference, and they both knew it.

“Well.”

“And not just any special,” he added. The Christmas special was always particularly sadistic. For an hour and a half of content, they might film for three days.

Hermione held his eye. She didn’t have to say it: the Christmas special would be great for ratings. His show was still a fledgling; it was respectably popular but didn’t have the committed fan base of the more established programming.

Harry sighed. He could tell by her expression there was more to her pitch. “So who else is booked?”

Something gleamed in her brown eyes, but he wasn’t sure what. “Off Market.”

Harry was sure his eyebrows reached his hairline. “You’re joking.” On the one hand, Off Market was the top-rated show on the network. On the other hand… “Him?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Now, Harry, it was a long time ago…”

“It was last Christmas. Not even a year!”

At the network’s holiday party on December 23 of the previous year, the star of Off Market, and network prince, Tom Riddle, had accosted Harry by the coat check, then taken Harry’s rejection very poorly. So poorly, he initiated an insidious, passive-aggressive Twitter campaign against Harry’s show, until Hermione finally managed to convince Riddle’s publicist to intervene.

“That’s a long time in television,” Hermione reminded him.

Harry certainly couldn’t argue with that.

****

“Who?”

Barty, Tom’s assistant, was far too seasoned to so much as blink at Tom’s furious tone. “Harry Potter, sir. You know, the one who…”

“Painted that original, quarter-sawn oak trim in his pilot episode?”

Barty’s frown deepened. “He does make bold choices from time to time. That younger audience they’re trying to reach.”

They sat in leather club chairs overlooking the lawn of Tom’s house outside Atlanta. It was one of his favorites because of its soaring ceilings and double front doors, topped with their original transom windows in intricate leaded-glass, and the ebony wood paneling in the study. The study where they now sat, locusts buzzing audibly through the French doors which opened into the moonlight-washed back yard.

Tom examined the finger of bourbon in his tumbler and grimaced. Barty, watching him carefully, cleared his throat.

“So, I should tell them no?”

Tom glanced over, then took a swift sip of his drink and uncrossed his legs. “No, Barty, that won’t be necessary. You know I take opportunities to mentor quite seriously.” In the monochrome shadows of the room, unlit save the barrister’s lamp on the desk behind them, Tom’s still-luxurious dark brown hair was attractively peppered with grey and his square jaw brushed with the evening’s stubble. While he frequently dated men half his age, Barty actually had never known him to mentor anyone, but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

Barty was relieved. He’d been sure that Tom would not only reject the idea, but somehow punish Barty for daring to bring it to him. “I’ll get us set up, then,” Barty said, drinking the bourbon he’d been too nervous to touch before then.

TBC

[hiredhorse]

Sirius lives

HP advent ficlets day 3. Apparently everything will be fluffy and sfw. Well, don’t hold me to that sfw promise, actually. I know me.

BUT HERE IS SOME SFW HARRY/SIRIUS DRIVEL.

“Do we have to?” Sirius insisted for the dozenth time.

“Yes,” Harry said automatically. “All that’s up in the air is whether we wear matching sweaters. Speaking of, do you like turquoise? Is it really an ‘alternative Christmas color’?”

Sirius, of course, was sullen and wouldn’t be distracted. “I don’t want to hear a dozen underhanded comments about how I’m too old and decrepit for you.”

“You are decrepit,” Harry agreed, “but don’t they say it’s what’s on the inside that counts? And in your head you’re forever nineteen. So, really, I’m too old for you.”

Sirius was nonplussed. “I’m supposed to be the smart-arsed one.”

Harry backed away from the wardrobe, the turquoise sweater over his arm. “Do you really want to stay here, all alone? Especially considering they’re sure to have invited at least one prospective boyfriend to bring me to my senses?”

Sirius put his nose up in the air, an impressively haughty look for someone who was wearing nothing but a shabby bathrobe. His hair, about which he had grown increasingly meticulous, was wet and wrung out over his shoulder. Without it framing his face, he did look too old. Not too old for Harry; but too old for his forty-five years. The twelve spent in Azkaban had left a mark that Harry, try as he might, could not quite erase.

He sighed and stood in front of Sirius, framing his face with his hands, then stood on tip toe so he could kiss his mouth. Sirius always seemed startled by Harry’s touch, even two years into their relationship, and Harry felt the tension in his jaw beneath Harry’s thumbs for half a moment, before his lips parted and he sighed against Harry’s mouth.

“Not fair,” he mumbled when Harry pulled back. But the hard glint in his eyes had eased a bit. “Turquoise,” he said, straightening the lapels of the robe, “is not a Christmas color. In this, I’m a traditionalist, and only red or green will do.”

“You choose,” Harry advised. “But if I were you, I’d look in the Christmas sweater drawer. Molly will have to go easier on you if you’re wearing her handiwork.”

Sirius grinned wickedly, and Harry, moved by the sight, rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide his answering smile.

“That’s very clever of you. Cunning, some would say.”

Harry shrugged. “In another life, maybe I Sorted Slytherin.”

Sirius laughed, a big, sudden sound that filled the room and relaxed them both. “Like hell,” he said, shaking his head, and turned to the wardrobe himself. He opened the drawer near the bottom, where Harry’s Weasley Christmas sweater collection was neatly folded and organized by color, in the borderline obsessive-compulsive manner Sirius ordered everything in their lives.

Harry, for his part, didn’t mind at all.

[hiredhorse]

Christmas Special part 4 of 4

HP advent ficlets day 7! I have to say I might have overestimated my fluff tolerance. 7 days in and I think I have a toothache?

Christmas Special part 1: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180790231765/christmas-special-part-1-of-4

Christmas Special part 2: https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180822701480/christmas-special-part-24-hp-advent-ficlets-day

Christmas Special part 3:  https://hiredhorse.tumblr.com/post/180861404300/christmas-special-34

“You’re going to miss the beginning!” Ron balanced the popcorn bowl on his knees. He and Hermione had formed a tradition, since Harry’s first Christmas special with Tom Riddle, of waiting to watch the show until Christmas Eve. This would be their third year of laughing good-naturedly every time their friend needled his erstwhile costar into rolling his eyes, and taking a shot every time Tom Riddle put his fingertips against his temple as though in physical pain.

“Start the DVR and pause it!” Hermione called from the bedroom.

“I don’t know how!” Ron called back. He was still in a state of semi-shock after receiving Harry’s text when he got home. When Hermione had come in, rosy-cheeked from the cold and just back from a week away working with a new client in New York, Ron had asked her about it.

“So, Harry and Tom Riddle?”

She grinned. “Isn’t it great?”

Ron hadn’t had a chance to interrogate her further before she rushed off to the shower, leaving him to half-heartedly go through the steps of preparing for their Christmas Eve ritual.

Ron’s phone buzzed, but before he could open his text message inbox, Hermione entered the room, grumbling and still in the middle of pulling her nightshirt over her head. Ron caught sight of the soft, bronze skin of her stomach, which never failed to distract him, and dropped his phone into the popcorn.

Hermione sat down beside him, oblivious to Ron’s predicament, and grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. The opening sequence of Off Market was, if she did say so herself, charmingly mashed-up with the one for Rescued. Then there was a curbside shot of the project, and Harry and Tom standing next to one another gazing up at it with similar expressions of sincere determination.

“Don’t they look great together?”

Ron looked at her with a skeptical frown. “I mean, Riddle’s a bit old, isn’t he?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She thought Tom and Harry’s age were a perfect complement, really. “That makes him trustworthy,” she reminded Ron. Really, he was slow on the uptake. Granted it wasn’t his industry, but she talked about it enough that he really should have caught on by now.

“I mean, I wouldn’t vote him into office or anything,” she added, catching sight of Ron’s skeptical face.

“So you weren’t surprised at all by Harry’s text?” Ron asked insistently. Tom and Harry were walking through the house in its “before” state, and even though she’d seen the clip a dozen times, Hermione still smiled at Tom’s long-suffering sigh when Harry gazed around the dining room and wondered aloud how it would look in Peacock blue.

“Of course not,” she told Ron, not looking away from the screen but reaching out for a small handful of popcorn. “I’ve known for ages.”

Ron snorted, and she saw his betrayed glare in her peripheral vision. “You know I can’t tell you things like that,” she reminded him. Work had sworn her to secrecy when all the agreements were finally resolved with respect to the new series co-starring Harry and Tom. She had encouraged Harry to text their closest friends an hour or so before the press release the week before, but she and Ron hadn’t really had a chance to discuss it.

“He’s our friend,” Ron grumbled. “Just because you work with him too, shouldn’t mean you keep secrets from me.”

Startled, Hermione paused the show so she could turn and stare. Ron was looking accusingly down at his phone. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Ron held up the phone, eyebrow quirked. “Harry’s text,” he said slowly, and at the look on her face, his expression relaxed into a curious grin. “What are you talking about?”

“Harry’s announcement about the show last week,” she snapped, and snatched Ron’s phone out of his hand. She hadn’t checked hers in a couple hours. The battery had died shortly after she’d landed, and then she’d been too relieved to be home to want to check it. Her eyes widened as she read the message there.

Before you see the story on that stupid website, yes, it’s true. We’re dating.

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she looked back at the screen in shock. Ironically, the still frame she’d happened to capture when she pressed pause showed Harry grinning up at Tom while Tom looked back, eyes uncharacteristically soft, smile wry.

“Shit,” Hermione hissed.

Ron looked relieved, and sagged back against the sofa. “Right? Oh, thank god. I thought I was the only one, and that you’d gone crazy.”

“Tom Riddle is the worst,” Hermione continued. “I mean, he’s an excellent actor, and great for ratings. But as a friend, let alone a boyfriend?” She started to get up, and Ron grabbed her arm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to call him!”

Ron frowned. “‘Mione, no. I mean, I agree with everything you just said, but…” he gazed back over at the screen and nodded at it meaningfully. “Look at him. Doesn’t he look happy?”

Hermione couldn’t argue. She nodded weakly and collapsed back against Ron’s arm. “I suppose he does.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Ron assured her, rubbing her shoulder.

Hermione snorted. “Bet your ass we will.” She looked from side to side and, spotting the whiskey, reached over Ron to grab it, ignoring the shot glasses, and took a drink straight from the bottle.

[hiredhorse]

Home Alone part 3

HP advent ficlet day 14. This one is a dud but BY GOLLY I ADHERED TO MY ARBITRARY GOAL OF WRITING A TUMBLR POST 24 DAYS IN A ROW.

On Christmas Eve, the snow began. It started in the morning, delighting Harry, and persisted well into the afternoon. When the sun set, the sky was clear, and the moon shone down on the blanket of white like something out of an illustration.

It would have been idyllic indeed, if the power hadn’t gone out.

Harry was uneasy, since conjured light would be suspicious when all the other windows in the neighborhood were dark. The old woman next door, who was meant to be looking in on them, came by to awkwardly suggest they come stay in her guest room. She seemed relieved when Tom adamantly refused, and traipsed back through the drifted snow.

But a fire in the fireplace wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, so Tom built one. The foster parents never did; they were worried about the chimney, apparently, which hadn’t passed its last inspection. Tom didn’t need the fire to produce heat or smoke, though, so he wasn’t concerned. He and Harry sat by the hearth in the perfect warmth of a Charm, sharing a fuzzy red blanket.

Harry thrust his icy toes under Tom’s thigh, making him scowl, and noisily drank from his mug of hot chocolate.

They dared to get out Tom’s wizarding chess set and played three games before Harry began to yawn. They didn’t speak very much, and the house was silent and all tucked in with snow after Harry crawled into bed.

It was the most pleasant evening Tom could recall.