#filched

[digitkame]

4 years after graduation wasn’t long enough for Filch to forget the silhouette of a spidery student skulking around in the dark.

I saw a post (can’t remember by whom) that said something along the line of Snape probably getting mistaken for a student by Argus Filch when he first started teaching at Hogwarts. I thought it was funny, so I put it into a drawing🌝

[lulublack90]

Prompt 16 - Stage

@jegulus-microfic July 16, Word count 582

Previous part First part

James was driving his friends nuts. He was so excited and nervous at the same time for his date that evening that he couldn’t stay still. Remus had already put him in a leg locker curse for his constant toe-tapping when Remus was trying to study. Sirius had banished James from the dorm and tried to calm a seething Remus. James had grabbed his bag of dung bombs and the invisibility cloak before Sirius managed to shoo him away. 

He stood at the top of the moving staircases and looked over the side to the ground floor. He waited until students were trapped on the stairs when they moved and then dropped the dung bombs down onto the unsuspecting witches and wizards. He had to clear off when Filch appeared with Mrs Norris, but he’d used his last dung bomb anyway, so he slipped into a hidden passageway that took him down to the second floor.

The dung bombs had gotten some of the pent-up energy out of his system. He ended up going for a run around the grounds. He transfigured his robes into suitable attire and then ran until he was exhausted. It was barely lunchtime. He nipped into the quidditch changing rooms and took a quick shower. 

Clean and refreshed, he made his way back up to the castle for lunch. 

“One toe tap, Prongs, one and I’ll transfigure your legs into fins, and you can go live with the merpeople at the bottom of the lake,” Remus warned, narrowing his eyes when James skipped to the other side of Sirius so he could use him as a buffer. 

“So,” Sirius started. “The commotion on the staircases, was that you?” A huge grin spread across James’s face.

“Yeah, remind me to buy more dung bombs will you,” He said to Sirius as he piled crusty bread on his plate to dunk in his soup. 

“Prong’s you need to buy more dung bombs,” Sirius snickered. 

“Not now, you dolt,” James elbowed him. 

James had to use every ounce of self-control he had not to look over at the Slytherin table. It was only a few hours until his date. He’d booked the quidditch pitch for a private practice so, hopefully, they wouldn’t be disturbed. He half thought that perhaps it was all a joke on Regulus’s part, and he was about to be humiliated. But last night, when their eyes had met, his heart had skipped a beat and that sweet smile just for him made him feel like this could be something. 

As soon as lunch was over, he went and collected the things he would need for later from his dorm. He shrunk them down and pocketed them. 

Unlike the morning, the rest of the day sped by, and soon he was walking down to the quidditch pitch to wait for Regulus. He stood in the middle of the pitch and took it all in. This was his favourite place to be. This was his stage to show off to the school just how much he loved to fly. Once he was in the air, everything just melted away and all that mattered was getting that quaffle through the golden hoops and avoiding the other players. 

He kicked off and soared around the perimeter, looping and diving until he spotted a figure walking across the lawn. He hovered until he was sure it was Regulus and shot to the ground to greet him as he entered the stadium.

Next part

[that-sad-guy]

[gestures vaguely]

yeah

[gooseghoul]

he's very excited about his new best friend

[lennjamin-o7]

Thievery? From the CrowFather? No way. Couldn't be. Philza doesn't steal.

He does Philch things on occasion, though.

[landinrris]

In which I keep seeing tweets hyping up Lando and McLaren for this season, so I needed to vent my expectations and bring myself back down to Earth. (1.1k, w/ Carlos popping up at the end) Set during the 2024 championship in which Lando and McLaren come out of the gates swinging.

Lando thought he was prepared for the possibility of getting out of his car as the newly crowned champion. God knows he’s spent enough time talking it through with his team and parents— with Carlos.

As soon as he’s across the line, he’s asking Will about the finishing order, his stomach up in his throat. The sound of Will’s voice, shaken from his usual calm as he tells Lando to hang on while the team checks the finishing positions of his main rivals nearly makes Lando lose his mind. 

The wait is reminiscent of his first pole position a few years ago— how torturously long it felt in the seconds while the few remaining drivers finished their laps. But now they’re in Abu Dhabi three years removed, and Lando needs a points deficit to George of at least three and a deficit of at least one to Charles.

There’s an ocean of distance between him now and September 2021.

When Lando’s radio crackles back to life after about fifteen or so torturous seconds, it’s Andrea whose voice greets him, unsettlingly more manic than Will’s, even though he’s trying to hide it. Then again, anything other than his normal calm makes Lando suspicious.

“Would you like to know the finishing order, Lando?”

“On your own time, I think.” Lando’s voice shakes more than it ever has over the radio, betraying his nonchalant words.

Andrea just chuckles. “P1, Verstappen; P2, Carlos; P3, you; P4, Russell.” The words hang in the air for only a second or two as Lando rounds the corner onto the start-finish straight.

Screams erupt in the background, but all Lando can think about is the basic mental math he’s calculating. “Does that—”

“Lando Norris, it means you’re champion of the world!”

The screams get louder then, becoming deafening behind Andrea as they filter through the open channel. His entire team is screaming, those who ran to climb the fence as he finished making their presence known so close to the pit wall. The goal they’ve been building towards for the entire year— for their entire careers— is theirs.

Lando’s vision blurs on command, his hands coming up to clutch at his visor for a split second before he has to direct the car to the third-place placard. Lando doesn’t know how he manages it once he starts yelling with the rest of the team. He wonders if he causes anyone to yank their headset off and decides he’ll have to apologize later. 

For now, though, this is his moment. This is his.

Lando manages to contain his emotions when Zak gets in on the celebration, but he loses it hearing Will’s voice again. He’s successfully parked the car and already set everything to mode zero, but Will’s voice is in his ear, and the least Lando owes this man is to listen to the rest of his engineer’s words.

“Alright buddy, get out there and celebrate.” 

As soon as Lando’s feet touch the asphalt, his legs buckle out from underneath him, and he collapses by the front left tire. He needs to get up, needs to pull his helmet from his head, and go celebrate in the arms of his team and his family. But here Lando is, his body wracked with sobs while he thanks every possible force in the universe that’s enabled him to get to this point.

The side of his car isn’t as blurry when Lando opens his eyes again and shoves his visor up, his knees not as shaky when he stands, leaning on the body of the car for support. 

Across the way, his team looks like they’re barely holding themselves back from storming the track. Their self-imposed barrier breaks when Lando takes a step in their direction, his car crew rushing him and sweeping him off his feet. He may not be as small as he used to be, but the arms of the guys who have been with him for six years pick him up like he is, and all Lando can do is hold on.

The bone-crushing team hugs Lando has been subject to over the years don’t come close to now— not even on the back of his first podium in Silverstone the year before. But, he supposes, nothing really is quite comparable to actually beating the odds as they have throughout this year. 

Everything from the last few years rushes to the surface— every emotion and catastrophizing thought. Every question he had about resigning or not looking elsewhere at a team that could take him to the top faster. They gave way to the base satisfaction that had come with improvements and with accurate correlations. 

Every thought triggers another swell of emotion, but Lando can’t think about what he looks like in the midst of it.

Later, there will be pictures Lando will probably never want to see again when he takes his helmet off to reveal his already puffy eyes, red from crying, but he doesn’t think of that now. Because now, even with his mind solidly in the present, he can’t stop getting teary-eyed with each new person who comes to congratulate him.

And then Carlos is there, his person, finished with his own team and weigh-in, and it’s a lot. 

Carlos’ eyes look almost as red as Lando’s feel, which is stupid because Carlos shouldn’t be the one crying, right? They’re only about five strides from each other, but Lando takes the distance in two and a half before he launches himself into Carlos’ arms, his legs coming up almost on instinct to wrap around Carlos’ hips.

Carlos seems to expect it thankfully, and they stay upright. Lando’s never felt more protected than he does right now. Strong and warm arms grip and wrap around his back with every ounce of strength Carlos has left after a grueling two hours in the car. They’re out in the middle of everyone with their image likely being broadcast across the world, and yet Lando can’t find it in himself to care about anyone but the way Carlos’ lips press against the side of his face, the barely audible, “You did it. My champion,” above all the noise.

Lando lets himself cry.

Someone breaks them apart eventually so that both of them can give their reactions on the finish to Coulthard, who’s standing a few feet away looking excited. The distance they put between themselves isn’t a lot, one of Carlos’ hands settles on Lando’s shoulders when Lando feels himself getting weak-kneed again while Carlos is talking. He wonders if he looks like he’s going to pass out or if Carlos is just that especially tuned to Lando.

He doesn’t wonder for long though before he’s being pulled to the camera and handed the microphone Carlos had just been holding.

This is the beginning of everything. The beginning of being a champion. The beginning of the rest of his career. Lando knows he’s ready for it.

[annabethchase06]

One of the seriously underrated differences between Percy Jackson and Harry Potter is the involvement of supporting characters. And I particularly mean characters who might not appear special to the reader.

Look at Harry Potter. The only Muggle characters who get some spotlight (and that too, negative) are the Dursleys. Other than that, Muggles hardly play a role in the story. Yes, I know what I'm saying – they don't know magic, how would they help?

They can. Look at Paul Blofis(the best stepdad ever, I had to say that). He can't see through the mist, he barely knows stuff about the world of his stepson but my man really woke up in a warzone and killed a monster like a pro. He couldn't even see the monsters properly, but he was there to help.

I love how mortals are involved in the Percy Jackson series, despite them not sharing the connections to the magical world. Take Sally Jackson, she was always there for her son. I know people will think, "Well, she's the hero's mother." But what about Hermione's parents? We never see them getting actively involved.

Rachel is one of the prime examples of this as well. And her counterpart in Harry Potter is Mrs. Figg. The one time we do see Mrs. Figg helping, it looked like Dumbledore had forced her or something. Rachel Elizabeth Dare flew a helicopter to a warzone, not caring about her own life, knowing she was a mortal and that her special abilities may show her the future, but would not protect her future(her life).

Percy Jackson has got mortals involved in sucha brilliant spotlight and that's one thing I've definitely not seen in Harry Potter. Muggles are either timid, resentful, angry, irritable or evil. One more way in which Rick proved that ANYONE can be a hero, Kudos!

[incorrect-tmnt1987-quotes]

Mona Lisa, after being kidnapped: Stop this! You are a man of science! How could you commit such atrocities?! Captain Filch: Excuse you, mustard gas would like a word. Mona Lisa: Uh, excuse you! Solar energy has something to say! Captain Filch: Excuse YOU, anthrax has an opinion on that! Mona Lisa: Excuse YOU, penicillin would like to chime in!! Captain Filch: … Captain Filch: The atom bomb. Mona Lisa: AGHHHH!!

[small-spanish-face]

I drew this thing at 2 am.

[jmscornerlibrary]

Unravelling Umbridge: Part 2

In which plans are made, Luna Lovegood unwittingly gets the better of Snape, and Fred and George Weasley are about to be caught completely off guard.

(Part 1 is on my blog :)

Featuring: Madame Rosmerta, Snape's pink cheeks, two fat nifflers and McGonagall as a cat.

Disclaimer: No pairings! This is a Hogwarts Professors being chaos fic. Everything is nice and proper (as it should be).

Enjoy!

***

The Three Broomsticks were relatively empty during the dark hours of after-student curfew: after ten. The hour was half-past, fires blazed in their places and the inn was as toasty as it could be on a chilly September night. The faint babble of chatter and clinking of glass coming from the kitchen and the bar was like honey in the ears of the two teachers sitting in the corner of the inn, after a whole day of shouting and chaos in the classrooms and common rooms.

Madame Rosmerta smiled as she wove her way across to the two of them, a glass of gillywater and Ogden’s upon her tray.

“Hello, Minerva, Professor Snape,” she said, with a little wink at the latter. “What brings you here on a late Monday evening?”

Severus Snape started at the wink, then averted his eyes from the pretty lady and instead grasped his glass of whisky. Minerva McGonagall spied a very faint tinge of pink upon his cheekbones and barely kept her face under control.

“Nothing much, Rosmerta,” she replied with a faint smile. “We have some marking business to discuss. It’s a lot more peaceful here, away from the students… and I daresay not much can happen when everybody is asleep.”

Severus inclined his head a fraction as a way of contributing to the conversation.

“I won’t interrupt you then,” Rosmerta replied with an eye-roll and smile. “I���d rather not get involved with such dark business.”

“Very wise,” McGonagall replied. “Thank you, dear.”

There was a moment’s pause during which both Heads sipped their drinks and fixed their eyes on the table, as Madame Rosmerta made her way back to the bar. Snape sighed faintly.

“Your cheeks are red,” Minerva said, not looking up. Severus didn’t retort, though he had to clear his throat quite thoroughly after swallowing.

“A lot of things can happen when everybody’s asleep, professor,” he replied stonily once he regained his breath. “Let’s talk quickly and return.”

Minerva put down her glass and folded her hands, placing her head upon them. “Let us do that. You are aware, perhaps, that Dolores is fond of cats?”

Severus’ eyes were directed to her as he swallowed his Ogden’s and stayed there as he put his glass down. 

“Cats.”

McGonagall smiled at his baffled tone and expression - the latter was a very peculiar one, for his eyebrows always formed a low, straight line and his eyes narrowed along with his mouth, so he looked as though he had just swallowed an amphibian - and inclined her head, her glasses flashing peculiarly in the light of the candles above them.

“Indeed. She’s really fond of kittens. Have you been in her office, yet?”

He scoffed. “I am yet to experience that pleasure.”

“Oh, you’ll absolutely love it,” she said, recalling her own disgust after she had set foot in it after an invitation. She had almost been surprised that her clothes hadn’t turned pink from exposure. “But all in good time.”

She pulled out the piece of parchment she had drawn up in her office and splayed it out onto the table. Snape leaned over, studied it, then turned his eyes onto her.

“This is just a print of a cat,” he observed, doubt and severe judgement lining his tone.

“That’s right.”

He studied his older counterpart for a few moments longer, but when she gave no answer, he grimaced. “Would you care to enlighten me, Professor?”

“With pleasure,” McGonagall replied, unmistakably smiling now. “You see, Severus… Dolores is fond of cats.”

“Yes, that we have already established.”

“And I, Professor Snape, am an animagus. More precisely…”

She ran a weathered finger over the rim of her glass, her grey eyes flashing with something which made Severus slightly uncomfortable. He had seen this gleam in the eyes of Gryffindor students fairly often when they were intent on acting up in his lessons; it usually meant they were about to toss things across the classroom into one another’s cauldrons, or something that was equally insipid.

“...I am perfectly capable of turning into a cat at leisure.”

Severus Snape’s face did not change, but as he reached for his whisky, his eyebrows crept upwards onto their highest step. The two Heads stared at one another for one long moment, both their eyes now gleaming, after which Severus put down his glass and inclined his head, slightly begrudgingly.

“I must admit that you, Minerva, are full of surprises.”

“My.” She chuckled. “Was that a compliment?”

“I’m disgusted with myself too.”

“A compliment,” she repeated. “From you?”

Severus looked at her long and hard, then shrugged. “You sound astonished. As though I rarely give out compliments, professor. I will have you know that nobody is as generous in their bestowment as I am.”

Minerva humphed, then rolled the parchment up and carefully set it on fire.

“I should give Slytherin a few points just for the sake of it,” she murmured, tilting the parchment with her wand, as it disintegrated above the table. “Perhaps one or two.”

Snape didn’t look impressed, but something of a smile still lingered on his features.

“I am no longer an adolescent, professor.”

“Nonsense. Unfortunately for you…” McGonagall made a little sound of satisfaction as the rest of the parchment vanished, then turned back to him. “You’ll never be a day over fifteen, for this old crone.”

Severus watched this old crone wriggle on her chair for half a second before emptying her glass, revealing as much excitement as her own stiff person perhaps would ever allow itself to, then returned to his usual stony expression after a moment and scoffed.

“I would hate to be in your place, professor,” he said, imagining short, square, flabby fingers with pink nails before him, magnified from a feline’s perspective. “Though, tell me, what exactly do you plan on doing when you enter that disgusting hellscape of magenta and primrose?” He spat out the last three words. “Are you really going to let that woman cluck and coo at you, perhaps even scratch you behind the ears?”

His lips curled upwards and black eyes began to glint. 

“I suppose that would be quite a poke at your dignity. The Head of Gryffindor in such a precarious position? Hm. I reckon you would be giving her a piece of your mind with your steel claws before you could stop yourself, but then the whole plan would be ruined.”

“You would be right.” McGonagall sniffed, no longer liking this turn of events. “Yet I am willing to put it to the side for the greater good, Severus.”

She sent him a pointed glance from behind her spectacles. He rolled his eyes and finished his drink.

“It is a very good idea,” he admitted, placing the glass down with a thunk. “I assume it is to gather more information than we are aware about. Perhaps she hides some strange letters of correspondence in her desk, or something equally vile.”

“Not my thoughts exactly, but whilst I am there, it would not do any harm to sniff around.”

Minerva placed her glass in the middle of the table, neatly. “However, it will not happen straight away, perhaps not even this week. The first few are always the most chaotic. Let us wait until everybody settles down, back into routine… or as much into routine as it can be, with the changes our subject of discussion has so boldly introduced this new order of things… before disturbing it”

They stood; Severus drew a finger over the surface of the table, then turned to Minerva.

“I expect to be informed as soon as you make your first venture, professor.”

“You will be the first,” she replied, as they made their way out of the inn, “and probably the only person who I will inform about this. Stay sharp. And Severus,” she added, looking back at him. “If you are so interested, why don’t you tell Rosmerta directly, instead of being so pathetically discreet? It’s incensing.”

Snape scoffed and averted his eyes from the white smile flashing from over by the bar, surrounded by a cloud of blonde curls, hastily.

“Don’t make me laugh, professor,” he muttered. “Interested. As if.”

Then he stepped past her and stormed out of the inn with his fists clenched and his dark cloak billowing.

*

And so the wait began, though nobody who observed the Potions Master would have thought that he was waiting for anything, for his masks of indifference were so close to perfect that everybody was convinced that Severus Snape was simply living his best life, or at least as close as it could get to that in present circumstances.

In fact, the Head of Slytherin and the Head of Gryffindor hardly spoke to one another at all that week, though they sat next to one another during meals to oversee the miserable silence in which meals were now spent. Both, however, had the pleasure of not sharing the company of Dolores Umbridge directly, who had taken to sitting next to Dumbledore and bestowing her little observations and ‘hem hems’ onto him. Since Albus was so polite as to never reveal what (as everybody was convinced) he really thought of her presence, he was the one who was suffering at large, running his fingers through his beard, his eyes rather solemn behind his half-moon spectacles though his mouth was always politely smiling and baffling Frog Pinky with stories - which most of the staff had heard before and chuckled at, since they were always told with that in mind - which verged on nonsensical.

Sometimes during these meals, Snape would glance at his colleague, who would return his glance without as much as an inclination of her head, and he would understand that it was yet to happen. He didn’t complain, nor grow more impatient, for he had far too much to do in his own time and his temper was put to the test on many occasions anyway, especially when teaching the fifth years, since Potter and his hilarious camaraderie didn’t have any less nonsense in their heads and twice the usual vigour to bring it into his life this year.

None of that put him on edge in the sense that he dreaded, however. Since Severus operated mainly on logic and common sense, he knew there was no way that anybody but his house rival knew of their conspiracy, and so he had no reason to be - and was not - nervous. Nor was he expecting any sort of confrontation with the amphibious, bureaucracy-hailing blob of magenta which terrorised students with greater ease than he did, regardless of the fact that he was almost double her height. 

Confrontation did not come, but eavesdropping did, though it was entirely unintentional. Severus was returning from the staff room after lunch break when upon turning the corner and a suit of armour to where the DADA office stood, he encountered the despised Miss Bufotes-Roseaus at her office door, deep in conversation with Argus Filch.

“I’m telling you, Mr Filch, it was a very pretty little cat, grey, with little black markings on its face. I’m sure you must have seen it before… you do have such a sweet little creature yourself.”

Severus stopped, then receded back behind the corner, into its shadows, and hid behind the suit of armour. From this position, he was almost impossible to see, for there were few windows on this corridor and his clothes were as black as the shadows sticking to the walls, so logic dictated that he ought to listen and collect as much information as possible for the good of the Slytherin-Gryffindor truce, before making his way back. He watched Filch shaking his balding, old head.

“Can’t say I’ve seen it before, professor, but that wouldn’t be the first time Hogwarts has attracted such creatures. I’ve shooed many away on such an occasion myself… my cat is allergic to others of its species, I’m afraid.”

“Well, please be sure to let this one walk around as it pleases, Mr Filch,” Umbridge said with a nod. “I think it’s taken quite a liking to me, and I’ve come to be fond of it myself.”

Severus hardly restrained himself from snorting aloud, though his lip did twitch at the image brought before him of this woman cooing over a po-faced, stiff-backed Minerva-the-cat. He owed his colleague for making him laugh, he thought - it wasn’t a common occurrence and he prized it. But then the conversation turned, and they began to speak of something different, something which had rather the opposite effect on him.

“Tell me, Mr Filch,” Toadus Pinkus began in her sickening sing-song. “What do you think of the professors here?”

Filch pushed out his lips as he thought. “That depends upon what grounds.”

“Why, teaching, of course!” came the reply. “And their beliefs. Those are important qualities, the most important qualities a professor can have. After all, they unknowingly bestow their views and upbringing upon the ones who they teach, and in a world as this one…”

“I see, I see,” Filch said, frowning as he searched in that knock-hollow head he carried on his dowager-humped shoulders. “I suppose most of them are quite good, Professor Umbridge.”

“Hm. Have you ever partook in any recent Care of Magical Creatures lessons, Mr Filch?”

Snape didn’t quite know why, but his fist tightened into the fold of his robes where was currently holding them. Filch nodded.

“I have, actually. I myself have helped with amassing some creatures Mr Hagrid had gotten ready for the lessons.”

“And are they fully approvable? The lessons?”

Filch hesitated. Severus could almost see his little brain working. Umbridge filled the care-taker in.

“They follow the Ministry curriculum? Does he communicate on an acceptable standard?”

Filch frowned; Severus felt his temper rising up like fiery bile from his lungs and into his head.

“Why, I suppose he does…” Filch scratched his chin. “I’m hardly ever there, really. I couldn’t really tell you, professor. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“A good idea, Mr Filch.” Severus could see the toad smile, as she adjusted the pink bows stuck to the side of her head. “Your domain is mainly the castle corridors, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“So you know how the other professors do, I suppose.”

“I’ve seen this and that.”

“What about… hm, the dark, unpleasant-looking man. Severus Snape, I believe his name was. Thin, with a crooked nose, surly expression?”

Snape barely repressed a scoff. They could laugh at him if they wished to, he thought, for he was immune to such abominable slighting and often did some of his own in his head, though his slighting was directed at others too. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him, Professor Umbridge,” Filch waved his hand with a snort. “The students get on quite alright in his lessons, that’s without a doubt. In fact, I often find myself wishing other teachers would take a leaf out of his book.”

“Hm. Indeed,” Umbridge hummed again. “And the old woman?”

Severus felt the veins in his neck begin to grow hot. He held his breath, expecting more. Filch frowned again. 

“Old woman?”

“Yes. I believe McGonagall was her name.”

“Oh!” Filch nodded, then lowered his voice and flicked his eyes around the corridor nervously. “I cannot complain about Professor McGonagall! She’s taught at Hogwarts long before I walked its halls, professor, and from what I’ve seen she has not a single fault in her teaching. A very good witch. Doesn’t quite believe in punishing students as they ought to be, however. A shame, if you ask me.”

“Indeed,” Umbridge pursed her thick lips. “It seems to me that she’s a little too above herself.”

Ha, Severus thought, not even realising he was running his fingers along the smooth material of his wand in his sleeve, does she now.

Filch merely inclined his head at this, but kept silent.

“As though she owns the place,” Umbridge continued. “Perhaps she fancies herself the Headmistress, one day. Quite a prolonged goal, if that’s the case… she must be almost at the end of her life, and she’s spent most of it here, from what I’ve heard… She doesn’t have long to realise it.”

Severus slowly drew out his wand.

“Why, she has,” Filch said.

“A rather sad one… but, that’s simply how life is. It’s not fair, as we both know, Mr Filch, life. Some people amount to greatness, some people…” She sighed, looking pitifully at probably an invisible McGonagall beside them. “Well, they contribute something to the world, but nothing of significance.”

Severus’ hand didn’t tremble as he lifted it, as he saw black and red, his lungs constricted, fire in his veins, pointing the tip of his wand at Umbridge. Fury only increased precision and potency in his spells.

“Some people are simply good enough to be turned into dust,” he found himself murmuring as he took a step back, readying himself, “and that’s the best thing they can hope to amount to… as do the people around them.”

He was about to flick his wrist; just about to hiss out something uncontrollable in the pit of his mind and step back, when something rustled behind him and he froze, shooting a look over his shoulder, his heart stumbling in its thudding plunge from fury to shock.

Two unnaturally-huge, silvery-blue eyes stared up at him, standing a mere two steps away from where he hid. Severus recognised this student; he would be a fool not to, for she stood out with her crazy ornaments, jewellery and distinct bolt-crazy habits. At present, she was clutching a stack of magazines with a pair of strange goggles on her forehead which pressed down her platinum-blonde locks and she was looking at him without a hint of trepidation or concern in her expression.

“Please carry on, professor,” Luna Lovegood murmured dreamily. “I just wanted to watch.”

Severus would have never admitted it, but he felt a strange shudder roll through him which pulled at his nerves. He was uneasy; only for a few moments, however. 

He stepped out from behind the suit of armour and retreated back around the corner to where Lovegood stood, leaving the gossiping pair at Umbridge’s door, then sucked in a breath, felt his temper restart, shoved his wand up his sleeve and made motion with his head for her to follow him.

When they got a safe distance away, he stopped his march and rounded on her. The only trouble was, now that he had been caught about to hex another colleague, he didn’t quite know what he should shout at her. But he didn’t need to. She spoke first.

“She’s an awful creature, isn’t she, professor?” Luna Lovegood adjusted her grip on the stack of magazines she was holding - most of them were upside down - and blinked once. “To be truthful, I wish you’d had done it. Please don’t worry about me telling anybody. I would have done it myself, if I could.”

Snape unfastened his jaw, still quite at a loss for words. “Would you, now.”

“Yes. She reminds me of a doxy. Quite a large and fat one, but a doxy regardless.”

He paused, actually snorted in amusement, feeling his muscles protest at the unnatural action of grinning, then regained himself and looked at Lovegood long and hard. After a moment, he just flicked his head towards the other end of the corridor and folded his arms.

“Go,” he said. “Before I take any points off for skulking about the castle.”

She nodded, not taking her unblinking eyes off him for a moment, gave him a little bow, then turned and walked off calmly to her destination. 

Snape watched her, perplexed, then remembered what he had heard upstairs and clenched his fists. Nothing he could do now, however, would do anybody any good, so he simply turned on his heel and swept off to his classroom before anything else made him explode again.

*

It was on a grey Thursday afternoon - three days after the incident with Luna Lovegood - that Severus, whilst rubbing at his temples and muttering darkly under his breath, still smelling the smoke which had coated the surface of his classroom after a particular accident, found that his waiting had come to an end. Minerva finally nudged the topic which had bubbled on his mind and reminded him of the days in which he had tossed a dungbomb into Sirius Black’s bag - the latter hadn’t noticed until it went off halfway down the corridor and Severus hadn’t forgotten the surge of delight which had took hold of his chest for two days after and whenever he had recalled it. 

McGonagall matched his step on the way to the staff room so silently and without announcement that he had glanced to his left and ended up flinching when he spotted her black hat, balanced upon her head at its usual degree.

“You look like you’ve swallowed an eel,” the elderly witch observed, as he scowled and grimaced at the way his heart thudded against his will.

“I feel as though I’ve swallowed an eel,” Severus muttered, shooting out a sigh through his nostrils. “And I will go as far as to swallow a poisonous one if you comment on any house points, crying students, my expression, or whatever it is I smell like. I’ve had it up to here with everything today, and I’m unwilling to make any exceptions, whether it be to my elders or betters or whatnot.”

Minerva’s lip twitched. 

“Oh, please,” she said once he had finished grouching. “You must realise that you say that every other day. So many times, in fact, that your threats are no longer imposing. But don’t worry Severus, I wasn’t going to, for I have many more important matters to discuss with you before the day is out.”

They glanced at one another, one gaze amused, one perplexed, then made a synchronised U-turn in the middle of the corridor and began to sweep their way in the opposite direction.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” Minerva said, glancing up at him from behind her steely spectacles. “From what I have observed, there’s nothing we, as teachers, can do.”

Snape graced her with a cool glance.

“You have kept me waiting for two weeks after dragging me to suffer at Rosmerta’s just to tell me that there’s nothing we can do?”

She blinked at him with raised eyebrows, then sighed. 

“I’m sorry you were so excited about it, Severus. It’s just that I don’t think we ought to stoop so low as to jinx or hex her in the corridors. That’s something that first-years do to one another. We are adults.”

Severus remembered his precarious hiding place behind the suit of armour and his murderous thoughts and intentions and said nothing.

“In short, there’s nothing we can do without blowing everything over.”

They passed through the main entrance, out onto the school grounds. It was a clear day, as warm as though it was still remembering summer, and mostly silent leave rustling and the far-away barking of the Game Keeper’s dog. Severus drew his cloak about him out of habit, scowling at the sky as Minerva walked along with him, her eyes darting here and there to detect anything unusual, also out of habit.

“Perhaps it is for the better,” she said, after they had made their way out onto the Quidditch pitches. “We are, after all, adults. Well, at least one of us is.”

Severus harrumphed in response. Minerva’s lip twitched.

“So you also think it is better to call this off?”

“No,” came the short answer, surprising her. “Conspiracy has become the highlight of my life and I refuse to give it up so easily.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows were raised again as she directed a look at him.

“Conspiracy? Nonsense.” She scoffed. “Conspiracy indeed. It is vengeance you want.”

“And I am not alone in wanting it,” he snapped. “You’ve been just as petty as I have in the roseau regard. Perhaps more.”

“Be that as it may, vengeance is something to frown upon.”

“Ha,” he scoffed. “That depends on the circumstances-”

“Wait, hush.”

They stopped. Minerva frowned; Severus turned.

“It looks like somebody is out,” he muttered after a pause, his eyes turned upwards. “I just wonder where…”

They both noticed ‘where’ at the same moment. Both had the wits about them to keep silent, though both also were stunned into looking sillier than both of them would have wanted.

Fred Weasley was leaning out of the top battlement, his wand out, looking very gleeful as he hovered down a niffler down to a particular window, about three stories below him. A few metres to his left, George Weasley was hovering down another; both creatures were strangely calm as they spun on different axis, as though they knew full well what was about to happen and were fully anticipating it.

McGonagall regained her voice, though it came out rather unsteady. “Merlin’s beard.”

Severus had shut his mouth by now and was observing the two devils with interest, his hands folded behind his back.

“It appears that that window,” he murmured after a moment, “is our most esteemed Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s.”

His voice made him sound almost impressed and was quite serene, though his counterpart was neither of those things one bit.

“But they’re on the battlements,” she said in a slightly strangled voice. “Merlin’s beard, they’re inches from slipping-!”

She started forward after inhaling a swift breath, probably to speak her mind very thoroughly about what she thought about them being so insipidly dim-witted, but Severus stuck out an arm to stop her. She looked at him as though he was mad. He certainly had a strange glint in his eyes. Even the corners of his mouth were turned up. 

“There’s no way we can do this without blowing it, you say, professor?” 

Minerva’s severely judgemental look grew about ten times denser.

“Heavens above, you are mad.”

“I am not,” he said gently, then pointed above him neatly. “But they most certainly are.”

Minerva looked up just in time to see the two fat nifflers roll through the open window, the Weasley twins shoot one another looks of pure pleasure, rub their hands, and their flaming heads disappear after ducking down. It was followed very closely by a sound as though somebody had smashed a glass jewellery box and a couple of dinner plates onto a stone floor, followed by an indignant meow.

There was a pause in which Snape and McGonagall looked at one another. Then, without a word, they both turned neatly on their heels and made their way back to the castle, with varying degrees of satisfaction and resolution upon their faces.

[amanitaknowsbest]

Been reading Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story and it's been both incredibly frustrating and hilarious

Feustrating because it's a weekly release and we are currently at the "Heroine at her lowest" stage, so no catharsis yet.

Hilarious because this series gets a decent amount of comments and even the die-hard ML are turning against him. The family has had almost no redeeming moments (aside from the MIL, surprisingly) amidst their paranoid suspicions around Edith, and its so bad that people are rooting for the FL to get with the butler.

I've been hoping for that for a while, Rhynon x Edith for endgame

Anyway, you know the situation is dire when we're 27 episodes in and the ML consensus is "throw him in the trash" I hope the writer has a fucking incredible plan to turn this around

[wolfstargazer]

Breathless - a wolfstargazer microfic - word count: 303

Feet pounded the flagstones. Filch's cries rang in their ears. It turned out that the coast had not been clear as Peter had insisted, and they had been spotted by Mrs Norris on the fourth floor.

"Split up!" James had cried, grabbing Peter who was closest and pulling him under the cloak.

Sirius had spun round in time to see Filch appear at the end of the corridor. He hadn't hesitated to grab Remus by the wrist and to insist, "Follow me."

Remus was not as fast as Sirius. He struggled to keep up, but he kept his eyes focused on the back of Sirius' head as he disappeared around a corner.

"Quick! In here!" Sirius hissed, skidding to a halt in front of a tapestry before disappearing behind it. Remus followed and was surprised to see a narrow door concealed there. Sirius drew his wand and whispered, "Alohomora." The door unlocked with a click. In a moment, Sirius had disappeared inside, pulling Remus in after him and closing the door behind them.

They stood in the narrow alcove, so close that every laboured breath Remus exhaled was stolen by Sirius' inhalation. It was too dark, and they were stood too close to see one another clearly. A breathless, silent moment passed, and Remus tried to hear if Filch had yet gone by.

"I don't know if he's gone," Remus whispered. "I didn't even know this was here. How did you?"

There was a pause. Sirius cleared his throat and said, "I've been here before."

Remus' stomach lurched. All at once, his mind went to places he really rathered it wouldn't...involving Sirius and someone else pressed close together in the alcove.

When he finally found his voice it sounded strained, and Remus hoped Sirius wouldn't hear the disappointment in just one word...

"Oh."

[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Admirer

@wolfstarmicrofic February 6, word count 395

Sirius and Remus were hurriedly moving down the corridor. Remus had the Marauder’s map in his hands, keeping his eye on Filch and Mrs Norris. 

Sirius had to reach out and help steer him around corners and down secret passageways. 

“Crap!” Remus hissed at the map. 

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, his voice hushed just above a whisper, trying to peer at the map. 

“They’re coming around. They’re going to corner us.” Remus looked at Sirius. Worry etched into his face. “You make a break for it. I’ll distract them.” He said as he handed the map over to Sirius. 

Sirius had always been an admirer of Remus and his bravery, but right then, he could have kissed him. However, being a brave idiot himself. He refused to let Remus take the fall for their prank. 

He grabbed Remus’s hand and yanked him forward. Running straight at Filch only to dart behind a tapestry just as Filch came pounding around the corner. 

Sirius refused to let go of Remus’s hand as they stood there, barely breathing, listening to Filch’s footsteps stop. 

He squeezed Remus’s hand tighter and let out a sigh of relief when Filch’s footsteps continued. 

“Did you see where they went, my sweet?” Filch’s out-of-breath wheezing voice drifted into their hiding place. 

Remus dug into Sirius’s pocket and pulled the map out again. He paused his movements and sighed. 

“Sirius, I need my hand back to check the coast is clear.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Sirius quickly dropped Remus’s hand, feeling the sudden emptiness and not enjoying it one bit. 

Remus drew out his wand and tapped the parchment. 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” He muttered, then cast a Lumos, illuminating the tip of his wand so he could see the black lines spidering across the parchment to form the map. He peered at it, watching the markers labelled Filch and Mrs Norris heading in the opposite direction. “If we go now, we’ve got a clear run straight back to Gryffindor Tower.”

They set off quickly. It was a good thing Remus was paying attention as all he could think about was how right Remus’s hand had felt in his and why that might be. He was so distracted he was genuinely surprised when they were before the portrait of the fat lady and crawling into the safety of Gryffindor Tower. 

Next part

[kiwipineappleparasol]

Things I scribbled Over two months ago to Celebrate a year since my Cohort and I first Cursed ourselves with Dual Destinies . Featuring : The Inside Jokes We Made

[beebox-illustrations]

This man has the worst job.

[7clubs]

THE MONSTROUS TURNABOUT, for @turnabout-cinema ✨