#Murder on the Owl Express

[chloedoesart]

I had the pleasure to draw some art for the @anachronism-ahitzine! It was so much fun to participate in my first zine. You can read it here!

I chose to create a poster concept for Murder on the Owl Express 2, featuring Bow Kid! I also hid a little Chloe in there as a nod toward the Chloe DLC.

Full background below the cut (because I spent too much time on it for it to be covered up by the characters)

[a-fact-in-time]

A Fact in Time #2

hey, did you know that the unoccupied room in the VIP suite on the Conductor's Train has DJ Grooves' bed?

i just think it's interesting n' all. sure, it's likely a reused texture, but part of me wants to believe Conductor just... has a special room for DJ Grooves on his train.

[putting-chell-in-places]

send her to murder on the owl express ahit

She's a confused VIP.

[zaiaam]

Some A Hat in Time rankings I did cause I was bored. Idrc if im wrong...

[the-hero-obviously]

Okay I was trying to figure out things to post but I didn't know what so I decided to just look it up

I guess people post reviews sometimes? Sure, whatever, I can do that.

I recently watched Murder On The Owl Express for the first time. I haven't watched a lot of movies before, so I don't have much to compare it to and also my opinion might be biased because my best friend was a lead actress but she did do really well so.

Anyway, I'll start with things I didn't like. So, the whole plot twist at the end was that Hat Kid- I mean, the Detective, but I'll be calling her Hat Kid in this review because that's how I think of her deal with it- was actually the culprit all along. And she basically just admits to it? Which is sort of weird, she didn't have much reason to admit to it, but the weirder thing is that she even searched for clues at all? Like, if she was going to admit to the crime, why not do that from the start? Why go looking for evidence to prove a culprit when she knows it's her?

I also think it's kind of lame that the victim wasn't even dead. That, combined with the unnecessary search for clues, really just makes it all feel pointless- like, why did any of the plot need to happen? They didn't even establish a motive for Hat Kid stabbing the owl, either.

I don't know how I feel about the Conductor to be honest but I like how much he swears. I don't know I think swearing is fun. Don't tell Cooking Cat I watched it she'll probably get upset I think. What is the Conductor though I'm a little confused like is he a bird??? I guess he's probably legally a bird but I mean like what kind of bird? Hat Kid is legally a bird in real life so I don't think that's saying much

Things I did like. The acting felt really genuine, it felt like they didn't even know they were in a movie to be honest. The security camera-like footage adds to that vibe, I think. Really interesting approach, but it made it all feel more real, it was interesting. (Unless all movies are like that and I'm just oblivious???)

I also really liked the wAIT WHAT THE PECK IS THAT

[oktaviaslabyrinth]

Murder on the Owl Express // A Hat in Time (2017)

[cappycodeart]

A Hat in Time is rated T for a reason, I’m just stupid.

[depreshroom]

Hey!! I had some dialogue bouncing in my head for a Rayllum s4 (the dragon prince) harsher fight scene, so I sort of just scribbled it out. This occurs when they find out that Soren hadn’t come back. Anything that doesn’t sound like canon has been shamelessly ignored for my idea, my apologies. It’s not fully fleshed and mostly dialogue focus but here it is :))

“A desperate silence hangs between them. Desperate for understanding, for each other. “I’m sorry Callum, okay? I didn’t know.”

Callum scoffs, smirking sarcastically. “You didn’t know?”

Rayla stares into his eyes. Is he serious right now? She furrows her eyebrows. “No, Callum. I didn’t know the Crown Guard wouldn’t be able to find his way through a bit of greenery.”

“It was dark out, Rayla!”

“He had a lamp!” Rayla lifts her arms defensively and it only takes a single look at Callum’s face to know she’d hit a minefield. In an attempt to pull this mess together, she starts, “I messed up, Callum, I’m-“

But he finishes. “What, Rayla? What, you’re sorry? You didn’t know what you know now? You’re going to fix it?” He adds the last bit in air quotes, turning around and pacing as his voice gets angrier. “Here’s the thing with you Rayla: you don’t know anything. But instead of waiting and learning and observing and paying attention to anything other than your own opinions—“

“‘Anything other than my own opinions’, are you kidding—“

—the great non-assassin just has to act instead!” And Callum is furious, and he’s more alive than she’s seen since two years ago. Maybe even since she’s known him. “You couldn’t even kill Viren if you saw him, Rayla.” His chest heaves back and forth, and he’s only a few feet away. “You left just to what? Get a sighting?”

Quietly, Rayla strides towards Callum and closes the gap. He softens a bit—-no less angry, but a little more hurt. She begins to open her mouth, yet becomes cut off again.

“And you know what, Rayla?” he asks, voice raspy.

She doesn’t want to take this. He has no idea. He has no idea why she does what she does, he didn’t bother to remember the full picture. Only the successful parts. The ones where everybody makes it out alive. She hates the fact that she’s about to be silent; about to let him finish off stabbing her with a knife of anger and pain. But the smallest voice inside her says to listen. Don’t be what he insists she is.

Gritting her teeth, she inhaled deeply as she asks, “What, Callum?”

“For all the so-called ‘protecting’ you did-“ He uses air quotes during protecting, as if he wasn’t standing here right now with two working legs. “I got hurt, anyways.”

Rayla chuckles dryly, hot air covering Callum’s face. “Nice speech, Callum. You know, I’m really glad you were able to say it. Unlike oh…what’s his name?” She snaps, mimicking effort to think of her fallen father. Of the endless, imaginative scenarios where he suffers mercilessly in each one. Of Ezran’s dad and Callum’s basically-dad. Who she indirectly killed by not acting fast enough. She tilts her head downward, returning Callum’s glare. “Oh, I know!” she says with faux enthusiasm. “Unlike Runaan. Or your dad. Or anyone who died because I waited, Callum. You know, me and all my great non-assassinating”

A lump forms in his throat, his eyes displaying a sudden unreadable pain. Taking a few steps back, he begins to speak. Though now it’s he who remains unheard as Rayla cuts him off.

“You’ve spent all this time being mad at me, Callum.” Her voice softens as she blinks back a few unexpected tears. “But I’d be—I am, ecstatic to have a choice between you being angry or alive. Everyday, I’d choose saving you over saving us.”

They stare at each other from a distance. Tears run down her face. Silence hangs between them.

Silence is all they have left to say.

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ TAKE ME TO CHURCH [T.M.R.] ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of murder (it’s tom riddle are we even surprised?)

summary: At the hour of the owl, driven by anger and hurt, you left your dorm and wandered towards the Black Lake. There you encounter Tom Riddle. Your enigmatic conversation with your academic rival took an unexpected turn, leaving you with more questions than answers as you headed back to the castle.

pairing: tom riddle x ravenclaw fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is a draft that I didn’t plan on posting but I’m so busy atm I don’t have time to write anything else 🥲 again english is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes! as always my inbox is open and I’m happy to hear any criticism or requests as long as you are polite 🤍 not incredibly proud of this but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <333

It was the hour of the owl when you left your dorm room. Strictly forbidden, yes, but as a prefect—even if off-duty that evening—you were willing to risk detention. Quite unusual for an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself, but here you were, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

“Oh, bloody hell,” you muttered, consumed by anger that clouded your thoughts. Hatred and adrenaline coursed through your veins. The Ravenclaw common room was empty; everyone else was already in bed, even those who usually stayed up late. No one would see or question your departure. It was nearly three in the morning, dark and silent.

You made your way across the empty common room and down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, not entirely sure where you were going, but driven by a need to escape everything. The ancient Hogwarts castle was cold and empty, its walls whispering secrets. Some might find the silence unsettling, but you found it oddly comforting. The cool evening breeze was soothing against your warm skin, though you would likely regret leaving your sweater behind later. Dressed in your usual uniform—a skirt, a white button-up, and the silver-blue tie— you moved carefully through the deserted halls, avoiding even the faintest creak.

The castle felt unimaginably vacant. Your anger had begun to ebb, replaced by a gradual calmness. The walk and fresh air had helped. As you meandered through the halls, you decided to venture outside the castle. It wasn’t entirely safe, but you had your wand and weren't afraid of the dark anymore. The stars shone brightly above, and your worries seemed to drift away.

Heading towards the Black Lake to clear your mind, you noticed a figure on the shore. Your heart raced with fear. Quickly gripping your wand, you crept closer, only to recognize the familiar figure of Tom Riddle. His jet-black hair, piercing dark eyes, and imposing stature could not be mistaken. The sight of him was both intimidating and oddly magnetic.

“Riddle,” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet. As he turned, his wand aimed at the ready, you saw his defensive stance relax.

“Y/L/N,” Tom said, his tone sharp as ever. “It is rather uncouth to approach someone unannounced.”

You had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. What began as a snarky rivalry in your first year had escalated into a fierce competition. Each of you tried to outdo the other, pushing boundaries and limits, reveling in victories and defeats. Despite your mutual animosity, there was an undeniable, if twisted, connection between you. Tom was not like other boys; he was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Yet, he maintained a facade of the humble, ambitious scholar. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and though you would never admit it, you found his intensity compelling.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t my intention, Riddle. My apologies,” you replied sarcastically.

As you approached, you noticed Tom’s irritated expression and the cigarette he had dropped. He took out another one, lit it with his wand, and took a drag before addressing you.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Y/L/N,” he said, ignoring your remark. “It’s never easy with you, is it?”

“You’re the one to talk,” you retorted. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Tom’s unimpressed glance betrayed his indifference. “Well, I’m delighted to catch you off guard.”

The sight of him indulging in such a muggle habit was unexpected. Given his staunch pureblood beliefs, it was surprising. But you supposed it made sense, considering his upbringing in a muggle orphanage. Where he got the cigarettes from was another mystery.

His reaction to your mention of muggles was intense. “I have nothing to do with those filthy creatures. The mere idea is offensive. Muggles are obsessed with pleasure, indulgence, and waste. They are nothing but animals in disguise.”

Tom’s passionate tirade was one of his defining traits. His ability to articulate his disdain with such fervor was both disturbing and strangely admirable. You had learned to disregard his over-the-top responses, focusing instead on his more genuine moments.

“Merlin, Riddle, calm down. It was just a question,” you said, trying to remain unfazed.

“And I am just answering you,” he countered, his demeanor quickly reverting to his usual composed facade. He took another drag of his cigarette, and a heavy silence settled between you.

After a moment, he broke the quiet. “So what is an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself doing out at this hour? I thought breaking the rules wasn’t your style.” His smirk was maddening.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the earlier anger fading, replaced by an uncomfortable shudder of vulnerability. Tom noticed the change in your demeanor and his expression grew serious. His perceptiveness was unnerving, a reminder of why you found it hard to trust him fully.

“Well, it’s stupid really. Foolish,” you admitted, defeated.

Tom raised an eyebrow, puffing smoke as you locked eyes. A silent understanding passed between you, a mutual recognition of the truth. You began to speak, revealing the turmoil behind your nighttime escapade.

You sat on the edge of your bed, struggling to focus on your assignments late into the evening.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your quill scratching parchment and the occasional rustle of pages. All your dormmates were out at a Gryffindor party celebrating their victory over Slytherin in the Quidditch match. You weren't worried about their early return; it was Friday, and with no classes the next day, they were likely to be out until afternoon, lost in firewhisky or other indulgences. They'd tried to drag you along, but you'd claimed a severe headache and a need for rest. None of them believed you, dismissing your excuses with rolled eyes and playful jabs.

As they left, one of them teased,

"Have fun trying to turn rubbish into a raccoon dog," and they all laughed.

You rolled your eyes, knowing their words were harmless. You were close friends who respected each other deeply; this was just part of your dynamic.

Just as you were settling into the quiet, a sudden interruption shattered the peace. Someone opened your dorm room door, and annoyance flared at the disruptive noise. "Jane, is that you? Because I swear on my mother's-" you began scolding as you turned, but your words faltered when you saw the dark mop of slicked-back hair. It was your boyfriend, Wiglaf Siggurdson.

"Sorry to disappoint," he chuckled, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You were relieved it wasn't one of the girls, but his presence did little to uplift your mood. You liked Wiglaf; he was smart, confident, and everything a girl could wish for. Yet, you often questioned if you truly loved him, if you loved him enough to be with him. He was the one who had asked you to be his girlfriend, and being the polite person you were, you had accepted. He came from a wealthy family, had impeccable manners, played Quidditch, and was almost perfect in every way. But you appreciated him more as a friend and couldn't bring yourself to admit it. You tried hard to convince yourself that he was the one, but your heart wouldn't comply. He was kind, brought you flowers, carried your books, walked you to classes, and treated you like the most special girl on earth. Yet, his presence stirred a surge of irritation.

"I was studying, you know, before you decided to interrupt me unannounced," you said stiffly, turning back to your work. Wiglaf stood in the middle of the room, unsure of how to proceed.

"So, no greeting? No 'Hello, my dear boyfriend who decided to ditch a party to come and see me'?" he remarked sarcastically. "And it's not like you're not always studying.

Nothing new really," he muttered under his breath. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Well, I didn't ask you to come see me," you said matter-of-factly without turning around. His frustration was evident as he moved closer to you.

"And not all of us have a rich father to secure a job at the Ministry as soon as we graduate, you know," you said, tone sharp. He sat beside you and sighed heavily. Dressed in a blue sweater and casual dress pants, he looked dejected.

"And not all of us have a rich father to secure a job at the Ministry as soon as we graduate, you know," you said, tone sharp. He sat beside you and sighed heavily. Dressed in a blue sweater and casual dress pants, he looked dejected.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he said softly. You still refused to look at him. "Sure," you mumbled, uninterested.

"And anyway, if you marry me, you won't have to worry about things like that," he added, beaming with self-satisfaction. You froze, trying to process his words. "Excuse me?" you said, clearly offended. It wasn't unusual for women not to work after graduation, but you had made it clear that you intended to. His casual joke about it now was hurtful. You had hoped he understood you better. Even if you did marry him, you wanted to work and maintain your

independence. You didn't want to rely on anyone, especially not someone you weren't sure you truly loved.

"What's up with you?" Wiglaf groaned. "You're always so wound up and offended by everything I say.

You're always busy studying, and it's always some excuse for why you can't go or can't do this or that. You never actually want to spend time with me." His voice rose with anger. "So far, I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship It's supposed to be a two person job.”

You frowned and buried your face in your hands. "Wiglaf, I'm not in the mood for this right now. I want to study and go to sleep. Can we please save this lecture for another time?" you said wearily.

"No!" he thundered unexpectedly.

"You don't get to do this. You don't get to treat me like some dog on a leash," he hissed. You sighed, exasperated. "Oh, come on, stop acting childish, Wiglaf," you said, rolling your eyes as you began packing up your papers. You had no intention of continuing this argument; all you wanted was to go to bed.

"I come here, ditching all my mates to spend time with my girlfriend, who doesn't even bother to greet me, and now I'm the one acting childish?" He stood up, his frustration reaching a crescendo. "Oh, please," you muttered, standing up as well. As you tried to gather your papers, they slipped from your hands as Wiglaf gripped your wrists. The sudden contact shocked you, and your eyes widened in surprise.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," he said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. You could see the lust taking over his gaze. "Wiglaf, let go of me. I'm not in the mood right now," you said, your patience fraying.

But he was too enraged to listen. He pulled you closer, his grip painful.

"Wiglaf, let go! You're hurting me!" you protested, struggling against his hold. Instead of relenting, he pressed himself against you and forcefully kissed you, gripping your face and preventing you from breaking free. In a desperate attempt to escape, you kicked him in the shin. The contact caused him to release you, and he hunched over in pain. You stood there, stunned by your own actions while he grunted, recovering from the kick.

The room was silent except for his pained breathing.

When he regained his composure, his eyes burned with rage. "Wiglaf, I-" you started, but before you could finish, he slapped you across the face.

The force of the blow left you reeling, and you felt the sting and warmth of blood on your lips. Wiglaf stood there, stunned, as if he couldn't fully grasp what he had just done.

Your fight-or-flight response kicked in, and you pushed past him, fleeing the room. He didn't try to follow you.

After a few moments, he collapsed on the floor, staring at the floorboards as he grappled with the gravity of his actions.

As you ran through Ravenclaw Tower, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you: shock, shame, disgust, guilt, sadness, and finally, red-hot seething anger. The only thought that brought you any comfort was the imagined cold, lifeless body of Wiglaf.

How could he do this after everything you had shared? It was unfathomable.

And that's how you found yourself sitting beside Tom Riddle on the shore of the Black Lake.

...and then I just left," you finished quietly. A heavy silence followed your explanation, and Tom's features darkened. You chuckled at the irony of it all. "Well, I suppose that's what l get for thinking that I-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence as Tom interrupted you. "I'm going to kill him." He stated plainly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You flinched at his violent intentions.

"What?" You quaked hoarsely. He couldn't be serious... could he?

"You heard me." Tom's eyes were sharp as he took a few steps closer. But you never knew Tom Riddle to be the type to joke about things like that.

"He dared lay a hand on what's mine, and now he's going to pay for it." His tone was cold.

What's his? By day, you were nothing but an academic rival to Tom Riddle, but by night, you were suddenly his treasured possession? What a twisted mind indeed. You sighed at his words, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of everything. "Tom, you can't just-"

"Yes, I can and I will. Because tell me, do you not think about me when he's inside of you, when you touch yourself, when you wake up in the morning? You don't love him, Y/N. We both know it. And don't try to deny it. I see right through you." His voice was dark. "And don't tell me what I can and can't do. That's not for you to decide."You were stunned, your mind blank.

Tom Riddle was a confusing enigma.

One moment he hated you, the next he was willing to kill for you. For him, it was all the same. Wiglaf would just be another addition to his growing collection of Horcruxes. It was a win-win for him: a Horcrux, the removal of an annoyance, and you-all in one plan. Three birds, one stone.

Tom's body was now facing yours, and his cold hands brushed a stray hair from your forehead. "Don't waste your mind on people like him. I don't even know why you're with that dimwit..." he muttered quietly. His fingers traced the curve of your lip and the bloody spot Wiglaf's assault had left. As he touched you, the fire in your body reignited, and the magic you only felt around him came to life.

You never felt this way around Wiglaf.

With Tom, it was like you were alive for the first time. You burned for him.

You loved him. He knew it, and you knew it. Yet both of you understood it could never work. Your ambitions were far too... different.

You let your head rest on his palm, closing your eyes for a moment, letting all your worries fade away. Dreaming about a world in which Tom was capable of loving you. Or perhaps a world in which you were able to go against your moral compass and accept his twisted mind. You kissed his palm gently and then pulled away.

"I ought to get back to the castle before someone catches us. We'll both be in trouble." You cleared your throat and spoke.

Tom simply hummed in response.

Reluctantly, you moved away and started for the castle. Before you got too far, you turned to speak softly so he could hear you. "Good night, Tom."

His gaze was on you, but he didn't reply. You continued your way back to the castle, his eyes following your retreating form. When you were far enough away that Tom was sure you couldn't hear him, he spoke softly,

"Good night, my love."

The next morning, you didn't see Wiglaf at his usual spot at the breakfast table. You approached one of his mates to inquire about his whereabouts, wondering if he was hungover or something. But as you spoke to him, a look of concern crossed his face, and he regretfully explained that Wiglaf had ended up in the hospital wing the night before. No one knew how or why.

You felt a pair of eyes on you and turned to the Slytherin table. There they were: two onyx eyes staring back at you, deep into your soul, letting you know that once again, he had emerged victorious.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

tags:

[ryleepies]

Murder On The Owl Express

[amorchai]

📁 ₊˚⊹ pining best friend ron x reader. it’s obvious he has feelings but when reader tells him they like him too, he can’t believe it and gets all flustered and shy

𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌.

pairing(s): ron weasley x reader

words: 862

warnings/tags: mutual pining, minor jealousy.

hermione was too busy talking about the upcoming exam in transfiguration to notice how distracted ron was, more than usual. harry, however, was chuckling to himself, adding another pumpkin pastie onto his plate while watching ron.

it was unlike ron to not eat, especially at lunch after a morning full of exam preparation. his fork hovered his plate, unfocused, his ginger hair too long and poking his eyes that remained glued to your figure that stood at the entrance to the great hall.

you were laughing with dean thomas, someone taller and broader than ron, someone who looked more pristine and more groomed at this very moment than ron’s straggled hair and he couldn’t help but feel green.

“what you looking at, ron?” harry mused, interrupting hermione mid-sentence and she follows his gaze towards you and dean catching up. “he’s been talking to y/n for ten minutes now, can you not give her some lunch time to actually eat?”.

“jealous or something, ron?” an irish accent perks up from beside hermione, seamus snickering happily as ron scowls moodily towards his friend. “no, just… worried about y/n’s wellbeing, she should eat, she’s been stressed with exams and things, y’know.”

seamus nudges neville, “no, i don’t know. only you do, all you do is watch y/n i’m surprised she’s not sent an owl begging for a hexclusion order against you yet.”

“come off it, seamus.” ron snaps back, and hermione shushes both their bickering as you bid dean a goodbye and begin walking over to the table. of course, you sit beside ron as you usually do, and seamus and harry exchange a look which doesn’t go past you.

“hello?” you say confused, looking between them both before shaking your head and laughing dismissively. ron goes red when you glance at him and smile before beginning to make up a plate of your own food.

“what was dean saying?” asks ron, glaring at his friends as seamus wriggles his eyebrows and neville chuckles. “what-? oh, he just said he’s worried about his defence against the dark arts exam. so we’re going to study later on together, i could use the extra time for it too.”

ron glances at his plate, his fork pushing the vegetables around his plate, “oh. right.” you notice his frowned mood but decide not to bring it up around the rest of the table, nodding to his plate you reply, “not like you to have a bunch of veg.”

he nods, “well, you said greens help with upcoming exams.” you giggle and ron can’t help but watch your smile as you do so, expression softening despite the teasing eyes of the table, “true, i mostly said that to get you to eat some peas, you don’t eat enough healthy things.”

“nice of you to look after your boyfriend there, y/n,” you both glare at your irish friend, embarrassed. ron looks like he could rip seamus’ head off while you widen your eyes, “seamus,” you say quietly in a knowing tone.

“no, seriously. he could use the help after staring daggers into the back of dean’s head all mornin’,” this time hermione, harry, and neville all scold their friend as he snickers unapologetically.

you furrow your eyebrows, “what do you mean?” ron’s entire freckled face is beet red, embarrassed, angry and ashamed, he leans over the table, slamming his fork down with a closed fist, “i’m going to murder you, seamus.”

“awk, calm down, it’s not like she doesn’t like you back, you idiot.” ron is shocked, glancing at you while you shrink smaller in your place, embarrassed. “i think you forget dean is my best friend, he talks.”

this time ron says, “what do you mean?” but at the same time you respond, “i told him that in confidence.”

the table is silent. everyone watching you both while hermione ushers seamus to stop talking, ‘seriously, you never know when to stop do you?’ and ‘oh, you’re one to talk, miss know-it-all.’

“you like me?” ron asks quietly to you as the others bicker and you look at him with an embarrassed gaze, “yes i do, okay. i wasn’t going to say anything, stupid seamus and dean.”

“you like me?” he repeats with a slightly agape mouth, processing the response in disbelief and he doesn’t think it to be true. it must be some sort of sick prank seamus is pulling, not that you would ever go to such lengths.

you sigh, “course i do, how could i not?” ron is speechless, smiling beneath the tuffs of ginger hair as he looks back down to his plate. harry notices how ashamed you look, and leans forward so he’s within both of your earshot’s, “you not going to tell y/n you like her back?”

ron snaps his head, “yeah, oh yeah! i do. i like you back, i’m sorry. i’m just surprised is all.” you laugh, “that’s okay.” hermione is now ignoring seamus, smiling at you both as you shyly look away from one another, unsure what to do now. “does he need our help asking her on a date?” is heard as you both duck your heads down, “shut up, seamus!”

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amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[a-fact-in-time]

A Fact in Time #1

did you know the strange alien cipher font can be found outside of Hat Kid's Hattic closet?

in the later half of Murder on the Owl Express, on either side of the key door and the pet's childhood pet door, there are two screens

(pictured: the cipher on the left, next to the key door.)

"HEY • KID • MOV • EON"

'hey, kid, move on'...? either another silly dev joke (like the silly goose warning sign) or another reference to Hat Kid's family (e.g. Snatcher's Death Wish dialogue, Empress' Rush Hour dialogue). who knows!

(pictured: the cipher on the right, next to the pet's pet door. i apologize for the image quality.)

"BOO • PBE • EPD • OOP"

boop! beep! doop!

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Surprise. Pt. 3 Post Azkaban!Sirius x Mom!Reader

You and Sirius have a chat.

Part One. Part Two.

Taglist: @box-of-kinderjoy @projectdreamwalker @goldenharrysworld @navs-bhat @sagestack

You aren’t sure what you expected Sirius to look like after more than a decade in Azkaban, but this is much worse than you pictured. The dirty, malnourished, manic-looking man standing in front of you is a far cry from the healthy, handsome Sirius you once knew. The sight of him in this horrid state is enough to grow a lump in your throat.

You always had complex feelings about Sirius after he was sent to Azkaban. It was easy to be angry at him for betraying everyone and causing the death of James and Lily, but you were more than angry. You were devastated, to say the least. It’s impossible to say how many nights you cried yourself to sleep. Even knowing what he’d done, it was hard to imagine the one you loved rotting away in Azkaban.

The first few years without him were hell on earth. It wasn’t long after he was incarcerated you found out you were pregnant, and whilst everyone in the wizarding world was partying and celebrating the downfall of You-Know-Who, you were curled up in a ball sobbing and wondering how in the world you were going to do this all on your own.

It was difficult, but you managed. As the years went by and Estelle grew bigger, things got easier. You were able to push Sirius out of your mind and go on without him, but not without continuous effort. With every life change and new milestone reached, you couldn’t help but wonder how differently things would be if Sirius were there too.

For Estelle, you tried your very best to make sure she never wanted for anything, but your heart ached at the thought of her never knowing the love of a father. Estelle used to ask about him (“Why don’t I have a dad?” “Where is he?” “Is he dead?”), and you were never sure what to tell her.

You aren’t proud of it, but as her questions persisted, you lied to her. You lied and told Estelle you don’t know who her father is. She stopped asking about him after that.

You don’t know why you lied. It would’ve been much simpler to tell the truth, but maybe a small part of you wanted Estelle to blame you rather than blame Sirius for her lack of a father. It felt a little stupid, but you didn’t want Estelle to hate the idea of her father. You supposed it would be easier for her to accept her father doesn’t know she exists, rather than to accept her father is a mass murderer in prison for life.

Then you got an owl from Remus Lupin—someone you hadn’t heard from in over a decade—asking to have lunch and talk. You were surprised but receptive. You assumed he met Estelle at Hogwarts and he wanted to know of her lineage under the guise of catching up, and you were half right.

After having Estelle in class and putting two and two together, Remus decided to get in touch with you to tell you the truth about Sirius.

After taking in all of the new information, you felt numb. It’s a lot to take in—learning that Sirius is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew of all people was the one to cause all of this pain.

You came home, politely asked Estelle how her day was, and barely heard her as she told you about the stray dog she found today. Too lost in your thoughts, you ‘listened’ to Estelle’s rambling for about ten minutes before realizing she was talking about Sirius’s animagus.

It had to be Sirius. Why else would there be a giant, wolf-like black dog hanging around your house?

You pretended to Estelle that you’d never seen the dog before, and maybe he belongs to some of the muggles that live further up the road. You carry on your evening as normal, quickly changing the subject anytime she began to talk about the dog, and had her go to bed at a reasonable time.

Only when you were sure Estelle was asleep did you come outside.

You suppose you’ve been staring too long as Sirius speaks up first. It’s hard to read his expression, and his voice is deeper than you remember. “I’d ask how have you been, but clearly you’ve been busy.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, urging yourself not to cry. After meeting with Remus and immediately coming home to Estelle, you haven’t had any time to process the information you’ve been given.

There were so many times you’d asked yourself “What if Sirius were still here?” and then immediately pushed the thought away, reminding yourself he’s a horrible man. A traitor and a murderer.

Only he’s not. He’s none of those things.

He’s suffered terrible consequences that he’s done nothing to deserve, and that’s heartbreaking. The last thirteen years of his life were ripped away from him and he was sent to live in horrid conditions, just because he and James chose to trust Peter with something they shouldn’t have.

A heavy weight of guilt drops into your stomach. Sirius had done nothing wrong and yet everyone—including yourself—thought he got what he deserved by being locked away. You hardly even thought to question whether he was truly guilty or not.

Your throat tightens and your lip quivers, and you step forward to wrap your arms around his waist. You can feel the bones underneath his skin, and you sniffle, feeling a couple of tears escape from your eyes.

Sirius takes a moment to respond, a little shocked by your sudden hug and crying. He supposes it’s not unwarranted though.

He reciprocates your hug, one dirty hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your torso. It’s almost strange how natural it feels. He rests his chin on the top of your head and faintly smiles. You smell good, and it’s wonderful to get such an unexpectedly warm welcome.

Although he has Remus to thank for that. If Remus hadn’t reached out to you first, Sirius imagines this meeting would be going a lot differently.

After a few moments of letting yourself cry into his chest, you finally speak, your voice cracking a bit as you do so. “You smell like shit.”

Sirius gives you a tight squeeze and chuckles quietly, “You live in a cave for a year and we’ll see how you fare.”

You purse your lips and feel more tears forming. He’s been living in a cave? Your throat feels tight as you breathe, “I’m so sorry, Sirius… For everything.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” He responds immediately. There was no way for you to know the truth, and even if you did, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. “…Did you know you were expecting when it happened?”

You shake your head. “No. Didn’t figure it out until a few weeks after you’d been gone.”

“I-… I can’t find the words to tell you how sorry I am.” Sirius whispers. His adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t say when, but I promise I’ll come back to the both of you.”

“I know you will.” You say quietly, nodding. You knew from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to stay, but it still hurts nonetheless. New tears fall onto your cheeks and Sirius’s prisoner robes.

You cry less for yourself and more for him. Even though he’s successfully crawled his way out of Hell, he still can’t rest. Sirius hasn’t known peace in over a decade, and there’s no telling if he ever will again.

Sirius is the first to pull away. Trying to remain strong for your sake, he clenches his jaw as he looks down at your tearful face. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your cheeks, then he pulls your face forward for a kiss. You waste no time reciprocating, your hands moving to the back of his head and tangling in his greasy hair.

Once again Sirius is the first to pull away, ending the kiss too soon for his liking, but knowing he needs to go. He’s been here far too long. He kisses your forehead. “I love you, and I love Estelle.”

“I love you, Sirius.” You reply, looking into his eyes. They’re the same eyes you see every time you look at your daughter.

“This isn’t goodbye.” He says kissing your forehead once more. He steps off your property and out of the confines of the anti-apparation wards. He gives you one last look, then winks. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.”

You scoff, a stupid grin forming on your face as he disapperates.

You stare at the spot he left from, wiping your tears away.

Realistically, you don’t know if Sirius will be able to keep his promise. You may never see him again. There’s no telling if his name will ever be cleared, but you hold onto hope, and you will wait for him.

[zaiaam]

Fun Fact that everyone probably already knew but me! :

A group of crows is called a murder, therefore, Murder on the Owl Express can technically have two meanings. One for the crows, the other for the actual murder

[marypaol]

Hogwarts Express [H.P]

Harry James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is right by Harry’s side providing comfort when the Dementor pays a visit. (Based on book)

Warnings: Dementor of course, mention of never being happy again, mention of murder and death, fainting, twitching? I think that’s it let me know if there’s any others!

Author’s Note: This is my first ever Harry story, he’s my favorite character in the series and I’m so glad I’m writing for him! Also, I know the poll results said 6th Year, but 3rd was a very close second and it’s fresh in my mind because I’m currently reading the book. Sorry!

Reader is nicknamed “Flower” sometimes so no use of Y/N

Masterlist

•

Requests closed until further notice

•

“I need to talk to you guys. Alone.” Harry muttered to his three friends, engine of the Hogwarts Express rumbling beneath them.

Ron looked eager to know, and turning to his red-headed sister, ordered “Go away Ginny.” as a way to politely ask her to leave. The sister replied with an eye roll and walked away.

“Let’s find an empty compartment.” Hermione suggested, stroking the hair ball of a cat in her arms as they soon made their way down the corridor. They didn’t seem to be having any luck with finding any one that wasn’t full except for one at the end of the train.

A man was sleeping by the window, soft snores escaping him. He was wearing torn up robes, grey streaks in his hair despite him looking youngish.

“Who do you think he is?” Ron asked.

“Professor R. J. Lupin.” The girl replied, reading his suitcase that was pealing, showing its age.

“How’d you know that?” Ron asked, searching her face with confusion written all over his. She pointed to the case, all three of them taking a look as they sat down.

“Wonder what he teaches.” Ron said, already looking down the corridor for any sign of the women walking around with snacks.

Hermonie rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Well he looks like he’s in rough shape; one hex would take him out for sure.” Ron said, adjusting Scabbers in his robe pocket when his tail peeked out. “Anyway, what is it you wanted to tell us?” He said, turning to Harry.

The rest of them did the same, all paying attention to what the boy had to say.

Harry then explained what he overhead Mr. And Mrs. Weasley talking about, as well as what Mr. Weasley made him promise.

The girl’s eyebrows shot up, hand covering her mouth, mimicking Hermione’s reaction. Ron’s mouth was open.

“He escaped to come after you?” Hermiome said in disbelief from beside Ron. The girl seated next to Harry was still trying to register the information.

“Harry you have to be really careful.” The girl said, just about the same time as Hermione added, “Now don’t chase after trouble, Harry.”

Harry seemed slightly annoyed. “I don’t find trouble, Hermione. Trouble usually finds me.”

Ron scoffed at the two girls worries. “Plus, why would he go off and chase someone who wants to kill him?”

“True, but we have to be cautious.” Hermione advised.

“Who knows how he escaped.” Ron said, looking uncomfortable all of the sudden. “No one’s done it before, and he was under high security too.”

“But they will catch him, won’t they?” The girl said, trying to look at Ron and Hermione in assurance. “I mean, they’ve got Muggles looking for him-”

“What’s that noise?” Ron said, head swerving around as he tried to find the purpose. All of them did the same, the whistling noise getting irritating.

“Coming from your trunk, Harry.” Ron said, red head now dug in the luggage rack, hands snapping open the trunk as he brought out the reason for the noise.

“Oh! Is that a Sneakoscope?” The girl said, leaning forward so she could get a better look a the item.

“A very cheap one, mind you; went crazy when I attached it to my owl’s leg.” He said, shaking his head.

“Put it away,” Harry advises, eyes nervously glancing at the sleeping Professor. “It’ll wake him.”

Ron stuffed it in an old sock he found in Harry’s trunk which stopped the noise and snapped the trunk shut once he put it back.

“We got it in Hogsmeade.” Ron explained as he sat down. “The shop was full of all sorts of things. Fred and George told me about-”

“What’s it like there?” Hermione interrupted. “I heard it’s a place in Britain that doesn’t have any Muggles-”

“Sure it is,” Ron said hurriedly, being the one interrupting this time. “But that’s not why I want to go. I wanna go to Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” The girl asked in wonder, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“It’s a shop that sells just sweets.” Ron gladly answered, sinking into his chair with a dreamlike expression on his face. “Like Pepper Imps that make you smoke at the mouth, or large sherbet balls that make you float a few inches off the ground when you suck on them.” Ron ended his sentence with a demonstration of the size of the sherbets, his hands making a giant circle to mimic their size.

“Oh I’m sure they’re much bigger than that.” The girl informed, holding up her own hands and trying to figure out how to make a bigger circle than Ron’s, just to get him riled up.

“No, mom told me they were like this.” He said, doing the same thing with his hands again.

“Yeah right! And I’m Volde-”

The sarcastic remark was interrupted when Hermione looked over at Harry curiously.

“Wouldn’t Hogsmeade be a fun place to walk around, Harry?” She asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, his arms were crossed and a small annoyed pout was on his lips. The girl couldn’t help but admire him despite his irritation, his green eyes twitching with annoyance.

“I’d like to know. Reckon you’d tell me all about it when you get back?”

The girl snapped out of it. “Why, can’t you come?”

Harry shook his head, untidy hair waving in the process. “No, Uncle Vernon didn’t sign my slip, and Fudge didn’t either.”

The girl slumped in her chair a little, bumped out being an understatement.

Ron looked mortified. “You can’t come? McGonagall or someone will grant you permission-”

Harry laughed disbelievingly, knowing all too well that the Professor mentioned was known to be quite strict.

“Or Fred and George will do something about it, one quick ask and they’ll sneak you right in.”

“Ron, no! Harry can’t be running around risking trouble when Black is wandering about!”

“But he’ll be with us, no one’s gonna-”

“Oh don’t speak rubbish, Ron. Black won’t hold back on attacking Harry just because we’re with him, he’s committed a murder in front of dozens of people.” The girl jumped in.

They’ve settled in a nice little stage of normal discussion while they enjoyed their snacks one the women came (apparently Ron avoided death because he claimed he was dying of starvation) and they ate contently until a certain Slytherin decided to show up to the door with his minions that too far behind him.

“Malfoy.” Harry scolded.

“Pottah.” Draco replied right back, scanning him with irritation in his eyes before turning to Ron. The girl nibbled on her lip on habit, knowing how short Ron’s temper was when Malfoy mentioned his family in any way.

“Heard your father finally got some hands on some gold, Weasley. What’d your mother do? Die of shock?”

Ron stood up abruptly, knocking over Hermione’s cat’s basket in the process.

The sleeping Professor snorted at the disturbance. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to the figure deep in slumber.

“Who’s that?” He asked, taking a cautious step back while pointing a skinny finger at the young man.

“New Professor.” Harry answered, standing up as well in case he needed to prevent Ron from lashing at the Slytherin. The girl, not knowing Harry’s purpose of standing up, misunderstood and thought he was gonna try to fight too, and her hands subconsciously went to the boy’s robes, holding tight just in case.

“You were saying, Malfoy?” Harry said, eyebrow raising in question. Malfoy scoffed, knowing he shouldn’t start something in front of a teacher, and whispered to his minions the plan to depart, and so they did.

The two boys sat down, the girl’s hands staying on Harry’s robes but not as tight; she felt safe knowing he was right there but thankfully the robes are big and Harry didn’t notice her grip.

“I’ve had enough of him making comments.” Ron snarled, face dark. “I’ve had it this year; one more comment on my family and I’ll get a hold his head and-”

Ron did something with his hands in the air, the motion not nice enough to explain.

The girl stiffed a laugh with Harry at the action. Hermione on the other hand wasn’t amused.

“Careful Ron. A Professor is right there!” She reminded, but the future Hogwarts teacher was still fast asleep.

Outside it started to rain, the droplets running down the window satisfyingly. The girl watched as the rain poured down and the sky became grey.

“It’s rough out there, I must tell you.” Ron complained, taking Scabbers at of his pocket but stuffed him right back in once Crookshanks gave a soft hiss.

The train gave a rattle, shaking slightly but hard enough to shake the girl into Harry, her cheek coming in contact with his shoulder.

She leaned back as soon as the force of the train was over, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry.” She mumbled embarrassed.

Harry gave a reassuring smile. “Quite alright.” He said, pushing his glasses up his nose since they fell down a little.

She turned back towards the window to hide her face, watching the rain hammer to the ground. (She would lean forward to get a closer look but the Professor was right there, still deep in sleep despite the practical storm occurring outside.)

All seemed well until the train started to slow, the rain becoming more visible as the thick drops landed to the ground.

“Great, we’re here. I’m starving and dying for the feast.” Ron said, getting up and stretching before looking outside.

“What? We can’t be there quite yet.” Hermione said confused, glancing at her watch.

“Then what’s happened?”

“Well don’t look at me, I don’t know.”

“Flower, let’s look outside.” Harry said, pointing to the door. She nodded, getting up on wobbly legs from sitting down for far too long and walking towards the door.

Both their heads peaked out the open door, many students copying them out of confusion.

The lights suddenly went out, leaving the whole train in darkness.

“Woah! What’s happened?” Ron’s voice said behind them, Harry and the girl still standing by the door.

“Don’t know…” Hermione mumbled.

Harry held onto the girl as they felt their way to their seats. “Do you think we broke down?”

“Don’t know.” Hermione repeated.

The previously open door burst open suddenly, someone making quite a loud entrance before they tripped on something and fell forward right on top of Harry.

“Hello, Neville.”

“Harry? That you?” The boy asked confused as the girl heard him getting up.

“Who’s there?” Ron asked the new voice, only for another one to arrive.

“Ginny? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Ron-”

“Nevermind come sit.”

“Quiet!!” A third new voice broke out, the Professor finally waking. He lit a fire (in his hands?) and started to walk out the compartment to see what the trouble was.

But someone something arrived before Lupin could leave.

A creature of some sort stood covered in a black cloak from floor to ceiling. Whatever was hidden under the cloak sucked in a sharp breath, and that’s when it happened.

A cold chill came through the air, chilling them to the bone. The girl felt hallow, like every speck of life was sucked out and she felt a flick of sadness; like she’d never be happy again. The cold went beneath her skin and traveled to her chest. She shivered uncontrollably.

A hand appeared from under the cloak, shriveled and pale, only for it to go back under.

The girl reached for Harry subconsciously, seeking for comfort only to feel his body board stiff. She turned to him, eyes wide, watching as his once sparkling eyes behind his glasses roll back in an unpleasant way.

His body twitched as he fell to the floor and off his seat, back on the ground.

“Harry!” The girl yelled, worry brewing in her chest. She knelt down beside him, hand lightly slapping his pale cheek nervously as she brought his head to her lap. So many things were happening around her but she didn’t take the time to notice, for his didn’t care. All she really did notice was that the lights flickered back on again. But all she cared about at the moment was Harry and if he was okay.

His eyes fluttered open, looking at her then looking at all the people around him.

“W-what?” He croaked, neck leaning up and the girl helped him sit up, his back leaning against the seat he was previously sitting in.

“Are you okay, Harry?” She asked, anxiety bending her brows. Harry didn’t answer, swallowing thickly.

“What happened? What’s that- that thing?” He said, eyes scanning the room for an answer. “Someone was screaming, who was-”

“No one was screaming, Harry.” Ron said, his face startled but confused.

There was a moment of silence before they heard a snapping sound, and, swerving their heads in the direction of the noise, saw Lupin breaking chocolate into pieces.

“Eat it, it will help, I assure you.” He spoke, looking at them. “Dementors, am I right?” He said, but no one laughed. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m going to talk to the driver.”

Lupin left, and the girl guided the chocolate to Harry’s lips once she helped him sit down.

“Eat Harry, he said it will make you feel better.” She said gently.

Harry took a nibble, and he visibly relaxed as warmth traveled from the tips of his hair to his toes.

Harry looked around then, rubbing his eyes. “I still don’t understand, what happened?”

The girl was half listening to what the person said as they explained what occurred, her hand going to Harry’s as she gripped his fingers. He looked over at her, lips turning into a soft grateful smile. She smiled back but halfway since she was still worried, and she reached up and fixed Harry’s glasses on his face since they were crooked. He gave her another smile, one better than the last.

@idkkkkk1111 @iambored24601 @amayaaaxx@brok3nlegs @capsicle115 @buttersuaa @ghostyluvsyou @thisismyacc11 @cvmtitss @bitchycheesecakecat @earlymorninglow @mariit @iambored24601

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

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MASTERLIST