#and britain was like 'hey guys great idea. what if i just scooted these people over'

[ganymedecatamitus]

I'm not going to pretend to know what I'm talking about. My family has lived in America since 1952. I've never been to Israel, I've never been to Palestine. I'm not a diplomat or an aid worker. But I do know that people in the same position as me like to pretend that they know more. I ask only in the coming days that you do not take anyone at face value, that you give the time for at least a cursory Google search to make sure what they say is even true. That you question everything, from every side. That you not rely on black and white moralism, that you care about people as people, and that you form your own deeply held beliefs.

Because people in my position will be regurgitating the opinions of others, either of those in the same positions as us, or of random authority figures (which is arguably worse than unvetted opinions of other people, as they have elections to win and public opinions to sway). People are dying, people have been dying. The only thing we can do is accept the truth, not what we think is the truth, not what makes us feel better, not what empowers us, but the truth.

But I will say an obligatory "this is the British empire's fault" because, well, that's the truth.

[etymolo-drarry-ig]

Clueless

Draco has been dropping hints. Harry has yet to pick up on any of them.

---Harry’s POV---

In hindsight, the first hint was probably from the end of my third year.

"I have to tell you something," Draco had waved me over after the end-of-year feast. "But not here."

So we walked across the school grounds together, for the last time that school year. "I've been doing some thinking," Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. "And I'll understand if you don't want to be friends anymore—"

"Draco, just tell me," I interrupted him, and he took a deep breath.

"I'm gay," he said finally.

"Oh," I replied. I wasn't sure what the correct response was—my only experience thus far was from Seamus and Dean, but even I knew they fancied each other, and I'm oblivious. Neither of them were very subtle, after all.

Draco turned to me. "Do you—do you hate me?"

Now I was confused. "I don't hate Dean or Seamus, do I?" I pointed out. "I mean, sure, seeing them make out every single night does get kind of annoying," I laughed. "No, of course I don't hate you. You're still my best friend.”

Draco smiled gratefully, facing forward again. "I haven't told anyone else," he clenched his jaw.

Draco nodded tightly.

"I'm the first one you've told?" A warmth filled my chest. People didn't usually trust me with their secrets.

"How do—how do wizards feel about—er, gay people?" The words left my mouth rather clumsily.

"It depends, I guess," Draco shrugged, "we mostly don't care, but same-sex marriage is still illegal. I know that father expects me to produce an heir, regardless. I don't think mum will care."

I wrinkled my nose at the word produce, and Draco laughed.

"I think I'll tell mum this summer," he continued, "we're pretty good at keeping secrets from father," he smiled.

"I'm glad you told me," I responded, "thank you for trusting me."

---

The second hint came about halfway through fourth year. Draco had only come out to a few people: his mum, Pansy Parkinson, and me. My perception of gay people was totally flipped on its head when Draco came out—before, I assumed every gay person was just as flamboyant as Dean and Seamus, but Draco was definitely not flamboyant. He'd made me realize that gay people come in all shapes and sizes, too.

Therefore, I wasn't completely bewildered when I started noticing people in a brand new way. I knew something was up when Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang came strolling down the hallway, hand and hand, and I couldn't even tell which of them I was more jealous of.

"I have something to tell you," I approached Draco during lunch, and he scooted over to make room for me at the Slytherin table. None of his housemates batted an eye—I usually sat with Draco a few times a week, although it was usually for study purposes.

He raised an eyebrow when I subtly cast a muffling charm. "Remember what you told me about at the end of last year?" I asked, "the thing you had never told anyone else before?" I added, to make sure Draco understood.

He nodded cautiously. "What are you getting at?"

I swallowed. "Me too, I think. Well, kind of. I mean, I like girls, but—well, I'm like you, too."

"Really?" Draco seemed to perk up a little bit. "So you're bi? Or pan?"

I nodded. "I guess so."

“Well,” he cleared his throat and sat up straight. "In that case, would you—um," his face flushed.

I tilted my head to the side, wondering why he was so flustered.

"Well, since we're both, you know," Draco continued, "maybe you would want to experiment?"

"Oh," I blinked. I hadn't really thought of actually being with anyone. Okay, I may have considered what dating Cho or Cedric would be like—but I hadn't taken it seriously . "I—I don't know," I admitted, "I don't know if I'm—what's the word?" I scratched my head, trying to remember the phrase Hermione had used. "Emotionally stable, I think? I don't think I could with anyone right now."

It was the truth, after all. Even if Cho or Cedric approached me, I don't think I'd be ready to be in a relationship.

"Oh," Draco returned to his mashed potatoes. "I just thought I'd ask. Hey," he nudged me with his elbow. "Now we can check out guys together, huh?"

I laughed and lowered my voice. "Have you seen Cedric Diggory? Merlin."

Draco laughed. "I'm more of a Victor Krum kind of guy, myself."

I chuckled. "Too bad for you, he's completely smitten with Hermione."

---

The next hint came at the end of fourth year. It was the last week before term ended, and for the first time in my life, I was excited for the summer. For the first time, I wasn't returning to the Dursley’s over the summer.

You see, fourth year had been kind of crazy for me. Aside from the Triwizard Tournament, (which Cedric won, of course, because he's amazing) I found out that I had a godfather—the reason no one bothered to tell me was because he was in prison.

Now that I was fourteen, I was allowed full access to my parents' Gringotts vault. I'd always thought there was something fishy about my parents' death—not the Voldemort part, but the fact that the only thing left of Peter Pettigrew was a finger. I mean, come on , there was a fully intact finger, but no bone fragments from the rest of the body?

So with the help of Ron, Hermione, and Draco, we tracked down my parents' will and discovered that not only had they changed Secret Keepers, but Peter Pettigrew was an unregistered animagus. A rat animagus.

And Ron's pet rat was missing a finger.

All it took was a quick trip to McGonagall's classroom to force Scabbers into his human form, and then… well, I didn't get very involved in the politics, but long story short, Sirius Black was a free man.

And I would be staying with him this summer.

Even better, in my opinion, was that Remus Lupin, another friend of my parents, would be staying with us, too. He and Sirius had started dating during school, apparently, and even thirteen years of Azkaban wasn't enough to drive them apart.

I was finally going to live with my family.

The Sunday before the end of term, Draco appeared at the Gryffindor table during breakfast. " Potter," he tapped me on the shoulder impatiently, and I turned to look at him. "Have you seen the Prophet?" He asked.

I shook my head. I never read the Prophet anymore—I had gotten tired of reading the rumors about me and my friends.

Draco shoved aside my plate to make room for his. "Well, you should read it."

I looked over to Hermione, who helpfully handed over her copy without a word. "Where should I be looking?" I asked.

"Page two, column three," Draco answered.

"Holy shit," I gasped, reading the headline. "’Same-sex marriage legalized in Wizarding Britain.' Hermione, Ron, look at this," I grinned.

I still remember the date. June 26th, 1991.

Even though most of them were straight, we were still crying by the end of breakfast. Seamus and Dean vanished for a celebratory makeout session, and Draco pulled me aside when I was done eating.

"This is fantastic," I told him, "Sirius and Remus can get married now, if they want."

"It's brilliant," Draco agreed. "Listen, since today's a special day and all, I thought I'd ask—" he paused, fidgeting with one of his rings.

I raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"

"Um, well, would you want to maybe be my boyfriend?"

My eyes widened. "Oh, I, um—" I stuttered. It didn't seem like a serious inquiry—he was only asking because of the legalization, right? "I don't—I don't  think I can handle that sort of thing right now," I confessed.

"Okay," Draco said easily, "you have a lot going on, after all. I just figured I'd ask." Then he left, leaving me alone and confused.

It was just a friendly question, right? Obviously he didn't actually like me—it was just a thing of convenience. He likes guys, I like guys, we're friends, so it was convenient.

Maybe if I'd felt more comfortable with the idea of dating someone, I would've said yes. He was my best friend, after all, and a great person. And he was quite attractive—not that I'd ever tell him that.

I sighed, putting the situation out of my mind for the time being. I wanted to write a letter to Sirius and Remus, after all.

---

Every year on Valentine’s Day, the professors collect valentines and distribute them to their intended recipients—thankfully, after the Lockhart incident in second year, the valentines no longer sang. Originally, valentines were sent like normal mail, but the horrifying number of valentines sent to me during first year had created an owl-jam, so the professors had to come up with an alternative.

For reasons you can probably guess, I'm not a fan of Valentine’s Day. I still read all the messages, though, but that's mostly because Fred and George always make sure to send me dozens of valentines, each one being more elaborate than the last.

During my fifth year, there was something a little different—one of the notes wasn't signed with a name. The valentines I got were never anonymous, so to have one signed "your secret admirer" was odd.

Dear Harry,

I apologize for adding to the torrent of messages sent to you this year, but I have something to get off my chest. I don't think you'll ever consider me as more than a friend, but I have a huge crush on you. Happy Valentine's Day.

-Your secret admirer

Something was bothering me about the handwriting, too. It looked oddly familiar.

"You okay, Harry?" Hermione watched me frown at the note in my hand.

"Yeah," I said, "I just don't know who this is from," I handed her the slip of parchment, and she shrugged.

"It says that you're friends, right?" She tilted her head. "Maybe that's a hint."

After breakfast was over, and I had vanished most of the valentines, I brought the note over to Draco. "Do you recognize this handwriting?" I asked, "I don't know who sent it."

"Probably because they didn't put their name," Draco said sarcastically, staring at the note in my hand. "Do you—do you recognize the handwriting?"

I studied the curvy script. "It could maybe be a girl's handwriting," I suggested

"It's not that feminine," Draco replied, "besides, you wouldn't know decent handwriting if it slapped you in the face."

"Oh, shut up."

---

Two weeks later, I still hadn't figured out who'd sent me the note. "Maybe you should see if the handwriting matches one of your friends," Draco suggested.

Hermione nodded. "Maybe you can check old notes you've passed in class."

"Merlin, are we still talking about this?" Ron rolled his eyes, "rook to D-8," he added, and the chess board adjusted accordingly.

"I think it's cute," Hermione mused, "you're invested."

"I'm not cute, 'Mione," I grumbled.

"Oh, but your secret admirer begs to differ," Draco teased.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," I grumbled, but I was grinning.

---

Draco sat against the tree trunk, the sunlight causing his hair to glow. "Have you still not figured it out?" For some reason, Draco was exasperated. "You compared handwritings and everything?"

I nodded. "I did everything you guys suggested." I laid back on the ground. I honestly didn't care who it was at this point, because the sender definitely wasn't who I hoped it was.

Yeah, that's right. Draco had asked me out last year, and it seemed to have gone to my head, because now I fancied him. Which sucked, because there was no way he liked me back—we were just friends.

"You're an idiot, Harry."

"Tell me something I don't know," I responded, avoiding his gaze. I was not going to blush, I wasn't, I—

"Look at me, Harry."

I blushed.

"Do you want to know who it is?" Draco raised his eyebrows, and I nodded quickly. "It's me."

"I—" what? "You? But that means—you have a crush on me? Wait, but— really?"

Draco waited for me to finish spluttering. "I've fancied you since third year," he deadpanned.

I sat up quickly. "Oh," I said. Think fast. "Er—then," I scratched the back of my neck, "do you want to watch the quidditch match with me this weekend?"

He frowned. "We're already going to watch toget— oh, you mean as a date?" I nodded quickly, and he rolled his eyes. "You know, if the roles were reversed," he gestured between us, "you would not have picked up on that."

I buried my face into my hands. "Oh, shut up."

---

The quidditch match was Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, which meant my loyalty was divided on account of the two seekers, Cho and Cedric.

"Who do you think will catch the snitch?" I asked Draco.

"Cedric, definitely," he scoffed, "he has the better broom."

"Cho makes sharper turns, though," I pointed out.

"Technique can only get you so far."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

Draco tilted his head. "Perhaps."

I huffed. "Fine. Seeker's game later?"

"You're on."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Ron and Hermione waving frantically to Draco from a few rows away. When I turned, though, they abruptly stopped. "What was that?" I asked him.

"Nothing," he said quickly, "I don't know."

I eyed him. "It's nothing, or you don't know?"

"I don't know," he repeated.

I sighed and turned back to the game, but Ron started waving again. "What are you doing?" I called to him, but he only shrugged, as if to say I don't know what you're talking about.

"Seriously, what's going on?" I asked Draco, who laughed at me.

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"I don't know, because you won't tell me, " I sighed in exasperation and turned back to the game, just in time for Cho to spot the snitch

She dove for it, and Cedric followed close behind. The snitch made a sharp turn, though, and Cedric wasn't able to change direction fast enough. "Told you," I elbowed Draco, who nudged me back.

"Told you," he replied as Cedric quickly gained on Cho until they were neck-and-neck. I grabbed his hand in anticipation as they got closer… and closer… and Cedric reached forward and snatched the snitch out of the air.

"YES!" we jumped from our seats, cheering loudly. Hufflepuff won, 220 to 80 points.

"I told you," Draco gloated, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I couldn't stop grinning, but it didn't have to do with who caught the snitch. My stomach fluttered—I was holding his hand.

The pitch emptied quickly, with Ron and Hermione helpfully leaving us behind. We grabbed our brooms and headed for the center of the field, not bothering to change into quidditch robes.

"Er, listen, Harry—" Draco said before I could release the snitch.

"Yeah?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to say sorry, for, um—"

I furrowed my brow. "For what?"

"I dunno, for being too forward?" His eyes darted around the pitch.

"What? You didn't even do anything—" unfortunately.

"I feel like I did, though," he ran his fingers through his hair, and my heart fluttered. "What?" He watched me bite my lip.

"I—I have butterflies," I answered shyly.

"Well, you shouldn't have eaten so many butterflies, then," he replied cheekily, and I shoved his shoulder, laughing. "Why do you have butterflies?"

My face reddened. "Because I—because I fancy you," I answered, and his eyes widened.

"You do? But I thought—"

"I mean, you asked me out in June, and I know you meant it as a friend thing," I said, "but I guess it went to my head, because now—"

"Hold on," Draco interrupted me, "who in their right mind asks someone out as a friend?"

I paused. "You?"

He bit his lip. "You really are an idiot," he said softly.

I was silent for a moment, staring at his lips. "Can I—um," I heard myself say, "can I kiss you?"

Draco didn't answer; instead, he pulled me towards him, swiftly planting a kiss on my lips.

My brain seemed to short circuit, but at some point, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, standing on my tip-toes to easily reach him. We stayed like that for Merlin-knows-how-long, standing in the middle of the quidditch pitch with our arms wrapped around each other.

We never did play that seeker's game.

(wattpad) (ao3)

[goodfemalecharacters]

12x14 Coda: Sales Pitch

because when the MoL said that the hunting community would follow the Winchesters, I literally had to pause the episode to laugh about it.  1k, gen.

Okay, so some guy thinks he can save the world.

Please.  Moira’s been on her fair share of blind dates over the years.  She’s heard this line about a thousand times.  Usually, they’re talking about being a lawyer or an activist or something like that.  Usually, they’re not quite so literal.

But this is a seduction, she no longer doubts that.  The question is, will this guy send her an unsolicited dick pic once this is over?

“So you’re just going to…what?  Wave your magic wand and kiss the monsters goodbye?  Because believe me, I wish it worked like that, but it doesn’t.”

The guy, Mick, she thinks he said his name was, shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.  Maybe he’s not used to people looking at him like he’s naïve.  Which, when you talk like this?  Moira can’t believe he hasn’t gotten this response before.

“You’re not the first hunter we’ve approached.”

Moira rolls her eyes. “Way to make me feel special.”

He dumps another sugar packet in his tea—yes, tea, clearly this guy isn’t pure hunter—and gives it a stir, seemingly without realizing that he’s done it before.

“We’ve convinced Sam Winchester to join up.”

Moira chokes on her coffee. “Excuse me?”

“The one and only.”

Moira scoots her chair back from the table.  She doesn’t need to hear any more of this.

“Where—where are you going?” Mick asks falteringly.

She scoops up her purse and stuffs one of her uneaten pieces of toast in the top.  Hey, she’s hungry, and she’s not about to let free food go to waste, even if the guy who bought it is clearly insane.

“Are you out of your mind?” She just looks at him despairingly. “Dude.  Those guys are bad news.  Every crazy story you’ve heard over the last, I don’t know, ten years? Yeah, that’s them.  Oh, someone freed Lucifer?  Whoops, Sam was going for a walk and tripped over the switch to open the door.  Oh, someone got out of Hell?  Dean again! What a surprise!”

She yanks her jacket over her shoulders, ignoring the uncomfortable stretch of her stitches from that last tangle with a werewolf.  Mick looks like he’s about to say something, so she cuts him off.

“Have I mentioned the fact that all their friends are dead?” She shakes her head. “Nope.  Not for me.  Unlike some people, I know what genre I’m in.  And I’m not about to play the cute sidekick who gets murdered for drama.”

Not in this lifetime, pal.  Moira makes a note to call up a few of her friends and warn them that some lunatic is out looking for gullible hunters.

Jody Mills likes to think that she has a pretty good BS meter.  You have to, in her line of work.   (That is, raising two teenaged daughters who think that if they work together, they can outwit her.  They can’t. They can try, but they can’t.)

That said, the guy in front of her is off the charts.

“Nice to meet you.”

She extends her hand across the table.  He has a floppy grip, but he doesn’t react to the silver ring on her pinkie finger, so this isn’t going as badly as it could be.

“Name’s Mick,” he says with a smile.

It’s probably supposed to be charming.  It falls a little flat when she stares back, utterly skeptical.

“Let me paint you a picture—”

“I’d prefer if you just said what you meant.  I have work in about an hour.”

He clears his throat. “A world.  Without monsters.  And it’s getting closer and closer every day.”

A few years ago, when she was just starting out, a proposal like that probably would have made Jody’s ears perk up.  Now, she just looks at him.

“I work for an organization that has virtually eliminated the monster threat in Britain.”

“Which is the size of, what, Minnesota?  And also on an island.”

Sue her if she’s skeptical.  Jody has exactly zero intentions of getting involved in something so utterly stupid. The monster threat in America isn’t going away anytime soon; it’s certainly not going away because of people like this guy.

“We’ve recruited a few hunters so far.  Like the Winchesters.”

Which is precisely when Jody’s suspension of disbelief snaps like a twig. “You think I’ll believe that?  You’re stupider than I thought, Mick.”

He blinks at her, mouth opening and closing like he has something else he wants to say.  Jody gets up from her seat, already buttoning up her coat.  She’d never bothered to take it off in the first place.

“Sam and Dean might be stupid, too, but they ain’t that stupid,” she tells him with a laugh. “Go try that somewhere else.”

If this doesn’t work on a teenager, he has no idea who it’ll work on.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a hunter?”

The girl shoots him a withering look. “Aren’t you a little old for this little meetup to look normal?”

She glances pointedly around the diner.  More than one head has turned to look at the pair of them.  They clearly don’t look like a father-daughter duo out for a nice Sunday brunch.  She crosses her arms.

“Try anything funny, and I’ll scream, got it?”

Mick nods. “Of course. Now—Claire Novak, yes?”

She glares at him. “Yeah.  Only reason I’m here is to figure out how you know that.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a book.  Claire’s eyes rove over the cover as her mouth twists.

“Is that thing annotated?”

He wouldn’t have been surprised to see her pop her gum.  Mick clears his throat, putting the book away.  The little that they have on Carver Edlund hasn’t come close to answering his questions.  He’d been hoping that a one-off character as important as the vessel of an angel would be able to.

“You were possessed. By an angel.”

Claire narrows her eyes. “What do you want to know about Castiel?”

“Anything.” He leans conspiratorially across the table. “I know he took your father away, Claire.  Which is why I think you’ll be a great help to me.  I want to exterminate all the monsters in America, which means knowing their weaknesses.”

Claire shoots back from him so fast that the table might as well have been on fire.  Mick watches in disbelief as she gathers her things, glaring so fiercely at him that he’s surprised a hole hasn’t burned through his head.

“You ever approach me again, and I’ll shoot you, clear?”

She storms towards the door.  Mick shouts after her in a last ditch effort to get her to sit back down.

“The Winchesters are working with us!”

She scoffs. “Do your research next time, pal.”

Mick watches her go, shaking his head.  Maybe the Winchesters aren’t the key to the hunting community he thought they were.

(ao3)