#hey I had to rework this WHOLE paragraph because it turned out it had a foreign turn of phrase in it

[cuppatealove]

Writing fic for an American show when you're not American is kind of like doing housework: if you've done your job right, no one should ever notice how much work went in to making it appear completely unremarkable. But I sometimes wish I could put a neon sign in the margin that says YOU GUYS I REMEMBERED ALL BY MYSELF TO CALL THE BEDSIDE CABINET A NIGHTSTAND, ARE YOU PROUD????

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 5 - It Was You

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Just when Hermione thought nothing worse could plague her than her constant nightmare, she has a very different kind of dream. How is she ever going to look Ronald in the face again? All she wanted was to do well in her classes, get S.P.E.W. off the ground, and finally get a good nights sleep.

Fred continues to find himself more than amazed at the infinite facets of Hermione Granger.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: A second update this week because I like you guys so much! :) 

I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 4

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Moments fall like crimson nights Some stick to my skin tonight Take a breath and shake them off Eyes ahead, don't you wait too long

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“If I have to write one more word about the goblin rebellions, I think I might off myself.” Ron threw down his quill, ink splotching across this parchment, and let his head fall into his hands.

“Be careful. If you do, I guarantee Professor Trelawney will say she predicted it all along because Venus was in retrograde and you’re a Pisces,” Harry responded flatly, resulting in a smile from Ron.

Hermione would never admit it, but she secretly agreed with Ron. While not quite as distressed as her ginger friend, she did find the weekly essays assigned by Professor Binns tedious and incredibly lacking in challenge. Perhaps she found the whole thing tiresome because she already knew everything there was to know about the goblin rebellions, but it also didn’t help that the ghostly professor was about as exciting as an old shoe.

“Hermione…” Ron drew out her name like he had just come to an idea. Hermione, very familiar with this tone, knew exactly what his idea was.

“No,” she responded sternly, scribbling away at her own parchment about the various defense tactics utilized by the goblins.

“Pleeeaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?”

She sighed. “I will edit and revise Ronald Weasley, and nothing more.”

“You’re the best, honestly.” Ron grinned and picked up his quill again, dipping it in his ink and scribbling away with renewed energy. His stupid grin made Hermione smile and roll her eyes before returning to her own essay. While she wished that Ron and Harry could just do their own work themselves, she did realize that not everyone had the discipline that she had. However, that didn’t mean she had to stop trying to get them to work harder. She knew for a fact that their potential far exceeded their marks.

They worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quill on parchment and shuffle of students walking past filling Hermione’s ears as her brain turned over, pulling out fact after fact.

In a blazing sense of pride, she finished her last sentence, tying her conclusion together perfectly, and placed her quill down on the table. At the click, both Ron and Harry looked over to her with wide eyes of disbelief.

“You’re finished already?” gaped Harry.

“I’ve barely gotten three paragraphs written. How can you possibly be finished already?!” exclaimed Ron. Hermione shushed him, glancing over at Madame Pince’s disapproving glare.

“Some of us, Ronald, utilize our time efficiently,” Hermione responded coolly as she placed her things back into her bag. She didn’t bother mentioning that she spent her last three hours in the library as opposed to their meager thirty minutes, or that she took her break after morning Transfiguration to study as well. Her eyes itched from staring at off-white pages and black script and for once she finished all her work and read ahead in all her classes. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was attending five less classes than the previous year.

There was also the small fact that she no longer slept. Nearly a month into school and she still barely slept four hours a night. When panic inducing nightmares weren’t causing her to toss and turn, she was studying. And when she wasn’t studying, she was working on her new endeavor – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, otherwise known as S.P.E.W. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup and the horrid treatment of Winky, the house elf, she knew she had to do something. This became even more clear when she found out Hogwarts was run almost entirely on house elf labor. In all her years never did she imagine that her beloved school used essentially slavery to cook and clean. It was wrong. It was barbaric. One would assume that in a world filled with magic, where one was only limited to the bounds of one’s imagination, they would be a bit more progressive. Unfortunately, though, it seemed to be the opposite. In fact, Hermione had never met a group of people so routed in their ways as the wizarding world. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that an entire world would be impermeable to prejudices when the muggle world was not.

Therefore, where all of her time was normally spent in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron or watching the Gryffindor quidditch team practice on the pitch, she now spent it nose deep in a book or attempting to recruit new S.P.E.W. members. Her absence had not gone unnoticed – in fact, it became so blatantly clear that Harry confronted her outright between Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.  

“I don’t understand Hermione, is it something I’ve done?” Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks, distress obvious on his face.

“No, it’s nothing you’ve done Harry,” Hermione picked at her nails, feeling uncomfortable.

“Was it, Ron? I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione ignored the grating irritation at Harry’s blind defense of Ronald.

“No, it’s not Ron.”

“Then what? Come on Hermione, you know you can tell me anything.”

Hermione looked at her best friend and sighed. His kind eyes shone from behind his round spectacles with sincerity and concern.

“I’m not avoiding you or Ron. I’m just stressed about our O.W.L.s next year—" she paused “—You can never be too prepared, and I need to do well on them.”

Harry looked at her with a confused expression, “Hermione, they’re not for another year! Are you seriously stressing over something so far away?”  

“Yes? No? I guess…I guess I’m just used to studying all the time. You know, what with the time-turner last year and all. And then of course there’s S.P.E.W. No one seems to care at all that these poor elves are being worked day and night without any pay. I mean, it’s horrendous!” Hermione half-lied, feeling stupid as the words left her mouth. She wanted to be honest with Harry, but she didn’t know how. The real reason felt stupid. What was she to say? Sorry I’ve thrust myself into my work more than ever Harry; I just can’t stop having nightmares about something that happened nearly two months ago and I’m trying to distract myself.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, “I get it.”

“You do?” His remark caught her off guard as she wasn’t even sure if she understood it.

“You’re an absolute swot. Don’t get me wrong, we all love that about you, but you need to learn when to relax and have some fun,” Harry finished with a grin.

“You prat—” Hermione hit his arm with the back of her book “—Don’t call me a swot. But you’re right. I need balance.”  

“And I guess as appointed Secretary of S.P.E.W., I could do a bit more for the cause.”

Hermione lit up at the words. “Really? Oh Harry, thank you so much! I’m making more buttons tonight, maybe you could help me? Then tomorrow we can try and canvas some of the other houses for new members!”

“Well, if you’re so efficient, you should be able to help me finish mine!” argued Ron desperately, bringing Hermione back to the present.

“Ronald, I told you before. I’m not doing your assignment for you. You have to learn it on your own,” she whispered.

“When am I ever going to need to know about all the goblin leaders? Besides, you like doing this sort of stuff.”

“Ronald, I said n—”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Merlin, Hermione thought at the sound of unified voices. Rolling her eyes, she turned to see Fred and George standing behind her.

“Hey Fred, hey George,” Harry greeted them cheerfully, placing his quill down – happy for an excuse to stop working.

“Hullo Harry,” they responded in unison.

“Any progress on entering our names for the tournament?” Ron asked expectantly. Much to Hermione’s disproval, Fred and George promised him a try at whatever they whipped up as soon as they knew it was successful, and Ron had not stopped talking about it.

“We’re nearly there,” George grinned.

“So, we’ll know in about two days whether it works or not,” said Fred, leaning against a bookshelf casually. Two days? Hermione thought with alarm. Was it really the 29th of October already? That meant the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, the other competing schools, were to arrive tomorrow evening! She needed to go back to her dormitory and rework her schedule. She had no room to pencil in excitement and new student arrival that week. She opened her planner to begin revising.

“How confident are you that it’ll work?” asked Ron, leaning forward in excitement.

“Extremely,” the twins answered.

Hermione let out an indecent snort and rolled her eyes again. Fools.

“Something you’d like to add Granger?” asked George, looking over at her.

“Yes, hullo to you also. So nice of you to acknowledge us in a friendly manner,” accused Fred sarcastically.

“I think some lessons are best learned through experience, rather than lecture,” said Hermione, carefully picking her words before tucking her planner into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“But you love to lecture us, are you sure you aren’t raring to tell us how wrong we are?” asked Fred, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Please. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“A lost cause? You hear that Georgie? We’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t know…sounds to me like she’s just afraid of a challenge Freddie.”

“It’s not a challenge if all I’m doing is slowly melting my brain trying to reason with the pair of you,” scoffed Hermione.

“Oh, I can melt your brain just fine, if that’s what you’d like,” stated Fred, stepping forward cockily.

“Is your wit really so primitive that you have to resort to sexual innuendo all the time?” Hermione asked, her heart rate picking up in her chest as their conversation turned more heated.

“Sexual innuendo? I have no idea what you’re referring to Granger. I was merely saying I might be smarter than you think. Are you sure you aren’t projecting a bit there?”

“You’re a child,” Hermione bit back, feathers ruffled that Fred seemed to be over his initial shock response to her comebacks and instead was meeting her beat for beat. His eyes held a shine to them as he smiled down at her in excitement.

“Resorting to name-calling now? I thought higher of you,” sighed Fred, tapping the end of her nose condescendingly. Hermione batted his hand away, feeling her hair begin to crackle. She was getting too upset. She needed to calm down and show him that she was better than him.

Taking a small, calming breath, she straightened her posture before replying, “That doesn’t surprise me Frederick. I’m sure it’s easy to think highly of me when your potential is so low.”

Hermione took that moment to make her exit. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. A warm flush covered her face and bled down her neck as she scurried through the halls. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Despite his ample fight, she felt quite confident that she won the battle. His lack of biting response as she left, supported as much. Departing before he could speak might have been a cheap way to go about it, but she reasoned there was no clean way to fight when it came to the Weasley twins. A small giggle bubbled up in her chest as she replayed the conversation in her head. Invigorated by the whole event, she ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower. Rounding corners and sprinting up staircases, exhaustion filled her small frame by the time she came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her lungs ached from the exercise and her shoulder and back ached from the heavy books weighing her bag down. She gasped the password through pants and entered as she tried to catch her breath. Fellow Gryffindors cast odd looks in her direction as she scurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but she didn’t care. Her room was empty and for that she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was a forced conversation with Lavender or Pavarti. Perhaps the physical exertion would act as a sleeping agent and she would finally fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. Best to ride the wave and go to bed while I’m still tired¸ she thought. Sluggishly, she changed out of her uniform and crawled into bed. Nagging thoughts tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to brush her teeth, but the exhaustion in her body told her to sleep. Ultimately her body won, and sleep took over.

Hermione’s mind swam the next day as she sat in double potions with the Slytherins. It was nearing the end of class and Professor Snape was taking the time to explain to them why their potions had been improperly brewed in one way or another. Hermione’s hadn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from berating her for being an ‘insufferable little know-it-all’, and then accusing her of helping any student that didn’t manage to burn a hole in their cauldrons. She diligently took notes as Snape droned on and on, but her mind failed to connect to the words she was writing down on the parchment. All thoughts and worries were currently focused on an embarrassing personal crisis. The dream.

While Hermione thought nightmares were the worst thing, she could possibly endure in her sleeping state, she had to admit she had been wrong. No, apparently there was something much, much worse stewing in her brain waiting for vulnerable unconsciousness to leap out and take form.

She had been in the library, wandering through the sections of towering shelves when she appeared in a section, she was unfamiliar with. Turning a corner her eyes grew wide at the sight of two older students locked in an intimate embrace. Her heart started to race, and her breathing began to pick up as she felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to leave but found herself unable to move – her feet glued to the floor. That’s when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and a pair of lips kissing up her neck. Her hands went up, one grabbing at the fingers that dug roughly into her flesh and the other threading itself through long thick hair. She turned her head only to see that the hair between her fingers was a brilliant shade of ginger. The realization was so shocking to her that she awoke from her dream, sitting ramrod straight – heart pounding, sweat-slicked, and breathing heavily.

Her face blushed just thinking about it. Turning her head casually to the right, she spied one of her best friends. Ronald Weasley sat next to Harry, slumped forward in his seat, head resting in his hand. His long hair hung way past his eyes, concealing them completely. Hermione, knowing Ron, would bet on her life that they were closed, and he was verging on sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep though, because if he were there would be loud snores coming from his direction. Him. He was the one her mind decided to fantasize about. Why? She studied him, her eyes tracing the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking; she always quite liked his hair and pale complexion. He had a kind heart and could be quite charming when he wanted to be, the problem was that rarely did he want to be. He could be quite cruel and insensitive without knowing it, and he didn’t care for much other than Quidditch. Is that really what she wanted in a partner? Hermione scoffed at her mental ramblings. Here she was, wondering if Ronald Weasley were her potential first love without considering that he would probably never be interested in her. After all, her hair was a bushy, frizzy mess, her teeth were far too big for her mouth, and her otherwise plain features left much to be desired. Not to mention her overall swotty personality. Still, hadn’t he told her that she was ‘the best’? And he certainly didn’t mind being her friend. What if he did like her?

“Miss Granger, is there something on Mr. Weasley’s face that’s so interesting that you cannot be bothered to pay attention?” The sound of Professor Snape’s voice brought Hermione out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find all eyes on her. The Slytherins snickered around her, and Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“No Professor, my apologies,” she mumbled, looking down at her notes.

“Five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s lack of interest. Class dismissed,” snipped Professor Snape as he turned towards his office. Hermione packed her bag and exited the classroom as quickly as possible.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, him and Ron catching up to her with ease.

“Sorry guys, I got lost in thought and didn’t realize where I was looking. I guess I should have been paying attention,” Hermione stammered, readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“No problem Hermione. Snape’s a git and no one blames you. I was almost asleep near the end there too,” Ron piped in with a friendly smile. Hermione felt her stomach flip.

“Thanks Ronald.” She smiled back.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of love birds, boys,” Draco Malfoy sneered as he came up beside them. “When’s the wedding? I’m sure it’ll be just lovely, or at least as lovely as five knuts’ll get you.”

Hermione scowled at the silver-hair bully, with all his sharp pointed features and disgustingly greasy demeanor, as he laughed along with his goons. She rolled her eyes and grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arm, leading them on towards the front of the castle. Ridiculous. That’s what she was being. It was ridiculous to waste her time worrying about some absurd dream when that’s all it was – a dream. Besides, she didn’t know for certain it was Ron who she dreamed about. There were plenty of red heads in the world.

Outside the main entrance they found Ginny next to Neville in a crowd of students.

“Did we miss anything?” asked Ron, looking excitedly about.

“Nothing yet, you’ve made it just in time I think!” Ginny exclaimed in glee. The castle was in a fit of excitement. Even the Slytherins, who didn’t find much joy in anything school related, seemed to be chomping at the bit for their guests to arrive and the Triwizard Tournament to finally take off. Hermione, too, was excited but more at the thought of getting to meet students from other magical schools. She had taken the liberty of reading as much as she could on the histories of both Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and was informing Ginny on their key similarities and differences when several gasps and shouts erupted around them.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, pointing up at the sky above them. Hermione followed her finger upwards to see a large horse-drawn carriage flying through the clouds, pulled by a dozen flying horses the size of elephants. She watched as they soared through the air, their wings pumping up and down in synchronization. The size of the horses was comparable to what they were pulling, for as it got closer, Hermione estimated the carriage to be at least twice the size of her home back in Hampstead. The carriage floated prettily, a pale cream embellished with pastel blue designs and gold trim. Obviously of French provincial style, she concluded that this was clearly the Beauxbaton students. So enthralled by the ornate and bordering ostentatious carriage and the horses pulling it, Hermione failed to notice heads turning and mouths gaping at the Black Lake. In fact, her gaze only broke away from the magnificent beasts when Ron elbowed her from behind. She turned to scold him, but caught her tongue when she noticed a daunting, black ship floating on the lake. It rocked back and forth, sending large waves crashing away from it on the usually glass-smooth surface. Hermione thought it very much resembled what happened when you dropped a large rock into a pond and wondered how it got there. Someone was sure to tell her later – there were plenty of witnesses.

“Way to make an entrance!” exclaimed Ron, followed by loud whoops and cheers as he clapped.

“A bit flashy, if you ask me,” Pansy Parkinson sniffed from a nearby group of Slytherins.

“She’s one to talk,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

“Hah!” a boisterous laugh sounded behind her. Hermione swiveled and caught a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

Fred leaned towards her. “Nice one Granger,” he complimented over the babble of conversation around them. His warm breath fell on her neck, all too reminiscent of her dream. Her body jerked to attention, heat creeping up her face before she smiled politely and turned away from the older boy.

“They’re coming up to the entrance!” Seamus Finnigan announced. Hermione thanked Merlin for the distraction and looked down the path leading to the front of the castle. Sure enough, there was a large group of individuals walking towards them. As they neared, the Hogwarts students cheered and applauded them, trying to welcome the foreign students like Professor Dumbledore advised. Hermione clapped softly as the first students approached. A tall and unsettling man led the group. His dark hair, speckled with bits of silver, sat heavy on his head, slicked back from his angular face. The sharp features and the long, grey goatee gave him an ominous appearance fueled even further by the deep scowl set into his mouth and piercing black eyes. He wore midnight black robes paired with a brilliantly white fur pelt over his shoulders. Igor Karkaroff. Headmaster of Durmstrang. The students behind him wore robes of deep crimson, the color sharing an eerie resemblance to the color of blood. Like their headmaster, they too donned thick furs to fight the crisp cold, only theirs held a rich color of brown. They looked incredibly warm. Subconsciously, Hermione pulled her wool robes closer around her as a strong breeze blew around them.

“Bloody hell! It’s him!” Ron shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical tone.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Victor Krum! It’s Victor Krum! Right there in the front!” Ron pushed himself forward and past Hermione to get a better look at the famous Quidditch player coming towards them. With Ron’s tall figure in front of her, she failed to confirm whether the Bulgarian seeker truly lead the group of Durmstrang students. Ron’s excitement only increased as the visiting students got closer and then passed them into the castle.

“Ronald! I can’t see!” Hermione pounded lightly on Ron’s back with her fists until he snapped out of his star struck trance. The ginger boy turned around, a sheepish grin across his face.

“Sorry about that Hermione. Here.” Awkwardly, Ron shifted over and led Hermione to the front by her waist. For the second time that afternoon a Weasley boy reminded her of her dream, Ron’s touch all too like the arms that held her sensually the night before. She took a small step forward, putting distance between herself and Ron’s grasp. The students from Beauxbaton were the next to make their way down the path. The crowd gawked at the elegant French students as they walked poised and beautiful down the cobblestone in their blue silk uniforms. Hermione, on the other hand couldn’t help but find them annoying. They shivered and chattered their teeth in such an exaggerated manner and looked up at the castle with such disgust and judgement that she immediately took a disliking to them.

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not that cold,” Hermione groaned as the boys and girls huddled together for warmth. Hermione thought them incredibly rude and found it idiotic that they did not think to wear warmer robes. However, someone in their party evidently had sense, as their headmistress sauntered up the path in a heavy shawl, completely unbothered by the cold. Although, Hermione wasn’t sure anything could bother the woman as she stood twelve feet tall and sturdy. A neutral expression, bored some might even call it, covered her face and despite her size, she too glided gracefully across the ground. As they walked past, Hermione could hear little bits and pieces of snide remarks from the Beauxbaton students. Apparently, they thought Hogwarts would be much nicer than it was. Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She assumed that as guests, they would have much better manners.

“Honestly, can you believe that rubbish?” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Ron and Harry behind her. Instead of meeting commiserating sentiments like she expected, the pair continued to stare at the Beauxbaton students until they disappeared completely into the castle. Their mouths hung open widely, making them look quite dumb, and Hermione turned to Ginny with a questioning look. Ginny shrugged, also confused over her brother and Harry’s behavior.

Hermione waved her hand in front of the pairs’ faces.

“Hullo! Are you two listening to me?” she asked, frowning.

“Bloody hell, did you see her?” Ron asked, in more of a trance than when he saw Krum.

“Yeah…” Harry said dreamily.

“See who?” Hermione questioned. What was wrong with them? They hadn’t acted like this since…oh goodness. Not since the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Ahhhh it seems our poor baby brother has fallen victim,” George stated woefully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She looked up at him and then back down at his hand.

“Why are you fine?” she asked, shrugging off his hand.

“Oh, Alicia and Angelina were sure to snap us out of it,” Fred stated, then placing his hand on her shoulder.

“And how exactly did they do that?” She raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his hand as well.

“Like this!” the twins shouted before reeling back and smacking both Harry and Ron in the back of the head. The two fourth year Gryffindors yelled out in pain, grasping at their heads before spinning around and glaring at Fred and George.

“What the hell was that for?!” Harry barked.

“You were drooling mates,” George smirked.

“And it’s time to go back in,” Fred pointed behind them at the entrance to the castle where most of the students were filing through already.

They followed the crowd back into the castle and through the corridor into the Great Hall. It seemed the Durmstrang students took a special liking to the Slytherins as almost all of them were seated at their table. The Beauxbaton students seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, much to Ronald’s disdain. And it was Ronald’s unhappiness that also fueled Hermione’s sore mood as well. Silently she ate her dinner and watched as Ron fawned and drooled and ogled the girls from Beauxbaton for the entirety of the night. When a particularly pretty one approached their table asking him for the bouillabaisse, Ron was left speechless.

“Honestly, Ronald. She’s just a girl. You know, like every other girl in this school. Including myself,” Hermione tried to reason with him.

Eyes still trained on the French beauty, Ron responded with incredulity, “That’s ridiculous Hermione. She’s no girl. That right there is a woman. Leagues above any girl here at Hogwarts.”

A woman? What did that even mean? She was only a few years older than Hermione. She didn’t even look that much older. Hermione turned her attention back to the food on her plate and found that she had lost her appetite. So instead, she pulled a book from her bag and buried herself behind it, slowly sinking lower into her seat as the night went on. She missed the moment they revealed the cup that competitors were to put their name in, too engrossed in the words on the page, and when dinner was over, she was the first to leave the Great Hall. Only, she didn’t head straight for the common room like she usually did. Instead, her feet carried her through the castle until she found herself in the library once again. As she seated herself in her favorite corner, she was reminded of something Professor Trelawney had said her third year. ‘Oh you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid’s, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.’

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Another potion successfully made brother.” Fred grinned, stretching the muscles in his neck and back.

Fred and George Weasley currently sat in an abandoned classroom as they finished the answer to all their problems. Well past curfew, the pair had just filled two vials with the clear aging potion and capped them triumphantly.

“I’d say that one was particularly easy, wouldn’t you?” George replied, standing up.

“As easy as beating Percy in a game of wits.”

“Off to bed then?”

“Actually, I think I may pop down to the kitchen and grab myself a bite to eat. Clean up here?” Fred asked, motioning around the room. The classroom was their own personal haven; tucked away in an old corner of the castle that few ventured it was their go-to space for all their inventing and brewing needs. It was only thanks to their time with the Marauder’s Map that they knew about it.

“Yeah. See you in the morning Freddie.” George waved goodbye as Fred exited the classroom and headed down towards the kitchens. The low light of the hallway candles washed the castle in a soft glow that contrasted with the icy chill of nighttime. The castle was always cold at night. However, the frigid temperature didn’t bother Fred Weasley as much as usual that night. He was far too excited to be bothered by much of anything, really. Tomorrow was the big day. They were going to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire, and it was going to be glorious. Fred had no idea if one of them would even be picked to compete, but just the idea of winning the prize money was enough to keep a spring in his step and a surge of determination coursing through his veins.

He kept quiet as he tip-toed through the halls, just in case Filch was lurking around corners. Turning down the last corridor he was surprised to see, not the scraggly old Mr. Filch, but the familiar figure of a bushy-haired fourth year. Hermione Granger stood in front of a picture on the wall, the torches in front of her illuminating her and making her hair glow like an ethereal halo.

“Hermione?”

She spun around, glancing back and forth, looking like a frightened animal. Fred stepped closer, out of the shadows so she could see him more clearly. He watched her relax, her shoulders dropping from her ears and slumping forward. She laughed lightly.

“Merlin’s beard, Frederick! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed with an edge of relief in her voice.

“Shhhh!” Fred hushed her, rushing forward, and covering her mouth with his hand. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your yelling or just Filch in particular?”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. She stiffened beneath him, the two of them silently listening for any signs of Filch or his wretched cat, Mrs. Norris. When Fred failed to hear anything, he let out a breath of relief and looked down at the little witch in his arms. Suddenly he was awash with the memory of the last time the two of them had been that close. The night in the forest when they were hiding for their lives. He removed his hand and stepped back.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was coming back from the library and decided to go for a bit of a walk,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him under the glowing light of the torches. “How are we going to get back to the tower without being seen?”  

“Simple. I know a shortcut. Come on.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her along with him down the corridor. Her hand was small and cold but fit surprisingly well in his own. His stomach growled, and mournfully he thought of the late-night snack he originally set out to get. He continued down the halls at a quick pace until they reached the tapestry he had been looking for. Tapping his wand five times at its center, he pulled back the tapestry to reveal a hidden passageway. He let go of Hermione’s hand and the two slipped behind the tapestry, letting it fall back into place behind them.

“Lumos,” Fred spoke softly, lighting the dark space with the tip of his wand.

“Amazing, this must be one of the secret passageways on the Marauders’ Map,” marveled Hermione.

They made their way down the narrow passage, taking up a leisurely pace, not feeling the pressure of getting caught by Filch or his cat. The shuffling of their feet on the cold stone filled the silent space around them as they climbed up stairways and weaved around corners. As they walked, a nagging thought pricked at the back of Fred’s mind until he couldn’t help but voice it.

“So, walks about the castle past curfew. I didn’t take you for the type Granger,” Fred teased. Hermione let out a loud and vulgar scoff. Fred turned, looking down at her incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young witch lifted her chin in indignation, “What sort of type did you take me for?”

Fred shrugged, “You know, the good girl type. Doesn’t get into trouble. Doesn’t break rules. Perfect Prefect material.”

“I’ll have you know I break plenty of rules.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s Harry or Ron’s idea,” pressed Fred, hoping to goad her into revealing something he didn’t already know.

“That’s not true!” She turned her head and glared at him.

“No, don’t believe it.” Fred shook his head.

“Well, believe it because it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, tell me one rule that you’ve broken that wasn’t Harry or Ron’s idea.” He glanced at the younger witch out of the corner of his eye. Her brows were scrunched together, her pink lips pouting as she thought. Then her face opened in excitement, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening, revealing her large front teeth below her upper lip.

“In first year, it was my idea for Harry to sneak into the restricted section of the library over Christmas holiday,” she stated proudly.

“That doesn’t count! You only thought of the idea; you made Harry do all the dirty work,” countered Fred.

“Alright, in second year I brewed Polyjuice in the girl’s lavatory and nicked lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s office to do it,” said Hermione triumphantly as they reached the end of the passageway, coming out the other side right next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione spun around, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for his response.

“Who’d have thought that the Hermione Granger was such a delinquent,” praised Fred, grinning widely. He was truly impressed. He had no idea that the bright little witch had it in her to steal from a teacher.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “That’ll teach you to underestimate me, Frederick Weasley,” she stated coolly, but her golden brown eyes shown with flee, like he had just given her the best compliment in the world. He then watched in awe as she turned around, mutter the password, and disappeared through the portrait into Gryffindor tower.

“It sure will Granger, it sure will.”

Chapter 6 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 21: A Beacon of Hope

(Slight warning: There’s a bit near the end where Ren describes her initial experience with Kamoshida. If it’s too much for you, the section you should skip begins with the words “She looked down” and ends after the three paragraphs.)

May 2nd. The day Shiho was going to burn down the school, and with it, all of her fears and insecurities. Yet the three human Phantom Thieves stood in front of the school (with Morgana residing in Ren’s bag). “Yep. It’s still there” Ryuji said.

Ann was a little nervous. Ren took notice. “Are you OK?”

Ann still hesitated. She sighed. “I just thought Kamoshida would have confessed by now. We did all of that, and yet…”

“It’ll happen Lady Ann,” Morgana said from the bag. “I guarantee it.”

Ann smiled slightly. “Thanks Morgana.”

Ryuji looked around and saw something that surprised how. “Is that?”

The two girls looked where Ryuji looked. “Shiho?!” Ann said with surprise.

Shiho timidly walked up to them. “Hey everyone,” she said, quietly. After a period of silence, she just let out an “I’m sorry.”

“Shiho!” Ann said again, tears bursting out of her. She rushed to Shiho and hugged her. “I’m SO glad you’re OK.”

Shiho was surprised. She then smiled and hugged Ann back. “Thank you Ann.” The two of them stopped hugging. Shiho was still nervous, though understandably so. “Well, I guess we should go in.”

“Yeah” Ren nodded, smiling. The four of them headed in.

When they got to class, Morgana made his way into Ren’s desk. “You seem a little more cheerful than you were this morning,” he remarked.

Ren grinned at him. “You’ve noticed. Well, this is just a guess, but if Shiho is well enough to come to school, and her and Kamoshida were linked in the metaverse, I’m thinking we might get our confession today.”

Serendipitously, the announcements came on. “Attention. This is Suguru Kamoshida. I am advising everyone to come to the auditorium for a special announcement. Please. I beg of you.”

As the class murmured on what this could be, Morgana looked at Ren and said “You were saying?”

Ren giggled. “Let’s go.”

Kawakami sighed. “Alright. Settle down. Kamoshida told us about this this morning, so we made time for it. Now please, everyone in a single file line.” The class was restless, but did as Kawakami said, since they figured it was the easiest way to figure out why Kamoshida was calling this meeting.

Soon, the whole school was lined up in the auditorium. Kamoshida was standing at the front of the room. Everyone waited with bated breath, wondering what this proverbial king would say. He approached the mic and began speaking. “I...have been reborn.”

The crowd was more curious. Kamoshida continued. “During my tenure, I was not an adequate instructor. I gave in to my own self-interest, and pushed my distorted desires on the children I was supposed to teach. I’ve overworked my students. Physically abused my students. And” he let out a long, deep sigh, “sexually harassed several female students.”

The students were all in a frenzy. The teachers were unsure of what to do. And Principal Kobayakawa sweated enough bullets to load a chaingun. And yet, Kamoshida went on. “I have done various things to manipulate my students to get what I want. I have pressured them. I have spread rumors. I've even made outright threats. I can no longer live with the sins bearing on my soul.”

Kamoshida got down on his hands and knees. “I am a terrible teacher. A terrible coach. And a terrible person. Please. Someone. Kill me and put me out of my misery.” Soon there was an uproar in the auditorium. Kamoshida not only admitted his crimes, but also begged to be killed. Right there. In front of everyone.

Ren, Ryuji, and Ann were confused and a little outraged. They had ventured into the metaverse to prevent this, and yet he’s just going to give up and die? However, before any of them had a chance to speak, Shiho found her courage. “Don’t run you bastard!” she shouted, gaining the attention of everyone. They all saw the fire in her eyes. “You sent ALL of your students to Hell and back! And yet, we’re all still standing! Because we never gave up! No matter how much you made our lives agony! You have no right to run from this!”

The auditorium remained quiet until Kamoshida chuckled. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. Someone. Call the cops. I’m going to turn myself in and pay for my crimes.”

The crowd was chattering with themselves while the teachers tried to maintain order. There was some noticeable speculation on whether or not this was the doing of the Phantom Thieves who brazenly sent Kamoshida a calling card not too long ago. Some people thought that stealing hearts would be impossible, but others pointed out that no other explanation makes sense for Kamoshida’s sudden change in behavior.

The principal ran up to the target and took the microphone. He was clearly nervous about what just transpired here. “Well, um, in light of what just happened, I’m, um, cancelling classes for the rest of the day while we sort this all out.” There was a noticeable amount of contempt for Kobayakawa from the crowd after he said that. Still, the teachers were organizing efforts to leave, but a few decided to stick around anyways.

Notably, Ren, Ann, and Ryuji. “Man, that was something else” Ryuji commented.

“I’ll say,” Ren said. “I mean, I knew he was going to confess, but I wasn’t expecting it to be a spectacle like that.”

“Yeah,” Ann said. “But what really surprised me was Shiho.”

“Yeah” Ryuji agreed. “I mean, I was getting ready to say something like that, but I think it felt more powerful coming from her.”

“Speaking of,” Ren said. She turned in the direction of Shiho. “Let’s go.” The three of them walked over. “Hey,” Ren said, gaining Shiho’s attention. “That was really brave of you.”

“You...think so?” Shiho asked.

“Totally!” Ann answered. “You were AMAZING!”

Shiho smiled and blushed slightly. “Thanks.”

“Takamaki!” some girls called out.

The group turned to the girls. “Oh” Ann said. “What’s up?”

One of the girls began. “We’re so sorry!”

“Yeah, we believed and spread those horrible rumors about you and Kamoshida.”

“We had no idea he was pressuring you to do his bidding.”

“We’re so sorry.”

Ann smiled. “It’s OK. I was also caught up in Kamoshida’s bullshit. I know how hard it can be to see through it all. It’s not your fault.”

“But we treated you so terribly,” one of the girls said.

“How are you so willing to look past that?” the other asked.

“Well…” Ann began. “I realized something. Everything that happened was all Kamoshida’s fault. If I let how he made people think of me get to me, then he’s won. So instead, I’ve decided to not care what people think. I’m going to be myself. And if people don’t like it, then why should I care?”

“Wow” said one of the girls.

“Well, thanks anyway” the other one said. The two walked off.

“That was inspiring,” Ren said.

Ann chuckled. “I learned that from you” she said, giving Ren a light shove.

“Me?” she asked.

Ann nodded. “Yeah. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” Shiho looked at the floor. Everyone else took notice. Ann grabbed Shiho’s hand. “Shiho” Shiho looked up. “You’re also one of the strongest people I know.”

Shiho was shocked. “But...I was…”

“We know,” Ann said. “But it would be hard not to think to do that in your shoes.”

“Yeah” Ryuji said. “I almost went along with it, but something inside me said I shouldn’t.”

“You’re amazing Shiho,” Ann said. “The way you stood up to Kamoshida today. That was amazing.”

“She’s right,” Ren said. “Everyone of us was thinking that, but you summoned the courage to speak out.”

Shiho was stunned. “I guess I did,” she said.

“Shiho. You’re amazing” Ann said. “As your best friend, I’m not going to let you think otherwise.”

Shiho smiled. “Thanks Ann.” She stood silently for a second. “Alright. That’s it.” The three thieves were surprised. “I’m determined to stand on my own two feet. I’m going to bring this school’s volleyball team to nationals.”

“Woah wait, hold on” Ryuji said. “Don’t you think with Kamoshida gone, there might be some problems with that?”

“I don’t care,” Shiho said. “I’m not going to let that stop me. Kamoshida may have dragged the team down, but I will raise it up. I love volleyball, and I am determined to not let Kamoshida take that away from me anymore”

Ren smiled. “Way to go!”

“You can do it Shiho!” Ann cheered.

“Alright! I feel ya” Ryuji added.

There were some sirens blaring. Ann looked around. “We should probably head out.

“Yeah” Ryuji said. He and Ann left.

Ren started to leave, but felt Shiho grabbing her harm. “Wait,” she said. Ren turned to her as Shiho let go. “I know Ann and Ryuji well, but you’re new here. And I feel like I didn’t make a good first impression. And I’ve seen and heard how great of a friend you are to those two. So I want a second chance to make a good first impression.” She reached out her hand. “Friends?”

Ren smiled, shook Shiho’s hand, and said “Friends.”

I am thou... Thou art I… Thou hast acquired a new vow...

It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Hope Persona I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power

Hope-Shiho Suzui: Rank 1

“Oh. There you are” Ann said. Ren turned to see Ryuji and Ann walk back up to her.

“Uh, right,” Ryuj said. “There’s something else we need to discuss,” Ryuji said. “The usual place?”

Ren looked at Shiho. “It’s OK. I’ll be fine on my own. Ren smiled, knowing that she actually meant it, and headed off with her gang of thieves.

They all met on the roof. “Well, today sure was something,” Ryuji said.

“You can say that again,” Ann remarked.

Morgana hopped out on the table. “Yeah, but this is all good news. We got Kamoshida to confess, Shiho didn’t burn down the school, and I don’t know if you've heard, but people are already talking about the Phantom Thieves.”

“Yeah,” Ren said. “Overall, I’ve gotta say today was pretty good.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ryuji said. “So, does that mean we get to hawk the medal?” He began looking up stuff on his phone.

“I guess we should,” Ann said, “but wouldn’t the buyer get a little suspicious?”

“Don’t worry,” Ren said. “I think we have a prospective buyer who won’t ask too many questions.”

“Woah!” Ryuji said. “This thing can get up to 30,000 yen?!”

The thieves were shocked. “Remember that time I loaned you some money and you didn’t pay me back?” Ann asked.

“What?!” Ryuji screeched. “It wasn’t 30,000!”

“Yeah, but with interest…” Ann said.

“That’s bullshit!” Ryuji said.

“...Why don’t we do something with the money as a unit?” Morgana said, trying to cool tensions.

“Oh, I like that!” Ann said. “There’s this buffet I’ve been meaning to try. We can go and celebrate!”

“Alright, now you’re speaking my language!” Ryuji said. “A celebration of the Phantom Thieves by stuffing our faces! I love it!”

Ren grinned. “Well, I guess that’s settled.”

“So, when should we do it?” Ann asked.

“Oh, let’s go on the 5th, Children’s day!” Ryuji said. “It’s the last day of Golden Week, so it’ll be celebratory, non-conspicuous, and it’ll give us a chance to sell the medal.”

“Wow, that’s actually pretty smart of you” Ren remarked.

“Heh heh, I try,” Ryuji said. “So, that’s the plan then.”

“I think so,” Ann said.

“We’re all in agreement there,” Morgana said.

Ren nodded. “You just leave selling the medal to me.” The four left the rooftop and started heading down. Ren went to one of her jobs early, since she wanted to keep out of Sojiro’s hair. When she got back in the evening, she got a group message.

Ann: I can’t WAIT to try out this place.

Ryuji: You keep talking it up.

Ann: Sorry.

Ann: I’ve been meaning to go with Shiho, but…

Ryuji: Um, do you think she would want to come?

Ann: I already asked. She says she might be ready to go to school, but she needs time to do more things.

Ryuji: Gotcha.

Ryuji: Still, whether we can go depends on whether or not the medal is sold.

Ren: Do you not trust me?

Ryuji: It’s not that.

Ryuji: I’m just not sure I can trust someone willing to buy it off a high schooler.

Ryuji: I mean, 30,000 yen is a lot.

Ann: Especially if you rack up interest.

Ryuji: This again?

Ryuji: Look, I’m sorry I haven’t paid you back yet.

Ren: Why did you borrow money in the first place?

Ann: He REALLY wanted that dolphin.

Ren: Dolphin?

Ryuji: We were on a school field trip to an aquarium.

Ann: He bought a souvenir and didn’t have enough money for the bus back.

Ryuji: I bought it because my mom really wanted it.

Ann: ...Well, if you bought it for your mom, then I guess I can give you a pass this time.

Ann: The next time I lend you money, I expect to be paid back in full.

Ryuji: ...Thanks.

Ren: That’s a lovely story.

Ren: Well, goodnight.

Ryuji: G’night.

Ann: Goodnight.

Ren put her phone away and went to bed.

The next day she was about to leave to sell the medal when Sojiro stopped her. “Hey. Since you’re off, would you mind helping out around the cafe?”

Ren paused. Morgana whispered to her. “It should be alright. You do owe him a little, and we can always sell this tomorrow.” Ren smiled, nodded at Sojiro, and prepared herself to help out. She let Morgana roam around the neighborhood.

As the evening was drawing near, a report about the Kamoshida incident appeared on TV. “Tonight: A former Olympian medalist turned teacher was arrested after admitting to serious abuse and sexual harassment.” The TV cut to interviews with students who said various things on the subject. “While the teacher is now behind bars, there are still some questions that linger. Most notable of which was a calling card sent to Mr. Kamoshida days before he confessed to everything.”

Sojiro looked at the TV. “Hey, isn’t that your school?”

“Huh? Yeah” Ren said.

“Hm” Sojiro said. “Well, it’s a good thing he got arrested before anything happened to you, huh.”

“Yeah,” Ren said.

Sojiro paused for a moment. “Oh. Son of a BITCH!”

“What?” Ren said.

“He DID try to harass you!” Sojiro 

Ren was surprised. “What makes you say that?”

Sojiro glared. “I could tell by your voice.” He sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Ren steeled herself. “What makes you think I would?”

“I’m your guardian” he answered. “I’m supposed to protect you.”

“Psh. Only for my probation” Ren snarked. “What makes you think I should be able to trust you with this kind of thing? You don’t trust me with your house. You don’t trust me with a key to this place. Hell, you don’t even trust that I’m not a criminal.”

Sojiro glared at her. “Alright. We’re doing this.” Sojiro whipped up some coffee for the two of them. “Sit down.”

Ren was unsure of where this commanding aura was going to lead, but for now she at least trusted Sojiro enough to believe he didn’t mean her harm. She sat down across from him. “What is this then?” she asked.

Sojiro looked at her intently. “I’ve only heard the police report. What’s your side of the story?”

Ren was surprised. Would he believe me? Well, this is my chance. He’s at least willing to listen, so why not? “Some guy was trying to force a woman into his car. I stepped in between them to split them up. He was pretty drunk so he fell over. He then said he was going to sue me for assault.

Some police officers came by, and appeared to recognize him. He coerced the woman he was with to say that I had attacked him. He also asked the officer to leave his name out of it. And that’s how I got arrested.” Ren put her head in her hand. “So the question is do you believe that?”

Sojiro stared at her silently for a few seconds. He sighed. “I’ve known many people like the man you just described. I also have less faith in the system than it might appear. Your story is believable, and I don’t think you would lie to me at this point.”

Sojiro took a sip of his coffee. “So, I believe you when you say you aren’t a criminal. Now, I need you to trust me on a few things. You don’t HAVE to, I’m just asking here.” Ren nodded, sipping her coffee. Sojiro sighed. “I need you to believe me when I tell you that things at my house are complicated. I can’t fully explain why unless it becomes an absolute necessity.

BUT I also need you to believe that I have your best interest in mind. Of course I don’t want you to cause trouble, but I don’t want you to get in trouble either. If you ever get backed into a corner, I want you to know that I’ll be there. What do you say?”

Ren looked at Sojiro. His tone seemed stern, but his expression seemed pained. To Ren, it seemed like he was an authority on what would happen if you had no one to rely on. He was willing to listen to her, and he was willing to help her out in different circumstances since she got here. Just as he believed her, she needed to believe him.

She looked down. “On my first day going to school, Ann and I had met at the same intersection. That man, Mr. Kamoshida, pulled up and invited the two of us in his car. Ann told me it was alright, but I sensed hesitation in her voice. I came along just to make sure everything would be OK.

Afterwards, Ann and I got acquainted, and then I met her friend Shiho. After school, Mr. Kamoshida called me to his office.” Ren began to shake. “He wanted the two of us to get intimate, and he threatened to reveal the fact that I got arrested if I didn’t comply. But before anything could happen, Ann and Shiho found us and helped me escape.”

Ren took off her glasses and cleaned them a little bit. “The whole thing was surprising to say the least. I couldn’t imagine how brazen he could be. And, in all honesty, I felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. I honestly have no clue what I would have done if Ann and Shiho hadn’t rescued me.”

Sojiro looked at her. “If I knew anyone I trusted in prison, I’d pay them to just beat the living shit out of this person.”

Ren was curious. “So, you know people in prison?”

“That’s...not the point right now,” Sojiro said. “The point is, I’m glad you were able to open up with me like that. It couldn’t have been easy, but…”

Ren smiled. “I getchu,” she said.

Sojiro chuckled. “You’re pretty strong. After going through everything you did, you seem to be still standing well on your own.”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Ren said. “I’m not on my own. I have my friends, and I have you.”

Sojiro was surprised. “Eheh. Well, thank you.” Sojiro smiled. “I know that when the time is right, I’ll have you as well. Here” he said, sliding a key towards her. “I had this made yesterday. I was going to give it to you regardless, but I think after our talk, now’s the time to give it to you.”

Ren picked up the key and smiled. “Thanks.”

Hierophant-Sojiro Sakura: Rank 3

Ren finished her coffee, and went upstairs to her bed.

[sibilantly]

hi, sib. i just read your fic persistence, and it was so beautifully done that i wanted to drop you a note. your writing has seriously been such an influence on mine, but lately i've been having so much trouble because of my ocd. now i can't read anything without nitpicking the grammar, much less write. it's been this way for months now and i feel like i'm losing my mind. all i ever wanted was to write something good but... well, at least i still get to read something by you. i shall be content.

I’m sorry for the delay in replying, anon. Your message was so thoughtful, but also struck this… almost painfully bittersweet, personal note with me, and I had to take a couple days to reflect.

I’m so happy you enjoyed Persistence - it was a lil 500 word labour of love, but it’s somewhat different from my usual body of work, and I was a bit nervous putting it out there. So I’m delighted you enjoyed it. And it’s quite flattering to hear I’m an influence on your writing, since I feel I’m still learning the craft of writing, in many, many ways. Thank you!

Now, as for the latter half of your message…

Oh, anon.

Nonny non anon, I feel you. I’ve been… well, perhaps not right in your shoes, as I have never had OCD. But I’ve been in the same vicinity, most definitely.

Up until half a year ago, or thereabouts, my writing process was: write out a few paragraphs (if that - sometimes it was barely a paragraph) and then rework them. I would rework them over and over and over, until I felt they were just right. Only then did I feel I could move on. I felt like I was laying the foundations for a house, you know? If I didn’t get the first things laid down just right, then everything that came after would be on shaky ground, might even come tumbling down.

Thing is, writing is more like sculpting. You dig up some clay (your discovery draft or your outline, whatever), you mould it (your first draft), and then you carve and add little bits, over and over (editing. and more editing. and more. fucking editing >.>)

Anyway.

Eventually, I started slowing down, and the threshold of what I could stand before I needed to edit got smaller. It became ‘write a few lines. stop. edit those lines over and over’. And then it became ‘write one line. stop. edit that line over and over’. Rinse, repeat.

It got to the point where I stopped writing completely, for almost half a year, because everything I wrote down was so far from what I envisioned in my head, it was crushing. I had the exact same despairing thought you did: ‘All I want is to write something good’. And if I didn’t write it down, if I kept it in my head, it was good. It was perfect, in fact. Surely that was better (I thought to myself).

I feel you, I feel you, I do.

I wish there was some magic bullet that I could use to erase all those thoughts from you, to divide writing from editing in your mind, because they’re two very different processes. I would… well, I would use it on myself first, because I am human and selfish, but then I would turn it on you, and everyone else who is plagued by this period ;)

But the horrid thing (which I was very, very displeased to realise), is that if you want to write, the only thing you can do in this period is just… push… through it.

D:

It’s the worst fucking epiphany ever. If I got that in a fortune cookie, I’d be fucking pissed. But it’s seriously all there is.

There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to write, if you ultimately decide it’s not for you.

BUT.

If you do want to write, or if there comes a time when you’re not content with reading, and… y'know, you’re willing to indulge me, random fanfic lady on the internet, I want you to do this:

Pick up the pen (or put your fingers to the keyboard, but if you can, I recommend pen because you can’t backspace pen and paper) and eke out some words every day.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. It might just be a sentence.

Whiskyrunner, who we all generally acknowledge to be amazeballs, went through a period where her goal was 10 words a day because she knew she could achieve that.

That’s important. Pick a word count that you know you can achieve, not one you have to push yourself to achieve, because if you fail, you will self-flagellate. Trust me, I have been there. I hated every son of a bitch who recommended ‘write every day’, because for every day I failed to write a page, I’d hate myself a little more, and the joy I found in writing would shrink. (And they’d always recommend a page, or pages, and I’d be like, ‘What, motherfucker? There are some days when I can’t summon up the energy to get out of bed, and you want me to write a page? Pages?’ There should be some script that edits ‘write every day’ to ‘write an amount that’s achievable for you every day, even if it’s one sentence’, I think.)

Write until you hit your word goal or until you’re satisfied, whichever you have the mental energy and fortitude for that day. If there’s a day where you do the latter, don’t fall into the trap of thinking you have to match that the next day. Don’t move the goal posts. Your goal is still (X) words. Everything beyond that is like the stretch goal on a Kickstarter. Nice, but not the main aim.

Next (and this is the hard part - or, at least, it was for me: do nothing.

Don’t tweak them. Don’t delete them. Don’t touch them.

The second you hit your goal, close the doc, close your notebook - whatever you write in. You did it, you achieved the goal, which is ‘(X) number of words’.

Do whatever you need to do to remind yourself of that.

Your goal is not '100 (or 50 or 25 or 10) good words a day’. Your goal is words.

Just words.

To paraphrase Bane: now is not the time for qualitative judgement, only quantitative. Right now, you’re at the 'digging up the clay’ stage of the writing process. You’re just trying to get enough clay to sculpt into some lumpy-looking motherfucker which you will eventually carve down into your nice sculpture.

(Don’t think about the sculpture right now. Think about (X) number of words, and digging up clay.)

There was a point where I did all sorts of objectively bizarre things to remind myself of this, and to outfox my anxiety-ridden brain and its need to edit, including, but not limited to:

- writing on a fresh page each day, even if it meant 90% of the preceding page was still blank

- opening new docs each day to write my daily goal (which I would then have to piece together later, haha)

- using that program - ilys? - that only lets you see the last letter of what you typed

- muttering to myself ‘the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. only the number of words matters. only the number.’

If you’re anything like me (and, hey, I felt your message on a deep level, so I think we’re at least a little alike), you will hate every word you write with this process. You will hate this process, period. You will want to go back and retool the words because holy fuck, what if someone, somehow, gets access to your notes and sees this mess you just eked out? What if you die, and all that’s left to show of yourself as a writer is this half-written piece of shit?

(Okay, maybe that last fear is just me.)

Still. This is normal.

But how you feel about your writing immediately after writing it is not an objective, accurate measure of how good it is. You’ll be tired, you’ll be stressed, you’ll be comparing it to the image you have in your head and thinking about how far apart they are and despairing.

Stop there.

Close the doc (or the notepad, or the notebook, or turn over the post-it note (I did that at one stage, too - writing on post-it notes, haha)). You did it, you wrote the words. You dug up some clay. No one will see them but you, and whoever you choose to show them to. You can edit them later. You can make them better, or throw out whole paragraphs or whole pages if you need to. But later. Only after you finish the draft, however many new pages or new docs (or post-it notes) it takes.

Try to be kind to yourself. It’s so damn hard, I know it is, but try to remind yourself that what you wrote for the day does not define you as a writer. Even the finished, edited work does not define you. It just shows what you were capable of writing in that moment, on that day, at that point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will work for you. But there is something to be said for habit, for retraining one’s brain (to a certain extent). If you do want to try writing again, and you try this, anon, know that I’ll be proud of you, and I’ll salute you for the very act of trying.

Much love,

Sib

(P.S.: Here, I recovered a partial copy of the very first draft I wrote of Persistence. I don’t know where the rest is (on paper, probably), but hopefully it’s enough for you to see the difference between draft and finished work, and to… idk, have a good chuckle, maybe, but hopefully feel reassured, too ;). We all write shitty first drafts. They’re the clay that you mould into something better.)

They’re two levels down, in a sunny, light-filled build meant to evoke the mark’s childhood home and favourite holiday spot, when the windows and the door and the fucking walls blow in, and a SWAT team swarms in like a tide of gun-toting ants.

(DUST, STUFF FLYING EVERYWHERE. YELLING. CHUNK OF PLASTER GOES FLYING TOWARDS EAMES.)

Eames ducks, which means the chunk of plaster misses him, but, unfortunately, takes out Cixin, their extractor, with a wet crunch. They’ll have to work on Cixin’s spatial awareness later, Eames thinks.

The SWAT team levels their guns at the remainder of Eames’ team. Even a few years ago, Eames might’ve considered running. Now, he just raises his hands, gets down on the ground when ordered to.

Everyone else runs.

There’s sporadic gunfire, the sound of running footsteps, truncated screams and cut off swearing as Eames’ team is violently kicked out, one by one.

Eames stays where he is until silence reigns.

(FOOTSTEPS, A GUN MUZZLE AGAINST EAMES’ BACK, BUT NO SHOT COMES.)

Eames peeks upward, just in time to see the leader of the SWAT team yanks his mask off, revealing Arthur’s exasperated, sweaty face.

“I can’t believe you’re working today, of all days,” Arthur says. “I should probably shoot you just for that.”

“But you won’t.” Eames rolls over onto his back, smiles his most charming smile as he gets to his feet. “And you have to admit it’s somewhat fitting, me working today.”

Arthur smiles fondly, diluting the exasperation. “Maybe.” He looks Eames up and down. “You look good.”

“You’re lying, but thank you,” Eames says. He nods at Arthur’s outfit. “That looks good on you.”

Arthur is inspecting his outfit. “You know, this wouldn’t be a bad disguise, if you were working on an opposing team. Make the other team think you’re the mark’s militarisation–”

“Stop right there.”

“What?” Arthur says. “Worried you’ll be tempted away from the side of the angels?”

“Worried I’ll be tempted away from my regular paycheck, anyway,” Eames says, sniffing.

Arthur chuckles, then nods upward. “Are they going to give you the kick soon?”

“Not just yet. They’re probably debating whether or not I’ve gotten to the safe or not.”

“You need to get on top of that,” Arthur says. “You can’t have your team hesitating over what to do next on live jobs.”