#{also i can damn near hear and see quill lowering his voice and trying to be all formal}

[tarnishedxknight]

[ Another Time Another Place A Hollow Universe In Space ]

“Yeah. Space.” Quill nodded when Basch asked if he was referring to outer space. “We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy, so we travel the, uh… galaxy?” His eyes widened when Basch told him about the dock. “Wait, really? Shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll make it up to you!”

When Vossler appeared and the guardsmen seemed to stiffen, the Guardians didn’t fully understand who this guy was or why the other men seemed tense around him. He was just some guy, at least to them. When he coldly told the Guardians to leave because they weren’t welcome, they all blinked and exchanged glances. They had been the biggest losers in the galaxy, the rejects, the abused. Vossler’s rude remarks were as effective as trying to fight a hurricane with a sigh. Basch seemed to give the Guardians the benefit of the doubt, however, and they nodded when he told them to wait there.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Quill said, trying to sound formal.

Drax laughed again. “You sound so silly when you make your voice deeper!”

“I’m not! This is my voice!” Quill cleared his throat and rolled his eyes when Vossler spoke directly to him, asking what manner of ship the Benatar was, but then the younger one, Reks, answered for him. When Vossler said they were lying, and not lying well, Quill seemed offended. “Hey! I am a great liar! Not that I exhibited my excellent lying abilities recently…” His statement was met with protests from the other Guardians.

“Two weeks ago you said you weren’t doing anythin’ and played it cool when I woke up to get a glass of water and I caught you singing along to Dancing Queen in a high-pitched voice,” Rocket pointed out.

“The other day I asked you,” Gamora said, “if you were scared of my sister, and you said no before jumping and hiding behind me when she walked by.”

“Fine, fine! Jesus.” Quill held both hands up in surrender and turned his attention to Vossler once again. “Look, what I’m tryin’ to say is that we do, in fact, come from space. If you don’t believe us, sir, that sounds like a you problem.”

“I am Groot,” Groot said cheekily, mimicking Vossler’s condescending tone before producing a fart noise with his tongue.

Quill, Rocket and Drax broke into uncontrollable laughter at Groot’s comment. Gamora shook her head, but a small smirk appeared on her face. Even Mantis, who was feeling unwell, couldn’t help but giggle. But her improvement was momentary. Color drained from her face once again, and she stood still.

“Also…” Rocket, still laughing, turned to Vossler. “I don’t get what makes you think we would lie to impress you.”

“You gotta put up with this kinda attitude often, buddy?” Quill said to Reks, noticing how anxious the young man seemed around Vossler. It was as if Reks feared being left with him, especially since the situation was already tense enough. Then, Quill frowned when Mantis placed Groot on his shoulder. She started to recoil. “Hey. Mantis, what’s wrong?” he asked, in turn placing Groot on Drax’s shoulder.

“Too loud. It’s too loud in this place.”

“It’s not loud.”

“No, I don’t mean loud with your ears, I am talking about a different kind of loud!” Mantis didn’t stop recoiling until her back hit the wall, covering her ears anyway in case it helped. Her antennae glowing with a dim, faint light. Tears welled in her eyes, running down her cheeks. “It hurts! Where are we, Peter?”

Quill, suddenly understanding a little better why Mantis was feeling sick, pulled her into a hug, letting her use his emotions to ground herself as she sobbed into his chest. He gave the other Guardians a look, mouthing ’you know the drill’, and Drax joined them with Groot. Gamora followed. Rocket, though mumbling curses and complaints, approached Mantis as well and grabbed her hand to place it between his ears. As much as he hated the feeling of having someone inside his head, he did it anyway because he knew Mantis needed it, and because his constant nightmares went away mere days after they accepted her into the team… and Rocket knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Once Mantis was calmer and the Guardians gave her some space, Quill grabbed his trench coat and draped it over Mantis’ shoulders so she could wear it, before disconnecting the Zune and giving it to her, placing the headphones over her ears. Mantis threw her arms around Quill’s shoulders and kissed his cheek, her tears gone, replaced with a beaming smile.

(Oh thank you so much for the detailed explanation! Keep in mind I can always look up something I don’t understand tho, I wouldn’t want you to spend a lot of time giving me context and getting to less replies because of it! LMFAO great idea, it’s pretty in character for Peter Quill to accidentally land on a palace and be like “whoops! Sorry! Will you forgive me if I show you ABBA’s greatest hits?” Vossler, man, if you pick a fight with Rocket “Professional Asshole” Raccoon I can’t guarantee your physical or emotional safety, my guy. But yesss, yeet all the muses at them, canon or oc. For example, yeet Munoh at Mantis and watch her think she’s hallucinating because she’s already feeling sick. Yeet Caelen at Drax and watch him think Caelen is a beautiful woman and buy “her” a drink. Yeet Noah at Rocket and watch the two of them either bond over their anger issues or try to kill each other. Yeet Vossler at Mantis and watch her use her powers to make Vossler suck his thumb like a baby… So many possibilities! Give me all the in-character drama.)

__________

{ Oh no, you’re fine! It was more a tiredness and a lack of brain issue this past Tuesday, not that I spent too much time on your reply. Burnout from work, basically. I actually had time to write, I was just too tired to focus on long, detailed replies. The only reason I could get yours out was because for some reason I have a rabid amount of muse for this thread, so it powered through the sleepiness, lol.

I think I will throw Munoh at Mantis because I realized that certain things going on would attract them to the area, but… OMG LOL DRAX THINKING CAELEN IS A WOMAN. XD He is a very… pretty man. I’m sure he’ll grow into his ruggedness when he gets older, but at the time of this thread, he’d be in his 20s so… yeah, he’s a very fine-featured young man, heh. And UGH I LOVE WOULD TO YEET NOAH AT ROCKET. They’d either kill each other or really bond. Unfortunately Noah is thousands of miles away in Archadia. And feel free to have anyone and everyone fuck with Vossler however they want, he’s basically there… to be fucked with, heh. That’s the only value of having him in a thread at all. XD }

“‘Tis forgiven. You were not to know, being thrown afar of your intended destination,” Basch said with kind respect. Wherever that might have been. He understood that these people truly hadn’t meant to dock where they did. Maybe it was technically trespassing, and maybe it did raise alarm because of the tense climate of war in which Dalmasca was currently immersed, but clearly it was a matter of necessity and misunderstanding, not malice. Even so, he needed to speak with King Raminas about it before the narrative got away from him via rumors and hearsay within the palace. Or Vossler’s own intolerance.

Although Vossler tended not to be as empathetic as he, Basch knew he would not cause undue issues while he was done either. His longtime friend had a bit of an arrogance issue, but when tempered by those who could point it out to him, Vossler had made small improvements here and there. Perhaps he didn’t have the temperament to be a Knight of the Order of Dalmasca, but that was not his decision to make. All he could do was advise His Majesty and then manage the final results, which he was attempting to do now.

The other guards shrank back a bit, content to let Reks take the brunt of Vossler’s ire, though they did receive a stern look of reprimand from the knight when they began to chuckle at how these foreigners were reacting to him. Reks, however, truly cared about his job and was trying to pay attention and assist Vossler however the knight might need, even if he truly disliked the man.

The more Vossler listened to the Guardians banter among themselves and otherwise childishly disrespect him, the more he simply stared, eyes narrowed. “Idiots,” he mumbled in irritated incredulity. 

“Ser?” Reks asked, not having quite heard him.

“They are idiots, the lot of them,” he said, gesturing towards them. “Listen as they twitter and cluck as though part of some ill-scripted mummer’s farce,” he said a bit louder. “Perhaps I was mistaken. They seem not to possess the intelligence to be thieves or spies,” he said.

“Maybe… they’re just travelers, ser,” Reks suggested.

“When I wish your opinion, I shall solicit it,” he said sternly.

“Yes, ser, s-sorry, ser,” Reks stammered. 

“Mocking a Knight of the Order is an offense punishable by imprisonment, tiny creatures,” he said to the Guardians, looking at Groot and Rocket in particular.

When Quill addressed Reks, the young man didn’t know how to respond. If he said no, he was lying. If he said yes, Vossler would no doubt yell at him for it. “Um…” he stalled, trying to think of a diplomatic response.

“I am his superior. You will address me,” Vossler said to Quill.

“N-no,” Reks said before he could think better of it. “With all due respect, ser, Ser Ronsenburg is our superior. You are an authority, to be sure, b-but not our direct superior. We take our orders from him, not… n-not from you…” He nearly swallowed his own heart as it jumped up into his throat.

Vossler turned to look at Reks, his gaze sharp enough to run the poor boy through. “All knights are superior to insolent grunts like you,” he said harshly. “Or have you forgotten that only but a year ago, you were starving on the streets of Lowtown? If you wish to keep your newfound privilege, you will show respect where it is due, boy.”

Reks wasn’t about to say anything further after that, even if it meant not speaking up to correct something that wasn’t true. It just wasn’t worth throwing away his whole career that he’d worked so hard for. He had a brother to support, after all.

- - - - - 

Munoh could ignore the change in energy no longer. First, there had been the feeling of something shifting, enough to make the Occurian’s magickstuffs pulsate with greater fervor than they had in a long time. A rift, it was. It had been centuries since Munoh had felt something like a rift in time and space, but… there was no mistaking it. It had an energy, a charge, a life all its own, when the very fabric of time and space was torn asunder, and anomalies permitted either entrance to or exit from where they ought or ought not to remain.

Curious, to say the least, but Munoh was loathe to leave Caelen’s side. The young man had been very unstable of late, with his deployment to the Dalmascan/Nabradian border imminent from the way King Raminas had been talking of late. However, when surges in psychological energy began tickling Munoh as well, ones that indicated the mental footprint of either a powerful magic user or an empath or perhaps both, curiosity got the better of the Occurian, and they decided to investigate.

Invisible and inaudible to mortals of this plane, by current choice, Munoh flew through sandstone and marble alike, through the palace. Walls meant nothing to ones without bodies, after all. The rift had occurred high in the sky, Munoh supposed, for that was where the disturbance had felt strongest. But the mental signature was coming from a place far closer to the earth. High for the humes of the palace, maybe, but for an Occurian native to a city far up in the heavens, this was almost ground level. Nevertheless, they located the source fairly quickly, and were downright excited with what they discovered. This… was a powerful being. In distress, certainly, but powerful nevertheless. But what was she…? Munoh had never encountered a being such as her before.

Believing themself to be unable to be seen or heard by anyone other than those chosen by them, Munoh floated very close to the one in distress, peering through the gathering of cronies around her to better assess her energy. Oh. Oh? She carries parts of the stars within her. Interesting. It seemed, upon first contact, that the being was in some way connected to the heavens and beyond, which was nothing short of amazing to Munoh. For now they merely watched and listened, content to observe this strange yet intriguing being for a while.

- - - - -

“Sh-should we bring them to the sages?” Reks asked, seeing how much distress one of the travelers was.

“Nay,” Vossler simply said.

“B-but-” Reks said, but he was quickly cut off.

“We will wait for Ser Ronsenburg,” Vossler said with patronizing annoyance. “Since he is your superior, you can do nothing without his word. Is that not what you said? So, we wait.”

“Y-yes, ser,” Reks said, defeated, although he was happy to see that, whatever was wrong with the odd-looking female, her friends seemed to know how to make her feel better… at least temporarily.

Basch returned rather quickly, not wishing to waste very much time. The guardsmen looked very happy to see him back. Walking up to the Guardian’s ship, he addressed Quill first. “Captain Star-Lord, King Raminas will grant you audience now,” he said with a respectful nod. He looked around at the rest of them. “If any of you wish to accompany your captain, you have permission to do so. If not, you may remain here until he returns. In the meantime, our sages will do what they can for the ill member of your crew. If she is not well enough to walk to them, they can be brought here to her. What say you?” he asked, leaving some of the details to them, as he didn’t know how comfortable they all were with leaving their ship, seeing as how they were a long way from home.

Vossler was silent as Basch addressed the Guardians, and Reks continued to pay close attention, in case his captain asked something of him.

[harrytpotter]

It’s cuddles inside, baby — James Potter x Reader Request.

Requested by @prettysatan: “Hehe I saw requests. James Potter x reader where it’s cold outside and James keeps putting his cold hands underneath reader’s shirt”.

Pairing: James Potter x Reader.

Word Count: 1,6K

Warnings: None, it’s basically pure fluff.

A/N: It’s not the greatest, since it’s insanely hot here in my city it’s kinda despairing thinking about the amazing feeling of a cold weather hahaha. Hope you like it, tho! <3 (also, i’m the absolute WORST when it comes to titles).

The winter was falling hard upon Hogwarts. The days were slowly becoming shorter whilst the nights were becoming longer; it was officially sweaters and cuddles by the fireplace season and the latter was on at full force among the students. Today was the perfect day to do so, the snow was falling brutally outside, whitening the entire landscape that surrounded the majestic old castle that posed as the headquarters for the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You let your head fall heavily into your arms – which were crossed above the table – and heaved a deep and audible sigh as you frowned in despair, mentally cursing yourself for taking Advanced Arithmancy Studies as an elective class instead of having a free period. Which was definitely something you could use right now to try and keep yourself warm; preferably with the help of your very smart boyfriend who had wisely chosen to have this time free for himself in the beginning of the school year.

“Just go,” Lily mumbled to you, leaning a little so you could hear her, her gaze never leaving the Professor.

You lifted your head a little so you could face her, a confused frown taking over your face as you blinked repeatedly, slowly coming back to reality after being lost inside your thoughts for the past hour or so.

“You look like a damn popsicle shivering and gritting your teeth,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Besides I know you’re thinking about how much you wanted a warming-up session with Potter right now,” she added with a lopsided grin.

Your cheeks acquired a crimson tone as you hissed embarrassed at Lily, “I’m not!”

“Yeah, as if I didn’t know you,” she mocked. “Go, I’ll cover for you.”

Glancing at the Professor – who had his back turned to the class as he waved his wand to the blackboard, writing something you did not care about – and then at the door, you shrugged, still a little hesitant, “I might take you up on that offer.”

“Go get cosy and warm with that twat boyfriend of yours already,” Lily rolled her eyes playfully, grinning at you.

“Thank you, Lils! You’re the absolute best!” You planted an excited kiss on her cheek whilst wrapping your arm on her shoulders before discreetly gathering your parchments and quill and tossing it inside your bag.

“Cuddles by the fireplace, here I come!” You wiggled your brows amusedly as you sang your excitement to your best friend, who chuckled and shook her head at your behaviour.

With a last expression of your gratitude towards the redhead, you sneaked out of class and almost ran along the corridors, desperately wanting to arrive at the Gryffindor Tower.

The temperature had significantly dropped since you had first walked to class, which made you pull your clothes tightly around your body in a desperate attempt to keep your body warm as the chilly windy currents flogged your skin. You couldn’t see a single soul wandering through the castle as the few students who weren’t in their Common Rooms, were shivering inside of classrooms.

“Oi! Pad!” You shouted at the familiar raven-haired boy as your eyes spotted him near the Tower on the seventh floor.

Sirius halted and turned on his heels, a warm smile spreading across his face as his grey irises focused on you.

“Is James inside?” You asked excitedly, getting closer to the boy and nodding in the direction of the Fat Lady portrait.

“I’m fine, thanks! How are you doing?” He teased with a grin.

“Feeling needy today, are we?” You hit back, smirking as you rolled your eyes.

“Always,” the boy winked at you. “I wouldn’t know that, sorry love. I was about to go in when I got a really important message,” he churned a scented piece of parchment in front of your face, a lustful look in his eyes.

“Why do I have the feeling that I wouldn’t want to know what it says?” You playfully crossed your arms in front of your chest, quirking your brows.

“Because these words are way too dirty for your precious eyes and ears, my pure little angel,” he lifted a brow teasingly.

“You rightful prick!” You bumped your fist on his shoulder with a laugh.

“Go find that whipped man of yours, last I saw him he couldn’t stop rambling about how much he wanted you in his arms; Remus almost strangled him because he wouldn’t let him read,” he shrugged with a grin before walking away.

Smiling, you made your way to the Fat Lady and whispered the password rather quickly. When the portrait swung open, you instantly ran inside and scanned the nearly empty room with your eyes, your smile quickly fading once you realised James was nowhere to be seen.

Heaving a sigh, you decided to try his dorm and motioned to the stairs that led to it, eagerly climbing up the steps as a hopeful smile slowly returned to your face.

Closing your fingers around the handle, you opened the door of the Marauders room with a poignant urgency, only to be left down at the sight of Remus Lupin reading a book under his blankets and a snoring Peter Pettigrew sleeping heavily in his own bed.

“Nice to see you too,” the brown-haired boy with kind chocolate eyes said, a lopsided grin on his face as he noticed your apparent annoyance.

“Sorry, Moony,” you sighed, plopping yourself down on Sirius’ bed, which was next to Remus’. “I just thought I’d find James here.”

“I had to kick him out so I could finish my book because he wouldn’t stop talking about how much he hated that you had a class when he wanted to cuddle,” Remus shrugged apologetically.

“So I’ve heard,” you chuckled. “Do you happen to know where he went?”

“I assumed he went after you,” he smiled sweetly amidst a frown. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“He didn’t,” you pouted, feeling defeated as you hopped off Sirius’ bed. “Anyway, thanks Moony. I might as well go take a hot bath and change into warmer clothes then,” you added, taking off your robes and holding it whilst walking towards the door.

The walk to your dorm felt disappointing, the cold air frustrating you even more. You had ditched class exclusively to warm yourself up with your boyfriend and not only were you still cold and shaking like a jelly as you also didn’t have James’ strong hold around your body.

However, once you entered the room you shared with other three Gryffindors, a nice surprise awaited for you: James’ figure was laying on your bed, one arm behind his head and another holding the picture you had on your nightstand of the two of you.

“You’re here!” You exclaimed happily at your boyfriend, who snapped his head towards the door at the sound of your voice, placing the picture back where it belonged.

“Where else would I be, love?” He got up and opened his arms pleadingly, a smile on his lips.

You tossed your robes on the floor, ran to James and hugged him tightly, almost knocking him off on the bed.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” he chuckled and placed a kiss on your temple, his arms enveloping your waist.

“Very much, indeed,” you quirked a brow with a smile before giving him a peck on the lips and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You’re so warm,” he smiled at the welcoming and soothing feeling of your skin against his cold body, pulling you even closer to him and resting his head in the crook of you neck.

You and James stayed glued in this position for what seemed like forever before an unsettling ice-cold feeling hit your lower back, causing you to jump.

“Take those cold hands off my skin!” you slapped his arm as you felt as if your spine was freezing.

“Sorry, babe,” he chuckled, raising his arms apologetically.

“Don’t you dare do that again, your hands are as cold as ice cubs!” You threatened him with what you thought to be your deadliest glare.

“Have I already told you how adorable you look when you’re pissed?” He smiled devilishly at you as he once again slid his cold hands under your shirt.

“Seriously James?” You groaned, rolling your eyes, annoyed, and getting off his embrace.

“Come on, love,” he pouted, amused. “It’s not my fault that my girlfriend is bloody hot and can warm me up like nobody else.”

“You’re infuriating some times,” you rolled your eyes once again, starting to walk in the direction of the bathroom.

“Come here,” he whined, holding you gently by your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he added once you were looking at him again, pulling his sleeves up so his hands were covered.

“What are you doing?” You frowned confusedly, although you were still annoyed.

“Making sure you’re not mad at me,” he said before cupping your cheeks with his covered hands and place kisses all through your face.

“That’s not fair!” You groaned, but he could feel the smile on your lips.

James smiled before pulling you into a passionate and yet gentle kiss, filled with the sweetest love you felt for one another.

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear after you both pulled apart, once again sliding his bare hands underneath your shirt. However, unlike before, this time you didn’t care; despite his cold hands on your lower back, a warm wave was spreading inside of you.

[iced-coffee-and-imagines]

Now, this might be hell angst, but can I request a spin on your miscarriage post where it also threatens Hubert’s s/o’s life? Just for added suspense ^^

Anon, if you’re going down, I’m going down with you; angst is my Achilles’ heel. You can absolutely request that;;;

~Latte ♡♡

((This got real long; I am so sorry, mobile users))

**Also, big warning for some descriptive stuff**

Hubert von Vestra/f!Reader - Dual Tragedy

A chill ran down your spine, pulling you from the comfort of sleep. Groaning softly, you tugged the bedclothes further over your figure; the manor had not been nearly this cold when you retired to bed last night

A soft knock on the chamber door roused you again, the muted voice of your midwife reaching your ears

Bidding her entry, you heard her shoes tap against the floor and the latch of the bedroom door closing again as she entered

Your eyes opened to a squint, ignoring the dull throb behind them, gaze drifting to the older woman as she approached your bedside

She patted your shoulder, “Good morning, Countess Vestra. Are you well?”

You grunted, sleep still clouding the edges of your vision, “I suppose; cold, but well”

“Countess, the room is quite warm, I assure you.” You felt her hand press against your forehead. She tsked, displeasure evident, “My lady, you are feverish, and pale at that. What else are you feeling?”

Trying to brush your symptoms away would do no good; the older woman was both stubborn and knowledgeable. You relented, “My head aches, but nothing more”

The midwife hummed. “How long have your symptoms been present?”

“Only since this morning”

She brushed her fingertips against your temple. “We will keep a watch on you then; send word to Count Vestra, if need be. Rest, my lady; you and the child both need it”

——–

You awoke sometime later, the bedroom dimmed to deepen your sleep. Your headache was piercing now, vision blurring; your pelvis hurt like a blade had been twisted into it

Propping onto an elbow, you tried to shift out of bed, collapsing back onto the feather mattress seconds later

Your breathing had shallowed, the pain seeping into your back the longer you lay conscious

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed them shut; your skin was damp with sweat. The midwife; you needed the midwife

You did not register the presence of another in the room until the figure touched your brow

Startled, your gaze snapped open to find the older woman, busily wetting a cloth and placing the cool rag against your heated skin, the lines on her face deepened by both the scarce candlelight and worry

Your voice was raspy, throat parched, “What…what’s wrong?”

“Hush, dear; everything will be fine”

The term of affection was not lost on you. Your face scrunched as you looked at her; the reassurance appeared more for her than you

She never met your eyes, instead pulling the blankets back, gently lifting your legs and hips to place several thick towels underneath, apologizing when you sucked in a breath through gritted teeth

She shushed you as she laid a thick blanket over you, different from the bedclothes previous; she dampened the cloth again

You swallowed, dots beginning to connect in your pain-addled mind: You were miscarrying, with your husband miles away at the palace

You whimpered as a surge of pain shot through your hips, tipping your head to the side; a chill trailed down your spine in the moments after

——

In the hours that followed, your breathing became more laboured; your fever broke, replaced by a minute but steady dropping of your temperature; your pain increased, no amount of specialty teas able to lessen it. Sleep had come uneasily, leaving you dozing with little knowledge of the time

The midwife had sent an express message to your husband, entrusting it with the fastest flyer the household had

Several other healers and physicians had come and gone, each baring an expression more troubling than the last; terms like sepsis, inevitable, and hospice rolling in your skull like boulders

The older woman held your icy hand in hers, stroking your knuckles

Your head lolled from side to side every so often, skin sticky with dried sweat; your chest ached from struggling for breath, back and pelvis a constant thorn

A heat against your inner thighs caused you to jolt, exhausted muscles seizing weakly as the scent of blood and infection filled the air

The midwife stood, placing your hand against the bed before pulling the blanket away from your lower half. Your eyes closed as your nose twitched, deciding not to look at the horror show that miscarriage was

You faintly heard a call for another physician, your mind racing; Where was Hubert? Were you going to die? Was this a bad sign? By some off chance, good?

——–

A sharp rap on the study door caused Hubert to pause; dipping his quill into the ink pot again, he called, “Come in”

He continued to write as the stranger approached, footsteps hurried; he glanced up as the figure, a servant of House Vestra, he noted, paused at his desk

A sealed envelope was pushed into his peripheral, “Forgive the intrusion, my lord.” The flyer was near breathless, eyes shifting nervously as the count took the letter

Breaking the seal, the raven-haired man glanced over the correspondence, his mind catching on few details: it was from the midwife, not his wife; it was hastily written, with little heed of fixing errors; and the word miscarriage, bold and clear on the page

Clearing his throat, he addressed the messenger, not sparing him a glance, “Thank you; you are dismissed”

Hubert released a shuddering exhale once he heard the door latch shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, running the hand down to cover the lower half of his face; Would the Emperor allow him to leave so suddenly?

Quickly sorting his work and locking it away, he rose, reattaching his cloak and gathering his satchel; There was one way to find out

——–

The manor was silent as the grave when Hubert arrived, quickly stripping himself of his soaked cloak, pauldrons, and outer coat—a storm had begun halfway through the journey—and handed them off to a servant to be cleaned

He straightened his collar and rolled up his sleeves as he ascended the stairs, pausing only briefly in front of the bedchamber door; even from outside he could hear the bustling of physicians and healers

A priestess nearly knocked into him as she opened the door, a basin of water on her hip, “Oh! Forgive me, Count Vestra. I was not aware of your presence”

He simply nodded to the girl, stepping back only to give her room to exit; the midwife met his gaze, her aged face stern with stress

She barked an order to her troupe and wiped her hands clean before walking over to him, step sharp; she dipped her head in a bow, “My lord–”

“Save your formalities. How are they?”

“Count Vestra, forgive me, but I cannot–”

“Goddess damn it all, woman, spare it. How is my wife?” His voice had lowered to a hiss

The older woman, far accustomed to her liege’s temperament, held her ground, her voice low, eyes hard, “In truth, she is dying; the child is gone. She has an infection; her body is in nearing shock. Forgive me for announcing this to you, my lord”

The fire in the young man flickered, his shoulders dropping as he straightened, chartreuse eyes finding the door frame; he swallowed, mouth set in a tight line, “May I see her?”

The midwife stepped aside, floating around the room to check with the other caretakers

Hubert entered slowly, black boots almost silent; his heart clattered to his feet when he saw you

You were ashy, shiny with sweat, the rise of your chest barely visible; your brow was creased, though from pain or fighting to live he did not know

And the blood, goddess, the blood; the stench of it coated the room, mixed with decay; the amount of what he could see made his stomach lurch, nevermind how much you had actually lost

Healers and doctors stilled as the count approached the bed, step stiff, uneasy; they watched with wary eyes as he sat next to you, removing his gloves before taking your cold hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it

He failed to see them turn their heads away, gaze shifting to floor

Your head slowly turned to him, eyes cracking open as you managed a weak smile; your voice was more breath than sound, “I’m sorry…”

He shushed you immediately, baritone soft, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, starling.” He held your hand in his, the other reaching to stroke your forehead, “Save your strength”

Feeling a hand firm against his shoulder, Hubert turned, neck craning to meet the eyes of the midwife

“She’s been fighting since yesterday morning”

“If there is anything I can do, just say it”

“A blood transfusion, sir; we’ve done several already; however, it has only staunched a little. Though it is beginning to slow; the infection is making a hard time of it”

“I suppose magic is doing no good then”

“It is; far slower than we would like, unfortunately”

He turned his free arm wrist-up, “If it is blood she needs, then take as you will”

“Count Vestra, you cannot be serious”

“Would I joke about such a thing?”

She sighed, relenting, motioning for a healer to hand her a transfusion needle, the tube it would connect to wrapped shut against your other forearm, “You’ll feel a slight sting”

——–

You awoke sometime later, a familiar warmth surrounding your hand; your body ached, though nowhere near the stabbing you felt before; you were warm, comfortably so; you no longer felt or smelled the blood from earlier, the thick towels now thinner, softer

You turned your head, eyes opening slowly to find your husband seated next to you, asleep in a chair; your gaze traveled to the gauze around his forearm, unblemished

Brows furrowing slightly, you glanced down at your arm, finding the transfusion tube absent, in its place a bandage wrapped tight, pristine; Had he really?

Eyes returning to the young man next to you, you smiled, twisting your hand in his and lacing your fingers together

A gentle knock on the door roused him, angled face turning before languidly muttering “Come in”

The midwife, goddess bless her, entered, her expression shifting to one of surprise and elation, “Well, good afternoon to you both”

At this, Hubert startled, head turning to you; the joy that softened his stare and tipped the edges of his mouth up made your heart melt

You gave a closed smile in return, squeezing his slender fingers between yours

Patting your leg, the older woman checked the towels quickly, her sigh of relief not escaping either of you; “You are recovering nicely, Countess Vestra.” She addressed your husband, “And you, do you feel more at ease, Count Vestra?”

At the quirk of your brow, she chuckled, “This one refused to leave your side, even after being told that you were stable. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that he gave us the time we needed”

Your smile broadened as you nodded, your gaze finding him again

“If I had to guess,” the woman continued, “I’d imagine you’re both quite famished after such an ordeal. May I get you something?”

Hubert looked at you for confirmation; at your nod, he replied, “If you would be so kind.” He stopped her as she turned on her heel, his tone strikingly sincere, “And, thank you for everything you’ve done”

“Of course, my lord. I have served this family since before you were born; it is my pleasure to do all that I can for you both.” The door clicked shut behind her

You stared at the ceiling, eyes trailing to the crown moulding; your tone held a bittersweet lilt, “So, what do we do now?”

He kissed the back of your hand, his response somber, “We grieve, pick up the pieces, knit them back together, and move forward.” At your almost shocked expression, he continued, “It will not be easy; we lost our child, nearly you with them. It will take time. But, I will be with you every step of the way.” He bit his lower lip in thought, holding your hand in both of his, “I promise you, I will not lose you again, my starling”

[dusk-realm]

Chrysanthemum [Chapter 13: Rogue]

Tagging: @featurelengthfics @thedungeonsbat @severussnapesupporter @southsiderepresent @pan-lokistan @gbatesx @a-slytherin-sin @wangmangagavroche @theblackdeath87 @zeroscarletcross @xxaamzxx @soft-slytherin-sweetie

A/N: and I said I could get this ready earlier, you know, like a liar.

Masterlist

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(Y/N) sat in front of Severus’s desk, frozen and fearing him as ever, watching the man in front of her as though he was a complete stranger.

He hadn’t even sat down yet; he had been pacing back and forth behind his chair almost since he dragged her by the arm to the dungeons.

The Gryffindor table had made sure to cheer loudly at the little scene that took place in the opposite side of Great Hall. The Head of Slytherin, however, didn’t see the heroics, and he icily ordered the student to sit while he picked what he was going to say first.

The silence felt heavy in the room. The air was dense to breathe. (Y/N) felt tiny and defenseless on that chair. She’d never seen Severus angry, and she had the certainty that it would be less scary if he simply screamed at her like any other professor would do.

‘Care to remind me…’ he finally spoke, in such a soft tone that she could barely hear him, ‘what did you call Miss Parkinson?’

The apparent calmness of his voice barely masked the seeping venom of his tone.

(Y/N) didn’t answer immediately - why bother? 

What did he want from her? Embarrass her? Make her feel remorseful?

Oh, she would regret this dearly, of course. Pansy Parkinson would ensure it one way or the other.

But he stopped his pacing to look at her with an arched eyebrow, and she knew she had no option but to answer.

‘...Filthy inbred swine,’ she murmured.

Severus didn’t say anything for a long while, again. (Y/N) was starting to feel like they had spent hours like that, when he laid both of his hands on his chair’s backrest and leaned forward.

‘Why?’ He breathed.

Why… Why? Was he seriously asking why?

(Y/N)’s eyebrows scrunched together.

Are you blind, Severus Snape?

Severus’ hands slammed against the wooden desk in annoyance. (Y/N) had never seen him this mad, with his lips pressed together into a thin line and his eyes fiery.

‘Answer me, girl!’ He roared.

The harshness of Severus’ voice made her cower in her seat. She wished for the chair to suddenly develop a mouth and swallow her whole right in that instant, but it didn’t come true.

She huddled a little more and hugged herself, trying to find a little bit of comfort. Her fingers softly traced the trail of bruises on her side. 

They still hurted, as well as her empty stomach, and her head spun as well, but she had to bear with it.

More silence.

While the idea of just telling Snape everything was terribly attractive… Snitches get stitches.

It was a mystery what Pansy would do to her in revenge, and, to be honest, she prefered that it stayed a mystery.

After an elongated pause, Severus grew tired of waiting for an answer that wouldn’t arrive, and spoke again, firmly:

‘You will serve detention for three weeks, starting tomorrow after dinner with Professor Lockhart.’

Severus watched her intently, hoping for a reaction.

Anything.

Sending (Y/N) off with Lockhart was the professor’s last attempt to pull something out from her; an excuse, an explanation, a protest... Anything that would let him understand why his pupil had so recklessly slammed another girl’s face against the table in front of everybody else, and breaking her nose in the process.

His attempt, however, was futile.

In the end, he let her go without further conversation, tired of watching the student just sit there in silence, staring into nothing.

Maybe on another occasion, he told himself.

Severus plopped on his chair and buried his face in between his crossed arms.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes for a moment, somewhat feeling that he had failed.

He had been so sure of having (Y/N) figured out.

Severus thought... no, he could assure that (Y/N) was a pacific girl, what had gone wrong? He had not noticed anything wrong with her behavior, so he had let her be.

She was difficult to see sometimes, yes, and with food and meal times, but that wasn’t strange either in her whatsoever, as he saw in his own house, when she was under his care. The girl would skip plenty of meals without even bothering to give an excuse nor an explanation.

Severus raised his head to stare at the chair on which (Y/N) had been sitting a while ago and let out a small groan of frustration, which got lost in the solitude of his empty office.

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On the next day, a rather strong arm suddenly flopped on top of (Y/N)’s shoulders, and right after, another one did the same from the opposite side.

The Slytherin panicked in the darkness of the dungeons, unable to identify the people there with her. At first, she thought it’d be Pansy and Millicent wanting a hot-served revenge, until someone spoke:

‘That was a blunt hit, you should be the next Slytherin beater.’ A boy said.

Then, the other guy hummed, and they lit their wands at the same time.

‘I’m Fred,’ said the boy that had spoken.

‘And I’m George,’ the other said.

Fred offered his hand for her to shake, and so did George, making (Y/N) cross her arms in order to shake both of their hands at the same time.

Their little game made her smile a little bit, and she introduced herself as well.

‘I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N),’ said she, as the twins led her upstairs, where the morning light bathed the castle’s insides.

‘We know!’ They exclaimed in unison.

‘Do you have plans? Care to have breakfast with us?’ George asked.

‘Uh… no, not really… wait, you don’t mean on the Gryffindor’s table, right?’

‘Yes!’ They answered in unison again.

‘(Y/N)!’ A familiar voice echoed in the corridor, and (Y/N) turned around.

‘Hermione?’ (Y/N) whipped her head to look at the Gryffindor witch, who joined the group, and they all entered into the Great Hall.

Too late to back away.

The twins sat down flanking her, near their younger brother Ron, and also with Hermione, and Harry, and Neville was also around. A few of the other Gryffindors stared at the Slytherin and whispered between them, but Hermione didn’t allow her to think too much of it.

‘(Y/N), what happened yesterday with Pansy?’ She inquired.

(Y/N) noticed how everyone was watching, even though most of them already knew about what happened, but they still wanted to hear it first hand. So much attention made her cheeks flare with embarrassment, and she tried to calm down by staring only at the rim of her skirt, under the table.

She didn’t really want to answer, though, because that would probably mean attracting even more attention to herself.

‘It was just… Pansy Parkinson being Pansy Parkinson.’ She answered, and then looked around. Neville lowered his head, and a few others nodded in quiet agreement.

While Parkinson was not the most abominable bully at Hogwarts, she sure had a history on picking on other students and sometimes even publicly humiliating them, like poor Neville.

‘You’re Slytherin’s public enemy, how does it feel like?’ asked Fred in a journalistic tone, softly elbowing her.

‘I- uh…’

True, she was still at the Gryffindor table… What would her housemates think now?

‘I think I really should leave now, before they lock me out of the common room…’

She said, and with that, (Y/N) tried to stand up and leave as soon as possible, but George grabbed her by the arm.

‘Nonsense, stay with us for today.’

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(Y/N) and Hermione were heading to the library, as they used to do lately, although now they would not spend as much time together.

‘...Anyway, I don’t think I’ll stay late today, I need to show up for detention, today’s the last day.’ (Y/N) commented on their way.

‘Oh, of course… Are you still going to Professor Lockhart’s office?’ Hermione asked, and (Y/N) shrugged it off with a soft hum, as if it was no big deal.

‘I’ve been putting up with him for the last two weeks, I suppose I’ll survive another one.’ She said, watching with amusement how Hermione gritted her teeth. 

Later, both girls had settled their stuff on the table and studied together, or at least they pretended to do so in front of the other. Hermione suddenly looked very indignant for some reason, and her quill slid so furiously on the parchment that she was spritzing black ink everywhere.

(Y/N) sat there staring blankly at her book. 

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to continue reading it, because it reminded her of Severus. 

They hadn’t talked again since he sent her to detention, not even during class.

It just… hurt.

Her heart shrank and ached each time she thought about how much she had trusted him, how she had expected him to just look out for her, and how wrong she had been in believing in him so much.

It made her cheeks burn and her limbs go numb, she felt like a fool now being aware of how much she had simply taken for granted.

‘(Y/N)?’ A tremulous voice dragged her back to reality, and (Y/N) glanced up at Hermione with glassy eyes.

‘Yes?’

‘Are… are you alright?’ Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched together with concern, seeing how her friend was at the verge of tears.

‘Yeah… I was just… thinking of returning this book.’ Said she. (Y/N) gently placed her hand on the over the title Moste Potente Potions and felt the leathery cover with her fingertips. Yes, returning it was probably the best idea.

Hermione saw her chance, and cleared her throat. The trio’s lucubrations were now trailing off more towards Draco Malfoy, and they still needed the book to rat him out as the Slytherin heir.

‘Are you not interested anymore? Can I have a look?’

(Y/N) pondered it for a minute. Would Snape know? Probably not, and she was not sure the he would give a damn anymore anyways, but, on the other hand… could she risk making him angry? it was a book from the Restricted Section, after all, and there were reasons as to why not any student could access it...

‘I don’t think I should let you, Hermione, sorry.’

‘Why not? Snape mentioned it in class, didn’t he?’ The Gryffindor protested, a little more hot-tempered that she would’ve wanted.

‘Professor Snape signed a note for me to borrow it, perhaps you could ask him to sign one for you as well?’ (Y/N) put away her belongings in her bag and stood up, ‘I’ll return it now anyways, I don’t want it anymore.’ 

Then, (Y/N) bid goodbye and left the library after a brief talk with Madam Pince.

‘Moste Potente Potions?’ Madam Pince repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

‘I was wondering if I could keep it,’ she said breathlessly.

After (Y/N) announced her intention of returning the book, Hermione had been fast to fetch Harry and Ron to accompany her to check out the volume.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. ‘We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.’

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

The term seemed to get wilder and wilder day by day; soon, the news that Harry Potter had caught the snitch during a Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch match started spreading much to Draco Malfoy’s dismay, the Slytherin’s seeker. It wouldn’t had been that extraordinary if he hadn’t broken his arm in the attempt, and Lockhart had erased his bones while trying to mend them, leaving Harry in the Hospital wing with fleshy gelatin as a limb. On the same day, there was another attack. The new victim was Colin Creevey, a first year Gryffindor that was completely obsessed with Harry Potter and chased him around taking pictures of the living legend. Now, his body laid stiff and cold to the touch in the infirmary, waiting for a cure.

All the first years walked around in packs, tightly pressed against each other as they looked everywhere. (Y/N) was extra wary as well, as she couldn’t erase Pansy’s words from her mind.

No Slytherin had been attacked so far, but that fact alone would not suffice to calm her down; the legend of Hogwart’s founding told that the school had been founded over a thousand years ago by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. 

The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. The castle was built far from prying Muggle eyes, as it was an age when magic was feared by muggles, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.

The founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then, after some years, disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school. Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing and, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school, who would unseal the Chamber of Secrets and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

(Y/N) thought that the Slytherins were a bit too overconfident; while the builder of the chamber was Salazar Slytherin himself, what guaranteed that no Slytherin would be harmed? The purge had begun with the muggleborns of other Houses, yes, but why wouldn’t the cleansing reach the Slytherin House as well? Wouldn’t the heir want eliminate those unworthy of being in Slytherin by the status of their blood? What would happen to muggleborns? Or… Half-bloods, like Severus himself!

Severus...

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December rolled in quite quickly, and although her detention had ended a long ago, (Y/N) was still sore with her protector. The girl still refused to talk to him about how her classmates treated her, and decided that it would be wisest to move on and deal with the matter on her own, as she had been doing in the past.

Truth be told, (Y/N) felt at her loneliest. While she had a handful of new friends, the weakness of their bond was almost tangible for the Slytherin, and their thinly veiled conventions left her to feel incomplete. Their company was never enough, as she found those relations way too shallow. Too new, too superficial and too irrelevant for her to really enjoy. Each of them had different interests, and different chores to do and deal with, which created a growing feeling of frustration, feeling that her loneliness could not be mended.

The motivation to earn points was also long gone.

Her absenteeism had started only due to the time she was obliged to waste in detention, and she had even missed helping around in her free time, mostly when she could’ve been with McGonagall or Flitwick instead of the swanky Professor Lockhart. However, once her detention was over… what was the point?

Why bother struggling so much to earn points for her House, when her work would go unnoticed?

What for, if not even Severus would be looking?

Why risk it, when there was a monster on the loose, and nobody knew who could be its next victim?

Her abulia soon translated even to the classroom; while the term had started with a heart fluttering with enthusiasm, (Y/N) now limited her performance to sitting in class and staying in silence. The Slytherin’s behavior was still pretty much unproblematic, but her mind was obviously in another place.

Her apathy, though, did not go completely unnoticed.

[anistarrose]

Warm Memories (Forduary Week 1 - Comfort)

Summary:��Lost in an icy wasteland, Ford searches for shelter and finds nothing.

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: suicidal thoughts (specifically pertaining to martyrdom), hypothermia, near-death experiences

For @forduary Week 1: Comfort! 

(You might be able to tell that I started this last week, during the great US Midwest Polar Vortex Apocalypse.)

There’s a sliver of exposed skin between Ford’s goggles and his hood — just one tiny gap that lets the ice-cold wind slip though, biting and stinging at his face until tears fill his eyes. He turns away from the direction of the strongest gusts, and unties the piece of cloth he’d wrapped over his mouth and nose, trying to adjust it — but his fingers have grown numb, and the wind tears the fabric out of his clumsy hands.

The stinging spreads all across his face from the goggles down, and he struggles to refrain from licking his lips — it’s tempting to bring warmth to his face for even just a moment, but he knows it would only let more and more crystals of ice form in the end. He tries to raise an arm to cover his nose, but he has to lower it instantly in order to keep his balance in the wind. If he falls into a snowdrift, he’s afraid he’ll never be able to get up again.

Desperately, he scans the area for some form of shelter, even though he knows he won’t see anything. The wind practically lifts entire snowdrifts into the air, creating a void of eerie, all-consuming white, and his goggles are growing foggy too, making him even more blind to his surroundings. Though he’s afraid to know the answer, he can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be before his own tears freeze.

He takes a breath, and it feels like he inhales more snow than air. He coughs and spits, desperate to get the cold out of his throat and his lungs, but the moisture just splatters all over his face and solidifies in an instant, tracing frozen rivers down from his mouth to his chin.

He tries to take a step forward, but doesn’t feel anything — not even the lurch of falling forward into a snowdrift. He isn’t even sure if he’s even standing up, he realizes, or if he’s already fallen down but been too numb to notice. His eyes, his ears, his sense of touch — all of them rendered useless by this roaring, numbing white void of a storm.

A distant, robotic-sounding voice in the back of his head rattles off symptoms of hypothermia:

Loss of coordination. Dizziness. Weak pulse. Memory loss.

Ford takes — tries — to take a breath.

Shallow breathing.

Loss of consciousness.

Death.

There’s no denying it anymore.

I am going to die here.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s a miracle he’s even survived so long beyond the portal in the first place — he’s been accepting this as inevitable for over a year now.

But some part of him — a foolish part of him, maybe, but also a part of that kept him kicking, fighting, alive — has hoped that that inevitability would only come after confronting Bill again, after saving the universe from the demon he’d aided, after undoing his own worst mistake. He’s hoped for his death to be a noble sacrifice, a worthy trade for the safety he’d bring to the multiverse — not a slow fade to white in an unnamed wasteland, body doomed to be buried under snow and forgotten.

And only now does he let himself admit it, but another part of him has always hoped he wouldn’t die all alone. He doesn’t want to disappear forever into an empty white void, he doesn’t want to die without saying goodbye, without saying he was sorry…

“Stanley,” he whispers, “I… I didn’t…”

He can’t get the last few words out.

He can hear noises, but he doesn’t want to get up. It’s so warm where he is, so wonderfully warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t want to shift his blankets around and let even one single joule’s worth of that warmth escape…

Wait, warmth? Blankets? How…

He opens his eyes, and takes a moment to recognize the crackling fire a few feet away from him. Some sort of kettle is suspended over it, spewing steam and a sweet, familiar scent that makes his mouth water. He can’t help but lick his chapped lips again, and they don’t freeze this time.

He looks down at his own body, relieved to find all his limbs seemingly intact and un-frostbitten. There are no blankets, but he is draped in a new cloak that’s a bit thicker than his old one, and feels like it has a larger hood as well. He tries to curl and uncurl his fingers and is struck with a jolt of panic when he finds that he can’t, but when he lifts his hands up to look at them, he realizes why: his outer pair of gloves have been removed, but taped to the fingers of the inner pair are chemical hand warmer packs, each radiating a gentle heat that melts away the numbness.

He looks around the… house? No, it’s really more of a shed — just a few cushioned chairs and a table, a stone-ringed fire pit, and one lonely cabinet. The thin walls are made of a material that looks like normal wood, but must be somehow different, because it seems to be insulating the little space much better than wood should be able to.

“Storm’s over,” a gruff voice announces from behind him, and he jumps. He’s about to make a break for the door when it continues:

“Hey there, buddy, don’t freak out. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have hauled your heavy ass half a mile out of a snowstorm.”

The speaker gives Ford a wide berth as he approaches the fire pit and removes the kettle. He looks like a human, albeit a human with odd fashion choices — his graying hair is pulled into a long, ragged ponytail, and despite being inside, he still wears a pair of goggles over his eyes. Strangest of all, he’s wearing Ford’s old cloak.

“Who exactly are you?” Ford blurts out. He wants to trust this stranger, he wishes he could, but it would be just like Bill to try and to capture him alive just to gloat —

“I’m just a wanderer,” the man answers. “A lot like you, I’m guessing.”

The man’s words are fairly upbeat, but even with his eyes obscured, the frown that crosses his face lends a sad feeling to his words — a homesick feeling, maybe. But it disappears in an instant, and with a smile, he asks Ford:

“So, you want hot chocolate?”

Any beverage could be poisoned or spiked with truth serum or who knows what, but Ford’s still craving all the warmth he can get, so he nods. The stranger pours him a mug, and then procures a small, transparent bag from his supply pack.

“Marshmallows?”

“Uh… no, thank you.”

“More for me, then.” The stranger dumps mini-marshmallows into a second cup until it’s about half full, and then uses hot chocolate to fill in the rest. Just looking at it makes Ford feel like puking, but he slips his hands out of the taped-up gloves and wraps them around the warm mug that he’s offered.

“Don’t spill it, okay? You can get chocolate in damn near every dimension, but you’d be surprised how much I have to pay for some half-decent milk from a normal Earth cow. This is good shit, and I don’t wanna waste it.”

Ford takes a sip. It really is good — and not just that, but familiar, exactly the same as he remembers it tasting back home. Maybe it’s a little sweeter than he prefers, but the chocolate is rich and the milk gives it a creamy texture he didn’t realize he’d missed so much. It takes him back to the days before he was allowed to drink coffee, the winter days when he and Stanley would come inside after getting into a snowball fight and warm up with the hot chocolate Shermie would make them…

The stranger’s words finally sink in. “You’re from Earth?” Ford asks.

“Not your Earth,” the man tells him, surprising Ford with an almost eerie confidence. “But yeah, an Earth. And a pretty similar one to yours, I’m guessing.”

He picks up his mug and swirls it around a bit, as if waiting for the marshmallows to melt, and takes a sip.

“You didn’t leave your dimension too long ago, did you?” he asks.

“About a year and a half,” Ford answers. It might be exactly a year and a half, for all he knows — every once in a while, he’ll forget whether he marked down the day or not, and by now he figures his count is only accurate to within about a month. “What about you?”

“Seventeen or eighteen years, lost track.” The man chuckles bitterly. “Honestly? I hope it’s eighteen. Gives me a better excuse for all the things I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

“Yeah, I just… forget the little things. Those little nice, warm memories, like… how bacon tastes. My first girlfriend’s phone number. The name of the one teacher I didn’t hate in middle school. The plot twist that got me hooked on that one comic I could never quite catch up on, no matter how much I would save up to buy the new issues —”

“The way the air smells right after it rains,” Ford blurts out. “I haven’t been to one dimension yet where it’s the same.”

For a moment the stranger is quiet and Ford thinks speaking up was a mistake, but then the man quietly adds: “That smell of oil when you give your car a tune up all on your own, and you make a mess but you’re so proud of learning how to do it yourself. Oil just doesn’t smell the same anywhere else, either.”

“The sound of coffee brewing. No one has coffee pots quite like Earth’s.”

“Complimentary bread at restaurants. How am I supposed to just eat a whole basket of bread and sneak out without paying when they don’t even give me complimentary bread?”

“The feeling of writing with a good quill pen.”

“The color of the bike I learned to ride on.”

“The name of the store I always bought jellybeans from as a kid.”

The stranger seems like he’s about to say something, but then he just looks down and rests his head in his hands. “Guess it happens sooner than I realized,” he finally murmurs. “I’m… I’m sorry, kid. I hope you find your way back soon. I wouldn’t wish this life I’m stuck with on anyone.” He adds something else under his breath, but it’s hard to make out.

Ford doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea how to comfort this man, not when his way of grappling with the same feelings has been to simply give up on ever getting home — and he’s not going to tell the man who saved his life that the only thing he’s really letting himself hope for is dying in a blaze of glory to take down the monster he helped create.

So he just replies: “Thank you for saving me. And for the hot chocolate.”

The stranger shrugs awkwardly. “If you’re feeling better, I guess… I guess we should probably go our separate ways and all soon. I’ve got what feels like half the multiverse after my ass, and I don’t wanna make you a target for them.”

“It must be the other half that’s after my ass,” Ford remarks, deadpan, and the stranger stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, and I we probably don’t want them joining forces or anything, do we? There’s a place where a bunch of portals pop up only about a mile south of here — you feeling good enough to use snowshoes?”

“I’ll be fine. Are you staying here?”

“No, I’m ditching this place too. Already been here for about a week, which is kinda pushing my luck as far as getting tracked down by space cops goes.”

“I assume you’ll want your coat back, then.” Ford starts pulling it off, but the stranger raises a hand.

“No, you keep mine and I’ll keep yours. Mine’s warmer and you look like you really need it, while I’ve got a bunch of layers under here.You should put your gloves back on, though — they’re drying out somewhere over here.”

He makes no comment on the numbers of fingers on the gloves as he rummages around, which should be a relief but just makes Ford uneasy instead. There’s no way the stranger hasn’t noticed by now, so why stay quiet? Even the most otherwise polite people, Ford has seen, have no reservations about blurting out their questions to him — so why not this man? He seems more genuinely well-intentioned than just about anyone Ford has met since the portal, but there’s also something off about him, something different about him, that Ford just can’t put his finger on…

The stranger tosses Ford the gloves and chugs the rest of his hot chocolate.

“Start bundling up,” he says, wiping a pale brown moustache off of his face. “The wind’s gone, but it’s still cold as balls out there.”

He frowns, looking concerned. “You know, if you don’t feel up to it, we can wait. I’m sure no one’s gonna come and try to kill us if we sit around for another hour —”

“No, I’m ready,” Ford replies. “Let’s go.”

***

The hike is uneventful, with little conversation besides a brief discussion of favorite foods from Earth — bacon for the stranger, coffee for Ford — and then a slightly longer, more heated discussion about whether coffee counts as a food. When they reach the portal hub, it feels like they’ve arrived too quickly.

Ford’s going to miss having company.

“So. Guess this is it.” The stranger gives a quick look-over to a diamond-shaped rift that glows purple as it flickers open near him, and steps towards it so that he’s only a few feet away. “Stay safe, good luck, don’t do anything dumb — like I said, I hauled you out of a snowstorm, and I don’t want all that work to end up worthless ‘cause you get yourself killed ten seconds after you leave my sight.”

“I’ll try my best not to die. Thank you again, and…” Part of Ford wants to ask for a name, but he has a hunch he won’t get one, so instead he asks: “Do you want your snowshoes back?”

“Nah, keep ‘em. I just stole ‘em from a random stranger about a week ago — I’ve got no emotional attachment.”

“Alright, then I suppose this is goodbye…” As the man turns to leave, Ford fiddles with his cloak out of habit, pressing his fingers against the area that should conceal an interior pocket. He’s expecting to feel a stiff, rectangular piece of paper bending under his touch — but he doesn’t, because of course, the stranger has it now, how could I forget about —

Desperately, he grabs the man’s wrist. “No, wait! I — I need my coat back!”

The stranger stops just inches from the portal and turns back around to look at Ford. “Seriously? This thing could close any second —”

“Just — please! I need it! It’s — it’s something important to me!”

“You were fine with switching coats back at the cabin! What’s so important that —”

“It isn’t the actual coat,” Ford explains hurriedly. “It’s something in one of the pockets. I almost forgot about it, but… but please, I really —”

The stranger slowly moves a hand under his coat, and towards the interior pocket positioned right over his heart. His expression goes completely blank as he pulls out a worn photograph and stares at it, eyes still obscured by goggles and completely unreadable —

“It’s… it’s me and my brother.” Ford can’t see the picture itself, but he’s brought it out of that same pocket on enough bleak, homesick days to have every detail committed to memory. “I’m sorry for making such a — such a fuss about it, but I’d really like it back, if you could…”

The stranger still doesn’t reply, though Ford can swear his hands are shaking.

Maybe… maybe he hasn’t seen any pictures of Earth in a long time? Or maybe he has a family of his own that it reminds him of?

“Are — are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

The man finally returns the picture, pressing it into Ford’s hand — but before Ford can even breathe a sigh of relief, he’s pulled into a tight hug. Head resting over Ford’s shoulder, the stranger lets out a warm laugh, just as warm as the embrace — and not just warm, but familiar, too.

“If I can survive this long,” the stranger assures him, “so can you.” He steps back, and gives Ford a wide smile.

“Knock ‘em dead, Sixer.”

Ford’s no longer trapped in the hug, but he still can’t move. He can hardly breathe.

“Stanley?!”

He reaches out towards the parallel version of his twin, but Stan has already turned and stepped into the portal. He gives Ford a thumbs up as he flickers out of sight, and the gateway blinks closed after him, leaving Ford behind all alone —

No, not alone. He’s left behind with a pair of snowshoes, a coat, a picture…

And a new reminder of what home feels like.

***

(Stan barely even sees the figure collapsing in the storm in the first place, and he very nearly decides not to help. For all he knows, it might be a bounty hunter — or even worse — and they might turn on him the second he brings them to safety. He’s already stuck around in this dimension for far too long — no matter how he looks at it, it’s just not worth the risk.

But when he turns the body over and sees his brother’s unconscious face staring back at him, just as young as it had been when they’d fought in ‘82 and turning blue from the cold, he’s so, so thankful that he’s never been anything if not a gambler with an oversized heart.)

***

Thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated as always!

[realmofthemind]

Because of You...

Pairing: Snape x Gryffindor!Reader

Word Count: 1,993

Requested by Anon

"Hello, I love your fics of Snape x Reader and you actually changed my opinion about these type of fics. Do you take prompt/request? If you do, may you write about a shy and slow Gryffindor who appears to love Potion but get scare off by Snape, then he finds out later that she may change her career path (from a Potion Mistress to a different job) because of him? Thank you!"

A/N: I changed it a bit so that the dream career is to be the best at potions and take over the reader’s grandparent’s potions shop. I'm incredibly sorry to the anon who requested this story ages ago. I'm so sorry it took so long and I'm also sorry if it's not very good. I’m also sorry about my disappearance but I’m back and I'm open to hear new ideas for fics.

Every first year at Hogwarts had many things on their minds. The first thing is always wondering what house they will be sorted in. Not you though. The first thing on your mind was wondering what would be the best path to take in order to graduate top of your class in potions. Ever since you could remember, you've always wanted to be a the best at potions. Your grandparents ran a small potions shop and your dream was to learn how to do all of the things they did. Watching them mix ingredients and seeing the different colors, sounds and effects the potion had fascinated you. You were so worried about fulfilling your dream that being sorted into Gryffindor didn't phase you.

Your first week of potions did not go as expected. Everyone was terrified of the dark haired potions professor, but you were determined to get as close to him as you can. You had so much to learn from him. As the year went on, you found it increasingly hard, especially since you were a Gryffindor.

"Your first potion will perhaps be one of the most advance potions you will ever encounter in my class. This is so you know what I expect you to be able to complete by the time you graduate. Today we will be making Amortenia, not that any of you know would know what that is." Snape grumbled out.

Without missing a beat, you proudly replied "Amortenia is a love potion."

 Snapes' head snapped in your direction. He paused for a second. "10 points from Gryffindor for interrupting class."

You remained silent for the rest of the class after receiving many dirty looks from your fellow Gryffindors. You silently worked on the potion alone. By the end of class, you have completed it to perfection. Although proud of yourself, you slowly found your desire to pursue a career in potions fading. You leaned forward to smell it. It smelled just like… nothing. You squinted your eyes at the book as you lowered your nose deeper into the cauldron. Your nose almost touched the liquid as you inhaled harder. You still didn't smell anything. You've completed it to perfection. There's no way you did it wrong. Reading over each step again, you started to think that perhaps you weren't cut out for potions. You turned to one of your good friends and asked her opinion.

 She leaned in and smelled. She smiled as she looked at you and whispered "It's perfect. I smell….furniture polish? Man I hope he has a good personality."

"How is that possible? I can't smell anything." You replied as you sunk down in your seat.

 She shrugged her shoulders and teased. "Perhaps it's because your one true "love" your love for potions." You rolled your eyes and sat back in dismay as you waited for the class to be dismissed.

As the years went on, you decided that spending your time trying to gain favor with Professor Snape, who clearly hated you, wasn't worth the deducted house points, rude comments under his breath, or harsh grading. You decided to give up on your dream career in potions and pursue one in charms.

When the end of your 6th year came around, you were expected to sign up for an advance course. Although the little 1st year in your heart was screaming for you to sign up for advance potions, Snape's words in your head were much louder. You decided to sign up for advanced charms.

The last day of classes came around too quickly. You were sitting in the great hall eating lunch when a letter dropped right in front of your plate. You tentatively picked it up and inspected it. You didn't recognize the handwriting on the front although it did look vaguely familiar. You opened it and read the contents.

"Meet me in my office after lunch

-Professor Snape"

Your heart sank and you did not DARE look up at the teacher's table. You thought after today you would be done with him and the subject for good. Why did he feel the need to bother you one last time? This man was the reason you gave up on your dream career and you were 110% done with him. You ripped the letter in half, envelope and all. You continued leisurely eating your lunch and chatting with your friends. 

Once your plate was empty, you got up to leave. Before you could turn around, you heard a chilling voice come from directly behind you.

"I hope you're on your way to my office, Miss (Y/L/N)."

You clenched your fist and gritted your teeth. "Yes professor." You replied. When you turned around, he was gone. You were debating just heading back to your room but decided against it.

You left the great hall and made your way to the dungeon. Knocking on the slightly opened door, you heard Snape's monotone voice. "Come in." He stated.

You entered the office, standing in front of his desk. You had no intentions on sitting because you did not want this to take long. Without looking up from his stack of papers he quipped. "I noticed you have not signed up for advanced potions. Why might that be?"

You blinked, slightly taken back by his question. Why would he care about what classes you took? He should be ecstatic your not in his class anymore. You cleared your throat and confidently replied "Well, I've always did love potions and planned on taking advanced potions but seeing how things have been going in class over the years, I've decided that maybe charms may be my calling.” 

Snape completely froze. 'how things have been going in class over the years…' was it him? Was he really the reason that you were giving up on potions. He was a little tougher on you because you were a Gryffindor but he didn't feel like he did anything to completely dissuade you from the subject. Truth be told, you were one of his favorite students. He went hard on you to push you to be better. Sure, he never explained it to you and he couldn't show any sort of favoritism but you were one of his most intelligent students who was proficiently skilled in potions. 

He looked up at you, putting his quill in the nearby inkwell. "I'm sorry to hear that I've dissuaded you from pursuing your dream career although I strongly encourage you to reconsider."

You looked down and began to fiddle with your fingers. "I'll think about it." You said in almost a whisper. You looked up to see he was looking at you, deep in thought. Once the silence and intense gaze of your potions professor began to bother you, you turned to leave. You closed the door behind you and paused, thinking about the conversation that just took place between you and your potions professor. Trying not to overthink it, you shook your head and made your way to your dorm. 

When the schedules for next yea came out, you saw that you were placed in advanced potions, despite never filling out a form for it. When you walked into the room on your first day of advanced potions, you could have swore you saw professor Snape crack the smallest of smiles for the briefest of seconds.

You finished out your 7th year at Hogwarts, top of the potions class, and went on your merry way in life.

A few years later, Snape heard that one of his favorite potion shops that closed down a few years prior has reopened. He decided to check it out. Upon entering, he inhaled the smell of the potions ingredients along with the familiar sent of someone's shampoo. He strolled into the shop and began to look around the shelves. Upon hearing the sound of a cash register followed by a conversation between a customer and the presumed owner of the store, he turned around. He could not control the smile that grew across his face when he saw you, explaining to a patron how to make a sleeping draught before he left the store.

Once he exited, you turned your attention to the new patron you heard enter the store to see if they needed any assistance. You went wide eyed upon seeing who it was. "Professor Snape!" you exclaimed, shocked that your old potions professor was in your store.

Snape smirked at you and directed his attention back to the shelves as he ran his fingers across the many jars. "I'm not your professor anymore, (Y/N). You can call me Severus."

Calming down slightly, you attempted to treat him like you would any other patron and not the potions professor who almost crushed your dreams. "Alrighty, Severus. What can I help you with today? Not that you would need much help." 

Deciding to bother you a bit, he decided to take you up on your offer. "I'm looking for ingredients to make Amortenia but I appear to be forgetting the last ingredient required to make it." He turned to you, "Would you mind giving me a little refresher?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing he knew exactly what the answer was. You played along. "Of course, you're going to finish the potion with Pearl Dust but you should know that. It's only the potion you had me make on the first day of classes and replicate for my advanced potions final."

He picked up a near by jar full of pearl dust as he smirked to himself. "Ah, she remembers. It's nice to see that you've been paying attention in my class."

You decided to play along once again as you giggled. "I mean, potions with you was perhaps one of the most mortifying and life changing experiences of my life. That mixed with running this shop for a while, I'd be damned if I didn’t remember anything."

He put the jar back on the shelf and looked around, taking in the entirety of the little shop. It was laid out exactly as he remembered it. "Well, it's good to see this place open again and run by one of my favorite students."

You caught his confession. "Your favorite student? I was sure I was one of those that you tolerated the least? I was so sure I would be miserable working in a charms shop by now."

Severus felt a tinge of guilt in his heart. He knew it was his fault for crushing your dreams. He looked down at his hands. "I will forever feel guilty for making you feel that way. All I simply intended was to push you to strive for perfection. You really were my most brilliant student."

You froze, your hands gripping the countertop. There was a silence that fell between you two before you heard suffling. You fixed your gaze on the source of the noise. Severus was now standing directly in front of you, only separated by the countertop.  He slid his hands across the counter until they were barely grazing yours. He looked down and then up at you with a look in his eyes that you've never seen before. He looked back down at your hands.

"I truly am sorry (Y/N). I really hope you can forgive me…" He whispered, his voice trailing off at the end.

You daringly slid your fingers forward so your hands rested on top of his. "I forgive you." you whispered back.

He looked back up at you with a slight smile on his face. "Would you please allow me to take you out for tea sometime as we discuss restocking the potions room for the upcoming school year?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Wow, I'm shocked. The great potion master is asking for my help."

He chuckled and moved his hands so they were on top of yours. "Don't push it (Y/L/N)."

"Of course. Anything for you, Severus."

[jibootaes]

scorpius malfoy with long hair

1. Over the summer break after second year, Scorpius decides to let his hair grow longer than he usually does, denying his father’s frankly listless attempts at trying to cut it.

2. Albus doesn’t see Scorpius much that summer, only a day here and there, and during those days  Scorpius tries to hide his hair from Albus so he can surprise him at the start of third year.

3. Cue the start of third year, Scorpius has let his hair grow so that’s it’s now just below his ear, and it’s silky and soft and it gets tangled easily and Scorpius is sure Albus will love it.

4. What Scorpius doesn’t foresee is how much Albus will love it. Scorpius spots Albus a bit away on Platform 9 ¾, and excitedly lowers the hood of his muggle hoodie, pushing through the bustling crowd to get to Albus and tap him gently on the shoulder.

5. Albus turns around, and Scorpius braces himself for Albus’s wide eyed appreciation and smiling mouth, but he gets more than that. When Albus turns and sees Scorpius and his new hair, he literally jumps back in surprise, almost knocking over someone’s trolley. His green eyes are the size of saucers, his hands covering his mouth. Scorpius tries to take this reaction in a positive way, spreading his arms and grinning, “Hey Albus! Did you miss me?" 

6. Albus just slowly takes his hands away from his mouth and whispers, "what did you do to your hair?”

7. Scorpius explains he let it grow out over the summer. Albus tentatively reaches forward to take a a couple of silvery blonde strands between his fingers, his mouth open in awe, his eyes now sparkling. “It’s beautiful,” Albus breaths, seemingly caught up in the way the weak September sunlight hit Scorpius’s hair and made it shimmer against his neck. 

8. Scorpius, not expecting this reaction, feels himself blush a deep red and turns quickly away from Albus, pulling the hood of his jumper quickly over his head again to hide his face. 

9. During the whole train ride after that Albus is just staring at Scorpius’s hair in wonderment, running his fingers through it almost like he can’t help it. During this Scorpius’s face is going to melt it’s so hot, and Rose decided to just leave them two dorks to it, leaving the compartment with a sly smile at Scorpius, who chokes slightly when Albus’s nails scratch gently along his scalp.

10. Albus can’t even stop himself at the start of the year feast, keeping a stroking hand at the nape of Scorpius’s neck, his fingers continually running through the strands. Of course everyone notices, number one because, damn Albus can you not? And number two because damn Scorpius can you not?? 

11. Even though he looks absolutely beautiful, Scorpius becomes the butt of many bully’s jokes, ranging from “hey trying to pretend to be a girl so Potter can finally like you??” to “oh following in daddy’s footsteps are we? i always knew you were evil, Malfoy.”

12. Of course, Albus hears most of the jabs and gets so angry at every single one of them, shouting and sometimes even sending curses at every single person who even dares to even look at Scorpius the wrong way. This lands him in a lot of detention, which Scorpius attends too, out of love for Albus defending him but also anger at it. He pesters Albus during these detentions to stop his outbursts, that he can "fend for himself”. Albus always agrees wholeheartedly, more so watching Scorpius’s mouth and they way it shapes words then what Scorpius is actually saying. 

13. Even though Scorpius says he’s okay, sometimes the jokes and the jibes get to him and one night Albus finds the blonde crying in the Slytherin common room, his wand pointed at his hair and a mirror in front of him, ready to chop. Albus rushes over to him and snatches the wand out of his hand, and Scorpius just turns and continues sobbing into Albus’s chest, clinging to the black-haired boy’s shirt with shaking hands. The rest of the Slytherin house find the two in the morning curled up on a couch together, Scorpius’s tear-stained face nuzzled into Albus’s neck and Albus’s hands curled around Scorpius’s head protectively. No one says a thing.

14. Near the end of third year, Scorpius’s hair has grown out just past the line of his shoulders and Albus had never felt more happy. Scorpius has taken to twist his hair up and stick a quill in it to make it stay, and he always runs his fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead when he’s nervous or stressed. 

15. Sometimes in class, when Scorpius has his hair down, Albus can’t stop himself from just reaching over and running his hands through it, twisting it around his fingers and making tiny cute braids in it that Scorpius pretends to hate but secretly loves and leaves in the for the rest of the day. This leads to a lot of teachers reprimanding Albus, and it even comes to Professor McGonagall calling Scorpius in after class and gently requesting him to keep his hair tied up during lessons, so that he won’t “intervene with other students learning”. Scorpius just smiles weakly at her and walks out of the classroom.

16.  So Scorpius does, pulling it up with either a spare bobbin he steals from Rose or one of Albus’s skinny neck ties that Ginny bought the black-haired boy for Christmas, twisting if around and around and leaving the ends dangling so it looks pretty and delicate. This actually just distracts Albus more, because all he can think about when he sees Scorpius with the tie in his hair is that’s my tie on his hair my tie on hIS HAIR???!! By this time most of the teachers have just given up giving out to Albus for fiddling with Scorpius’s hair. All McGonagall does is roll her eyes.

17. And then it’s the summer again and Albus insists on having Scorpius over for the whole summer, and somehow, Draco agrees to this. That summer basically consists of Albus coaxing Scorpius to put his head in his lap so he can play with and braid his hair. Scorpius tries to sound exasperated but everyone knows (including Albus) that he loves it.

18. Ginny finds them one night curled up together in the garden, Scorpius’s head on Albus’s stomach and Albus’s hands just stroking ever part of Scorpius they can reach, including his face, his arms, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his hair. Scorpius has his hands gently grasping at Albus’s own when they’re wandering over his skin, trying to keep them still so he can feel Albus’s warmth. They whisper to each other what they want to do at Hogwarts next year and what new sweets are coming into Honeydukes and how Scorpius just has to try them. Ginny smiles to herself, quietly calling for Harry. The two parents watch in gentle awe, Ginny beginning to beam when she sees Scorpius turn his head to nuzzle his nose into Albus’s stomach when the black-haired boy makes a particularly stupid joke. Harry grins too, guiding Ginny away after a while, knowing the boys wouldn’t like it if they knew they were being watched.

19. All Ginny does that night is smile, unable to sleep because her son has someone that he loves so much and she’s gonna tear up because she’s so happy he’s happy and oh my merlin Harry isn’t it just so wonderful??? Harry agrees gently with his wife, smiling to himself because merlin’s beard he loves his family. 

20. It’s the morning everyone goes back to Hogwarts and Scorpius doesn’t know what to do with his hair because it’s getting scarily long now and wtf does he do with all this tangle???? And suddenly Lily appears out of nowhere and grabs Scorpius by the hand and drags him over to a chair and sits him down, walking around so he has his back to her. “I’m gonna braid your hair, Scorp,” she says cheerily, already working at his hair with nimble fingers. “’M sure Al will love it. You don’t mind if I twist in some glittery ribbon too? It’ll go beautifully with your colouring!” This is the first time Lily and Scorpius have actually spent alone together besides small chats in the corridor when they’re passing each other and knowing smiles across the kitchen table when Albus makes a particularly bad joke, so Scorpius lets her, enjoying the way it feels when she gently pats his head, whispering “you look wonderful, Scorpius.” Scorpius then decided that he loves Albus’s family.

21. Then they’re on the platform and the Hogwarts Express is whistling and Scorpius is hauling his suitcase down the corridor of the train and he passes a compartment of first years who actually stop to just stare. Scorpius notices, of course he does, and he smiles, sliding the compartment door open and sticking his head in. “Are you all okay?” he asks gently, trying to make his voice as open as possible as to not scare the dazed looking eleven year olds. A girl, who herself has a short pixie cut, stutters slightly “y-your hair.” Scorpius grins, grabbing at the end of his braid and tugging at his hair, letting the golden sparkly ribbon that Lily added to it hit the simmering light of the compartment, making it shine brightly. “What about it?” he says, smiling down at the girl. “It’s- it’s long,” she whispers in wonderment, “and you’re a boy.” This widens Scorpius’s smile, and he abandons his trunk for a moment to sit down on the seat next to the smaller girl. “You’re a girl and you have short hair. What’s to say I can’t have long?" 

22. The girl’s expression quickly turns horrified as she stumbles out, "oh- oh no I wasn’t saying it was bad I was saying that it was good like great and amazing and I really like it and um- why are you laughing?” Scorpius explains that he wasn’t laughing at her, and how he thinks it’s amazing that’s she has short hair and how maybe they can be the mismatched duo and they girl just lights up, her eyes sparkling with quick adoration as she looks at Scorpius. “What’s your name?” she says, her words hushed. Scorpius grins. “My name’s Scorpius. How about you?” The little girl’s smile could light up the whole of Hogwarts. “Sam,” she whispers.

23. Sam gets sorted into Slytherin and when she’s sees Scorpius sitting at the table, Albus quietly keeping a protective arm around him, she almost cheers because there’s Scorpius!!! Oo wait who’s that next to him??? Scorpius grins a sparkling grin at her then and motions for her to sit down next to him at the table. All of the Slytherins stare as she does, still clapping about her arrival. Once she’s seated, Scorpius immediately introduces her to Albus, who he had already told about the train incident. 

24. Albus becomes immediate best friends with the girl too, and Scorpius just looks between the two of them fondly as they talk across him animatedly, Albus occasionally sticking Scorpius with his fork because he’s so enthusiastic for this new human being. Scorpius doesn’t mind one bit. 

25. It’s a couple of months later and Scorpius is getting properly worried because his hair is growing so fast??????? It’s nearly down to the middle of his back and he’s silently freaking out with it one morning, twisting it and pulling it and braiding and then re braiding it until his scalp actually HURTS and that’s when Albus wakes up and is like “Scorp just leave it down? It’s beautiful? Please? You’re an actual angel I swear?” And Scorpius is just there bLUSHING and he decides to leave it down for the day.

26. And by golly was that a good idea. By the end of the day he’s made about twenty new first year friends who just adore him and it shocks all the older students cause how tf is that weirdo???? doing that????? And Albus is just there beside Scorpius and all his lil followers with the BIGGEST smile on his face and a casual hand on the small of Scorpius’s back like yes this angel is mine he’s mine you can all just dream of being like him you prats

27. That night Albus steels himself and then quickly scrambles his way from his bed into Scorpius’s. When he opens the curtains and peaks in, Scorpius is there, sitting cross legged, running a brush through his hair. Albus nearly doesn’t want to disturb him now, but Scorpius sees him and smiles, reaching out a hand to gesture him in. “Would you brush my hair, Al?” And Albus just nearly DIES and is like “psh okay yeah alright I’ll do that yup ok”

28. This ends up with Albus lying down with Scorpius on his bed, face to face, heads pillowed on hands and Albus fingers sifting through Scorpius’s newly untangled locks. This position isn’t new to them, after ending up like this most summer nights before school started, with stars in Scorp’s tired eyes and wonder in Al’s ones. But for some reason this time feels different and Albus’s breath speeds up as he feels Scorpius’s hand sliding up his chest to rest at the crook of his neck, fingers gentle but searching somehow.

29. Albus finds himself blurting out “I love you, Scorpius” and then he’s sO red and fuck fuck fuck but Scorp just smiles gently, the fingers on Albus’s neck massaging small circles. “I know Al, I love you too,” he says, and Albus is pretty sure Scorp didn’t realise what he just said, what he meant by it. “No, Scorp,” he murmurs, looking down because Scorpius’s silver eyes are too beautiful and he can’t do this he can’t but he has to and- “I love you. I love you.”

30. And Scorpius is confused for a moment because yeah?? he knows?? But then he sees Albus’s face turning a dark shade even in the dim light and his heart suddenly squeezes in his chest and his body is tingling because he understands he understands he knows oh my god Al I love you too!! But that doesn’t come out because he suddenly realises the position they’re in, noses almost touching, Albus’s hand in his hair and his fingers running down Albus’s neck and he doesn’t think he just acts and pushes forward to press his lips clumsily into his best friend’s

31. Time stops for a moment and all Scorpius can feel is warm, slightly chapped lips unmoving against his own and Albus’s sharp intake of breath and he thinks he’s fucked up and gotten it wrong and shit he’s never been good at reading signals and he’s really done himself in now but then mere seconds later Al is responding, his hand sliding further into Scorp’s hair so he can pull him closer, lips pressing back shakily and Scorp lets his eyes close and he falls into Albus, hand going completely around his neck, pushing up against the other boy.

32. And oh this is so good, so safe because Scorpius realises in that moment, that press of mouth on mouth, that Albus is all he’s ever wanted and that he’s his home. So when Albus finally pulls back slightly to let out a wavering breath, there are big, heavy, happy tears in Scorp’s eyes that he can’t let out just yet because he knows that they will freak out his best friend.

33. “S-scorp,” Al whispers, eyes wide as saucers, lips tingling and brain almost numb and oh my god he just kissed me he just?? I just kissed Scorpius? Scorp? My Scorp?? “What- I’m- I don’t-” and then he’s being shut up by another quick press of lips and Scorpius’s breath washing over his face as he snorts shakily, his eyelashes fluttering like they do when he’s nervous.

34. Albus takes all these little details in, along with how soft and warm and just fucking nice Scorp’s lips feel against his. So he goes in again just as Scorpius is about to speak, and then it’s a game of who can shut the other up faster with sweet, tentative pecks and Al feels Scorp’s hand slide down to rest at the base of his throat where he curls it around the neck of his shirt, tugging slightly. “Let me- let me talk, Al,” Scorpius gasps, his fingers curling tighter. “Let me- please.”

35. Albus is still struck dumb so he finds himself staring, something bubbling up in his chest as Scorp struggles for words. “I- oh my god Al, just, I love you too, you idiot.”

36. “Scorp, I don’t want you to do this just because I said it first-” “Dear god you are a dolt, aren’t you, Potter? Just kiss me again please.”

37. Skip to fifth year and Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter are the cutest couple in hogwarts, and Albus has an undercut to compliment his boyfriend’s hair which now reaches past his waist. Albus likes to spell flowers into it. Scorpius is just really in love. 

(apologies for any spelling mistakes or just mistakes in general! hope you enjoyed!)