#also my boy but tiny and small with enormous eyes and those little hair hat things 🥺 and a little stuffed animal 🥺

[drewmiles]

The Purple Butterfly - A short story

Hey ya'll, I'm new to Tumblr and I still don't quite know what to post here but I would like to share a short story I wrote representing mental health and reality through metaphores. The title is "The Purple Butterfly", and for those struggling with the tendencies, I hope you find yourselves here and I hope it helps a bit, I have shared my personal experience through this story.

The purple butterfly was roaming through the garden of lilies. Moving from flower to flower, and scent to scent, the motion of its wings never stopped. It truly enjoyed the view of the garden and how peaceful it was - the sound of the wind chiming, the flow of the nearby river and the cheerful shimmering of the wings of the other colorful butterflies.

Suddenly, the loud chant of two kids echoed across the garden’s pleasant bliss. The rumbling of the ground scared the butterflies, as did the shockwaves that the kids made with each clap of their hands as they tried to catch the butterflies. Every single one of them managed to fly away except for the purple butterfly. As it tumbled to the ground, darkness spread across its face as the shadows of the kids approached.

Thinking it could hide and not get noticed by these “monsters”, the purple butterfly was cut short as one of the kids caught it’s little curved wing in their hand and didn’t let go. This kid was a boy, wearing a peach colored shirt and a black hat that was turned backwards. It had big vicious brown eyes and a pig-shaped nose. The boy was very much hyperactive, running everywhere and not even minding if he’d run over the poor lilies. He stopped running as he heard his name getting shouted from the other side of the garden. The other kid, a girl, was yelling at him to come next to her.

The girl had a long gray dress with tiny white roses wrapped around it, she also had a big brown bow on her hair that was put in a messy bun. She had small but shiny blue eyes and her expression made her look like she hasn’t slept for eons. She asked for the boy to give her the purple butterfly, and he did. The girl took it in her palms and put it in a square shaped jar. She kept gazing at it and then called for the boy to come next to her and talk to the purple butterfly. She asked it to choose between her and the boy. But even if the girl seemed nicer, nurturing and charming, it chose the boy. But why? It literally tortured it and the entire garden with the chaos he made. Something about the boy was drawing the purple butterfly more than the girl. So the boy kept the butterfly to himself, shoving it from one side to another, from a square shaped box - to a round one – to a cylinder shaped one.

The butterfly felt run out, as it had no more energy to continue being the play toy to the boy. Its color slowly but surely started turning a light pinkish color, its curvy wings started getting widely sharper. But the boy would sometimes leave the butterfly to enjoy itself in the garden and not harm it in moments, but when the boy left the garden, the butterfly would go to the girl, begging her to take care of it instead of the boy. The girl would always ask why the butterfly would beg her to be in her scrawny pale hands instead of the boy’s big but soft hands. Sure, he’d play around lots with it, but it got its occasional freedom in the garden and joyful indulgences. The butterfly would tell her that it no longer wanted to get bashed and pushed around by the boy’s reckless behavior. Even though it felt the cold embrace in the girl’s breath, it still thought it was better if it was taken care of by her. The girl asked the butterfly for its wings in exchange for her care. The butterfly was tremoring with fear as it heard this and imagined how its short life would be even shorter without its wings, and yet it accepted the offer, getting both its wings torn off just by a snap of the girl’s fingers. The butterfly fell on the ground, suffering with enormous pain throughout its entire fragile body. The ultimatum the girl gave the butterfly in any normal circumstance would never be accepted by any butterfly, they would never exchange their colorful wings for a chance to not be tortured by the boy. The girl looked down at the butterfly, seeing it struggle on the ground. And as soon as the butterfly’s eyes locked with the girl’s, her eye color started changing from light blue to pitch black, draining the very essence of strength in the butterfly as it shortly died after.

“Life! Life! Where did you skedaddle to now?” – yelled the girl as the boy replied “I just let the other butterflies out of their box so they could fly a bit in the sunshine”. The boy’s name was indeed – Life, itself. Filled with pushing and bashing and tearing, yet always giving a period of happiness, strength and freedom. But the girl didn’t give anything like that to the butterflies that chose to be with her, wanting something in return every single time, a sacrifice but with no benefit for the butterfly. And oh, my dear soul, the girl’s name… was Death…

[asterdeer]

i'm fixating on spy x family which means using it for au fodder for my own stories and i'm soooo unwell thinking about a wdnftp au where loreleaf is anya. like, i want the parental figures to be doli + tomi but i can't imagine them meeting that late in life, tomi has to be there already somewhere. doli & stormy might be good too but again, i think it works better if stormy is still his found sister. so...... really the best fit for yor is jademoon?? who canonically hates doli lin's guts. but in this au they can just be vaguely antagonistic parental rivals who still bond over parenting their weird little kid who is still psychic but also sometimes just sets things on fire with his mind. in this au i think jademoon has to be like an underworld doctor not an assassin which is slightly less cool but i think she can pull it off and she can still teach loreleaf how to punch

[everlarkficexchange]

Sunset on Grass

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 67: Her parents said that it was just a childhood crush and that she will outgrow it. But why does her heart flutters. When she’s finally old enough to get a job, she immediately gets a part time job to be close to him. Will is pursue her love against people’s negative views because he’s so much older than her. Or go for it and make him fall in love with her. Age Gap Older!Peeta. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

  Rated M: for later chapters/ this particular one is actually G. 

  Tags: Age Difference- Peeta is 19 years older than Katniss, but there won’t be any romance until she’s of age, so I might as well tag this as Slow Burn. Time Jump. Mr Everdeen is alive in this one, which makes Katniss OOC. Tags will update according to chapter posted.

Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine. This chapter closed at around 4200 words. Happy reading.

Thank you to @javistg and @xerxia31 for once again hosting Our Beloved Exchange. You guys are the best!!! 

—————

CHAPTER ONE:

It was a very cold day; Mama made us wear hats and gloves and clunky snow boots, but the worst offender in my 8 year old opinion, was the fact she forced me to wear a fleece over my long sleeve shirt with the sparkly pink hearts, and then a heavy winter coat to top it all, covering my favorite outfit that happened to be perfectly apt for the month of February… who had time to worry about layering for the weather, when Valentine’s Day gave us the perfect excuse to wear mushy, pink, glittery hearts in public?! 

  Prim had just turned four recently, and Daddy decided she was finally old enough to sit through a movie at the theater with us ‘grown ups’ like a big girl. Normally, he would’ve let Prim pick the movie, since it was her first time joining us, but when we got to the theater, I begged to see Bridge to Terabithia, because all the girls in my class had a crush on the main character actor, some Josh Hutcher-something or another, and I really wanted to see what the fuss was about with the boy. 

  Well, none of my little girlfriends bothered to tell me the movie was so darned sad! 

  Prim wailed and sobbed despite not really understanding what happened in the story. All she knew was that Mama sniffled and dabbed at the corner of her blue eyes with a wadded-up napkin, and that was enough for her to let her tears fall freely, clinging to Daddy’s neck until hiccups raked her tiny frame. 

  At the end of the movie, Mama’s eyes were red rimmed but she at least was done sniffling. Daddy and I just sat there stoically, like the hardened leaders of our small clan, we were… if my lips trembled, it had nothing to do with the sap fest we just endured. 

  Daddy sighed, “Some movies should come with disclaimers.” He grumbled, adjusting Prim on his hip while pulling open the exit door.

  “I thought it was great. The young actors were marvelous. Such range of emotion…” Mama gushed, before wiping the corner of her eye daintily. “I’d recommend it to other people, personally.”

  Daddy gave her a look, and then Mama amended, “With a warning for grief and depression.” Her lips formed a thin line, but Daddy seemed satisfied, so we walked into the frigid February afternoon and winced in unison as soon as the cold hit our faces. 

  Prim was still intermittently sobbing.

  “Primrose, honey, will a treat help you cheer up some?” Daddy asked quietly, tenderly caressing her cheek.

  My baby sister nodded, her pitiful big o’ blue eyes shining with unshed tears. 

  “Let’s get you a nice treat then. Let’s take advantage of those neatly shoveled sidewalks our tax money afforded us.” Said Daddy smiling sweetly, his gray eyes twinkling. 

  We crossed the street and kept on going until we reached the square a block away and then hesitated for a second in front of the ice cream parlor, finally settling for the quaint little bakery two doors down. 

  Immediately, my cheeks warmed up and I tried to walk with my back a little straighter, just in case a certain baker boy was working that day. My heart rattled against my ribs and I tried real hard to keep my eyes up, but as usual, chickened out last minute and all I could see was the ground. 

  Daddy walked in making the bell above the entrance chimed cheerfully; he held the door open so Mama and I could scoot into the building. We all stood just inside the door, taking a collective sigh of relief at the warmth and inviting aromas of the bakery: Yeast, sugar and freshly brewed coffee mingled in the air, welcoming.  

  “Afternoon Everdeens!” Called a deep, velvety and familiar voice from somewhere ahead. “Come on in and make yourselves at home, please!” Mister Peeta smiled, like us, walking into his family’s shop was the highlight of his day. 

  It surely was mine, of course; not that anyone would’ve been able to tell just by how gun-shy I acted, except from my parents that is. 

  They knew alright. 

  They knew all about my crush on the young baker, and at least Mama thought it was cute. Daddy wasn’t too comfortable acknowledging it, so he usually rolled his eyes at Mama about it.

  But who wouldn’t have a thing for mister Peeta, really? He was nice, polite, and handsome, with a soft looking face and bright blue eyes, always smiling, and wavy blond hair that curled under the many baseball caps he wore (currently, he donned one with the Mellark’s logo on the front.). He was also strong… or at least I figured he had to be, since he was school wrestling champion and all. I hadn’t witnessed it myself of course, mister Peeta and my folks were ancient compared to me, but I grew up hearing the stories. 

  Mama and Daddy had been high school sweethearts who’d been in the same grade as mister Rye— mister Peeta’s older brother— so they knew the Mellark brothers some. Daddy said Mr. Peeta was the pride of the town as a teenager, since he became State Wrestling champion in his senior year of high school, a full two years after my folks graduated Panem

high. 

  “How are you doing, Peeta?” Said Daddy reaching a hand over the counter to shake the baker’s.

  Mama waved and smiled, offering her own little “Hello, Peeta.” Then nudged me to do the same, and my eyes about popped out of my sockets when the baker smiled and winked one of his bright, blue eyes at me. 

   “I heard you’re leaving for Europe soon?” Asked Daddy.

  Mister Peeta smiled widely, “Yes! Got accepted to study pastistry at a prestigious school in France. I can’t wait.” His excitement was contagious.

  “That’s great, Peeta!” Interjected my mama. “I bet your folks are pleased. The bakery will boom with everything you’ll bring back with that training.” 

  Mister Peeta nodded, and though he was still smiling, he didn’t look happy. “Full scholarship ride, and I came up with my own ticket and expenses money from a year’s worth of savings. My mother is really pleased.” 

  For some reason, it didn’t sound like Mrs Mellark was truly pleased. Not for the first time, I thought adults could be so weird when they talked, not saying what they truly meant. 

  Still, Mama and Daddy offered congratulations again and I felt my stomach knot when Mister Peeta spoke again, and for once my eyes were glued to his kind face. 

  “Enough about me. Y’all came in right on time,” Mister Peeta clapped his enormous hands once, “I just pulled a tray of cheese buns out of the oven, and sat them to cool on a rack in the back. Let me go grab y’all some. I heard cheese buns are Miss Katniss’ favorites!” 

  I almost choked at that, and turned my head owlishly to glare at my parents, wondering who’d spilled my secrets behind my back to the handsomest man ever. 

  Mama was already sitting at a table; she was covering her smile behind the gloves she just pulled off her hands, while Daddy rolled his eyes slightly before sliding into the bench with Prim still wrapped around him like a baby Koala. 

  So Mama then. She tattled on me. 

  Traitor! 

  At Daddy’s behest, I came and sat next to him; Prim on his lap, and all of our coats in the space next to Mama on the opposite side of the half booth. 

  Mister Peeta came back with a tray bearing hot chocolate in white mugs engraved with ‘Mellark’s’, and a dish piled high with pastries. He placed four small plates in front of each of us, and gifted us with one more of his wide, welcoming grins. 

  “Tuck in, Everdeens! Enjoy!” The bell above the door chimed with more customers, but right before he left, mr. Peeta leaned closer to me and suggested, “Dip your bread in the chocolate. Is my favorite snack on cold days like today.” He winked again and I almost fainted.

  He truly was the handsomest man ever! 

  Mama’s smile just widened. She tried to hide it behind her cup of cocoa though, but Daddy let out a noise, like a grudgingly amused grunt of sorts. 

  “Lily,” He warned halfheartedly. 

  Mama looked up at him, wide, blue eyes innocently. “What?” She mumbled.

  “Stop teasing.” He said, sinking his straight teeth into his cheese bun. “She’s too young for crushes. Even on bakers that make amazing cookies and cheese buns. Ain’t that right, Catkin?” Daddy looked at me, arching one bushy eyebrow. 

  I scowled and turned my nose up at the lot of them before tearing chunks of my bun and dunking them in my hot chocolate. At the first bite, I had to admit, the baker was onto something! 

  “I don’t know what y’all are yapping about,” I said haughtily. 

  “There you go,” said Daddy grinning smugly at Mama, “That’s my girl!”

  Mama rolled her eyes and waved us off. “Oh well, it’s just puppy love. She’ll grow out of it soon enough, especially when he’s away in Paris and out of sight.”

  I chewed on my chocolate infused cheese bun, and my eyes lifted to watch mister Peeta bagging a customer’s order, taking payment with a grateful smile. 

  My heart drummed harshly in my chest. 

  I had no idea what the love of puppies had to do with anything, but I found it hard to believe the strange feeling of bubbles popping in my tummy would go away any time soon, even if I didn’t see the baker ever again. 

  ————————-

  My 16th birthday brought me a set of wheels, in the form of my daddy’s ancient but still reliable pick-up truck. But with the wheels, came Daddy’s caveats. 

  “Young lady, if you want to be driving around town, here are the rules,” he stated, “You gotta drive your sister to and from school. No boys—“

  “Or girls!” Interjected Mama, passing to the couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

  “Or girls,” Daddy continued glaring at Mama, “Unless Mama or I are in the truck with y’all.” 

  That one earned him a big groan from me, not that I’d planned on having friends ride with me places; after all, Gale had been driving his daddy’s old Jeep for the last two years, and Madge just got a new Volkswagen Beetle for her birthday, despite having failed her driving tests… twice! So we all had our own transportation, thank you very much. 

  “And, you are to keep the tank of the truck at least half full at all times.”

  “Alright. That’s cool—“ I started, but was swiftly interrupted. 

  “What your daddy means is, Sweet pea, you are responsible for your own gas. We won’t pay for it, unless it’s an emergency.” Said Mama delicately, her eyes shifting to Daddy’s for support, which he gave in a curt nod of his graying head.

  “Wait… what?” I stared at them in turn. “You mean I need to come up with my own gas money?” I asked just to clarify. “Even while having to chauffeur Prim around, like I’m a courtesy shuttle driver?” 

  “Lily, our daughter is a genius!” Said Daddy with his goofy dad smirk, “Haven’t I said so a million times before?”

  Mama giggled, “You sure have, Dear. Our Katniss is one bonafide genius!” 

  Truth be told, the prospect of having spending money of my own was actually exciting for me. We lived a decent life, not luxurious like the Undersee’s, or as tight as the Hawthorne’s, but comfortable enough to always have a pocketful of allowance dough; but having my actual money, without having to ask for it or justify why I needed it, was very appealing to me.

  I still groaned at my folks for their exuberance. I didn’t mind working hard; I’ve always helped Daddy doing house work around our place, and never complained about the daily chores imposed by Mama growing up; having an honest to God paying job sounded kind of… liberating. Like I was an adult, instead of a kid. 

  “You should try the shops in town,” Mama suggested. “Something close by that won’t interfere with school—“

  “Or archery club—“ Father chimed in.

  “Or soccer.” Said Prim crossing the room out of nowhere and plopping on the couch next to Mama, to munch on her popcorn. The demand was for her, since I didn’t play the sport. “I can’t miss practice. Rue would have a fit if I get kicked out.”

  “Fine! I’ll go ask around town if anyone needs help.” I made a show of rolling my eyes and shrugging, but inside, my blood quickened with the excitement of my impending job hunt.

  Twenty eight hours later, I was stumbling out of the Sweet’s store in town square, walking backwards and grinning like a lunatic. 

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Donner! Really. You won’t regret it! Thank you again!” I gushed and barely repressed a squeal of excitement, “I’ll see you Monday. Bye!” 

  I had to grab on to the frame of the open door, not to fall on my bottom like an uncoordinated noodle when I tripped on my own feet, and finally pulled myself away from the store front. I turned on my heel and practically skipped down the sidewalk, giggling non-stop. I managed to reel it in and climbed on my truck before pumping the air with my fists in a tiny victory dance. 

  Everything was coming up Katniss, and my spirits soared high! 

  I got myself a job, and while it wasn’t my first option— Mr. Mellark said his bakery was fully staffed at the time— I had effectively secured myself a source of gas money, which was my main concern and the literal driving force behind my job hunt. I counted as a perk, the fact that Mellark’s Bakery was sitting across the square from the Sweet Shop and I was granted an unobstructed view of the front room of the bakery from behind my counter, because watching the Mellark men working was just inspiring. And I meant that in a non creepy way… hopefully.

  I tried not to be as obvious with my crush on Mr. Peeta, but I wasn’t deaf and his mama— dubbed The Witch, by the town youngsters— enjoyed bragging loudly about her successful business, and a good chunk of that came from Peeta’s success as a baker. I pretty much knew anything a nosy sixteen year old girl could know about a guy twenty years her senior, hoarding all kinds of gossip about him like a dragon hoards gold.

  Being only a few years younger than my own father, Mister Peeta graduated from Panem U when I was a toddler. He earned a business degree he’d really never used; then, he went to Paris-France for almost three years, and trained with the best chefs in the pastry business, returning to our small town to open up his own high end patisserie, but since the economy had taken a dive those days and his shop was so new and fancy, he was forced to close up and take over the cakes and pastry side of Mellark’s, until things stabilized for new businesses. Sadly, he never ventured back on his own, which was a downright shame, because the man was a culinary genius and so artistic at that. 

  Currently, he worked weekend’s at Mellark’s while teaching at the Pastry school in Capitol City… not that I was keeping tabs on the man or anything. 

  I was just observant that way… 

  Sort of. 

  Mrs. Mellark liked to boast about things she had no hand in doing, like her youngest son’s accomplishments and success abroad and locally, but she was also a ruthless disparager who couldn’t care less when and where she criticized her sons or husband when something didn’t go her way. The Witch was always going on and on about Mr. Peeta going to France and becoming an expert cake decorator, and teaching pastrity at some hoity-toity culinary school in Capitol City, as if she herself had done it for him, and in the next breath she’d be groaning about how much of an inconvenience to her it was he went overseas for the training. The woman was a hag, but I couldn’t help people in town were so gossipy and when she started with the stories. I just perked up my ears and gobbled up all the information she was sharing. 

  Anyway, my mama’s prediction about my infatuation with Mr. Peeta ending, kind of flopped. The crushed endured all the years between his absence to Europe and his return; it was still going strong even at age sixteen, but I had learned to pine discreetly, surreptitiously sneaking peeks at mister Peeta from a distance and daydream about scenarios where the handsome baker finally noticed me, and we fell madly in love with each other and lived happily ever after in a marzipan house, eating all kinds of bread and cake without ever gaining an ounce of weight… Also, in those scenarios, Mr. Peeta was like ten years younger, and nobody batted an eye at us being together. 

  Of course, I wasn’t delusional. I knew nothing like it would ever happen; after all, Mr. Peeta was nineteen years older than me and devoted to his craft. But dreaming was free, and as long as the fantasies stayed locked in my head, I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself.

  ————————

  My first Saturday morning working at the Candy shop, I parked in the public parking lot, diagonal to the town square, before opening time. The lot was built adyacente to a few city offices to accommodate anyone running errands downtown, like paying their license tags, filing taxes, getting permits of miscellaneous natures, or simply taking a stroll around the square at dusk, licking on a frozen treat from the ice cream parlor or having dinner at the pizza place. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to park there if one worked in one of the mom-and-pop shops littering the picturesque merchant center of Panem. 

  I could’ve used the designated parking spaces on the road behind the sweets store, but there was a humongous dumpster next to ours, and Ms. Donner hadn’t given me a key to the back door yet, so even if the threadbare upholstery of my truck wasn’t threatening to absorb the stench of the whole neighborhood’s trash, there wasn’t any benefit to me parking there. 

  I yawned dispassionately tossing my keys in the new purse Prim gave me when I announced I’d found a job, because according to her, I was now a grown-up and needed a proper purse instead of my ratty messenger bag, that honestly had seen better days. I swept the bag off the bench and slammed the door shut without bothering to lock it. There was nothing in the cab worth stealing; everyone knew me and my folks, we were just another run of the mill middle class family, without any wealth to our names. 

  “Ouch!” A velvety, deep voice spoke from a little ways over, and my whole body went rigidly straight. “Shouldn’t treat your steed so harshly, Hunter. I don’t think old Francine appreciates it.” 

  I turned on my heels and peered at Mr. Peeta trying to keep myself from screeching in a panic or something equally embarrassing. 

  The man was just straightening up from retrieving a chef jacket from the back seat of what I surmised was his car, and lifted his gaze in my direction with a slight smirk on his lips that quickly fell off, giving way to a confused expression, as his bright, blue eyes fixed on mine. “You ain’t Hunter,” he mumbled, squinting a little.

  To his credit, it had been a while since he saw me last, despite me keeping tabs on him and stealing glances when I could. He had no reason to seek me out or anything, plus he was a busy man, always in the back room of the bakery working his pastillage gifts. Then again… ‘Francine’— my daddy’s former ‘89 F150– was like forever linked to Hunter Everdeen’s persona or something.

  “Katniss?” Mr. Peeta frowned, like fog was slowly lifting from his mind and vague recognition finally set in, making my heart lurch and beat unbearably fast. 

  I nodded mutely, but soon I answered a spastic, “Morning, mister Peeta. How do you do?” My mama hadn’t drilled sixteen years worth of relentless Southern hospitality for me to stay silent for long. I hesitated a second and trudged along without giving him a chance to respond, scowling at the ground, “Francine, she’s sturdy,” I chance a glance at his face, “But you’re right, she’s too old to be treated poorly. I’ll make sure to be gentler with her in the future.”

  Mr. Peeta arched his eyebrows, as if surprised by my mere voice. He tugged the collar of his plain white t-shirt, and then huffed a chuckle. 

  “Little Miss Katniss is driving now,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. He eyed me curiously, “Well, I guess you’re not little anymore. But wow! What a way to humble a man about his old age.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, making me shift in place in mild arousal.

  He draped his chef’s shirt over his forearm and closed his car door softly. “I have no words to describe how I feel, discovering young Katniss Everdeen is old enough to drive Francine,” He tsked at his boots, but his smile made his eyes crinkle in the corners. “End of an era… for me at least. Beginning of a new one for you, I supposed.” He smiled self deprecatingly. 

  My face burned and my chest tightened at his words, not sure if I felt elation or embarrassment. 

  “Oh… you ain’t old, sir.” I waved him off, still scowling for no good reason. 

  Mr. Peeta laughed. “You’re too kind, Miss Katniss, but my I.D. disagrees. Plus, knowing you’re old enough to drive is a sobering thought.” He smiled kindly again. 

  “I turned sixteen a week and a half ago. Daddy gave me the truck for passing my driving test.” I volunteered without prompting.

  “Neat! Spring baby, then. Makes sense. Suits you.” Mr. Peeta smiled, and I got incredibly shy, excited and happy at his short words.

  “Yeah, May 8th.” I offered softly, “That’s me. Spring baby.” 

  “As I said, it suits you. I’m a wintry kid myself, so I try to be extra warm to counteract any cold disposition I might have.” He said, checking his watch. 

  I panicked slightly; I knew time was closing in, and I’d be dismissed soon, so I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. “What brings you out here so early on a Saturday morning, anyway?”

  Mr. Peeta cocked his head sideways and glanced at me curiously. “Work.” He said in an amused, lilting tone. He lifted his arm to point at his chef uniform laid neatly folded. 

  I clamped my mouth immediately, to prevent any other ‘brilliant’ questions might escape. 

  Mr. Peeta smirked, probably realizing what a dork I was. “How about you? It’s awfully early for a kid to be downtown.” His face took a distant quality for his next words. “When I was your age, my mother would beat me out of bed for my Saturday shifts at the bakery… all I wanted to do was lay in bed until noon, you know. But, baker’s hours aren’t exactly flexible.” 

  My whole face twisted at that tidbit of information. I couldn’t read his emotion about his comment, which bothered me somehow. I started talking just because I disliked the way his face turned blank. 

  “I’m a morning person myself.” I shrugged. But my folks made me get a job so I could finance my gas addiction,” I was smuggly pleased when the baker started laughing heartily at my silly joke. It felt nice, knowing I said something he found funny. “Anyway, I’m working too. At Ms. Donner’s shop.”

  “Nice! Good taffy. Did old Maysilee offer to pay you in candy? I swear she did that to my brother, Bannock, one summer he decided to give another shop a try. ” He said conversationally, activating the alarm of his car. 

  “Oh, gosh!” I laughed, “No, she offered to give me a check every two weeks.” Then I looked at him dead in the eye, “Now the Christmas bonuses, those are in candy.” 

  We both laughed at that 

  Mr. Peeta nodded. “Well, Miss Katniss, I won’t keep you much longer, but if you need anything… a cheese bun for example,” He winked, putting my heart a flutter again, “Don’t hesitate to come in!” 

  With that, he started walking towards the narrow street behind the row of shops, no doubt heading to the back door of the bakery. 

  “Bye, Mister Peeta!” I croaked out belatedly. 

  Peeta waved over his shoulder. 

  All I could think after the encounter was how wrong my parents had been about my “puppy love” being a passing crush. 

……………………………..

Josh Hurcherson starred in Bridge to Terabithia, which came out in February of 2007. To this day, I can’t watch that movie without bawling my eyes out. Everyone should see it!

[stars-a-n-d-scars]

Mischief Managed.

Hey guys. So I know this story has been a bit of a mess with me posting it in parts, so I’ve decided to just put it all in one super-long post. Hope you like it!

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Part 1

“Are you ready?”

Sirius grinned at James’ question, his grey eyes sparkling.

It was the last day. The last day they would ever spend as Hogwarts students. Graduation was over and done with, and the after-party had lasted a week and a half (in true Gryffindor fashion). Everyone had been suspended in a constant state of elation and bliss. Drinking, dancing and singing ‘till their voices were sore. But when the alcohol dried up and the music faded, they were back where they’d always been. Sirius, Remus, Peter and James, each sitting on their four-poster bed in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory. Oh, the times they’d had in this room. The years and years of spin the bottle, raucous laughter and drunken dancing spent with friends. The mental breakdowns, whispered comforts and hushed confessions.

Sirius looked around at the people beside him.

James, with his crooked glasses and messy hair. His brother. His hilarious, insane, loving (if not slightly tactless) brother. Sirius still remembered the moment they met. The black haired boy had just stepped through the barrier to platform 9 and 3/4 on the 1st of September his first year, when he bumped straight into James and sent his belongings flying everywhere. They’d both apologized, bending down hastily to pick up the items that were now strewn in the thoroughfare. Unfortunately, an occurrence of the same idea in both the boys’ minds at the exact same time led to a bumping of heads, that in turn led to both of them lying flat on the ground having made more of a mess than there was before. James and Sirius avoided each other for a second, both extremely embarrassed, but then they locked eyes and an uncontrollable fit of laughter overtook the both of them. This ended up with the two first years rolling around on the platform in hysterics yet again, completely oblivious to the judgmental looks they were receiving from other station-goers (and a particularly green set of rolled eyes from a pretty little red-haired witch). And from that moment on, James Potter and Sirius Black were inseparable.

A crunch brought Sirius out of his reverie. The source of the noise was, of course, Peter. That tiny little fellow who’d always been the most reliable of all the friends. He would never break a promise, that was for sure. Wherever his loyalties lay was where they would stay. The hundreds of pickles he’d gotten them out of with an early warning fro his designated position as the map-watcher (as the most attentive and observant of the four, it always made sense for Peter to be on lookout as the others got up to their usual antics) or with a particularly convincing dizzy spell. The fact that he was constantly hungry made him even more endearing, Sirius thought. He couldn’t help but be filled with pride and joy for his friend, when he looked at the man that mousy little first year boy he met on the train had become.

Finally, Sirius’ gaze landed on Remus. 7 years. 7 years and that boy never failed to make his heart skip a beat. He raised his amber eyes to meet Sirius’, and a gentle smile spread across his face. To the untrained eye, it would seem like an innocent grin of bliss. But Sirius knew his boyfriend too well to be fooled. It was a smile of sadness. Hogwarts was the only place Remus had ever felt accepted, had ever felt at home. And now they were leaving. Leaving the astronomy tower, where they’d had their first kiss, leaving the charms corridor where they’d pulled their first prank, leaving the Great Hall where they’d come out together. But Sirius knew that no matter where they were, those moments would always be with them. Even if a million miles separated them, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black would always have that.

As his eyes were drawn to where Remus was fiddling with the edge of his enormous sweater (which, by the way, Sirius had totally never stolen to sleep with when he was feeling lonely), he just couldn’t stop himself from standing up and planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. Then, sliding his hand into the other boy - no, man’s, he stood to face James and his question.

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, he replied.

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Part 2

The four boys stood outside Filch’s office. They had spent weeks discussing whether or not to do what they were about to do, but they knew it was right. Filch was busy helping the house-elves move the trunks onto the Hogwarts Express, so they knew they had his office to themselves for at least another hour.

“Alohomora.”

Together, the Marauders took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The room was as it always had been. Shackles on the wall from Filch’s days as a torturer, filing cabinets against the wall. A single framed picture of Mrs Norris sat on his desk next to a vase of dried up flowers and a small vial of what looked suspiciously like veritaserum.

The four Gryffindors had probably spent more time in this office over the years than any of their classes combined (although Remus had always managed to get away with things that the others never could). Sirius’ mind was suddenly flooded with memories so vibrant that, for a second, he thought he might have time travelled.

It was 1st year. Remus, James, Peter and Sirius had just finished their first Charms class and were stowing their books in their bags and chatting about how they think they went when the distinct noise of a cleared throat interrupted their discussion. “Boys, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurry to lunch before they run out of ham sandwiches. If you could please lock up the classroom when you leave, I would appreciate it.” That was Flitwick’s first mistake. His second was mistaking the identical grins on Sirius and James’ faces for ones of consent rather than mischief. The second he left the room, the boys began plotting.

“I say we put itching powder in his hat,” James suggested, but that idea was quickly shot down by several choruses of “I guess…”, “It’s a little unoriginal” and, of course, “BORING” (you can guess which one was Sirius). The next idea they generated involved a large number of items that were both unobtainable at that moment and probably highly illegal, so that one was dismissed too. However, as they say, this time’s a charm. Peter went and stood outside the door to signal in case anyone turned up, and James and Sirius got to work on the textbooks in the cupboard. Soon enough, each and every one had been transfigured into copies of “9 foolproof ways to a witch’s heart” (although they still looked like The Standard Book of Spells Grade 1 on the outside). Thank Merlin for McGonagall’s belief that they should start with the hard stuff and work backwards. Meanwhile, Remus had set to work on the chalk. After a solid 10 minutes of experimenting, he managed to make it so that it would only write out phrases like “Happy wife, happy life” and “Actions speak louder than words”. It would also produce a pink love heart-shaped bubble with every word written. Satisfied with their handiwork, the boys moved to leave just as Peter poked his head around the door to tell them that lunch was almost over. Another 5 minutes spent waiting outside the Charms classroom and they were starting to regret their decision to skip eating, because they were all starving. Peter even swore to always carry a snack with him from then on. But their regret was banished the second they heard the first signs of laughter emanating from inside the classroom. A few more minutes of chuckling passed and the boys congratulated each other on a prank well done, but perhaps a little too soon. Slowly but surely, the laughter died out and turned to yells as students started piling out of the door. Confused, Sirius turned to Remus for an explanation, and was met with a look of horror.

“There is a slight chance those bubbles won’t pop,” was all he needed to say. The rest was understood when the last student out of the door was followed by a tidal wave on bouncing pink hearts. The boys looked at each other in silence for a second, before they all burst out laughing. They laughed ‘till their sides split and they couldn’t breathe. And then, a sharp voice brought them out of their hilarity with a snap.

“I suppose this was your doing?” Minerva McGonagall asked, a sceptical look on her face. The boys tried to deny any involvement, but soon enough learned that it was really quite tricky too keep a poker face when you have Minerva McGonagall staring you down. After they admitted responsibility, she sighed and shook her head. “Detention. You’ll be at my office at 5 o’clock tonight or there will be consequences.” And then she did something unexpected. She smiled. “You boys really are quite the marauders, aren’t you?” She chuckled and then turned on her heel and walked off.

“Marauders. I like that,” said James. And the rest is history.

Sirius pulled himself back to the present, if unwillingly. Things were different now. They weren’t those kids anymore. There was a war on, and they were about to become a part of it. The realisation of just what they were leaving behind hit Sirius even harder when Remus reached into his pocket and put the Marauder’s Map on the table. Sirius knew they had all agreed it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He turned away as he heard Remus muttering over the map in Latin. After about 5 minutes, Remus stood up and announced he was done.

“What exactly did you do?” Peter asked, his mouth full as ever.

“Well, remember when I got you guys to cast spells on the map when we were making it so that it would insult anyone who tried to open it incorrectly in ways that we would? It was a spell like the one that the founders used on the Sorting Hat. They copied parts of their personalities into the object so that it would know what they would have wanted. I’ve just extended the spell a bit, so that the map will hide itself right here on Filch’s desk until it’s approached by someone who it thinks we would deem worthy to be the next Marauder”, Remus answered.

“You’re a fucking genius, you know, that right?” Sirius breathed, kissing his boyfriend.

“I know”, came the reply.

“Wait – but won’t Filch be able to feel it, even if he can’t see it?” asked James.

“No. Unless whoever is touching it is someone we think is fit to carry on our legacy, it won’t exist.”

The boys stood in silence for a minute. This was it. 7 years of education, pranks and friendship, all poured into that old piece of parchment. Finally, Sirius broke the silence.

“So what do we do to activate the spell?”

Remus smiled that sad smile again. “Its simple. We just need to tap the parchment and say ‘Mischief Managed’”.

A sudden exclamation came from James. “Oh, that’s fucking fine! I didn’t need my heart anyway. What’re you trying to do to me Lupin?”

They laughed. And then they stepped forwards and placed their wands on the parchment.

Together the Marauders opened their mouths and said, for the last time “Mischief Managed”.

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Epilogue

Remus, Sirius, Peter and James walked out to join the others at the Hogwarts Express. Everyone was waiting around to board, and the 7th year Gryffindors were standing near the back, surveying the scene. The marauders joined their friends and stood facing their future.

As the sun set, eight silhouettes were framed against the darkening sky.

James, with his arm around Lily, watching the reflection of the sky in her eyes.

Peter, deep in discussion with Mary about the war.

Marlene, crying silently into her girlfriend Dorcas’ shoulder.

And Remus, his arm around Sirius’ shoulder.

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The Marauders was always more than just the four Gryffindor boys of the 70s. They were all Marauders. And, in the end, so were we.

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Guys, I really hope you liked this! Personally I loved writing it, it started as an idea that Filch never took the map they planted it for the next generation to find and turned into this huge 2000 word story. I guess words fly when you’re writing (if that makes any sense). 

Anyway, have a wonderful day and I wish you all good things!

- Mia  💜

[smilexcaptainx]

Across The Hallway | One

CAST LIST

If you are interested in being tagged in “Across The Hallway” ask here! 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!OC

Summary: When Avery Callaghan moves in across the hall from Peter Parker, they find each other repulsive and are constantly at each other’s throats. Neighbors is what they start out as, but when it turns out that Avery is also part of the ‘‘Stark Internship’‘ he now has to compete with the girl from across the hallway.

A/N: Chapter One has arrived! I hope you enjoy♥ | i do not own this gif, credit goes to the owner

Warning(s): Fluff, Swearing

Word Count: 1.9K

 Little hairs were sticking out of her hair, indicating the hard work that she had just gone through. As she released an exhausted breath of air, she noticed her older brother, Jason, struggle with the enormous, hefty box as he came tottering through the door. Avery blew a strand of her blonde hair out of her eyes and sprinted up to Jason.

‘’No..Sis…I got this…’’ jason breathed shakily. Avery scoffed in disbelief as her ocean blue eyes observed the unsteadiness her brother was currently going through. Avery walked over to the open door and closed it shut. She turned to see how Jason was doing. Jason was still striving to get the gigantic box to the living room. ‘’I just need…to get this ov…’’

 Jason couldn’t finish his sentence and he had given up. He released all of his stress and plopped the box straight onto the ground. Avery winced in result of the sound of glass shattering inside of the box. It was the box of glass bowls and plates.

‘’Shoot.’’ jason huffed, placing his hands on his hips. “I guess that means we’re going to need to use our paper plates instead.’’

‘’Yay...’’ avery cheered non-enthusiastically. ‘’I’m dying of hunger, where’s the box with the candy.’’

 Jason pointed in response while walking over to the couch where he was planning to catch a few Z’s. The elevator had broken which meant that the two siblings had to carry all of their stuff upstairs, using the actual…stairs. It wasn’t pleasant, nor was it easy, but now that they were finally in their apartment room, all they could think of was sleep.

 Avery shoved her hand into the box of candy and grabbed whatever she could get her hands on. She gripped onto the random bag of candy and pulled it out. It was M&M’s. A grin appeared on her lips, M&M’s was her favorite candy. She closed the box back up and walked into the kitchen. She lifted herself on top of the counter.

 She carefully opened the bag, trying not to make the bag explode open. She poured a handful of M&M’s into the palm of her hand and tossed them into her mouth. She moaned in satisfaction when the sweet taste of the chocolate melted inside of her mouth. A loud knock soon came to their apartment door, alerting both of them.

 Jason was laid on the couch, his head buried in a pillow on the couch. Jason let out a loud groan, expressing the fact that he was too lazy to answer it. Avery didn’t want to answer it because she wasn’t the kind to making new friends and meeting new people. She thought that if she just ignored it, they would go away.

 She was proven wrong when the same exact knock banged against the door. In annoyance, she bounded off of the top of the counter. On the way to the door, she threw another handful of M&M’s into her mouth. As she chewed on the delicious candy, she opened up the door, revealing an middle aged woman with a teenage boy beside her.

 The first thing she noticed about the boy was his attire. It was completely nerdy. Avery didn’t get along with nerds. She despised them. They were too weird for her liking. The longer she stared at the unfashionable weirdo, the look he was giving her didn’t look too pleasant either. Her eyes swung over to the mother-looking figure beside him. She was giving Avery a wide smile.

 The only thing that looked semi-interesting about the two strangers standing in front of her, was that the older lady was holding a plate of brownies. And brownies was something that Avery and Jason loved to eat. Avery leaned against the doorway and folded her arms, inhaling a big breath of air. When she exhaled, the older lady began to speak.

‘’Hello neighbor!’’ she greeted loudly. Avery’s ears had begun to ring from the volume of her voice. “We just wanted to welcome you into this building. My name is May and this is my nephew Peter,’’ Avery’s eyes shifted over back to the boy. He gave her a small smile. ‘’anyways, we’re just right across the hallway if you ever need us. We’re always here if you–’’

‘’Yeah yeah, we’ll call you whenever,’’ avery recalled. She’s heard it all before. Avery snapped her eyes at the brownies. She didn’t wait for May to give them to her and she swiped them right out of her hands. Peter exclaimed an unhappy ‘’Hey!’’ as Avery stepped back and put her hand on the door. ‘’Bye.’’

 Avery had caught a glimpse of a pissed off teenage boy before the door had slammed all the way shut. Avery snorted to herself in amusement. He looked funny. And the fact that his name was Peter had made it even funnier. Avery found that name as nerdy as his outfit. Avery could overhear his voice as he vented out to aunt outside her door.

‘’She just stole your brownies Aunt May!’’ peter squeaked angrily. ‘’And worst of all she didn’t even say thank you!’’

‘’It’s okay Peter, the brownies were meant for her in the first place. And I’m sure she’s very thankful for them.’’ his aunt responded in a completely calm matter. Avery wanted to laugh out loud. She just wanted the brownies because it was free food! ‘’And if she’s not going to eat them, I’m sure her parents or siblings will.’’

 Avery grimaced as the “P” word went through her ears. Avery didn’t have parents. Both of them died in a car accident. The entire family was in the car, Avery, Jason her parents. When the car wreck happened, the only two who made it out alive was Avery and Jason. Jason being eighteen years old was able to live with Avery alone, but where they lived before wouldn’t allow an eighteen year old to live alone with a fifteen year old, family or not.

 That was the reason Avery and Jason had to move. The thing is, she has to pretend her parents are still alive if she wants to stay in the apartment. The day of her parents death was coming up soon, it was a few days away. The other reason for the move was because Avery works for Tony Stark. Jason is unaware of the fact that she fights crime.

 Avery calls it the ‘’Stark Internship’’ to Jason whenever she talks about her job. Although it sounds sort of boring, she loves kicking the ass of bad guys. She has never had a partner though, which was the main reason of her independent fighting. She’s amazing fighting alone.

‘’Who was it Avery?’’ jason wailed from the couch. ‘’Did we get food?’’

‘’Yeah, just a visit from an aunt and her nephew,’’ avery responded, walking to the living room. ‘’she made us brownies, let’s dig it, shall we?’’

 Jason sat up from the cough and nodded replying with a plain ‘’Yes we shall.’’ The two dug into the brownies and enjoyed every bite. Avery had to admit, the Aunt didn’t have too bad of cooking skills.

—

“Have fun on your first day, alright?” jason said, giving his little sister a tight side hug. ‘’Don’t get in too much trouble without me.’’

 Avery nodded. Jason gave her a small kiss on the top of her head and than sent her out of the door. Avery adjusted the hat on top of her head and also her brand new back pack. Avery felt pretty confident on her look today. She had a plaid shirt tied around her waist with a Def Leppard concert crop top and ripped black jeans.

 The elevator had gotten fixed last night so that was how she was going to get to school. There was a train that she was supposed to take to get to Midtown High School. She hated trains because they were cramped and filled with sweaty people. It was the only way she could get to school though, so she was sort of stuck with the train.

 The elevator opened and she stepped inside. As the elevator was beginning to shut, she caught the nerdy boy frantically running up towards the elevator, calling out for her to keep it open. Avery rolled her eyes and lowered her head, making sure that the hat covered up her appearance. Right when Avery thought that Peter wasn’t going to make it, his hand stopped the door before shutting all the way.

 Avery breathed a tiny ‘’Dang it!’’ to herself as Peter stepped inside with her. He saw that she was going to the same floor and left it. The elevator door shut and the awkwardness began. Avery stayed silent. She was surprised that he hadn’t recognized that it was the girl who ‘’stole’’ his Aunt’s brownies.

 Peter’s breathing was the only thing audible, along with the soothing elevator music. Peter glanced over at Avery and his eyes went wide when he saw her Dep Leppard shirt.

‘’Ulch, that’s a terrible band,’’ peter commented out loud. Avery shot her eyes up. “they suck at singing. They wouldn’t know talent if it hit them in the face.’’

‘’Did I ask for your opinion?’’ avery asked, snapped her eyes at Peter. ‘’Because last time I checked, I didn’t.’’

Peter’s dirt brown eyes enlarged. ‘’I-It’s you!’’ he squeaked, pointing at her. ‘’You’re the rude girl who moved across from me and my Aunt! The one who stole my Aunt’s brownies!’’

‘’Oh get over it moron,’’ avery scoffed in exasperation. ‘’the brownies were meant for me in the first place anyways!’’

‘’You didn’t even bother to say thank you!’’

‘’You say that like it’s a sin.’’

‘’It is!’’ peter declared angrily. ‘’My Aunt May stayed up for two hours last night making those brownies!’’

‘’Oh boo freaking hoo.’’ she retorted in fake sadness. ‘’The brownies tasted like dirt anyways.’’

 That was a lie, but Avery loved that her snotty responses pissed Peter off even more. Peter stomped up to the pad with all the floors and slammed his hand on the emergency stop. Avery clenched onto the bars of the elevator as it came to a complete stop. She held her breath as she realized what he had just done.

‘’Are you out of your damn mind dude!!’’ avery spat in anger. ‘’Why the in the hell did you just do that?!’’

“Because I’ve got some words for you!’’ peter shouted, pointing his finger at her in accusation. ‘’And I want you to hear every single one.’’

 Peter walked closer to Avery. His face was inches away, his nose practically touching hers. Avery snorted, which confused Peter and drew him away. Avery had a smug smile spread across her lips. Peter lifted his eyebrows in confusion and anger.

‘’W-What are you snickering about?’’

‘’You’re adorable,’’ avery laughed, causing more rage for Peter. ‘’I know you like me. You think I’m cute, don’t you?’’

‘’What?!’’ peter exclaimed, his voice cracking in the process. ‘’I-I don’t think that!’’

‘’You’re tomato red face says otherwise, buddy.’’

‘’I-I-You’re..I–’’

‘’Can’t find the words? Here, let me help you,’’ avery straightened her posture. ‘’it’s never going to happen, nerd.’’

 Peter had completely lost it. He couldn’t believe how much of a jerk she was being. Peter didn’t want to continue the argument and just pressed the button which made the elevator start up again. Avery mentally patted herself on the back in pride. As the elevator continued, Peter stayed silent. Her watch suddenly began to beep rapidly.

 Her eyes snapped at her watch. It was Tony.

* * *

What did you think of this chapter?

Should I make a Chapter Two??

If you are interested in being tagged in “Across The Hallway” ask here!

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Campaign - Part 1

So, uh... some of you may remember me. I’m going to try to track down some old friends a little later on.

I have some stories I want to finish. This one, because people really enjoyed it. Some others will come later. I can get this one up because the amazing @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside kept some of my stuff and got it to me. I should have more up in the next few days, and then will work on new material.

So that being said... let’s return to the ‘80s with Elsa and Anna. I’m putting this up before I lose my nerve. 

The story is set in 1985.

Rated: T

The clouds were rolling in by mid-afternoon, and Anna let the other girls leave at four. She stayed until four-thirty, just in case someone came in wanting batteries or bottled water or a spare electric blanket, then taped the sign to the door: CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER. This was going to be a bad one, the news had said the night before. And her father - with her mother in Key West for the one vacation they took each year - had called her at lunchtime: “Use your judgement. If it looks bad, go ahead and close up.”

The sky was low and heavy and dark as she checked the locks, her hands clumsy in thick mittens, and the wind was already whipping up something fierce. She pulled her hat more snugly over her ears, tucked her scarf into her coat. It was going to be a long walk home.

She had no one to blame but herself - she’d been putting off getting a driver’s license for over two years - but that didn’t make the distance any shorter. There was nothing to it but to get going. She shoved the keys in her purse and her hands in her pockets, and started out.

The small, neat town of Arendelle was already battened down and silent, save for the wind lashing at bare branches and streetlights; schools had let out for Christmas break the week before. She saw one of Sheriff Weselton’s deputies cruise by as she reached the edge of Market Street, but otherwise, she might as well have been the only soul left on earth, like in those creepy magazines Elsa had liked when they were kids - Weird Tales, stuff like that.

The sky was spitting snow - thick, heavy flakes - by the time she left Applewood for CR1113 - the road that would take her home, but not for another mile and a half. Hunched and buffeted as she was, she didn’t hear the car until it was almost on top of her. She stepped to the side to let it pass - she’d been walking down this narrow country road all her life - but instead, it rolled to a smooth stop, and a moment later, the passenger door was pushed open from within.

“Looks like you could use a ride.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t recognize the car - nobody in a town like Arendelle drove a Mercedes; of that she was certain. She squinted at the dark exterior - and finally made out the face she had first seen only two days before. “Oh! Mr… Mr. Westerguard, right?”

He smiled - he had a friendly, open face. “Right, but Hans is fine. Can I give you a ride home?”

“Oh, uh, if… if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He patted the smooth leather of the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

The inside of the car was deliciously warm, and it smelled of cologne and clean leather. She pulled her mittens off to hold her hands to a heater vent. “I didn’t know you were still in town. Mom and Dad are on vacation.”

He turned smoothly around a curve, then another. “I have a couple more meetings. They were postponed until after the storm. I’m stuck here a few more days.”

“Lucky for me,” Anna said, and he flashed her another smile. The Westerguards ran an enormous wholesale business - her father had been excited about a potential partnership, especially because of the new mall going up on the other side of town. She had been briefly introduced to young Hans Westerguard when he had come by the store for his appointment with her parents, but her only real impression had been whoa. “But… what are you doing out here?”

“Following you,” he said, but his tone was so guileless she laughed. “I was trying to find someplace to get some food - not a burger - before the storm hit. And I thought I recognized you.”

“It’s the hair, isnt’ it?”

He laughed. “It does stand out.”

She made a face. “Eddie Lang got everyone calling me “carrot-head” in first grade. Until I punched him in the nose.”

“I like it. And I promise not to even compare you to a carrot, Miss Agdarsson.”

She looked away quickly then, out the window, feeling the flush rising in her cheeks. “Anna,” she said softly. “You can, uh… you can call me Anna.”

“Anna,” he said - as if trying out the sound. His voice was very rich, she thought. “Your parents talked about you a lot - your dad says you have a good head for business.”

“He did?” Genuine surprise - she had always felt like the family afterthought; everything had always been Elsa-Elsa-Elsa: Elsa’s so smart. Elsa’s got to get ready for college. And since last spring, Elsa’s just having a tough time right now.

“He did!” Hans had such a warm, easy smile. And - she risked a glance; he was watching the road - really gorgeous green eyes. She liked his hair, too, the way it was just long enough in the back to touch his collar - a tiny hint of rebellion. “He said he can always count on you to keep everything straight, and all the customers love you.”

She waved a hand of dismissal, despite the warm pleasure settling all around her. “Oh, they’ve just known me for, like, forever. They just see this way cute little girl, not now-me.”

He looked over at her for a long, hushed moment - she felt her breath catch - his eyes making slow, intent way around her face. “Not little,” he finally said, turning back to the road. “But definitely way cute.”

It didn’t happen often, but it happened now - Anna was left speechless. She looked away again, because her face was likely the same color as her hair. Boys at school had seemed to like her well enough, and she’d liked some of them back - she’d broken up with Logan after eight months back in June, when he joined the Navy and left Arendelle - but it wasn’t anything like whatever was happening here. Hans was not only from outside Arendelle, he was also older than her. A real adult. Anna was 18, a high school graduate, but she usually still felt like still just a way-cute little girl.

She bit her lip, and watched the cold world pass by.

“Any turns I need to make?” he asked after a minute or two. He sounded casual and natural, not at all self-conscious at what he had just said.

“Oh, uh… no. No, just us at the end. My dad says he gets enough forced small talk at the store, he wants his privacy at home. My mom’s the social one - like me, I guess. I’ve thought about getting an apartment downtown, but there aren’t very many of them, and they’re pretty expensive.”

“Bet it seems worth it, on days like today, huh?”

She laughed. “Totally. Just around this bend, you’ll see the house.”

The house in question, even she had to admit after a lifetime of resenting its remote location, was beautiful - a baroque Victorian confection of pastel blues and whites, gingerbread molding and turrets and peaked roofs. She was, then, not surprised by Hans’ “Wow.”

“Home sweet home,” Anna said. “Will you come inside for a drink or something? Since you drove all the way out here just for me..”

“Sure.” He pulled the car in to park next to her parents’ Volvo. They had gotten a taxi to the airport, despite neither Anna nor Elsa driving.

“Do you have a large family?” he asked as they stood in the cold while she dug through her purse for her keys. Elsa might answer if she rang the bell - but she just as likely would not. “Your parents only mentioned you and a sister.”

“Yeah, it’s just the four of us - a-ha!” She twisted the key hard; the lock was always stiff in winter. “My parents, my sister Elsa, and me.” She held the door for him to step first into the warm foyer; he nodded thanks.

“I should admit, that makes me envious,” he said. “I would have loved a small, close family.”

“Yours is big?” He wore only a fine leather jacket, which he hung in the little closet as she peeled off hat, scarf, mittens, parka, and snow boots.

“Twelve older brothers,” he said, and paused as she let that sink in, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open.

“No way.”

He grinned, unsurprised. “Way.”

“Seriously? That’s insane. The kitchen’s just through here. Coke? Coffee? We may have orange juice…”

“Water’s fine.” She got a Tab for herself - her mother refused to buy Diet Coke, so Anna had to make do - and joined him at the table. “Thanks.”

She put her weight on her elbows, learned closer to him. He had a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “You’re kidding, right? Twelve brothers?”

“Totally serious. Caleb’s so old he hates rock-and-roll.”

“Get real!”

He was smiling, enjoying this. “Want all their names? Sometimes, I can remember them all.”

“That’s crazy. And you’re the youngest?”

“By almost three years. I was an… unplanned final surprise.”

Anna shook her head, trying to imagine a life with that many Elsas. Though honestly, she thought, it might not be all that different: twelve closed, locked doors instead of just one. “I’m youngest, too,” she said. “It kind of sucks.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Not close to your sister?”

“Not, uh… not anymore.” Smooth, Anna. She’d been too eager to keep the conversation going to stop and consider what dangerous waters she was treading into. “We kind of grew apart, I guess.”

His expression, now, was all sympathy - and, to her pleasant surprise, despite the niggle of discomfort in her midsection at talk of Elsa, his hands reached across the table to wrap around one of hers. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His fingers were cool and damp from the water glass.

Anna swallowed hard - something was happening fast, and she wasn’t even sure what it was. She shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s… that’s life, I guess.”

“Is it just you here until your parents get back? This storm sounds like it could be a bad one.”

“Oh, Elsa’s here, too. She’s just holed up in her room upstairs.” Like she always is.

Anna knew Elsa had always been a little… different. Quiet and shy, Elsa struggled with making friends, with doing anything to make herself less conspicuous as a target of torment and bullying. It only got worse with the coming of adolescence - Anna suspected Elsa was oblivious, but no one else was: Elsa was beautiful. Blue eyes, all that white-blonde hair, a slender, graceful build - and she still kept her nose buried in physics textbooks and graph paper. 

Anna loved her more than anyone else in the world. What was harder to accept than any of Elsa’s quirks or strange obsessions was the stark reality that Elsa seemed determined to reject that love.

“Ah,” Hans said. “I hope I’m not intruding, then.”

“No, not at all! I appreciate the company.” She hoped it didn’t sound just pathetic and over-eager, but it was true. The house, even when her parents were home, often now felt very cold and lonely. “Really.”

“Well, in that case-”

“Anna?” The voice was hesitant, speaking from the darkness of the hallway. “I thought I heard - oh.”

Her hair was half-tamed in a loose braid, her eyes wide, a battered notebook clutched to her chest. Her sweater fell almost to her knees.

Anna pushed up from the table before she could bolt. “Elsa! Hi! This is Hans - Hans Westerguard. He was in town to meet with Mom and Dad, and offered me a ride home - the snow, you know? Hans, this is my sister Elsa.”

Elsa leaned against the doorframe as Hans approached and held out a hand. She stared at it for a long moment before shifting her notebook to shake. But her gaze never rose to meet his - it was fixed firmly on a point halfway up the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen.

“Pleased to meet you,” Hans said.

Elsa managed a ghost of a smile, pulling her hand away. Anna allowed herself an internal sigh.

“Want something to drink?” she asked. “We’re just talking - you’re welcome to join us. Or - dinner! How about dinner? I can make spaghetti.”

Hans had taken a step back from Elsa, which was probably a smart move. “Spaghetti sounds wonderful.”

“Elsa? Spaghetti?”

For no more than a second, Elsa’s eyes met hers. Then they risked a glance at Hans, raking up, down, and staying there. She shook her head. “No. Thanks. I’m… I’m working on something. I just came down to get a drink and… thought I heard voices.” She was clutching that notebook like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to solid ground.

“Just me,” Anna said - attempting a chipper tone. Elsa was being even cagier than usual. Because of Hans, or something else? “Well - us, I guess. Did you want Coke? I think there may be a couple of cans of Sprite left at the back.”

“No, uh… Coke. I wanted Coke.” But she made no move toward the refrigerator. She would have to pass by Hans to get there. She just stood there, one hand playing at the coiled binding of her notebook, staring at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed deep red.

“Elsa?”

Elsa hunched as if Anna had raised a hand to hit her. “Sorry. I’m… I’m sorry.” A moment of hesitation - and then she fled, and a few seconds later, Anna could hear her heavy footfalls, taking the stairs three at a time.

Anna sighed, rubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry - she’s going through some stuff. I better… I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, of course,” Hans said.

Anna grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and made the age-old journey to Elsa’s closed door - right next to her own. She knocked firmly. “Elsa?”

Silence - but that was no more than she had expected.

She knocked again. “Elsa, I know you can hear me. What was that all about? Are you okay?”

A pause, then: “I’m fine.”

“I brought your Coke.”

“Just… just leave it outside the door.”

Was she for real? “C’mon, Elsa. It’s just me. Hans is downstairs. I want to see if you’re okay. Please?”

She imagined she could hear Elsa sigh with exasperation, but she didn’t care. A moment later, the latch clicked, and the door pulled inward. Elsa had put down her notebook, but was now clutching the edge of the door instead. This close, Anna could see the dark, swollen crescents under her eyes. “Okay?” she said.

“Thanks! Here’s your drink.”

She took the can with the hand not on the door - then made to close it. “Thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want spaghetti? Or something else?”

Elsa shook her head. All Anna could see was one eye, the curve of her cheek.

“You’ll tell me if you want something later?”

The eye looked away. “Yeah, but, I’m… I’m almost done. Maybe then.”

“What are you working on?”

“A… Just a project.”

“Can I see it when it’s done?”

For one final, brief second, Elsa’s eye met hers once more. Then it closed - and a moment later, the door did the same.

Elsa was gone. Anna just stood there, a hard weight in her chest. She was afraid, so often afraid, for her sister. Her parents had refused to speak of why she had come home; Elsa certainly hadn’t said anything - but Anna knew. Just a month or so ago, taking out the trash, a wad of papers had fallen as she tried to tie shut the overflowing bag.

She had at first only glanced at them - they were all addressed to Elsa, all on official-looking letterheads. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

They were letters from graduate programs - for math of types Anna had never even heard of - and they were rejections. All of them. The anger had flared up in her that day, strong and fierce and bright, and it burned there still - but no one knew, and no one could know, Elsa especially.

But what Anna longed to tell her, could never tell her without giving herself away, was that every school that had turned Elsa down was staffed by idiots. Anna’s sister Elsa was smart and talented and creative and hard-working. She was a little weird, yeah, and pretty dorky - but she was better than any person those programs had admitted, and Anna would fight anyone who said otherwise.

But Elsa didn’t know any of that.

And all Anna could do was stare at her closed door. Again.

“Elsa?” Tentative and soft.

She didn’t expect a response. She was turning away when it came, as tentative as her own: “Maybe.”

Downstairs, she found Hans thumbing through a catalog left on the table, but he closed it and looked up when she came in, eyes concerned. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah.” Anna pushed one long braid back over her shoulder and sat down across from him once more. “Yeah, I think so.” She felt suddenly very tired.

“I hope so,” Hans said, and she managed a weary smile. “Did I scare her?”

Anna shook her head, though she was far from sure that was true. “She just takes awhile to warm up. She’s shy.”

Hans nodded, almost absently. He pushed back from the table, glancing towards the window, curtains still open, that looked out over the backyard. “Speaking of warming up, I’d better get going before I’m stuck.”

Anna looked out for the first time since she’d gotten home - and felt her eyes widen. “Oh, wow.” The news last night hadn’t been kidding - the air was a swirling, angry mass of pure white. “Wow,” she said again.

“Yeah,” Hans agreed - and there seemed little else to say.

“Stay here,” she said. “We have spare rooms. That’s crazy, the weather.”

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She turned back to him. “You wouldn’t be here if not for me.”

He smiled at that. “Fair point.”

“At least stay for something to eat. Since that’s what you were doing in the first place.”

“Master Chef Anna Agdarsson?”

“No way. All I can do is, like, pasta and sandwiches. Maybe scrambled eggs.”

“The right amount of scramble is an art.”

She’d made the mistake of taking a drink, and wound up laughing and choking trying not to spray Tab out her nose. The burn - and ridiculousness - of it all just made her laugh harder.

How long had it been since she’d laughed like this? Before graduation? It must have been - and maybe some part of her had believed she never would again, that it had gone the way of childhood. It overshadowed even Elsa.

And - shoving guilt to the back of her mind - she allowed it. It might never come again, the way her life was going lately. And Hans was patting her on the back, and laughing with her, and it all felt so good.

“Let’s do sandwiches,” he said, when Anna had finally been reduced to gasps and giggles. “I am a master - nay, a king! - of sandwiches.”

Their eyes met, and held, and Anna could feel the perfect, potential magic sparking between them. When she gave over to a goofy, lopsided grin, he gave one right back - and wrinkled his nose besides.

He was the good kind of adult. Maybe she could be, too.

They ate turkey and cheese and tomato on plain-old Wonder Bread, but somehow, with the storm raging outside and Hans keeping her company, it tasted like the finest gourmet meal from an awesome city far from Arendelle.

“Okay, so tell me,” she said, leaning over the table, “how’d you wind up in the family business? Or is it, like, something you and all your brothers do?”

Hans smiled and shook his head around a mouthful, swallowing before he answered. “No, definitely not - most of them had no interest beyond the money. It’s not exactly romantic work.”

A little frisson worked its way along her spine when he said romantic. She took a quick bite of sandwich to try to hide it showing on her face.

“My brother Caleb - I mentioned him, right? - pretty much runs the company now, and Lars cooks the books… or as he calls it, does the accounting.”

Anna laughed again, quickly covering her mouth to keep from spraying him with crumbs. “How’d you wind up there?”

His face sobered, his eyes wandering to the window, and the thought arrived unbidden: I’ve found his Elsa.

“Nobody expected much from me,” he said - then his expression cleared, and he mustered a smile, though she thought it looked forced. “But I’m competitive. This seemed the quickest way to prove them wrong.”

“Elsa was like that, too - she couldn’t just do something, she had to master it.”

“Admirable,” Hans said. “Though in my experience-”

He was cut off by a banging noise, loud enough it reverberated even over the sounds of whining wind and snow slapping at the windows. A moment later, it came again.

Hans’ gaze, wide-eyed, was locked on Anna. “Elsa?” he asked.

Anna shook her head. “No,” she said. “Someone’s at the front door.”

“The front door? In this? Anna, are you sure-”

Anna was already up and heading down the hall. “Of course I’m sure. Every person in Arendelle knows this house. Probably someone ran into a ditch in the storm, on one of the sideroads. It’s happened before.”

“You think it’s safe?”

She would bet her inheritance he lived in some big-city highrise - a yuppie; cute, mature, but yuppie nonetheless. She unlocked the door and opened it carefully - against the wind, not the axe murderer waiting on the other side.

She did take a step back against the sheer size of him, though. Hans caught her elbows, a loose hold - but one that felt almost possessive. She let her eyes take in enormous boots, the well-worn jeans tucked into the tops, the enormous overcoat and the scarf covering most of the visitor’s face, the shapeless hat atop shaggy hair, and all of it liberally coated with a thick layer of snow.

“Anna?” The voice was muffled by the scarf, but after a moment, she placed it:

“Kristoff?”

The only color in the world outside was the sudden, bright flush of his cheeks. “Uh, yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking.”

“On what?”

He was rubbing the back of his neck now, and his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. “Uh… on you. And your sister.”

“Does he want to come in?” Hans asked.

There was some kind of subtle change to his tone, but she was too flustered to try to figure it out; she pulled away from him, back to the door, gesturing wildly. “Oh my god, yeah, sorry, sorry, come in. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kristoff said.

When Anna turned back from forcing the door shut, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs - but when she looked up, it was to a silent, empty hallway.

She looked back to Kristoff - likely an easier puzzle to solve. “You were checking on me and Elsa?”

He glanced at her. “Yes. But your parents pay me well, so if you want me to keep this particular job, I probably shouldn’t ruin their floors.” His tone was snide, but what she could see of his face was still bright red.

“Here,” she said, and reached around him for the door to the coat closet.

“I mean, if everything’s okay, I’ll just go.”

“No way - are you out of your mind? Just look out there!”

“I know. I just walked through it.”

“Walked?”

“Just from my car.”

She huffed. “Anyway. No. Neither one of you is going anywhere tonight. I won’t be responsible for, like, manslaughter.”

“Yeah, right,” Kristoff said - but he pulled his hat off and shook melting snow from his shaggy hair.

“I take it you know him?” Hans asked when Kristoff had disappeared into the closet. There was still something weird in his tone, and he had a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently but rhythmically.

“Yeah, of course - that’s Kristoff. He went to school with me and Elsa. He does some work for my parents now, around the yard and stuff. He’s cool.”

“Hmm.”

“He’s fine. Not an axe murderer. And if he is, Elsa’s probably secretly like a witch or something, she’ll take care of it.”

He made another noncommittal noise. He seemed a little less adult now, but she hoped that might actually be a good thing - she might feel a little less like a kid dressed up in her mother’s makeup and heels.

Kristoff reemerged swiping a hand through his damp hair. “Elsa’s here too, right?”

“Of course she is. She’s upstairs, working on some super-secret project.” Anna knew he remembered, just as she did - a pigtailed, shrimpy first grader, already notorious for beating up Eddie Lang earlier that year, marching up to the biggest kid in the fifth grade and tugging on his sleeve.

“Hey - what’s your name?”

“Er… Kristoff?”

“Do you know my sister Elsa?”

He had just stared at her for a long time, but she crossed her arms and stared back - stared far up. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I know Elsa.”

“Do you know kids are bugging her on the bus and making her cry?”

“Not me!”

“I know. I want you to protect her.”

“…Me?”

“I’ll pay you a quarter.”

He had refused the money - but had sat pointedly close to Elsa for the rest of the school year. And over a decade later, he still made sure she was okay. And Anna smiled at him.

“We’re having sandwiches,” she said. “Want one?”

“Nah, I already ate.” He nodded to Hans, who still had a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kristoff Bjorgman.”

“Hans Westerguard.” That was it - no “pleased to meet you” here. Anna forced herself to keep a straight face.

“Come sit with us anyway,” she said to Kristoff. “I feel like I haven’t had a real conversation in days, and Mom and Dad only left yesterday. Anyone else shows up, we’ll call it a party.”

“Is that likely?” Hans asked.

“Nope.”

What also proved unlikely was the conversation she had hoped for - Kristoff she knew was often monosyllabic, but Hans’ earlier ebullience and easy banter seemed to have drained away completely. Still, between bites of her sandwich, Anna tried.

She was so tired of endless, tense, heavy silence.

“Has there been plenty of work lately?” she asked Kristoff, then informed Hans, “Kristoff practically keeps Arendelle running smoothly. Seriously.”

But Kristoff just shrugged and said, “Enough, I guess. The Palmers paid me 20 bucks to put up Christmas lights.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“What do you think of Arendelle?” she asked Hans. He had finished his food, and was now tapping a desultory rhythm on the table with his index finger. “Pretty choice, huh? Midwest heaven?”

He managed a smile that reached nowhere near his eyes. “Bitchin’,” he said.

Anna risked a tease: “Does your mother know you talk like that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Probably not.”

Eventually, she sighed and gave up. She gathered the plates and Hans’ empty water glass, dumping them in the sink, where her morning cereal bowl still sat, unwashed. “Oops,” she muttered, and made mental note to remember to clean it all up. There was nothing from Elsa, in the sink or drying on the rack. Another mental note, to take something up later, whether she wanted it or not. Elsa was skinny enough already. It wouldn’t kill her to stop her project for 10 minutes and eat a damn sandwich.

Hans and Kristoff were still engaged in some bizarre, manly silence game, so Anna said, “Bathroom break. I’ll be right back.” Don’t kill each other while I’m gone, she added silently. Apparently, instant mutual dislike was very real.

There was a half-bath off the living room, but she went upstairs. And she allowed herself a moment to pause outside Elsa’s door - resisting the childish temptation to try to look through the old keyhole - but from the other side came only silence. What was she doing in there?

A question Anna had been trying to answer for most of her life.

Similar silence greeted her back downstairs, and she had to bite back a sigh. This was ridiculous. “Are you guys going to do this weird alpha-male stuff all night, or do you want to play a game or something?”

Both at least had the decency to look abashed, though Hans hit it better than Kristoff, and the way he then said, “Games, huh?” made Anna flush in turn - and she suspected he had done it deliberately.

So she gave him, both of them, the most innocent smile she could muster. “Boardgames, sure - we have lots. Monopoly, Scrabble… I think we still have Risk, too. That was Elsa’s favorite. And stuff like chess and checkers. Oh, and Twister!”

Kristoff grimaced. “No way. No Twister.”

Anna grinned at him. “Not too flexible, Bjorgman?”

“I don’t hate myself that much.”

“Harsh,” Hans said.

Kristoff hardly glanced at him. “Wouldn’t want to split those flash seams.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Yeah, right.” Kristoff spoke under his breath, but clearly intended to be heard.

Anna was sorely tempted to renege on her insistence that they stay the night, and if they froze to death, so be it. “Chill out, both of you, jeez. You’ve only known each other for 20 minutes.”

Hans glanced at his watch. “Thirty.”

“Whatever. Less than a hour. So just… cool it. All right?”

“Who is this guy?” Kristoff asked. “Do your parents know he’s here?”

“My parents? I’m not in second grade, Kristoff.”

“You trust him just like that?” How long have you known him?”

“Like two days, but that’s none of-”

“Who are you?” Hans asked - speaking over her, but his tone still mild. “Coming to the home of two young girls in a blizzard, knowing their parents aren’t home?”

“Young girls?” Anna didn’t bother hiding her disdain.

“You know what I mean.”

“That’s not the point, and you-”

Again, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye - but this time, when she turned to look, there was-

“Elsa?”

Hans and Kristoff had fallen silent - could they feel it, as Anna felt it: like a charge had been added to the air, just by Elsa’s appearance?

Elsa was still in the oversized sweater, still with her hair barely contained, her feet bare despite the stone tile that Anna thought must be painfully cold.And she was still clutching that beat-up notebook to her chest. She was looking around the kitchen as if seeking possible hiding places, teeth worrying at her lower lip - but when her eyes met Anna’s, she managed a smile.

“I finished it,” she said softly. “Do you… still want to see?” Her eyes darted to Hans and Kristoff at the kitchen table, then quickly away again. “I mean.. if you aren’t in the middle of something.”

“Not a thing.” Anna jumped to the table, pulling out a chair before Elsa lost her nerve and fled again. “Here, sit! I want to hear all about it. What is it?”

Elsa took a step closer - then hesitated. “It’s a game.” Her voice was hardly a whisper - and somehow, tentatively hopeful. Whatever she had done, Anna realized, it might have been everything to her, since that long, rainy day last spring.

So Anna went to her, offered a smile. “That’s so cool! C’mon - come tell us about it. How do you play?”

Elsa allowed herself to be ushered to the table - Anna knew better than to risk touching her when she was this nervous, but just kind of gesturing beside her worked. She sat the very edge of the chair, laying the notebook across her knees but nonetheless keeping a tight grip on it. She was taking visible deep breaths.

Anna leaned as close as she dared. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Elsa’s eyes met hers as she took her own seat, and for only a second, an incredulous look was there, and Elsa’s lips twitched into what Anna would have sworn was a genuine smile.

Anna smiled back. She had no more control over it than Elsa.

A strange hush had settled over the kitchen, like even the storm was muffled. Anna had been kidding earlier, calling Elsa a witch, but sometimes it did seem as if she might truly have magic, kept under tight control but still surrounding her like a cloud - or a shield.

“Hey, Elsa,” Kristoff said, with none of his earlier snide tone. “Long time no see.”

She managed a smile for him, tremulous but true. “Hi, Kristoff.” She didn’t ask why he was there. Had she been listening at the top of the stairs? She must have heard him banging on the door.

She took another deep breath and dug into the pocket near the bottom of her long sweater. When she held out her hand, there were several small, bright objects in it. They reminded Anna of once, as a kid, going to a science museum on a trip to some long-forgotten city. The gift shop had sold a rainbow of smooth little stones. Each color - pink, red, blue, purple, green - had its own bin, and there were velvet drawstring bags, tiny ones, that could be filled with stones for 35 cents.

Anna took one of Elsa’s proffered stones - but it wasn’t a stone at all. It had the same vivid blue coloring, the same smooth, cool surface, but it was multifaceted, and each identical face was stamped with a number in gold.

“With these,” Elsa said. “You play with these.”

Hans leaned closer, close enough that Elsa pulled her hand back - only a fraction of an inch, but Anna saw it. “Are those dice?”

“Yes,” Elsa said. “It’s… Have you heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kristoff said. “That’s the one they banned in high school, right, because Principal O’Malley thought it was about satanism.”

“Yeah.” There was a wistful note in Elsa’s voice. “Yeah, that was the one.” She looked up then, quickly glanced at each of the others, as if gauging their reaction to this confirmation. “It’s not, though. It’s… just a game. Roleplaying games, they’re called. There’s lots of them, D&D’s just the most popular.”

It was the most Anna had heard her say in months - maybe since her winter break a full year before, the last time she had been home before dropping out of school. “What do you do?” Anna asked. “To play the game, I mean?”

Elsa put the dice down at the center of the table, and Anna added her blue one. “It’s about… about chance. Kind of.” She was still very nervous, clearly. “I’ve never really taught anyone to play before…”

“I assume you roll dice,” Hans said. He had pushed his chair back on two legs, apparently attempting to show disinterest, but his eyes never left Elsa. I’m competitive, he had said earlier.

Elsa was like that too, Anna had said.

Well, she thought now - tonight could be about to get very interesting.

“Of course you do,” Elsa said- and to Anna’s abject surprise, she was looking right back at Hans, with something very like challenge in her eyes.

“Wait, back up,” Kristoff said. He was leaning across the table, fingering the dice with idle curiosity. “What’s the point of this game? The goal?”

Elsa’s smile was brief and somehow fierce. “Survival,” she said.

After a minute of silence, Anna said, “Rad.” And again from Elsa, she got wide eyes and a quirk of the lips.

“Okay, so…” Elsa finally let go of the notebook, placing it almost reverently on the table before her. It was a five-subject, the pages thickened and roughened with hard use, and the whole swollen further by additional sheets of looseleaf packed into all the pockets. And in permanent marker on the cover, Elsa’s neat capital letters: THE SNOW QUEEN.

“Whoa,” Anna breathed.”You did all that yourself?” It had to be hundreds of pages, and on the few that stuck out from the top of the notebook, she could see line after line of Elsa’s small, dense writing, or graph paper with what looked like layouts, multicolored ink marking details within boxes. “Elsa, that’s incredible!”

Elsa was looking at the notebook, biting hard on her lower lip, a flush rising her cheeks. “Thank you.” She paused - gathering courage? - and opened the notebook, flipping to the second set of pockets. Anna was still amazed at how packed it all seemed to be - the one page she could see was drenched with ink, most in black, but blue and red corrections, notes in the margins.

From the pocket, Elsa took several identical, blank charts, clutching them in both hands, staring down at them as she spoke. “I guess this is the best place to start - at the beginning.”

It was raining, chilly and damp, when her parents arrived to take her home. The dorms were silent and empty, everyone in class, the library, the cafeteria - everyone but Elsa, eternally the outcast, the one who couldn’t quite figure out all the unwritten societal rules, standing at the window, watching rain spatter and roll against the glass. She pressed a finger to it, tracing idle shapes with her fingers and wishing desperately her heart would stop pounding. There was nothing to be afraid of - she was just going home.

Failure, her mind whispered, sharp and insistent. Such a disappointment.

There was no argument to be made.

Her parents said little - though her mother wrapped her in a tight, warm hug - and Elsa almost nothing at all. She had packed the day before in a numb daze, after all her withdrawal paperwork was completed and filed. She didn’t have much anyway. A box of textbooks and notes, a duffel bag of clothes, and her backpack, with her D&D and Palladium manuals, her folder of character sheets, several paperback books - Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Harlan Ellison - and the calculator she had gotten for Christmas. The few things she thought might keep her going, when all else had burned away to ash.

The four-hour drive back to Arendelle was a gray, rainy blur, Elsa staring out at newly-turned farmland and wondering at the simplicity that must surely come from living such a life. Routines, satisfaction of a good crop, early to bed and early to rise. Those who lived in those neat little farmhouses, secure of their places in the world, small as it might be - she envied them.

Her mind would never allow her to live such a life. It never settled, never stopped buzzing, insistent and hungry. Perhaps worse, it also refused to forget.

We had such high hopes for you, Miss Agdarsson. Why are you giving up now?

The last thing stuffed into the backpack at her feet - the rejection letters. Thirteen of them. She had pulled several all-nighters to complete the applications before January deadlines - all for naught.

She should have known better.

“Need any help?” her father asked as they pulled into the driveway at home, and his voice was not unkind, but Elsa shook her head. She would bear this burden, as she did so many others, alone.

She stood in the downpour, fighting to get the trunk closed with the heavy box of textbooks in her arms, and when she finally lost the box, watched it land in the muddy grass, she felt too numb to care. A part of her wanted to cry. Another part wanted to kick the box until it tore, and then more still, four years of worthless paper and ink left to be reclaimed by nature. But neither desire proved stronger than numb resignation.

She left the box where it was, and hauled the duffel bag and backpack to her bedroom, dumping them unopened on the corner next to her desk. She said nothing about the abandoned textbooks, but when she next looked out the window, the box was gone.

She spent the afternoon, as she had most of the day, staring out that window at nothing in particular, trembling in her soaked clothes but without the strength to change them.

What have I done?

The words echoing through her brain like pinballs.

As the light faded from the sky, the high school bus made its lumbering way down CR1113, stopping at Norsk Lane, the only place on the narrow road where it could turn around. Despite the rain, Anna - her red hair and green jacket the only bright spots in a world gone grey - turned to wave and call goodbyes before running for the house. She was hardly through the door before she was calling Elsa’s name, and the thump of her backpack came a split second before the reverberating rhythm of her race up the stairs.

“Elsa!” Knocking hard at the door, clearly struggling not to pound with all her strength - she sounded breathless, excited. It made no sense.

Four years ago - suddenly, though Elsa had said nothing about it, not so much as a word, people had begun approaching her at school to offer congratulations on her college acceptance. Teachers, mostly, but some students too, and Elsa had been honestly baffled; she even checked the school newspaper, to make sure they hadn’t printed a list of everyone who had been accepted.

She mentioned it at home one night, just a comment in passing when asked about her day over dinner, and Anna had piped up and said, “Oh, yeah, I told some people. It’s so cool, Elsa!” She was in eighth grade, with braces on her teeth and her hair cut into an attempt at feathered layers.

“Why?” Elsa asked. She didn’t like being noticed; in her mind, attention at school reminded her too much of her tormentors in elementary school. Being invisible and ignored was always better.

“Because it’s awesome?”

“First in the family is pretty impressive, Elsa,” their father added.

“I guess…”

Anna had been so proud - so why was she back now, sounding so eager and happy? Elsa had failed her. She had failed everybody.

“Elsaaa, I know you can hear meee!”

She closed her eyes, curled her hands to fists.

“Elsa, c’mon, open up. Please? No tackle hugs, and my fingers are definitely not crossed.”

She tried to take deep breaths, but her lungs seemed to have ceased to function.

“Elsa?” Concern, for the first time, in Anna’s voice.

Don’t - !

But Elsa forced the words out, around resisting throat and teeth and tongue and lips: “Go away, Anna.”

Anna said nothing else, but it was a long time before Elsa heard her footsteps, slow and even now, walking away. Then, finally, Elsa cried - silent, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks, a mirror of the outside world.

When she was called down to dinner soon after, she went. She was dry-eyed - and she had long since learned how to hide her fear beneath a serene exterior. But she ate little, and said less, and resolutely refused to meet Anna’s gaze.

She heard Anna sigh, but ignored that, too.

Time passed in a hazy blur, schedules lost. Elsa kept to her room because nowhere else felt like a place she belonged anymore - she was supposed to be readying for college graduation, for a new life on her own. Instead, she had placed herself in some strange limbo, neither child nor adult, and even if her bedroom, too, felt alien, it was at least quiet and secure and safe.

She slept very little, at whatever hour exhaustion took her, without regard to the time. She picked at food when called down for meals, but sought out nothing else. She felt them watching her - her father, her mother, and most of all Anna - and knew they must talk about her after she disappeared, once more, to her room, but she couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

When she slept, the same nightmare came again and again: she was walking across the stage at graduation, and Dean Ferrera looked at her degree, then stopped cold - and so did she, heart already pounding.

“Elsa Agdarsson?” he proclaimed right into the microphone, his incredulity already clear. “Thinks she has earned a degree in mathematics? This girl right here? You?”

And she couldn’t move, or breathe, or blink, even as the laughter rippled out across the hundreds of people gathered: students, faculty, family. All of them - laughing and laughing and laughing at this absurd, silly girl who had believed she had earned a degree in math.

She woke from these dreams trembling and cold, still feeling eyes crawling all over her.

But it was another graduation that changed everything - again.

Anna’s.

“You’re coming right?” Anna asked one night, Elsa as usual called down for dinner and uncertain how to refuse to attend, stirring chicken and asparagus around on her plate. She knew there was excited talk of something, but she had missed the start of the conversation, arriving at the table as Anna contemplated seafood at Eric’s or the amazing chocolate brioche at La Lumiere - “I mean, yeah, mediocre steaks and stuff, but that caramel glaze on the brioche? Oh my god.”

Apparently, there had been more to the conversation than restaurants. “Huh? Coming where?”

Anna rolled her eyes, but was smiling when she said, “Earth to Elsa! Graduation. Saturday night. And your pick - amazing lobster or amazing dessert?”

“Graduation?”

“High school? Mine? Mortarboards and ‘Until We Meet Again’?”

“Oh.” She looked down at her plate - stirring, stirring, stirring. How long had it been since she’d felt hungry? “No.”

“No?”

In the long silence that followed, she finally forced herself to look up again. “I’m sorry.”

Anna’s face fell - just like that, the excitement was quenched and gone. “Oh,” she said. And nothing more.

And for the first time that Elsa could remember, nobody asked again. There was no “offering one last time!” or Anna asking for the third round, “Are you sure?” She heard her father demanding photographs, Anna laughing and protesting that she needed to finish her makeup. She watched them leave - Anna, despite her curled hair and smoky eyeshadow, was flapping her way across the twilit front yard like some overexcited, green-plumaged songbird.

The car was long gone, the sky fading from purple-blue to black, when Elsa finally left her watch. She collapsed at the end of her bed, clenching her trembling hands tightly together, letting her head fall forward, too much weight to hold, curtains of blonde hair enfolding her.

The numbness, whatever had shielded her from reality, from the emotional abyss as weeks became months, was cracking away, shed like old skin. She wasn’t ready.

And she was afraid.

It hurt. She didn’t move from the bed - likely her legs wouldn’t have carried her if she had tried. She rocked, and trembled, and finally, she broke.

She fell to her knees, clung to the deep carpet, and barked a sob - just one. But the voice was too loud: Failure. Weirdo. Creep. Disappointment. Overachiever. Loser.

“I know!” But the scream was only in her head, and had no strength behind it. “I know…” Aloud but weak, so weak. She hadn’t asked to be what she was. Did they think she wanted to be this way, alien and monstrous and broken, an embarrassment, a freak?

Elsa’s being weird again.

Ew, no, I don’t want to work with her.

Hey, Agdarsson, you see any other girls here? Get out.

Don’t be a show-off, Miss Agdarsson. No boys will ever like you.

She’s so ridiculous. What’s wrong with her? She could be so pretty if she tried.

Why can’t you be more like your sister?

“I don’t know.” She was whimpering now, a lifetime of fear and isolation finally breaking free. “I don’t know. Leave Anna alone…”

The words she had never been brave enough to say, even when Anna risked her own social standing - first with fists, then with words - at the slightest insult to Elsa. Anna should have had a sister she could look up to, someone as open and vivacious and clever as she was, someone with whom to trade clothes and secrets. That was what sisters were supposed to be.

Not freakish, sub-human, a Frankenstein’s monster of feminine appearance and traits the world reminded her again and again and again were masculine, incongruous.

She fell asleep there, on the floor of her room - the kind of dark, deep, dreamless sleep she had believed no longer possible. She did not hear her parents and Anna, now officially a high school graduate, return home. When she woke, to the misty-grey dawn of early summer, she was stiff and sore, and something was digging into her temple - her backpack. She had never unpacked it. And sometime in her unconscious night, she had used it as a makeshift pillow. There was the sharp corner of something, and when she unzipped her bag and pulled it out, she found herself staring at the closest thing she’d had to a secure sanctuary - the lurid red-and-black cover of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Manual.

Senior year of high school Allan Hubert had invited her to play with him and Manny St. James and Lukas Irving. They were the type to embrace being outcasts, wearing corduroy and Star Wars t-shirts and ending conversations with “live long and prosper.” They had all accepted Elsa, taught her patiently how to play. “A party of three is a lot stronger,” Lukas said, and the others were quick to agree.

But a parent complained, several months later, that such games were “satanic” - and Principal O’Malley promptly banned them. Allan and Manny and Lukas remained friendly, but they had little in common with Elsa outside the game.

People who liked her had nothing in common with her, people who had something in common with her didn’t like her. That didn’t change in college. And she didn’t know how to change that - but she had kept her books.

A shred of hope.

She stared at it. Her lip trembled, but she fought back the tears. No more crying.

She waited until the house was empty before creeping out. The world was still and silent - waiting. She walked to town, to the grocery store, because they might not know her there.

A thick notebook. A cellophane packet of multicolored pens. Graph paper.

She set to work.

[muszyart]

Alice Copper and the Budget Cuts Part 1: The Boy Who Died

Summary: The first part of a new series. Alice Copper is a fifteen-year-old witch from the Bronx. Her Quidditch broom is a plastic one from Walmart, and her Hogwarts is an inner-city high school for the abnormally gifted. Her magical world isn't perfect, but it's all she has.

Words: 7498 Words aaaaaaaaa

My name is Alice Marie Isolde Copper, and I'm a witch. My broom is one of those shitty plastic ones from Walmart, my wand is broken down to the size of a pencil, my Hogwarts is an underfunded, inner-city high school for weirdos, and I'm currently fighting a Hungarian Horntail, the most terrifying creature anyone's ever seen. Sure, some boy-who-lived who killed you-know-who might have been able to fight one when he was fourteen, but I'm not him, and I'm not fourteen, I'm fifteen. That doesn't help. Neither does this. I'll admit, maybe I got a little over my head with this whole tournament idea. Let me focus for a second.

Okay. He doesn't see me here. Eugh, gross... my broom is melting. Who knew plastic and dragon-fire don't mix? The reason why I'm fighting this dragon is... Anyway, how about I start at the beginning; otherwise, nothing will make any sense. It's not a long story, but a lot happens. It all started at 4 am on a stormy New York City Tuesday. I think I had fallen asleep an hour or two ago after numbing my brain to crappy YouTube videos. I hadn't left bed all day (of course I hadn't, it was winter break of my sophomore year). And I was wearing the same pajamas from the past few days, and I think all I ate the day before were Girl Scout cookies, I love Girl Scout cookies, it's sort of an addiction. Well, really an addiction-- more on that later. Anyway, I woke up to a terrifying pound on the door down the hall of our apartment. Almost like a body was thrown against it. I don't know why I went to the door to open it. You'd think I'd be scared and lock myself in my room, but I just thought that Dad had come home drunk again and couldn't get his wand out of his coat. I felt through the darkness of the hall and finally made it to the front door. I unlatched the three locks and pulled on the loose handle, that was when he crashed through, and then it all began...

"BAM!" An enormous man yelled as he blasted his way through the door. I flew back down the hall, nearly slamming my head against the air conditioner. Instead, a pile of dirty laundry that Mom didn't care for cushioned my fall. My original thought was, 'what the hell?' But my confusion dissolved into natural fear of a giant, hairy, trenchcoat-bearing figure towering over me down the hallway. I wanted to scream for help, but all that came out was a pitiful squeal. Our neighbors could probably care less anyway. I needed... I needed to defend myself. I can't punch him; I scrambled up to get a weapon from the kitchen. But that would be going near him. With strategic spontaneity, I ducked into my bedroom and clicked the frail lock, that wouldn't do... I barricaded the door with my chair, that won't work either! The chair has wheels, Copper! You absolute idiot! What to do... I needed to... I needed... I couldn't run. I could... I saw my old baseball bat poking out of the depths of my untidy closet. I jumped over my bed to reach the bat; my soul sank after I heard the door open easily behind me.

In one motion, I ducked down under his reaching arm, then I grasped the handle, pulling myself back up again, with all my might, I swung towards the figure. I hit him. It didn't follow through though, I noticed, and why couldn't I move the bat, I opened my eyes, the colossal man held the bat in his gloved, bear-like hand. That was it. Our eyes met, well, my eyes and his one, he wore a scratched, leather eyepatch. He was peering down at me as if I were a bug that landed in his food or if he was America after Pearl Harbor. I was about to get either squashed or Hiroshima-ed right then and there. I dropped the bat and backed away toward the wall.

"Holy shit..." I muttered, then spoke up. "Please, you can take whatever you want. My money is in the box in the dresser, but I don't know where my parents keep theirs because they keep changing it after they found out I was taking some. Don't kill me, please... take whatever you want! Anything..." I stuttered. I held my hands up. "Well, I mean, not anything..." The man stared at me, confused. "I mean, not my... I'm fifteen. But if you do, then just kill me." Why did I say that? His single eye squinted, his brow furrowed. He looked down at the ground and tossed the bat aside. Then he looked back towards me.

"Jesus Christ, Alice," he seethed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

I lowered my hands and stared back at him, dumbfounded. "What? How do you-"

"I'm not here to rob you or kill you or anything!!! Christ's sake," he turned around and began to walk out of the room. "Or whatever the hell you were thinking about... Of course, you're a fucking weirdo. What did I expect?"

A small part of me started to believe this man was not here to kill me or rob me, with this newfound confidence, I retaliated. "Well, excuse me for thinking that after a giant stranger in a trenchcoat busted through my front door, screaming at me!"

The man stepped out into my hall and turned toward me. He barely fit in my door frame. The giant leaned against the wall and fished through his coat pocket; I still couldn't trust him. I braced for something, but I was relieved and even more disoriented when he presented a crumpled manila envelope.

"Alice Cooper, you have-"

"It's Copper."

"What?"

"My name's Alice Copper," I mumbled, still shaking a little. "Not Cooper." He stared at me blankly and started again.

"Alice Copper, I'm a representative from the Academy, and you've been accepted to a very special school. Take it," he waved the pale yellow folder in the air.

"What is it?"

"It's an envelope, dumbass," he shook his head. I wouldn't budge. "Think fast, Coop." He tossed it over to me, and I instinctively caught it. I hesitated.

"This doesn't involve Lucy Sullivan, does it?" I quivered fearfully.

"Who's that?"

"Nevermind." I tore open the package. My feet fidgeted, I rubbed my socks together nervously. My eyes quickly peered up at the guy; he wasn't looking back. The giant examined my room with curiosity, amused by my Green Day, Lord of the Rings, and House Slytherin posters. I saw him roll his eyes because I bet he noticed my dirty laundry scattered throughout the place and dozens of empty cookie boxes. His eyes then fixated on me.

I winced and rapidly emptied the envelope with shaking hands. There was a dark purple program for a school. It looked a lot like the dozens of ones my older sister got from colleges before she moved away. But this one was more simple in its design, not desperately trying to grab your attention to go there instead of Yale. It lacked the photos of happy college students on their apple laptops in the middle of grassy quads, it was straightforward and plain. I couldn't even find the school's name. There was also an acceptance letter, a facility map, a list of materials, a class schedule, a semester calendar, and a student ID with my name and face on it. Amusingly, my portrait was moving. It looked back at me with the complete and utter fear of seeing a gigantic me staring back at her.

"Wait... is this... you're here to-" I could barely form my thoughts into words, so many things were flashing through my brain. It clicked. I finally understood-

"I'm just here to tell you you're a wizard or some shit..." the guy stated bluntly.

"I'm... a what?" I beamed, a broad, toothy grin grew across my face.

"Ah, Christ," the man folded his arms and rolled his eyes again. "We're not doing this shit again."

"You're... Hagrid? But you're-"

"Black, half-blind, and not as tall? Yeah. I'm not Hagrid. But you know the deal, you've read star-kid Potter's books. The name's Wolfgang."

"I'm going to... Hogwarts!" I laughed and jumped. For so long, I thought I wasn't magical. My parents called me a squib forever. I tried to prove it to them, talking to animals or moving things, they just thought I was crazy! I'm a wizard! I'm a... wait. "Wouldn't I be a witch, though? Since I'm a girl?"

"Sweetheart, I don't know!" Wolfgang grumbled. "Call yourself a Jedi for all I care! I thought people these days were saying 'witch' was offensive. They started using 'magic-user' now 'cause it's 'non-binary' or something like that. You're a fucking wizard, goddammit. And no, you're not going to Hogwarts."

"Wait..." I stuttered. "Wh-what?" Wolfgang roared, laughing, shaking my room.

"You're too old for Hogwarts by now, but in the American school system, you've still got a couple of years to get your education. A kid died at the Academy so now you get to take his place, congratulations! You're coming with me."

I slowly glanced over at my Slytherin poster. My heart sunk... finally going to Hogwarts has been my dream ever since I was eleven, and I always thought I'd have a chance to go to the best, most excellent, most wonderful school there ever was. "Hogwarts..." I muttered.

"Hogwarts?!" The giant shook his head. "You're still on about that, huh? Your big dream! Ha! Ha! You got money?"

"No."

"Any rich parents?"

I gestured towards our dirty and tiny apartment. "Definitely not."

"Dead rich parents?" Wolfgang raised an eyebrow. I looked off into a corner.

"No. My parents are alive." I groaned.

"And that's an unfortunate thing to you; it sounds like," he walked closer towards me. "You a half-blood or a mud-blood?"

"Neither," I looked up at him. "Both my parents are magical. They just thought I wasn't."

"Wow, a pure-blooded witch, continuing the bloodline, lookit you!" Wolfgang laughed again, then grabbed my shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Coop-Copper." He pulled off his hat to reveal a glowing, friendly face, all except for the eyepatch. His mane of black, curly hair with gray patches also sprung out of his hood into different directions. "But sorry, two things. You're not the chosen one, and you're too poor for Hogwarts."

"Hey, wait. Then how the hell did the Weasleys all go to-"

"Way to assume their financial status! But you're right. They were all running on a family legacy scholarship."

"Shit." That made sense. I sat down on my bed, sheepishly, Wolfgang frowned. I didn't know if I should be excited about the new school, I always had that dream in my mind that I could go to that castle. I always told my parents that I really did have powers and that I would go there and become one of the greatest witches of all time. I would play Quidditch, or explore the dungeons, or meet so many new friends on an island across the world. Maybe even Harry Potter himself. That was gone now.

"It may not be the best school in the world, but you can still do magic and make friends. You're a crazy little turd, so you'll do great. Are your parents fine with me kidnapping you?"

I remembered they both hadn't come home in the past couple of days, which was normal. "I doubt they'd notice I was gone." Wolfgang's joking smile faded; he gave me a strange look.

"Oh, well, that bums me out." He turned and walked down the hallway. Each of his slow footsteps stomped and shook the entire apartment.

"Wait!" I called out behind him. "I'll get my stuff together!" I grabbed my special box off the dresser. I always feared that something would happen while Mom and Dad were away, so I learned to keep everything in one place. All of my money, letters from my sister, some CDs and USBs, my sketchbook and paints, and various other treasures I've found over the years at antique stores. Stuff like vintage buttons and coins, newspaper clippings, a glass ball, and a watch all nested in the corners between my old photos and my best drawings. That shoebox was probably the one thing I valued most, besides my computer, that I also shoved into my backpack freshly fished out of a pile of laundry. I opened my dresser drawers to grab some clean clothes.

"You don't need anything!" Wolfgang suddenly yelled back at me. "We're just going to the inner city-"

"The inner-city?!" I frowned and contemplated taking my things, but I still decided to bring the stuff. I pulled out some cash to keep on hand.

"We'll be back later, the school's just on Roosevelt Island, all you need is money, a backpack, maybe extra socks, and a pencil or something I don't care. Oh, but I have your school uniform here, get changed into it so that the muggers know to beat you up." He tossed a plastic bag to me. Inside it, he had bundled up a colorful, ugly uniform along with some black shoes. A sick part of my mind remembered what he said earlier.

"These aren't the clothes of the other kid-"

"What?!" Wolfgang wheezed. "No! Boys wear something different! We're not that crazy!" He groaned. "Alice, you need to stop asking all these stupid questions. Otherwise, you're gonna get beat up. Now go change!"

"Okay," I sighed and closed the door. I really should've showered, but deodorant would have to do for now. The uniform wasn't anything like Hogwarts, but I guessed that would be a theme. I finally fixed my collar and straightened my knee-high socks and purple blazer. The whole thing wasn't that bad... I still looked stupid, though. The colors were probably chosen a century ago back when wizard fashion was all gowns with stars on them. However, my daily clothing choices were no better. Popping some mints in my mouth and putting in some hair clips, I sauntered my way towards the door. I slipped on my backpack and made a last-minute decision to grab my mom's Slytherin scarf that she gave me a long while ago. It was going to be cold, and I might as well live the dream while I could.

I opened the door and found Wolfgang smiling at the family pictures in the hall. Many of the frames had cracked glass; they all had fallen off the walls multiple times. Magic was usually involved in all my parents' fights. We both stared at a picture of my mom for a short but awkward amount of time. She was leaning against a mossy stone bridge, the moment that the portrait captured was of her trying to find the best pose for the photograph. The wind flowed elegantly through her hair, and it billowed her yellow sundress. She smirked at my father, who was probably the one taking the picture. I saw her mouth open and laugh at something he had said, the photos obviously never capture the noise, but I could still hear her giggle in my mind. A sound that I had not heard or remembered in a long while.

"Oh, you're quick!" He jumped, noticing me beside him.

"So... we're going to Roosevelt Island?" I asked. He stomped over to the door and lifted it back on its hinges. I pulled out my keys and phone.

"Yeah, you'll have to take the subway every day. You live in the New York area, so we don't issue floo powder to you, it's expensive. That's how most of the American schools are now, everyone commutes except for a few of the prestigious ones. Thank your lucky stars, 'cause I've been reading up on it, boarding schools are actually pretty psychologically damaging."

"This is gonna suck," I groaned.

"You'll learn to like it! Get excited, Alice. You're a fucking witch for Christ's sake. What else do you want me to say? The world's bigger than Hogwarts, Alice. Not all of us get to live in that castle on the hill."

"Alright, alright, I know... Wait. I don't even have a subway station near me, how am I going to-"

"Are you sure?" Wolfgang smiled. "Do you want anything to eat? Let's find a diner or something, or maybe Chinese food for breakfast."

"Wolfgang! The nearest station is three miles away! I'm not gonna walk that every day!"

"Back in my day, I walked uphill both-"

"Wolfgang!"

"Don't worry. I can fix that; we're wizards, remember?" Wolfgang walked out of the apartment, and I locked the door behind us.

"Okay! But I'm a witch!"

"Yeah, whatever, c'mon."

***

Wolfgang breathed in the cold, fresh air and fully stood up straight without a roof over his head. He stretched and admired the sky filled with blue and purple clouds as the sun neared the horizon. It was almost sunrise, I hadn't slept at all, but this most definitely wasn't my first all-nighter. Excitement and nervousness swelled in my mind; I was finally a wizard after all. But still, the idea of Hogwarts lingered and poked at my brain as I struggled to keep up with Wolfgang as he strode down the street.

"Is this street usually busy, Coop?" He called back.

"Again, it's Copper, not Cooper."

"Yeah, yeah... whatever. Is it?"

"Um..." I looked up and down my street in the northern Bronx. It always seemed like the edge of the world, far from the heart of New York City. A couple of inches of snow covered the awnings and pavement. Grimy litter and withered leaves overfilled the gutters, the windows of the shops and apartments were locked for the night, and a plastic bag drifted through the wind along the road, like a tumbleweed. "Not right now..." I finally managed to say, as I imagined the morning. Nurses, janitors, and waiters all strolled down the sidewalks to get to work. Trucks and buses always came barrelling down the street, but they never stop here, no one ever stays here. It was just a road, never a destination.

"Well, yeah, no shit Alice," Wolfgang replied. I snapped back to reality.

"Right, I mean, yes. People are always coming and going." I replied. Wolfgang nodded and noticed a small alleyway across the street.

"That should do." He looked both ways down the empty street. I shot him a glance and began to walk forward. No one was there; everyone was still asleep. I felt his large hand grasp my collar, and he yanked me back.

"What the hell?!"

"Jaywalking."

"Yeah, everyone does it."

"Sorry, but something's crossing." Wolfgang's eye followed something intently as it raced by. He squinted down the road. I leaned forward and took a look around.

"There's nothing here!"

"Yeah, you see nothing," Wolfgang muttered under his breath. "You live on a dangerous street, Cooper." I gazed at him with annoyance but gave up correcting him. "Keep your door locked and your magic a secret." He moved forward across the street. I raced behind him then stopped for a moment as his words repeated in my mind.

"You mean, I can't tell anyone about it?" I asked.

"No one. Besides your parents, no one can know. I really don't have a good feeling about this. Let's get you to school." He pushed me forward in front of him, placing both his hands on my shoulders and guiding me into the alleyway. The long and narrow side street snaked between housing units and the sides of stores. Staircases led up to smaller apartments, and a couple of rancid dumpsters took up most of the floor space. Wolfgang checked over his shoulder and then pulled out a crooked, light brown wand. He closed his eye and waved his wand around a little in the space behind a dumpster. Nothing happened. The feeling of fear returned to my mind, did I seriously follow a crazy person into an alleyway?

"Done." He opened his eye and glanced at me.

"Nothing happened."

"Once you get your wand, tap this part of the wall four times whenever you need to use your subway station. Here, try it." He handed me the wand. It was enormous in my fingers, but I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tapped the wall four times with it. I tried to bring forward any power I had but felt nothing. My arm fell to my side, and I sighed.

"Did I do it?" I watched the bricks with a frown.

"Yup!"

"Wait, really?" Suddenly, the concrete finish of the wall rolled back, and the bricks underneath rearranged themselves. The snow and ice on the ground melted into the pavement. Parts of the floor cracked into rows and sequentially fell, a little farther than the last, creating a staircase. A miniature subway entrance formed hidden by the cover of dumpsters, a sign even appeared at the top and glowed in pale yellow with black text: 'Hogwarts Station.' I shot a look at Wolfgang. He snickered and snatched his wand back from me.

"Welcome to the New York-Northern Magical Line," he grumbled then looked over his shoulder again. He grabbed my arm and dragged me down the staircase into the darkness.

"Could I... try the wand again?" I asked cautiously as I worked my way down the pitch-black stairs.

"No, you'll get your own, don't worry," Wolfgang reassured me. In the darkness, I heard him taking deep breaths. I noted the rustle of his coat whenever he looked back behind us, toward the closing brick door, the wall was reconstructing itself. We rounded some corners, and a warm light emerged at the bottom.

"Is there something wrong?" I looked toward his large silhouette. I barely saw his head turn towards me. He grabbed my arm tighter.

"We have to get you to school. Quickly."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." his booming voice decreased to a whisper. "It's just..." he stumbled through his sentence. "You live in a bad neighborhood."

"It's not the worst, for the Bronx, that is..." I laughed.

"But it's one of the worst for wizards." He muttered.

"Was what you saw... the invisible thing... one of the bad-"

"Yes," he hissed. "Now shut up. Just shut up about it, alright?"

I opened my mouth to speak again, but I felt his glare in the darkness and looked down at my shoes, the warm glowing light reflected off of them. I hugged my backpack as we finally made it into the underground station. My arm was relieved. Wolfgang loosened his tight grip on it once we were in the light. It wasn't a big station. It was a large tunnel along with a small platform the size of a sidewalk that extended for the length of one train car. The station was remarkably new and clean: no graffiti or ominous stains marked the brown brick walls, nor were the tile floors sticky and wet. The pillars were pristine and shiny, and the yellow line ran along the edge, unsmudged and uncracked. A vintage electronic sign hung above the platform flashing 'Next Arrival: 494.23 seconds. Next Destination: Under Washington Heights.'

"Did you build the train, too? How does that even work? Why don't all wizards do that? Why even use Muggle transport at all?" I buzzed on excitedly. Wolfgang rolled his eye and didn't answer. His eye widened as he looked on toward the end of the platform.

I turned and noticed the glowing, red vending machine that stood, slightly leaning, at the back wall. The window was a colorful collage of packaging, the machine stocked with all sorts of candy and food. The two of us made our way over, and I started to make out the labels. Some of them I remembered from the Potter books, like 'Chocolate Frogs,' 'Cauldron Cakes,' and 'Bertie Bott's.' But there were also some other ones, in plastic wrappers and bags rather than the vibrant cardboard boxes of the British candy: 'Crackling Crackers,' 'Whizzlesnaps,' 'Gummy Wizards,' 'Onion Wands,' and... Doritos...

"Doritos?" My brow furrowed. I glanced at Wolfgang, who licked his lips.

"Yeah, they're good."

"But they're Muggle food..." I groaned.

"We're not a different species, Alice, did your parents not eat Doritos?" he fished through his pockets and pulled out a dozen different coins. "What next? You think we don't use computers or iPhones and wear those funny hats?" I glared at him. "Well, some of us do..." he grumbled, then started shoving his handful of money into the coin slot. With his huge finger, he began to punch the codes for all the snacks he wanted; the whole machine rocked with each number. I imagined that the box of metal and glass would precariously come close to the edge and fall onto the track, but finally, he stopped and turned to me. "Do you want anything?" I nodded and pointed to the Cauldron Cakes and Gummy Wizards. He chuckled and entered those in, too.

Finally, he finished, and the machine began to glow and sparkles popped out of the sides. Each of the snacks started to fall forward slowly. My eyes lit up in awe as each package swirled around and then dropped to the bottom. Wolfgang unamused, folded his arms.

"It's not even magic, Coop. It's a Muggle machine. We just add all the show to make it look like it's magic."

"Oh," I mumbled and slumped my shoulders, understanding the artificial taste of it all. Wolfang bent down and tried to reach through the metal flap, but his arm wouldn't extend far enough into it.

"Ugh, I always," he winced. "Have trouble- ow." He pushed forward. "With these things..."

"Let me get it," I relieved him and effortlessly scooped up the snacks. Wolfgang counted them all then glared at the machine.

"We're still missing the Doritos." He glowered.

"Wolfgang, it's fine, they're just Doritos." I sniggered.

"NO!" He roared. Then he shoved his hand into his pocket again and pulled out another coin and pushed it into the machine. He aggressively punched in the code again for Doritos, and the sparks flew, and the bag of nacho-cheese flavored chips began to spin around, ever so slowly. Finally, they reached the end and halted before falling into the bin. I laughed. Wolfgang shoved my shoulder, sending me spinning, still smiling, into the wall.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! THIS IS BULLSHIT!" He screamed and began to shake the machine with intense passion and strength. I continued to laugh, the Doritos wouldn't budge. He punched the window, which retaliated with some sort of force that sent him flying back. I leaned against the wall, giggling hysterically. "IT IS MAGIC!" He shouted while scrambling up from the floor. He ran toward the machine with the intent of murder. "Oh, I see how it is! You stupid-ass machine. I'm going to break you into a million pieces-"

"Just because it's magic doesn't mean it can understand you." I interrupted, he scowled at me.

"Yes, it does," he snapped, then turned back to the machine.

"I don't think that's how magic works..." I added, I started rocking back and forth on my heels.

"You don't know how magic works yet, Alice!" Wolfgang hissed. A computerized ring sang from the intercom. A shrill, electronic voice buzzed from the speaker, which echoed throughout the small platform and tunnel.

"All passengers, please refrain from murdering our vending machine. Any complaints on its service may be directed to the New York City Department of Magical Transportation. Also, the train's here, idiots." Wolfgang and I gazed at one another and then examined the electronic sign. 'Next Arrival: 3.14 seconds. Next Destination: Under Washington Heights. Welcome New Passenger: Alice Cooper.'

"Seriously?! They spelled my last name wrong," I grumbled.

"Ooh! Look at you, Alice," Wolfgang swiped the snacks from my arms and opened one of the foil bags. "You're on the sign at Hogwarts Station! You're famous!" I rolled my eyes, and the train appeared instantly next to us once the three seconds were up.

"Please stand clear of the doors. No food on the train." The voice droned on. Wolfgang and I glanced at one another with resentful looks in our eyes. "Just kidding." The voice croaked in fright. Wolfgang crunched a mouthful of Onion Wands and flipped off the intercom as the squeaky doors slid shut behind us.

My subway station was new and clean, but the train car was aged, dirty, and reeked of something dead or dying. Wolfgang didn't find any of these things a problem and took a seat on the single bench without litter on it. He brushed a yellow and green stained napkin off the one next to him and gestured for me to sit. "You don't want to fall." He leaned back comfortably.

"I'm not sitting there... that napkin had the plague on it." I sneered.

"They probably had mustard on a hot dog or something. Sit down." He grumbled.

"No." I grabbed the sticky hand-rail above. My face visibly screwed up in regret while holding the disgusting metal rod. Wolfgang raised his eyebrows. I began to walk over to the seat when the train sped on at lightning speed. With rapid reflexes, Wolfgang grabbed my arm again to keep me from flying to the back of the train and dragged me through the air to finally sit down in the seat.

We sped on for a while, Wolfgang had pulled out his smartphone and was messaging a contact simply marked "D" in what seemed to be a group chat called 'The Boys.'

"'The Boys?'" I laughed. "Who are your 'boys?'"

"Well, you're a nosy little shit, aren't you?" The giant chuckled and gave my shoulder a light shove. He turned away for a bit to finish his message. I heard the 'whoosh' sound after he hit send, and he returned to me. "It's the group chat me and some of the other teachers have."

"And who's D?"

"Your magic teacher."

"One of my magic teachers?" I corrected him.

"No," Wolfgang rolled his eye. "The magic teacher. You only have one in the whole school."

"What?" I stuttered. "Hogwarts has a different one for each subject, D teaches all of them?"

"Yeah, well, again, the Academy isn't Hogwarts." Wolfgang smiled smugly. "It isn't a magic school, it's a school for abnormally gifted children, for weirdos. Like you and me, and vampires, and trolls, and werewolves, and kids who can fly or read minds or turn invisible for who-knows-what reason. Mr. Thomas is the one and only magic teacher in the whole magic department. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Magic History, Transfiguration, Potions, all of it, that's him, I also teach you guys some Muggle studies, Herbology, and general how-not-to-get-killed useful stuff, but I'm mainly head of security." He opened his trenchcoat to reveal a purple blazer like mine and he pointed at a golden badge fastened to his jacket. He continued, "a senior usually handles Quidditch, this year we finally have enough for an actual quidditch team if you're into that. Usually, we have to pull in kids from the other classes, and, if we don't have a load of flying kids, the poor devils just run around with the brooms between their legs. Then there's Dr. Abeille, the Vice-Principal, she's also a witch and has been teaching kids for 50 years, but she doesn't anymore because she hates you."

"Me? Why?"

"No, not you specifically, just children in general. What's your guys' schedule this semester?" He nodded toward my bag. I unzipped it, my box of valuables had opened and spilled throughout my backpack, but I finally found the manila envelope. I flipped through the papers until I found one that said at the top in bold Times New Roman: '2020 Magical Student (Sophomore) Class Schedule.'

8:15: Class Begins

8:15-9:05: Period 1: Thomas: Defense Against the Dark Arts I  - H7

Materials: SEE LIST

9:10-10:00: Period 2: Wolfgang: Auxiliary Magic II  - H7

Materials: None, just your butts in my class on time!

10:05-10:55: Period 3: Harrington: Math (Algebra I)  - E3

Materials: None.

11:00-11:50: Period 4: Gellensberg: Quidditch   - Gym

Materials: I mean, a broom, I guess... I don't know.

11:50-12:50: Lunch Period - Cafeteria

Note: Notify the cafeteria about allergy information before class.

12:55-1:45: Period 5: Thomas: Beginner Potions  - H7

Materials: SEE LIST

1:50-2:40: Period 6: Rodriguez: Art  - B2

Materials: $20 Lab Donation for class materials.

2:40: Class Ends

NOTE: If you have any difficulties acquiring the materials for my courses, EMAIL ME! I'll help you out! -Mr. Thomas

"Math?!" I cried, Wolfgang rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, wizards still need to know math." He chuckled. "I bet Potter didn't put that in his books. Lemme see it." He snatched the paper and skimmed it. "Oh, Defense Against the Dark Arts is this year, and Potions, you'll have some fun! The way D does it is that he rotates the classes every year. He's got all the different grades in one class, so he doesn't want to teach the same thing twice." He read something else, and his smile faded. He sighed, holding something back. "So they did give Quidditch to Gellensberg, poor girl."

"Who?"

"Wren, Wren Gellensberg, she's one of the- well, now the only senior magical student. She and Honey- Marcus Honey, the person you're replacing... she and him were very close. He was the one that got..." he paused, then gritted his teeth and traced his finger across his neck. "You know..." He fell silent again. Then a soft smile appeared on his face after rereading her name. "She's a real sweetheart though, a little socially awkward, and when that happened... she hasn't been taking it too well. She didn't want to lead Quidditch, because it was Marcus' whole thing." He sighed again. We stopped at a station, nobody came on, and the train moved along. He tapped his fingers on his knee while I fidgeted awkwardly with my phone, pulling at its rubber and plastic case. I couldn't bear it.

"What happened to Marcus?" I asked curiously but a little too demandingly.

"I can't tell you, Alice," Wolfgang answered solemnly. "Someone else might tell you, but don't go around asking for it. They're all still really hurt."

I nodded and looked down at the floor. We passed a couple of stops, a woman in a Victorian purple dress came onto the train and grabbed a handrail with a gloved hand. Her beautiful leather handbag floated in the air beside her. She and Wolfgang exchanged looks, but there was still silence on the train for the next couple of stops. She held the handrail and stood watching the window, unphased by the speed and rocking of the train. I felt a pain in my stomach, I hadn't eaten, and it didn't look like we were going to get that Chinese food anytime soon. I pulled out my bag of Gummy Wizards and tried to open it. It was tough, thick plastic, and it crinkled every time I attempted to break it loose. The woman glared at me for the noise. I set the bag down beside me.

I looked down helplessly at my bag, starving, holding my stomach like a little peasant girl in Les Mis. Wolfgang took pity on me and placed his wand on the package and muttered something. The bag's seal opened cleanly, and my Gummy Wizards came marching out. I smiled at him and began to eat, but Gummy Wizards turned out to be a noisy candy because all the little witches and wizards fired and cracked spells at each other in my hand and in the bag. The woman glared at me again. I turned red and prepared to put my snack away. She gave me a smug look, I wrinkled my nose, but I lit up when her phone rang, and the humbug reluctantly lost her war of silence and talked to the person who called her. I debated pulling out my phone and listening to music, but I still wanted to know more.

"Whaddar vah udder keds like?" I asked through a mouthful of gummies.

"Huh?" Wolfgang munched on his third bag of Onion Wands. I swallowed and repeated myself.

"In the magic department, who are the other kids? What are they like?"

"What are they like?" Wolfgang pondered for a second. "They're all weirdos." He continued to shove more food into his mouth.

"But-"

"Yeah, yeah. Copper, Cooper... You're gonna have to be a big girl and meet them yourself, Alice, you'll have to get to know them. And don't ask them about Marcus."

"I just want to know more about the school, though," I whined impatiently. "How many of them are there?"

"Eight, including you."

"Oh, really?" My eyes widened. "That's small."

"I told you a bit ago, just barely for a Quidditch team."

"How many sophomores?"

"You and this other guy."

"Who?"

"Jericho Winslow."

"He sounds cool," I gushed, mouthing out his name. "Jericho Winslow."

"Not really, he's a huge dork." Wolfgang munched and fished for another Onion Wand.

"Oh."

"But yeah, I'd say he's cool."

"Who's the most popular kid?"

"Well, everyone knows everyone since there's only eight of you. But the leader was Marcus, now that position's up for grabs."

"What about Wren?"

"Nope. Wren's gone into her little hole of emotional darkness and existential misery. I keep saying it's not good for her, but what do I know about teenage girls?" He paused. I tilted my head. "Nothing actually, I don't know anything about you guys."

I shrugged. "She doesn't sound very fun-"

"Actually, she was pretty fun." He corrected. "But I bet things change when you lose your best friend."

"Yeah, sorry."

"No problem, Coop. You're learning." He fished for another Onion Wand then looked into the bag disappointedly after finding it empty. He continued. "The two juniors are Cassia and Logan. Two knuckleheads, really. But not as bad as the freshmen twins, oh my god, those two. Roscoe and Rowan Valentino, sometimes I just want to strangle them in their sleep." I gave him a look of one-third-worry, one-third-nervous laughter, and one-third-horror. He laughed. "They're good kids, just troublemakers. They're wise-cracks, they love pulling pranks and not listening to anything anyone tells them to do. I hate doing detention, but whenever they show up, they do make it less of a slog. And then there's Theo. I don't know much about who he is or what he likes because whenever I'm around him, all he talks about are plants. Maybe that is all talks about, though."

"This is Under Times Square Station." The intercom rattled. "Those who wanna transfer to West-East get off my train. We aren't going back." The doors squeaked and slid open, a large group of nearly two dozen men, women, and children holding cameras and suitcases entered. They wore sunglasses and chattered endlessly. The Victorian woman had finished her phone call and glared at then newcomers with an evil passion in her eyes.

"Tourists," Wolfgang scoffed, "even worse, wizard tourists. Luckily we're getting off here. Let's go find some Chinese food, and we'll head to the school, alright?" He heaved himself up and shuffled through the tourists, all disregarding the giant man trying his best to pass through them.

We just barely squeezed between the doors. I double-checked that I had my bag and everything, the train disappeared behind us. No starting again, no speeding up, it completely vanished leaving the tunnel and the larger, dirtier Under Times Square Station empty. A copy of the 'Wizard's Voice,' New York City's wizard newspaper laid on the floor, soaked in some brown liquid. I stepped over it, catching the headline: "ST. CHARLOTTE'S SCHOOL FOR GIRLS ANNOUNCES NINTIETH ANNUAL NORTH-EASTERN YOUTH WIZARDING TOURNAMENT." Wolfgang started to make his way to the escalator. I wandered behind him, checking my phone if I had received any texts from my sister or my parents. Nothing except for three from... Lucy Sullivan. Oh god.

I read the words again.

"im coming today copper"

"i need it now all of it!"

"if you arent at your apartment with the money at 2 pm. ur dead! remember I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!"

"Alice! Are you coming? Let's go! Aren't you hungry?" I snapped back to reality. Wolfgang was standing over me, and I realized that I had repeatedly been standing on the down escalator when we were supposed to go up. He had come back when he noticed that I kept returning to the same spot at the bottom.

"Yes." I looked up at him with a cold face. He raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you? You look like you saw a ghost." He chuckled. I forced a smile, then dropped it and followed him.

"I think I might see my own," I said softly. Wolfgang looked at me over his shoulder as we ascended on the right escalator.

"Well, that's some weird and ominous shit." The giant placed a hand on my shoulder, then fixed my blazer's lapel. "You're gonna be fine, Alice." He smiled. "If you're scared about all that stuff I said, don't be, nothing in the magical world is gonna hurt you, not on my watch. Keep your head up, and just, don't die." The thing was, I was still terrified of the Muggle World, especially now. I smirked, another forced smile, and he faced forward as we got closer to the top, the light of the outside world was bright and blinding.

We suddenly stood together in the middle of Times Square. Dozens of people walked past, not caring nor noticing where we had come from or that we had appeared out of nowhere. It was morning in the city that never sleeps. Red, green, yellow, and white lights flashed from the ads and pictures on the electronic signs. Muggles walked in all different directions. One tried to hand me something so I'd buy it, but Wolfgang pulled me in close in front of him. I stuffed my cellphone back into my pocket and hugged my backpack. The sun had risen, and the new sky was red-orange and purple above with the faint outlines of stars fading into the clouds. The smell of the crisp air and all different kinds of food filled my nose; the sound of bass-filled music and an ocean of people's voices and the irregular beeping of cars flooded my ears. I've always hated the sensory overload of Times Square, but everything didn't affect me now, as soon as I'd seen a person or light, heard a car or yell, or smelt a hot dog or someone's body odor, they all blurred, muted, and vanished in my mind as Wolfgang guided me along.

I felt like I was going to die, in one way or the other, oh, not from the dragon, that comes later in the story, but I knew that even though I didn't have many friends or family, the Muggle world was going to notice that I was gone. It was going to find out about my dangerous secret world and try to drag me back away from it. And even as I enter this new world of opportunity, a whole different reality, I couldn't feel excited because sometimes all I could think about was what I left behind and how it was going to come for me. How it was going to hunt me down, it would catch me and force me back into my old life. The Muggle world was going to follow me into this new world, this not-so-perfect but a better world, this one that would actually care about me, and the old one would nearly destroy it and take it all away. I told you those Girl Scout cookies were going to be important later. It just so happens, that the dealer of my addiction, a Muggle, Lucy Sullivan of Troop 934, a belligerent thirteen-year-old with gambling debts, would be so insane to follow me into the unknown.

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

K

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1.1

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1.2

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2.1

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2.2

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3.1

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3.2

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4.1

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4.2

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

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8.1

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8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

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