#listen. when his eyes went flat and he forced the MC's chin up something Snapped ok.

[todayis-snowy]

wip bc vere kabedoning the MC is living rent-free in my head

[takingcourage]

A Stroke of Serendipity

Pairing: Luke Harper x MC

Word Count: 1,850

Rating/Warnings: General; no warnings

Summary: During her first term at university, Helena discovers that there’s more to her housemate than meets the eye. 

Note: I'm not usually one to write AUs, but @choicesficwriterscreations​ ’s post about Silly Love Stories crossed my dash and I couldn’t resist trying a few. This story was written to fulfill the the prompt of "Roommates/Neighbor,” and takes place in a modern setting.

Despite the chill in the air, it was unseasonably warm for November. For the first day in weeks, the lawn was cluttered with students choosing to linger in the sunlight for just a bit longer than necessary before heading inside for their lectures. 

Making her way past the crowds, Helena unlocked her bike and mounted, finding equilibrium easily. She felt a tinge of shame with the memory of how daunting the task had seemed just weeks before. Keeping her coat out of the spokes and her backpack balanced had presented an unexpected challenge at the start of the term, and it had earned her more than one pitying glance from passersby.

Pumping the pedals, she picked up enough speed to glide over several lengths of sidewalk. Fellow students blurred as she moved past, their forms merging with her thoughts before they faded altogether, consumed by her ever-growing list of assignments.

When her estranged father had insisted on paying her way through university, she’d jumped at the opportunity -- goodness knew she didn’t want to work the till at Morrisons forever. At first, Vincent’s offer had seemed too good to be true. Nearing the end of her first term, however, reality was stripping away much of the mystique.

She gripped the handlebars a little tighter.

Being a student again was hard. Sharing a house with her brother and his roommates meant that the transition had been a little smoother, but being a first-year student in her twenties was complicated. Life away from Grovershire was complicated. Life without her mother was complicated... 

How she wished sometimes that life could be simple again.

Helena pushed herself through the next turn, traveling quickly enough for the wind to leave a pleasant sting behind on her rosy cheeks.

At this time of the afternoon, their street was still quiet. Students weren’t back from classes, and most everyone else wouldn’t return home from work until evening. Helena coasted up to the curb, taking a quick glance at their windows in an effort to determine who might be home this early in the day. For all appearances, she had the house to herself.

With a sigh that had more to do with relief than exertion, she put her bike away and unlocked the side door. Time alone would be welcome.

As the doorknob clicked open, the strains of a violin floating through dispelled any notion of solitude, though her momentary disappointment was soon replaced by curiosity. Was someone playing Tosca?

She halted briefly, shaking off her deja vu to find eager curiosity in its wake. Slipping her shoes onto the mat, she proceeded up the stairs toward the lounge. In spite of her quiet footfalls, the music ceased as soon as she hit the first creak.

“Don’t stop!” she called out, dismay lending her a boldness she rarely showed.

After a pause, the aria resumed with steady conviction.

It wasn't her stepbrother or Annabelle, of that she was certain. She might not have learned everything there was to know about Edmund in the past year, but she did know that guitar was the only instrument he dabbled in. She was equally sure that the closet she and Annabelle shared didn’t house a violin case either. Ernest had rushed home the night before to deal with family matters, which left her with only one possible conclusion: Luke. 

He was the roommate she knew the least, always so busy between his studies and his time in the lab that no one in the house saw very much of him. With a quirk of her lips, she decided it was entirely possible he could be a proficient musician without her knowing.

Her suspicions were confirmed as soon as she crested the stairs.

Violin still snug beneath his chin, he turned to face her slowly. Light streamed in from the window behind him, and Helena couldn’t help feeling that she’d stumbled upon something almost divine. Somewhere between the quality of the music and the intensity in his brow, she found herself enchanted. 

She’d known he was attractive: that much had been obvious since the day she’d met him at her father’s home some months before. He was tall and broad shouldered, and his eyes were a mystery she’d been trying to puzzle out since their first meeting. Sometimes, they were honeyed gold; others, they seemed impossibly green. As she watched him now, they fell closed in concentration. 

Helena’s breath caught before the final strains had begun to fade.

"I must have lost track of the time,” he started, lowering the instrument to his side as he addressed her. “I apologize."

"I'm back early.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “The fire alarm went off in our building, and after twenty minutes on the lawn they decided to send us all home." She tried not to draw attention to the fact that her eyes kept drifting toward his long, elegant fingers as he worked to secure the violin in its case. 

It had been months since they’d met: why wasn’t she used to the sight of him yet?

“I imagine you’ll be grateful for the time to study.”

Raising her eyes from the floor, she met his tentative smile with one of her own. “I am,” she agreed, shrugging her bag into the nearest chair. Though her studies were nothing rigorous compared to his own, she found herself grateful that he recognized her kindred spirit.

The click of the case snapped her back to reality. “Well, I won’t bother you."

With an accommodating nod, she turned away from him and toward the hall, but her mind lagged behind. Somehow, going upstairs to study wasn’t quite as appealing a prospect as it had been mere minutes before. "Actually, I think I’m going to make some coffee first,” she rushed before she could lose her nerve. “Would you want any if I did?"

"I'd like that."

"So," she began, attempting to stoke the conversation as she measured out the scoops of grounds. Somewhere between the second and third spoonful, she started to feel a little mischievous. "Do you always perform your concerts solo, or is that right reserved for Puccini?"

"You know Tosca?" he inquired, following her into the kitchen.

She smirked at the incredulity in his tone. “Not what you’d expect from a shopgirl from Grovershire, hmm?”

His face froze, and she immediately regretted the jest. “I didn’t mean to offend--”

“I'm joking. My mother loved listening to operas. I think I'd heard more arias by the time I started primary school than most of my classmates did by Year 10. There was always music playing somewhere in our flat."

“Ours too.”

They shared another small smile that left her feeling like the roof had opened and the sun was shining into their modest kitchen with full force.

“To answer your question...” he continued. “No, others suffered through my performances for years. Growing up, I think my family was sometimes sick of how much I played, though I always wondered if they hadn’t brought it on themselves by putting me in lessons. No one here signed on to hear it at all hours, so I mostly play when I’m alone.”

“I’m sorry I intruded, then.”

“I don’t mind. It was rather nice to have someone listen for a while.”  

“Maybe you’ll play again for me sometime?”

“I’d like that very much.” He gave a quiet laugh, and she felt heat rush over the fullness of her cheeks.

Hiding her blush, she put the cabinet door between them and began peering onto the shelf for her favorite mug. Though she’d lived in this house for several weeks, this was the first time she’d spent more than a couple of minutes alone with Luke.

Not the first time you’ve wanted to, her conscience reminded, and she could feel the warmth returning to her cheeks with further thoughts of him. The man was driven and intelligent, studying biology on scholarship with the intent of becoming a veterinary surgeon. He was quiet, but had shown himself to be exceptionally generous and kind. If she wasn’t careful, the intrigue that had been building since they’d met could easily develop into full-blown infatuation.

“Do you play any instruments?” he broke in, handing her one of the spoons he'd withdrawn from a nearby drawer.

“Piano, but not in a very long time. Father doesn't have one, and we sold mum's a few years ago to pay for treatments."

As the reservoir bubbled noisily, she darted instinctively to the fridge, arm extended to retrieve the sugar bowl from the top. Luke beat her there, his height making short work of the task. Again, her attention was drawn to the way his long fingers splayed over the object. They were unmistakably musician’s hands: it was a wonder she’d never noticed it before.

“Thank you,” she intoned, wishing that her voice didn't sound quite so breathless.

“You’re welcome.” He placed the sugar on the countertop before stepping aside. “I’m sorry; I'm sure you must miss it.”

It took a moment for her to realize that he was still talking about playing piano.

“I wouldn't have much time for it now," she told him with a shrug, moving back to the coffee machine to pour them each a mug of the steaming liquid.

“My brother used to play. Mother keeps the piano in the front room in case he comes round, but he hasn't done anything with it in years.” He fell quiet for a moment, considering. “If I asked, I think she'd be willing to part with it for the next four years. There'd be room for it on that wall, next to the bookshelf." He indicated the space with his free hand.

Helena took a sip of coffee to disguise the fact that his offer had rendered her speechless. Fortunately, the shock of caffeine was just enough to restore her senses. “You’re very accommodating, Luke Harper. Quite the gentleman.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” Hoping to prove her sincerity, she met his eyes, green with a vibrance that made her forget it was the middle of autumn. “I’m not planning to hold you to it, but I appreciate the offer.”

"It's no bother. Besides, I think she'd be glad to know it was being used." His voice lowered as he studied her face. “Would you play if if I brought it over?”

Helena's throat thickened. Much as she'd craved that next taste of coffee, it would be impossible to swallow now. As it was, she could barely manage a nod in response to his question.

Luke beamed, a wide, guileless smile that left her feeling as if her insides had been scooped out and replaced by the contents of her mug. "I'll ask when I talk to her Sunday.”

She was still fighting back the threat of tears when Edmund burst through the door, shattering the stillness that had descended between them. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to mind the interruption overmuch. 

Somehow, the last twenty minutes had felt more like home than anything since she’d moved in. As she exchanged one final smile with Luke before her brother joined them, she knew it wouldn’t be a foreign feeling for long. 

[tanzen-neko]

Because of a Cat (Theo Van Gogh x MC)

Because of a Cat: Chapter 1 (Theo Van Gogh x MC)

Ikemen Vampire

Warnings: Dom! Theo, light choking, biting/blood.

 Theo had finally had enough. Storming through the halls to get to MC’s room, he let his mind wander back to the beginning of the month. Her arrival here was an inconvenience and that was putting it mildly. Protective of his space and any new people coming around his brother, he made it known to her flat out that he wasn’t going to be someone who entertained her just because she was going to be Saint-Germain’s guest for a month. However, instead of heeding his words, and leaving him alone, she challenged him at every turn. If he insulted her, she gave it tenfold. If he went out of his way to be difficult or put in ridiculous requests for his room or meals, she delivered it all with a sickly sweet fake smile. She seemed to have found every button he wanted left alone and pressed them all simultaneously. After being scolding by Vincent to be nicer and teased by Arthur about having met his match, he had finally decided to just ignore her for the remaining 2 weeks. But that didn’t seem to stop her. If anything, she took his cold shoulder as a sign of victory. Still, he was willing to let it be, even though it went entirely against his mind’s demand to put her in her place. So he began spending more time out of the mansion and in town at his office or at the pub until the early hours with Arthur. Today had been a particularly stressful day, and when he went to the pub, Arthur promptly abandoned him in favor of some easy woman with a lipsticked smile. So he drank alone and finally headed back to his room only to be greeted by a huge orange tabby cat with bright yellow eyes sitting center on his bed. Holding back the panic that threatened to overwhelm his mind and send him racing down the quiet hallway, he calmed his nerves enough to realize it wasn’t a real cat. It was a stuffed animal. A damn stuffed animal. A snarl twisted his lips as he snatched it up and squeezed it before turning on his heels and heading towards MC’s room. He didn’t care that it was late or that he still was slightly drunk from the whiskey he had drank. He would see this settled now.

He barged into her room, not bothering to knock. She was sitting at her vanity brushing her hair, clad only in her nightgown. She yelped when she saw him at her door, and her eyes narrowed in anger, as she jumped up.

“Excuse you! You need to knock before you just storm into someone’s room!” Theo slammed her door and stormed over to her.

“Oh those are choice words coming from you, Hondje. You seem to be the only one who fails to respect anyone’s space around here.” He threw the stuffed cat at her and she flinched before raising her eyes at him. They widened slightly when she realized how close he was, and her tongue darted out nervously to lick her bottom lip.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about” she said raising her head up slightly. Theo wasn’t having that. He took another step towards her, his eyes racking over her form. He noticed then how thin her nightgown really was. He was able to see the dusky outline of her nipples. She must have noticed where his gaze had drifted because she crossed her arms protectively over her chest before taking a step back.

“Listen. I’m going to tell you this once more. Stay out of my room and outta’ my way. Got it Hondje?” he snarled out. MC felt her irritation grow with the situation. Not only did Theo barge into her room, but he accused her of some stunt with a stuffed animal.

“Yes, sir” she sneered out sarcastically. “Whatever my darling master wants.” Theo felt something dark snap in him at her words. In a flash he had her chin in his hand in a tight grip. He stared hard at her and he could see a hint of fear in her eyes. Good. She should be afraid, he thought. He was afraid himself. Afraid of all the dark and confusing emotions she awoke inside of him. Afraid of the part of him that desperately want to possess all of her. He knew that she had called him master in a jest, but he didn’t care. He needed to hear it from those damning lips again.

“Say it again. I dare you.” She just stared back at him, her eyes so wide, he could drown in them. He snaked an arm around her back and pulled her roughly to him and a gasp fell from her lips. He could see her pulse in the side of her neck, and his fangs threatened to break through. Still, she made no effort to pull away. Theo felt a tiny thread of hope shoot through him, and when he asked again it was almost a plea.

“Say. It. Again. “

“Ma, master.” It was barely a whisper, but it was enough for Theo. He slammed his lips against hers. He gave her no time to kiss back, intent on showing her just how much she had gotten under his skin. He moved his hand from her chin to her hair, angling her for a deeper kiss. He bit, and licked along her bottom lip, before pressing his tongue against her mouth forcing her open. She moaned and her hands still against her chest struggled to grip the front of his shirt, as his tongue delved deep in her mouth. He swept his tongue against hers. His head was buzzing from lack of oxygen, but he didn’t want to stop. He was drunk on the taste of her, the smell of her blood dizzying him. He needed to taste her, to drink from her as only a lover should. He wanted to watch her squirm with the pleasure he knew his bite could give her.  He felt his fangs break free, the slight pain bringing him back to his senses. He all but thrust her away from him, and she stumbled back, gasping for air. She looked at him in confusion, and reached out a questioning hand.

“Theo?” He cursed his weakness as he reached out and grabbed her outstretched hand. Pulling it to his mouth, he nibbled her inner wrist, and she let out a sigh. He dragged his fangs across the taunt flesh there, and his mouth watered with his desire to drink from her. She stepped closer, and looked up at him. He noticed just how small she was compared to him. So fragile, but so, so warm and soft. She touched his cheek with the hand he was holding and his eyes threatened to close at the gentle sensation that it tugged at his chest. He refused to try and identify it right now. Right now the only thing he wanted was her and for her to know just what she was getting into. He hadn’t been gentle in so long, he was afraid he would hurt her. But he was also too selfish and too damned to leave now like he should. He grabbed her hand and brought the tips of her fingers to his mouth. He nibbled each one before releasing it to grip her neck lightly. He ran his thumb across her pulse, and he could feel her swallow.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned.

“I don’t remember asking you to be,” she said. In truth, she was a lot more afraid than her brazen words made her out to be. Everything about Theo sent clanking bells in her head, and if she had any sense of self preservation, she would take his warning to heart before she lost herself in those icy blue eyes. But she couldn’t. She had wanted him, wanted this longer than she cared to admit. So instead of taking a step back, she leaned her neck into his hand, and closed her eyes.

“Oh my little Knabbeltje, you truly are an idiot,” he muttered at her trusting gesture. But even to his own ears, his voice held no true irritation. “You’re mine. Do you hear me? You belong to me now.”

She opened her eyes, and the challenge in them went straight to his cock.

“Prove it.”

TBC

[tmorriscode]

Yours, Charlie

(Charlie Weasley, Hufflepuff!MC, pre-relationship)

I base all these imagines on my own MC, an actual human disaster/apprentice curse breaker who will eventually leave curse breaking to become an adventure archaeologist. Yay, continuity!  You can read the other imagines here. 

—

People graduate with good intentions to stay in touch. They go their separate ways. They change. Life happens. They grow apart.

Then one day, they meet up and discover that these friends who were once as comfortable to be with as your favorite pair of old boots, are simply different people.

This is not what happens to you.

—

“Dear (Y/N),

Thanks for inviting me to see Greece with you, but I’m not going to be able to visit.

Getting kitted out for the job has taken more of my first paychecks than I anticipated. (I know I complained about needing a new wand in my last letter, but I also needed fire-proof clothing, and a better broom. My old Cleansweep just wouldn’t cut it. I’m thinking of getting their newer model. )

I’m going to try pulling in extra shifts on my off days for a while so I can afford everything.

The Weird Sisters at the Acropolis sounds like it would have been brilliant. Maybe think of me when you stand under the stars listening to Do the Hippogriff.

If you ever find yourself in Romania, look me up.

Yours,

Charlie

You put the letter aside and stare out the window of the flat you share with nine other apprentice curse breakers. (It’s not so bad. Most of you sleep in magically-expanded luggage. It feels rather more like a dormitory than a flat).

You can certainly understand having to squeeze every galleon until it shouts for mercy.

But you really wanted to see Charlie.

You’re making loads of friends, and there is talk that you might get to head up your own exploration of a cursed tomb.

But outside of sporadic letters, you’ve barely heard anything of your old Hogwarts crew.

Of course Bill, your honorary big brother, had been in the habit of writing you letters already. Mostly filled with curse-breaking advice he learned in Egypt.

Rowan tells you that Barnaby is happy in his new job with the Ministry’s Beasts division. (Barnaby never was much for writing. Or even literacy). They partnered him and Lizard up. So at best, they confuse the illegal beast smugglers into giving up.

As for Rowan, your first and best friend, she’s working on rare and unusual wood acquisition for Ollivander. (And enjoying the obscure minutiae). It’s not teaching at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had been kind when he suggested that she get some life experience and perhaps specialize in a field of study before applying for a teaching position.

Speaking of the ministry, Tonks made it into the aurors and Tulip is doing something she can’t talk about in the unspeakables department.

Ben is an apprentice healer with St. Mungos, and Penny is working with the hospital’s potions department.

No one has heard from Talbot since the leaving ceremony. You wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to live as a bird somewhere. Despite your best efforts to friend that boy, he always did fly solo.

Andre has been the most successful of your lot. He is on the reserve team for Pride of Portree. They’ve a rather deep bench, so he may not get to play this year. But he’s drawn some notice in the fashion world by wearing his own designs to various Quiddich functions. He writes that Madame Malkin even discussed the possibility of carrying his designs in her shop.

Jacob is home, letting Mum drive him mental while he studies to take his NEWTS.

It feels like you’re all drifting apart.

Charlie has been the most faithful to answer your letters. Out of all your friends, his letters are the ones you find yourself rereading. He’s the one you find yourself thinking of most.

On one hand, you could invite your new curse breaker friends along to the concert. They’d probably all end up going. You’d stay out too late, drink too much. In the morning someone would do an embarrassed sneak from a magical trunk that was not theirs, hoping the others didn’t notice, while the rest of you pretended not to see.

Get up, break some curses, bring back ancient treasure, take siesta, get up, party half the night and fall in bed exhausted. Then repeat.

It sounds glamorous when you write to Tonks about it. But it’s actually become extremely monotonous. And there’s an edge of loneliness about the whole thing. For all that your roommates talk big about being out on their own for the first time, a lot of the boasting sounds like it’s covering up for homesickness.

Picking apart the tangle of your emotions, you realize that was the real reason you wanted to see Charlie so bad. You miss his quiet, stable presence. You’d never realized until he lived an entire country away, exactly how much you needed that grounding force in your life.

Right. You decide that the mountain would just have to go to Muhammad.

So you pick up your biro and write.

—

Dear Charlie,

Don’t worry about the concert. In all honesty, I probably shouldn’t spend my paycheck on tickets, anyway.

I’m not really bringing in much treasure yet. I volunteered to go through a cache in an old monastery up in Thessaloniki. There are some interesting books there, but not much else. I think the goblins were hoping for gold votive items.

They let me keep the books. I’m meeting with the Library of Alexandria’s acquisitions wizard, who may buy the ones I don’t want.

I do have a three-day weekend coming up, and I don’t really want my co-workers to drag me out to another taverna “to toast Dyonisis” one more time. We’re supposed to stay sharp to avoid curses, but most of them are doing this job while hung over. I’m a little afraid that one of them might not come back one day.

If your offer stands, and I wouldn’t be in the way, I’d like to visit. I think I could make the apparition in three jumps. So I wouldn’t need to spend anything on portkey or flue (and you know I’ve never had a broom).

I don’t expect you to entertain me. I’d probably just spend the whole time reading.

Yours,

(Y/N)

Charlie puts the letter down, and rests his chin in his hand. Your letter leaves him with a warm feeling inside.

He looks around the tent he’s been assigned with a sigh. It’s not much.

You’ve written that you’re sharing a flat with a number of apprentice curse breakers. That you’ve set up a bedroom/study inside a haversack with an extension on it. So you’re no stranger to Spartan living.

He grins to himself. Given your posting, you probably know more about the Spartans and the way they lived than he does.

He knows that he can’t set aside time to spend with you, even if he’d like to. (And he would like to. Just— there’s a new clutch of hatchlings. And they’re brilliant!)

Now you, here, would be a distraction from the work he needs (wants) to do.

But he offered. And deep down, he knows he’d feel lighter just knowing you were in the same space, even if you were ships that pass in the night.

Even for stolen moments as he rushes to work earlier than he has to. (“Weasley!” Godwin, His supervisor shouted at him this morning, “If you fall off your broom because you didn’t get enough sleep, I’m going to personally hex you!”) or comes back and collapses face-first into his bed.

With a sigh, he grabs a fresh parchment and composes his letter.

—

Dear (Y/N)

If you want a place to retreat to, I have an open tent.

I won’t be around much, sorry to say. We just hatched our first successful clutch of Romanian Longhorns In nearly three years. I’ve been put in charge of the dawn to 3 P.M. shift in the nursery.

Also, I smell like regurgitated chicken guts and brandy most days. I’m mostly used to it, but I’m told the smell lingers.

Just warning you.

Yours,

Charlie

—

When you appear at the apparition point, no one is there to greet you. You look about for a moment with a heavy heart, wondering if maybe Charlie forgot. Then you shrug the hurt and disappointment away. He did say he was consumed with the dragons. Getting upset at him for being dragon-obsessed after all this time would be pointless. You may as well ask water not to be wet.

You’ll just have to find your own way.

You’ve taken three steps when an Olive-skinned woman with black eyes bustles up to you. She exudes confidence and competence in a way that reminds you of McGonagall.

“Are you here for the reserve?” She asks. Her accent sounds like she might be from around Bristol.

“Um. . . Yes?” You wonder why Charlie never mentioned that he was sending someone.

“Good! Follow me.”

You hitch up your haversack and fall in line behind her.

“I’m Godwin. You can call me Ma’am for now. If you’re still here next week, you can call me by my name. We’ll have a tent for you by the end of the day, but we’re short-handed for now. Everyone wants to play with the new hatchies and no one wants to shovel the dung.” She sounds exasperated.

With a start, you realize that Godwin thinks that you’re a hopeful dragonologist. You consider correcting her - but then again, she did say they needed help.

Lending a helping hand has always been your weakness. Anything from the hospital wing to the Three Broomsticks. If you were asked, you’d roll up your sleeves.

If Charlie was unable to even meet you, then perhaps the least you could do is lighten his and his co-workers load.

—

Charlie looks at the position of the sun, then swears. You were supposed to apparate in about an hour ago. He takes off for the apparition point at a run. When he gets there, an annoyed wizard sits, surrounded by bags.

“Have you seen a witch?” Charlie holds his hand up to indicate your height. “She’d have been carrying a haversack, and possibly wearing a sweater with an initial on it?”

“Are you having me on?” The wizard snaps. “I’m supposed to start work today. But no one met me.” He has a nasally whine that sets Charlie’s teeth on edge.

Charlie scratches his neck. He has a sinking feeling that he knows where you went.

—

You’ve scooped most of the composted dung pile into fertilizer bags when Charlie turns up with Godwin. He seems unsurprised to see you in your Wellies and dungarees. Godwin frowns at you like you’ve personally offended her.

“Hi Charlie!” You wave cheerfully at him. “It doesn't matter if you smell like chicken guts now. I think I might smell worse.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “It figures I’d find you here.”

“Why did you let me think you were a new hire?” Godwin berates you.

You lean on your shovel. “You seem like you needed the help. And I don’t mind the work.”

She throws her hands in the air. “You must have been a Hufflepuff.”

Charlie laughs at that. A deep, hearty sound that you’ve sorely missed. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s get you cleaned up, and you can come meet the hatchlings.”

—

Dear Charlie,

Thanks for inviting me up for a visit. I enjoyed getting to meet your co-workers and seeing the reserve.

Guess who got to explore the ruins on Mount Parnassus? That’s right! Yours truly. We located a chest of coins paid to the Oracle of Delphi in exchange for her prophecy.

Did you know that to make a prophecy, the oracle first sat on a tripod over a chasm, breathing in fumes until she was high as a kite? And that those fumes were said to come from the decomposing remains of an ancient dragon that Apollo slew? (So much about divination class makes sense now.)

I’m sending you a scroll that has Homer’s account of the battle between Apollo and the dragon. It was part of my share of the treasure. (I seem to have trouble choosing sensible treasure like gold, when there are books that no one but me wants).

Of course, it’s written in Greek, so you probably can’t read it. But maybe your dragon reserve would like it for their library.

At any rate, I’m due for another long weekend next month. If you’d like some company, I’d love to visit again.

Yours,

(Y/N)