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kalluun-patangaroa · 5 years

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Suede brush up

The Guardian, 21 October 2010

by Jude Rogers

(This is the actual article The Ministry Of Sound photo shoot was done for)

Drugs, ME and despair sent the poor urchins of Britpop their separate ways in 2003. Now Suede have come roaring back to life.

'Much less interested in the persona of Brett Anderson' ... Suede's frontman at the Ministry of Sound, London. Photograph: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

This year, in the first flush of spring, a band that time forgot played the gig of their lives. "It was so special, it was impossible to leave it behind, wasn't it? We had to keep picking at it, didn't we? It was like a scab." The once long-fringed frontman who led the band that launched Britpop – albeit against his will, Brett Anderson reminds us – sits in a hotel room on a darkening weekday evening, remarkably untouched by both time and excess, recalling Suede's performance at the Royal Albert Hall in March. Next to him, drummer Simon Gilbert and keyboardist Neil Codling are similarly Peter Pan-like; bassist Mat Osman is in New York; while Richard Oakes, the young pup who replaced guitarist Bernard Butler after writing to the band's fanclub, is in the gents.

"He's hiding," says Anderson. "He's terrified. Be gentle with him."

In 2010, something remarkable has happened to Suede. Nearly 18 years after their debut album became the fastest-selling in British history, and seven years after they split not with a bang but with a whimper, they are, incredibly, the talk of the town. Next month, they release a carefully curated Best Of – Osman says on the phone, later, that Anderson has spent months labouring over it, making his own CDs to discover the best running order. In December, they play the O2, their biggest-ever non-festival show. This is all thanks to a gig they played for Teenage Cancer Trust back in March, preceded by two "practice runs" at London's 100 Club and the Manchester Ritz. At the Royal Albert Hall, they were a revelation: five men in their 30s and 40s playing at full throttle, as if the world was going to cave in once the curtains came down. When they played Metal Mickey, they received a standing ovation that went on for five minutes. Oakes finally enters the room as we discuss it, and smiles shyly when he realises what we are talking about. "I thought someone had walked on stage, or something. It was genuinely unexpected."

"That's the one moment that I'd relive for the rest of eternity," adds Anderson. "And I did actually say on the night – here's your bold quote if you want it – I've taken a lot of drugs in my life and nothing compares to it."

Anderson at Royal Albert Hall, London, in March 2010. Photograph: Yui Mok/PA

Everyone laughs. Suede know who the press expect Anderson to be: the easy-to-parody commuter-belt wordsmith, still in love with suburbs and skylines, nicotine and gasoline. The old dog still deploys flamboyant one-liners – when Gilbert's lost phone turns up in his pocket, for example, he says, "Oh, come on, Simon, this isn't Arthur C Clarke's Mysterious World" – but in 2010, Anderson is much more self-aware. He is, he says, "much less interested in the persona of Brett Anderson", and even has a sense of humour about having a parodist on Twitter, something you couldn't have imagined 15 years ago.

Since Suede broke up in 2003, all the members' lives have changed hugely. As well as making three solo albums and reuniting briefly with Butler as the Tears, Anderson has married and gained a stepson "who likes being read bedtime stories about pirates", and lost a father, who died in 2005. Gilbert moved to Bangkok as soon as the band split, and now drums for two bands called Futon and Goo ("that's G-O-O"); Codling became "a keyboardist for hire" for Natalie Imbruglia, among others; Osman became an editor of the online zine le cool; while Oakes has been working quietly on a new band, Artmagic, though he had not been on stage since Suede played their last note seven years ago.

But then Teenage Cancer Trust came calling. At first, Anderson didn't know whether reforming would be wise. "There were two conflicting voices," he says. "One saying I'd love to play those songs again, I'm really proud of them. Another saying I should leave well alone." He spoke to Osman and Codling, called Gilbert on Skype, then spoke to Oakes – the least convinced party. Oakes stands out from his bandmates in other ways today: he wears a beige jacket and scruffy jeans while the others are stylish in black; he has a receding hairline; and he still looks acutely aware that he filled Butler's shoes, despite co-writing some of Suede's biggest hits. "I was thinking, 'Oh God, can I do it, revisiting the past?' All these emotions, I didn't think I could cope." Osman will also admit late that he had his doubts: "Men in their 40s performing teenage songs … it could have easily gone horribly wrong."

Anderson confirms there were lots of difficult conversations. "But if it had been the wrong thing for one of us, it would have been the wrong thing for all of us. We kept persevering because we knew there was still something there."

To decide once and for all whether a reunion would work, this version of Suede (Oakes joined in 1994, Codling in 1996), went to a tiny rehearsal room near Anderson's house. It was the first time they had played together for 10 years (Codling left the band in 2000 because he was suffering from ME). It was crucial there were no managers or roadies present, explains Anderson, so the five musicians could just drink tea and chat, and then hook up their instruments. They played Filmstar first, and it sounded amazing, he says. "We also noticed a purity in those songs, because we'd had distance from them," adds Codling. "It also helped everyone remember," adds Anderson, "why they were written in the first place."

As the Albert Hall show approached, Osman remembers them discussing how important it was that they present the music free of frills: "It had to be like five boys playing the Southampton Joiners Arms. To hide behind anything would have been cheating. We had to do the opposite."

Anderson felt they had a point to prove, too. "I don't think there's ever been a point in Suede's career when we haven't. We've always had our doubters. We've always polarised opinion." He stops, then smiles. "Although there's part of me that quite likes that, you know. I never wanted to be in someone's fifth-favourite band."

Suede were born to be divisive: from early on, they were criticised for being the beneficiaries of media hype, even though they had spent years in various bands playing "in front of three people". Later on, the fact that Anderson had been involved with Justine Frischmann, who became the frontwoman of Elastica and dated Blur's Damon Albarn, helped transform Britpop into a class-fuelled soap opera, with Blur cast as foppish class tourists, Suede as poor urchins looking at the stars and Frischmann a black-clad princess tearing them apart. Anderson doesn't think about the other Britpop bands now, he says, though he is still close friends with Frischmann, who now lives in LA; they had dinner together with their spouses last year, and he wishes he saw her more often.

By 1994, as Oasis became more popular, it became clear that Suede didn't fit into Britpop any more, even though it was still a year before the scene's commercial apogee. Butler's departure also gave the critics extra fuel for the fire. "They realised that a part of our armour was missing," recalls Anderson. "That was the first time I realised that people often run in packs, and when they smell blood, they attack."

Suede didn't want to run with a herd, though – and their second album, Dog Man Star, was deliberately anti-Britpop for that reason. "We didn't want to wave union jack flags. And I didn't want to talk about my life any more, or include any references about living in London on the dole. It felt weird how they became Britpop references, really, and how quickly they got turned into beery cartoons."

Anderson was also missing the departed Butler. "He's an amazing musician, so I missed him in that sense. And the two first Suede albums were obviously very special." Butler has played a big role in putting together the Best Of, Anderson says. "It was really nice: the two of us sitting together listening to Suede songs in the studio for the first time for nearly 20 years. A really lovely trip down memory lane." Anderson won't go into detail about their friendship, but thinks they made a good album together as the Tears, although they were naive not to realise how much the idea of their reconciliation being a de facto Suede reunion would overshadow it. Butler, though, will have no part of this reformation.

Instead, Suede's current lineup is centred around their most commercially successful spell, one that gets overlooked because of the excitement of their early breakthrough. 1996's Coming Up produced five top 10 singles, and also made Suede famous in Europe and Asia. They all remember that time fondly, Gilbert says: "It was make or break, but also really exciting. We were all waking up each morning not feeling any pressure." Things only went awry with 1999's Head Music. Codling was getting ill, and having to send ideas in by email; Anderson "was off my head on buckets of drugs"; Oakes, whose guitar parts were getting replaced by electronics, was "switching off", he says. "Which I really regret."

By 2002's A New Morning, the band had grown apart, and Anderson was trying to tear Suede's sound into pieces – partly, he now realises, because he didn't want there to be a band any more. "I think that we shouldn't have made that record, quite honestly." He persevered out of sheer bloody-mindedness – wanting to prove to the doubters, once again, that Suede hadn't been a flash in the pan. Instead, the band broke up amicably with a run of full-album gigs at London's ICA, which they nonetheless remember as quiet final flourishes. "We didn't go out the way we had planned," Osman says. "We should've gone out in a blaze of fists in Bangladesh, or something."

Quietness seems inimical to Suede: Anderson misses the danger and fierceness his band used to thrive on. "I do find it weird that the last 10 years hasn't thrown up a new definitive genre. It seems that music is here to placate now, rather than provoke. Maybe a sense of apathy has crept in, or people's lives are too comfortable. No one wants to inspire extremity, as we used to do."

Perhaps sticking around beyond the winter tour would help make this happen, I suggest. The room falls silent as the notion floats around. "At the moment … we don't know," Anderson says finally, making it clear he is the ringmaster. "I think we'd have to be convinced that it would be the right thing to do. You know, has the moment passed, or should we pick at the scab again?"

Next year, after all, he releases another solo record, a big rock-inspired album – although its energy has, he admits, been fuelled by Suede's reunion. And everyone agrees that something has changed in all of them in the wake of the reunion. "The fact it happened 20 years after the band formed – isn't that wonderful? Who's to say it couldn't happen again in the future?" Anderson raises his hands, and his cheekbones gleam in the evening light as it falls through the window. Everyone smiles, and understands. This isn't yesterday's man.

The Best of Suede is released on Ministry of Sound on 1 November.

#suede #press #the guardian #ministry of sound photo shoot

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teacup-crow · 4 years

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Tom/Jody, whump? Or fluff! (still obsessed with that Zombies, Make! prompt fill you did, btw.)

*slaps the side of my Google doc* this thing can fit so much whump in it!

Tom protecting Jody emotionally for once (well, more he gets a bit of a break for once), here we go!

CWs (warning, spoilers!): torture including eye gouging (not described in detail) minor death and major blood

Mid Season 6. Jody’s on a mission in Ministry territory and gets distracted.

“Please don’t.”

It’s the little catch in the girl’s voice that stops Jody cold.

She’s on a reconnaissance mission, not a rescue one. Her orders are to grab the documents detailing the invasion of Abel and get out, leaving Sigrid’s generals none the wiser. And doubtless, there will be moments like this in Ministry territory - her supporters are a bunch of overpromoted authoritarian nutjobs on a power trip, after all.

But she didn’t think it would shake her like this.

On the other end of her headset, Tom is silent, and she knows he heard it too. The break in the screaming. The girl’s voice sounds so pitiful and so small. Jody needs to ignore it: she needs to grab the papers while they’re distracted with whatever sick shit they’re doing and-

They’re laughing. Those men think this is funny.

“Tom,” her voice is low. She’s still in a crouch in the Admiral’s study, her heart hammering, but in her head she’s back in the punishment cells in Abel. She’s listening to Cameo in the cell next door, half an hour after picking a fight with some sneering jackbooted Ministry thugs, whimpering now that they can’t hear her. In her head, she’s lying curled up on her side with three broken ribs, knowing that she’s failed in Janine’s absence to protect any of them, knowing everybody she loves is dead, and-

“Jodes.”

He’s going to tell her to stick to the plan. That she’s too valuable to play hero. In, out, that’s the job. Laughing, screaming, put it all to the back of your mind, it’s not important. Everyone’s lives could be at stake for this data.

“Tom, I can’t - I have to help her.”

“Jody,” his voice is strained. “We don’t leave anybody behind.” He clears his throat. “There are three of them in there; you’ve got two bullets left after that horde on the way in. Your best bet is to distract them somehow. Got a grenade?”

“Wouldn’t leave home without one, babe.”

“You’ve been listening to Steve’s radio broadcasts too?” she can hear him smirk. “Okay. Grab the documents. I’d use it in the street outside - inside there’s no way to do it without risking hurting her or yourself.”

Jody slips a few of the papers into her pack, too distracted to even check if they’re the right ones, and sidles out of the window. The girl is crying, now, almost silently, and she doesn’t want to see herself in that sound but she can’t help it. Her stomach is a ball of white hot rage as she slides down and runs into the road. A few residents see her, but scatter.

“Sit rep?”

It’s been a while since she felt this powerless, burnt so much with righteous indignation. She rummages through her bag, and swears through gritted teeth.

“The pin. It’s jammed! The grenade’s fucked. I’m going in there.”

“Jody, don’t!”

“You have a plan B? You said we don’t leave anybody behind.”

“This is war, Miss Marsh,” says Janine’s voice unexpectedly. She’d almost forgotten they weren’t alone together on comms. “You know that sometimes we have no choice.”

“I’m going in there,” she replies. “Sigrid doesn’t get to win this.”

She throws the door open and charges upstairs. Her face is recognisable to everyone in the region, paraded on wanted posters on Ministry trucks for months, so lying probably won’t help her. At least it’s a photo from before the apocalypse, when she used conditioner and showered every morning and she wasn’t marred with scars, or thin and rangy and desperate. There’s a chance, however small, that they won’t shoot her on sight.

At least if they do she’ll get that whimpering out of her head.

She reaches the top of the stairs, and slams into the door with her shoulder, blurting the first lie she can think of in Janine’s accent of all impressions. “It’s the Minister! Someone’s stabbed the Minister!”

The bolt on the door is drawn back, and the piggish eyes of Admiral Denton look her up and down. “And who sent you, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, nobody, I don’t know anything, I’m just a messenger, but somebody’s shot her, I mean, stabbed her, she might die, they need you, sir!”

He nods, and shoves her to one side. “Quick, Hugh, you’re with me. Andersen, keep an eye on these two. If this is bollocks, I’ll want to know exactly where to find you. I don’t entertain people who waste my time, do I, Alyssa?”

Alyssa’s pale little face is covered in blood, her left eye hanging out of its socket halfway down her cheek, and Jody’s stomach flips inside out. Tom’s breathing gets heavier. She wishes his hand were in hers.

The footsteps thunder down the path, and she takes the pistol from her leg holster and points it at their guard.

“Who the fuck are you!” he shrieks, hands above his head in an instant.

“Did you help with this? Were you complicit?”

“I was just… you’ve seen what they can do, I was just following -”

She shoots him through the chest.

***

Alyssa is sixteen years old and her entire settlement is dead. Zombies overran their walls, and because they refused to ally with the Ministry, nobody came to help. She’s been working in the kitchens here for six months before she accidentally burnt the admiral’s joint of lamb. She doesn’t say much, but grips Jody’s hand like a vice as they run over the border to the sound of sniper fire. She knows a bit about Abel, she says - she used to listen to Jack and Eugene as a kid. Jody gives her the headset, and Sam soothes her down the line, throwing the occasional direction and zombie warning in a way that makes running half blinded through the wasteland funny rather than terrifying. He’s good with kids. He holds Sara up to the mic, and her babbling nearly coaxes the girl into a smile.

Maxine whisks her away at the gates, and it’s Tom who’s there to grab Jody and stop her from falling, to lead her back to the farmhouse.

“I’m fine,” she hears herself say from far away, smiling at citizens commending her bravery or patting her on the back. “I’m fine,” at the kitchen table, a nurse gingerly removing a bullet she caught in the shoulder. “I’m fine,” she tells Tom, who is patting down her bloodstained arm with a flannel.

“No, you aren’t.”

She’s looked away from everyone but can’t avoid him. His voice is deliberately steady as he dabs gently around the stitches. “You saved someone today. You killed someone today. You are not okay.”

“I shot him in the heart.” She feels her jaw. It’s still speckled in the man’s blood. Her whole body screams in pain, but she refused the morphine Maxine offered. Alyssa’s going to need their whole supply.

Besides, she’s frightened of falling asleep.

“You did what you had to. You’d do it again, and you’d be right to.”

“I know he was just, just playing his part, but all I could see is one of those soldiers hitting Cam, and knowing they were going to hurt me next, and I felt this, this pain in my head, and she wouldn’t stop crying, and I can still hear it even now.” Her voice feels flat, like it isn’t her own. “And I know you’ve had it so much worse - the poor kid’s had it worse - but I-“

“Hey,” his voice is gentle but stern. “This isn’t trauma Top Trumps, Jody. You’re allowed to hurt. And you don’t have to protect me from it.”

“Trauma Top Trumps sounds really terrible,” she manages a small laugh, trying to make her tone light. “Shooting a guard dead at point blank range - trauma, seven; nightmares, four; fear factor, three. Seeing a little girl get her eye torn out-”

She stops, feeling the colour sap from her face.

He looks at her reproachfully, and daubs the blood from her chin.

“You held it together out there. It’s more than I could have done. But you’re home now. You can let it all go.”

“No, I can’t. Don’t you get it?” She’s angry now, pushing the chair back from the table with an unpleasant screech across Janine’s kitchen floor. “I can’t let it go because if I’m not ready to do something at any moment, someone like Denton could make me powerless. I could lose someone again. I could lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere-“

“But someone could take you. Something could go wrong in the field.” You could lose your grip on your sanity.

He doesn’t promise that it won’t happen, but he takes her face in both hands, and presses his forehead to hers. She breathes sweat and smoke and cocoa butter. “Let go, Jodes.”

“No!”

She pulls away, and there in the doorway is someone with two laden dinner plates. The smell of roast lamb hits the back of her throat before Tom can get them to leave, and she gags, and retches, and then at last the tears are flowing down her cheeks. He cradles her in his arms, and keeps the world blocked out for a while.

#zombies run #zr #jody marsh #tom de luca #zrs6 spoilers

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magicalhideoutengineer · 4 years

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David Yates, director of the movie Fantastic Beasts and the Crimes of Grindelwald, revealed a large number of undisclosed scenes in a telephone interview. According to Yates, who has worked on six Harry Potter Magic World Series films up to this one, "this movie has more unreleased scenes than any movie I've ever made."

During the editing process, one wall of the editing room will have photos of each scene of "theatrical release version" and the other will have photos of `"cut scenes '", so you can see at a glance what kind of movie it is Yates says he is doing so. In "The Crimes of Grindelwald", it was said that "cut scenes" were about half of "theatrical release version", and "I couldn't quite show everything because a lot of characters came out. I'm happy with it, but I'm going to put a lot of unreleased scenes on the DVD, of course."

◆ Street scene of Jacob and Queenie

Alison: I love the scene that they quarrel on the street in the main story. Just like a couple in the real world who have been dating for a while, both of them have problems and love and irritation can be seen. But that was originally a longer scene. During the quarrel, there was a scene where Jacob said, "Why am I so sticky?"… He was wearing beer over himself (laughs). I was very nervous, but when I heard the words, I couldn't stop laughing and there was a scene where both of us started laughing. It was a very sweet moment.

Dan: Yeah, we laughed a lot, and then we heard the sound of thunder...

Alison: There was a scene of a thunderstorm at the moment you said "On such a beautiful night!"

◆ A scene in the Paris Sewer

Dan: In the scene where Newt finds Tina in the sewer, we were trapped in the main part, but after that the dragons came out of the water. Bad parasites like squid are coming to me. We try to open the cage in a hurry, "What the hell!" Then, because this dragon part was cut, everyone sees the picket opening the key and I rejoice, "Haha! @Picket!" (Laughs). My reaction has become unusually large (laughs). If you think that the dragons were behind us, you'll know the reason for that reaction! (Lol)

◆ Tina's perspective on the relationship between Queenie and Jacob

Katherine: This movie doesn't really describe Tina's view of this, just what Queenie says. It's understandable that Queenie feels that Tina doesn't want them to be together. But if Tina says something about this, she will says, "I don't want them both to be hurt." If they get married in the United States, Queenie will go to prison. Tina is worried about her safety. Of course she loves Jacob, and it's not that she doesn't accept Jacob. I'm just worried about what happens when they go together. I haven't think about the scenes I wanted to include in the story, but I had some scenes that talked about what happened to Queenie from my perspective, so I guess it would be nice to include them!

◆ A scene where Leta (Zoe Kravitz) and Newt (Eddie Redmayne) are saved at the French Ministry of Magic

Katherine: First, the shooting was really fun! In addition, it was a good contrast to the terrifying “Death Pool” scene where Tina jumped into Newt's arm in the first installment of “Fantastic Beasts' . It was a scene where we could help each other. Also, the French Ministry of Magic had a very slippery floor and we slipped. I think Eddie has fallen several times (laughs).

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mister-tom-a-dildo-lover · 5 years

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Hey can you please do Harrymort where Voldemort and Harry have to work together to help everyone because muggles find out about magic and the are jealous/angry/scared ? Please? Thank you.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Harrymort

Tags: Canon-Divergence at the end of HBP so Dumbles is dead, Post-Graduation but Voldy is still alive and the war was still going and the Ministry wasn’t overtaken, it’s 2014, Bad!MuggleGovernments, Muggle leaders shoot themselves in the feet and the common muggle population take the side of magic, The Enemy and I have a common Enemy so we’re buds against them now, Drama, Murder, Dubious Morals, References to Sex, Hogwarts Professor Harry, Triggers for guns and bombs I suppose?, Violence, Prejudice,

All he could really say about this shite was that it hadn’t even been a muggleborn who had been the cause of everything. As they’d grown up in the muggle side, they knew how to get by and what to avoid. But of course a Pureblood would consider themselves too good to learn about the muggle world. This was why Hermione insisted on all magically-raised children attending muggle Studies, even if the class was behind the present times back when they were still in school.

The ironic bit was that Lucius Malfoy had been the whole cause of this. On some ridiculous, self-directed plan to find Harry on his own and present him to Voldemort during the summer, he’d been caught by the CCTV on the street nearest to The Leaky Cauldron.

Arabella Figg had been the one to alert the magical side of the new events by sending Harry a rushed letter full of terrified words that barely made any sense. Thankfully, she’d attached a clipping from a muggle paper where it pretty much spelled everything out as photos of Lucius Malfoy covered the front page, the date prominent on the bottom corner, showing empty space one second, and then showing the blond wizard a second later.

MAGIC REAL! WIZARDS LIVING AMONG US EXPOSED!

It all started with a rushed order that every family ‘hiding’ magical people, should turn them in, or turn in any evidence they had of the existence of magic. The order had gone out three days in advance of a sudden flooding of law enforcement all over Britain. Permission had been granted for them to ransack every home no matter the inhabitants, and search for proof of magic. And if any was found and hadn’t been given up already, it would be confiscated and the entire household would be put under arrest.

Claims of treason against the Crown were being thrown about in Britain!

The clipping Mrs. Figg had provided him with also had a list of the villages where wizards were known to live in the UK. There had already been a plan set in motion to extract the muggles from the villages and if the magicals refused to cooperate, then the muggle law enforcement was given leave to use lethal force.

Harry, by the time he’d received the letter, had only had less that twenty-four hours left to get those villages evacuated lest the muggles started dropping bombs or raining bullets down on the innocent people living within.

And the thing was, he wasn’t working for the Ministry. He wasn’t an Auror. He was a bloody DADA Professor! He was trying to teach the children to protect themselves from Voldemort and his ridiculous, terroristic faction! Being an Auror wouldn’t have helped them in the least. And it wasn’t his bloody job to save everyone anyway!

Still, Harry remembered the emergency assembly he had to call. He wasn’t the Headmaster or the Deputy Head, but he still had a certain level of power as Gryffindor’s Head of House. And when he’d set off the magical alarms, he knew he’d need a good reason for it.

All 1,017 students had gathered in the Great Hall, clad only in their PJs and housecoats, and looking tired as hell. He’d felt bad, but knew there were more important things going on than getting a full night’s sleep.

He had the memory of that night stored in a cupboard now.

“I know it’s late and you want nothing to do with being awake now, but I need your help. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy stalking me about London on 3 August, in search of my place of residence, the muggle CCTV caught him doing magic near The Leaky Cauldron. And it raised questions in the government, and they proceeded to poke around that area and found the entrance to Diagon Alley, even if they can’t get in yet.”

He remembered the tired faces becoming more awake as they processed what he had been saying.

“Eventually they realised they needed more information and if these people doing magic were walking among them so easily, then they must be living in Great Britain for however long. They have made it mandatory for all muggles to give up anyone or anything magical that they know of, or risk prison time. They have been taking into custody all wizards they find, plus their possessions. Front page news two days ago showed Lucius Malfoy’s face and a list of all the villages in Great Britain that wizards are known to inhabit. The muggle inhabitants are being escorted out as we speak and the government plans to use lethal force if the magicals do not turn themselves in when the order is given at five this afternoon.”

There had been a deathly silence following his words. He could tell those not Pureblooded understood how dire the situation was. And his fellow teachers did as well. Snape looked ready to spit fire.

“For those who are still confused over why we have to worry, think of it this way. Muggles have weapons called bombs that can do mass damage in little time. They’ve used them in the World Wars. Think of a single Bombard Maxima powerful enough to blow all of Hogsmeade up and leave nothing but bricks and ashes behind. Muggles have access to these weapons and they are currently an option. There are now 7 Billion humans on Earth. Magical humans only make up 1% of that. They outnumber us, and that’s why they’re evacuating their people from of the villages. They are very willing to destroy their own land if compliance isn’t given.

“I need all of you to send these pre-written letters to your parents warning them to pack up their things and come here. All of them. I don’t care if your family is Dark. I don’t care if there are Death Eaters among the lot. Right now, I’m sad to say hat muggles are the enemy now until further notice. All other countries are also taking up arms against magicals. There is no more time us to be at each other’s throats over differing opinions. We can’t afford that now. I will be heading to Diagon Alley to get The Daily Prophet on this immediately. No shield is strong enough to withstand a bomb let alone many. As Hogwarts is Unplottable, it is the only safe place other than Gringotts, left in our immediate community. And you’ll have a better chance being allowed in here than in there.”

He’d left then, not even taking a moment to explain to McGonagall everything. They’d had their own evacuations to do.

And, for the first time ever, Harry had to do something he never thought he would willingly do. He opened up the link between he and Voldemort and called out to the man as hard as he could mentally.

The high-pitched whisper of Voldemort’s mind had permeated Harry’s own. It sounded almost mocking in a sense, despite the shock ringing true in it.

How lovely to hear from you, Harry. The way he said Harry’s name had always made Harry feel strange and this time was no different. To what do I owe the rare pleasure of your company?

Your minion fucked us all over, was Harry’s response.

As they were connected emotionally as well as mentally, Voldemort could feel Harry’s urgency, and his teasing bled away instantly. What happened?

Persisting in telling your minions that muggles are no threat to us is what lead to Malfoy Sr. of all people, exposing us and now they have endless amount of our people in custody, but also their possessions, and they are planning on open fire in any way possible, on all the villages our people reside in once the muggles therein are evacuated. The operation will begin at five this afternoon. And this all leads back to your minion not being bloody careful while stalking my arse through London!

Voldemort was silent for several moments. Enough time for Harry to make it through the Floo in his office, to The Daily Prophet Headquarters. He had a love-hate relationship with the place, but if needs must.

You are already begun to plan, Voldemort noted, sounding interested.

Everyone to Hogwarts. I don’t know how the other magical communities are going to handle this, but this is how I’ve decided to. You can either join us or not, but the offer was extended to the children already, and they’ve been told to tell their families with letters I’ve written up for them.

You’d work with me of all people?

Better you than being blown to bits. You lived through the Blitz, you should know how bad this situation is! You should know that we do not have time for petty squabbles right now!

Voldemort went silent for several more moments, which allowed Harry to burst into the Chief Editor’s office without warning, frightening the man inside in the process.

I will see you soon, were the Dark Lord’s parting words.

And that had been that.

The enchantments on Hogwarts had been strengthened and extended even further just to be on the safe side. And all roads leading anywhere near the mountains were quickly overrun with plant-life and hidden. Hogsmeade had been evacuated and bespelled to look like a common forest. Voldemort had been the one to do that bit of magic and admittedly it had been fascinating.

Several people added their power to Hogwarts’ Ward Stone. Not only was the magical of the former Heads within it, but joining them now were Harry, Voldemort, Snape, Flitwick, Hermione, and Kingsley for added protections.

The crisis hadn’t been fully averted as some couldn’t be reached no matter how hard they worked with the House Elves and Owls to alert everyone. And as Harry predicted, several villages were no more and hundreds of magical beings were dead.

Oddly though, may of the common muggle population felt that the governments were overreacting to the revelation of magic. Many were enraged over their homes being ransacked and destroyed. In only a month of time, extremists arose on the muggle side. A faction if it could be called that considering how large it was.

More than half of the known world wanted things to go back to normal. Wanted magical people and creatures to be freed. Wanted law enforcement to stop being the very things they claimed magicals to be. And that was Terrorists.

Numbers were rising by the day. 4B+ people agreed with this line of thinking. That was more than half the humans alive. And that had been the most shocking to the magicals all over the world.

The unfortunate part was that despite so many speaking out, the governments had the weapons of mass destruction on their side, so insurgency wouldn’t do much without the firepower to back up their words.

It had all gone to shite. And Harry could only imagine what was being done to the capture magical beings. He’d seen some muggle films before. He knew it wasn’t good.

The only other somewhat decent thing in this, was the fact that Voldemort couldn’t gloat about muggles being horrible when it was obvious that it was mostly the governments, and those who were religious nutjobs behind this trauma. The fact that more than half the muggles didn’t agree and were vocal about it, had stunned many of the magical population all over the world.

It was a chance Harry used to impress upon the people of their community that ever group would always have bad eggs, but that shouldn’t reflect on the whole group.

Day 227 since magic had been exposed because of one pompous twat(who had been taken to task very painfully or so Harry’s heard). That was two hundred and twenty-seven days of their community living in constant unease and fear over what could happen. Jobs having to be maintained from the safety of Hogwarts. The castle magically expanding itself to fit the most of Magical Britain’s people.

Fifty thousand people under one massive roof. The poor House Elves. The amount of work involved in the upkeep of the castle. The amount of spontaneous classes on household magic so that everyone could contribute to the best of their ability without anyone being overworked.

Most of Diagon Alley was gone save for some buildings left standing in the rubble. The mumggles still couldn’t get in or see what happened, but the devastation was heartbreaking.

And through it all, Voldemort was up Harry’s arse nonstop. Wherever he went, the man was not far behind. Literally. Always around Harry. Some rubbish about them being the only true leaders of their community. Kingsley wasn’t even considered as a Ministry representative in the Dark Lord’s mind. Voldemort didn’t care for him at all.

Voldemort had been annoying for many reasons before. Now all Harry could think of was his snakey shadow that stalked him all the time. More annoying than bloody murder!

Day 283 of being cramped inside Hogwarts. In so little time, beliefs and assumptions had been challenged. Misinformation had been corrected. Harry had learned more about Voldemort’s goals and the truth behind many of his actions. Dumbledore apparently had a habit of thinking he knew everything and therefore didn’t consider much else beyond his choices or assumptions in the long run.

Basically, the old codger had been wrong about a lot of things.

That didn’t mean the Death Eaters as a whole were okay though. Most were still prejudiced arseholes and needed to have said arses kicked repeatedly to rid them of their idiotic traditions, but it was nowhere near as bad as Harry had been lead to believe, and seemed like it could be reversible with enough work.

And if Voldemort was going to flirt with him so much, it truly seemed like reversing this shite was possible.

Harry didn’t fancy himself the saviour everyone had always wanted him to be, but the opportunity to mellow Voldemort out couldn’t be passed up. If there was a way to calm down the Dark Lording a bit and make him less inclined to violence for the sake of cruelty, Harry would be thrilled.

Besides… he was kind of into the slender, serpentine appearance. The forked tongue and slittled eyes were pretty arousing.

“Who knew it would take muggles and bombs and a planned, world revolution for this to happen?”

Voldemort’s chilly hands massaged the bare skin of Harry’s lower back, the differences in their body temperatures making gooseflesh pop up all over the younger wizard’s body. It was a good feeling though, and Harry snuggled closer as his body warmed up with interest.

“You’re still a cockwomble, but a more tolerant one now.”

“Brat.”

“Wanker.”

Voldemort rolled them over so he could be on top. His slitted pupils didn’t contract in the least with the shift of lighting hitting his face. It was kind of ominous and also really fucking hot. “You have your list of marks prepared?”

“Yes,” he groaned. “I know whose block I’m knocking off in the morning.”

After enough time, they finally were able to make a full list of all the British leaders set on enslaving the magical population. As with everything, not everyone in the government was a terrible person. It simply took time and effort to separate the good from the bad. Weeding out the rotten roots so to speak.

While muggles had guns and bombs, they couldn’t really build anything to sense when magic was being used, so there was still a chance to overthrow them. But Harry had argued, at least for Magical Britain, that they should only kill off the people that absolutely deserved it, and imprison the rest. More than half the muggle population was on their side anyway. In the meantime, those who had been wrongfully imprisoned would finally see daylight for the first time in 345 days. Magicals and muggles alike.

Further action would have to be sorted out later. For now, this was the best plan they had to return to the relatively safe world they’d formerly been living in..

“No entertaining notions of grandeur, Voldy. We’re moving on from that entirely.”

“If I agree will you stop calling me that?”

“No. But I’ll go down on you more often.”

“Then you have my word, my soul.”

Trying to use romantic terms to get on Harry’s good side. “Flattery will keep you in my bed.”

“If I recall correctly, this is my bed in my room, my soul.”

“Details, details.”

Tomorrow would be the tension and the danger, but for now, they could relax for a little bit.

A/N: This got away from me so quickly! Took some time but I finally did it. I can see this happening in a sense.

#Harrymort #fanfiction #Watermelonsmellinfellon #Lord Voldemort

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 4 years

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Thoughts/Background on Chamber of Secrets

There simply cannot be neighborhoods like this, where there are miles upon miles of cookie cutter homes that stretch out into the horizon. Does anyone know if this is a real shot? Or did they multiply the houses like they do to extras in a battle scene?

I never noticed that this photo album is this detailed. There is a little J and L on either side of James and Lily’s photo here. Hagrid is an artist.

It’s on every page? Was this supposed to be something that Hagrid found from Godric’s Hollow? How did he get something so specific? Or is that rumor true that Hagrid owled Lily and James friend’s and Remus, who had been left things like this when there was no one else left to claim them, got it off his bookshelf and sent it to his best friends’ son?

I like how Harry’s room progressively becomes more his own. Look at it in this movie, the walls are bare, everything is relatively tame and plain verses in Order of The Phoenix, when Harry’s room has distinctly more decoration.

Those pink candlesticks are ghastly.

Harry, my darling, you have been getting letters it is merely a well meaning house elf who has stopped them. I wonder what everyone else thought about Harry’s silence? Especially Hermione. Did she think for even a moment that Harry and Ron had decided that they didn’t want to be her friend at all? Ron isn’t much of a writer, and Harry wasn’t responding. I don’t want to know what kind of a mind fuck that must have been to 12 year old Hermione who had just got home from “magic school”, and none of her new “friends” were responding to her letters.

We have heard that theory that James is Harry and Sirius is Ron, etc. But Dudley is Petunia. Dudley and Harry were raised in the same house, closer than cousins because of location alone. But whereas Petunia never got over the resentment that she felt towards Harry in book seven Dudley was more concerned for Harry’s well-being when they were leaving for the safe house then I think Petunia ever was if Lily ever mentioned how hard and dangerous things were getting during the First Wizarding World. Dudley received some characterization and growth where Petunia never bothered.

Harry sounds so sarcastic when he says that.

Dang! Every time Harry leaves his room he has to see a pencil drawing of Dudley’s face? The Dursley’s cruelty knows no bounds.

All of this decoration, and the shelf are missing from the first scene with Harry in this movie.

Harry is just like, “Fuck it all.”

But he’s got manners galore.

At this point, Harry has never seen a house elf. He has no idea what a house elf does. He has no idea why one would be in his bedroom. He has no idea that this even is a house elf? Why is he so calm? This could be a blood thirsty toga wearing creature that they only study in seventh year, and yet, Harry is all but like, “Can I take your coat, sir?”

And now he’s crying, (those could have been lethal gas releasing nerve agents), and now he’s hitting himself (gearing up for attack.) Oh, Harry, number one at defense my arse.

And their champagne flutes are pink? You can’t buy taste.

Those people look so offended like, “You have a cat? How common.”

I know that the fanon is that wizarding children all heard bedtime stories about Harry Potter, but Dobby is proof that other beings also heard about Harry’s triumph over the Dark Lord.

Who painted that picture on Harry’s wardrobe? Dean Thomas, fanon artist. Or does Harry Potter have latent creative talent? Or can you buy these out of the Hogwart’s catalog? Lol

Dobby is like, “Oh, shit, I should not have said that.”

This is where Harry’s Gryffindor really shows because he could just lie to Dobby, but he doesn’t. It’s that Gryffindor honesty.

The man is just like, “Oh, look, cake. Neither of them even looks angry.

Vernon bowered Niall Horan’s hat for this scene.

Harry sleeps with the scrapbook right by his bed. Someone shoot me.

I love that to Ron, Fred, and George that this is a completely normal thing for them to be doing. None of them look nervous about flying a car in a Muggle neighborhood. Destruction of property? Who gives a fuck? They are just like, we have to do what we have to do for our bud. Just a regular drive around.

Hedwig is very annoyed at being called a pigeon.

Ron knows to appreciate the simple things. Tell you mate Happy Birthday, no werid shows of masculinity here.

I love the Burrow. I love the position of the Burrow. I love that they are surrounded by land and a little pond. I love that it is secluded, and that it looks pieced together.

The inside of the Burrow is stunning. You have the Farm House sink. The detailed windows. The hardwood surfaces. The eclectic but perfectly fitting furniture. It would be considered chic to many a Muggle. And that DOOR, that opens up, and then also opens out. The extra space above that little cubbie. Fireplace. Hand, or magic, knitted blankets.

There is a wooden orange cat, a la, Crookshanks on the fireplace there.

Ginny is me.

He says, “Morning Weasleys.” Like they are a clan. He could totally use that tone and call them all to action.

I feel like Mrs. Weasley could sound more disappointed here. I feel like she is kind of annoyed, but also kind of interested in their little stunts as well.

The stainglass windows, the open placement for the dishes, like this house is amazing!

“Dumbledore must know that you’re here.” So, the headmaster is the one who can keep track of the placement of certain students and their whereabouts, or is this simply a case where Mrs. Figg informed Dumbledore that Harry had taken off. Can you imagine that letter? Like, “Super sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but it seems as if Number Four Pivet Drive has been attacked by three red haired boys in a flying car. The red haired youngsters seemed to be on quite friendly terms with Mr. Potter however, as they helped them into the flying vehicle. Just thought that I should mention it.

Sincerely,

Arabella Figg

So, does Appartition take a lot out of a witch or wizard? Why don’t Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just apparate all the kids to the Diagon Alley? Is there such a thing as flooing by twos or threes? Because that would also be useful. Are there many fireplaces lining Diagon Alley like the tones that are shown in seven part one in the Ministry? Where to they floo into? Just one of the thousands of questions that need answers, Mrs. Rowling.

There is a gilded head of an elephant behind Harry’s head before Harry examines closely a cabinet that seems to follow a very tight skull aesthetic for maximum creep.

On the top shelf, there seems to be a lamp? A magical one?

More skulls. The hand of glory, that is mentioned in the books. And then a vase full of eye balls. This place is a health hazard. I know the wizarding world lacks mental health professionals, but you’re telling me they don’t have health inspectors?

Harry looks like he has been covered in spiderwebs. When was the last time that Floo was used?

Who are these random people just immediately accosting a twelve year old boy?

They pass a book seller. Knowledge is the root of all power.

The sign in front says from top to bottom: Quality. Value. Ease. Style. Then I think, Variety.

Hermione is internally shrugging because of course her ride or die new friend is covered in ash and has broken glasses. Of course, he is.

The girl behind them as they walk away looks back at them like, “Oh, Harry Potter.”

The fashion and lighting in this movie went from drab and seventeen hundreds to really flamboyant and really stylish with bright colors. I love that the dashes of color really followed them into the other films. Even Prisoner of Azkaban with its more muted color scheme is still vibrant.

The front page that reads: Gilderoy Lockhart gives Wizarding Wolrd Hero Hygiene Tips. Ash free for the cameras, always.

They are literally crammed into the bottom floor of this shop, and Draco Malfoy has an excellent view from above?

Ginny’s got some balls. Love her. All the boys are silent, and she just ain’t taking no shit.

Like Lucius, it is not okay to fondle people’s foreheads, you creepy mother f-er.

Hermione is a bad bitch. Like she knows how dangerous magic can be know, and yet, she doesn’t back down from this grown wizard.

They are all dirty. What happened to scourgify? Or were they scouring grate after grate trying to find Harry, and just didn’t have time after the relief of finding him? Literally, no one else is dirty.

Ginny’s trunk has a Hogwart’s emblem. And we all know the Weasley’s use hand me down items. Whose trunk does she have?

Like Ronald, this is not logical. Dang! I know y’all aint in Ravenclaw, but you are twelve years old. This is basic.

“Your hands all sweaty.” This is no time to be a snob, Harry.

So, did the car fail because they hit Hogwart’s wards? That would seem logical for its sudden failure.

It could also be why the Womping Willow attacked the car so viscously. It may have sensed that this car doesn’t belong to the grounds, and thus, could potentially be a threat. So, it tried to dislodge and pulverize the threat.

Pete, you rat bastard.

This car knows its way around Hogwarts? Or did some of the sentient magic that is in Hogwarts take over the car, and that is why it saved Harry and Ron when they were in the forest with the acromantulas.

To make things more environmentally friendly. The Daily Prophet should have a self updating paper, that changes with each news day. People can still buy the others, if they want to keep them for posterity, but I mean, come on, save the planet.

I feel like this is just a flashback for Snape. James getting away with everything and now Harry.

And Ron, is just so used to getting caught out by Mrs. Weasley, that he just instantly thinks that he is going home.

The look on Snape’s face is so sad here. Will no one ever take this man’s side?

I like this overhead view of the greenhouses. I like the idea too, that there are several levels of greenhouses. The ones that we see in this movie are close to the castle and are set for first and second years, but then the Greenhouses that we see in Half Blood Prince are set away a bit from the castle for the upper years. And some are just for Professor Sprout.

There are little dragon statues on top of the greenhouses. That’s a bit ironic.

Do you think that those large pot like things hanging from the ceiling are

Like, how common is getting petrified, that this would be in second year school book. Also, why were they being grown in the first place if there uses were so rare.

Headcanon that Neville truly developed an interest in Herbology when he fainted that year. He went back to see what work he missed, and Professor Sprout was just straight battling some giant carnivorous plant, and just kicking the fertilizer out of it, and Neville helps her. Then she shows him something else, and something else, and talks about all the things that plants can do, and what they are capable of achieving. “But that’s normally a lesson I reserve for the older years.” But Neville doesn’t want to wait, he wants to do it now. He goes back to the common room with several borrowed books from Professor Sprout, and he is never the same again.

We are legit just going to leave a student lying on the ground. Are we? The wizarding world is really survival of the fittest.

There is a studious Ravenclaw behind them there, reading away.

Neville still has flashbacks to be honest.

When the wizarding world doesn’t have cell phones to yell at or embarrass your children with, you hit them with a howler. Respect.

This DADA room is surrounded with pictures of Lockhart. All the frames along the side of the room are pictures of Lockhart. Bless this man.

This painting of Lockhart is painting a picture of Lockhart.

He bought those Cornish Pixies on the Wizarding Web.

Is that a skeleton of a hippogriff handing above them there?

Even the pixies have had it with Lockhart’s shit books.

The painting Lockhart runs out of the way as well.

Hermione is a baddie.

Hogwarts is so beautiful.

Flint, Wood is tired of your shit.

Hermione and Ron smell trouble, and are like, “I’m going to get me some of that.” Because Gryffindors.

Clap back Hermione.

I love that in the book everyone reacts to what Draco calls Hermione. I wish they would have included that a bit more in the movie.

Ron must have learned that from somewhere, but instead of someone helping him, they just laugh.

This interaction here with Hagrid and Hermione always melts my heart. I like to think that Hagrid is one of the reasons that Hermione worked so hard later in life for the protection and promotion of creature rights. Hagrid being a half giant.

Hagrid is number one. Let’s be real.

Where can I get this level of staged photograph when I go to the Wizarding World in May?

Lockhart is like, “Dang, the fame is already getting to this one. What a shame.”

Harry hears someone threatening to murder people, and of course, he runs right to them.

If Tom Riddle had a giant, most likely extremely hard to kill snake, why didn’t he just try to ride it on out of Hogwarts, take over Diagon and flatten everything? Why didn’t he come back for it during the first wizarding world?

Ron is not down with spiders, and neither am I.

Look, this may be a controversial opinion, but I love Mrs. Norris, and I think that her and Filch are cute and are not to be messed with.

Let’s be real, Filch has been hearing for a solid year from Snape about how Harry Potter is such a little shit. That rage has got to come from somewhere.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry thinking that they were just about to sneak off. Dumbledore is like, “Bitch, please.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ron: “Is Snape taking up for us….actu….oh, wait, of course not.”

I feel so bad for Filch here. That cat is probably the only thing in the whole world that he actually loves.

McGonagall has a large number of zoo like cages in her classroom as well. Her classroom is also very symmetrical, from the two blackboards, to the candles in the front of the room.

Draco and Goyle are reluctantly impressed.

That is the beautiful thing about libraries. There is an unlimited amount of information available at any point in time.

I’m glad that there is at least one adult in the common space for the students. Is that supposed to be Madam Pince? Or a helpful teaching assistant? We all know that the teachers at Hogwarts have an intense work load.

Why is there a spider depicted on the woman’s head in this book?

I just imagine that every time that Harry is in the air that Ron and Hermione experience quite a lot of anxiety.

I can just hear Lucius in the stands saying, “We do not show off for such people.” When the snitch is right beside Draco’s head.

I feel that Lucius grew into being a good father when the threat of his family became a reality. I think before he judged Draco by too harsh means because things were always rather simple in his mind. He thought he was the best, and Draco should be too. But he was humbled, and became a better father because of it.

Dobby strictly uses the word, “Enslavement” here. That word makes what Hermione does with Spew seem less radical.

The table is decorated with the phases of the moon.

Snape rises from the crowd like a ghost.

How on Earth did Lockhart get Snape to agree to do this? He had to have accosted him in the staffroom or during a meeting when Snape couldn’t get away.

“Severus, I really think it would be a great idea. We could really give the kids something exciting, riveting, and imaginative.” It is only when McGonagall tells him that he could probably get Lockhart on his perfectly pictured arse a few times that Snape considers it, and eventually concedes.

The most iconic Drarry line ever. “Scared, Potter?” “You wish.”

Can conjured things kill people? Or are they just charms? Is the pain temporary, or a real solid thing that can seriously damage?

Is this study hall?

Harry Potter has the crappiest luck ever.

Some of the headmasters and headmistresses seem to be still. I like the idea that all of the professors that get promoted to that level get to be immortalized whether they would like to put apart of them inside of a portrait or not.

I really like the idea of Dumbledore as a scholar and an academic, so I really like that they show all of his scrolls and books.

I feel like Fawkes dying and then being rebirthed among the flames is a really poignant thing for Harry to experience at this stage in his life. This image of the phoenix dying, but still having life probably stuck with Harry and it might have been something that he thought about when he was preparing to walk into the forest in book seven.

Hagrid has got Harry’s back, and I love it. He is a really good friend.

This image of the Black Lake frozen over, and the students being pulled across it’s icy surface is stunning.

Hermione was training to join MI6 before she got her Hogwarts letter, and no one can tell me differently.

Are flying treats that common that Crabbe and Goyle are just like, “Dead on.” It must have been a cute thing that there house elves did for them when they were children, levitating treats or toys in the air for them to grab. Or their parents showing them magic and giving them treats at the same time. Otherwise, how would they have ever thought, “You know what? Excellent and safe idea to eat these random treats.”

Harry literally doesn’t know here which one is Crabbe and which one is Goyle.

The Slytherin common room looks way more lush then the Gryffindor common room. I feel like you can see really clearly into the Black Lake there, and since it is frozen over, the light that you see is light blue instead of green. I mean, look at how big there common room is. It looks like they have a designated study area and everything.

Draco, don’t be the stereotype of rich boys who steal. Just don’t.

Myrtle is not to be fucked with, bro.

A young Tom Riddle for sure got this one year for Christmas at Wool’s orphanage before the war started, and things got so tight that they couldn’t even afford three meals a day. Then, like everything in his past, he transferred these basic Muggles things to something more extraordinary, like him.

Tom Riddle in this movie is a hottie. Like, y’all can’t even fight me because there is no denying his killer beauty….get it?

Okay, so are we thinking that during this flashback that Tom’s soul piece is not only aware that Harry is watching a scene from his life, but is also, acting out the part of himself? He is the director and the lead, so to say.

I like this sequence because it shows more insight into who Tom Riddle is, and where the fear of death started to come from. I wish that Rowling would have made this connection more thoroughly for the viewers of the movies. A single mention of there being too many bombs, or a lot of fighting by Tom here when he is talking with Dumbledore would have provided some more insight into this character.

Ginny knows how to do some damage. I think it would have been easier for them to figure out. Girls can get up boy’s dorms, but boys cannot get up to girl’s dorms. It would have had to have been a Gyrffindor. The common room couldn’t have been completely empty. Hermioen could have fact checked this, and figured out who had wrecked their dorm.

Look at those game plans back there. I just envision, Oliver Wood drawing frantically on the blackboard wild circles that simulate flying motions, but he goes too quickly for everyone else to understand what he’s saying, and thus, the only one who knows the plan is Wood, himself.

Did they show Colin’s friends his frozen body? Or Penelope and Justin’s? Not one person in this school thinks of the potentially traumatizing circumstances that they are putting these kids through.

It is popular fanon that McGonagall and Riddle went to school together. From this perspective, it would be doubly as traumatizing for her to hear that the school could be closing again.

Ron is me. I ain’t messing with no mother flipping spiders.

Ron is no help in this scenario. Absolutley none.

Harry replacing Hermoine’s flowers, and thus subtly telling the viewers how much time has elapsed.

Harry is wickedly smart. He is also very logical which I think attributes a lot to that sarcastic personality that he has.

McGonagall has some Slytherin in her for sure. She went from worried to blasting Lockhart in 2.5.

Lockhart packed up really quickly. It was almost like he….. had….experience…leaving…quickly.

I wonder if Lockhart’s victims ever got any retribution after he wound up in St. Mungos. It’s almost certain that his sales went up when he got admitted to the hospital just because of the public’s sheer curiosity and gossip mongering.

Salazar Slytherin was one slick mother f-er. “I’m going to hide my chamber in the bathroom.”

I can just imagine Riddle not having a lot of time in between OWLS and what not, and taking the easy way out and opening the Chamber whenever he could just to chuck down dead rabbits and chickens. Forays into the Forbidden Forest were many for Tom’s minions back then.

Honestly, Lockhart, Harry probably wouldn’t mind if you took a few of his less than pleasurable memories.

Tom Riddle also has that innate need to be polite even though he’s about to stab someone just like Harry does. Or is this a British thing?

I love how the villains in these movies say, “Potter.”

That does not look like the hole that they came down? It looks like Fawkes took them up another exit.

Why is Dumbledore trusting Hagrid’s release papers from the wizarding world’s worst prisons to a twelve year old? To a twelve year old Ron Weasley at that.

It looks like Dumbledore has a crystal ball by his desk. Trying his hand at divination? Or is that how he keeps track of all the students? I need to know what headmaster powers enable him to do all of these things.

Jason Isaacs is super fine. I can even deal with the wig. In fact, the wig makes it better.

It looks like Dumbledore’s office is located outside of the courtyard which makes the scene in Order of the Phoenix when Fred and George are comforting that boy all the more poignant.

#Harry Potter #Chamber of secrets #Harry Potter thoughts #Harry Potter movie thoughts

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religioused · 5 years

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When the Bar is Too High

By Gary Simpson

Luke 10:25-37 - Contemporary Setting

A Biblical scholar asked Jesus, the popular circuit pastor, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

Jesus replied with a question. "What do you think the Bible says?"

The Biblical expert drew himself up to full height, thinking, "This is an easy question. Everyone will be impressed with my knowledge of the Bible." The scholar replied, "Love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself."

Jesus responded. "Correct. Now live that way."

The Bible scholar tried to see if he trick Jesus into saying something wrong. He asked Jesus another question. "Who is my neighbor?"

Jesus answered the scholar's question with a story. On a hot summer day, a man drove from Calgary to Dallas. Things were going well until he crossed the border. A gang of robbers forced his car off the road, dragged him out of the car, stole his wallet, his credit cards, his jewelry, his luggage and the designer clothes he was wearing. They beat him up and shot holes in the windows of his car and left him unconscious by the road.

And who happened to drive by?

A prominent Republican politician happened on the scene. He slowed down, saw the man, assuming the man had been killed, he said, "Thoughts and prayers," as he punched his Caddy SUV into passing gear.

Next on the scene was a prominent Democratic politician. The Democrat stopped, took photos of the scene and released a press statement condemning gun violence and requesting stricter gun laws. Then the Democrat got in his Subaru and drove away.

Then a member of the NRA pulled to a stop and with the unconscious man in the background he shot a video of himself explaining how everybody should carry an open holster gun, so gun violence will stop. Feeling quite good about the opportunity to promote gun ownership, he drove away in his Ram 4 x 4 crew cab truck.

Down the road came a sad looking, nondescript minivan with an undocumented family. Then the car stopped and the family piled out to see what happened. The mother knew first aid and administered first aid. They got the injured man to the van and they hooked a line up to his car and took the man into the next town, towing the car as they went. On the way to the hospital, the 10 year old girl held the man's hand and kept saying, "We are getting closer to the hospital. You are going to be okay. You will be in good hands." They dropped the man off at the hospital, paying for his medical expenses, and took the car to a dealership to see what it would cost to repair the car and they left credit card authorization to charge any needed repairs to the credit card.

And Jesus asked the conservative Bible scholar which person was the neighbor. The Bible scholar scowled and answered, "The undocumented workers." The Bible expert had his answer. Those we fear, those we do not understand, those we hate, those we do not like are our neighbors.

Reflection:

I graduated from a small Christian college. Students were required to take four religion courses to graduate. One of the religion courses that students were supposed to take was a course titled "Bible Doctrine". A better title for the course might have been Systematic Theology, because the course included the doctrine that are held by many church denominations, as well as some of the unique doctrine of the denomination. The course was an absolute bear. In the course of a four month semester, the course covered over twenty doctrine. When you subtracted the tests and the long weekends, I am not sure we had more than two 50 minute lectures per doctrine. The teacher would write just the Bible text (like John 3:16) on the board and he would explain how the text supported the doctrine. By the end of the period, the blackboard was full of texts and he would say, "You see it is really quite simple, isn't it!?!" And my mind would be spinning.

The lawyer asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Fortunately, I have not inherited anything and I would rather have loved ones in my life than have either their money or their stuff. But on the surface this sounds like a rather stupid question. You do not earn an inheritance. As a general rule, you get an inheritance because you are related to the person who died. In other words, an inheritance is what you get because of who you are, not because of what you do. I know that there are exceptions, because some people are written out of the will, but I don't think that is the norm.

So the lawyer is asking the impossible. The lawyer is asking what he must do to earn a gift. That leaves me wondering what Jesus was thinking and asking myself a lot of questions.

• Was Jesus being sarcastic?

• Did Jesus think that this was the most stupid question he had ever been asked? • Exactly what teaching strategy was Jesus using?

• What Grade would the scholar's theology get in my Bible doctrine class?

Perhaps, my answer comes by looking at a major theme in the Gospel of Luke. A major theme of Luke is inclusion. I believe the inclusion seen in the Gospel of Luke should make this Gospel a favorite of members of oppressed minority groups. In Luke, Jesus "reaches out to bring in those previously excluded", The excluded people who Jesus reaches out to include women, the impoverished, the sick, sinners, outcasts and the ritually impure. Luke emphasizes Jesus' association with those who are on the "fringes of society" more than any other Gospel.1

The theme of inclusion extends beyond Luke's Gospel. The Gospel of Luke is volume 1. The second volume is the book of Acts. In the books of Luke and Acts, the boundaries are extended to include Samaritans, by making a Samaritan the hero of a story2 and the Samaritan leper3 and the conversion of Samaritans, a conversion proven by the converts being baptized in the Spirit.4 I gather that Deborah Broome is a Ministry Educator in an Anglican Diocese in New Zealand. Regarding Luke and even more so Acts, she notes that there is a sense of "universalism that would genuinely accord 'everyone born’ a place at the table.”5

Now, I go back to my questions. Why did Jesus answer the question about what a person must do to receive a gift, an inheritance? You do nothing to get an inheritance. And Jesus' answer was steeped with legalism. What gives?

As I was thinking about my questions, my mind turned to the sermon on the mount and the sermon on the plain. The sermon on the mount is in the Gospel of Matthew and the sermon on the plain is in the Gospel of Luke. Some people believe that the sermon on the mount in Matthew’s Gospel is the same sermon as the sermon on the plain in Chapter 6 of Luke’s Gospel. Other people, who believe that the two sermons are different, admit that there are similarities between the two sermons.

Perhaps there is a reason why my mind went to the sermon on the mount and the sermon on the plain. I am not a real fan of either sermon. The intensity of legalism and the demands seem overwhelming. The sermon on the mount has the passage, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”6 A command to be as perfect as God is a pretty high standard - read impossible. The sermon on the plain sets the bar pretty high too. "But love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall be great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthankful and to the evil. Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful".7 Love your neighbors and be as merciful as God is merciful is a tall order. Having mercy equal to God's mercy is impossible.

When I was in graduate school in Southern California, I stumbled across Bible commentaries by Vernon McGee. I enjoyed his commentaries, because they were cheap, and that worked on a student's budget. He is able to take complex ideas and break those ideas down into short, easy-to-understand sentences, using expressions that sounded folksy enough to be used by an old country pastor. You would never guess that he had a Doctor of Theology degree. McGee observes, "if the Sermon on the Mount is your religion, you had better make sure you are keeping it. It is loaded with law."8 I agree with McGee's assessment that the sermon on the mount shows us how far short of the ideal we are.9 The sermon on the mount is intended to make us give up on trying to be good enough to please God and to accept grace. The sermon on the plain has a similar purpose.

Perhaps, Jesus was thinking, "Well, if you are going to try to do the impossible, to earn a gift that is given to you get for just being you, I am going to set the bar high, so high that you simply give up on trying to purchase God's love. I am going to tell this man to love God and to love his neighbors just as he loves himself and then I am going to tell him that the Samaritans, the people he despises and hates are his good neighbors." Then Jesus proceeds to tell the lawyer the story of the good Samaritan. And this approach seems to be in harmony with both theme of the sermon on the mount and the sermon on the plain.

Perhaps, Jesus played along with the question, knowing good and well that salvation had everything to do with the love of the one giving the inheritance and nothing to do with a person's efforts to to the right thing to teach an important lesson. That lesson is that the standard to live as a responsible person of faith is very high, but the standard required to receive an inheritance from God is quite low.

The goal for how we should ideally live is really high. And that is meant to encourage us to shoot high, to aim to live as better people. But jumping over the bar is not required for salvation. Luke's gospel, a gospel of inclusion includes you. Your inheritance comes for free, for just being you, a child of God. When you look up and see that the bar is too high to jump, walk under the bar, and, with confidence, collect your inheritance.

Notes:

1 Michael Prior. Jesus the Liberator: Nazareth Liberation Theology (Luke 4:16-30). Sheffield Academic Press. Sheffield. 1995., 50, cited in Deborah Broome. “Who’s at the Table? - Inclusiveness in the Gospel of Luke.” Anglican Diocese of Wellington. Oct 2006, 07 July 2019. <http://wn.anglican.org.nz/files/docs/inclusion-in-luke.pdf>.

2 The Good Samaritan in Luke 10:29-37.

3 Luke 17:11-19.

4 Acts 8,This case is made by J Massyngbaerde Ford. ‘Reconciliation and Forgiveness in Luke’s Gospel’ in Political Issues in Luke-Acts ed Richard J Cassidy & Philip J Scharper. Orbis Books. Maryknoll, New York. 1983. 80-98., 88, cited by Deborah Broome. “Who’s at the Table? - Inclusiveness in the Gospel of Luke.” Anglican Diocese of Wellington. Oct 2006, 07 July 2019. <http://wn.anglican.org.nz/files/docs/inclusion-in-luke.pdf>.

5 Deborah Broome. “Who’s at the Table? - Inclusiveness in the Gospel of Luke.” Anglican Diocese of Wellington. Oct 2006, 07 July 2019. <http://wn.anglican.org.nz/files/docs/inclusion- in-luke.pdf>.

6 Matthew 5:48, KJV.

7 Luke 6:35-36, KJV.

8 J. Vernon McGee. Thru the Bible with J, Vernon McGee. (Pasadena, California: Thru the Bible Radio, 1998), ebook.

9 McGee. (1998), ebook.

#sermon #reflection #The Good Samaritan

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imagineitup · 6 years

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A Manifestation of Ministry Macabre : Theseus Scamander x Reader (2/3)

part one ll part three

a/n : part two y’all!! anywho go wish @electricseavey a happy birthday and there’s one more part that’s gonna come out at about six my time :D

- -

You meet Theseus Scamander the next day, carrying a box of things to your new cubicle. One that is so fortunately, located right next to the Scamander.

You grimace painfully at him as he gives you a curt nod, and you begin placing your things onto the various spots on your desk. You take out the ink well and your favorite quills. The folders of research are placed carefully in the drawers on the side near your feet, and finally a photo. You dust it off, placing it gingerly on the table.

Theseus walks over to your side, showing you a clipping from the Daily Prophet. “Know what this is?” He stares at you, feet spread evenly apart, one hand stuck in his coat pocket. “Who this is?”

You nod, fighting away irritation. “Of course. Mass murder in Liverpool. Briseis.”

Theseus pockets the clipping, motioning with his head. “We’ll be turning him into authority. Come on.”

The two of you walk out of the Ministry, up the elevator, and out into the muggle world. As soon as the two of you step foot onto the familiar cobblestones, you stretch out your hand.

Theseus takes it, and you find yourself surprised at the warmth that spreads through your fingertips. His hand feels nice. You blink, and apparate away.

Theseus lets go of your hand as soon as you both find yourself on stable ground, and the two of you walk through the streets of Liverpool, wind whistling through your hair.

Theseus says nothing to break the silence this time, and the two of you walk through busy streets and weave through crowds of people. There are shops selling small steak-pies with buttered-potatoes, and the savory scent wavers throughout the musty air, making your mouth water.

The crowd thins out past the marketplace, and Theseus turns into a nearby alley, looking over his shoulder to make sure you’re there. You follow quickly, a hand cautiously hovering over your wand pocket.

Water drips from pipes that wrap around the sides of buildings, the chatter of voices beginning to dim. The sallow smell of dirt and stale water overwhelms, and you grimace.

There is a mis-step to your right, a rock scuffing into a puddle of muddy water. The pebble splashes, the sound of water echoes through the alley.

Theseus stops, drawing his wand. You do the same and look around, wary.

Someone else is here.

It was a tracing spell that tracked Briseis here. You can feel the familiar anticipation creeping down your spine, the heightened awareness that makes your heart beat in your ears and your eyes hypersensitive to any faint motion.

And then it happens.

A green flash sparks to your left, and your wand moves in front of your body instinctively. A faint shield of light materializes around your form, blinking into existence and brightening as the green hits against it.

Theseus runs towards the direction of the spell and down the left-alley way, his wand gripped in his hand. You let your shield fall, turning to the right instead with the hope of cutting Briseis off.

Footsteps are echoing in the alley, you can hear Theseus’ voice around you and feel the fizzling energy that thrums in the air.

You run faster, breath catching in your throat. The turn appears to your left and you burst forward, eyes darting around.

Instead you see Theseus. His eyes widen, he looks at you. An unspoken question passes between the both of you.

Where?

Theseus looks at the tracker in his pocket, and it still glows warm. Briseis’ here — he hasn’t apparated.

Then, time seems to slow. There’s something out of the corner of your eye, a thin refraction of light. You frown, eyebrows furrowing.

Too soon you realize what it is, and you point your wand towards the curve in the wall.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The glimmer in the wall blinks, the man stiffens and light runs across his form in dappled waves. He becomes visible, falling to the floor.

The curse from his wand shoots towards Theseus and the Scamander disarms it, wand held in front of him. His eyes are still wide from the close-encounter, but he recognizes what you’ve done. And he’s grateful.

The two of you don’t speak yet. You both look around, searching for any followers. Yet, there don’t seem to be any.

Briseis isn’t one to work with a group, perhaps being why he had been one of the easier dark wizards to subdue.

Theseus gives the all-clear, and other Aurors apparate into the alley. They nod and grab ahold of the paralyzed man, disappearing.

The two of you walk out of the alley the way you came, listening to the water that splashes onto the cobblestones in rhythmic hollow patterns. Light filters into the alleyway, it becomes brighter. The murmur of voices begins to rise, the musty smell of the alley draws into itself, and you begin to smell the foods from the market-square ahead.

It is still quiet, there are no crowds.

Theseus walks besides you this time, his eyes looking straight ahead. Unlike his brother, Newt, Theseus has no freckles. His skin is smooth, and the light from the sun peeks out from the clouds and splashes onto his figure. He glows.

You shake your head, rubbing at your eyes. It’s becoming increasingly hard to hate someone as charismatic as Theseus Scamander.

It’s a while before he says anything, and when he does, he looks down at his feet.

“Why aren’t we friends?”

You look at him, incredulous. “What?”

He looks back up, staring at the markets that stretch across the town. “You know, we were Prefects together. I don’t understand why you hate me so much.”

You’re much too surprised to remember to be mad at him. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Theseus looks at you, his eyes searching.

And then it all comes back. The laughter, the way his friends teased, the job.

Your face hardens. “We’re not friends.”’

Theseus winces and stops, blocking your way. “Why? Tell me.”

You can feel your face heating, you shake your head vehemently. “No.”

“(Y/N), c’mon.” His face is exasperated, he holds his hands out to the side.

“You can’t change anything, Theseus. You can’t change what you said. What your friends said.”

Theseus frowns. He reaches out to touch your wrist, his voice quiet. “What did they say?”

You can feel the emotions tumbling back, and your voice rises. “Forget it.”

Theseus shakes his head, repeating himself. “What did they say?”

It’s the timing that does it. You’ve been wanting to spit out the wrongs he did to you for forever, and you’re already tired and worn out from the chase earlier today.

“That I’m worthless? That I shouldn’t be Prefect and that you’re the only capable one simply because you were more popular, chasing a snitch around on a broom? That I was weird and ugly and didn’t deserve to be at Hogwarts because I’m a mudblood?” Your voice cuts off, you shut your eyes, trying to sound stronger than you feel. “Sound familiar?”

Theseus is silent, he shakes his head. “(Y/N), no.”

You open your eyes again, looking nearly hysteric. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know.” He shakes his head, eyes wide to make sure you understand. “And I never said anything like that. I could never.”

His eyes are a beautiful shade of gray, and you watch as his emotions cloud over. “You were entirely more capable than I was in Hogwarts.” He looks away, his voice dropping. “And you were beautiful. You still are beautiful.”

You look down, surprised to see his fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Come on,” he says, releasing your wrist. “Let’s get back.”

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #theseus x reader #theseus scamander imagine #theseus imagine #theseus scamander x you #theseus x you #theseus scamander oneshot #theseus oneshot #crimes of grindelwald imagine #imagineitup #a manifestation of ministry macabre

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sulosozo-blog · 5 years

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Getting the Best Jordan Pass

What You Need to Do About Jordan Pass Beginning in the Next Nine Minutes Shweikeh added that the ministry used the hottest technologies in developing the site for purchase transactions, which makes it available to visitors from all around the world. If you've studied future interests in land and it's still true that you don't get it, you're not likely to enhance that significantly in the moment you have left. Your group consist of five or more people.

You deserve to have a minute and acknowledge all the hard work and dedication that brought you here. That sort of shooting ability creates a player dramatically better. Also, the sort of training and skill development today is much more advanced then back then.

There's not anything you can do in order to make them come any faster. A white sound machine is a fantastic assistance. Furthermore, the pass saves you a great deal of hassle because you do not need to get a ticket for each and every site you need to go to.

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A daily schedule created around your private schedule makes sure that you keep on track! If you're on a budget, you ought to take a taxi to the closest city and have a bus from that point. They claim it is a military road but, in my opinion, they simply say that, which means you are made to take a taxi.

Don't be shocked if the ticket attendant is a little while late. Upload your photo and we'll print it to the precise specifications necessary for this visa. Although the visa is just one more step for Jordan-bound travelers, the application method is comparatively easy, and most visitors have the ability to get a visa upon arriving at the border.

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Buses are offered between major cities, but nevertheless, it can be difficult to find anyone on the bus that understand where you'd want to visit. Jordan has great infrastructure which makes it simple for visitors to find the nation's treasures the roads are smooth and well maintained and there are lots of bus shuttle services to all important tourist attractions. Two days will enable you to take in the majority of the monuments and organic scenery and was the ideal quantity of time for Claire and I.

You're here in order to explore Petra and should you follow our itinerary you are going to be starting every morning bright and early so proximity to the Petra gate is crucial to getting some extra zzz's. Sure, it's one of the most well-known archaeological sites on the planet. But this is the Middle East, meaning that there's a whole lot of confusing rules you should be aware of before crossing such a border.

And, like an extra bonus, in the event the questions were included in bar prep materials, they're also inclined to be similar to those that will show up on the bar exam. Idiosyncrasies But there are a couple idiosyncrasies and a couple troubles.

Your bar review course will almost certainly provide you a recommended schedule, and should you can abide by it, you'll do well. It's difficult to know whether Hillary failed because she studied the incorrect information a number of those who relied only on the class made the grade. However, what's not okay is repeating the very same mistakes.

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torestoreamends · 5 years

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Mine to Make: Chapter 2

Scorpius is ready to take on the league, and Albus is ready to face someone from his dad’s department. What neither of them are ready for, however, is to see each other for the first time in seven years...

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done.

Read it on AO3

II Home

“Hello.”

Albus jumps at the sound of the voice and looks up. There’s a girl standing in the entrance to the shed, grinning at him. She has bright silver hair that shines in the setting sun, and her coat is made of a myriad of glossy feathers that aren’t really black, but a thousand other colours – turquoise and midnight blue and emerald and deep purple.

He frowns at her. “Um... hello?”

She gives a slightly awkward little wave that reminds him a tiny bit of Scorpius, then she laughs and gestures around. “I saw you sitting here,” she says. “I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

Albus looks around at the broom shed and shrugs. Right now he’s fine; he’s out here, but he gets the point. Okay people don’t hide in broom sheds in their parents’ yard.

“I’m alright,” he says. “I like sitting out here. It’s quiet.”

She nods. “Okay. That’s good.” She hangs in the doorway for a second, then she steps forward and reaches out a hand. “I’m Delphi,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Albus takes her hand and shakes it. “Albus,” he says.

Her eyes go wide and she releases his hand, stumbling back a step. “Albus Potter? So Harry is your dad.”

Albus hugs his knees to his chest and nods. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Delphi’s face falls as she looks at Albus. “Is that not a good thing?”

“Not really,” Albus mutters.

She pauses for a second, looking uncertain. She twists her hands together and seems to consider what to say, then she takes a step back toward Albus and sits opposite him on the floor, crossing her legs. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t really like my family either. But I always think that the family you make for yourself is more important than the family you’re born with.”

Albus looks at her for a moment, considering. He thinks about Scorpius, the only person he’d choose to be his family if he could. “I suppose so.”

“You can choose,” she says. “The people you want in your life. If your dad is difficult then... maybe you don’t need him. Maybe you just deserve better.”

Albus frowns, processing that. “Do you actually think that’s true?”

Delphi nods. “Of course it is.”

A slow smile spreads across Albus’s face and he leans toward her. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Accio keys.” Albus directs his wand into the top of his backpack and waits. Nothing. “Accio keys,” he repeats, this time with considerably more force. A faint rattle can be heard somewhere in the depths of the bag, but still no keys come flying out. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment to try and get rid of some of his frustration, then tries one last time, giving his words as much authority as he can. “Accio keys.” This time, a set of four silver keys come shooting out of the bag, miss his hand by inches, smack him hard on the forehead, and fall with a clatter onto the garden path.

“Ow,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Stupid things.” He snatches them up, finds his front door key, and stuffs it into the lock. It’s difficult in the dark, but even after a year away he hasn’t lost the knack, and a moment later his front door swings open to welcome him home.

He picks his bags up and steps over the threshold. There’s a freshness to the air when he inhales. It smells of home. After so long away it’s pure relief, and he closes and locks the door behind himself, shoulders relaxing as he does, because he’s here. He’s safe. He can be entirely himself for a couple of hours.

He kicks his shoes off and pads down the hall to the kitchen, feet sinking into the carpet.

It doesn’t feel uninhabited in here. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere, but that’s not unexpected. His amazing housekeeper, Mrs Peters, has been in twice a week while he’s been away, and it feels like he’s barely been gone. There’s a note on the kitchen table, and he leaves his bags by the door and goes across to read it.

Welcome home.

There are some bits and pieces in the fridge.

It’s good to have you back.

Mrs Peters really is an absolute hero, he thinks as his stomach rumbles at the thought of food. It’s been such a long and busy day – it always is in the lead up to a race – and he hasn’t even had time to think about food until now. If it had been left up to him he’d have had nothing to eat, but now... He opens the fridge and discovers two bowls of pasta salad and a whole lasagne sitting on the shelves among milk and butter and fresh apples. Now he has lasagne, and if that isn’t the perfect homecoming gift then he doesn’t know what is.

If he tried to do magic now he’d burn the house down, so he sticks a slice of lasagne in the oven and leans against the worktop while it heats up, rubbing his shoulder and enjoying the familiarity of his surroundings.

It’s not really a homely space. There are no photos or objects to remind him of the past. There are no memories here. But that’s a good thing. That’s the way he likes it, clean and clinical, with its ruby red (definitely not scarlet) doors on all his kitchen units, the glittering black granite of the work surfaces, all the kitchen utensils perfectly ordered and hanging from hooks on the walls where he can grab them, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia thrumming happily to itself on the window ledge, and his potion-making area set up and stocked with fuel and little bottles of ingredients. It may not be homely, but it’s home, and what’s more, it’s his home.

When his dinner is ready he wolfs it down as fast as he can, far too fast to properly savour it, then he grabs his bags and traipses upstairs. With his hunger attended to, his mind turns to his current biggest problem: tomorrow.

If there was one downside to coming home, back to the UK, then it’s this. When he’s here he’s in far greater danger than he is anywhere else in the world. Here his family have an all-consuming level of fame.

He hasn’t read a newspaper since he got back, but he’s seen the headlines in shop windows and on street corners and he knows his dad is mentioned in almost every single one. The chance of running into his family, or someone who knows them, or even worse, someone who recognises him despite all his attempts to disguise himself, is exponentially greater here, and that sits on him like a dead weight. It’s that jeopardy, that fear, that’s allowed him to stay out of the country for as long as he has. But he doesn’t regret coming home; he really has missed it, and occasionally, somewhere inside the bit of his heart that he tries to forget exists, he does wonder if being found wouldn’t be so bad after all.

One of his favourite things to fantasise about while he was lying awake at night during those long days touring Europe, was what would happen if someone one day did find him. He’s imagined his dad or one of the Aurors hunting him down, or running into his mum out shopping one day. If he closes his eyes he can summon up visions of a tearful reunion, full of hugs and apologies and forgiveness. It’s stupid, he knows, because it would never go like that, especially with his dad, but on his lowest, loneliest days it’s something to hold onto.

He nudges his bedroom door open, drops his bags on the bed, and crosses to the window. Night is falling outside, and the city lights sparkle in the river down the hillside below his house. He’s set high up here, with a view out towards more rolling hills and countryside. Flying almost non-stop for the last seven years has given him a good head for heights, and it’s hard to imagine living somewhere low down, but that’s not why he bought this house on the hillside. He bought it because, even though he can’t see it from here, he knows that somewhere across those rolling hills is Ottery St Catchpole, and if he flew in a straight line from this window, he would reach his parents’ house.

He leans his forehead on the cool glass for a moment and closes his eyes. When he opens them, past the mist of his breath on the window pane, he sees the state of his hair. If there’s one thing that’ll give him away faster than anything else, it’s his hair. The Aurors must have been given his description; everyone in the country probably has his description, and that description will include the words ‘hair like Harry Potter’.

With a heavy sigh he drags himself out to the bathroom. Tomorrow he has to face someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and if any Ministry official is likely to recognise him then it’ll be one of the people from his dad’s department. He can’t put a foot wrong tomorrow, especially where his appearance is concerned. That is, if he even decides to face the person from the Ministry. They could just run. That’s what Delphi wants to do.

He bows his head over the sink and draws his wand, starting to scythe away the overlong strands of hair, trying to get the shave as close to his scalp as he can without cutting himself.

Facing the Ministry would be reckless, he knows it would, but at the same time... If he does this and gets through it he’ll know for sure that his disguise works. Plus he likes it here, he wants to be home, and he can’t stay if there’s no league to race in. Helping to defend it is in his and Delphi’s interest. This is how they make their living after all. If the money doesn’t convince her, nothing will.

Running a hand over his now prickly scalp, he lifts his head to look at himself in the mirror. His hair is a disaster, it always is when he cuts it all off. Every bit of him is a disaster really, so at least the hair matches now.

The potion that changes his eyes to a deep, mahogany brown is starting to wear off, and they’re in the weird, hazel transition stage where his vision is a tiny bit blurred as the effects fade. Then there’s his shoulder, which is prickling again, like it almost always is. He strips his shirt off so he can inspect it, revealing the long, dark, curling tattoos down his arms – from shoulder to mid-forearm on the left and from shoulder to elbow on the right. They’re meant to obscure the scars he’s picked up from two separate accidents while he’s been racing, but he’s learned over the years that Fiendfyre burn scars don’t like to be hidden, and the one on his left arm is standing out as a particularly ugly, ferocious shade of red today.

He sighs and scrubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, then he opens the bathroom cupboard and takes out one of the many jars of burn salve he keeps in there, which he smears across his left shoulder and down his arm. It’s not instant relief, but it helps soothe the prickling pain a little bit, and he exhales as the salve starts to spread a gentle cooling sensation across his skin. He spreads more salve down his right arm, then he puts the jar away, closes the cupboard, and faces himself in the mirror once again.

His exhausted self, with the roughly shaved hair, tired hazel eyes, pierced ears, and scars that are beginning to fade from angry red to pink, stares back at him, and he blinks a couple of times. Things may not be perfect – things are never perfect – but being here helps. And now he’s here he’s not going to leave. Not for a few months at least. Delphi promised a few months. So tomorrow he’ll deal with whatever the Ministry and his dad have to throw at him, then he’ll get on with his life, just the way he’s been getting on with it for seven years.

“The future is mine to make,” he murmurs to himself, running his fingers over the small pair of wings tattooed on his left shoulder blade. Those have always been words he’s clung to, and now they’re more resonant than ever. They’ll get what they want out of tomorrow if they’re smart, sensible, and take control, so that’s going to be the plan of attack. Now he just has to convince Delphi...

In the end, Albus doesn’t have chance to convince Delphi. When he arrives at the training ground the next morning it’s to discover that he’s the first one there and Delphi is nowhere to be found. For a moment he wonders if during his absence the league has found a new training ground and he’s in completely the wrong place, but the fresh scorch marks on the pitch and the blackened Fiendfyre crates lying against one of the walls of the clubhouse tell him that this is exactly where he should be and that everyone else is just late.

He mounts his broom and kicks off from the ground; it’s nice to get a few laps in before the air gets clogged up with people. This was the first training ground Delphi brought him to, when he was still just seventeen years old. He’d been flying for years in secret at school and at home, practicing, getting faster. He found that even if his bullies were also on brooms, they couldn’t catch him. Flying was the perfect, sometimes the only, way to escape, and his desire to disappear from the world manifested in the sort of quiet work ethic that saw him spend hours flying every day, in rain, wind, storms, and snow as much as in sunshine. Still, as good and as quick as he was, nothing could have prepared him for his first visit here – this place gave him a literal baptism of fire. It’s strange to think how familiar it is now, seven years later, familiar enough to almost feel like home.

He banks round the end of the pitch, shoulder grazing the charms put in place to stop anyone who shouldn’t from seeing what they get up to in here. The magic ripples beneath his touch, and a couple of sparks fizz off the barrier and dissipate. He makes a hard left turn in towards the pitch and dives, hurling himself and his broom as fast as he can at the grass below.

The instant before he hits the ground, he pulls up and goes shooting across the pitch, the tips of his toes brushing the overgrown grass. His heart is pounding, and his whole body is alive with exhilarating adrenaline. Flying is so much like falling, except when he’s flying he knows it’s in his power to stop himself before he hits the ground. Flying lets him put himself in terrible danger and also lets him be his own saviour. That might be his favourite thing about it.

He weaves his way across the pitch, then zooms back up into the air for some more laps and dives. It’s not long before he’s joined by other racers and they begin a sort of mid-air ballet of trying to avoid each other’s manoeuvres. Albus survives the next hour unscathed and decides it’s time to take a break. He hovers just off the ground, the tips of his toes barely brushing the tufts of grass, while he takes a long swig from his water bottle. It’s at that point that Delphi shows up.

“Good morning,” she says, coming up from behind him and putting a hand on his back.

He manages not to jump so hard he falls off his broom, but he does dribble water all down his front and spills half the bottle on the floor as he grabs the broom handle for support.

“Delphi,” he gasps, wiping the water from his chin and twisting round towards her.

She grins and moves round in front of him, looking exceptionally pleased with herself. “I hoped I’d find you here. Have you been training?”

“Always. What have you been doing? You’re late.”

She checks her watch and shrugs. “Not that late. Anyway, I had a busy night.” She runs her hand up to his shoulder, and he twitches out of her grip. “You’re here. Does that mean you’ve decided you’re staying?”

Albus puts the cap on his water bottle and drops it onto the pitch. He takes a deep breath and looks at Delphi. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I really do want to stay. This is home, you know? And I don’t want this league shut down. We can make money here. We’ve always made money here. It would feel strange to leave for good. And you did promise a few months, remember? You promised.”

He’s never been able to read her. He looks at her now, and she’s looking back at him with dark, obscure eyes, her gaze impenetrable. She’s thinking, that’s as much as he knows, and she’s scrutinising him, but he has no way of knowing if he’s said completely the right or completely the wrong thing. At times like this she’s unpredictable and more than a little bit unnerving.

After a few seconds of silence he opens his mouth to appeal to her, feeling like he needs to say something, but she gets there first.

“I agree,” she says. “That we should stay. I think there are opportunities here, and there are a lot of people that I need to meet and that you,” she puts her hand back on his shoulder and squeezes it in an uncomfortably tight grip, “need to meet.” She shoots him a dazzling smile. “I think we have a bright future here, and I’m glad we agree on that.”

Albus stares up into her dazzling eyes, searching for all her confidence and excitement for their future – his future – and when he finds it there he nods and relaxes. If she thinks it’s a good idea to stay then it must be, and it’s so rare for them to agree on something that he’ll take this as a sign. “Okay,” he says. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is,” she says brightly. “But Sev...” She glances over her shoulder then steps in close, leaning up on tiptoe so they’re at exactly matching heights as she lowers her voice. “Be careful. The person coming today is from your dad’s department. Remember what I said about not doing anything stupid. We need to keep you safe; that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Albus looks down at his knees and nods. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I cut my hair last night, and I took the potion this morning. They won’t recognise me.” He lifts his head and smiles at her. “I barely recognise me.”

Delphi shifts her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, running her fingers gently down to his jaw. “I recognise you. Sev. My star racer.” She leans in and kisses him softly on the corner of his mouth. “That’s all you need to be today. It’s all you ever need to be for me. Just yourself.” She pulls back and looks at him, and he nods, as always too stunned by her proximity and attention to know quite what to say.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, then her hand is gone, fingers trailing the rest of the way down his neck and making him shiver before she pulls it away. “Well, today is going to be a disaster, so I should let you fly while you can. Have fun, but not too much fun. I’ll be in the clubhouse when you need me.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t quite believe we’re going along with this.” Then she’s gone, leaving Albus to sway back and forth on his broom, brain a little fuzzy, the corner of his mouth tingling.

He reaches up to touch the edge of his lips, then he shakes himself. It still makes no sense to him why he reacts to her this way. They’ve been friends for years now – just friends, and colleagues – nothing more. He doesn’t even especially fancy her these days. Maybe he did once but that’s long passed. But she has this way about her that scrambles his mind and makes him completely stop thinking. She has a power over him that he’s never been able to describe and that she always laughs off. But it’s there – not a problem, of course. It doesn’t worry him. It’s just a strange facet of their relationship that he’s never been able to fathom.

He shakes his head to clear it and reaches down for his water bottle. Most of the contents have already been used to water the ground and the front of his t-shirt, but he downs what’s left and lobs the empty bottle in the direction of the bin. It bounces off, and he goes over to pick it up and throw it away properly before wheeling about and returning to the air, because she’s right. This day really is going to be a disaster, and the more practice he can get in before everything falls apart, the better.

He’s been flying for an hour and a half when it happens. There’s an outburst of noise and kerfuffle over by the gate to the grounds, and when he swings round in mid-air to get a look at what’s going on, he sees a figure in sky blue robes being blocked from entering the grounds by a couple of his fellow racers.

No sooner has he noticed that something’s going on than Delphi sticks her head out of the clubhouse door to see what all the commotion is. He flies down to her.

“The Ministry are here,” he says.

”I can see that. Last chance to leave. Are you sure you want to do this?” She looks at him and there’s a glint in her eye that says she already knows full well what his answer is going to be.

Albus glances in the direction of the crowd by the gates. “Yes, I want to do this. I’ll be careful.”

He hops off the broom and leaves it by the wall, then he rests a hand briefly on Delphi’s arm as he sets off towards the gate.

There’s a swarm of people gathering there now. Racers come flying in from all corners of the grounds, and their brooms among the crowd seem to form an intimidating barbed fence standing out even within the wall of bodies. Albus can sense Delphi trailing behind him as he joins the crowd and starts weaving his way towards the front. He’s too short to see over everyone’s heads, but at least he can hear what’s going on.

“Two points. First point, I’m not here to arrest anyone or cause any trouble, I just want to talk. Second point, more significant point, I have a warrant of entry from the Ministry of Magic, so technically you have to let me in.”

Albus’s heart stops. He knows that voice. He would know that voice anywhere.

“Excuse me,” he says, nudging his way past the person in front of him. “Sorry. Let me- I need to-“ He barges through the crowd without thinking. There’s part of him that’s screaming at him to stop, to run away, to walk as fast as he can in the opposite direction and find somewhere to hide, because this is the sort of danger he’s been terrified of for years. But the rest of him doesn’t care. The rest of him stopped thinking the second he heard that voice, which he’s been missing for seven years.

He bursts through to the front of the crowd, not caring that he’s leaving a disgruntled, elbowed wake behind him, and when he gets there he stops dead and stares.

Scorpius Malfoy has visibly grown up in the last few years. He’s taller, and impossibly skinnier, but he looks surer in his body now. When he was younger he always seemed surprised by his height and the length of his limbs, but now there’s a strength and control, almost a grace, to his movements, like he’s finally grown into himself.

His face has lost the last of its childlike roundness. His jaw is strong and defined, and his cheekbones are sharp. The white blond Malfoy hair shines as bright as ever, almost silver in the summer sunshine, and it’s a touch longer than it used to be, long enough for the soft, stray curls to frame his face and graze the nape of his neck, just about reaching the collar of his sky blue Ministry robes – he works for the Ministry now, for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and even though Albus knows that was never among his ambitions he can’t help but feel the role still suits him. It lends him an authority that’s impressive and not at all surprising. Scorpius Malfoy as a Ministry official feels like the fulfilment of some sort of promise. It feels right.

Albus realises suddenly that he’s been staring with his mouth open. He snaps it shut and swallows hard. His heart is thudding in his chest and his mouth has gone dry. It’s been so long and now Scorpius is here, looking like this: like heaven, like home, and Albus doesn’t know what to do about it.

Except he does know. He knows exactly what to do. What he needs to do is to run and get as far away from here – from Scorpius – as he can. But before he can move, Scorpius turns and looks at him, and Albus finds himself unable to move.

Scorpius doesn’t say a word, but there’s something in his gaze – something sharp and attentive, a slight widening of those eyes that today are the heavy grey of rain clouds – that tells Albus that Scorpius knows exactly who he is.

Scorpius take a step towards him. “What are you-“

“I’ll deal with this,” Albus says, raising his voice so the entire crowd can hear him. “He can talk to me.”

Gareth emerges from the crowds next to him. “Sev... I think we should all talk this through together. You’ve been away for so long, you’re not up on what’s been happening.” He lowers his voice. “There’s safety in numbers here.”

Albus takes a deep breath and nods. “I know, but...” He looks up at Gareth, one of the first people to accept him seven years ago, and he doesn’t know how to explain. It’s always been an unspoken rule that Gareth speaks for all of them, and he has no right to take that away, except...

He draws himself up with all the strength and authority he can muster, trying to stand the way Scorpius is standing, like he has a right to decide what’s going to happen here, and he raises his voice a little so the other racers can hear. “That may be true, but I’m-“ He cuts himself off, not knowing where he was going with that sentence. But I’m his best friend. But I’m his boss’s son. Neither of those things are really true anymore...

“Trust me,” he tries instead. “I know what I’m doing. I can make this go away, I promise.”

The other racers glance at each other, and a murmur sweeps through the crowd as everyone starts discussing what to do. Finally Gareth raises a hand and cuts off the hubbub.

“You’d damn well better do a good job of this, Sev. If you can sort this out, then-“

“I promise I can.”

He nods. “Then get on with it. We’re all counting on you.”

Albus swallows and looks around at the expectant faces of the crowd, wondering if he’s done the right thing here. Then he glances over his shoulder and sees Scorpius standing there, watching him with a perplexed, slightly stunned look on his face, and any apprehension he has melts away in an instant. This is all going to be entirely okay.

“We should get out of here,” he says, turning his back on the crowd and going over to Scorpius. “There’s a nice cafe round the corner. We can go there and talk.”

Scorpius gestures past him, in the direction of the grounds. “But I’m supposed to- I can’t just leave without doing anything.”

“And we can’t talk in here with this lot,” Albus says. “They won’t leave you alone. It’ll be much easier elsewhere...” He pauses, then plays what he hopes is his trump card. “Your iced tea is on me.”

If Scorpius had looked ready to dig his heels in before, now his expression seems to thaw, and a small, glowing smile crosses his face. He sighs and waves a hand. “Fine. Fine! But it had better be a really good iced tea.”

“It will be,” Albus promises, returning the smile. “Come on.” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm and is about to guide him out of the gate when he feels a tug on the hood of his jacket that snaps his head back just enough to get his attention. He wheels round to push the person away, but sees Delphi there at the front of the crowd, smiling a dangerously sweet smile, her eyes like daggers of ice.

He deflates. “Give me a second,” he tells Scorpius, then he turns to Delphi and steps in close to her so no one else can hear. “What are you-“

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She hisses, tone so high pitched she sounds almost hysterical.

“Fixing this,” he murmurs back, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Delphi-“

“This doesn’t look like being safe,” she says, slapping his hand away. “It doesn’t look like being sensible. This looks like a disaster.”

“It’s fine!” Albus says soothingly. “He’s- it’s fine. I promise I’ll be careful. If it makes you happy I’ll be back in time for dinner. I’ll tell you what happens.”

Delphi glares at him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much animosity in her eyes. Maybe directed at other people, but never at him. “I really really hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, voice low now, and a little bit dangerous. “Albus Severus-“

“I do,” he snaps, cutting her off. “I’m an adult. I can handle myself. I’ll see you later.” He plants a kiss on her cheek despite his burst of irritation (why does she need to be so controlling?) then turns away and waves for Scorpius to go ahead of him out of the gate. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They walk in silence for about a hundred metres down the street before Scorpius stops dead. Albus stops too.

“Are you-“

“It’s you,” Scorpius says, and Albus can hear that his voice is trembling. The smile on his face looks shaky too, like he can’t decide whether he wants to grin or burst into tears.

Albus swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s me.”

Scorpius opens his mouth, closes it again, then draws in a very deep breath. “What happened to your eyes?” He asks. “They’re... they’re brown.”

“Oh,” Albus says, twisting round to look at himself in the window behind him. “I-I suppose they are. It’s a potion.”

“A potion,” Scorpius says dubiously. “Why? The green is so...”

“It’s supposed to stop people knowing who I am,” Albus says.

Scorpius hesitates for a moment, then grins. “Well it’s not done a very good job, has it? You can’t wear that-“ he tugs gently on one of the white strings of Albus’s favourite green hoodie “-and not expect people to recognise you.”

Albus folds his arms and lifts his chin. “It’s worked for seven years, hasn’t it?”

Scorpius considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Touché. You mentioned iced tea?”

Albus smiles. “I did.”

They start walking again, and as they do they keep glancing at each other. Twice Albus catches Scorpius looking at him, and their eyes meet. For some reason Albus’s cheeks feel very hot, and the day may be warm but it’s not that warm.

“Was she your girlfriend?” Scorpius asks after a few paces. “You know, the one with the-“ he makes a wriggling motion with his fingers over his head.

“Who? Delphi?” Albus looks across at him and pulls a face. “No, definitely not. She’s more like my...” He trails off, not sure he knows what word he’s looking for. Delphi’s relationship to him is undefinable. She’s a friend, a confidant, a sister, a manager, and a teacher all rolled into one. Who she is to him is too much to explain in a word. She’s been everything to him. “She’s Delphi,” he says with a shrug. “But I don’t... she’s not my type.”

Scorpius frowns and looks down at the ground. “But you-“

“It’s just something we do,” Albus says, not sure why he feels such a desperate urge to explain that fact. “It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s... it’s weird I suppose. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he apologises either; it just feels like the right thing to do. Scorpius nods and bows his head as they keep walking in silence.

Albus notices that now they’re not in front of the crowd anymore Scorpius’s posture has crumpled. He’s lost all the authority from his stance, and now his shoulders are hunched, his head down. He looks small, and a little bit lost, especially inside those sky blue robes that suddenly seem far too big for him, and are definitely far stiffer than any of the clothes Albus thinks of as being the sort of thing Scorpius feels comfortable in.

“So you work for the Ministry now,” Albus says softly. “For- for, you know...”

“A very very, very junior official,” Scorpius says, with this little twisted smile that looks like it hurts, although Albus can’t fathom why. “But yes, an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And you’re an illegal broom racer.”

“It’s a job,” Albus says, and Scorpius’s difficult, painful smile melts into a real one.

“That’s one word for it.”

They reach the cafe, and Albus holds the door open for Scorpius to go in ahead of him. While Scorpius weaves between the chairs and tables, making a beeline for the squashy sofa in the corner, Albus pauses and watches him.

This feels like a dream. Scorpius Malfoy, his best friend, who he hasn’t seen in years, is right in front of him, about to have coffee with him, and he can’t believe it. This is a fantasy. This is one of his midnight imaginings coming true. It can’t be real. But then Scorpius flumps down on the sofa, arms flopping to either side, head dropping against the back cushion, relaxing into it, and he turns his head and smiles at Albus, a warm, bright smile, and Albus’s insides flutter. This is so real. Why did he run away from this? This is wonderful.

Albus orders the drinks and joins Scorpius at the table, sinking into the equally squashy armchair opposite him, and they begin to talk.

They talk about nothing in particular. They talk about iced tea, and how nice the loaves of bread they’re selling behind the counter look, and then they talk about Albus’s favourite bakery in Paris, and Scorpius asks about Europe so Albus sketches round the details of that. Not once do they talk about broom racing or the Ministry or the seven year chasm in their friendship. In fact it feels to Albus as if he’s never been away; Scorpius is as easy to talk to as he’s ever been.

There’s a sort of bright, humorous breeziness to everything Scorpius says. He’s full of positivity and light, the way he always has been. It makes it easy for Albus to steer clear of talking about any of his hardships, or any of the darkness in his life. It’s not that he normally talks about those things, he avoids it at all costs, but usually the not talking aches, like there’s so much inside him that he wants to get out but can’t that he feels like he might burst. But with Scorpius it’s as if the bad things simply don’t exist. Scorpius is like a ray of sunshine through a window on a summer’s day, chasing the shadows away and making everything feel warm and bright.

“Did I tell you my dad bought more peacocks?” Scorpius asks after two hours of chatter, stirring the ice cubes left at the bottom of his tea with a straw to make them melt faster so he can drink them.

Albus grins and downs his third shot of espresso. He’s buzzing with giddy happiness, and he can’t tell anymore if it’s the coffee or just Scorpius’s presence.

Scorpius nods. “He did. Without telling me. I came home from work one day and this enormous, iridescent bird was sitting right outside the front door, refusing to let me in.” He leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “They really do have a vendetta against me. But at least the new ones are colourful, not those awful, creepy white things grandfather had.”

“You know,” Albus says, setting his coffee cup down. “There were nights where I’d lie awake wondering how you’d have changed over the years, but you really haven’t.”

“Whereas you’ve changed everything,” Scorpius says, gesturing to him. “Your hair, your eyes, your name...”

Albus doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he wipes his finger round the inside of his coffee cup to pick up the last dregs of his espresso, while Scorpius noisily sucks up the last bits of melted ice cube through his straw.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Albus asks after a moment of silence. “There’s a really nice park round the corner. I don’t want to- I mean we haven’t even talked about the legal stuff yet. We should do that at some point.”

“We should,” Scorpius agrees. They get up, clear their table, and start walking.

It’s a warm day and the sun is high in the sky above them as they head off along the river beneath leafy trees. Albus rolls the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows but it’s not warm enough to need to take it off. Twice their hands brush together as they stroll side by side, and they both murmur apologies and shift apart. In the end it’s Albus who breaks the silence.

“So how did you end up working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I thought you always wanted to be an Unspeakable.”

Scorpius turns his head away and gazes down at the river burbling gently along beside the path. He seems to hesitate for a moment, then he glances up at Albus and a shaft of sunlight through the trees illuminates his face, making it glow peachy bright, his eyes like slivers of pure silver. “Your dad owed me a favour,” he says.

Albus frowns. “My- What for?”

Scorpius’s smile does that painful, twisted thing again. “You don’t read the papers, do you?”

“I try to avoid it,” Albus says. “For, you know, obvious reasons.”

Scorpius nods. “I recommend keeping it that way.”

Albus scrutinises him carefully, but there’s nothing there to read. He’s as impenetrable right now as Delphi at her best. That must be something else he’s picked up from Draco over the years.

“So now you’re a Ministry official,” he says, knowing that pushing the subject will get him nowhere.

“I am,” Scorpius says. “And you’re an athlete.”

Albus laughs. “I suppose I am, but-“

“You’re Sev,” Scorpius continues. “The most fearless and fearsome illegal broom racer around.”

“I-“

“You’re successful,” Scorpius says, ticking it off on his fingers. “You’re driven. You’re almost unbeatable. From what I’ve heard you’re not finding it difficult to make a living. I’ve read your case file.”

“I- I have a case file?” Albus asks, stopping dead and looking at him. “What does it say?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Pretty much just that. There are photos too, but-“ He holds a hand up when Albus opens his mouth to interrupt. “Don’t panic. No one would know it’s you.”

Albus snaps his mouth shut and considers that for a moment. “Did you?” He asks. “Know it was me? Before you came?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I thought Sev looked familiar, but I didn’t realise how I recognised him. And then I saw you, and- You’re you. You’re so very you. You can change the colour of your eyes and cut your hair, but you can’t change who you are.”

“Can I see you again?” Albus asks sharply, without thinking first. He turns and looks right at Scorpius as the question spills out. “It’s been seven years. It’s been too long. I didn’t mean to stay away for such a long time. I just...” He trails off, shaking his head, not sure what his excuse is.

“You’ll see me again,” Scorpius says, looking straight ahead down the shadow dappled path. “You’re part of the league I have to shut down. I’m not going to go away.”

Albus swallows. “I mean can I see you again away from the league, away from your work? I didn’t realise how much I missed talking to you.”

“I missed you too,” Scorpius whispers, almost too quietly for Albus to hear. He turns and looks at Albus, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Albus want to reach out and hug him, to start trying to bridge the gap that seven years apart, that Albus’s running away, has torn between them. “I want to think about it,” he murmurs. “I need to think about it.”

“I-“ Albus digs his hands into his pockets and tries not to let it look like his heart has just been shattered. “Okay. I-I understand.”

“And I need you to know,” Scorpius continues, tone strengthening now he’s started speaking, making it sound as though he’s trying to get all the difficult things out of the way in one go. “I need you to know that I have to shut down the league. Whether you’re part of it or not. I really need to do this, Albus. You can’t stop me, I’m sorry. It’s my job and I... I really need to do it well.”

For some reason that doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Scorpius needing time to think about seeing him again, so Albus just nods. “Okay.”

“It’s getting late,” Scorpius says, interrupting the slightly awkward beat of silence that follows. He gets his watch out and his eyes widen. “Shit, it’s getting really late, I didn’t realise. I need to get back to the office, and then home. My dad will be worrying about already. I need to-“

“Do you still live at the Manor?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods and tucks his watch away. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Albus, I have to go now. And don’t you need to go and meet-“

“Delphi,” Albus groans. “I do. I forgot.”

“So we should...” Scorpius gestures over his shoulder down the path, and Albus nods in agreement, but neither of them move. They just stand there beneath the trees, in a warm shaft of evening sunlight, and look at each other.

“Do you have a quill?” Albus asks finally.

Scorpius frowns. “A quill? Yes, of course I-“

“And parchment?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes, but-“

“Can I borrow them?” Albus asks, holding a hand out.

Scorpius gives him a long, perplexed look, then pulls his parchment and quill out of a pocket. “It’s self-inking, so-“

Albus takes them and scribbles his address on the top corner of the parchment. “This is where I live,” he says, handing it back to Scorpius. “So you can find me. Visit me, call me, Owl me, whatever, whenever. If you want.”

Scorpius hovers his hand over the parchment for a moment looking stunned. “Albus...” He says softly. “Albus this is a really bad idea.”

Albus grins. “I’m full of bad ideas. I’m me. Go on, take it.”

Scorpius takes hold of the parchment and stares down at it. “I mean it, Albus. You shouldn’t give me this. There’s... there’s a 100,000 Galleon reward for finding you, and you’ve just... If the wrong people find this... You don’t want to be found, do you?”

“I do,” Albus says, then realises what he’s said and shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t. No. Of course not. I- You’re a Malfoy though. You don’t need the money. You won’t- Will you?”

Scorpius looks up from the paper and there’s a terrifying pause before he speaks. “No,” he says. “I won’t, but Albus... what if someone sees it?”

Albus casts around for a solution to his stupidity. “Memorise it,” he says. “Then eat it. Burn it? Burning it is more sensible, do that. I mean you can eat it if you want, but it probably won’t taste very good. What does parchment even taste of?”

“You’re an idiot,” Scorpius tells him. He looks down at the parchment and falls silent. For several seconds he reads and mouths along with the words. There’s something wonderful about seeing Scorpius painstakingly learning every letter of his address. With every syllable and sound his lips form, every breath of the familiar street name that Albus hears him speak, it feels more and more like Albus has company. It feels like he’s being found, in the best possible way.

Finally Scorpius draws his wand and looks up at Albus. He recites the address once through, perfectly, and when Albus nods, Scorpius waves his wand and the parchment goes up in flames. Scorpius drops it onto the concrete path and they watch it curl up and turn into a little pile of ash, until the flames finally extinguish, and the incriminating words are gone.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says, when there’s nothing left except smoke and memory.

“What for?” Albus asks.

“For making sure you can’t run away again.”

“Not from you at least,” Albus says softly. “Never from you. It wasn’t about you in the first place.” He reaches out a hand towards Scorpius, then thinks better of it and clenches his fist, letting it fall to his side. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Scorpius looks him in the eyes and nods. “See you tomorrow.”

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Cursed Child #Cursed Child fic #Scorbus fic #Scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Delphini Diggory #HPCC Fic #Keep The Secrets #My writing #Mine to Make #Mayhem to the nth degree

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leta-the-strange · 6 years

Note

Could you do one where Theseus dies and sort of Leta and Newt mourning him. Or some cute theseus/leta moments. Thankyou, I just love them!

Look, I’m apologising in advance. I wrote this as a damn novel when I was in hospital over night when I couldn’t sleep and its so long…I’m so sorry (but I think I covered all your requests?) Literally I made a part 2, this is only half of it. If it’s not a pain med fuelled mess and you enjoy it, let me know if you want the second part. I’ll put a ‘keep reading’ because oml its so long, forgive me. I am so sorry you poor people on mobile if the keeping reading cut doesn’t work. Put me on a damn leash when it comes to angst. (Thank you for sending me this prompt though!)

It could never have lasted…such happiness.

Leta silently and delicately packed up the items – even the half-crumpled up scraps of parchment with hastily scrawled reminders and mindless scribbles – as if they were fragile shards of Occamy egg shells. With her gloves removed and laid aside, she carefully handled each item individually, feeling the weight and the shape before laying it on the bunched-up newspapers that had been roughly stuffed into the cardboard box that had been left on the desk prior to her arrival.

She was well aware and not at all fretted by the stares of the Aurors that were working behind her, awkwardly trying to busy themselves in their paperwork likely wondering why she was drawing out this uncomfortable, awful task when she could put herself - and the rest of them - out of their misery with the wave of her wand and a simple packing spell.

But even they, as brave and highly skilled wizards as they were, wouldn’t dare approach her with this suggestion.

Leta wanted to do it this way. No one really understood Theseus’ strange insistence on doing everything manually. Collecting firewood, brewing tea, getting out of bed in the bitterly cold morning hours to get an extra blanket or a book on the dresser, making little use of the Ministry interdepartmental owls to cheerily whistle his way across the different floors to deliver his letters himself (though he always took the route – no matter how long and ridiculous – that took him past her desk).

Leta had understood though – eventually.

She absentmindedly pulled the sleeve of her dress further down her wrist, doing little to hide the mottled scars peeking out from the fabric and creeping across her hand. It was hard to imagine magic as being anything other than a mangled, twisted thing.

Leta was thirteen before she found out it could be beautiful – sitting cross-legged with Newt, sometime past midnight, with his first incorporeal Patronus a misty silver cloud above them, her hand over her mouth and unexpectedly, to his horror and her embarrassment, starting to cry.

The war had given Theseus a heroic reputation, the accompanying renown and respect, a notable career and a bravery medal (which Leta had found once she worked up the courage to visit, only days after he had been sent home from the hospital, on the ground outside, among shards of glass and a telling broken window behind it) but it had taken so much more.

For all the fame and admiration that he seemed to amass, she was the only one who would notice him disappear continually.

The first panic attack she had seen was after she had noticed him slip away from the celebratory party the Ministry had thrown in his honour after he was discharged from the hospital. The party, she remembered, that he had no shame in unfairly bullying her into attending with pleading blue eyes, messy brown curls and looking as tragic as possible all bandaged up in his hospital bed. She watched grumpily from the corner where she had taken residence for the past two hours thinking on loop what a waste of a nice dress this evening had been, how long it had taken her to get her hair neat and how her constant attempts to be kind to people kept ending up in her being roped into situations like this.

Everyone had started shooting red coloured sparks in the air which exploded like fireworks in the large room which is when she’d noticed Theseus was gone. Leta rolled her eyes, figuring that he’d probably disappeared with one (or more – she didn’t judge) of the women that were practically trying to hang off for most of the evening. She pushed herself off the wall, slightly annoyed at the fact that he seemed to have been enjoying himself quite alright on his own and her presence that he so insisted upon was, in her opinion, completely needless. Leta could have easily, like any other scorned woman, slipped out tearfully or in a huff but that sounded dreadfully dull and she may as well recoup some enjoyment from the dismal evening in the form of interrupting and annoying Theseus just once more before she left.

She searched the empty corridors and threw open the door to a small store room and froze mid-smirk to see him hunched over against the wall, rocking and hysterical, his hands tangled roughly in his hair as if he could crush his skull with his palms. To anyone else it would have looked as if he had completely lost his mind, but it was all too familiar to her.

Even during the worst parts of his recovery, his spell work was still excellent. His reaction time took a while longer to return but he rarely handled his wand opting to keep it in his coat pocket and only taking it out when necessary and even then, he would lift it with a weariness that was well beyond his age. It was the first thing to be tossed aside when he arrived home before messing up his hair and collapsing back on the couch.

Magic had been weaponised so much for him that it had lost any of the beauty it had held before. He had seen the worst side of it a lot later in life than she, but the effects had been no less damaging.

Leta nestled the Foe-glass and Sneakoscope safely between the pages of the old Daily Prophet’s and fitted the tattered pack of Exploding Snap and roll of Spellotape down the sides expertly. She had plenty of practise from this from building and repairing the Augurey’s nests in the woods around their house during the stormy months. Nothing moved around when she tipped the box slightly from side to side to check.

She ran her hand over the surface of the mahogany wood which had been cleared save for a framed picture facing away from her and a name plaque which she gingerly picked up and ran her fingers over each engraved letter and holding it to her chest subtly before nestling it in the box.

Leta didn’t want to linger on the photo frame and instead wrapped it in his faded scarlet and gold scarf placing it on top of the pile and going to the other side of the desk to check the drawers once again.

The only thing that rattled in the drawer when she opened it was new. Another name plaque though this one was shiny and polished.

Sterling Boyle

Head of Auror Office

He sounded awful, Leta decided letting the plaque slip from her fingers into the draw with a clatter that made Auror Hessington jump in his chair. She imagined a balding, paunchy man with sweaty hands and moist lips. That’s what she would have liked to have imagined. She didn’t plan on sticking around to find out for sure.

To her complete reluctance, Newt’s new American friends seemed to have adopted her against her will some time ago. They had been diligent in caring for Leta and Newt and so exhausted in doing so that when the short-haired woman, Tina, found the rare sight of Newt and Leta sleeping, she had covered them with blankets and passed out in one of the arm chairs. Leta knew it wouldn’t be long before would one of them would wake and realise she was gone.

Leta let her hand lay on the desk a moment longer before slowly curling her fingers away and putting her gloves back on. With great care, she slid the long overcoat and then, due it to being double the size of her, meticulously folded it three times and hung it over her arm. She picked up the box, her small frame, dehydration and sleep deprivation doing very little in aiding her with the weight and walked past all the Aurors who quickly starting shuffling papers at random. Auror Netley held an upside-down report in front of him.

She smirked slightly at their thinly veiled disdain. If it wasn’t her maiden name, the colour of her skin, or her unworthiness as a suitable wife for such an Auror, it was surely the way she could carry all this weight in her arms and her heart without so much as a discreet, politely concealed sob.

“MORNING ALL,” Hector Fawley bellowed as he burst through the double doors to the office unnecessarily. “BIG DAY TODAY, BIG DAY! NOW BEFORE-”

The Minister of Magic stopped in his tracks so quickly, Leta wasn’t sure if she imagined the squeal of his shoes or not. He turned from side to side quickly as if assessing whether there was any possibility, he could avoid the attention of the woman in front of him.

As if Flamboyant Fawley could ever avoid being noticed.

“Ah!” he clapped his hands together as if she were the jolliest surprise. “Miss Le-Mrs Scamander! We weren’t expecting you…”

His eyes, full of badly hidden panic, drifted down to her full arms. “Ah! We would have delivered those items for you. Here, allow me…”

Leta turned herself slightly to keep the box out of reach.

“I am more than capable, sir.”

Fawley let his open hands swing and clap together and Leta could hear him practically screaming in his head. He had unfortunately gone through this uncomfortable talk with women before but likely not with someone like her.

“Well, erm…if you need anything…just ask. We’re more than happy to assist.”

“Thank you,” Leta cut across icily. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Yes, well. If you’re sure then…I hope, we all hope, you’re keeping well. Sleeping enough and such.”

“Well enough,” she smiled. “And you, sir?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sleeping, Minister Fawley,” Leta answered. “How are you sleeping these days?”

“Um, I suppose it’s…okay,” Fawley answered, entirely aware of the whole office of Aurors watching him be terrified by a five-foot girl. “Um, but, again anything you need…just send word. Rest up and…all the best.”

“Thank you,” she said with graceful iciness, and her eyes drifted to the colourful tea cup in his hand. “And to you as well. Rest peacefully.”

She heard Fawley tip his tea into the sink as she left and hoped Theseus would appreciate that. He had always enjoyed finding comical use of her last name which had, for most of her life, caused her nothing but misery.

“There you are!” she remembered Theseus had exclaimed joyously, skidding to a stop in front of her desk and nearly losing his footing on his unnecessarily (in her opinion) long coat.

“Here I am,” she replied dully, bundling parchment together with a stapling charm.

Theseus knelt in front of her desk and folded his arms on the wood. She was sickened that, even on his knees, he was the same height as her sitting in a chair.

“You’re looking gorgeously glum this afternoon, Lestrange,” he commented.

“Travers is being especially delightful today,” she sighed before freezing and slowly raising her hazel eyes to him. “You ought to watch your wandering hand, Mr Scamander, before it’s stapled to the underside of this desk.”

“My apologises, milady,” he chuckled, surrendering the hand he had rested on her knee. “I have come to rescue my dearest from her boredom.”

“You mean you need a favour,” Leta said blankly returning to her work.

“More of a joint venture,” he explained. “I have some weary business with the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation who may become a lot more agreeable had he want our meeting over with quickly.”

Leta brightened up immediately. She liked this game.

“You require my sparkly personality?”

“Always, love,” he smiled. “But more so your notorious, though occasionally handy, surname. May as well put it to use while you’re still so reluctant to marry me anytime soon.”

“Goodness, you can sulk,” she rolled her eyes but laid aside her work. “What shall I do?”

“He’s a jumpy fellow, if you just prepare some tea, I think that would suffice.”

“Excuse me?” Leta pouted which made Theseus laugh and kiss both her hands.

“Fine, I’ll make the tea, suffragette, if you can bring it in with that beautiful icy uncomfortableness, you’re so magnificent at emitting and with any luck, I can steal you from here early…”

“Lestrange! I don’t hear the dulcet sounds of work being done!” her boss shouted from his open office door, not looking at her but clearly noticing the absence of stapling, paper shuffling and the scratching of a quill. “Get back to it or you’ll be selling your body in the Prophet for rent money.”

Leta smiled and grabbed Theseus’ wrist to prevent him from standing up and going full Gryffindor. “Please don’t kill my boss. He’s the only person here who treats me the same as he does everyone else. Terribly.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Leta walked out into the bustling street. It still seemed so inexplicable to her, that the sun was still hanging in the sky, that everyone was going about their day as if the world had not been viciously ripped in two – before and after.

Leta realised absentmindedly that she ought to collect Theseus’ car from one of the side streets. Another time, perhaps. Maybe she could ask Newt’s Muggle friend for help. Theseus, and his fascination for tinkering with Muggle things, had some time ago impulsively decided to get and learn to drive a real Muggle car.

Leta was reading and walking along the footpath to her old flat after work one evening and Theseus pulled up in the noisy absurd thing beside her, accidentally bumping into the curb, causing her to jump and drop her book, and the milk and the bag of apples she had bought.

“Lestrange!” he yelled cheerily. “Want to go for a ride?”

“Not even if it would cure dragon pox, Scamander,” she replied, scooping up her belongings – the milk unsalvageable – and walking off. The next day at work there was a new bottle of milk on her desk.

Even afterwards, she could never fully embrace this strange joy of his for herself. It was certainly handy for the purpose of pulling her into the back seat of during their breaks to kiss her under she was dizzy but apart from that, she found it not at all a desirable mode of transport. She also hated broomsticks, Apparation, Floo Powder and portkeys and would avoid them to the best of her ability due to the unbearable waves of motion sickness that would undeniably follow.

Mrs Scamander, who had never been sick a day in her life and never let Leta or her two sons forget it, used to tell Leta, as she would hand her a paper bag when Newt half carried her off the Hogwarts Express, it was all psychological and that as soon as she fell for a boy cute enough she wouldn’t get sick at all when he was flying her around on the back of his broomstick. The only time she wouldn’t get sick was on a Thestral or a Hippogriff.

It turns out Muggle cars were not an exception either as an unconvinced Theseus found out when he jogged around chivalrously to open Leta’s door and ended up with vomit on his shoes.

She had certainly improved over the course of the next few years and had even started to let Theseus teach her the very basics of driving – only around the empty gravel path near their house – she thought she may have been getting better, but she supposed it didn’t matter now.

Despite her distaste for it, Leta rather decided disapparating would be preferable to being tracked down and dragged back by Tina Goldstein and found an empty street to do it from.

She imagined very clearly in her mind the small clearing that they used to apparate and disapparate from. Knowing how she struggled with apparation and to make visualising the place easier for her, Theseus had conjured a patch of colourful wildflowers that, over time, had spilled out around the mossy rock she would often sit and read on.

Leta felt the soft grass under her knees which had buckled and collapsed as she was violently thrown on to the ground. She had a good enough hold on the box that it didn’t leave her arms thankfully though she put it aside carefully, so she could rest her head on the ground for a moment and let the horrible dizziness pass.

It was still a little walk to their house as Theseus had made it so. This was the closest point you could apparate to and even if one did, it was nearly impossible to locate if you didn’t know precisely how to navigate yourself through the thicket of woods.

A clabbert, dangling from a branch by its green tail, dropped on to Leta’s shoulder as she walked underneath the trees and curled up against her neck. She felt a pang of guilt at her prolonged absence. She had skirted around having creatures as pets, but she certainly couldn’t be held responsible if they all decided to take residence around their home. Leta had, not at all as sneakily as she had thought, made the conditions perfect for all manner of creatures enough so that they could be completely self-sufficient. Though she had worried she may had babied them a little too much and it was one of the reasons she had decided to escape while everyone was sleeping.

Leta walked along the path that led to the house Theseus had built out of what could nearly be described as ruins of a cottage, rather experimentally with his own hands which had seen her foot go through the porch step more than a few times. Besides the twinkle lights leftover from their wedding that she had been too short to pull down completely and left half dangling and half piled on the floor, everything was perfectly in place, suspended in time, and it was surreal to remember her life was not how it was the last time she had stood here little over two months ago.

The window frames with glimpses of cream coloured curtains, the flowering vine climbing frothily up the stone walls, a ball she used to entertain the Hippogriffs if they ever wandered out, and two pairs of muddy boots left beside a table and bench strewn with cushions and blankets. Leta sighed as she saw an empty cup and a small pile of books on the table that had clearly been rained upon and weathered in her absence.

Leta fumbled with her wand among everything she was carrying, careful not to disturb the clabbert now snoozing in between her neck and the dip of her collarbone, and tapped it against the lock. “Alohomora,” she uttered, and she heard the distinguishable click.

“Okay, listen to me, Miss Lestrange, because I am a visionary,” Theseus said standing in the doorless doorframe, covering Leta’s eyes with his hands before releasing her.

He immediately started his pitch before she could draw a breath to comment. “Imagine sunlight flooding through the hallway because of the windows we’ll put here and here. Imagine this -” he gestured to what was a half knocked down wall that reached Leta’s waist. “– as a wall again, obviously, but painted a nice colour. Maybe yellow, your favourite. Or we can keep it as stone if you like.”

Leta went to take a step and felt the ground crunch beneath her shoes. She looked down to see the floor was simply the dirt and patches of weeds that he had blindly led her through moments ago.

“This will be floorboards soon enough – or carpet – though I think floorboards will be more conducive to all the mud you’ll inevitable track in from your adventures outside that you’ll do your best to keep from me. We’ll put a table here with flowers and letters and an umbrella stand here. We’ll hang photographs of our adorable children along this hallway here – not those horrible professional portraits we were all made to do – real photos of them doing child things.”

Leta tried not to laugh at Theseus having to resort to ‘child things’ rather than offering an example of what a child may enjoy and remembered him pretending to read the Daily Prophet thoughtfully while barely understanding the contents while her and Newt played outside, emptying Theseus’ bottles of ink to use as specimen jars.

Theseus continued with his visualisation and she tried to imagine but she was suffering from a bad cold and forgotten to take Pepper-Up Potion this morning, the leftover nausea and dizziness from carsickness was still swirling about in her stomach and her eyes were all watery and sore. Theseus caught her shoulders when she tripped over a hammer that had been clearly been thrown in frustration one day.

Leta looked at the disaster of a project and all the Muggle tools that littered the area and turned around in his arms to stare up at him lovingly with amusement and incredulity. “You’re out of your mind, Scamander.”

“Well, I find my mind is a rather overrated place to be,” Theseus scooped her up with a chuckle and spun her around much to her, and her stomach’s, protest.

But, to his credit (and maybe a little magical help from Leta without his knowledge), it was exactly as he had described it.

The sunlight, the cluttered hall table, the floorboards shining gold, a hat stand filled with hats and scarves. Leta hung his coat on one of the hooks on the hatstand, which the clabbert climbed into the pocket of to snooze, and placed the box down on the table. She continued down the hallway, not stopping, only touching things with a vague caressing fingertip. She glanced briefly at the framed photos, trailing her finger along the wooden frames that had accumulated some dust. Most of them were empty – he had specifically reserved certain ones for photos that would now never be taken – and she didn’t quite feel up to having to face herself beaming like a naïve idiot. She glanced up at the last frame – Newt’s ‘Wanted’ poster. Somehow it felt like his uncharacteristically gloomy scowl was specifically for her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered as she walked into the living area. It was a lovely open space, so they could see each other from the kitchen or dining room and see out into the back garden. It had been Leta’s idea, all those years ago. She had sketched it on a napkin at the Leaky Cauldron one evening after work and held it up with a proud smile. “You’re not the only visionary around here!”

Leta was not smiling by the time she reached their bedroom at the top of the stairs. She was hyperventilating.

She stood in the familiar bedroom looking for something – anything – that belonged to Theseus. There was no sign of him. No pile of books on his bedside table. No cylindrical columns of sickles taken from his pocket. No ties draped over the chair. Not even a lone crumpled shirt or sock that she was always reaching with stretched fingers for under furniture, eventually resorting to accio.

Leta and Theseus were both messy people despite how orderly her husband appeared. Their clothes were usually tangled together on the floor in messy embraces before washing day. No number of hatstands or clutter-specific tables were quite enough incentive to store things appropriately. Leta thought it might be the former Keeper in him, but he always felt it necessary to toss things across a room rather than walk, what would be in his large steps, a few paces instead.

She threw open their wardrobe to find it mostly empty with heavy wooden hangers, a few containing just her clothes. She longed to see just one of Theseus shirts. Even a boring work shirt or an old Quidditch t-shirt or a large cosy knitted sweater. She would wrap its sleeves around her like his arms and bury her nose in the collar like a lovesick teenager.

As she closed and leaned against the wardrobe door and looked around the room, a feeling of panic exploded in her chest, she realised how clean it was.

Her mother-in-law.

Mrs Scamander had channelled her wave of grief into pedantic tidiness and helpfulness and in doing so, eradicated any sign of Leta’s husband’s existence from their room…

Their room? Her room.

He’s dead, Leta! You stupid girl!

She looked down at her hands to find them shaking. The glass in the bedroom window rattled and the wind of her own creating to violently lash about the room knocking everything over. Her hair became undone and whipped around her face as she sunk to the floor and wrapped her arms around her body to try and contain her feelings before she ended up blowing the house apart, knowing there wasn’t anyone to talk her down from it this time.

Her touch fell upon something cool and smooth on her finger and she was reminded, as she looked down at her wedding band, that he was real, and she was real, and she wasn’t losing her mind. She was married to Theseus Scamander. No domestic hurricane of a mother-in-law, newly appointed, paunchy Head Auror, or Grindelwald or his murderous, maniacal followers could take that at least.

He may not be alive, but they were still married, weren’t they?

Leta let out a tiny pained gasp as a word surfaced to her mind.

Widow.

She was a widow now. It was so ridiculous she could have laughed and sobbed at the same time. Widows were blissfully old and grey and possessed decades of memories. She wasn’t old and grey (or blissful for that matter). She was twenty-nine. And although she did have many years of memories that she may one day be able to think back on without closing in on herself, she had been married for such a short time. She was still picking bits of flower confetti out of her hair, shoes, and belongings sporadically.

The grief she had carefully placed aside since a grave looking Auror had interrupted her and Newt chasing an injured crup in Scotland a few weeks ago, poured out and winded her in the chest like a stunning spell. It was so vicious that uncontrollable nausea hit her in the stomach with equal force. She stood up and ran to the adjoining bathroom where she was more violently sick than she’d ever been in her life.

Leta couldn’t even stop when she heard the front door slam followed by the familiar pattern of rushed, clumsy footsteps taking the stairs two at a time and then hopping over the mess of discarded items her emotions had scattered across the floor.

“Leta!” she heard the most familiar voice in the world from the doorway, halfway between a worried gasp and a relieved sigh. Newt’s world had come crashing down rather swiftly as he fell to his knees upon hearing of his brothers’ fate and sobbed into Leta’s shoulder when she had slowly knelt beside him. The following weeks were the worst of his life and to add to it, he, and the rest of the group, had been cautiously tiptoeing around Leta, who had been acting relatively normal, and waiting assiduously for her careful composure to crack.

Newt slid down to where she lay on her side shivering with her clammy forehead pressed against the tiles. Everything she had repressed suddenly burst open in her chest, enormous weight crushing her from the inside out and escaping in a soul-wrenching wail that bore the weight of decades of trauma. The pain she had once sworn to herself to never experience ripped through her in a way that made her feel like her soul was being separated from her body. She thought this must be what being attacked by a dementor felt like or perhaps more akin to making a horcrux, either way she was certain this kind of evisceration would kill her.

Newt wrapped his arms around her middle and she leaned back into him, absolutely wailing and sobbing irrepressibly. There was no point trying to put a stopper in the devastation now. The rattling window and mirror shattered, and Newt turned them slightly to shield her, the glass bouncing off his back and on to the tiles which had started to crack and peel away from the floor. A more rational person would have run but this was Newt who just squeezed her tighter. Newt who had very little sense of self-preservation but a huge sense of duty to broken creatures. He had tended to wounded dragons and cooed a distressed erumpents to sleep, but far more impressively, he’d done this time after time when her agony or fright took hold though not for many years now. But, just as it had worked when they were younger, he managed to calm her before any more damage could occur.

After what seemed like hours of Newt rocking her and soothing her til his lips were dry and her crying til her throat was hoarse and she was dizzy from it, she finally went floppy against him. He leaned forward to see if she had passed out, but she was still awake, her breath shuddering and her chest still contracting erratically. The light in the room was slowly dimming as the sun slowly sunk down in the sky bathing the room in a warm, peachy orange. Leta probably would have found it extremely comforting and pretty…before. Now she just found it audacious. How dare the sun set yet again on a world without him?

Newt had propped her up against the bathtub and cast a silent spell that swept the shards of glass and broken tiles in to a corner before sitting against the opposite wall and resting his shoes against the bathtub next to her.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while until Newt noticed tiny droplets of blood on the floor beside her.

“You’ve splinched your fingers,” he croaked and leaned forward to examine her hand. Leta looked down at the bloodied fingertips and missing fingernails and then closed her first.

“I…didn’t notice.”

“I have some dittany in my case…”

“It’s not so bad,” she reassured wearily, and Newt frowned in a displeased, determined way she hadn’t seen on him for the longest time.

“I have to take care of you.”

Leta scoffed but she smiled endearingly. “Do you, now?”

“Well, yes,” he said, the tiniest bit offended at her tone and Leta couldn’t help but bite back a chuckle at how he tried to square his shoulders. “You know, you and I are the last Scamanders, besides mother. Can’t have us dying out.”

Leta shook her head incredulously.

“You’re so dramatic. You’ll get married and have children, Newt,” she said, kicking a loose shard of tile he’d missed. She had meant to sound teasing, but it came out flat and strained. She cleared her throat and tried to continue light-heartedly. “It’s just the shame the next generation of Scamander’s are going to awkward, pale, freckly gits. We all knew it was going to be my genes that would save this family.”

“Dramatic?” Newt’s eyes widened and the first smile since Theseus’ death played on the edge of his lips. “You just ripped apart a perfectly good bathroom. And the state of you…”

“I’m GRIEVING. I can do whatever I please. This is a very exciting time for us, Newton. You want to take a Beaters baton to the fountain in the Ministry of Magic? Because we could do that, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works…”

“And the state of me?” she continued, folding her arms and hiccupping. “I’m an extremely pretty crier, I’ll have you know. Look how big and sparkling my eyes are at the minute. Would’ve made you weak at the knees at seventeen.”

“Extremely pretty,” he reassured playfully. “Even with the snot bubbles and vomit you’ve gurgled on to my coat.”

“Well, it’s not a disservice is it? That coat’s absurd. Blue!”

“Absurd?” he frowned. “You said you liked it!”

“Yes, well I missed you terribly, didn’t I? It was hard having to seduce you into being my best friend again now I have to compete with the baker. Its okay, We-I’ve gotten you a very similar coat in green for Christmas.”

“Your house colour, of course.”

“No, because it matches your eyes and it’s always looked nice with your hai-Why do you always assume the worst of me, Newton?”

“Um,” he gestured in an obvious sort of way. “Probably because I know you better than anyone.”

She paused with a frown. It was a fair statement.

“We need to fix that hand,” Newt reminded her and stood up, his legs numb, and offered her his hand. “And then probably get some sleep.”

Leta hesitated. “I…want to stay here, I think. Tonight at least.”

“That’s okay, I’ve brought my case with me,” Newt said. He knew leaving her was out of the question and he’d already told the others that he needed to go find her alone. She would close up around the others and she tended to lash out when she felt trapped. “Why don’t you take a bath or shower, get the wound clean and I’ll make us something to eat and go set up the spare bed?”

Leta did what he asked and wrapped her towel around herself after her shower and padded into her bedroom, her wet hair dripping into the carpet as she stood tentatively in the middle of it, staring at their perfectly made bed.

“Newt!” she called out and he nearly fell through the door.

“What’s wrong?!”

She frowned and clutched on to her towel, feeling her chest start to tighten again.

“I don’t want to stay in here,” she trembled, nearly child-like and she hated herself for it.

“Sure,” he said, unquestioning, and rummaged through the dresser to his left to find a comfortable looking pair of pyjamas which he tossed at her. “Why don’t you get dressed and come down into the case…it’s in the living room.”

Once she was done, she plaited her hair as she walked down stairs to join him. She put on her gumboots that he had placed beside the coffee table where his case lay, and she put them on before going to find him.

Leta nibbled at the pumpkin pasty he nearly shoved into her mouth whole when she declined and followed him around, absentmindedly handing him things he needed while he did his nightly rounds.

They kicked off their boots when they went into his workstation and Newt quickly tried to neaten the quilt on the bed he slept on while travelling before sitting Leta on it and going to his desk to find some dittany.

Leta glanced at a picture of Theseus he had on display and couldn’t bear it, instead letting her eyes slide over the weathered one of her sitting on his desk.

“I’ve only asked you only half a dozen times to replace that picture,” she whined distastefully, and Newt chuckled, walking back over with the dittany. “It’s horrendous, I look like I’m eating a sour lolly and my jaw hurts.”

“That’s your normal face, Leta,” he told her and wrapped up her fingers carefully. “And it’s a sweet picture. You decided to put my wanted poster up as my tribute on your little family wall.”

“It’s my favourite possession,” she admitted, taking a gulp of the tea he put in her hands, and covered her with the quilt. “It wasn’t easy to obtain. I think w-we broke some international law acquiring it from MACUSA but…” her eyes started to droop, and she felt her words becoming thick. “…it was…definitely…quite…”

Newt went back to his desk where he had some work to do and smiled at the sound of Leta mumbling incoherently, finally letting her head flop against the pillow. He hoped the Dreamless Sleep potion in her tea would give her a little reprieve for a couple of hours at least. He intended to stay sitting across from her the whole time, determined to take care of her. The memory of the confusing and short conversation he had last had with his brother, who had hugged him tighter than ever before, was what made him resurface, just a little, from his own grief. Newt had felt something was off in the way that Theseus asked him, his eyes pleading and sombre, to take care of her. Newt had assumed he was just being extremely serious about making sure they didn’t get into trouble while he was gone but now he was starting to wonder if his brother may have known what was going to happen.

Newt paused in counting his lace wing flies to glance back at his dearest friend and his brothers’ whole heart, who was passed out rather ungracefully. He smiled slightly and then picked up Theseus’ picture, who was smiling at him proudly and placed it next to Leta’s.

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popolitiko · 5 years

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Donna Brazile is now over at Fox News and it appears she has been indoctrinated by the propaganda network. She is dismissing Trump’s racist rhetoric by saying he has “nothing” to do with the mass shootings.

She continued, “President Trump had nothing to do with the maniac, and I’m being gracious here, the maniac who shot up a Walmart store. He had nothing to do with the person who shot up you know the bar in Dayton. This is unbecoming of a country.

The President of United States you know should not be blamed for you know these individual killers. But what we have to hold each other responsible for is our tone. We all have to set a tone.”

Sounds like Brazile does’t understand the impact of Trump’s tone. In addition, people in El Paso, Texas disagree with her.

Michelle Grady was at the Walmart in El Paso, Texas when she was shot three times by a 21-year-old white supremacist who wrote a manifesto that included one-liners that could have come directly from Trump. She has survived but her Pastor Michael Grady, who has been in ministry for 50 years, spoke on SiriusXM’s Urban View’s “The Clay Cane Show.”

When asked for his thoughts on Trump coming to El Paso, he said, “I really believe that he should not come. What’s he going to say? I watched the newscast the other day. He read off of a teleprompter. He had no passion about what he was saying. Someone else wrote the speech. So what is he going to do? Come shake some hands, do some photo opportunities and go right back to Washington, D.C. with the same kind of rhetoric, the same kind of venomous hatred that comes out of his mouth? I would hope that he would not come to this city because part of the reason that this city is in the situation it is, is that because words matter. He has spoken devastating words about the border situation, placing people in cages and building a wall.”

https://newsone.com/3884200/donna-brazile-mass-shootings-trump/?fbclid=IwAR0marH8vL9MC6TdMEY0irjj_qfD8SDeciHXZpvjKmS-zWbx6YPkVcPB0U8

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weasleyimaginewheezes · 6 years

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Fred x reader / Kids are alright

Request: Heyo! I have a fic request thingie... Could you maybe do a fred weasley X reader where he didn't die in the war and they got married and had a bunch of kids... And it's super fluffy... And maybe reader had a really tough day, because of the kiddos, while fred was at work, and he comes home and is super sweet... And reader figures out she's pregnant again and is super upset, and fred is just a loveable dork, and is so sweet about it. Super fluffy and cute. ???? Thank you 😊

A/n: Thank you for requesting and I absolutely loved writing this! I wrote it once but I wasn’t happy with the ending so I re-wrote it and I am so much happier with it. Fred lives! Au which is the best kind of AU 😊 I love domestic fic. Enjoy the long fic x

Word count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Mild swearing

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With 3 kids it wasn’t hard for your day to be full of trouble but today had seemed worse maybe because Fred had taken a longer shift than usual at the shop or maybe because your two 6-year-old twin girls, Harper and Ellie had made it their mission to drive you insane. Their younger brother, Alex who was only 3 seemed to want to follow in their footsteps.

It had started with a screaming argument between the two girls upstairs which had led to hair-pulling and tears. You broke it up, only for your youngest son to turn defiant during breakfast and him attempting to scream nonsense at you. Then there had been the prank in the garden in which Harper had set up a trip wire at the door with Ellie’s help and needless to say it didn’t end well for you, especially when you were carrying a basketful of laundry out said door. Sometimes you hated their inherited mischievousness. And now all 3 of your children had somehow stolen your wand and were currently running around the house shooting un-aimed sparks at the walls.

“Stop it right now!” Your voice was growing louder but all it seemed to encourage was giggles. You chased after the eldest twin who held the wand tightly. “Harper Ginevra Weasley!” Harper, in her fit of laughter, tripped over her own feet and a loud bang sounded as the spell hit a wall which housed many photo frames. One after the other fell and smashed, glass covering the carpeted floor. All 3 children seemed to stop dead in their mischievous tracks, all with the same guilty look. You did your best to keep calm as you told them all to go and take a time out in their rooms.

You sat on the floor, looking at the broken glass surrounding the hallway. You knew a quick spell could fix it but you started to cry anyway. It’s just been a long day, you told yourself as you used reparo on the glass frames which begun to repair themselves with each swish on your wand. Just as you were finishing cleaning up the remains of glass, the front door opened and a cheery familiar voice lifted your spirits.

You didn’t miss a beat as you ran towards your husband and flung your arms around him. He soon returned the hug after the initial surprise of its force with a calming stroke on your back. You sobbed lightly into his shoulder and he pulled back concerned. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Fred’s hand caressed your cheek and the comforting action just made you cry more.

“I’m just glad your home.” You sobbed as he wiped your tears away with gentle hands. He still looked heavily concerned but before he could say anymore, 3 pairs of feet were running towards him. You hurriedly wiped the rest of your tears away and smiled as all 3 of your children hugged their father, even pulling him to the ground with matching laughter.

“Okay, okay.” Fred panted as he held his hands up in feigned surrender before tickling them all. You laughed and felt a different kind of emotion well up in you – happiness for the family in front of you, your family. And then another voice from the door broke the moment.

“Hey.” George entered, hidden behind 2 large stacked boxes. You helped him in and gave him a hug in greeting before his nieces and his nephew had the chance to smother him with their adorable hugs.

“Uncle George!” You watched as the 3 kids gave their uncle the same treatment as their father, hanging onto his legs and hugging him from all different angles. George loved the attention and started to tickle them wildly. You left to the kitchen with a smile, thinking of the complaints from 3 hungry children.

A while later just as you had everything magically chopped and diced, you felt hands snake around your waist and a gentle kiss to your neck. “Hey love.” You could feel Fred’s smile as he continued kissing you and you sighed happily, turning around to meet his lips with your own.

You both pulled back with smiles and he tucked your hair behind your ear. “So, how was today?” He knew it could be hard, the kids were a handful.

When you had to go to the office for work he would look after the kids and it didn’t usually end well. The last time Fred had ended up with permeant ink on his face, his hair dyed green and he had just generally been exhausted. “I feel so bad for Mum and Dad now.” He’d apologised when he had seen his parents next and they had laughed.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. Harper grabbed my wand and the other 2 followed, they broke a few picture frames and I had to be the bad guy again.” You tried to keep the annoyance from your voice, it wasn’t Fred’s fault you knew that, but it was difficult. At the roll of your eyes, Fred looked guilty and you started to apologise.

“No, I know. I’ve been staying later at the shop and it’s not fair on you or the kids.” Fred looked away and you felt guilty at your own words so you pulled his face back to meet his eyes.

“Freddie, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to make more money and help George. I shouldn’t be such a bitch about it all.” Fred detested to your words but you settled the matter with a kiss before it could lead to any sort of argument. You pulled back as a thought entered your mind. “Where are the kids?”

“Oh, George brought some products for them from the shop as gifts.” Fred smiled happily as you sighed and quirked your eyebrow.

“It better not be puking pastilles because last time Harper found them, Ellie didn’t stop puking for a week.” You remembered the horrible mess with a grimace as Fred shook his head.

“No, just some fake wands and what not.” Fred reassured but you still questioned him with your look. You eventually gave in and went back to preparing dinner before your husband stopped you. “Here, let me do that, you go and relax.” You would’ve protested but when Fred’s lips caught you off guard passionately, you just couldn’t find it in you to argue or to deny how much you wanted to sit down. He laughed as he prepped dinner, he had taken some tricks from his mother growing up and with magic controlling everything it was hard to mess up.

That’s why when Fred burnt the whole dish, you were very surprised. “Fred! How-?!” You stuttered in your words, not even fighting to keep the irritation out of your voice. He shrugged and stepped back, sensing the anger that you felt.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know I got distracted and it just started smoking.” You huffed a loud sigh of annoyance and just told him to leave as you started to prepare another quick meal.

Fred apologised profusely over the dinner table and you accepted it with your own apology for yelling at him. He kissed you on the cheek and you laughed as the children all made sounds and faces of disgust – George who had joined you for dinner joining in jokingly. Harper and Ellie began to have a food fight just as a knock sounded at the door. You told Fred to manage it as you went to see who it was.

“Hermione!” You greeted your best friend with a hug and a smile as she did the same. You had completely forgotten you had asked her to come around.

“I brought that thing you wanted.” Hermione did her best to sound inconspicuous as she handed you the small box. You thanked her with a grateful smile and invited her in. “Oh, I’m sorry Y/n but I have to get back to the ministry but I’ll come back round tomorrow.” You nodded knowing her job kept her busy and hugged her goodbye before you closed the door, placing package she had brought in a safe space and away from prying eyes especially your husband. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him you thought you might be pregnant again, it’s that you were scared to have the conversation and express your own insecurities.

When you got back to the table you sighed heavily, crossed your arms and put your tongue in your cheek as you witnessed what was happening. Instead of stopping the food fight, Fred had joined in with his daughters and georg had also. Needless to say, you weren’t surprised in the least but your family was when you decided to join in, throwing spaghetti at Fred.

*****

The next morning as you woke up to a nauseating feeling in your stomach. You knew what was happening before your brain could process it. You quickly untangled yourself from Fred’s arms and ran to the bathroom.

“Y/n?” Fred’s voice rasped with sleep as he wondered what you were doing, that was before he heard the sound of someone throwing up in the bathroom and his brain caught up. He instantly woke up fully and pulled himself up and out of the warmth of the bed. He crossed the room to knock on the bathroom door. “Love?” More sounds of vomiting echoed through the door which made Fred cringe slightly.

He opened the door slowly and saw you hunched over the toilet. He bent down and held your hair back sweetly, his other hand rubbing small comforting circles on your back. You smiled at him weakly as you finished and slumped back against the cold tiled wall. Fred sat next to you and your head instinctively fell to his shoulder.

“Are you sick?” Fred asked, his hand gently combing through your hair. You shrugged. “Cause, I know El had that stomach bug last week.” You hummed thoughtfully as if remembering but you knew it wasn’t a stomach bug, you had been through pregnancy twice now – you knew the tell-tale signs. You also knew that it was stupid to think you were going through it alone.

With your first pregnancy, you had waited a couple of weeks after you had found out to tell your husband because you were frightened – it was unexpected and you had only been married a couple of months at the time. The weeks you spent being the only one in the know were torturous and Fred had caught on that something was up so you’d told him and he had been so over the moon that he’d cried and smothered you with kisses. You’d since then learnt that it was best to tell him even if you didn’t think it at the time.

“Fred?” You turned your head to look at him, not even realising you had cut him off from speaking about something. He didn’t seem to mind and at the look on your face became heavily concerned and confused.

“What is it, love?” His hand that had been absently playing with locks of your hair, stroked your cheek and you sighed a little at the contact.

“Um, you know how we always talked about our perfect little family – 3 kids and a pet or two?” Fred nodded and then his face lit up and you knew he had jumped to the wrong conclusion since you hadn’t even finished your point yet.

“We’re getting a puppy?” Your husband looked so happy that it almost hurt you to shake your head with a small smile at his cuteness. You could only hope he’d feel as excited about the actual news. Fred looked a little disappointed but it soon faded into expectancy for you to continue.

“Well,“ You twisted your hands together nervously, taking a deep breath before you spoke again. And as much as you wanted to avoid Fred’s eyes, you couldn’t stare away from them. “What would you say if we added on to that list?” You bit your lip. You knew you weren’t making yourself as clear as you might have if you weren’t so damn nervous but you hoped Fred would catch on anyway. Unfortunately, it was 7 am which meant that his brain was still half asleep.

“What are you talking about?”

“Fred, I think I’m pregnant!” Your voice came off a bit more pitched and nervous than you had hoped for but the point had been made now, you couldn’t have made it clearer. You waited for the usual reaction – eyes wide, jaw slack and his breathing heavy as he processed the news but none of that happened. Instead Fred’s eyes seemed to become softer, water welling up behind them. He seemed to be fighting back the urge to grin as brightly as the sun but he failed miserably and his smile was too infectious for you to not return it. His breathing seemed to catch in his throat.

“Really?” It wasn’t too long after you nodded, that you were embraced in a tight hug. You could feel Fred’s happiness radiate off of him, his tears of joy falling onto your shoulder. You should have felt the same but you were still full of hesitation from the whole thing. Your husband must of caught on to your tense feeling because he pulled back with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You knew that your dismissive tone was futile as was trying to avoid those hypnotising brown eyes of Fred’s. He guided your face to turn and meet his gaze with a knowing look. “Look, I don’t even know if I am yet and I just- 4 kids.” Fred’s smile twisted into more of a grimace as he understood what you were saying. “The 3 we have keep on our toes enough. 4 is more than we ever talked about Fred.”

“I know.” Fred nodded in understanding, his hand cupped your jaw tenderly and you felt the emotion for him rush back to you in waves. “But we’ll manage.” You rolled your eyes thinking back to the previous day and how well you had ‘managed’ then. Fred caught on and looked surer. “We will Y/n. I promised you that I would always be here to support you and I’m not going back on that, not ever. We’re gonna be the best parents to this child,” He placed his hand on your flat stomach for emphasis. “Just as we have been to the other 3 amazing children we have. I know they can be a handful but they’re pretty special too.”

“Of course they are, I love them.” You smiled fondly at the memories of mother’s days and Christmases among others. Fred smiled back but yours soon faded as you thought about your other insecurities holding you back from celebrating. “But it’s not just having one more child, it’s being pregnant again. As much as I love it sometimes-“ You trailed off knowing that Fred would understand what you meant.

When you had been pregnant with Alex, there had been complications. Nothing major but enough for you to be put on bed rest for 3 months. It had been rough on both you and Fred – he hated seeing you in pain.

You watched Fred nod with a sad expression as he too remembered the pain of the last pregnancy. “Okay, maybe I can’t say anything that will help that but all I can say is that no matter what, I’m going to be right here the whole way.” He held your hands and brought them both up to his lips, kissing each one in turn. You smiled gratefully before kissing Fred hard, letting him know how much he meant to you in a way words couldn’t express.

“I’ll do the test later and we’ll figure it out from there. But for now let’s go back to bed.” Fred nodded before beaming at your suggestion. He got up and held out a hand to help you up. You quickly gave your teeth a brush before snuggling back in bed, cuddled against Fred’s chest.

It was only an hour later when you were woken up again by two bodies jumping on you energetically.

“Wake up!”

“Mum! Dad! WAKE UP!”

You laughed as you got up before exchanging a wicked smile with Fred and having a silent conversation. The two redheaded twin girls screamed gleefully with loud laughter as they were tickled by their parents. They both soon surrendered and you told them to go and get their brother up with a smile.

You all ate breakfast at the table and everything went smoothly, there was no drama or pranks. You were surprised and you jokingly wondered if Fred had planned it all to prove his point that your children were angels or if the universe was trying to tell you something along the same lines. Either way, the morning made you wonder if having another child wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

Two hours later, Hermione came around with her daughter, Rose. The kids all went off to play in the garden with their new fake wands and other products from the shop, showing them off to their aunt who still seemed to be cautious of such products. Fred came up to you just as you ordered various objects to start cleaning the house. He looked rather hesitant and you furrowed your eyebrows together at him.

“Sooo,” He drawled the word out as he shuffled his feet and you knew what the conversation was about. “have you thought anymore about it all?” Fred looked to you hopefully and you nodded with a small smile that had seemed to be ever building over the course of the morning and the more you thought about it. Fred started to smile back before you ran off to the hallway, he was perplexed until you came back with an all too familiar box in your hands.

The concept of muggle pregnancy tests was still strange to Fred but he knew that they were good especially because Hermione bewitched any she brought to be 100% effective - the reason why you asked Hermione for them. He smiled nervously and you held his hand tightly, leaving him just outside the bathroom whilst you did what you had to do.

After you finished, Fred came in and sat with you on the edge of the bathtub. The stick which would soon tell you both if you were expecting or not rested on the sink as your husband held your hand tightly. The 2 minute wait was filled with nervous but excited talk and peppered kisses. The wait seemed to last forever and be too quick all at the same time.

Soon enough, the time had passed and you shared a quick smile before picking up the stick. Fred tried to read your expression as you looked but it seemed impossible and he was too impatient as you stayed silent so he looked over your shoulder, only to be confused at the little pink plus sign.

“What does that mean?”

You turned to give him your answer but not before planting a firm kiss to his lips. “It means I’m pregnant!” You smiled happily. Seeing the little positive sign had revealed your true feelings about the thought of another child and you couldn’t hold in your excitement. Fred looked a bit weary before your grin seemed to spread uncontrollably across your face and he knew that your hesitation from before had faded. He let his own excitement bubble out as he kissed you with a massive smile, he then picked you up and spun you a little around the room being careful in the small space.

“We’re having another baby!” Fred couldn’t help but jump a little and you almost wanted to scream with the happiness you felt. You knew that there was still a hesitation resting below the surface and that it might be hard or tough but in that moment, with your excitable puppy of a husband by your side it was hard not to feel joy at the prospect of another little redhead running around your feet. You watched with a furrowed brow as he knelt to the floor. You laughed as he pecked kisses across your stomach and spoke gently to the unborn baby. You stroked his messy ginger hair with a fond smile.

Fred got up, smiling widely and pulled you into one last tight embrace before you left. “I love you Y/n and I love our life.”

“I love you too Freddie.” You cooed sweetly at your husband, pulling him into a searing kiss which lasted for what felt like hours. You got lost up in the feel of his lips against yours, the way he expertly trailed his kisses down to your neck. You had to pull away as it all became heated in the small space but not before reaching up to whisper into his ear, “Later.” You nibbled a little at his earlobe and smirked when you felt your husband melt against you. You winked before pulling the door open back to reality.

When you left the bathroom, you and Fred both looked out the window to the garden, smiling as you saw your children happily running around with their cousin. But a thought seemed to simultaneously occur to you both as you exchanged a glance, your smiles now faded into worry. Because now you had to tell your children that they were going to have another sibling and after the catastrophe with telling the twins about Alex 3 years ago, you didn’t expect it to go well.

But to your surprise Harper and Ellie seemed to become excited at the prospect of another sister (even though you said you couldn’t promise it was a girl). Alex became rather pouty and cross but you were sure he didn’t fully understand why, he did however refuse to speak which lasted for 5 minutes before he started to ask about dinner – like father like son. You were happy at the response from your children and for the fact that Fred began to pamper before you even began to show. Not that he didn’t anyway but when you were pregnant, Fred tended to become over-affectionate and you loved it despite the moody part of you that told him otherwise.

Fred started to take less shifts at the shop so he could help you out, if the kids had run you wild before it was nothing compared to how if felt when you were heavily pregnant. The girls always seemed to marvel at your pregnant belly and how there was an actual human there, you laughed as Fred always seemed to do the same thing even if he had already experienced seeing it all twice.

9 months later from that overjoyed moment in your small family bathroom, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy much to the twins’ annoyance and Alex’s newfound happiness towards his sibling – now that he wasn’t the only boy.

And as you sat there in the small hospital room watching sleepily as your children fawned over their new sibling, held tightly in their father’s arms, you couldn’t have been happier.

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