rozzywrites

[rozzywrites]

Feel, forget || Charlie, Susan || R

Title: Feel, forget

Summary: He meets her in a bar and she's not how he remembers her.

Notes: Written for mew-tsubaki on ffn, and for the Hufflepuff February Contest with the prompts ‘missing’, 'mint green' and 'gut-wrenching pain'. Rated R for language and sexual themes. ffn. ao3.

The door gives a familiar tinkle as Charlie pushes it open. It still amazes him that some things never change.

It is a quiet night. A few patrons sit at tables, talking quietly, and others line the bar. Rosmerta is uncharacteristically silent as she wipes glasses; she seems lost in her own thoughts.

He finds an empty space at the bar and sits down. "Could I get a glass of mead?" he asks when Rosmerta looks up at him.

The mead duly appears and he takes a grateful sip. You could never get mead quite like Rosmerta's.

"Thanks, Rosmerta. You're a saint."

He looks up at these words and sees a young woman taking a sip of her drink, her short hair highlighting her pixie-like features. He can't help but feel as though he knows her from somewhere.

He watches from the corner of his eye for a while. She traces her finger absentmindedly on the bar, then makes an odd movement with her head, as if to toss long hair over her shoulder. A delicate hand reaches up to tangle in her short locks.

Eventually she looks over and catches him staring. He tries to avert his gaze but not before he sees her raised eyebrows, her furrowed brow.

"You're Charlie, aren't you?"

He looks up, trying to look appropriately abashed. "Er—yes. I'm Charlie."

"I'm Susan," she says, and right away he remembers her: a girl in pyjamas, her wand flashing, her long plait flying behind her. Afterwards, Ron or somebody had pointed her out as Amelia Bones' niece.

"It's nice to meet you," he says.

"You too."

Now she's the one staring at him, and he can't make out what she's thinking. Her empty glass catches his eye and he asks what she's having. Rosmerta delivers two more meads, which they drink in companionable silence.

Charlie doesn't know what to say. It's not a feeling he's used to when it comes to women, but then most women he talks to don't have this huge thing in common with him. He can't get that image out of his head: a girl, barely of age, fighting for those she loved and those she lost. It's the kind of shared experience that makes small talk irrelevant.

She's not a girl anymore. It's not just the plait that is gone: there's a mature kind of confidence about her now, and she drinks with a demeanour of experience. And yet, there's a hint of schoolgirl in her still, in the anxious energy that manifests in fidgeting and constantly reaching up to touch her hair.

"You must think I'm crazy," she says as she catches herself with her fingers in her tresses yet again. "I just had it cut, you see. It feels ..."

"Strange?"

"I suppose. I was going to say free."

She drains her glass and turns around to look at him. "Did you ever have a time in your life where you just wanted to start again? To forget everything and be someone else?"

"Sure," says Charlie. "I moved to Romania."

"Exactly," says Susan. "Maybe I should go abroad. I mean, cutting off my hair is not exactly a lifestyle change, you know?"

"I don't think my mother would agree with you."

She laughs at that, and it's almost scary. The sound is reckless, almost dangerous, and her eyes shine with it. "I want to do things, Charlie. Things I don't normally do. Things that make me feel alive."

Suddenly she doesn't fit with the image he remembers of her. She's not defending herself anymore. She's on the attack.

"What kind of things?" he asks, uncertain where this is heading. She was in Ron's year. How old does that make her? Eighteen? Nineteen?

"Well ..." She looks around. "I've never had firewhiskey before."

Charlie grins, almost with relief. "We'll have to fix that," he says. "Rosmerta! Two firewhiskeys."

For a novice, she handles the burn well, although her eyes water. "That was amazing," she says. "I can feel it in my whole body."

He knows the feeling. It's warm and tingly and gives you a buzz. She's taken her feet out of her shoes to wriggle her toes, relishing in the sensation, and the sight of her bare feet is oddly intimate. Charlie swallows hard.

She looks up and that reckless glint in her eye is still there. "Do you know what else I've never done?"

He's about to say no, but she swallows the word with her mouth on his, one hand on his thigh and the other in his hair. It overloads his senses and the only thing he can see or taste or smell is her. His body responds of its own volition, raising a hand to her neck to pull her closer, opening his mouth to her.

After what seems like hours (or was it a nanosecond?) she pulls away, and they're both short of breath.

"You see, yesterday I would have apologised for that," she says. "But not today. I'm not going to say sorry for something that feels good. And you enjoyed it too, didn't you?"

He can't seem to make his voice work, but his heavy breathing, his flushed skin and tented jeans answer for him. Fuck. What am I doing?

He doesn't listen to the little voice in his head. He can't. Her impetuosity is contagious and for once he forgets to think and just feels. When he finds himself in her flat, tugging at her clothes, he can hardly remember how they got there.

Her underwear is mint green. It's such an unexpected colour, so innocent and plain, that it shakes him from his stupor. "Susan?"

She's kissing down his chest as she undoes each button. He can't believe he's about to stop her. "Susan?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looks up at him, and suddenly she's not a confident, reckless woman. She's exposed, naked, figuratively if not quite literally; her eyes lose that impulsive glint and all he sees is that vulnerable schoolgirl again. Next thing he knows she's huddled on the floor, tears leaking between her fingers, and he's shocked at the change in her.

"You're right," she sobs, and the sound is so pitiful he wants to cover his ears. "I can't."

There's a hand-knitted blanket on the bed and he wraps it around her shoulders. He wants to tell her that it's okay, that he understands how she feels, but the words won't come.

Neither of them knows how long they sit there, silent, filled up with each other's grief. Then, in deadened voices, they tell their stories. Those they lost. The pieces of themselves that they can never regain. The pain, sometimes aching, sometimes gut-wrenching, that never quite fades away.

The sun has risen when he leaves. People stare at him as he walks the cold London streets, in his wrinkled clothes and mussed hair, but he hardly notices; something has changed in him, and he knows that he will never be able to feel as much as he did with her. The realisation is like a block of ice in his chest.

[rozzywrites]

Spectrum || Teddy/Victoire || G

Title: Spectrum

Summary: Seven moments in the life of Teddy and Victoire, each inspired by a colour of the rainbow.

Notes: This was originally posted in 2013 on ffn. It was written for Being a Wallflower (Jasmine) and for a “Colours of the Rainbow” challenge. It's a collection of small moments in the life of Teddy and Victoire, each inspired by a colour of the rainbow. ffn. ao3. 

Red

They're playing Quidditch in the orchard by the Burrow-Victoire, Lucy and Dominique against Teddy, Louis and James. The younger ones are running around below, watched by an exasperated Molly (who declined to join their Quidditch games at least three years ago).

Victoire steals the Quaffle from her brother. Most of the Weasley cousins are good at Quidditch but Victoire, much to her mother's despair, has showed particular talent since her Uncle Charlie first sat her on a broom. She takes off towards the makeshift goal, which Teddy guards like a Sphinx. Victoire throws with all her might, but Teddy blocks it easily - as he's been doing all game.

"Come on, Victoire!" yells Dominique from the other end. "You can get around him, he's not even a Weasley! What's wrong with you?"

"I bet she likes him," calls James in a sing-song voice.

"I do not!" says Victoire, but she can feel her face flush a deep red and she curses her Weasley genes.

Orange

He finds her sitting in front of the fire, her face and hair aglow with the light of the flames.

"There you are," he says. "You disappeared after dinner."

"Just needed some space," she says quietly.

"Your family are a bit full on," he agrees. "Especially at Christmas. But I do like being around you all."

He lowers himself down beside her. Even with the heat of the fire, she can feel his warmth, radiating from his arm only inches from hers. They sit in silence for awhile.

"Teddy?"

"Mm?"

"Do you see us as your family?"

He thinks about this for a few moments. "Not exactly," he says finally. "I love that you all treat me that way, and Harry does feel more like my uncle than anyone else. But we're not really related - you know?"

"I know," she says, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a tiny smile.

Yellow

It's the most cheerful wedding she's ever been to, for the bride believes in the luck that sun colours bring. Victoire can't help but smile as she watches the newlyweds dance enthusiastically in the centre of the floor, their yellow robes almost painful to the eye.

Soon other couples are joining them and Victoire wonders where Teddy is, although she doesn't dare look in case he (or worse, one of her cousins) should notice. With an icy pang, she spots him moving towards the dance floor, but she soon realises that the hand he's holding belongs to his grandmother, so she sits and watches them contentedly for a while.

Finally (finally) he comes over, drinks in hand. "Don't tell anyone, but I mixed some champagne in this," he says, placing a glass of pumpkin juice in front of her. His hair is canary yellow in honour of the occasion and Victoire can hardly look at him.

"I won't tell," she says with a grin, "as long as you promise to dance with me later."

"Deal," he replies, and as she takes a sip of her illicit drink, she feels a tingling in her belly that has nothing to do with champagne.

Green

I can't believe he's not coming back.

Victoire picks at the grass as she lets her bare feet dangle in the water. Her friends are laughing and tossing their hair in the direction of some Ravenclaw boys, but she has other things on her mind: a specific, blue-haired thing, in fact.

He's with his own group of friends on the other side of the lake, enjoying their last day of sunshine before heading into their futures. Victoire wonders how they can look so carefree-she can't imagine anything more frightening.

He looks up from his conversation and catches her eye. His smile seems easy, but she knows him too well. He's scared he won't get the marks he needs. He's scared that the other trainees will treat him differently because he's Harry Potter's godson. He's scared of being at the bottom of the pile again. He's scared of being green.

Blue

She tiptoes down the Burrow's rickety stairs, heading for the kitchen and a glass of water, when she runs into someone coming the other way.

"Who's that?"

"Who's that?"

"It's Teddy."

She has to try very hard not to yell out in excitement. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

"Molly invited me to stay after training and I only just got away." Her eyes are starting to adjust and she can see that he's carrying a heavy rucksack. "What about you?"

"Trying to get some study done without my crazy siblings around."

They stand there for several moments, looking at each other through the gloom. Victoire feels like she can hardly breathe.

"I suppose you want to get to bed," she manages eventually. "Let me back up-"

She's silenced by his lips on hers. It takes her a second or two to recover from the shock, but then she tangles her fingers in his turquoise hair like she's always wanted to and returns the kiss earnestly.

Indigo

It's that moment where dusk turns into night and the sky is the deepest blue imaginable. They walking hand in hand along the beach, the gentle pounding of the surf their only company, talking about everything and nothing at all.

"I wish you didn't have to leave again," says Victoire, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walk. "It feels like you just got here."

"I know," he says. "But I only have one more year until I qualify. One more year until we're both working and we can afford to get a flat. One more year until we can start to live, you know?"

Victoire looks up at the first winking stars appearing in the sky. "One more year."

"We'll be there before you know it, beautiful."

Violet

It's only a one bedroom flat, with a tiny kitchen and window shutters that threaten to part company with their hinges. But it's theirs, and nothing has ever felt more like home.

"Are you ready to go inside?" he asks on the threshold, keys in hand.

She nods, but as he puts the key in the lock, she says "Wait!"

"What's wrong?" asks Teddy, but she's already Disapparated.

He doesn't have to wait long. In seconds she's returned with the familiar 'pop', clutching a bunch of wildflowers in her hand.

"They're violets from Shell Cottage," she says. "I need a little piece of it here." He smiles and opens the door for them to step through together.

"Welcome home," he says, and as he kisses her tenderly, she knows that they'll be all right.

[rozzywrites]

Meant to Be || Lily/James || PG-13

Title: Meant to Be

Summary: James ponders his impending parenthood.

Notes: This was originally posted in 2013 as a gift on ffn for glowing neon (Sylvia). I used the prompts 'lavender soap' and 'chocolate frogs'. ffn. a03.

       "Lily?"

He quietly opens the door to the bedroom and there she is, lying curled up on her side. She's fallen asleep with her hands on her belly, cradling its gentle curves. He stares in awe for a while.

It's been four months and he still can't believe it. A baby.

They hadn't meant for this to happen quite so soon. They'd talked about it, of course, when they'd decided to get married, and they'd said all the sensible things like "uncertain times" and "better to wait". But on the inside they'd wondered other things—things like "why should we have to wait?" and "what if this war lasts forever?" and suddenly it had happened and it was too late to argue any more. Despite all their fears and uncertainties, it felt right ... as though this baby was just meant to be.

 A baby.

He tiptoes closer, trying not to wake her. He's glad that she's sleeping; growing a person is tiring, she says, but she often spends her nights struggling to get comfortable and craving chocolate frogs. He looks at the hands on her belly and supposes she fell asleep feeling the baby move. "It's like a fairy fluttering," she'd said in one of her dreamy, hormone-induced phases, but no matter how long he spends with his hands on her, the movements are too small for anyone but her to feel.

It seems like a miracle, sometimes. How can there be a person growing in there? One day it wasn't there, and the next day it was—a bundle of dividing cells, Lily says. And some day, it will emerge. He will emerge. They don't actually know whether it's a boy or a girl, of course, but James just knows. Or maybe he just wishes?

Lily says that Muggles have a machine that can look inside a woman's belly, that can let you see the baby before it is born. James sometimes wonders if they can find a Muggle doctor who could do that for them, but Lily insists that she doesn't want to know. The midwitch can make sure that the baby is healthy, and that is all that matters.

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed, and she stirs, but doesn't wake. He tucks a strand of that vibrant hair behind her ear and leans down to press a kiss to the cheek he exposes. He can smell the fragrant soap she uses as he does so—lavender or something, fresh and alive. He lies down beside her, tucking his face next to her neck, and breathes in deeply.

Sometimes he wonders if it's selfish of them—selfish to bring a child into such an uncertain world, to be so excited while so much tragedy unfolds beyond their door. He knows, too, that they will not be useful to the Order when the baby comes. They'd almost been afraid to tell the others about it. What would Dumbledore say? What would the boys say? But in the end, James hadn't been able to hold the news in.

And of course, they needn't have worried. Dumbledore was all grace and congratulations, and insisted that they step back from the Order and concentrate on their family. James still gets antsy sometimes, especially when the boys come and tell him about their latest missions, but Lily reminds him that they are lucky to have survived up to now, and that their child needs him alive.

Their child. Because that's got to be the most amazing thing about it—this child will be the first thing that is theirs, and theirs alone. They have created it together: part her and part him.

It seems miraculous, and yet it happens every day. Not long after James and Lily told the Order, they found out that Frank and Alice were expecting a baby, too, as were Edgar Bones' brother and sister-in-law. The Weasleys were about to have their sixth, for crying out loud. But still, because it is theirs, it is the most miraculous of all.

The boys seem to think so, too. Peter reacted predictably when they told him, going into paroxysms of delight and practically falling off his chair. Remus hadn't stopped smiling for hours. Sirius had been silent for a good ten minutes, as though in shock, and then he'd silently knelt in front of Lily and said solemnly to her abdomen: "I will always be there for you."

James places a hand on top of hers where it cradles her belly. Her eyes open slowly and James draws her close, his arm sliding up to rest in the newly-formed crevice between her belly and her breasts.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispers.

"How amazing this is," he replies. "How amazing you are." As he sits up on his elbow, she tilts her head around as though she can read his mind, and he can taste chocolate on her breath as he kisses her. Even though he can't wait to meet their baby, this moment, this snapshot of beautiful anticipation, is so perfect that just for a second, he wishes it could last forever.

[rozzywrites]

A Magical Number || Ron/Hermione || PG

Title: A Magical Number Summary: Seven kisses in the life of Ron and Hermione. They weren’t always perfect, but they were certainly memorable.

Notes: Originally posted in 2010 (geez that’s a long time ago). This story was written for the Seven Kisses Challenge at HPFC. ffn. ao3.

I Innocence

She looked so fragile, lying there, dwarfed by the hospital bed with its indifferent white sheets. Ron was continually drawn to her bedside by some unknown force, and he sat and stared at her unseeing eyes, wishing desperately that they were closed so he could pretend she was asleep. Instead, a feeling of anxiety sat heavy in his stomach, even when he was sitting in lessons or talking with Harry.

Like he’d seen his mother do for his brothers and sister when they were sick, Ron reached out a hand to touch her hair. And then, without thinking, without really knowing why, he leant forward and pressed his tender lips to hers.

He never told anyone about that kiss. It was his own special, private moment, something no one had ever shared with her before. He never even told Hermione, because he didn’t know how to, but sometimes, somehow, he thought she knew.

II Desperation

She didn’t know whether it was the uncertainty of the battle, the adrenaline coursing through her veins or his concern for the house elves. All Hermione knew was that she had abandoned every restraint that she’d carefully built up over the years and was now kissing him with almost reckless enthusiasm.

She hadn’t paused to think whether he would return the kiss, and yet amazingly he was. She could taste him, feel him pressed up against her. For one of the first times in her life, Hermione forgot all her inhibitions and acted completely on instinct.

She tightened her hold on his neck to bring his face even closer to hers and give her tongue better access to his unexplored mouth. His fingers at her waist pressed harder into her flesh, as if they were both determined to squeeze as much of each other into his moment as they could. For those few brief seconds, amidst the chaos of war, there was only them, and it was perfect.

III Awkwardness

It had been exactly seventy-nine hours since it happened. It was much more like Hermione to keep track like that than Ron, but he’d found himself obsessing over her and The Kiss, probably to keep his mind off everything that separated him from that moment.

He found himself trying to find ways to be alone with her, yet was frightened of what might happen if he was. But finally (terrifyingly?) they were the only ones left in the sitting room late that night, seventy-nine hours after it happened.

“Ron—”

She’s started speaking but it was too late; he’d already begun moving towards her. His mouth swallowed her words and she gave a muffled squeak in surprise. His hand was rough on her cheek and his mouth was hard on hers.

With dismay he realised she was pushing at his chest. He pulled his face away from hers, eyes immediately falling to the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered. He couldn’t believe he’d already screwed it up—actually, yes he could. He was always screwing it up when it came to her.

Her eyes, though, were full of tenderness. “It’s okay,” she said. “I do want this, Ron. Just… not yet.”

IV Passion

The lights of a strange city twinkled in the distance, but the countryside around them was very dark indeed. The air outside was frigid but the little cottage was warm and cosy, thanks to a roaring fire provided by the Australian Ministry official who met them at the Portkey Office.

“I wish Harry could have come,” said Ron, stroking Hermione’s hand with his thumb.

“I’m sort of glad,” said Hermione. “It’s nice to have time, just the two of us.”

There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. She leant towards him and tilted her face up. He met it eagerly.

The kiss began soft and slow, like all the others since that disastrous second one. But something was different that night; maybe it was the firelight, or the anticipation of being so close to their goal. Whatever it was, her fingers were soon tangled in his hair, and his hand found its way under all her layers of clothes to close on her warm waist.

Hermione gave a little moan. It was this that gave Ron the courage to slide his hand higher up her back until he felt the lace edge of her bra. She moaned again. Ron was amazed that he gained even more pleasure from this sound, this evidence of her own satisfaction, than from the feel of her mouth or her skin.

Breathless, she finally pulled away. His hands still caressed the sensitive skin of her back. The intensity of their shared gaze enthralled and frightened them. His voice came out soft and rough. “I love you.” The words felt strange on his lips.

V Reunion

She had been listening for him for hours. Once upon a time, two months would have seemed like nothing, but these two months without him had been agony.

There it was—the telltale pop. She banged open the door and there he was, his face hard and determined, reminding her of Ginny. Without a word she was caught up in his embrace, their mouths finding the connection they had both been craving.

He felt different, Hermione realised, as the part of her mind that was always analysing kicked into action. His arms and chest were harder against her body, the muscles more defined. She dimly supposed that two months of intense training as part of Auror qualification would do that to you.

She tugged at his hair in an attempt to bring him even closer, trying feel and taste as much of him as she could, to tell him how much she’d missed him without words. Although his kiss was ardent and forceful, his expression was gentle when he finally pulled away.

“Hi,” he said, and she laughed. Her life was whole again.

VI Relief

“Ron!”

She looked so distressed, he almost laughed. He knew how he must look—the dirt, the bruises, the blood (most of it not his, thankfully), the Healer brandishing nasty-smelling paste—but really, she had nothing to worry about.

She ran to him and took his face gingerly in her hands. “Relax,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“But…” Her eyes were still wide with worry. “I heard—an attack—St Mungo's—”

“Hermione,” he said firmly. “I’m okay. Really.”

“It’s true,” said the Healer. “Just a few bruises. Now hold still Mr Weasley. You won’t thank me if this stuff gets in your eyes.”

Obedient, Ron held his head still as the Healer dabbed at a growing bruise on his hairline. He took Hermione’s trembling hands and smiled patiently.

“There,” said the Healer.

“May I kiss my wife now?” asked Ron.

“You may,” said the Healer with a smile. “He really is okay, Mrs Weasley.”

She still didn’t look quite convinced as she eyed his bloodstained robes, but she soon forgot her concern as he pressed his lips to hers. She responded fervently, curling her fingers into the front of his robes, until—

“Ahem,” said the Healer.

VII Bliss

For the first time in her life (or at least, the bits of it that mattered), Hermione was not worried about anything.

“There are no dark wizards pursuing an evil vendetta against our best friend,” said Hermione.

“We’re not hiding from Voldemort in a godforsaken tent, freezing our arses off,” said Ron with a grimace.

“My parents aren’t on the other side of world, with no idea that I exist.”

“My sister isn’t trying to sneak into battle.”

“My husband isn’t out risking his life everyday,” said Hermione.

“I know,” said Ron. “It feels amazing. I still feel bad for leaving Harry alone, though.”

“Don’t,” said Hermione. “Harry can look after himself. And he understands. You did it for all of us.”

“Our family,” said Ron with awe.

He drew the fabric of her shirt up over the gentle swell of her belly, before placing a kiss on her navel. They both gazed at the evidence of their growing family for a few moments. Finally, Ron lifted his head, and was met by his wife’s lips on his.

[rozzywrites]

Welcome to my fanfiction tumblr! This is a side blog to therozzy.tumblr.com where I'll exclusively post my own writing (most likely Harry Potter) and could include nsfw things, responses to contests and challenges and anything else that takes my fancy! To start us off I'll repost some older work from ffn and ao3. I'm currently working on some romione quickie fest things so look for that over the next few weeks! Love rozzy